Fate

by V. A. Brandon

  “Are you all right?”

  “W-Water,” Mike croaked. “My throat’s parched.”

  The elderly man shook his head. “Have something else. Water isn’t safe right now.”

  Don’t drink the water! There’s something strange in the water. The wild-eyed passerby had shouted this right before being mauled by a mindless cannibal.

  “There’s soda and juice boxes in the fridge,” Mike said, his sense returning. “So it’s true, then? There’s something strange in the water?”

  “That seems to be the consensus, yes.” The gentleman’s eyes grew troubled as screams reached their ears. “Do you have anything to barricade the door?”

  “Only a desk and a bookshelf.” Mike let out a hollow laugh. “I’ve been living a pretty sparse lifestyle, as you can see.”

  “They’ll do for now.” The gentleman opened the fridge, poking his head in. “Hmm. We should drink the milk first since it will spoil faster.”

  “Why? Do you think the electricity will eventually go out?”

  “It’s a possibility, yes.”

  “In that case, we might as well finish off the deli meats as well.”

  After they barricaded the door – Mike did all of the heavy lifting – they made ham-and-lettuce sandwiches and washed them down with days-old milk. As they ate, they introduced themselves: the gentleman’s name was Mr. Aaron Rothstein, a retired pianist. He’d moved to the neighborhood after the death of his beloved wife, giving music lessons to underprivileged students. In fact, he’d just finished a lesson and was heading out to buy some bread when the frenzied attacks began.

  “If the reports are true and this outbreak was spread through surface water, then we can surmise that our city has an epidemic on our hands.” Mr. Rothstein gave the sparse wall a curious glance. “No TV?”

  “Can’t afford it.”

  “Not even a radio? Or a cell phone?”

  “It broke down two weeks ago, and I couldn’t be bothered getting a new one. As for my cell phone …” Mike patted his pockets, then realized he’d probably dropped it back at the log cabin. “I guess I lost it during all the chaos.”

  Mr Rothstein’s gaze settled on Mike’s upper arm; specifically, the round, flesh-colored band-aid. “Did you recently get a flu shot or a vaccination?”

  Mike chugged down the rest of his milk. “Nothing like that,” he said, wiping his mouth. He made sure not to touch the cut on his left cheek. “I participated in a series of clinical trials over at Deen & Blatt Pharmaceuticals. Basically, I was a guinea pig for some new medication. The money was pretty great and helped me pay the rent. But this?” He stared at the band-aid, smiling. “One of the scientists gave me a vitamin shot as a bonus. Told me not to tell anyone there in case they thought she was playing favorites.”

  At the mention of Deen & Blatt Pharmaceuticals, Mr. Rothstein’s face had considerably darkened. “And that’s all she said? That it was only a vitamin injection?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  After a lengthy pause, Mr. Rothstein rolled up his shirt sleeve.

  He, too, had a round, flesh-colored band-aid on his thin upper arm.

  * * *

  Casey stared out the window in a trance-like state, listlessly picking at the round band-aid on her arm. Before heading to the campsite to work as a camp counselor, she’d volunteered for a series of clinical trials to earn some extra cash. Her dream was to take a year off after graduation and see the world before entering the work force. At least, it had been before all this madness began. Cain had mocked her for being a lab rat, but he’d dutifully kept it a secret from their parents. If they’d known about it, they’d have blown a gasket.

  “We’re here,” he said, breaking into her idle thoughts. “I can see Dad’s SUV, so they must be home.”

  During the long drive, the twins had quickly realized something – the massacre at the campsite hadn’t been an isolated incident. Scores of mutilated bodies littered the roads and highways, with crazed humans feeding on bloodied flesh. They’d also discovered something else – even though Cain had pressed down on the gas pedal and violently rammed into them multiple times, those things had still risen from the asphalt and given chase.

  They just wouldn’t stay dead.

