“It’s okay,” I whispered to her. “It’s okay.”
But Sam wasn’t stupid; she knew that I had no real clue if she would be okay or not. I could only hope and pray that she would be.
*
“What do you think she meant when she said it was everywhere?” I asked.
Nolan had turned the television off after finding nothing on any of the other channels but a polite notice that normal service would be resumed soon. Ha, fat fucking chance! They should go ask Karen McFarly if service would resume soon, or maybe good ol’ Rick. I bet those two would have a few words to say about that.
“What do you mean?” Nolan asked, taking a swallow of the tequila.
“She said it was everywhere. Did she mean everywhere in LA, everywhere in the US, or everywhere in the world?”
My head was banging, the low thud of a headache building to monumental proportions. I needed painkillers, but since I had none, I opted for tequila. I held out my hand to Nolan and gestured to the bottle he was holding. He nodded and handed it over to me with a small grunt.
“Not entirely sure. I doubt it’s worldwide though. I mean, I doubt it’s even all over the US, so logically? I’d say just Los Angeles.” He shrugged and I nodded.
We both knew he was just guessing.
And more than likely lying.
I took a swallow of the tequila, enjoying the burn of it going down. It made me feel something, at least. I took another swallow and offered the bottle to Karla, who shook her head no. She looked tired—exhausted, even.
“Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll keep watch,” I suggested.
Karla agreed without argument and grabbed a blanket before making it into a makeshift pillow and lying down. God, I wished I could sleep. But I had a feeling I’d never sleep again. Certainly not without waking up screaming. Because the things I saw when I closed my eyes were permanently etched into my brain. Now and forever.
“It’s probably best if we all get a little rest. I have a feeling that today was just a taste of what’s in store tomorrow,” Nolan said, and just like Karla, everyone barring Leon, me, Sam, and Nolan nestled down and closed their eyes.
We continued to drink, passing the bottles between us until a warm buzz filled the space inside me and my thoughts were jumbled. But it was good; it sure beat thinking for the moment. It made me forget what was going on with Sam, and what it meant that she refused the tequila and rum bottles and opted for tentative sips out of her own separate container.
I stared at the monitors, drunkenly trying to learn the controls and how to navigate them. I kept returning to the man that was trapped in a small, windowless room somewhere in the airport.
I felt a connection with him being trapped—a similarity to my current situation, I suppose—and I drunkenly prayed that he wasn’t a murderer, because if we were it—the last people on earth—then it would be really fucking shitty if this guy was a murderer and killed us all.
I laughed at my own ridiculous thought, the noise erupting from my mouth involuntarily. Nolan looked up at me. He was sat on the floor, his back against the wall and his head hanging low. I think he was almost asleep and I woke him.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
Sam was dozing. Every now and then she’d wake herself up with a jerk of her legs or arms, muscle memories of fighting those monsters, no doubt. But me, I was still wide awake, like a junkie still high off the horror of what I was seeing. The terror of the plane crashing, of fighting these things, the blood, the bites, the fear. It was a writhing mess inside my head, begging for me to take action and do something. Anything.
“Hey.” Leon took the tequila from me and swapped it with the rum. “Thought the change might do you good.” He smiled, but I couldn’t find the energy to return it with one of my own.
I swigged the rum. He was right: it was nicer—warmer, somehow—and I took another swig.
“I just keep thinking that this can’t be happening. That I’m going to wake up soon and this’ll be all some crazy dream or something.” I put the bottle down and stared at my hands. Blood splatters were still on them, dried crust buried under the nail bed. I felt dirty, bloody, a walking mass of virus and germs. I didn’t think I’d ever feel clean again. I shivered and squeezed my eyes closed. “I sound stupid.”
“No, you don’t. It’s messed up—really messed up. I’ve never seen anything like this,” he replied. “But if we just hole up here for a while, stay safe, I think we’re going to be okay.”
“How can you be so bloody positive all the time?” I scowled.
