Chapter 2
John opened his eyes. His head was resting on his arm. He had fallen asleep on the workbench sometime during the night. He stretched and sat up.
His wife was sitting beside him. She looked awful. Her skin was pale, her eyes red.
John knew that she hadn't gotten any sleep. She had just stayed in that position all night. Holding the can of pop. Looking at the wall. Probably thinking about all that she had witnessed
.
Mr. Williams.
"Alice?" he said. He grabbed her hand and tried shaking it. He felt the liquid inside the can move. She hadn't drank much of it. "Honey?"
She didn't respond.
He shook her hand again. Then he reached over and rubbed her shoulder.
"Alice, it's me, John. Are you okay?"
Nothing.
"Can you hear me?"
John started to panic. He knew that his wife needed help, that she had gone into some type of shock. He could feel tears well up in his eyes and, no matter how hard he tried to stop them, they soon started flowing down his cheeks.
"Alice, Alice, Alice."He wiped his tears, then placed his hand back onto his wife's. "Alice?"
She didn't respond. She was stuck in a thought that he didn't think that he could distract her from.
"Alice, please."
His voice sounded strange to him in the silence of the basement. It sounded fragile, tired, defenceless. At the moment, he felt all of those things as well.
But he knew that he couldn't give up. He wasn't going to leave his wife like this. He had to try something.
"Alice," he said once more.
Nothing.
At that, the thought of going upstairs entered his mind. He could bring her something. Maybe her favourite sweater. Or, even better, he could get some photos of their family, of their friends. That might snap her out of it.
Of cours
e
, he second-guessed himself
,
that might only make matters wors
e
. They had no idea what had happened to their children or to their grandchildren. It was possible that they were all okay, but they hadn't been able to contact them because Alice had dropped the phone upstairs...
The phone
!
He'd get the phone
!
He might be able to find out a little bit more about what had happened. Possibly reach their children.
He looked at his wife again. He could hear her breathing, though even that was hard to make out. She took soft, little breaths. So much so that he couldn't even see if her chest was rising and falling. He assured himself that it was
.
It had to be.
He wiped away the rest of his tears and stood up from his chair. He didn't want to leave his wife alone, but he didn't think that he had much of a choice. He needed to get some things from upstairs that might help
.
And the phone
!
He also thought he could bring down some food. He knew that she must be hungry
.
H
e
was
.
An
d
he needed to go to the washroom.
He wondered if his wife did too. Except, right now, he didn't think that he'd be able to do much about it.
"Alice?"
Nothing.
"I'm going to go upstairs."
As he spoke, part of him had hoped that she would react to his words. The night before, she had been so adamant that he not go upstairs.
She remained still.
He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. She didn't appear to notice. John let out a sigh.
"You'll get better soon," he said. "I promise."
He got up and walked toward the foot of the stairs.
As he passed by the broken window, he looked over at it. He couldn't hear anything coming from outside anymore. It was quiet. Like any other normal day.
He wanted to look out of it, but knew that he'd be able to see more than enough when he went upstairs. He could wait.
He made it to the bottom of the stairs and stopped. His body was feeling a lot better now that he had had some rest. There were no longer the sharp pains running through him.
He placed his foot onto the first step. He'd make sure to take it slowly, hold onto the railing. He couldn't risk another accident. Not with his wife sitting in the basement, staring at the wall. Not with help nowhere to be seen.
He took one careful step after the other and eventually made it to the top. He reached out and grabbed hold of the lock. He didn't open it right away. He needed to catch his breath. Climbing up the stairs had taken a bit out of him. More than that, he needed to prepare himself. He didn't know what
-
if anythin
g
- was on the other side of the door.
He waited a moment longer. He couldn't hear any noise out there. He slid the lock free.
John let out a deep breath that took him by surprise. He hadn't known that he had been holding it. He must have been more scared than he had thought.
He grabbed the door knob.
This is i
t
, he told himself
.
Ready?
He nodded his head and turned the knob.
Chapter 3
Scooter didn't know what the hell had happened. One minute he had been on the way from his high school to his part-time job. The next, people had been trying to kill each other
-
and hi
m
. He had managed to get out of the bus he had been riding and hide underneath it.
He had spent the whole night there, watching. He had seen feet scurry past. The people that fell in front of him tore at each other's faces, ripped off arms and legs, punched, kicked, bit.
None of it seemed possible.
He had only been able to build up the courage to move once the sun had come up.
