36 Hours (20 page)

Les’ eyes steamed and he mentally pulled his hair. “We have to have a plan!”

“We don’t,” I calmly said. “Every other plan has failed. So we stay here. Hole up. Welcome to the Alamo.”

Anthony Barnhart

36 Hours

124

“We don’t have food.”

“There’s a whole lot of that in the countryside.”

Les glared steel magnolias. “I don’t want to sit here and wait to die and rot.”

“You come over three times a week. We have three doors out. You know where they all are.”

“How can you give up so quickly?”

“It was Thoreau who said, ‘Men live quiet lives of desperation.’ Or something like that.”

“What does that have to do with a plan!”

“Has nothing to do with it. But if we run on hot air, we’re going to be roaming the streets, too, purple-faced and salivating like dogs.”

“This house isn’t impregnable.”

“We aren’t up against an elite army. We’re up against savage animals. This place is fine.”

“For now. But what about tomorrow? Or the day after that?”

“Honestly? I suspect we won’t live that long no matter what the plan. So relax. Enjoy yourself. Shoot some Pool.”

Amanda stood from the countertop and walked upstairs. “I’m taking a shower. If the water still works.”

“Water doesn’t run on electricity,” I said.

Hannah sat down with us. “Austin, do you have any candles and matches for when it gets dark?”

“No,” Les said. “Let’s not do that. They’ll see the light from the windows, even though they’re covered. They might flock to light like moths. How do we know?”

The shower turned on. Some commotion upstairs as Amanda got in. The shower door slid shut. I asked, “Les, you didn’t tell me how Amanda got her cut. It looked pretty bad.” No cleverness in my voice. Not now. I hadn’t a clue –

too brain-dead from all the hoarse and unfettered ‘excitement.’

Hannah glared at Les, but Les didn’t notice: “While we were driving past the burnt-out apartment buildings, the back door popped open. All the food spilt everywhere, and so did Renee. She was the last one of us to go. We hit a curve, the trunk popped, and Renee and all the AmeriStop junk went out the back. Just them some infected were coming from an embankment and ditch. We didn’t stop for Renee. Call me cold-blooded, un-Christian, but things change fast. The infected got her. Hannah yelled at Ams to shut the back door. We were going Anthony Barnhart

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over a hill when she clambered back and began to shut it. Suddenly, over the hill, there was an overturned truck with a half-eaten corpse sprawled over the cab; I swerved to avoid hitting it and rolled into the ditch. She flopped out the back, landing amongst a bunch of weeds. We rolled off the side of the road, too. I stopped the Jeep, Hannah grabbed Amanda, she was pretty banged up. We loaded up, stepped on the gas, pulled out of there using a trick I learned in driving ed, and we were on our way, deeper into the rural.”

“I thought she banged it getting
into
the Jeep? That’s what she told me.”

Les and Hannah were quiet; Hannah said, “She’s in half-shock.”

“Then should she be in the shower with warm water? You’re a nurse?”

“She should be fine.”

I shook my head. “If we lose her to shock I’ll kill myself.” One more bullet. I went upstairs and tried to get in. The knob rattled. I leaned my head against it.

“Ams?” Nothing. I called again: “Ams!” A dim echo from within the lighthouse-style bathroom; I returned, “How are you feeling? You shouldn’t be getting the bandages wet!” She said it was fine.

Hannah walked up the steps and said, “She’s okay. Go relax.”

I nodded and went into my room, shutting the door. The pistol sat on the computer desk. The computer was dark. I took the pistol and slid it under one of the pillows of my messy bed. I changed shirts, throwing the bloody one into the dirty heap, and pulling on a Nautica long-sleeve. From the light of the window, shades drawn, the room was held in a fuzzy glow, soft illumination reflecting off dinosaur paintings mounted on the wall, a rack of Bibles in my bookcase, with some dinosaur encyclopedias alongside. The fish tank was quiet, and the fish swam along happily. With the door shut, in the silence, I could get a moment’s rest. I crouched down on the bed, fell into the covers.
Sleep. Sleep.
I closed my eyes – but it wouldn’t come. Exhaustion. So tired. But unable to sleep. Insomnia. I got back up, changed my pants and boxers, threw on new sox, and took off my shoes. I opened the door and went back into the hallway. Hannah knocked on the bathroom door. “Amanda? Are you okay?”

Puking, groaning from inside. I said, “Shock.”

“Don’t go back into the shower,” Hannah said. “Okay? You don’t want to pass out.”

