Affliction Z: Abandoned Hope (Post Apocalyptic Thriller) (5 page)

“Zombie Party?” Addison shook her head. “No, you’re not. Get
everyone the hell out of here. Now!”

“Screw you. This is my apartment too, Addy.”

Addison turned the gun on Carla. “Get them out. You can go
too for all I care.”

Carla backed out of the room without replying.

“If I open my door and anyone but you is standing out there,
I will shoot them.”

Carla turned and jogged down the hall, yelling, “Everyone
get the fuck out of my house now.”

Addison closed her door and fell back against it. She
brought her hands to her face and began crying. She’d managed to stay strong
through the events of the past thirty minutes. She didn’t know how she did it.

And she wasn’t going to waste time contemplating it.

She went into her bathroom, placed the gun on the counter
and washed her face. Then she went back into her room and stripped her bed to
the mattress. A can of disinfectant rid anything left behind by the douchebag
and the skank that had tried to declare her room as their own.

She held the messenger bag close to her body with her left
hand. She clutched the pistol tight in her right. Both items comforted her,
despite having come from a derelict.

She fell back onto the bed and closed her eyes.

A few moments of rest. That was all she needed.

Sean had remained seated at the computer for most of the
day, cycling through the twenty or so tabs he had open in his Firefox browser.
Frequent updates had been posted on the major news sites. The changing of the
hour brought with it reports of outbreaks in additional cities. Every major
metropolitan area in the U.S., Europe and Asia reported multiple incidents. The
red on the maps grew larger, eliminating any chance that the virus would remain
isolated.

He pulled up a couple of survivalist and prepper forums he
knew about. He didn’t frequent the sites, but he knew that the tight-knit
communities found there would have information. Perusing the posts told him
that those who had the resources to build a bunker had gone underground. Others
who had secured secluded land had gathered their families and close friends and
headed for the hills, or wherever their compounds were located.

The common theme on every site he visited, whether news,
someone’s blog, or a community forum, was fear. People were afraid of what was
happening. And rightly so. There were plenty of theories being bandied about.
Some, like the one that said aliens were behind it, were far-fetched. But there
were others, likely derived in the minds of conspiracy theorists, that were
pretty close to spot on.

Sean wondered how many people knew the truth behind the
virus. Had information leaked to any segment of the public? How high up the
government chain did the knowledge go? How much higher had it traveled today,
now that the virus was no longer contained to poor villages in Africa?

He pulled up a secure shell client and connected to Turk’s
server. No one else was connected. Turk had told him that there were a dozen
people who had access, but Sean had yet to encounter anyone, least of all Turk.

Where was he?

“Dad?”

He swiveled around in his chair. Emma sat on the couch, as
she had for the past four hours, watching movies.

“Your phone just beeped,” she said, pointing at his cell,
which rested on the kitchen counter.

He rose and walked over to where his phone sat. The message
indicator said he had one message. Why hadn’t it rung? By all appearances, the
antennae extender functioned correctly. Perhaps there had been an issue outside
of his control. He knew that the service would be permanently interrupted, and
probably sooner rather than later.

He dialed into his voicemail and waited for the generic
voice to read off the date and time and number the call came from. His heart
sped up when he heard his wife’s cell phone number. The knot in his stomach
eased when he heard her voice. She sounded calm and collected. Her message said
that she had managed to secure a flight to Charleston, South Carolina. If
anything were to change, she wanted him to call her. He didn’t need a reason to
do that, though. He hung up and accessed his shortcut for her number. The phone
rang six times, then the call disconnected. He tried again and received the
same result. Sean cursed under his breath as he sat down at his computer.

Cycling through the browser tabs, he noticed that all of the
news sites had a report stating all air travel had been suspended. Scanning the
articles provided him with no additional information. He had no idea when the
ban went into effect or how it affected those in the air. They’d have to land,
he knew that. But where? Closest airport available or original destination?

He dialed into his voicemail again and listened to Kathy’s
message one more time. She’d failed to mention times associated with her
flights. All he could do was wait for her next call.

He alt-tabbed until he reached Turk’s secure server. He
typed a message. “Hello?” No one responded. Sean tapped on his keyboard.

“Everything okay, Dad?”

“Huh?” he looked back over his shoulder. “Everything’s
fine.”

“All right,” she said. “You’re breathing really heavy,
though.”

He hadn’t noticed. The stress of not knowing where his wife
was at that time left him in a state of anxiety. He closed his eyes while
clenching and releasing his major muscle groups. As he relaxed the muscles, the
tension lifted. He followed it up with several deep breaths. Upon opening his
eyes, he found that someone had replied.

“Ryder? That you?” the message on the screen said.

“Ten-four.”

“It’s Turk.”

Sean’s moment of relief was fractured by the following
message.

