by Paul Z. Ford
“Is everything okay?” he said. She nodded with a crinkle in her brow. “Haven’t you seen what’s going on? Didn’t you see the news on TV or Facebook or somewhere?” he asked, somewhat breathless. Rushing home, even driving, had been exhausting. The whole day so far was mentally draining. Kahn felt like he had just run a marathon.
“No,” she replied, “I’ve been wrapping Christmas presents in the bedroom all day. My phone is on the dock for music. Why? What happened? What is it?” He just looked at her and shook his head, unable to find the words to describe what he had seen and heard since that morning. He walked back down the hallway and grabbed the remote to turn on their TV as Aisha followed.
“Daniel, go to your room and watch your tablet. You can sit on your little chair.” The toddler hardly averted his eyes from the electronic screen as he scooted off the couch and walked down the hall toward his room. Kahn then turned on the television.
Every channel was full of coverage of the events going on around the country. It was a blur of information. People attacking other people in San Francisco, Milwaukee, Portland, Los Angeles, and an endless stream of amateur reports and videos from around the country. Confusing, conflicting data came into every outlet from a multitude of sources. The Kahns stood together, silently shocked by everything that they saw. As the TV continued, Kahn explained to Aisha what the president said during his national address earlier that morning and everything he had seen and heard on the TV and on his way home. He left out the fact that there was a dead man in the store’s storage room, and that he had the company vehicle full of guns and ammo on Ash’s advice.
After a few minutes of watching the broadcast, Aisha walked from the living room to the kitchen. She opened the pantry and started removing items and taking inventory of what they had. She did keep extras of a lot of the canned food and baking materials that they used, and she had just bought their dry groceries for the month on Friday. Fresh produce wouldn’t keep that long in their house, so they would run out of that in about a week. But, in general, she came back to her husband pretty confident they would be safely fed for the next couple weeks at least. She checked the water by running the sink and it seemed to be normal. Then she walked back to the bedroom and checked her cell phone. No service, but she was listening to music earlier so she had been connected to the Internet. She tried Facebook and found the app wouldn’t load. The browser wouldn’t load either. She opened her laptop and checked the device for connectivity. It wouldn’t load either. So, it seemed the TV worked, radio worked since her husband had listened to it on the way home, cell phones and the Internet were down, but the electricity and water were on. She walked back out to the living room and rejoined her spouse.
“Internet is down and my cell phone doesn’t work. Did you try calling your parents?”
“No, I tried calling you and came straight home.” Kahn pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried again for service with no luck. He put it back. A flashy Action Alert banner across the TV screen got both of their attention.
“…live video of one of our sister stations in St. Louis, Missouri, where there is an incident with police and infected citizens. We go now live to Linda Medina from sister station KTUE St. Louis. Lin, can you hear me? Are you there?” There was a pause and then the petite female reporter appeared on the screen and answered.
“Yes, hello, we are here in the middle of downtown St. Louis where some of those seemingly affected by the biological agent have been sighted. We now have a view of a skirmish line of St. Louis police set up to stop a moving mass of people.” The camera panned over and zoomed into a line of police officers dressed in riot helmets and body armor covering their torsos. They were lined up along a four-lane road that was flanked by two tall hotel buildings. The reporter and cameraman were standing on what looked like a concrete fountain about 100 feet behind the skirmish line. They were slightly elevated and had a great shot of the police from their vantage point. The angle was slightly skewed from the left rear of the blocked road, and they could see several blocks ahead of them where people were slowly approaching. The correspondent continued as the camera panned professionally around the entire area.
“The police have set up here with, as you can see, riot gear to stop the advancing crowd of purportedly infected people. It has been reported that the infection causes violent behavior in those afflicted. So far, we have not seen any violent behavior. You can see the crowd of people walking slowly toward the police checkpoint. There is an odd sense of tension in the air. They aren’t rioting or performing any violence at all. They seem to be just walking toward the police. Speaking with evacuating St. Louis citizens, we learned they feel the police may be escalating or causing the violent activity in other cities. Many people here don’t like the presence of militarized police forces when there is no clear threat. People here are nervous, and we do not have any new word from police, state or local authorities. The police have declined to speak to us about this issue, and oh… now they seem to be preparing to address the crowd.” As she spoke the faraway horde continued to walk closer and cold air stabbed into the sky from her mouth. The police looked somewhat twitchy and agitated, and each held out a long wooden baton as a weapon. An officer with a bullhorn stepped in front of the rest and spoke.
“Attention. This is the St. Louis Police Department. Do not advance further. Do not approach. Turn around and go back to your homes. If you do not cease, you will be detained. If you are a victim of the infection, please stop and sit on the ground immediately to await medical attention. Do not approach.”
