Alone No More

by Philbrook, Chris

  It wasn’t 20 minutes after that when he got the call from up on high. The shit was officially in the fan and flying. The FBI and ATF considered the situation volatile enough that they felt weapons needed to be made more available to the public. They had suspended the need for background checks. All gun sales were subject to local preference. It was his call to decide who got a gun and when. Unbelievable.

  At about the same time, the federal government issued several notices suggesting that many major metropolitan governments should consider martial law, and that all medical grounds should be quarantined to help prevent the spread of any dangerous pathogens. It was official; the wheels had come off the world.

  He called for Danny at the gun shop so he could talk to his father about the suspension of background checks. He told his dad the story, and they decided that his father and his employees would make the call. That seemed really sensible for Brian. There was no one he trusted more in the world than his father. After he and his dad made their plan, he told Danny to put down anyone bitten, or anyone who was visibly sick or hurt. His other officers chimed in after that to make sure his orders were correct. Shoot anyone hurt and unresponsive. They couldn’t risk contamination.

  After he had gotten done sorting out all the worst case scenario plans in his head, he got the call over the radio about the shooting at the gun shop. Brian had been in some pretty shitty spots during his career as an officer of the law, but nothing hit him quite like hearing Danny McGreevy call out an officer involved shooting at his father’s place of business. The Chief’s guts twisted up in a knot and his hands got all clammy as he sat there at his desk. It took him a few minutes to shake the cobwebs out of his brain. As soon as he did he jumped into action.

  Brian got in his cruiser and pulled out of the town’s municipal complex right behind the ambulance that was responding to the same call. The two vehicles flew through town getting to the shop. When they were halfway to his father’s store another 911 dispatch call came out saying there was a dead body laying in the parking lot of one of the condo complexes in town. Apparently a gunshot wound to the head. Brian distinctly knew when that second call came out that he no longer had the time to plan to prevent anything. Whatever it was that was covering the world in panic and violence had reached his town. They were past prevention already, and were dealing with fallout.

  The events at the shop were still fuzzy for him. He actually hoped the memories never became clear. He remembered the dead man in the parking lot, and Danny explaining why he shot him. After that it got messy in his head. He remembers the little kid. Donny? Danny? Mikey? Who knows now? If the world survived until next week he’d worry about the kid’s name then. He remembered the kid taking off his jacket after sharing the story of the bloodbath at the hospital he and his father had just left. The kid was bloodied under the jacket, and told the paramedics he’d been bitten. Ten seconds later the little boy began convulsing, and dropped dead.

  The paramedics worked on him, and somewhere along the line he came back to life, and they got bitten. Guns were drawn, the young boy was shot, and somehow his dad was bitten during the fracas too. Brian couldn’t remember much after that; just that his man McGreevy called out for additional assistance, and nothing came back over the radio. Something else bad must’ve been happening.

  His dad knew it was over for him though. They knew the bites infected. They’d just seen the bites infect first hand, and his father knew. Brian couldn’t bear to watch though, and after saying his tearful goodbyes, he left. As he closed the cruiser door and started to drive away from the gun store, he heard a single gunshot, and the Chief knew his father was dead.

  Brian drove for a few miles until he was almost back at the station. He kept thinking over and over about how he would break this to his mother, and his two kids. Then Brian realized that he needed to find out where his family was. He radioed out to his officers to let them know things had finally reached town. All of them were in the middle of dealing with developing problems. Fender benders, a couple 911 calls for injuries and sickness, and one of his officers was headed to the scene of the dead body at the condo complex. The state hadn’t responded to any of his dispatcher’s calls for assistance regarding the body either, which meant they were up to their own eyeballs with major crimes as well.

  Brian made a decision and cut his men loose. This was no longer about maintaining law and order. In less than 30 minutes he’d had five fatal shootings in a 3 mile radius. They had families to take care of, and in order for them to do that, they needed to get home, and get their kids and wives safe. He told them to wrap up what they were doing, and get the hell home.

