by L. T. Ryan
There’ll be time to deal with that later, she thought. Maybe.
She laid out the jeans and t-shirt on the bed, and carried the boots over to a chair in the corner of the room. She’d never worn the boots, and they needed to be laced up. As she did so, she recalled something about the laces actually being parachute cord, and several feet of it if unwound. Why? She wasn’t exactly sure, but remembered something about it being helpful in many situations. Perhaps she could use it to tie up her roommate.
Before she could finish lacing her boots, the door to her room burst open. Carla stood in the opening, wearing a simple oversized white t-shirt spotted with blood. She stood slightly stooped forward with her hands clenched into fists and hanging by her side. Blood trickled from a wound on her forehead like raindrops down a window. It hadn’t been her fists or an object banging against the wall on the other side of the shower.
Carla had used her head.
Her roommate looked distraught one moment, angry the next. Her lips trembled as she opened and closed her mouth, releasing guttural sounds, but no words. Her hair had become caked with blood. It hung over her eyes. As Carla rocked back on her heels, she let her head fall back and her hair parted to the sides, revealing eyes that appeared as if they were burning. Bright and hot like liquid fire.
When Carla opened her mouth to speak, only a grunting sound escaped as her lips curled back. Her teeth looked darker than they should have, and her gums were red. Tears appeared to fall from her eyes and skate down her cheeks. The woman made no attempt to advance her position.
Addison stood three feet from the bed, where, on the corner she’d set the pistol. She glanced at it, and then looked back up. Carla had followed her gaze and stared at the weapon. Her lips trembled as they opened and closed. Finally, she formed a distinct word.
“Why?”
Addison shook her head. Tears began to collect along her bottom eyelids. She held up both hands in a calming gesture. “I don’t know, Carla. I don’t. But I’ll help you. Okay? We’ll find a treatment. We’ll get you fixed.”
She took a step forward. This resulted in a change in Carla’s posture. The woman went from slightly stooped and submissive to rigid and poised to attack.
“I just want to help you,” Addison said as she froze in place.
Her words seemed to settle Carla, for the moment at least. Addison took another step forward. Using her leg as a guide while maintaining eye contact with Carla, she shuffled along until her skin brushed the corner of her bed. Along the outer edge of her vision, she made out the shape of the handgun. One swoop of her arm and she could have it in her possession. Surely, she could retrieve the weapon, aim it and fire before Carla made it to her.
Eight feet versus eighteen inches, round trip, and a few actions which she’d never performed without the aid of a game controller.
She opted for a different approach.
“Carla,” she said. “Why don’t you go lay down in your bed? I’ll be right in with some medicine after I get changed.”
Carla said nothing. She didn’t try to say anything. She stood there, slack jawed, staring at Addison. The woman’s fingers twitched, causing them to tap against her upper thighs. The intensity of her stare did not decrease, although the odd brightness seemed to fade.
“Carla?” Addison said, letting her right hand fall. She didn’t care if her towel fell open. If anything, her nudity might be enough of a shock to her roommate to allow Addison a few extra precious seconds to line up her shot.
“Okay, Addy,” Carla said, slowly and deeply.
Addison stopped breathing as she watched the woman turn in place and leave her room. The floor where Carla had stood was wet.
Had she urinated while standing there?
Addison grabbed the pistol off the bed. Then she pulled off her towel and threw it toward the doorway. It landed a foot past the spot, in the hallway. She dressed and put on her boots, leaving them untied. They fit perfectly. A good thing, because there might be a lot of walking in her future.
Her mind raced. What would she do? Where would she go? How would she get there?
Before she could answer any of those questions, she had to prepare. Addison reached into her closet and pulled out a duffel bag, which she filled with socks, underwear, shirts and pants. Unsure where she was going, she grabbed a North Face thermal jacket, rolled it up, and stuffed it inside the bag. It would be cold eventually. In fact, the nights had already started to dip into the fifties. The jacket would be perfect in both fall and winter.
She carried the bag into the bathroom and stuffed her toiletries in one of the side pockets. The messenger bag sat on the toilet. She grabbed it and slung it over her shoulder, ensuring quick access to the pistol it housed. In her left hand, she carried the duffel bag. In her right, she held the other pistol. She believed she had it ready to fire. She’d done everything to the weapon that she’d ever seen performed in an action film.
How hard could it be?
She exited the bathroom, closing the door behind her, and then she rounded her bed. The room looked undisturbed, although it did smell foul. The urine on the carpet could be part of the reason, but it smelled worse than any pee she’d ever been around.
Addison came to a stop at the doorway. She spread her feet wide, making sure not to step in the puddle. The sound of the fan was the only thing she heard, rhythmically cycling around and around. No coughing, no television, no game systems. She stepped through the doorway and into the hall. The towel she had tossed out there earlier became tangled with her left foot. Leaning against the wall, she shook herself free from the damp linen.
Before turning into the kitchen and living area, she glanced down the hallway toward Carla’s room. Soft light filtered through the opening at the bottom of the closed door. She considered barricading it, but decided against doing so. Once she had the door in sight, she made a line straight for it. As she reached for the handle, she stopped. She had no provisions for her journey. While there was little in the apartment, anything available could provide helpful. Despite the urge inside of her to leave, Addison backtracked to the kitchen and raided the pantry and refrigerator for anything she could find.
