The APOCs Virus (3 page)

"How far down should we go?"  Ethan asked. 

"I'll know when we get there
--
" Bill was interrupted by another wail.  He ducked his head as if something were going to hit him.  

This time the sound was much closer and more desperate than the last.  The agonizing tone made his skin crawl.  Then Ethan heard something new as the noise began to fade.

 "Help me!  Please anyone, please make them stop!" 

Bill and Ethan broke from a slow jog into a run. 

"Up this way," Bill said as he started to climb a dune.  He was a black silhouette against the sand and seagrass.  Ethan scrutinized the beach then followed close behind. 

They accessed the street via an alleyway between the decrepit, decaying storefronts of Oceanview Avenue.  The streetlights were out and the moonlight failed to penetrate the empty street.   

"They're close, I can feel it," Bill said. 

"Can you sense how many of them there are?" 

"I think just three.  How bout you?" 

"Yeah  . . . wait a minute, down about a block and a half, next to that car." 

Bill squinted following Ethan's arm.  "Which one?" 

"The SUV thing.  Come on and stay on this side of the street."  Ethan said as he took the lead. 

They stayed under the protective cover of the shadows, as close to the buildings as possible.  They moved silently and swiftly, occasionally stepping over trash where looters had ransacked the few remaining stores.  Slowing, they sought cover behind a pile of garbage bags next to the curb.  Both men could now clearly make out three figures, one standing and two on the pavement across the street.   

"I can't believe we got this close," Bill said in a hushed tone,  "They're supposed to have better eyesight than you even." 

"It looks like they're kind of busy."  Ethan said, seeing two of the men holding down a girl. 

The man on hands and knees was atop the squirming woman, trying to kiss her. Another was holding her arms.  The man standing had his arms crossed, alternately watching, and halfheartedly attempting to stand guard.  The man violently thrust his hips into the woman as she began to scream again.  The man standing kicked the girl in the ribcage. 

"Shut up you bitch!"  The man yelled as the woman continued to cry and scream.  His voice seemed strange, a little too deep and electronic sounding. "You still have to deal with me after this faggot is done." 

The man on the bottom taunted; "Kiss my ass Pedro.  I'm taking my own sweet time.  This bitch is mine.” 

The distraction gave the woman enough of an opening.  She quickly rolled away with animal
-
like speed and got up on her hands and knees glaring at her attackers.

Ethan stood up, took a step forward and yelled, "Stop!" 

All four turned their heads toward Ethan and Bill. 

"What the fuck are you doing, Ethan?”  Bill screamed. 

"Come on, I think it's Sophia!”  He said as he started to run toward the group. 

"Well son of gun,  what have we here?"  The man said as he stood and zipped his trousers.  "It looks like we're going to have us a little fun tonight after all.  Pedro, you take the one by the curb, and I'll
-
-"

He never had a chance to finish his statement as Ethan, running full speed, removed the knife from his belt and threw it into the rapist's chest.  The man was propelled backward into a storefront window and fell out of sight grasping at the knife.  The second man stared in disbelief,  frozen to the pavement as Ethan launched into the air, and put his shoulder into the man's midsection.  They rolled together and then separated, both splaying on the sidewalk. 

The man picked up a shard of glass from the broken window and dove for Ethan.  Ethan barely had time to move as the glass shattered into the cement next to his head. 

Ethan's adversary moved with a catlike adroitness.  The man was on his feet and moving ominously nearer to him.  Ethan groped the litter-strewn sidewalk with his hands.  He needed to find something—anything to use as a weapon.  Never averting his eyes from the man, Ethan landed on an object.  It was a broken broom
handle.  He got up as the man lunged for him.  The splintered stick entered the man's chest and came out his back between his shoulder blades.  It made a hollow, hissing noise as it passed through him.  He fell into a broken heap on top of Ethan.   

Ethan pushed the dead weight of the man aside and slowly rose to his feet, trying to shake off his stupor.  He heard a clamor behind him and before he could spin around, he heard a gun ring out a single shot.  He felt something slam into his skull.  Ethan sensed himself falling to the ground.  Before he hit, his world faded to black.

