Clive ripped his pistol out of its holster, and unloaded on his pursuer. The bullets smacked wetly into the body, and as its eyes went dead, its grip loosened. It fell back into the crowd, and he pulled the ladder up, high out of reach.
He collapsed backwards, panting heavily. The crowd below continued screaming and leaping up at him, scrambling uselessly against the graffitied brick walls. He considered getting up, and breaking through the window to the right of the fire escape, but the exhaustion was too intense, coupled with the pain that seemed to flow through every part of his body.
He survived the riot, he survived the crash, he survived the chase. What will I have to survive next, he thought weakly to himself. The people below continued howling in fury, arms flailing up at him ineffectually. He turned his head, and stared down at them through the slits in the metal grated balcony.
With a sigh, he rose to his feet, and pried open the window. It was unlocked, and slid open easily. He stepped through, and called out.
“Is anyone here? I'm a police officer, and I need some assistance.” No reply came, and he started exploring the cramped, tiny apartment. A futon sat in the corner, and he sat down on it, sinking into the thick cushion. Swinging his feet up, he laid down, and closed his eyes.
Chapter Three
Checkmate
“Check.” Paul slid his rook over, and shifted uncomfortably on the cement park bench. John stared at the board for a moment, before shoving a pawn in the way. Paul stretched, arching his back, staring up into the clear blue sky. A cloud lazily drifted past the sun, casting a shadow over them. He looked back down to the board. With a grin, he slid the rook again, and laughed.
“And that's checkmate.”
John stared at the board briefly, before nodding. “Yeah, you got me.”
Paul grinned. “Don't worry, maybe you'll beat me. Someday, but not today. Another game?” “Nah.” He took a deep breath, and exhaled. “Let's go for a walk. It's a nice day, and we have the whole park to ourselves, it seems.”
Paul looked around. “Yeah, we do. That's weird. I've never seen it so empty.” “Now that you mention it, me too. Usually there's at least a few wandering about, especially on a Friday.” He picked up the board carefully, and folded it, the pieces all piling up in the middle. He tilted the board and emptied its contents into the wooden case, and closed the lid shut. Grabbing it by the handle, he stood up. “One of these days, we need to get a new board.”
“I like that chess set. Mum got it for me, before the operation. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
“No worries. Let's go.”
The two stood by the table, and paused.
“Do you hear something?” “Yeah, it's just a bird near the fountain.” “Not that. It sounds like...” Paul paused, searching for the right word.
“I think I hear what you mean. It's -” They froze, and their eyes widened in horror. Down Main Street, a mass of charging people approached. Terror glued them to their spot. They stood there, unable to move.
“Oh... god...”
The mob continued their advance. They were just a few blocks away.
Finally, Paul snapped to attention. “Just fucking run!” The pair took off, feet pounding on the soft grass. John looked back at the swarming mass and dropped the chess set on the ground.
“Not the board!” Paul pivoted and bolted back, scooping up the board before rejoining John. They exited the park and turned on the nearest avenue, heading downtown. Slowing for a brief second, they surveyed the wreckage. Cars and trucks lay about, crashed into storefronts and Streetlights. Broken glass and the contents of the nearby stores were scattered on the asphalt.
“What the fuck is going on?” John cried out, and the two continued their frenzied run. As they whipped past a nearby alleyway an old bum came running out, and he turned and ran past them, keeping a few feet ahead. He was dressed in tattered clothing and his fists were coated with blood. They kept running, and a few seconds later four more figures emerged from the alley. The newcomers gasped sickly as they ran, their eyes filling with rage.
One of them grabbed John by his shoulders and pulled him to the ground hard. Paul whirled around and dropped the chess set as he ripped the attacker off of his brother. Another body collided with Paul before he could react, and two toppled over John's prone body. Paul punched his assailant in the jaw and the body rolled off of him, unconscious.
