The Infection ti-1

by Craig DiLouie

“Don’t go, Daddy,” Little Tom said, his voice cracking.

  “Don’t you say another word,” Anne warned him, her voice quiet and deadly. A hush fell over them all; the mood in the house had suddenly become tense. She went on sunnily, “Your father is not working today, so he can help out around the house.” She looked him in the eye, accepting his dare. “Yes, dear, I want you to go take care of that problem in the park.”

  Big Tom stormed out of the kitchen and returned holding one of his shotguns. The kids watched this in stunned silence except for Little Tom, who choked back a long series of sobs.

  “Oh, Tom, don’t go Rambo or anything,” she said. “It’s just stupid kids, I’m sure of it. Just give them a stern warning so they leave and don’t come back.”

  Big Tom loaded the shotgun wearing a grimace that was almost a sneer, blinking rapidly. She could tell he was scared and it confused her. The only time she had seen Big Tom scared was their first date, their wedding day and the birth of their firstborn.

  “Okay, I’m going, then,” he said.

  Anne looked at the ceiling, almost laughing, and said, “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

  “Lock the door after I leave the house.”

  She waved him off, already focused on her next task. Anne had never locked her door during the day and she was not about to start now. If she needed to lock her door, she wouldn’t be living in this neighborhood.

  After Big Tom left, doubt began to nag at the back of her mind, a little voice whispering, bring him back, which she overcame through diving back into the endless housework that constituted her 24/7 job. She washed the breakfast dishes, dried them, put them away. She took her pie out of the oven and set it to cool. Big Tom loved her pie and she almost laughed thinking about him devouring it. He would come back feeling silly about being scared and she would say nothing and put a big piece of pie in front of him with a cold glass of milk. She tried to call her girlfriends to talk about all of these things on her mind, but there was still trouble on the line. Around noon, she made sandwiches for her kids and began to seriously worry.

  The kids ate their lunches sullenly at the kitchen table. Little Tom’s chin wobbled as he chewed mechanically, watching his mother with big, watery eyes.

  “Where’s Dad?” Peter said, his voice challenging.

  Alice stopped chewing. Little Tom sobbed and rubbed his eyes. Anne, who had been staring out the window wondering that very thing, realized they were all looking at her.

  Fear flickered across her face, followed by a smile.

  “Dad went for a walk with Acer,” she said.

  She stood, picked up the phone, and tried to call his cell, but the phones were jammed. She tried again. And again. Always the same. Always that frantic busy signal indicating system failure. The kids studied her closely with worried expressions.

  Peter understands what is happening, she thought. Perhaps even better than I do.

  “Ha!” she said. The phone was ringing.

  Big Tom’s ringtone, Leo Sayer and the Wiggles doing the chorus of “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing,” sang out from the living room.

  Anne slammed the phone down, biting back a nice, juicy F-bomb. That was just like him. He was always forgetting to bring his cell phone.

  “Where’s Dad, Mom?” Peter pressed.

  “Go to your rooms,” she said.

  “I want Daddy,” Little Tom screamed, wailing.

  Alice buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

  “Where’s Dad?” Peter said.

  “I have a better idea,” Anne said. “Come on, get up. You’re all coming with me.”

  “Where are we going?” her boy demanded.

  “You’re going to Trudy’s next door. I’m going to get your father. You all right with that?”

  Peter nodded, almost visibly deflating with relief.

  “Then let’s go, troops,” she snapped. She bent to wipe Little Tom’s tears with a paper towel. “You too, big man. Finish your juice first.”

  The kids got out of their chairs and put their shoes on, Peter helping his brother and Anne helping Alice. Anne noticed how grown up Peter was becoming at just seven years of age and she swallowed hard to get rid of the sudden lump in her throat. Outside, it was a beautiful day, sunny and a perfect seventy degrees. Anne blinked in the sunshine, looking for trouble, but the neighborhood looked the same as it always did. The air was crowded with distant sirens, but there was no trouble here in the ’burbs. Just green lawns and well-kept blue-collar homes and beautiful blue sky. No people either, but they were probably all at work or inside watching the news. Even Little Tom perked up and she had to hold his hand to keep him from becoming distracted. He had reached an age where he was fascinated by anything resembling a rock.