“Look, a situation arose and I had to leave the airport. I
didn’t see your wife. If she’s still coming in…”

“What?” Sean’s fingers pounded against the keyboard.

“She’ll have to fend for herself tonight.”

Sean’s hands hovered over the keys, but he didn’t type a
response. What could he say? Forget your own safety, Turk, and protect my wife?
He couldn’t do that. The man had his own people to take care of.

“Did you give her coordinates to my place?” Turk asked.

Sean typed, “No, I didn’t. I told her you’d meet her at the
airport.”

“Look, she’s not the only one. There were another six people
I was supposed to pick up. If you’ve got a picture you can scan and send, do
so. I’ll send that to their phones and they’ll take care of her until I can get
there in the morning. Give me her number, and send her mine, too.”

Sean typed
okay
, but did not hit send. He tried to
think of anything else he could say that might encourage Turk to take action
sooner.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Turk said. “I can’t do it.
Not tonight. I’ll explain later. First, I have to make sure there were no
consequences from earlier.”

This time Sean responded. “Okay, Turk. Let me know ASAP.” He
finished by relaying her contact information and then sending a digital
photograph of her he had stored on the computer. He had pictures of all of
them, already prepared with height, weight, hair and eye color, date of birth
and contact information.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around. Barbara
stood behind him. Her eyes glistened. Her gaze was fixed on Kathy’s picture.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

Sean nodded, rose, cleared his throat, and said, “Everything
is fine.”

She dragged her fingertip across the bottom of her eyelids
as though she was wiping bitter raindrops away.

Sean reached for her and pulled her close. “She’s a tough
woman. She’ll be all right.”

The first part he knew to be truth. The second part he had
to force himself to believe.

Hurried travelers filled the terminal. Some climbed over
rows of seats at each gate. Where were they all going? A chill ran down Kathy’s
back. Was someone sick in the terminal? What if rioters had taken hold of the
airport? She almost preferred it to be the latter. While she would never
consider herself even a second-rate survivalist, Kathy was more than equipped
to handle herself. She’d been studying Krav Maga, albeit sporadically, since
she’d started dating Sean.

She grabbed a woman dressed in blue pants, a white shirt,
and a vest that had a patch with the CVG logo on it. The woman swatted at
Kathy’s hands as if they were giant mosquitoes. Kathy refused to let go.

“What do you want?” the woman said.

“What’s going on? Why is everyone panicked?”

“We’re shut down, lady.”

“What?”

“The airport is shut down. No flights leaving. The ones
coming in now are the last to arrive. And it’s not just us. The whole country
is on lock down.”

Kathy tried to speak, but her mouth only opened and closed,
like a fish on land gasping for water.

“Let go of me now,” the woman said.

Kathy released her grip and took a step back. She had to
find a way out, a way that the other travelers were not aware of. She hopped up
on a chair and looked for the woman who she had just been speaking with. She
spotted her. Kathy climbed over a few rows of chairs until she caught up to the
lady. She merged into the crowd, a body length behind the woman, and followed
her through the terminal.

Kathy weaved her way through the crowd in an effort to stay
close to the woman. She knew there had to be a way out, a separate entrance and
exit for employees only. Perhaps even a parking garage solely for those who
worked at the airport.

After a few minutes of jostling for position, she now walked
a few feet behind the lady. The woman spoke frantically into the radio she
white-knuckled, rarely lowering the device from her face. The woman stopped and
waited for a gap in the stream of traffic. She found her opening and darted
forward, heading toward the door labeled “Employees Only.”

Kathy didn’t bother to wait for an opening in the crowd. She
lowered her shoulder and bumped and pushed her way through. She reached the
door a moment before it would have shut. Her hand was on the knob. It had no
give. She’d have been locked out. She only hesitated for a few seconds before
pushing it open.

The transition from the terminal to the hall she stood in
was like stepping into a dark movie theater after standing in the bright
parking lot. She leaned back against the door and felt it latch. After a few
seconds, her eyes adapted to the darkness.

A hallway extended in front of her. There were two doors on
the right hand wall. A railing ran along the left. At the end of the hall, she
saw the stairs leading down. She checked the knobs as she passed. The first was
locked. The second wasn’t. She cracked it open enough to hear voices, and then
eased it shut again. She continued on. The area at the end smelled like mildew.
She looked down at the carpet, noting the mold in the corner.

She slowly descended the stairs. No matter how much care she
took in setting her foot down, her steps echoed. After six steps, she bent over
and caught a glimpse of the next level. It was a wide hallway illuminated by
fluorescent bulbs, half of which were blinking or out altogether. There was
enough light for her to see that the corridor was deserted.

She took the remaining stairs quickly, ignoring the extra
noise she produced. Stale, hot air hung in the hall. It felt like she was
inside a jetway. A sign designed like an arrow, pointing to the right, read “Garage.”
She headed in that direction, increasing her pace to a jog.

