Dead Quarantine (9 page)

Turning away, he continued to the occupied
house with its light illuminating the desolate darkness. Ralph
glimpsed some movement in the shadows. He halted, looked around,
but saw nothing. It must have been his imagination playing tricks
on him. A container office, probably from the real estate company,
stood a bit away from the houses. A few trucks, a car, and a van
stood parked next to it. About to move away, he heard something
brush against the van. He whirled around. A silhouette moved from
behind the van. It was a man with a construction helmet on—one of
the workers left behind. Shade covered his face. The man stood
motionless, staring at him.

Ralph waved. “Goodnight,” he said and
immediately felt stupid for doing so.

The man lurched forward in an awkward way as
if each step was his first. Ralph backed away. It meant one thing.
A moan came from another direction. He looked. Two other men came
from behind the third house under construction. Same as the first,
they had construction helmets on and they had the same kind of
walk. The van zombie was getting closer. Ralph could now clearly
see that its throat was torn out. This one had not died from the
flu. Ralph backed away from him. Behind him, he heard a growl.
Three more came walking. They were going to surround him and block
his escape.

He had no choice; he ran for it. The two
were fifteen feet away. He had to get past them to get to the
house. With any luck, they could only move slightly faster than
walking. The house was still a hundred yards away. He rushed the
two zombies, ducked under their grabbing arms, and ran between
them, leaving them fast behind. Angry growling and moans chased
him, but they couldn't keep up with him while he was sprinting. He
felt his muscles sour; he couldn't keep this speed up any longer.
He was almost there; just a little bit more and he would safely
reach the house.

His left leg cramped and he stumbled in the
dirt, rolling sideways in pain and clamping his hands around his
calf. Gritting his teeth together, he pulled his hands away. The
zombies were steadily closing the distance between them. He tried
to stand and fell again, crying out in pain. He could not walk
until the cramp subsided. He rolled to his stomach. Clawing the
dirt, he pulled himself forward, dragging his legs behind him.
Between cries of pain, he cried out for help.

The moans sounded louder by the second. He
was too afraid to look back. He crawled forward, expecting any
second the bite that would signal his end. He kept his eyes focused
on the ground, putting all of his energy in his arms to pull
himself forward. Footfalls sounded ahead of him. Damn. He had been
too late, so close yet too late. He lay down, unmoving and waiting
to be put out of his misery. He regretted not having the chance to
know Lauryn better and not seeing his family again.

“What has gotten into you, lying in the
middle of the street? Get your ass up,” a man said.

Hands grabbed him and hoisted him up. He was
tall and broad. The zombies were almost on their heels. The man
held him up while they hasted for the open door. Yellow light
basked over them, hurting his eyes, but there was nowhere else he
would rather be than inside with those lights. Moving just a tad
faster than the zombies, they kept out of reach.

A few steps led to the door. He would have
to climb, though he could barely support his weight on his leg with
his cramp still in effect. He slowed down, not sure how to manage
it.

“Move!”

The man grabbed him around the waist and
hoisted him up the steps. He jumped on the landing and pulled Ralph
along. One zombie tripped over the step and fell; its fingers
grabbed onto Ralph’s shirt as it went down, pulling Ralph with it.
The man turned, raised his boot, and stomped on the zombie’s skull
before it could dig its teeth into Ralph's flesh. The cracking
sound sent shivers down Ralph's spine. The man grabbed him by the
collar, dragged him inside, and slammed the door. He was safe for
now.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Sarah
sat next to Lilly, her best friend since junior high. She liked her
a lot. She was shy, pretty, loyal, smart, and totally unselfish.
She long ago stopped feeling guilty about also liking her for being
pretty. It was a fact that girls got along better when there wasn't
a huge gap in looks. Less envy and jealousy. She glanced sideways.
Lilly was staring ahead, still shocked about what had happened
earlier today. First, Lilly had been upset when she heard Ralph was
quarantined. Ralph, yeah he was nice and all, but she never would
have thought Lilly liked him. He wasn’t exactly relationship
worthy, at least not in high school.

