Three Miles Out: Book One

by Jacqueline Druga

  “Nah, it’s okay. I’m not alone.” He pointed to her bandaged arm. “Figured you’d have to be sporting some sort of war wound to be one of the Nostrum Six.”

  “Ah, yes, the six of us with super immunities.” She took a sip and set down her glass. ‘Vivian.” She held out her hand.

  “Gil Fuller.” He shook her hand. “Or number three as they call me. I’ve been here two days. Got here right when they were evacuating. Welcome to the island. I take it you couldn’t sleep.”

  “No, thought a drink would do me some good. It is. I’m going to head back. I’m not much company.”

  “I understand.”

  “Nice meeting you.” Vivian, carrying her glass walked from around the bar and headed toward the door.

  “Vivian.”

  Vivian stopped.

  Gil lifted the bottle, walked it to her and extended it. “It doesn’t go away with one drink. But the bottle helps.”

  She gripped the bottle.

  “Trust me,” he said before releasing his hold. “I know.”

  There was something about the way he said his words that told her that perhaps they had more in common than just being a biting board for a family member. Vivian supposed she’d find out his story eventually, but not on this night. She was too drained emotionally. She simply nodded her thanks, took the bottle and headed back to her room.

  <><><><>

  Quiet.

  Still.

  Brady and Jason had been best buddies since the first grade. They had been through good times and bad, and the one they now faced was definitely topping the list of bad.

  They found the key.

  It was a bright and shining moment that was short lived when they snapped back to reality and listened to the banging on the door and saw the people trying to get in through the window.

  How could they even think of a plan with all the noise?

  Brady grabbed a pillow, stood on the bed and brought it to the window ledge. When he did he got a good look at one of the bloody faces that tried with diligence to gnaw her way in through the glass. What was wrong with her? Was she sick? She didn’t look right. After he stuffed that pillow into the window well, Jason handed him another, both pillows completely blocked out the window.

  Within minutes, the clawing at the window stopped. After they drew quiet, staring at each other in the center of that room, the banging on the door also stopped.

  If they weren’t seen, if they weren’t heard, they weren’t sought after.

  “What the fuck?” Jason whispered.

  “I feel like I’m in some horror movie.”

  “I know. What are they?”

  “Dude, you know what they are,” Brady said.

  “No.”

  “Yeah. Fucking gas leak. Insane lady kills her kids… uh, yeah.”

  “It’s like the movie, ‘The Crazies’.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But didn’t they have some memory?” asked Jason.

  “They did, but we can’t chance that.”

  “You think… you think they’re dead?”

  Brady shook his head. “I’m going to assume they’re not. The dead wouldn’t move that fast.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Jason said. “We both watched the ‘Dawn of the Dead’ remake. They fucking ran.”

  “It doesn’t make sense to run as a reanimated corpse. Anatomically it can’t happen. Think about it. Be reasonable.”

  Jason cringed holding back from screaming. “Reasonable?” His voice squeaked. “How can we be reasonable right now, in this situation?”

  “We have to keep it together,” Brady said. ‘It’s the only way we’re getting out of here. Because Dude, I am not dying in this room.”

  “You’re right. The problem is we don’t even know what’s trying to get us.”

  “Insane, infected mutilated people.” Brady said with disbelief.

  “To say the least. But we don’t know.” Jason said with resignation.

  “Let’s think about what we do know,” Brady said.

  Jason nodded.

  “Woman kills family,” Brady said. “Gas leak. Town shuts down.”

  “We see them shoot someone trying to escape. Meaning it’s bad, really bad.”

  “It’s contagious perhaps?” Brady asked.

  “It’s either that, or the guy was dangerous,” Jason said. “So we’re arrested or detained. But ... the sheriff can’t tell us anything, we can’t make it out, he knows this so he gives us supplies.”

  “To last for a few days, and don’t forget a key to escape.”

  “Make it last,” Jason said, repeating the Sheriff’s words. “He knew.”

  “Of course he knew.” Brady said. “And I bet he knew it would be over in a few days.”

  “Hence, why he said to make it last. He wanted us to wait it out.”

  Brady snapped his fingers. “See, we figured it out. This will all pass in a couple of days. So we wait.”

  “I don’t want to wait a couple of days.”

  “We can’t just leave, even with the key,” Brady said. “Don’t forget, those things are out there.”

  “Dude, I don’t think they’re gonna be all that bad.” Jason said with trepidation.

  “You don’t?” Brady asked with doubt.

  “No,” Jason said. “I know this is real life and all, but we have faced harder challenges in video games.”

  “Harder than this?” Brady asked doubtfully.

  “Hell yeah, did we or did we not defeat, ‘Rise of the Dead’ in twenty-four hours?”

  “We did,” Brady said. “That game had monsters. Plus, how many other games did we crush?”

  “Too many to keep track. We’ll get out of here. We have the mental skills though mental training. We just have to Karate Kid all that knowledge and come up with a plan,” Jason said. “Then we get out.”

