by J. B. Havens
Guns were used in excess when the infection had first begun to spread. People were panicking and looting. There were extensive rioting and mass confusion plagued the nation. Guns did you no good anymore. The noise drew them like flies. The only use a gun would have to me now, would be in taking my own life.
In three short months, the world had dissolved, reverting back and re-setting itself to the most primal of needs. Food, shelter, water, and defense of those basics. The few people remaining were no more than animals themselves, bent on survival.
I opened a granola bar and crunched through half of it, saving the rest for my breakfast. Hunger cramped my stomach painfully. I thought back to the last meal I had eaten before this madness began: a steak, wet-aged, thick-cut and cooked to perfection; and mashed potatoes swimming in butter and gravy. I had washed it all down with an ice-cold beer. My mouth watered at the memory, even as my stomach screamed.
In the morning, I would be forced to leave my sanctuary and find food. I peeked out the small window of the ambulance as the sun finished setting. Darkness was falling. I double-checked that the door was latched and secured. I extinguished my tiny flashlight and set in to wait. There was usually no sleeping at night, they were more active then. Something about the darkness drew them out of their nests like bees. Daytime was dangerous, but it was the night that was truly their time. They swarmed around, sniffing and listening for any signs of prey. They were relentless in their pursuit of food.
In the morning there would be fewer people alive. I would not be one of their victims. I would live. I had to. There was no quitting in me, no giving up. I refused to give these bastards the satisfaction of killing me.
My name is Molly Everett, and this is the apocalypse.
****
I jerked awake, having accidentally nodded off. There was a scratching sound outside the ambulance. One of them was out there, feeling around at the door. Some iota of instinct left in its brain knew that the door was the way in, but was unable to open it.
I remained perfectly still, breathing as shallowly as possible. When their brains died and then reanimated, their primary senses also changed. No longer relying heavily on sight, their hearing was acute, with their sense of smell following close after. Before the TVs went off for good, along with the power, I learned that a few scientists had speculated that this was a rapid evolution of their genetic make-up. The virus that infected them had changed the DNA of the host to be able to survive in their environment and hunt. The bad news for us was that we were what they were hunting.
Thankfully, the stink that seeped from their bodies wasn’t all that bad in here. The thick metal walls of the ambulance kept most of it outside. They were putrid, rotting former humans. The human body was a disgusting place. Full of bacteria and microbes that got to work as soon as the body died. Just because the body didn’t stay dead didn’t mean dick to the bacteria.
The scraping intensified; it knew I was here. I gripped the bat tight in my fist, summoning what strength I had remaining. I had to choose: risk staying in here and being trapped, or take this one out now while it was still only one of them. Soon its shambling friends would come to the party and then I’d be fucked. Decision made… I slipped on my backpack, tightening the straps across my chest. I pulled on gloves that had the fingers cut off and took one last longing look at the gurney and its relative comfort.
Glancing quickly out the window, I saw that the infected was a man. He was a little on the short side and wore a once nice suit now covered in blood and grime. He was pounding on the door now; he’d heard me move. The noise would draw others.
I climbed to the front of the ambulance and pushed open the driver’s door as quietly as I could, then circled to the back of the ambulance. Standing in a classic batter stance behind him, I swung for the fences.
Brains and blood splattered wetly over the back window, and he dropped to his knees. I hit him again, the impact ringing up my arms, making my hands sting and burn. The hit flung blood backward onto me, coating my clothes with a fine red and black mist. He fell onto what was left of his face with nary a sound.
I hustled up the street, looking left and right as I ran. The pounding of my boots on the wet pavement splashed water onto my legs. It was loud to my ears, which meant others would hear it. Fear crept up through my gut; I held it in check. Fear made you stupid and stupid made you dead.
I saw a light to my left; my heart skipped a beat. I started to run past when the door opened. It was a coffee shop with the windows blacked out. The sliver of light was from someone peeking out, following the noise.
“Psst! In here,” someone hissed from the doorway. The form was backlit and impossible to see correctly. The voice alone said that I was dealing with a man. I hesitated for a moment; I remembered having more horrible experiences with other survivors than with the freaks.
“Hurry the fuck up, they’re coming!”
I glanced behind me. There was a pack coming around the corner only two blocks up. I hadn’t been spotted yet, but I would be in a matter of seconds. I took the risk and slid into the doorway around the man.
He shut and bolted the door behind me, dropping a tablecloth and locking in the meager light. I kept my back flat against the wall and looked around me, keeping a tight grip on the handle of my bat, ready to defend myself. The man stayed where he was to my left, near the door. We remained motionless while the sounds of shuffling feet on wet pavement filled the room. It was a big herd, must be close to a hundred strong. Slowly the sounds of passing feet faded and then quit altogether. I breathed a soft sigh of relief.
Tables were scattered around, littered with empty cups and wrappers from those pre-packaged muffins these shops always sold. The light was coming from a single Coleman lantern on the table furthest from the door; it cast strange shadows around the room, their lengths thick and twisting.
There was a woman huddled near the counter, skeletal in her skinniness and wrapped in blankets. She seemed to be staring at nothing. She was filthy, even for the end of the world. Her eyes were glassy and blank; no one was home. The stress of living in terror and the struggle for survival took its toll in many ways.
