by Lundy, W. J.
She ignored it all and ran. Then, she was at the Toyota and she rounded the bumper to the driver’s side, where the door sat open. Blood covered the fabric near the armrest, and she stepped softly up to the door. The driver lay slumped over the center console, bleeding from a bite wound near where his shoulder met his neck. Blood and other ichor covered his entire upper body, where the infected had vomited its fluids on him after the bite.
He wasn’t moving, so she pulled her sleeve down over her hands and gripped his wrist. With a heave, she pulled his body toward her, stepping back while still pulling on his arm. His upper body flopped listlessly to the ground, while his legs remained inside.
“Ugh…” he groaned.
Sidney dropped his hand and jumped back. He was still alive.
“Help…” His breath came out in a wheeze.
She looked inside the car. There was blood on the passenger seat where he’d been slumped over and on the door where he’d gone back inside, plus a little on the steering wheel. Everything else seemed all right, so she opened the back door and put her duffel and the cat carrier in the seat. She put the grocery bag on the floorboard.
“Help,” the man begged again.
She ignored him and grabbed his pant leg. With another pull, she dislodged his legs, dumping him onto the pavement. She sat down in the driver’s seat and put the key into the ignition. Then she made sure her sleeve was covering her bare skin and reached out for the door, pulling it closed.
The car choked to life, and a head lifted from the roadway. She put the car into reverse as the infected woman in the street struggled to rise. Her lower half was twisted at an angle that meant her spine was broken, probably from a speeding car.
Sidney slammed into the car behind her, and she screamed. She’d been busy watching the woman try to sit up and hadn’t been paying attention to what she was doing. It was a stupid, momentary lapse in her attention span that could have stranded her. She would have to remember to remain situationally aware at all times.
She laughed bitterly at the term while she put the car into drive. Her kickboxing instructor had always used the phrase “situationally aware” during the self-defense portion of class. He was right, Sidney thought. She hoped that he’d been situationally aware when the outbreak began. He had a family to look after.
Once she was on the road, she cautiously drove south toward the first westbound road, weaving around the debris in the street left from the mob’s passing. Her cell phone slid across the dashboard and slammed into the windshield in front of her, causing her to jump. She’d forgotten about the phone she’d given the driver.
Sidney grabbed it and dialed Lincoln’s number, pressing the speaker button so she didn’t have to hold it to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Lincoln! Fuck!” Sidney cried breathlessly.
“Sidney? Is that you?” he asked.
“Yeah. Keep up,” she said. “Shit’s going down in DC. I’m on my way to your house now.”
7
Georgetown, Washington, DC
March 26th
Sidney pulled up to Lincoln’s house and grabbed the cat carrier, then dashed up to the porch. She pounded on the door, each rap of her palm echoing dully across the quiet, tree-lined street.
She heard the locks disengage before the door opened, so she knew to step back. When the door swung inward, she thrust the carrier at Lincoln. “Linc, this is Rick James,” she said. “He won’t like you at first. Just deal with it.”
Then she turned and jogged back down to the street, leaving Lincoln standing in his doorway. She’d already devised a plan of action, so it all made sense to her, even if he was left wondering what in the hell she was doing.
On the way back to the car, Sidney tore off her jacket, exposing her toned upper arms. Before she dropped the jacket, she used it to open the car’s back door then picked up the duffel bag and one of the sleeping bags.
“No, just stay in the house,” she replied to Lincoln’s unasked questions.
She tossed the bags inside his house then rushed to the open car. She picked up her grocery bag and the two backpacks full of supplies she’d bought from REI, then she kicked the door closed. Finally, she returned to his house and threw the rest of her bags through the open door.
“Uh, do you need—”
She cut him off by kicking her boots off on the porch then pulling her socks off by stepping on the toes. Next, she unbuttoned her pants and dropped them out in the open for anyone to see. Off went her shirt and, with a pang of regret, her bra and panties were left on the porch as well. She’d really liked the bra. It was a pretty seafoam green, edged with pink flowers along the top and a big purple flower in the center, where the two cups met. But she couldn’t risk any of the blood or bodily fluids getting inside the house, so it had to go. Oh well.
She walked into Lincoln’s house naked as a newborn baby.
“Hey,” he said. “Want to tell me—”
“I need to shower,” she replied, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “Lock the door.”
Before he could answer—or worse, try to grope her exposed breasts—Sidney walked back to his room and turned on the shower. Careful to avoid touching anything that she couldn’t disinfect in a few minutes, she stepped under the hot shower and scrubbed her body viciously. As she scrubbed at her hands, their cleanliness reminded of the scene in Macbeth where the Lady Macbeth was hallucinating, washing her hands to remove the unseen blood upon them.
Okay, that’s enough, she goaded herself and turned off the water. She allowed herself a moment to drip dry in the shower before stepping out. Lincoln stood there, holding a towel.
“Here you go,” he said.
“Thanks.” She accepted it without trying to cover herself up. She’d already had sex with the guy a few times, so he knew what she looked like, up close and personal. No sense in making their new arrangement awkward.
“So, are you gonna tell me what that was about?” he asked.
