by AJ Powers
TJ was still sobbing through Tessa’s hand, but she refused to let go until she was, once again, able to calm him down with comforting lies and distracting sweets. After finishing his candy, TJ expressed that his tummy was still growling.
“Dinner sounds like a great idea,” she said as she dropped her backpack on an office chair and rooted around for some food.
She handed TJ a pack of peanut butter crackers and a juice box before tossing Naomi a cup of mandarin oranges, a granola bar, and a bottle of water. High on adrenaline and no sleep in nearly forty-eight hours, Tessa avoided food. Even though her body desperately needed the caloric intake, her stomach was churning with indignation. Eating anything now would likely just end with the food in the wastebasket and a sizzling throat. Once they got out on the water, Tessa would find a moment to refuel.
If what they’d seen before ducking into the bistro was any indicator, there was no room for error on the rest of their journey. She started to wonder if sticking to I-75 would have been the better choice after all. A day late and a dollar short, Tessa mused. They were where they were, and the only thing left to do was to move forward. Slowly. Carefully. Silently.
The pit already in her stomach deepened as she tried to convince herself that what she was about to do was necessary, despite it being unethical. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and she was beyond desperate.
“Can I see the medical bag?” Tessa asked Naomi.
“Sure,” she said, handing her mother the bag.
Tessa set the bag on the desk and rummaged through it for a moment, quickly finding what she was looking for. With her back to TJ, who was happily slurping crangrape-flavored juice through a straw, she stuck the needle into the top of the midazolam vial and pulled back on the plunger until she had the largest dose she felt comfortable with.
Drawing in a deep breath to steel her nerves, Tessa closed her eyes and uttered, “God, forgive me,” before kneeling on the floor next to the boy, the syringe hidden behind her back. “What do you have on your arm there, mister?” she asked jokingly as she tugged up on his sleeve. Before the toddler could look, she swabbed his shoulder with an alcohol pad, passing it off as a simple wet wipe.
Naomi cocked her head at the odd behavior. There was nothing on TJ’s shoulder, especially since Tessa cleaned an area that was obscured by fabric during her comment. “What are you—”
Naomi lost her voice as she watched her mother cup the boy’s mouth with her hand and stick the syringe into his shoulder in one swift motion. Tessa quickly pressed down on the plunger as the boy instinctively fought back for a short time. Within a few seconds, the boy’s tightened muscles relaxed, and his muffled cries hushed.
Naomi’s jaw hung slack and her widened eyes were filled with shock. “Mom, what the hell!” she said loudly.
“Calm down,” Tessa replied as she eased TJ’s body onto the floor. “It’s just a sedative, he’ll be awake in a couple of hours, no worse for wear.”
Naomi’s expression didn’t change. “Yeah, but… why?” she asked almost rhetorically as the logic quickly became evident to her.
“If he gets scared while we’re out there, then all three of us are dead,” she said grimly.
“Don’t you think there was a better way other than drugging a toddler?”
“I did what I had to do to try and get us to the boat in one piece. So, save your judgment until you’re in my shoes, Naomi.”
“I’m not judging,” the girl said defensively. “That was just fucked up, is all.”
Tessa shrugged off her daughter’s choice of words and added, “I already feel like crap right now, but thanks for piling on.”
Naomi walked over to Tessa, who was still kneeling next to TJ’s unconscious body. Resting her hand on her mother’s shoulder, Naomi said, “Like you said, you did what you had to do. I can only hope to be brave enough to do the same if I’m ever put in the same situation.”
“I pray to God you never are,” Tessa replied.
“I love you, Mom,” Naomi said, tightly embracing her mom.
Tessa allowed herself to enjoy the rare moment of affection from her teenaged daughter for a few seconds before returning her attention to their journey. “All right, kiddo, we need to get back out there. Do you think you can carry him for now?”
She looked down at TJ. “Uhm, yeah I think I can,” she said.
Tessa picked up the unconscious toddler and handed him off to Naomi. He was light enough on his own, but once the mass of her backpack was pulling on her petite frame, Naomi struggled. She tried to hide the discomfort on her face, but Tessa noticed it immediately.
