by L. T. Ryan
“I’d feel a lot safer with a pistol.”
Sean took a deep breath and walked over to the gun cabinet. He inserted his key and unlocked it, then opened it. “Come over here.” She walked over and stopped next to him. He proceeded to point out each weapon, its benefits and situational use if there was one. He showed her the Walther P22 .22LR pistol, indicating he’d placed the handgun in there for her. Then he inserted his key into a lock in the upper corner of the cabinet. Opening a small door, he said, “I’m not going to let you walk around the place with a loaded weapon.” He reached inside the compartment and retrieved a key identical to his. He grabbed her hand and placed the key into her palm. “But you take this. You thread a piece of string through it and you wear it around your neck. If something happens to me, you get a gun. If it looks like we are going to be attacked, you use that key and open this up. Grab that Walther, an M9, hell, even that M40 there if you think you can handle it.”
She tucked the key into her pocket, nodded and then went to her room. A few minutes later, she returned with the key strung around her neck. She smiled tersely as she passed him on her way to the kitchen area.
A barely audible beep sounded from the computer. Sean walked over and sat down. He took a moment to ensure his daughter and Barbara were not too close as he restored the SSH terminal window. A message had been sent by Tim Lindley, Turk’s friend in the Bahamas.
“President Bryant’s family has succumbed. Although no information has been provided about the status of the President, Vice President Harkness has assumed the duties as president of the United States.”
Sean stared at the words on the screen, letting it sink in. Nobody was above falling prey to the virus.
Tim continued, “That’s the word from the BBC, at least.”
Sean opened his browser and verified. In the background, he noticed a disturbance in one of the small windows displaying a camera feed. He clicked on the window and maximized it. Whatever it was had disappeared. Restoring the window, he checked each feed in turn, looking for the source of the disturbance.
“You okay, Dad?”
He nodded. “Keep your hand on that key, kiddo.”
Chapter 13
Addison slept with the messenger bag clenched in her left hand, a knife on her nightstand, and one of the pistols under her pillow. The other remained inside the bag. In less than twelve hours, things had deteriorated to the point that she doubted she’d survive the week.
Carla coughed non-stop, and at one point had stumbled down the hall and knocked on Addison’s door. Addison had not replied to her roommate’s desperate cries for help.
She lay in bed, waiting for the symptoms to overtake her.
When would they come? What would it feel like?
The virus was an obvious death sentence. She figured once she could confirm she had contracted it, she’d turn one of the pistols on herself and end her life with a little dignity.
More coughing coming through the thin walls led to her thinking that she should end Carla’s life with some dignity, too. She couldn’t, though. That would be murder. She couldn’t bring herself to commit the act.
Addison got out of bed, double-checked the lock on the door and then went into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth while waiting for the shower to heat up. There were some things she was not yet willing to sacrifice. Cleanliness was one of them. As long as they had hot water, she’d shower. Frankly, as long as they had running water, she would. Steam fogged up the mirror and filled the bathroom. She slipped out of her robe, letting it fall into a pile on the floor, and moved past the shower curtain. Hot water pelted her body.
If only it could wash away the events of the past twenty-four hours.
Slowly, the steam in the air built a cocoon around her. Anything could happen at that moment, and Addison would remain blissfully unaware.
She couldn’t ignore the banging on the wall, though. Jolted from her meditative state, she inched toward the shower curtain. She’d set the messenger bag on top of the toilet next to the shower. The banging persisted. Addison placed her hands on the wall, one in front and the other behind her. She felt vibrations through the palm of her right hand. The noise came from Carla’s room. She must have heard the water running and grown angry. A jaunt down the hall would have resulted in her roommate fighting with Addison’s locked door. The woman probably then returned to her room and began striking the wall with either her fist or an object.
