Immune Page 3

  “If we had more time we would be able to test and see if people are carriers.”

  “What do you mean more time?”

  “Take a look around, Paul,” Madeline stated. “We’re out of time. It’s over.”

  Madeline’s words stayed with him and he actually debated on sticking around. The scientist in him wanted answers and wanted to help, but the man and human in him wanted to live.

  Paul went home, packed what he could, gathered food and supplies and a baseball bat, and left his house.

  He tried calling Madeline and there was no answer. He couldn’t with a clear conscience leave without staying anything.

  By the time he left the house that evening, he realized he could possibly get out of the city. It had quieted down. No one was around. Either people were staying inside and safe or they were sick.

  Madeline lived not far from Paul in the suburb of Mount Hallow. He lived in the neighboring community and drove over to her home without incident.

  Her lights were on, and her car was in the driveway.

  Paul rang the bell several times and knocked. There was no answer. He looked in the front window, spotted her asleep on the sofa, and then tried the door, which was locked.

  He walked around to the back and tried the sliding door. Fortunately, that was open and as soon as he stepped inside he heard that eerie sound.

  Before visiting the museum he would not had thought twice about it, but hearing the deep steady sound sent fear into Paul.

  It sounded like a large man growling and snoring at the same time.

  He reached into the kitchen drawer, grabbed a knife, and headed to the living room.

  “Maddy?” he called out.

  Madeline didn’t move.

  He thought about leaving, not saying a word, but he had to know.

  He inched closer, knife ready in case she attacked, and called her name again.

  The ‘snore’ sound did not stop, but Madeline opened her eyes.

  They were void of all color. She twisted her neck left to right, then stood up.

  Her left leg shook, as if her body was apprehensive about take a step. She moved slowly, trying to find a balance. Her head bobbed side to side, looking around.

  She paused at Paul and looked right through him. Madeline opened and closed her mouth several times. He could hear the clack of her thickened tongue hit against the roof of her mouth. Then Madeline walked by him.

  It broke his heart to see her like that. He gripped that knife tightly, truly thinking of putting her out of her misery, but he couldn’t. No matter how easy the movies made it look, it wasn’t. No matter how deathlike the person appeared, they were still a friend. There was still love and a connection.

  He reached out and touched her and she didn't respond. Softly, he said his goodbye, and walked away.

  For as much as it bothered him, Paul discovered another thing at his friend’s home. Paul had learned that, more than likely, he was Immune.

  Whether that was a blessing or curse, remained to be seen.

  <><><><>

  Fight 4772

  Two hours and ten minutes after takeoff from Los Angeles, the co-pilot told Captain Eugene Lewis that he was ill. In fact he looked really bad. His forehead was sweaty, eyes dark, and when Eugene reached over to touch him, the co-pilot’s skin was on fire.

  He thought about moving him to first class to make him more comfortable then nixed that idea because he didn’t want to put the other passengers at risk of infection. Not a few minutes later, the head flight attendant called for the captain.

  “Something is wrong,” Stacy said. “We have about forty percent of our passengers who got sick right away. I don’t know if it was something on the plane, but they’re fevered and ill.”

  Eugene took a moment to close his eyes and think. “The co-pilot is sick as well.”

  “What is going on?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll radio to see where we can land.”

  Eugene returned to his pilot’s chair, and made the radio call out. The first tower that answered denied him the request to land. The second request was denied as well.

  With the co-pilot getting worse, he strapped in his friend, covered him with a blanket, and Eugene diligently made calls.

  With repeated denials to allow them to land, he finally got angry. “I have a plane full of sick people here!”

  “Yes, well, understand 4772, we have a country full of sick people too.”

  What?

  What did that mean?

  Eugene instructed Stacy to go online to see what she could find out and he kept trying. Four hours into the flight, he stopped getting responses from any of the towers.

  It had been a while since he’d heard from Stacy and Eugene was worried. They were to land in New York in less than ninety minutes.

