LZR-1143: Infection (7 page)

I fell against the trunk of the car, tears escaping silently from my eyes. Kate’s voice jarred me back to lucidity, my world having been temporarily converted to ashes. I stumbled back into the car, slamming the door as approaching creatures came within arms length from the vehicle. More were coming our way.

“Go.” I said it softly, my voice breaking.

“If she-,” she started to say.

“Go, goddammit!” I screamed in anger and frustration. She jammed the accelerator and we shot forward, barreling headlong into the horrid night.

Several times, we were forced to detour around cars left abandoned in the roadway, some burning, some with doors still open, lights still on. At the intersection of two small roads, a small foreign car was wrapped around a lamppost, blood staining the open passenger window and the door panel, streaks evidencing that the occupant had been pulled from the window. Several creatures bent over a shapeless mass on the pavement not far from the car, heads moving up to watch as we moved past, moaning but not moving from their meal. One of them, an older woman with graying hair and a turtleneck sweater, continued to watch us as we drove away, blood and other matter hanging from her open mouth, moan a gruesome accompaniment to a hideous sight.

When I look back on what happened next, I realize that our mistake was not fully comprehending the nature of people in crisis, without civility’s check on human behavior: both our own selfish nature, and the base desire of others. I think we all suspect that others are really animals at heart, harboring those most primal of instincts that are only curbed by the mantle of society, mostly because we know what we find when we look inside ourselves.

Ten long minutes after our detour for the young woman, we were met by a police car rolling toward us with lights revolving slowly atop the cab. Having not met, or for that matter seen, any authorities but for the occasional passing helicopter, we elected to slow the car to ask for instructions and information. I was a little wary, but couldn’t exactly speak up and reveal my unrest. Instead, I slid slowly down in my seat, mentally willing myself to be invisible.

For the moment, we could see none of the undead. We had made our way into a deserted access road serving several big box stores, including a Target and a linens store. However, the buildings obscured much of our visibility, and the path to the rear of us had born witness to several packs, less than a quarter mile behind, so we didn’t have much time. Our car came to a rolling stop at the crossroads of two roads. Ahead was an avenue leading forward, but the streetlights had yet to flicker on, and the path was obscured by the night and the imagined hordes of creatures that prowled the darkness. Trees slowly moved in the wind behind each of the stores, shifting the glare of the full moon with each breeze.

The police cruiser slowed to a stop, windows remaining up, lights revolving slowly, casting a bright red and blue beacon which was a boisterously out of place glow on the pavement and the hood of our car.

Kate rolled down her window, gesturing to the cop to do the same; No-Name leaned forward to peer to his left, apparently interested in the bright lights and the new arrival. Fred had his face pressed against the glass of his window, eagerly waiting to see what came of this encounter.

The driver’s window on the cruiser inched down slowly, revealing the crew cut, squared-off jaw of a state trooper, and black eyes staring hard at everyone in the car. Not a happy face, I thought.

“Where you headed, miss?” he asked, baritone voice staying even and slow, shifting his glare from No-Name, then to Fred, carefully observing the standard issue hospital scrubs on both. Despite my best efforts and total concentration on the task at hand, my cloak of invisibility failed me, and his last glance went to me, noting the janitorial garb. His eyes trailed off my clothing, past my face-that was key-and to the blood covering the back seat where Erica had expired.

“Where should we go?” Kate asked, her voice crackling with the competing emotions of tension and relief.

“We had heard the expressway was safe, thought we’d make for the maritime academy. Maybe some sort of shelter there? We were left behind at the hospital, and already lost one of our number to those things back on campus.”

He chuckled, eyes hard and unblinking. The smile didn’t touch his eyes. “Expressway’s no good,” he allowed, as his radio crackled. He slowly reached to his shoulder and depressed a key, silencing the intrusion.

He glanced back to the back seat, again passing his gaze over my face. The vestige of his smile slowly melted from his face.

Like a snake rising silently to strike from beneath a rock, a pistol muzzle appeared from his lap, the dark tip laying lazily on the window sill. Pointed toward the car. His hand was bandaged around the palm, a dirty brown stain having spread and dried on the dirty gauze.