Scenes of carnage played out in Addison’s mind. She had been unable to forget the image of those people as they descended upon helpless others and proceeded to tear them limb from limb. Carla, for all her problems, had never been a particularly violent person, outside of her affinity for certain video games. But now, she exhibited signs of rage, and the anger seemed directed toward Addison.
She pulled the shower curtain back and reached for a towel. Then she stepped onto the tile floor, leaving the water running. Anything to keep Carla occupied for a few more minutes. Addison dried off, then wrapped the towel around her body. She reached for the bag and pulled out one of the pistols. It felt slick and heavy in her hand. Cold air rushed into the bathroom as she cracked open the door. The flesh on her arms, legs and neck pricked. She stuck the barrel of the gun through the crack. Easing the door open, she scanned the room and found it empty.
She opened her closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a dark, plain t-shirt. She also grabbed a pair of hiking boots that her father had sent to her after he found out she attended college in a mountainous region. She’d been there for a year-and-a-half already by that point. Her mother swore she didn’t let him know. If not her, then who? She had continued to blame her mother, resulting in a falling out between the two of them. They hadn’t spoken in six months, and now Addison was scared she’d never hear her voice again.
There’ll be time to deal with that later, she thought. Maybe.
She laid out the jeans and t-shirt on the bed, and carried the boots over to a chair in the corner of the room. She’d never worn the boots, and they needed to be laced up. As she did so, she recalled something about the laces actually being parachute cord, and several feet of it if unwound. Why? She wasn’t exactly sure, but remembered something about it being helpful in many situations. Perhaps she could use it to tie up her roommate.
Before she could finish lacing her boots, the door to her room burst open. Carla stood in the opening, wearing a simple oversized white t-shirt spotted with blood. She stood slightly stooped forward with her hands clenched into fists and hanging by her side. Blood trickled from a wound on her forehead like raindrops down a window. It hadn’t been her fists or an object banging against the wall on the other side of the shower.
Carla had used her head.
Her roommate looked distraught one moment, angry the next. Her lips trembled as she opened and closed her mouth, releasing guttural sounds, but no words. Her hair had become caked with blood. It hung over her eyes. As Carla rocked back on her heels, she let her head fall back and her hair parted to the sides, revealing eyes that appeared as if they were burning. Bright and hot like liquid fire.
When Carla opened her mouth to speak, only a grunting sound escaped as her lips curled back. Her teeth looked darker than they should have, and her gums were red. Tears appeared to fall from her eyes and skate down her cheeks. The woman made no attempt to advance her position.
Addison stood three feet from the bed, where, on the corner she’d set the pistol. She glanced at it, and then looked back up. Carla had followed her gaze and stared at the weapon. Her lips trembled as they opened and closed. Finally, she formed a distinct word.
“Why?”
Addison shook her head. Tears began to collect along her bottom eyelids. She held up both hands in a calming gesture. “I don’t know, Carla. I don’t. But I’ll help you. Okay? We’ll find a treatment. We’ll get you fixed.”
She took a step forward. This resulted in a change in Carla’s posture. The woman went from slightly stooped
and submissive to rigid and poised to attack.
“I just want to help you,” Addison said as she froze in place.
Her words seemed to settle Carla, for the moment at least. Addison took another step forward. Using her leg as a guide while maintaining eye contact with Carla, she shuffled along until her skin brushed the corner of her bed. Along the outer edge of her vision, she made out the shape of the handgun. One swoop of her arm and she could have it in her possession. Surely, she could retrieve the weapon, aim it and fire before Carla made it to her.
Eight feet versus eighteen inches, round trip, and a few actions which she’d never performed without the aid of a game controller.
She opted for a different approach.
“Carla,” she said. “Why don’t you go lay down in your bed? I’ll be right in with some medicine after I get changed.”
Carla said nothing. She didn’t try to say anything. She stood there, slack jawed, staring at Addison. The woman’s fingers twitched, causing them to tap against her upper thighs. The intensity of her stare did not decrease, although the odd brightness seemed to fade.
