by Max Boone
"Andre?"
He twitched in my direction. My stomach dropped. In the light his dark red eyes bled down his sallow face. He sniffed and coughed, his face angry in a way I never thought possible for him.
He was a Bleeder.
"Stay back," I told Alison, pointing to Jeremiah. "Keep him away." I was thinking as much for his safety as I was my own- the last thing I needed right then was the big guy going full infected while I tried to fight off another.
Andre ran directly at me, covering ten feet of hallway in a matter of seconds. He shouldn't have been able to move that fast at his age, but he was on the latest, greatest energy drink on the market, and it only came in one flavor: red. Before he could close the last five feet, I reached into the dark and grabbed whatever I could find in all the junk that cluttered the corridor. My hands found something with a weird texture, but I had no time for second choices so I pulled it back and held it over my head, ready to strike.
It was an over-sized foam hand. "Ahh, fuck," I moaned.
Andre tackled me. The foam hand flew from my hand as I fell back into the clutter and the dust and the shadows. He fell with me snarling and screaming for my blood, but I kept him from getting too close and taking a chunk of flesh. His breath stunk as his teeth chomped again and again. A face that probably never so much as frowned in all its time on Earth wanted nothing but to bite me open and taste me. With each chomp he got closer, clawing his way up me and to my throat. His teeth were an inch from my throat and I could feel his hot breath on my neck.
Andre suddenly lifted off me so fast it was like he had a bungee cord tied around his waist that had just snapped back. He flew across the hallway, bashed into the wall and crumpled to the floor a pile of bones and laundry.
Jeremiah stood over me looking pissed-off. His hungry expression made me think he'd only pulled Andre off me to claim me for himself. But the moment passed and he got dizzy again, nearly face-planting into the wall. Andre was already getting to his feet even though from the looks of him he had broken a few bones in the fall. His focus was on Jeremiah now, the man who was the biggest threat to him right then. Jeremiah was in no condition to fight him off- he had used up everything in him to save me.
I can't explain what happened to me next other than to say I was overcome with anger, but that doesn't do it justice. It was like someone shoved a stick of dynamite in my brain and lit the fuse. I even heard the explosion and then saw a flash of light that filled everything I saw.
The next thing I knew, I had Andre pinned to the wall and was bashing his skull open with a wrench. I heard it crack and then blood sprayed me in the face like a can of soda that had been shaken way too much. The anger drained from his face and his red eyes went still.
I let go of him and he slumped to the floor, dead.
"You took it from his toolbelt," Alison said, noticing how I was staring at the bloody wrench in my hand. Jeremiah was behind me, sitting with his back against the wall and his head in his hands, mumbling to himself. What a group we were.
"I don't remember anything," I said, but it was a lie. There were flashes, like cue cards of violence. I looked down at the bloodied corpse at my feet and thought of him from before all this, when he was just a guy with a job and an easy smile. "His name was Andre," I said. "He was probably the nicest guy I ever met. Even with the sickness I can't imagine him hurting anyone."
"It's the brain damage. It destroys pieces of the mind that control personality, inhibition, empathy, all the traits that make us people."
"And that includes you and I. People who come back from it."
"That's what I was trying to tell you. We don't come back completely."
Something about this chick didn't sit right with me. I walked closer to her, Andre's wrench at my side. "You sound like you know a little too much about what's happening."
"I'm a quick study," she said, dismissing me.
"You're a bullshitter, so why don't you tell me what your deal is, starting with that ring on your finger?" I pointed at it with the wrench.
Her expression changed instantly. Her eyes softened and her lips pursed. She looked down at the stone on her finger, taken off-guard by the question. Obviously she didn't intend to relive the memories.
"My fiance'. Frank. He was a doctor working with the WHO."
"That shitty classic rock band?"
She squinted at me. "The World Health Organization. It's the part of the U.N. that deals with communicable diseases."
"Oh. That makes a lot more sense."
"Frank was treating the early cases of Red Flu. His team was studying the virus, trying to figure out a cure before everything went south."
With the distant sounds of angry Bleeders in their air, she told me her story. She explained how Frank told her about the things he saw, all of them, even the things he wasn't allowed to repeat. How the virus caused encephalitis- swelling of the brain- much worse and at a higher rate than was common in the flu. That the effects were more like rabies or mad cow disease, but the doctors ran test after test and there was no such infection present, only what looked like a new strain of influenza, but one that didn't act like the ones they were familiar with. "Their brains formed lesions, which Frank said led to amnesia, muscle spasms, changes in personality, confabulations-"
"Sorry, what the fuck are confabulations?"
"The inability to separate dreams from waking life."
"Great. That's great. You know what, we can finish this creepy, little chat later, right now I'd like to get out of this goddamn basement. Sound good?"
"Fine."
I turned. "Jeremiah?"
Without picking his head up, he raised one, big hand and extended a thumbs up, though I doubted he'd heard a word we said. Alison and I helped him up and he continued on with us down the dark hallway. He was running on pure strength combined with stubbornness at this point. A lesser man would have laid down and died by this point.
