Sanctuary

by Pauline Creeden

  When they stepped in, Hugh turned around. “Look, I’m sorry that things have turned out the way that they have, and I’ll do my best not to start something, okay?”

  Brad simpered and shrugged. “Whatever.”

  Hugh’s jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “What did you say to her?”

  “Who?”

  “Why do you always have to do this with me? You’ve always played with my emotions like I’m some kind of tool.” He threw his hands up in the air.

  “Well, stop being one.” Brad’s smile widened to a grin. This really was too easy.

  “It would be nice if you could stop being a jerk.”

  Brad rolled his eyes and sat in a chair. He looked at his fingernails, trying to determine if he had a bit of dirt that might need cleaning out.

  “Jennie. What did you say to her?

  After checking his other hand he looked up. “Nothing of consequence to you.”

  “She’s under some kind of impression that I’m a bad guy.”

  “What difference does it make what some kid thinks? Isn’t she a bit young for you? Weren’t you her teacher? That’s just gross.”

  Hugh swallowed hard, a look of horror on his face. “No, I’ve never been her teacher. And yeah, she’s a bit young, but that’s not the point. It’s not that I’m interested in her that way. I just don't like the thought that she thinks badly of me.”

  “If this is about you and her, why are you bringing me in the middle of it? Shouldn’t you talk to her?”

  Hugh’s jaw tightened. “Where’s Clarissa?”

  Brad’s eyebrows lifted, and he pursed his lips. “What difference does it make to you? She chose me, remember?”

  Hugh’s nostrils flared. He stepped forward and poked his finger at Brad. “Where is Clarissa?”

  Brad pushed himself out of the chair and stood, his blood rose to his face, while his fists clenched. “None of your damn business.”

  The door squeaked open behind them, and Jennie’s voice came in a chipper tone. “Hi guys. Breakfast is ready.”

  With a puff of breath through his nostrils and one last narrowing of the eyes, Brad turned on his heels and followed Jennie to the kitchen.

  Jennie

  AFTER BREAKFAST, IT WAS TIME to go. Jennie held Mickey in her arms as she stepped through the church building’s doors. Her heart beat heavy in her chest. Despite Mickey’s original protests that he could walk on his own just fine, he clung to her like a tick. His arms wrapped around her neck while his legs wrapped around her waist. She preferred it that way right now; the last thing she wanted was to step outside without holding him so tightly she couldn’t possibly let go.

  The floorboards under the group’s feet creaked with each step on the old wooden porch. Instead of taking the harrowing stairs straight ahead, she opted for the wheelchair ramp to her right since she couldn’t see her feet over her brother’s back. As she broke from the group to do so, she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up into Brad’s brown eyes. He winked and smiled, but his eyes betrayed the fear that she felt.

  Although the humming of the Shisa still muddied the silence, at this distance, it couldn’t drown out the whoosh of the leaves overhead when the wind blew through the evergreens. She swallowed hard, reached the bus, and set Mickey down on the first step. He ran to sit next to his new friends, and the three young ones sat on a bench seat together at the middle of the bus. Jennie sat down in the seat across from them, and to her relief, Brad took up the one behind her.

  Not that she didn’t enjoy the man’s attentions, but his familiarity with her also bordered on uncomfortable at times. He was still a stranger she’d met less than twenty-four hours ago, and his residual toughness was hard to get past. Especially with his now purple, black eye.

  “No rough housing, okay? You guys best get along.” Maria, the other two kids’ mother, sat directly behind them and scolded them with a preemptive point of her finger.

  “Okay, Mom,” the two siblings said together and giggled at their personal joke. It was good that the two had settled into acting as normal children again and less like scared rabbits. Still, the idea amazed Jennie how children could get back to normal behavior while quickly forgetting the horrors of the world outside the bus or building.

  Caleb and Hugh chose to sit close to the front of the bus, and the rest of the ladies took a seat with Mrs. Crawford. Pastor Billy sat behind the wheel, doing some last minute checks and pulling the double doors of the bus to a close. The rumble of the diesel engine made Jennie jump, even though she was anticipating it.

