The Complete Lethal Infection Trilogy

by Tony Battista

  “No,” Ethan countered. “It’s better if you do look. This is what panic does. It gets you killed. If Tom had stood his ground, we had enough firepower between the two of us to easily get through this. When the shotgun ran out, he panicked. He didn’t draw his pistol or try to reload, he just panicked.”

  “He wasn’t ready,” was Eric’s frustrated reply. “He needed more time! You had no right to make him do this now!”

  “I asked him if he was up to it. I gave him every chance to say no. I’m not here to babysit you or hold your hands. There’s no time for that. This is the hand we’ve been dealt and there’s no way around it. You have to keep your head; you have to follow the plan if you want to stay alive.”

  “How do we know? How does anyone know if he’s ready for this kind of thing?”

  “Most of the time, you find out the hard way,” Ethan looked off into the distance, remembering his first time under fire, the way he froze and would probably have been killed if his sergeant hadn’t slapped him back to his senses. “When we have the time, I’ll try to familiarize you both with some of these weapons, give you some pointers on how to stay alive in a combat situation. Until then, I won’t ask you to do anything like this. If I can’t handle it myself, we’ll avoid.

  “Now, we’ve made enough noise to draw out any strays, so keep alert. Stay in the truck, keep the engine running while I do a quick search.”

  Karen wanted to come with him but he waved her off, telling her that the Novaks needed her more than he did right now.

  The shotgun was useless; it had been badly damaged while Tom used it as a club. Ethan took the Glock and the two spare magazines and handed them to Karen. He reloaded his own magazines before moving toward the town police station. The door had been smashed to splinters and the signs of a doomed defense were obvious. It was difficult to tell which remains were once police officers and which were civilians or infected because the infected didn’t care whose flesh they consumed; meat was just meat to them. He did find another .45 auto, two more.38s and another 12-gauge pump, but all were empty and he found no other ammunition. Going back outside, he waved for Karen to bring up the truck, loaded the newly acquired shotgun and left the handguns with her.

  A small-town gas station yielded oil and other useful auto supplies plus two more plastic gallon gas cans. Next, Ethan checked out a drug store while Eric siphoned gas from some of the abandoned vehicles and Karen stood watch. Once he’d carried a couple of baskets full of medical supplies out to the truck, Ethan did a cursory search of a couple of small shops and a few houses. He found a small amount of food and bottled water, but infected were starting to show up again, attracted by all the noise they’d made earlier and he decided it was better to move on. Eric and Lauren objected, saying it just wasn’t right to leave their friends’ bodies to be devoured, but it was only a half-hearted objection given the increasing numbers of infected heading their way.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked Karen after a few minutes of awkward silence.

  She shook her head, eyes not leaving the road as she drove the big Dodge away from town.

  “Don’t tell me it’s because we left their bodies behind. It is, isn’t it?”

  She refused to look at him, a tear forming at the corner of her eye.

  “I had to leave Santino behind,” she finally said. “I was alone and there were so many of them and he was too big for me to carry him or drag him. I sometimes think about what must have happened to that sweet old man. We’ve both seen too many bodies after the infected were through with them.”

  “I’m sorry, Karen,” he said softly. I guess I’d seen enough death already to realize that all that’s left behind is an empty shell. That wasn’t Tom and Andie anymore; they’re gone. There was no time to bury them, not with the enemy closing in on us like that.”

  “The enemy?”

  “That’s what they are, aren’t they? They want to kill us and there’s nothing we can do short of killing to stop them. We can’t reason with them, can’t talk to them, there’s nothing we can offer them to leave us alone. In many ways they’re the ultimate enemy.”

  Karen drove silently for a long time, ignoring every attempt he made to speak to her.

  “Will you leave me behind, too?” she finally spoke up.

  “I promise you, I would never leave you behind. There won’t be any need to because we’re both going to survive this.”

  “I suppose I’ll just have to take your word, won’t I? About not leaving me behind.”

