End of story, this guy is a ghost. Even worse, rumors are that some of the staff are infected, too. This is scary shit, but I've been on shift for 18 hours. Time to let someone else worry about it. L8rs guys.
G-DAWG -10:30 PM
…can’t wait for the movie.
…Bottom of Form…
Chapter 34
Erica Chapman
The Day Before Thanksgiving
It was November twenty-third, the day before Thanksgiving when Erica finally found herself with nothing left to do. It had been several days since she’d taken a break, and it suddenly occurred to her that she was alone, tomorrow was Thanksgiving, and she had no one with whom to share the holiday. She turned on the television in hopes of keeping the loneliness at bay for a while. After an hour of humorless laugh tracks, she found herself flipping through channels again. Pausing on one of the cable news channels again, a news headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen caught her eye. She read it twice before accepting that she hadn’t misread it.
Millions dead throughout Central Africa. All travel to the following nations is suspended—
The list was frighteningly large. She recalled the conjecture on the news about a pandemic in Uganda and realized that for once the talking heads had actually gotten something right. “Holy shit.”
She picked up her cell phone. “Call—Ross—mobile.”
“Did you say—call—Ross—mobile?”
“Yes.”
“Calling.”
Chapter 35
Charles Griffe
Seven, Turn, Eight, Door
Charlie awoke to a gentle shaking as Chris poked his shoulder. “Come on, buddy. Time to get going.”
“Hmph?”
“Time to go get your wife.”
Charlie sat up with a groan. The sofa wasn’t the most comfortable of places to sleep, but he had been uncomfortable sleeping on the bed with another man. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and stretched. “Not my wife,” he mumbled.
Chris rolled his eyes. “All right. Your woman, then.” He handed Charlie a bottle of water from the room’s mini-fridge. “Sorry, but this is all we have for dinner.”
Charlie put his hand on his pocket, feeling the package of trail mix.
Ain’t no need for that. That’s yours, and he ain’t done nothing but look down his nose at you since you helped him get out of that bar. Screw him if he’s hungry. He can find his own food.
The old man was right. Charlie opened the bottle and took a deep swig from the cool water. “You sound like you have a plan?”
Chris nodded. “I do. Not really anything that has to do with getting your… look, I can’t keep calling her ‘your woman.’ That just doesn’t sound right. And you really seem to have a problem with calling her your wife. So would you just tell me her name so we can both be happy?”
Charlie nodded. “Sure. Her name’s Felicia.”
“All right then. I don’t necessarily have a plan on how to get to Felicia any easier than what you were already doing. But maybe with two of us, it’ll go a little easier. We can watch each other’s backs. And it occurs to me that once we have her, there will be three of us. And if there are three of us, there are bound to be more.”
Charlie noted that the man was careful to stay positive, avoiding any mention of the possibility that Felicia might already be beyond saving. He didn’t know whether to be grateful for the man’s consideration, or irritated at his assumption.
“So why does it matter how many of us there are? The old ‘strength in numbers’ thing?”
Chris nodded. “The more of us there are, the less vulnerable we are.”
Charlie’s scoffed. “So we can’t feed ourselves, and you want to find more people?”
Chris shrugged. “Okay, so there’s still a few bugs to work out. For now, let’s take it a step at a time.” He nodded at the door. “Let’s go get Felicia.”
Together, they approached the door of the cabin, looked at one another, and by unspoken agreement both put their ears to the door. After a second, Charlie whispered, “You hear anything?”
Chris shook his head. “You?”
“Nope.” He pulled his head away and placed his hand on the door knob. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn it. In his imagination, Purple Hair stood on the other side, waiting to pounce.
Chris looked at him quizzically. “Something wrong?”
Shaking his head, Charlie took a deep breath, turned the handle, and cracked the door enough to see into the hallway. It was darker than when they had come into the room. There was nothing as far as he could see, though he couldn’t see very far in the inky blackness. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist. Twelve minutes after eight. He blinked, trying to figure out how many days he’d been running. Everything was so jumbled, and he was so exhausted that everything was running together.
A scream filled the night and Charlie jumped back, half shutting the door before it registered that the sound was too far away for anyone to have seen him. He eased the door open and stepped into the dimly lit hallway. Far away telltale laughter indicated that unless they were fast or lucky, whoever had screamed would probably be doing so again soon. Chris eased into the hallway beside him. He leaned in close to Charlie and whispered, “Which way is your cabin?”
Charlie pulled back with a sneer. “I already told you. Deck Seven.”
“No. Which direction, fore or aft?”
Charlie thought for a moment. “Cabin seventy-five, thirty-eight. It’s on the starboard side near the front.”
“And we’re aft port side, four decks up. That’s a long way to go. How have you been getting between decks?”
“Stairs.”
“Are you crazy? The stairways are way too open.”
Charlie shook his head. “I’ve been taking the emergency stairwells.”
“I tried that. They were too dark, and with all the crazies, I was afraid of getting caught in there and not knowing how to get back out before they caught me.”
“Seven steps, turn. Eight steps, door.”
“What?”
