Pathogen - Chapter 12

In a state of near panic, Aaron rushed down the stairs. He didn’t think the zombies knew they were here, but he wanted to make sure everyone knew they were out there. Almost tripping down the stairs, Aaron stumbled into the kitchen.

Cliff was stuffing the bags of provisions into the basket when Aaron burst onto the scene. It was plain for Cliff to see the look of panic on Aaron’s face. “Are they out there?” he asked with a grimace.

“Yeah,” Aaron nodded, “Where’s Grace and Steve?”

With a tilt of his head, Cliff indicated the door their friends had gone through. Not wasting a second, Aaron immediately pushed his way into the garage. He found Grace and Steve unloading the fridge.

“Want a beer?” Steve offered with a grin.

“Zombies,” Aaron hissed.

The smile vanished from Steve’s face. “Where?” he asked.

“They’re out on the street,” Aaron explained, “Lots of them.”

Grace had a pair of beer cans in her hands, which she set down on the workbench. She wondered aloud, “Can we take them?”

“No way, man,” Aaron shook his head to the negative, “There’s way too many out there.”

Chewing on her lip, Grace considered their situation. If the zombies were on the street, it wouldn’t be safe to run to the car because they’d have to cross the street to get there. She didn’t like it, but they’d have to wait for the zombies to pass by. She said as much as Cliff stepped into the garage.

“What if they don’t pass by?” he interjected, “We should come up with a plan, just in case.”

Steve spoke up first, “Running away seems like our best bet.”

“We take Vernon and hightail it out of here,” Grace agreed, “But how are we going to get to the car with all those freaks out there?”

Aaron withdrew the gun from his pants, “Shoot ‘em in the head. Between my gun, your rifle, and Cliff’s shotgun, we could fight our way to the car.”

Steve looked over to Cliff. “Where is the shotgun,” he wondered aloud.

Startled, Cliff had to think about that. Looking back, he remembered setting it against the house when he gave Aaron a boost upstairs. He’d completely forgotten about it, and felt foolish for leaving a gun out in the garden.

“It’s outside,” he muttered with downcast eyes.

An audible clap was heard as Grace buried her face in her palm. “You’re really, really bad at that,” she pointed out, “First you left the frying pan in the truck surrounded by zombies, and now your gun’s out with them when we need it in here with us.”

“Hey now,” Cliff retrieved the telescopic baton from his back pocket, “I’ve still got this with me.”

Aaron shook his head before announcing, “We’re boned.”

“We are not boned,” Steve rounded on him, “We’re just in a tight scrape is all. We’ll hunker down here and wait out the zombies. Then we’ll take our supplies to Vernon and drive out to Breakwater Point. We’ll be safe there, someone will come along to rescue us, and everything’s going to be fine.”

“You think so?” Grace snapped, “Who do you think is going to rescue us? What if they’re all zombies and we’re just going to be on the run for the rest of our lives until we’re murdered by flesh eating creeps?”

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but stopped himself short. He thought he heard something and ushered everyone to silence. Everyone stood quietly, muscles poised to do something even though they didn’t know what. A moment passed before Steve heard the noise again. It was a footstep, the noise of flesh scraping against the asphalt of the driveway outside. It was several seconds before they heard it again, coming towards them.

“Game over, man,” Aaron whispered.

“Shh,” Grace shushed him, even though his voice was barely audible.

The unsteady footsteps outside stopped at the garage door. All eyes and ears were trained on the door, waiting for something to happen. A full minute passed before they heard the footsteps again, this time wandering around the side of the house.

Cliff let out his pent up breath. “We can’t stay here,” he reasoned, “There’s no way out of this room if they get in.”

“Well, what do you want to do?” Grace asked, still whispering in case the zombie without heard them.

“Upstairs,” Cliff explained, “We can get a better look from there, and they’ll have a harder time seeing us through the windows. Plus, there’s only one way up, and we can run out a window on any side of the house if we need to.”

Aaron thought about that plan, “I’m not crazy about jumping out a window.”

“I’m not saying we have to jump,” Cliff argued, “Just that we can if we need to.”

“I’m with the plan,” Steve weighed in, “Let’s gather up our supplies and haul them upstairs. Quietly, if you please.”

Together they packed up what they had. Grace stuffed the three bullets she’d found into her pocket while Steve snatched up the wastebasket he’d put the medicine in. Seeing the bottled water in the still opened fridge, Cliff reached down to grab a couple. Aaron crept out into the kitchen and tried to hoist the basket of groceries, mindful that the wheels might make a sound. It was too heavy for him, however. Cliff emerged from the garage presently and gave him a hand. Together they brought the heavy basket upstairs while Steve followed behind with the wastebasket. Grace was the last one up the stairs, ears pricked for a sign of danger outside.

No sign of danger was found as the gang summitted the stairs. Aaron and Grace took up positions at the window, trying to stay out of sight but still keep an eye on the street. Meanwhile, Steve and Cliff busied themselves by transferring the medicines from the wastebasket into the rolling basket.

Cliff held up the toothpaste against his scrutinising gaze, “Is this all you were able to find?”

Steve nodded, “Yeah, there wasn’t much useful here.”

