Affliction Z: Abandoned Hope (Post Apocalyptic Thriller) (9 page)

“Help me,” Carla whimpered. “Please, Addy. Help me.”

Addison ignored the calls for assistance and went to the
kitchen to collect the duffel bag. When she returned to the front door, she saw
Carla sitting on the ground, leaning back against the wall.

“Don’t leave me, Addy.” Carla puffed her chest out as she
pressed her shoulders into the wall and rose to a standing position. She
approached Addison slowly. She didn’t look like the demon that’d been ready to
kill Addison a few moments ago. She was Carla, the always-stoned, pain in the
ass roommate who desperately needed Addison’s help.

“I have to go,” Addison said. “I’ll find you help out
there.”

Carla lurched forward, wrapping her arms around Addison and
pulling her close. She felt the woman’s tears against her bare neck. Addison
wrapped her left arm around Carla’s back and hugged her tightly. She lifted her
right hand, steadying the barrel of the gun inches from Carla’s head. It was
the right thing to do. The humane thing. She felt her own tears cascade down
her cheeks as she prepared to pull the trigger.

Carla begged for help over and over. The words impacted
Addison and she felt sorry for her roommate. Perhaps she should leave, never to
return. The situation would work itself out sooner or later. After all, the
reports she’d seen indicated that death came soon after realization of the
first symptoms.

Addison lowered the pistol, letting it and her hand fall to
her side. She released Carla from her grip. The skin on her face felt cold and
damp as her roommate pulled away. Without reaching up and wiping her face, she
knew she was coated in the woman’s blood and tears.

“Go lay down,” she told Carla.

Her roommate turned and shuffled toward the couch. The
journey took thirty seconds longer than it should have. Each step dragged on,
with Carla resetting before starting the next. Then, as she reached the couch
and placed her hand on the back of it, Carla turned at the waist. The fear and
sadness in her eyes was gone, replaced with that burning gaze. Her lip curled
up in a snarl and she grunted.

Addison had a hunch what would follow. It happened in a
flurry of movements between the two of them. Carla spun around and dipped low,
into a crouching position. Addison shifted the duffel bag forward, then drew it
back until it hit the wall. Carla sprung forward, like a wolf pouncing on its
prey. Addison whipped the bag forward and released it, sending it flying toward
her roommate. Carla deflected the bag with her hands, but at the same time, her
feet became tangled and she went sprawling to the floor.

Addison brought the pistol up, cupping her right hand with
her left. She aimed at the back of Carla’s head. Without thinking beyond that
moment, she pulled the trigger three times. Two bullets missed, but one hit.

And that was all she needed.

Kathy eased down the familiar driveway, carefully avoiding
the potholes. How ironic would it be to make it home from Cincinnati on a
stolen motorcycle only to flip over the handlebars and break her neck? As she
rounded the curve, her house came into view. She wanted to laugh, cry, scream
and shout that she’d made it. She did none of those things, though.

She’d made it home, but the journey was not over.

She cut the engine and coasted toward the end of the
driveway, applying the brakes well short of it. She figured Sean would have heard
her approach and would be monitoring the landscape now. He might not recognize
her perched atop the motorcycle. So she stepped off, removed her helmet, and
walked the bike forward. The entire time her gaze flicked from window to
window, to the front door, to the sides of the house. No one appeared.

Had they left?

If they had, they didn’t take Sean’s truck. The vehicle was
parked in the driveway. Behind it was Barbara’s car. Kathy breathed a sigh of
relief at the realization that they hadn’t left for South Carolina and had
instead gone underground. Now she had to get his attention so that he’d let her
inside. If anything, Sean was predictable and would have changed the codes the
moment they were locked inside the bunker.

The wind kicked up and blew a sheet of dirt and dust in her
direction. She felt her sinuses become clogged with debris. A moment later, she
started coughing. Her lungs and throat burned with each phlegmy cough. After
the fit had subsided, she spat the thick substance in her mouth on the ground.
The dark color of the matter on the ground caught her eye. However, she dashed
toward the house at the sight of an approaching single engine prop plane.
Anyone could be up there, she figured. And their intentions might not be good.