  Her heart stayed high in her chest as she waited for the bus to move. She pressed her hand against the glass of the window, watching the little white church. Every adult on the bus seemed on the edge of their seat. Alicia showed Mickey and Aaron a clapping game they could play together.

  The bus made slow progress. In Hilton Village, Warwick Avenue was as clear as a street could be, but as they pulled on to Mercury, the street became a sort of maze that reminded her of the trip she’d made to the hospital. At least the cars sat silent this time; the batteries in the engines must have died, and the alarms that had been blaring a few days ago were quiet.

  To avoid what she saw out the window now, Jennie slouched in her seat and watched the threesome play. Every bump made her jump a little, while every turn the bus took made her slide a little in her seat. She remembered when she was Mickey’s age, she’d think this sort of thing fun. Now, she just wished she’d had a fast forward button, so she could skip this part of her life. It dawned on her that this probably meant she was growing up. How she hated the idea and longed for the bliss of childhood ignorance. But more than anything else, she knew that Mickey would need her right now. She couldn’t let him down.

  A repetitive pop, pop, pop sounded in the distance. Gunfire.

  “What’s that?” Mrs. Brady’s red curls became visible over the seat in front of Jennie.

  She sat up a little and saw that the lady was pointing. Out the window and in front of the Newmarket Plaza was an African-American man standing on a pile of cars, opening up a semi- automatic pistol on a crowd of wailers. There were about eight of them heading toward him.

  All the adult passengers on the bus moved over to Jennie’s side, causing the bus to see-saw slightly. Jennie tore her eyes away from the gruesome sight to make sure the kids weren’t watching. Maria already distracted the children and gave Jennie a quick nod to let her know she had it. Jennie couldn’t help but look out the window again.

  The bus swayed a little, as Pastor Billy guided it over to left. Jennie grabbed the seat and stared at the lone man with the guns. He wore a flannel shirt that had a brown stain on it, likely blood. In each hand, he held a pistol, and he unloaded them into the eight infected wailers. It didn’t faze them. They continued to advance on the burgundy minivan the man stood atop. His scream rent the air as he threw the guns at the wailers and began to run. He rounded the advancing group and caught sight of the bus. His arms pumped and his long legs covered the ground between the minivan and the church bus.

  Jennie’s heart raced for him, and she looked up. Just before she said it herself, Mrs. Crawford yelled, “Stop the bus! Billy, stop!”

  The bus pulled to a squeaky stop, and the man approached them. His eyes and teeth blazed white in his dark skin. The group of the wailers behind him slowly tapered off; moving that quickly wasn’t an option for them. Still, the man struggled forward like a linebacker who just broke free and had a clear shot to the end zone. He jumped free of the last car, and Pastor Billy opened the doors and let the man hop in.

  Nearly hyperventilating, the man swung himself around the pole and collapsed into the empty seat just behind the door. His wide shoulders spilled over the side of the bench. His chest heaved, as he closed his eyes in an attempt to calm down. His shirt reeked of blood and vomit. No one approached him. Pastor Billy closed the bus doors and began weaving through the maze of cars once more, heading over the grass median for a mo
ment.

  Jennie breathed carefully through her mouth, trying to avoid the pungent odor coming from the man.

  “What’s that smell?” Mickey yelled suddenly, and all three children pinched their noses closed.

  The man began laughing hysterically and pulled himself up again. “That smell is the stench of victory,” he yelled and stood in the aisle of the bus. He unbuttoned his flannel shirt slowly, one button at a time, and pulled it free of his bare, muscled chest. Leaning toward Pastor Billy, he gripped the metal bar. “Would you open the door for a moment please?”

  Because they were only going a slow fifteen miles an hour at the most, he pulled the door open. The shirtless man tossed his flannel shirt out, and it fluttered away like a red and white kite caught in the wind before finally settling on the ground behind a car and out of view.