“Leave it,” Tessa said.
“No, I’ll figure it out; I just need a minute.”
“We leave it,” Tessa repeated.
“Mom, that’s a lot of food. And we already left the big bag back in the SUV. We can’t—”
“We can replace the food,” Tessa cut her off. “What I can’t replace is my children. If wearing the bag makes it difficult for you to walk in any way, then the bag stays here.”
Conceding, Naomi let Tessa help her take the backpack off. Tessa rummaged through it to find Naomi’s spare change of clothes balled up near the bottom of the main compartment before stuffing them into her own bag. Tossing their last pack of supplies over her shoulder, Tessa asked, “You good?”
Naomi nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Okay, let’s get to that boat,” Tessa said with a spark of optimism in her voice. She drew her pistol and pulled back on the slide enough to see a bullet resting in the chamber. With one hand on the handle of the office door, she looked back at Naomi, giving her a half smile. “We’re almost there.”
Chapter Eleven
11 – Cincinnati, Ohio – May 25th
It took longer than he expected, but Malcom finally arrived just as the sun was setting. With his shoulders slumped and his hands at his side, he stood in silence outside the restaurant for several emotional moments. Staring up at the red-brick façade through blurry eyes, he worked up the courage to cross the threshold.
Mangini’s wasn’t the type of restaurant Malcom could have normally afforded. A meal for two, without wine or dessert, cost more than he earned in a single day. It was ludicrously expensive, even for someone who made a decent living, let alone someone like him. However, Malcom was able to swing reservations just one time, which ended up being one of the happiest days of his life.
It was just a few days after he and Cameron graduated. He spent the latter half of the school year working two jobs so that he could afford to buy the engagement ring. He planned to take her out for dinner and a movie before dropping to one knee in the park. Cliché, he realized, but cliché was affordable. But thanks to an incredibly nice jeweler in Colerain, who saw a younger version of himself in the nervous high school graduate, Malcom spent less money on an even nicer ring than he expected, leaving him with a few hundred bucks left in his pocket. Instead of fast food and a matinee, Malcom Googled fancy restaurants and found Mangini’s at the top of the list, where the only negative marks against the place were the cost.
The night was nothing short of perfection; even traffic seemed to be uncharacteristically light for downtown on a Friday evening. Malcom miraculously found on-street parking less than twenty yards from the restaurant doors. Expecting the worst, Malcom picked up Cameron forty-five minutes earlier than he needed to, giving them time to kill at the bar before their reservation. Though neither of them were old enough to drink, the bartender noticed Malcom’s nervous demeanor and quietly asked if he wanted a little liquid courage in his soda. Malcom eagerly agreed, and a short time later the jitters faded, and his confidence grew. He was still nervous as hell, but the alcohol masked the outward appearance, which was all he needed it to do.
Once their table was ready, Malcom pulled out his wallet and left the bartender a generous tip. The bartender thanked him before leaning in close. “Don’t sweat it, brother. She’ll say yes,” he said, giving
Malcom a slap on the shoulder.
Malcom smiled and shook the man’s hand before following Cameron and the maître d’ to their rooftop table.
The ambiance was infinitely more romantic than his original plan, especially once the setting sun dashed across the sky with a thousand hues of purple and red. And the temperatures were pleasant, if not a bit on the chilly side as the breeze came in off the river. Trying his best to be the perfect gentleman for the night, Malcom offered his jacket to Cameron—after sneaking the ring out of the interior pocket, of course.
Dinner came and went, and it was, by far, the best food he’d ever put in his mouth. The service was excellent. The waiter never crowded them, yet neither of them ever had an empty drink, either. It was the perfect balance of service and privacy, lending credence to the difficulty to get reservations.
Swiping away stray tears and the memory, Malcom drew in a deep breath and nodded quickly. “Okay… Okay, it’s time to do this, Mal,” he told himself, stepping through the doors. As his reddened eyes adjusted to the darkness, he carefully navigated around the overturned tables and chairs, making his way past the bar. A nostalgic smile crept across his face as his gaze moved toward the two end stools where he and Cameron sat for nearly an hour, talking and watching Cincinnati work toward a shutout against St. Louis on the flat-screens above the bar.
