Affliction Z: Abandoned Hope (Post Apocalyptic Thriller) (8 page)

Addison slept with the messenger bag clenched in her left
hand, a knife on her nightstand, and one of the pistols under her pillow. The
other remained inside the bag. In less than twelve hours, things had
deteriorated to the point that she doubted she’d survive the week.

Carla coughed non-stop, and at one point had stumbled down
the hall and knocked on Addison’s door. Addison had not replied to her
roommate’s desperate cries for help.

She lay in bed, waiting for the symptoms to overtake her.

When would they come? What would it feel like?

The virus was an obvious death sentence. She figured once
she could confirm she had contracted it, she’d turn one of the pistols on
herself and end her life with a little dignity.

More coughing coming through the thin walls led to her
thinking that she should end Carla’s life with some dignity, too. She couldn’t,
though. That would be murder. She couldn’t bring herself to commit the act.

Addison got out of bed, double-checked the lock on the door
and then went into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth while waiting for the
shower to heat up. There were some things she was not yet willing to sacrifice.
Cleanliness was one of them. As long as they had hot water, she’d shower.
Frankly, as long as they had running water, she would. Steam fogged up the
mirror and filled the bathroom. She slipped out of her robe, letting it fall
into a pile on the floor, and moved past the shower curtain. Hot water pelted
her body.

If only it could wash away the events of the past
twenty-four hours.

Slowly, the steam in the air built a cocoon around her.
Anything could happen at that moment, and Addison would remain blissfully
unaware.

She couldn’t ignore the banging on the wall, though. Jolted
from her meditative state, she inched toward the shower curtain. She’d set the
messenger bag on top of the toilet next to the shower. The banging persisted.
Addison placed her hands on the wall, one in front and the other behind her.
She felt vibrations through the palm of her right hand. The noise came from
Carla’s room. She must have heard the water running and grown angry. A jaunt
down the hall would have resulted in her roommate fighting with Addison’s
locked door. The woman probably then returned to her room and began striking
the wall with either her fist or an object.

Scenes of carnage played out in Addison’s mind. She had been
unable to forget the image of those
people
as they descended upon
helpless others and proceeded to tear them limb from limb. Carla, for all her
problems, had never been a particularly violent person, outside of her affinity
for certain video games. But now, she exhibited signs of rage, and the anger
seemed directed toward Addison.

She pulled the shower curtain back and reached for a towel.
Then she stepped onto the tile floor, leaving the water running. Anything to
keep Carla occupied for a few more minutes. Addison dried off, then wrapped the
towel around her body. She reached for the bag and pulled out one of the
pistols. It felt slick and heavy in her hand. Cold air rushed into the bathroom
as she cracked open the door. The flesh on her arms, legs and neck pricked. She
stuck the barrel of the gun through the crack. Easing the door open, she
scanned the room and found it empty.

She opened her closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and a
dark, plain t-shirt. She also grabbed a pair of hiking boots that her father
had sent to her after he found out she attended college in a mountainous
region. She’d been there for a year-and-a-half already by that point. Her
mother swore she didn’t let him know. If not her, then who? She had continued
to blame her mother, resulting in a falling out between the two of them. They
hadn’t spoken in six months, and now Addison was scared she’d never hear her
voice again.

There’ll be time to deal with that later, she thought.
Maybe.

She laid out the jeans and t-shirt on the bed, and carried
the boots over to a chair in the corner of the room. She’d never worn the
boots, and they needed to be laced up. As she did so, she recalled something
about the laces actually being parachute cord, and several feet of it if
unwound. Why? She wasn’t exactly sure, but remembered something about it being
helpful in many situations. Perhaps she could use it to tie up her roommate.

Before she could finish lacing her boots, the door to her
room burst open. Carla stood in the opening, wearing a simple oversized white
t-shirt spotted with blood. She stood slightly stooped forward with her hands
clenched into fists and hanging by her side. Blood trickled from a wound on her
forehead like raindrops down a window. It hadn’t been her fists or an object
banging against the wall on the other side of the shower.