  “What do you want? What can I do besides promise you? Do you think I could live with myself if I left you to them?”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore. You have those terrible nightmares more often and you never want to tell me anything about them. I want to help you if I can, but it seems like you’re shutting me out. Most of the time you can be so gentle, tender, so kind and loving. You didn’t want to kill those men at the farmhouse, even after seeing what they did to those people, and you couldn’t hurt that little blond-haired girl even when it was obvious she was going to attack you. But, when you’re fighting the ‘enemy’, as you call them, you’re a changed man. It consumes you. You seem to actually enjoy the fighting and the killing.”

  Ethan took a deep breath before replying.

  “I want to live. I want you to keep living. I’ll do whatever is necessary to make that happen. I have no sympathy for the enemy. If I have to kill to stay alive, to protect you, then I will. Maybe some part of me does enjoy it, maybe I lose myself, but if that helps keep both of us alive, so be it. If that bothers you… Well, I’d rather have you upset and angry with me than see you lying dead on the ground at my feet.”

  “I don’t think I could survive long without you. You’ve already save my life at least twice, but I don’t want you to lose yourself, to lose who you really are.”

  “Whoever that is,” Ethan replied.

  A few hours later, they happened upon an abandoned industrial park on the outskirts of a medium sized town. One of the structures was a sturdy, brick one-story office building sitting alone, surrounded by what was once a neatly trimmed lawn. Having been vacant for well over a year prior to the outbreak, there’d been no people on site when it occurred and, consequently, the infected had largely ignored it. Ethan had to dispose of only two loners before they began moving supplies into the building.

  “What would you think about staying here for a while?” he asked the others. “We have a solid building here with few windows and two doors that could easily be barricaded, a clear space all around and plenty of material to build obstacles to stop a small attack and slow down and maybe even divert a larger herd.”

  “I’ve actually been here before,” Eric told him. “My uncle lived not too far from here when I was a kid and we used to visit him a couple times a year. He passed away about six years ago, but I remember there were a number of little shops on the other side of town. If I’m not mistaken, they were planning to put in a Wal Mart. If they did, we should be able to find a lot of supplies there, so long as it hasn’t already been looted.”

  “That would be a lucky break,” Ethan agreed. “We could turn some of these offices into sleeping quarters and still have plenty of room for storage. Maybe we could actually put down roots for a while.”

  “That would be so wonderful,” Lauren said happily. “I hate being on the move all the time. Having somewhere safe, waking up in the same place every morning would be like heaven after everything that’s happened.”

  “Well, all right. That’s the plan then, at least for the short term.”

  “Hey, look, Ethan,” Lauren began hesitantly. “I realize now that there was nothing we could have done for Tom and Andie. I’m sorry we gave you grief over that. You didn’t deserve it. You’re a good man.”

  “No,” he told her, looking her straight in the eye. “No, I’m not.”

  Chapter 12: Bailey’s Escape

  His 9mm ammo was gone and it was taking several s
hots from the .22 to stop an infected. He’d tried aiming for the head, but he just wasn’t good enough, especially when sheer panic affected his aim. Bailey made it to the car only moments before the first infected started clawing at the windows, trying to reach him. Fortunately, the Honda’s engine cranked over immediately and he was able to leave the small herd well behind him. This was his third narrow escape in as many supply runs over the last week. The food at the home he’d taken over had run out after five weeks and he’d been forced to go ever longer distances looking for more. He hated the thought of having to abandon the house with its electricity and unlimited water supply, but the runs were becoming more dangerous all the time.

  In the nine weeks since his plane landed, (“Has it really been only nine weeks?” he thought to himself) he’d had continuing problems with the infected; they were showing up more frequently and in greater numbers all the time. On several occasions, he had to cower in the house for days on end as they slowly passed, sometimes scratching at the door or pulling at the boards nailed over the windows. So far, all attempts to gain entry had failed, but he knew it was only a matter of time. There was enough food left for four or five days if he stretched it and he had enough containers to carry at least a week’s supply of water. Hopefully he could find another house before it ran out, somewhere close enough to both water and food that he wouldn’t have to risk being out too long on supply runs.

