Dead Outside (Book 1) (5 page)

It
seemed like there was an accident almost ever hundred feet even off the highway,
and I could tell why, people were speeding, passing illegally, and even driving
along sidewalks and through front yards. I had to dodge quite a few crazed
drivers as well as pedestrians. People were just walking out into the middle of
the road like they had no idea where they were. Some were running, but most
were just walking or stumbling around.

I
pulled over to the side of the road when my phone started ringing and grabbed
it. It said I had a new text message from Sarah so I opened it and it read:

“Sam,
have you been watching the news? I can’t believe what’s happening! Text me back
as soon as you get this!”

I
was just about to reply when I received another text, then another. I
eventually got all eighty-nine of them, they were all from Roxie and Sarah, and
they all mentioned riots happening in Orlando and lots of strange assaults
around town. I looked up and saw a person walking toward the truck. I gulped
and got a little worried. He was just staring at me, mouth open slightly,
letting out a moan, shuffling a bit, almost dragging his left leg. I stuck my
head out of the window.

“Are
you okay sir?” I asked. His eyes seemed to widen and he began moving a little
bit faster. He was about five yards away now. I looked a little closer at him
and noticed his shirt was torn at his right shoulder and was soaked with blood.

The
man reached the side of the truck and as I was about to ask him what happened
he reached his hands through the window and grabbed my arm, His hands were cold
and clammy, I tried to shake him loose, but his grip was strong. His face was
determined, and his mouth was wide open, jaws sapping and dripping with blood,
it was running down his chin and on his chest. The man tried to bite my arm,
pulling it toward his gruesome jaws, but I punched him in the forehead. Though
it only momentarily threw him off balance, it barely seemed to faze him at all.

I
shifted the truck back into drive and hit the gas, peeling out and knocking the
man off his feet. He held onto my arm for a while, almost pulling my shoulder
out of its socket, but eventually he lost his grip. I looked in the rear view
mirror. He rolled several times, tumbling in all sorts of awkward directions,
but he somehow managed to get back up and he began to follow me with a limp.

 “What
the hell was that?” I asked breathing heavily. My heart was racing. It was like
the whole world just decided to go to shit all the sudden.

I
sped the rest of the way to my Grandmother’s house, driving around abandoned
cars, through sidewalks, even side swiping a van that was in my way. I finally pulled
into my grandmother's house and saw my Grandmother’s van already in the
driveway. It had a decent size dent in the bumper and a smashed headlight with
blood sprayed around the damage. Normally I would have been concerned and
confused, but given the kind of reckless and crazy driving I’d seen on the way
here, and the fact the truck I’d been driving wasn’t much better, I wasn’t
nearly surprised.

I
put the truck in park, hopped out and ran inside. My parents were watching the
news. I didn’t say anything and neither did they, we just all stared at the TV
completely speechless.

Chapter Four: Decisions

12:30
PM June 20

I
stared dumbfounded at the television screen in front of me. There were images
of panicked people running down a city street. Suddenly the camera zoomed in on
one person in particular. He was shuffling at a much slower rate then everyone
else around him.

A
chill ran down my spine, the man had the same blank stare that the guy on the
side of the road had, and was shuffling at about the same speed too. An
unfortunate runner tripped over himself right in front of the shuffling man.
Before the now panicking individual could get back to his feet, he was in the
other man’s grip, and screamed in agony as he was bitten on the shoulder.

My
mother gasped, “I can’t believe they are showing that on television.”

I
saw a little symbol in the corner of the screen. “It was a live feed, and I
don’t think they realized that was going to happen.”

“Quiet!”
my dad boomed from across the room. I'd heard that tone growing up numerous
times, mostly when I was misbehaving.

The
image of the street was replaced by the Anchor, “Once again, we apologize for
the disturbing images, but we have breaking information from a medical
professional, and his explanation of the events taking place.”

The
feed flickered to a doctor in an emergency room. The reporter in front of him
looked pretty frazzled. He was talking to a doctor, and the doctor’s white coat
was covered in blood, like he’d just gotten out of surgery or something.

“What
can you tell us about the disease doctor?” the reporter struggled to maintain
his composure. It was like he was too afraid to ask, or maybe he just didn’t
want to know.

“First
of all, it’s a virus,” the doctor said rather professionally, as he removed his
bloody gloves. “It’s blood borne, and saliva borne. Not airborne.” He made sure
to stress the last part. “It’s spread through bites, scratches, or if you get
infected blood in an open wound. Any direct contact should be avoided with any
infected fluids.”

“What
are the symptoms?” the reporter inquired.

“Well,
the first twenty-four hours are a slow decline in energy and strength. The
second twenty-four hours include fainting, and extreme exhaustion, to the point
of not being able to function normally. By the forty-eight hour mark, the
infected individual is barely conscious, and will pass away before fifty hours.
We aren’t sure yet what the exact percentage of death is yet, but from what we
know it is high, every patient we’ve had reported as infected has died.”