I certainly did.
We made our way through the basement and up the stairs that led to the private back entrance where the players usually came into the club room. As I expected, it hadn't been locked or barricaded by the army. There wasn't much reason to block a door no one would get to in the first place. But they didn't know they'd be dealing with a dipshit like me.
Crowded in the small area by the private entrance, we gathered ourselves up before we took the next step. After what came next, there was no going back. Breaking out of a military quarantine would make us wanted criminals on a level none of us was prepared for, but quite frankly it beat being eaten alive by the worsening group of Bleeders they'd stuck us in with. Even now, with all the distance we'd put between us and the field, we could hear the screams and banging of the crowd as they started tearing the place apart.
I looked back at Alison. "Those fuckers are pissed. I guess it's better they're in here than out there."
"You really think it's any better out there?"
"Even if it's not, there's a few hundred less of them now."
"It doesn't matter."
"Anyone ever tell you you're a real downer," I asked. She didn't answer. I tried the door that led outside- unlocked. "See? It's not all bad."
I swung the door open and stepped forward into the night. Blocking our way out was a group of military vehicles parked up on the sidewalk, with them a scattering of armed soldiers, including Skull-head himself- my old friend, Private Simmons.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I ducked back inside and shut the door in a hurry before Simmons or any of the other soldiers could spot me. Then I looked back at the waiting eyes of Alison and Jeremiah.
"Well," Alison asked.
"It's bad."
Alison shook her head. In the distance, the Bleeders were getting crazier. They sounded like they were on the verge of an all-out riot. For all the noise they were making, you'd think the Red Sox had just won on free beer night. "So we're stuck," Alison said.
"You told me the army pulled out hours ago."
"Well I guess not all of them, huh?"
"Don't do that."
"What?"
"The sarcastic thing. Don't do that. That's my thing."
She rolled her eyes and checked on Jeremiah, who was looking green in the face. We needed to find him somewhere to lay down fast, before his strength and stubbornness ran out.
"We need a distraction," I said. "Something big to draw them away. Maybe if we set up fireworks, you know? On a remote, or a timer?"
Alison looked back at me from looking in Jeremiah's eyes. "What are you talking about? Where are you getting fireworks?"
"This is a stadium, they use fireworks all the time."
"Think of something else."
I scratched my head. "I'm just spit-balling here, alright? I don't see you coming up with anything better."
"Scratch the blood," Jeremiah suddenly said, his bloodshot eyes staring into space. We waited but he said nothing else.
"Thanks," I said, "that's a big help."
As I tried to think of a better plan- though I hadn't totally given up on the fireworks thing- a large crash came from somewhere inside the stadium. It was a mess of glass and metal followed by excited shouts.
"What the fuck was that," I asked. Outside, the soldiers' radios started going off. Someone was shouting for backup, and they weren't using professional language to do it. Without skipping a beat the soldiers ran off in a hurry to help their friends in need.
"I think you got your distraction," Alison said. I peeked out the door and saw the tail end of the group of soldiers disappearing around the bend and out of sight. We couldn't have planned it better if we tried.
"I still like the fireworks idea better," I mumbled.
With Jeremiah's arm over my shoulder we made a break for the vehicles. On the way we decided the humvee was our best choice, since the cabin was enclosed to protect us from Bleeders yet it was, you know...more sensible than a tank. Not that I wouldn't love driving a tank down Grand Concourse, but we didn't have time to figure out how to start it let alone operate it.
I threw open the rear passenger-side door and helped Jeremiah up into the back of the humvee. It wasn't a traditional backseat at all, more of a hard, open space perfect for grunt storage. Alison jumped behind the wheel and looked back at us from the massive driver's seat with its giant stick-shift and mounted laptop.
"You're driving," I asked, admittedly surprised.
"Is that a problem?" She looked ready to engage in one of those battle-of-the-sexes arguments that always go so well.
"Actually it's better for me, my license is suspended." I finished loading up Jeremiah, shut the door behind me and was about to hop into the front when something against the seat caught my attention. "Check it out," I said as I crouch-walked into the passenger seat. Alison looked over at the black assault rifle clutched in my hands.
"Do you know how to use that thing," she asked with raised eyebrows.
"I was about to ask you the same thing." I motioned to the steering wheel.
"If you've driven one minivan, you've driven them all," she said, turning the ignition and firing up the beastly engine. She engaged the clutch and put it into first gear, pulling away from the line of vehicles with a roar of gasoline and rubber.
As she drove around the stadium toward the exit, I casually inspected the weapon. I made it look like I was checking it over but the truth was I was getting used to the thing, figuring out where everything was on the rifle. I had gone to a range a few times back in college with a gun-loving buddy of mine, but with nothing above a few handguns. My experience with assault rifles started and ended with Playstation. My best guess, based solely on videogames, it was an M16.