CHAPTER 4

HOME IS WHERE THE HEARTBREAK IS 

Ethan woke staring at the night sky and felt the back of his aching head. He tried to remember details of the struggle. He saw Bill on his knees next to him.

"What the hell did you do—shoot me?"  He asked Bill.  His eyes were out of focus, but he could see his friend crouched next to him.  The street was dark and it had assumed the quiet of earlier. 

"Naw, I didn't shoot you, I shot one of her pals. She slammed you in the head with a Coke bottle, then I shot her.” He said with a gesture over his right shoulder.  Ethan could see Bill scanning the scene around them.  He watched him nervously check his gun.  Then he adjusted the sweatshirt under Ethan's neck. 

Ethan felt the back of his aching head. 
Pretty nice goose egg.  That's the thanks I get for trying to help a damsel in distress.  I guess I should feel lucky that I'm even here to complain
.

"Her pals!  I thought we were trying to save her?"  Ethan asked as he tried to move, but fell back. 

"You were trying to save her.  Like a banzai warrior too, I might add."

"For all the good it did—for her or me."

  "There is a foolish corner even in the brain of the sage."  Bill said hiding a smirk.

"Confucius?"  Ethan asked, rising to one elbow.

"Nah, Aristotle.  You didn't say anything about Greek Philosophy. I've got to give you this much though, you were kicking some serious boo-tay, that is, until she popped you one." 

"Where the hell were you the whole time?" 

"I told you, while you were playing superman I saw this guy come around the corner like a bat out of hell straight for you, so I shot him.  We're going to have to ski
dattle. Think you're up to it?" 

"Give me a second, okay?"  Ethan strained to sit upright.   The just
-
rising lump on his head pounded with his pulse and he was seeing lights swim in front of his eyes.  "How about the girl . . . did you . . .?" 

"Kill her?  What the hell did you want me to do—ask her to the Policeman's Ball?  You know policemen don't have balls." 

Ethan gathered all his nerve afraid of the answer to his next question.  He made a face like a small child taking medicine.  "Was it  . . . Sophia?" 

Bill looked straight into his eyes, shook his head with disdain and said:  "Shit no, it wasn't.  Is that why you acted so Buckeroo Bonzai?” 

Ethan didn't answer; instead, he turned his head and looked away.  Thirty-seconds of silence passed before he asked, "Why do you think she acted that way—you know, attacked me?  Couldn't she see we were trying to help?" 

"Because she had it—they all had it." 

"Had  . . .?" 

"Had the disease, you know that it makes them bug
-
nuts crazy." 

"How do you know they were infected?" 

"Holy shit, when I hit that guy in the noggin yellow shit flew all over the place."  Bill acted like he was trying to reason with a drunk.  "Plus there was a kind of buzzing in my ears.

There’s something about their physiology and mine that just doesn’t jive—either that or I’m psychic.  We better get our asses moving, it feels like this place is crawling with 'em." 

Bill helped Ethan to his feet with an arm draped over his shoulder.  They walked cautiously back to Ethan's Jeep.  They walked in the center of the street relishing in the distance from the buildings.  Every darkened window and doorway called to Ethan like a siren. It was an evil that seemed to say; "Take your eyes away for just a second, let your guard down for just a minute, life will be so easy if you're one of us."  Ethan brushed it off thinking it was just the hit on the head, but he could sense Bill's unease too.  He watched Bill's eyes dart from one side of the street to the other; the way his hand never loosened on the pistol’s grip. 

"You're feeling it too, aren't you?”  Ethan asked. 

"Yeah I'm feeling it all right."  Bill said, still distracted from the input.  "It's making me think some pretty weird shit.” 

"Like what?" 

"That place on the back of your head—well it was bleeding pretty good there for a while.  How am I to know that you didn't pick up some of that virus?"  Bill looked at him suspiciously. 

"Come on now!  I'd know if I had the disease—wouldn't I?" 

"I . . . I don't know . . ..  Let's just hurry back." 

When they got back to Ethan's Jeep, Bill put Ethan in the passenger seat and got behind the wheel.  As soon as they were past the police barricade the tension between them eased.  Bill fingered his mustache and Ethan thought he looked a million miles away. 

"At least we learned one thing tonight," Ethan said waiting for Bill to respond.  When he didn't, he continued:  "At least we know now we can shoot them if we need to." 

