ARES Virus: Arctic Storm (17 page)

Shit. Is this something that happened citywide? I bet it was the water supply.

That’s something he remembers as a great source of fear, given that it could easily be poisoned and would affect a multitude of people.

That’s really the only thing that makes sense and that could affect an entire city.

He eyes his own water, grateful that it’s bottled, and discards his previous idea of filling the empty bottles with the melt water. From the distant screams and how quickly it swept through the neighborhood, and from the lack of response, Rod is fairly certain that much of the area, if not the whole city, has been overrun.

Does that mean that they’ll quarantine the entire city? Can they do that?

Over time, Rod realizes that if he’s quiet and doesn’t move around a whole lot, the group surrounding him quiets down as well. He spends the afternoon perched near the chimney, trying to divert his mind from the constant worry, which fights an occasional battle with boredom. There are times when panic nearly takes hold. At others, he becomes restless. He is constantly thinking of ways to get off the roof, but nothing comes to mind. Once, he found himself near the edge, ready to jump and make a run for it. Luckily, his senses returned and he shuffled back to the chimney.

The sun sits on the horizon, ready to slip below and let the night have its time. After a day baking in the heat, Rod is ready for the cooler temperatures. However, wearing clothes meant for the heat of the day, he’s worried that he’ll become cold once the sun sets. His stomach grumbles and he tortures himself with thoughts of a pizza with the works.

Every so often, a breeze brings the smell of where he went to the bathroom on the other side of the roof. Peeing was easy, he just stood and went, the liquid splashing on the shingles and draining down into the gutters. The other, well, he perched precariously astride the top edge, with the plan of hosing it off after he’s finally rescued. He will be saved, of that he has little doubt. It is just a matter of when, and what a story he’ll have to share then.

Night arrives, the light of day giving way to stars twinkling overhead. Streetlights flicker on, but all of the houses remain dark. A slight glow manifests across the city, but not as bright as it normally would be. That gives weight to his thoughts that whatever transpired has happened over a wide area.

There’s no one to turn on the lights
, he thinks, feeling both exhausted and restless.

Rod positions the cooler so that it won’t slide off the roof, then unties it. Using the length of rope, he wraps it around the chimney and secures himself to it so that he won’t inadvertently roll off the roof. He knows that he’ll fall asleep at some point; if he begins slipping, he may not be able to stop. It would suck to wake up, feeling weightless just before slamming into the ground, only to then have those creeps dive into him.

Nope. No thank you!

If he thought the minutes seemed like hours while the sun was out, they seemed like days after it set. The warmth that the bricks absorbed slowly seeps out. Lying on his back, Rod gazes at the endless expanse of stars. With the limited light, he views so many that he doesn’t normally see. Caught up in life and feeling sorry for himself, it’s been a long time since he’s taken the time to look to the heavens. The bright lights of the city obscure a lot of the stars, but he hasn’t even looked skyward during the last year. As a child, he used to lie on his parents’ roof and look upward for hours on end.

He wonders when that began to change. For a brief moment, he thinks about his marriage, but quickly jerks his mind away as if from a hot stove.

To be young again; to have the freedom of youth and not the responsibilities of adulthood
, he thinks, picking out the Big Dipper and tracing his way to the North Star with his finger.
What was that called again? Oh yeah, Polaris…is that right? Yeah, Polaris…I think
.

The moon, waxing to full, rises above the horizon, casting its rays earthward, its brightness causing some of the lesser stars to fade from sight. Trying to keep his mind occupied in an attempt to make the night pass quicker, he stares at the bright orb. It seems overly large as it fully emerges into the sky, almost as though he were observing it through a telescope. The shaded differences and larger craters are readily visible. He thinks about how the moon has the same rotation as its orbit, making it so that one side always faces the earth.

Such an odd relationship
.

Squinting, he tries to see the man in the moon, but he’s never been able to see what everyone else seems to. Throughout the years, many have tried pointing it out to him, but he’s never been able to clearly picture it. Some of the times, he’s answered, “Oh, yeah, I see it now,” just to stop the insistence of those who are trying to make him see it. It’s just one of those things.

Exhaustion and restlessness continue to do battle. He shifts position, attempting to get comfortable, but there’s no easy way to sleep on a roof. The best position he finds is to lie on his stomach along the peak. He tries feet down with his head near the top, but the feeling that he’s about to slide is too much. He knows the rope secured around him will hold, but that doesn’t alleviate the feeling. He manages to nap at times, but wakes shortly after drifting off due to the discomfort.

Finally managing to drift off for a longer period, he wakes to the brightness of the morning sun filtering through closed eyelids. With a groan, he shifts to a sitting position, his entire body aching. He tiredly urinates, the dark yellow stream making its way down the slope and into the gutters. Grabbing one of the few remaining bottles of water, he gulps half of it down, trying to alleviate the hunger he feels.

Looking over the neighborhood, the carnage left behind still lies strewn about. Doors remain open, portals to darkness. The only movement is from several birds flitting from tree to tree. Directly below, standing in his lawn, he can see the tops of the heads of the creatures still gathered below. He had hoped they would move on during the night, but their gently swaying heads show that they have elected to stay.

They’ve certainly overstayed their welcome
, he thinks, turning his gaze down the street.

Other than the strewn detritus, the avenue remains empty. The complete lack of a response hardens his theory that whatever happened is more widespread than just the surrounding area. The sun keeps a slow but steady rise upward in the clear sky. With a numb mind, Rod leans back against the chimney, pondering what he should do, but doesn’t come up with a solution.

