Fatal Reaction, The Beginning

by M A Hollstein

  “We need to get you to a hospital.” Bill tried to lift her from the floor when he heard a growl behind him. He aimed his flashlight at his eight-year-old son. His eyes gleamed a golden yellow and his lips curled as he snarled. Keeping his eye on him, Bill crouched down and slid an arm around his wife. “Let’s get you up.”

  Joanna wouldn’t budge. Her breathing became labored causing her to cough and wheeze. “Leave me… take Benji to the hospital…”

  Bill yanked at her again, trying to get her up. “I need to get you to the hospital… both of you.”

  Benjamin spun around, snarling. He turned his back to them and began to bang his fists hard against the wall. Bill wondered what was going through his son’s head. He’d seen so many infected people on the news today attacking people for no apparent reason. The news people described it as being delirious with fever. Bill wondered what would make people snap that way. He could understand the delirious part due to a high fever, but to attack people? To attack family? Loved ones? It didn’t make sense. Was Benjamin trying to control his need to attack by mauling at the wall instead? Bill wasn’t sure. He never in a million years would’ve thought he’d be afraid of his own son, his own flesh in blood. But right now, he was beyond frightened. He was mortified.

  “Come on,” Bill whispered to Joanna, as he carefully watched his son beat on the wall with what seemed like a tremendous amount of strength. He remembered the news crew discussing that too. Again, wouldn’t a fever diminish your strength? Something evil was happening. And now it was infecting his son. A tear of despair escaped one of Bill’s pale blue eyes and rolled down his cheek. Sadness and fright gripped his soul as one of Benjamin’s small fists suddenly broke through the drywall with a crack startling him into action. He needed to get Joanna out of the bedroom and lock Benjamin inside until he could figure out what to do with him.

  Within his arms, Joanna’s body suddenly went limp and he was having a hard time holding her up. Her hand dropped from her neck. Her wound was much worse than he’d realized. Blood soaked her grey t-shirt and the beige carpeting beneath her.

  Nervous, Bill shined the light at his son whose banging quickly turned into clawing. He was now pulling and ripping chunks of drywall from the bedroom wall while snarling wildly. Blood dripped from his mangled fingers and smudged the light blue paint of his wall in disgusting streaks of dark red.

  “Joanna?” Bill shook her shoulder and gently set her back down on the floor. “Joanna…” He shined the flashlight on his wife’s face and then down her body to the carpet. He knew she had lost a lot of blood, but he hadn’t been aware of how much. He leaned in, kissed her cheek, and listened for breathing. He heard none. Fresh tears flooded his eyes. “No…” he cried, his voice barely audible and rising until he yelled out. “No… no… no!” His hands shook, his body trembled, racked with a mixture of intense emotions. Remorse, rage, and guilt pumped through his veins.

  His son, their precious baby, killed his own mother… killed his wife… and it was his fault that Benjamin had transformed into some kind of monster. In reality, he’d killed his own wife. He was to blame for this! If only he’d left Benjamin at home. If he’d just listened to Joanna and not have been so God damn stubborn. None of this would be happening.

  Bill’s cries of agony at the loss of his wife caught Benjamin’s attention, drawing him away from his clawing at the wall. Benjamin’s gaze landed on his next victim. His father. There was a deep rumbling coming from his chest as if he were growling. Bill swiped at the tears in his eyes with the back of his hand and shined his flashlight at his son staring at the gleaming golden eyes.

  Bill’s mind flashed to the lockbox in his closet where he kept his gun. Joanna had been against him purchasing it, but only agreed to it if he promised to keep it locked up. Her worst fear was that Benjamin would get a hold of it. And now, he was contemplating killing his own flesh and blood with it. Bill eyed the door. He’d have to walk past his son who looked as if he were preparing to attack. The growls were getting deeper and more guttural.

  Frantically glancing around, Bill snatched up a decent-sized remote control, gas powered jeep that was sitting on the floor near his feet. He’d given this jeep to his son last Christmas. They’d built it together.

  Without thinking twice, he grabbed the jeep, and with all of his strength, lobbed it at his son as he ran for the door. Once through, he slammed the door shut, hearing his son’s body thud against the wooden door behind him. He gripped hold of the doorknob and held it tight. After a few minutes, he realized that his son wasn’t trying to turn the knob. Instead, it sounded like he was scraping at the door with his fingernails.