  Jennie laughed with him, and it grew infectious among the other passengers as well. The stench of the shirt faded once it had been removed from the bus, although it lingered in the background. Even though the bus was only a little above chilly, the man recovering from his sprint looked perfectly comfortable shirtless and in blue jeans. He sat back in his bench seat, humming a tune.

  Hugh reached forward over the seat between them and offered a hand, saying, “Hugh Harris.”

  The man offered a perfect and blindingly white smile, took Hugh’s hand, and shook it once. “Phillip Bryant.”

  The two struck up a conversation. Jennie settled back in her seat and watched the few cars they passed as the bus weaved through. The children settled back into their games, and Jennie's eyes closed. She was lulled to sleep by the swaying of the bus.

  Hugh

  HUGH COULDN’T HELP BUT FEEL a bit of respect for the big black guy who joined their crew. He was a sweaty powerhouse and was about Hugh’s age, or a little older as far as he could tell, strong, with bright eyes and a firm handshake. As discreetly as possible, Hugh checked over what he could see of the newcomer’s body to make sure he didn’t find a bite on him.

  “So what’s the story with this bus?” Phillip asked. “Where are we going?”

  “Heading for Langley or Fort Monroe, whichever will take us.”

  “They opened the military bases?” His eyes grew wide, and he nodded. “That makes sense.”

  Hugh furrowed his brows. “Haven’t you heard it on the emergency radio?”

  “I don’t have one of those. Radios are kinda old school, you know. I can’t get a signal on my iPod, and besides, the power’s been out in the ’hood for, like, three days.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded and scratched his shoulder. “It’s been virtual hell on Sixth Street. Just to make it to Newmarket, I had to run most of the way. I picked up them biters a few at a time following me. I didn’t see a single car working. Amazing that you guys got this.”

  Hugh nodded and looked about the crew inside the bus. Everyone still wore the same clothes they’d been wearing since yesterday, and he imagined it had been longer. He had walked to the church without much difficulty, but he wondered if it had been the same for everyone else. What kind of horrors did each person experience on their way?

  It truly was amazing that they had access to a bus and fuel. Providence was the only way to describe it. The church used heating fuel in a drum out back, and since it was the same as diesel fuel, they used it although it was illegal to do so. He had helped Pastor Billy fill up the bus before they made the trek out that morning. “Where were you headed if not for one of the bases?”

  “You know, the bases are really far from me. At first, I went toward the Shipbuilding. But after I saw that the place was crawling with them alien things, I just wanted to get as far from them as possible. I was thinking about heading for the car dealership in hopes of finding something with gas in it, but no luck there. I guess I was just aimlessly searching for where I needed to be. I was in pretty deep hot water back there. It was probably the end for me. Thank God I found y’all.”

  “I’d say.”

  After a short bit of silence, the man leaned back on his bench with his legs in the aisle and closed his eyes. If he really had trudged all the way from the Shipbuilding to Newmarket on his feet alone, he must have been exhausted. The constant hum of the bus engine and continuous rocking motion had a sort of hypnotic effect on Hugh as well. He hadn’t slept much on that pew due to the lack of comfort and his own troubled thoughts. As it was, he could hardly keep his eyes open.

  He must have dozed off because when the bus came to a screeching halt, his eyes shot open, and his heart raced up his windpipe. He looked out the front windshield. Barbed razor- wire fencing surrounded heavy concrete barriers on both sides of the bridge. A sheer drop-off on both sides faced them, and there would be no means of turning around. They were committed to moving forward. Two soldiers armed with automatic weapons stepped toward the bus, and Pastor Billy pushed the lever to open the doors.

  A tall, hard-faced man stepped in, all camouflage and black boots, leveling his weapon at the small crowd. One of the women nearest the children squealed behind Hugh, and he couldn’t help but raise his hands, almost automatically, in a defensive position. The others followed suit.

  “Fort Monroe is only taking survivors who have not been infected. If those of you in this vehicle require accommodation, you will back it up to the front of the bridge and move from here on foot after inspection. Then, each member will be placed in solitary confinement for two to three hours for quarantine to be sure that no symptoms are present. Are we clear? These orders are not negotiable.”

