American Infection (Book 2) (10 page)

About five minutes later, Glenn emerged from the house. I reached over Rob and rolled down the passenger side window.

"Head on in there, I'll stay with Rob," Glenn said. "We found Sarah. She's alright, sitting in the living room now. No sign of Melissa, though." Glenn shook his head, his expression wearing the sadness he felt for Matt's missing wife.

I ran inside, through the front door, down the center hallway, then turned left before the kitchen, entering the living room. Sarah was seated on a couch, her face in her hands, her back shuddering through the sobs. She looked up when she heard me, her tear‐stained cheeks and puffy eyes displaying a glimmer of hope and comfort. I gave her a half‐hearted smile, aware that we had much to be grateful for, and much to mourn.

I walked over and sat on the couch next to her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist.

"I don't know where she is," Sarah said, burying her face in my chest as the crying returned.

"It's OK," I said. "It's not your fault."

"Yes it is," Sarah said, pushing herself away, looking up into my eyes. "I ran, I hid. I didn't do anything. I heard her screaming. I heard her run up the stairs and those things followed her. I should have done something, but I didn't do anything."

Sarah began to cry again, this time using her hands rather than my chest to hide her shame from the world. I wanted to do something, say something, to let her know that she did the right thing, that if she had tried to distract the infected, we'd have two missing women, not just one. But it wouldn't help. She needed to grieve and work this out on her own.

Matt walked into the room.

"I can't find her anywhere," he said. "There's blood upstairs, in the room with the broken window, but that's it."

Sarah wiped her eyes with the heal of her palms and tried to stifle her sobs. She looked up at Matt.

"I'm so sorry, Matt," she said. "It just happened so fast. All of a sudden they were just pounding on the door and the windows. When I heard the window smash I just hid."

Her voice trailed off as the emotions caught up to her and the sobbing resumed.

Matt walked across the room and knelt in front of Sarah. He gently pulled her hands from her face and lifted her chin so she was looking square in his eyes.

"It's not your fault, I promise," Matt said. "None of this is your fault. You need to know that."

Sarah nodded, though I'm sure she didn't agree.

Matt looked at me. The blackness of his eyes still startled me every time I saw them.

"I'm not leaving here until we know for sure what happened to Melissa," he said. "And we need to figure out what to do with Rob. That shit's gonna get infected real quick if we don't clean it up or something."

Sarah's eyes widened.

"What happened to Rob?" she asked, turning from me to Matt and back again.

Friday, 2:15 p.m.

Matt and I found an ironing board and used it as a makeshift stretcher to carry Rob into the house, while Glenn walked alongside to provide some balance. We cleared the coffee table out of the way and set Rob down in the middle of the living room floor. Sarah had collected a number of towels, a T‐shirt, a belt to use as a tourniquet, and, most importantly, a bottle of vodka to not only clean the wound, but help Rob dull the pain.

I had no idea what I was doing, but somehow I'd ended up in charge of this little operation. Rob chugged a few gulps of the vodka as I explained what I intended to do, although the process was entirely based on shit I'd seen on TV. He didn't object to anything I said, which I attributed to either a state of delirium from the pain or the confidence with which I spoke. Of course, that confidence came from years of bull‐shitting responses to student questions and had nothing to do with my expertise on the subject.

When Rob had downed about a third of the bottle, I told him it was time. He handed me the vodka while Sarah positioned herself behind him. Sarah twisted the T‐shirt until the fabric was taut, then lifted it over Rob's head and instructed him to bite down. I poured half the remaining vodka over the wound, causing Rob's eyes to grow wide. He tried to wriggle away but Matt and Glenn were on either side holding his hips and free leg in place.

The moment Rob stopped writhing, I placed one hand above the fracture and another below, then snapped the angled, broken bone back into a straight line. Blood again began gushing from the wound. Rob screamed through clenched teeth as every muscle in his body tightened and spasmed, almost lifting himself from the ground. He lurched forward a few inches as Sarah struggled to pull him back, then collapsed, his head falling into Sarah's lap as his eyes rolled upward. I'd never actually seen anyone pass out before.

With Rob unconscious, I tried to work quickly. I tightened the belt around his thigh and used a towel to apply pressure to the wound, hoping to stem the bleeding. When the towel became damp with blood, I removed it, poured a little more vodka on the wound and applied another clean towel. Sarah and I repeated this process four or five times before the bleeding began to subside.

I didn't know what else we could do. The bone wasn't sticking out of his skin anymore, but I had no way of knowing if the two broken ends were even touching enough to heal. Of course none of that would matter if the wound became infected. I just had to pray that Rob's immune system was up for the challenge.

Friday, 3:00 p.m.

"I'm not leaving the house until we find out what happened to Melissa," Matt said. "She could've gotten away, outrun them. We don't know how many got in, if it was only a handful she might've had a chance. She's in pretty good shape."

Matt and I were on the front porch smoking a cigarette while Sarah and Glenn kept an eye on Rob, who was still unconscious.

There was no sign of Melissa inside and the window upstairs was broken, so it was plausible that she had jumped out of it in an effort to escape. But where the hell could she have gone? And if this happened around 10 a.m. as Sarah said, why hadn't she returned? Surely that was enough time, if Melissa had managed to lose the infected chasing her, to make her way back.

"I don't like the idea of staying here, man," I said. "You and Glenn might be OK if another group of those things finds us, but me and Sarah would be sitting ducks. Not to mention Rob. Shit, we wouldn't be able to move him fast enough."