In the end, she stuffed four pouches of dried noodles, a half-dozen bottles of water, three light beers, an opened package of crackers and some salami into her bag. She’d have to eat the deli meat first, which meant as soon as she left the apartment. Addison was starving, having gone almost a day without eating. The rest, she figured, would last her a couple days at most.
Satisfied she had everything she needed, Addison left the kitchen and headed toward the front door.
“Where are you going?”
She looked to her left and saw Carla standing behind the couch, her shape silhouetted by the diffused reflection of light on the television.
“I have to go get you medicine,” she replied.
“Why do you have all that stuff?”
Addison hesitated, and in those few moments Carla’s expression changed from confused to angry. Her roommate went to speak, but the only sound that came out was a deep grunt. A few seconds later, the couch tipped over and Carla climbed over it. Her eyes were bright. Her mouth hung open. She reached out with both arms. Her fingers contorted into hooks.
Addison dropped the duffel bag and backed up. She reached inside the leather messenger and pulled out a bottle of beer. She held it by the neck. Carla kept coming toward her, grunting and baring her teeth.
“Get back,” Addison shouted.
Carla ignored her. The woman walked right into the kitchen table, refusing to allow it to stop her. She kept shuffling her feet, pushing the table an inch at a time. The entire time her eyes remained focused on Addison while the fingers at the end of her outstretched arms snapped like a crab’s pincers.
Addison backed up until she felt the kitchen island. She retreated behind the six-by-three foot structure.
“Go to your room, Carla.”
Carla kept pushing forward,
her waist pressed tight to the table, moving it inch by inch.
Addison cocked her arm back and then flung the beer bottle in Carla’s direction. Having been an all-district short stop for her high school softball team, Addison had tremendous aim. It did not fail her. The bottle hit Carla in the middle of the forehead, causing further damage to the cut already there. The woman fell back and dropped to one knee. Addison realized her mistake when, instead of getting up, Carla dropped to all fours and crawled under the kitchen table.
Addison waited until she couldn’t see her roommate and then bolted for the front door. It seemed like it took minutes to cross the short distance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Carla change course. The woman lunged for her, grabbing a hold of Addison’s ankle. She dropped the messenger bag in an effort to break her fall. It worked, to a point. The impact of landing on her abdomen knocked the wind out of her.
Carla’s damp, cold hands worked their way up Addison’s back and arms.
“Get off me,” she said in a hollow voice. Moments later, air rushed into her lungs. She gasped it in, yelled and forced herself to turn over, sending Carla sprawling to the side. Addison pushed her back off the floor and scooted toward the door while in a sitting position. As she pressed into the door, she realized she’d dropped the handgun. Both the pistol and the messenger bag with the backup weapon were out of arm’s reach.
A few feet away, Carla curled up into a fetal position. Cries mixed with coughs.
What the hell is going on?
Addison regained her focus. Reaching back with her right arm, she grabbed a hold of the doorknob and used it to help pull herself upright. She scooped up the pistol, then walked around her roommate and grabbed the messenger bag. She slung the strap over her neck and shoulder, letting it come to rest against her side.
“Help me,” Carla whimpered. “Please, Addy. Help me.”
Addison ignored the calls for assistance and went to the kitchen to collect the duffel bag. When she returned to the front door, she saw Carla sitting on the ground, leaning back against the wall.
“Don’t leave me, Addy.” Carla puffed her chest out as she pressed her shoulders into the wall and rose to a standing position. She approached Addison slowly. She didn’t look like the demon that’d been ready to kill Addison a few moments ago. She was Carla, the always-stoned, pain in the ass roommate who desperately needed Addison’s help.
“I have to go,” Addison said. “I’ll find you help out there.”
Carla lurched forward, wrapping her arms around Addison and pulling her close. She felt the woman’s tears against her bare neck. Addison wrapped her left arm around Carla’s back and hugged her tightly. She lifted her right hand, steadying the barrel of the gun inches from Carla’s head. It was the right thing to do. The humane thing. She felt her own tears cascade down her cheeks as she prepared to pull the trigger.
Carla begged for help over and over. The words impacted Addison and she felt sorry for her roommate. Perhaps she should leave, never to return. The situation would work itself out sooner or later. After all, the reports she’d seen indicated that death came soon after realization of the first symptoms.
Addison lowered the pistol, letting it and her hand fall to her side. She released Carla from her grip. The skin on her face felt cold and damp as her roommate pulled away. Without reaching up and wiping her face, she knew she was coated in the woman’s blood and tears.
“Go lay down,” she told Carla.
Her roommate turned and shuffled toward the couch. The journey took thirty seconds longer than it should have. Each step dragged on, with Carla resetting before starting the next. Then, as she reached the couch and placed her hand on the back of it, Carla turned at the waist. The fear and sadness in her eyes was gone, replaced with that burning gaze. Her lip curled up in a snarl and she grunted.
