Foamers

by Justin Kassab

  He wished he knew if Ashton and X were alive or dead. At least then he could put his desire to search for them to rest. He lifted the rifle scope to his eye and made one last scan of Houghton’s campus. He stopped when he came to the bridge where Tiny had encountered the foamers. Taking his eye away from the scope, he rubbed his eyelid. He tried to tell his body he wasn’t tired, but every muscle was sluggish.

  Another sunrise without Ashton.

  Kade put his eye back to the scope. The female foamer was right where they’d left her, but the big hoss was missing. He leaned the rifle against the corner of the roof and pulled the walkie from his belt.

  “Tiny. Roof, please,” he said.

  By the time he attached the walkie to his belt, Tiny shuffled through the door, wearing a sleeping bag over her shoulders like a shawl.

  “Why’s Grace sleeping on guard duty? Kind of defeats the purpose.”

  “She figured out how to build a fireplace that won’t burn the dorm down, but it’s going to be a hell of a job. So she’s resting. There’s only one body on the bridge.”

  Tiny stormed over, her black hair flowing like an angry spirit, and snatched the rifle. Her face grimaced as she searched for the spot, but then dropped into confusion, and lastly, a smile.

  “He must have had a thick skull if that bullet only grazed him,” she said with a shrug.

  Kade went to the south side of the roof, hoping to see a shiny silver sports car pulling onto the campus. Tiny approached and rubbed his shoulders. He shrugged as her fingers dug into the cold knots of his back. No one had brought the subject of his missing sister to him, and for that he was thankful. If someone suggested they send a search party, he would have to deny the request, which would be a roundabout way of admitting that Ashton and X were dead.

  Tiny’s fingers drilled into Kade’s neck. “What are we trying to get done today?”

  He ran a hand through his greasy hair, feeling it stand on end. “I don’t know.”

  Tiny spun him to face her and pressed a finger against his lips.

  “You can’t not know, even if you don’t know. Everyone is hanging on by a string. You need to be strong. There is nothing you don’t know. Understand me?” she said in a low voice.

  He could only stare into her large brown eyes and think of her warm finger against his cold face. She removed her finger and smiled at him.

  “We’ve got faith in you. Have it in yourself.”

  “Grace will be working on the furnace. She’s going to need some help with that. Maybe force Mick to work with her. Then the two of us can start clearing buildings,” he said.

  “Forgetting someone?”

  He cocked his head to the side. Victoria was gone now.

  “The new stray.”

  Shit.

  He’d forgotten about the sock.

  “Grab me a beer,” he said, and took off running. He flung the door and leapt the first section of steps. Landing with bent legs to absorb the impact, the sound of his feet echoed down the flights. He scrambled three steps at a time while fighting to control his balance.

  He hoped the kid hadn’t puked in the night and choked on it. Grabbing the exit door, he pulled himself forward. Slamming his shoulder on the doorframe, he spun off the impact and kept running. Doors whizzed by as his muscles pumped with every long stride.

  Death by sock. Kade didn’t think that would be a fitting first kill for him. He opened the door and found Argos waiting with a wagging tail. Rushing past the dog, he went straight to the lanky kid lying spread-eagle on the bed, mumbling something to him.

  Kade grabbed hold of the sock and yanked it clear of John’s mouth. John’s chest heaved as he sucked in a lungful of air and his tongue stuck out like a panting dog.

  “Air, sweet air!” John cried.

  Tiny stepped into the room with a can of beer and tossed it to Kade. “What did you do to the stray?”

  “He put his gosh darn sock in my mouth. You guys are crazy,” John said, throwing his head back on the pillow.

  Looking at Kade with narrow eyes, Tiny cocked her head to the side. “Your sock?”

  “It’s been four hours,” Kade replied.

  Her eyes went wide as she gazed at John. “Tough little son of a bitch.”

  Kade cracked open the beer and grabbed the hinge of John’s jaw, keeping it open.

  Pouring a steady stream from a foot above John’s mouth, Kade tried to stay accurate. John thrashed his head, covering himself and the bed in beer. Kade stopped pouring and took a swig for himself before handing the beer to Tiny, who finished the can.

  A geyser of beer spewed across the room as John spit up. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “I didn’t think you’d want rubbing alcohol to get rid of the taste,” Kade said.

  “Trust him, stray, he did you a favor,” Tiny said.

  “Can you please take the handcuffs off? I have to pee,” John said.

  “What are we going to do with him?” Tiny asked, picking the keys up off of the dresser.

  “If he wants to live, he’ll find a way to be useful,” Kade said.

  * * *

  Tiny took John into the room where they were storing their weapons. The room held a haphazard supply of items. The beds were covered with bladed weapons; the bows and crossbows hung in the closets; shotguns and rifles lined the walls; handguns and ammunition filled the two dressers.