  Putting the plane on autopilot, Eugene went to investigate.

  <><><><>

  Twice Max Ryker woke up during the flight. He was exhausted and hurt. He just needed to sleep. The flight attendant woke him to see if he needed anything, Max downed a glass of water.

  The woman next to him had an odd, medicinal smell. She looked pale and was snoring as she slept.

  Max honed in on the white noise and went back to sleep.

  The second time he woke up, a scream jolted him. He didn’t think much of it, because the plane was quiet. It was probably one of those subconscious sounds that enter dreams. He kept his eyes shut, trying to fall back to sleep when he noticed his lap was wet.

  He could feel the warm dampness on the front of his jeans. Max cringed.

  Tell me I wasn’t sleeping so hard I pissed myself!

  He reached down and touched the abundance of wetness. It was on the blanket as well.

  Great.

  As he opened his eyes, he felt something hit his lap. Had a bag fallen on him?

  Max sat up, his eyes widened, and he immediately sprang up, banging his head off the roof.

  Stacy, the flight attendant was wide eyed, her head resting on his lap, her body stretched across the other seat while the woman who had been seated next to him hungrily indulged on the contents of the flight attendant’s gut.

  It wasn’t piss on his lap, it was blood.

  There was blood everywhere.

  Max finally stood and Stacy rolled to the floor.

  Gurgling, the woman next to him peered up to Max and sneered at him with a look that seemed to say, ‘Fuck you for tossing my dinner to the floor.’

  The strange and horrific occurrences weren’t only happening in his row. From what Max could see, it was all around.

  It wasn’t happening.

  It had to be a dream.

  Maybe it was.

  Wake up. Wake up!

  He climbed over the cannibalistic woman into the aisle. The white noise and engine sounds were drowned out by the steady buzz of snore -like breathing, coming from everywhere.

  Max felt like he was in some sort of Night of the Living Dead dream. That was what they looked like, moving corpses. Had they not been making that sound while trying to breathe, Max would have been convinced they weren’t alive.

  He looked back into the coach section. Some passengers were wandering up and down the aisle, but there were as many bleeding and dead passengers as there were ones who looked like snoring woman.

  Snores, gurgles, some sort of clucking sound. Half-eaten bodies dangling from seats with looks of horror frozen on their faces.

  He turned, and that was when he saw Stacy the flight attendant sit up.

  Oh, no, Max thought. Now I know she is dead.

  Then Stacy did that snoring breathing. Corpses don’t breathe. Stacy reached down and ripped the eating woman from her, they then engaged in some sort of brawl.

  Max’s first thought was go to the bathroom and stay there. Then again, what difference would it make? They were probably going to crash.

  That was when he saw the pilot emerge from the cockpit.

  Eyes wide, looking h
orrified, the pilot backed up.

  “Hey!” Max called out.

  The sound of his call alerted those in first class and at that second, every single one of those ‘things’ lunged for the pilot.

  The pilot quickly jumped back and slammed the door.

  The things didn’t stop.

  Max needed to get into the cockpit. He wondered why, when he called out, those things only chased the pilot.

  There were about fifteen of them, relentlessly pounding at the cockpit door.

  Max whistled and shouted. “Hey, over here!”

  They stopped, looked, then returned to the cockpit door.

  “You’re shitting me, right?” Max shook his head. He made another attempt and called for them again. Only that time, they all turned and in a split second, blasted full speed his way.

  He was done. Doomed. He was about to dive to his right when he heard the woman’s scream behind him.

  With a quick turn of his head, he saw another flight attendant in the back of the plane, she stood by the bathroom. Every single one of them barreled right by Max toward her.

  Max couldn’t see if she went back into the bathroom or if the ones in coach got her, all he knew was he had a clear path to the cockpit.

  He quickly opened the bathroom door, grabbed the beverage cart, and formed a fast and weak barricade.

  He knocked on the cockpit door. He only had a few seconds.