“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I jerked my gaze to the left. The man was slowly advancing toward me, hands held out near his sides. I saw a metal pipe sitting on the floor near the door, but no other weapons were visible.
“What’s your name?” He asked me, his voice just above a whisper. He wore glasses with black frames and had hair the color of chestnuts. He wasn’t what you would call handsome, nor was he ugly. He had a kind face. It did not alleviate my suspicions.
“Molly,” I whispered back as I crept away from him, deeper into the store. My eyes flicked from table to table, cataloging everything I saw. There were a few cases of water, stacks of canned food, and a bucket in the corner; covered with a towel.
“Just relax. Stop moving around so much. Those things are still outside.”
He looked over his shoulder, reaching to move the cloth. As quickly as I could, I smacked the back of his hand, forcing him to drop it.
“Then don’t open the damn curtain. I saw your light from down the block.” I stepped away from the wall, my bat ready at my side. My stomach ached with the need for food, and I would take it from him if I needed to. I eyed the stockpile, counting the cans. He had enough there for a few days, and water for maybe a week or longer, if he rationed it carefully.
“If you’re hungry, you can have a can and a few bottles of water. I don’t have much, but there should be enough for you to wash your hands and face,” he offered from beside me. He grabbed a can and the opener, holding them out to me and waiting. I snatched the food and went to the corner nearest the stacks of water. Sitting with my back to the wall, I set the food aside long enough to grab three bottles of water from the open case.
He sat on the floor near the table with the light, legs crossed Indian style, calmly watching me. I scooted further back
into the shadows.
“There is a bar of soap over there near the bucket.” Looking in the direction he was pointing, I saw the slick white bar. Sparing a glance at my hands for the first time in weeks, I traced the lines and patterns in my palms. Each was full of dried blood and dirt. My hands told a story, a tale of tragedy and survival.
It is early morning, my first day off work in nearly a week. I am sitting on my porch, listening to the birds and enjoying my first cup of coffee for the day. It’s warm already; today is supposed to be the hottest yet this summer. The humidity hangs in the air, thick against the skin of my arms and neck.
I don’t mind. After being trapped in an air conditioned building with no fresh air, even hot sticky air feels good to me right now.
A siren sounds in the distance, growing louder as it comes closer; the sound pierces the peacefulness of the morning. Across the street, my neighbor runs out of her house, screaming. Mrs. Peters is waving her arms, her shrill screams competing with the sirens, her bathrobe flapping behind her like wings. Mr. Peters is chasing her out the door, blood soaking the front of his robe.
I jump to my feet, coffee forgotten, and run to help. Mr. Peters tackles her before I can get to them. She is reaching for me, her hands scrambling on the grass, begging me to save her… even as he tears into her throat with his teeth. I stand frozen as blood flows from her and soaks the grass. The ambulance and police arrive as people swarm the scene.
They try to pull him off of her body, only to be attacked themselves. Noise is everywhere, radios screaming and crackling on the belts of the police and people streaming out of their homes. One officer shoves me back, telling me to run, to get away. I flee as he is tackled from behind. I escape as people are falling to the ground, only to be devoured by their family and neighbors.
“Molly… Molly… are you okay?” A voice jerked me back to the present. I was kneeling on the floor staring at my dirty hands. Uncapping a bottle, I poured half over my hands and scrubbed with the soap. It was harsh smelling and felt gritty against my skin. I scrubbed until the bubbles were black. Rinsing, I repeated the process, water growing into a puddle under my knees. The bottle crinkled as I crushed it and threw it aside. I reached for another bottle when hands appeared over mine, halting my frantic movements.
“Molly, it’s okay. Let me help you,” he whispered close to me. Opening another bottle, he slowly poured it over my hands as I rubbed my hands together, raising them to my cheeks to wash my face. I splashed water on my face over and over until I gasped and shivered.
“Why?” I questioned.
In the three months I had been on the road, not once had I seen a living person help another. They stole your food, beat you, and if you were unlucky enough, had you for sport. Man or woman, they didn’t care. I feared the things outside wouldn’t be the only ones wanting to eat me. As food continued to become scarcer, men would fall to eating each other.
“Because… you needed help. I would hope that someone would help me if our positions were reversed.” His eyes were as kind as his face, a clear blue like a fresh summer day.
“That kind of thinking will get you killed.” I worked on opening the can, not even bothering to look at the label. I didn’t care what was inside, it wasn’t a granola bar, so it would work just fine.
“If I thought that, you would be dead right now. We’re still human; we can still have humanity and survive.” He took a seat next to me. I glared up at him from where I was eating what turned out to be macaroni and cheese. Who knew they canned this? I thought to myself. It was disgustingly cold and congealed, but I ate it with gusto.
“You’re wrong.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Humanity is dying by inches. Every night. We’re just delaying the inevitable. There is no cure, and there will never be a cure. Those things out there can’t starve, or they would have by now. Our only hope is that they freeze in the winter and give us a break. Then again, we will also be freezing.” I scraped the bottom of the can with my plastic spoon. I sucked the last of the sticky cheese off it and slid it back into my pack. Not so disposable now that they aren’t being made anymore. Every resource was precious.
