by Alex Apostol
Carolyn Bock took a guarded step away from the horror in front of her. She wanted to run back to her apartment, but was too afraid to move in front of the crack in the Hansens’ door. She bumped into the door of the empty apartment across the hall. Her head banged against it with a dull thud.
Debbie Hansen looked up at the sound, able to just barely peer through the doorway where Carolyn stood in plain sight.
Carolyn whimpered into the hand that was still pressed over her mouth. Her first instinct was to run back to her apartment, lock the door behind her, and shove her dresser in front of it for good measure, but she didn’t. Instead she reached out and grabbed ahold of the Hansens’ doorknob.
Debbie was there before she could close it all the way, her arms stretched outward through the small crack. Carolyn yelped, pulled hard, and smashed the door against Debbie’s arms. She heard the sickening sound of bones cracking which made her want to let go immediately to spare her friend the pain, but she held tight. Debbie’s graying fingers frantically grasped for anything they could reach.
Carolyn had to do something or she would be stuck holding the door forever. Why didn’t anyone come to help her? Knowing her neighbors, they never would. What a bunch of assholes…
She took a deep breath. She knew what she had to do. She released her hold on the door. Debbie lunged forward with her mouth open, but Carolyn was prepared. She drove her bare foot into Debbie’s thin, porous chest. The blow threw her back into the apartment. She stumbled over her dead husband’s body and fell drunkenly to the ground. Carolyn slammed the door shut and took a few jarring steps away from it. She heard Debbie throw herself against the door, clawing at the white paint to leave deep brown scratch marks in the wood.
Debbie, or the thing that used to be Debbie, gave an ear-splitting cry, but Carolyn couldn’t make out any words. It was nothing more than incoherent shrieks, wails, and moans. Her chest rose and fell in deep breaths. Her legs started to shake the longer she stood still, her eyes trained on the door as her brain tried to process what she’d just seen. She didn’t know if Debbie could get out or not. She couldn’t stay there.
She ran to Luke Benson’s apartment across the hall from her own. She pounded on his door in a frenzy and begged him to open up.
Luke was still in his sweatpants and no shirt, his dark brown, hairless chest exposed. He’d been enjoying a rare day of sleeping in since the library he ran was closed. A librarian’s job was never finished, so even on his days off he usually found himself planning events for the children or filling out orders for new books. But the library was closed…indefinitely, at least that’s what he was told and he planned to take advantage of the unexpected vacation. He rubbed his eyes as he shuffled to the front door.
It wasn’t a shock to hear Carolyn Bock banging on his door at such an early hour, even if it did sound urgent. She was always trying something new to get him to let her inside and into his bedroom. He scoffed at the sound of her begging. Even this seemed a little desperate for her.
He opened the door, keeping his hand on it so she couldn’t come in right away. “What do you want, Carolyn?”
She didn’t say anything when she pushed past him and used all her body weight to slam the door shut again. Luke’s first instinct was to be angry and upset. This woman had gotten him in trouble with his ex-wife, almost caused him to miss a weekend with his daughter, because she just couldn’t seem to stay away from him, especially when she was drunk. He wasn’t in any mood to do her any favors. He looked at her with a stone cold glare, arms folded across his bare chest.
“Oh my God, thank you!” she exhaled all in one breath. She pounced on him and wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight embrace.
He didn’t hug her back. His arms hung loose like a ragdoll’s at his sides.
Carolyn squeezed Luke tighter as tears started to cascade down her tanned cheeks. The image of Debbie devouring her husband’s entrails flashed in her mind and the light tears turned to uncontrollable sobs. Luke tried to lean back to get a look at her face, but she resisted. She pawed at him to pull him closer as she buried her face into his neck. He felt the hot tears trickle down his chest.
“Hey…hey. It’s OK,” he said, finally raising his arms to place one lightly on her back and the other to pat her gently on her head. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” she said, finally pulling back and wiping her face.
Luke wanted to roll his eyes, but he stopped himself.
“I heard the Hansens arguing. Or at least I thought they were arguing. I guess I really never heard Debbie. Only Colt,” she said, unraveling the truth in her head as she spoke disconnectedly. “So I went over there. I knocked, but no one answered. No one said anything.” More tears fell from her eyes as she stared blankly ahead. “I tried the door and it was open. I was going to go inside, stop Colt from hurting her, threaten him with the police again, but…” she broke down and covered her face with her hands as she sobbed.
“But what?” Luke asked. “What happened? Did he hurt her? Is she alright? Should we call the police?”
Carolyn looked over the tops of her freshly painted fingers and whispered into her palms. “He’s dead.”
Luke scrutinized her with narrowed eyes, unsure that he’d heard her correctly. “He killed her?”
Carolyn shook her head. “She killed him…she was eating him.” She let her hands fall to hug herself around the waist.
“What?” Luke barked. “What? She was eating him? What does that mean? Like she ate him? I don’t…” He paced in circles as he rubbed at his buzzed black hair.
“Can I stay here?” Carolyn asked meekly as she continued to hold herself. “I can’t go back to my place. I can’t listen to whatever’s going on next door. I can’t…” she heaved rapid, shallow breaths. Her chest clenched. She couldn’t breathe.