He scrambled to his feet and ripped another body off of John's struggling form. A shrieking woman threatened to tackle him while his hands were full with the large body crushing his poor brother. Paul stared in fear and braced himself for impact, shutting his eyes. When the hit never came, he opened his eyes in shock. The old man stood by his side with his fist cocked. The woman's body lay lifeless on the street.
“Help me out here!” The old man yelled, as he pried another body off of John. Paul planted his boot down on the attacker's skull, hard. It fell limp and John scooted out from underneath the last one. Paul and the old man lifted the last body to its feet, and both slammed their fists into its face. It fell back, smashing its skull on the pavement. Blood pooled out from the man's head.
“Let's get moving.” Paul turned to scoop up the fallen chess set.
“Just leave it!” John yelled.
“I got it! I got it!” Paul turned to run, seeing the nearing crowd just a block away. The trio ran on, glass crunching underfoot.
“Where... to...” John said in wheezing breaths.
“My place is nearby. Just up ahead.” Paul ran with steady, even strides. The last of the storefronts vanished from view and they started passing by shoddy apartment complexes. Paul stopped at one of them and ripped open the door, charging up the stairs as the other two turned to follow. The old man closed the door behind him and flashed a relieved grin, as he saw that the door was old, made of thick, hard wood. Cheap, but tough.
He yelled at the two brothers, who were already halfway up the stairs. “Help!” He motioned to the laundry room by the entrance and ran to the washing machine, dragging it slowly towards the door. By the time John and Paul reached him, the door started shaking.
“Hurry!” its hinges, but three washing machines and two dryers were piled so high in front of the door that it formed a formidable metal barrier.
The three moved the heavy, outdated washing machine over to the door, and then proceeded to pile a dryer on top. Before long, the door was off
“Much better.” John surveyed their handiwork for a moment and turned upstairs, motioning to the other two to follow.
With a jingling of keys, Paul opened the door and they all walked in. The apartment was tiny and cramped. It was a messy efficiency with almost no furniture, just a liberal helping of garbage and dirty clothes.
“Sorry, I know it's a bit messy.”
John picked up a dirty sock that dangled over a lamp and laughed. “No kidding.” They all stood around for a moment, silent. Finally Paul turned to the old man. “So, um, what's your name?”
“Isaac. And you are?” “I'm Paul, and this is my brother, John.” “Hi.” John gave him a weak wave and sat down on the sofa.
“Well, what now?” Isaac asked, absentmindedly stroking his long, grizzled gray beard. Another silence fell on them, until Paul interrupted it by turning on the radio. Static. Static on every station.
“What the hell is going on out there?” John flicked the radio back off and sighed. “I don't know, but it's everywhere. Not just here. People get sick, and then they go crazy. Attack people, for no reason.”
Paul stared at Isaac as he spoke and opened his mouth, as if to say something before closing it again. Finally the three men started discussing a plan of action, and the remainder of the day was spent barricading the downstairs until the lights went out.
John rummaged through a drawer in the darkness, pulling out a pair of candles. Drawing a lighter from his pocket, he lit the candles and set them
down in the middle of the table. A dim
glow filled the room, their shadows cast flickering on the walls.
Paul leaned back in his chair. “I need a fucking cigarette. Can you bum me one, John?” John nodded and pulled a pack out of his pocket, flipping the lid open and passing his brother one. “Only three left.”
Paul sighed and put the cigarette in his mouth. “Great. I have a feeling we won't be getting anymore for a while.” He took a long drag, inhaling deeply.
John turned to the old man and offered him a cigarette. “Care for a smoke?”
Isaac waved his hands in front of him. “No thank you. I quit years ago.” Paul laughed, exhaling a lungful of smoke as he did. “Well, now is a good time to start again.” The three men sat around the table, smoking and continuing to discuss their plans. Paul's apartment had enough food for a couple days, if they took care to conserve things. They had no idea how long they'd be trapped up there, before the police cleaned up the mess. John was sure they'd be safe by tomorrow, but Isaac had his doubts.
