Infected Chaos

by Loren Edwards

  “We’re vulnerable here. This is just one infected corpse here, but what if we had ten, thirty, or fifty of these things?”

  “He’s right,” Allen affirmed walking to the opposite side of the road with his hand over his forehead.

  “We’re not prepared for this,” David explained, following Allen. “We need a better place to hole up. One with better security or some kind of barrier to keep these things away from us.”

  Allen walked back to the corpse. He looked at the corpse thinking his brother was right and he couldn’t imagine if they faced more than ten at a time; there was only three or four of them.

  “We need more supplies, more weapons, and a much bigger space if we’re all going to live under the same roof,” Allen piped in.

  “What about other people?” Dane asked.

  David looked at him, his eyebrow raised. “What do you mean other people?’” David asked.

  “I mean, what about those who aren’t sick?”

  David stared at his young brother for a few seconds. “We take care of family first. I don’t care about anyone else but family. Got that?” he replied firmly, pointing to the ground.

  Dane nodded.

  “We cannot be an shelter for for everyone. We take care of our own if we’re to survive.”

  “Are you saying we shouldn’t help anyone who isn’t infected?” Allen jumped in.

  David turned. “Yes,” he replied in a cold voice.

  “I have friends who may not be infected. What about them?” Allen countered.

  “Who?”

  “Bruce, Jimmy, and Harry, for one.”

  “Extra mouths to feed?”

  “They might be useful to us.”

  “How so?”

  Dane chimed in, “Extra security … an extra gun.”

  David paused and thought for a few seconds. “Maybe, if they pull their own weight.”

  David placed both of his hands on each of his brothers’ shoulders. “Everyone is a threat to our family now. We cannot just accept anyone. I know those guys; they’re all right if they pull their weight. If we find a safe location, there will be people who will kill to take it. If we have a good supply of food and weapons, there will be desperate people who will try to take it from us. Are you okay with strangers taking food from your children’s mouths? I’m not.”

  Allen and Dane shook their heads.

  “We need to treat everyone we see as a threat. Infected or not. Is that understood?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah,” Dane repeated.

  David smiled. “Good. Let’s get back home and prepare to move the family to a safer location. We’ll need to load up the trailers, all the vehicles, and take everything we’ll need. This new place will be our new home…maybe for a long time. Allen, bring your RV trailer. We might need it, but we need to get started soon. There’s not much time before things will get worse.”

  David handed the bloody arrow to Allen and walked back to the truck.

  Dane and Allen exchanged looks.

  “Where are we going?” Allen turned to ask.

  “The airport.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Cliff woke from his restless sleep to the smell of coffee and bacon. The familiar scents brought him comfort and tore him from his nightmare where he felt lost. His pillow was wet with sweat. His dream made him feel unworthy. In his dream, he was trapped and unable to save his children from the infected. He kept screaming at them not to go into a building without him, but they didn’t listen. In the nightmare, Jennifer was too occupied to help him; she was busy talking and laughing with her boyfriend. He kept yelling at her to help, but she ignored him.

  His awareness returned when Jonathan threw open the door and jumped on the bed. “Come on, Dad. Get up. It’s breakfast time,” Jonathan laughed.

  Cliff smiled and wrestled Jonathan to his back, tickling him until Jennifer called through the door to announce breakfast was getting cold. He took a second to soak in the moment. It was all he wanted: living with Jennifer and the children under the same roof.

  “What’s the plan today, Daddy?” Cassidy inquired when he entered the kitchen.

  “Well,” he paused to collect his thoughts. He didn’t want to frighten the kids, and then reality hit him like a punch to the stomach. “I guess we stay here and play,” Cliff responded in the nicest tone he could muster. He took a seat at the table with a plate of scrambled eggs and a sausage.

  “Y’all hungry?” Jennifer asked, turning to the table with skillet in hand.

  “Thank you, hon … Jennifer,” he caught himself. “This looks fantastic.”