  She herded the kids across the street to Trudy’s house and rang the doorbell.

  A muffled voice: “Who is it?”

  “Trudy, it’s me.”

  “Anne?”

  “Open up, Trudy.”

  The door opened and Trudy Marston peered out at them and then past them, scanning the sidewalk and street beyond.

  “Everything all right, Anne?”

  “Right as rain,” Anne answered, resisting the urge to turn around to see what Trudy was looking at. “Listen, friend. I need you to watch my little ones while I go look for Big Tom at the park.”

  Trudy opened the door further, exposing her haggard face. “Jesus, is he okay?”

  Anne smiled grimly. “He won’t be after I get through with him.”

  Her neighbor’s voice suddenly became shrill. “What was he thinking going out today?”

  Anne blinked. “Never mind that. I need to bring him home. Can you watch my kids?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t. Hugo is in a bad way. He’s been stirring all morning, crying out in his coma. I got to keep a watch on him.”

  “You know Hugo is in our prayers, Trudy. If he’s stirring around on his bed, that’s a good sign he’ll wake up soon. It’s not a coma anymore if he’s yelling in his sleep. Take it from me: You know I was a nurse before Peter came along. They’ll all wake up soon. We’re all hoping that.”

  An expression of horror crossed Trudy’s face.

  “You okay, Trudy?”

  “Yes, I hope so, too,” the woman said, her voice tired and faded. “Anyhow, I got to keep a watch on him. I got to be ready when he wakes up.” She laughed harshly. “Even after everything, I just can’t leave him. Ain’t that a hoot?”

  “Well, now you got three little helpers to help you watch. Right, helpers?”

  “Yes, Mom,” Peter said, scowling skeptically at Trudy.

  “This is not a good idea, Anne.”

  “Come on, kids, get in there,” Anne said, hustling her children through the door. She stifled a cough; the house stank like sour milk. Her poor neighbor had really let herself go since Hugo fell down during the Screaming. “Trudy, fifteen minutes is all I ask.”

  “Please…”

  Anne looked up at the sky, almost laughing. Why was everybody being so unreasonable with her today? “Come on, the park is right over there. It’s a five-minute walk. I’ll be right back, I swear.”

  People had a hard time refusing Anne Leary.

  She power walked to the park, fueled by her fury at her husband for making her worry like this, and paused at the curb. If there were a couple of crazies lurking about, it might not be a good idea to run into them. She had a forceful personality and was a big talker, but she was physically small and hated violence. Talking tough could only get you so far and she could not back it up without Big Tom around. She surveyed the neatly manicured lawns and trees for any sign of friend or foe. For any sign of people at all. Wind rustled in the branches. The playground stood empty, the swings moving a little in the wind, as if haunted.

  “Tom?” Anne said, hating how timid her voice sounded.

  Where was everybody? Usually, there were a lot of people in the park on a beautiful day like today, even on a Monday, ev
en after the Screaming screwed everything up.

  She noticed a plume of smoke rising in the east. That was downtown. There was a big fire downtown. The sirens crowded in a little closer. As she moved into the trees, she heard a crackling sound. Of all things, she thought. Who would be lighting fireworks at a time like this?

  “Tom!” she yelled, feeling bolder. “Tom!”

  She crisscrossed the park repeatedly, searching for any sign and finding none. She did not wear a watch, setting her schedule by her routine alone. Fifteen minutes had blurred into an hour. The sirens only grew louder until, suddenly, she realized they weren’t there anymore. Everybody seemed to be lighting fireworks downtown. Time blurred again as her rage turned into panic. She felt the day slipping away from her.

  “Tom, I’m sorry,” she cried, running blindly. “I’m sorry. Now come on out here!”

