by L. T. Ryan
“C’mon, Turk,” Marcus said. “Let me finish him.”
“One shot to the head.” Turk brought his hand up to his face. He squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Closing his eyes, he waited for the fatal shot.
The cop pleaded for his life. He had a lot to live for, it seemed. A wife, two daughters, and a couple dogs. The man’s words were reduced to tears. He must’ve given up hope that Turk’s crazy little brother would spare his life.
Turk had given Marcus the ultimatum of one shot, but he failed to put a time restriction on the job. Now, Marcus dragged it out for his own pleasure.
“Do it now,” Turk yelled.
And so Marcus did.
Six
Addison walked through the deserted streets of Lynchburg, Virginia. Surprisingly, people weren’t out rioting or looting. She noticed every church parking lot was full while walking through the section of the city she referred to as God’s Quarters. Amid reports that the sickness had reared its maniacal head in the U.S., she saw hand painted signs stating things like, “The time to repent is now,” and “Only God can save us.” Plenty of people agreed, judging by the turnout she saw.
Addison walked on. No salvation today, she thought.
The day had been as odd as she had figured it would be. First, class had been canceled. Once news had spread that something was wrong, teachers and students alike didn’t care to be at school. She kicked around campus for a little while, stopping in front of every television she passed. After that, she went to work. The general manager of the restaurant, Laura, was locking the front door as Addison arrived. Laura had been the one to tell her of the outbreaks in New York, Atlanta and Miami. Addison was not aware that the virus had reached the U.S. prior to that, and now she wondered if other areas had been affected. She knew it was more a matter of when, not if. And probably hours, not days.
She pushed that thought to the back of her mind.
She recognized a hymn being sung by the congregation in the last church along the gauntlet. The words had faded in her memory, but the tune would be there forever. She used to think that would be a long, long time. Now, she hoped to make it to the end of the week.
The scene changed as she passed from God’s Quarters to a seedier section of town. The air smelled of smoke, and the breeze hitting her in the face stung her eyes. Here, residents were out in the street. A few store windows were shattered. People climbed in and out through jagged holes. They carried televisions, computers, stereo equipment and other electronics.
All the things one would need during the apocalypse, she thought.
She crossed the street to avoid the crowd gathered in front of a store. People were drinking and smoking and cussing and yelling. The further away she was the better. She ignored the first of the cat calls directed toward her and picked up her pace. In her peripheral vision she noticed three men cross the street. The one in the middle looked to be over six-feet tall and skinny. He had a brown leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder. His two companions were shorter, probably closer to her height. One was heavy, the other average.
One of them called out to her. “What’s the rush, Baby?”
She ignored the man and continued walking. She had to travel one more block north, then two blocks west in order to reach her apartment complex. Once there, she could call out for help. Whether or not someone would come to her aide was yet to be determined. She had to hold out hope, though. One thing was certain. The assistance she needed would not be found amid the looters.
“Hey,” the guy called again. “Slow down, bitch.”
Laughing followed the shouts. Then the footsteps stopped. Against her better judgment, Addison cast a glance over her shoulder. The tall guy had his arms out, across the chests of the other two. He said something to them. His gaze remained fixed on her. Their eyes met and a smile spread across his face. It did not instill confidence in her that he wanted to help her. The last thing she saw before whipping her head back around was the two shorter men backing up and turning around.
Addison pressed on, nearing the corner where she had to make her turn. Two sets of footsteps faded while another closed the distance. She reached the corner, reached out for the rough brick edge of the three story historical building and used it to propel herself around. As she did so, she took a quick look over her left shoulder. The guy was within twenty feet of her.
Addison surveyed the street in front of her. Empty, mostly. She could run here without drawing additional unwanted attention to herself.
And so she did.
As did the guy behind her once he turned the corner.
His footsteps fell behind her at a more rapid pace than her own. Using the large glass window to her left as a mirror, she determined he’d nearly caught up to her.
Time for plan b, she thought.
Except she had no plan other than run. So she picked up her pace. The guy grunted and shouted something she couldn’t quite make out. A few seconds later she felt his fingertips brush against her shoulder blade.
Knowing that he’d have her in a couple seconds, she drew her arms in and let them go slack. Her backpack slipped off her shoulders and hit the ground with a thump. She’d hesitated to release it, but the weight had been slowing her down. Besides, she didn’t need the contents of it anymore. College was over.
The guy must have been too close to avoid the bag. She heard him trip over it and hit the ground. The urge to look back was great. Her will to live was greater. She pressed on, sprinting full speed. The apartment complex was in view. She thought she saw a man from her building walking his dog. He disappeared behind a dumpster. Addison tried to call out. The searing pain in her lungs from running so hard for so long prevented her from doing so.
The guy behind her yelled something that sounded like, “I’m gonna kill you,” but Addison couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. His rough voice made it seem he’d become as winded as her.
To her right, an older man leaned back against a building across the street. He sort of waved at her while watching the chase, extending a single finger in her direction. Any effort to help would have been appreciated. But he didn’t do anything except wince, and then turn around.
