Authors: Charles E. Yallowitz
“You ruined my life!” Emily screams as she grapples with Cassidy. The pair struggle to get leverage on the other, the fight taking them onto the couch. “Everything was perfect. I became Mrs. Emily Tenay and we were happy. The poison would have been undone once I knew Lloyd wouldn’t run away. After that, we’d have kids and grow old together. Now it will never happen because you destroyed us.”
“The scary thing is that you’re thinking before speaking,” Cassidy grunts, her eye starting to swell from the first blow. “Give him the antidote and you can get a new husband.”
“Over my dead body,” the housewife growls, delivering a knee to her opponent’s gut. “If you kill me then Hillsdale goes boom. So take you’re scarred, ugly face and never set foot in my house again.”
“Funny thing about this scar is how I got it.”
“I’m sure it’s a fun story.”
“Nope. Just one word.”
“Which is?”
“Headbutt.”
Cassidy slams her forehead against Emily’s face, the blow making both of them dizzy. With a foot on the back of the couch, the blonde launches herself and her opponent through the front window. She uses Emily to cushion the impact and landing, both women cut by the falling shards of glass. They crash into the flower bed and Cassidy is rolled before she can pin the housewife to the ground. She receives a knee to her stomach while she blindly gropes through the dirt for something to use as a weapon. Her hand finds a large piece of glass and she flips the black-haired woman before pressing the shard against her enemy’s neck. The fight immediately goes out of Emily, who kicks her legs and screams in frustration.
“Give me the fucking antidote,” Cassidy demands. Feeling like she still owes the other woman a shot, she punches Emily in the eye. “Not that pretty any more. Must be hurting with me sitting on your chest for so long. I’ll get up as soon as you give me what I want.”
“I suggest you get off her now,” Jackman states, putting a double-barrel shotgun against Cassidy’s head. The biker pauses when a knife touches his neck and he sees Lloyd standing behind him. “Well this is an awkward situation. Guessing only one person can get out alive and I doubt it’s the man with the weak heart. How are you able to handle this excitement without keeling over?”
“Because when I’m about to kill, I get very calm,” the serial killer whispers, harmlessly drawing his blade across the gang leader’s neck. Before he can attack, a foot hits him in the groin and he struggles to remain standing. “That’s no way to treat your husband, honey. Not that you were using the equipment anyway.”
“They ruined everything, old man!” Emily screams, digging her nails into Cassidy’s jean-covered legs. When one of the decorated talons snaps off, the woman goes limp and seems to finally surrender. “I don’t want to leave my home. Everyone else ran away and now they’re dead. Nothing living is out there. Hillsdale is the only place with life. All I wanted was a family that could keep me happy.”
“Will that poison simply wear off in a day?” Cassidy asks, receiving a small nod from the other woman. Moving slowly, she drops the glass shard and gets away from Emily. “That’s why you had to keep administering it. Lloyd seems able to handle the effects, but he can sleep it off in the jeep. I’ve wasted enough supplies on this mess anyway. As long as everyone is alright with walking away from this, I say we call it a draw.”
Jackman puts the stolen shotgun in a holster on his back while Lloyd sighs and tucks the knife into his pocket. The gang leader watches the travelers the entire time he is bending down to pick Emily up and carry her to a new motorcycle. Gently placing the woman in the sidecar, he hands her a cold compress and a bottle of water from a cooler. The pair whisper for a minute before Jackman is sent jogging to where Lloyd and Cassidy are waiting to see if the fight is really over. He holds up his hands when they aim weapons at him, the paintball gun causing him to chuckle.
“Emily wants you to have this,” the gang leader says before handing a vial of liquid to Lloyd. He runs a comb through his muttonchops as he waits for the other man to drink the antidote and give the container back. “I’m not going to apologize for her, but you have to understand that people are broken these days. A man like you might not realize that since you’ve always been, with all due respect, damaged. This world is more suited to a killer like you than a woman who lost everything in the span of a month. Anyway, you two seem to get along well enough to survive, so I won’t bother to wish you good luck. God knows it doesn’t do anyone a lick of good these days.”
Jackman hurries back to the motorcycle where Emily is wearing her helmet and staring back at Lloyd. With a rev of the engine, they drive into the distance and disappear around the far corner. Not feeling rushed, the exhausted travelers get into the jeep and take a final look at the pocket of suburbia that has managed to survive the collapse. Cassidy is about to mention the Half-Dead when a phone rings, drawing their attention to the pocket of Lloyd’s hoodie. Both of them are confused on how the device is working until they notice a cell tower in the distance. It would not surprise them to learn that one of the Border Collies found a way to repair the device and make it work within the town. Not wanting the valuable item to ring until the fully charged battery dies, Lloyd fumbles with the buttons until he puts it on speakerphone.
