He turned the corner and stumbled across a corpse laying in the middle of the hall. Apparently Harry had been busy the night before. Stepping over it, he tripped as a hand shot out and grabbed his foot. He fell hard and struggled to free himself from it's grip. Pulling loose his baton, he smashed it hard against its skull and felt its grip slacken. He got to his feet and hit it again, making sure it was dead.
Wincing, he looked down at his ankle. It was already starting to swell, so he turned and started heading towards the medical ward. Surely there would be something there to help reduce the swelling, or at least ease the pain.
Not taking any more chances, he drew his sidearm and kept it aimed ahead of him. Harry had said that he cleared the entire wing, but who knew for sure?
The doorway was streaked with a bloody hand print and the smell of death was already overwhelming. He cracked the door and felt his gut churn. Corpses were scattered about, and the stench grew stronger with each hobbling step inside. Breathing through his mouth, he hurried straight for the supply room.
Locked. He frowned and peered through the tiny glass pane. Nobody in sight. He kicked futilely at the door, but it barely even shuddered. Aiming his pistol at the knob, he closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. A sharp pain ran through his thigh and he looked down to see blood running down his leg.
Fucking ridiculous. I shot myself. The ricochet should have been expected, but he was still embarrassed and surprised to find that the shot had grazed his thigh. Fortunately, the bullet still broke the lock. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, hoping to find something to sterilize the fresh wound and support his ankle.
Making his way towards the large supply cupboard, he barely maneuvered around the table before a scuffing sound stopped him cold. He whirled around and took aim. A sickly thin woman sat huddled in the corner, hands raised in fright.
“Speak! Are you infected?” He figured she was not, but was taking no chances.
“Please, no-” A wave of relief washed over him and he holstered his pistol. “How long have you been here?”
“ I've- I've lost track of time. I've been to afraid to move out of here, thank God there was a sink for water, but...”
It dawned on him and he felt pity rise up in his belly. “But no food.”
She nodded weakly. “ You'll be safe with me. We'll get you fed.” He took a step towards her and was greeted by a fresh jolt of pain from his bleeding thigh. “I almost forgot.” He laughed awkwardly. “I, well, I shot myself, and sprained my ankle. I can see by your uniform that you were a nurse. Do you think you can help patch me up before we leave? I can't make it to the cafeteria like this.”
She nodded again and stood up on unsteady legs. Opening the cupboard, she grabbed an armful of supplies and dropped them on the counter.
“Take off your pants, please.”
Vincent chuckled. “We hardly know each other...” She smiled faintly. “Come on, let's get this taken care of. I don't think I can stand up much longer.”
“ Sorry, didn't mean to joke.” He stripped off his pants, carefully avoiding brushing the fabric against the open wound.
She washed the blood away with an alcoholbased solution and he grit his teeth as the burning sensation took hold. Gently examining his thigh, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“ It's just a flesh wound. Thank god. Just a few stitches, and you'll be as good as new. Well, almost.”
She pulled out a needle and drew liquid from a small bottle. “This is just a local anesthetic, it'll help with the pain.” The needle slid in and she quickly got to work stitching up the wound. A few minutes later, she stood up straight. “Done. Put this ankle brace on, and we'll bring some painkillers with us, and an antibiotic to avoid infection. But, please hurry, I need food so bad.” She leaned against the counter, her hands beginning to shake.
“Alright, let's get going.” Strapping on the brace, he put his pants back on and shuffled out the door. The scent made him retch again, and he quickly hobbled out of the medical ward. She walked alongside him, taking each step as if she was afraid of her legs giving out from under her.
The journey to the cafeteria was agonizing and long, but they made it soon enough. Vincent turned the stove on and started preparing soup.
“It's not much, but it's a start.” “Please, I need something more solid. I'm so hungry...” “ I know, and I'm sorry, but you need to start off light. Weeks of starvation, and your body shuts down. If I give you too much food now, it might kill you.”
She nodded, and waited as the soup heated. He brought her a small bowlful and she began slurping the broth immediately. “Thank you.”
He nodded and watched her eat. The doors swung open and they both whirled around, startled. Harry strolled in. He paused and looked the woman up and down.
“Who's this?”
“Oh, it's, um...” Vincent turned to face her. “I'm sorry, I haven't gotten your name yet.” “ Christine.” “Harry. Hi.” Harry approached her and eyed her hungrily, his gaze slowly going up and down her body. “We can share her, okay?”
“Well, I'm Vincent, and this is-”
“What do you mean, share her?”
“We'll take turns. You found her, so it's only fair you get her first, but I call her next.”
Christine stayed quiet and stared at her feet.
“She's a human being, man! Not some toy to play with!” “ Says you. Fine, if you don't want her, I'm taking her.” Harry grabbed her roughly by the arm and started dragging her out of her chair.
“Let her go!”
“Or what?”
Vincent stared into Christine's frightened face, and sighed. He whipped out his pistol and pointed it at Harry's head. “Or this.” Harry's eyes narrowed. “You don't want to go down this road, boy. Not over some skirt.” “ That's where you're wrong. I'm more than ready to put one right between your eyes, if you don't drop her now.”