Addison had a hunch what would follow. It happened in a flurry of movements between the two of them. Carla spun around and dipped low, into a crouching position. Addison shifted the duffel bag forward, then drew it back until it hit the wall. Carla sprung forward, like a wolf pouncing on its prey. Addison whipped the bag forward and released it, sending it flying toward her roommate. Carla deflected the bag with her hands, but at the same time, her feet became tangled and she went sprawling to the floor.
Addison brought the pistol up, cupping her right hand with her left. She aimed at the back of Carla’s head. Without thinking beyond that moment, she pulled the trigger three times. Two bullets missed, but one hit.
And that was all she needed.
Fourteen
Kathy eased down the familiar driveway, carefully avoiding the potholes. How ironic would it be to make it home from Cincinnati on a stolen motorcycle only to flip over the handlebars and break her neck? As she rounded the curve, her house came into view. She wanted to laugh, cry, scream and shout that she’d made it. She did none of those things, though.
She’d made it home, but the journey was not over.
She cut the engine and coasted toward the end of the driveway, applying the brakes well short of it. She figured Sean would have heard her approach and would be monitoring the landscape now. He might not recognize her perched atop the motorcycle. So she stepped off, removed her helmet, and walked the bike forward. The entire time her gaze flicked from window to window, to the front door, to the sides of the house. No one appeared.
Had they left?
If they had, they didn’t take Sean’s truck. The vehicle was parked in the driveway. Behind it was Barbara’s car. Kathy breathed a sigh of relief at the realization that they hadn’t left for South Carolina and had instead gone underground. Now she had to get his attention so that he’d let her inside. If anything, Sean was predictable and would have changed the codes the moment they were locked inside the bunker.
The wind kicked up and blew a sheet of dirt and dust in her direction. She felt her sinuses become clogged with debris. A moment later, she started coughing. Her lungs and throat burned with each phlegmy cough. After the fit had subsided, she spat the thick substance in her mouth on the ground. The dark color of the matter on the ground caught her eye. However, she dashed toward the house at the sight of an approaching single engine prop plane. Anyone could be up there, she figured. And their intentions might not be good.
She waited on the porch until the plane could no longer be heard. She left the safety of the porch when the engine faded and gave way to the sound of wind blowing through the grass.
She decided to verify the integrity of the house before entering. Kathy looked inside every window she passed while circling the property. The house appeared to be empty, and in order. Further proof that if Sean and Emma had remained, they were in the bunker, not the house. That told her that this outbreak, whatever it may be, was bad and on par with some of the things she’d heard her husband mumble in his sleep over the last eight years.
She made a note to herself to draw all the blinds before entering the bunker. If people did come by, she didn’t want them seeing that the house was abandoned. They’d loot it. She caught herself and stopped making additional preparations. It didn’t really matter.
Satisfied there was no one lying in wait for her, she returned to the front of the house. The door was locked. At least Sean had remembered that. She fished through her purse and retrieved her keys. Both the doorknob and deadbolt had been engaged. She unlocked them and eased the door open.
“Hello?” she called out.
The still house offered no reply. The air was considerably warmer inside. Either Sean had cut the air conditioning and the fan, or the power had gone out. While the bunker was set up on solar power, the house was not. Sean had refused to do so, fearing that it could alert someone to the fact that they were preparing for apocalyptic events. The levels his paranoia reached drove her crazy at times. Of course, if he’d had it his way, they’d have moved to Montana years ago. He had claimed that he could operate under the radar there. Under the radar was important to Sean, and
everything had to be done accordingly so. She’d argued against anywhere outside of Virginia. She had her friends and family to consider. Despite Sean’s argument that none of them would matter should something happen, he eventually relented and agreed on Roanoke.
She closed the door behind her and engaged the locks. Next, she headed for Sean’s gun cabinet. It was empty. She found the correct key and opened it anyway. Kneeling in front of the cabinet, she ran her hand beneath the lowest shelf until she found the false bottom. She pulled the wooden plank up and reached inside the hole. Her hand brushed against the handle of the M9 concealed within. Sean had left it behind for her. She stuck the gun in her purse and returned the gun cabinet to how she’d found it.
Kathy knew that Sean would not allow her entrance to the bunker if she hadn’t cleared the house first, so that’s what she set off to do. She climbed the stairs, being careful to step only on the edges to prevent any unnecessary creaks and pops.
She found the upstairs to be as she expected. The beds were unmade both in her and Sean’s room, as well as Emma’s. Dirty towels were strewn about on the bathroom floor. The countertops, while not messy, were cluttered with things that could have been easily put away. Whatever, she thought. No point in worrying about that stuff now. But if they were living like that in the bunker, she would be sure to step in and put an end to it.
She smiled at the thought that, even at the end of the world, at least as how she knew it, she could still think like a mother and be the organized one in the house.
Kathy crept back downstairs and verified that all rooms were clear. She saved the kitchen for last, unable to refuse the urge to pour the milk down the drain. The smell as she lifted the cap off the bottle nearly made her throw up. She gagged for a few seconds, and then recapped it and stuffed it back into the fridge.