Contagious (8 page)

“
We just ate. I know it’s not much, but we have to get used to it.” I shook my head and knocked on the door. A dog barked. “It’s alive!” I exclaimed, realizing as soon as the words escaped my mouth that what I said was dumb and obvious. “Maybe others are,” I added, knocking again. “Hello?!” No one answered. I frowned and Logan shrugged. I stepped aside and let him kick the door.

The dog bounded at me. Terror flashed through my veins as the Doberman jumped, putting his paws on me. Instead of biting me, he licked me. The stub of his cropped tail waggled feverishly and he licked my face, whining.

“
Hi, buddy,” I said, pushing the dog down. The place reeked of dog feces and urine. “Are your owners home?” Logan was looking around, seemingly unbothered by the smell. “No one’s here,” I summed up and went back into the hall, gagging. Assuming the dog’s owners had done what Aunt Jenny had done for Finickus, they were long gone. Before I could read the dog’s ID tag, he took off. “You’re welcome,” I muttered.

I told Logan to check the end of the hall while I searched the rest of the apartments on this end. The next home held more dead bodies. I closed the door, trapping the smell and the flies. The next apartment I broke into was more interesting.

If I met the guy who lived here in a bar I probably would have laughed at him. He had to be the biggest movie nerd in history; posters of recognizable wizards and dragons covered the walls in the living room. The display case next to the couch housed several comic book figurines, a very fake looking machine gun, and a set of knives. Several swords hung on the wall and a bow rested on the coffee table. I wondered if it was even worth checking out the weapon replicas.

The first sword I removed from the wall was heavy. Heavy and sharp yet impractical. The next one was shorter, just as sharp and maybe doable. I tossed it on the couch and contemplated whether or not I should consider taking it. Running with a sword probably wasn’t as easy to do as it looked in the movies. The knives were nicely made but dull, the leather carrying case they were in, however, could come in handy.

I picked up a bow, examining the gold swirls etched and painted into the wood. It was pretty, even I had to admit. I’ve shot a bow many times; I preferred them when hunting since they were silent. But I’d never used a long bow like the one I was holding. The bows I had were modern and camouflaged, not delicate and Elven like this one. I pulled back on the string with ease. Not even a twenty pound pull, I thought and set it down. I picked up a metal knight’s helmet, tapping my fingers to test its strength out of curiosity. I sighed, dropped it and moved on to the bookshelf behind me.

Along with books, DVDs, and more figurines, the shelf held more replicas. I found two daggers that could be useful and one very sharp Samurai sword. These weapons could easily stab through anyone, but they still weren’t ideal. You had to be close to something to stab it.

“
Why couldn’t you be some weird gun fanatic?” I spoke to no one. I rolled the weapons up in a sheet, found a case of bottled water and a jar of peanuts, shoved those in a bag and took the lot into the hall. I kicked open the next door to reveal an empty apartment. I was starting to feel the weight of not sleeping. One more and I’ll find Logan, I promised myself.

Whoever lived here took everything useful. I was annoyed but glad that I wasn’t the only one in this crappy apartment complex who knew what was important to survive. The glass door to the balcony had been left open. Wind blew the pictures that had been scattered along the floor. I stepped on them as I went to step out into the open air. The sunlight was fading fast and I wanted to have everything ready and waiting for tomorrow.

It was unnerving how quiet the city was. No rush of traffic, no cars honking, no sirens or people talking or laughing or children playing. Wishing for binoculars, I looked out. I held out the gun, wishing I could fire and test for accuracy. I wasn’t about to waste a bullet and I didn’t want the shot to ring out and give away our hiding spot.

I grabbed the cheap plastic handle to the door and slid it halfway before coming to the conclusion that closing it was pointless. It was only a matter of time before the whole building turned to ruins or became overrun by zombies or crazies.

A very pretty face beamed up at me from a photograph. I crouched down, putting the gun on the floor, and picked up the picture. The girl looked familiar. She was beautiful, with golden brown skin and perfect dark hair. I inspected another photo, trying to place her face that I knew I’d seen before.