As he continued toward the stairs at the back of the restaurant, the fading daylight from the front wall of windows diminished into a shadowed haze. Malcom reached for the flashlight in the side pocket of his backpack to make sure he wouldn’t be surprised by any beasts that might be lingering inside. He saw a few corpses along the way, but none of them were getting up anytime soon. Nevertheless, he kept his Glock 17 in his hand—just in case.
With each step he took, his feet became heavier, his legs weaker. He found himself leaning on the railing more and more the closer he got to the top, a growing reluctance overwhelming him. Spending his final moments alive on the rooftop of Mangini’s had been Malcom’s plan for the last couple of weeks, but now that it was time to face the final demon, he felt an overpowering urge to flee. But a series of joyfully haunting images of his family flashing through his mind motivated his legs to keep moving. Malcom desperately wanted to be reunited with them, and this was the only way.
The sky was almost unnervingly similar to that amazing night thirteen years ago yesterday, and there was a similar chill in the air, too. But instead of clanking glasses and jubilant laughter while diners enjoyed the finest Florentine steak they’d ever had, silence—interrupted only occasionally with bellowing moans of nearby infected—dominated the mood.
Hanging fabric intertwined with white LED lights swayed ominously in the breeze, dangling from the massive pagoda that stood over the tables. But the fabric was frayed and stained by weather and blood. The lights no longer sparkled.
It was fitting.
Standing just behind the table where Cameron had shrieked out “Yes!” to his life-changing question, Malcom’s emotions got the best of him. Thoughts of all that he could have done better as a husband, as a father, engulfed him. They often did since the outbreak. And, like the other times, his mind inevitably went back to their trip to California.
If I just hadn’t bitched so much about needing some time to myself, Cameron and the kids would still be here with me, he thought irrationally. The fact was, he couldn’t be certain that Cameron wouldn’t have planned the trip anyway. Nor could he have guaranteed that they wouldn’t have been killed once the infection reached Cincinnati. The what-if game was a pointless one to play because none of the questions had answers. But he still condemned himself for failing his wife and children, regardless of whether he actually failed them.
Malcom set his FN FAL down on one side of the table, and his Glock 17 on the other side. He dropped his backpack to the ground next to one of the chairs and meandered over to the edge of the roof, looking out at Fountain Square ahead. Dozens of infected wandered around the iconic downtown landmark as they searched for someone to pass the ungodly disease to. Though he still had several magazines’ worth of 7.62x51 over in his pack, Malcom’s insatiable desire for vengeance waned as soon as he reached the restaurant.
It was time.
Reaching behind his back, Malcom drew his Sig Scorpion from his holster and racked the slide. The 1911 pistol felt heavy in his hand—heavier than the FAL he’d been lugging around for the past thirty-six hours. As he looked down at the pistol, he once again wondered what death would be like. Logically, he knew that if he did his job right, he wouldn’t feel a thing. But what came after that? He always believed in God and the afterlife, and still clung to that blind faith, but even if Heaven were real, would he be joining his family there? Or would he merely be transferring from one level of hell to the next by his own hand?
The gun began to rattle in his quivering hand as he prepared to discover the answers to those questions. He hoped he’d gotten everything right—there were no do-overs in death.
Malcom raised the gun, but it quickly fell back down by his side. He thought about the scowling glare Cameron would give him for using her gift to take his own life. He knew that if, somehow, she was looking down from above, she’d be sick to her stomach. But no other gun in his arsenal would do. It had to be that gun to finally deliver him from his endless suffering.
With tears streaming from his eyes, Malcom suddenly heard the voices of all his loved ones speaking at the same time. He couldn’t understand anything they were saying, as each voice vied to be heard over the others, yet he could distinguish each of their individual timbres. It was haunting, yet calming and stilled his trembling hand. Gradually, the sounds of his children faded away, leaving only Cameron’s angelic tones.
“Thank you for loving me as much as I loved you,” she said.
Clenching his jaw and sniffling in a deep breath, Malcom pressed the .45-caliber pistol to his temple. “I love you, Cameron,” he said as his finger curled around the trigger. Staring blankly ahead of him, Malcom blinked his eyes several times to clear his vision, his finger easing off the trigger. Slowly, the muzzle of the gun parted from his skull.