  Anne stopped, sweating and panting. Her shoes were muddy, her pants scraped and torn. The sun hung low in the sky. The last sirens were petering out. She had a sense of some massive unseen battle being fought and lost. The crackling sound was everywhere now.

  “I want my husband,” she said fiercely, spitting.

  A horrible feeling overtook her, shooting through her like an urge to vomit, making her fall to her knees.

  “Oh no,” she said, covering her mouth with her hands. “Oh, no no no no no no.”

  Anne rose unsteadily to her feet and ran as fast as she could, wondering if she were too late. She finally arrived at Trudy’s door gasping for breath.

  “Please,” she said, pounding on the door. “Please, God.”

  Nobody came to open it.

  She ran to the picture window and tried to peer in, but the sheer curtains obscured her view. A television was on, glowing in the dark interior. She pounded on the window until pain lanced through her hand, forcing her to quit. She briefly contemplated breaking the window and how she might accomplish this. Instead, she ran around to the back of the house feeling like she was about to scream. She had a sense of being out of control.

  If somebody touched one hair on my kids’ heads—

  Anne could not bear to finish the thought. Could not bear the idea they might be hurt.

  “Please God,” she breathed. “Please God, please God—”

  The glass sliding door was open. The screen door was closed, the mesh torn away.

  That sour milk stench poured out of the house.

  “Please,” she whispered, stepping inside.

  The living room was dark. The TV was on, displaying the rainbow colors and emitting the loud ring of the emergency broadcast signal.

  “Trudy? Trudy, are you there?”

  Nobody answered her. Anne ran across the room to the kitchen. Three small glasses sat on the table. One still had a little milk in it.

  “Trudy, where are my kids?”

  There was an unmade bed in the master bedroom and the sour stench in there was so concentrated it made her gag, pushing her back out of the room with an almost physical force.

  “Trudy, it’s me, Anne!”

  All of the rooms were empty. It seemed nobody was home. Where had Trudy taken her kids? she wondered. She needed time to think. She needed to find them and keep them safe until Big Tom came home.

  Anne returned to the living room. The emergency broadcast signal continued to grate on her frayed nerves and she moved to turn off the TV.

  Oh my God—

  “No,” she said. “No, no, no, no—”

  She convulsed, bending over and vomiting explosively onto the carpet.

  After several moments of retching and gasping to catch her breath, Anne was able to look again at what had been hiding in plain sight.

  The bodies were arranged on the floor by the fireplace. Trudy had died wearing an odd smile, her neck cleanly broken. Peter and Alice and Little Tom surrounded her legs.

  Something had mangled them. Torn pieces out of them. There was blood everywhere.

  They had huddled around Trudy for protection. They had wanted Trudy to protect them because their mother and father were not there.

  No, Anne told herself. Peter still held the poker from the fireplace. They were protecting her. That’s my kids. This is just like them. To put somebody else’s safety before their own. So brave. My big, grownup boy is so brave. My good Peter. Just like his daddy.

  Anne screamed, clawing at her face, until she passed out.

  ♦

  She found herself wandering in the middle of the street coughing on smoke. Paul Liao was calling to her from the driveway of his home as his wife hustled their kids into an overpacked station wagon. Across the street, a body lay on the sidewalk at the end of a long smear of blood. Somebody far away was screaming. Somebody close by fired a gun, shattering a window.

  A van approached and stopped. The doors opened.

  “I got her,” somebody said. “Cover me.”

  A cop in riot gear appeared in front of her, flinching at the sight of her face.

  “Crazies,” she said thickly, her voice sounding alien to her ears.

  “You’re safe now, Ma’am,” the cop said. “Step right this way.”

  Another cop stood nearby, sweeping the area with his shotgun.

  “Jesus, look at her face,” he said. “I thought for a second she was one of them.”

  Moments later, he began firing, the gun’s roar filling the world.

