Immune Page 11

  “I kind of do. Let’s get that truck and get out.” Myron pulled down his scarf and smiled. ‘Hey! It started.”

  Beret honked the horn three times.

  Stanton laughed. Surely if there were survivors, they’d hear that horn. He brought the woman’s body to the pile, and because she was light, he hoisted her up some. As he brought her down, a hand reached from the pile and clasped onto his wrist.

  “Shit!” With a twist of his body, he swung forth his rifle and before he could pull his hand completely away, teeth seared into his hand. He felt the bones crush and the warm sensation of blood. He didn’t scream in pain, instead calling out for Myron, and shot into the pile.

  At that second all the bodies started to move.

  Stanton didn’t stand a chance. He felt the bite into his thigh, another to his forearm. He was grabbed so quickly, his reactions were limited. He fired his weapon, calling out for Myron. He couldn’t see him and didn’t know what Myron was doing.

  Too many hands were on him, pulling him, grabbing. The horrendous pain hit his stomach and Stanton knew he was done when he looked down and saw a hand reaching into his gut.

  “Myron!”

  Myron heard Stanton cry out, but he couldn’t see him anymore. One second he heard the shot, looked over at the call of his name, and within five seconds, before Myron could make it to him, Stanton was encompassed.

  Nearly every single body that lay on the street began to get up.

  Beret swung the baseball ball, but it didn’t do much good. Other than in a video game, Myron had never fired a gun. He didn’t have a clue how many shots he had.

  Instead of wasting the shots, he used the pistol as a blunt weapon, and joined Beret in pulling and hitting the Ragers away from Stanton. Their only saving grace was the Ragers didn’t attack them, they did, however strike defensively. Myron felt nails dig into his skin every time he pulled a Rager away.

  Finally, he pulled and clubbed enough of them to see Stanton. He was still alive. The Ragers were feasting on him, pulling at his insides, finding new places not eaten.

  Stanton didn’t cry for help. Eyes connecting to Myron, blood spewed from his mouth when he coughed and then said, “Don’t… don’t let me turn. Shoot me. Shoot. Me.”

  Myron stood there, hand extended, holding the pistol. It was already cocked and ready to shoot. His hand shook and Myron wanted to scream. At that point he knew he didn’t have a choice. Stanton did not deserve that death and certainly didn’t deserve to turn.

  Whispering, “Forgive me,” Myron aimed with a trembling hand and fired. The shot hit Stanton on the left cheekbone, killing him instantly.

  A collision of emotions slammed into his gut and rumbled through his body. Myron was engaged in an inner struggle, crying out in utter turmoil. Sadness, pain, anger. He fired at the Ragers until he had nothing left to deliver.

  Amidst it all and the horde of Ragers, Myron dropped to his knees.

  “Let’s go,” Beret said. “Let’s make a run for it. Now.”

  Myron couldn’t move, he folded right there, trying to comprehend what he had done. Even though it was what needed to be done, he couldn’t process it.

  “Now!” Beret shouted.

  It wasn’t Beret that motivated Myron to lift his head. It was the sound of a child’s scream, crying out for help. She was close and upon hearing that, Myron reached into the bloody mess and grabbed Stanton’s rifle.

  <><><><>

  What had gone wrong? They were moving nicely down the main road and then suddenly the streets were lined with the bodies of the infected.

  Grace couldn’t see much in front of them, only what she could make out from the window. She pulled Candice close to her.

  The car bounced as they slowly rode over the bodies.

  “There’s a side street up ahead. I’ll pull down there,” Eugene said.

  “Do that. Jesus. How did they all die?” Max asked.

  “I don’t know,” Eugene answered. “Maybe it’s over.”

  He had spoken too soon.

  “Oh, shit.” Max grabbed the dashboard. “They’re all getting up!”

  Eugene gunned it and the car jerked. An infected jumped up at the car, and Eugene jerked to the left. Bodies of the infected thumped and banged into the car as Eugene hit them, but he lost control and the car slammed hard into another car parked on the road.

