Pathogen - Chapter 8

“How about this one?” Grace asked as they pulled up to another house.

It looked like all the other houses on the block. Standing two storeys tall, painted perrywinkle blue, it looked promising. a path ran from the sidewalk to the front porch, which was sheltered from the elements by the second floor. Attached to the house was a garage, and there was no car in the driveway. A garden ran along the side of the house, but any plants that were still out had been wrapped up against the cold.

“It looks good to me,” Aaron assessed.

Steve shook his head, the pain in his guts flaring up again, “I don’t know, I have a bad feeling about this one.”

“Now who’s the baby?” teased Aaron.

Cliff asked, “What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted, “Maybe it’s all the zombies. They tend to put me on edge.”

“We haven’t seen any zombies for blocks,” Grace pointed out, “I think we’re pretty safe to look inside.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Steve relented. Whatever kind of feeling he was having was probably unfounded.

Together they piled out of the car. “Aaron and I are going around the back,” Cliff instructed, “You two go see if there’s a way in the front.”

“Wait, we’re going to break in?” Grace asked, “That sounds so… criminal.”

“Well, how were you planning on getting in?” Cliff asked.

Grace shrugged, “I just imagined the front door would be open.”

Cliff thought about that. The front door may actually be unlocked, it was a pretty safe neighbourhood. Well, safe before the zombies arrived.

“We’ll still head around back,” Cliff stuck to his guns, “Maybe there’s a shed or something we can poke through while you guys get started inside.”

Together they agreed that was a good plan. Cliff and Aaron skulked around the side of the house while Grace and Steve marched up the front steps. The front porch had a small table and a pair of chairs. A deck of cards and an ashtray were on the table, and Grace couldn’t help wondering how many summer nights were spent here in happier times.

She shivered. It was too cold out to be thinking of summer nights. Besides, for all she knew the occupants were alive and well somewhere. In fact, they might even be inside right now. She crossed the porch and planted her feet on a prickly welcome mat. Beside the screen door was a doorbell. Reaching up, she pushed the button and a chime sounded throughout the house.

“Gray,” Steve addressed her.

Looking over, Grace realised Steve was regarding the knife she was clutching in hand. Suddenly conscious of what kind of first impression that might make, she tucked it into the back of her pants, pulling her coat over the handle.

Barely a moment later, the door opened. A scrawny old lady regarded them through the screen. “Whaddaya want?” she barked at them.

Grace got the impression this wasn’t one of those dear, sweet little old ladies that you’d want to have as your grandmother. Rather, she was one of those salty old hags reared in the maritimes. She was also impatient.

“Well?” she barked again, “I haven’t got all night.”

“Our - our car,” Grace stammered, “It broke down. Can we come inside and use your phone to call for help?”

“Sure,” the lady snorted, leaning on a wall next to the door, “I just bet it did. With all the news about the freaks running around and eating people, your car just happened to break down outside my house.”

“Well,” Grace exchanged a look with Steve, “Some crazy guy jumped on it, and it hasn’t been running right since.”

“Uh huh. Didja call CAA?” the old lady questioned, “You young people live on your phones, but I just bet you didn’t try that.”

“The cell phones are down,” Steve explained, “Too many people tried calling at once, and the whole system must’ve gone down.”

The old lady turned on Steve. “Listen, sonny -” she began.

“Steve,” he interrupted to introduce himself.

“Listen, Steve,” she began again, “If the exchange got overloaded, then my landline isn’t going to work either. Cell phones go through the same system as house phones do.”

“Wow,” Steve was impressed, “You’re pretty sharp, ma’am. Did you used to work one of the switchboards or something?”

“Just how old do you think I am?” the lady thundered indignantly, “You know what? Enough horseshit.”

With that last exchange, the old lady reached for something out of view. She didn’t take her eyes off the two of them, and instead levelled a rifle in their faces. Steve and Grace slowly raised their hands.
Grace chewed on her lip, “I did not see that coming.”



Crouched low to the ground, Aaron and Cliff scuttled around the house, doing their best to stay out of sight. Not that they figured anybody was around to see them, they just didn’t want any zombies catching sight of them.

Something was nagging at Aaron, however. “What if there’s somebody living here?” he asked.

“Of course there’s somebody living here,” Cliff answered, “It’s a nice house. It’s close to the beach. It’s pretty desirable.”

“No, I mean what if they’re in there right now? We’re going to burgle them.”

Slowing to a halt, Cliff pondered that. They didn’t know that somebody wasn’t inside already. They might be planning on stealing their supplies. Already they’d assumed that the epidemic had spread this far, but they hadn’t seen a zombie on the street yet.

“We’re not stealing from anybody,” Cliff decided, “If somebody is in there, we’ll ask them politely for some supplies. If they don’t have any to spare, we’ll just try somewhere else. But if there’s nobody in there, we need to take what we can find. It’s not like we’re looting, we’re just looking for some essentials. That’s just how it is.”

Aaron seemed comforted by that. He’d never stolen anything in his life, and he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of starting now. If it was just food and water, he could justify it. It wasn’t like they’d be stealing somebody’s television or anything like that.

The two were in the backyard now. A brick patio was home to a barbecue pit and picnic table. Much of the space in the backyard was allocated for a vegetable garden, and a pretty sizeable one at that. Nothing was growing there at the moment, however. The owners must have already harvested. A shed stood in the corner, the door slightly ajar.

