Infected (5 page)

His eyes softened in understanding. “C’mon. Let’s not keep Patrick waiting.” Pulling her closer to him, he swept the beam of the flashlight across the ground before they entered the woods.

They immediately headed toward the area where they had last seen the older man – battered, bruised, and quite unrepentant of his deeds. Just as Amy was wondering if he was nearby, Justin called out, “Patrick? Are you there?”

“Shhh!” she hissed fiercely, nudging him with her elbow. In the eerily quiet darkness, even his normal voice sounded like a shout.

He sighed. “Guess we’ll have to search around. He can’t be too far off, though.”

Amy turned on her own flashlight. “Maybe we should split up,” she said. “Let’s meet back here in ten minutes. If we still haven’t found him by then, we’ll just head back to the mansion.”

Indecision flickered across Justin’s face. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“It’ll be faster that way,” she pointed out. “Besides, you said the Runners came from the highway. So the woods should be free of Runners, right?” When he delayed to respond, she headed toward the left. “See you in ten minutes, on the dot.”

“All right, then. Holler if you see anything.” And he reluctantly made his way in the opposite direction.

Amy scanned the flashlight across the trees, feeling a surge of irritation. Where had Patrick gone off to? She whispered his name, keeping her senses on high alert as she avoided stepping on fallen branches and slippery leaves. The sensible thing to do would have been to stay near the stream where fresh water was readily available, not venture deeper into the woods. Then again, was there ever a time when the older man displayed any common sense?

Minutes later, Amy stumbled upon an empty stew can. She quickened her footsteps and found contents from Patrick’s first aid kit carelessly strewn across the dirt floor. A few paces away, his small backpack leaned against a rough tree trunk.

“Patrick?” Amy whispered loudly, flicking her flashlight back and forth. “Are you here? Patrick?”

But only the sounds of rustling leaves overhead greeted her.

When Amy and Justin returned to the mansion, Daniel and Marie were fast asleep, warmly buried underneath their blankets. Beside them, Walter gave a mighty yawn and pressed his cold nose deeper into his blanket nest.

Amy snuggled under her blanket and leaned against the wall. “Do you think he left?” she whispered, worry filling her voice.

With a shrug, Justin settled down next to her. “It’s possible.”

“But why leave his stuff behind? That’s not like Patrick at all. You know he’s a hoarder when it comes to food.”

“I’m sure he’s on the clinic grounds. Maybe he heard the Runners, freaked out, and sought refuge elsewhere. He probably didn’t have time to pack his things up.” Justin reached out to caress Amy’s shoulder, his touch light and soothing. “We’ll search for him again tomorrow morning. He’s bound to turn up sooner or later.”

Justin’s words took the tension off Amy. Patrick’s absence would cause a day’s delay, but that was preferable to simply abandoning a person, no matter how annoying said person was. Comforted, Amy scooted closer to Justin, sighing in exhaustion as she felt his arm gather her in. The warmth, coupled with the close proximity of another human being, lulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

The next morning, the group quickly scarfed down a simple meal of chunky vegetable soup before continuing with their search. Daniel offered to join Amy and Justin, but Amy adamantly refused his help.

“You should stay with your wife,” she said, nodding at Marie’s sprained ankle. “In fact, why don’t you start loading the food boxes into the station wagon? We might as well take them with us, since Patrick won’t be hanging around here anymore.”

Daniel inclined his head. “Very well. If you need extra help, please let me know.”

Amy and Justin headed outside, taking big gulps of the fresh morning air. They decided to go to the woods once more, in the hopes that Patrick had returned for his belongings. Food and water were definitely motives to return, no matter how frightened a person might have been the night before.

When they reached the spot, they stood there staring at Patrick’s scattered belongings, untouched since Amy had found them hours ago. So Patrick
hadn’t
returned by the looks of things. Where could he have gone?

Justin crouched and began tossing everything into the backpack. “I’m starting to have a bad feeling about this,” he muttered, zipping up the bag and hefting it over his shoulder.

