Quarantine: A Pandora Novel

by McCrohan, Richard

  “I don’t think that’s going to work that way,” spoke PJ. “Get up and let me try something.”

  Rick got out, brushing himself off gingerly, while PJ sat on the edge of the seat and leaned over backward. With his head almost touching the floor, the young man reached under the dashboard and started busily digging around underneath. For a while he lie there poking around under the dash and yanking on things while Rick stood over him.

  “Son of the bitch,” PJ mumbled aloud, “there’s a lot of wires and shit under here.”

  “Well? Did you find the ones you’re looking for?” asked Rick impatiently.

  “Not really,” PJ sighed.

  “Not really?” Rick growled.

  “Well, I really don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for,” explained the puzzled man.

  “Oh, great,” spat Rick, turning in disgust and flapping his arms helplessly. “You don’t have a fucking clue to what you are doing, do you?”

  Sitting up in anger, PJ exploded, “Don’t be a douche! You don’t know any fucking more than I do about this. You couldn’t do shit either!” PJ jumped up and shouldered his way past Rick gruffly.

  Getting bumped aside, Rick spun around and pushed his friend. “Fuck you, too.”

  Shaking her head and amused at their antics, Amy said, “Now, now boys. Fight nice. There’s plenty of testosterone to go around for everyone. Sheesh! Men! What the hell does anybody see in them anyway? I’ll never know.”

  Both Rick and PJ turned and looked at her open mouth. The four other girls were already laughing hysterically. Then, looking at each other and realizing how ridiculous they sounded, they both joined in the self-depreciating laughter.

  Walking back down to the ground floor, the seven souls walked northward up the West Side Highway.

  Two blocks up, they stopped and squatted down behind an automobile. There were two armed men standing in the middle of the road. In front of them lay three bodies. From what they could see, the dead didn’t look to be zombies.

  “What do you think?” asked Eileen.

  “I don’t like it,” said Rick.

  Throughout the city, amid the moaning and snarling of the zombies, the helicopter flyovers and occasional shouts, screams and engine sounds… were the sounds of gunfire. They watched the two men as they talked. One of them must have said something funny because the other laughed. Then, looking down, he kicked one of the bodies lying at his feet. Again they both laughed.

  “No,” Rick said softly, “I don’t like that one bit.”

  “Why don’t we take a detour?” Mora asked.

  “I don’t think we can get past them,” said Amy.

  “Damn,” said Rick, “I really didn’t want to head back into the streets again.”

  Shaking his head, PJ said, “I don’t think we have much of a choice, Rick.”

  Looking up the side street nervously, Rick said, “Yeah, I guess we don’t.”

  A large truck was sitting at the foot of the street. The group silently made their way to the truck and used it as cover to make their way further up the block. They reached the next intersection and turned left. All they wanted to do was to go around the block to avoid the two armed and apparently dangerous men they had just passed. As they reached the middle of the street, a group of looters emerged from one of the stores. They were laughing and looked very drunk. A lone zombie came lurching up the street and one of the looters spotted him. He tapped the man next to him and pointed in the creature’s direction. Laughing, he pulled a gun from under his shirt and pointed it at the ghoul. He then fired off three shots between laughs. None hit the staggering zombie, who now began moaning and snarling. Then the other man took out his pistol and he fired at the zombie. Hit in the shoulder, the zombie stumbled off-balance. Straightening again, the zombie snarled and resumed his approach. By now, there were other undead voices making themselves heard.