Carla had used her head.

Her roommate looked distraught one moment, angry the next.
Her lips trembled as she opened and closed her mouth, releasing guttural
sounds, but no words. Her hair had become caked with blood. It hung over her
eyes. As Carla rocked back on her heels, she let her head fall back and her
hair parted to the sides, revealing eyes that appeared as if they were burning.
Bright and hot like liquid fire.

When Carla opened her mouth to speak, only a grunting sound
escaped as her lips curled back. Her teeth looked darker than they should have,
and her gums were red. Tears appeared to fall from her eyes and skate down her
cheeks. The woman made no attempt to advance her position.

Addison stood three feet from the bed, where, on the corner
she’d set the pistol. She glanced at it, and then looked back up. Carla had
followed her gaze and stared at the weapon. Her lips trembled as they opened
and closed. Finally, she formed a distinct word.

“Why?”

Addison shook her head. Tears began to collect along her
bottom eyelids. She held up both hands in a calming gesture. “I don’t know,
Carla. I don’t. But I’ll help you. Okay? We’ll find a treatment. We’ll get you
fixed.”

She took a step forward. This resulted in a change in
Carla’s posture. The woman went from slightly stooped and submissive to rigid
and poised to attack.

“I just want to help you,” Addison said as she froze in
place.

Her words seemed to settle Carla, for the moment at least.
Addison took another step forward. Using her leg as a guide while maintaining
eye contact with Carla, she shuffled along until her skin brushed the corner of
her bed. Along the outer edge of her vision, she made out the shape of the handgun.
One swoop of her arm and she could have it in her possession. Surely, she could
retrieve the weapon, aim it and fire before Carla made it to her.

Eight feet versus eighteen inches, round trip, and a few
actions which she’d never performed without the aid of a game controller.

She opted for a different approach.

“Carla,” she said. “Why don’t you go lay down in your bed?
I’ll be right in with some medicine after I get changed.”

Carla said nothing. She didn’t try to say anything. She
stood there, slack jawed, staring at Addison. The woman’s fingers twitched,
causing them to tap against her upper thighs. The intensity of her stare did
not decrease, although the odd brightness seemed to fade.

“Carla?” Addison said, letting her right hand fall. She
didn’t care if her towel fell open. If anything, her nudity might be enough of
a shock to her roommate to allow Addison a few extra precious seconds to line
up her shot.

“Okay, Addy,” Carla said, slowly and deeply.

Addison stopped breathing as she watched the woman turn in
place and leave her room. The floor where Carla had stood was wet.

Had she urinated while standing there?

Addison grabbed the pistol off the bed. Then she pulled off
her towel and threw it toward the doorway. It landed a foot past the spot, in
the hallway. She dressed and put on her boots, leaving them untied. They fit
perfectly. A good thing, because there might be a lot of walking in her future.

Her mind raced. What would she do? Where would she go? How
would she get there?

Before she could answer any of those questions, she had to
prepare. Addison reached into her closet and pulled out a duffel bag, which she
filled with socks, underwear, shirts and pants. Unsure where she was going, she
grabbed a North Face thermal jacket, rolled it up, and stuffed it inside the
bag. It would be cold eventually. In fact, the nights had already started to
dip into the fifties. The jacket would be perfect in both fall and winter.

She carried the bag into the bathroom and stuffed her
toiletries in one of the side pockets. The messenger bag sat on the toilet. She
grabbed it and slung it over her shoulder, ensuring quick access to the pistol
it housed. In her left hand, she carried the duffel bag. In her right, she held
the other pistol. She believed she had it ready to fire. She’d done everything
to the weapon that she’d ever seen performed in an action film.

How hard could it be?

She exited the bathroom, closing the door behind her, and
then she rounded her bed. The room looked undisturbed, although it did smell
foul. The urine on the carpet could be part of the reason, but it smelled worse
than any pee she’d ever been around.