She waited on the porch until the plane could no longer be
heard. She left the safety of the porch when the engine faded and gave way to
the sound of wind blowing through the grass.

She decided to verify the integrity of the house before
entering. Kathy looked inside every window she passed while circling the
property. The house appeared to be empty, and in order. Further proof that if
Sean and Emma had remained, they were in the bunker, not the house. That told
her that this outbreak, whatever it may be, was bad and on par with some of the
things she’d heard her husband mumble in his sleep over the last eight years.

She made a note to herself to draw all the blinds before
entering the bunker. If people did come by, she didn’t want them seeing that
the house was abandoned. They’d loot it. She caught herself and stopped making
additional preparations. It didn’t really matter.

Satisfied there was no one lying in wait for her, she
returned to the front of the house. The door was locked. At least Sean had
remembered that. She fished through her purse and retrieved her keys. Both the
doorknob and deadbolt had been engaged. She unlocked them and eased the door
open.

“Hello?” she called out.

The still house offered no reply. The air was considerably
warmer inside. Either Sean had cut the air conditioning and the fan, or the
power had gone out. While the bunker was set up on solar power, the house was
not. Sean had refused to do so, fearing that it could alert someone to the fact
that they were preparing for apocalyptic events. The levels his paranoia
reached drove her crazy at times. Of course, if he’d had it his way, they’d
have moved to Montana years ago. He had claimed that he could operate under the
radar there. Under the radar was important to Sean, and everything had to be
done accordingly so. She’d argued against anywhere outside of Virginia. She had
her friends and family to consider. Despite Sean’s argument that none of them
would matter should something happen, he eventually relented and agreed on
Roanoke.

She closed the door behind her and engaged the locks. Next,
she headed for Sean’s gun cabinet. It was empty. She found the correct key and
opened it anyway. Kneeling in front of the cabinet, she ran her hand beneath
the lowest shelf until she found the false bottom. She pulled the wooden plank
up and reached inside the hole. Her hand brushed against the handle of the M9
concealed within. Sean had left it behind for her. She stuck the gun in her
purse and returned the gun cabinet to how she’d found it.

Kathy knew that Sean would not allow her entrance to the
bunker if she hadn’t cleared the house first, so that’s what she set off to do.
She climbed the stairs, being careful to step only on the edges to prevent any
unnecessary creaks and pops.

She found the upstairs to be as she expected. The beds were
unmade both in her and Sean’s room, as well as Emma’s. Dirty towels were strewn
about on the bathroom floor. The countertops, while not messy, were cluttered
with things that could have been easily put away. Whatever, she thought. No
point in worrying about that stuff now. But if they were living like that in
the bunker, she would be sure to step in and put an end to it.

She smiled at the thought that, even at the end of the
world, at least as how she knew it, she could still think like a mother and be
the organized one in the house.

Kathy crept back downstairs and verified that all rooms were
clear. She saved the kitchen for last, unable to refuse the urge to pour the
milk down the drain. The smell as she lifted the cap off the bottle nearly made
her throw up. She gagged for a few seconds, and then recapped it and stuffed it
back into the fridge.

Forget it, she thought.

Finally, she made her way into the garage. Though the power
was out, the tube thing that Sean had installed into the roof provided ample
light for her to maneuver the workbench out of the way. She’d cover the opening
in the ceiling before entering the tunnel.

She pulled the panel from the wall, revealing the security
pad. It took a few moments for Kathy to recall the latest passcode. She punched
it in and hoped to hear the familiar sound of the lock disengaging.

It didn’t happen.

She entered the code again, feeling a little out of breath.

Again, nothing happened. Nothing at all. She should have
heard from her husband by this point. There was no way her arrival went
unnoticed.

“Sean?” she said, looking into the camera. “What’s going
on?”

There was no response.

Had they left after all? Or, worse, had someone come and
taken them. Worse still, what if they’d been murdered and left to rot out in
the fields?

Her heart pounded in her chest while her lungs felt
restricted. Her skin grew damp with sweat. A cricket sang from somewhere in the
garage.