The crowd continued to walk slowly toward the officers. Now that they were closer, some details could be seen by the camera. They didn’t walk in a straight line like a normal person or marching crowd. Their gait was stumbling and awkward, like their muscles were sluggish, and the crowd appeared to swarm together toward their target. Some of the people, if that’s what they still were, had grievous injuries. Missing fingers seemed to be common, and many had bloody faces with missing noses, ears, and lips. The people with pale skin were tinted brown or tan, like their entire body was lightly bruised. They all shuffled unceasingly forward despite their injuries. The camera zoomed in and focused on one of the creatures with a broken ankle who was slowly limping forward on the bloody compound fracture, leaving crimson streaks and bits of broken flesh and bone along its path. They were all chomping and gnashing their teeth and now a low guttural growl could be heard rising from them. The camera zoomed out to show the skirmish line and the shuffling crowd of infected. Puffs of steam rose into the winter air from the officers as they watched and waited. There was no steamy air rising above the much larger crowd approaching.
Several police officers walked forward of the skirmish line holding bulbous objects in their hands. The objects seemed to have a reservoir connected to a nozzle, and lines ran back along the ground and disappeared into the police’s blockade. One of the nozzles sprayed a thick, foamy liquid out toward the nearest of the approaching crowd, then the rest of the officers followed suit. The canisters sprayed for almost a full minute, shooting high-pressure liquid onto and over the injured crowd. Once empty, the officers returned to the group and regained their normal places in the riot control line.
“It seems like the police are engaging the individuals with a massive amount of what looks like non-lethal crowd control spray of some sort. We were not briefed on its use, but we can speculate the liquid is meant to disperse riotous groups. The spray seems to have no effect on the infected population. As you can see, they are not listening to commands. Most seem to be injured and possibly infected with the unknown biological agent from yesterday’s attack in New York. You can see they look… um… different and are walking and acting strangely. No reaction to the spray. There are reports of violence, although nobody in this group seems to be attacking any others in the group. It is still unclear how this infection spreads or how these people became affected by it. The first of the group are now approaching the police lin
e, and the police are prepared to stop… oh my God!” she suddenly shrieked. The camera was watching the first of the shuffling crowd as they came within a few feet of the skirmish line and one of the police officers held his three-foot-long baton forward like a lance. The closest creature reached out with his arms and growled and groaned more frantically than before. He had dried blood caked down both sides of his head that had soaked his shirt. Both of his ears were missing and all that remained on either side was a gaping black hole surrounded by torn and bloody skin.
The officer struck the man in the gut. A blow like that would have put most people on the ground, doubled up in gasping pain. This man barely flinched and then pressed forward into the line of uniformed figures. He made a growling leap past the baton and pushed his weight into the officer’s chest. He fell back, hard, onto his rear. His helmet hit the ground with a loud report and flew off his head. The creature quickly scrambled forward and his mouth closed over the officer’s nose and top lip. The creature bit and ripped and the officer flailed, trying to strike his attacker to no avail. The two adjacent officers had turned to help and now struck the biter violently on its back with their staff-like batons. Blood and gore hung from its mouth as it hysterically tore at the face of the helpless man. Gurgling screams from him rippled panic through the crowd. Several more creatures had reached the line, and the remaining officers were holding back their snapping teeth.
One of the officers assisting the injured man was suddenly taken to the ground by an infected woman that had walked through the gap in the line. She held his shoulders as he fell and fought against the growling open mouth. She sunk her teeth into his neck and he squealed in pain as he fought up onto his knees. The second officer drew his pistol and with a sharp pop shot the woman in the head. Blood sprayed and she was flung backwards. The injured officer grabbed at his bleeding jugular. The gunman shot the first attacker, who was now feasting on the face of his victim. The officer was still.
The first two shots seemed to give permission for the rest of the line to open fire. The thirty or so officers in the front of the line each pulled out their service pistol and shot, panicked, into the approaching crowd. Their training kicked them into a sort of autopilot, like they were shooting at targets at the range. It was impossible to keep track of the shots as many of the first line of advancing fiends fell to the ground. The whole thing had taken less than a minute, and most officers were loading their second magazine when three-quarters of the fallen group began to slowly rise up again, ignoring the new wounds caused by the shots. Gunfire continued to rage at the crowd, and the striking rounds ripped into flesh and bone but couldn’t stop the encroachment. Near the right side of the line, multiple figures were now fighting hand-to-hand with the officers. Some fell, and screams could be heard from the victims. The creatures were clearly biting the uninfected and had no regard for their personal safety. A second line of officers ran in from behind the first set. These reinforcements had no riot or protective gear, but carried some heavier weaponry in the form of shotguns and carbine rifles. The reinforced line pushed forward past the injured and dead officers and their dead attackers.
After a moment of fighting it seemed this new wave of combatants could push the creatures back. But then, the reporter, who for the last few minutes was silent, grabbed her cameraman and half screamed look! at him. He zoomed into the body of the first officer who was a bite victim of the horde. His face was a mess and surely not suitable to show on TV. But the camera focused in on his supine form. His nose, eyes, and lips had been ripped into by the biting assailant and not much was left. However, the camera remained trained on him as his arms began to reach and move around. He rolled onto his side and dark blood poured out of the gaping hole where his face no longer existed. Bone was visible and his teeth, sans lips, began to bite and chomp at the air. He pushed himself up and rose, slowly, to a standing position. He turned and blindly walked toward the line of officers who were now focused in the opposite direction. The camera zoomed out and could now see several more of the original line of officers rising and shambling toward their colleagues.