Matt and I finished our cigarettes and went inside. Along with Glenn and Sarah, we discussed our options. In the end, we decided that Matt and Glenn would remain at the farmhouse in the hope that Melissa would return. Matt didn't care if it was another day or two or a week, he flatly rejected any sort of time line. Sarah and I would take Rob in the cargo van and continue on toward the Poconos. It had been a week since the first attacks and I was anxious to get to my parents' place. By now I had little hope that they were still alive, but I needed to know.

Rob moaned and opened his eyes slightly as Matt and I lifted him onto the ironing board and carried him to the van. We slid him in through the rear doors and he immediately passed back out. Sarah climbed into the back with Rob while Matt, Glenn and I went to the Expedition. We divvied up the guns, ammo and grenades; there was more than enough to make everyone happy with their keep. I said goodbye to Matt and Glenn, we shook hands, then I hopped into the van's driver seat.

A minute later, I turned onto 842, heading away from West Chester.

Friday, 3:30 p.m.

As I led us north through back roads lined with abandoned farms and rolling fields, I thought about everything that had happened in the past week. From the initial reports, broadcast to Rob and I by a bubbly Anne in a classroom I'd likely never see again, to Rob's optimism and courage in our run to Rite Aid. Seeing for the first time the transition from human to infected, in Tom. Watching the same thing happen to Anne, a close friend to both Rob and myself. Losing Holly on the beach at Aberdeen Proving Grounds. Meeting Brian and Dale in Conowingo, then witnessing Matt become infected only to realize he was immune. Finally, losing Brian and Dale in our effort to locate Matt's parents. Holy fuck, it'd been one hell of a week.

But at least I still had Sarah. And Rob was hanging on. In a couple hours, I'd know for sure whether my parents had survived. Even if they were dead, I prayed that the end had been peaceful and they hadn't become victims of the infected. Suicide, though I was morally opposed to it in my previous life, before the infection, would be preferable to the rage and violence of an attack by the infected.

Every once in a while I would be forced to find my way around a town or village. I had a pretty good sense of direction, though, plus the signs indicating so many miles in some direction or another to surrounding cities assured me that we were headed the right way. Still, I found myself drifting further west than I had wanted, to avoid more populated areas. Not a big deal, it just meant we would have to double back east as we got closer to the Poconos.

We worked our way around Downingtown, then managed to slip between Reading and Pottstown without any major issues. We came across a few infected here and there, but most were easily avoidable. I was forced to drive straight through a group of them in Douglassville, but the van withstood the impact; I think it was more painful for Rob than anything.

We continued north, staying to the west of Allentown. I truly felt like I was a witness to the end of the world passing through some of these small towns. These folks likely had enough warning to evacuate west. A few homes were boarded up, but most stood vacant, their collective emptiness a sign to the infected that there was nothing for them here. I wondered if the infection had even touched these towns.

Heading further west, I avoided Hazleton and Jim Thorpe. They're not incredibly large cities, but I didn't know an easy way around them. I decided to hook up with I‐80 and take that east into the Poconos. It was a major highway, but I figured this far into central PA, there was little likelihood that the road was blocked by abandoned vehicles. My prediction was confirmed as we rounded the on‐ramp onto 80 and were greeted by a stretch of open highway.

Thirty minutes later we exited the freeway. Two more turns and I pulled into my parent's neighborhood. The homes here varied; some were ranches, some split level, even a few cottages. All were fairly private, surrounded by trees that nearly reached the clouds, and enough of them to block the view of any curious neighbors.

I pulled into my parent's driveway and brought the van to a stop. I turned around to look at Sarah.

"You wait here with Rob," I said. "Let me go check it out first."

Sarah nodded and blew me a quick kiss.

I grabbed the AR‐15 off the passenger seat and hopped out of the van. I listened for a moment, trying to catch any abnormal sounds that might be floating through the trees. Hearing nothing but birds and crickets, I walked toward the house. There was no real front door, just an upper and lower deck. The lower deck led into a sitting room with a pool table. Most often, we treated the French doors off the upper deck as the main entrance.

I ascended the stairs, sweeping my eyes throughout the surrounding forest. As I reached the top of the steps, I noticed the curtains were drawn back. I could see clearly into the family room and kitchen. No movement. I tried the door but it was locked.

On the opposite end of the deck sat a ceramic owl. I walked over, lifted the owl and retrieved the key from underneath. Returning to the door, I let myself in, slowly opening the door just wide enough to slip through.

I knew the instant I walked in that the house was empty. It just had that empty feeling that you get when you walk into a home you know well and no one's there. It felt empty. It smelled empty. It sounded empty.

Still, I began searching the home. Couldn't be too certain. I first checked the bedrooms, walking past the kitchen. Empty. I returned to the family room and took the steps to the third floor loft. Empty.

Down the stairs, crossing the family room towards the kitchen headed to the other stairs leading to the first floor, I noticed a note on the refrigerator. I briefly stopped in my tracks before continuing on. I pulled the note from the magnet and read.

"Dear Jason, Evacuated by army. Headed to a survivor camp near Pittsburgh. We love you."

Fuck.

Just as I began to consider the route west, I heard a scream followed by gun shots. I ran outside and looked down over the deck railing. A pick‐up truck was parked at the end of the driveway. The rear cargo doors on the van were open and two men stood on either side, each wearing camo but not military, more like the stuff hunters wear. I raised my rifle and shouted, just as a third man emerged from the back of the van, his arm wrapped around Sarah's neck and a revolver held to her temple.

The two other men spun and aimed their shotguns in my direction.

Double fuck.

If you enjoyed Books One and Two, drop me a line at
Justin Smith
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All characters and events in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons or events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 Justin Smith