Decimation Series (Book 1): Contagion Page 10
As soon as they were in the water and the shock had worn off, they started egging me on to come in for a swim.
“No really,” Jamie called to me through chattering teeth and blue lips, “the water’s not that cold!”
Realizing that I was still crusted with gore from the airport, despite having changed into fresh clothes while at Taylor’s, I decided screw it and stripped down to my underwear and ran to join them.
♦♦♦
I sat at the picnic table beside the grill drying my hair with a towel Alex had given me, a steaming bowl of soup in front of me, and a stale sandwich in my free hand. The boys had run from the water as soon as I jumped in, and said back to me, “are you mental? This water is freezing!” They had not been wrong but coming out of the lake I felt more refreshed than I had in days.
Steph had done some figuring with the map and worked out a plan for us. We had all agreed that, despite us wanting to get home as soon as possible, we all agreed that driving at night was foolish, so we decided to be set up somewhere safe before it got dark. Based on the traffic we had seen and the time we were making on the roads, she figured we might make it to Sault Ste. Marie by dusk. If we were lucky.
I thought that sounded okay but suggested maybe we should think about stopping in a smaller centre overnight, avoiding areas with any significant population. We didn’t want to drive into an unfamiliar area right at nightfall and run into a crowd of infected in the darkness.
Together we looked back at the map, and I pointed to a small town just east of Sault Ste Marie right along the highway that looked perfect. It had a long, small peninsula sticking south out into Lake Huron that looked like it was a bit out-of-the-way and would likely have some houses that we could settle into for the night.
“What’s the name of the town?” she asked, looking at it from upside down.
“Thessalon,” I said.
I looked back down at the map and did a quick guess at the distance. I put it at around six hundred kilometres from the airport, and maybe five hundred from where we left this morning. We weren’t making very good time. At this rate it would take us at least four or five days to get home.
We discussed it and decided that for tonight we’d see how far we got, and just have to hope that as we got into less populated areas, we could pick up the pace.
We got everyone collected and, after doing the dishes quickly in the lake and filling the van’s gas tank from our blue water jugs from the sporting goods store, we were back on the road, finally heading west, towards home.
♦♦♦
Twilight was starting to grab hold by the time we pulled into Thessalon, so there was no question about continuing further on that night. As we came to the turnoff from the highway, we saw an Ontario Provincial Police station on the south side of the road. Aside from the abandoned military roadblock, this was the first location of possible authority we had seen.
We pulled into the parking lot, listened for any warning signs, and climbed out of the van. I pulled out a couple flashlights and we approached the long, squat tan-coloured brick building. Like everyplace else, it was in darkness. I cautiously went to the front doors and found them to be locked.
“Kev, look,” said Steph, pointing inside with her flashlight.
On the wall inside opposite the locked door was taped an orange poster board, with a message in black marker, written by someone in a hurry by the look of it.
STATION CLOSED
POST ABANDONED SEPT 30/18
MANDATORY CIVILIAN AND SUPPORT EVAC TO S.S.M.
90KMS WEST FOLLOW HWY#1
SIGNS POSTED
We all read the poster excitedly. This was the first sign of any presence of authority or law and order we had seen since leaving the airport. It was posted two days ago by the looks of it.
Steph was in favour of pushing on in the dark on the chance we might get there tonight and find some kind of sanctuary.
As much as I wanted to, I argued against it. It was simply too dangerous. A car on the highway at night with headlights on would be like a magnet for any infected in the area. We had to find somewhere to stay here tonight, and we could be up and gone by sunrise tomorrow and at the refuge, if there was one, an hour after that.
Reluctantly, she finally agreed that was the right call.
“Hey guys,” said Jamie, “I think I found a place with some comfy beds for us to sleep in tonight.” He was using his flashlight to point at a large billboard along the highway, just visible in the gloom. It showed a picture of a large, beautiful house overlooking the lake.
Lighthouse Point Estates
“Your Dream Home, Today!”
Furnished Show Homes available for Viewing Today!
Follow the Signs!
It featured a ten-foot-long arrow pointing down the side road behind us. We all looked at each other. And shrugged. We all burst out laughing at the same time. Everyone’s mood had brightened; this was it, there was something out there other than this horror, something other than death and sickness. This was the sign we had needed. We were going to get home to our families.
♦♦♦
From the police station we had followed the red arrow signs down Royal Street, across Government Bridge, and south along Water Street to where it turned into Lighthouse Point Drive.
The single paved lane was lined on both sides with beautiful treed lots overlooking Lake Huron on both sides. This was the peninsula we had seen on the map, and in real life it looked like the perfect place to hole up for the night.
We continued south along the road to a cul-de-sac at the end. There were three imposing two-storey show homes, done in what Steph liked to call the “executive-gauche” style, which means if some is good, more must be better. The billboard didn’t do these places justice. Even in complete darkness, these show homes were gorgeous.