He smiled again. “Because the other option will have me blowing my brains out, and I can’t do that, can I?” he grinned.
“Why? It’s what I feel like doing.” It wasn’t a lie either. The horror of what the future held was more terrifying than anything I could ever imagine.
“Because then I wouldn’t be here, with you.”
I turned to look at him, seeing his sincerity and the shy look as he dragged a hand down his face.
“That was really corny, right?” Leon laughed.
“A little.” I finally found a small smile within me, hidden beneath the folds of fear I had wrapped around myself.
“It’s the rum—loose lips sink ships and all that.” He smirked and looked away.
Sam called out in her sleep again and I looked over at her, my gaze straying to her injured arm. How long had it been? Longer than four hours, that was for damn sure. What did that mean? Would she be okay? Was she immune? It was only a scratch, not a bite, so we were likely worrying over nothing, right? God, now that would be hysterical.
She opened her eyes and looked across at me, the slight tinge of pink in her eyes as she stared at me like I was a prime steak, and then she closed them again, falling back into a fitful sleep.
Did I imagine that? I wondered with sinking dread.
Chapter two.
Sam
It felt like I was on fire.
I swiped a hand across my forehead for what felt like the millionth time and, like the times before, my palm and fingers came away damp. God, what was I going to do? I’d seen what that reporter looked like. She said she could feel it burning through her. And that’s what was happening to me—it was coursing through me, a freaking inferno, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I wondered if my eyes looked like hers, the red creeping into the white like kudzu.
I’d felt the pity in Rose’s embrace before, how she’d wrapped her arm around me and told me it was going to be okay. Why were people always saying that? It was like watching a Monty Python film and everyone just laughing off a “flesh wound.” End of the world? No worries. Insert laugh. It’ll be okay. This wasn’t going to be okay. I wasn’t going to be okay. I knew that, and by the way Rose had trembled when she’d held me earlier, she knew it too.
I glanced at Nolan, thankful that he had his eyes closed. I’d caught him watching me several times, and I knew without a doubt that he was more than willing to shoot me in the head at the first sign of turning into one of those things.
He was a protector, I’d come to quickly realize. A moody protector, but a protector all the same. He was more than willing to do whatever it took to keep everyone safe. That much was obvious.
Opening the top to the plastic water bottle of rum, I lifted it to my mouth and took another swig. It was doing little to take the edge off. In fact, it seemed to make me warmer. I recapped the bottle and set it down again.
Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes and listened to what was going on around me. The conversation came to me in spurts. Someone didn’t think this was spread all over the world, or even the US, for that matter. That was good. What kind of crap luck was it that I landed back stateside on the day everything went to hell though? But then again, I’d never had good luck.
Never…
Luck. I’d always felt lucky with Travis, like he’d picked little old me, that he was way out of my league. That was why he’d left me, I guess: he’d finally re
alized how much better than me he was.
He was.
Hot. Everything was so hot.
At some point while half-listening to the murmuring of conversation around me, I fell asleep. And it wasn’t restful, peaceful sleep. I saw the television scenes again, the roads red with blood, the infected stumbling around seemingly without purpose. But they did have a purpose. I knew that for a fact, because I was beginning to feel the awakenings of it myself—the hunger, the need, the darkness creeping in like tainted gossamer.
An especially startling vision snapped me awake again, my eyelids fluttering and my brain trying to realign reality against the dream-world. My eyes met Rose’s, only for a moment, but in that instant I felt saliva build in my mouth and a need build in my belly. I closed my eyes once more, away from the fear in her gaze.
Or maybe I was closing myself off from my own fear. I’d kill myself before I hurt Rose, or anyone else. That was an easy decision to make.
I fell asleep again.
Woke again.
Fell asleep again.
The next time I woke, it wasn’t from nightmarish images or the feel of sweat trickling down my body. No, I woke because I was cold. Freezing. Shaking like I’d had the flu and the fever had finally broken. Shivering so hard my teeth were chattering, I lifted myself up off the floor into a standing position and crossed my arms over my chest. It made me feel more secure, like the quaking wasn’t going to tear me apart if I only just kept my hands firmly clasped onto my elbows.