So was Amy, but she pressed her lips together, unwilling to voice her thoughts.

They spent some time wandering around the woods, calling out Patrick’s name to no avail. About an hour later, they made their way toward The Peak, just in time to see a hoard of Runners moving across the highway. Amy stood on the hill and observed the hundreds of Runners stumbling and trampling over each other, running as if compelled by some unseen force. Did they never get tired? Would they keep running like this until they were all put out of their misery?

“Look at them go,” Justin said beside her, and she murmured an absent-minded reply. Her thoughts returned to Patrick once more. If he wasn’t on the grounds, he could be wandering up and down the road. It could be that the injuries he’d sustained were affecting his judgment, and were more severe than they’d realized. Concerned, she voiced this troubling possibility to Justin.

He nodded slowly. “He could be walking around, disoriented. I didn’t notice anything odd last night, but he could very well be suffering from a minor head trauma.” His expression turned contemplative. “It’s possible that he fell and hit his head hard on the ground during the fight.”

Amy winced. “That’s awful. We have to find him quickly, before something else finds him first.”

“Agreed.” He headed back down the hill, and Amy hurried after him. “Daniel and I will take the station wagon and search for him. Meanwhile, I want you to stay with Marie. Patrick could turn up at the mansion at any time, so you need to be here in case that happens.”

“Don’t stay out there too long, okay?” she said, walking briskly to match his stride. “Just search along the nearby roads. I really doubt he’d have strayed that far off.”

“Let’s hope so.” Reaching the mansion, Justin went to speak with Daniel, who was bent over trying to pick up three stacked boxes at once. The two men spoke in low tones as Amy walked past them and entered the foyer. She frowned when she saw Marie hobbling around, sweeping the floor as Walter dutifully trailed after her.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Marie glanced up, startled, then smiled. “I am cleaning the living room.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Yes, I can see that, but the question is why? We’re leaving this place soon.”

“I am bored,” Marie replied, shrugging. “Also, there is broken glass near the window. Walter might get a glass piece in his paw.”

Amy shook her head in disbelief. “Your priorities are a bit out of whack, you know that? If I had fallen off a balcony, I’d be resting my sprained ankle right now.”

With a smile, Marie leaned over to caress the pooch. “I am protecting him for Benson.” She glanced at Amy, her dark eyes shiny. “The boy is with strangers, and his father is gone. How lonely he must feel! But Walter is like family to him.” She straightened and continued sweeping the floor. “I must make sure to bring the dog to Benson in one piece.”

She must really love that kid
, Amy thought as she watched the Korean woman hobble across the room. She wouldn’t be surprised if the Korean couple adopted Benson in the near future. They would make great parents, especially Marie.

Outside, the station wagon drove along the driveway and went out the gates. Marie looked up with a puzzled expression. “Is Justin going somewhere?”

“Justin and your husband, actually,” Amy elaborated. “We couldn’t find Patrick, so they’re going out to search for him.”

Marie stilled. “Patrick is missing? He is not in the woods?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Marie closed her eyes and leaned against the wall for support. “This is my fault.”

“Your fault?” Amy repeated, incredulous. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not responsible for any of this.”

“If Patrick slept in here last night, he would not be missing.”

“And if Patrick hadn’t sexually assaulted you, he would have slept in here last night, and he wouldn’t be missing,” Amy pointed out. “He’s a grown man who’s responsible for his own actions. You’re not at fault here.”

“Okay,” Marie whispered, but the troubled look in her eyes belied her answer.

Amy reached out and grabbed the makeshift broom from Marie’s hand. “I’ll finish sweeping the floor. Now go and rest that foot of yours before it gets worse.”

“Thank you, Amy,” Marie said softly. “You are a good friend.” She gathered Walter into her arms, hobbled over to her blanket, and settled in. The pooch licked her face as she laughed quietly and patted his rump.

After sweeping the broken glass into one corner of the room, Amy took a moment to study Marie. The woman was slumped against the wall, her head lolling to the side. She was napping. As for the incorrigible pooch, he was resting his head on her thigh, his big eyes darting upward to glance at Amy.

