Pulse (5 page)

The apartment complex was quiet, but not in an unsettling way. No signs of chaos here and Dom was glad for it. He hopped out of the car and began the walk up to her second story apartment. He didn’t see her roommate’s car in its spot and he was glad for that, too. In addition to a baby, the next to last thing he wanted was to spend more than an hour with Cindy. He wasn’t sure why Chelsea lived with her. They were childhood friends, but from what Dom understood Cindy wasn’t remotely the same as when they were children. That was Chelsea’s problem; sometimes she was loyal to the point of harming herself.

She opened the door before he had to knock and wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m so happy to see you.”

“I just talked to you on the phone,” Dom said, trying to keep things light. “Of course I’m here.”

She mumbled into his chest “I know. It’s just scary. Been watching the news a lot, you know?”

Behind her he saw her shotgun in its case and two duffle bags. He pulled back to grin.
He gave her a quick peck on the lips. “I guess it takes the apocalypse to get you to be ready on time?”

He saw the flicker of hesitation cross her face.
Chelsea was very genuine and sweet, but sometimes gullible. He knew she was thinking about whether to flip out or laugh. She chose the latter and relief washed over him.

“I guess so,” she said.
“I have bad news though.”

Dom walked past
her to grab her stuff. “What?”

“Cindy took all the food and jumped ship.”

“What?” He thought about it. Chelsea didn’t have much in the way of supplies to begin with. It wasn’t a loss and he didn’t want to make the situation worse. She was obviously hurt. “Don’t worry about it. We got a ton of stuff. Maybe we can stop at that little store on the way home. Sound good? And Brian’s car can barely fit more than we have, so you’re good.”

She picked up her shotgun case, looking happy with herself. “It would make me feel better. I fe
el like I’m already dead weight. Plus I want to pick up some cough drops and Sudafed, I think I might be getting sick.”

He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “I don’t think you could’ve picked a worse time to be sick.”

Chelsea rolled her eyes, changing the subject to how she couldn’t believe what Cindy did. Dom supplied sympathetic noises on cue.

“Also, I was going to call work and take a few days off, but my manager called
me
first and said not to come in,” she said. “Jonas has family in the mid-west so I guess he’s trying to deal with that or something.”

Chelsea worked in a family owned computer repair shop a few hours a week while she finished her nutrition degree. From what Dom gathered, it was a great place to work. Flexible hours, good people. He was envious.

“Anne let us take a day off. I don’t work again until next week, but if things keep getting bad I bet a lot of places will start closing until further notice,” Dom said.

“I don’t know why you don’t find another job.” Chelsea shifted the shotgun to her other hand. “You hate everything about working there.”

“I know, I know,” he laughed. “I’m just complaining.”

Brian was still glued to his phone when they got back to the car. He’d torn open a bag of Skittles which rested on Dom’s side of the seat, a few rainbow candies scattered on the cushion and ground. Dom situated Chelsea’s items in the trunk, cleaned off his seat and got in.

“Chelsea wants to stop at that small store we passed before we head home,” Dom said.

Brian set his phone in the cup holder and craned his neck back to look at Chelsea.
“You sure? With her in here we won’t have much room for more stuff.”

“Hey!” she snapped.

He shrugged. “Not a fat comment, Chels. Get ahold of yourself.”

It
was
hard to wedge her in with all the clunky bags of food, but they managed. Dom saw no harm in grabbing more nonedible items like ibuprofen, cold medicine, and the like. Who knew when they’d have another chance to leave the house? While he didn’t
want
to be isolated to his apartment, he had to acknowledge it was a possibility.

Brian navigated out of the apartment complex.
Everyone braced themselves as they exited, going over a handful of speed bumps. All the canned goods clunked against each other, tumbling and resettling.

“Someone needs to stay in the car. We don’t want to let this stuff sit around unsupervised,” Brian said as they drove. “I volunteer as long as you keep things brief.
No browsing the makeup or shampoo.” He winked at Chelsea who gave him the finger.

“I’m not sure you could be any more sexist,” she said under her breath.

Dom hit Brian on the shoulder and it ended the little tiff. If they were already at it now, things were only going to get worse. They didn’t like each other in the way only the best friend and girlfriend can.

At best, they could tolerate each other
. Asking for anything more would be unwise.

***

When the glass doors slid open, Dom knew something was up. There was a silence over the mom and pop grocery store that made his hair stand on end. They’d only taken a few steps when Dom spotted the man with a gun at the cash register. He pulled Chelsea aside, cursing himself for brushing against the chip bags and making them crinkle.

He didn’t hear any response. The man hadn’t heard.

“Give me all the money,” the man shouted. “I know you have more back there!”

In broken English the clerk told him they didn’t. They didn’t carry more cash than what he gave him. They didn’t have a safe.

He begged. Pleaded for his life.

Dom wasn’t sure if the robber was hopped up on drugs or fear, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Dom?” Chelsea’s voice quavered.

He shushed her
and took hold of her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. They could run out again; they’d walked in easily enough without anyone noticing. Couldn’t they slip out again too? But anxiety was in the way. He wanted to be brave for Chelsea, but he wasn’t sure he could, not when he couldn’t make his own body move.

A shot echoed through the store.

Chelsea screamed. Dom thought he did, too. There were panicked shouts throughout the store. Footsteps pounded down the tile floor approaching them. The robber, now murderer, stood in front of them.

