The Infected (Book 1): Jim's First Day (5 page)

“Dude,
what the hell is going on? I think it’s a terrorist attack,” he nods his head
at me.

“I
don’t know what it is. We need to get off the street,” I wipe some of the blood
off my face. My eyebrows are soaked. There is so much blood; I wonder if it could
make me sick. I snatch up the old dirty sock and rub it all over my face to get
the blood off.

“I
read online, a couple weeks ago, about this monkey that came back from the
dead. You think it’s that?” A car crashes into a telephone pole on the other
side of the street.

I
duck down from the scare, “I don’t know. I doubt this is all from a monkey,” I
scan the area from this crouched position. Cars crash into each other, bodies
litter the street, a horde of infected is growing only blocks away. Dead
monkeys or terrorists. These are my only two options for why the world went
crazy today?

In
the building behind us a gun goes off. This building is a post office, I was
right. The big front window of the building explodes after another gunshot. It
sounds like there are a bunch of infected in there. I step closer to the
window. I want to see if anyone needs help. The second I get close to the
window an infected postal worker reaches out and grabs for me.

It
is my first up close look at a human that is missing its nose and an eyeball.
Half of the digits are missing from its hands. His face looks like a muscle
chart from seventh grade biology class. Its good eye has gone black with blood.
He still has a full mailbag over its shoulder, throwing it off balance. It
stumbles forward as it tries to grab me. I knock away its reaching arms with a
forearm block. The hit knocks it even more off balance and it falls down onto
the windowsill. I give it another good shove and the shards of glass sticking
out of the busted window tear up its torso. The glass rips through its skin and
opens up its guts. Its intestines spill out onto the tile floor. The smell hits
me right away. I feel like I just got slapped in the face with a slaughterhouse.
I grab my nose and pinch my nostrils closed. There is another gunshot from
inside the building and the bullet rips in and out of this monster’s skull. The
shot came from a normal looking housewife. I don’t know what kind of gun it was
but it looks like a cannon in her little hands. She gives me a nod and then
turns back into the building.

“Hey,
where are you going?” I yell after her, but she is gone.

Devon
grabs my arm and gives it a tug. He points across the street. There is a hand beckoning
us. It is inside a sporting goods store. Whoever it is has the security cage
door open wide enough for their arm to fit through. The arm waves us over.

“Come
on,” Devon urges me. I lead the way across the street. I am in a full sprint. I
can feel Devon right on my heels. When we get to the door the gate slides open
and we fly through the opening.

The
gate slams shut behind us. My eyes take a second to adjust. It was a sunny
spring day outside and the lights are out in this store. I turn to see whom I
need to thank for the rescue and he is a heavyset man in his late fifties. He
sports a bad comb over and has blood on his clothes.

“Thank
you. We appreciate it.”

“Yeah.
I saw what happened.”  

“Is
there a back way out of here bro?” Devon looks around.

“Yeah,
but you don’t want to go that way,” the guy pulls out a baseball bat and cracks
Devon on the back of his head. He falls to the ground and is out cold.

“What
are you doing?” I demand as I rush to Devon’s side. The man pulls out a gun. It
is a snub nose revolver. The kind you would see a cop carry in a seventies TV
show. I see where he got the blood from, on the ground behind the counter there
are four people laid out dead.

“What
the hell?” I am stunned.

“Put
your hammer down and give me your wallet!” he commands. The dead are obviously
store employees.

“You’re
robbing us?” I put my old hammer down on the countertop.

“Give
me your wallets!” he moves closer.

“You
killed these people?! You have any goddamn idea what’s going on out there?!”

“I
don’t give a fuck what’s going on out there. I want your money!” he takes a
step closer. My heart rate rises with every move he makes. I pull out my wallet
and hold it up.

“You’re
gonna kill me for three dollars and a credit card with a five hundred dollar
spending limit?”

He
takes another step. He is very close now. I toss the wallet right at his face.
It hits him in the nose and he flinches. At the same time I reach out and grab
his wrist. I twist, so that I am pushing the gun away from my body. I stomp on
the top of his foot. I feel the bones break under my heel. He screams and pulls
the trigger. The gunshot is deafening. The round sails across the showroom
floor and a football on a shelf explodes. I have a good grip on his wrist so I
hit him in the face with my elbow. His nose turns to pulp and blood cascades
down his face. He tries to pull his hand back and away from me, I go with it
and angle the gun right for his chest. The gun goes off again. The shot hits
him right in the heart. We lock eyes. Smoke crawls up his chest from the bullet
wound and the tip of the gun. I smell his burning flesh. The life drains from
him. I step off his foot and let go. I take the gun away from him as he falls
to the floor with a flat thud.   

