Haven (9 page)

Stop the drama, Kennedy. Get on with it
, I told myself. Mr. Packard would understand the importance of finding and preserving resources in emergency situations. The military accolades decorating his wall prove it.

I stepped farther inside.

I’d been in the office a few times before, while waiting for him to drive me home when I hadn’t brought Old Boy to school. It was basic enough, a beaten up desk, a leather desk chair, some books, a plant. He didn’t put much thought into his surroundings unless it related to a threat. Through the windows leading into the administration office, I could see Beverly hunched over Harrison, her face anxiously close to her work, his face emotionless and almost impatient for her to finish.

I moved to Mr. Packard’s desk and opened the drawer. A ring of keys lay inside. They looked strangely like masters. Mr. Packard wouldn’t have left his office without them, so they must be a back up, I reasoned.

“Two is one, one is none,” I whispered, referencing an old military phrase my dad had drilled into me.

I picked them up and slipped the carabiner through my belt loop, and came to a halt. Underneath them was a TV remote control, and if there was a remote control, there must be a TV. Picking it up, I hit the power button and heard the static charge as it crackled to life. Spinning around, I chased the sound, landing in front of a broad old armoire. After a tug at the doors, I found that they were locked, and immediately sought the keys at my waist.

“Reports are flooding in from New York, Los Angeles, Houston, and Chicago…” a woman was saying on the other side as I finally swung them open to reveal the flat-screen TV inside.

It wasn’t the local news. Mr. Packard had it tuned to the national news, and the anchor appeared jittery as she delivered her report.

“Major international cities have been affected as well including Dublin, Frankfurt, and Moscow.”

“They’re all going through the same-” Beverly started to say as they came up behind me.

“Shhh,” Harrison and I commanded her. Instantly, she snapped her mouth shut.

The anchor shuffled through some notes on the desk in front of her and then raised her eyes back to the camera. “For those of you just tuning in, The National Guard, FEMA, and the Department of Homeland Security are responding to known threats.”

“Lot of good they’ve done for us,” Beverly remarked.

“SHHH!” We shut her up again, which she responded to with a scoff.

“They are working alongside the CDC,” the anchor added.

Harrison bristled at the mention of the agency’s involvement, his back straightening and his shoulders rolling back. I noticed it but was too immersed in the reports of this eminent threat to give it any further thought.

“So it’s biological,” Beverly muttered, looking down at the latex gloves she’d slipped on. She’d been a properly-trained candy striper so I could see what she was thinking in her expression.
‘How close was Harrison’s blood to her hand? Had any gotten beneath the glove? Had any gotten inside her?’

“They turn instantly,” I said, intentionally disrupting her line of thought.

“What?” She looked up, confounded.

“They turn within seconds of being bitten. You mentioned that yourself. It’s why they populated so quickly.” Her lips pursed. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, Beverly?” I didn’t need her freaking out on me, on any of us. “Harrison hasn’t turned. He isn’t infected. His blood is clean.”

With perfect timing, the anchor’s voice started up again. “If you see anyone with the following signs, contact the number at the bottom of your screen immediately; Listlessness. Disorientation. Rage. Unattended wounds.”

Beverly pulled out her phone and punched in the number, and I didn’t stop her. She wasn’t calling about Harrison but about the multitudes of others surrounding our school. I knew this when she didn’t back away from Harrison or even give him another glance. Of course, I also knew it wasn’t because I’d said so. She’d never take my word for it. Her behavior was more of a sign of agreement. She disregarded Harrison as a threat because she’d seen the confirmation for herself yesterday when the attack first took place. I noticed the memories of it rush back during her stupor a few seconds ago, and somewhere within them she recalled seeing someone turn almost instantly like the woman had in the staircase of Harrison’s apartment building.

A busy signal pulsed loudly through Beverly’s phone and into the room. She exhaled in frustration and dialed the number again. “What is it with no one answering their phones today?”

On the surface it seemed like a ludicrous question, but really what she was asking was:
‘Why this? Why today? Why us?’
We were all pondering the same questions, though she asked them with a lot less patience.

The news channel blinked without warning, the image warbled, and pinched to a sliver before going entirely black. None of us said a word, but there was a heavy uneasiness in the air, as if our hope had been snuffed out along with the image. I had an incredibly strong urge to take Harrison’s hand, which was unusual. I wasn’t the type to rely on others. Combine resources, sure. Develop strategic allies, yeah. But look to someone else for emotional support? No way, especially not from someone who had denied me earlier in the day.

“We’ll check back later,” Harrison suggested. “See if they come on again.”

“Right,” I agreed and headed for the door.

Beverly’s voice stopped me a foot away from it. “Can we finish now? Or do you want to just walk around with that thing hanging from you?” She narrowed her gaze to the needle and thread dangling from Harrison’s forearm.

He lifted his limb to her and let her finish right where he stood. As he did, his eyes settled on me, stirring me again. There was restlessness in them, the kind present when someone is on high alert. They were talking to me, telling me not to worry. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me. We were in this deep but whatever it took, whatever sacrifice he needed to make, he’d get it done.

“There,” Beverly announced, snipping the thread free. “You’ll need to keep the stitches dry for 24 hours, after that you can begin gently washing it up to two times per day. If redness goes beyond the edge of the wound, tell me immediately. If you have a fever over 100 degrees, tell me immediately. If you have any odd coloring or discharge from the wound, tell me immediately.”

I wondered what she would do if any of those issues did actually occur.

“Here’s your ointment.” She slapped a tube into his hand. “And here’s your antibiotics.” She slapped an orange plastic container into his hand. “Use them.”