"Look," Alison said, drawing my attention up from the weapon. Twenty or thirty soldiers were lined up in front of the building with their weapons aimed and ready. Gate Four, where we'd been marched through hours earlier, was alive with motion on the inside. Through the glass doors it looked like game day, but we all knew there was no game today.
"Bleeders," I said.
The crash we heard must have been the blockades giving. They were able to hold up to a few people pushing and pulling on them, but once the stadium was filled with Bleeders their strength became too much.
The doors bulged outward from the weight of the crowd pushing on them from the other side. Alison stopped the humvee, all of us drawn into the insane sight of the screaming faces pressed against the glass. With night outside and the lights on inside, we could see their faces clearly. Blood dripped from their eyes and mouths and down the doors.
"There it goes."
The glass cracked and then the first door gave. I'd never seen anything like it. It was like a dam burst as the Bleeders flooded through the broken door, then a second door and a third. Some of them fell but the others stampeded right over them, crushing skulls and snapping spines under uncaring feet.
The soldiers held their ground. They shouted orders and fired on the crowd. For a second it felt wrong- they were shooting at unarmed citizens- but the thought quickly disappeared as we saw the unflinching faces swarming down on the soldiers. Some of the Bleeders went down, the ones who took headshots or hits to the leg, but not all of them.
We watched as the wave of Bleeders reached the soldiers. The men tried to stow their weapons and fight the attackers hand-to-hand, and some of them even took down a few Bleeders, but the numbers were too much for them. The Bleeders washed over them in a biting, tearing, screaming wave of death.
"Time to go," Alison said, and slammed the humvee into first gear. She pulled around slowly, putting the stadium to our backs without attracting attention.
"There's Simmons," I said, pointing out the window to the soldier a hundred yards away running toward us. He must have been at the back of the line, because he'd managed to abandon his post and flee before the Bleeders reached him. He was heading right for us with more than a few on his tail. Alison asked who he was. "Just some asshole," I said.
"So what should I do?"
"About what? Him? Fuck that guy, we're not helping him."
"Having a soldier on our side might be a good thing now that we're criminals."
I snorted. "I'll take my chances, thanks." Alison gave me a look. I kept shaking my head, and she kept giving me that look. "Fine," I said, "drive slow, but don't stop."
She kept the humvee rolling as I laid the gun down, opened my door and leaned out. I held steady to the frame and got my bearings. We were nearing the exit, maybe forty yards from the finish line, meanwhile Simmons was about fifteen yards behind us.
And the Bleeders were only five yards behind him.
"Hey, asshole," I shouted, "hurry up!"
Simmons must have gotten a good look at my face, because I saw the unmistakable look of recognition cross his face even as he ran for his life. Before I knew what he was doing, he swung his weapon forward and fired at me.
"Whoa," I shouted as two rounds hit the open door. A third whizzed past my head. I ducked back in and pulled the door closed as another few round went past.
I looked over at Alison.
"Yeah, fuck that guy," she said and floored the gas pedal. I turned in time to see the Bleeders catch up with Simmons. He'd lost some ground from concentrating more on shooting than running, and they were more than willing to take advantage. We pulled out of the stadium lot as Simmons hit the blacktop and six Bleeders fell on top of him, gnashing all the way.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Avoiding the clusterfuck that would be the expressway, Alison turned right onto River Avenue. It was still thick with abandoned cars, fires raging unchecked and an occasional dead body in the road, but otherwise it wasn't so bad. Jeremiah was passed out in the back. He'd held out as long as he could, but the sickness finally caught up with him. I turned forward in my seat. "Stick a fork in him."
"You should consider ditching him before he wakes up," Alison said without hesitating.
"What? What are you talking about?"
> "Only a very small number of people don't become one of those things. The odds aren't great that you both happen to be lucky."
"So, what, you want me to kick him out before he wakes up?"
"If he wakes up, it'll probably be as something you won't like."
Even if she was right, hearing her say it pissed me off. "In that case, I wouldn't want to deny you your assisted suicide."
She frowned at me. "That's my choice. If he becomes a- what did you call them, Bleeders? If he becomes a Bleeder, he won't be able to make that choice for himself."
I thought about it a second. Then I shook my head. "Fuck that."
"It's your funeral." She weaved the humvee between abandoned and crashed cars along River Avenue. The city had fallen apart in the time we were locked up in the stadium. Bleeders ran wild in the night, attacking anyone who looked tasty. It was crazy how fast they'd taken over the streets, a trick any gang would have killed their own mothers to pull off. Alison drove around two Bleeders eating a taxi driver inside his own cab. "Why do you care so much about this guy? I don't want to be rude, but he just looks like some homeless guy."
"He is some homeless guy, but he also saved my ass. The least I can do is see if he wakes up before I sentence him to die."
An old Bleeder ran into the side of the humvee, bouncing off the passenger door and down to the ground. More of them came from the left, but Alison kept the humvee moving and we left them behind.
"So where are we going," I asked.
"I thought he told you."
"He said he knew a place we could hide."