  Cain hopped out of the truck, slamming the door behind him. “Dad!” he hollered. “It’s us. We’re coming inside, so –” He abruptly stopped when Casey gripped his shoulder, hard.

  “Quiet down,” she said, her brows creased in agitation. “There’s no need to announce our arrival to the entire street.”

  Red-faced, he shrugged her off. “Dad might have his shotgun. Would you rather we walked through the front door and end up blasted into human chunks?”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “And how the hell would you know?”

  Casey bit her lower lip, then jerked her chin toward the porch. “Look over there.”

  At first, nothing seemed amiss. A second glance, however, told a different story. What had looked like muddy footprints actually turned out to be blood stains of dark puce. As the twins ventured closer, they noticed the trail of blood growing thicker, leading past the open door and disappearing up the carpeted stairs.

  The house – usually filled with sounds of TV shows and the savory fragrance of stews and pot roasts – was eerily quiet today.

  Cain let out a frantic curse. “Damn it. Don’t tell me they …” He trailed off, unable to voice his dreaded conclusion.

  “Listen,” Casey breathed, pulling her brother close. “We don’t have much time. Go into the kitchen and pack as much food as you possibly can. Mostly canned and packaged stuff, okay? And don’t forget the first-aid kits and gasoline in the garage. Once you have everything, take them to the truck and wait for me there.”

  Numbly, he nodded. “What are you planning to do, Kay?”

  A small smile touched her lips. The last time he’d called her that, they’d been fourteen years old.

  “I’m going to go upstairs to look for Mom and Dad. We’ll probably need cash as well – lots of it.” Her face grew troubled. “The authorities may shut down the borders to quarantine the infection. We have to get out of here before that happens, no matter what.”

  “Agreed.”

  Time was of the essence. Without further ado, the twins set off to their respective tasks.

  While Cain tore through the first floor, Casey carefully climbed up the stairs, listening for signs of life – slippered feet shuffling across wooden floors, soft voices, Dad loading his shotgun … anything to indicate that their parents were inside the house and still alive.

  What if they’re no longer human? Fear throbbed in her chest as she glanced down at her feet. And where did all this blood even come from, anyway?

  Gritting her teeth, she pushed aside the troubling thoughts and focused on the task at hand.

  Once she reached the master bedroom, she quickly pressed her ear against the door, her breath coming out in rapid puffs. There was nothing but deathly silence on the other side. Were Mom and Dad hiding behind this door? Were they wounded, desperate and hoping for a miracle?

  Casey’s fingers crept over the doorknob, tightening around its smooth surface.

  “Mom?” she whispered, her voice quavering. “D-Dad? Are you in there?”

  More silence.

  She was about to twist the knob when a strange sound – like rattling breath – rose from behind the door. It was mere inches away from where she was standing.

  Gooseflesh prickled all over her hot skin as she slowly released the doorknob. So the master bedroom wasn’t empty, after all. But who – or what – the hell was it?

  “I packed everything in the truck.” Cain suddenly popped up from behind, startling her. “Hey, why are you just staring at the door like some freak? Where’s Mom and Dad?”

  Her annoying twin’s voice was growing louder by the second. Casey shushed him, her clammy hand slicing through the air.

  His frown deepened, bu
t he quickly caught on and zipped his mouth shut.

  Again, the rattling breath rose and fell, sounding even closer this time. Its breathing was rapid, almost sensual in its growing excitement.

  That thing knows we’re right outside.

  Casey whirled around and grabbed Cain’s wrist. “Where’s Dad’s ladder?”

  “In the shed, I guess.” Grudgingly, he allowed her to drag him along. “Why? Don’t tell me you’re thinking of pulling some crazy stunt again!”

  She pressed her lips shut, fully aware that he was recalling what had happened earlier at the campsite. “Nothing that drastic,” she said wearily. “But we can’t leave until I take a peek inside that bedroom.” When he didn’t reply, she tugged harder on his wrist. “C’mon. Let’s get this over and done with.”