“I’ll always be Mrs. Tenay, my love,” Emily’s voice says, her tone sounding both wounded and dreamy. The faint click of batteries being put into a remote causes Cassidy to start the jeep and slam the gas pedal to the floor. “This place was supposed to be our home and now I have to leave. So Hillsdale has to go away. Because of my love, I’m giving you two minutes to get clear of the explosion. We both know you’ll survive and one day we will be reunited. I promise to give you all of me on that day and never let you go. Ever.”
“Well I’m officially creeped out and think I’ll avoid sleeping for the rest of my life,” Lloyd says as the jeep swerves around a turn and barrels toward the town border. The vehicle passes the last building of Hillsdale and makes it down the road before a chorus of explosions shakes the landscape. “That is a very big column of fire. Pretty sure we should keep going before the debris begins falling. Think our friends made it out?”
“She did say you’d be reunited.”
“Guess we have another recurring character.”
“Speaking of you being in a story, I have something to tell you.”
“You’re too young for me.”
“Ignoring that. I found out that your old warden sent an assassin after us.”
“And?”
“We call them Half-Deads because they come from the radioactive ruins of DC and take jobs for a medicine that keeps them alive and numb.”
“Zombies?”
“As close as you’re going to get.”
Lloyd wipes a tear from his eye and finishes watching the smoking debris rain down in the distance. “You know just how to make me forget about having a crazy fake wife lurking around out there. Thanks, little bud . . . Should you really be aiming a gun at my face while you’re driving?”
The jeep gradually makes its way through the boggy terrain that surrounds the first part of Interstate 80 once it enters Indiana. Previously a lake, the area is filled with the smell of rotting meat and the buzzing of flies. Decaying corpses can be seen floating in the water or partially buried in the ground, each one showing signs of disease. The dark green and woody plants are covered in blisters that pop and spray a toxic juice at the slightest touch. Found throughout the country, the plague swamps are where those who have died of new infectious diseases have been unceremoniously dumped. The practice of stashing the bodies in one place has stopped and been replaced by incineration, but the early days of the collapse have done their damage. These regions are toxic and have been the cause of several outbreaks due to people wandering through them without protection. An attempt to burn one of the smaller plague swamps resulted in an airborne disease that nearly wiped out the entire population of Delaware before the situation was contained. These areas have become one of the biggest changes to the landscape and their only use is as a place for criminals to hide the bodies of enemies.
Cassidy is very careful as she drives along a two-lane road that is maintained by workers in protective gear. To avoid getting sick, the two travelers are wearing their own bright yellow, sweltering biohazard suits. The flow of air from their oxygen tanks does very little to cool them off, which is why they are in their underwear beneath the suits. Cassidy wishes they could use the air conditioner, but she has made sure to seal all of the jeep’s vents and windows told avoid drawing in a virus. Her foot constantly twitches on the gas pedal, the urge to race through the plague swamp tempered by visions of a slow, pus-filled death. One wrong move and the jeep would tumble off the road, leaving the travelers stranded in the middle of the disease-ridden swamp. Seeing a yellow sports car sticking out of the mire only makes Cassidy drive slower, her eyes locked on a blistered arm that is sticking out of the open window.
“I really hope we don’t run into a Half-Dead out here,” Lloyd suddenly says, startling his companion enough that the jeep moves a terrifying inch to the left. He clings to the door handle and stares at the body of a man who had climbed a tree before death. “Sorry about that. I really want to see this thing and get the fight over with. You know how the universe has something happen when you claim that you don’t want it to? I’m trying to use reverse psychology on the universe.”
“Probably won’t work if your intent is to make the thing appear. The universe can see what you’re up to,” Cassidy replies through gritted teeth. Deciding to humor her friend, she hopes that the banter will help her relax and make the tense trip go quicker. “Besides, you don’t want to meet a Half-Dead. I already told you that they feel constant pain unless they have their numbing medicine and their very strong. Rumor has it that the treatment that keeps them alive and numb acts as a super steroid, but it only happens in them. A normal human would only get a full body high and lose all muscle control.”