  The side road he was traveling intersected with the main road a half mile from his current abode but he could already see that the infected were thick enough to make it impossible to reach. Hundreds of them clogged the road to both the left and right and there was no point in trying to continue, so he turned the car around and headed away. He had enough scavenged food in the car for maybe two days and water enough to last about as long. Fortunately, his tank was over three-quarters full and he kept his siphon hose and a spare can in the trunk. Checking the map from the glovebox, he saw a small town indicated about fifteen miles further on, off the main roads where, in his experience, most of the infected clustered.

  He made a little over nine miles before he noticed the temperature gauge was reading higher than normal and he began to smell antifreeze a few minutes later. Steam suddenly billowed from the engine compartment and he stopped the car and turned off the engine. When he opened the hood, a cloud of steam mushroomed into the air and, once it cleared, he could see a hose had split. Cursing loudly and proficiently, he gathered his meager supplies, including the 9mm pistol and its three empty magazines, and trekked up the road toward town. Continuing his streak of bad luck, the road was uphill the whole last three miles.

  Ahead of him, the body of an apparently infected man lay at the side of the road. Gun drawn, he approached it cautiously and assumed it was dead since it didn’t move when he nudged it with his toe. He stuck the gun in his belt and began to go through the man’s pockets when his eyes snapped open and he bared his teeth, lunging for Bailey’s throat. Bailey stumbled back, falling flat as he tried to get away and the infected was atop him immediately. Strong fingers gripped his shoulders as the man moved in for the kill. Bailey managed to get his hands at the man’s throat, just holding him back, but the infected was much younger than he was, in his late twenties, and more powerfully built, and his teeth were only inches away now. In desperation, Bailey jerked his head forward, his forehead smashing sharply against the younger man’s nose and his grip loosened for just a moment, but it was enough for Bailey to push him away to arm’s length.

  He managed to knee the man in the groin only to find that had no effect, but he was able to gain enough leverage with his legs to roll both of them onto their sides. The man was strong, but his movements were stiff and jerky, uncoordinated, and Bailey managed to twist and squirm until he was atop the attacker and was able to bear down on the man’s throat with all his might. The infected continued to try to draw him closer to his teeth, unconcerned and seemingly unaffected by the fingers tightening around his throat but, after what seemed an eternity to Bailey, he began to weaken, his grip to loosen. The man let go of him and made a half-hearted effort to swat the hands away from his throat, his body growing slack and then limp. Bailey continued to choke him until his eyes stared blankly, lifelessly.

  Satisfied that the man was, indeed, dead, Bailey released him and rolled over onto his back, panting, gasping for air. His hands and arms ached from the effort and his heart beat wildly within his chest. A sound alerted him and he looked up to see two more infected approaching him, stumbling and reeling, arms reaching and teeth bared. He leapt to his feet and backed away, drawing the revolver but the two fell upon their stricken fellow and began to devour him, ignoring Bailey. He gave out a nervous laugh, then looked around to be sure there were no others nearby and shot both of the newcomers in the temple. A quick search turned up nothing of any interest and Bailey resumed trudging up the road.

  More than an hour later, he reached a gas station at the outskirts of the town. A car was parked in front of one of the pumps and the keys were still in the ignition. It started up and he was pleased to see the fuel gauge come to rest on ‘Full’. Otherwise, the station had been thoroughly looted and he could find nothing of value left there. Driving through the small hamlet, he could see that the residents had fought bravely but futilely. Hurriedly constructed barricades were still intact but it appeared they had done little good. Probably some of the people already inside the fortified area turned and fell upon their fellow townsfolk and utter chaos resulted. Two police cars formed part of the cordon and he found three officers within a dozen yards of them. Near their bodies, he found a .38 revolver and another 9mm Colt. There was no ammunition to be found for the .38 but two rounds remained in the Colt and one of the officers had a fully loaded magazine on his belt. Bailey tossed the revolver in the car, swapped out the magazine in the automatic and made his way down Main Street. It was pretty much the same story everywhere with hastily prepared defenses that made little difference and ravaged corpses rotting in the sun. The smell would have been overwhelming only a few weeks ago, but he’d been exposed to it so often now that he was mostly able to ignore it.