That had been in the morning; it wasn't what
had completely upset her friend. What had was what had happened an
hour earlier during their history test in Mr. Turner’s class. It
was silly really to take a test when only seven of the twenty-five
students were present. The whole high school has been drained of
students. She had no idea how many were still left, but going on
how many people were left in their history class, there weren’t a
lot.

Mr. Turner, a teacher of retiring age, was
dealing out the test. His face was flushed and he sweated a lot.
She suspected he had the flu, but she was wrong. He had something
else. Mr. Turner suddenly clawed at his chest, his eyes rolled
back, and he collapsed. Lilly immediately rushed to him and started
giving him CPR. George, a classmate, called for an ambulance, but
he reached a recorded message instead, telling them that all lines
were occupied. With no help coming and Lilly only able to do so
much, Mr. Turner died. George went to the principal’s office to get
help, but he was sent back with the message to wait for help. An
hour passed and no one came for the body; it still lay there at the
front of the classroom.

Mr. Turner dying was bad, but it wasn't what
shocked them all and put Lilly in her current comatose state. What
did do that was when one of the hazmat men walked by the door,
stopped when he saw what was happening, shoved Lilly aside, and
shot Mr. Turner in the head. His corpse still lies where he died in
a pool of blood, covered with their jackets. The soldier told them
not to leave the classroom, and since then, they had stayed
inside.

“Lilly.”

No response.

“We can't stay here all day,” Jake said.

Sarah turned to face her boyfriend, who was
sitting at the desk behind her. “We can't leave her behind.”

He was tall, muscular, athletic, handsome,
and rugged with a square chin, blue eyes, and blond hair. The
perfect picture of a man. His blue eyes focused on the back of
Lilly's head. Contempt oozed out of them. He still couldn't take it
that she would not drop Lilly as a friend. He wanted to be the only
person in her life, which was endearing but not enough for her to
cut ties with her best friend. Lilly was the only real friend she
had left.

“Why can't we? She would be safe here.” He
pointed at the fat kid. “Fat Tommy could watch over her. He
wouldn't mind.” Jake threw his eraser against Tom's back. “You
wouldn't mind, would you, fatso?”

Tom froze in his seat, ducked his head
between his shoulders, and kept silent.

“I asked you a question! Fat fill your lips
so that you can't move them anymore?”

Sarah didn't like or dislike Tom. He was
gross and smelled, but she liked less the way Jake treated people
like him. It spoiled how she felt about him. She wished instead
that he was a better guy, too good for petty teasing.

“Jake, please, leave him alone.”

“Why? Are you going to protect this loser
too? What are you, saint loser or something?”

“Come on, stop it. I'm on your side.”

“My side?” Jake stood up. “Sam, George, are
you with me?”

The two boys stared at him, scared, and
quickly nodded yes. They knew better. Sarah had seen Jake throw a
fit before because someone did not agree with him. God, if he were
not so good looking and popular, she would break up with him. No,
not true, it was not only because he was popular and handsome that
she liked him; he was sweet when they were alone. He was attentive,
though not so much around people.

“Come on, guys. We'll go and find out what's
going on.”

Jake held the door open for them. Anna, a
short teen with rather large breasts, wanted to go with them. Jake
pushed her back. “No, you girls stay here. Let us men do what we
gotta do.”

He smiled at Sarah while slowly closing the
door. She felt no love in that smile; he might think he was her
lord, but she wasn't about to allow him to tell her what to do.

“Lilly, I'll be right back.”

Lilly nodded slightly. Progress. Hopefully
she'd snap out of it soon. She gave her a quick hug and kiss, then
left.

“Sarah,” Tom called after her.

Door handle in hand, she turned her head his
way.

“Thank you for standing up for me.

“You know what, Tommy? You should man up and
stand up for yourself.”

She slammed the door shut behind her.

The hallway was empty. Where did he go? She
heard a sound come from the classroom opposite theirs. She opened
the door. Two teens sat at their desks, no teacher present. A boy
with wooly hair and large, thick glasses looked up from a book he
was reading.

