by Jason Brant
Lance found a sheet of plastic in the meth lab and spread it over the couch.
The cover was anything but comfortable, though it kept him from shivering in disgust every few minutes. Cass sat in the chair and watched him.
“Better now, princess?” she asked.
“Much. Thanks for the concern.”
“OK, rule number one is stay the hell away from me. I’ll sleep in the bedroom with the weapons and you’ll stay on the couch. If I hear you anywhere near the hallway or the door to my room, you’re toast.”
“What if I have to piss?”
“Go in a container in the lab for all I care.”
Lance smiled. Cass might be crazy, he hadn’t decided on that topic yet, but she sure was interesting.
“I’m not joking,” she said. “Don’t go back there.”
“Yeah, yeah. What’s rule number two?”
“Follow rule number one.”
“That’s it?”
“Yup.”
Lance shook his head, still smiling. “You’re a weirdo. So what do we do about food? Unless you’re a cannibal, we’re both going to get really hungry in the morning.”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”
“So there isn’t some master plan you’re working from?”
“I’m thinking about one, but it isn’t finished yet. The first step of the plan, though, is not getting taped up and eaten in an alley like a dumbass.”
Lance grunted. “Does that TV work?”
“Dunno.”
“Wait a minute here. You broke into this place yesterday, but you haven’t actually found any food or even tried the TV? And I’m the dumbass?”
“I’m already starting to regret saving you.”
Lance found a remote stuffed in the couch cushions. The expedition he mounted to discover it was something he’d rather forget. The pizza crusts and condom wrappers stuffed in there came straight from a nightmare.
The cable still worked, a pleasant surprise, and he found WTAE again. The feed from the station was still live though no one stood in frame anymore. Blood covered the desks and flooring.
“I guess Jim the Intern didn’t make it.” Lance cycled through more of the channels until he found another local channel, though no call signs overlay the image.
“Jim the who?”
“Some kids were still broadcasting the news this morning.”
“Oh.”
The new station showed a feed from a helicopter. No one spoke or reported on anything. Hundreds of the infected roamed the streets of Orlando.
“I’m surprised there aren’t more,” Lance said.
“Everyone else is in hiding, has been eaten, or is so far advanced in the change that they can’t be out during the day.”
“Already? Mankind has succumbed in a matter of days?”
“Fucking Vladdies.”
The stream switched to a shot from inside a building, the camera pointing out of the window of a high rise in a city that Lance couldn’t place. Police cruisers, empty and destroyed, filled the area below. Red splashed across everything.
“How can we survive this, Cass?”
“Don’t think we will.”
“So we’re just prolonging the inevitable?”
“Probably.”
They sat and watched the video for an hour or so, the utter devastation never failing to shock them. St. Louis burned. It was an inferno the likes of which Lance had never seen. Flames licked the sky above tall buildings and streets, as if napalm covered the entire city.
“I heard that the country is relatively safe,” Lance said after a while. “The low population means there are a lot of less of the infected… I mean, the Vladdies, running around.”
“And how the hell would we get there? They own the night, and the still-turning rule the day. We’re just a footnote in the Earth’s history at this point.”
Lance thought about it, running through different ideas. Everything he could dream up boiled down to two basic options.
“We could starve to death here in the safety of this shithole, or we can try and navigate out of the city, past all of them, and hide in the forest or the mountains.”
Cass stayed silent for a bit, her fingers rubbing the side of the axe in absentminded swirls. “Starving to death would be less painful. Besides, we can probably steal enough food from the neighboring buildings to last a few days.”
“Maybe. Or we might get killed just trying to cross the street as we search around.”
“Yeah, it’s a maybe. The chances of pulling that off are a lot better than catching a cab and leaving the city. And what’s this ‘we’ shit? There is no we.”
Lance’s grin returned.
“Stop smiling at me,” Cass said, though her voice lacked conviction. “You’re like a stray dog that I’ve fed. I save your life once and now I can’t get rid of you?”
“I sleep a lot and I never piss on the carpet.”
Cass’ hard exterior finally cracked. “Dumbass.”
“Look,” Lance said, smile sliding away. “We have a gun and a chest full of swords and other weird shit. If there was ever a chance of us getting out of here, it’s with this stuff. Besides, the last I heard, the military hadn’t lost Heinz Field yet. Hell, they might be airlifting people out of there. There will be lots of armed men, if nothing else.”
“The military is at the stadium?”
“Yeah. It’s been all over the news—you haven’t kept up on anything?”
“I’ve been a little busy killing friends and such.” Her face stiffened again. “The last thing I saw on the news said they were calling it the Xavier virus. I fell off the grid after that.”
“Well, the military blew a lot of the bridges around the city and setup a few outposts to filter the sick from the exiting population. Apparently two of them have fallen, but Heinz Field is still good.”
“And you think that’s a good way to escape? Going to a place with a ton of people? I can’t imagine how many of those things are attracted there by the lights and noises of all those refugees.”