“There’s a pattern that makes it easier. Go down seven steps, then turn around on the landing. Then eight more steps and the door will be right in front of you. It’s still slow, but it’s a lot safer than trying to make your way out in the open.”
Chris nodded. “Smart.”
They rounded the corner slowly, senses straining for any indication that someone was watching them. Seeing nothing, Charlie turned to Chris. “Let’s go.”
“Wait. It’s seven, turn, eight, door. Right?”
“That’s it. And it’s not like there’s no light. The emergency LEDs flash every five or ten seconds.”
“Five or ten seconds in pitch dark can seem like a really long time.”
“Yes, it can.”
See? He ain’t no damned hero. He’s just as scared as you are.
Charlie bit his tongue, determined to ignore his father’s comment. He nodded to Chris. “You ready?”
Chris took a deep breath. "Guess we're gonna find out. Let's do it."
Charlie rounded the corner and scanned ahead. Nothing. He hugged the wall, moving quietly to the next corner, peeked around, and signaled for Chris to join him. "The door to the stairwell is just around this next corner," he whispered.
Chris nodded.
“Remember—seven, turn, eight, door.”
“Got it.”
They entered the stairwell and pulled the door closed behind them. Just as the door closed, the red emergency light flared, then dimmed. By that brief light, Charlie saw the way before them was empty. He felt his way forward to the first step, finding the edge with his foot. Very quietly, he snapped his fingers to let Chris know where he was, then reached out with his hand until he felt the other man’s sleeve. He dragged him to the handrail, placing his hand on it before taking the first step downward.
Red light flared again, but Charlie resisted the temptation to look up, instead concen
trating on counting out his steps. …six, seven, turn, one, two three…
He heard Chris stumble and curse behind him.
“Shh,” he hissed, reaching back. He felt his way up the man’s sleeve to locate his ear, then leaned in close. “Sound echoes in here.”
“Sorry.”
Charlie turned back to the stairs, but now he couldn’t remember where he was on his count. He waited for a few seconds for the next flare of the emergency light. There! Four more steps to the next door. He reached the landing, then turned to head down another flight. Seven steps, turn. Eight steps, door. Another turn, another seven steps. Another turn.
Suddenly, a bright flare of white light nearly blinded him. At the same time, a scream sounded from right in front of him, jolting him out of his trance. He looked up to see a young woman with wild eyes, bedraggled hair and a torn floral shirt, her arm a blur as it flickered toward him. He caught sight of a reflective something in her hand as he threw himself backward. At the same time, Chris stumbled into him from behind. There was a searing agony as the glittering object in her hand sliced across his chest from sternum to right shoulder as he fell to the stairs. He heard Chris growl and jump past him, followed by the sounds of a scuffle.
The light served to silhouette the struggle before him, as the screaming grew in volume, accompanied by Chris grunting. Charlie heard Chris strike the woman three times before the screaming stopped. Then all he could hear was the high-pitched keening of someone trying not to scream.
His father’s voice echoed in his head. Shut up, you damned pussy!
Charlie clamped his mouth shut and took a deep breath. He looked to where Chris’s silhouette shifted, reached toward the little light source on the floor, and pointed the light at Charlie. “You all right?”
He stood and stepped toward where Charlie lay on the stairs and Charlie saw his eyes widen. “Oh hell.”
Chris stepped carefully past the limp form on the floor. “How bad does it hurt?”
“What?” Charlie was still trying to catch up to what had just happened. “How bad does what…” He hissed as he tried to sit up. “Oh, fuck me with a blowtorch!” He felt like someone had poured acid on his skin and started to raise his right hand to touch it, but that movement increased the pain. “Son of a bitch!” He raised his left hand with no problem. He reached out with his left hand and grabbed Chris’s shoulder. “Help me up.”
“I don’t know if you should move.” Chris sounded doubtful, and Charlie wondered just how bad he looked.
“Well, I’m sure as shit not about to stay here.” He tried to keep his voice low, but the pain made it hard to concentrate.
He felt Chris’s hand tentatively feel its way up his sleeve and stopped him. “Not my right hand.” He grabbed Chris’s hand with his left and grasped the man’s forearm. “There. Now pull.”
He hissed as Chris helped him to his feet, and he felt rivulets of blood running down his chest and soaking into the torn rags of his shirt.
Then a door below them slammed open, and laughter poured into the stairwell. “Shit. Shut off the light.” Charlie turned and headed back up the stairs as the stairwell plunged once more into darkness.
“What about her?”
Charlie shook his head, forgetting for the moment that Chris couldn’t see him. “Leave her.”
“We can’t just leave her. They’ll kill her.”
“And she tried to kill me. Forgive me if my give-a-shit meter is running a bit low.” Footsteps and laughter pounded up the dark stairwell from below. “Look, there’s no time to discuss this. If you try to carry her, they’ll catch you both. Leave her, and we live.”
He turned back up the stairs as red flared once more. He heard Chris grunting behind him and turned back to see the man lifting their attacker over his shoulder and step toward the stairs. “You stupid fucking son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing?”
Leave him, boy. He made his choice.
Charlie hesitated, then stepped back down the stairs with a growl.