Isaac laughed too. “You know what, I think I will have one.” “This thing is bigger than you think. Last I heard on the radio, this new virus has struck cities all up the east coast, and has already started spreading out. A report from Spain said that Madrid was destroyed, and the entire city was burning. Reports from Paris and Wellington said the same thing. This pandemic is big. It's everywhere.”
John and Paul sat in silence, digesting this new information. The outlook seemed bleak and they had a sneaking suspicion that it would be some time before they could safely leave the cramped, tiny apartment.
“The National Guard should get called in. They can take care of this.” John snorted. “Your faith in our military is absurd. What could a few hundred weekend warriors do in this disaster?”
Isaac interrupted. “The National Guard has already fallen.”
Paul's heart sank. “What?” “Before I ducked into that alleyway to hide, I saw the corpses of dozens of them laying in the streets. They're all gone, I think.”
“Well, what about the Army, or the Marines? Surely they'll get called in to clean up this mess.”
Isaac shook his head. “I think this is too big for them. This is the Armageddon.” Paul laughed uneasily. “You don't know these things for sure. It's not like it's the end of the world or anything. It's a terrible disaster, don't get me wrong, but things will be back to normal soon enough.”
sighed. “I think we need to plan for the worst. We could be trapped here for days, weeks, or maybe forever. We need to figure out how to get more food, and if this thing is as big as Isaac says, the water may soon get cut off, and we'll have that to worry about to.”
John remained quiet and took a long drag off of his cigarette, staring at the flickering flame of the candle in front of him. He finally spoke up and
Isaac nodded sagely. “Wise words. Plan for the worst, hope for the best.”
“Agreed.” Paul ground his cigarette butt into an ashtray, and coughed. “Let's figure this thing out.” They sat there in the dim light and discussed their plans for the future. They continued planning well into the night, long after the last of the candles had burned itself out, leaving them in total darkness. Sleep soon crept up on them and Paul offered Isaac the couch, taking the floor for himself and his brother. The night was long and their dreams were haunted with terrible visions of death and suffering. A howl in the distance woke them up, startled, and it was a long time before anyone got any rest.
Chapter Four
Sick Day
“Good morning, class.” Eileen walked through the door, and set her papers on the desk. “Good morning, Ms. Klein.” Far too few voices echoed back to her. She surveyed the classroom, and frowned. Just eight students, and only three from her own class. Over half the school was out sick, including faculty, so most classes were consolidated. This was the entirety of the remaining fifth grade class.
“Well, since most people are out sick, let's have a fun day today. How's that sound?”
One little boy in the front row raised his hand. She struggled to remember his name, since he belonged to a different teacher's class. “Yes, Noah?”
She smiled at the cheers from the kids.
Elementary school was such a relief to teach. The kids were sweeter, more natural. They didn't start to get hardened and mean until they hit middle school. Her two years teaching seventh grade English were more than enough.
“Can we play Monopoly?”
She grinned. “Only if I get to be the thimble.” Another cheer from the kids, and she walked over to the game cupboard, pulling out the thin, tattered cardboard box. Clearing off her desk, she set the game up, while the kids all pulled up their chairs. A little girl who's name she didn't recall tugged on her sleeve.
“Ms. Klein, can I please be the thimble?” “Of course, sweetie. There aren't enough pieces anyway, so I'm going to sit this game out, and work on next week's homework. You kids have fun.”
“Hello?”
She only managed to finish a few assignments, while the kids laughed and jumped in their seats, when the phone rang.
“Eileen, it's Natalie, in the office. You know about the pandemic, right?”
“Of course. Hard not to notice.” “Well, it's getting bad, and I guess the National Guard are going to be here any minute to evacuate the school. Try and gather up the children, and take them outside, without causing a panic. Just like a fire drill.”