  Frightened and huddled on the side of the street, Rick and his group waited for a chance to sneak past the rowdy looters. A woman in a short skirt, part of the marauding band, took a swig from a bottle she was carrying. A pile of clothes was tucked under her other arm. Clumsily, she turned to watch her drunken companions try and shoot the approaching ghoul. Just then a shadow moved in the darkened doorway of the next store. Draining the bottle over her upturned mouth, she laughed and tossed the empty liquor bottle at the approaching creature. It shattered on the road. Staggering backward off-balance, she reached for the corner of the clothing store window. The hidden zombie then lurched out of the doorway and grabbed the inebriated woman. She screamed. Pulling forward to try and run, she fell flat on her face on the sidewalk. The thin, naked zombie stepped out and reaching down grabbed the dazed woman. Two more men and one woman ran out of the looted clothing store with arms full of clothes. One of the emerging men pulled his gun out and fired at the attacking zombie. The bullet hit the corner of the building and ricocheted off. The errant round zipped past Mora’s head. The near miss caused her to let out a short cry of alarm.

  Now alerted to their presence, the band of looters spun to face the newcomers. Drunk, confused and growing worried by the increasing moaning around them, they instinctively raised their weapons and started firing at Mora and the rest. The seven terrified people lay on the ground behind vehicles and covered their heads in protection. There were bullets flying everywhere. Luckily, the marauders were drunk and terrible shots.

  While they were concentrating on Rick and his companions, they lost their focus on the zombies. The group that had just exited the store wasn’t even sure what they were firing at. They were just emulating their two friends in the street. Meanwhile, the zombie that had attacked the woman now fell upon her and started to tear into her with his teeth. The first zombie that they were firing on had never stopped his forward motion and had now reached the back of the nearest drunken shooter. He latched onto the startled man and sunk his gnashing teeth into the side of his neck, ripping away a large piece of flapping skin.

  More and more of the undead began emerging from surrounding streets and from the interiors of doorways and buildings. The remaining four looters found themselves cut off from escape. They kept turning to and fro, shooting in every direction. The man who was out in the middle of the street turned and shot a zombie in the head at almost point-blank range. The tattered creature fell over backward and another took his place. Turning to run, the panicked looter collided with an undead woman who had come up right behind him. As he struggled to push her face away from him, she bit his hand. Absolutely frantic, he shoved his gun in her face and pulled the trigger. While he killed the attacking zombie, he also blew off two of his fingers in the process.

  Seeing their chance, Rick looked to an empty laundromat. Alerting the others, they raced to it and forced the door. Running inside, Rick and PJ grabbed the nearest dryer and dragged it over to bar the door. The others joined in and they pushed the heavy machine in place as the undead closed in and hit the door.

  Meanwhile, the man in the street was overwhelmed and taken down screaming. The other two men panicked and ran back inside the looted clothing store. They pushed the door closed but with nothing to put in front, held it shut with the bodies. Standing momentarily unnoticed, the remaining woman sprinted across the street to the laundromat she had seen Rick’s group run into. She only made it halfway across before she stumbled, righted herself, and was then tackled by three more zombies.

  Eileen saw her disappear under the growing amount of zombies out in the street. All she could hear were her bloodcurdling screams. The amount of undead continued to increase. The desperate group pushed another dryer against the one now at the door.

  “Quick,” barked Rick, “get into the back where they can’t see us. Let’s see if there’s another way out.” They all ran back, looking over their shoulders fearfully as they fled.

  Diagonally across the street, the two horrified men holding the door shut watched as more and more of the undead crowded against the front of
the clothing store. Their fear had almost sobered them up. As the snarling undead pounded on the door, the two besieged scavengers were bellowing back curses at them through the glass. There was a short wall opposite the door. The taller of the two had seated himself on the floor with his upper back braced against the wall and his legs stretched out in front of him, knees stiff and feet pressed up against the bottom of the door frame. Using himself as a human doorstop he was effectively keeping the door shut. The other man, seeing his success, placed his hands on the upper part of the door and started screaming insults at the snarling zombies shoving their faces into the door and clawing futilely at the glass.

  With all of the noise and commotion in front of the clothing store, it lessened the amount of undead drawn to the laundromat and its seemingly empty interior. The clothing store with its prey right on the other side was proving to be more appealing.

