The Last Five Days: The Complete Novel: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (14 page)

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M
elanie placed
a white towel over a puddle of blood. Some of the crimson liquid spread across the floor, but the towel soaked up a good portion. Winston walked back into the house after tossing Georgie off the porch. He grabbed Kenneth by the ankles and pulled him out of the house.

"How can you do this like you're just taking out the garbage?" Fisher asked.

In a way, I am
, Winston thought. He decided against saying that out loud. "I've shot my best friend in the head. Poked the eyes out of one my oldest friends. My wife is dead and locked in our bedroom. You have to desensitize yourself to these things in order to survive." Winston tossed Kenneth's body next to Georgie.

Melanie stuffed the towel, which was now pink, into a trash bag. She grabbed another to soak up the remaining blood. Without water, there would be a stain, but at least the pools of red would be gone.

"You shouldn't be touching that with your hands," Fisher said. "There's no way of knowing how the virus spreads."

Melanie looked at her hands. Her palms were a faint pink from the blood seeping through the fabric. She smiled. "I haven't caught it yet."

"You're playing roulette," Fisher said. He leaned back on the couch. A grimace rushed over his face. Yesterday's wound was a through and through with no organ damage, but it still hurt like hell.

"Do you think we are immune?" Winston asked, walking back into the house.

"Hard to say without being able to do tests. You've been living in this house with someone infected and haven't caught it. She's mopping up infected blood..." Fisher pointed at Melanie. "...like it’s harmless water. I'd say there is a good chance you may be immune. Either that or you're the luckiest people alive. Or you really want to die. I'm not sure."

"Hey, Winston, maybe we should ditch this town and hit Vegas." Melanie pushed the towel into the trash bag.

Winston smiled. "Hell, I'd go to Vegas now just for a big steak."

"With mashed potatoes," Melanie said.

"And cheesecake," Fisher said. He pointed to his stomach. "If you can't already tell, I'm a sucker for sweets."

Melanie walked by Winston to the kitchen. She filled her palm with foaming soap and instinctively turned on the faucet. Nothing. "Shit."

Melanie grabbed a bottle of water and poured it over her hands. Winston watched from the living room.

"What? I had to get the soap off my hands," Melanie said.

Fisher laughed and then moaned. "You're worried about soap on your hand but not infected blood."

"OK, I'm going to head out and see if I can find a gas can and some gas to get the generator going. I guess I'll look for water too since some of us think we have an endless supply." Winston smiled at Melanie.

"I'm coming with you," Melanie said.

"Me too." Fisher tried to sit up, but the pain held him down. He took a deep breath and forced himself up.

"You’re not in any condition to be out there," Winston said.

"I'll be fine. I'm like a classic Ford Maverick. A bitch to get started, but once I've been running for a bit, it's a smooth ride."

Winston smiled and shook his head.

"Are you sure?" Melanie asked, grabbing one of Marianna's jackets from the closet. "It's dangerous out there."

"Not an hour ago, there were three guys standing right here with guns pointed at us. I'm pretty sure one of them wanted to eat you. I'll take my chances with you out there."

"All right, but understand if things get crazy, we're all on our own," Winston said.

"Understood, captain," Fisher said.

Winston picked up the shotgun that Brandon was wielding earlier. "Who wants this beauty?"

Melanie grabbed Kenneth's pistol as if it was the last hot donut.

"I guess I'm the proud owner." Fisher took the shotgun from Winston. He inspected the gun. "Nice. A Winchester 1912. It's a classic."

Winston handed Fisher three shotgun shells. "These were in his pocket." He turned to Melanie. "Sorry. Kenneth wasn't carrying anything extra."

Fisher took the pistol from Melanie. "Smith & Wesson M&P22. Not the best, but not the worst." Fisher popped the clip. "Only four bullets."

"Shoot smart," Winston said, smiling.

Melanie packed a bottle of water and a small bag of pretzels into a backpack. She flung it over her shoulder.