“Carla?” Addison said, letting her right hand fall. She didn’t care if her towel fell open. If anything, her nudity might be enough of a shock to her roommate to allow Addison a few extra precious seconds to line up her shot.
“Okay, Addy,” Carla said, slowly and deeply.
Addison stopped breathing as she watched the woman turn in place and leave her room. The floor where Carla had stood was wet.
Had she urinated while standing there?
Addison grabbed the pistol off the bed. Then she pulled off her towel and threw it toward the doorway. It landed a foot past the spot, in the hallway. She dressed and put on her boots, leaving them untied. They fit perfectly. A good thing, because there might be a lot of walking in her future.
Her mind raced. What would she do? Where would she go? How would she get there?
Before she could answer any of those questions, she had to prepare. Addison reached into her closet and pulled out a duffel bag, which she filled with socks, underwear, shirts and pants. Unsure where she was going, she grabbed a North Face thermal jacket, rolled it up, and stuffed it inside the bag. It would be cold eventually. In fact, the nights had already started to dip into the fifties. The jacket would be perfect in both fall and winter.
She carried the bag into the bathroom and stuffed her toiletries in one of the side pockets. The messenger bag sat on the toilet. She grabbed it and slung it over her shoulder, ensuring quick access to the pistol it housed. In her left hand, she carried the duffel bag. In her right, she held the other pistol. She believed she had it ready to fire. She’d done everything to the weapon that she’d ever seen performed in an action film.
How hard could it be?
She exited the bathroom, closing the door behind her, and then she rounded her bed. The room looked undisturbed, although it did smell foul. The urine on the carpet could be part of the reason, but it smelled worse than any pee she’d ever been around.
Addison came to a stop at the doorway. She spread her feet wide, making sure not to step in the puddle. The sound of the fan was the only thing she heard, rhythmically cycling around and around. No coughing, no television, no game systems. She stepped through the doorway and into the hall. The towel she had tossed out there earlier became tangled with her left foot. Leaning against the wall, she shook herself free from the damp linen.
Before turning into the kitchen and living area, she glanced down the hallway toward Carla’s room. Soft light filtered through the opening at the bottom of the closed door. She considered barricading it, but decided against doing so. Once she had the door in sight, she made a line straight for it. As she reached for the handle, she stopped. She had no provisions for her journey. While there was little in the apartment, anything available could provide helpful. Despite the urge inside of her to leave, Addison backtracked to the kitchen and raided the pantry and refrigerator for anything she could find.
In the end, she stuffed four pouches of dried noodles, a half-dozen bottles of water, three light beers, an opened package of crackers and some salami into her bag. She’d have to eat the deli meat first, which meant as soon as she left the apartment. Addison was starving, having gone almost a day without eating. The rest, she figured, would last her a couple days at most.
Satisfied she had everything she needed, Addison left the kitchen and headed toward the front door.
“Where are you going?”
She looked to her left and saw Carla standing behind the couch, her shape silhouetted by the diffused reflection of light on the television.
“I have to go get you medicine,” she replied.
“Why do you have all that stuff?”
Addison hesitated, and in those few moments Carla’s expression changed from confused to angry. Her roommate went to speak, but the only sound that came out was a deep grunt. A few seconds later, the couch tipped over and Carla climbed over it. Her eyes were bright. Her mouth hung open. She reached out with both arms. Her fingers contorted into hooks.
Addison dropped the duffel bag and backed up. She reached inside the leather messenger and pulled out a bottle of beer. She held it by the neck. Carla kept coming toward her, grunting and baring her teeth.
“Get back,” Addison shouted.
Carla ignored her. The woman walked right into the kitchen table, refusing to allow it to stop her. She kept shuffling her feet, pushing the table an inch at a time. The entire time her eyes remained focused on Addison while the fingers at the end of her outstretched arms snapped like a crab’s pincers.
Addison backed up until she felt the kitchen island. She retreated behind the six-by-three foot structure.
