Pathogen - Chapter 18

In the urban jungle of Fog City, a group of friends had been running for their life. Five of them went out for a night on the town, but their night turned sour when the patrons of the bar they were partying at started eating each other. Only three of them had escaped the dance floor.

Chuck reflected on the decisions he and his friends had made to try and stay alive. His friends Larry and Wanda hadn’t made it out of the bar, but a couple of his friends had fled with him. James and Vanessa thought it was best to head to the police station in the centre of town. James had said they’d find lots of weapons, and people who knew how to use them, and Vanessa always agreed with James. Chuck had his reservations about the plan, and not just because he and James didn’t get along. After seeing the chaos and bedlam in the streets, he knew that everyone in town was likely to try to make it to the police station.

It hadn’t come as a surprise to him when they finally arrived at the police station and found it was overrun by a bunch of thugs. Chuck said they should just leave, but James tried to act tough. “We aren’t leaving without some guns at least,” he’d informed the criminal authorities, “What are you going to do, shoot me?”

A moment later, Chuck and Vanessa had been dragging away James with a sucking chest wound. He died minutes later. Chuck told Vanessa they had to get out of there and try to find someplace else safe. She wouldn’t listen, and kept trying to rouse her boyfriend.

Chuck tried to physically move her, but she shoved him away. “Hands off, you fat fuck!” she’d screamed at him.

Knowing she was set in her ways, he decided to leave her behind and strike off on his own. As he was walking away, Vanessa was surprised to see that James had been resuscitated. Her screaming indicated that she was more surprised when he bit a huge chunk out of her neck. Chuck set off running after that.

As he reflected, Chuck realised he’d never run so much in his life. After the first block, he was tired. As he ran around the second block, he became exhausted. He thought he’d give up at the end of the third block, until he’d literally bumped into a zombie coming around the corner.

The dead man had been knocked to the ground by the unexpected assault, and for the first time in his life Chuck had been thankful for his prodigious girth. However, there were far more than just the first zombie around the corner, and they immediately set upon him. Chuck ran for eight more blocks without complaint, even though it might as well have been a marathon for him.

Miraculously, he’d been saved when a car had driven past him, swerving around the dozen zombies in the road. The driver had pulled over for Chuck and urged him to get inside. Wasting no time, Chuck had put on a burst of speed and found the safety of the stranger’s car.

The man inside was Chuck’s senior by about twenty years. In a sort of vague sense, he’d reminded him of his father. With his trimmed beard, glasses, and suit, he looked like he’d been a university professor. Chuck didn’t think to get his name, because the driver hurriedly informed him of his plan. He had a house in the suburbs where he had stockpiled supplies for a disaster. He’d expected a flood or blizzard, or maybe even invading Russians, but he felt his store would hold up in the face of zombies.

They never found out if it would. Shortly after arriving in the suburbs, the man gave began to give him a detailed inventory of supplies he’d kept in his basement. While he’d neglected to tell Chuck where exactly this valuable trove of goods was kept, he’d also neglected to keep an eye on the road. Moving at a terrific speed, the man’s car rolled over a monster pothole and blew out the tire. With the suddenly arrested momentum, the car swerved out of control and rolled over.

Counting three rotations before finally coming to a stop upside down, Chuck hadn’t been sure if he’d hold onto his lunch. What he was sure of, however, was that he was thankful he had been wearing his seatbelt. The man beside him, who had been prepared for any kind of disaster, had apparently not thought that simple act could save his life. His mangled body lay twisted over the broken windshield.

Assessing his injuries, Chuck didn’t think he’d broken anything. That was incredibly fortunate. He was less thrilled when he realised he’d have to unbuckle himself to get out. Regretting it as soon as he’d done it, Chuck fell to the ground. Righting himself as much as his above average size and the cramped interior of the car would allow, he reached up to open the door.

The crash had jammed the door shut. Before he could consider other options, Chuck heard the wail of the undead. They must have heard the wreck and were attracted to the sound. In a panic, Chuck reasoned he’d have to make it out the window. It had already broken in the crash, but now he tried to kick it out of the frame. It was hard work to gather up enough force in the interior of the car, but he kept hammering away at the window with his foot. Finally, it gave way and peeled out of the frame.

Once he’d accomplished that, Chuck realised what he’d done. There was no way a guy of his size could squeeze through that window. Cursing, Chuck could hear the snarling dead getting closer.

Looking around for another escape, he realised the back seats folded down. If that were the case, maybe he could escape out the trunk. He found the release on the floor of the car above his head and pulled. With a satisfying clunk, he heard the trunk open.

Before he could congratulate himself, Chuck saw the shadow of a nearby zombie through the window he’d kicked open. Hurrying now, he wedged himself between the front seats of the car. He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder and found a zombie crawling inside the wreck through the broken window.

In a full panic now, Chuck folded the seats down. Or up, depending on how he looked at it. They didn’t stow away into the floor as he’d hoped, but rather the top of the seat folded. With a sinking feeling of doom, Chuck realised the opening he’d made was barely larger around than the window he knew he couldn’t squeeze through. Regardless, he knew he had no choice and crammed himself into the opening.

A moment later, he was stuck in between the back seat and the trunk. He wriggled, kicked, and otherwise struggled to free himself. Without any luck, he felt the cold grip of the dead man on his leg. Lashing out with his foot, Chuck tried to kick at the unseen attacker behind him. His foot connected with something hard, but the dead man’s grasp clutched him still. Sucking in his gut, Chuck finally managed to pull himself into the trunk of the car, but not before an incredible pain shot through his leg.

To his horror, he realised he must have been bit. Rolling over onto his back, he looked through the opening and saw the zombie happily chewing away on the morsel it had ripped from his body. In a rage, Chuck kicked at its face with his good leg again and again, smashing the zombie’s head into a pulp.

All around him now, Chuck could hear the dead moan. His leg burned with pain, and he decided that one bite was enough. He had to get out of there before he became the main dish. Grabbing the edge of the trunk, Chuck pulled himself out of the car and tumbled to the ground. Pain flared in his leg, but the adrenaline was flowing through him now. Climbing to his feet, Chuck tested his leg. It pained him terribly, but his leg could still hold his weight.

Looking over his shoulder, Chuck counted more than a dozen zombies lurching towards him. Turning away, Chuck shuffled away as fast as he could. He was running downhill now, but it was even more difficult than when he had run for his life within the city.

When he started running, he was in agony. After the first block, however, the pain had all but vanished. As he staggered around the second block, he didn’t feel anything at all, not even fear of the zombies behind him. When he lurched around the third block, he almost bumped into a zombie coming around the corner again.