"Those pretzels are going to make you thirsty," Fisher said.

"Yeah, well, my options are limited, Mr. Picky."

Fisher chuckled. "No need to worry. She's smart. I was hoping she'd leave those pretzels so I could have them."

Melanie reached into her backpack, pulled out the pretzels, and smiled. She put them back in the bag and grabbed a bottle of Ibuprofen. She tossed it to Fisher. "Here; you need this more than pretzels."

Winston checked his backpack and stepped onto the porch. Melanie followed with Fisher lagging behind.

"Watch your step," Winston said, stepping over Brandon's lifeless body at the bottom step.

"Geez, Winston, the least you could've done was put him in the yard," Melanie said.

"There are more important things right now. Focus," Winston said. "OK, I think we should head towards the hardware store. We haven't been there."

The air was cool. The silence would have been disturbing if they had a chance to listen. All three were tense as if they were walking through a haunted house, waiting for someone to jump out from behind a door to scare them. The scenery looked like a backdrop for a Halloween scare — bodies strewn over lawns and in the streets. At least there was no one to cause the fright. After about ten minutes and no signs of life or infected, Winston eased up.

"Art's Hardware has to have gas cans. It's only a few minutes away. How ya holding up, Mark?"

Fisher coughed. The pain wasn't too bad. It was the walking that put a hurt on him. Fisher was overweight and out of shape. Even though they were moving barely about a snail's pace, he felt like he was running a 5k. "I'm good." He barely had enough oxygen to get the words out. "I take it you don't have a hospital here."

"Nope, just Doc Barnard's office," Melanie said.

"Is it near here?" Fisher asked.

"Not far. Why?" Winston asked.

"Maybe I can get a sample of your blood to see why you're not infected."

"That would be nice, but Doc didn't have a generator."

"But you do. There has to be some type of microscope at the school. They do teach chemistry here, right?"

"Failed it twice," Winston said.

All the talking was too much for Fisher. He stopped to catch his breath. Melanie called for Winston to wait. The silence overwhelmed them when they stood still. A muffled squeak broke through the quiet.

"What was that?" Melanie asked.

Another squeak.

"It's coming from over there," Fisher said.

Winston walked toward the noise. Fisher and Melanie followed a few feet behind. The sound grew louder. Winston froze when he saw the woman pushing a child on a swing in Black Dog Community Park. Melanie put her hand on Fisher's chest to stop him. The woman kept pushing the swing. She sang the nursery rhyme "Are You Sleeping?" as she pushed the child.

Fisher handed Melanie the shotgun and headed toward the woman.

"What are you doing?" Winston whispered.

"She has a kid. We have to help them," Fisher said.

"Mark, don't," Melanie said.

The woman stopped singing and turned toward Fisher. "Oh, thank god. My baby is sick. Can you help him?"

"I can try," Fisher said.

"Mark, be careful," Melanie said.

Fisher turned to Melanie. "It's a kid. I have to he..."

The woman lunged at Fisher, knocking him to the ground. The back of his head smacked against the cold ground, leaving him no chance to fight her off. She latched on to his shoulder, gnawing at flesh. Her teeth sank deeper to bone. She moved her head side-to-side like a shark ripping at chum. Fisher screamed. The woman let go of his shoulder only to gain more force with the next bite. Melanie aimed the pistol and ran toward the woman. She fired. The bullet missed the woman, but it was enough to get her attention. The woman stood up and smiled. Her teeth were red from Fisher's blood. A trickle ran down the corner of her mouth.

Winston's hand was shaky. His mind was unsure of what was happening. Shock clouded his thoughts. He pointed the Colt at the woman, but the gun bounced in his grasp like a boat on choppy waters. He grabbed his wrist with his other hand. Just as he steadied his aim, another shot rang out, followed by a thud on the pavement. To Winston's left lay Art's son, Jeremy. His body was less than a foot from Winston, who didn't have time to reflect on how close he had been to death. Melanie stood frozen with the gun still aimed in Winston's direction.