  “Chase them out,” she insisted. She wanted to tell them something else important but could not remember what it was. The noise had scrambled her thoughts again. She was having a hard time thinking. She was fading in and out of consciousness, making hours blur into minutes. She remembered burying her children in her backyard. She remembered the power going out. She remembered digging a grave for herself. She became angry. She wanted to yell at the big cop, but he was gone. It was dark—inside, not outside. She became aware that she was in some type of big room, sitting with her back to the wall, her face stiff and stinging from an alcohol wipe and the wounds on her cheeks throbbing under thick, bulky bandages. A blanket was draped around her shoulders and she pulled it tighter protectively. She sensed the presence of hundreds of people in the room, coughing and whispering and snoring. As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she saw their bodies lying on cots and sitting huddled on the ground like her.

  “Tom,” she said, trying to find her voice. She called out: “Tom? Tom, are you there?”

  “Oh Jesus, not another one,” somebody groaned.

  “Please shut the hell up!” another voice roared in the darkness. “We’re trying to sleep here.”

  “Big Tom!” she cried. “Answer if you can hear me!”

  “You’re not the only one who lost somebody, lady,” another voice answered. “Give it a rest.”

  There were people sobbing in the dark, talking to loved ones who were not there. Somebody coughed loudly. Nearby, a couple made love on a cot. A man masturbated loudly under a blanket. The tips of cigarettes glowed in the dark. Another man lay on the cool hard floor twenty feet away, huddled around a handful of photos he studied endlessly with a flashlight.

  Anne could not remember when she last got some real sleep. She recalled that the last time it happened, she dreamed of a single baby tooth resting on Trudy’s mantle. She had not truly slept since then. She stared at the man’s flashlight until her vision washed out in a flash of white and she became aware of two men arguing loudly. One of them said it was only a matter of time before the food and water ran out and then they’d be killing each other over the crumbs. The other said the world was ending outside and only a fool would try to make plans that lasted longer than a day.

  Anne blinked at the voices. It was daytime, she realized; time had blurred again. Beams of morning sunlight streamed through a row of punched windows near the ceiling. The room was a vehicle service garage. People milled around aimlessly, bartering candy and cigarettes, settling disputes with swift and furious beatings, emptying their waste into a row of portable toilets, w
ashing themselves with sponges and tepid water poured into plastic bowls. The air smelled like old motor oil and human waste and fear. People huddled around radios and argued over the news, then drifted away. Colorful public health notices plastered the walls, orange and red and yellow, reminding her to wash her hands and avoid the Infected and approach law enforcement and military personnel calmly, without sudden movements, and with her hands over her head.

  She realized that she was not in some type of government fortress but instead an old-fashioned refugee camp, and a temporary one at that. How long had she been here? How long had it been since her world ended? She felt lightheaded, like she had not eaten in days. She thought of a blueberry pie sitting on a kitchen counter, covered in flies.

  “The authorities are in control,” a voice said. “Help is coming. Don’t give up hope.”

  The skinny, shell-shocked kid was some sort of government official and he was handing out lists of evacuation centers printed on clean yellow sheets of paper.

  “This one’s been overrun,” somebody said in a disgusted rage. “I was fucking there.”

  “The next one on the list is five miles from here.”

  “Might as well be on the Moon.”

  “The only safe place is right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  The kid ignored them, continuing to hand out his yellow sheets and deliver his simple mantra of hope with an unconvincing smile.

  He held one out until Anne accepted it. His dead face warped into his plastic smile and he said, “The authorities are in control. Help is coming. Don’t give up hope. Report any suspicious behavior.”

  Nobody else seemed to be in charge. The cops who’d brought her here were gone. Even the kind woman wearing a blue Wal-Mart apron who eventually brought her rations appeared to be some sort of volunteer. Then she saw several men working the room, shaking hands and looking concerned and writing things down in a notebook. This ad hoc leadership committee gradually grew close enough for her to hear one of them, a gentle-looking overweight man wearing large glasses, tell people that they had to get organized.

  “Why?” a man said belligerently.

  A woman sitting on a cot said: “You’re just like them.”