She reached out and pressed the call button on the bottom of
the number pad. She waited, but there was no response.

“Sean, where are you?” she said aloud.

After a silent minute, she began to cry. The cricket piped
up again. A gust of wind battered the garage door, shaking it and sending a
cloud of dust into the air. She felt the burn in her nose as she inhaled from
the plume of debris. As happened outside, a coughing fit ensued. Kathy brought
her forearm up to her face and coughed into the crook of her arm for a full
minute. After it subsided, she swallowed hard, forcing the remnants down her
throat.

And a few seconds later, the camera mounted above the keypad
moved.

Sean heard the door open behind him. He minimized the window
with the security camera feed and swiveled around in his chair. Emma stood
across the room, appearing shocked by his sudden movement.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Getting a drink,” she replied.

“Be quick about it.”

She hunched her shoulders up, tucked her chin and shuffled
to the refrigerator. Inside was a five gallon water jug with a spout. She
filled a glass and took a sip.

“Go back to your room,” Sean said.

“Why?”

“Just do it, Emma.” He didn’t mean to sound angry. Anxiety
had built within him. His wife was home, in their garage, but until he was
certain that Kathy was okay, he couldn’t let Emma see her mother.

“Fine,” Emma said, hurrying back to her room. She slammed
the door shut. A moment later the lock clicked.

He exhaled, keeping his hand tight on the mouse. He inched
the cursor toward the toolbar and clicked on an icon to restore the security
feed. The image on the screen was of Kathy’s mid-section. She’d stood up. For
what, he didn’t know. He had several initial concerns. The first was that she
had been followed home. They’d discussed a similar scenario in which he had her
clear the house, room by room. This not only allowed her to verify that no one
was in the house, it also gave anyone on the outside time to penetrate the
home. If this had happened, and she had gone through each room, then whoever
followed her inside might now have entered through the garage.

Sean brought up another window, one dissected into eight
smaller blocks, each with its own camera feed. Three of them were inside the
home covering the kitchen, main downstairs area, and main upstairs area. The
rest of the cameras were outside, displaying the front, back, sides, the
driveway and the road in front of their home. He maximized each window and
studied them for movement. Aside from a squirrel on the front porch, he saw
nothing.

The image in front of the security keypad blurred. After a
moment, Kathy’s face appeared. The camera adjusted focus, but never settled on
a clear picture. Sean toggled the sound while slipping a pair of earphones over
his head. He took three deep breaths and then slid the microphone out of its
holder.

“Kathy,” he said.

She looked left, then right, finally settling in on the
small camera in front of her. “Sean,” she said as tears flowed down her cheeks.

“What happened to Charleston?” he asked.

“They shut down all flights when I got to Cincinnati.”

“How’d you get here?” He expected her to tell him that she
had hitched a ride, or had found a bus line still running. When she recounted
her journey by stolen motorcycle, he didn’t know whether to be upset that she
put herself into that kind of danger, or impressed that she had done so.

“What’s the code?” she asked.

Sean bit his bottom lip, looked away and said nothing.

“Sean? Baby? What’s the code?”

He looked at the screen, which had become slightly blurry
due to the tearing in his eyes. “I need you to go take your temperature.”

“What?”

“You were coughing a few minutes ago, severely, Kathy. I’ve
got Emma and Barbara in here. I can’t take any…”

She leaned forward, as if hanging on his final words. “Can’t
take any what?”

He didn’t want to upset her if he didn’t have to. As of that
moment, he didn’t know for sure if she was sick or not. He said, “Go inside and
take your temperature. You can grab the thermometer and take it out there, in
front of the camera.”

She nodded, rose and disappeared. He switched to the kitchen
feed and watched as she opened the cabinet, stood on the tips of her toes and
reached up. A few pill bottles fell onto the counter. She seemed to ignore
them. After a few moments, she lowered her heels and her arms. As she walked
into the garage, he clicked on the appropriate feed and waited. The door
clicked shut in the background. He heard her engage the deadbolt and slide the
security chain. Her torso appeared, lowered, and her face took up the majority
of the screen. She eased back onto her heels. As she settled in, she smiled at
him.