He dropped her crudel, and she collapsed on the floor. Walking backwards slowly, he exited the door and turned, taking off at a run.
“This isn't over!” Harry's voice echoed down the hallway. Vincent walked over to where Christine lay and helped her to her feet. “I'm sorry about that, but it seems like we'll need to find a new place to hide.” He took her hand in his and started heading towards the door.
She nodded and they both walked in silence. He led her to the warden's office and once through the door, he started barricading it, stacking the desk and other furniture against it.
“ That should hold long enough. I don't think he knows where we are, but who knows? Better to be cautious, and safe.”
She nodded and burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably.
“What's wrong?”
“I'm just so scared. The infection was bad enough, but now, him.”
“Don't worry. I'll protect you. I promise.”
“Thanks for – for everything.”
“Just get some rest.” She curled up on the floor in the corner and Vincent lay on his back, pistol at his side, ready for action. Her even breathing soon told him that she was asleep. So innocent, so vulnerable. He couldn't help thinking about his sister. They even looked alike. Well, not completely, for Christine was so gaunt from hunger that she looked like a concentration camp victim, but the resemblance was clear. And while he couldn't save his sister from the cancer that ate her up inside, he could save this woman. Only a stranger, but he already felt a closeness with her, and he wouldn't let anything happen to her.
For the first time since the outbreak, he cried, a silent cry that barely escaped his own lips, a cry that would be heard by no one. Sleep soon took him and he rested uneasily, praying that he could fulfill his promise to her. He was grimly determined to do all he could, or die trying, because death would be better than letting her down.
Chapter Twenty Three
Stir Crazy
The days in the grocery store dragged on unbearably long and Clive began feeling restless. His tenure as a cop was brief, but
he'd always been a roamer, someone who needed to move about. Patrolling in his squad car had been bliss, but that was all gone now. Now, all he could do was idle his days away, cramped in a tiny building, waiting for the inevitable.
“ What's on your mind?” Alice approached from behind and sat down on the tiled floor next to him.
“I'm just feeling a bit claustrophobic, I guess.” “ Yeah, I know what you mean. It just feels so... hopeless.”
“I know, but we don't seem to have any options?”
Alice just nodded and sat there. “You want to play a game of cards?”
Clive was silent for a moment. “Not really.” “ Yeah, me either. I just can't seem to pass the days anymore. You can only stay trapped with your own thoughts for so long, before you start to go mad.”
Amir stood up, finished with his morning prayers, and walked over. “I know things seem bleak, but at least we're surviving, and with considerable ease, Inshallah. Don't fret. Sooner or later, this disaster will blow over, and order will be restored. Then we'll be ready to rejoin society.”
“ Society?” Clive laughed. “Society is gone. Civilization is gone. There is no way this disaster will 'blow over'. Don't you get it? These are the end times. There's nothing for us to do but hang on until we too fall.” He grimaced. “Hell, for all we know, there are no other survivors. And this thing isn't just here. On my radio, before the outbreak hit fully, I heard reports of other outbreaks all over the country, all over the world. It's over.” He flopped down on the floor and leaned back, propping his head up with his arms. “There's nothing to do but sleep until we run out of food or water, or get mobbed by those monsters out there.”
Amir frowned. “You may have no hope, but I have enough for the both of us. God didn't put us here, just to kill us off in some bloody plague.”
“God?” Clive spat out the word. “God is dead, if he ever really lived at all.” Anger crossed Amir's face, before his usual peaceful expression returned. “You will see. Only one of us can be right, and, God willing, it will be me. I will leave you to brood now. But keep this in mind: you once swore an oath to serve and protect. An oath that can never be broken. Are you going to give up on your duty so soon?”
Now it was Clive's turn to be angry. “My oath? I swore it, and I'll uphold it to my dying breath. Don't you ever think otherwise.”
Amir merely nodded and walked back to his corner. He pulled a loaf of bread from the shelf and checked it for mold, before eating a slice. Alice remained silent, staring off into space.
Finally, she spoke up. “Maybe Amir's right. Maybe we should have more hope. I don't think I can keep on going without it, not if this is really all that's left.”
“ I'm sorry, I shouldn't have spoken like that. I do have hope. Maybe just not enough, and certainly not enough to share. Be strong, Alice. Now if you'll excuse me, I need some more sleep. I feel so tired all of a sudden.” Clive just let his head down and struggled for sleep. But it refused to come. He tried counting backwards from a hundred and when he hit zero, he started again. It wasn't until he realized that his heart was pounding in his chest that he knew something was wrong. Something about the conversation with Amir really shook him, shook him to his core.
Perhaps it was about his oath. He had sworn an oath, and he meant it. Being an officer wasn't just a job for him, it was a duty he had hungered for, for so many years, since he was a child. The opportunity to protect the innocent, to do what was right in the face of adversity. Amir was right, he had sworn an oath, and in these dark days he had forgotten it. Forgotten, or ignored. Either way, he would have to get back on the right track. The grocery store they were stuck in was safe, for now, but eventually they would have to move out.