  The front airbags immediately ejected. The steering wheel bag into Eugene with such force it knocked him out cold.

  The Ragers surged forward.

  “Get her out of here!” Max yelled.

  Grace looked out the back window, there were no infected there, that was her best bet. “Grab on to me and hold tight,” Grace told Candice, and reached for the door handle. An infected lunged for the car and she kicked out the door as hard as she could.

  The infected flew back and Grace, mentally keeping it together and focused, swung her daughter to her hip and ran in the opposite direction away from the car.

  Candice was heavy, but she clung tight, and while it slowed Grace down, it was safer for her daughter than running on her own.

  Grace spotted the salvation of a corner tavern. The glass on the front door was busted and getting cut by the glass or not, getting inside was her goal.

  Get inside, hide, run up the stairs. Something.

  She made it there, believing with every bit of her heart she was safe, until three infected came from around the corner.

  In trying to get to Candice, they grabbed onto Grace and Candice screamed long and loud. She had to keep any part of Candice from being exposed. From them touching her. Grace pulled Candice from her hip at the door. “Run in!”

  She prayed there were no infected inside when Candice ran through the hole in the glass, screaming the entire time. Grace bodily blocked the doorframe, holding out her arms as a barricade. She tried to see Candice but she couldn’t. Finally, her strength gave out and Grace fell through the door.

  To her advantage, the ones who managed to get inside tripped over the doorframe, and Grace grabbed the first chair she could, hitting them. It wasn’t enough.

  “Mommy!”

  “Hide, Candice, hide!” Grace’s stomach twisted and turned and she feared that the infected had her child.

  In one last attempt at victory, Grace swung out a chair, nailing an infected and breaking free.

  Crying, Candice stood behind the bar in front of a door.

  “It’s locked!” Candice cried and then screamed.

  Grace peered over her shoulder and saw the crowd coming. She tucked Candice as best as she could between herself and the door and begged that if it were the end, it would come quick.

  It was the end.

  She felt the hand grab onto her back, the nails digging against her shoulder blade and then she heard gunshots. They were rapid, not single, a couple dozen. The weight of the infected that was attacking her fell into Grace and she heard the thump as he hit the floor.

  “Are you okay?” a male voice asked. She didn’t recognize it.

  Grace turned around to see a shorter man holding a baseball bat, standing right behind her, he obviously had bludgeoned the infected that attacked her. Across the room, a burly younger man held a rifle.

  “Thank you,” Grace said breathlessly. “Thank you so much.”

  The man with the rifle stepped forward. “We’ll get you out.” He walked by her to the back of the tavern. “Beret,” he called to the other guy, “keep an eye out, it won’t be long before more come.”

  “Myron, where are you going?” Beret asked.

  He disappeared into the back and returned quickly. “Clear. I’ve been at this bar lots of times. Fire escape is out back. I’ll take them up there to get them safe.”

  “Bring the truck around?” Beret asked.

  “That’s our best bet.” Myron reached out his hand. “Come on, let’s go. We don’t have much time.”

  Candice whimpered, “Max. Mommy, Max and Eugene!”

  �
��We have friends out there,” Grace said.

  “Beret will look for them when he goes for the truck. Right now, we have to get you safe. They’ll be coming.” He reached out and grabbed Grace’s arm. “Beret, hurry.”

  Beret ran out holding his bat.

  Myron rushed Grace and Candice to the back of the tavern and down a hall. For the sake of her daughter, she followed him freely, what choice did she have?

  <><><><>

  Max was pretty certain his body couldn’t take any more. The airbag hit him in his already wounded chest, knocking the wind out of him. Of course, he was nowhere near as bad as Eugene; he was unconscious.

  With Grace and Candice physically fine in the back seat, and a clear getaway behind him, Max concentrated on Eugene, although he did believe it was going to be in vain.

  After wrestling himself from the deflated bag, Max jumped from the car to get to Eugene. He glanced only once at Grace and saw they were almost at a building at the corner of the street and then he focused on Eugene. He had to get him out of the car.