  Bill wondered if the infection, or whatever the heck it was, affected the brain’s capacity to think. Obviously, his son knew how to open a door but Benjamin wasn’t even trying to turn the knob. A couple of times he heard him bump against the knob, jerking it. It was almost as if he’d been turned into some sort of wild animal. Bill felt the handle press deeper into his hand before realizing how hard he was squeezing the metal to keep his son contained. He stared at the handle, waiting for it to turn. It didn’t. He then glanced down the hall in the direction of his room. An image of his gun box flashed again before his eyes. And then his wife flashed before his eyes, poor Joanna… Another round of tears squeezed out and trickled down his cheeks. He knew what he had to do. He didn’t have a choice.

  Even though Benjamin hadn’t yet opened the door Bill figured it was only a matter of time before he crashed through the door, or accidentally turned the knob while mauling at the wood. Sucking in a deep breath, he let go of the handle and sprinted down the hall. When he entered the bedroom, Bill shut the door behind him and locked it. He wasn’t going to take any chances. Sliding open the closet door, Bill removed a stack of baseball hats and tossed them to the floor. On his toes, he reached as far back as he could on the top shelf that ran the length of the closet. The shelf was deep. Perfect for storing their comforters, blankets and other household items that weren’t used every day. The tips of his fingers brushed the cold metal of the gun box. He reached a bit further until his thumb and fingers could grasp the corner of the box and tug it in his direction. After a couple of tries, he’d slid it close enough to the edge of the shelf, so that he could grab hold of it. He lifted the cold steel in his hands and tossed the box onto his bed.

  A new round of banging noises started up down the hall. It sounded as if Ben was back to beating on the walls. Bill quickly rounded the bed and yanked open the top drawer of his nightstand. He patted around the back of the drawer until his fingers felt the small key. Next, he yanked open the bottom drawer where he kept the bullets in a small box under his magazines. It took a few tries to unlock the gun box, his fingers were so unsteady and he kept fumbling about.

  “What the hell!” he mumbled, then finally the lock sprung open. Bill stared at the gun.

  Chapter 13

  With tires squealing, Mike Wilson’s car screeched to a halt. Two people had darted out into the street, one chasing after the other. He’d just turned off at the exit that’d take him to the little motel he’d recommended to Ellie. Unlatching his seatbelt, he threw open his door, hopped out of the car and chased after the man that was pursuing the woman down the street. The woman was screaming at the top of her lungs.

  “Sheriff!” Mike yelled. “Stop where you are!” The couple kept running. The woman quickly glanced over her shoulder, long hair flying in her face, but didn’t stop running.

  Mike sprinted after them. He grabbed the handle of his gun and withdrew it from the holster. “This is a warning!” he yelled. “Stop or I’ll fire!”

  They didn’t listen, just kept running.

  Winded, he stopped running. Feeling the weight of his gun in his hand, he wondered if he should fire a round into the air to get their attention. What if the man was infected? He wouldn’t be surprised. After today, nothing would surprise him. He’d soon know for sure. Maybe he should aim to kill. Get it done a
nd over with.

  Just then, the woman changed course and took off into the desert. The man leapt, cat like, over a heap of sagebrush along the side of the road and continued to chase after her.

  “Crap!” The last thing Mike wanted to do was run through the sand and cacti. He took off at a diagonal sprint into the desert. He’d never seen anyone leap like that before. Well, not until today. Today, he’d seen all kinds of strange things. He was now fairly sure that the man was one of the infected. There was no other explanation for the way he had leapt. It was very animalistic. Suddenly, the woman screamed out again. Higher this time. Her voiced pierced the air. She stumbled and fell to the ground. Mike could no longer see her. It was too dark.

  “Hey!” he yelled, when an idea struck him. He needed to draw the man away from her. Give him some fresh prey. Someone else to pursue. “Leave her alone!” His arm reached for the stars as he fired a round straight into the sky. The shot rang out in the otherwise silent surroundings. The infected man stopped moving. With his back to Mike, he stood completely still. Mike waited for him to turn around, to charge at him, but he didn’t. Mike walked briskly, yet carefully, toward the man. His heart pounding in his chest.

