Biohazard

by Tim Curran

  We piled out.

  2

  Inside, the dealership was dusty and messy, offices ransacked, computers shattered, file cabinets tipped over, their contents strewn about. We walked over a floor covered in papers, dealer’s brochures. The plate glass windows were either broken, entirely gone, or so dusty you couldn’t see out of them. It was dim in there, shadows everywhere. It would have been the perfect place to spring an ambush and I think we all knew it.

  We went down into the garages and collected up a dozen plastic five-gallon gas cans. Carl had his siphon and we were ready to go. Mickey was there by my side. As was Carl and Texas. But I didn’t see Janie. Shit, I thought, there were only five of us for chrissake! It wasn’t like I had to be accountable for a hundred fucking survivors. Yet, Janie had slipped through my fingers.

  And it probably wasn’t by accident.

  The mechanic’s bays were huge. You could have parked twenty cars in there and had enough room for a couple trucks. Add to that the metal cages of automotive parts, the dusty red tool cribs, the cars parked on dead hydraulic jacks, and she could have been anywhere.

  Immature, Nash, just like you thought. She’s got a size-D bug up her ass and she’s been feeding and mothering that fucker so that it’s now the size of a B-movie monster insect. Ain’t that sweet? Little Miss fucking Princess-Prom Queen-cheerleading-blue-eyed-blonde-haired-Nordic-uberbitch is pissed off at your lack of sympathy for all the shitballs and dirtbags in the world, so she just fucking wandered off and endangered you all.

  Maybe she’s just pouting back in the showroom.

  But maybe she walked away from it all.

  In which case, somebody’s gotta go get her and that somebody might die a hard fucking death out in the ruins.

  I was pissed. I was guilty. I was speechless. My mind was going a million miles a minute, exploding with star-shot, and I hated myself for making her feel so poorly and I hated her for standing up on her soapbox and espousing her old world, dead-and-fucking-gone bleeding heart values.

  Jesus H. Christ, this was survival.

  “Where’s Janie?” I said.

  “Who cares?” Mickey said, giving me a molten look that said all that needed saying about how I no longer needed Janie, that she was expendable, that my dick was in finer hands now and would soon die and go to pussy heaven. Christ.

  “I care,” I said.

  Texas Slim came over with a calendar. He shoved it in my face. There was a naked redhead with her fine, pointy tits on display. They looked almost as good as Mickey’s.

  “Look at this fine display,” he said to me, clucking his tongue. “Now therein lies the deepest pits of black sin and the voluptuous joys of carnal godhood.”

  “Fuck are you talking about, dumbass?” Carl said to him.

  “I’m saying, my small-minded friend, that this here sweet lick of cherry-red devil’s food is the sort of meal a man don’t need no spoon nor fork for. No sir, this is a feast best fit for bare hands and slavering mouths.”

  “Janie’s gone,” I said, walking across the bay. “Find here. Right now, goddammit. Find her.”

  I could almost feel Mickey rolling her eyes behind my back.

  I didn’t give a shit. I had to find Janie. Beretta in hand, I went off looking for her and Mickey tagged along. Carl started searching the bays and Texas went out into the offices. We were all calling for her and I wasn’t too happy about that. I didn’t particularly relish the idea of making a lot of goddamn noise and drawing unfriendlies in. Because, believe me, they were out there, circling like vultures looking for some tasty red meat to pick at.

  The dealership was huge. Unbelievably huge. Mickey and I started going through the showrooms, searching around the Corvettes and Aveos, Silverados and Hummer H3s.

  “Janie!” I called. “Janie!”

  My voice echoed out and died, affirming the dead and empty voluminous spaces around me. I could hear Texas in the distance doing the same. We were all split apart now. Armed, but split and that was just plain dangerous. I was starting to sweat. My stomach was filled with sharp nettles. Part of me was seriously pissed at Janie for putting us in this position and another part was just plain scared. For what if she hadn’t disappeared of her own free will?

  What if she had been snatched?