He squinted his eyes as he looked down the road. “What the hell?”
Chapter Twelve
12 – Cincinnati, Ohio – May 25th
The world around Tessa bounced wildly as she sprinted through the intersection to the building across the street. Keeping her footsteps as light as possible, she moved from car to car, shrouding herself from nearby infected. Safely on the other side, Tessa ducked into the vestibule of a performance theater to catch her breath and reevaluate her surroundings.
Tessa struggled to shake the chill that tingled down her spine the moment she left Naomi and TJ behind. She doubted her decision to make sure the path was clear before waving Naomi over. But, in the heat of the moment, Tessa felt that with so much ground to cross, and Naomi slowed by TJ’s weight, she’d be more effective at covering their approach from across the street. But that meant leaving her children susceptible for an attack, of which they had no means of fighting back. But, so far so good.
Pressing her face up against the glass of the door, Tessa reluctantly waited as a couple of infected strolled by almost casually. The angst gnawing at her gut grew more intense with each second she was unable to signal Naomi the all clear, each second she didn’t know whether her children were even still alive.
“Come on, assholes,” she whispered as she nervously bounced on the balls of her feet.
Minutes passed like centuries, but the small band of infected eventually moved far enough out of sight that Tessa chanced a trip outside. She didn’t realize just how stale the air in the historical theater was until she walked back out onto the sidewalk, filling her lungs with fresh oxygen and a whiff of death. To the right, the group that just passed by a few minutes before continued on their way. To the left, she saw some movement near Fountain Square, but that was three blocks away. If her theory of their impaired eyesight had a
ny validity, then they wouldn’t be much of a threat. Not unless they were spotted by one closer first.
With daylight fading, Tessa moved out to the street to give the all clear. Looking toward a series of glass doors on the building diagonal from her, she flashed the “OK” signal. Tessa held her breath as her chest absorbed each pounding beat of her heart, longing to see the door open. Praying it would open. But panic set in, and her mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion when the door remained shut.
“Thank you, God,” Tessa exhaled as one of the doors popped open far enough for Naomi to skirt out. TJ, thankfully, was still soundly asleep in her arms.
Shifting from frightened mother to protective warrior, Tessa reinforced the grip on her pistol with her left hand and kept the gun at the ready as all her senses heightened. Her trembling hands steadied, and her upset stomach settled. Her vision became crisp and her hearing two steps above keen. Though she was acutely aware of her entire environment, Tessa’s eyes locked on Naomi, TJ, and their immediate surroundings. If an infected happened to spot them, Tessa was ready to drop the beast long before it could get close to her children. At that moment in time, she was the beast. It was her the infected needed to fear.
Fortunately, the flood of adrenaline and puffed up chest was all for naught, and Naomi and TJ crossed the street without incident.
“How you holding up?” Tessa asked, nodding down at TJ.
Winded from the sprint, Naomi bobbed her head. “I... I think I’m okay. My arms burn like hell, but I should be able to make it.”
Tessa smiled. “Not much further, kiddo. Just hang in there.”
Tessa turned around and led the way down Sycamore Street before they were forced to cut down 4th and over to Main. Ducking into a parking garage on the corner of Main and 3rd, Tessa surveyed the area to their south. The baseball stadium was ahead on the left, which meant the football stadium was less than a half mile to the right. Their boat was docked at a marina almost directly between the two. When Trent told her that he managed to get a slot at the newly built marina off Riverfront Park, Tessa was thrilled. The man-made alcove was not particularly big, and the waiting list was longer than a tax bill, but Trent’s local-celebrity status allowed him to sneak past others on the list, giving him a chance to snag one of the coveted, downtown slips. Their old marina was east of town, which meant they had to drive the boat seven to eight miles downriver just to get back downtown to watch the WTBN firework show from the comfort and privacy of their own boat, a favorite family tradition, especially for the kids. However, once they’d parked the boat at the new marina, they’d simply walk from Trent’s station a few blocks away and head out onto the river to watch the annual firework show from the water.