“OK,” Luke said and placed his hand on her back as he led her over to the couch. “It’s all right. Just breathe. Everything’s gonna be OK.”
“My neighbor just fucking ate her husband!” she screamed, shaking her head so her wet hair slapped Luke across the face. “How is anything going to be OK?”
Luke wiped the water droplets from his cheeks. “I don’t know. That’s just what people tend to say in bad situations.”
Carolyn doubled over and cried into her lap. Luke watched her. He wanted to feel sorry for her, knew he should, but he couldn’t. If what she said was true, then they were all in some serious shit. The virus was worse than he thought. Fuck Carolyn. What was he going to do?
Luke pretended to comfort her. He let her cry it out in silence as he patted her shoulders gently. His eyes roamed her bare, smooth back and her tanned, toned arms. Why did so much crazy have to be wrapped up in such a tempting package? He let his eyes wonder down her bronzed legs until they stopped dead in their tracks on her ankle where there was a fresh, deep scratch. Droplets of blood dripped down to her foot and ran off onto the beige carpet.
Luke had watched the news for hours late into the night. It warned people to not go near anyone who had been bitten or scratched by people who were likely infected with some sort of rabid disease or virus, and there one sat in his living room. His hand pulled away from her with a quick jerk.
“How about I walk you back over to your place, check it out, make sure everything’s safe, I’ll call the police? Before you know it, this whole thing will be over.” he said, reaching out to console her, but he pulled back as his eyes settled on the bloody gash again.
“Can’t I stay here?” she sobbed and looked up at him from her lap. Black mascara and eyeliner was smeared under her wet eyes.
His mind raced. He licked at his full, dark lips. “I have to go pick up my daughter.”
Carolyn took a few calming breaths as she sat up straight and nodded. “OK.”
Luke walked Carolyn back to her apartment across the hall. He never took his eyes off the Hansens’ door, which shook as Debbie relentlessly pounded on it like a wild anima
l. He pulled out his phone to call the police as Carolyn opened her door. She stepped inside, but Luke stopped in the doorway. Who knew how long she had until she was as crazy as Debbie. He wasn’t going to take any chances. The phone rang and rang, but no one answered at the police station.
Carolyn turned to look at Luke as panic crept up into her blue eyes. Why weren’t they answering?
Just as the tears were about to spill over the brim of her eyes, Luke started talking. “Yes, hello. We need an ambulance here at the Dune Ridge apartments off highway twelve. A woman has killed her husband and she seems to be a bit…well, crazy. She’s locked inside her apartment at the moment, but she could get out. Please hurry. Yes. Yes. Thank you.” Luke hung up the phone. “They said they’ll be here ASAP.”
Carolyn let out a deep sigh. “Oh thank God.”
“Yeah,” Luke said, his eyes fixated on the ground. “Well, everything seems to be OK for now. Just lock your door and I’m sure the police will come by to ask you some questions once they get here.”
“Thank you, Luke,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself again as she stood alone in the entryway. “You’re a good man.”
The corners of Luke’s lips pulled back quickly into a strained smile and then he turned to leave, shutting her door behind him. He looked down at the phone in his hand and shook his head. If the police weren’t answering then things were worse than bad. Their little lakeside town had gone to shit. Had the outbreak really spread that quickly? It seemed implausible, but then again he filed books for a living. He had no idea how an outbreak started. He walked back to his apartment, shut the door, and locked both the deadbolts.
Luke Benson paced his living room and kitchen, opened the fridge and closed it without taking anything. He opened the pantry and shut it, looked out the window, and then circled back to the kitchen. Carolyn was infected. She had to be. They said the infection or disease or whatever it was spread through bites and scratches. Blood to blood contact and it sounded like Debbie had blood all over her when she got Carolyn’s ankle with her nails. Carolyn was going to become just like Debbie—wild, crazed, murderous, a cannibal. The entire building was in danger. There’d be two of those things and eventually they’d find a way out of their apartments. It was just him and them on the third floor. He had to protect himself.
Luke ran to the storage closet out on the patio and rummaged through his bag of tools. He remembered buying rope a while back, unable to pinpoint why exactly, but that didn’t matter. Tools, old DVDs, and boxes of books were tossed out onto the concrete patio as he searched frantically.
He pulled back and clapped his hands together. A grin took over his face as he pulled out a thick, long rope. He ran back inside and to his front door, unlocked it, and stuck his head out to look around.
No one was above his floor so that meant no one would come down the stairs and see what he was about to do. Realistically, no one had any reason to be up on the third floor at all now that Colt was dead, Debbie was trapped, and Carolyn was next to go. Luke hadn’t ever seen anyone visit the Hansens’ before. Sometimes Carolyn’s dopey friends came around, but with the state of things, the disease running rampant, he suspected no one would come to visit her either. He emerged into the hallway once he was sure the coast was clear.
Keeping a vigilant watch on the staircases on either end of the hallway, he walked lightly over to the Hansens’ apartment, which had fallen silent. He tied the rope around the doorknob nimbly so as not to make any noise and alert Debbie to the fresh meat on the other side.