“I’m not sure I need to be telling you where you might want to go,” he replied, in that same slow, deep voice. “Seems that we’ve had a heck of a time determining who might have been bit, and the orders came down a yesterday to do checks on people before sending ‘em up to the shelters.”

He grinned, his gaze traveling from Kate’s face to her lab coat, which was unbuttoned and lay open, revealing her blouse. Not good.

Back to her face, corners of his mouth turning up in appreciation.

No sir, not good at all.

“Why don’t you three,” he gestured with the muzzle of the gun, “go ahead and get on out of the car, come around to the back. You stay right where you are ma’am.” Fred reached for the door handle, but I grabbed his wrist. No-Name was still staring at the officer, not comprehending, or not caring, about what was going down.

“We haven’t been bitten,” Kate protested, urgency flavoring her tone. She glanced into the rear view mirror, meeting my stare, and seeing her worry reflected back to her. “We’ve lost one to a bite, but no one else was hurt. We’re just trying to get to a shelter.” Fred’s wrist twitched in my grasp.

She was answered by the stiff metallic click of the gun being cocked.

She turned back to me, moving her head out of the window frame, and No-Name came into the cop’s line of sight.

The window behind No-Name shattered into a thousand pieces as his head disappeared in a cloud of red and gray. My face was suddenly wet, and Fred was screaming.

Kate cursed and curled instinctively over the wheel, the jerking of her body, out of sheer luck, causing her to slam her foot against the accelerator. The car was still in drive and it moved forward on command. Her head was still hovering over the center console, arms sheltering her head, not seeing the Dairy Queen sign ahead of us.

“Turn the wheel!” I shouted, reaching forward to do it myself, but knowing I was too late. She turned forward, hands reaching the wheel and foot shifting to the brake in time to veer the car from a head-on collision, but slamming our left side into the pylon supporting the large red advertisement. Fred’s head slammed into the window, shattering more glass; I slammed into Fred; No-Name’s body flew against Kate, an orgy of battered, confused bodies.

From behind us, the sound of more gunfire and a sudden explosion of taillight and Korean trunk. Kate turned the key in the ignition. Nada.

“We’ve got to get out of this car, we’re sitting ducks,” I said, struggling with my seat belt. Kate extracted herself from her own restraint, opening her door. Again from our rear, the squealing of tires, a gunning of cruiser engine. A thud. Then more gunning, but no more squealing. I looked back.

Five or six creatures had emerged from behind the linen store and the adjoining neighborhood behind the tree line, dozens more trailing behind. The first few were already to the cruiser, and one had met its demise under the Ford. But its body was apparently caught up in the undercarriage, preventing the trooper from flooring it. His window was still open, and the pistol came out again, this time pointing away from us, toward the attackers. They swarmed the open window, arms stretching forward, reaching for the trooper.

I got out, dragging Fred behind me as Kate crossed in front of the car and took his other arm. I looked through the front passenger door window as Fred got his footing, examining No-Name briefly. He was as dead as… well, he was really dead. The bullet had entered through the left temple, and had taken off the entire back of the skull. A bloody gray lump matted with hair stood out from the back of his skull, evidence of the exit wound that had resulted in the shattered window. Poor crazy bastard.

Before turning away, I noticed a bracelet on his arm. It was one of those hospital bracelets that are impossible to take off without scissors or a knife, and it seemed out of place considering neither Fred nor Erica had worn one.

But I did.

Recognizing the mark of my kind, I reached through the broken window, grabbing his wrist and turning the bracelet toward me. Identification number, and then name: Seymour Williams.

What the fuck? How did he make it out of the maximum-security ward? He was one of the new admits: a truly violent psychopath. How could he have found his way to Kate’s group? He couldn’t have, unless someone had let him out and locked the door behind him. This begged the uncomfortable question: had I been locked in?

“Let’s go! Aim for the Target,” Kate yelled at me, snapping me out of my short trance as I put my shoulder under Fred’s arm and helped him forward. He wobbled unsteadily, but was able to move. Several creatures moaned behind us, recognizing our presence. Another blast. Loud cursing, engine revving, then another blast. And another. We crossed the empty parking lot in darkness, the glowing red target a promising Mecca.

