by L. T. Ryan
Forget it, she thought.
Finally, she made her way into the garage. Though the power was out, the tube thing that Sean had installed into the roof provided ample light for her to maneuver the workbench out of the way. She’d cover the opening in the ceiling before entering the tunnel.
She pulled the panel from the wall, revealing the security pad. It took a few moments for Kathy to recall the latest passcode. She punched it in and hoped to hear the familiar sound of the lock disengaging.
It didn’t happen.
She entered the code again, feeling a little out of breath.
Again, nothing happened. Nothing at all. She should have heard from her husband by this point. There was no way her arrival went unnoticed.
“Sean?” she said, looking into the camera. “What’s going on?”
There was no response.
Had they left after all? Or, worse, had someone come and taken them. Worse still, what if they’d been murdered and left to rot out in the fields?
Her heart pounded in her chest while her lungs felt restricted. Her skin grew damp with sweat. A cricket sang from somewhere in the garage.
She reached out and pressed the call button on the bottom of the number pad. She waited, but there was no response.
“Sean, where are you?” she said aloud.
After a silent minute, she began to cry. The cricket piped up again. A gust of wind battered the garage door, shaking it and sending a cloud of dust into the air. She felt the burn in her nose as she inhaled from the plume of debris. As happened outside, a coughing fit ensued. Kathy brought her forearm up to her face and coughed into the crook of her arm for a full minute. After it subsided, she swallowed hard, forcing the remnants down her throat.
And a few seconds later, the camera mounted above the keypad moved.
Fifteen
Sean heard the door open behind him. He minimized the window with the security camera feed and swiveled around in his chair. Emma stood across the room, appearing shocked by his sudden movement.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Getting a drink,” she replied.
“Be quick about it.”
She hunched her shoulders up, tucked her chin and shuffled to the refrigerator. Inside was a five gallon water jug with a spout. She filled a glass and took a sip.
“Go back to your room,” Sean said.
“Why?”
“Just do it, Emma.” He didn’t mean to sound angry. Anxiety had built within him. His wife was home, in their garage, but until he was certain that Kathy was okay, he couldn’t let Emma see her mother.
“Fine,” Emma said, hurrying back to her room. She slammed the door shut. A moment later the lock clicked.
He exhaled, keeping his hand tight on the mouse. He inched the cursor toward the toolbar and clicked on an icon to restore the security feed. The image on the screen was of Kathy’s mid-section. She’d stood up. For what, he didn’t know. He had several initial concerns. The first was that she had been followed home. They’d discussed a similar scenario in which he had her clear the house, room by room. This not only allowed her to verify that no one was in the house, it also gave anyone on the outside time to penetrate the home. If this had happened, and she had gone through each room, then whoever followed her inside might now have entered through the garage.
Sean brought up another window, one dissected into eight smaller blocks, each with its own camera feed. Three of them were inside the home covering the kitchen, main downstairs area, and main upstairs area. The rest of the cameras were outside, displaying the front, back, sides, the driveway and the road in front of their home. He maximized each window and studied them for movement. Aside from a squirrel on the front porch, he saw nothing.
The image in front of the security keypad blurred. After a moment, Kathy’s face appeared. The camera adjusted focus, but never settled on a clear picture. Sean toggled the sound while slipping a pair of earphones over his head. He took three deep breaths and then slid the microphone out of its holder.
“Kathy,” he said.
She looked left, then right, finally settling in on the small camera in front of her. “Sean,” she said as tears flowed down her cheeks.
“What happened to Charleston?” he asked.
“They shut down all flights when I got to Cincinnati.”
“How’d you get here?” He expected her to tell him that she had hitched a ride, or had found a bus line still running. When she recounted her journey by stolen motorcycle, he didn’t know whether to be upset that she put herself into that kind of danger, or impressed that she had done so.
“What’s the code?” she asked.
Sean bit his bottom lip, looked away and said nothing.
“Sean? Baby? What’s the code?”
He looked at the screen, which had become slightly blurry due to the tearing in his eyes. “I need you to go take your temperature.”
“What?”
“You were coughing a few minutes ago, severely, Kathy. I’ve got Emma and Barbara in here. I can’t take any…”
She leaned forward, as if hanging on his final words. “Can’t take any what?”
He didn’t want to upset her if he didn’t have to. As of that moment, he didn’t know for sure if she was sick or not. He said, “Go inside and take your temperature. You can grab the thermometer and take it out there, in front of the camera.”
She nodded, rose and disappeared. He switched to the kitchen feed and watched as she opened the cabinet, stood on the tips of her toes and reached up. A few pill bottles fell onto the counter. She seemed to ignore them. After a few moments, she lowered her heels and her arms. As she walked into the garage, he clicked on the appropriate feed and waited. The door clicked shut in the background. He heard her engage the deadbolt and slide the security chain. Her torso appeared, lowered, and her face took up the majority of the screen. She eased back onto her heels. As she settled in, she smiled at him.