We drove into the large circular drive of the first house, had a listen, then rolled up the windows and killed the engine.
Steph did the honours tonight and gained entry to our house of choice by smashing out a basement window. One of the boys (I honestly couldn’t tell which in the darkness) climbed down inside with a flashlight and made his way back to the front door, unlocking it from the inside. Once inside, I saw that the place was fully equipped with the latest smart-home tech including an iPad on the wall, likely one in each room; it was also most likely equipped with a state-of-the-art alarm system. ‘Lotsa good that’s gonna do you, mate,’ I thought as we stomped in bringing our food, guns and sleeping bags. Any other gear we left in the van and locked it up tight for the night.
Once inside, we settled in and pulled the blinds on the road-side of the house, leaving the lake-side windows uncovered. I lit up a propane camp stove and started warming some soup for supper. Steph walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and gazed out over the night-shrouded great lake. It was a beautiful view. I imagined sunrises would be spectacular from this room.
She stood close to the glass and looked to the south, and pointed out to me the tall building at the tip of the point; it was an old two-and-a-half storey wooden structure, its half lap siding looking very worse for wear, and at the peak, in the darkness, I could just make out a cupola that was sided on all four sides with glass.
“Is that a lighthouse?” I asked, and then suddenly felt incredibly stupid given the name of the road we drove in on.
Steph ignored my blunder, and nodded, her eyes wide taking it all in.
“Remember for our honeymoon we had talked about driving all the way out to this area and through to New England during the fall?” she asked. I did remember. I also remembered, sadly, that our actual honeymoon had been put aside year after year while we tried to pay down our mortgage and save up enough money to renovate the bathroom. I stood beside her in the gloaming and took in the silhouette of the old lighthouse. She reached out for my hand and found it.
The boys made a point of reconnoitering the house, making sure we were secure for the night. At one-poin
t Jamie called out from the basement for his brother, who ran downstairs two steps at a time, only to arrive and yell out, “Holy shit!”
Leaving my soup to simmer, I walked downstairs at a much more dignified pace, only to let out an equally agreeable “Holy shit!” as soon as I walked into the basement. Nine-foot ceilings dominated a room that looked like it would seat at least twenty-five people, all facing a floor-to-ceiling movie screen that looked like it was at least twenty feet wide. I whistled in appreciation, and Steph walked up behind me.
“And I thought you called what you have a ‘home theatre’,” she said teasingly.
I think my stone-cold ‘I am not amused’ gaze spoke volumes, and the boys laughed out loud.
♦♦♦
“Babe, are you awake?” I heard from behind me, quiet, hesitant.
The four of us lay in a group on the floor in the living room, like spokes on a wheel. Spurning the large bedrooms upstairs, as a group we had collectively but silently decided to pull the mattresses from the large, separate, sterile rooms and gather them together in one space. We had laid out our new sleeping bags across the mattresses, close together, silently acknowledging that tonight we all needed the closeness, the connection.
From the sounds of their heavy breathing, the brothers had fallen into sleep quickly, tired from the events of the day. The sleep of the innocent, despite blood-stained hands, I thought to myself.
Sleep, however, had eluded me, and I lay in the darkness, my eyes open, my thoughts heavy.
I didn’t answer her, but she continued on, I think knowing I was awake. Or not knowing but needing to say the words anyway.
“I’m sorry,” came her voice, quiet, breaking, heavy with tears. “I love you and I’m so sorry, babe.”
I couldn’t say anything. The weight of our loss, the damage done by her infidelity, the hurt of my neglect, it had all been pushed aside over the last few days by the enormity of what had been happening around us. And yet it was still there; every time I looked at her, every smile or joke we shared, every time I heard her voice.
I heard her sob in the darkness, alone, and I couldn’t turn to her.
I knew I carried as heavy a weight of guilt in this as she did, but I couldn’t turn to her.
I knew that somewhere along the line there was something I had done, or that I hadn’t done, that had helped make this happen. I knew there was something in me that she couldn’t reach, or something missing from me that she needed to reach, and that failed connection had turned her love and her passion aside, little by little, day by day.
And yet I couldn’t turn to her; I couldn’t answer her.
I don’t know what it was that was missing in me; some connection, some spark, maybe the spark that had been missing between us, but its absence left me cold.
I heard her roll over onto her other side, away from me. I heard her crying quietly, trying to smother her sobs so as not to awaken the boys.
And we lay there close in the darkness, our faces wet with tears together, but silent and miles apart.
♦♦♦
The sound of breaking glass tore me from my restless sleep, and I thrashed about, surprised, trying to sit up, and found myself wrapped and tangled in my sleeping bag. Panicked, I kicked loose and stood up, trying to get my bearings.
The sky outside was brightening, the room bright enough I could see Alex and Jamie, but Stephanie’s sleeping bag was empty. The boys sat up, also awakened by the crash.