  Come on, he thought. I’m not one of them. He waved his hands frantically at the camera. Shouting was useless, the pilot wouldn’t hear.

  He kept looking over his shoulder. Some of them were making their way back.

  At the point he felt doomed, the cockpit door opened, Max jumped in, and the pilot slammed it behind him.

  “Thank you for opening the door,” Max said gratefully.

  His feeling of safety was short lived.

  The co-pilot, strapped to his seat, reached out, his mouth making that clucking sound as he bit at the air.

  Max jumped back. “Holy shit!”

  “Yeah,” the pilot replied, out of breath. “Any ideas?”

  “Where’s your cockpit gun? Do you have one?”

  “What! First, that’s murder. Two, you can’t fire that in here. If you compromise the shell of this plane we are going down.”

  “I can take him out without compromising the cabin. Look at him,” Max argued. “This isn’t the man you knew hours ago, is it?”

  “How can you be so callous?”

  “Take a look out there. Look what others like him did to your passenger manifest, dude. Give me the gun.”

  After some hesitation, the pilot pulled out the revolver.

  After taking it, Max looked around the cockpit, saw a box of tissues, and shoved some in his ears. “Cover your ears,” Max instructed, then placed the revolver to the co-pilot’s head.

  The co-pilot didn’t react to the weapon, though he still reached for the pilot.

  “Why isn’t he going after you?” the pilot asked.

  “I don’t know.” Max was certain firing that gun would have been easy, but even with the co-pilot looking as frightening as he did, and acting violently, it was hard. Max closed his eyes, said a prayer, double checked to make sure the revolver was flush against the forehead of the co-pilot, then turned slightly away and pulled the trigger.

  In the closed in space, despite their clogged ears, they still rang.

  The co-pilot slumped, and Max undid the belt. His dead body nearly rolled from the seat, Max caught him and placed him on the floor.

  He stood, his body aching from his wound, and Max groaned.

  “You hurt?” the pilot asked.

  “I’m fine. It was before the flight.”

  “I saw that.” He took his pilot’s seat and stared out.

  “I’m not this cold.” Max moved closer. “This is just …what is happening, Captain?”

  “Eugene. Call me Eugene.”

  “I’m Max.”

  “Something, some epidemic is out of control below. I’ve been trying to land for hours. No one is out there, no one is responding now.”

  “That can’t be.”

  “I’m telling you, I’ve …holy shit!” Eugene grabbed the control yoke, pulled back hard, banking the plane.

  Max flew sideways when the plane did. He saw through the windshield as another plane shot by them on a downward spiraling course.

  Caught up in the tailwind, the plane shook, and Max grabbed for anything to keep from being tossed.

  It was the longest few minutes of his life until Eugene got the plane under control.

  Hating to do so, Max took a seat in the blood soaked chair that belonged to the co-pilot. Processing everything that was going on was pointless.

  There was no way to process it.

  Eugene exhaled. He was clearly shaken and fought to stay in control. “That was close.”

  ‘Did that plane just fall from the sky?”

  “Yeah.” His hands gripped and released the yoke. “Are we the only ones alive?”

  “There was a flight attendant. She may still be alive in the bathroom. What do we do?”

  “We have a couple more hours of fuel left. It could take us to daylight, then we have to land.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere we can at this point,” Eugene said. “Does it really matter?”

  <><><><>

  Pittsburgh, PA

  It had been a long day and even longer night. Grace’s six year old daughter, Macy, was so sick with the flu, she didn’t want to get out of bed. Her husband Scott tried to pretend he wasn’t sick, but Grace saw it on his face. He was drawn and pale and coughed a lot.

  The telephone call from the health department told her that something serious was going around, the rumors of the flu were true. They assured her everyone was going to be fine, it was just going to be a few days of hell.

  Their exact words.

  Neither Macy nor Scott ate dinner, and shortly after sundown, the power went out. It was cold and that made it hard for Grace to sleep. When she finally did, she was woken by Scott’s snoring.