The zombie before him was a woman, wearing a soiled polka dot dress. She scrutinised his face. Teeth bared as her nose wrinkled to smell him. Dissatisfied, she pushed past him and continued on her way.

Chuck shuffled through the street at a relaxed pace. The zombies behind him caught up to him and surpassed him. Together they staggered aimlessly down the street. Chuck was one of the horde now. The mob of zombies wandered without direction, searching for their next meal.

The zombie formerly known as Chuck found himself strolling down a beach before long. A dreadful, insatiable hunger was welling inside of him, drowning out all other urges.

Across the howling wind and over the crashing surf, a shotgun blast boomed. As one, the zombies turned in the direction of the sound. It came from over the water. Together, they walked into the surf. Icy water washed over them, but if they felt it they didn’t care. All they knew was that they’d find food on the other side of the water.

Pathogen - Chapter 17

After a long and treacherous crossing, Grace found herself at the end of the breakwater. Crouching low and placing her free hand on the boulder to balance herself, she gently hopped to the stoney shore. Rocks crunched underfoot as she trudged up to the cliff face before her. Craning her neck, she estimated it to be about a twenty foot climb.

The shore on this side of Breakwater Point was small compared to the size of the island at large. A tiny, rocky beach was what the breakwater terminated at, but this side of the island was dominated by an almost sheer cliff. The slope on the opposite side of the island was far gentler, but was inaccessible by foot.

Aaron marched up behind her, basket in tow, with Cliff a short distance behind. Together they stared at the cliff ahead of them. There was no sign of the rope ladder they’d expected.

As was his custom, Aaron was the first to speak up. “Cliff,” he addressed his friend, “You’ve been here before, right?”

“Yeah, a couple of times,” Cliff nodded in the affirmative.

“Me too,” Aaron remarked, “But when I was here there was a ladder left behind so that people could get up here.”

“There should be one,” Cliff agreed, “But I don’t see it anywhere.”

Grace squinted up at the summit of the cliff. “I think I see it,” she declared.

Following her gaze, Aaron and Cliff looked up the cliff. Sure enough, they could make out an object above them. It was hard to tell exactly, but it may well have been a part of the rope ladder. It also could have been an overturned stone for all they could tell from this angle.

“Last bunch of partygoers must have taken it up after them,” Cliff assessed.

“And then what? How did they get back down?” Aaron asked.

“I don’t know,” Cliff shrugged, “Maybe one of their friends picked them up in a boat. It’s a lot easier to get up and down the other side.”

“No kidding,” Grace agreed despite never having set foot on the island before, “There’s no way we’re getting up there with our guns and food without the ladder.”

Aaron scratched his head, “So what are we supposed to do? Try the other side?”

“Yeah, okay,” Cliff laughed sarcastically, “I’ll hold your stuff while you swim around.”

Eyeballing the icy water gave Aaron the shivers. The conditions were positively stormy now, and he wasn’t sure he was physically capable of swimming around if the water wasn’t frigid.

“No thanks,” he told Cliff meekly.

Cliff looked over his shoulder. “Maybe we should go back to the shore,” he thought aloud, “Come up with a new plan, find a new place to hide out.”

“And become zombie chow? No thanks,” Grace disagreed as she offered her rifle to Cliff, “Hold my gun. I’m going to climb up there.”

Taking the gun, Cliff gave the cliff face another look, “Are you sure you want to do that? It doesn’t look totally safe, maybe I can go up ahead.”

Grace glared at Cliff and spat, “You don’t think I can do it because I’m a woman, is that it?”

“You think I must be sexist because I’m black,” Cliff retorted.

“Touché,” Grace smiled and any animosity vanished in an instant. “I’m still going to climb up there though. My gym has a rock wall.”

Cliff nodded and watched Grace approach the rock face. He didn’t know the first thing about rock climbing, but he was glad somebody did. The last thing he needed was to fall and break his legs. Looking back at the half obscured object on top of the cliff, he desperately wished it was the ladder they were looking for. If it wasn’t there, he wasn’t sure what they’d do.

Feigning nonchalance, Grace cracked her knuckles before looking for her first handhold. The idea of climbing without a rope made her uncomfortable. Gym rules strictly forbade it, so she’d never attempted it before. Come to think of it, this was also the first time she’d tried to climb a natural face as well. She wouldn’t have the bright coloured fake stone outcroppings to guide her up.

Shaking her head, she tried to clear her mind. Reaching up, she seized her first handhold. The rock was freezing cold, but she ignored it. She’d simply hurry up the face before the numbness set in and it wouldn’t be a problem. Reaching out for another hold, she slowly crawled up the cliff.

Grace was well on her way up the cliff when Aaron thought he might do well to encourage her. “Don’t fall,” he shouted after her.

Careful not to lose her grip, Grace turned in place to glare at Aaron. Even from a considerable distance, her gaze was potent. Aaron gulped and stared at his shoes.

Hand over hand she climbed. The stone was slippery, and she was careful to test her grip with each handhold and foothold. Twice she slipped after reaching for a crag, but she held firm to the cliff. Finally, panting from the exertion, she pulled herself up over the edge.

Struggling to stand on shaky legs, Grace rose to her feet. Looking about, she quickly found the object they had seen from the stoney shore below. Sure enough, it was a rope ladder. Constructed from a thick, braided rope, the ladder had wooden rungs spaced every foot or so apart. The last person up the cliff must have pulled it up after them and left it in a neat bundle. It was anchored in place with a piece of rebar driven into the ground. Grace reached down to the piece of steel and shook it to test its integrity. It wouldn’t budge, and she was hopeful it would hold her friends’ weight. Scooping up the ladder, she unbundled it and threw it over the precipice.

Cliff regarded the rope ladder. “I don’t know if it can hold our weight together. We should do this one at a time,” he assessed.

Aaron nodded, and hoisted the basket of goods over his shoulder. Reaching out for the ladder, he began to climb awkwardly with his one free hand. He was forced to let go of the rope each time he reached for a higher rung. He was only three feet off the ground when his burden unbalanced him. Dropping the basket as he fell backwards, Aaron flailed wildly with both arms as he tried to claw his way to a handhold. He fell heavily on his behind.

“Fuck,” he complained as he rubbed his butt, “That hurt.”

“Are you okay, buddy?” Cliff checked after his friend’s well being.

“Yeah,” Aaron decided as he climbed to his feet, “It’s going to be one hell of a bruise though.”

Grace peered over the side. “Did somebody fall? Are you guys okay?” she hollered down below.

“We’re fine,” Cliff shouted an explanation, “Aaron fell on his ass is all.”

