Zocopalypse (3 page)

Chapter Nine

~Now~

The government didn’t fall. Not all of it, at least. They’re still out there in concentrated efforts trying to solve this puzzle. My dad came close. I press my fingers against the pouch he gave me. Maybe he even solved it.

I cap off the third bottle and stuff them in my pack. An owl hoots as I cross back across the grass. The moon reflects off the fender of an old Ford pickup in the middle of the yard. I swear a shadow moves in the cab and I stop, hand on the hatchet hanging from my belt. I squint to see if I’d made it up.

The owl calls out again and I wait five solid beats. No shadow. No movement. I decide it’s my mind playing tricks on me—wouldn’t be the first time—and I lower my weapon. Increasing my speed, I walk toward the barn until a high-pitched, terrified scream pierces the night. My stomach drops and I draw the hatchet again, running in the direction of the scream. Toward my mother. There’s only one reason for her to scream like that. Only one reason to reveal her location. The barn door is ajar, light from the camping lamp spills out the crack.

A low moan fills the air and I swing the door open. I spot two of them—a male and female—shuffling in the direction of my mother. She’s pushed against the fall wall, trapped. I shake my head, willing her to stay quiet.

My mother had never been one to follow directions well.

“Run!” she shouts.

I lift my hatchet and say in a calm voice, “No.”

The Eaters turn, eyes pale and glassy. Black spidery veins run through the white space of their eyes. I only have seconds to plot my next move, yet my feet are frozen, glued to the ground. The female makes a move in my direction, her long skirt dragging across the dusty floor. Before I can react a blast rips through the air and a hail storm of blood and guts splatter across the barn. My hands cover my ears, now ringing and muffled from the gunshot. My mother holds the gun between two, surprisingly steady hands.

“Come on!” I yell skirting around the body with one eye on the remaining Eater. We have to get out of here while he’s stunned. She grabs her bag but everything is washed out by the enraged guttural roar of the man. He recognizes the death of his friend and gnashes his yellowed teeth in response. “Mom, now. Now!”

She never has a chance. Not once he amps up the super strength and speed that comes from the infection. He lunges at her, teeth bared. She slaps at his arms but he pins her easily, clamping down on her shoulder, tearing through her shirt.

“No!” I shout jumping over the dead Eater on full attack. I strike him with the hatchet, twice, the last one a solid shot through the neck. This finally makes him stop, blood spraying like a fountain. He falls to the ground with an echoing thud, head hanging by a thread.

“Mom?”

She and I stare at one another. Blood oozes from her wound. It’s big, massive really, and the loss of blood has already paled her face.

“Do it,” she says through gritted teeth. I’ve never seen a more determined look on her face.

“I can try to stitch it up,” I say picking up her bag. There’s a First-Aid kit inside. “I bet these are some of the early ones. The non-contagious.”

“Alexandra,” my mother said. “I already feel the infection taking over.”

I hold up the First-Aid pack. “I’ve got antiseptic here.”

“We had a deal, baby. Don’t let me down.”

I stop moving. “You can feel it?”

“It’s a rush,” she says. “Numbness. I feel it in my toes and ears.”

“Maybe it’s shock.”

“It’s like they said on the news.” She looked woozy. I watch as her eyes glaze over like Kevin Richmond at a party, high as a kite. “Do it please. Before it goes bad. There isn’t much time.”

A sob rips through my chest because this isn’t how this is supposed to happen. None of this should have happened. I pull the gun out of the back of my pants and say, “I love you, Momma.”

“Love you too, Alexandra. Do your father proud, okay?” Her eyes have already faded—the blue shifting into a cloudy gray. Her words slur. We have minutes, maybe seconds left. The problem is that she won’t die from that bite. She’s not going to die on her own. I’ll have to do it for her. “Tell your sister I love her.”

I place my hand on the trigger and aim, wishing for a brief second I could turn it on myself.