I
get a lot of compliments in my Krav Maga class about my speed. Fast punches and
fast ducking skills. Not a world-class athlete, but against the “Average Joe” I
am fast. It was nothing I worked at, I always had fast hands, but I have never
moved this fast before. I have never done anything like this. It is not
something you learn in a three-hour-a-week class.

He
is dead and I killed him. I had to. Right? I don’t feel bad about it. I felt
worse when I ran over that guy ten minutes ago. What is happening to me? I
cried once because I killed a bird that had landed on our back porch. It had a
broken wing so I put it out of its misery. This asshole had it coming. I click
open the cylinder on the gun. Each casing has a small puncture in it. That was
his last shot. I drop the gun to the floor. I pick my wallet up, go to Devon’s
side and try to wake him. I shake him by the shoulders and he wakes up. He
looks at the dead man on the ground next to me.

“What
happened, Dude?”

“He
tried to mug us.”

“And
you killed him?”              

“Yeah.”

I
sit him up, now he can see the dead people behind the counter. I get Devon to
stand and we look around the place. It is a BIG 5 sporting goods store. By the
front desk there is a small refrigerator full of water and sport drinks. I
never had lunch. I definitely have not had enough water. If I can’t find a car
I am going to have to walk. I go to the fridge, pull out a water bottle and
pour it over my head to clean off the blood. I grab another bottle and drink
down all twelve ounces in one long gulp.

“You’re
looting?” Devon accuses. I still have my wallet in my hand. I pull out a dollar
and lay it on the counter. Devon takes a hard swallow. He is thirsty too. I lay
down a second dollar, open the fridge again and toss him one. Seconds later we
hear the sound of bodies moving. It is coming from behind the counter. The dead
staff members have turned. I look over the counter and they are almost to their
feet.

“Shit!”
I back away from the counter and pick up my hammer. One of them is up and turns
for me. She was a young Hispanic girl, around eighteen, with black hair and
braces. She was shot in the stomach by that asshole. She takes a step toward me
and I swing the hammer. I catch her in the temple. The nose of the hammer
sticks again and as she falls the handle slips from my grip. The other three
are now standing. One is a mid forties manager type and the other two look like
high school jocks. I reach for the screwdriver tucked in my belt. I pass one to
Devon. The manager has his arms straight out and he tries to grab my shoulders.
His teeth snap, his head twitches back and forth.

I
am used to fighting someone who has their hands up and in tight to protect
their face and body. They move light on their toes. I usually have to watch out
for either punches or kicks coming at my head and body. Fighting this guy is
very different. His only weapon is that mouth. I quickly step up and between
his outstretched arms and drive that screwdriver up through his chin and into
his skull. I see the switch get flipped in his brain. His body drops right to
the floor. This time I keep a better grip on the screwdriver and pull it from
his jaw.

One
of the jocks has Devon on the ground and the second one already has his hands
on me. I give it a hard shove to the chest and it stumbles backwards, slamming
against the counter. Before it can regain its balance, I jam the screwdriver
into its jaw and skull.

“Get
it off me!” Devon fights from his back. I pull the screwdriver out of its jaw
and step quickly over to Devon on the ground. He flails wildly. He stabs the
screwdriver into its shoulder, chest, arm and neck. None of his stabs do any
real damage and the infected doesn’t seem to notice. I step right behind the infected
and grab it by its hair. I pull its head back hard as I slide the screwdriver
into the base of its skull. Again its like I flipped a switch. Its body goes
limp instantly. I use the handle of the screwdriver and its hair to pull it off
of Devon.

“Thanks,
dude,” he gasps. I put out my hand to help him up. He grabs it and I lift him
to his feet. As he gets up I look him in the eyes. I see the change on his
face. The fear takes shape before he can get the words out. I feel hands on my
neck.