  The infected were coming, mobbing their way toward them. It was going to be difficult –if even possible— to get Eugene free when he wasn’t moving. Max contemplated fighting them off the car and leaving Eugene inside.

  Then two things happened. When he reached for the door handle, Candice screamed. The mob of infected moved down the street, blocking his view of Grace and Candice.

  If anything happened to Grace or Candice he had only himself to blame for sending them away, believing they’d be better off running when they would have been safer in the car. The infected seemed to be ignoring Eugene. Another scream, and Max apologized to Eugene, but he had to go. He had to try to help. He made it halfway to the road when he saw two men running through the mob, obviously not infected. A few seconds later he heard shots and Max hoped they had made it in time.

  He moved through the swarm of infected, trying to push his way to the building, and one of the men emerged. He moved, rushing against the grain of the horde.

  “Hey!” Max called out. “Hey! Are they okay? Are they hurt?”

  The man stopped looked around, jumped up a little, then spotted Max. “They’re fine. Heading to the fire escape out back. Come on, you can ride with me to get them.”

  “I can’t. I have an unconscious friend in the car. We were in an accident. He’s not immune.”

  “Stay there. I’ll be back and swing by with the truck. You can climb up. Just be ready.”

  Max returned to the car to get Eugene, who was groaning and coming to.

  “Dude,” Max said when he opened the door, “you are gonna have to make a run for it when I say. Okay?”

  “Grace. Candice?”

  “They’re fine. We need to get you out of here.” Max pushed back the airbag, and then moved the seat back as far as he could. “Inch your way to my door. Can you do that? We have a truck.”

  Eugene climbed over the console, wincing in pain.

  Max shut the driver’s door and raced to the passenger side. He was ready to swing it open and pull Eugene to the truck. He hoped that the truck would be safe enough for them all. He heard the deep honk of the horn and looked down the street to see a humongous red fire truck plowing his way. When he spotted the truck, Max felt a whole lot better and at ease about their chances.

  Eleven – Chicken Soup

  It wasn’t going to work. There was no way they would be able to drive directly to the school with the fire truck. The masses of recently risen infected followed them.

  They led them until a point they could safely get to the school. Even then, to get close enough to extend the ladder meant having to run down the infected that gathered. In theory, Myron’s plan was good, it only needed a last minute tweak.

  Max had an idea.

  “Oh, yeah,” Eugene said sarcastically. “This isn’t dangerous at all.”

  “You’re fine.” Max secured a belt around Eugene’s waist. He had him in the back of the school bus. Grace, Candice, and Beret waited with the fire truck.

  Max ran to the bus, turned it around, and backed up as close as he could to the fire truck, like Myron wanted.

  There were still too many infected to not only get near the school but also close the gap between back ends of the vehicles.

  Eugene had to make a run for it, catching the attention of the infected, which confirmed to Max his plan could work.

  “They are right outside this door,” Eugene said.

  Max peered out the emergency back door exit. Mob of infected hit against the door, snapped their teeth at the bus. “Oh man they want you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Look, this is our only choice right now.” He then yelled to Myron. “Are you sure you can drive this thing?”

  “Not really, but can you?”

  Max exhaled. “Who do you want holding you?” he asked Eugene.

  “He’s probably stronger, but I kind of trust you.”

  “Kind of?” Max asked, then shook his head. “Okay. Once Myron puts it in gear and pulls off, I’m opening this door. Remember I have you and will pull you back.”

  “What if they jump up?”

  “They don’t climb.”

  “They jump.”

  “I’ll give you that. We’re good though.”

  The engine revved and Myron hollered back, “I’m ready. How fast should I go?”

  “Slow enough to have them follow us and keep up. I’ll guide you.”

  “Got it.” Myron gave a thumbs up. “On my call.” Max reached for the emergency door. “Ready?” he said to Eugene.