The bang rips through the room, sending another shrill ringing through my ears. She slouches to the side. I don’t know how long I sit with her but after a bit it’s too much.  Without looking at her face, I crawl over, slipping off her wedding ring and the gold chain around her neck. I pick up the gun and grab both backpacks and run out of the barn.

I have work to do. I have to make my father proud.

Chapter Ten

~Before~

9 Weeks Ago

Like every other visit, LabGuy pricks my finger and wraps it in a Band-Aid. Unlike every other visit he reaches into the small refrigerator next to his station and pulls out a vile of clear liquid and a syringe.

“What’s that,” I ask eyeing the needle.

“Well, it says here that you’re getting a shot.” He points to the file in front of him.

“Um, since when do you inject me with stuff?”

“Since I was told to by my supervisor.”

I cross my arms over my chest, hiding the inside of my elbow. “I need to talk to my dad.”

LabGuy blinked. “He’s the one that requested this injection, Alexandra.”

“Awesome.” I give him two thumbs up. “You just wait here. I’ll be back.”

He looks around unsure of what to do but while he decides what action to take I’ve left the room.

“Hey!” he calls, but I’m already searching the lab for my father.

I check his office first. Nope. Then some of the rooms with tiny windows. Large yellow and red signs warn me to stay out of the room. I don’t read the small print but the general gist is
“Danger! You’ll catch Ebola if you enter this room! And maybe eat your neighbor!”

Sure enough that’s the room I find him in. Right in the middle of the most dangerous one. Covered head to toe in protective gear.  I’m beyond curious to know what he’s working on. I’m also realistic as hell to know he’ll never tell me.

I tap on the window. He looks up in surprise. I wave him over.

It takes a minute for him to come out. He has to undress and decontaminate himself. I get this. I understand the procedures. By the time he’s in the hallway with me, he has deep frown lines on his forehead. “What’s wrong? Is it your mother? Did something happen to your sister?”

“What?” I ask. “No. They’re fine. I’m just trying to figure out what this injection is LabGuy is trying to give me back there.”

“LabGuy?”

“The guy. In the lab? You know the one that takes my blood sample. Why is he doping me up now?”

Understanding washes over his face but not enough to counteract the stress and exhaustion etched in the lines of his forehead. “Alex, I’m busy, very busy. I recommended the injection. It’s nothing. Just a vitamin that goes along with the blood test and experiments we’ve been doing. Nothing harmful, but it is very important for you to take it.”

I stare at him for a minute. Something seems off. He seems off.  “You should have told me. I don’t like all this secrecy.”

“There’s no secret,” he replies, softening his expression. “How many times have you told me not to talk about boring lab work at home?”

“Lots,” I admit. “Your lab stuff is boring but when you start injecting me with unknown substances, my interest in it piques.”

“I’m glad you have a sense of self-preservation, but I need you to trust me on this. It’s all part of the experiment. And trust LabGuy, he does a very good job around here. Don’t give him a hard time.”

“Fine. But I better not grow weird hairs or break out or something from whatever this concoction is made up of.”

He smiles. “No hair growth or pimples. Promise.”

“Okay.” I start back down the hall but stop before turning the corner. “Will it make my boobs bigger? Because if it does I’m okay with that.”

“Alexandra,” he says with a sigh. “Just follow directions.”

“Fine,” I mutter giving him one last look. Our eyes meet and I can see his love for me. His respect. I do need to trust him. No matter what secrets he’s got hiding in that back room.

Chapter Eleven

~Now~

I’ve barely stepped out of the barn before I hear the anguished moans nearby. Dealing with more Eaters is the last thing I am physically and emotionally able to handle right now, but I did not just shoot my mother  to go down in a blaze of consumed glory.

Dashing fast across the yard, carrying two backpacks, a gun and a hatchet I head straight for the first thing I see; the truck. I have to put something solid between the Eaters and me.

