by L. T. Ryan
“Why?” Marcus rolled down his window and spat. He pulled out a cigarette.
“Take that outside the car,” Turk said. “And the reason we’re waiting is because we’ve got no idea what is going on inside that building. We don’t know if that plane right there carried one hundred infected people. We’ll get some confirmation soon, and then we’ll go down there. But not until then.”
Marcus disappeared around the back of the van and into the woods. Turk wasn’t worried about him. Judging by the empty parking lot, he wouldn’t find anyone to bother.
Turk pulled a pair of field glasses from his coat pocket and surveyed the airport. The sun had started its descent. They had two hours of natural light left. He had no intentions of being out after it went down. The lack of communications meant that he had no idea when people would arrive, if they arrived at all. He couldn’t even call what he intended to do a plan. The seed had already been planted in his mind that he’d have to return to the airport in the morning. He cursed at himself then, realizing that they should have brought a second vehicle and left it parked at the airport. Then anyone who arrived after he and Marcus had left would have a means of transporting themselves to his compound. After all, he doubted that there would be any cab or bus service after today.
Marcus emerged from the woods behind the lot and walked up to Turk’s window.
“There’s some dude passed out back there,” Marcus said.
“Just leave him alone,” Turk said.
Marcus held up a burlap sack and a bottle of Jack. “I did. I just grabbed these things.”
“Goddammit, Marcus.” Turk grabbed the latch and opened his door.
Marcus jumped back as Turk hopped out of the Suburban.
Turk moved in quickly, shoving Marcus, who tripped as he stepped backward.
Turk said, “What if that guy’s sick? You think of that? That shit you’re holding could be infected.”
Marcus looked at the sack in his lap and the bottle he still clutched in his hand. He spun the cap around the top of the bottle, grinning.
“Don’t do it,” Turk said.
Marcus lifted the bottle to his lips and tilted it upward. He drank half the whiskey in the bottle.
Turk pulled his Sig Sauer P226 from its holster and aimed it at his brother. Marcus smiled, holding the bottle out to the side. Turk adjusted his aim and fired, shattering the whiskey bottle into a thousand pieces.
Marcus scooted back like a sand crab, eventually getting to his feet. He reached behind him and pulled out his pistol.
“What the fuck, Turk?”
Turk kept his Sig steady, aiming in the general direction of his brother. “I told you to quit screwing around. Now, either you start taking this seriously, or I’m gonna send the next shot—”
The familiar whooping sound of a cop car cut him off. Turk glanced over and saw flashing blue and red lights. A voice came over the speaker. “Put your weapons on the ground.”
Turk turned toward the cop car and took a step away from his vehicle. In his peripheral vision he saw his brother shuffle back a few feet and then start toward him. Turk lowered his weapon to the ground while maintaining a tight grip.
“Put your weapons on the ground now,” the cop instructed.
“Move along,” Turk shouted. “This has nothing to do with you.”
The police car darted forward and into the lot, stopping twenty feet away from Turk and his brother, who now stood next to him. The door flung open and the cop got out, using the door as a shield. He had his piece drawn and aimed in their direction.
“Get the fuck outta here, man,” Marcus said.
Turk held up his free hand. “Marcus, quiet. Let me handle this.” He took a few steps forward.
The cop swiveled his gun in Turk’s direction. “Don’t move.”
“Okay, look, I’m stopping right here. Listen to me. We’re only here to get a few family members who are coming in. Surely, you know that the world is going crazy today. There’s more important things for you to be doing than policing the streets.”
“Drop your weapon,” the cop said.
Turk didn’t. “I’m not putting this gun down.”
The cop straightened and adjusted his aim. “Drop your damn—”
A shot rang out. Turk flinched to his right, dropped to one knee and brought his Sig up, ready to fire at the cop. But the uniformed man had collapsed on the ground. Turk looked over at his brother. Marcus stood there, smiling and tucking his pistol back in his waistband.
“Wasted that asshole,” Marcus said proudly.
“Shit,” Turk yelled, rising to his feet. He lunged at Marcus and caught him in the stomach with a right hook. His brother bent over, gasping for air. “Pick yourself up and get in the car. We gotta get out of here now.”
Turk waited while Marcus staggered around the front of the Suburban. He flipped on the headlights and caught a disgusted look from his brother. Marcus stopped and looked back at the cop. A smile crossed his face. He continued around and opened the door.
“Dude’s still alive,” Marcus said.
Turk dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head. He exhaled heavily and said nothing.
“Well?”
“Get in.”
“You just gonna leave him out here to die? You know ain’t no ambulance gonna come for him. He’s gonna suffer all night long.”
Turk lifted his head and turned toward his brother. He couldn’t help but to finally give in to the notion that his little brother was a psychopath. All the years he’d defended Marcus meant nothing now. For a moment, he was tempted to end his brother’s life right then and there. He’d wondered with no law left to rule, how would Marcus react? Turk had just found out.
“C’mon, Turk,” Marcus said. “Let me finish him.”