“I will,” he affirmed, and then his voice changed, taking on an almost paternal undertone. “Now remove your gloves and go wash your hands with soap and water.”

“I know,” she chastised before spinning around and heading into Mr. Packard’s personal bathroom, the one he had installed only a week ago. I doubt he had ever expected a student to use it.

The awkwardness of that realization swallowed me whole. I didn’t even notice that Harrison’s focus was still on me.

“Are you all right?”

Coming to, I laughed through my nose. “That’s what I should be asking you.”

He gave me an observant smile. “You look…tired.”

“Thanks…,” I said wryly.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

He was correct. I did. “I am tired, an anxious tired.”

He nodded, and I got the impression he wanted to come to me, but he stayed planted in place. “You have reason to be.”

Beverly came back into the room, but neither of us broke our stare. She sensed something was going on but didn’t seem to care enough to meddle, which surprised me. Apparently, returning to the rest of our group took precedence over gossip, which would be a first for her. “You ready?” she asked. “I’m not walking the halls alone, you know.”

“Yeah,” Harrison said stiffly, tearing his eyes from me. “We’re ready.”

We walked back to find that the sunlight had almost disappeared. I figured from the hazy glow through the glass doors that the street lights were already on. The three of us joined Doc and Mei in a group on the tile, our backs to the lockers. I couldn’t help but notice that Harrison chose to sit directly across from me.

Beverly stared desperately at the glass leading to the outside, and I could see that she was wishing her father would appear in it. “What are those things?” she asked.

“You need to stop calling them things,” Mei said sharply.

She made a good point. Those
things
were our friends and teachers, our neighbors. The importance of this, however, was entirely lost on Beverly.

“Well, what would you
like
me to call them?” she snapped.

After an awkward pause, Doc said, “Roamers?”

And that started the game of “Name That Thing” with us tossing out suggestions to see which one would stick.

“Eaters?”

“Biters?”

“Psychotic cannibals?”

Harrison was the only one who didn’t throw one out there.

Beverly rolled her eyes. “How about we
not
beat around the bush? Let’s just call them what they are, huh? They’re infected, right? So let’s call them that. Plain and simple. The Infected.”

“Okay, Plain and Simple The Infected it is. A little long, though, don’t you think?” Doc said and we gave him a strange look. “Kidding, I was just kidding. Geez.”

“The Infected,” Beverly reiterated for some measure of permanence.

The rest of us looked at each other, saw no opposition, and agreed, right before the reality of our situation settled over us. We were five seniors stuck inside our high school during an epidemic outbreak. Conversation from then on came in brief spurts and remained on strictly insignificant topics. It started off with Harrison, who sensed the need for something light, asking what book Beverly was reading. That turned into what we read for pleasure, non-assigned reading, which then turned into what we did for fun. Doc played Xbox, Mei baked cakes, and Beverly flipped through clothing catalogs. No one seemed to notice that Harrison and I refrained from including details about what we did in our free time, which was just fine with me, and I was sure Harrison felt the same.

Eventually someone yawned and even though sleep wasn’t directly on the horizon for any of us, we had reached the end of a long day, longer than any of us could have foreseen.

“I’ll take night watch,” Harrison offered and no one argued.

“Here,” I said, pulling the key ring from my waist. “You might need these.”

“Thanks.” He stooped to take them, his eyes boring into me, assessing me. When he stood again, he addressed the group. “Get some rest. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I settled my head back against the hard locker, unsure if I could fall asleep at all. But I closed my eyes anyways and found the image of Harrison pinned inside them, his darkly serious blue eyes fixed on me as he made his promise of safety and security. And I knew, with absolute confidence, despite his earlier warning that he’d be keeping his distance, he was speaking directly to me.

~ 4 ~

W
HEN
I
WOKE UP THE NEXT
morning, two things registered with me right away. First, I was still alive. Second, I had actually been able to fall asleep. When I opened my eyes and found Doc’s head cranked to the side, his snores rumbling up from his throat to tremble his lips and fill the hallway, I realized I hadn’t been the only one. Mei was next to him, her head tipped onto his meaty shoulder, arms daintily crossed in front of her. Beverly lay on her side, curled against the lockers, her hands stacked between her head and the tile floor.

A quick survey of the hall gave me two more pieces of information. Harrison wasn’t around but my steel throwing star was. He’d left it, cleaned once again, next to my hip where I wouldn’t miss it when I woke up. The faintest of smiles lifted my lips and then the memories of the day before rushed back to me, bringing with them a shudder. To divert my thoughts, I stood and slipped the star in my back pocket before strolling to the glass doors. Old Boy was still parked at the gate’s entrance, looking beaten up and lonely. The Infected were moseying around the parking lot, although more of them had come to join the feast. I figured they were driven by the smell of flesh, which thankfully hadn’t made its way inside the school yet. Some of them were still hunched over their previous bedfellows’ victims, enjoying sloppy seconds. I was glad I couldn’t identify any of them, living or dead. Billows of smoke twirled into the clear blue sky in the distance confirming that things were still happening beyond the gates of our school. I wondered if anyone was still out there, looking back in our direction while pondering the same question. With only one way to find out, I spun around and walked back down the hall. As I passed the other survivors who hadn’t stirred yet, I hoped their dreams and sleep were more peaceful than mine had been. Brushing aside the second round of unsettling thoughts this morning, I made my way to Mr. Packard’s office. Before I entered, I was met with the intermittent bursts of static as someone was flipping through the channels.