“If they’re suffering from radiation poisoning and severe burns then shouldn’t they have died out after a few years?” Lloyd asks, becoming serious when he senses the growing worry in the young woman’s voice. Putting some extra tape over a vent, he takes a few seconds to check the seals on his window. “I mean, this medicine has to be something new. So they shouldn’t have lived as long as they have. Maybe DC isn’t as dangerous as people think and these Half-Deads are putting on an act to keep strangers away.”
“I’ve been to the outskirts of DC and it’s a radioactive wasteland,” the blonde says, shuddering at the memory of the desolation. It had been her first job with her mom, the two of them hired to retrieve soil samples for a scientist. “Most of the originals are probably long gone, but they make new ones. For lack of a better term, they breed by kidnapping people and bringing them to DC. There might be radioactive water or something there to turn their victims into new Half-Deads. Some people think it could be blood injection too. How about we talk about something else.”
“Do they look human?”
“Sort of. They tend to be covered in rags.”
“How close would one have to be to set off the Geiger counter?”
“Depends on . . . why?”
Lloyd points at a distant figure stepping out of the plague swamp, the shadowy form originally being mistaken for a trick of the dawning light. The person is covered in ragged clothing, except for hands that are covered in sores. Four syringes are sticking out of the Half-Dead’s chest, the small needles left there during the bliss of a fresh injection of numbing medicine. Their presence warns Cassidy that this assassin is now at full strength, which makes the situation even more dangerous. Not fearing the approaching jeep, the figure walks forward a few steps before breaking into a run. With the plague swamp forcing them to stay on the road, the travelers can only move in one direction.
Taking a deep breath and concentrating on driving, Cassidy floors the gas pedal and barrels toward the charging Half-Dead. She prays the impact will be enough to kill the assassin, but she has heard of them shrugging off colliding with a bus. Even if the creature dies later, its numb body and unbreakable single-mindedness on getting medicine means it will manage to kill them first. None of that matters when the Half-Dead leaps onto the hood of the jeep and slams its blistered face into the sturdy windshield. Ragged breathing can be heard as it pounds on the reinforced glass, the noise joining the incessant clicking of the Geiger counter connected to the dashboard. Coming to a wider part of the road, Cassidy swerves the car whenever the assassin lifts its arm for a strike. She is unable to shake their enemy free, but the creature eventually slips off the side and clings to the edge of the hood.
“What I wouldn’t give for something to smash this bastard against,” Cassidy mutters, cursing when they reach a narrow part of the road. Struggling to keep the jeep steady, she nudges her head toward their stash of weapons. “Get the shotgun and blast that thing if you get an opening. Don’t argue with me about this, Lloyd. You can go slash happy on anything, but a Half-Dead shouldn’t be played with. We kill it and move on.”
“I told you that we should have traded for a chainsaw,” her friend states while trying to reach the weapon. With the blonde not paying attention, Lloyd shoves the firearm out of reach and pretends to helplessly flail for it. “Everyone knows that zombies are weak against shotguns and chainsaws. I’d be happy with the latter because I can’t get to the former. Maybe I can climb out and cut its hands off.”
“No blades!” Cassidy shouts, her eyes locked on the Half-Dead regaining its leverage. She turns on the wipers in a feeble attempt to block its next punch, the blow bouncing off the thick glass. “If you use a knife then you risk cutting your biohazard suit and getting sick. Shit, this is the worst fucking place to run into this thing. Are you sure you can’t get to the shotgun or even a rifle?”
“Too much shit in the way.”
“I thought we packed better than that.”
“Looks like the food and water shifted.”
“There are armed guards at the decontamination pavilion. That’s our only chance to get out of this alive.”
The driver’s side window seems to shatter in slow motion as the Half-Dead punches through the weaker pane. It grabs Cassidy by the sleeve and is about to yank her out of the car when Lloyd lunges across her. The jeep moves dangerously close to the edge of the road as he slams the Geiger counter into the assassin’s face. It is a solid strike to the nose, but the Half-Dead’s numb body means that the blow only earns a familiar gurgling hiss. A blistered hand shoves Lloyd away and gets a tight grip on the top of Cassidy’s biohazard suit. The serial killer dives back into the fray and snatches the syringes from his enemy’s chest. Catching the Half-Dead by one of its wrappings, he jams all four needles into the creature’s right eye. Both travelers are surprised to hear it scream in agony before it leaps into the plague swamp.
“That was fun, but let’s fight it outside of the jeep next time,” Lloyd gasps before a lock of blonde hair billows in front of his mask. “Oh shit.”