A moment later, a hand fell onto Addison’s shoulder. The guy matched her pace for a few seconds. His grip tightened. She felt herself pulled back and to the right. The lower half of her body continued forward, while her head and torso jerked backward. Just as she felt like she was going to topple over, the guy’s other hand hit her in the middle of the back, preventing her from falling.
He pulled her upright and then shoved her forward. A few steps later, they stood outside of a darkened alley. She glanced to her right. The older guy had disappeared. She looked forward, scanning the parking lot of her apartment complex. The dog walker had not returned.
Addison’s eyes grew wet. Fear, anger and pain flooded all of her senses.
“Turn,” he said.
She complied. The temperature dropped a good fifteen degrees in the covered alley. Her sweat soaked shirt clung to her body, sending goose bumps up and down her arms and legs and sides. The humidity was a bitch today.
“Go to the end,” he said.
She did as he instructed. They’d have to stop at the end. Then he’d want something. And if she gave the impression that she’d give it, he’d let his guard down.
Facing away from him, Addison walked slowly and deliberately to the end of the alley. She stopped, turned and backed up until her butt touched the wall. Condensation fell from a window AC unit above her head. It splashed on her cheek, followed the curve to her lips, then dripped down her chin. Despite the intense thirst and burning in her throat, she ignored the water and let it fall to her chest.
“Take off your shirt,” he said.
She studied him for a moment. Up close, he looked taller and skinnier. There wasn’t much muscle mass to his frame, although she knew not to let that cloud her judgment. His long arms could generate plent
y of torque, provided he had the room to maneuver, which he did. She had to switch their positions somehow.
He lifted an eyebrow and repeated his demand. “Take off your shirt.”
“Screw you.”
He smiled as he took a step closer. “That’s the point.”
Addison strafed to her right, angling her body when she reached the corner. He continued to come toward her. She crossed her arms and reached for the bottom of her shirt. Slowly, she pulled it up, stopping right above her navel.
His smile broadened. “More.”
She shook her head while forcing a smile. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
“The world’s gonna end soon,” he said. “I think you can make an exception.” He reached across his chest with his right hand and lifted the strap of his messenger bag over his head while supporting the bag with his left hand. He then shifted the bag from his right side to his left. The bag never left his grasp.
What did it contain?
“If you want something, you’ll have to come get it,” she said alluringly.
He dropped his head an inch and voiced his agreement.
Addison waited for him to draw closer to her and the wall. His left arm was occupied by the leather bag. His right arm now swung freely inches from the brick facade. Any hitting motion that could generate enough force to knock her out would be disrupted.
She hoisted her shirt while studying his eyes. They widened as her bra was revealed. She whipped her right leg forward, aiming for his groin. The guy jumped back at the last second. She connected, but not as well as she’d hoped she would. His feet were off the ground and he bowed over at the waist. He looked like a plastic bag caught in the wind. The messenger bag fell to the ground. She figured he did it on purpose so he would hit the ground with both hands available to break his fall.
She reset, prepared to strike again. A second after he landed, he lunged toward her. She spun to the side, sending him careening into the wall. He let out a grunt as his right shoulder smashed into the brick wall. With his left hand, he reached out and snagged her from behind. His weakened right arm wrapped around her neck, pulling her toward him.
Addison closed her eyes. She’d been in this same position over a hundred times in self-defense classes. At the urging of her father, she’d started taking them in the months prior to leaving for college. She still attended weekly.
Instincts took over. Addison lifted her right foot and drove her heel down into the guy’s instep. He grunted and his grip around her became noticeably weaker. Then she twisted her body to the left and whipped it back to the right, slamming her elbow into his solar plexus. A hollow gasp escaped from his mouth and his arm fell across her chest. She brought her hand down in a quick movement and struck him in the groin. His arm completely slipped off her. She took three steps forward and then spun around. He was bent over in front of her.
“I’m gonna kill you,” he said.
She stepped forward with her left foot and kicked with her right, catching him in the face. He rose slightly and she delivered another kick to his groin. He fell back against the wall, and then slid down to his knees.
Addison checked over her shoulder. The alley was empty. She saw his gaze fixed on something on the ground. She followed it and reached down for the messenger bag. Opening it, she discovered the guy had two pistols tucked inside. Her eyes grew wide. She pulled one out, astonished and wondering if the guy planned on using one of them on her.
Anger welled up inside of her. There was a time, like eight hours ago, when she would have dropped the bag and ran. The world was different now. She extended her arm and aimed the gun at the guy. He began to cry and fell forward so that he was now positioned on his hands and knees, as if he groveled before his queen.
Addison shook her head, tucked the gun back inside the messenger bag, slung the strap over her shoulder and turned around. She ran away from the guy, out of the alley, and toward her apartment.
She nearly collapsed when she reached her door. Sweat coated her skin and soaked her clothes. She felt her hair matted to the side of her face. Looking down, she noticed some of the guy’s blood had splattered on her shirt and shorts.