  Amy had found another door in the very back of the laundromat. Opening it, they found themselves in a short little alleyway that serviced three of the neighborhood businesses. They couldn’t open the two steel rear doors there, but were able to jimmy the connecting upstairs apartment door open. They quickly ran inside and stalked through the darkened hallway to the stairs. Rick walked to the front door and looked through the small diamond-shaped glass that was set at eye level. All he could see were the heads of zombies moving past on the street.

  The massive crowd had completely hemmed in the clothing store. With the bottom of the door frame holding tight, the more weakly held upper portion would push in and slightly buckle at the undead’s insistent force. That constant contortion was putting a lot of tensile strain on the sheet glass in the door. Already one or two hairline cracks had started. At last, the repeated pressure finally bettered the material it was stressing. With the loud ping, a large crack split the glass right in front of the standing looter’s face. He jumped back in shock. Then, another crack joined the first. Frozen with fear, he looked down at his astonishing partner.

  With no one now holding the upper portion of the door, the upper portion of the door began to slam back and forth in the frame as the zombies threw themselves against it.

  “Don’t fucking stand there,” screamed the man seated on the entry floor. “Hold the fucking door shut, stupid.”

  The other man inside just stood there, eyes wild and mouth open, looking back and forth from his partner to the weakening glass. His legs seemed to react before his mind could and he started to slowly backup away from the dangerously fragile sheet glass.

  See him retreat backwards, his friend furiously screamed at him, “What the fuck are you doing?” When another crack sounded in the glass, he spun his head around. Realizing his precarious position immediately in front of the door, he also knew that the moment he moved the door would slam open letting the creatures in. He was effectively in a complete no-win situation.

  As he sat there, almost prone on the floor, his face fell into a vacant looking gaze of pure hopelessness. His eyes unfocused as he looked inward and muttered, “Oh, shit.”

  At that precise moment, the glass door panel splintered into pieces. The shards exploded inward and rained down like knives upon the helpless looter. With his legs still stretched out and holding the bottom strip of doorframe closed, the zombies came spilling into the now empty frame; and following the jagged glass particles down, fell in an increasing pile on top of the screaming man, driving the shards into his prone body.

  Not five seconds later, the front window gave way also. This enabled the gathering undead on the street to gain entrance into the store’s interior. When the door gave way, the retreating looter turned and ran back to the bulky cash wrap counter in the rear of the store. An almost half empty bottle of vodka sat alone on top of the counter near the register. One of the looters had drunkenly forgotten it there. The man grabbed it, and in a wildly syllogistic chain of misfired thought processes, shoved a nearby piece of cloth into the mouth of the bottle. Then reaching for his lighter he lit the cloth on fire. As the undead began to climb into the openings, the addled looter cocked his arm back and threw the improvised Molotov cocktail at the snarling ghouls surging in the front. The bottle struck a zombie in the head and broke with a sudden whoosh of the bright yellow flame, scattering the burning alcohol across the front of the clothing shop. The stricken zombie, head ablaze, pinballed around the store. Burning intensely, he bounced randomly off of clothes racks and other zombies while blindly waving his arms about in helpless confusion.

  Filled with flammable clothing and ragged zombies, the entire store was now burning furiously. The lone human standing behind the counter watched dumbfounded as the flames worked their way along the ceiling toward him. Following the flames overhead with his eyes, he then dropped his gaze down only to see the flaming undead still advancing toward him. Backing up another three steps until he hit the wall he reached down into his pocket and brought out the pistol he was firing in the street. Bringing it to his temple, he squeezed his teary eyes shut, gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger. A metallic click sounded as the hammer hit an empty chamber. Then again. And again. And again.

  And then the ceiling caved in.

  Looking up, Jermaine noted, “I sure am glad that we didn’t get any rain. I hate marching in the rain.”

  “So far, so good,” smiled Austin.

  “Hey, Leslie,” asked Jermaine, do you think they’ll be any boats left at the marina?”

  “Sure hope so,” she said.