  Hell, while we circled around like chickens looking for feed, something might be peeling the flesh from her bones in some dark, webby place. I moved faster, looking, searching, calling out. Mickey did the same, but with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. I started imagining us, hours from then, still looking and not finding a damn thing and me having to admit that Janie was gone, gone, gone. It made me feel empty inside. And every time I didn’t hear Texas or Carl shouting out her name for a few moments, I was sure that whatever had gotten her had gotten them. Something vicious and stealthy, something so terrible it could take them silently without so much as a cry or a busted cap.

  I felt like I was in one of those old haunted house movies where people disappear one by one. A couple times I looked back at Mickey just to make sure she was there. And I knew at that moment if I hadn’t before what my true Achilles heel was: I was absolutely petrified of being alone. That was my ultimate nightmare, that was the form my private hell would take.

  Just me alone in a dead world. It reminded me of a story I read in high school, the opening lines of which had stayed in the back of my mind all these years, boiling away like a vat of poison:

  The last man on earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock at the door.

  I came around a Chevy Avalanche, keeping watch on those dusty windows, thinking more than once I had seen a shape slide past them…but not upright and human, but low and twisted like a troll from a dark enchanted forest.

  “Nash,” Mickey finally said, hooking me by the elbow. “Nash. I know you’ve got a thing for Janie. That’s cool. And I know she’s one of us and we don’t want to lose her. But I got a bad feeling, man. I got a bad feeling right up my spine and I don’t think this is the right time for us to be separated like this.”

  I wanted to tell her to go to hell…but I knew she was right. My stomach was filled with fluttering wings; I was sensing something, too. And more than once I had wondered if some bad boys or nameless things had orchestrated the entire thing, snatching Janie so we’d separate and they could take us down that much quicker.

  I put a hand on Mickey’s shoulder. “Listen to me. Go out into the offices. Find Texas and stay with him, link up with Carl. I’m going to find her.”

  “Nash-”

  “Fuck that. Get going.”

  She did, giving me one last look of longing or pity and taking off, her long black hair swishing from side to side. I didn’t want to be alone as you full well know, but on the other hand I always favor fighting alone so I don’t have to worry about anyone else. I waited there, everything inside of me wired full of electricity. But I waited, fumbling a cigarette into my mouth and lighting it. The smoke was acrid, unpleasantly so. Its smell was almost gagging. The heat of the filter against my lips was burning. I didn’t get it at first-thought for sure I was going to have a panic attack or something-but then I did.

  I was in battle mode.

  Every muscle was taut, my nerves jangling, my brain pushing its sensory network to the limits so that all five senses were amplified. Nothing would get by me. Nothing would throw down on me or take me by surprise. When I heard Mickey calling out for Janie with Texas, I tossed the cigarette and ran charging through the showrooms, my heart pounding like a kettle drum. I found a double doorway that led down into the body shop. Other doorways led to other departments but this is the one I wanted.

  I rushed into the body shop which was quite large and echoing.

  A few dust-laden cars still waited for new fenders, doors, or sidewalls. I could smell the ancient odor of primer and putty. I looked around the tool cribs, darted into the electrostatic paint booth, snooped in a parts cage. Then I went into an office and rubbed some of the grime off t
he window.

  I saw someone across the street.

  3

  It was Janie.

  I circled around in frenetic rage until I found a door, unlocked it, and ran across the street. Janie turned and saw me, kept right on going. I held my gun high, watching every heap of refuse, every shadowy alley, every overturned dumpster and cracked window. Eyes. God, I could feel the eyes watching me, cutting into me like drill bits.

  I caught up with her, grabbed her shoulder and swung her around. “What in the fuck do you think you’re doing, you little idiot?” I cried in her face.

  And that face…oh boy. Pinched with grief, eyes swollen from tears. She was absolutely stunning even like that. I wanted to sweep her into my arms and hug her because I could see what she looked like as a little girl, so beautiful she would make your heart sliver, your breath catch in your throat, so vulnerable you only wanted to protect her and make the bad things go away.

  “Janie…please,” I said.