“One shot to the head.” Turk brought his hand up to his face. He squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Closing his eyes, he waited for the fatal shot.
The cop pleaded for his life. He had a lot to live for, it seemed. A wife, two daughters, and a couple dogs. The man’s words were reduced to tears. He must’ve given up hope that Turk’s crazy little brother would spare his life.
Turk had given Marcus the ultimatum of one shot, but he failed to put a time restriction on the job. Now, Marcus dragged it out for his own pleasure.
“Do it now,” Turk yelled.
And so Marcus did.
Chapter 6
Addison walked through the deserted streets of Lynchburg, Virginia. Surprisingly, people weren’t out rioting or looting. She noticed every church parking lot was full while walking through the section of the city she referred to as God’s Quarters. Amid reports that the sickness had reared its maniacal head in the U.S., she saw hand painted signs stating things like, “The time to repent is now,” and “Only God can save us.” Plenty of people agreed, judging by the turnout she saw.
Addison walked on. No salvation today, she thought.
The day had been as odd as she had figured it would be. First, class had been canceled. Once news had spread that something was wrong, teachers and students alike didn’t care to be at school. She kicked around campus for a little while, stopping in front of every television she passed. After that, she went to work. The general manager of the restaurant, Laura, was locking the front door as Addison arrived. Laura had been the one to tell her of the outbreaks in New York, Atlanta and Miami. Addison was not aware that the virus had reached the U.S. prior to that, and now she wondered if other areas had been affected. She knew it was more a matter of when, not if. And probably hours, not days.
She pushed that thought to the back of her mind.
She recognized a hymn being sung by the congregation in the last church along the gauntlet. The words had faded in her memory, but the tune would be there forever. She used to think that would be a long, long time. Now, she hoped to make it to the end of the week.
The scene changed as she passed from God’s Quarters to a seedier
section of town. The air smelled of smoke, and the breeze hitting her in the face stung her eyes. Here, residents were out in the street. A few store windows were shattered. People climbed in and out through jagged holes. They carried televisions, computers, stereo equipment and other electronics.
All the things one would need during the apocalypse, she thought.
She crossed the street to avoid the crowd gathered in front of a store. People were drinking and smoking and cussing and yelling. The further away she was the better. She ignored the first of the cat calls directed toward her and picked up her pace. In her peripheral vision she noticed three men cross the street. The one in the middle looked to be over six-feet tall and skinny. He had a brown leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder. His two companions were shorter, probably closer to her height. One was heavy, the other average.
One of them called out to her. “What’s the rush, Baby?”
She ignored the man and continued walking. She had to travel one more block north, then two blocks west in order to reach her apartment complex. Once there, she could call out for help. Whether or not someone would come to her aide was yet to be determined. She had to hold out hope, though. One thing was certain. The assistance she needed would not be found amid the looters.
“Hey,” the guy called again. “Slow down, bitch.”
Laughing followed the shouts. Then the footsteps stopped. Against her better judgment, Addison cast a glance over her shoulder. The tall guy had his arms out, across the chests of the other two. He said something to them. His gaze remained fixed on her. Their eyes met and a smile spread across his face. It did not instill confidence in her that he wanted to help her. The last thing she saw before whipping her head back around was the two shorter men backing up and turning around.
Addison pressed on, nearing the corner where she had to make her turn. Two sets of footsteps faded while another closed the distance. She reached the corner, reached out for the rough brick edge of the three story historical building and used it to propel herself around. As she did so, she took a quick look over her left shoulder. The guy was within twenty feet of her.
Addison surveyed the street in front of her. Empty, mostly. She could run here without drawing additional unwanted attention to herself.
And so she did.
As did the guy behind her once he turned the corner.
His footsteps fell behind her at a more rapid pace than her own. Using the large glass window to her left as a mirror, she determined he’d nearly caught up to her.
Time for plan b, she thought.
Except she had no plan other than run. So she picked up her pace. The guy grunted and shouted something she couldn’t quite make out. A few seconds later she felt his fingertips brush against her shoulder blade.
Knowing that he’d have her in a couple seconds, she drew her arms in and let them go slack. Her backpack slipped off her shoulders and hit the ground with a thump. She’d hesitated to release it, but the weight had been slowing her down. Besides, she didn’t need the contents of it anymore. College was over.
The guy must have been too close to avoid the bag. She heard him trip over it and hit the ground. The urge to look back was great. Her will to live was greater. She pressed on, sprinting full speed. The apartment complex was in view. She thought she saw a man from her building walking his dog. He disappeared behind a dumpster. Addison tried to call out. The searing pain in her lungs from running so hard for so long prevented her from doing so.
The guy behind her yelled something that sounded like, “I’m gonna kill you,” but Addison couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. His rough voice made it seem he’d become as winded as her.
To her right, an older man leaned back against a building across the street. He sort of waved at her while watching the chase, extending a single finger in her direction. Any effort to help would have been appreciated. But he didn’t do anything except wince, and then turn around.