“Please be open, please be open, please be open,” I chant, refusing to look back. There’s no need to. The Eaters are close enough behind me that I can smell their unclean stench and rank breath.  The moans have turned to angry, hungry roars. It’s the sound they make when they’re the most dangerous.  I crash into the side of the truck, throwing my bags in the back, holding onto only my gun and hatchet. I glance back and see them coming fast, grayish skin, black veiny eyes. Speed isn’t a problem for these bastards.  I pry the rusted driver’s side door open and jump inside, slamming it behind me.

Breathing hard, I scoot away from the window and bump into something hard. The loud, unforgettable click of a gun echoes through the cab and I spin with my own gun raised.  All I see is the steel barrel and a silhouette belonging to a man. His breathing is heavy, matching mine. We stare at one another listening to the thump and bang of Eaters crashing into the truck.

“Where are the keys?” I yell sliding back behind the wheel. Eater’s punch and kick the window and doors of the car.

“In the ignition!” He gestures with the gun. “Go!”

The window directly behind him makes a cracking sound and I see the outline of hands pushing against it. I crank the ignition but it only stutters and whines.

“Pump the clutch!” he yells. He takes a breath. “Don’t flood the engine. Slow and steady.”

“I’m doing that,” I snap, rewarded by the sound of the engine revving to life. I flip on the lights. The unnatural glare blinds us all. It also reveals exactly how much trouble we’re really in. “Shit.”

The car is surrounded.

Wrapping my hands around the massive steering wheel, I glance over at the stranger. His jaw is tight but determined. 

“Ready?” I ask, foot halfway down on the gas.

“Ready.”

Chapter Twelve

~Before~

9 Weeks Ago

Why did I think being valedictorian was a good idea? I’ve already been accepted into college. A really good college. My teachers have read enough of my papers. No one will even remember this a week after I’m finished. Maybe not even in fifteen minutes. Does anyone even remember their valedictorian? I consider standing in front of the crowd and telling them that this is all a farce, a competition created to make the ninety-nine percent feel useless.

That would go over well.

I pick up my laptop and head to the den where my mom has the TV on. It’s the news-heads, of course. The outbreak is all anyone can talk about these days. The flu-like virus making everyone super sick. Rumor is that it’s from a parasite. They’re even using the term “epidemic.” Florida is under a state of emergency. No flights in or out. Total quarantine. We’re waiting for them to say the same thing about Georgia and the rest of the southeast.

Now I understand a little better why Dad has been a stress case and working so much.

Mom notices me and snaps off the TV.

“Mom, I think I’m old enough to watch the news.”

“This stuff is terrible. I don’t want you watching it,” she says, tucking a piece of dark hair behind her ear, a sure signal she’s uncomfortable. She did the same thing when we had the sex-talk when I was ten.

“I have the internet, Mom. I know all about it.”

“Well, it’s depressing and you’ve got so much great stuff coming up. You shouldn’t fill your head with this kind of thing.”

“What? The people eating other people thing? That’s like, half-urban legend, Mom.” Only fifteen people have actually cannibalized other people. Or at least that’s what the news is saying. I have my suspicion that there’s more, but I’ve always been one to buy into conspiracy theories.

“I hope so,” she says. “But really you need to be careful. Wash your hands. No shared cups or forks, okay? Your dad was telling me some stuff and—”

“And what?” I ask immediately intrigued.

“And it’s just they don’t know how this spreads exactly. It’s not airborne but through close contact. He said he wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t start cancelling school.”

I glance down at my laptop and the two thousand word speech I have written. “School? We only have a week left.”

“They’ve done this before, during bad flu outbreaks or other infectious diseases. It’s just bad timing for you.”

“Tell me about it,” I grumble. “Do you really think they’ll call off graduation?”

“For your sake I hope not,” she said gently. “But I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

I place my laptop to the side, all motivation lost. How was I supposed to write a motivational speech to the class when all signs pointed to the world going to hell in a cannibal filled hand basket?