“Should we try to run to your house?” Billy asked.
“No, they’ll just follow us there and then we’ll have a mob at the door.”
Patrick stepped out onto the sidewalk. Seeing him fully exposed, the three zombies snarled viciously as they awkwardly moved toward him. Placing himself in a shooting stance, Patrick held up the Sig Sauer in a two-handed grip. He took a breath, held it and sighted down the barrel.
His first shot hit the lead zombie in the throat. He staggered a bit, but continued to move toward him. Now when the zombie snarled, dark blood bubbled from the hole in his throat. Readjusting his aim, Patrick fired again. This round hit the creature dead center in the forehead and he fell forward, landing on his face. Pointing at the woman, Patrick fired again. This hit her in the jaw. She stumbled forward, then righted herself. The zombie’s lower jaw jutted out at an odd angle now. Patrick took two steps forward and shot her again. This time she went down and didn’t move.
Billy came out of his hiding place rolling his travel bag. He watched in awe.
“Holy shit, Mr. S,” he gasped.
Because of his bad leg, the last zombie was lurching awkwardly. Patrick’s next round completely missed him. Swearing to himself, he aimed and fired again. This time he struck him in the shoulder.
“God damn it,” Patrick said angrily, “this is not good. Three rounds left.” He had neglected to leave one in the chamber. “I’d better get un-rusty soon. At this rate, I’ll run out of ammo in no time.”
He forced himself to wait until the UPS zombie was ten feet away. Then he raised the handgun and carefully fired. The bullet hit the man in the left eye and he collapsed in the road.
Hearing more groans from around them, he turned to Billy and said, “Come on. Let’s get in the house before we’re spotted again.” He and Billy ran to their house and burst through the door.
The three teens had been watching through the living room window.
Erica and Dwayne ran to their father while Greta stood back with her hand against her chest.
Dwayne gushed, “Dad, that was awesome.”
Patrick gave a wry smile as he remarked in self-recrimination, “Not so awesome, Dwayne. I better get my marksmanship up to speed or we’re all going to be in trouble.”
Erica looked at him, and said, “Daddy, I’m so scared. That was really frightening to watch.”
“I know, baby,” he said gently. “But we’re going to have to be strong and stay together. This is just going to get worse.”
Dwayne nudged Billy and turned again to his father. “Dad,” he said hesitantly, “I know what you said to us years ago, but… I think that maybe we should learn how to shoot, too. I mean, what if you’re somewhere else and one of us gets in trouble?”
Patrick looked at Dwayne. Then he searched the eyes of Erica, Billy and Greta. “Maybe you’re right, son. It may help save lives.”
They walked into the kitchen to make dinner. Greta hesitated and looked out the window again. Three bodies littered the street. She stared at them and thought. I hate guns. I don’t want to shoot them. She thought of her homeland in Austria. She had really liked going to school in the United States. But now, she was so homesick that she felt physically empty. She just wanted to hold her parents again. Greta was having a difficult time adjusting to her new reality. Everyone was nice enough but she felt that she didn’t belong here. She felt like an outsider.
Monday…
The world was a grim place to be now. With one bite being a virtual death sentence, the number of people that turned into zombies rose quickly. With the majority of people still convinced that zombies were only their very sick loved ones and friends, the potential for infection by contact was high. It was a steep learning curve with zero forgiveness. There would be no do-overs.
As the virus knew no bounds in who it infected originally, the number of world leaders, military and high-ranking government officials who were culled from their positions led to a slow deterioration in the quality of their oft times underequipped and underqualified successors. Hence, critical decisions were either ill-advised and badly implemented or not made at all. This was especially true in the Third World countries where cronyism and corruption ruled.
In North America, even though we had the advantage of forewarning, national and local leaders found that there was really nothing that they could do to forestall the events. This was an alien viral plague that had its own timetable and course of infection. The fact that the reinfection by the mutated virus was so swift and so completely unexpected, that it had left no time to prepare. Every arm of defense from military and law enforcement to medical and scientific facilities were critically short-staffed because their members became infected the same as the rest of the people. The one saving grace would have been: that because the mutation’s symptoms occurred over the weekend, and when they hit, that the victims became debilitated within an hour or two – if everyone had just stayed in bed, maintaining order could have been doable. As it already was with many, their home would have become their tomb.
But panic over the projected quarantine on Sunday and the frenzied rush on supermarkets, hardware and convenience stores, drove people out and into the streets. The it just won’t happen to me attitude won out over common sense. Victims of the virus wound up dying on the sidewalks and the streets, in supermarkets and stores, and waiting on long lines in their determination to ignore the obvious.
§§ §
Opening his eyes to the morning light shining through the window, Jason stretched himself out, feeling his vertebrate pop. Looking over at the alarm clock he saw that it was already nine o’clock. He got out of bed and headed over to the bathroom. After peeing and brushing his teeth, he made his bed, got dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen. His mother was standing at the stove making eggs. His father had already finished eating and was scrolling through his iPhone.