For the second time that day, Dom had a gun pointed at his head. The man was shaking just as much as they were. A smear of blood
across the tops of his hands. There was more on the paper bag he clutched in them.

“You…you… stay back!” The man glanced around, then darted out the doors.

Dom thought that was the worst thing that could’ve happened. The cashier lost his life for a presumably petty amount of money. But as the murderer left the scene, hell broke loose in the store. All the people that had been in hiding burst into action.

Now that the cashier—the emblem of order—was gone, it was free game.

A woman pushed her cart down the aisle where they crouched, using her arm to sweep everything off the shelves into her basket. Bags of snacks and chips scattered onto the floor and burst as she rolled over them.

Dom found his legs and stood, dragging Chelsea with him.
A few extra supplies wasn’t worth risking their lives. They began moving towards the exit when Chelsea stopped him. “We need to get as much stuff as we can.”

This was ridiculous. Chelsea was falling victim to the same feral sense that the rest of the store patrons were. Dom shook his head. “
No!
Listen to yourself, just because they’re acting crazy and stealing doesn’t mean we should.”

To their
right a middle aged woman shoved them aside, using the case of beer in her arms to knock them back. She was just clearing the exit when a man slammed into her. A verbal fight broke out. Things were going from bad to worse.

“We’re leaving,” Dom said. “
Now.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. They made their way back to the exit. Dom caught sight of the cashier behind the counter. Blood splattered the cigarette case behind him and was pooling on the ground. A strong metallic tang hung heavy in the air. He veered Chelsea away so she wouldn’t have to see, but he heard her gasp.

Brian had the car started before they even arrived. The second the doors closed he peeled out of the parking lot.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"What happened? I heard a gunshot."

"Someone got shot."

"Fuck, are you serious?"

Dom heard Chelsea crying softly in the backseat. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Her cheeks were ruddy. She caught him looking and turned her head.

"Dom, are you serious?"

"For fuck's sake, I wouldn't say it if it weren't true!"

Brian's mouth snapped shut. They drove in silence until they were at the apartment complex. No further incidents delayed them and the streets were clear. The chaos and violence were sporadic. Dom imagined they were breaking out here and there, perhaps sparked by one crazy person with a gun and a mission, but at the rate they were going it w
as only a matter of time before it was every person for themselves.

And the infection wasn't even close yet. That's what made him the angriest. If people worked together—or at the very least stayed calm—none of this would be happening. The cashier's brains wouldn't be splattered on the cigarette case, Chelsea wouldn’t be sobbing in the backseat, and Brian…

Well, Brian would still be Brian.

Dom slammed his fist against the dashboard, surprising even himself. They'd just pulled into
a parking spot on the street. His friends stared at him with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "It was a lot to
take."

Brian nodded. He fiddled with his keys, looking anywhere but at Dom. "It's okay. It is. I'm sorry I was acting like a dick. Let's get all this stuff upstairs, have a beer, and forget it ever happened."

"That's the best plan I've heard all day," Dom said.

Sam was worried about Lindsey, who had yet to wake up. He was more worried about Sally. The resonating anxiety was beyond anything he'd ever felt before. He tried to call 911, but he was redirected or put on hold. No doubt it had to do with the massacre at the hospital.

Lindsey left a voicemail on his phone. His jaw dropped as he listened to her explain what she’d seen, and that she was going to take Lindsey to the ER a town over. He sped all the way home, bursting in the door and running down the hallway. Lindsey was on the floor of Sally’s room, unconscious. Sally was so sick, so unbelievably sick.

They needed to get to the hospital, but when he tried to move Sally she screamed in pain. He hated to admit it, but that wasn't the worst part. The smell of her sweat was so putrid, so acidic, it made Sam vomit when he came too close. It drove him from the room. He even put a blanket under the door to prevent it from entering the rest of the house.

Sally was his life, and there he was, so weak nerved that he couldn’t stomach a bad smell to be with her. His only daughter—his
world. Guilt and embarrassment ate away at him; a bad combination, one he knew led him to make bad decisions.

Was that what made Lindsey faint? The smell? The sight of their daughter in so much pain?

Sitting at the dining room table, he dialed 911 again. Then the hospital. The hospital across town. There was no response. Sam was never great at dealing with stress like this. Lindsey balanced them out that way. She always knew what to do, what to say, and how to do it. He glanced at the cupboard above the fridge. He needed a drink. Eight years sober was about to go down the drain.

He felt his face get hot. Why did they even
have
alcohol in the house? After everything he went through to get sober, it was downright offensive that Lindsey brought it into the house.

Sam caught himself and took a deep breath. It wasn’t Lindsey’s fault. This wasn't him. It was his bad side trying to get the best of him. He was just stressed.

Instead of wallowing, he set down the phone and went to see Lindsey. He'd laid her on the couch after she fainted. It had been almost an hour.

He held his breath as he passed his daughter's room.

"Sam?"

Lindsey called his name as he entered the living room. She was sitting up, staring at her hands, which quivered. Her face was white.

"Hey, babe," he whispered. He slid next to her, setting his arm around her shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"Something is wrong with Sally.”

"Yeah, I tried calling the hospital but—"

"No. Something is
wrong
with her. Seriously
wrong
," she said, louder this time.

Sam's brow furrowed. Something was wrong with Lindsey, too. "What?"