  <><><><>

  Gil Fuller stayed longer than he should have, but not as long as he wanted to. There was nothing to keep him there, so he went out walking. The brewery restaurant was a painful reminder of what would never be again. Local eateries packed with annoying tourists. A family spot to enjoy a burger. All those things Gil was certain would never be the same, nor would those days return. Even before he left for the island everyone was optimistic that this was a blip and the current crisis would end soon. Gil didn’t believe it, he knew what he saw.

  He filled a pitcher with the dark, brew beer and he sipped as he walked around. No one really cared if he wandered, as long as he was around for testing. He could’ve grabbed a bottle like the woman in the bar with the bandage on her arm. He chose not to. She gave her name, but Gil didn’t remember it. It escaped him. He was just in shock to see one of the Nostrum leave their room. Gil wanted to talk to someone, needed to talk to someone that had been, or was in the same situation he is. He tried to get a feel about her, but she was quiet. What Gil really desired was someone that could relate to him. Someone that had experienced the same horror and heartbreak. A person that sat right next to him in the proverbial front row of the heartbreak ballet, they knew every move, every dance and every song of the agony orchestras ration. He so badly wanted someone that he could say to, “Is this how you feel?” Or “how badly do you want to put a fucking gun to your head to make the pain go away?”

  However, she didn’t stay long enough for him to find out. She just up and left.

  For all Gil knew she was just injured, and he was the only one there that had suffered devastating loses.

  He sipped the beer from the side of the pitcher, but he had to be careful. The slightest stretch of his mouth put pressure on his cheek and caused him pain. Not so much physical pain, but emotional. Because every time his face hurt so did his heart and he’d think back to the day it all happened.

  It was the first beautiful day after a week of rain, Gil had a Saturday off and was going to spend it with his wife and son. That was the plan. Flea Market, lunch, maybe stop at the park.

&nbs
p; They were on the road to Milford, Indiana, which was a good hour drive for them, but it was home of the self-proclaimed, ‘World’s Largest Flea Market’. Ben, his four year old son sat in his toddler seat behind him. His little blue, high top tennis shoes moved back and forth continuously as he kicked his feet, and picked cheerios out of a little plastic travel bowl. His wife, Jen chattered nonstop, from one subject to the next. Gil only heard about half of what she said. His attention was torn between her, their son, and whether or not to take the highway, or the back roads.

  About twenty-five minutes into the trip his phone rang. It was his sister, Angie, who lived in Texas.

  “How far are you from Jim?” she asked, referring to their brother. “Are you home?”

  “No, I’m out. Why, what’s up?” Gil asked.

  “He’s not answering. Mom hasn’t heard from him, I haven’t either.”

  “Did you try the house phone, or Beth’s cell?”

  “Yes, nothing. He didn’t go to work yesterday either Gil, we’re worried.”

  “How do you know he didn’t go to work?”

  “When Mom couldn’t get ahold of him she called his work.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Can you go over?”

  “I’m on a road trip with Jenn and Tyler. I can backtrack it’s not that far out of the way.”

  “No. Don’t do that. I’ll call the police,” Angie said. “I’ll do a welfare check.”

  “Oh, stop, don’t be silly. I’ll go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I’ll call you back.” He hung up the phone.

  “Where are we stopping?” Jenn asked.

  “Jim’s. Seems he isn’t answering his phone, hasn’t for two days.”

  “Not even Beth?”

  Gil shook his head. “Angie wants to call the police, do a welfare check.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.”

  “No, it’s a horrible idea. One, he does this all the time. Two, he grows pot in the backyard.”

  “Well, if he’s going to be that dumb and grow it where anyone can see …”

  “Quit being judgmental,” Gil said. “We’re turning around and heading over there. It’s only a twenty-minute detour.”

  “Fine, but if everything good is gone from the Flea Market, I’m blaming your brother.”

  It didn’t take long to get to Jim’s neighborhood. People mowed the lawns, kids rode their bikes, it appeared normal.

  Jim’s street was typically suburban. A thing that surprised Gil seeing how his brother liked to grow weed. Even though his house sat back just a tad more from the road than the other houses, his special garden was about as hidden as someone’s tomato plants.

  The edge of the property out front was lined with hedges. The driveway went up to the house curving around to the front. Gil pulled up and parked the car behind his brother’s car, which was not far from the large front porch.

  Gil put his car in park and shut off the engine.

  “Are we all going in?” Jenn asked. “We might as well have Tyler use the bathroom.” She opened her door.

  Gil stepped out, crossing in front of the car as Jenn opened the back door, and undid Tyler.

  “Stay here,” Gil said. “Let me go check first.”

  “The car’s right there.” Jenn leaned into the back seat.

  “Stay, just let me …” Gil turned his sights on the house and paused.

  “Gil?” Jenn asked as she withdrew from the car holding Tyler. She gasped in shock.

  Brea, Gil’s seven year old niece, stood on the front porch. Wearing what looked like a blood soaked nightgown, the child appeared in a state of shock, head slightly down, eyes lifted, blankly staring out.

  “Jesus,” Gil said. “Stay here. In fact, call the police.”

  “Gil?”

  “Call the police now,” Gil ordered as he walked toward the porch. “Brea, honey.” He approached her. “Honey are you okay?” He held out his hand.