He forced himself to smile back. “Take your temperature.”
She inserted the thermometer into her mouth. Her eyes rolled up, and he could tell she was bored. It benefited him though. With Kathy sitting still, Sean was able to fine tune the camera and get a clear look at her face. Red lines streaked away from her eyes, mouth, and down her neck. Her nostrils appeared slightly swollen. Dark circles hung below her eyes. That could have been a result of her journey, though, as could her disheveled hair.
“Emma’s doing well,” he said, feeling the need to make small talk. “She was pretty scared, but once I showed her where everything is down here and gave her a key to the gun cabinet—”
Kathy’s eyes widened and her nostrils flared.
“—she felt safer. And don’t worry. I see that look on your face. She’s not walking around armed. It’s only in the event that something happens. And you know that nothing is going to happen while we’re inside here. Nobody can get in.”
Kathy’s anger seemed to fade. She nodded and tried to smile around the thermometer. It bobbed up and down a couple times.
She began coughing, causing her face to elongate as she forced her mouth to remain closed.
“Go ahead and take it out,” he said, trying to avoid expressing his concern.
“One-oh-two-point-five,” she said, shaking the thermometer and forcing a smile.
The attempt did not fool Sean. He’d seen that look on her face a hundred times when she’d tried to appear brave for him during his ordeal.
“How long have you been coughing?” he asked.
She shrugged and looked away. “Started when I got here, I guess. Bunch of dirt and dust got in my mouth and up my nose. Same thing happened in here after I moved things around. I guess a bit was left in there, or must have been blown around a few moments ago. Maybe the fan kicked on?”
Sean shook his head. “Fan’s off, Kathy.” He eased back in his chair, brought his hands to his face, and rubbed his eyes and temples with his palms.
Could this re
ally be happening? Did he have to exile his wife?
“Sean? The code?”
Sean’s fingertips traced his scalp until they met behind his head, where they interlaced and locked. He stared blankly at her image on the screen.
“I’d really like to sleep in a bed that I picked out,” she said with a nervous laugh.
“You might be sick.”
She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyes crinkled as they glistened. Tears began to fall. She sniffled and let out a soft sob.
“Go to the kitchen. Take something for your fever. If the water’s not running, there’s plenty stored in jugs in the closet.”
She leaned in toward the camera. Her image on the screen turned blurry. “I know you have medicine down there. You could give me the code and let me come down. I can wait in the tunnel, Sean. Seal me in there if you want, but don’t make me stay in this house alone.”
His chest and stomach clenched tight. The lines between physical and emotional pain blended together. Her proposed solution could work. He could leave her in the hallway. She could die there, and at least she’d be close to them.
But if she turned, well, he knew that wouldn’t work. After witnessing what those things did in that facility in Nigeria, he wanted no part of them being that close to the bunker.
Sean leaned forward and brought his hands to the keyboard. A swift keystroke silenced the feed. Another turned his camera off, effectively shutting himself off from Kathy.
Her silent image hovered in front of the camera for a minute before rising and disappearing from view. He switched feeds and watched as she walked into the kitchen, heading for the same cabinet as before. She pulled down a bottle, filled a glass of water and took a handful of pills.
She exited the kitchen into the main downstairs area. She didn’t linger there long. He watched her climb the stairs from behind. Halfway up, he switched to a new feed and saw her climb the remaining steps from the front. A pistol dangled from her hand. She’d thought to search the gun cabinet when she entered the home.
As she walked past the camera in the hallway, Kathy looked up at it. Her face was expressionless. She opened the door to their room and disappeared from sight.
He figured she was taking a nap in order to allow the medicine enough time to work. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if she had come down with the flu. Kathy had been around a hundred, hell, thousands of people over the last two days. At the very least fifty percent of them carried the virus, and she had contracted it. He was sure of that. As he sat there and let his mind wander, he found himself hoping that she’d turn the gun on herself and spare him the pain of watching her die on camera.
Sixteen
Cold rain gathered in the middle of the street and formed shimmering puddles. Addison stepped through, careful not to splash any on her pants. The boots her father had sent her kept her feet warm and dry. She’d never thanked him, and now she doubted she’d ever be able to. Nevertheless, they’d been lifesavers.
After her ordeal with Carla, she had run from her apartment to the parking lot, leaving everything but the messenger bag and its contents behind. She had planned on taking her roommate’s car. The woman had no more need for it, after all. However, looters and rioters had come across the vehicle and slashed the tires, broke the windows, and ripped off the hood. Every car in the lot looked damaged beyond simple repair.
The acts of vandalism threw a wrench into her plans. Originally, she had planned to drive to Charlottesville where her grandparents had a four hundred acre farm north of the city. While nothing was guaranteed, she figured they might have been able to avoid and ride out the virus, being so far away from others. She would be happy to sleep in the barn with the horses, so long as she could get there. The chances of that happening looked slim now.
She contemplated going back to the apartment and perhaps waiting out the next few days there. There wasn’t much inside, save for Carla’s corpse, but she could monitor the other apartments from within hers and look for supplies early in the morning when things were normally be quiet.