Above them, they could hear Grace’s laughter. She was making no attempt to hide her amusement. Aaron reddened and looked away.

“Try climbing up again,” Cliff suggested, “But leave the food with me.”

Aaron was confused, and told his friend so, “But if we leave the food here, it won’t do us any good.”

“We’re not leaving it here,” Cliff explained, “We’ll tie it to the ladder and pull it up after us.”

“Oh,” Aaron noted as he rubbed his sore backside, “That would’ve been the clever thing to do.”

Once more, Aaron attempted to scale the cliff. This time, being unburdened, he climbed hand over hand with the agility of a monkey. He was standing with Grace after a few short moments.

“What gives?” she asked as he climbed to his feet, “Where’s all the food?”

“We’re going to pull it up with the ladder,” he let Grace in on the plan, “So I don’t fall off the cliff and die.”

“Okay,” Grace had to admit, “That’s a good idea.”

Down below, Cliff laid down the shotgun and rifle to get his hands free. He tied off the basket with the tail end of the rope ladder. Then, taking up Grace’s rifle under his arm, he climbed the ladder. It was difficult to keep hold of the gun, but at least he had both of his hands relatively free. He’d reach up with his free arm, then step up until his pinned arm was in line with the rung he’d reached to. It let him climb at a slow, halting pace, but it only took a few minutes to scale the rock face. When he made it to the top, he handed the rifle to its owner.

“Thanks,” Grace said as she took up the offered firearm, “Don’t forget your shotgun now.”

Cliff threw his hands up and exclaimed, “Geez, leave your weapon behind three times, and suddenly everybody’s making a fuss!”

While Cliff returned down to the beach, Grace and Aaron decided to explore the island. They were on the side nearer the lighthouse, which was a vast structure that stretched high above their heads. It was a wooden construction, which had once been painted mostly white with a red flourish at the summit. The paint had long since begin to peel, and great flakes and chips had been gouged out by the elements.

Apart from a lonely apple tree, the only other feature that dominated the island was the lighthouse keeper’s home. Like the lighthouse itself, the home had been abandoned, although more recently than the lighthouse itself was shut down. The keeper had stubbornly refused to leave the island, where his family had lived for many generations since the lighthouse was first constructed. After his death in the early 2000’s, the place had finally been given up.

The house was a small wooden bungalow. At one point, it had been green, although like the lighthouse itself, the paint had long since begun to peel. The windows had wooden shutters pulled over them and bolted fast. A brick chimney held fast to the side of the home, and had miraculously not crumbled to the elements. On the opposite side, a store of firewood was sheltered from the weather by a squat wooden lean-to. A stump for splitting wood was nearby, but there was no sign of an axe.

“So,” Grace asked, “Is it better to hole up in the tower, or the house?”

“The house,” Aaron explained as he pointed up at the chimney, “It’s got a fireplace, and I don’t know about you, but I’m colder than tits.”

Cliff had just climbed back up to their level. “Why don’t you guys see if you can find a way inside,” he suggested as he set down his shotgun and started pulling in the ladder, “I’m going to have the food up here in a minute or so.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Aaron agreed, thankful that he didn’t have to carry the heavy basket of food anymore.

Together Grace and Aaron walked up to the front door. Marching up a few short steps, Grace tried the door. To their disappointment, it was locked.

“That’s weird,” Aaron remarked, “I’ve never been here before and found the place locked up.”

“Maybe the last time there was a party here, one of their people locked the door?” she suggested.

“But then how did they get out?” Aaron retorted.

Grace shrugged. “Is there a back door?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah, there is,” Aaron reflected sheepishly, “That’d make sense.”

They hopped off the step and went around the building. A modest porch was on the back of the house, and they climbed up the steps to try this door. To their surprise, this one was locked too.

“What the hell?” Aaron asked, “How can this place be locked up? It’s been abandoned for years.”

“So it’s safe to say nobody has a key still,” Grace thought aloud.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Aaron puzzled.

“Maybe the last people here wanted this to be their private hangout,” Grace reasoned, “Locked up after themselves, then climbed out a window. How about we split up and try all the windows. There’s got to be one that’s open.”

Aaron nodded, and they set off in opposite directions around the house. Each window was shuttered, and locked fast. Disappointed, the two met by the front door again. Grace looked up and saw one more window. There must have been a bedroom on the second floor, or maybe it was just the attic. Regardless, the shutter was closed, but it was impossible to tell if it was locked or not.

Following Grace’s gaze, Aaron put two and two together. “Oh no,” he insisted, “I’m not climbing up there. Last time I climbed in through a window, there was a zombie in my face.”

“So we’ll break in the front door,” Grace decided.

“Oh yeah? How are we going to manage that?” Aaron asked.

Without a word, Grace reached into her coat pocket and retrieved her wallet. She pulled a small case from within. Opening it up, Aaron saw it was a lockpicking set.

“Holy shit,” he remarked, “You have a lockpick? Are you a burglar and never told us?”

Grace laughed, “No, just a hobby. You know how some people juggle? I thought I’d take this up.”

“Oh,” Aaron fought to hide his disappointment, “But you do know how to pick a lock?”

“Not exactly,” Grace admitted, “I just bought these yesterday and haven’t had a chance to try them out yet.”

Kneeling in front of the lock, Grace set to work. She selected a pair of tools from her case and inserted these in the lock. Wiggling and probing, she tried to get the lock to turn.

“So what’s the appeal?” Aaron asked.

“Huh?” Grace was focused on the lock before her, and had already tuned Aaron out.

“Why do you want to pick locks? I don’t get it.”

“Oh, well, it’s like a puzzle I guess. You try to get the tumblers into position and then open the thing up. It’s a challenge, and some people find that soothing.”

“I see,” Aaron still didn’t get it, “Well, as long as you’re having fun I guess.”

A few minutes later, Grace was not having fun. She’d started cursing at the lock, which refused to turn for her.

“So much for soothing,” Aaron said to himself.

Cliff walked up to the house, gun in hand and food in tow. “What’s going on here? Why aren’t we inside?” he asked.

“The whole place is locked up,” Aaron explained.

“Weird,” remarked Cliff.

“No kidding,” Aaron agreed, “Grace is picking the lock open.”

Cliff was surprised, “Really? Grace knows how to pick locks?”

“Fucking piece of shit!” Grace shouted at the door.

“I don’t think so,” Aaron answered.

“Get away from the door,” Cliff instructed.

Reluctantly, Grace gave up and stepped back. Aaron got behind Cliff as he let go of their provisions and levelled the shotgun at the door. Aiming for the lock, he squeezed the trigger. Thunder erupted from the shotgun, and the sheer force of the buckshot punched the lock through the door. On noisy hinges the door creaked open.