“Morning, everyone,” Jason said. He headed to the refrigerator to get juice.
“Good morning, Jason,” his mother said. “Are you ready for some eggs?”
“Sure, Mom,” he yawned.
“How did you sleep?” his father asked.
“Took me a while, but I finally fell asleep,” said Jason. “What’s on the news?”
“It looks pretty bad all over,” Carl answered. “They’re saying that the big cities like New York and Chicago are swarming with the undead. That’s the term they used. They said it’s now official that the Pandora 2 Mutation kills its victims and then somehow revives the corpse.”
“You mean, zombies,” replied Jason.
“Well, they didn’t quite use that term distinctly, but, yes, I guess so,” said Carl.
Rachel turned from the stove. “But that’s horror movie stuff, she said. “How can all that be? It seems like science fiction not reality.”
“Oh, it’s real all right,” Jason said adamantly.
Carl looked thoughtful. “This morning I got a call from Fred next door. His wife, Wendy, had Pandora and died yesterday. He said she passed away yesterday around noon time, in her bed. He was with her at the time, and when she went, he closed the door and had gone downstairs to call the police. While he was waiting, he heard her get up and walk to the door. When he called out to her, she started pounding at the door and snarling at him.
“When he called me earlier, Fred was crying. He said that she hasn’t stopped banging on the door. I feel so badly for him. He was sitting outside the bedroom door when he called me. I think he was drunk. He was talking to her while on the phone and I could hear the racket in the background. I think I should go over and see if he’s all right.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dad,” Jason said hurriedly.
“Jason, we’ve been friends for fifteen years or more,” his father said. “I can’t just ignore the phone call. I’m sure that if the shoe were on the other foot, he would be over to check on me.”
Rachel looked worried. “Maybe Jason is right, dear,” she sai
d.
Carl sat in silence for a minute, and then looked up at his family. “No, I really should go. It’s only right.”
Jason spoke up, “You should just let me go with you, just in case there’s a problem.”
“Alright,” Carl said. “Finish your breakfast and we’ll take a walk over to see him.”
When breakfast was over, they left Rachel to clean up and walked out of the house. Before they got to the sidewalk, Jason halted his father then carefully looked both ways down the street. Although it was clear, a Mercedes coupe was up on the curb three houses over. A mailbox was destroyed and half under the car. The driver side door hung open. The engine was still running and they could hear the warning bell ringing. The driver was nowhere to be seen.
Carl was looking very nervous as they walked to their neighbors’ house and climbed the extended driveway. The mounted the brick entranceway and approached a large wooden door. Carl was about to ring the bell, when the door opened. A balding and overweight man stood there. He looked disheveled and had puffy red eyes. Rubbing his pudgy hand through his uncombed hair, he spoke to them.
“Hey, Carl. I see you brought young Jason with you.” He reeked from liquor. “Come on in. But, you have to be very quiet. Wendy finally quieted down. I think maybe she’s sleeping.”
Father and son looked at each other. Fred turned and walked inside and leaving the door wide open. His gait was unsteady. Following him in, Jason closed the door behind him.
“Have you gotten any sleep?” Carl asked.
Walking into the large living room, Fred said, “Sleep? Uuh, no, no. No sleep. But, I’m good now. Here, sit down.” He motioned toward to two gray and chrome chairs. Whether from no sleep or too much to drink, Fred’s speech was slurred.
They all sat and Fred started rambling on about Wendy being ill and of him being so worried. Then, he looked at them wobble headed and said with a fuzzy smile, “But now it’s all okay.”
“Maybe you should lie down in your study, Fred,” Carl suggested. “You know, just close your eyes for a sec –”
Just then a muffled bang sounded from upstairs. All eyes looked up at the ceiling, Carl and Jason fearfully and Fred with a smile. Fred rose and walked toward the stairs.
“Where are –” Carl started. Still continuing on, Fred waved his hand for them to remain seated. He climbed the stairs unsteadily.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll be right back. Just checking.”
They both watched him ascend the stairs with increasing trepidation. “Dad, I don’t like this,” Jason said with a rising voice.
Carl rose and walked around to stand near the bottom of the stairs. He had one hand on the banister. Jason followed him, but when he looked up, Fred had disappeared. Then, from the upstairs hall, they heard Fred say, “Wendy? Wendy, are you up?” And then, the sound of a door opening.
Carl, putting his foot on the stair, yelled out, “Fred, no.” But he was too late.
There rose a terrible, high-pitched growl, like a cat in heat. Then Fred screamed. They heard banging and feet pounding on the wooden floor. Just then Fred appeared at the rail ringing the second floor level. He was terrified. His eyes were practically bulging and mouth open in the scream. A second later, Wendy came into view, her milky eyes wide and bloody teeth bared in a fierce snarl.