She laughed at the word, “Normal.” Nothing would be normal ever again.
Casting a glance over her shoulder, she surveyed the scene leading back to her complex. The mess of vandalism encouraged her to keep pushing forward.
A block further, she spotted a mountain bike lying in the middle of the road. She increased her pace while scanning the street ahead, keeping tight to the building beside her. The shadows it afforded kept her hidden.
The air looked hazy. She smelled smoke. The burning in her nose confirmed that it lingered in the air. The area looked deserted up to and around the bicycle. Beyond that, though, she spotted a group of people hanging out in front of a drug store. There were four of them, maybe five, and they looked young. Addison wouldn’t take any chances with them. She reached into the messenger bag slung over her shoulder and pressed tight to her side, and she withdrew one of the pistols. She held the gun in her left hand, pressed against her thigh.
Crossing an alley, she glanced to her left. Plumes of dark smoke rose from a building a few hundred feet away. She saw someone cross the street between her position and the burning building. She had no idea what waited for her down those roads. If the group of people ahead made a move toward her, she’d have to retreat back to her apartment.
At least she knew what to expect there.
The closer Addison got to the bike, the closer she walked to the concrete building. Her bare elbow scraped against the gritty wall. So far, the group had not noticed her. That could change the moment she stepped out from the shadows and onto the street.
She stopped when the bike was about twenty feet away diagonally. It looked to be in good shape. The rims did not appear to be bent and the tires weren’t flat. She couldn’t tell if the chain was on or not. As long as she could get back to the alley unnoticed, she could fix any minor issues.
Taking a deep breath, she shuffled the pistol from her left hand to her right and then stepped off the sidewalk. Her head spun side to side like it was on a swivel. No one seemed to notice her presence. Halfway to the bike, she started to jog. She reached the bike, squatted down and grabbed it by the handlebars. While the chain looked fine, the brake lines had been disconnected. She started forward while lifting the bike up by its handlebars.
“Hey!”
The voice that called out was high-pitched, but not feminine. She glanced over her shoulder. The group of youngsters she had spotted a few minutes earlier had spread out. They all faced her now. She hesitated. They started running. As they got closer, Addison realized they were kids, none of them older than twelve or thirteen. She froze at the sight of them waving baseball bats as they ran. Children or not, they had anything but friendly intentions.
She held the bike in front of her like a shield as she lifted the pistol into the air. The group of kids slowed down, coming to a stop fifteen feet or so away.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice shaking.
They all stared at her, some looking between her and the weapon. The one in the middle spoke up.
“You’re taking our trap.”
“What?” she said.
“The bike,” the kid said. “We left it out there so we could catch someone.”
“Who?” She realized that they had spotted her, but had ignored her so she would continue approaching.
The kid said nothing.
She jutted her arm forward like she was going to shoot him. “Who?”
“Anyone,” he said.
“Why?” She looked at each of them. They didn’t look like problem children. There was nothing tough about them if you took their bats away. They appeared to be scared. Like most people, she figured, including herself.
“All our parents are sick,” he said. “Or dead.”
She lowered the weapon an inch. Her gaze traveled from one kid to the next. None of them looked like her roommate had. That didn’t mean they weren’t sick, though. She had no idea
what all the signs and symptoms were even though she’d watched that news report at least three dozen times.
“Can we come with you?” another kid asked.
How quickly things changed. A moment earlier, they were prepared to lynch her. Now, they wanted to hitch along. They saw strength and power in her handgun, she presumed. For a moment, she considered giving the second pistol to them, but changed her mind. And she couldn’t take them along. Any one of them could be sick. At the very least, traveling with a group of pre-teens would slow her down. She envisioned pointless bickering and one or two wandering off, halting the group’s progress.
Every kid stared in her direction, hanging on her answer. She adjusted the bike’s handlebars and wheeled it back a few steps.
“No,” she said.
The kids appeared to grow angry. They gripped their weapons tighter and lifted them. Addison responded in kind.
“I’ll pull the trigger,” she said. “So help me God.”
“You can’t just leave us here,” one of them said.
Addison continued her retreat. “I’m sorry.” She said the words repeatedly as tears fell across her cheeks.
The kids eventually shrugged and left in the other direction. She figured they had found an empty store or apartment to stay in. Perhaps some place that was close to where they had been standing when she first saw them. Once they were out of sight, she ducked into a narrow alley and repaired the bicycle’s brake lines. The bike had a tool pouch attacked to the seat stem. She used a wrench she found inside it to adjust the chain.
As she steadied the bike and kicked her left leg over it, she thought about where to go next. Her inner voice kept telling her that she should head in the opposite direction of civilization. While she knew plenty of people throughout the populated neighborhoods of the city, she only knew one person outside the city. Her general manager had a place on five acres about ten miles to the southeast, off U.S. 501. That’d do until she could figure out how to get to Charlotte.