  He called his wife Stacey right after that. They didn’t talk for long. He told her about what happened at the gun shop, and he told her about whatever was happening across the world. He told her this could legitimately be the end of the world, and they had to get home, and get it safe. He cried when he hung up with her. He knew this would get much worse before it got better, he just didn’t realize how much worse, and how fast it would get that way.

  *****

  In the hour Chief Moore was out of town picking up his mother and daughter from the Butterfly Museum, things had changed for the worse. It was like a faucet that had been slowly dripping pure panic had been opened until raw unadulterated lunacy was pouring out. Cars were running red lights right in front of him, and he could see houses either already fully boarded up, or being boarded up everywhere he looked. Reminded him of the hours right before an impending hurricane along the Gulf Coast. Businesses were putting up closed signs, and every gas station had a line of cars out into the street. One hour had passed, and everyone had lost their minds.

  Chief Moore stopped at the municipal center where the police station and fire department was headquartered. He hit the automatic garage opener and drove his cruiser directly inside the station’s booking area. It was a godsend during shitty weather, or when the media was sitting there to be able to stay in the vehicle until it was behind closed doors. Today he was happy because it meant he could get his daughter and mother into a secured area and feel safe about leaving them in his squad car.

  Brian told his mother and daughter he’d be right back, and left them in the back of his cruiser. He went to the heavy duty station door and swiped his access card on the reader. With a curt beep the locks opened, and he pulled the door open with a tug. Once he was out of the line of sight of his family, he drew his sidearm. No sense risking his life, even here in the supposed safety of the police station.

  Brian went room to room and checked for signs of life. No one was there. He had no desk officers on duty today; everyone was out and about already. His two dispatchers were long since history, having left when he issued his “go home” message earlier. Half drank cups of coffee sat on their coasters on their desks right next to half eaten granola bars. There was a donut too. Brian touched the coffee cups and they were still warm to the touch. Lights all across the 911 board were lit up. On the dispatch monitors there were dozens of emergency calls coming in from the state level, and there was no one left to send out to help these people.

  Sitting in the center of Danny McGreevy’s desk was his already filled out Incident Report form. He must’ve come straight here and filled it out before he took off for the day. Brian thumbed through the few sheets of paper and nodded in agreement with how it was written. Damn fine cop.

  Two hours ago his town was normal and now it had all but fallen in on itself. He holstered his handgun and rubbed his eyes. They were dry and stinging from a lack of blinking. Brian hadn’t closed them out of fear he’d miss some danger in this new, weird world. Once he got the shit rubbed out of his eyes he reasserted his plan in his head and went about his business.

  In the arms locker adjacent to his office he grabbed two of the station’s four M4 assault rifles. He also grabbed one of the police riot shotguns and a spare Kevlar vest. One of the heavy duty gear bags got stuffed with the weapons and he tossed in six spa
re magazines and about a dozen boxes of ammunition. He also grabbed three of the Motorola radios his officers used to communicate with each other.

  Brian dropped the bag of weapons right next to the door leading to the intake area and checked on his family. His mother was entertaining his daughter and all seemed well. He ran across the indoor garage to the opposite side, and swiped his card on the access door for the fire station side. He tugged that door open and walked in. Immediately his foot slid out from under him on a slick spot on the linoleum floor. He reached out and grabbed the walls to prevent a horrible split that could’ve wrecked any chance he had for increasing the size of his family in the future.

  “Jumping Jesu-” Brian looked down at the floor and saw the enormous congealed pool of blood. It had formed a thick skin but when his foot planted in it, the skin had torn and revealed the dark red grease below. He’d nearly gone down in literal bloodbath. That amount of blood meant a dead body. No one could bleed a patch that big and make it. Brian steadied himself and slid his Glock 21 out of its holster again.

  He took a few slow steps down the hallway leading into the fire station’s lunchroom before he announced himself, “Police! Anyone in this building needs to identify themselves immediately!”