  The stubborn pissiness was gone from her. She was a shell that was cracking apart from the inside out. I could feel the waves of pain coming from her. “Rick…just let me go. I can’t do this anymore,” she told me and there was no drama in her voice, just a hollowness. “I can’t go on murdering people. It’s not what I am or what I’m about. I turned a blind eye to it long as I could…but it won’t work anymore. I’m sorry.”

  “Janie…c’mon, don’t do this.”

  She reached out and touched her fingers to my face, smiled very thinly. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to be a burden to these others. But I can’t go on like this. Just go back to the others. They need you. I’m going to walk away and I don’t want you to follow me.”

  I was speechless. Totally speechless.

  “I’m sorry, Rick. I know you think I’m weak and you’re right: I am. But I can’t justify what we’re doing. I’m going to walk away and let fate take its course. I don’t have the strength to kill myself, so this is the only alternative. Goodbye, Rick.”

  She turned away just like that and walked on.

  But I caught up with her. “You can’t do this. I won’t let you. I won’t let you die like a dog in the streets.”

  “You can’t stop me and you don’t own me.”

  “It’ll get better,” I said, knowing it was utter bullshit.

  “There’s no future, Rick. Accept it.”

  She started walking again and all the fight had dried up in me. I didn’t know what to say or what to do. I was helpless. She was right and I knew it. Janie had lost focus and saw no reason to prolong the inevitable. The rest of us were deluding ourselves. I didn’t know why I was bothering. I knew there wasn’t any pot of gold at the end of the fucking rainbow; just misery. I wasn’t racing towards the light at the end of the tunnel, I was fleeing the darkness that was getting closer day by day, moving west as we were moving west.

  I’m not really sure what I would have done if something hadn’t happened that gave me a good square kick in the ass. A naked man stepped out of a doorway. He was pale as a bleached corpse, hairless, and there were great holes eaten into his skin like something had taken bites out of him. His face beneath his eyes was just…gone. It had been eaten away right to the pink muscle beneath. He grinned at us like a half-dissected anatomy specimen. His eyes were like depthless black catacombs.

  A Scab.

  One chewed up by some flesh-eating virus or fungus. He saw me, saw Janie. He walked right over to her and she did not shriek, did not draw back, but stood there with eyes filled with hurt and just waited for it. I brought up the Beretta and fired a round at him point-blank. He jerked with the impact, folding up and pressing his hands to the red jelly frothing from the bullet hole. He made an anguished growling sound.

  And it was answered.

  I swung around and there was another Scab. Naked and bald, a teenage boy. He was down on his knees like a dog, growling at us, yellow foam coming out of his mouth. I shot him in the head and he flipped around, trembling, a perfect stream of dark blood gushing from the wound.

  I grabbed Janie by the arm, pulling her away with me, and as I turned I saw that retreat to the dealership was impossible: we were in as nest of them. Scabs came pouring out of every hole and hide and shadowy crevice, they came out like slugs boiling from salted earth. All naked, all full of sores and morbid disfigurements, and all eaten up with those yawning ulcers.

  They had all worked themselves up into some kill-happy rapture, some deranged and bloodthirsty mania. It was just unbelievable. They were crawling on their hands and knees, running around in circles, jumping up and down on the hoods of cars in one of the lots. Some were hopping in frantic circles like monkeys. Others fornicating. Some dry humping each others legs. But they all had one thing in common: they were watching us.

  And they were gradually moving in our direction.

  Janie and I ran down the sidewalk and I heard the thunder of dozens of bare feet following in pursuit. I came to one locked door after another, rounded a corner and a Scab jumped out at me. He knocked Janie to the pavement and I brought the butt of the Beretta down on the crown of his skull. He went to his knees and I kicked him in the head, gathered up Janie, and off we went.

  We lucked out and found an old department store. It was open, the plate glass door shattered. We ducked in there. It had been broken up into countless trendy little shops selling everything from gourmet dog foods to golf clubs to designer fashions. We hopped behind the counter of a leather goods shop and held onto each other, not daring to so much as breathe.

  Right away, one of them sought us out.