Her expression one of stone-faced determination, Cassidy drives faster as the putrid air from the plague swamp billows into the vehicle. Her face and left arm are exposed to the toxic environment, the young woman looking pale from fear. She can see the decontamination pavilion in the distance, but she knows it could already be too late. Her exposed skin itches and a tickle is growing in her throat, both of which could be symptoms of a disease or her mind playing tricks on her. Cassidy sweats as she watches the blurry corpses that they pass, each one acting as a silent image of her future unless she turns out to be extremely lucky. Though after running into the Half-Dead at the worst possible moment, she doubts the universe will cut her any slack.
“I feel like I should apologize,” Lloyd says while using a pair of tweezers to move the glass shards off Cassidy’s lap. He stops when she sticks her bare arm out the window, signaling to the distant guards that she may be infected. “Do you know what will happen? I mean, many of these diseases had cures before the collapse, so there might be a way. This is a big new world too, so we could find a mad scientist to help you. Maybe give you special bones and long fingernails or turn your disease into a superpower, which ends up driving you insane. Worst case scenario is you turn blue and have to worry about fleas.”
“That would be nice,” Cassidy replies, oddly comforted by the man’s concern. She slows the jeep to avoid crashing into the pavilion, her head swimming from an anxiety attack. “They’ll clean the car and any contaminated gear. Good thing I put the food in sealed bags, so that stuff is safe. Might lose the opened water containers though. As for me . . . I take your suit to keep myself isolated and you find out where the nearest hospital is. After that, you drive me there as fast as you can and-”
“And what?”
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“Please finish what I started.”
Before he can answer, the jeep stops and men in biohazard suits hurry to get Cassidy through the nearest door. Smoke billows out of a chimney on that side of the building, making Lloyd wonder if his friend is about to be incinerated. A brief view of Cassidy passing a window while being checked by mask-wearing doctors puts him at ease. Bringing his attention to his own situation, he realizes that a group of cleaners are shouting for him to get out of the jeep. He is quickly taken to a room to strip down to his underwear before being sprayed by a foul-smelling chemical. There he waits for someone to bring him clean clothes and the only thing he can see through the single window is a black door that says ‘Quarantine’ on it.
*****
A single route leads to the large island that has been created by strategic flooding of Lake James. Four drawbridges are along the long road to allow ships to pass through and contain any epidemics that might occur. Most of the area is covered by a forest with wooden sheds placed in small clearings, each structure stocked with medical supplies and food. The large building in the center of the island has a red plus symbol on the roof and a sign down each corner that states the place is a hospital in several languages. A simple pier with two recreational paddleboats is on the eastern shore, the vehicles not having been used in months. The island is peaceful and calm, but there is still a sickening undercurrent of tension. If one wanders far enough into the forest, they find small markers with the names of those who could not be saved. Sadly, at least half of the gravestones are marked only with a date of death because the patient passed away before revealing his or her name.
Lloyd can see one of the makeshift cemeteries through the window of the waiting room, which is on the twentieth floor of the main building. He repeatedly taps the arm of the chair with a knife, leaving a collection of marks in the wood. Only a one-armed woman and three unsupervised children are in the badly lit lobby, which is fine for the killer because he is not in the mood for human contact. The memory of Cassidy repeatedly vomiting into the biohazard suit is still vivid and clear in his mind. He rubs his arm where they drew his blood for some simple tests, the doctors assuring him that it is only a precaution. Being a suspicious man, Lloyd argued the point until he noticed that all of the staff members had gauze on their arm from getting tested every couple days.
“Can’t say they aren’t paranoid and thorough, which I can respect,” he whispers, etching the crude image of a demon with a halo into the window. A flicker of the lights causes him to pause and stare at the sliver of sun on the horizon. “Would be just our luck to find a haunted hospital and Cassidy comes out of this possessed. Then again, she might be able to take out that Half-Dead while being jockeyed by a ghost. Wait, do the blinking lights mean ghost, demon, or a half-assed electrician? I knew I should have paid attention to those episodes instead of staring at crazy babe’s rack. Priorities . . . have never been my strong suit and I’m talking to myself like back at prison. Now I want cantaloupes and baby back ribs.”
“Excuse me, sir. I’m Dr. Rufus Fornio and I just finished examining your friend,” a neatly dressed surgeon states while approaching Lloyd. The brown-haired man stops to hand some candy to the three kids, who greedily devour the snack. “Don’t worry about the specialties listed on my badge. We didn’t have to operate on your friend. You’ll be happy to know that we have her on fluids, but she has to remain in quarantine. We also have her sedated because she was having trouble sleeping.”