Rise & Walk (Book 2): Pathogen (6 page)

Four

Margaret’s house shook with the rumble of a large passing vehicle.  She moved as fast as her spindly legs would carry her to the family room.  Opening the door and peering outside, she caught a glimpse of the brake lights of a vehicle as it turned into a court, one block down the street.  She knew that Pushkin Court had no outlet.  Whoever they were they would have to pass her again if they left.  She took two hesitant steps out on her porch, weighing her fear of leaving against the pressing loneliness of the alternative.  She could try to catch the driver’s attention from her lawn, if the car came by again.  Perhaps there was somewhere safe in the court, with people there who could help.  What if she waited for a ride that never came, like she had for her church meal?  What a shame it would be to hide in her house now knowing that others were so close.  The uncertainties left her no choice but to set out in search of help.  She would catch them in the court or they would pass her as they left. The relatively short walk would be a long journey for her old body but the thought of giving in, of just laying down and dying alone, was too awful to allow.  
Its now or never, old girl
, she thought and left her house without bothering to lock her door.

*****

Jack Mason stood next to the open door of his truck surveying the evening as best as the available light and his fatigued eyes would allow. He cursed himself for not checking to make sure he had brought his flashlight from camp.  The only light he could create now would be to crack one of his chemical light sticks. Light sticks were great to make a small amount of heatless illumination to use up close or to mark a trail, but without being able to focus that light, such a thing would only make him stand out as a target to anyone else in the area.  Reaching inside the truck he searched the small area behind his seat. Underneath a compact car jack, he found an emergency road flare. It wouldn’t be subtle but a flare would emit plenty of light if he needed it.  Stuffing the flare into a cargo pocket on his fatigues, he directed his attention towards the street.  Mason had learned to make the best of his sight in the dark by looking in a general direction, not at anything specifically.  The martial-arts training manuals that he had studied as a teen explained that peripheral vision was far more sensitive to movement.  The trick was training the brain to decipher the wider scope of information.  Seeing without focusing was how he explained it to Tony.  The technique had benefited Mason on the football field.  His job as middle linebacker was to run the defensive line.  In high school he had an almost sixth sense to anticipate the other team’s move and stop their offense.  Having the ability to look at the other team’s formation as a whole with his peripheral vision, taking it all in at once and mentally analyzing their strategy made Mason a leader on defense.  It took more than just good eyes to succeed on the field; instincts too had their place.  Right now, struggling to see in his generally unfocused manner, Mason’s instincts told him that something was out there, something was approaching. He looked back to Veronica.

“I think we’re okay, kill the engine.  I’m gonna go recon for a bit.” He said to her and closed the door slowly so that it only clicked quietly shut.

Recon?
Veronica wondered as she disengaged the ignition,
short for Reconnoiter?  A French word for sneak about and get into trouble?
She watched Jack’s crouched form recede silently into the night and vanish.  Feeling alone and left behind, Veronica wished she wasn’t injured.  She couldn’t tell if her side was easing up or getting stiffer, but it sure as hell hurt.  Feeling a touch of resentment, she mumbled to herself in a low macho voice.

“Gonna go recon for a bit.”

The evening was pitch.  The scattering light reflecting in the sky gave Mason’s eye some contrast to cling to.  He saw the roofline of the neighborhood homes silhouetted against the sky and a smattering of Elder trees but little else.  He crept forward keeping both knees slightly bent to distribute his weight.  He did his best to keep his motorcycle boots, not ideal for stealth, from thundering his approach.  The best he could manage was a soft grinding of asphalt underneath their reinforced soles.  He stopped and knelt down on one knee.  One deep breath; senses stretched to their limits, Mason tried to center himself.  Swimming in a storm of his inner fears had been the constant worry about his mother.  The radio said that San Francisco was a war zone.  He understood the blonde’s need to see to her parents; Jack wished he could do the same.  His mother was almost five hundred miles away in a city with a population of eight-hundred thousand.  At the moment, he could only pray that she was alright.  He closed his eyes gently for a moment.
God, please take care of Mom and Angelo, and my father, wherever he is... Amen.
  With that short prayer, Mason could focus for the time being.  He exhaled and opened his eyes.  He still sensed something out in the evening, something still approaching.  He turned his head to let his ear become his eyes and listened.