  A general positive murmur went up through the crowd. The soldier remained on the bus with his weapon resting on his shoulder and pointed at the ceiling. He nodded for Pastor Billy to proceed with backing up the bus. The steady repetitive beeps began as the bus started its short trek in reverse. When they pulled to a stop, the soldier directed them to an area where they could park. As they unloaded from the blue and white bus, they were greeted with a new noise that finally drowned out the sound of the Shisa’s buzz. The waves of the Chesapeake Bay lapped against the rocky shore. Constantly crashing in a steady rhythm, the spray reached unexpected heights above the large boulders.

  Hugh was drawn to the sea as salty, wet air filled his nostrils— a safe smell. He smiled and moved closer to the waves.

  The rest of their party departed the bus with wide smiles and gaping mouths. Eyes widened at the grey sky. Clouds swirled like the sea foam on the waves of the sea. The cry of seagulls punctuated Hugh’s thoughts, as he blinked hard and relaxed his shoulders. He turned to watch the rest of the crew gathered at the bus. The soldier leveled a steady glare at each person disembarking.

  A gust of icy sea breeze made him shiver, but it was a fresh-feeling cold. He rubbed his bare arms and drew closer to the group. Phillip stood close to the assemblage and hunched his shoulders. Next to Caleb, Maria, and her children, he didn’t look out of place except in his size. Beads of sweat formed on Phillip’s forehead and chest which seemed strange in the chilly breeze.

  His eyes darted from the shoulder to the bridge several times, and he seemed to be sizing up his chance of escape. Hugh got an uneasy feeling about this newcomer following the children who held hands and walked together. He worried that the linebacker would rush through the children’s arms like a backwards game of Red Rover. The soldier focused on Phillip and pulled the gun from his shoulder, taking a tighter grip on the barrel.

  Phillip straightened, and his eyes grew wider. He stopped. The remainder of the group continued to move forward without noticing the sudden change in him. Hugh realized that the man’s face appeared to be slightly swollen compared to before. Did Phillip still have a weapon? Hugh couldn’t tell for sure.

  His heart began to race, and things seemed to move slowly. Phillip extracted himself from the crowd and started to run. The soldier leveled his gun and stepped forward. One of the women screamed, and the group rushed forward, gathering together like a scared flock of chickens. The soldier rus
hed forward and yelled at Phillip, “FREEZE! Get on the ground!”

  Stopping in his tracks and dropping to his knees obediently, Phillip put his hands behind his head. He faced Hugh, his wide eyes like bloodshot pits in his black skin. The soldier cocked his weapon and pressed the barrel against the man’s head. Hugh swallowed hard and stepped toward them when an idea struck him. “Wait!”

  The soldier and Phillip both looked toward Hugh in confusion.

  He rushed out the words before someone interrupted him or a bullet was fired. “The military must have scientists studying this problem, right? I have a theory about the infected that might be considered a cure. Don’t shoot this man. I know he’s changing, but there has to be some way to keep him from hurting himself while we test my theory. Just let me talk to the doctors and scientists on base. I think I know something that they may not have realized.”

  Phillip furrowed his brows. The soldier narrowed his eyes and pulled the radio off his belt. “We have a 14-22 here, a live one, not changed all the way yet. And there’s a man here who says he has a cure. Should we contact the Colonel?”

  The answer came after a short moment of silence. “Affirmative. He is en route.”

  WHEN THEY PULLED MICKEY FROM her grip, Jennie thought she would cry. Her voice cracked. “How long, again?”

  The female soldier wore fatigues under a lab coat with a nametag that read Sgt. White. Her eyes were wide and sympathetic. “This room has several toys and books for him to keep from being bored. It’s only two hours of quarantine; longer is unnecessary. You will be in the room immediately next door.”

  Swallowing hard to keep down the sob that wanted to surface, Jennie looked around the room for any danger. “Can’t I stay with him?”