  Austin and Jermaine were carrying Jeff between them in a makeshift stretcher. It was actually a sheet of plywood held up by two polls they had found along the Greenway. Jeff had stopped talking about an hour ago. Austin didn’t know if it was the pain from his leg or the thought of his dire fate that had contributed to his silence. Either way, the young soldier did not look well. He was sweating and very pale.

  The West Side Highway had changed to the Henry Hudson Parkway and was now situated above them as the wrap elevated the highway to the bridge. This was fortunate as that was where all of the abandoned vehicles and roving zombies were gathered. The soldiers were approaching the Pier i Café opposite Trump Place on West 70th Street. They halted before the café and Leslie went ahead to reconnoiter the area. As she moved forward, a sudden splashing alerted Austin. A heavyset, waterlogged zombie was struggling its bulk out of the river. Austin couldn’t understand why he was there in the first place until he looked past and saw two cabin cruisers that had collided and partially sunk a bit further from shore. This creature must have originated from them and then walked its way to shore. Not wanting to risk a shot, Austin walked down to the rocks on the shoreline. As the zombie came closer, he turned his rifle around and rammed the butt end into his bloated face. Off-balance on the slippery rocks, Austin couldn’t put enough power into the blows. He didn’t want to risk getting into the water with him and was also trying to avoid his bulky arms. It took him at least a half dozen strikes before he was able to bring the creature down. At last, he heard the skull crack and the zombie stopped moving.

  As the weary soldier made his way back over the algae covered rocks, Jermaine said, “Took you long enough. For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to go rent a tux for the wedding.”

  “Not me, bro,” Austin said coming up to his friend, “he was asking for your number.”

  “Ahh,” Jermaine nodded. “Is that why you hit him? Jealous?”

  Just then Jeff had a small coughing fit. They knelt by the jerry-rigged stretcher he was lying on.

  “How are you doing?” asked Jermaine.

  His raspy coughing calmed down and Jeff said, “I feel like shit. This fucking bite is throbbing.”

  “Let’s take a look,” Austin said. Reaching down, he moved aside the torn strips of Jeff’s camo pants. He didn’t need to undo the bandages. They were red where the bite had bled through. The skin around the wound was a purplish color. Long, dark veins radiated out from underneath. He looked back at the agonizing soldier.
/>   “How does it look?” Jeff asked weakly.

  “Good, good,” lied Austin. “It’s not too bad.”

  Jeff smiled ironically. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “You never could lie, Austin. That’s why you always lose at cards.”

  Austin feigned surprise and as he looked at Jermaine, the black soldier shrugged and replied, “He’s right, you know. You suck at cards.”

  Hearing footsteps jogging up, they turned to see Leslie coming back. “It’s clear,” she stated. “There was only one zombie there. I took care of her.” As they bent and picked Jeff back up, Leslie continued. “I can see the marina. It’s up ahead. There are only two boats left at the docks, but, there’s also a bunch of zombies around them.”

  Austin and Jermaine paused, looking at each other.

  “We’re not going to have any choice,” Leslie said gravely, “we’re going to have to fight them. There are too many to sneak through or to take out silently.

  “Shit,” Austin murmured as he shook his head, “if figures.”

  Together they proceeded to the marina, keeping to the trees and bushes. As they neared the docks, Austin and Jermaine set the stretcher down.

  “Prop me up where I can use my rifle,” Jeff instructed.

  Placing him up against a tree, the three soldiers spread out and edged closer to the pier. There were about twenty of the undead roaming the grounds. Some were out on the docks, while others wandered among the tables and marina area. The three soldiers moved as close as they could undetected while still keeping within sight of each other. On Austin’s signal, they all fired at the milling creatures. As the nearest zombies were taken out, the three soldiers began to move into the marina area, continuing to fire as they advanced. They were careful to take single head shots only. Ammunition was precious and they couldn’t afford to spray rounds indiscriminately. Jeff was only able to get one shot off before he ran out of nearby targets. He spent the remainder of the attack feeling frustrated and useless.