The
doctor took a deep breath. “Those who pass away will,” he paused for a second,
as if to choose his next words carefully, “Reanimate.”

“Reanimate?”
the reporter asked with a perplexed look on his face. “Could you elaborate?”

The
doctor’s eyes dropped to the floor for a second. “Well, don’t quote me on the
terminology, it’s the most appropriate word my colleagues and I could agree
upon. The corpse of the diseased undergoes an unusual transformation caused by
the virus. The body retains basic motor functions, but limited brain activity,
exclusively instinctive drives.”

The
reporter’s eyes dropped for a second, looking at his own arm, and then shot
back up to the doctor, “So, they come back to life?”

“Not
In the sense that the individual wakes back up the same as they were when
alive. They retain no memory of their past lives as far as we can tell, and are
extremely hostile toward other people, even loved ones, and should be
restrained before they reanimate.”

“Restrained?”
the Reporter seemed surprised. “They are that dangerous?”

“Yes,
you should restrain their hands and feet, and call the local authorities,” the
doctor hesitated for a moment again. “They will know where to go from there.”

“Is
there a vaccine?”

“We’ve
started a few trials,” the doctor pulled a clip board from the table next to
him. “Unfortunately I’m unable to discuss the results of those trials, but I
can say it will be months, maybe even years before a successful vaccine is
developed.”

The
reporter’s eyes sank, he looked like he was about to throw up. “Y…years?”

The
doctor had a perplexed look on his face. “Yes, vaccines take time. We have to
make sure they work, and have no…” he hesitated yet again, “unfortunate side
effects.”

The
reporter gulped and adjusted his collar. He opened his mouth to say something,
but before he could he went extremely pale and vomited all over the doctor.

The
doctor took a step back and ripped off his white coat, and tossed it on the
ground. He then grabbed the reporters sleeve and pulled it up to reveal it was crudely
wrapped in gauze, and stained red with blood.

“How
long ago were you bitten?” he asked the reporter sternly.

The
reporter fell to his knees and vomited all over the floor.

“How
long ago were you bitten?” the doctor yelled.

“Yesterday.”
The reporter’s voice was hoarse. “Put me in the trials please! I don’t want to
die!” he vomited one more time, then his eyes rolled back and he fainted.

The
doctor looked up at the camera. “Shut that thing off, I think you’ve got your
report.”

The
image went from head level to being on the floor. “Alright it’s off, what do we
do to help him?” The camera man came into view, either he lied about shutting
off the camera, or was simply too startled to notice he had left it on.

“There’s
nothing we can do,” the doctor said gravely, as he checked the Reporter’s
pulse.

“What?”
the camera man shouted angrily. “What was all that crap you just said about
trials? Are they working or not?”

“There
are no trials dumb ass,” the doctor shot back at the camera man. “The
government forced me to say that, they don’t want people to panic. There is no
cure. There is no vaccine. If you are infected, you will die.”

The
camera man was dumbfounded, “So, what do we do?”

“Put
him out of his misery,” the doctor said coldly, as though it wasn’t the first
time he’d had to answer the question. “He has about a half hour before his
heart stops, then anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour before all he does is
try to kill more people.” The doctor grabbed a needle from his pocket, bit off
the cap and injected the reporter in the neck. “Help me get him onto a gurney.
We’ve got about thirty minutes before that wears off.”

“W...,”
the camera man stuttered, “where are we taking him?”

The
doctor looked up at the camera man, and said flatly, “The incinerator.”

The
feed was cut suddenly, and went back to the news anchors. They were completely
speechless, just staring blankly at the cameras.

After
a few moments of silence, the male anchor tried to compose himself, but you
could still see and hear the fear in his face and voice. “We, we’ll be right
back after these messages.” He turned to the female anchor, apparently not
aware that he was still on the air, “What the fuck was that?”

My
mother was speechless, my father had an odd look on his face. It wasn’t fear,
it wasn’t anger, I think it was determination, I think he was one of the few
out of the millions of people who would see that footage that saw the
seriousness to come.

If
I hadn’t seen one of them myself an hour ago, I would probably have had the
same look on my face as my mother.

“What
do we do?” I asked nobody in particular.

My
dad rubbed the stubble on his chin for a second. He still had the determined
look on his face. “They won’t be able to contain this.”

“Why
not?” my mother asked, breaking her silence. “The government has people for
this. They will send the police, the army, somebody will stop it.”

“While
we were on the road here, Andy called me,” my dad said to me, referred to a guy
he works with at the airport. “The airport was overrun with people infected
with this, most coming from Asian flights. He said the same thing is happening
at several airports. The FAA is shutting them down, but it’s too late.”

“Roxie
texted me a bunch of times over the last few days, I only just got them on the
way here. She said there have been outbreaks all over town,” I added. “Didn’t
she text or call you?”