  He waited a few seconds and listened, his finger poised like a snake stretched out next to the trigger. It was a few seconds before he heard the scuffing of feet being dragged on the floor from somewhere ahead of him. It was dark in the fire house. No windows reached this interior room, and only a few small fluorescent bulbs shed any light. The noise was coming from one of the gear rooms he had intended to get inside of. He had come for medical supplies, and they were in the room the noise was coming from.

  Brian barked again, “This is Chief Moore! Show me hands or you will be shot!”

  No response, just a few more scuffs on the floor. His heart skipped a beat when he heard a tremendous crash to the floor from the room. The noise forced his hand, and without waiting any longer he strode into the kitchen and rounded the corner to the left to see what was happening in the room.

  He took the corner tight, showing the muzzle of his .45 caliber pistol to the noise before he walked out into the open. He took a half step to the side and was immediately hit by a raw, visceral odor that made his stomach and bowels turn inside out. His brain didn’t have the time to register the man standing in front of him before he was forced to dry heave. Instinctively Brian backpedaled in the nick of time as the man lunged at him. Fortunately Brian had the presence of mind to double tap his trigger finger, sending two heavy slugs into the form coming his way. The two gunshots were louder than he could’ve imagined in the concrete room as his back hit the hallway wall and his brain caught up to what was happening.

  His two gunshots had sent the man coming at him backwards several feet into the wall of the kitchen. Brian knew immediately it was Carl, one of the lifer firemen in town. He was pushing 50, and was a solid concrete block worth of belly fat overweight, but the man was a good fireman, and knew his shit. Without even realizing what was going on Brian started talking out loud to Carl.

  “Carl what the fuck man?!” And then he saw what had happened to Carl. Carl’s copious Pabst Blue Ribbon fed beer belly had been slashed open somehow leaving a hole that resembled a twisted grin. From hip to hip he had ragged opening that had set free his innards. Carl was pushing himself off the wall towards Brian awkwardly as his feet stepped directly onto ropes of his own intestines. The pink and purple guts snapped and popped open under his girth and spewed all manner of food and fecal matter onto the smooth floor. Brian’s whole world came to an abrupt stop as his rational mind tried to find an explanation for how Carl was still upright after not only being mysteriously gutted, but after having taken two pistol rounds directly to the sternum.

  Carl’s eyes were glossed over and turning a hazy white color. His lips curled back in a silent snarl and he took another awkward, crushing step on his own guts toward the Chief. Brian shook his head quickly, raised the Glock and squeezed one more round off, smashing Carl’s forehead inward, and sending the contents of his skull all over the white concrete blocks behind him. His lifeless body collapsed down onto its knee’s further crushing his own insides into a wretched paste.

  Brian emptied the contents of his own stomach onto the table in the middle of the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten much that day, but the half dozen cups of coffee came out as forceful bile, knocking paper plates and cups off the table and onto the floor. After a dozen convulsions his stomach tapped out, and he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  The world had come undone.

  He held his breath and stepped around Carl into the stockroom. He grabbed one of the bright red paramedic bags that was already stocked up and ready to go. He snagged an empty red bag off a shelf and stuffed it with as many first aid supplies as he could. There was a surprising amount of usable medical supplies, and he didn’t want to risk visiting a hospital after hearing the boy’s story at his father’s gun store earlier that day. The little boy had lost his whole family at a hospital to this madness, and Brian didn’t want to be anywhere near sick people.

  Once he’d stuffed the second bag as full as he could get it, he exited the room and quietly let himself out of the fire station and into the indoor garage. His mother was standing outside the cruiser, shaking, staring at the door he’d just come through.

  “Mom, are you okay?” Brian asked her as he used his keys to pop the cruiser’s trunk.

  “I… I heard… shooting. I thought you might’ve been hurt.” She had that napkin again, and her eyes were flush with redness. She’d been crying again.