It
is my heavyset friend with the gun. He is back and he is hungry. I feel his
grip tighten on my neck and his body and mouth are not far behind. My reflexes
take over. In one move, I tuck my head forward and slap at his hands. This
loosens its grip on my neck and I fire an elbow straight up and back. The hard
part of my elbow smashes into its jaw and it slams shut. Its teeth break in its
mouth. I twist out of its grip and face the monster. It opens its mouth, half
its tongue and a bunch of teeth fall out, roll down his belly and fall to the
floor. Its jagged, bloody mouth snaps open and shut. It is something straight
out of a nightmare. I step close again and drive that screwdriver deep into its
chin. He joins the others on the floor. I don’t get it. They were dead. You can
beat them, stab them, shoot them, set them on fire, peel the skin from their
face and nothing. They keep coming at you, but one little stab to the brain and
off go the lights.

“Wow,
dude you really killed the hell out of those things,” he rubs the back of his
head.

“Please
stop calling me dude or bro. I hate it. You sound like a stupid kid when you
talk that way,” I take a deep breath and turn away from him. I am exhausted. My
nerves are shot. I feel like shit for calling him stupid. I need a cup of
coffee, a shot of whiskey and a large cold beer. I grab a few more waters from
the fridge, a couple packs of jerky and Snickers bar. I am starving. Well,
North American man starving. That means I have not eaten anything for the last
five hours. I see a display of folding camp chairs. I plop myself down in one
and tear open the Snickers. I open the water and take a swig. “I’m sorry. You’re
not stupid. I just re-killed five people and I’m really hungry,”

“It’s
alright. My dad says that all the time to me. I mean he calls me stupid. He’s a
dick. I don’t want to talk about it,” his head drops. I really feel like an ass
now.

“Hey,
grab a seat, and get some food,” Devon pulls out a Mountain Dew and grabs
himself a few Snickers. He plops down on a chair beside me. I finish off my
chocolaty snack and open the jerky. I look down at my legs and feet. I am
wearing dress shoes with very slick soles. My pants are polyester dress slacks.
They are cheap and I never have to iron them, but it is like wearing a plastic
bag on my legs. This is the wrong attire for a ten-mile hike. I will sweat too
much in these pants. I might slip and fall in these shoes. Or worse, twist my
ankle. I finish off the first bottle of water. This store is a jackpot of
supplies. When I first ran in I did not realize what kind of store this was.
Now I feel blessed by the gods. I quickly eat a few more bites of jerky, finish
off the second bottle of water, get up and walk the aisles.

“Are
you shopping du...?” Devon stops himself from finishing his sentence.

“I
can’t make it home dressed like this and armed with hammers and screwdrivers.”

“So
we are looting then?”

“Well
there’s no one to ring us up,” I cruise the aisles and spot the back wall of
the store. It has a selection of boots.

He
has a mouth full of Snickers as he talks, “Cool, I’ve always wanted to loot.
Like, just a little looting not enough to go to prison.”

“What
size shoe do you wear?”

“Nine.”

“I’ll
get us some boots,” I grab a pack of hiking socks and head for the back room
where they keep their footwear.

I
flip the light switch on the wall. The back room of the Big 5 lights up and I
find a stack of boxes labeled North Face. I pop open a box of size elevens and
pull out a set of waterproof hiking boots. These things retail for like two
hundred bucks. When I put them on they will be the most expensive shoes I have
ever worn. These boots remind me of Sam and his closet full of expensive shoes,
like a lady would buy and collect. Sometimes I would joke and call him “Sex Sam
and the City.” Because he had a collection like the character Sara Jessica
Parker played. I think he said one time, he had somewhere around thirty
thousand dollars worth. I couldn’t believe it. How was that possible? He said
he had been collecting them since he was in college. He had like a hundred pair
of shoes and most of them were over three hundred bones when he bought them. No
matter how many times he explained his collection to me it always sounded over
the top. I own about five pairs of shoes, one for work, one to workout,
sandals, work boots and one pair of Converse Chuck Taylor’s that I wear around
the house. It was such a funny, silly, Sam thing to collect, but he loved them.
I pull the boots from the box and I realize that I am crying. The reality has
sunk in. I killed my best friend, but only after he had already died once. I
think I am going to throw up but I just ate and drank all that water, I don’t
want it to go to waste, so I fight it. I force a hard swallow. I push all the
thoughts about what has happened and what I have done down deep into my soul. I
will think about it later. I will cry later. I will throw up later. Now, I have
to get ready and go save my girls. I wipe the tears from my eyes and I clear my
nose. I don’t want Devon to know I was crying. Not that I am ashamed, I was
crying in the car not even ten minutes ago, but I can tell he is rattled and on
the edge. He needs me to be strong so he feels safe. That will help him be
strong. Panic breeds panic. I get myself together and I step from the back room
with our new boots.