*****

With each empty room, Nikki grew more and more frantic.  At the top of the old wooden stairs, in her parent’s empty bedroom, her composure finally failed her.  Mentally exhausted, she sat down on her parent’s squeaky old bed, and submitted to hopelessness. Midway up the stairs, Tony heard her sigh and sniffle.

“Anything?” he asked wanting to avoid surprising her.  A frustrated and broken voice said “No.”  Deciding to leave her alone for a moment, he thought he should let the others know.  There was little more that he would rather do than to try and comfort Nikki.  Something told him that now was not a good time.  Shuffling to the bottom of the stairs, he knew there was nothing he could possibly say to help her right now.  No bit of verse or philosophy he could devise or quote from an obscure poem would ease her longing.  Tony frowned and opened the front door.  A folded piece of paper fluttered free from the doorjamb to land on the porch steps.  As Tony stooped to retrieve the paper, his movement caught Veronica’s attention.

“Hey,” she whispered through the half lowered window.

“Hey,” he answered, “Where’s Jack?”

“Reconnoitering,” she sighed.

“Something up?” He asked alert.

“Nope, just reconnoitering.” She mocked.

“Yeah, he likes that.” Tony said standing with the paper.  He opened the passenger’s door and in the light of the cab saw the words, “Love, Mom” written at the bottom.

“Are they here?” Veronica asked.

“No, but its okay,” he answered with a smile.

Veronica looked out the window at the empty lawn and dark vacant street.  The evening seemed a little safer then before.  Tired of being left behind, she spoke,

“Wait a sec. Help me down.” Veronica said opening the door.

When Nikki heard Tony bounding up the creaky wood staircase, she scrambled to compose herself and turned her head away from the door.

“Your Mom left a note,” Tony smiled and sat down next to her.  She accepted the piece of paper, no longer concerned with hiding her tears and directed the flashlight over the note.

Nicole,

The community emergency plan was activated this morning. It’s probably just a reaction to the odd stories on the news.  I can’t imagine anyone around here wanting to riot for any reason.  Your father and I have opened the school.  If we aren’t back by the time you get home, meet us there.  We’ll have food.  You know how these drills bring out the freeloaders.

   Love,

   Mom

Nikki read the note twice, her lips mouthing the words in silence.  She smiled.

“Where’s the school?” Tony smiled back.

Five

Twenty-five yards from the edge of her lawn, Margaret McCormack stood at the mouth of the cul-de-sac.  Her lower back burned from what had been an unusually long walk for her age.  Her tin flashlight felt cold in her left hand; in her right the scissors were just as cold.  The flashlight shook as she he pushed the stiff plastic switch upwards.  A sad ray of light struggled through the plastic lens, browned from many years. 

“No,” Margaret shuddered as she shook the flashlight.  It blinked slightly brighter for a moment then resumed its dim shade. Reflecting a small smear of light on the street, she oriented herself to walk straight into the court then turned off the poor flashlight to conserve its power.  With some effort, she proceeded into Pushkin Court.

An unreal stillness surrounded Margaret.  Her hearing certainly wasn’t what it once was but the lack of any background noise seemed to amplify her footsteps.  Each scuffle, each placing of her tiny feet, resounded in the thick air.  Her calves burned from disuse.  Her tendons groaned like tiny stressed cables, fraying at the joints.  One small hand cramped around the Ray-O-Vac, the other holding the night at bay with a pair of scissors.  If one could see the poor woman in the surrounding dark, they would see her once beautiful eyes now wide with fright.  She was reminded of a time when she was a young girl after seeing the movie “Cat People” with her friend Katherine, how the film had left her so awfully frightened.  Walking home she was so afraid that some cat-person was waiting to pounce on her from the bushes, she had walked up the center of the road the entire way home, fearful that each new yard was home to some predatory beast.  Margaret almost had to laugh that seventy years later she was again walking up the center of the road. 