Dozing off and on throughout the morning, he is brought out of his stupor by a faint sound. Looking upward, he guesses that it’s mid-morning by the angle of the sun. In the distance, he hears a soft “whump, whump, whump.” He stands and shields his eyes against the glare, looking skyward toward the sound. The noise grows louder and a helicopter comes into view. It begins transiting the area from his left to his right a few blocks away.

Finally, someone
, Rod thinks, seeing the military-style helicopter.

Screams erupt from below, startling him to the point that he nearly loses his balance. As if awakened from a deep sleep, those gathered in his front and back yard begin running toward the helicopter. Seeing that the helicopter isn’t turning toward him, Rod yells and waves his arms over his head, attempting to get the attention of those aboard.

The infected stop in their tracks. As one, they turn to look at him over their shoulders. Shrieking even louder, they reverse their track, returning to once again scream and try to get onto the roof. The helicopter, oblivious to what is transpiring below, continues on its course.

Feeling deflated, Rod replays the past few minutes in his mind. He sees the infected bolt after the chopper, drawn by the sound of it. They then turned back when he began yelling.

Shit! I kind of fucked that one up
, he thinks, vowing to be silent the next time.
I can’t seem to do anything right
.

He feels disappointment at not being spotted, but the sight of the helicopter also breathes new life into him. It’s the first sign of help that he’s seen since the wave of attackers assaulted the neighborhood, and the first even remote hint at some kind of emergency response. He was beginning to think that whatever happened had affected more than just Pineville.

At least someone is finally doing something. It’s only a matter of time, now,
he reassures himself.

During intermittent breaks in the shrieking below, Rod hears faint screams from different directions. Evidently, the helicopter has stirred those in the area to life.

I’ll just wait it out
, he thinks, settling back into his former position.

Without realizing that he dozed off again, he wakes. The sun has moved higher into the sky, but otherwise everything remains the same. His stomach is gnawing a hole from hunger, which he attempts to stave off with more water. Other than the distant screams, it’s all quiet around him. He shuffles slowly down the roof and, reversing position to lie on his stomach, peers over the edge.

The group of infected is still there. One head turns abruptly and looks straight at him. They lock eyes and the creature issues a screech. That wakens the others from what appeared to be a stupor. They join their companion in a chorus of shrieks.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Rod mutters in panic, shuffling quickly away from the edge.

A second helicopter comes into view, following the same general flight path as the one earlier. Screaming for all they’re worth below, the infected don’t seem to notice.

Once again, I’ve fucked it up
, Rod thinks, this time not trying to alert the chopper to his position.

Down the street, he sees a larger group materialize from the side of a house and dart across, following the flightpath of the helicopter and appearing to chase after it. A while later, he sees three people cross the street near the same place. For some reason, Rod doesn’t think he’s looking at a small group of infected.

Maybe it’s the military uniforms
, he thinks.

Rod stands quickly, hoping that the military has begun their push to retake the city. Without them knowing that he’s here, they may just pass by. He feels that it’s warranted to try and gather their attention, even if does nothing else other than to log his position.

After all, it’s not like I’ll draw the attention of those below. I already have that
.

Even though they may be too far away and unable to hear him, he needs to try. He has enough water to last for a while longer, but he’s not sure how long he can sit under the baking rays of the sun. Let alone the boredom of sitting trapped on a roof for hours…for days.

I can’t stay on this roof indefinitely
.

Cupping his mouth, he yells in their direction. In the distance, they run across the street without acknowledging that they heard him. With hope falling and screams rising from the yard, he sits back against the chimney, holding a strip of tile over his head to provide some shade.

Can I cut my way through the roof and into the attic?
he thinks, looking toward the shaved section of roof.
Maybe…maybe not
.

Looking toward the broken windows in the houses across the street, he knows that even if he should manage to make it inside, any noise would reveal his presence and he would become trapped and overwhelmed. He wonders if just going into the attic would be safe, with perhaps with a quiet foray or two down to the kitchen to get some food. However, that would preclude his being spotted if more helicopters arrived and rescue operations started. By the time he heard the chopper, he might not be able to make it back on top in time. He thinks about prying up additional shingles and arranging them to spell out “help” or something similar.

I’ll stay here for a little longer, then see if I can manage to break through. It would make the wait a little easier, but now is the time to keep your head about you, Rod
.

More and more helicopters begin making appearances over parts of the city. His spirits lift, thinking that they are beginning to get the situation under control and that rescue operations are starting.

Just stay cool. They’ll get to me sooner or later
, he thinks, imagining the feeling of the rotor wash as he’s lifted out in a basket, or whatever they might be using.

The sun crests and begins its slow withdrawal toward the far horizon. The sound of helicopters still makes its way to him, but it’s only a hint of sound. He doubts that the noise reaches those below, who have again fallen silent. With that in mind, if one does come into view, he’ll just wave his arms this time.

It’s not like they can hear me shouting, anyway
.

None come close. Rod contemplates prying up one of the plywood sheets. His hunger grows worse and the heat is almost unbearable. He has to do something or he’ll go crazy. A chirping sound draws his attention, faint at first, but then louder and from different directions. A helicopter comes into view and something is pushed out of the open doorway. It’s far enough away that Rod’s not completely sure that they’ll be able to see him jumping and madly waving his arms. The same warbling rises from where the package was dropped.

Rod thinks that it may be a care package and the sound a way for survivors to locate it. The infected below suddenly stir to life, their screams nearly overwhelming the mechanical beeping only a little distance away. They bolt across the yard and up the street, vanishing from sight.