“Then I guess I can charge you for that food you just ate. Since humanity is a lost cause.” He stared at me; I could see the bluff in his eyes. I was amazed that he had lasted this long.
“I could beat you to death and take it all. She isn’t going to stop me.” I pointed to the catatonic woman near the counter.
“Are you going to?”
I thought for a moment, scared that I even considered it. My bat was beside me and his iron pipe across the room. It was possible he had another weapon on him, but it was unlikely. I would have spotted it by now.
“No. I’ll be gone at sunup.” I drank some more water and considered my options. I had been working my way north, trying to escape the densely populated areas of the east and reach the countryside. It was slow going; a journey that would normally take a day or two was taking me months.
I had been steadily moving north since the outbreak began, hoping that the remoteness and harsh winters would offer some safety. I had crossed countless cities, trying to avoid them as much as possible. I had been forced into this one by a herd and had been trying to get out since. The city was overrun, and travel was slow and dangerous.
“You don’t have to keep moving. I scavenge for food during the day and sleep here at night. It’s safe.”
“You’re delusional. This isn’t safe; it’s nothing but an illusion. One herd is all it would take. They will track you eventually, follow your scent back here. You come and go the same way every day, over and over. You will be spotted, tracked, and killed.” The truth was a harsh slap to his face; he physically recoiled from my words. I had shattered his blissful ignorance into shards around his feet, exposing him to the inescapable reality of this new world. There was no safe place.
Chapter 2
“That may be true, or it may not. You’ve been here five minutes, and you think you know everything?” His face was red with anger. I knew that I was about to overstay my welcome.
“What’s your name?” The abrupt subject change seemed to throw him even more. My people skills had never been great; and the apocalypse hadn’t helped them much.
“What?” He stuttered.
“Your name?” I pointed to his chest. “What is it?”
“Jesse. Jesse Adams.”
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Jesse Adams. Thanks for the food, and don’t worry, I will take myself and my harsh reality back on the road in the morning. We’ll agree to disagree, shall we? Try to preserve some of that humanity you were talking about.” I finished the bottle of water and slid closer to the corner. I would sleep propped up against the wall with my bat in my hands.
“You’re a hard woman, Molly,” Jesse muttered from his sleeping area. I eyed his blanket and small pillow with undisguised envy.
“I didn’t used to be. This world makes you hard, or you die.” I propped up as comfortable as I could manage. Maybe I would find a house to stay in for a few days. If I could find a clean one; a bed and a decent rest sounded good.
My thoughts drifted, sleep not coming easy, even with my exhaustion. The sound of Jesse shifting around and mumbling was distracting. I had been alone for the better part of three months; I wasn’t used to the noise of others. Well, not regular alive ‘others.’ An hour ago, the silence had brought despair, now the sounds irritated me.
I tried to remember the last time I wasn’t alone. Sadly, it had been longer than three months. In my life before, I was a simple engineer, working in an office filled with other quiet engineers. It was a good job, if not exactly rewarding. It afforded me a comfortable life, a nice house, and a decent car to drive. The facts that my house was empty and the car never had a passenger hadn’t bothered me much. I was an only child and used to entertaining myself, rather than relying on others to validate my existence.
I didn’t participate in social media or go
to bars. I read and worked. Fiddled in my garden. That had been my life. It seemed to me that I had been prepared for the apocalypse. I did not ache for company or conversation. I glanced at my pack and the e-reader it contained, the battery long since drained. I should have left it behind months ago, but I was unable to do so. Maybe I would find a house with a generator, and I could charge it. Read one of my favorites again.
“Let me come with you.” Jesse’s voice startled me from my thoughts.
“Why?” I asked. I was confused that my answer wasn’t automatically a firm and resounding ‘no.’
“You’re right. I’m going to die here. If I’m going to die, I’d rather die out there, trying to live. It’s better than sitting in here, passing the time until they come for me.” His voice wobbled, sounding thick with tears.
“Let me think about it. Sleep. I will decide in the morning.” I coughed hard, spitting out disgusting phlegm from my lungs. I needed to raid a pharmacy in the morning and hope for a missed bottle of antibiotics, or at least some cold medicine. Those were my last thoughts before I drifted off into a heavy sleep. I didn’t dream that night, the nightmares strangely absent.
****
I jerked awake, jumping to my feet with my bat at the ready before I even woke up the whole way.
“Easy, Molly. It’s just me. You’re safe,” Jesse said from near the counter. He was checking the pulse of the disabled woman. She looked dead even from here, stiff and unnaturally pale.
“She’s dead… Went to sleep and never woke up.” He covered her gently with a blanket. A waste of a blanket if you ask me.
“Such a peaceful way to die nowadays. Lucky her.”
His glare was delivered as expected. I coughed hard a few times, my chest aching with the force of it.
“We need to get you some meds today. There is a pharmacy around the block.” Jesse was shoving supplies into a bag.
“We? Who said anything about ‘we’?” I was past caring about politeness, or any other such outdated social expectations.