  The loss of Mick’s cop car during the Wilson brothers’ attack had destroyed a large portion of their police weapons, and, more crucially, the ammunition for those weapons. Most of what they had now was from the sporting goods store, which left them with an abundance of bolt-action rifles and pump-action shotguns.

  “Pick a gun,” Tiny said, presenting the room to John.

  John stepped into the center of the room, staring in awe like he did the one and only time his parents took him to Hershey Amusement Park when he was a kid. He hadn’t shot a gun in years. Admittedly, he was excellent with a bow, but Tiny had told him to pick a gun, and he didn’t want to look stupid by asking her if he could take a bow instead. If she had wanted him to take a bow, he figured she would have included that in her orders. He picked one of the police assault rifles, and, not knowing what else to do, waited for his next set of orders.

  Tiny went to the dresser and retrieved a box of shells. “You understand giving you a gun is a huge leap of faith? I don’t honestly think we should, but Kade believes you want to be part of this group.”

  “I do,” John replied.

  “Good. Then don’t do anything to make us regret giving you a gun. Hand it over; I’ll load your magazine. Go to the next door and grab some gear,” Tiny replied.

  John handed it over and left the room, wondering what reading material had to do with a gun.

  * * *

  John stood at the steps to the infirmary, which was located across the main road from Lambian Hall. Beside him, Argos growled, his eyes trained on the glass doors. John felt as if he had come to the prom dressed casually. He was wearing everyday clothes, while Tiny was decked head-to-toe in black spandex and was wearing a c
ombat harness; Kade was in cargo pants, long-sleeved under armor, and a cross-strap of shotgun shells.

  John’s heart raced as his vision went black. He shoved the bike helmet that was obstructing his view back on his head. His rifle, unbalanced in one hand, swung toward Kade and Tiny.

  “Stray, watch where you’re aiming,” Kade warned.

  John jerked the gun back, and, unsure where to point it, rested it against his shoulder like he was a plastic army man. He didn’t think now would be a good time to tell his new friends that he hadn’t shot a gun in years, and besides, Tiny was so hot he didn’t want to look like a fool. How hard could it be?

  Kade and Tiny shared a nod, and Kade swung the door open. Argos rushed inside, with Kade and Tiny following behind.

  The door swung shut. John tried to move forward, but his legs felt as heavy as cement. The fear of being unable to prove himself to his new group had him frozen. Straining against the invisible weight, he fought toward the door but couldn’t gain an inch. He let go of the rifle with one hand and wiped beads of sweat from his brow.

  Tiny stuck her head out the door. “Stray, come on!”

  His feet unglued and he practically fell on his face as he rushed into the infirmary. Beyond the entrance were two sealed security doors and a broken receptionist’s window. Argos’s nose was plastered against the base of the door, sniffing in deep draughts.

  Adrenaline pumped through John as the door opened. He let out a scream and pulled the trigger.

  The door slammed shut as Tiny grabbed the barrel of John’s rifle and pointed it at the ceiling.

  “Stray, it’s Kade,” Tiny said, as Kade cautiously opened the door, letting Argos into the next room. “And turn your safety off before you have to shoot something.”

  John’s eyes searched the length of the barrel and down the stock of the gun. “Where’s that?”

  “Do you know how to shoot a gun?” Tiny asked, placing her thumb on a toggle and flipping John’s safety off.

  John wiped the sweat from his brow again. “Yes. Just not this kind.”

  Argos’s bark sounded from the other side of the door. The other two entered the lobby. They were in a semicircular room with three hallways leading away from it: one left, one right, and one straight ahead. Argos barked down the center hallway, his hair stood on end.

  Foamers emerged from every room along the hallways.

  The dim emergency lights made it impossible to tell how many foamers there were, but the corridor danced with shadows. Kade knelt by the entrance while Tiny aimed over him. John couldn’t move one step inside the door.

  John’s heart climbed into his throat. The shadows of the monsters had him fighting for control of his bladder. He had only seen things like this in movies, and never did he think he would be living the scenario.

  When an actor died in a movie they didn’t die in real life. This wasn’t a movie though, and John feared he would die. He didn’t want to die. He wished he hadn’t volunteered to help clear the buildings. In limited knowledge he thought this would be a safe job, but nothing was safe anymore.

  He didn’t want to die.

  The sounds of the foamers echoed down the hallways and collected in the lobby. Their growls and cries challenged his bladder control. How people could make those sounds, he didn’t know, but he did know he was shaking. The door was right behind him, he could still get away, but he knew Tiny and Kade were his future. If he walked out the door he would have to keep walking into an unknown and dangerous world, but if he stood with them, he would become one of their group.

  He didn’t want to die, but his best chance to live was to stick with these two warriors.