The overhead lights were off and everyone was asleep now—even Rose. She sat stiffly though, her body upright in a chair and her head only tilted back a fraction. Her face looked pale, her expression strained and brow furrowed. I wanted to go to her, hug her and take my turn telling her everything was going to be okay. I wouldn’t lie though.
I looked down at the bandage on my arm, at the half-finished bottle of rum on the floor. I didn’t want to wake Rose up, but I did want to take off the cloth and see what was going on with the wound. I could clean it in the bathroom, but the desk was pushed up against the only exit again, with a snoring Nolan beneath it.
At the thought of the rum, I immediately had to press my thighs together. I’d never been much of a drinker. Normally it only took a shot or two before the liquor hit my bladder. “Shit,” I mumbled, debating what to do. Rose needed to rest. I wanted her to rest. And Nolan, stupid Nolan, well, he’d have to wake up anyways so I could get out of the room.
I bent down and grabbed my rum, and also the messenger bag I’d been carrying around since the first security locker. Lastly, I grabbed a knife from the collection of weapons laid out across one of the tables below the monitors. They’d taken inventory again at some point. I wondered how many bullets were left for the guns. My guess was only a few. I felt lightheaded as I walked to the desk and bent down. The chill had worn off a little, but I still felt like I was standing in an industrial freezer, but one that wasn’t working quite right and everything on the shelves was a bit soft.
“Nolan,” I whispered, reaching my hand out and shaking his shoulder.
He continued to snore.
“Nolan.” Louder this time, giving his body a hard shove.
“What the fuck?” Nolan bolted upright, slamming his forehead into the underside of the desk. “Son of a bit—”
“Shut it before you wake everyone up, idiot.” I rocked back on my heels, frowning.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Nolan extracted himself from beneath the table, his expression visible by the light of the monitors still streaming live from inside and around the terminals. He rubbed his head roughly, blinking the remaining sleep from her eyes. “Thought some of those fucking things had broken in here or something.” His gaze fell to my arm, to the scratch which had finally stopped bleeding but was burning like fire beneath the bandages.
“Stop being a drama king.” I stood, stretching to my full height and bending back slightly to stretch my back. When Nolan stood, he towered over me though.
“You want to tell me why you woke me then?” He looked around the room, searching for any signs of trouble. “You’re not looking too good. Anything I should know about?”
I glared at him as his gaze flicked to my arm again. “No, I’m fine, I just need to pee.”
“So you felt the need to wake me because you had bladder issues?” Nolan looked pissed. He also didn’t look convinced. I guess I couldn’t blame him, since I was sweating like a pig and certainly wasn’t feeling very normal.
“Well, I wouldn’t have had to wake you if you hadn’t decided to sleep right next to the fucking door.” I yanked up the bag I’d been holding in my hand, letting it dangle above the floor, and shoved the strap onto my shoulder. “Look, can you just move so I can go to the damn bathroom?”
“You’re not going alone.” Nolan moved over to the monitors, leaning nearly over Rose’s shoulder. I hoped he didn’t wake her. When he came back over to me, I was already holding on to one end of the desk and beginning to slide it gently over so I could get the door open. “It looks like the way’s clear, but no one should be wandering around on their own. Besides, someone should be with you right now…just in case, you know.”
He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t need to. It was obvious what he was implying. In reality I guess I was more surprised that he’d kept my dirty little secret to himself for so long and not blabbed about it.
“Nolan, I’ll be fine,” I replied, my voice softening. I moved to the door, my fingers clasping around the lock. “I’ll knock when I come back. Just do me a favor and stay awake, will you?”
“I said you’re not going alone.” Nolan pushed behind me, our bodies so close that I wanted to cringe away, but there was no space to.