  Chapter 3

  To Casey’s vexation, the ladder was a whole lot taller and shakier than she remembered. Wobbling on one of the steps, she grabbed either side of the ladder to steady herself and glared down at her twin.

  “Hold it still, will you?” she hissed.

  Cain didn’t reply, but his pissed-off expression was warning enough: don’t test me, Kay.

  In response, she clamped her lips together and climbed higher, not wanting to cause a loud scene that might lead to unwanted attention. Just minutes before, the siblings had heard what sounded like dying screams coming from the bungalow right across from their house. A lone dog’s bark had disturbed the air soon after, ending with an abrupt yelp.

  Now, heavy silence cloaked the street again, as if to say, Nothing’s amiss … it was all in your head, Casey.

  “Quite the opposite,” she muttered under her breath, dread propelling her shaky climb. Twilight would soon descend upon them; she was desperate to leave the neighborhood before darkness left them at the total mercy of those monstrosities.

  “See anything yet?” Cain whispered up at her.

  She was about to shake her head when something unpleasant caught her eye. Well … that was a complete understatement. At first glance, she could only see two bodies inside – one slumped over the other, bloodied beyond recognition save for the few clean spots on their shredded clothes. A patch of floral design. A blue-checkered pattern. Corduroy pants. She recognized them at once.

  Mom … Dad … I’m so terribly sorry …

  Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, Casey clenched the ladder and willed her tears to go away before Cain noticed them. He might be a lot bigger and stronger than she was, but deep inside, he was still that sensitive little boy who’d weep at the slightest provocation. There was no doubt in her mind that he would insist on burying them –

  A sudden cracking noise startled Casey from her thoughts. “What the –” she gasped, her body instinctively jerking backward, her arms flailing wildly as she fell from the ladder. Squeezing her eyes shut, she braced herself for a painful impact, but found muscular arms wrapped around her waist instead.

  “Got you!” Cain breathed, hugging her tightly. “I got you, Kay. You’re all right.”

  “What the hell was that popping sound?”

  He glanced up, squinting at the cracked window. “There’s a psychotic mouth-breather in the master bedroom, remember? It slammed its head against the glass, right in front of you. Didn’t you see it?”

  In fact, she hadn’t. So focused had she been on the sight of her dead parents that she’d momentarily forgotten about the third occupant in the room, the one that had been standing just inches away from the door as its rattling breath filled her ears.

  “Wait, is that –” Cain creased his forehead, confused. “Don’t tell me that thing’s Mr. Montague!”

  An elderly man in his mid eighties, he’d lived on the same street for the past fifty years, the longest of any resident there. He’d always had a friendly word or two for the twins, sometimes giving them orange-flavored ice pops during hot summer days.

  “It’s him, all right,” Casey murmured, staring at the window. But what was he doing in their house? And was he the one responsible for her parents’ current state?

  No wonder Dad hadn’t brought out his shotgun. Who would feel unsafe when dear old Mr. Montague came a-knocking for a neighborly visit?

  Cain tore his disgusted gaze away, choosing to focus on his twin instead. “Anyway … did you see Mom and Dad? Were they also inside?”

  “Yes.” Without explaining further, she grabbed his wrist again and pulled him toward the truck.

  “And …?”

  “How much cash do you have right now?”

  “Wait – what?”

  Casey patted around her jean pockets with her other hand. “I have about eighty bucks, I think. Maybe a little more –”

  “Damn it, Casey!” Cain wrenched his arm away with such force that Casey stumbled face-first into his chest. “What happened to them inside that room?” His jaw was clenched so tightly that it was a wonder his molars didn’t crack under that immense pressure.

  Wincing, she righted herself. “They were mutilated beyond recognition.” Cain’s face immediately turned ashen, but she plowed on; there was no point in hiding the truth anymore. “The only way I knew those bodies were theirs was from the parts of shredded clothing that weren’t drenched in their blood –”

  “Okay.” He held up a hand, stopping her. “That’s … that’s enough, Kay. I understand it now.”