  Tiny looked like a black marble statue as she rattled off three round bursts down the hallway. Her finger kept a smooth rhythm as she squeezed and released the trigger.

  A shrill scream erupted with each blast of rapid gunfire. The sounds the foamers made as they died sounded entirely too human for John. Tiny was shooting people. John fell to his knees and fought his swirling stomach. The edges of his vision flashed black. Forcing himself to breathe through his nose, he fought the urge to vomit for as long as he could.

  The solid thump of the shotgun discharging into flesh at close range was all it took to break his hold on nausea. He watched his liquidized Pop-Tart spill from his mouth and across the lobby floor. Coughing and spewing, he cleared the remaining viscous liquid from his mouth. With watery eyes, he looked up to see Argos bounding at him. John ducked; his plastic helmet cracked off the floor, and he placed his forehead in his own vomit, sending another wave of gags through his stomach.

  Argos collided with a man who had a crusted red mouth and wrestled him to the ground. John fought his shaking body as he snatched his rifle and aimed point-blank at the creature’s head.

  He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. After the gunshots, the creature was still. John pushed himself to his feet as more monsters closed in from the other two hallways.

  The closest one, a stick figure of a girl crawling on all fours, leapt for Tiny’s back. The barrel of John’s rifle swung around as he held down the trigger. The spray slammed the girl into the wall, and the force lifted the barrel toward the ceiling. As John leaned back with the rifle, his foot slipped in his vomit and he crashed backward, the dull thwack of his helmet hitting the floor echoing in his ears. The air rushed from his lungs as a foamer jumped knees-first onto his chest. A warm liquid ran down his legs, followed by a splatter of blood across his face as Tiny’s knife slit the creature’s throat.

  Her delicate fingers curled around the helmet strap and roughly hoisted John to his feet. “Go get the others.”

  John ran to the door then stopped. The other two weren’t with him. He wasn’t a coward. He spun around, letting the end of his rifle find the nearest target, and closed his eyes as he pulled the trigger.

  Kade yelled in pain. John was terrified to open his eyes. A body slammed him through the first door, then the second. He tripped over his own feet and fell down the steps, landing on the sidewalk.

  “Get up!” Tiny yelled at him. Before his mind knew what his body was doing, John was on his feet and staring at the embodiment of rage. “Go get the others.”

  John’s feet bit against the concrete and he felt the cold air blow by him as he ran for the dorm. His shoes pattered across the road and he launched over the curb, landing softly in the grass.

  Mick stood next to the skeleton of what was once the ambulance. He was stripping the panels for Grace to use in her fireplace. John stopped and put his rifle on his knees, catching his breath as sweat and vomit burned his eyes.

  “Are you hurt?” Mick asked.

  “Not my blood. Those … things … foamers … They’re everywhere.”

  Mick pulled his police jacket off the ambulance frame and tossed it on. He grabbed his walkie. “Grace, we’ve got an emergency.”

  Mick checked the pistol on his police belt and grabbed John by the shirt, dragging him back toward the infirmary.

  “I was told to run away,” John said.

  “And I’m telling you we’re going back,” Mick said.

  Cresting the steps, gunfire an
d wounded screams escaped through the doors.

  Inside, Tiny stood in the center of the lobby, Kade leaned against her legs in a sitting position and Argos beside him. They were entirely surrounded by a perimeter of foamers. Each creature was skittish, like a newborn animal unsure of what to do without guidance. The foamers seemed to be waiting for one of their kind to take the lead, but were all too apprehensive to be the first to approach their attackers.

  Tiny fired her last three-round burst at an advancing foamer, adding it to the pile of bodies. Some of those bodies were dead, others were dying, and some were merely wounded. She slung the empty rifle across her back and switched to her pistol and knife, while Kade reloaded his shotgun.

  “It’s me, it’s me, it’s me!” Mick yelled, bursting through the doors. The foamers holding the line between the door and Kade scattered out of the way while Mick and John rushed into the center of the circle. John felt as if he was surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves. The foamers all leered at them with foaming red mouths, sizing up their meal.

  John felt a soul crushing weight of guilt when he saw the two bullet holes he had put in Kade. The wounds were just above his hip and on the outside of his quad. As Kade worked the action on the shotgun, John couldn’t help but marvel that everyone here was a badass.

  A foamer rushed at them, and Kade unloaded a blast of buckshot into the beast’s face. The troop became frenzied, and all at once, the ring closed on them. They opened fire, hoping to turn back the wall of flesh, but their ammo wouldn’t outlast the attack.

  “Tiny. John. Get him out of here,” Mick said as he drew his baton from his belt.

  “No fucking way. You guys make a run for it,” Kade said as Mick smashed his baton across the nearest foamer’s head.

  “Tiny,” Mick said in a calm, cool voice.