  I didn’t have to hear or see them: the fetid stink was enough.

  As we crouched under the counter, I saw the reflection of a large fleshy man in a diamond-cut mirror. He was breathing heavily with a clotted, gurgling sound like his lungs were filled with some semi-viscous fluid. Under his breath he kept talking, muttering mostly unintelligible things, but I heard this: “Oh, oh, oh, oh. Here? Not here. Over here? Not over here. Somewhere. Oh, oh, oh.” He passed on by, stumbling into some mannequins and stomping on them. A plastic arm went sailing over the counter.

  More of them now.

  From the footfalls, I was guessing a dozen or more. Now was the time for Carl to come bursting in with his AK on full auto, but I knew that wouldn’t happen. We were on our own. We either thought our way out of this, fought our way out, or we died. That’s all there was to it. I had thirteen rounds left in the clip for my Beretta. I was mentally counting them as I always did. And in the back of my mind, I knew I was saving a bullet for Janie. I would not admit it even to myself, but I knew, I knew. I wouldn’t let them get their diseased paws on her.

  More of them were in the building now, grunting and puffing and making those gurgling noises. I heard the slapping of skin against skin, heard some obscene female moaning and I knew a few of them were fucking. Because that’s all they liked to do: kill and fuck.

  We could only stay hidden so long.

  Then I saw the reflection of a man in the mirror again. He was paused right in front of the counter, cocking his head to the side like he was listening. There was some kind of phlegmy snot all over his mouth. He slapped his hands on the counter and brought his head over to look behind it.

  He saw us, grinned.

  I splashed his face right off the bone with two rounds. Janie and I broke from cover and I shot two more. Ten rounds left. We rushed through the store, dashing around displays and hopping over tables. The Scabs were converging from every direction. I kicked one out of the way and shot another and then another. Eight bullets. A set of stairs led upwards but more Scabs were coming down. They were in no hurry. Like afternoon shoppers sluggish with the day, they came down the steps in twos and threes, holding hands, ulcerated faces grinning. It was insane.

  Another door. A fire door. Reinforced steel with a tiny square of glass you couldn’t have squeezed a greased puppy through. It was open and we went in. It opened outwards and I s
aw a set of steps leading below. The idea of going into a cellar was not too appealing, but we had no choice. I slammed the door shut, but there was no lock on the other side. But there was a hydraulic door closer up near the top, the sort that store the pressure of the opening door and then release it to seal the door shut. All fire doors have them. Handing Janie my gun, I jumped up, grabbed hold of the arm with both fists and yanked down with all my weight and strength. I succeeded in bending it and then bending it again until its crook nearly touched the door. It was mangled good.

  Then the scabs hit the other side of the door.

  They got it open maybe an inch, but the bent opener would move no more. It would keep them at bay for awhile. I took my gun back and took Janie by the hand. Her hand was limp. She could have cared less whether we lived or died. But I didn’t have time for that. I led us below and it was pitch black. We came to another door and on the other side…light. There was a modular sky light above. It was nearly buried in filth, debris, and fallen leaves but there was plenty of daylight to see by. We must have been along the back of the building, some sort of atrium that had been designed to enhance the natural lighting.

  “We’re going to make it,” I told Janie.

  She barely lifted an eyebrow.

  We went through another door and into some kind of long, narrow storeroom with stacked skids of boxes piled along one wall and crates of bulging file folders along the other. There was light because we had a few panels of the skylight. I breathed a sigh of relief because there was a lock on the door. I had almost exhaled that breath when I realized we weren’t alone.

  4

  There was a boy standing there.

  He couldn’t have been much more than ten or eleven, but the last year had been real hell on him. His skin was bleached white, pocked with sores and mats of fungal growth, his eyes a shining translucent yellow. Ulcers had eaten great infected holes in him that oozed a green bile that almost looked fluorescent against his greasy, pallid flesh. I saw him. I saw the death he brought. But he was fast. He charged out and went after my eyes with hooked fingers. I backed away, terrified of coming into contact with any of the infectious, evil germs that had colonized him.