“I’ve got your lockpick right here,” Cliff remarked as he ejected the spent shell casing from his gun, “I call it a shotgun.”

Pathogen - Chapter 16

Clambering up over the rocks, Cliff was greeted by Aaron and Grace. They were standing over him with faces plastered with expressions of concern.

Grace asked what they were both thinking, “Where’s Steve?”

“He’s gone,” Cliff muttered as he wrenched his shotgun out from between the rocks he’d lodged it into.

“Gone?” she pressed, “What do you mean, ‘gone?’”

“It means he isn’t here anymore,” Cliff explained as he cast his eyes over the rocky waves, “The ocean took him.”

Cliff thought it was best to leave out the details of Steve’s reanimation. He felt it might preserve Steve’s memory with a little dignity. Grace and Aaron were still stunned by the news, however. Struggling against the tears welling in her eyes, Grace turned away to look over the water too. Aaron, however, simply gaped with a stupefied expression on his face.

“I did not see that coming,” he admitted, “I thought for sure he’d become a zombie. Or maybe that he’d eat a gun after all.”

Turning to Aaron in order to regard him with a cool animosity, Cliff said, “You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

“I’m not illing,” Aaron insisted, “It’s just what I thought would happen.”

“Still,” Cliff sadly shook his head, “I think you should be quiet for a while.”

Thinking it best not to push Cliff, Aaron complied and remained silent for a moment. Together the three of them stared out over the ocean. The icy water roiled and crashed while the wind howled all around them. Cliff wondered what had  happened to Steve in his watery tomb. Would he be adrift and swept up with the ocean’s currents, or would he wander the bottom of the sea floor as a zombie forever? Cliff shivered, but it wasn’t the weather that made him feel cold inside.

“He was going to become a zombie, wasn’t he?” Aaron spoke up, forgetting he was ordered to silence.

Cliff turned to glare at Aaron. “You have a problem with keeping quiet,” he snapped.

Throwing his hands up in protest, Aaron argued, “Hey now, I’m just trying to make sense of it all. Steve was sick, that much was obvious enough. But that kid in the DepartMart was sick too, and he turned up as a zombie a few minutes later.”

“So what?” Cliff asked impatiently. He didn’t care for the practicality of Aaron’s questions. All that mattered to him right now was respecting his deceased friend. Everything else could take a backseat for the moment.

“So,” Aaron pressed on unmindful of his friend’s agitation, “How’d he get it? What made him sick? Was he bit?”

“No,” Grace replied as she wiped her tears on her sleeve, “At least, I don’t remember him being bitten.”

“The kid’s mom was bit, and so was the guy who worked at the DepartMart,” Aaron reasoned, “And they turned pretty quick. The dude who worked there became a zombie in just seconds.”

“Steve was sick for at least an hour,” Grace argued, “So no, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t bit.”

“Maybe it’s airborne,” Aaron figured, “We could all catch it then.”

“Stop,” Grace protested, shaking her head and screwing her eyes shut, “I don’t want to think about that.”

Aaron began, “I’m just saying-”

“I’m just saying, ‘shut up!’ Christ!” Grace interrupted.

Aaron clammed up. Now he’d gone and upset two of his friends, and the other one was dead. He sighed, a melancholy sound that couldn’t be heard over the surf crashing into the breakwater. It was his turn now to stare out over the ocean.

It was a long minute before Cliff broke the friends’ silence. “I don’t think we’re sick,” he reassured Grace as well as himself, “We’d have some kind of symptom by now. After all, the thing seems to work pretty fast.”

“What, are you a doctor now?” Aaron asked.

“No,” Cliff shook his head, “Just optimistic.”

“I’m scared, man,” Aaron admitted, “What if we all end up like Steve?”

“Not gonna happen,” Cliff argued.

“But how do you know?” Aaron persisted.

Cliff turned to face Aaron before explaining his reasoning, “I don’t know for sure. But I do know that worrying about it isn’t going to make it go away. Hell, for all I know, worrying about it is just going to make things worse. So I’m not going to think happy thoughts, and none of us are going to get sick.”

“Do you see that?” Cliff asked as he pointed to the island ahead, only a few hundred metres away, “That’s safety. That place is going to be our fortress. They’ll never touch us there, not in a million years. Then maybe the coast guard will show up, and take us out of here. Or the military will come. Hell, maybe it’ll just be a few kids, and they say that the zombies have all been cleaned up. We’re going to live.”

Although Cliff was well pleased with his little speech, Aaron was less than inspired. The ocean had soaked him through, and he was freezing cold. Screaming wind cut him to the bone. The crashing waves thundered around him. All about him, his surrounding screamed violence and desolation.

Now that they were away from the glow of the city, countless stars twinkled overhead. When he was a little boy, the stars gave Aaron a feeling of wonderment. Back then, the infinitely large night sky captivated him with thoughts of endless adventures and exploration. Now, it filled him with an oppressive loneliness.

“Let’s just get out of here,” he murmured. “I’m not digging this place at all.”

“I second the motion,” Grace shivered, “It’s cold as balls here.”

Grace and Aaron left together, leaving Cliff alone on his rock. He was numb to the cold, and deaf to the breaking surf and howling wind. Staring out over the sea, he was desperate to see Steve once more. Minutes passed, and there still wasn’t any sign of him below the surface.

“Goodbye, friend,” Cliff bid his final farewell before hurrying to catch up with his surviving friends. They still had a lot of work to do if they wanted to survive.

Pathogen - Chapter 15

November is not an ideal month to visit the beach. Chiefly, it’s too cold, and the dark gray clouds barely visible against the black night sky threatened to snow. Stones skittered underfoot, this was not a warm, sandy beach even in the summer. Most of the locals preferred to lounge in the tepid waters of the rivers inland throughout the summer. The only redeeming quality of this beach was the smell of the salt spray, and the soothing sound of crashing surf.

Steve found the sea air noisome, and the breaking waves overwhelming. He paused, already far behind his friends, and looked out over the ocean. Imagining walking into the frigid salt water made him shiver through his thick bomber jacket. Scruffy probably would have enjoyed himself here, he thought. The dog loved the water, and it didn’t seem to matter much what the time of year was.

With a sigh, Steve pulled himself away from the siren call of the sea. Shaking his head, he tried to picture a sunny outcome for him, but nothing came to mind. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind anymore that he had the flu, it had all become clear that he was turning into a zombie. He’d seen the change take place countless times before in movies and video games, but he still had trouble imagining it for himself. It was impossible to imagine the shift where he’d change from happy-go-lucky Steve into a walking corpse that hungered for the warm flesh of his friends and loved ones. With a start, Steve realised that he wasn’t really happy-go-lucky anymore. He wondered if that meant it was already starting.