  “You!” he yelled, addressing the man. The man didn’t react. “Yeah, you!” Mike tried again to get his attention. “Turn around!”

  Still no reaction.

  What the hell? Mike thought. Why is he just standing there? Is he infected or not? The others that he’d encountered that’d been infected didn’t seem to have the capacity to think. It was as if the fever destroyed the reasoning part of the brain, causing the infected to go completely insane. This guy was thinking. Or at least it seemed like it. Was he debating on whether or not he should turn around? Maybe he wasn’t infected at all. Maybe he was a wife beater teaching his so-called property a lesson. Mike scowled at the thought. He’d rather shoot a wife beater on the spot. He had no empathy for wife beaters or child molesters. But, of course, he couldn’t just shoot the bastard, even though he’d get much more satisfaction putting a bullet in the head of someone that deserved it, instead of these freaking infected people. He felt a pang of sorrow for the infected. What if there was a cure? His mind conjured up an image of that toddler in his crib. Did he even stand a chance of recovering? Deep down, Mike knew the answer. More than likely, the boy was already dead.

  If the guy wasn’t infected, he thought while staring at his backside, then he had one hell of a leap. Mike took a few slow cautious steps toward him. The closer he got, the louder the woman’s sobs grew. “Sheriff!” Mike repeated, softer this time. “Put your hands up and slowly turn around.”

  Unexpectedly, the man spun around. His face was dark within the shadows. Mike still couldn’t tell whether or not he was infected. “Hands up!” he repeated, voice gruffer, his gun aimed at the man. “Don’t make me do something rash. I don’t wanna shoot you!”

  A deep guttural growl resonated from deep within the man’s chest. Mike sucked in a sharp breath. He’d heard that eerie sound way too many times today. He felt the hairs on his arms raise as goose bumps emerged. The growling was something he knew he’d never get used to.

  “Don’t shoot him!” the woman called out through the gargled sound of tears. “Please…” Behind the infected man, the woman got to her feet and stumbled toward them. “My husband is sick… he’s…” But before she could finish her sentence, the woman’s husband turned and grabbed hold of her by the hair. She screamed as he mauled her.

  Without thinking twice, Mike fired at the man, hitting him in the shoulder. He would’ve aimed for the head, but didn’t want to risk shooting the woman. The woman screeched. The infected man stumbled, letting go of his prey and spun around again to face Mike. He growled and charged at him. Mike fired without hesitation. He could hear the woman screaming at him. The bullet connected with the man’s face. He crashed to the ground with a loud thump, a few feet from the toes of Mike’s boots. Adrenaline pumping, Mike’s heart was drumming in his ears.

  The woman ran to her husband who was face down in the sand. She sobbed uncontrollably, kneeling over his body.

  “Are you hurt?’ Mike asked her.

  The woman didn’t answer. She continued to cry hysterically. Her body shook, wracked with grief.

  “Did he hurt you?” Mike tried, again. He took a few steps closer and nudged the man’s body with the toe of his boot. The man didn’t move. Blood seeped into the sand. Mike had gotten so used to doing that as a precaution that he’d forgotten how callous it must look to the woman mourning the sudden death of her husband. A man he’d just shot dead. And here he was, nudging him with his boot. The woman was now staring up at Mike. The moonlight highlighted her face just enough so that he could see the anger that was now morphing her features.

  “He was sick!” she spat, her thick red hair falling forward covering one of her eyes. “You killed him!”

  “I’m sorry,” Mike said, kneeling down on the other side of the man so that he was eye level with the woman. “I truly am. But he was infected. He was going to kill you.”

  The woman looked down at her husband. A fresh wave of tears struck her. She leaned forward and hugged her husband’s back. Her body heaving.

  Mike had the sudden urge to pat her back. He wanted to comfort her. Guilt for killing this woman’s husband tugged at his heartstrings, but he hadn’t had a choice. It was either killing this man or letting him kill his wife. He had to do it.