A muffled reply: “I won’t.”

“Never should’ve let her go,” I said matter-of-factly.

“What are you puking up? Bile or blood? Both?”

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“It’s just…” Vomiting. “Green.”

“Hannah, you can’t just-“

She snapped, “Get out of here! I can deal with this. You’re not a doctor. Get.”

I raised my hands and tromped downstairs. Les was peeking out the window;

“Any news?”

“Roads are barren,” he said. “Completely empty. I think things are quieting down.”

“Don’t you mean survivors are dwindling?”

“Do you think there are many more survivors? Holed up?”

“Yeah. Definitely. The whole world isn’t going to fall in a couple hours.”

“Any survivors here in Tamarack?”

“I’m sure.”

“We should try to hook up with them.”

“Stop dreaming, it’s going to-“

THUMP
. From the bathroom. Both Les and I looked up at Hannah. She had stepped away from the door, ashen-faced. We sprinted up the steps. I shook the knob. Snarled to Hannah, “She’d better not have been in the shower. She could drown.” I tried to open the door. “We have a key somewhere, I think it’s in my parents’ room…” I ran into their room and frantical y searched, pulling out drawers and boxes and containers. Watches. Dice. Tic-tacs. Some keys to the house, car, truck. I then remembered we also had the van and truck to drive if we wanted. There! I found the key and ran back out. I put it into the keyhole and began to-Hannah touched my hand: “Don’t.”

Gawking at her as if she were crazy, I spewed, “Do you want her to die?”

“She’s already dead,” Hannah said.

“You can’t know that. You haven’t even
seen
her.”

Les hallowed, “She didn’t fall out into a ditch. We never even hit a ditch. She was bitten.”

Then I understood the ashen color in their faces, the deep fear in their eyes. I turned and went back into my room, ripped up the pillow. The polished gun stared at me, crookedly smiling. I picked it up and walked back to the bathroom. Now Les had a knife. He saw the gun and his eyes hardened. “Drop it, Austin.”

“No. We have to put her out.”

“Let’s see if she gets out.”

“You said she is dead.”

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Hannah stammered. “Yes, but… It wasn’t a bad bite…”

“You remember the TV. A bite is a death sentence. That’s why she’s been sick, had no appetite.”

They didn’t say anything.

“How could you let her in here? You should’ve dropped her the moment she was bitten.”

“Would you have?” Hannah growled.

Les mocked, “He killed his own father. He wouldn’t have any trouble with her. He’s a danged good hero.” The sarcasm dripped thin as honey.

“I just don’t want to die,” I said.

Les stepped close, brandishing the knife. “Don’t open the door, Austin.”

Hannah felt pinned; she ducked back against the wall. “Guys. Please. Let’s-“

I pointed the gun at Les. “No. You put down the knife. This is stupid. I’m not the one who let the serial murderer in my own home.”

“Austin,” Hannah pleaded, “she’s just a
girl
. It’s Amanda! She’s like your sister.”

“Not anymore. Amanda is no more. Nevermore. She’s gone.”

The door shook. We all stared at the cheap oak wood. It vibrated once more. Something hitting it. Hannah’s legs went weak and she took off into my room. Les and I stared at each other, threatening the other to move. The door bubbled outward, then flexed back into place. Again. Again. She was trying to get out. I called loudly, “Amanda. Tell us something. Say something.” A low, guttural growl, a sort of otherworldly menace. I stepped towards the door. Les flexed: “Don’t open it!”

“I’m not.” Raising the gun, I fired once into the door. The gunshot screamed through the house, making my ears ring, but in an instant the echo was a memory. Beyond the door was a distant thumb, a crinkling sound, and silence. Hannah started crying in my room. My glazed eyes glared at the door, a small hole drilled through the middle of the varnished wood.

“She’s gone,” Les said, half-relieved. “You killed her. You shot her.”

“No. You have to pierce the head. I shot her in the chest. Give me your knife.”

“No way. You don’t need to open that door.”

The gun’s sights reveled over him: “Give me the knife, Les.” He tossed it through the air; I caught it by the blade, almost cutting my fingers. I took it by the handle and tossed the gun to Les. He jumped out of the way; it clattered on the tiled foyer and came to a stop against the wall. I took the key in my hand Anthony Barnhart

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once more and twisted it in the lock; I kicked the door open with my foot and holding the knife barred, jumped right in.