Together the two of them wandered across the yard. Soon they were standing before the shed. Cliff reached forward and pulled the door open. It was too dark to make anything out within.

“I can’t see a thing,” Aaron announced.

Cliff peered intently inside, “I think I see a light.”

Cautiously creeping into the building, Cliff was sure he could make out the dim outline of a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. He stretched his arm out to it, finding a pull chain nearby. With a click the light came on. Aaron yelped in surprise and Cliff couldn’t help but stare at the thing by his shoes.

Hidden away in the shed was the body of a man. His head had been bashed in, blood and brains had oozed out of his exploded skull. The body had fallen face first, it’s arms splayed outwards as if reaching out for something.

“I hope that was a zombie,” Aaron muttered.

“Me too,” Cliff agreed, “The last thing we need is to be dealing with some crazies too.”

Assured by the virtue of gray matter present that the body wasn’t going to be getting back up, Aaron stepped into the shed to help him look for supplies. Apart from the body, it was practically ordinary. The shed was mostly full of yard tools. A few bags of fertilizer and topsoil sat neatly stacked in the corner.

Cliff spotted a red jerry can leaning against the wall. He picked it up, sending its contents sloshing around within. It smelled like gasoline.

“We should take this,” he decided.

“What? Why?” Aaron had to ask.

“Fuel,” he explained, “In case Vernon runs out of gas.”

“Okay, but,” Aaron started to argue, “Breakwater Point is practically within spitting distance of here. It’s not like we’ll be driving around town or anything.”

Cliff considered that. “Okay, I guess you’re right,” he admitted, setting the can back down.

Together they searched for a few more minutes, but they couldn’t turn up anything useful. Dejected, they left the shed.

“Now what?” Aaron asked.

Cliff shrugged, “I guess we’ll try the back door, see if it’s unlocked.”

Nodding in agreement, Aaron set off across the yard again with Cliff. The back door was just a glass sliding door that opened onto the patio. Tall vertical shades were drawn across, blocking their view inside. Aaron raised his hand to knock at the glass door.

“Wait,” Cliff interrupted, “Don’t knock just yet.”

Aaron didn’t understand, “What do you mean? Why not?”

“What if there’s a zombie in the house?” Cliff explained, “I mean, there was one in the shed, right? Just try the door, see if it’s unlocked, but don’t go announcing our presence.”

With a nervous gulp, Aaron reached for the door handle. He tugged, but it was locked tight. He didn’t realise he’d been holding his breath and let it out slowly.

“Now what?” Cliff wondered aloud, “Maybe we should see if Steve and Gray are having any luck.”

“Hold on,” interrupted Aaron, who pointed at something above them, “That window’s open.”

Following Aaron’s finger, Cliff saw that a window was indeed left ajar. Drapes fluttered loosely in the breeze. It was out of reach on the second floor, but that could be their way in.

“Give me a boost,” Aaron asked as he tucked his gun into the front of his pants.

“Woah, hold up,” it was Cliff’s turn to interrupt, “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” asked Aaron.

“In your pants?” Cliff questioned, referring to the gun Aaron had so casually stuffed down there, “Really?

Aaron explained with a shrug, “They do it all the time in the movies.”

Raising an eyebrow, Cliff had to ask, “Is the safety on?”

Blanching, Aaron remembered that he had taken the safety off when Steve showed him how to use the gun earlier. Gingerly, he pulled the gun out of his pants and flicked the safety on. Mindful that he could have accidentally blown his junk off, this time Aaron stashed the gun in the back of his pants.

Cliff chuckled at the display he had just witnessed. Leave it to Aaron to give everyone something to laugh about at the end of days. He stood below the window with his back to the building, cupping his hands to give Aaron a foothold. Putting the gun behind him, literally, Aaron stepped into Cliff’s hands. The large man hoisted the scrawny one up to the window sill.

“Jesus,” Cliff huffed, “You’re heavy for a toothpick.”

“I have a healthy appreciation for food,” Aaron explained, “Now hold still, will you? I can’t quite reach.”

Cliff’s arms were shaking, but he lifted his friend a little more. “Better?” he asked with a grunt.

Aaron was only inches away from the window sill now. Still, his outstretched arms just weren’t long enough to reach. He sought out the only other foothold available: Cliff’s face.

“Fuck,” Cliff groaned, “Watch it!”

The extra step up had been enough for Aaron to reach the window. He held fast to the sill and stepped off his friend’s face. Planting his feet firmly on the side of the house, Aaron reached up to slide the window open further. The wooden frame groaned as it shifted. Having ample headroom now, Aaron clambered inside the building.

Finding his feet, Aaron found everything looked all misty. He strained his eyes to see anything, but the struggle was futile. Suddenly he realised his problem. The drapes had clung to him when he stepped inside. Sheepishly, he pulled them aside.

Aaron had climbed into a bedroom, as evidenced by the furniture. A bed stood nearby, with twin nightstands flanking it. A vanity took up nearly the length of an entire wall, and a large wardrobe stood in a corner. It all looked to be hand carved from wood, featuring tiny details and embellishments around the trim.

These details were lost on Aaron, however, for when he stepped inside the room he had found himself face to face with a zombie.