She tried to walk slower, to ease the pain creeping up her legs.  She rolled her foot from heel to toe and walked more deliberately. 
I must be careful
, she thought.  At her age, the fear of falling was a constant threat.  Margaret always feared that breaking a hip was a death sentence to someone her age.   She paused for a moment to rest her burning calves, but the sound of shuffling feet continued. The sound continued from behind her; a shuffling not her own.  She heard a faint crunch from in front of her.
Stupid girl, why did you have to leave the house
?  Margaret turned around towards the shuffling sound and pushed the hard plastic switch on her flashlight. It flickered with a final yellow flash as the lamp-bulb burned out.  Margaret, frightened beyond all measure, turned again to her original direction and set out as fast as her pained legs would allow.  One foot after another, she moved faster and faster until her efforts brought her a painful limp but still her pace wasn’t enough.  She kept the dead flashlight with the intention of bashing anything that got in her way.

*****

Mason bristled with anticipation.  He couldn’t see a damn thing in the dark but he could hear a faint scraping sound ahead.  He needed some light down-range.  Without a flashlight to cast a beam, he was left with little choice.  Go back to the truck and wait for what ever it was to get closer, or head off the issue here.  He considered the road flare.  Setting his sword down, he removed the flare from his pocket. 
If I do this, it’s gonna blow my night vision
, he thought.  A small reflection out of the darkness caught his eye and then vanished.  He almost doubted his eyes. 
That’s it, I’m sick of this bullshit
.  Keeping his eyes closed to protect his night-vision, he struck the top of the flare.  On the second try, he heard the
Whoosh
of ignition.  Raising the flare high above his head, he opened his left eye. Mason grasped his sword by the scabbard and stood. The flare glowed orange in a radius of about eight feet, not enough to see anything approaching. He hurled the flare down the street.

The flare burned an arc through the air, lighting up the area underneath.  As the flare landed about three house-lengths away, Mason could make out two shapes shambling towards him.  The eerie orange backlight created inhumanly elongated shadows for both forms that reached out towards him.  Mason drew his
Katana
with his right hand and held the scabbard as a blocking weapon in his left.
Okay; do I get Tony, or just do this myself?
  He calculated that he didn’t have the time to get his friend without allowing the creatures too get close to the house. 
I better do this, fast and quiet
.  Jack Mason began to run towards the figures. A plan formed in his mind; he would thrust for the eye on the first monster and push its body into the second.  He hoped the force would be enough to punch the chisel-like tip of his sword into the creature’s brain.  He’d have to see how the momentum went and improvise the rest after that.  Mason was centered and knew what he had to do.  He closed the distance fast and raised his arm like a jouster, ready to strike.  Mason was shocked to see the first creature throw a small flashlight.  The tin flashlight missed him and shattered its plastic top on the roadway. The creature then raised a pair of scissors defensively and shrieked in fear. 
It’s a person!
, he realized.  Jack stopped short and swung his sword arm to the side to avoid spearing the cowering figure’s face.  This left his stance open and unprepared for the second figure, just paces behind the first.  The creature sprang on Mason with a foul intent sending him tumbling back to the asphalt. 

Margaret’s heart raced painfully.  She didn’t know what to make of the two shapes struggling in the street.  She searched in her pocket for her sandwich bag of pills and managed to secure one of the small tablets.  She placed the medicine under her tongue while backing away from the conflict.  It dissolved quickly and her heart began to settle. 

Mason’s protective motorcycle vest scraped loudly against the unforgiving asphalt.  The creature snapped wildly above him.  It clenched a slippery hand on Mason’s neck.  The sensation of its cold, wet paw filled Mason with revulsion and anger; anger that he let it get this close; close enough to touch him with his infected, filthy hand.
Where the hell is Tony when I need him?

