I
don’t know many of the details, only what the news anchors told
us before the stations went down. What started out as a few
bizarre deaths up north led to a country-wide outbreak.
Death
swept across our land like a biblical plague. Entire families
wiped out in mere days. The body counts rose faster than could
be controlled. Mounds of decaying bodies were tossed in
landfills, mass graves set alight to prevent the spread of the
disease. Hospitals were overrun. All the while I stayed
close to my mother's room. I knew she wouldn’t get sick,
not with being stuck in a clean room for risk of contracting a normal
infection, but what about me? I figured the best place to be
was smack dab in the hospital if I started to feel sick.
The
government gave us hope a month ago when they released the MONE
vaccine. Our cure for an unnamed enemy. Our redemption.
They
were wrong.
The
injection that was meant to bring us salvation brought us a living
hell. The death count may have slowed but the human mutations
began within days of the drugs release. The government
scrambled to figure out what went wrong with the vaccines but it was
too late. Whatever this new pathogen was, it spread quickly through
the populace.
The
Withered Ones were born. People not alive but not entirely dead
either. They walk the streets, unblinking and unaware. The
only sound they make is a rasping moan and shuffling footsteps. A
zombie, for all intents and purposes, but nothing like we
anticipated. I think I could have handled the flesh eaters a
bit better.
That
was the beginning of the end.
Desperation
and the remaining scum of the earth rule the streets now. It
was inevitable that gangs would form, prisons would empty, and evil
would assume control, but the true fear runs much deeper. In
the early hours of the night, you are left to wonder
am
I next
?
I
suppose that is another reason why I didn’t run when things got
bad. Where can I hide when our deadliest enemy may already be
inside me?
“We
think the vaccines triggered some sort of chemical response in those
already infected with the pathogen,” Cable informs me. His
voice is lower now. His grave tone makes me want to hug myself
and crawl back under the blankets and ignore everything outside this
apartment. I tried to do that at the hospital, but the world
came knocking. “I’m not sure anyone left
alive really knows how it spread or even why. It hit so fast
that there was no way to contain it once it spread.”
“But
someone must know the true source. I mean, they have a slew of
symptoms to pick from, right?”
Cable
scratches the back of his neck. “That’s the
problem. None of the symptoms are completely the same. Some
seem pretty constant, like a fever, but it’s different for each
person. Half the time it’s impossible to know if they’ve
just come down with a cold. By then it’s too late.”
He
rubs his hands along his arm, scrunching up the black fabric. He
stares beyond me, his expression as blank as those
things
shuffling
along the streets below. “There were rumors at my base.
People were suspicious of government involvement. Terms like
population control and terrorism were thrown around. Other
people thought it might have been some crazy Middle Eastern dictator
that found a way to use chemical warfare on our food supply. Others
thought maybe there was a mole in the CDC that tampered with the MONE
drug results.”
I’d
be lying if I didn’t admit that I’d had similar thoughts
over the past couple of weeks. I wouldn’t put it past the
government to be somehow involved. Plausible deniability and all that
crap.
“But
the Moaners started showing up after we were given the vaccine,”
I chime in. “Shouldn’t that mean that was the cause
of the mutations?”
He
turns his hands upward and shrugs, shaking his head. “Could
be, or maybe it was just bad luck. The CDC was working on this
mystery last I heard, but that was over a week ago. It’s
been mostly radio silence since them. My guess is they ran out of
time.”
“Or
manpower,” I mutter, shoving my hair back from my eyes. It
clings to my cheeks, plastered to my neck.
“That
too.” Lifting his hat, Cable rubs his hair. It’s
sandy blond, like the highlights along his chin, short and probably
at one time was spiked but has since been matted down. “About
a week ago I heard static on our comm channel. Nothing unusual,
especially now, but a faint message came through that I’m not
sure I was supposed to hear.”
My
hand falls away from my forehead. “What was it?”
“The
message said ‘blood is the key.’ That’s when
the riots really began and we were called in. My guess is
someone else was listening in on that same message.”