“
Collette Gravois,” I recalled. She used to be a famous model. She had her own TV show and lingerie line a few years back. I’d wasted much of my hard earned money on her sexy Brazilin lace designs. Then the Depression hit and frivolous spending came to an end. No one cared what your clothes, let alone bra, looked like when you couldn’t afford food.

I wondered how she ended up in Indy and especially here. Or maybe she hadn’t. Maybe these photos belonged to a friend. I thumbed through the remnants of an album of Collette at a theme park, wearing normal clothes and looking happy. She was probably dead right now.

Something flashed. I snapped my attention to the balcony door. It had come from outside. I waited for it to happen again. And then I saw his reflection, fading sunlight glinting off the knife in his hand.

“
Jesus, Logan. You scared me.” I held up a picture of Collette in a bikini. “Know who this is?” I turned, expecting Logan’s eyes to bulge at the scantily clad model. He tipped his head down and stared, drool dripping from his mouth. Something wasn’t right. My brain didn’t have time to form a logical thought. Everything happened so fast. With a yell, Logan flew at me, knife raised. I tried to move out of the way. My feet slipped on the photographs, and I fell, sprawled on the floor. He was on me, pinning me down. I watched his reflection as he raised his arm. With horror, I saw the reflection of the knife cut through the air and into my back.

-Chapter 4-

I screamed in pain. I thrashed around, desperate to get out from under him. The wound hurt; pain rippled through my body, running up and down my spine. I didn’t have time to focus on that if I wanted to live. Logan was bigger and stronger than me. Since I was face down, I was defenseless. I snapped my legs up, driving the heel of my boot into his back. If he wasn’t infected, it might have worked. Inflicting pain did nothing to the crazies.

Out of nowhere he raced into the room. His body flew in a graceful leap and collided with Logan, knocking him off me. Growling, the Doberman circled him. Logan crouched down, knife raised. Running on adrenaline, I staggered up. I took hold of a lamp, yanking its cord from the wall. With all the force I could muster, I slammed it over Logan’s head.

It didn’t hurt him, I suppose, but it disoriented him long enough for the dog to jump. His jaws closed around Logan’s arm, his flesh tearing instantly. I didn’t want to kill Logan. Just a few minutes ago we were talking. He was fine.

“
Logan!” I yelled, hoping to spark some sort of remembrance. He only growled at me, fighting against the dog. Afraid he might stab the Doberman, I kicked him in the chest. As soon as my foot made contact I fell, the stab wound throbbing. The knife slipped from his fingers, my blood splattering the floor as it clattered to the ground. Logan fell back, hitting his head on the balcony door.

The balcony.

With a plan, I forced myself up. The dog stood by me, growling and showing his fangs. I closed my eyes and kicked Logan again, bracing for the pain that would surely follow. It hurt like hell, but my plan worked. He back stepped, taking his crazy ass out onto the balcony.

“
Get him,” I said to the dog, not knowing if it was a command he knew. Whether he listened to me or not, the Doberman lunged again, sinking his teeth into Logan’s arm. I pushed on the weak metal railing. Like Aunt Jenny’s, it was loose. I never felt safe leaning on her railing; it felt like it would give away at any second.

“
Good dog,” I said and put my hand on his back, hoping he wouldn’t turn around and bite me. Thankfully he let go. I shoved Logan. He tipped backward, crashing into the rusting white metal. It creaked and groaned and finally gave way. I grabbed the dog’s collar, jumped back inside and closed the glass door right as Logan toppled down.

I sank to my knees. I felt like I was going to throw up. I couldn’t catch my breath or slow my pounding heart. The dog nosed me as if he wanted praise.

“
Thanks,” I said, unhappy with how high pitched and shaky my voice was. My hands trembled even worse. My fingers didn’t want to cooperate in grasping the chipping metal ID tag that hung from the dog’s neck. “Argos,” I said, finally reading his name. His whole butt shook with excitement at the sound of his name. He licked sweat off my face and trotted off. I pulled myself up, trudging back to Aunt Jenny’s apartment.

“
Orissa!” Zoe cried, practically falling out of her chair. She was the first to notice the blood. In an explosion of chaos, Padraic was woken. He was concerned over the amount of blood I had lost. Before anyone could drill me with questions, he took me into the bathroom and closed the door. He had to help me remove my shirt. As the shock wore off, the pain settled in. He pressed a clean towel to the wound, told me to hold it and scuttled out to get some medical supplies.