A moment later, a hand fell onto Addison’s shoulder. The guy matched her pace for a few seconds. His grip tightened. She felt herself pulled back and to the right. The lower half of her body continued forward, while her head and torso jerked backward. Just as she felt like she was going to topple over, the guy’s other hand hit her in the middle of the back, preventing her from falling.
He pulled her upright and then shoved her forward. A few steps later, they stood outside of a darkened alley. She glanced to her right. The older guy had disappeared. She looked forward, scanning the parking lot of her apartment complex. The dog walker had not returned.
Addison’s eyes grew wet. Fear, anger and pain flooded all of her senses.
“Turn,” he said.
She complied. The temperature dropped a good fifteen degrees in the covered alley. Her sweat soaked shirt clung to her body, sending goose bumps up and down her arms and legs and sides. The humidity was a bitch today.
“Go to the end,” he said.
She did as he instructed. They’d have to stop at the end. Then he’d want something. And if she gave the impression that she’d give it, he’d let his guard down.
Facing away from him, Addison walked slowly and deliberately to the end of the alley. She stopped, turned and backed up until her butt touched the wall. Condensation fell from a window AC unit above her head. It splashed on her cheek, followed the curve to her lips, then dripped down her chin. Despite the intense thirst and burning in her throat, she ignored the water and let it fall to her chest.
“Take off your shirt,” he said.
She studied him for a moment. Up close, he looked taller and skinnier. There wasn’t much muscle mass to his frame, although she knew not to let that cloud her judgment. His long arms could generate plenty of torque, provided he had the room to maneuver, which he did. She had to switch their positions somehow.
He lifted an eyebrow and repeated his demand. “Take off your shirt.”
“Screw you.”
He smiled as he took a step closer. “That’s the point.”
Addison strafed to her right, angling her body when she reached the corner. He continued to come toward her. She crossed her arms and reached for the bottom of her shirt. Slowly, she pulled it up, stopping right above her navel.
His smile broadened. “More.”
She shook her head while forcing a smile. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
“The world’s gonna end soon,” he said. “I think you can make an exception.” He reached across his chest with his right hand and lifted the strap of his messenger bag over his head while supporting the bag with his left hand. He then shifted the bag from his right side to his left. The bag never left his grasp.
What did it contain?
“If you want something, you’ll have to come get it,” she said alluringly.
He dropped his head an inch and voiced his agreement.
Addison waited for him to draw closer to her and the wall. His left arm was occupied by the leather bag. His right arm now swung freely inches from the brick facade. Any hitting motion that could generate enough force to knock her out would be disrupted.
She hoisted her shirt while studying his eyes. They widened as her bra was revealed. She whipped her right leg forward, aiming for his groin. The guy jumped back at the last second. She connected, but not as well as she’d hoped she would. His feet were off the ground and he bowed over at the waist. He looked like a plastic bag caught in the wind. The messenger bag fell to the ground. She figured he did it on purpose so he would hit the ground with both hands available to break his fall.
She reset, prepared to strike again. A second after he landed, he lunged toward her. She spun to the side, sending him careening into the wall. He let out a grunt as his right shoulder smashed into the brick wall. With his left hand, he reached out and snagged her from behind. His weakened right arm wrapped around her neck, pulling her toward him.
Addison closed her eyes. She’d been in this same position over a hundred times in self-defense classes. At th
e urging of her father, she’d started taking them in the months prior to leaving for college. She still attended weekly.
Instincts took over. Addison lifted her right foot and drove her heel down into the guy’s instep. He grunted and his grip around her became noticeably weaker. Then she twisted her body to the left and whipped it back to the right, slamming her elbow into his solar plexus. A hollow gasp escaped from his mouth and his arm fell across her chest. She brought her hand down in a quick movement and struck him in the groin. His arm completely slipped off her. She took three steps forward and then spun around. He was bent over in front of her.
“I’m gonna kill you,” he said.
She stepped forward with her left foot and kicked with her right, catching him in the face. He rose slightly and she delivered another kick to his groin. He fell back against the wall, and then slid down to his knees.
Addison checked over her shoulder. The alley was empty. She saw his gaze fixed on something on the ground. She followed it and reached down for the messenger bag. Opening it, she discovered the guy had two pistols tucked inside. Her eyes grew wide. She pulled one out, astonished and wondering if the guy planned on using one of them on her.
Anger welled up inside of her. There was a time, like eight hours ago, when she would have dropped the bag and ran. The world was different now. She extended her arm and aimed the gun at the guy. He began to cry and fell forward so that he was now positioned on his hands and knees, as if he groveled before his queen.
Addison shook her head, tucked the gun back inside the messenger bag, slung the strap over her shoulder and turned around. She ran away from the guy, out of the alley, and toward her apartment.
She nearly collapsed when she reached her door. Sweat coated her skin and soaked her clothes. She felt her hair matted to the side of her face. Looking down, she noticed some of the guy’s blood had splattered on her shirt and shorts.
She took a moment to compose herself before entering the apartment. As she took the final steps toward the door, she heard several voices inside and the thumping bass she associated with club music.