Already he was having trouble walking. It took a lot of effort to keep up the pace he’d set for himself. His feet dragged behind him one after another in time with the rolling thunder of the breaking surf. A bemused smile played at his harried face as he realised he was walking like a zombie now. He wouldn’t blame anybody if they mistook him for one now.

Gazing ahead, Steve caught sight of his friends again. They’d come to a stop at a rocky outcropping adjacent to the breakwater. He wondered to himself if they’d paused for his benefit, or just to take a break before tackling the treacherous crossing.

Breakwater Point owes its less than inspired name to the breakwater which connects the island to the mainland. A typical breakwater is made of piled rocks, and is paved with a road to serve as a causeway. Nothing could be so simple, however, and the municipality of Fog City had never paved the breakwater. Instead, they had allowed the jumbled heap of enormous boulders to serve as a makeshift pedestrian crossing. Years ago, before the lighthouse had been abandoned thanks to the widespread use of radar in commercial shipping, the island’s keeper had elected to row out to the mainland from his private dock on the opposite side of the landing. Now that the four friends were facing their crossing, they saw the wisdom in that.

The stones jutted out of the beach and eclipsed the surface of the water by several feet. Covered in a thick mat of slick seaweed, the constant spray of the sea promised for a slick crossing. The November chill even threatened ice, making the crossing all the more dangerous. The government had posted a sign reading, “NO TRESPASSING,” and the four friends could easily guess why.

“I’m not so sure this is such a good idea,” Aaron was the first to voice their concerns.

Turning to face Aaron, Grace glowered at him, “Do you mean to tell me you’ve got a better idea? Have you been holding out on us all along?”

Aaron hung his head. “No,” he told his shoes.

Cliff turned to Steve and gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this,” he told him.

“I know,” Steve nodded, “But I may as well see you guys off from the other side as here.”

Seeing his friend was determined, Cliff dropped the subject and moved on to more practical things. “How are we getting the supplies across?”

“I’ll carry them,” Aaron volunteered.

Grace eyed the scrawny boy, “Are you sure you’re up for the task, slugger?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Aaron mock apologised, “Did you want to carry them?”

Grace held up her hands in protest and turned away. She and Cliff each needed a free hand to carry their guns with, and she could tell Steve was going to have his hands full just with the crossing. If anybody could do it, it would have to be Aaron.

Turning to face Breakwater Point, Grace estimated the trek would be several hundred metres. Several hundred metres of treacherous terrain and subfreezing temperatures. With a sigh, she pulled herself up onto the first rock. Aaron followed close behind her, basket of goods in tow.

Before climbing up himself, Cliff turned to regard Stee again. “Are you sure you can do this?” he asked.

Steve eyed the jagged rocks, the crashing surf, and the icy water below. “Sure,” he lied, “Slow and steady wins the race, right?”

Cliff nodded and set off , using the but of the shotgun as a sort of walking stick. Steve thought that was incredibly unsafe, but didn’t point it out. He was more concerned with surviving the crossing than anything else at the moment.

Lurching ahead, Steve took hold of the rock and attempted to hoist himself up. His muscles seemed to be working for him in fits and starts. At parts of his ascent he found it simple enough to pull himself up, but sometimes for a moment his arms would tremble and shake, and twice he almost fell back to the beach. Thus far he had mastered slow, now he just needed to work on steady.

Finally pulling himself onto the rock, Steve surveyed the crossing. Grace and Aaron had already practically left him behind, but Cliff was near at hand. Steve knew he was waiting to see if he could make the crossing unassisted.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Cliff asked again.

Steve shook the question off, “What, do you want to hold my hand or something?”

“Would it help?”

“No,” Steve shook his head, “If I fell, I’d probably just take you with me.”

Seeing the logic in that, Cliff turned to resume his crossing. He was careful not to get too far ahead of Steve in case he needed help. Steve took great care in coercing his uncooperative limbs into working for him. A single misstep and he’d likely wind up in the ocean. If he was having this much trouble crawling across the stones, he couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to swim to shore. Drowning seemed more likely than breaching the surface.

Far ahead already, Aaron and Grace were clambering over the boulders. The wind had grown fierce, and the crashing waves had them practically soaked through already.

“It’s cold,” Aaron complained.

Grace didn’t have patience for him. “You live in Canada,” she informed him, “The cold has no influence on you. Ice flows through your veins.”

“Wouldn’t I be colder if I had ice in me?” he asked, “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Grace didn’t answer him and simply kept pushing forward. Glumly, Aaron followed after her. He was convinced that he’d lose an ear, or maybe even his nose, to frostbite. If he’d known they’d be doing this when he went out for chips, he would’ve brought a hat or something.

Meanwhile, much further back, Steve was beginning to see how impossible the task before him was. His fingers were frozen through from gripping the cold, wet stones and he’d only managed to make it a quarter of the way across. Numbness crept throughout his body, and he wondered if it was owing to the cold, or the disease that was killing him.

Frustration washed over him. He was bitter that he was dying, and jealous that his friends were at the doorstep of salvation. They would keep on living while his life was tragically cut short. There would be no dignity in his death, simply zombification, followed by murder or the destruction of his brain. There were so many things he wanted to do with his life, but due to random chance he’d never be able to accomplish any of them. Tears of bitter anger and frustration welled in his eyes as he furiously tried to blink them away.

Cliff turned to check on him and noticed his distress from several metres away. “Are you okay?” he shouted to be heard.

“I’m fine,” Steve explained, not willing to look his friend in the eye, “It’s just the wind in my face.”

“What?” Cliff shouted over the howling wind and thunderous waves, “I can’t hear you!”

Steve realised the futility of shouting into the ground to be heard, and lurched to his feet. He screamed back at his friend, “I’m fine!”

A tremendous wave crashed over them both, and Cliff lost sight of Steve. When the icy curtain passed over him, he realised Steve wasn’t on the breakwater anymore. Steve had vanished from sight completely.

Cliff turned to shout over his shoulder for help. Grace and Aaron stopped to see what the commotion was and caught sight of Cliff hurrying over the rocks. He’d thrown caution to the wind and was practically running across the treacherous path.

Coming to the point where his friend had fallen, Cliff cast about looking for him. Directly below, the stone he was standing on was itself resting on another stone barely above the surface. Steve’s unmoving body was below.