  Eugene gripped the edges of the doorway. “Oh God. Whatever you do, don’t drop me.”

  “I’m right here. Myron, keep it straight and steady and let us know if you have to turn. I don’t need him flying out. It’ll be like I’m casting a line if he does.”

  “Got it.”

  “Go.” Max ordered, and the second the bus moved, he pushed open the door.

  It flung open nailing an infected man and sending him bouncing off to the side. Eugene shrieked when the dozen or so that were there all reached in.

  “Hey!” Max yelled out the door, trying to grab the attention of the infected. He banged the baseball bat against the side of the door. “Look!” He inched Eugene forward.

  “I’m killing you,” Eugene grumbled, dancing back and forth to avoid the hands that grabbed for him.

  The bus moved slowly down the road. It wasn’t a smooth ride, Myron hit things, cars or infected, causing the bus to jolt and Max had to grasp Eugene to keep him from flying out.

  The infected no longer made that snoring sound. They squealed like possessed pigs, hungrily reaching for Eugene, leaping on top of each other in an attempt to get to the bus.

  It reminded Max of ants, the way the insects would all lump together. They created a trail of infected, holding on, grouped together, and dragging behind the bus.

  Once one of the infected pursued something, the others followed. That was what Max had hoped for and that was what happened. Not all, but enough tailed the bus that all he needed was for enough of them to leave the school so Candice could get inside. Max wasn’t convinced that the school shelter was the best place. It was encompassed by infected. However, for Candice’s sake, anywhere was better than being in the open.

  <><><><>

  When Candice was in first grade, Grace had attended ‘Parents’ Day Lunch’ at the school. The gymnasium was also the cafeteria, bleachers were rolled back and replaced with tables with connected round seats and the lunch lady windows were to the left. When Grace walked into the shelter, it reminded her of that day.

  The Caramount School gym was the same set up. There were a lot of people there, though not as many as Grace had hoped for. Maybe forty or fifty. One row of the bleachers was pulled out near the scaffolding. Sleeping bags were on the floor, along with a few cots.

  The cafeteria tables with round chairs were set up on the left side near the lunch lady windows. A de
sk, or rather makeshift office, greeted her as soon as she walked in.

  “We don’t have much to give out,” a man named Paul said. “Blanket, a personal care package for now. We’re getting more. Please make yourself at home, we have plenty of room and are glad to have you.”

  He seemed nice enough, offering to check out the scratches on Grace’s arms and hands. She was fine and thanked him. While waiting inside the fire truck, she had found the first aid bag and cleaned and dressed her wounds.

  She was antsy for the return of Max and Eugene. Even though she had only known them a few days, they were a group, their own pack. Until they arrived, she sat down at the lunch tables with Candice.

  It looked like some of the people were practicing climbing the scaffolding. She found it odd and kept watching until an older woman approached them.

  “Newcomers, I made soup,” she said, reaching out and placing her hand on Candice’s shoulder. “Would you like some soup, sweetie? It’s not real chicken, but I think it’s good.”

  “Yes, please,” Candice nodded with a smile.

  “And you, honey?” she asked Grace.

  “That would be very nice. Thank you.”

  The woman left, returning with two mugs filled with broth and vegetables. “Eat up, we don’t know when we’ll get the fresh vegetables for soup. My Bubby loves my soup. Oh.” She laid her hand on her chest and sat down across from them. “I’m so sorry, my name is Leona. The unofficial lunch lady.”

  “I’m Grace, and this is my daughter Candice.”

  “Oh, such beautiful names. Are you two alone?”

  Grace shook her head. “We have friends we were traveling with. We got separated, they’ll be here shortly. I hope.”

  “I’m certain they will be. I’m waiting on my Bubby now. He went to play hero and get a fire truck so we won’t be trapped here.”

  “Myron?” Grace guessed, based only on the age. Beret was too old to be the woman’s grandson.

  “You know him?”

  “He saved our lives,” Grace said. “We were done. Cornered. He came in and saved us, him and the other guy.”