Blood had been splattered all over the mirror, and a bullet had fragmented most of it into a webbed masterpiece. I saw my own horrid reflection in the mirror, yet was drawn to Amanda’s naked body, sick and twisted, purple and ghastly, a skeleton of death, opened its yellowed jaws, hollering in rage. She leapt up at me, springing agile; I ducked out of the way and sliced at her with the knife, slitting open her chest. Blood sprayed all against the wall; I elbowed her hard in the face, breaking her nose. Blood trailed down to her mouth; she reeled at me, jaws gaping, teeth dripping with malicious poison; I drove the tip of the blade into her eye; she screeched once and fell still against me. Suddenly the body was so heavy. I side-stepped and let it fall onto the counter, and then into the floor, where blood began to form an ocean on the white-washed tile. I left the room, my clothes only partially stained with blood. Hannah stared at me and Les held the gun.

He said, “It’s empty.”

To both of them: “Endanger the only family I have left like this again, and I swear I’ll take your lives.”

Anthony Barnhart

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April 23, 2004 Friday – April 24, 2004 Saturday

The kings of the earth, the rulers, the generals, the wealthy people, the people with
great power, and every slave and every free person – all hid themselves in the caves
and among the rocks of the mountains. And they cried to the mountains and the
rocks, “Fal on us and hide us from the face of the one who sits on the throne and
from the wrath of the Lamb. For the great day of their wrath has come, and who wil
be able to survive?”

--Revelation 6:15-17

6:00 p.m.

No story, no fairy-tale, no movie

Winter

Wonderland

Awakening

Footfalls from Ashlie’s bedroom. I tore the uncomfortable silence apart, striding past Les and Hannah and stooping next to Ashlie’s door. “Ashlie?” I called in, softly, as if not wanting to disturb her sleep. But I knew she was awake. No reply. Just moving within. A moment and I had a horrible vision: Ashlie turned, a soft bite in her arm;
that’s why she’s sick, she’s been turning
since last night…
“Ashlie?” My voice quivered; Les and Hannah shot each other worrisome glances.

Then her voice returned, boomeranging into relief: “What was that noise?”

“Did we wake you up? I’m sorry.” Mind reeling:
answer!
“Les dropped the paint bucket.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m getting dressed. I feel a lot better. Not
puking
anymore.”

Les’ and Hannah’s faces went pale. I coughed, “Actually, Mom wants you to stay in bed.”

“Why? I’m okay.” She opened the closet doors in her room and we heard the rattling of coat hangars.

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“Mom says you have the flu, and if you start moving, it’ll jump back. Need to sleep it off.”

“I’ll talk to her in a minute…”

Mom
. The memory hurt. Again, seeing her, gun to her head. That hideous, ungodly voice:
Get away from me…
Les shook his head; Hannah made X marks across her throat. “She can’t talk. She’s fixing supper.”

Hannah mouthed,
What???

“What’s for supper?” Ashlie asked.

“Steak and potatoes.” Thinking back, I should’ve said something like green beans. Unappetizing. She really liked steak.

Ashlie: “Can I fix the potatoes?” She always made the best potatoes. Creamy and chunky and blasted with flavor. My mouth watered.

“No, I’m doing them. Mom doesn’t want you getting germs all over the food. Go back to sleep.”

A pause. She shut the closet door. Ruffling of covers. I let out an emotional sigh. She said, “I am feeling a little sicker…” Placebo. “But why is the power out?”

“I don’t know, but DP&L is working on it.”
DP&L doesn’t exist
. We stood by the bedroom door until we heard Ashlie snoring. She always fell asleep so quickly. We crept downstairs, wary to wake her. Hannah looked herself over in the mirror, muttering under her breath. “I need a shower.”

Les spun me around. “Remember when we used to fiddle around with the breakers and turn power on and off?”

“I don’t know, man. I don’t think they’re meant for this kind of thing.”

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

Hannah turned. “We could
really
fix some steak. And potatoes. Have a nice dinner.”

“I don’t feel like eating,” I countered.

Somehow Les got a hold of me. Opening the door to downstairs, my eyes ramped down the carpet steps, over the downstairs patio, and through the family room open door. Mom’s body lay sprawled against the wall, eyes contorted, a hole smeared through her forehead. The back of her head had splintered all over the place, and dried blood caked the drywall. Blood had seeped from the bullet hole, traveling down her face and dripping onto her clothes. It was all so surreal, so inanimate. On the verge of disbelief. So stiff, irresolute. Les stood breathless Anthony Barnhart