“Stay there and be quiet,” she whispered as she tiptoed past them. When Walter’s head popped up in interest, Amy pointed a stern finger at him and repeated the command. The lazy pooch blew air out of his nostrils and laid his furry head down again, suddenly dismissive of the female human standing before him.

She smiled to herself, mildly amused by the dog’s antics. But the smile soon disappeared as she crept up the grand staircase and headed toward the last room in the hallway, the room where she and Marie had hidden only the night before.

***

A small part of Amy wondered why she was doing this as she stepped around the broken door and went inside the bedroom. The place was a frightful mess. Not only that, it gave her the creeps, thinking about how the Runner had smashed through the doors and cornered them on the balcony.

But there was a niggling thought in the back of her mind that just wouldn’t go away.

So she continued along her path, striding into the walk-in closet and entering the bathroom en suite until she reached the open French doors. She slowly reached out, pulled the doors toward her, and closed them.

And her gaze fell on the faint, narrow blood streaks that had dried on the glass panes.

Last night, the Runner had run its fingers down the glass, causing a squeaking noise that, even now, sent a shiver down Amy’s spine. She hadn’t thought much about it then, as fear had ruled above all else. But with daylight and relative safety by her side, her mind was remembering small details that had gone unnoticed before.

After some hesitance, Amy ran a finger down the glass door, applying some pressure on it.

Nothing happened.

She brought her finger to her mouth and sucked on it. Then, she ran her finger down the glass again, applying the same amount of pressure as before.

Squeeeeak
.

The Runner’s fingers had been wet with blood when it had cornered them. But whose blood?

A small voice in the back of her mind offered up an answer, but Amy ruthlessly pushed it back down.

Not yet. I need more proof
.

Pushing the French doors open, she stepped into the balcony and looked over the balustrade. She stared at the dead Runner below, its limbs sprawled in every direction. Daniel must have returned here sometime during the night to retrieve his fire poker and push the body off. She bit her lip, indecisive. Before she could change her mind, she hurried out of the bedroom, went down the staircase, and aimed straight for the kitchen, where the back door was. Taking care to remain quiet, she pushed the door and stepped out into a tangled spread of overgrown grass.

Seconds later, Amy stood over the dead Runner, staring at the body in revulsion. It was lying facedown. She drew in a deep breath, stalling the inevitable. When she felt ready, she pushed a foot beneath the body and flipped the Runner over.

The first thing she noticed was the dark-red, gaping hole between its eyes. A close second was the horrific stench. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she crouched down and examined the Runner in closer detail, her gaze roving over its face, neck, chest, abdomen, arms, and hands.

The front part of the Runner’s shirt was drenched in blood. But it wasn’t brown, like old blood; in fact, the deep crimson color – still slightly sticky – was a sign that the Runner had eaten during the night.

Weak, Amy stepped back and leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling boneless. She recalled the dream she’d had the night before, of Ms. Wentworth screaming as she fell off the balcony. But it hadn’t been her screams that had woken her up.

There had been another scream. A real one. And that was what had startled her awake.

Either a poor, lost person wandering on the road had stumbled across the path of the Runners, or . . .

She shook her head frantically. No. She would
not
follow that train of thought. The only proof she had was that the Runner had recently eaten. Justin and Daniel were out there searching for Patrick, and chances were, they would return with him. There was no need to jump to conclusions yet, not until they had conducted a full search.

Her gaze landed on the dead Runner once more, and her revulsion returned, along with a small measure of pity. Who had he once been? Was his family looking for him, or had they all become infected on the same day? Had he suffered, or had he turned quickly?

So many questions. Zero answers.

Releasing a gusty sigh, Amy entered the kitchen and tiptoed into the living room, grabbing her folded blanket on the way. She returned outside and placed the blanket over the Runner, taking extra care to cover the face. She told herself that she was doing this for the man it had once been; but the truth was, its rotting eyes and blood-soaked clothes were deeply unsettling, and she could no longer bear to look at it.