  “No problem. Let’s just hope we don’t run out of supplies.”

  Cliff heard the concern in her voice. He could see how she twirled her hair when she was nervous. He was happy she hid it from the kids.

  “We should be good,” Cliff responded between bites. “I took inventory last night, and we have enough for three months.”

  Jennifer sighed under her breath and dropped the skillet on the stove. “Three months? What if this doesn’t blow over in three months? I thought you said you had supplies?”

  He thought three months of supplies was plenty. “We should know how they plan on treating this infection and return to normal within three months. It shouldn’t take FEMA long, and it shouldn’t be much time before we know how safe we are.”

  She turned to face him and rested a limp wrist on her hip. “Cliff, that is not enough! I want to have enough supplies for six months … or more if we’re to be held here!”

  “Held here?” Cliff asked, feeling her words were a slap in his face.

  Jennifer turned back to the stove. “Never mind.”

  Cliff returned to his breakfast but kept an eye on Jennifer. The world was falling apart around them, and she had to cock an attitude.

  “I need to run into town,” Jennifer said. “The phones are still out, and I can’t reach anyone.”

  He dropped his fork on his plate. “What?”

  “I can’t reach my parents on the phone. I can’t just sit here hoping for the best. I need to run into town and see how they are … see how things are.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I forbid it! Town is eight miles away and it’s too dangerous! If what they are saying on the news is true, there will be infected people everywhere. You’re putting yourself in danger.,” Cliff pleaded and softened his voice. “What if you’re infected without knowing it and you bring it back to the kids?” He knew if he mentioned anything about himself, she wouldn’t care.

  Jennifer knew he was right. She couldn’t sit in the house, watching the kids, not knowing how her parents or friends were doing. They might need help. If she didn’t go and they did need help, she wouldn’t forgive herself.

  “Can I go now, Mommy?” Jonathan asked, finishing his breakfast.

  Jennifer looked over his plate and smiled. “Go on, play with your sister—nicely.”

  She waited until the kids were engulfed in their play before she turned to Cliff. “No, I have to know,” she stated. She felt like a hand had wrapped around her throat when the words left her lips. “I have to find out how things are.”

  “Are you trying to convince me or convince yourself?”

  She rubbed her eye with the back of her hand and sighed. “I don’t know, Cliff. All I know is, if I don’t do something—venture out, find answers—we might be staying here for no reason at all. Things might be settled down and back to normal for all we know.”

  Cliff reminded himself she was her own person. He protested her decision, but in the end decided not to fight her. Maybe she was right. Maybe she would return with answers. He had questions as well.

  “I’ll stay with the kids and keep them occupied,” Cliff said.

  He walked to her and stopped inches from her shoulders. He stared into her deep-blue eyes, wishing he could kiss her—but he knew better. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. She didn’t fight it. He tightened his embrace.
“Please return safely; the kids are depending on you.”

  Jennifer looked down and nodded. She returned his embrace and laid her forehead on his chest. “I just have to know,” she said in a soft tone.

  Cliff pulled her head closer to him and kissed the top of her hair. “Be safe out there. I want you to take my pistol in case you need it. There’re a few more things I want you to grab if you’re going out and it is safe.”

  “I will.”

  “Take my mom’s car. It’s just like your old one. I know you never liked driving my truck. There are two gas cans in the garage. Load them in the trunk, and fill ‘em up with regular gas … if the gas pumps still work and if it’s safe.”

  Jennifer nodded. Something told her not to loosen her grip around him. Thousands of memories filled her mind. She realized how bad she had treated Cliff the last ten months. He had his issues, but he didn’t deserve her hatefulness.

  Emotions overwhelmed her as she looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Cliff. I know you’re a good man. I haven’t treated you well since the divorce. You didn’t deserve any of it. I know you tried to talk a few times after the divorce, and I pushed you away. It wasn’t easy for me, either. In this time of peril, I’m glad we’re together, and that all of us are safe.”