She crashed into her overweight husband and they hit the railing hard. The sharp cracking of splintering wood mixed with their screams and snarls. The struggling couple broke through the rail and went sailing into space. Still fighting her off, Fred landed on top of the large, mahogany, center hall table below. The force of their two bodies smashed the table and the large flower vase sitting on top.
For a moment, there was complete silence. The only sounds in the room were the broken wooden spindles rolling on the floor and water running from the smashed vase. Carl and Jason stood helplessly, gawking at the two crumpled bodies. Then, Wendy moved.
She picked her head up and looked around. Seeing the two men standing there, she wrinkled her nose and bared her teeth. Her front teeth were broken, leaving jagged, shark like points in her mouth. She struggled to free herself from her broken husband and their smashed table. As she struggled to pull herself out, they could see that her left leg was twisted under her; the broken femur bone sticking out of her thigh as if it were an arrow. Dragging her fractured body along the polished wooden floor, Wendy could only use one hand as the other was shattered at the wrist leaving the hand flapping around like a stuffed glove. But still she kept moving, all the while hissing and growling through her broken teeth.
Carl and Jason backed up, and then turned and fled out of the front door, leaving it wide open in their mad retreat.
§§ §
After the third ring, he heard the receiver picked up.
“Hello?” a voice said.
“Hi, Mom,” said Patrick. “How are you? Is everything all right up there?”
“Patrick,” she said, “I’m glad you called. I’m all right, but it was a madhouse here for a while. Thank God, it’s better now.”
“What happened there?” Patrick said.
His mother took a deep breath and started, “Yesterday, a group of people from the building got together. The condo association board led the meeting. It was very disturbing, but I think they had some very good ideas.”
“What did they say?” Patrick asked.
“Well, first they got some volunteers to go to every condo and knock on the doors. If there were any infected people inside, they put a circle on the door in magic marker. That was to show which doors should never be opened. Then some other condo owners volunteered to go to the Walmart down the block and bring back food and water for everyone.”
“Sounds like great planning,” Patrick said, nodding to himself.
“Yes, but it didn’t go so well,” his mother said, bitterly. “Like most of the condo meetings here, there was bickering and arguing back and forth. Nobody could agree on anything. Some people even objected to the magic marker circles on the doors. They said that it would cost too much to have to repaint them. Can you believe it? The entire world is falling apart and they’re worried about getting an assessment.”
Patrick was astonished and said, “They’re idiots.”
“Welcome to my world,” his mother said. “Well, finally the board prevailed. But by the time they all agreed, got volunteers and were prepared to go out, it was already getting late in the afternoon. Several of us, including your mother here, went to the lobby with them. We let them out and then we locked the doors. We were to wait for them to get back, and then let them back in.”
Sensing that this wasn’t going to end well, Patrick said slowly, “Okay…”
His mother continued on, “I’m afraid that’s when the trouble started. Six people had volunteered to go outside. They got out okay and ran down the block to the Walmart. You know, Patrick, the big one with supermarket down on the corner of Huron Street.”
“Yeah, I know the one, Mom,” Patrick said.
“As we waited, a couple of the residents kept walking up to the doors and looking out. I guess they were nervous. We told them to keep away from the big glass doors, but they wouldn’t listen. They kept going back and forth, back and forth.
“I guess all the activity was spotted by some of the infected people. Soon, we had a half-dozen of them pounding on the doors. We went and hid so they wouldn’t see us; but, all the banging and that infernal moaning they do just attracted more of them. We wound up with about two dozen in front of the building.”
“They use that moaning sound when they spot prey. Like a damn mating call,” Patrick said.
“It seems to be,” his mother agreed. “Just then, the six volunteers came back wheeling shopping carts filled with groceries. Once the infected heard those squeaky wheels come rattling up the sidewalk, they turned and started toward them. Pardon my vulgarity, but it all turned to shit. Those carts also attracted infected from around the area and they had a mo
b following them, too. Once those things at our doors turned to them, they were trapped. Those of us in the lobby were trying to figure out what to do, when this moron who lives on the sixth floor ran for the door. He was holding a gun in his hand. Things happened so fast, that we didn’t even realize it. Before we could even say anything, he unlocked the door, stepped out and started shooting the infected that had turned away. We all ran to the door, shouting at him to stop. Then, from out of nowhere, several infected came from behind and grabbed him. It was terrible. Oh my God, the screaming. Of course, this drew some of the infected back to the doors again.
“That was when we realized that the idiot who ran out was still holding the keys to the front doors. We all tried to hold them shut. Some people dragged chairs and sofas from the lobby to stack in front, but it was too little, too late. Those disgusting creatures pushed their way in any way.
Pandora (Book 5): Behold A Pale Horse Page 15