Mason didn’t want to let go of his sword but he needed his hand for close quarters fighting.  Experience and practicality won in his mind and the sword clattered free.  Mason brought his hand up under the attacking creature’s chin and drove his thumb into a nerve cluster underneath its jaw.  He was shocked that it had no effect. Usually, pressure on the nerve would cause pain, severe pain, and instinctively drive the head away.
Shit?
Mason thought.  The thought that the dead were unaffected by tried and true combat techniques sent an extra shot of adrenalin to his gut.  Mason was still able to use his hand positioning to control the beast’s head.  He pushed off with his right leg and rolled on top of the writhing ghoul.  A rancid smell of ammonia and meat stung his nose.  He pushed his left hand onto the creatures chin, driving its head sideways and brought his right fist down on its temple.  Mason struck it again and again with angry blows until he felt cold moisture soak through his motorcycle gloves.  Pressure points may not work but good old physical force was still in play.  Mason stood, tore off his motorcycle glove, and stomped on the twitching beast’s head. A wet sound emitted from the body with an unnerving rattle.  Removing a light stick from his pocket, he ripped open the package and snapped it to mix the contents.  With a shake it began to emit a soft green glow. 

Margaret had backed away from the struggle until she nudged into an old Ford Taurus.  Mason retrieved his sword and scabbard and saw that she was still retreating, her hand tracing the shape of the vehicle for support.  He approached slowly, holding the light stick up to show her that he wasn’t a threat.

“Its okay, I’m not one of those things” he assured.

She seemed to shrink with his advance.  He stopped.

“My name’s Jack. I’m sorry I frightened you.”

“Margaret McCormack,” she said hesitantly.

“Nice to meet you,” he said and took another step.  This time she straightened up a little.  There was something so sad about her countenance.  The way she held her scissors in both hands together almost in prayer, reminded Jack of a Donatello sculpture he had once seen in one of Tony’s college textbooks.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” He asked while catching his breath.

“I heard a car drive by.  I was hoping someone would help me.” She almost whimpered. Jack found her terror heartbreaking.

“Anything you need, ma’am.”  He offered her his hand.

Jack slowly escorted Margaret to the house while giving her his arm to lean on; an outmoded custom that somehow seemed appropriate to her advanced age.  Tony, worried at his best friend absence, met them in the street and reported the situation with Nikki’s parents. He told Jack that he asked the girls to round up some clothes and supplies while they had time. Tony filed in beside Margaret and patiently kept pace.  When they arrived, they found Nikki placing a large travel bag in the bed of the truck.  Jack introduced the newcomer as Mrs. McCormack. Awkward pleasantries were exchanged as if the world was just fine.  Veronica, now armed with a flashlight of her own, shined the light over the old woman.

“Are you injured? Did any of those things touch you?”

“Oh no dear, I’m fine.” Margaret answered looking to Jack, “Thanks to this young man.”

Veronica saw the brown smears on Jack’s protective vest.

“You should go wash that off.” Veronica urged.

Mason rushed under the direction of Tony’s flashlight into the modest first floor bathroom.  He unclasped the straps on his protective vest and chucked it on the floor. 

“Shine on me,” he said.  Tony did as his friend asked.  Mason spun the faucets open and splashed water on his face, neck and chest.

“Almost bought it out there man,” he growled while soaping up his throat.  Tony hooked his foot underneath the plastic armor and lifted it from the ground. 

“I want you close from now on; no more splitting up.” Mason said.

“Sorry,” Tony sighed, “I stuck to the plan.”  Mason stopped washing.

“Right,” he said, squinting at Tony in the mirror.  There was no discussion about Mason leaving his post.  He was glad he did otherwise the nice lady outside wouldn’t be alive but it was off mission.  Jack reached out and Tony handed him the protective vest.  Jack ran it under the faucet and scrubbed with a washrag.

“We need to drop them off and get home,” Jack said.

“Home?”

“Soon as possible.”

Through all recent terrors, Tony hadn’t considered returning to Berkeley.  He leaned against the door and took a deep breath. 

“I still think we need to hole up for the night and get some rest.” Tony offered, “The high school is some sort of shelter for disasters.  Nikki’s parents work there”

Mason grunted an acknowledgement.

“What about the girls, and that lady?”

“Veronica wants to stay, so I guess we drop them somewhere safe.” Jack said.  Tony handed Jack the flashlight and left to join the others.