"Look," Jeremiah said, pointing past home plate. Chain-link fences had been installed along the entire wall that separated the field from the stands. They must have been ten feet tall, bowed forward with barbed wire wrapped around the top, ensuring there was no way to climb up and over. "The most expensive stadium ever built," Jeremiah said, "reduced to a cage."
I couldn't believe this had all happened in one day. "This is bad. This is really bad."
"That's what I've been saying since the beginning."
We walked near the hospital tents to see what was going on inside. Masked doctors took blood samples from the infected as well as checked their temperatures, their blood pressure and whatever else their instruments could read. The patients all looked relieved to be getting some kind of medical attention, but there was something about the whole thing that didn't sit right with me. There was no sense of urgency to the way the medical staff moved. No compassion in the way they looked at people or handled their wounds.
It was as if they were more concerned with gathering data than they were actually helping anyone.
Maybe it was the overwhelming sight of the stadium, or the stress of the day finally catching up with me, but a tsunami of disgust hit me in the gut. My legs shook so hard I barely got away from the tents before it brought me to my knees. My skin went from hot to cold in one, spreading flash, and I heard Jeremiah say, "Brody! Brody, you okay?" But I was too busy dry-heaving in the trampled grass to answer him.
The last thing I remembered, before I fell on my side and my eyes shut on their own, was Jeremiah trying to get someone's attention from inside the tent. That and the masked eyes of that someone staring back at him, ignoring his calls for help.
The darkness pulled me down. Nightmares attacked me, visions of creatures with shadow mouths and jagged teeth. Like a boiling pot of blood I saw hands rise up from the ground and rip people apart for the shadows to eat. At some point I realized my hands were a part of the crowd, and I watched myself grab and tear and feed the shadows without any sense of remorse or pity for the screaming.
At some point, when I had fed the shadows so many souls but they still demanded more, more, I reached for another person to pull apart and turn into meat. As my hand went around her throat, I saw she was just a kid, a child of no more than six. And even though it was just a dream, a nightmare vision of a made-up person inside a fevered hellscape, I let go.
It was only a second I paused. Maybe given another second I would have grabbed her again and finished the job, that little girl, but a second was enough to anger the shadows. A hand reached up from the darkness, wrapped around my neck and squeezed it hard. The grip was tight and cold, like a block of ice had lodged in my throat, and I struggled to breathe, to shake free, to live.
I woke up choking. Struggling to suck down air, I shot up and clawed at my closed throat. After a few seconds it opened and I felt the air burn at my lungs. Even though it hurt, I sucked down great mouthfuls of air again and again, feeling the heart jump and thump in my chest and finally begin to settle.
Looking around, still trying to slow my breathing, I noticed the infected were acting even more violent toward each other than before. Jeremiah was gone, but there was someone sat to my left, and I was surprised to recognize her. It was the dirty blonde with the red eyes from the Great Hall.
"You're alive," she said, looking up at the night sky. "Just long enough to die."
My shirt was soaked with sweat and my head throbbed. I rubbed my temples. It didn't help, but my face felt cooler to the touch than it had in hours. The hospital tents were empty, and the field was suspiciously free of soldiers.
"They left hours ago," the woman said.
"How long was I out," I croaked. Swallowing felt like swallowing knives. Had I been screaming?
"About five hours."
"What...happened?"
She looked over at me with that cool, distant look. "You asked me the same question before. You wanted to know what happened to me. Now you know." She motioned to me. "I got sick. I died. I got back up."
I waited for the punchline, but none came. "Shut the fuck up," I said. "I didn't die. Neither did you. We're not..."
"No, we're not. But science hasn't come up with a clear definition of death, either. A person can stop functioning two, five, even ten minutes and still be revived."
"Sure, with chest paddles and CPR and adrenaline shots." I paused. "Wait, did you perform CPR on me? Was all this so you could sneak a kiss?" Even through her gloomy expression, I saw the start of a smile on her lips.
At the worst moment possible, Jeremiah returned. His eyes had circles around them and his color was way off. He crouched down next to us in the grass. "If we want to stay alive we need to get out of here soon," he said quietly, so no one would hear. "People are getting worse. I almost got involved in two fights on the way back."
"You look like shit," I told him.
"Glad to see you're still alive, too," he replied. The way he avoided my eyes I knew they made him uncomfortable, which only meant one thing- they were red now, just like the woman's. "I'm thinking somewhere around the dugout there might be a weak-"
The woman shushed him until two men passed us by. Their expressions were like animals, and they looked at us like they wanted a fight. Luckily a struggle near second base caught their attention and they jogged off to join the fun. "It's impossible. I told you they sealed all the exits," she whispered.
"Like I said before, there's no such thing as an impossible scenario, just a solution that hasn't presented itself yet."
The woman shook her head. I looked back and forth at them both. "Do you two know each other?"
He nodded, looking tired. "Brody, this is Alison. Alison, Brody. You were out for a while. It got pretty bad and she helped."
"Oh. Thanks for that."
"You were a delight," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's like I told you before, most of these people have been infected less than a day, but when the change comes, it comes fast. If you want to get out of here, you need to come up with a way out the army didn't think of."
Jeremiah turned to me. He smiled, waiting for me to drop the good news.