She passed several doors and windows, but did not stop to
investigate. She did not even turn her head to get a glance inside the rooms.
What would be the point? Kathy was a realist, and the realist in her told her
that no one was going to help her out.

Kathy and Sean had once taken a trip to Indianapolis for a
football game. They had to drive through Cincinnati to get there. It had taken
close to seven hours to reach the city from Roanoke. That was too far to walk,
and she felt certain that hitchhiking would be out of the question. She needed
a car.

When she reached the garage, she found the door to be
locked. She cursed as she balled up her fists and banged them against the door,
which had a narrow, vertical window close to the handle. She figured all she
had to do was break that window, and she might be able to open the door from
the other side. Looking back over her shoulder, she spotted a fire extinguisher
mounted to the wall about twenty feet back. She ran over and grabbed a hold of
it. It wouldn’t budge.

“Come on,” she said, pulling as hard as she could.

Tears started to build in her eyes, matching her
frustration. She couldn’t be trapped here. She gripped the bottom of the fire
extinguisher and lifted up. It slid up and off the mount that secured it to the
wall. She was so shocked that she dropped it. It hit the floor with a clanking
sound that echoed throughout the hallway.

Kathy braced herself for someone to open a door to see what
caused the commotion. Ten seconds passed, then fifteen. No one appeared.

She picked up the fire extinguisher and jogged back to the
door that led to the garage. Heaving the heavy metal device over her shoulder,
she counted to three, then propelled it forward. The glass shattered upon
impact.

She used the fire extinguisher to break away the remaining
shards of glass, and then threaded her arm through the opening. Feeling along
the door, she found the handle. She wrapped her hand around it and lifted up.
It didn’t move. She took a deep breath, held it, and pushed the handle down. It
gave way, and the latch clicked free from the frame. She used her knee to crack
the door open. The air around her pulled away. A bigger gust blew into her. She
inhaled the exhaust-filled air. Freedom never tasted so smoggy. She pulled her
arm back through the door. With both hands, she pushed it open about a foot,
filled the empty space with her body and waited.

The garage was silent. She figured most of the employees
were trapped in the madness upstairs. They’d be down here soon enough, though,
so she had to work fast.

She stepped inside the garage, letting the door fall shut
behind her. It closed with a satisfying bang. Kathy resisted the urge to find
something to lock it and prevent anyone from entering.

They all deserve a chance
, she thought.

The parking garage was about a quarter-full. There were all
makes of cars, mostly mid- to lower-ranged as far as price went. She started at
the far end and began checking each vehicle for a hide-a-key hidden in a wheel
well. She found one after five minutes of searching. It was a mid-nineties beat
up Honda Civic, half green, half rust. She stopped after she stuck the key into
the driver’s side door. It wasn’t a moment of conscience or anything like that.
She’d spotted something that would be better in her current situation.

Parked near the exit was a Harley-Davidson Sportster. She
and Sean used to ride prior to him losing his leg in Nigeria. They’d sold their
bikes before moving to Roanoke, but she was certain she could still operate
one.

Kathy jogged over, scanning the entire garage as she did so.
She fought with the right saddlebag until she broke the lock. Inside was a
spare key and a siphon, which would come in handy when the Sportster’s small
gas tank neared empty. She’d have to siphon gas from a left-behind vehicle at
least once, possibly twice.

“Dumb freaking luck,” she muttered.

Instead of calculating the odds of finding two vehicles with
keys, she stashed her bag inside the open saddlebag and straddled the
motorcycle. She started it, used her feet to back out and then headed toward
the exit.

The unmanned booth provided little obstacle for her. She
realized that would not have been the case had she taken the beat up Honda. She
threaded past the orange and white lifting gate, which had been stuck in the
down position.

She approached a stop sign with no idea which way to turn.
And it didn’t matter. She only had to get going. Any gas station would have a
map she could buy, assuming she could find an open store. She glanced around.
The area was empty. She pulled out her cell phone. It didn’t have a signal, but
that didn’t matter. It came equipped with a map of the United States. She
pulled up the map app, and panned and scanned until she found Cincinnati. A
quick search centered the map on the airport. Near enough to her position, she
figured. I-275 was close.

After studying the map, she saw she had two choices. Either
follow 275 around Cincinnati and then take Highway 9 across Kentucky and into West
Virginia where she’d pick up I-64, or she could take I-75 straight south and
pick up 64 in Lexington, Kentucky. She figured that more people were liable to
be on I-75 than on Highway 9. That had its pros and cons, of course. If she
became stranded, more people might be a benefit. Or it could be a hindrance,
depending on their intentions.

She decided on the more direct route, Highway 9, and set off
toward it. If all went well, she’d be home in about seven hours.

But the way this trip had gone, she didn’t count on that
happening.