“Go to your room, Carla.”
Carla kept pushing forward, her waist pressed tight to the table, moving it inch by inch.
Addison cocked her arm back and then flung the beer bottle in Carla’s direction. Having been an all-district short stop for her high school softball team, Addison had tremendous aim. It did not fail her. The bottle hit Carla in the middle of the forehead, causing further damage to the cut already there. The woman fell back and dropped to one knee. Addison realized her mistake when, instead of getting up, Carla dropped to all fours and crawled under the kitchen table.
Addison waited until she couldn’t see her roommate and then bolted for the front door. It seemed like it took minutes to cross the short distance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Carla change course. The woman lunged for her, grabbing a hold of Addison’s ankle. She dropped the messenger bag in an effort to break her fall. It worked, to a point. The impact of landing on her abdomen knocked the wind out of her.
Carla’s damp, cold hands worked their way up Addison’s back and arms.
“Get off me,” she said in a hollow voice. Moments later, air rushed into her lungs. She gasped it in, yelled and forced herself to turn over, sending Carla sprawling to the side. Addison pushed her back off the floor and scooted toward the door while in a sitting position. As she pressed into the door, she realized she’d dropped the handgun. Both the pistol and the messenger bag with the backup weapon were out of arm’s reach.
A few feet away, Carla curled up into a fetal position. Cries mixed with coughs.
What the hell is going on?
Addison regained her focus. Reaching back with her right arm, she grabbed a hold of the doorknob and used it to help pull herself upright. She scooped up the pistol, then walked around her roommate and grabbed the messenger bag. She slung the strap over her neck and shoulder, letting it come to rest against her side.
“Help me,” Carla whimpered. “Please, Addy. Help me.”
Addison ignored the calls for assistance and went to the kitchen to collect the duffel bag. When she returned to the front door, she saw Carla sitting on the ground, leaning back against the wall.
“Don’t leave me, Addy.” Carla puffed her chest out as she pressed her shoulders into the wall and
rose to a standing position. She approached Addison slowly. She didn’t look like the demon that’d been ready to kill Addison a few moments ago. She was Carla, the always-stoned, pain in the ass roommate who desperately needed Addison’s help.
“I have to go,” Addison said. “I’ll find you help out there.”
Carla lurched forward, wrapping her arms around Addison and pulling her close. She felt the woman’s tears against her bare neck. Addison wrapped her left arm around Carla’s back and hugged her tightly. She lifted her right hand, steadying the barrel of the gun inches from Carla’s head. It was the right thing to do. The humane thing. She felt her own tears cascade down her cheeks as she prepared to pull the trigger.
Carla begged for help over and over. The words impacted Addison and she felt sorry for her roommate. Perhaps she should leave, never to return. The situation would work itself out sooner or later. After all, the reports she’d seen indicated that death came soon after realization of the first symptoms.
Addison lowered the pistol, letting it and her hand fall to her side. She released Carla from her grip. The skin on her face felt cold and damp as her roommate pulled away. Without reaching up and wiping her face, she knew she was coated in the woman’s blood and tears.
“Go lay down,” she told Carla.
Her roommate turned and shuffled toward the couch. The journey took thirty seconds longer than it should have. Each step dragged on, with Carla resetting before starting the next. Then, as she reached the couch and placed her hand on the back of it, Carla turned at the waist. The fear and sadness in her eyes was gone, replaced with that burning gaze. Her lip curled up in a snarl and she grunted.
Addison had a hunch what would follow. It happened in a flurry of movements between the two of them. Carla spun around and dipped low, into a crouching position. Addison shifted the duffel bag forward, then drew it back until it hit the wall. Carla sprung forward, like a wolf pouncing on its prey. Addison whipped the bag forward and released it, sending it flying toward her roommate. Carla deflected the bag with her hands, but at the same time, her feet became tangled and she went sprawling to the floor.