Infected Chaos

by Loren Edwards

There was no reply. The place was quiet. Jennifer opened the door to Brian’s office and flipped the light switch on. His office was empty as well. She walked around Brian’s desk and saw a note in Brian’s handwriting.

  6 pm. Thursday

  Jennifer took a mental note of the date and time. She looked around the office again and looked in the shop; it was obvious no one was there.

  She returned to her car and stopped the moment she saw someone walking behind Brian’s truck.

  “Hello?” Jennifer whispered watching the stranger.

  When the man turned slightly, she could see he was infected. She tried to open her door without alerting it, but it creaked. The stranger turned and let out a hiss before it ran toward her. She threw the driver’s side door open, jumped in, and closed it seconds before the stranger arrived. She cussed as she fumbled for the door locks. The infected stranger acted the same as Dorothy: scratching and hissing at the window. His saliva coated the window, making Jennifer sick. The smell of him was thick in her nostrils. She spat from almost vomiting.

  She turned the car’s ignition, shifted into reverse, and sped back away from the stranger. The car’s tires screeched when she pushed the gas pedal and sped away.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jennifer’s heart raced as she sped away from the body shop through the streets of Whittaker. Brian’s business was empty; her only choice now was to see if he was at home.

  The houses and business she passed were blurry in her peripheral vision. She swore she saw some people walking on the sidewalk. After her two encounters with the infected, she wanted to ignore everyone. Her mind shuffled through different places where Brian might have been hiding; it was unlike him to leave his truck at work overnight. She needed to find him and assured herself he would keep her safe when she was in his arms.

  She slowed the car as she approached the Whittaker Police Department and wondered how the police were faring. She noticed the entrance to the building was open and looked inside. A fire burned in the front waiting area. “So much for help,” she mumbled.

  She turned into Brian’s neighborhood, three blocks from the police department and came to a complete stop at the stop sign.

  “What am I doing?” She laughed at herself. She continued through the intersection until she came to Seller Court and turned right. As she turned onto Seller, she saw a man waving his arms from a driveway near the corner. He started running at her when she drove past the house. She pressed on the gas pedal, swerving and missing him by inches. She could hear him shouting, but not what he was saying. She glanced into the rearview mirror; the man in the road was waving a shovel.

  Jennifer turned into Brian’s driveway and was greeted by a blue and white Defender Land Rover. She thought it was beautiful. Brian must have driven it home last night, she thought.

  She had fallen in love with it right away. She loved big trucks, but hated to drive them; their large tires and height frightened her. She felt overwhelmed behind the wheel of a vehicle that towered over the other cars on the road. She sensed she could run over them.

  She exited the Corsica and looked around the neighborhood. She saw the next-door neighbor’s car in the driveway. The neighbor’s garage door was open, but no one was around. Normally, she would see people about and kids playing in the street. It was eerily quiet. She hugged herself. Jennifer let out a deep breath before walking to the front door.

  She knocked on the door and waited a few seconds before opening it, poking her head in and calling for Brian. There was no reply. She called again before entering. The lights in the room were on, and the television was displaying static. She smelled the newly applied paint she helped him with two weeks ago. Jennifer had fun painting with Brian, but couldn’t think Cliff of Cliff being the do-it-yourself type of guy.

  Jennifer swallowed. “Brian, are you here? It’s Jennifer!”

  She called Brian’s name again as she walked into the kitchen. She saw a first-aid kit on the kitchen table, unused bandages, and three bloody rags in a bowl. Jennifer tensed. She ran her finger along the lip of the bowl and studied the bandages. Her eyes narrowed. The blood wasn’t normal; it was dark, almost black. Jennifer felt her lips start to quiver. She swallowed.

  “Brian?” she cried. “I hope you’re all right.”

  She walked down the hallway to Brian’s bedroom. A woman’s sweater on the bed caught her eye: it was Beth Owen’s. She had seen Beth wearing the same sweater two days before when she ran into her at the grocery store. The tremor in her lips began to move throughout her body.