"Yeah, but I learned that you better get your act together about this Sophia thing or it's going to get us both killed."   Bill said.  He stared straight ahead keeping his eyes on the road. 

More silence, more miles.

"Do you want me to take you to the hospital?  Maybe see if you need some stitches?"  Bill asked, sounding more compassionate. 

"Just take me home I'll be fine."  Ethan said.  Now it was his turn to sound cold. "I'll give you a call tomorrow,” Bill said as he turned into Ethan's driveway.   They both got out of the jeep, Bill heading to his truck and Ethan toward the house. 

"Hey bud, are you going to be all right?" 

"Yeah I'll be fine, like you said I've got to do some thinking about my love life issues. Maybe this whole thing shook me more than I realized.”

“You’re just suffering from onegina.” Bill pronounced this as ‘one-gyna’.

“What are the symptoms?”

“Too many sweet fizzy drinks, too much going out to dinner, taking in a movie and the dreaded ‘I’m going to the mall with the little lady shopping for shoes’.”   

“Screw you dude, we were married for two years.”

“Quit acting like there is only one vagina in the world and it belongs to her . . . Or wait, there’s always suicide.”

“Give me a call." 

"Just remember this old chum," Bill said.  "Cicero said, ‘Every evil in the bud is easily crushed: as it grows older, it becomes stronger’.  So, before this Sophia thing consumes you, nip it in the bud dude.  Nip it before it gets us both killed.

And that's what Ethan was doing now, the next morning, thinking about his love
-
Jones, on his couch, with an aching head.

CHAPTER 5

BACKGROUND CHECK 

Ethan Bell was a retired Army Ranger, having served in the First Battalion, better known as the 1/75th out of Fort Steward, Georgia.  Ethan and Bill, as First Lieutenants one silver bar apiece, in March 2003 flew from Georgia to Baghdad.  They led a special team of elite Rangers assaulting the main airfield against heavy resistance from the Republican Guard.  Then moved on to their second objective, and did it all in under four hours.  Their leadership and abilities working together as a team was recognized and the military soon found even more surreptitious duty for them.  

Ethan was a year older than Bill, four inches taller, 50 pounds better built, with blonde hair and blue eyes.  But there was a bigger disparity between them than just physicalities; Ethan was quieter, and more serious.  Bill was one quarter philosopher, one quarter wild-man and about half full of shit.  Since leaving the Army, Ethan had worked in a bank, sold real estate, and most recently had taken up writing, becoming a relatively successful author. 

Ethan wished this could be like any other day.  A day that a year from now would be nothing but another drop in that giant pool of nondescript yesterdays.  At this point he wasn't even sure there would be a year from now.  He sat uncomfortably on the sofa watching the gray light of day cascade in around the closed blinds thinking about the love he'd lost. 

One minute he was depressed, the next he was angry.  His life seemed functionless—without purpose or a need for him to go on living.  He was tense, overwhelmed and extremely on edge.  And if he had to uncoil that gnarled spring by killing a few plague victims—no loss to anyone.  Violence was what he needed, what he craved.  To strike out against those that were turning his world upside down. 

That wasn't true.  For if he was to commit a nefarious act against the cause of his malaise, it would be aimed at his ex
-
wife Sophia.  Or against himself.  

The air was thick and heavy, stinking with the smoke of two packs of cigarettes.  Ethan bought a pack on a whim the day that Sophia moved out.  Now, he bought them by the cartons. 

As ugly as he thought the gray of this day was, he was thankful for the light.  With the blinds pulled down, windows closed, doors locked, and in the luminescence of the drab light, he felt safe.  He measured everything he did by the amount of time it took to accomplish it. 

I could go out to eat, but I'd have to get dressed and stop by the bank machine.  Then there'd probably be a line at the restaurant.  It was noon, after all.  There'll be no line there tonight at midnight.  Just try to find a place open—anyplace, he thought laughing out loud. 

Two days earlier even the 7
-
11's starting closing at sunset.  It wasn't safe to be out after dark anymore, but he didn't care.  He and Bill would have things to tend to tonight.  Bill thought he was invincible, Ethan just didn't care.