“Who’s going to lock the door and make sure the others are safe while we’re gone, huh?” I turned around and put my hand on his chest. “I’ll be fine. And if I’m not, that’s on me.”
“I’ll wake someone else up to lock it behind us.”
“I just need some space, please, just back off!” I opened the door and walked through, leaving Nolan sputtering. Eventually, though, I heard the door click closed.
This is what I need. I need to be alone, alone to think. If I’m infected and becoming one of those things, I won’t let myself hurt anyone.
I made my way slowly to the same bathroom I’d used with Alexa, the stores and restaurants so quiet that a pin dropping would have been a canon boom. The silence was unsettling, like we were all caught there in what was to become our tomb, and we just didn’t know it yet. When I reached the women’s room, I pushed the swinging door and first stuck my head in, listening for any sounds. There was nothing, save for the continuance of eerie quietude.
Moving into the bathroom, the knife I’d taken stretched out in front of me for protection, I checked each stall despite hearing nothing. Then I moved to the long, seamless mirror that hung above the five sinks. I looked like a ghost in the mirror, my usual tan faded to a nearly glowing cream. And my hair… I leaned in closer, picking up the strands and studying the streaks of silver that blinked out at me like starlight. I’d done the grayish-silver hair trend back when it was new and hip. I didn’t have the complexion for it—or at least I hadn’t had the complexion for it then. Now, with my new pale skin, the moon-hued hair might be stellar.
Not that that mattered. Like at all, since I was likely turning into a flesh-hungry monster who might try to kill the only friend I currently had in the world.
I leaned into the glass even further, so close my nose almost touched the mirrored surface. My eyes were bloodshot, the way they’d get when I hadn’t rested enough and worked too hard, but they weren’t going red the way the reporter’s had on TV. That was good, I hoped. A positive sign. I was still cold, though the shaking was under control now. I set the water bottle of rum onto the corner of the sink and I slipped the messenger bag off my arm, putting that and the knife into the dry basin of the sink to the right of the on
e I was using.
“Right, first things first.” I moved back to the stalls, picking one and relieving myself. I was pulling up the black tracksuit pants when I heard the sound of the door pushing open—only a fraction though—and then falling back closed again. That was what it sounded like, at least. My immediate thought was to ask who it was, to call out and see if maybe it was Rose, but I thought better of it.
I’d been careful and quiet on my way, and Nolan had checked the cameras before I’d left. Everything had been calm. I hadn’t done anything to call attention to myself. Had I?
Automatically, I went to flush the toilet, but I stopped myself just as my fingers brushed the little black button mounted on the wall. You’re a dumbass, I mentally admonished, pulling my hand back quickly. I pulled back the silver lock and tentatively pulled the glossy black door toward me.
There was nothing. Just the stalls, the walls, the fluorescents pulsing overhead. Sighing in relief and nervousness, I moved to the sink with the rum bottle and washed my hands thoroughly before slowly unwrapping the cloth from around my wound. My eyes widened as more bits of my skin were revealed.
The wound looked days old, not hours. The edges were clean, without the obvious signs of infection or necrosis.
“What the hell,” I mumbled, dropping the dirty cloth into the sink and turning the hot water on full blast to try and wash it with some of the sanitary soap. I stuck my arm in the stream, and sucked in a breath and fought the urge to cry out as the near-boiling water hit my skin. I bit my bottom lip hard and kept my arm under the steaming water for as long as I could stand. Then I took some of the soap from the dispenser and scrubbed at the wound hard until it was lily white and soil free. Hot tears poured down my face; the pain was excruciating, but through it all I never made a sound. I wished that I’d brought the first aid kit Rose had snagged for me.
Uncapping the rum, I turned off the water and let the sink drain, the bits of cloth soaking wet and looking a little less worse for the wear. Drizzling the rum over the scratch didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, and I wondered if I needed something stronger in lieu of an astringent. It was all I had though.
Red Eye | Season 1 | Episode 3 Page 2