  Jennifer felt her stomach knot. She couldn’t breathe. Her boyfriend and her friend were seeing each other behind her back. It dawned on her: the handwritten note at his office was a date and time to see Beth.

  “How could I be so foolish?” she asked aloud.

  She thought of Cliff and the kids. They needed her. She put herself in front of the needs of her kids by coming here. She shook her head and asked herself what she was thinking. She stared at the closet, spotting the gun safe in the back corner. A smile formed across her face; she remembered the combination, inside she found six boxes of ammo, three pistols, three rifles, and a bag of silver coins.

  She found a gym bag on the shelf and dumped its contents onto the floor. She packed the gym bag with the ammo and pistols, then swung the bag over her shoulder. She carried the rifles in her arms out to her car. She opened the trunk and was about to place the rifles inside when she stopped. She looked up and stared at the Land Rover. It looked brand new, but it had to be thirty years old or more. She smiled and closed the trunk carrying her loot to the Defender. Taking his stuff worked out some of her anger. She returned to the safe for one more look. She cussed Cliff under her breath for saying they had a three-month supply of food; she wanted more. She surveyed Brian’s closet and found a second gym bag, grabbed it, and went to the kitchen.

  She fumbled through Brian’s pantry and threw every canned food and nonperishable item she could find into the bag. She looked through the drawers and cabinets and decided to take silverware and utensils, too. Jennifer returned to the Defender and emptied the bag in the rear cargo area, then closed the back door and walked to the driver’s door. She stepped on its doorsteps and peered through the window. The keys weren’t in the ignition or on the dash. She remembered seeing a set of keys on the dresser in the bedroom, next to Beth’s earrings.

  Jennifer returned to the bedroom and found the keys to the Defender. She stared at the earrings, thinking of her friend and wondering how she could do that to her. But she was dead, so Jennifer guessed it didn’t matter now.

  She entered the kitchen again to double check her efforts; she didn’t want to forget anything. Jennifer opened the refrigerator and smiled when she spied six beer bottles. She placed five bottles on the counter and opened one to drink.

  “Ahh! That’s one thing about Brian,” she said, enjoying the taste. “He has great taste in beer.”

  Jennifer paused while holding the beer bottle to her mouth. A loud crash came from the garage. Her eyes darted around the kitchen without moving her head. She heard the noise again. There was a rumbling sound coming from the garage. She placed her beer on the counter, walked slowly to the stove, and picked up a cast iron skillet. The eight-inch skillet felt heavy in her hands. She brought it up to her chest and walked to the door that led to the garage.

  As she approached at a slow pace, she heard another ruffling noise from the other side. She leaned toward the door and took a few seconds to focus her hearing. Maybe it’s Brian’s cat, she thought. She took a few deep breaths and searched for the courage to open the door.

  She paused. “What am I doing?”

  Another crash came from the other side of the door. She took two deep breaths and leaned in, pressing her ear against it. Her eyes squinted when she thought she heard heavy breathing. She swallowed hard, reached for the doorknob, and blinked twice as she extended her hand. She felt her heart trying to beat out of her chest and took a deep breat
h.

  She twisted the doorknob, freeing the door from its latch. The hinges squeaked. She paused to take another deep breath, trying to find the courage. An odd smell came from the crack in the door. She didn’t recognize it, thinking it might be chemicals from Brian’s body shop. As the door swung free, she noticed the garage was dark. She found the light switch on the inside wall and flipped it.

  Jennifer jumped when a eyeball stared at her, mere inches from her own. She stumbled backward, dropping the skillet and tripping over a broom. It was Brian. He was drooling and hissing at her, his arm reaching for her through the small opening between the door and wall. His high-pitched was excruciating. Jennifer cupped her hands to her ears and clenched her eyes.

  The voice in her head told her to run. She tried but felt paralyzed with disbelief and confusion.