“I
didn’t get any until this morning on the way home.” My mother’s face sank,
“She’s still all the way in Florida, and how are we going to get her if the
airports are shut down?”

My
Father stood up, “It’s not safe to drive, and we barely made it here from the
cabin. There are too many accidents and reckless drivers out there.”

It
felt like my heart sank to my feet. The only thing I could think about was
Sarah in trouble, and over a thousand miles away. “We can’t stay here.”

My
Father shot me a look, “I don’t like it any better then you, but if we try to
go anywhere now, let alone cross the country now, we’ll never make it, we’d
just get ourselves killed.”

I
opened my mouth to argue when the TV shouted out, “Breaking news!” We all
turned to see what could possibly be worse then what we’d just seen. The news
anchors weren’t on the screen, it was the President.

“My
fellow Americans,” he began with a stern, but troubled voice, “We have come
under attack by an epidemic, worse than the 1917 outbreak of Spanish Flu, the
likes of which hasn’t been seen since the black plague. Over the last three
weeks, we have struggled to protect our nation from this threat without
inciting panic. I will not pretend that the measures we took were morally
correct, but they were necessary. I was hoping that the ends would justify the
means. Unfortunately the end we planned, and hoped for was not achieved. I’ve
decided to declare Martial Law. I’ve deployed the armed forces to secure major
population centers. Anyone located in rural areas should be relatively safe,
but it is encouraged that you lock any doors and windows, and wait it out.” He
paused for a moment, maybe for dramatic effect, but I think he was considering
whether or not he should actually say the next part of his obviously prepared
speech. “Private Citizens are encouraged to defend themselves from those
infected by this plague by any means necessary to preserve their own lives, and
the lives of loved ones. Good luck and God bless.”

My
father shut off the TV. “We have enough food here for a few months. Your mom
keeps a lot of canned and frozen food.” He referenced the fact that my
grandmother still kept a large supply of food, usually for family gatherings
such as birthday parties.

My
mother grabbed her phone, “I’m calling Roxie to make sure she’s okay.”

“Dad,
I’m not going to sit around here while Sarah, Nick, and Roxie are out there,” I
argued. “I’m going back to Florida even if I have to walk the whole way there.”

“You’re
going to stay here with your Mother and me, and wait it out.” He raised his
voice to his anger tone, one I was quite familiar with. “Roxie, Nick and Sarah
are smart. They don’t need you to take care of them. They can take care of
themselves.”

“I’m
not trying to say they can’t take care of themselves,” I argued.

“You’re
not leaving, and that’s final,” my Dad insisted. He was a stubborn man, not one
for compromise, especially once he’d made a decision on something.

I
matched his piercing stare, trying to decide upon what to say next to convince
him. I realized based upon years of trying to argue with him that anything I
said would be futile. “Fine, I’ll stay.”

His
stern face didn’t change. His eyes were searching into mine, as if to ascertain
whether or not I was telling the truth. He’d always held the opinion that I
couldn’t lie to save my life, and I’d let him hold that opinion by making
obvious bad lies every once in a while. But if I ever needed to keep something
in the dark, or lie about my whereabouts, I could cover my tracks without him
realizing it. I did that now, not giving him any indication that I wasn’t
truthful about staying here, but deep down, I knew I wasn’t going to stay. I
would leave whether he liked it or not.

“Good,”
he broke the silence. “Go in the garage. See how many 2x4’s we have left over
from building the fence last summer.”

I
looked at him quizzically, “Why?”

“We’re
going to board up all the windows.” He opened his phone to check the time,
“Those things could be a block away. I’m going to go in the basement and get
our shotguns and ammo. We should have at least a case or two of shells left
from hunting last year.”

I
felt my throat tighten. It wasn’t like I’d never fired a gun before. I’d been
hunting since I was twelve. I’d grown up with a gun in the house for defense
for as long as I can remember. But the tone in my Dad’s voice, the intent, it
wasn’t hypothetical. It was legitimate fear for the safety of his family.
“Don’t forget Grandpa’s old hunting rifle. It should be down there too,” I
added.

His
serious face broke for a second, and a barely noticeable smirk curled from the
side of his lips, “Right, I almost forgot, I'll grab it too.”

We
spent the next ten hours fortifying the house, we only had enough boards left
for four windows, and so we went outside and pulled apart the small white
picket fence in the front garden to board up the rest. My mother took a count
of all the food we had in the freezers and canned in the basement. There was
enough food for us to comfortably live on for at least a month or two, maybe
more if we stretched it.

My
grandmother had been asleep when the news was on, so my mother broke the news
to her. She had her suspicions, just as my parents had on the way home. The
chaos on the streets couldn’t have had any other explanation. She started
calling my aunts and uncles to make sure they were okay. Most answered, some
didn’t. My dad tried to make some excuses as to why they might not have
answered, maybe they were at a friend’s house, maybe they were at one of the
many shelters that the news said were being established in schools, office
buildings, and other locations with a decent chance of survival with sufficient
supplies.