  Exhausted from her second night without sleep, Grace groaned.

  “Honestly, Scott?” she blasted. “I know you’re sick, but…” She huffed. She didn’t want to show a lack of compassion but it was hard. He was on his side with his back facing her and Grace nudged him. The snoring didn’t stop. “Oh my God.” She covered her ears then opted for the living room. She sat up on the side of the bed. It was freezing in the house, her fingers felt like ice. She tried the lamp and found the power was still off.

  “Mommy?” Candice, her eight year old stood in the door, calling softly.

  “Hey, sweetie, why are you awake?”

  “Macy is snoring loud. Like Daddy.”

  “How about we go cuddle on the couch?” Grace suggested.

  Candice nodded.

  Reaching back, Grace nudged Scott again. He kept snoring. Grace stood and walked to the doorway.

  “Daddy’s up,” Candice said.

  Grace looked over her shoulder. Scott sat up on the side of the bed, his back to them.

  “He has to be sleeping. He’s still snoring.”

  Scott stood.

  Grace thought it was funny and chuckled. “Look at Daddy sleepwalking and snoring. Scott,” she called, “go back to bed.”

  Scott turned.

  Grace saw it then. The look on his face, the coloring, something was wrong. Seriously wrong. She grabbed onto Candice as Scott lunged full speed, over the bed and toward them.

  Candice screamed. Grace was quick. She slammed the door, holding the handle.

  “Mommy!” Candice cried. “What’s happening to Daddy?”

  It was taking everything Grace had to hold that door. Her heart raced, she couldn’t breathe. Her feet were firmly planted and it was a tug of war at the door. “Run in the bathroom! Now!”

  “Mommy.”

  “Now!”

  Candice backed up, crying
.

  Knowing she couldn’t hold the door much longer, Grace looked over her shoulder to Candice. That was when she saw Macy at the other end of the hall. “Grab your sister.”

  Candice took one step toward her little sister and Macy, making that sound, ran at Candice.

  Grace didn’t know if it was instinct, or if Candice had gotten a good look, but whatever it was, she didn’t go to her sister. Candice ran for sanctuary of the bathroom and slammed the door.

  Macy flung her body at the bathroom door. In temper tantrum mode, she slammed her hands against it and kicked rapidly. Grace could hear Candice screaming on the other side.

  Then her grip gave up and the bedroom door flung open. It knocked Grace off balance and Scott, arms wide, stepped right over her and ran for the bathroom door.

  Why were they going after Candice?

  If Grace didn’t do something, Scott and Macy would knock down the flimsy bathroom door.

  That was her child in there, crying and screaming in such fear, Grace could feel it every time she called her name.

  The first one she had to stop was Scott, he was sick with some sort of infection that was making him maddened. Knocking him out was her first thought as a solution. She ran into the bedroom, grabbed his bowling trophy from three years earlier, and raced up to Scott from behind, hitting him in the head with all she had.

  His body teetered, but after a second, he continued again at the door though with less force. He was injured. Hating to do so, she hit him one more time and Scott dropped to the floor.

  A sob crept up her chest. She wasn’t about the hurt her daughter. She couldn’t. But knowing she was much bigger, using both of her arms, Grace snuck up on Macy, wrapped a hold around her and lifted her.

  Macy kicked and thrashed as Grace pulled her from the door. She was driven by her desire to get to her sister.

  It was a battle, all thirty-five pounds of her was out of control. Grace carried her a few feet to her room, took her inside, put her in the closet, then before Macy could get out of the closet, she pulled the bedroom door closed and locked it.

  Macy always had a hard time unlocking that door. Grace was confident she was secure in there.

  Scott was still on the floor outside the bathroom, though for how long remained to be seen. He wasn’t dead; he was still doing that snore breathing. After running to the bedroom and grabbing her phone, Grace called out quietly to her daughter. “Candice, open up please.”