He walked the rope out as he approached the door opposite the Hansens’ and tied it around that doorknob as well, pulling the rope tight so there wasn’t any slack. He flicked the rope and watched it vibrate from the tension. A smile flashed across his face.
“Let’s see you get out of that one, you crazy old bitch,” he said as he smiled and rubbed his hand together. “Onto the next one.”
Carolyn’s apartment had to be handled differently. He couldn’t tie a rope to his own door. He went inside his apartment again and grabbed one of the metal bistro chairs from his two person dining set and walked it over to Carolyn’s. He held the chair firmly in his hands and leaned his head against her door. Nothing. Carolyn was most likely held up in the bathroom, cleaning her wound. Luke pictured her sitting on the toilet, using a cloth to wipe the blood away as she bandaged her ankle, her face slowly stiffening as the realization that her life was over finally came. He shook his head to wipe away the image.
Luke shoved the chair under the doorknob and shook it to make sure it was wedged in there good.
XI.
Christine slept on the couch while Liam had the king size bed all to himself. The decision had been hers, punishment after another fight about her going out onto the patio ended with a stern ‘no’, but she blamed him anyway for her sleeping arrangements. She looked at her phone, which hadn’t rang once in four days, and checked the time. Liam closed all the blinds and hung light resistant curtains so the apartment was constantly cloaked in darkness. Day ran into night and disoriented Christine. She barely slept.
Thoughts about the night gun shots rang out, killing what used to be Sylvia and Ben Goldstein, fogged her mind. She tried to push them away as she rolled over onto her side to bury her face in the back of the couch. She wondered if Liam had gone crazy. She knew things were dangerous, but not on their second story patio. What would be able to get her that high up? All he wanted was to go outside. The apartment was stifling.
She pulled the lightweight sheet up to her chin. It was only nine thirty at night, but she closed her eyes anyway, wishing the day was over. Sleep wouldn’t come, though. Her mind continued to turn, like a rat’s wheel. She rolled onto her back again and flopped her arm over her forehead. What was the point of trying to go to sleep? It wasn’t like tomorrow was going to be any better. She huffed out at the ceiling. It was quieter than it’d been the night before, when she heard the constant sound of cars starting and tires squealing as the last people fled the complex. As far as she knew, they were the only ones left.
Morning finally came and Liam and Christine ate in silence at the counter. Christine’s feet dangled over the floor as she sat rigid on the bar stool, stabbing at the eggs Liam made for her. She didn’t put a single bite into her mouth. Liam, on the other hand, shoveled it in like it was his last meal.
Christine looked at him and wrinkled her nose. “How can you eat?” she spat at him.
“What do you mean?” he asked without a hint of bitterness in his voice.
It angered Christine more that he was pretending nothing had happened. “I mean, how can you eat when you basically sent the Ramirens to their death?”
Liam wasn’t taken aback by what she said. It wasn’t the first time she’d said something about the Ramirens. He didn’t flinch at all, though the words stabbed at his heart.
When he didn’t respond, Christine threw her fork onto her plate and shoved off from the counter. She went to the bedroom and shut the door behind her.
Liam finished the last bites of his eggs and then reached over to grab Christine’s plate, eating hers too. The Ramirens were all Christine had talked about whenever she was distracted from the desire to breathe fresh air from out on the patio. The Ramirens were also all Liam could think about.
Christine was right. He’d sent them to their death. But by not opening that door, he saved her life and his own. He kept telling himself that over and over again, but it never did any good. He still had a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he pictured their faces. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen them, but he knew he would continue see them forever.
XII.
There was a loud banging at the door. Liam jumped up from the bar stool. He stood with his legs slightly spread and knees bent, his fists were up in the air in an attack pose. When he realized what he was doing he lowered his hands and stood up straight. Christine ran from the bedroom to glare at him. Her eyes were
perfect circles, overtaken by fear. And she wanted to go outside, Liam thought.
A familiar voice cried out to them. “Please, open up, Liam! Please! They’re coming! Please, open up!”
Christine walked over to where Liam stood in the living room. She displayed her hands at the door as if to say “you regret what you did to the Ramirens? Well here’s your chance to do right. Open the door.” But he found he still couldn’t. His friend was on the other side and he couldn’t open it and endanger himself and the woman he loved.
“This is ridiculous,” Christine barked as she walked over to the door.
It took her half a minute to undo all the extra locks Liam had installed. He didn’t stop her, but he couldn’t bring himself help either. It was a bad idea. The cries on the other side of the door escalated in panic.
“God, please! Help me! Open up!”
Christine fumbled with the last lock. Liam stood with his hands on his hips, trying to control his breathing as it became shallow and rapid.
“They’re coming! Please!”
She ripped the door from its seal and Zack Kran rushed into the apartment.
He slammed the door behind him and stood up straight. He walked past Christine to stand next to Liam and dropped both his hands onto his friend’s shoulders. “You never open the door. Never,” he said with a stern face. “I don’t care who it is—family, friends, anyone. You don’t open that door.”
Christine’s mouth fell open as she stared at Zack.
“I’ve been telling her this all week,” Liam said, looking at Christine as if Zack was proper validation for his theory of survival.