"Well then," I said, "it looks like you've come to the right asshole."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Where I was taking them was by the wall halfway between third base and home plate. Technically the fastest route there from the outfield was by cutting straight across, but we decided it was too dangerous to go through there since so many of the infected were crowded at the center of the diamond. They seemed to stick together for some reason. Not like they enjoyed each other's company, more like the movement and the sound of the others attracted them.
If I was honest with myself, it was attracting me, too. Something felt different in my head, like a voice in the back whispering for attention. I tried to pay it no attention, but I got the feeling I wouldn't be able to ignore it forever.
I decided to concentrate on my surroundings. It was getting downright creepy in that stadium, between the fist fights and the people twitching and spasming on the ground. These people were becoming Bleeders right in front of us. The only thing we had going for us was that the crowd was so large, with so many distractions, they didn't pay attention to us as we sneaked past them and along the outside wall.
As we got close to our destination, with our escape route in sight, Jeremiah collapsed face-down in the grass.
"Brody, help me," Alison whispered as she went to him. With my help she rolled him onto his side and felt his neck. His eyes were rolled back in his skull and darting back and forth.
"Is it a seizure," I asked, looking around at the worsening crowd.
"No, but his heart's going a mile a minute. I think the change is starting."
I felt anger boil up from inside. "Now? We have shit to do."
She gave me a disgusted look. "Unfortunately viruses don't wait until it's convenient to attack. He's slipping into the same coma we both did. He'll either wake up one of us, or as one of them." She nodded to two full-fledged Bleeders who were cornering some poor woman inside one of the empty hospital tents. I thought about helping her until I realized three more were headed her way. Time was very quickly running out, and now we had a six-foot-five, half-comatose guy to drag along.
Unless...
"You said slipping? Present tense?"
"His eyes are still moving. Another minute, maybe, and-"
I slapped him across the face, hard. His eyelids fluttered but his eyes stayed rolled back in his skull.
Alison was shocked. "Stop that, you'll-''
I slapped him again so hard it stung my hand. His eyes shot forward and dilated as he gasped for breath. Alison and I looked back at him, waiting to see what he would do, including but not limited to eating my face.
"Did you just hit me," he asked.
"Yeah. Want me to do it again?"
"No, I'm alright. Help me up."
I looked at Alison smugly as I gave him my hand and pulled him to his feet. She rolled her eyes at me and we got back to what we were doing before the episode interrupted us. Jeremiah ran on his own, but he was dazed. It was like watching a man on heroin try to run a marathon.
Slowly and without making any quick movements, we reached the wall I'd told them about without any trouble. While Alison kept watch and Jeremiah stood there like a drugged gorilla holding himself up against the wall, I searched for the smaller panel I remembered from when I worked there. The head groundskeeper was an older black guy by the name of Andre. He was one of the nicest guys I'd ever met, and he'd shown me more in that stadium than he ever needed to show a kid working through college, an act most guys in his position would consider a waste of time. Back then I didn't think to thank him beyond buying him a can of soda once or twice. To Andre it seemed like thanks enough.
Looking back, he just might have saved my life.
It didn't take long to find the release knob. With a pull, the wall panel came loose. I pulled down the advertisement for season tickets and set it against the wall, admiring the exposed sprinkler access.
"Bingo." I looked back at Alison to gloat. I was just in time to see a man a head taller than her run right at her. He had red eyes and his hair was matted with sweat- a full-on Bleeder. Alison's back was turned to him, and I called out for her to look out.
She almost didn't see him until it was too late. At the last second she side-stepped and the man careened past her and slammed into the wall head-first. It made way too much noise for my liking. A few heads turned our way, all of them with red eyes and blank stares. The action was drawing attention, which was the absolute last thing we needed. Luckily they didn't move.
The sweaty Bleeder got up from where he'd fallen and stumbled back to his feet with a new gash across his forehead. The skin was split open and blood began pouring down his face and into his eyes. He shook his head, dizzy and confused.
I looked back at the sprinkler access. The pipe led down into the basement where we could find our way out. Andre had told me about the time a few of the players got drunk and dared each other to climb down to the basement. He wouldn't tell me who it was, only that they took the bet, and that they won.
Escape was inches away. Helping her meant possibly giving that up, with more Bleeders starting to wake up and notice the fight. Jeremiah was no help. The sobering power of the slap was quickly wearing off and he was barely holding himself up on the wall.
The moment the Bleeder saw Alison, he forgot about the head wound and the blood getting into his eyes and everything else and went at her again. Before I could decide whether to help her or not, she surprised the shit out of me by running at the Bleeder instead of away. He hesitated a second, long enough that she slammed into him and knocked him down to the ground.
Alison fell down on top of him and began clawing at his face with her fingernails. I watched in shock as she screamed and tore at him, gouging his already bloody eyes. The attack was brutal, and on her face was the kind of expression I'd only seen on Bleeders.
That's why the Bleeder hesitated- he'd mistaken her for one of his own.
I looked over at the crowd. Two Bleeders were heading toward us, one of them with his shirt torn open, his chest field-dressed. They hadn't started running yet, a miracle I knew wouldn't last, but they were interested in what was going on.
With no time left I ran over to Alison and pulled her off the Bleeder. His face looked like hamburger and he was dancing death twitches. I asked Alison if she was alright and she nodded, so I ran back to the exposed sprinkler access and checked the way down was clear. "Come on, you first, " I said, reaching back for Alison's hand, but she hadn't moved. She was staring down at the dying Bleeder. "We need to go now," I urged.
"It changes you," she said quietly.
"What? What are you talking about?"