  Brian loaded the two paramedic bags into the trunk and walked over to the police station door to retrieve the bag filled with weapons and ammo. “There was another sick person in the firehouse mom. I had to shoot them after they tried to hurt me.” He tried to say it in as neutral a tone as possible. He wanted to dismiss the notion of the true danger.

  “Are they dead Brian? Did you kill them?” Her voice wavered as she asked.

  Brian dropped the heavy gun bag into the trunk and stopped to think about his answer. After a long pause he finally replied to her, “Mom, I’m not sure how to answer you. I think they were already dead when I shot them, but they were still moving around.” He shook his head in amazement at what he was saying.

  Brian’s mother cocked her head to the side, clearly not quite understanding him. But she was used to not understanding policemen. They never told the whole story, even if you asked for it. She nodded thoughtfully and conceded the debate. She was happy her son was still alive.

  “Let’s get moving. If we head to Stacey and I’s place we can get inside and lay low while all this blows over. After a day or two we can head north in the truck and maybe hit Uncle Mike’s place up. That cabin of his is pretty secluded and he has those solar panels if the electricity winds up dying out.” Brian walked around to the front door of the cruiser as he talked to his mom. She opened the back door and got in, sitting next to little Sarah, who had fallen fast asleep, despite the noise from Brian’s gun play.

  With a twist of the wrist the cruiser’s powerful interceptor engine roared to life. Brian looked into the backseat and saw his daughter’s angelic little face. She was just four years old, and he desperately wanted to protect her from the horror that he knew was right outside, right around the corner. Brian hit the garage door opener and backed the cruiser out. It was clear of danger in the parking lot of the municipal building, and he spun the car around and headed out. When he exited the lot on the other side of the building he saw one of the town’s ambulances parked half on the grass. He looked at the plate and did some memory retrieval.

  The ambulance was likely the one Carl had been assigned to for the day. The driver’s side door was wide open and Brian could see streaks of the brownish red blood leading all the way from the van straight up the sidewalk and into the fire station’s front door. Carl must’ve been hurt somewhere else, and came
back here to try and fix himself up or get help. Shitty way to go, Brian realized, bleeding out after getting gutted. Poor bastard he thought.

  Brian pulled the cruiser out into the street and drove with the emergency blue lights on. He kept his finger on the tab for the siren should he need it. Cars whipped by at dangerous speeds on the side streets as he made his way towards Main Street to head to his house. He only had maybe a two mile drive, but it felt like he was driving through a terrible dream.

  More houses all boarded up everywhere he looked. Those homes that were not boarded up had cars frantically being packed in their yards. People carrying out suitcases of clothes, and boxes filled with food. Picture frames, books, and lockboxes filled with important paperwork were all being taken. Brian couldn’t help to wonder how the mob mentality would ruin everyone’s chances at a safe escape to more rural areas. Shit, this town was pretty rural, you couldn’t much more rural.

  As he drove into the more commercial area of Main Street he saw a complete nightmare at the grocery store. Cars parked in total disarray, blocking all the fire lanes. He saw people running in both directions in the parking lot. People running into the store to get whatever was left, and people running out of the store with carts filled with likely stolen food. The cop inside the Chief’s head had to fight an epic battle with his paternal instinct to not drive into the lot with his siren blaring to establish law and order.

  But he knew it was too late for that. With just one body he’d get shot by some desperate asshole, or beaten to death by a mob of people panicking, trying to get what they thought would be their last meal. He had no support from the state police either. His only option at this point was to make his family safe, and wait for the government to sort this out. Once he had reinforcements, he’d worry about enforcing the laws on the books. Brian shook his head in utter disbelief and made the right hand turn towards his house.

  He drove the two miles up the hill on Dove Street at a good magazine, keeping constant watch for the erratic drivers going in both ways. One of the cars passing him flashed their lights at him, and he slowed to a stop as they flagged him down. Brian thumbed the catch on his pistol’s holster as he powered down his driver’s side window. The man in the midsize sedan looked like he’d seen a ghost when Brian got close.