Now, as he walked through the dead bodies, blood stuck to his big boots. Corpses were everywhere. There didn't seem to be any of thos
e
things
-
the ones that went crazy - around. He didn't know where they had gone.
Probably killed themselves off
,
he figured.
He kept walking and only stopped once he got to the edge of a large parking lot. It spread out before him. He could see cars smashed into one another, bodies on the ground.
He had arrived at his work: the airport.
Scooter didn't know why he had come here. He was sure that everyone he had worked with would either be dead or turned into one of thos
e
thing
s
. But he had been on his way here, so it seemed like the best place to come.
He had thought of going home, except there wasn't much for him there. He lived in a small apartment with his family. They never seemed to hold much love for him. They probably wouldn't even know that he was missing. If they hadn't changed, that was.
Scooter made his way through the parking lot.
Not far into it, he noticed a car off to his side. The driver's side door was open. A body hung half-way out of it. A woman. He walked up to the car slowly and looked inside. No one else was inside.
The woman's face had been punched repeatedly. He could see the huge bruises above and below her eyes. Her nose was broken too, along with a couple of teeth.
The sight made Scooter sick and he wanted to get away from it. But a part of him was curious as well. He didn't want to see what further damage had been done to her. He simply wanted to know who she was, maybe why she was here.
He looked further into the car and saw a purse underneath her arm. He leaned in to grab it.
As he did, he got a better view of the blood that drenched her clothes. She smelled horrible. He held his breath and pulled the purse free. The woman's arm rose with it. Then it started to slowly lower.
"Shit," Scooter said.
To him, it looked as though she were doing it herself. He couldn't help but think that she might be coming back to life. It took him a moment to remember that this happened to all dead bodies
.
Riga-something-or-other.
He turned away from the corpse and searched through the purse.
He quickly found her wallet. A designer brand. He had seen them often enough. The women at his work had always talked about getting them. Though they had never had enough to buy anything more than the knock-offs.
He opened it.
The first thing he saw was a picture. It was a small shot of the woman and what he supposed was her family. She was standing beside a little boy seated on a swing. A man was pushing the child. They were all laughing.
The corners of his mouth raised in a saddened smile. Scooter might never have had much of a good family life, but he could appreciate it when he saw one. He felt bad for the woman and her family. He wondered if the other two had survived.
It didn't matte
r
, he quickly told himself. He'd never know if they had or not. And, for all he knew, the man was the one who had did this. Maybe he had changed and attacked his wife. It was possible. She had probably been bringing him to the airport.
What about the kid?
It didn't matte
r
, he told himself again.
He flipped the picture over and found the woman's license. He pulled it free and brought it up closer to his eyes
.
Michelle Goodmar
k
, the name read. So that's who she was.
Scooter looked back at the woman. To his surprise, finding out her name hadn't made him feel any different toward her. There were no epiphanies, no bells sounding off. He didn't even feel his throat begin to choke up. He had thought that it would have.
"Hmmm," he said. That was all.
He placed the wallet back into the purse and put it on her lap.
Nope
,
he thought
,
it didn't matter at al
l
.
*
Scooter walked to the entrance of the airport. He could have easily walked through any of the broken windows, but instead he made his way to one of the doors. He stopped before opening it. He couldn't help but think that that it was a bad idea to go inside
.
What if thos
e
thing
s
were there? How would he escape
?
He really didn't know why he wanted to go in, anyway.
He supposed that there was food inside. But there was food everywhere. All he had to do was go to a convenience store and grab a bag of chips. There was even food in the cars. He had never realized how many people snacked while they drove. He had managed to find cookies, donuts, pizza - pretty much everything.
So why was he here?
In answer to his own question, he shrugged his shoulders. He didn't know why he was here. He simply was
.
And since he wa
s
, he reasoned
,
he might as well see what was inside.
Scooter pulled the door open. His boots crackled on the broken glass and caused him a moment of alarm. Everything had been pretty quiet up until that point and the noise sounded strange
.
Out of place
.
He hoped that it wouldn't bring about any of the creatures.
He paused and waited. Nothing came. He figured that he was safe for the moment.
He pulled the door open further and walked through.
The airport was a mess. He hadn't expected it to be clean. But he hadn't imagined it to be this bad. There were bodies everywhere. The nice marble floors were covered in blood.
Scooter stopped and thought once more about turning back around. That's what made the most sense. Turn, leave this place, never look back. He had no idea what he hoped to find, anyway. Yet something wanted him to push on.
It'll be okay
,
he told himself
.
He could always leave whenever he wanted.