“Still, no toothbrushes?” Cliff continued, “You thought it was a good idea to take the toothpaste, but what are we going to brush with?”

“There was a toothbrush,” Steve explained, “I just didn’t figure you’d want a secondhand one that you had to share with your buddies.”

“Good point,” Cliff admitted, “I guess we can brush with our fingers or something.”

“How can you guys talk about brushing your teeth when there are zombies out there?” Grace interrupted.

“Yeah,” Aaron joined in, “It’s the apocalypse now, you don’t need to brush anymore. It’s like a party out there.”

“What I meant,” Grace explained with a sidelong glance at Aaron, “Is that there are more important things to worry about at the moment.”

“How’s it look out there?” Cliff asked.

Outside the fog had lifted ever so slightly. Aaron’s earlier estimate of dozens was accurate. The number of walking dead outside was pushing close to a hundred. They were still passing through the street in a disorganised mob, but there was no telling when they’d disperse completely.

“Pretty bad,” Aaron assessed.

Grace nodded, “No kidding.”

Another wave of nausea passed over Steve. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he announced.

“Really?” Grace questioned, “Now’s the time you want to go to the bathroom? Didn’t you just go?”

Steve didn’t answer her. He simply stood up and rushed to the bathroom, closing the door shut behind him. A moment passed, and the friends heard him heaving into the toilet. Awkwardly, the three friends listened to him be sick for a minute or so.

“Do you guys think Steve’s going to be okay?” Aaron asked.

“I’m pretty sure ‘puke your guts out’ is just an expression,” Cliff answered.

“He’s sick,” Aaron shook his head, “What if he becomes a zombie?”

“What?” Cliff asked, “You’re crazy, man. Steve’s no zombie.”

“Not right now,” Aaron admitted, “But what if he becomes one?”

Cliff argued, “But people don’t just become zombies. You have to get bit by one.”

“Then what about the first zombie?” Aaron pointed out, “If you can only catch it by being bit, then where’d the first one come from? Or that kid in the DepartMart. He was sick, then next thing you know he’s chewing on his mom’s face.”

“Fuck,” Grace neatly summarised.

Cliff shook his head, “No way. Steve’s going to be fine.”

“You betcha,” Steve said from the doorway.

His friends practically jumped at the sound of his voice. They weren’t expecting him to be standing there. All of them were ashamed that they’d been talking about their friend behind his back. Steve didn’t make a big deal about it though. He just walked up to the window to have a look outside. The zombies were still milling around outside, but there didn’t seem to be as many of them out there.

Stepping back to the wall opposite the window, Steve slid down to sit against it. He’d heard his friends talking about how his illness might be related to the zombies, and the notion scared the hell out of him. Desperately, he tried to convince himself it was just the flu making him ill, but now he wasn’t so sure. It seemed so much more likely he’d become one of those monsters outside.

In the next room, he heard the zombie snarl. Norm Withers was in a bit of a mood, it seemed. But at least Mrs. Withers had stopped crying. He tried not to think that he might be like that zombie tied to a chair when a thought popped into his head.

“Hey,” he addressed his friends, “How do you suppose Mrs. Withers got Mr. Withers tied up?”

“With rope,” Aaron answered, misunderstanding the question, “I saw him in there myself. Tied up with rope.”

Steve fought the urge to call Aaron a moron, but instead rephrased his question, “How was she able to do it? A zombie wouldn’t sit still and just let you do that.”

Cliff considered that a moment, “Norm wasn’t a zombie when she tied him up.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Steve nodded, “But why tie him up?”

“Why does anybody tie somebody up in the bedroom?” Grace answered with another question.

“Gross,” Aaron chimed in.

“There was a zombie outside,” Cliff recalled, “It was dead. Again, I mean. Maybe Norm tangled with it and got bit?”

“Then Mrs. Withers, who either heard about the epidemic already or else has seen a bad horror movie before, decides to tie up her husband just to be safe,” Steve postulated.

“Maybe he was sick, she took out the zombie, then she put two and two together and tied him up,” Cliff suggested.

“I think you guys are discounting the bondage angle,” Grace noted.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter,” Steve said, resting his head back against the wall.

“We could ask Mrs. Withers,” Cliff suggested.

Grace shook her head, “I don’t think she’ll be very forthcoming with us.”

Aaron was looking out the window, and had seen that there were almost no zombies on the street at the moment. “I think we’re almost in the clear here,” he declared, “That wasn’t so bad.”

As if the universe was in protest to Aaron tempting fate so, a loud crash was heard from the Withers’ bedroom, followed by the sound of splintering wood. Grace almost leapt out of her skin, but she was the closest so she rushed over to investigate. She threw the door wide to survey the scene.

Norm had managed to topple over the chair, which must have broken when he fell. Freed of his restraints, he had set himself upon consuming the closest living creature: his own wife. Grace found him there clambering on top of Mrs. Withers, teeth snapping away. She shut the door so she didn’t have to watch, but still she heard it all. Mrs. Withers scream must have been heard for blocks around.

Aaron looked out the window. Outside the mob of zombies had changed its course. No longer did they idly shamble about, but now they lurched towards the house with purpose. Their moaning and snarling could be heard even through the shut window.

“Fuck.”