He forced himself to smile back. “Take your temperature.”

She inserted the thermometer into her mouth. Her eyes rolled
up, and he could tell she was bored. It benefited him though. With Kathy
sitting still, Sean was able to fine tune the camera and get a clear look at
her face. Red lines streaked away from her eyes, mouth, and down her neck. Her
nostrils appeared slightly swollen. Dark circles hung below her eyes. That
could have been a result of her journey, though, as could her disheveled hair.

“Emma’s doing well,” he said, feeling the need to make small
talk. “She was pretty scared, but once I showed her where everything is down
here and gave her a key to the gun cabinet—”

Kathy’s eyes widened and her nostrils flared.

“—she felt safer. And don’t worry. I see that look on your
face. She’s not walking around armed. It’s only in the event that something
happens. And you know that nothing is going to happen while we’re inside here.
Nobody can get in.”

Kathy’s anger seemed to fade. She nodded and tried to smile
around the thermometer. It bobbed up and down a couple times.

She began coughing, causing her face to elongate as she
forced her mouth to remain closed.

“Go ahead and take it out,” he said, trying to avoid
expressing his concern.

“One-oh-two-point-five,” she said, shaking the thermometer
and forcing a smile.

The attempt did not fool Sean. He’d seen that look on her
face a hundred times when she’d tried to appear brave for him during his
ordeal.

“How long have you been coughing?” he asked.

She shrugged and looked away. “Started when I got here, I
guess. Bunch of dirt and dust got in my mouth and up my nose. Same thing
happened in here after I moved things around. I guess a bit was left in there,
or must have been blown around a few moments ago. Maybe the fan kicked on?”

Sean shook his head. “Fan’s off, Kathy.” He eased back in
his chair, brought his hands to his face, and rubbed his eyes and temples with
his palms.

Could this really be happening? Did he have to exile his
wife?

“Sean? The code?”

Sean’s fingertips traced his scalp until they met behind his
head, where they interlaced and locked. He stared blankly at her image on the
screen.

“I’d really like to sleep in a bed that I picked out,” she
said with a nervous laugh.

“You might be sick.”

She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Her eyes
crinkled as they glistened. Tears began to fall. She sniffled and let out a
soft sob.

“Go to the kitchen. Take something for your fever. If the
water’s not running, there’s plenty stored in jugs in the closet.”

She leaned in toward the camera. Her image on the screen
turned blurry. “I know you have medicine down there. You could give me the code
and let me come down. I can wait in the tunnel, Sean. Seal me in there if you
want, but don’t make me stay in this house alone.”

His chest and stomach clenched tight. The lines between
physical and emotional pain blended together. Her proposed solution could work.
He could leave her in the hallway. She could die there, and at least she’d be
close to them.

But if she turned, well, he knew that wouldn’t work. After
witnessing what those things did in that facility in Nigeria, he wanted no part
of them being that close to the bunker.

Sean leaned forward and brought his hands to the keyboard. A
swift keystroke silenced the feed. Another turned his camera off, effectively
shutting himself off from Kathy.

Her silent image hovered in front of the camera for a minute
before rising and disappearing from view. He switched feeds and watched as she
walked into the kitchen, heading for the same cabinet as before. She pulled
down a bottle, filled a glass of water and took a handful of pills.

She exited the kitchen into the main downstairs area. She
didn’t linger there long. He watched her climb the stairs from behind. Halfway
up, he switched to a new feed and saw her climb the remaining steps from the
front. A pistol dangled from her hand. She’d thought to search the gun cabinet
when she entered the home.

As she walked past the camera in the hallway, Kathy looked
up at it. Her face was expressionless. She opened the door to their room and
disappeared from sight.

He figured she was taking a nap in order to allow the
medicine enough time to work. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if she had
come down with the flu. Kathy had been around a hundred, hell, thousands of
people over the last two days. At the very least fifty percent of them carried
the virus, and she had contracted it. He was sure of that. As he sat there and
let his mind wander, he found himself hoping that she’d turn the gun on herself
and spare him the pain of watching her die on camera.