Wedging the shotgun between two rocks, Cliff climbed down the face of the boulder Steve had fallen from. The way down was even more treacherous than the crossing thus far, but Cliff had to help his friend. Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Cliff found the rocky shelf barely large enough to hold them both. He turned to inspect his friend’s injuries. The fall wasn’t terribly far, but Steve must have thrown his arms out to break his fall. Instead, the fall had broken his arm. Steve’s forearm was bent at an unruly angle, and Cliff noted with some surprise that the bone had not pierced the skin.

The fall had rendered him senseless, so Cliff helped him to his feet. “Wake up, buddy,” he cooed, “We’re going to get you through this.”

Steve’s eyes opened slowly, and at once Cliff knew his friend was gone. In place of the smile behind his eyes, Cliff could only see a burning, ravenous hunger. Steve snarled and seized a hold of his former friend with his one working arm. Together they wrestled on the icy shelf of stone. Cliff knew it was the end for Steve, and threw all his weight into wrenching him off balance. Steve was thrown headfirst into the tempestuous sea, and Cliff was rewarded for his efforts by falling heavily on his rear. Cliff’s own legs fell into the sea up to his knee, and these he pulled ashore as if scalded.

Climbing unsteadily to his feet, Cliff observed the sea. He was searching for any sign of his friend. Minutes passed, and none had come to him. Shaking his head, he fought to banish the memory of Steve’s last moments from his mind. He tried to remember his friend as the smart mouthed kid that he’d known in life, and not the monster he’d become in death.

Turning his back on his friend’s watery grave, Cliff started the climb back up to the crossing. It had been a long night, but he felt like it was just getting started.

Pathogen - Chapter 14

Vernon was already underway when Cliff and Aaron caught up to the car. Aaron ran around the back of the car to get to the front passenger seat while Cliff struggled to get into the back. Steve had left their supplies right in his leg room. Slamming the door shut in the face of the zombies inching ever closer, Cliff knew he could resolve his cramped quarters a bit later.

Thus awkwardly situated, Grace threw Vernon into gear and sped off into the fog. “Well, that was a party and a half,” she remarked as she drove ahead.

“Tell me about it,” Aaron said, oblivious to his driver’s sarcasm, “Did you see me out there? I was all ‘BLAM! BLAM!’ and the zombies were dropping like flies!”

“Didn’t you say you were out of bullets?” Grace asked, “What are you going to do now, tough guy?” Aaron fell silent, deflated. Grace asked another question, this time directed at Steve, “Will my bullets fit in his gun?”

“If you manage to squeeze them in there, and I’m not sure how you would,” Steve started to explain, “Best case scenario, the gun jams. Worst case scenario, it blows up in your hands.”

“What a gyp,” Aaron complained, “In video games, all you have to do is walk over a dead guy’s gun, or a box of bullets. It doesn’t matter what kind they are, they all fit into your guns.”

“Oh, I forgot,” Steve laid into Aaron with sarcasm so thick he could cut it with a knife, “This is actually a video game. Golly gee, maybe we should get your old pal Steve an extra life before he runs out of continues.”

The car fell silent, save for the humming of the engine. Everyone tried at once to look away. Steve stared morosely out the window. He’d upset himself with his own callow remark. With a sigh, he wished he was just in a video game. Then at least he could slam a few more quarters into the machine and everything would be okay. As it was, the timer was ticking down and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

“Steve,” Cliff broke the silence, “We’ll find a way to help you.”

“There’s no cure for what I’ve got,” Steve murmured, “Don’t you watch the movies?”

The car was silent a few more moments before Cliff broached, “I think I’ve got a couple shells left.”

Turning to regard his friend, Steve saw that Cliff was deathly serious. From the look of hurt on his face, Steve could tell that the implication pained him greatly. Steve couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“Lighten up, would you?” Steve begged between fits of laughter. Laughing hurt, which made the situation funnier to him, “You don’t have to go all Old Yeller on me. I’ll see you guys off at Breakwater Point, then probably head back to the mainland or something.”

Having a goal comforted Steve somewhat, even if the destination was going to depress the hell out of him. Maybe he’d be so far along at that point that it wouldn’t matter to him any more.

“Who’s Old Yeller?” Aaron asked.

Grace took her eyes off the road for only a second to give her friend a look that screamed, “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know your American cinema history?” A second was exactly long enough for disaster to ensue. Through the fog, the outline of a zombie appeared. Noticing it too late to do anything about it, Grace still attempted to swerve out of the way. Vernon slammed into the body, dragging it under the car. The front right tire blew as it rolled over the body and the axle snapped as the car slammed hard into the ground. Now spinning out of control, Vernon came to a screaming halt when its side ploughed into a telephone pole.

When the dust settled, Steve was the first to speak up. “Did anybody else feel that, or was it just me?” Steve shouted over the ringing in his ears.

Grace held her head where it had bounced off the now shattered window. “Why didn’t the airbag go off?” she complained.

“Really?” Aaron spoke up, “That’s what you take exception to?”

Cliff wrenched open his door and crawled outside to get a better look. A quick glance told him that Vernon was out of commission. The passenger side had practically wrapped itself around the pole. Reaching back inside, Cliff wrestled with the cart of supplies and helped Steve out.

Steve dusted himself off and surveyed the scene. “Wow,” he remarked, “You guys are lucky to be alive.”

“What about you?” Cliff asked.

“It probably would’ve been better if I died in the crash,” Steve shrugged.

Aaron had managed to get his door open now, and was helping Grace climb across the front. Her door was obstructed by the telephone pole. Cliff looked up at the askew pole. They were very fortunate not to have downed any lines.

“Now what?” Grace asked, coughing.

“I think we better book it,” Cliff declared, “Those zombies are probably still on our heels.”

“Good plan,” Aaron agreed, “Let’s keep following the road here.”

“Hold up,” Steve interrupted as he turned to get his bearings, “Weren’t the zombies going down this road before?”

“What do you mean?” Aaron asked.

“Before we started running, back when we were hiding out,” Steve recalled, “They were going down this way. I bet they heard the crash and are coming back around now.”

“What should we do?” Cliff asked.

“We’re going to Breakwater Point, right?” Steve asked as he pointed off to the side, “The water’s that way.”

Turning to see where his friend was pointing, Cliff thought for a moment. “We should head that way,” he decided, “We should only be a few blocks from the ocean.”

Grace had retrieved the rifle from the car and was reloading it from the bullets in her pocket when she chimed in, “Do you think we have enough supplies?”

Aaron  hefted the grocery cart. “I think we’re good on food,” he assessed, “But I know I’d be happier if I had more bullets.”