“I—” She stopped, trying to think of what to tell him. In the end, she decided to tell him everything. The packed store, the appearance of the infected mob and how she’d been able to hide from them using her apartment lobby’s greenery, even how she’d condemned that poor driver to his death, first by taking his keys, and then by leaving his bloody body in the street. She also told him about her hypothesis of how the virus passed from one person to another, and her belief that the large group had likely come from one of the hospitals near Dupont Circle.
Lincoln didn’t judge her openly; in fact, he wrapped her in an embrace that was meant to let her know everything would be okay. She accepted the warmth of his body against hers and rested her head against the crook of his neck.
From the next room, Rick James mewled hideously, reminding her that she needed to take him out of the carrier.
Sidney laughed and rushed into the living room, where her cat paced inside the carrier. She tucked the top of her towel in around her modest breasts and bent down to unzip the opening. She almost reached inside, but Rick James shot out, dashing behind the couch.
It was probably for the better. The stupid cat probably would have torn up her arm if Lincoln came near while she was holding him.
“So what now?” Lincoln asked.
“What’s the television say?”
“I, uh…I hadn’t thought to check,” he admitted. “I’ve only been home for a few minutes and wanted to get everything put away.”
Sidney nodded, understanding why he hadn’t had time to check the news but didn’t approve of his lackadaisical attitude. People were dying out there. “Let’s turn it on,” she suggested, burying her frustration.
Lincoln clicked the television on, and she sat down beside him. The news was discussing the events out west; there was nothing about what was happening in DC. After a few minutes, it was apparent that there wasn’t anything new available yet, so Sidney unwrapped her towel and tossed it on the floor then threw the blanket that Lincol
n had on the back of the couch around herself, leaving just enough room for him to maneuver, if he decided to. God knows I could use the intimacy and the warmth of a human body right now, she thought longingly.
They watched the talking heads debating about what the media and signal outages in several states could mean, and still Lincoln didn’t make a move. Either he was an exquisite Southern gentleman who simply forgot his manners after a few tequila and whiskey shots, or he was trying to show her that his presence was comforting. Either way, she wasn’t having it.
She reached across, grabbing him above the fabric at first, then unbuttoning his pants when he still refused to do anything. “So, I’m horny and a little freaked out by everything,” she said.
“That’s an odd combination,” he replied. “I mean, I get being freaked out, but horny?”
She pushed the blanket back to expose her breasts. “Seriously, dude. Don’t try to psychoanalyze me. You won’t like what you learn. Let’s just go with it and act in the moment.”
That did it. Guess he’s a breast man, she thought with a smile.
An hour later, Sidney felt better. The stress of facing down the infected at the doors of her apartment and of abandoning that poor driver to whatever fate had in store for him had been wearing on her psyche; the sex made it better.
True, she’d probably be categorized as some type of deviant in normal circles, but it was her way of coping. Physically, the release of endorphins made her body relax without the use of drugs and, mentally, the closeness of another human being made her unease diminish.
Lincoln lay dozing with his head against the arm of the couch. She pushed herself up gently so as not to wake him and stepped lightly into the bathroom to relieve herself. He was still asleep when she came back, so she slipped on a t-shirt she found in his top drawer and tiptoed to the kitchen to assess their supply situation.
She counted sixty-three cans of stuff. She didn’t bother to categorize it as soup or vegetables; it was simply a can of food, regardless of what it was. He had a few perishable things in the pantry—that would have to go first in case the power went out, so it looked like grilled cheese for dinner, maybe pan-seared steak. It was too risky to go outside to use the grill.
A few quick calculations with rationing, and she estimated they could survive on the food that was in the house for about forty or forty-five days. It wasn’t a lot, but they were better off than they’d been this morning.
As far as Sidney could tell, their biggest shortcoming was not having any candles or a lantern. They had flashlights, and even the crank flashlight she’d picked up, but not getting a lantern from REI had been a major fail on her part. If the power stayed on, it wasn’t really a big deal, but if it went out, the lantern would have been clutch.
The noise of rustling fabric from the other room told her that Lincoln was waking up. She edged around the doorway so he could see her.
“Morning,” he said with a goofy grin.
“Don’t give yourself that much credit. It’s only been a couple of hours.”
“Oh? You didn’t seem to complain while we were…Well, you know.”
She slid across the floor and straddled him on the couch. “Fucking?” she purred.
“Uh, yeah.”
“You’re right. It was good. Exactly what I needed.”
“What we needed,” he corrected her.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” That was annoying, she thought. “If I had a little gold star sticker, I’d put it in your homework folder.”
She lifted her leg and fell beside him on the couch. “I was just checking our supplies. We have enough food for about a month and a half, if we ration smartly and use up the perishable stuff first.”
Several gunshots rang out nearby. They looked at each other silently then stood, creeping toward the front windows. The sounds of screaming echoed across the early evening stillness. It was the same primal, rage-filled howls of hatred that Sidney had heard earlier in Dupont Circle. She threw her finger to her lips, telling Lincoln to be quiet, and continued to the curtains.