"Watch out, Melanie." Fisher barely got the words out as red spittle launched from his mouth, landing on his face.

Melanie turned back as the woman reached for her. There was just enough space to extend her arm. Melanie placed the barrel of the M&P22 against the woman's forehead and pulled the trigger. Shards of flesh and blood splattered Melanie as the woman fell back on the asphalt. Melanie wiped her face with her forearm, smearing the woman's remains on the sleeve of the jacket Winston had bought his wife for Christmas last year. She ran to Fisher. Winston gained his composure and headed toward Fisher. He stopped at the woman's body. Winston knew her. Melanie knew her. The woman was Jeremy's wife, Alex. And if there was a child in the swing, it had to be their son, Ricky.

"Good shot. You had me worried for a minute." Fisher tried to laugh but could only muster a gasp, followed by a cough that sent more blood in the air. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of ibuprofen. "I know, you're not a doctor, but think this will help?" He tried to smile, but it came across as a distorted grimace.

A tear trailed down Melanie's cheek. "I'm so sorry."

"For what? I should have listened to you, but the doctor in me just has to help people."

Winston stopped beside Melanie.

"Oh, hey, Winston. Yeah, about helping people, I'd probably advise against that in the future."

"She wasn't a person any longer. Neither was he." Winston pointed to Jeremy.

"We have to get him back to the house. Can you carry him, Winston?"

Fisher looked at Winston. "Did she just call me fat? I'll have you know I'm big-boned."

"There's no time for joking. We have to get you back to the house."

Fisher exhaled. It led to a cough and more blood on his face. "I'm not going anywhere. This is the end of the road for me."

"We can help you." Melanie bent down, but Winston stopped her. She jerked free. "I'm not going to leave him here."

"Yes, you are," Fisher said. "You're going to be that woman I saw at the house cleaning up blood. This is about your survival, not mine. You are the cure to this. I have a gut feeling you're immune. And my gut never lies."

"Do you want me to end it?" Winston asked.

"I can't believe you're being so cold, Winston. End it? Jesus. He is a survivor. We need to help each other," Melanie said.

"I'm not a survivor. Look at me. I'm already dead," Fisher said.

Tears streamed down Melanie's cheeks. "I don't want to live in a world where people stop giving a shit about each other."

"Winston cares. Or else he wouldn't have asked me. He would have just shot me. And no, I don't want you to end it. I want her to."

Melanie took a step back.

"You have to do this. You have to be tough. Be the woman that jammed the knife into that guy. You have to survive."

"You're not like Georgie. I'm not going to shoot you."

"He's right," Winston said. He paused, thinking back to his kills. The people he called friends. "The world has been turned upside down. Killing someone you care about is actually saving them."

"Then why do you have Marianna locked up in a bedroom?" Melanie asked.

Winston didn't have an answer. He knew it was wrong. Marianna was gone. He had no other choice but to save her.

"Remember when Winston said shoot smart?" Fisher paused to gasp for air. "This is the smartest shot you can take."

Melanie exhaled. She looked to Winston for guidance, but he was lost in guilt for not doing the right thing with his wife. Melanie eyed Fisher. A film was forming on his eyes. Fisher was right. She had to be the woman who stabbed Georgie. She pointed the pistol at Fisher.

"I'm sorry."

Fisher smiled. "Don't be sorry. Get your ass out there and save the world."

Melanie closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. The bang jarred Winston from his daze. A slight motion stole his attention. The swing, which was designed to look like a racecar, was still moving. He walked to it and almost vomited when he saw the child. Ricky's eyes were cloudy. He lay still, but the eyes told Winston everything he needed to know. He pointed the Colt and pulled the trigger before his conscience could convince him otherwise.

"Was that Ricky?" Melanie asked.

"No. Ricky's dead."