“Gotcha,” Eileen said uneasily, “thanks, Natalie. Say, quick question, I -” “Sorry to cut you off, dear, but I still have six more teachers to call. Bye.”
“Okay kids, sorry to interrupt your game, but we have a special fire drill to do. Come on, single file at the door.”
She hung up the phone. Had this mysterious new disease really caused such a fuss that it required evacuating an elementary school? She was frightened, but determined not to show it to the kids. And something else Natalie said started to bother her. Pandemic. That meant it was a worldwide outbreak, not just a local one. Whatever was going on, it was serious.
The kids all lined up in a neat, even line, poking each other and giggling. “Come on, let's do this right. Alright, follow me.” She led the kids out, heading down the hallways, glancing briefly at the various arts and crafts projects that decorated the walls as she passed. The sun glared in her eyes when she exited the building, and she held the door open as her last eight students marched out.
They stood on the school lawn for a few boring minutes, until the boredom was broken by the sudden rush of military trucks zooming into view. Soldiers filed out of the trucks, and the some of the kids screamed, as the soldiers ushered them into the vehicles.
“Don't worry children, it's alright. Follow the soldiers, they're here to help you.” Only half of the school's students made it into the trucks, before a sound like thunder froze the soldiers where they stood. They all stopped, and raised their guns to ready position. The rumbling sound intensified, and then the source of it came into view. Hundreds of running men and women charged them, and Eileen's jaws dropped in horror, as the National Guard opened fire on the crowd. Bodies dropped, and children cried, but the crowd kept advancing, unphased by the gunshots.
The students took off running in the opposite direction, and most of the faculty joined, leaving Eileen alone with the two armies: one of professional soldiers, and one of angry civilians. She turned and ran back into the school, heading towards her classroom. The gunfire still echoed outside, and it was shortly joined by the sound of pained screams and shrieks.
Heart thudding, she stood on her desk, and lifted up the flimsy ceiling tiles. A small crawlspace stood above her, and she lifted herself up, and slid the tiles back into place. It was dark and dusty, but she didn't move, didn't even sneeze, for fear of discovery. Outside, the gunfire had fallen, replaced with nothing but shrieks and breaking glass.
For many hours she crouched there in the darkened crawlspace, and the minutes trickled by with agonizing regularity. Finally, boredom and crampe
d legs overcame her fear, and she climbed back down, dropping her feet onto the desk. She slipped on a stack of papers, and fell to the floor with a thud. Pain shot through her, and she groaned. Slowly rising to her feet, she rubbed her lower back, and winced.
Nothing's broken, at least. She thanked her luck, and started creeping down the hallways. The building was deserted, it seemed, but she still maintained her caution. Stopping at every classroom, she peered in, hoping to find some other living soul. Anyone would do, even Mr. Bradley, who she had constantly fought with over his teaching methods. Even Mr. Bradley would be a welcome sight, she thought.
But nobody seemed to remain in the entire building, and she soon gave up and walked into the teacher's lounge, sipping a cold can of soda from the vending machine. The lights overhead flickered off, before the emergency power lights came back on. Great.
She considered leaving the school, but fear gripped her, and she decided to remain where she was until someone rescued her. She spent the next twenty minutes cleaning the dust out of the crawlspace above her classroom, and crawled up their with a patchwork quilt her class had made, and soon fell asleep.
Chapter Five
Caged
“Riots in Three!” “ I'm on it!” Harry charged down the corridor, his large gut bouncing as he ran. He hated the uniform, mainly because he always thought tucked-in shirts made fat people look even fatter. Other than the uniform, though, he was absolutely devoted to his job. He lived for it.
Turning the corner, the guard behind the desk buzzed open the entrance to Cell Block Three, and Harry charged in. He froze, stunned. The inmates had gone wild, and were beating on the guards, ignoring the bullets and batons fell upon them. In fact, Harry was the only guard still standing, besides the one locked behind the desk, sitting in his protected cage.
The Outbreak Page 2