It was that inevitability that he would prepare for. Even if he wasn't still cashing a paycheck, he would do his job. So, as he lay there, he began to formulate plans. Plans for escape in a crisis, plans for moving out, plans for defense, plans for everything. Sleep soon took him, and even in his dreams, he planned.
Alice couldn't help watching Clive out of the corner of her eye, as she played the same boring game she had played every day since holding up in the store. She'd developed feelings for him,and it killed her to see him so hopeless. Struggling to think of ways to snap him out of it, she soon gave up. She looked down at the cards, and sighed.
Stir crazy, that's what she was. Get trapped long enough with the same people, in the same environment, and it was inevitable. And Amir, with his incurable optimism, didn't help any. She didn't fault him for his attitude, but it was enough to drive someone up the wall. Still, she had to appreciate what he tried to do for them, trying to plant the seeds of hope, despite the miserable situation.
And she needed it. Hope. She needed it bad. Her entire life seemed to be one long struggle with hopelessness. Suicidal thoughts crept up now and again, a strong desire to not wake up ever again. And this... outbreak... this... doomsday scenario would have been just enough to push her over the edge. She would never have to be lonely again.
But when the outbreak happened and she found herself running for her life, she discovered something about herself. It was easy to think about killing herself, but when her life was actually on the line, she found herself unwilling to give up. Then she met Clive. He first appeared as a leader, a protector, a role model of sorts. It didn't take long for her respect for him to turn into love.
She really did love him, too. She knew it seemed irrational, to love someone so much, after such a short amount of time, but maybe being trapped with someone in such close quarters accelerated the process. Her feelings for him seemed silly, because they barely even knew each other.
But she loved him all the same. After a short time, she heard his light, child-like snoring, and knew he was asleep. She hoped he dreamed about her the way she dreamed about him. More importantly, she hoped that one day she would be able to show her love for him and that he would return it.
Amir sat with the bag of bread in his lap and tore off the crust, nibbling on the soft center. It wasn't particularly good bread, but he knew that it would all be gone soon, either eaten or expired, so he enjoyed it while it lasted.
As he ate, he ran through a private prayer in his head, asking Allah to give hope to his comrades. It pained him to see Clive despair so deeply and he wished that his words had a more profound effect on the man.
Sitting there, he struggled to think of ways to bring cheer to the group. In the past, he had always tried to bring joy as a chef. Those days were now over, though. Nothing to cook and nowhere to cook it.
He missed his days of cooking, preparing delicious dishes, bringing just a small amount of happiness to his guests. His restaurant had not been very successful, but his few customers proved to be loyal patrons and never failed to compliment him on his finest recipes. Being the only Pakistani eatery in the whole town, he thought that he would have found a special niche, and the guests would come pouring in. What he hadn't taken into account was the lack of desire for foreign food in so small a town.
Still, it had been the happiest time of his life. But now all that was left were mere memories. That seemed to be all that was left in life, survival and memories. Even though his mind was a comfortable place to dwell, he didn't focus on the past long, for fear that his thoughts would turn bitter. So he focused on his faith.
His faith was part of what defined him. He was a chef, but more importantly he was a man of God, Allah's servant. He would never waiver in his beliefs and he found that the events of the past weeks hadn't weakened his faith, but strengthened it. Fortified it. He found himself praying more than he ever had in his life and it filled him with a deep happiness that he wished he could share with the others.
But it wasn't his place to convert anybody and he didn't try. Not only would preaching to his fellow survivors alienate him, but would possibly be met with hostility. He didn't know what religion the others followed, if they followed any, but nobody likes an uninvited attempt at conversion.
Looking down, he realized he had eaten half the loaf of bread, and his belly protested the invasion of so much food. He laughed quietly to himself and laid down, hoping sleep would come easy. It did.
Chapter Twenty Four
Slipping
Dante examined the wound across his forehead, a deep gash covered in dried blood. The reflection was fractured, as he stared into the giant broken glass crucifix he had constructed so many days before. Sighing, he whispered a little prayer, asking God for strength, and then sliced the wound open again, feeling the hot blood trickle down his face.
A fitting sacrifice. Whispering another prayer, he begged for a task to be assigned to him, something to occupy his time. Lately he had been so bored, with only his visits with the priest to fill his day, followed by the inevitable drunken night that followed. Almost as if in response, he heard a shuffling on the street.
Thank you, Lord. He rushed to the second floor window and chambered a round in his rifle. Across the street was a man in a three-piece business suit, shuffling his feet heavily, looking around in fear as he clutched his wounded belly. Not infected.
Not infected, but the man reeked of sin and Dante didn't even need to think twice. Aiming carefully, he placed a shot right in the temple and the man's head rocked with the blast as he fell in a crumpled heap.
Smiling with satisfaction, Dante thanked the Lord again for giving him the chance to do His bidding. The satisfaction was short-lived as the thrill of the kill left him, replaced by the same boredom that had been filling his days for so long.
What now? The easy solution is the one he went for and he walked to the counter, grabbing a halfempty bottle of bourbon. A few straight shots went down and he felt the familiar warmth spread slowly from his belly all the way out to his limbs.
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