Addison came to a stop at the doorway. She spread her feet
wide, making sure not to step in the puddle. The sound of the fan was the only
thing she heard, rhythmically cycling around and around. No coughing, no
television, no game systems. She stepped through the doorway and into the hall.
The towel she had tossed out there earlier became tangled with her left foot.
Leaning against the wall, she shook herself free from the damp linen.

Before turning into the kitchen and living area, she glanced
down the hallway toward Carla’s room. Soft light filtered through the opening
at the bottom of the closed door. She considered barricading it, but decided against
doing so. Once she had the door in sight, she made a line straight for it. As
she reached for the handle, she stopped. She had no provisions for her journey.
While there was little in the apartment, anything available could provide
helpful. Despite the urge inside of her to leave, Addison backtracked to the
kitchen and raided the pantry and refrigerator for anything she could find.

In the end, she stuffed four pouches of dried noodles, a
half-dozen bottles of water, three light beers, an opened package of crackers
and some salami into her bag. She’d have to eat the deli meat first, which
meant as soon as she left the apartment. Addison was starving, having gone
almost a day without eating. The rest, she figured, would last her a couple
days at most.

Satisfied she had everything she needed, Addison left the
kitchen and headed toward the front door.

“Where are you going?”

She looked to her left and saw Carla standing behind the
couch, her shape silhouetted by the diffused reflection of light on the television.

“I have to go get you medicine,” she replied.

“Why do you have all that stuff?”

Addison hesitated, and in those few moments Carla’s
expression changed from confused to angry. Her roommate went to speak, but the
only sound that came out was a deep grunt. A few seconds later, the couch
tipped over and Carla climbed over it. Her eyes were bright. Her mouth hung
open. She reached out with both arms. Her fingers contorted into hooks.

Addison dropped the duffel bag and backed up. She reached
inside the leather messenger and pulled out a bottle of beer. She held it by
the neck. Carla kept coming toward her, grunting and baring her teeth.

“Get back,” Addison shouted.

Carla ignored her. The woman walked right into the kitchen
table, refusing to allow it to stop her. She kept shuffling her feet, pushing
the table an inch at a time. The entire time her eyes remained focused on
Addison while the fingers at the end of her outstretched arms snapped like a
crab’s pincers.

Addison backed up until she felt the kitchen island. She
retreated behind the six-by-three foot structure.

“Go to your room, Carla.”

Carla kept pushing forward, her waist pressed tight to the
table, moving it inch by inch.

Addison cocked her arm back and then flung the beer bottle
in Carla’s direction. Having been an all-district short stop for her high
school softball team, Addison had tremendous aim. It did not fail her. The
bottle hit Carla in the middle of the forehead, causing further damage to the
cut already there. The woman fell back and dropped to one knee. Addison
realized her mistake when, instead of getting up, Carla dropped to all fours
and crawled under the kitchen table.

Addison waited until she couldn’t see her roommate and then
bolted for the front door. It seemed like it took minutes to cross the short
distance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Carla change course. The woman
lunged for her, grabbing a hold of Addison’s ankle. She dropped the messenger
bag in an effort to break her fall. It worked, to a point. The impact of landing
on her abdomen knocked the wind out of her.

Carla’s damp, cold hands worked their way up Addison’s back
and arms.

“Get off me,” she said in a hollow voice. Moments later, air
rushed into her lungs. She gasped it in, yelled and forced herself to turn over,
sending Carla sprawling to the side. Addison pushed her back off the floor and
scooted toward the door while in a sitting position. As she pressed into the
door, she realized she’d dropped the handgun. Both the pistol and the messenger
bag with the backup weapon were out of arm’s reach.

A few feet away, Carla curled up into a fetal position.
Cries mixed with coughs.

What the hell is going on?

Addison regained her focus. Reaching back with her right
arm, she grabbed a hold of the doorknob and used it to help pull herself
upright. She scooped up the pistol, then walked around her roommate and grabbed
the messenger bag. She slung the strap over her neck and shoulder, letting it
come to rest against her side.