  “Get on your feet!” the voice in her head commanded. She got to her feet and picked up the skillet. She stood with it in her hand and watched Brian’s rage as he tried to get through the door. His body was pushing the door closed, but it was pinning his arm between the door and wall. She stepped forward and swung the skillet at his arm.

  Jennifer screamed when his hand grabbed her shirt. She reached for his grip with her left hand and tried to pry his fingers off. Her mouth widened when she felt how cold he was. His grip was too strong; she couldn’t budge his fingers.

  She cried, “Please!”

  She swung the skillet at his arm repeatedly, breaking his arm after the third blow. He screamed louder when the bone cracked. His desire to attack her was insatiable.

  “Let me go!”

  Jennifer could feel her heartbeat in the vein on her forehead as she tried to break free from his grip. She arched her back and grunted, digging deep for a last ounce of strength. As she cursed under her breath, she heard her shirt stitching begin to tear giving her hope.

  When the last thread on her shirt gave way, she fell to the floor gasping for air. She looked up in time to see Brian at the door.

  She sucked in air when he let out a loud screamed and lunged at her. She rolled on the floor dodging his attack. The hair on her neck stood when she felt Brian’s hands brushed her back.

  When Jennifer rolled, she grabbed the cast iron skillet and jumped to her fee when he tumbled into the wall. She turned toward him to see him stand once more. He let out another scream before he raced toward her. She reared the skillet with both hands behind her and waited. He was inches away when she swung the skillet with all her might, striking him against the side of his head. He tumbled to the floor.

  “You bastard!” Jennifer screamed and spat on him. She kicked him in his side and smiled at the sound of his ribs breaking.

  She leaned over him and yelled, “Beth? Of all women, it was Beth?”

  She kicked him again with the other foot, then dropped the skillet and smiled when she heard the pinging sound of the skillet striking his head.

  She turned and stormed from the kitchen. “I’m taking your truck.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cliff stood without protest as Jennifer backed down the driveway, keeping a watchful eye on her car until she was out of sight. He wished she had listened to him; the threat was too real to drive into town for a boyfriend. He wished he could have gone with her, but someone had to watch the children. The television channels went dead hours ago. He had no idea how the outside world was handling the outbreak. He felt the house was a safe location and wished Jennifer did, too.

  He went back inside and saw Cassidy finishing the dishes her mother had started. Cliff smiled at her. She is a good kid.

  “Where’s your brother?”

  She pointed with her head. “He’s in the bedroom.”

  Cliff pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and took a seat. He cupped his hands to his face let out a long sigh. He didn’t like Jennifer being gone.

  Cliff peeked through his fingers and could see Cassidy was worried and upset with her mother leaving.

  “How can Mom just leave us?” she blurted.

  Cliff squeezed the bridge of his nose and forced his eyes closed.

  “She just left us!” Cassidy blurted. “What about staying here and worrying about us, besides putting herself in danger?”

  Cliff smiled. He was proud of his fourteen-year-old daughter. She was maturing, asking adult questions. She was right. He wondered the same, but felt her real reason for going was her boyfriend. He thought of the many times Jennifer acted selfishly.

  He wondered how best to answer her. “She felt she had to go into town to check up on Grandma and Grandpa, honey. She’s worried about them. But know she loves you. She will return. She just felt it would be best to check up on your grandparents,” Cliff dodged the question.

  “Well, I don’t like it,” she complained as she placed the last dish in the dish tray by the sink.

  He understood her concern. What could he do but assure her that her mother would return and be safe again?

  “Dad?” Cassidy asked in a softer tone. “We lost electricity sometime during the night. When do you think we’ll lose water?”

  “Yes, we did. Guess someone ran their car into an electrical service station or something. Damn, I’m proud of you,” Cliff smiled. “You’re a chip off the old block. You like to think as I do.”

  Cassidy smiled for the first time that morning.

  “We will need water,” she stated.

  “You’re right, and see the small building out there?” Cliff pointed. “That’s the pump house between the barn and pond.”

