The Living Dead (Book 1): Contagion (22 page)

            “What if you don’t get sick? I severed the head; maybe she couldn’t transmit the virus. I‘m not going to leave you here.”

            “Ian, I already feel it. It’s like a burning cold that’s spreading through my whole body. I can’t take the chance of turning and infecting Anna and Greg or anyone else. It is what it is.”

            He pulled her close. His voice muffled in her hair he said, “I’m sorry about everything. I don’t know how I could have ever thought it was a good idea to let you go.”

            “Promise me you’ll never let the children out of your sight and you’ll get them somewhere safe. Daniel and Charles too.”

            “I promise.”

            They loaded the last of the boxes. Virginia produced the glass eye from her pocket and popped it back into Miss Alice’s empty socket then zipped them into their coats and helped them with their gloves. Greg took her face between his mittened hands and asked, “Home now Mommy?” Her self-control slipped and she put her arms around him and held tight. How could she ever let them go? Ian noticed.

            “Mom’s going to stay here for now. She’s a little sick.”

            “No Mom, you have to come with us!” Anna was adamant.

            “Sweetheart, I don’t feel well and I don’t want to give anyone else my cold. I’ll get better faster if I just sleep here for now. Come on, it‘s time to go.”

            She watched them drive away before she went back inside and secured the doors. A wave of dizziness hit and she collapsed at the bottom of the stairs then painfully dragged herself up, wanting a bed to lie down on. The cold feeling intensified and as nausea hit she leaned over the banister and vomited into the foyer. Crawling on hands and knees, she made it into the first bedroom and onto the bed, lying on her side and vomiting onto the floor. She tried to focus on images of Ian, Anna, and Greg: arriving back home (when all this was over would they still lose the house?): going about a normal life, moving on. For just a moment, the thought of never seeing them again overwhelmed the pain and nausea and she sobbed aloud. I tried so hard, she thought, and I did save them. I did. Then she remembered she had forgotten to bring the pistol upstairs.

            It was her last coherent thought.

The next day…

             
Confusion enveloped her. She felt cold, clumsy, and numb; everything appeared hazy. She had to find… what? A sound penetrated the mental fog and drew her to a window. She was just able to see a vehicle making its way through the snow and inside that vehicle… a steady pulsing, living sound. The vehicle stopped and five figures climbed out and stood looking at the house. She heard their footsteps on the frozen ground. A memory, no, a feeling washed over her… it hurt. No longer numb she struggled to understand the pain that engulfed her; pain so deep and so strong that she moaned involuntarily and couldn’t stop. She beat on the glass of the window until it broke and shards tore into her mottled flesh. The group below had already fled and as she watched them drive away she finally identified the pain that consumed her. She was hungry.