The chaos that erupted when officers in uniform unexpectedly grabbed and started biting the others was immense. The line broke as some fled forward into the original horde, some turned toward the new biters, and some tried to hold their position. The officers near the outsides of the skirmish retreated toward the line of police vehicles parked behind the action. Some in the middle started firing backwards toward other police. In the confusion, uninjured cops were shot by their friends and attacked when they fell to the ground. The line of dozens of officers dwindled and the retreat collapsed into a panicked rout.
The reporter jumped down in front of the camera and gestured wildly to her colleague that it was time to leave. The police were running and firing in all directions. The horde was flowing around the broken skirmish line, where some still knelt to gnaw on the fallen victims, and was heading steadily toward them. The camera shook and the image drooped toward the ground as they made their escape.
The image went black. Kahn and Aisha looked at each other. She had her hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes. They were both frightened by the violent images. Both felt secretly hopeful this tragic infection was nowhere near them. The screen flashed bright red and the words Emergency Alert System appeared. A whining pitch of unpleasant noise buzzed out from the speakers. A deep, male voice spoke curtly.
“This is the Emergency Alert System. This is not a test. The following message is from the Federal Emergency Management Agency. A state of emergency has been declared for the nation. All but immediately essential governmental operations have been halted until further notice. If you are at home, stay in your home. If you are not, return to your home. Further instructions will follow.” A brief pause preceded the screeching noise and the message again. “This is the Emergency Alert System. This is not a test. The following message…”
Aisha turned off the TV and turned to her husband. He held her as she sobbed into his arms.
That night, after they put Daniel to bed, Aisha stood in the dark living room looking out the front window into the blackness of night on their property. She was standing still, using her index finger to barely open the blind and peer outside. Kahn touched her and she jumped, startled, with a gasp.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I think there’s someone out there,” she said, looking back out the window. She gestured for him to look so he leaned forward and checked out the yard. His work vehicle was out front with the case of water shimmering in the moonlight from the passenger seat. Her car was parked next to his on the driveway, but he could barely make out the dark exterior in the shadow of the house. He saw the two large trees swaying and moving with a slight wind. He shrugged.
“I don’t see anything.”
“Look, over by the mailbox. Outside the gate. It’s a man, I think. He’s just standing there.” Kahn listened to his wife and focused on the gate and the gravel road beyond. As the winter clouds parted from the moon, he was able to catch a glimpse of a man’s figure where she indicated. He was in silhouette, so it was difficult to make out his features. He seemed to be swaying slightly, standing in place, and gazing slightly upward toward the sky.
“Come on,” Kahn said as he suddenly let the blinds snap closed, “I’ll make sure the doors and windows are locked. We can’t stare out the window all night. Come on,” he repeated as he pulled the curtains shut over the blinds. He brushed past his wife and checked the front door. He began to try the lock on each window systematically around the house.
“Go see who it is,” his wife demanded.
“No. It’s probably a neighbor wandering around, scaring us.” He looked at her desperately. “You didn’t see everything I saw today, okay? We just, we just have to stick to ourselves for now. Someone will come along and help us or tell us what to do. I’ll take care of you when I need to. Those things aren’t here. We’re fine.” He gently took her hand and
walked with her down the dark hallway of their home, under the blankets of their bed. Where danger couldn’t find them.
Chapter 11
Alien
Llewelyn heard his son’s truck pull into his driveway. He replaced the bookmark in the book he was reading, The Unstoppables, a book purporting to tap his entrepreneurial power and grow his business. He was only half interested in the words and was glad for the distraction.
Griffin was leaning over the back of the truck bed as Llewelyn came outside to greet him. The day was sunny and mild, and both men seemed in good spirits. The driveway curved down to the street and ended at the corner of two neighborhood roads. Llewelyn’s house had been built in the 1960s, like most of the old neighborhood here in the northeastern suburbs of San Antonio. He had lived there for decades, raised his kids there, and now watched as young neighbors moved in and fixed the houses all around. As the elderly neighbors died, younger and less loyal people replaced them. He didn’t know any of them by name, not like the old days.
A week had passed since Llewelyn released his workers from their shift and many had not returned the next day. Llewelyn decided not to reopen the factory, and he had no way to communicate with his suppliers, customers, or lenders since there was no phone or Internet service. Griffin had driven to several of his father’s customers and found most were locked up and dark. Llewelyn decided to declare a hiatus on manufacturing until things were back in order. He spoke to his son almost every morning about making things like they were. Soon, he would repeat, soon things would be great again.
“Morning, son,” Llewelyn spoke with a smile as he approached.
“Merry Christmas.” Griffin lifted a large cardboard box out of the back of the truck. “Brought you some food.”
“Aw, son, I’m fine here. You know things will clear up soon. You don’t have to keep coming over to worry about me. You’re here every day!” The two men walked together the few feet back to the front door of the house.