I
rest my head back against the futon cushion. “It’s
not like that message was much to go on. How could someone take
those four words and create such chaos?”
“What
other source of hope did they have to cling to?”
“Hope?”
I snort. “How does ‘blood is the key’ bring
hope to those lunatics out there?”
“It
doesn’t, but if they want people to follow them they have to
pretend that it does.”
“So
the leaders of these gangs tell people there’s something in
blood that can save them and their brainless minions will do whatever
it takes to get it?”
“Pretty
much. That’s why they hit the hospital.”
I
frown, thinking back to the odd sounds I heard at the hospital. “Was
my attacker trying to collect my mother’s blood as some sort of
cure? If so, there’s no way gutting her would have
worked. I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure mixing
the wrong blood is a bad thing, not to mention how easily it could be
contaminated when collected incorrectly.”
“Desperation
drives people to crazy things, including what happened to your
mother. I don’t know what they are doing with the blood,
only that they are rounding up survivors for it.”
I
heard the screams on the street, knew innocent people were being
hurt, but I never dreamed they were being rounded up like animals.
The idea sickens me, but a sudden idea makes me mouth fall
open. “They’re making their own blood bank,”
I whisper.
“It
would seem so.” Cable’s hands drop to his sides, his
fingers uncurling against the floor. Color flees from his
fingers under the pressure. “They are systematically
taking out quadrants of the town at a rate faster than we can keep
up. We are low on men. Half of the guys I came here with have
turned, others were mowed down. A few are missing and presumed
dead.”
His
jaw clenches. “Before anyone really knew what was
happening, they hit every gun, pawn and redneck shop they could find
to stock up. They raided grocery stores for food and blew up a
shopping center after they depleted its resources. Then the bastards
built walls around themselves. They are shut up tight near the
center of town. I lost several good men trying to breach their
wall.”
“How
could they build walls so quickly? It’s only been a couple of
weeks.”
An
explosion rattles the window. Cable glances toward the window, his
expression grim. “Like that. They blew up entire city blocks,
downed buildings all around them. They have snipers on the
rooftops. We try to get near them and they pick us off.”
Wrapping
my arms around me, I feel a shiver ripple along my spine. “Why
not just drive a tank in here and blow them all to hell? Don’t
you have jets or something with bombs?”
“Sure.”
He shoves his hat back on his head. “We could do
that, and risk murdering hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent men
and women in the process.”
I
notice that he doesn’t mention anything about children and
figure he’s trying to gloss over that fact. I appreciate
that side step. I’ve never been one of those people who
liked seeing kids get killed in movies. It’s just sick.
Lowering
my head, I fight to ignore the growing ache in my neck. My
muscles are taut. My stomach churns as I sink a little lower.
I’m tired, more so than I ever remember being. My
mother used to brag to her friends that I was the healthiest kid she
ever met. I can count the times I had a cold as a child on one
hand. The flu hit me once every couple of years. I guess
I’ve hit my quota for a while.
“I
used to watch movies about the apocalypse,” I say, placing a
hand on my stomach. Even though it is empty, I fear another
bout of drive heaves may be in my near future. “Thought
it was kinda cool, ya know? Even with all of the death and
destruction I always saw it as a rebirth, but this isn’t life.
It’s not even surviving.”
I
fall silent, thinking over the enormity of what has been lost and its
only beginning. Things will get worse. They always do.
For
the first time since waking I become aware of the chill on the air.
Cable’s long sleeves are pulled low over his wrists. His
pants are tucked into his boots.
“It’s
cold.” He starts forward in response to my statement, as
if with the intent of tucking in my blanket but I jerk back and he
instantly falls still. “I meant it’s cold in
general. Not that I’m cold.”
He
sinks back to the floor. “They took out this section’s
power station last night. I don’t know what they are
thinking. Blow that thing up and the rest of city goes off the
grid, including them.”