Damn you, boy. You’re as stupid as he is.
Charlie reached out with his left hand until he felt moving cloth on his fingers. Chris grunted as he lugged the woman’s dead weight. Charlie felt heavy denim beneath his fingers and grabbed a handful of Levi’s, attempting to lift some of the weight off his companion’s shoulders as they scrambled up the stairs. And all the while, laughter and giggling gained on them from below.
They reached the landing as the emergency light flared again, and Charlie opened the door just enough to see outside.
And what are you gonna do if some of those fuckers are outside the door?
Charlie didn’t have a ready answer to his father’s question, but the question was moot. There was no one there. He yanked the door open as the laughter from below got closer. “This way!”
Chris huffed his way through the door, and they turned the corner toward the shadows of the portside corridor of cabins once again. As they approached the final corner before the long row of cabin doors, two giggling forms, a man and a woman in torn and filthy clothing, rounded the corner. Giggles turned to shouts of glee and laughter as they broke into a run. Charlie growled and dropped his weight, running at them as he had the kids on the basketball court. He slammed his shoulder into the man, screaming with the agony it brought to his wound, but he dug deep and lifted the man off his feet and slammed him into the railing over the atrium. Grabbing onto the railing with his left hand, Charlie drove his shoulder forward one last time, and the man plummeted over the rail. He watched as the man hit the floor three decks below and lay still. He had no sooner taken a sigh of relief than the laughing woman landed on his back.
Nails raked at his face and she leaned in to bite his neck. Charlie screamed and punched over his shoulder with his left hand, hitting her repeatedly before she could really sink her teeth into him. But her weight pulled him off balance and he struggled to stay on his feet.
“Fuck it.” He spun and threw himself to the floor, landing on top of her, driving his elbow into her body as he did. He felt something crack, and knew he had just broken at least one of her ribs. And still she laughed. He slammed his elbow backward again and again feeling another rib crack. But she refuse to relinquish her death grip on his neck.
“Watch out!”
Charlie turned to see Chris staggering toward him, the unconscious woman still draped across his shoulders. His eyes widened as he saw Chris draw back his foot. Charlie just had time to turn his head as Chris kicked his attacker in her face.
Her grip went limp and Charlie rolled to his feet with a hiss. “Come on. The others are going to be pouring out of—”
The door slammed open, making his point. He and Chris, and Chris’s unconscious burden, stumbled around the corner. “Where’s the key?”
“Shirt pocket.” Chris was too winded to say more, and Charlie reached into his pocket. He jammed the card into the first door they came to and yanked it open. They fell inside and shut the door quickly, but quietly.
Charlie held his breath as they listened to the crowd of laughing maniacs run past in the darkened hallway, and only after they had passed did he let his head drop to the floor.
Chapter 36
Linton Bowers
I’ve Been Hearing That A Lot
Linton met Michelle at Hobby Airport’s baggage claim area. She smiled thinly at him when he caught her eye, and the two of them navigated the living river of people milling about the overcrowded airport. When he finally reached her, they drew each other close and hugged. Then Linton took her bag and guided her toward the exit. “Come on, babe. Let’s get out of this crowd.”
She nodded and the two of them wound their way through the throng of pre-holiday red eye fliers, eventually making their way to the parking garage outside the exit. They were quiet until they got into Linton’s pickup, but as the doors closed and he started up the engine, she finally started the questioning that he had known was coming.
“You mind tel
ling me what’s going on?”
“Sorry, babe. It’s sort—”
“Why did you have me bail on the show? This was my chance to show the choreographers what I can really do. It might have gotten me out of the matinee shows and into the starting cast.”
“I’m sorry, but this is impor—”
“And why would you bring up my dad? You know how—”
But it was Linton’s turn to interrupt. “It’s important!”
The fact that he raised his voice to her was enough to quiet her down. He never yelled. Never. Linton was a big man, six foot, three inches tall, and two hundred forty pounds. He’d been in the Marines for three tours and had seen too much of the suck to let minor things bother him. For him to get this close to losing his temper now must have stressed just how serious he thought things were. She got quiet for a moment, working to keep her own temper, willing to wait for him to continue and to let him gather his thoughts.
Linton, on the other hand, concentrated on negotiating through the rush of traffic leaving the airport. He remained quiet as they drove through the exit booth and he paid the parking fee.
He’d had plenty of time to think about Emmet’s veiled information. He looked around him at the line of red tail lights as people waited at the traffic light. If what Emmet had communicated was correct, there was a good chance that most of the people in the cars around him would be dead in weeks. The thought was nearly impossible to wrap his head around.
A few minutes later, they were out of the airport and pulling back onto the streets headed home. Once he was out of the airport holiday traveler traffic, Linton began to relax a little.
“I know you haven’t always been on board with the Bee Hive,” he started, “but it looks like there’s a real situation brewing.”
“Really, Lint? This is what you brought me home for?” But she quieted again when she saw his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. “Sorry.”
“Emmet called. He’s got some inside intel. Shit-hit-the-fan stuff. And it’s evidently scary enough that he’s bugging out with us.”
Chucklers (Book 1): Laughter is Contagious Page 14