  Brea lifted her head and leapt toward him.

  Believing she needed to be embraced, Gil took her in his arms. When he did, Brea snarled, and without hesitation she widened her mouth and plunged her teeth into his cheek. Her bite was hard and piercing, and her jaws locked onto his face.

  He didn’t want to scream. He could feel his own blood running down his neck as he pulled and fought to get the child free from her grip. He turned left to right, trying to get her off of him. Then the front screen porch door flew open, his brother Jim and sister in law Beth flew out.

  For a brief second Gil was relieved thinking they were going to help.

  However, they plowed right by him, sending his body into a spin.

  A few seconds later, in the midst of his own struggle, he heard Jenn scream.

  Her scream was all he needed to push him over the edge. He ripped Brea from him, in doing so he felt the flesh tear from his face.

  Forcefully he shoved her away and turned. He couldn’t see his wife or child, only Jim and Beth as they moved about the car, their arms flailing.

  He had only taken a step in their direction when Brea lunged for him again, grabbing onto his leg.

  Again, her teeth sunk into him.

  He kicked out his leg to shake her and when he did, Brea hit against the side of the steps and released him.

  He looked over toward his car and charged that way with a gut wrenching, “No!”

  Jim and Beth stopped what they were doing, lifted their heads as if they heard something, like stray dogs scared off by a call, and they ran off in another direction.

  Blood.

  All he saw on the ground by the side of the car was blood.

  So much blood.

  It was smeared all around the open back door.

  “No!” Gil cried out, deep and hard when he saw Jenn’s mangled body on the ground. She wasn’t dead, not yet. Even with her neck torn apart, her stomach wide open, she was still alive. She twitched rhythmically in the last seconds of her life. Her eyes blinking as she gazed outward.

  ‘Ma’am are you there?’

  Gil heard the voice coming from Jenn’s phone as he dropped to his knees and reached for his wife.

  ‘Ma’am, are you there? What is going on?’ the operator repeated.

  Gil didn’t have the strength to grab her phone, because the second he scooped his wife into his grip he saw the bloody, blue, high-top tennis shoe.

  He didn’t recall much in the next few moments. All Gil did was scream. He just kept screaming.

  The memory was alive, real. Every time he thought about it, he felt those same emotions. It was as if he blacked out, because the reality around him vanished, and he was transported back to that day. Coming out of it, Gil flinched with the pain of that still, fresh memory.

  Without realizing it he had walked a short distance and was on the rocky beach. He turned around and saw the slight brightness of the dark sky. It was the lights from the parking lot of the hotel.

  He hadn’t walked far enough.

  Frustrated, he guzzled the remaining beer and with a spin of his body, threw the empty pitcher out towards the lake before dropping to his knees, and emotionally folding.

  ELEVEN – ROLLING

  Had their detention room been more of a prison cell, or a room someone on suicide watch would have been kept, Brady and Jason would have had a harder job getting out.

  They had the key and they knew they had to leave.

  From the room and out of Wakeman. They’d worry about getting home after they cleared the perimeter of the town, hopefully not getting shot in the interim.

  Although, getting shot was the least of their worries, considering what lurked just outside.

  Once they managed to block the window, those outside dispersed. Brady and Jason were no longer seen or heard. It was as if those outside lacked common sense. That just because the blocking was there didn’t mean Brady and Jason were gone.

  Whoever was on the other side of the interior door, stopped poundi
ng, as well.

  Brady and Jason implemented their plan.

  Whatever was out there was dangerous, they could tell by the violent pursing at the door and, of course, by the way those on the other side of the window looked.

  “They don’t just gnaw at a window unless they want to eat you,” Brady said.

  On that theory they planned their escape.

  The hung the blankets from the bed over the window and used the pillows they placed there under their tee shirts as some sort of chest armor. They ripped sheets to wrap around their forearms and shins, and they broke the small table to use the legs as weapons.

  “Let’s plan this,” Jason said. “Our first huge hurdle is getting out this door because we don’t know what’s on the other side.”

  “I say we blast out, ready and swinging.”

  “But in this building we should move back to back. That way nothing sneaks up behind us.”

  “Agreed.” Brady nodded. “And we know we’re in a basement.”

  “Immediately look for an exit. There would have to be a stairwell.”

  Brady shuddered. “Something always lurks in the stairs.”

  “Ain’t that the truth? Just think of this as the ‘Dead World Game’. Level two.”

  “Do like they did. Yeah, yeah, go out swinging like they did when they left the police station.”

  “Lucky for us, we’re here. There has to be weapons up there,” Jason said.

  “It’s a small town, dude, how much can there be?”

  “There has to be something.” Jason lifted the key. “You ready?”

  “As ready as I can.”

  “No noise, just charge.”

  Brady nodded.

  Jason placed his ear to the door. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “What if everything is fine and we come flying out?”

  “Then we look like fools all covered like this, but somehow I doubt it.” Jason placed the key in the dead bolt lock. Slowly he turned it with a ‘click’.

  He waited and listened again.

  “Ready?” Jason whispered.

  “Ready.”

  Jason whipped open the door. He and Brady, blunt weapons held high, raged out into … the empty hall.