They discussed it for the next hour, weighing the pros and cons of staying or leaving. The dangers apparent in each decision made it difficult. Lance found himself pushing the idea of leaving the city, even though he wasn’t certain that was the best course of action. He just didn’t like the thought of spending the next couple of weeks in a dingy meth lab without any food.
He found it interesting that he talked about the two of them doing everything together, as if they’d formed a partnership in survival. Cass seemed hesitant about setting off with him, but she didn’t fight it as much as he expected.
Knowing that he might not have to go through this hell alone made Lance push the subject even harder. Having someone to talk to, as tense as some of their encounters were, eased the feeling of isolation he had over the past few days.
Cass went to bed after a while, giving him another warning about going back in the hall. Lance laughed off her threat, though he knew she wasn’t joking.
Leaving the television on, Lance curled up on the plastic-covered couch and watched images of the armageddon until he dozed. Fitful dreams kept him restless, tormenting him throughout the night.
He awoke in total darkness an indeterminate amount of time later, the talons of panic hooking into his mind as he tried to get his bearings.
“Lance, get up!”
“What’s going on?” He sat up, the crinkle of plastic reminding him that he’d fallen asleep in a meth lab. “Why’s it so dark?”
“The power must have gone out while we were sleeping.” Her voice came from down the hall. “I can’t see a thing. This goddamn crack den doesn’t have any windows.”
Lance hadn’t noticed that while getting his tour earlier, but the total darkness surrounding him confirmed it. “Did you see any flashlights or candles in the kitchen?”
“No, but I didn’t go through the drawers or anything.”
“You check in
there and I’ll fumble my way through the lab.” Lance got up, holding his hands in front of him like a mindless zombie. He stumbled across the living room, banging his knees against the chair and almost falling over.
Cass’ ransacking of the kitchen filtered through the rooms, followed by her loud swearing as she stuck her hand in something gross.
Lance walked groin first into the edge of the large table holding the chemistry equipment. The air whooshed from his lungs as he bent over, his stomach already flipping from the impact. He grabbed his crotch and turned around, cracking his head off a glass piece of some kind, sending it crashing to the floor.
“You OK?” Cass yelled from the kitchen.
“No!”
“What happened?”
“The table jumped out of nowhere and hit me in the balls.”
“Dumbass.”
The blow sank deeper in his gut. He fought against dry heaves.
Cass continued thrashing the kitchen.
After a minute or so, Lance ran one of his hands across the table, searching for a lighter or flashlight. His other hand stayed on his balls, protecting them from any further impacts.
He didn’t know what he was looking for.
His fingers brushed against tubes, vials, and burners. He continued his exploration for a moment before backtracking, feeling the burner again. A small knob connected to the long stem, near the bottom. Lance twisted it, hearing the hiss of gas.
Running his hands over the area beside it, Lance felt two, thin metal rods that connected together. He picked them up, squeezing the two pieces together. It sparked, giving him a flash of beakers and bottles.
“Gotcha.” Lance found the Bunsen burner again, surprised at how well he navigated in total darkness. Holding the striker above the business end of the burner, Lance twisted the knob again, gas escaping.
The flame ignited in a quick flash, bathing the desk in a soft glow.
“I’ve got some light in here.”
“Bring it to me. I can’t see a damn thing back here.”
“I can’t. It’s a burner on the table.”
Cass worked her way through the apartment, finally making it back through the living room. She held the pistol in her right hand.
“So I guess that’s the last of the power for, I don’t know, ever?” Lance leaned against the wall, watching Cass.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“We could try to find some candles and bring them back here,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
“Or we could see if the football stadium is still safe.”
“How long did we sleep?” Cass walked over to the next hallway, looking toward the barricaded door. “Holy shit, I can see light under the door. We slept through the entire night.”
The lack of power further strengthened Lance’s desire to leave. Slinking around in the dark of the city, scrounging for scraps, didn’t feel like the best way to spend the last few days of his life. Realizing that he would die, and probably soon, made the decision easier, rather than harder.
“Cass, I really don’t want to do this alone, but I’m going to leave. Now. I understand that it’s probably safer here, for the time being at least. Having said that, I don’t want to live like a rat, as you so eloquently put it. If I’m going to die, then I want it to be while I’m fighting to get to a better life. Living in the mountains without power or running water is going to be tough—maybe impossible. But at least I’ll die knowing that I took one last shot. One last shot at not wasting away, doing nothing, like I always have.”
“OK,” she said with a shrug.
Lance gaped at her. “That’s it? OK? I gave that whole speech to try to sway you, and it actually worked? No argument?”
“Nope. Staying in here was bad enough without being in the dark. Not sure why you had to tell me some little story about you wasting your life. Dumbass.”
Lance couldn’t help but laugh. She even made their agreements difficult on him.