“I don’t think we have time,” Cliff shook his head, “Right now we’re sandwiched between two groups of zombies, and our car is busted. We need to get out of here while we still can.”

The four friends exchanged a look with each other. Together they nodded. Although they had reservations about the plan, it was the only thing that made sense at the moment. Cliff, Aaron, and Grace set off towards the ocean while Steve lingered a moment by the car.

“Hey, Cliff,” he called out.

Cliff stopped to turn. “What?” he asked.

Steve reached into the car and pulled Cliff’s shotgun out from the backseat. “You’ve got to keep a better eye on your stuff,” he chuckled.

Pathogen - Chapter 13

The zombies were staggering towards the house with a dark purpose. It would only be a matter of time before they had the house surrounded, and the four friends were already feeling trapped.

“We have to get out of here,” Aaron insisted.

Steve had to brace his arm against the wall to help get to his feet. Unsteadily, he reached out to take the cart of provisions. He’d broken out into a sweat and his skin had taken on a gray hue.

Cliff noticed his friend’s unwellness. “Are you going to be okay to move?” he asked with genuine concern.

Meeting Cliff’s gaze with a glossy eyed stare, Steve asked, “Does it look like I have much of a choice?”

No more words were exchanged, because there wasn’t any time to waste. Together, the four friends ran down the stairs, hoping to escape out the back before the house was surrounded by zombies. Aaron was the first to make it to the first floor, and as he leapt from the bottom step into the kitchen he could hear glass shattering. The walking dead were making a mess of the picture window and were fighting against each other to clamber into the living room.

The gang didn’t look back and ran straight for the sliding glass door in the kitchen. The blinds were pulled across the window, and Aaron neglected to look through them before he threw the door wide. To his dismay, a zombie was standing on the other side and lunged for him. Aaron tried to slam the door shut, but the dead man’s arms were already through. They wrestled with each other, Aaron trying to get the door closed still while the zombie fought to get inside.

“Get out of the way!” Cliff bellowed as he ran for the door.

Aaron took a look over his shoulder and saw his friend running straight for him. He scrambled out of his friend’s path. Without Aaron to hold the door shut, the zombie succeeded in pushing the door wide enough to get inside. In that moment, Cliff leapt straight for the zombie. With an outstretched hand, he seized the dead man by the face and allowed his momentum, and their combined weight, to carry them into the brick patio. The zombie’s head split like an overripe melon.

Rushing through the open door, Grace, Aaron, and Steve ran into the night air while Cliff picked himself up. They could see zombies shambling towards them in the moonlight, coming around either side of the house.

Cliff spotted the shotgun he’d foolishly left outside, propped up against the corner of the house. A zombie was between him and it, and Cliff fumbled through his pockets looking for his baton. Aaron noticed Cliff’s situation and stepped up to help. He whipped the handgun from his pants, took careful aim at the zombie’s forehead, and turned the gun sideways for dramatic effect. Pulling the trigger, he was rewarded with a dry clicking noise and panic.

“What the fuck?” he asked as he backed away from the approaching zombie, “Why won’t it shoot this time?”

“You have to chamber the round,” Steve explained.

“Chamber the what?” Aaron couldn’t think clearly.

“There’s no bullet in the gun, they’re all in the magazine.”

Aaron was completely lost, “But I put the bullets in the gun,” he insisted.

Cliff had finally retrieved his baton and had it unfolded with a flick of the wrist. He set upon the approaching zombie, swinging in terrifying but deliberate arcs. While he was protecting his friends’ safety, Steve snatched away Aaron’s gun.

“Why did you want this thing so badly,” Steve shouted at his friend while he pulled back the slide to allow a bullet to leave the magazine and enter the receiver, “If you can’t even fucking use it?”

With one final swing, Cliff cracked the zombie’s skull. It fell heavily to the ground, and Cliff wasted no time stepping over it. He snatched up the shotgun and stepped back to be huddle in with his friends.

Grace was watching Steve lose his temper at Aaron, but at least he returned the firearm. “Steve,” she asked uncharacteristically meekly, “Do you want my rifle? I think you’d know how to use it better than I could.”

“No thanks, I don’t think I could hold it steady right now. I’d never be able to hit anything,” he explained as he turned around, “Oh shit! Look out!”

Steve was pointing at something behind Grace, and she whirled around to see what it was. She wasn’t terribly surprised to see the zombie a few feet away and raised her rifle. The barrel was practically touching the zombie’s head when she pulled the trigger. The back of the skull blew out and the man fell over dead once more. Remembering how Mrs. Withers had operated the gun earlier, Grace pulled the bolt back and chambered a fresh round.

“You’re a natural,” Steve complimented her.

“We really don’t have time for this,” Cliff interrupted, “We have to get out of here.”

Aaron was the first to start running, and he took off diagonally across the yard. “This way,” he hollered over his shoulder to urge his friends to follow him.

He was hoping to lure the zombies away from the car. They could then run around the neighbour’s house and double back to the street. The Withers’ property was surrounded by a white picket fence a scant three feet high, which he hoped might impede the zombies a little. However, he knew he couldn’t put much faith in it. For all he knew, they’d just plow into the thing.

Being the first to arrive at the fence, Aaron placed one hand onto the fence as he ran. Swinging his legs up, he vaulted over the obstacle. Grace and Cliff were only a few paces behind and stepped over the fence when they arrived. Aaron had already taken off running across the neighbour’s yard when Steve arrived at the fence. It was a tremendous effort for him to wheel the cart over the grass, but now he wasn’t sure if he could get their supplies over the fence.

The zombies were fast closing in while Steve struggled to overcome the obstacle. He groaned as he hefted, and grunted as he heaved, but he just couldn’t lift the basket more than a few inches off the ground. Illness had made him weak, and he despaired. The lead zombie was only a few paces behind him now, and Steve felt melancholy as he realised he was going to let his friends down.

Cliff had noticed his dire straits, however, and had rushed back to his rescue. “Duck,” he ordered as he levelled the shotgun at the nearest zombie.

Not needing to be told twice, Steve immediately dropped to the ground and wisely covered his ears. A split second after he was clear, a deafening report and a brilliant flash erupted from the barrel of the shotgun. Scattered pellets travelled at an incredible velocity and caught the first zombie full in the chest. The sheer force of the assault carried the zombie, throwing it bodily to the ground a few feet away. It wasn’t dead, but Cliff had bought Steve a few precious moments.

Steve climbed to his feet and found Cliff waiting for him with an outstretched hand. He took up the offered hand, and allowed his friend to help him over the fence. Cliff then reached over the fence again for their supplies. He dragged them over the fence with a grunt, and set them down in front of Steve.