His boots trampled through the blood, the liquid sucking against them every time he took a step. It sounded like he was walking through mud. And he did his best to think of it that way.
He felt the urge to call out to see if anyone else was around, but he knew that that wasn't a good idea. There might be survivors, but there might also be thos
e
thing
s
. He didn't want to have to fight one of them. He had seen the damage they could do. Sure, Scooter had had his share of tussles. Though he wasn't much of a fighter. He usually lost. This time he didn't think his attacker would stop once he hit the ground and cried for mercy.
He kept quiet and made his way further into the airport.
As Scooter entered the main hall, he hunched his shoulders and lowered his head. It was the best he could to to make himself smaller, less conspicuous. He didn't want to be seen. Not by one o
f
the
m
. He wanted to see what he could find without drawing any attention to himself.
He continued to walk through the blood, looking for any signs of life.
Everyone was dead as far as he could tell. There was no movement coming from any of them.
He stopped and looked at a man who had had his throat ripped out. Blood pooled underneath him.
Then he heard a noise.
At first, he had thought that it was a cry for help. Not from the man. He wouldn't be doing any calling out in his condition. But from somewhere else in the airport.
Scooter turned to look in the direction it had come from. He listened again.
It didn't take long for him to realize that it wasn't a cry for help at all. It was one o
f
them
.
And it was coming toward him.
Scooter looked back at the way he had come. He thought of running to the entrance, but it was too far
.
He didn't think that he'd make it in time. He wasn't the fastest person around on the best of days. With his heavy boots and the thick blood, he'd be that much slower. He might even slip. He wouldn't risk it.
Instead, he needed a place to hide. He searched for one.
Almost as soon as he started, his eyes fell upon a coffee stand. It was off to his side. Just a little. Close enough to get to quickly.
He stood straight and ran, his arms pumping up and down beside him. He could hear the slopping sound of his boots.
He heard the creature again too. Its screams were getting louder, which meant that it was getting closer.
He took a few more steps, then dropped behind the coffee stand. He pushed his back up against the counter and waited.
The creature came nearer.
Scooter wondered if the creature would be able to smell him, and hoped that it couldn't.
His next thought was to look for something to protect himself with. A knife possibly.
He looked on the floor around him and came upon a spoon. It was the best he could find. He grabbed it and held it tightly against his chest. It wouldn't do much against one of these things, but it had to be better than nothing.
I
t
ha
d
to be.
Scooter waited. The screaming continued.
He could hear footsteps now running near him, pattering against the ground.
He squeezed the spoon tighter in his grasp. He couldn't believe that this was all he had to defend himself.
He didn't feel all that good about his hiding place, either. It didn't offer much protection. A cabinet filled with pastries and cakes. A few chairs.
What the hell am I doin
g
? he wondered
.
I shouldn't have come in here. I should have turned around when I had the chanc
e
.
When the footsteps stopped, so did the screaming. Scooter could tell that creature was on the other side of the coffee stand. He could hear it breathing. There was a crackling sound as well that must have been grinding teeth.
Scooter tried his best not to make any noise, though what he really wanted to do was scream and run.
Stay calm. Stay quiet.
He felt himself jerk once the creature started screaming again. He was sure that it had found him and was going to attack. He squeezed the spoon again and waited.
He waited longer still.
The creature's footsteps sloshed along the bloody floor. But they weren't coming toward him. They were running away. The screaming began to fade as well.
Within seconds, it had gone.
Scooter thought about getting up, but he couldn't get himself to move. He wanted to, only his body wouldn't listen.
"Come on," he told himself. He had been lucky that the creature hadn't found him. But that didn't mean that it wouldn't if it came back. "You can do it."
He placed his hand onto the ground and pushed himself up. Not completely. Instead, he peeked over the countertop for any sign of the creature.
He couldn't see it anywhere.
He stood.
His breathing was ragged as he turned to look at the entrance
.
He needed to go to it and get out of here as fast as he could
.
Though, once more, he couldn't bring himself to do it. For whatever reason, he wanted to see inside the airport. Maybe he wanted to find some of his friends. Maybe he wanted to see if there were any survivors.
He turned his back to the entrance and walked further into the airport, placing one foot in front of the other, slowly and quietly, as he made his way.
*
It wasn't long before Scooter came upon a narrow corridor. As with the other ones, it was covered in blood. Bodies were everywhere before him. He tried his best to avoid them.
He couldn't do anything about the blood. His feet slurped through the wreckage. Where there wasn't blood on the floor, his boots left tracks of red behind him.