  “Then are you ready to leave this place?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Do you have any cash?” she repeated.

  He fished around in his pockets, then pulled out a fistful of crumpled bills and change. “Uh, maybe forty bucks?”

  So a hundred and twenty dollars. That would barely cover food and accommodation for two days, not to mention gas. Casey released a frustrated sigh, then jumped in surprise as Mr. Montague slammed his bloodied face on the window again, sending cracks skittering across the glass pane.

  “I loaded tons of food in the truck,” Cain said, opening the door quickly and hopping into the driver’s seat. “Should last us more than a month, if we ration our meals carefully.” He turned the ignition on as Casey slid into the passenger seat. “Once we cross the border, I’ll get a job to support us and … and then –”

  Casey rested her hand on his arm, feeling the slight tremors under her fingertips. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. But more importantly, are you okay?”

  He casually glanced out of the window, but Casey hadn’t missed the reddening tip of his nose. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Just trying to digest everything that’s happened, that’s all.”

  With a nod, she looked away to give him a moment to grieve in private.

  As they drove down the darkening street later, Casey carefully observed the side view mirror, having noticed shadowy figures sprinting past the silent houses. Were they chasing after the truck? Or something else entirely? But something even more troubling niggled at the back of her mind.

  These latest infected beings were fast, as expected – but too damn quiet for her liking.

  That hadn’t been the case earlier in the day; if anything, the tween campers had snarled and groaned and generally made some kind of loud noise, easily giving away their location. It wasn’t much, but it had kept the twins relatively safe til now.

  “Turn the headlights off,” she said, breaking the silence, “and drive a little slower.”

  “Are you sure?” Cain asked, but obliged anyway.

  The side view mirror drew her attention once more. “No,” Casey mumbled, slouching in her seat. She was doing things on the fly, based on the woefully scant information at their fingertips. They needed details, advice, some guidance from the powers that be … anything that would help increase their chances of survival. They’d left their cell phones back at the campsite cabins, cutting them off from social media and news outlets that might still be broadcasting updates on the outbreak. This only served to heighten her feelings of isolation, and she felt as if she and Cain were the only ones left alive in the cit
y.

  “Try the radio again,” she said.

  He shook his head. “It’s not working –”

  “Just try anyway,” she insisted, her tone unyielding. It was a fruitless task, but it would give them something to focus on until they could get their hands on a new phone or a portable radio along the way.

  As Cain reached over to fiddle with the knob, she blurted out, “You’re being unusually dependable today. So, uh … thanks.”

  Despite the semi-darkness inside the truck, it was obvious that he was blushing. “Just shut up and let me drive,” he muttered, sounding embarrassed, and the two siblings fell into companionable silence as the truck turned the corner and left their childhood residence for good.

  * * *

  Mike eyed the flesh-colored band-aid with interest. “Wow, you volunteered for the clinical trials as well?” Scratching the back of his head, he added, “But I thought participants had to be between the ages of eighteen and fifty-five. Were you an exception?”

  “No,” Mr. Rothstein said firmly, rolling his shirt sleeve down and buttoning the cuff with care. “I wasn’t part of the trials. Actually, my daughter works as a senior researcher at Deen & Blatt Pharmaceuticals. A few days ago, she asked me to come down to her office for a vitamin shot as well, but I refused because I had a rather busy schedule. She lambasted me for being a stubborn mule and insisted I come at once.” His bushy eyebrows furrowed in thought. “Her behavior baffled me, so I went there just to appease her. However” – his eyes rose to meet Mike’s – “this situation is starting to feel quite odd.”

  “How so?”

  Mr. Rothstein stood up and shuffled over to the window, curiosity etched on his face. “Before we discuss that, have you noticed that something seems … different?”

  The elderly gentleman’s remark caught Mike off guard, like a sudden test question he was unprepared to solve. “Different?” He cocked his head to the side, listening, then glanced at him sharply. “It’s gone quiet outside.”