Cass disappeared through the living room again, returning a minute later with a pillow in her hands.
“What are you doing with that?” Lance asked.
“Setting it on fire.”
“Can I ask why?”
“So we can see in the bedroom while we grab some knives and my axe.”
The pillow burned well, giving them time to get back down the hall. Cass threw the flaming cloth down onto the bed, the mattress singeing from the flicks of flame.
Lance went straight for the katana. He frowned as he held it in his hands, realizing it was a cheap replica. If he hit anything with it, the blade would likely break off. He tossed it to the ground and dug through the chest of weapons.
He settled upon two knives, one long like a machete, and the other shorter with a serrated back, like the knife Rambo always used. Though they would do massive damage against a human adversary, and possibly even the mutating people of the day, the idea of attacking the creatures roaming the streets at night made him want to curl in a ball.
Cass put on the harness for the axe, using the buckles to hold it in place. The medieval weapon went in handle first, the flat side of the blade resting against her back. The leather flap lay across the top.
The mattress lit, smoke filling the smallish bedroom quickly. Cass grabbed a small pistol holster and clipped it to her belt, which rested unconnected atop her skirt.
“Why do you wear a belt that isn’t attached to anything?” Lance asked. Her fashion continued to astound him.
“Why not?”
“You shouldn’t answer a question with a question.”
“Do you want to stand here and burn to death while I answer all of your questions about the way I dress?” She went to the door, sliding the pistol into the holster. “Come on, dumbass.”
“Aren’t we going to put the bed out?”
“Let the fucker burn. It’ll probably go out on its own. If it doesn’t, then it might act like a bit of a distraction. Either way, we’re burning down a meth lab—the gods will forgive us.”
Lance followed her back to the chemistry set, stealing glances at her butt and exposed lower back, surprised at his inability to stop looking at her.
Six months ago was the last time he and Liz had even touched each other. She’d come home drunk one night, having spent the evening with an old high school acquaintance, and grabbed him out his favorite recliner, taking him into the bedroom. They hadn’t expressed an interest in each other since.
Realizing that his under-utilized sex drive was the likely culprit for his staring didn’t help Lance avert his eyes.
“If I turn around and find you looking at my ass, I’m going to kill you,” Cass said without turning around.
“I’m not,” Lance lied, still staring.
They arrived at the front door, pausing.
Cass turned to Lance. “I hope you’re right about leaving.”
“Me too.” He gripped the machete tighter in his right hand, the solidness of the handle giving him little confidence. “Aren’t you going to get the pistol ready?”
“No.” Cass lifted the axe from its holster by the blade, the process taking a bit more work than Lance would have liked. If she ever needed to get it ready in a hurry, she’d be screwed. “Guns are too loud. These things work off sound for the most part. I’m only going to use it as a last resort.”
“I’m impressed—that’s pretty damn smart.” He looked her over again, shocked that someone who dressed the way she did could be so quick on her feet. The old adage of never judging a book by its cover came to mind. “Did you say you were an artist before all of this happened?”
“Failed artist. Charcoal mostly.” She rolled her shoulders and neck, a faint popping coming from her joints. “Don’t do anything stupid when we get out there.”
“Failed?”
“I’m not looking to be friends. All I want is to survive another day. Can you handle that?”
Lance put a hand up in surrender. “Sure,
sure. Whatever you say, Cassie.”
“I told you never to call me—” She stopped when she saw the broad grin spreading across his face. “Dumbass.”
Lance grabbed the 2x4 locking the door in place and lifted it free, dropping it to the floor.
The door eased open, light flooding the dank hallway. Flies buzzed around the dead bodies of the three Vladdies in the alley, their skin already darkening from exposure.
Cass snaked through the door, looking both ways. “Clear.”
They moved to the mouth of the alley in a hurry, their footfalls silent.
More than twenty of the newly infected meandered around the street, bumping into cars or eating from tipped over trashcans. Two of them came down the sidewalk from the left, moving closer to Lance and Cass than he would have liked. Their skin hadn’t changed much yet, though their rambling, bizarre speech gave them away. Cass held a fist up as they approached.
They stood at the entrance to the alley, waiting.
The fresh victims shambled past them, talking to themselves as the madness set in.
Lance wondered why the Vladdies didn’t attack each other. Was there something about the infection that spoiled their meat in a way that kept them from cannibalizing each other?
Cass pointed down the street to the right. Lance nodded and they took off at a slow jog, weaving between stalled cars and husks of burned-out trucks.
Two blocks went by before one of the more advanced Vladdies noticed them.
It raised its arm, clawed fingers angled toward them, and shrieked.
Other heads popped up, ears cocking toward the high-pitched scream.
“Oh damn,” Cass muttered.
A group of Vladdies exploded into a gallop, some hunching at the waist, knuckles barely above the street. They sprinted toward Lance and Cass with murderous intent, teeth clicking in anticipation.
Chapter 17