  Cassidy raised herself on her toes and looked. She saw a small cinder block building behind the barn.

  “We get our water from a well. That’s the pump house. As long as the batteries are charged, it will continue to pump water up.”

  “So no water if the batteries run down?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Well, I plan to install solar panels on its roof today to help keep the batteries charged. There’s a set of panels in the barn we that used on the pump last year to irrigate the pasture. It was on my to-do list today.”

  “Can I help?” she smiled.

  Cliff beamed. “Sure.”

  Jonathan walked into the kitchen, still wearing his pajamas and rubbing his eyes. His hair was standing up in different directions. “What are we doing today?” he yawned.

  “Wanna go fishing?”

  Jonathan smiled and nodded. “Yeah!”

  “Let me grab Grandpa’s fishing tackle, pistol, and some tools. Then, we will go.”

  Cliff found his father’s Colt single-action pistol in the closet then proceeded to the garage storage closet, pulling out the fishing poles and tackle. He wiped dust from the poles and set the tackle up for Jonathan.

  Jonathan beamed when his dad handed him the equipment. “Thanks, Dad!” he said and rushed off to the pond.

  Cliff and Cassidy followed after Jonathan until they came to the barn. Cliff found the solar panels inside the barn next to the portable water pump.

  “Let’s get these to the pump house, shall we?”

  Cassidy was happy to help and spend time with her father. She intently watched him work with his hands. There was something about completing a task with her hands that made her feel good about herself.

  After fifteen minutes, one panel was screwed in place. Cliff looked to see Jonathan busily working his fishing pole at the pond and his daughter watching him work.

  “Thank you, honey. You have been a big help today.” Cliff smiled at Cassidy.

  “No problem. I like to learn.”

  “I know you do.”

  “What’s next, Dad?”

  “After this, we have to wire it to the batteries so the panels will charge them during the day.”

  “Will it run down at night?” she asked.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Cliff answered with a screw sandwiched between his lips.

  “So no late evening showers? Store water in buck
ets to be used at night?”

  “Yep. Just like they did a hundred years ago. People have lived without running water most of human history. We’ll manage.”

  Cliff was focused on the last screw when he heard Jonathan scream. He looked up to see an old man stumbling toward his son. The stranger was moaning and walking like he was drunk. The strange-looking man was a car’s length from Jonathon; his arms stretched out, aiming for the little boy when Cliff jumped from the ladder and sprinted to the pond.

  “Dad!”

  The old man was growling and snapping his jaw as he approached. Cliff pushed Jonathan away and stepped in front of the infected elderly man.

  “Go!” Cliff yelled, turning his head over his shoulder.

  The strange man, with his drunken appearance, continued. Cliff stood his ground and glanced over his shoulder to see Jonathan running toward Cassidy. She was waving her arm and cheering him to run.

  Cliff turned his eyes back to the uninvited guest. He studied the man as he neared.

  It is the eyes that stand out. His jaw snapping, hissing, and growling were second to the eyes.

  “Mr. Cline?” Cliff tilted his head. The stumbling man wore the same green cap Mr. Cline was known to wear every day—except to church.

  Mr. Cline’s chicken farm was a over a mile away. When the wind shifted, the smell from his chicken coops flowed onto Cliff’s parents’ land. It was the most disgusting odor Cliff ever had the pleasure to smell. It was worse than an open sewer.

  “Mr. Cline?”

  The old farmer continued his approach ignoring Cliff’s plea. Cliff pulled the Colt single-action pistol from his waistband and pointed it.

  “Mr. Cline. Don’t make me shoot you. Stop!”

  The infected, elderly farmer continued his approach.

  “Mr. Cline, one last time! Stop, or I will shoot!”

  Cliff cocked the hammer of the Colt and shifted his stance.

  “Please stop!” he pleaded.

  Cliff squeezed the trigger. The large-frame pistol recoiled in his hand. The bullet struck Mr. Cline directly in the center of his chest. Cliff re-cocked the pistol out of habit.