  Watching the woman cry while hugging her husband’s lifeless body made him feel a bit voyeuristic, like he shouldn’t be there. However, at the same time, he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave this woman alone in the middle of the desert, mourning her husband. He had an obligation to make sure she made it home safe and sound. He needed to talk her into leaving with him. Maybe she lived nearby. Maybe he could get her home with the promise of sending someone to move her husband’s body. He knew she wasn’t going to want to leave him there. The coyotes would probably feed on his remains.

  The woman turned and buried her head into her husband’s back. After a while, her sobs became quieter and her shaking began to subside. She had her husband’s blood seeping all over her shirt. Mike hoped the infection, or virus, or whatever the hell it was, couldn’t be spread through contact with the blood. Then he thought of the ambulance crew he’d been working with earlier in the day. None of them seemed to have been affected by it and he had been working with them for the better portion of the day.

  “Hey,” he said, quietly. “Let me give you a ride home?”

  The woman didn’t answer. She barely sniffled. Her ear was pressed to her husband’s back with her face away from him.

  “Miss…?” he said, trying again. “Do you have friends or family nearby? Is there anyone that could help you? A neighbor, maybe?”

  The woman still didn’t answer. Mike got up and walked around the husband’s body. He stood next to the woman, when he noticed it. Her hair had slid to the side and the moonlight was hitting her just right. Fresh blood. Not all the blood on her clothing belonged to her husband. There was no mistaking the large set of teeth marks on the upper fleshy part of her arm.

  “Damn,” he whispered. He’d really hoped that what he was seeing wasn’t real. He closed his eyes for a second and then gazed again at the woman’s arm. “Hey,” he said gently. “Are you okay?”

  The woman didn’t answer him. He leaned forward and gently touched her shoulder. “Are you feeling okay?”

  The woman’s head snapped to the side in an unnatural way. Mike jumped back, almost tripping over his own feet. Thankfully, he caught his balance before going down. The woman began to cough, turned her head, and then clutched her stomach, groaning.

  Mike breathed in, taking another step backward, and he drew his gun.

  Chapter 14

  Out of breath, Ellie was happy to see the small stucco motel. She’d come up around the side of it. She walked past a dumpster and then headed to the front of the building. There were
no more than maybe, ten rooms. She wasn’t really paying attention. Her mind was reeling, her heart pounding. Her adrenalin had kept her moving, but now fatigue was beginning to set in. She noticed there was only one car parked in the parking lot. It probably belonged to whoever was working the desk.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Ellie tried to compose herself while dreaming up something to say to the person working there. She had no wallet, so no credit cards and absolutely no cash. Heck, she didn’t even have her ID on her. Everything was in the car. Damn, what would she say? Would they give her a room? She doubted it. Maybe she’d be able to convince them to let her use the phone. If she could call her parents, they could give them a credit card number over the phone. That is if her parents actually answered their phone. She prayed they were okay. Her sister. She’d try her sister again. Her chances of getting in touch with her sister was better than her parents. Or, she thought, I could call Officer Wilson.

  Pushing open the glass front door, a string of bells tied to the handle jingled. Ellie was thankful the door was unlocked. She looked around the dimly lit front room. She walked over to a small wooden oak rack on the wall near the built in desk and counter which was filled with travel brochures. Being that the motel was near the border between California and Nevada, there was a mixture of brochures advertising casinos, specialty shows like the Blue Man Group and Cirque du Soleil and site seeing in Las Vegas; as well as brochures for California including Disneyland, Sea World and Whale Watching. Ellie spied the small beige couch against the wall across from the counter. She was so beyond tired. A part of her thought she should sit down and rest for a moment until the person working the desk came back. The other part of her warned against it. The last thing she wanted was to fall asleep. Not here. She needed to get a room. Maybe, if she could reach her parents, she could also have them rent a car for her.

  Ellie walked up to the counter and leaned against it. She glanced around. There was a dark hallway to the right. She wondered if there was possibly a staff break room down there. Ellie propped her elbows on the counter and spied the clock on the wall. It was going on ten o’clock. It seemed so much later than it was. Ellie stared down at the two black ballpoint pens and the chewed up yellow #2 pencil next to the keyboard of the small flat screen computer. She then eyed the telephone when she heard a loud thud. It was coming from somewhere down the hall.