“You're not supposed to be outside.”

She closed the door, not ready to get into a
discussion with a guy about why she was outside. It was none of his
business. She heard muffled talking. Sarah closed the distance so
she could hear. It was Jake, saying something to a man. She hurried
down the hallway toward the stairs that lead to the main hall. She
pressed her back against the wall, slid along it, and peeked. Jack
stood on the stairs with George and Sam behind him. Below, a
soldier pointed a rifle at them. This one didn't have on a hazmat
suit, not even a surgical mask.

“Boys, this is your last warning. Go back to
your class. This school is under quarantine; no one leaves.”

Jake backed down a step. His neck was
straight and tense, and his hands were balled into fist on the ends
of his arms, which were stretched at the side of his body.

“Please, listen to him,” she mumbled
softly.

The soldiers face was set in stone, his eyes
ice. His hand on the rifle was steady. He meant it. They better
back down. She thought about calling them, but she was afraid she
would spook them, and Jake was unpredictable when she was around.
He might feel slighted and not want to yield if he knew she was
there.

Slowly, Jake raised his hands; his palms
faced outward. “Calm down, sir.”

“Leave!”

Jake turned his back to the soldier, still
holding his hands in the air, and climbed the stair. George
followed him, but the Asian boy, Sam, didn't. Oh God, she thought.
Sam took a step down.

“Sam,” Jake called out, “come back up.”

“He ain't gonna shoot. I'm an American
citizen; I know my rights.” Sam turned to the soldier. “You won't
shoot me. You took an oath to protect and serve us.”

“Boy, you better go back up there. This is
martial law. You'll get shot if you take another step.”

Sam took a step. The bullet hit him in the
right eye. Blood, brains, and bones blasted out the back of his
head and painted the wall and stairs in red and gray. His body
crumbled and rolled down the stairs.

Jake and George fled up the staircase. The
soldier trailed his rifle in their direction. He would shoot again
if not stopped. Frantic, she looked around for anything but found
nothing she could use. Desperate, she ran to the balustrade and
hung over it, screaming. The soldier, startled, shot high, riddling
the wall above as Jake and George dove out of sight. The soldier
swung his rifle in Sarah's direction. She threw herself back just
in time; the bullets flew where she had been standing a moment
earlier. She fell on her butt. Ignoring the pain, she crawled back
in the hallway away from the stairs.

“Let this be warning,” the soldier yelled.
“Anyone who dares show his face will be shot without warning from
now on.”

Jake and George sat with their backs against
the wall, eyes set wide and staring at her. They didn't look like
the tough men they were when they left to find out what was going
on. They looked liked the scared kids they were. She was sure that
Jake now felt sorry for not listening to her.

Her heart still raced and the weight of what
had happened hadn’t really registered yet. She felt as if she were
to grab on to it, panic would surge. Sam had been killed. They
could be next; they almost were. She forced her thoughts away.
Something had to be done to prevent this from happening again.

“We have to go and tell someone what
happened here,” she said.

“You go back and tell everybody,” Jake said.
He had regained some color. “I don't care; I'm going back to our
classroom. I'm done with this.”

“George, are you coming?” George didn't
respond. “George!”

“Leave him be. Can't you see he's in shock?”
she said.

“You want to be like this?” He paused,
waiting for an answer he didn't get. “So be it, go fuck yourself,
bitch.”

The words stung, but not as much as they
would were she not numb because of what had just happened. His
anger seemed insignificant.

Jake walked away, not looking back.

George sighed. “I should have never followed
him out, never should have, maybe Sam would have stayed with me.”
He looked at her with teary eyes. “Sam is dead. He killed him just
like that. Just shot him dead.”

She grabbed his hand and pulled him up.
“Come, we need to move before that soldier comes back and finishes
the job.”

“Thank you, Sarah. You saved us; never
expected that from you.”

Never expected that from her? Did they
really think she didn't care about others?