Several parked cars, left in the parking lot for reasons unknown, cast shadows we avoided, as we moved as quickly as we could across the dark cement. Fred groaned, and Kate looked back.

“We can stay ahead of them, but if the doors are locked here, we may have problem,” I said, also looking to our rear. The lights in the store were off. Not a good sign.

We reached the beige concrete wall between the garden center and the glass entrance doors and moved toward the latter, Kate supporting Fred as I grabbed the handle and pulled. Damn.

I moved towards the automatic doors, waving my arms like a wild man in front of the sensors. Nothing. Double damn.

I looked to the parking lot. They were moving steadily toward us, a fat woman in a moo-moo in the lead, hands opening and closing slowly on the end of outstretched arms, head cocked to the side, eyes staring forward, locked on our group. Behind her, a tall man in a tee shirt and jeans, a cell phone still clipped to his pants, bloody arm revealing his bite wound. Following him, a small child, mouth torn slightly open at the cheek, hair missing from one side of the head, where white bone showed through.

“Garden center,” I said shortly, grabbing Fred by the arm.

“Pancake,” was his woozy reply, as Kate hefted the other side of his inert form.

We reached the chain link fencing surrounding the melange of peace lilies, paving stones, and brightly colored annuals. The door was no use, obviously, but the chain link was open on the top. No telling whether we had access to the store from the garden, or whether that way was locked too, but these things couldn’t climb, so we might be safe for a short time if got up and over.

Fatty was about forty feet away, and getting closer. Her retinue followed closely behind, like a line at a buffet, all with a hungry purpose.

I looked at Fred, who still looked dazed and uneasy. “Can you climb, buddy?” I asked, as nicely and calmly as possible, gesturing to the fence. “We need to get in here.”

Thirty feet.

“Pancake,” he nodded, tripping forward and grabbing the fence. He started to climb, and I helped him up, boosting him to the top until he was bent over, his chest hanging over the other side, legs kicking toward the parking lot.

Twenty feet.

Kate went up next, and I levered her feet over the top. As she reached the summit, Fred fell heavily to the concrete on the other side, landing squarely on his buttocks and grunting in pain. Kate’s lab coat flipped over her head and her hair veiled her face, as she twisted and came down on her feet.

Ten feet.

I jumped as high as I could, grabbing the links and pulling up hard. Cold steel dug into the soft flesh of my fingers, joints unused to exertion groaning in distress. My feet scrambled for purchase on the smooth steel, and my sneaker caught a break, providing enough traction for a final surge. Searching, erratic fingers brushed my ankle, as my legs were thrown over the top of the fence, the metal bar capping the links jutting suddenly and uncomfortably into my crotch.

I exhaled in pain as the crowd reached the fence. Dozens of bodies pressed against the web of metal and it shook, nearly jostling me from my perch. Catching myself, I quickly jumped to the ground, nearly missing a rack of neatly stacked spice plants for the home garden.

We again grabbed Fred and moved toward the sliding glass doors into the store. Behind us, the fence shook with the sounds of hunger and the moans followed us as we disappeared between rows of hydrangea.

Chapter 7

The double doors leading to the inside of the store were locked. Apparently, whoever had closed up shop here had had time to cross the T’s and dot the I’s, thinking perhaps that they’d be back later. The fence continued to shake, and the moaning was getting old fast.

“If we break the glass, and those things get in, we’ve got issues,” I said, hefting the cement edging brick I had picked up, as Kate leaned against the wall and helped Fred to an Adirondack chair sitting in a display next to the door. Stating the obvious must be a symptom of exhaustion.

“And if we don’t break the glass, and those things get in, we’re fucked.” She replied, jumping on board the obvious-statement express. This with a tired sigh and hands placed on hips.

“Fair enough,” was the reply, as I lifted the brick to shoulder level. “You think this thing is armed, like that one at the hospital?”

“You think it isn’t?” she asked sarcastically, clearly exasperated. “What the fuck does it matter? You think we need a better advertisement of our location than the ‘free lunch’ sign that our friends put up by huddling around that gate? I think in is better than out, and that’s about it right now. Just break the goddamned door. I’m sick of hearing these fuckers whine.” Her voice and her attitude betrayed her exhaustion, wits frayed after days of running.