  Cliff began to say something but held his thoughts. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. He missed her.

  Jennifer pulled back from his chest and saw Cassidy with Jonathan standing in the doorway, smiling. Jennifer wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and smiled at them.

  She looked at the wall clock. “I guess I should be going. It’s nine a.m.”

  “Okay, sure.” Cliff hesitated. He still didn’t feel right about letting her go into town alone, but he couldn’t go and put the children in danger. It was smart, he guessed, to see what was in town. “Go. I’ll meet you in the garage. Let me grab a few things.”

  When Cliff walked into the garage, Jennifer was seated in the gray 1994 Corsica car, its engine running and waiting for him. He retrieved a Beretta pistol from his truck and handed it to her. “It’s loaded. You remember how to use it?”

  Jennifer nodded, rubbing her hand back and forth on her left arm.

  “You sure you’re up to this?”

  “No.” She paused. “But I have to.”

  “Then don’t go. Wait, and I’ll go later.”

  Jennifer smiled and rolled up the window; if she continued to talk, she would have second thoughts and wouldn’t go. She slid the gear into reverse and backed out of the garage, wiping a tear from her cheek as she drove away.

  As she turned onto the county road, the silence set in and soon, the sobs escaped.

  She looked at the gas gauge; it read a quarter of a tank. “God, I hope that’s enough gas. Gosh dang it!“ She kicked the floorboard and slammed her right hand against the empty passenger seat.

  The county road she traveled on was empty; not a soul in sight. She looked around at the passing homes; there was no signs of terror. A few cars were parked in drive ways, cattle were grazing in pastures—things looked normal. The only thing out of the ordinary were a few empty vehicles on the side of the road, their doors opened. She pictured a dead person sitting behind the wheel—her worst fear. But, to her surprise each were empty.

  She approached the divided state highway that ran below the hill where the town of Whittaker laid. It was a favorite highway to travel from Texas to Oklahoma City: four lanes of divided highway. She slowed the Corsica when she spotted more vehicles parked along the road. Some cars were in the ditch, others in median, but each one was empty. For the first time in her life, she felt alone.

  “What the hell happened here? Where is everyone?” she asked aloud.

  Jennifer locked her hands around the wheel tighter when the pungent smell hit her; it reminded her of a burning trash pit. She brought the vehicle to a stop in front of the highway sign. Four lanes of highway laid before here, she couldn’t believe the sight. Numerous abandoned cars along each side of the roadway; it reminded her of a traffic jam in larger cities. A minivan was smoldering, its interior burnt and the sliding door opened. No sign of its driver. She counted fifteen vehicles beyond the burning van. All of the cars had their doors open as if the drivers fled in a hurry. The scene gave her an eerie feeling of despair.

  She wanted to turn back to Cliff and the kids. She made it this far and felt it was too late to turn around now. She tried to control her breathing but was losing the battle. Maybe I should have listened to Cliff?

  “I don’t like this. Oh my gawd. What am I doing?” she cried as she crossed the middle section of the highway.

  A state police car was parked in the middle of the eastbound lane, its rear door ajar. Her eyes stopped on a shotgun lying next to the rear tire. Countless empty shotgun shell casings littered the ground. She felt her heart begin to race; the reality of what unfolded hours before set in.

  She stopped the car, going against the advice of the little voice in her head. She slid the car into park and opened the door. That voice in her head was now screaming at her to remain in the car. The wind blew, whipping the repugnant smell around her. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and looked around in every direction. She was alone.

  She took a deep breath, then walked over and picked up the shotgun. She recognized the model: it was a Remington 870 model shotgun, like she used last time she went quail hunting with Brian. She turned the action down and looked into the breech.

  “Great, it’s empty,” she chuckled at herself.

  She returned to the Corsica with the shotgun, placed it in the rear seat, and continued her drive to Whittaker.