“Let’s get out of here,” Steve suggested as he took up the cart once more.

Nodding, Cliff couldn’t agree more. Together they ran to catch up with Aaron and Grace, who had just rounded the corner of the neighbour’s house.

Aaron was running between the side of the neighbour’s house and a taller privacy fence with Grace following a few feet behind. His path was totally clear until a zombie staggered around the corner to him. Without breaking his stride, he raised the gun. Pushing the barrel into the zombie’s face, he pulled the trigger. The gunshot was louder than years of video games had led him to believe, but the zombie fell over dead all the same. Beaming, Aaron was happy that the gun finally had worked for him.

Together he and Grace ran into the street. Vernon was across the street and to their left, and there wasn’t a single zombie between them and it. However, there were still a number of zombies milling around the Withers’ porch. They’d heard the gunshot a moment ago and were beginning to shamble towards Aaron and Grace.

Putting on a burst of speed, Grace fished her keys out of her coat pocket. “Hold them off while I get the car running,” she called out to Aaron.

With a nod, Aaron agreed to the plan. While Grace crossed the street at an angle to meet the car, he ran down the sidewalk to stop in front of the Withers’ house. Planting his feet firmly against the pavement, he raised the gun to take aim at the nearest zombie. Unsure of the range he could be accurate to, he waited for the zombies to get closer.

Steve and Cliff were running now, following the path between house and fence that Aaron and Grace had used. Burdened by the heavy cart, it wasn’t long before Steve fell behind Cliff again. Gritting his teeth, he redoubled his efforts. Keeping up took everything he had, but Steve had resolved not to be a burden to his friends.

As noble as Steve’s ambitions were, his body screamed in protest. The moment his feet hit the pavement of the street, Steve knew he’d pushed himself too hard. With blurred vision and an overpowering sensation of dizziness he struggled to keep his heading. It was impossible, and barely a moment later Steve stumbled, tripped, then fell. Although he didn’t feel anything when he hit the ground, Steve was dimly aware that it should have really hurt. Another wave of nausea washed over him as his stomach heaved. He tasted the toxic flavour of bile and saw the yellowish brown liquid escaping him.

Lifting his head was a struggle, but Steve fought hard to get a look at his surroundings. He was having trouble focusing, but he was sure that he could see Cliff and Aaron standing together in front of the Withers’ house, guns at the ready. Cliff’s shotgun’s muzzle erupted in a brilliant flash, and Steve heard a deafening report that to him sounded hundreds of kilometres distant. He couldn’t see Grace anywhere, and fought to turn his head the other way. A lone figure was moving towards him, and at first he thought this must be his missing friend. A moment later the truth dawned on him: it was a zombie arriving late to the party.

Placing his palms flat on the asphalt beneath his shoulders, Steve tried to push himself up. His arms trembled and shook, and the dizziness became a hundred times worse. Slumping to the ground in defeat, Steve tried to call for help. No words would come to him. Inwardly cursing, he tried again to rise to his feet, but once more he ended in failure. His gaze was fixed on the approaching zombie. Steve knew it was death coming to claim him, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

His only job had been to carry their food, but Steve knew he was going to let his friends down. The very notion infuriated him, and his fury found a voice. With a roar, he tried once more to gain his footing. Pushing against the road with everything he had, Steve could only lift himself above the ground a few inches. His arms buckled underneath his weight, but he had succeeded in pulling his right foot beneath him. With a push, he lurched unsteadily to his feet. Incredibly dizzy, he couldn’t help but stumble a few paces before finding his footing.

Whirling around to face the zombie, Steve was only mildly surprised to find its outstretched hands a few inches away. In as fluid a movement as he could muster, Steve yanked from his pants the knife he’d traded with Aaron for his gun, thrusting it at the oncoming zombie. In a moment, it was buried to the handle beneath the zombie’s chin. The blade had lodged itself in the brain and the zombie immediately became deadweight. Steve made no effort to retrieve his weapon, for he knew he didn’t have it in him to fight anymore.

Miraculously, the cart of provisions had managed to remain upright. Steve took up the handle and dragged it behind him, slowly working his way to Vernon.

Aaron looked over at the approaching figure. For a moment, he mistook Steve for a zombie, and raised his gun at him. It was an easy mistake to make, with Steve’s ashen countenance and harried gait. Seeing the cart he was pulling, Aaron realised his mistake and hoped he wouldn’t have to tell Steve he almost shot him.

Steve had a much easier time rolling the cart on the pavement, which he supposed was its intended purpose. It wasn’t long before he arrived at Vernon. Wrenching the back door open, he crawled inside and struggled to pull the cart in behind him.

While Steve struggled to secure their supplies, Grace was wrestling with the starter once more. She had tried a dozen times already to get the engine to turn over, but Vernon just wasn’t having it. Burying her head in her arms against the steering wheel, Grace admitted defeat.

“Car trouble?” Steve piped up.

“It won’t fucking start,” Grace explained.

“It definitely won’t start if you don’t keep trying,” Steve pointed out.

“What do you know?” she spat.

“I almost died a minute ago,” Steve shrugged, “Nobody noticed, and they probably wouldn’t have until they found the zombie eating my face. But I kept trying.”

Grace asked in surprise, “You almost died?”

“Yup,” Steve nodded, “And I’m definitely going to if you don’t get this car running.”

Although she wasn’t facing him, Steve could still feel Grace’s eyes on him. He had to admit that she had a very potent glare. Still, he had goaded her into trying again, and together they hoped she could get Vernon running.

Outside, the boys had amassed a sizeable collection of zombie corpses. Aaron aimed once more at the nearest zombie, double checked to make sure he had the shot lined up, and pulled the trigger. The anticlimax of a dry click startled him.

“Steve,” he shouted, “Not working!”

“Out of bullets,” Steve diagnosed. Fortunately, he hadn’t closed the door he’d climbed through yet, or else the two of them couldn’t converse in this fashion.

“What do I do?” Aaron called back for directions as the zombies still approached him.

“Hit them with your gun,” Steve suggested.

“I’d like to,” Aaron agreed as he stepped away from the zombies, “But I’m out of bullets!”

The nearest zombie was only a few paces away when Cliff stepped up. Demonstrating Steve’s point, he slammed the stock of the shotgun into the zombie’s temple. Its skull caved in and the zombie fell over.

“Oh,” Aaron remarked sheepishly, “I understand now.”

Vernon chose that moment to spring into action. After countless attempts with the faulty starter, the engine finally caught and turned over. Grace signalled their imminent departure with two swift blasts of the horn. Aaron and Cliff looked up to see their chariot awaiting. They bolted towards the car without another word.

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.”