She took a moment to compose herself before entering the apartment. As she took the final steps toward the door, she heard several voices inside and the thumping bass she associated with club music.
She grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. Inside, several people she didn’t recognize, as well as her roommate and the stoner that had been there earlier that morning, all glanced over at her. A thick hazy cloud hovered in the air. The TV was on and tuned to a news broadcast. Bags of chips covered the coffee table. Crumbs coated the floor. There were a few coolers with their lids up, full of ice and beer. She looked toward the kitchen. The refrigerator stood open and empty.
She walked up to Carla, grabbed the woman’s arm and then led her toward her room. The door was locked. She banged against it. A moment later it opened and a half-dressed guy stepped out from behind it.
“Gonna join us?” he asked.
“Get the hell out of my room,” Addison said.
The guy smiled and blocked the door with his body. “Nah, I’m not gonna do that. But you can come in.”
Addison pulled back the messenger bag’s flap. She reached inside and pulled out the pistol. The guy’s eyes grew wide as he stared down the barrel of the gun.
“Get out or I’ll kill you,” she said.
The guy threw his hands up in the air and turned sideways so he could slip out of the room, leaving the girl he’d been with behind.
“You, too,” Addison said, not caring that the woman had no clothes on. “Get the fuck out of here.”
The woman began crying and she squeezed between Addison and Carla. After she left, Addison shoved her roommate in the room.
“What is your deal?” Carla said, her eyes focusing on the gun in Addison’s hand.
“Me? What are you doing here? Do you understand what is happening in the world?”
Carla smiled. “Of course I do. That’s why we’re having a Zombie Party.”
“Zombie Party?” Addison shook her head. “No, you’re not. Get everyone the hell out of here. Now!”
“Screw you. This is my apartment too, Addy.”
Addison turned the gun on Carla. “Get them out. You can go too for all I care.”
Carla backed out of the room without replying.
“If I open my door and anyone but you is standing out there, I will shoot them.”
Carla turned and jogged down the hall, yelling, “Everyone get the fuck out of my house now.”
Addison closed her door and fell back against it. She brought her hands to her face and began crying. She’d managed to stay strong through the events of the past thirty minutes. She didn’t know how she did it.
And she wasn’t going to waste time contemplating it.
She went into her bathroom, placed the gun on the counter and washed her face. Then she went back into her room and stripped her bed to the mattress. A can of disinfectant rid anything left behind by the douchebag and the skank that had tried to declare her room as their own.
She held the messenger bag close to her body with her left hand. She clutched the pistol tight in her right. Both items comforted her, despite having come from a derelict.
She fell back onto the bed and closed her eyes.
A few moments of rest. That was all she needed.
Seven
Sean had remained seated at the computer for most of the day, cycling through the twenty or so tabs he had open in his Firefox browser. Frequent updates had been posted on the major news sites. The changing of the hour brought with it reports of outbreaks in additional cities. Every major metropolitan area in the U.S., Europe and Asia reported multiple incidents. The red on the maps grew larger, eliminating any chance that the virus would remain isolated.
He pulled up a couple of survivalist and prepper forums he knew about. He didn’t frequent the site
s, but he knew that the tight-knit communities found there would have information. Perusing the posts told him that those who had the resources to build a bunker had gone underground. Others who had secured secluded land had gathered their families and close friends and headed for the hills, or wherever their compounds were located.
The common theme on every site he visited, whether news, someone’s blog, or a community forum, was fear. People were afraid of what was happening. And rightly so. There were plenty of theories being bandied about. Some, like the one that said aliens were behind it, were far-fetched. But there were others, likely derived in the minds of conspiracy theorists, that were pretty close to spot on.
Sean wondered how many people knew the truth behind the virus. Had information leaked to any segment of the public? How high up the government chain did the knowledge go? How much higher had it traveled today, now that the virus was no longer contained to poor villages in Africa?
He pulled up a secure shell client and connected to Turk’s server. No one else was connected. Turk had told him that there were a dozen people who had access, but Sean had yet to encounter anyone, least of all Turk.
Where was he?
“Dad?”
He swiveled around in his chair. Emma sat on the couch, as she had for the past four hours, watching movies.
“Your phone just beeped,” she said, pointing at his cell, which rested on the kitchen counter.
He rose and walked over to where his phone sat. The message indicator said he had one message. Why hadn’t it rung? By all appearances, the antennae extender functioned correctly. Perhaps there had been an issue outside of his control. He knew that the service would be permanently interrupted, and probably sooner rather than later.
He dialed into his voicemail and waited for the generic voice to read off the date and time and number the call came from. His heart sped up when he heard his wife’s cell phone number. The knot in his stomach eased when he heard her voice. She sounded calm and collected. Her message said that she had managed to secure a flight to Charleston, South Carolina. If anything were to change, she wanted him to call her. He didn’t need a reason to do that, though. He hung up and accessed his shortcut for her number. The phone rang six times, then the call disconnected. He tried again and received the same result. Sean cursed under his breath as he sat down at his computer.