  Whittaker was a quarter of a mile past the highway. She kept her speed down as she drove around two empty vehicles before she reached the town. She gasped when she saw a body lying in the middle of road by the second car. It was a dark-haired woman in all black clothing. She fought back a tear and reminded herself to stay tough and focused, but she found herself staring at the body as she passed.

  When she came to the stoplight right outside of town, she spotted the after-effects of a car accident. Two cars had run into each other in the middle of the intersection. It looked to her like one driver pulled out in front of the other car. She could only imagine what the town looked like during yesterday’s worst parts of the outbreak.

  She maneuvered her car around the wreckage. As she passed, she saw one driver sprawled across the hood, face down having crashed through the windshield. The second driver was still behind the wheel. Jennifer covered her mouth when she recognized the driver.

  It was her best friend, Beth. “Oh, dear God. Beth?” Jennifer cried.

  They were supposed to spend the afternoon together a day before until the virus hit. She said a quick prayer and thought of Beth’s kids, wishing them the best.

  Jennifer began to slap the steering wheel, fat tears flowing from her cheeks. She cussed herself for coming into town; she should have listened to Cliff. She could have been at the house helping organize supplies or something. She was lost in her thoughts, ignoring the passing scenery, when a woman walked in front of her.

  She slammed her foot on the brake; the tires screeched in protest. Jennifer’s eyes widened. It was an elderly woman she recognized: Dorothy, from the grocery store. She was infected. Jennifer pushed herself against her seat and swallowed. She gripped the steering wheel, staring at the old women; her blood ran cold as the the old woman’s blank eyes met hers.

  Jennifer yelped when the old woman jumped onto the hood, landing on her stomach. She was screaming and scratching at the windshield. Jennifer pushed her head back against the headrest, her eyes wide, thinking the woman was going to crash through the glass. Dorothy’s high, petrified scream sent chills down Jennifer’s spine.

  Jennifer slammed her foot on the gas pedal and accelerated down the street with the woman attached to the hood.

  “Jesus Christ!” Jennifer screamed in terror, gripping the wheel with both hands.

/>   It was just two days prior, she recalled, acting like a rabid person on her hood, approaching thirty miles an hour. She was fixated on Jennifer; her eyes didn’t blink or move targets. Jennifer was scared, knowing only the window stood between her and death.

  The elderly woman’s black ooze ooze poured from her mouth, coating the windshield. Jennifer panicked and could only think of one thing to do: slam on the brakes.

  Dorothy flew from the hood. Her body tumbled and rolled twenty yards before sliding under a truck parked on the side of the street. Her body laid contorted and broken.

  Jennifer sat feeling her chest heaved, trying to take in as much air as her lungs could hold. She stared at the disfigured body lying under the truck, trying to make sense of the many emotions she was feeling. She knew the old lady, and couldn’t believe the ferociousness she portrayed. It reminded Jennifer of her dog, who had come down with rabies—a terrible memory for a ten-year-old girl.

  Jennifer knew the woman had to have broken bones; no one walked away from a crash like that unscathed. She pushed her hair behind her ear, and a jolt of fear fell over her body when Dorothy began to move.

  “Oh my God.”

  The old woman was trying to stand, but her legs were broken. She started to turn her body around with her right arm. It collapsed, breaking in two, with only the skin keeping the arm intact. Jennifer cupped her hand to her mouth. The infected lady slithered on the ground until she faced Jennifer. She stared with her white eyes and let out a horrendous scream.

  “Screw this!” Jennifer cried. She slid the car’s gear in reverse and turned around.

  One block from where Jennifer dropped Dorothy was Keller’s Body Shop, her boyfriend’s business. She didn’t remember passing it. Jennifer felt a smile etch across her face upon seeing Brian’s truck parked in front of the building. She pulled the car into the parking lot and parked next to his truck. The place was usually bustling with activity, but she noticed the overhead doors were closed. Maybe he closed to keep everyone safe?

  She entered the front door and looked around. The place was empty.

  “Hello? Anyone here?”