Stomping and grunts answered her silent footsteps. Sidney carefully lifted the curtain away a half inch from the corner of the window and saw several of the infected on the front porch, staring intently at the door. Another was in the yard, holding the jacket she’d discarded.
THUD!
A loud bang on the front door made her jump and drop the curtain. She cursed inwardly at her stupidity. The things on the front porch could have seen that little bit of movement and have a reason to stick around now.
Screech.
The sound of fingernails running down the screen right in front of her startled her. She had been seen. Sidney stepped back and looked for a weapon of any kind, but nothing presented itself. How had she been so foolish? Instead of satisfying her body’s desires, she should have been preparing. And the first goddamned thing she should have done was place a weapon at every entrance.
The scratching came again, then the sound of the screen ripping echoed across the living room, followed quickly by the sound of fingernails on the glass. They scrabbled for a moment until another gunshot rang out. The noises against the window stopped, but the grunts and screeches did not as the group got excited and stomped off the porch.
Sidney stepped lightly to another window and risked a quick glance behind the curtain. A female in a cream-colored dress with a bandaged wound on her right arm stood at the window she’d just been stationed in front of. It turned its head to the side, then back again, clawing at the window with an alarming purpose.
Then the infected woman turned, taking half the screen with her, and ran down the steps toward the sound of the gunfire.
“What the fuck?” Lincoln mouthed.
She shook her head. The woman hadn’t been entirely mindless like the others had seemed. Was that normal?
How was any of this normal?
8
Highway 101, Eureka, California
March 27th
“…riots near the Capital continue…”
“You don’t mind if I switch the channel, do you?” Rick “Ram” Ramacher asked as he reached over to change the radio’s controls. “These riots or protests—or whatever the hell they are—are just pissing me off.”
“Go for it. I get tired of all that talk radio.” Jesse Moreno covered her mouth as she let out a quick yawn from behind the wheel of the big Crown Victoria. Ram tried unsuccessfully to stifle his own yawn as he jabbed the channel controls, looking for a music station.
“Now you’ve done it,” Ram yawned.
“Sorry.” Jesse returned the yawn, and the whole damned thing went full circle again until Ram found a music station and looked away. “At least we know we’re both not sociopaths.”
“That’s what my wife always says,” Ram chuckled. They were part of a two-vehicle Corrections Transport Team. Jesse drove the chase car while Sergeant Moore and Officer Avila were up ahead in the lead vehicle that contained Inmate Edwards, a two-time murderer and sex offender who was being transported to St. Joseph’s Hospital in Eureka for a teeth cleaning.
Ram pulled his cell phone out of his jumpsuit pocket and glanced down at the time. It was 1530. He was in the middle of a sixteen-hour overtime shift. Just seeing the time made him want to yawn again.
“You on overtime, Ram?”
“Yeah. Watch office caught me at the sally port.” He gave Jesse a sad grin. “I was the only one that hadn’t been held over twice.”
“Damn, an old timer like you. That must really suck.”
“Six more days, Jesse, and I’ll be outta here.” Ram flipped the cell around in his hands. “No more holdovers and no more bullshit.”
“You retiring, Ram?” Jesse asked as she watched the lead car and road ahead of her. The young officer had been in the California Department of Corrections for a little over two years. She’d worked with the older officer a few times and had always found he was willing to help and answer any questions he could. Ram had
never once perved on her like some of the other officers she’d worked with or treated her less than equal. Jesse liked that and was happy to hear he’d be her partner this trip.
“Well, kiddo,” Ram said, glancing out his window into the usual midday gray of the North Coast 101. A light fog covered the road. Not enough to slow the vehicles down, but enough to give it an eerie feel. Ram noticed there was hardly any traffic on the road this afternoon. Odd. Maybe it was an offshoot of all those virus rumors coming out of Sacramento. The old guard chuckled to himself. Nothing good ever came from Sac. “I always told myself when I hit fifty, I was out. Done.”
“How does Louise feel about you pulling the plug?” Jesse took her right hand off the Crown Vic’s steering wheel and smoothed her clip-on tie. She was dressed in crisp Class As for the transport, unlike Ram, who was still in his olive-drab jumpsuit from the shift before.
“She’s good with it. Hell, she’s only got five more years to do, herself.” Ram smiled at the thought of Louise and him sitting on a beach in Maui, just soaking in the sun. His bride of twenty-two years worked third watch, and they usually only had one day off together. When he retired, he was looking forward to spending more time with her, whether she liked it or not.
“Five more years.” Jesse shook her head. “That’s more time than I’ve got in.”
“It’ll go by fast.” Ram smirked and then shook his head as well. “No, it won’t.”
“Thanks, ya ass.” Jesse slid her right hand down to where her Glock sat in her holster and adjusted it. “Damn holsters are a cheap piece of shit.”
Ram shook his head as he patted the old .38 that sat snugly in his. The transport crews got the new Glock pistols, while the overtimers and reliefs were issued the well-used six-shot revolvers. That was the CDC, always looking out for their people.
“Nothing but the best.” Ram glanced down at the cell in his left hand. He left Louise a message that he was working overtime and figured she’d be up in a couple hours. This shouldn’t be too bad of a run. Another ward of the state getting free health care. No biggie.