“
Do you think you could stand to let me stitch it closed?” he asked.

The blood drained from my face at the thought of a sewing needle repeatedly piercing my skin. “Does it need it?”

“
I’d say so.”

“
Ok then. Do it fast.”

Padraic’s hands were soft and gentle. He didn’t have gloves but didn’t balk at my blood.

“
Were you strangled?” he asked, apparently seeing the red marks on my neck.

“
Yeah.”

“
Why didn’t you say anything?”

“
It didn’t kill me. And I’ve been strangled before. It’s no big deal.”

“
Oh, I beg to differ. Want to tell me what happened up there now?”

I didn’t want to talk about it ever. The needle poked into my flesh. “Logan.”

“
He got attacked?”

“
Not quite.”

“
He did this?” Padraic’s hands stopped moving.

“
He was infected. I-I had no idea. He was fine and then ten minutes later…” I felt tears attempt to form, whether it was from the pain or the horrible loss, I didn’t know. I blinked them back. “I don’t even know how he got infected. I thought you said we were all immune.”

“
Resistant,” he corrected, pulling the thread up. It yanked my skin in a sickening manor. “Viruses evolve and change. One strand could do nothing while a slightly different strand could be fatal.”

“
But how did he get it? We haven’t drunk any water and I’m sure he didn’t get bitten.”

Padraic clipped the thread, rubbed some sort of salve on the wound and bandaged it up. He sat on the counter, wiping his bloody hands on a wet rag.

“
He got scraped and cut fighting the zombies, right?”

“
Didn’t we all?” I asked feebly.

“
Yes. And that’s what worries me. You said you didn’t think he got bitten, insinuating you think the virus is transmitted through saliva. Maybe that’s not the only way.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
Take AIDS, for example. If someone with AIDS bled on that fresh cut…”

“
I’d get it.”

“
Exactly.”

My eyes locked with Padraic’s. He looked almost excited about his discovery but terrified at the same time. This upped the ‘we all get the zombie virus, go crazy, or die’ factor. “How do we tell the others about Logan,” he asked.

“
I’m sure they already suspect it.” I unfolded my shirt, which I had wadded up and squeezed while I was being sewn shut. I stuck my fingers through the hole in my hoodie. “And he had to freaking ruin my hoodie.”

“
Is he still out there?”

“
Nope.”

“
Did you…?”

“
Yep.”

“
After he stabbed you?”

“
No, I killed him then he stabbed me,” I jeered derisively.

“
I got that,” he said quickly. “I meant that I’m a little impressed and a lot surprised you were able to put up a fight after going through that.”

“
Well,” I said, standing and not mentioning the dog; I didn’t know if my canine savior would ever come back. “It’s not the first time I’ve been stabbed.”

“
You are an interesting girl, Orissa.”

I’d been called a lot of things in my life, though interesting was never one of them. “I guess.” I dropped my torn and bloody clothes on the ground. “Am I good to go, doctor?”

His blue eyes only looked at my chest for a second. “It’s as good as I can get it with what I have. I’d like you to take antibiotics to prevent an infection.”

“
Well we don’t have any,” I spat, inhaling deeply. I hoped he understood that my anger was directed at the annoying lack of supplies and not him. He didn’t look away from my eyes. Granted, I was wearing a plain, pink bra, not sexy in the least with no frills or lace. It irritated me that he didn’t stare at my boobs like a normal guy. Did he not find me attractive? I turned in the mirror and discovered the back of the bra was covered in blood. My skin had been perfectly cleaned though. “Thanks,” I added. “I guess having a doctor around during a zombie apocalypse is a good thing.”

“
As is having a girl who can kick some ass,” he added.

“
It is,” I agreed with a friendly smile and opened the door. In the privacy of my room, I let myself wince at the pain. I held up a hand mirror to inspect the reflection in my big mirror. The knife had cut me to the left of my spine. The blade hadn’t cut too deep, thank God; instead it dragged a three inch, nasty line across my shoulder blade. My skin prickled and tugged with every movement. Carefully, I stuck the bandage back to my skin and went to the closet.