I
bite my lower lip, thinking over what he’d said about them
stocking up. If anyone in this city is prepared to wait out
this apocalypse it’s them. “Maybe that’s
the point.”
“What
is?”
“If
I wanted to take control of a city, I’d go after the essentials
first: water, food, fuel and weapons. They’ve already
done that. Now if they send people running scared, they have
free reign over anything people need to survive. It’s the
dead of winter. When the survivors begin to starve or the next
ice storm blows through, people will be forced to come to them or
die.”
Cable
tilts his head to the side and I spy the hint of a tattoo rising from
the back of his collar. “Makes sense, only I don't think
there will be any dealing. Those gangs are out for blood. You
can’t negotiate with madness.”
“Don’t
I know it.” I rub the back of my neck to ease the pain.
Multiple sites along my body ache. It’s hard to
tell what pain is from my recent beating or from the fever. “Did
you lose any of your men at the hospital?”
“A
few.”
Silence
hangs between us for a time, thick and impregnable. I should
say that I’m sorry. Most decent humans would, right?
“Did
you kill that guy that attacked me?” His gaze hardens
before he nods. “Good.”
“Good?”
He brings his knees up into his chest and links his hands in
front of his laced combat boots. Splatters of dried blood cling
to the soles. “You think killing a man is a good thing?”
I
shrug, trying to appear indifferent as I tighten my grip on my waist,
desperate to ignore the tremble in my fingers. “He would
have killed me.”
“I
reckon he would have. Still doesn’t make it right
though.”
His
answer floors me. Glancing toward the door, I see his gun
propped against the wall. I don’t know what kind it is,
but it’s big and mean looking. A heck of a lot scarier
than that pistol I lost. “Why do you carry one of those
if you don’t intend to use it?”
Glancing
toward his weapon, Cable frowns and looks back at me. “Why
do you carry a gun when you have no clue how you use it?”
My
mouth drops open. “How do you--”
“I
had to put the girl down that you shot. You missed her heart by
a good half a foot. Bullet went through the top of her stomach.
She was suffering when I found her.” He clenches
his fists and looks up at me. “My guess is that you got
off a lucky shot.”
“So?”
I bristle at the accusation in his voice. “At least
I defended myself.”
“Yes,
Ma’am. You did, but that isn’t good enough.”
“I
told you, I’m not a Ma’am, so cut that crap.” I
slant my body away from him and cross my arms over my chest. “I
survived. That’s all that matters now.”
“No.”
Cable pushes up from the floor in one smooth motion. When
I look up at him I’m shocked by the deep slump of his
shoulders. His expression is slack, his eyes dull. “This
world isn’t lost until we give up on it and I’m not about
to do that.”
I
cling to the blanket, feeling exposed and wearied by this stranger’s
whiplash morals. I should feel more gratitude for his risking
his life to rescue me, but I don’t. Not right now.
Instead,
I decide to divert his attention. “Where is this place?”
“East
side of town. Not far from the river.” He walks to
a window and peels back the curtain of black plastic. Hail
pings against the window. An icy mixture streams down the glass panes
like tears, cleaning away the filth. “It’s not my
place. I had a friend who crashed here from time to time.”
“Had?”
He
lets the plastic fall back into place then turns to look at me. This
time it’s a hard, piercing look. “Yeah. Had.”
I
fall silent as he glances toward the empty armchair across from me
and quickly looks away. I can tell he’s upset. We
have all lost someone. None of us are immune to mourning,
though I’ll admit I’m better off than most. There’s
no one in my life that I care enough about to shed a tear for.
“You’ll
be safe here.” He says after a moment, visibly shaking himself.
“You need to rest up a bit before you’re ready to
move.”
“Move?”
I ask, feeling a little stupid for acting like a parrot repeating
everything he says but my head still feels too light. Too unsettled.
The quiver in my fingers has yet to fade and my stomach doesn’t
seem ready to settle any time soon. I glance down the hall and
pray that I can make it to the toilet in time if I have to.