  The centerpiece of the town square was an old brick building with barred windows. A sign proclaimed it to be the original town jail, built in 1913 and preserved as an historical monument. The door was of thick oak, reinforced with metal strapping and hung on heavy metal hinges. Inside were a desk and a couple of filing cabinets and a wall rack with replica period rifles and shotguns. A small table held a checkerboard, the pieces arranged as though the game was in progress and at the back of the room were two cells with cots and bedding. Bailey saw the hefty sliding bolt on the inside of the front door and the brackets for two heavy timbers to bar it, both of which were propped against the wall nearby. All in all, it looked like a secure place to stay for a while and he brought in his meager supplies, bolted the door and flopped, exhausted, on one of the cots.

  He fell asleep almost immediately and didn’t stir until well into the morning.

  . . .

  Bailey wasn’t sure what it was that woke him but he had an eerie feeling of dread that was making his skin crawl. Nothing looked to have been disturbed inside the building and the door was still securely barred, but something just wasn’t right. Cocking his head to the side, he could hear an odd noise, a sort of a low hum coming from outside the building. Filled with trepidation at what he might find, he moved to the nearest window and, standing off to the side, peeked through the bars. His fears were justified as the street was crowded with a mass of infected so thick he couldn’t see the ground beneath their feet. Windows on two other sides of the jail showed the same scene. The fourth wall at the back of the cells was windowless, but there was no reason to suspect anything different there.

  Verging on panic, Bailey forced himself to stop, to sit, to take deep breaths until he was able to calm down enough to think clearly. Plainly, there was no leaving the building while the infected overran the town. Counting what h
e’d already had in the car when it broke down and what he’d looted from the gas station, he figured he had enough food for two or three days and water for perhaps one day after that. He wondered, idly, how long a human being could last without food. Somewhere he seemed to remember reading it was a matter of a few weeks, but he’d die of thirst long before that. His only hope was to remain hidden as quietly as possible, holing up in one of the cells as far away from a door or window as he could get and hope the horde moved on before too long.

  The food lasted halfway into the third day and he stretched the last of the water until the following evening. The herd was beginning to thin out but there was still no chance of leaving the building safely. Two more long, slow days passed and Bailey was becoming desperate. The temperature outside was in the low eighties and the jailhouse was beginning to feel like an oven. He was hungry, his throat was parched and his nerves were strained nearly to the snapping point. Checking his weapons, he found he had thirty-four rounds for the .22 and eighteen for the 9mm. There was a single-shot 12 gauge in his car with a nearly full box of number four shot but, if he could reach the car, he wouldn’t even try to use it, he’d just drive out of town, if possible. If he couldn’t get through the horde, then he’d save one 9mm bullet for himself rather than be torn apart and eaten alive.

  By the sixth day of his confinement, he knew he couldn’t wait much longer. The horde had diminished enough that there were only a few dozen in sight when he peeked through the windows instead of the hundreds on that first day and he’d noticed that they seemed to be less active at night so he decided to wait until after dark to try for the car. The hours ticked by and the temperature rose to the low nineties. It was sweltering hot in the jailhouse but there was no way to cool off. The stench in the building from using overflowing buckets in one of the cells to relieve himself combined with the rotting meat smell from outside was overpoweringly awful. By this point, the perils of going outside seemed preferable to continuing to breathe the increasingly toxic atmosphere inside.