From the kitchen came a scream of terror and bellows of rage. My blood went cold, and I bent to grab from the floor the shotgun we had brought in from the van last night. After supper the boys had given both me and Steph a basic walkaround on the firearms we were stocking, and I had immediately bonded with the shotgun. Big shells, simple action, don’t aim it just point it. This was my kind of gun.
I carried it as I ran to the kitchen area where we could hear a struggle.
It looked like Stephanie had been in the kitchen preparing a breakfast of Backpacker Pantry dehydrated scrambled eggs for us over a camp stove when several infected had come smashing through the tall glass doors overlooking the back deck.
Last night we hadn’t worried about the windows facing the lake, since we felt the likelihood of infected being anywhere along the shore was so slim.
We had been wrong.
Two men and a woman were lying sprawled on the hardwood floor of the dining area, having crashed through the sliding patio doors from the backyard, as we saw them, they struggled awkwardly to get to their feet, their faces just twisted masks of hate, teeth bared and snarling like wild animals. A fourth infected was halfway through the window above the sink and had her clawed fingers buried deep in Stephanie's hair.
Without thinking, I pointed the shotgun at one of the infected in the dining area and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
I squeezed again, with the same result, while the infected got to his feet, throwing his head back and howling in fury, turning his shoulders towards me, ready to charge. I frantically thought back through my lessons from last night, trying to understand what I was doing wrong, and realized my mistake. Squeezing the release just behind the trigger, I racked the action, cocking the gun and pumping a shell into the chamber.
“Hey motherfucker!” I screamed as I put the stock to my shoulder and squeezed the trigger for a third time.
This time the gun bucked explosively in my hands, and five or so yards in front of me, the top third of the infected man who just stood up from the dining room floor simply vanished in a bloody cloud, turning into a frothy red spray that covered the cut glass and chrome serving station behind him in a spray of gore.
Off to the side, an infected man and woman were scrambling to their feet in the clutter of shattered glass while Jamie and Alex braced themselves and squared off against them. It was like watching an old western movie where the lawless gunfighters drew their guns on the newly-appointed US Marshals. Jamie and Alex were almost in perfect unison; mirror images but a half-second-delayed, as they both faced the infected in a symmetrical half-step-back two-hand stance and they each put two rounds into the chests of the infected from only a dozen feet away.
Without pausing to see the effect of the shots the boys put out, I turned to see Stephanie locked with her hands in her hair, trying to keep the infected woman hanging in the window from pulling her forward into the shards of broken glass, but she didn’t have the leverage to pull the woman into the kitchen.
Running into the kitchen, I yelled Stephanie’s name and told her to get down.
I raised the gun up past my shoulder, butt-first, and was about to smash the woman in the window with the stock when another infected I hadn’t known was there flew at me through the destroyed dining-room doors and grabbed me around my neck with both hands.
My arms were pinned across my body, giving me no leverage, and the sick man’s face was only inches from mine, the feverish heat of his sick breath washing over me.
I drove my arms down, trying to brace the empty shotgun between us to give me a second to breathe and get my bearings, but he managed to twist his body to the side and with his leverage threw me towards the outside wall, crashing through the last intact patio door and out onto the wooden deck outside.
Collapsing outside on the deck, shattered glass crashing and scattering around me, I scrambled to get my feet beneath me and stood, facing the infected man in the dining room doorway.
A sliver of ice speared through my neck, sharp and hot in places but yet cold in others. This struck me as odd since it wasn’t that cold outside yet.
I reached up to under my chin to where I could feel the sharp pierce of cold and drew a long sliver of broken glass from inside my neck under my chin. I pulled it out and threw it aside, hearing it shatter on the deck while I staggered, facing the infected in front of me.
Now I was warm, I thought, and I could feel warmth spreading across my chest. Taking a stuttering, unfeeling step forward, I fe
lt my knees collapse from under me, and I found myself lying on the deck on my side with waves of cold and heat taking turns lapping up against my legs and my chest.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Stephanie Hayes
Day 5
I heard gunshots blasting behind me, first the heavy boom of Kevin’s shotgun followed by almost simultaneous pops, I’m guessing from the twins firing their pistols, but I couldn’t see anything. The wild thing that had smashed through the large kitchen window to get to me had her clawed hands buried in my hair and was trying to smash my face into the sink. I had both hands on hers, trying to get them out of my hair.
I heard Kevin call my name, yelling at me to get down, then I heard another scream as another infected came smashing through into the kitchen from the dining room and I heard him struggling with Kevin, followed by another smash of broken glass.
I turned to the woman who was scrabbling at my face with one of her clawed hands, trying to scratch my eyes out. In desperation, I grabbed a soup bowl we had used for supper last night from the sink and smashed it against the edge of the counter. It shattered into jagged pieces of porcelain, and I felt one piece cut my hand badly.
Grasping one of the shards, I stabbed out repeatedly to where I thought her face was. I could feel my hand being sliced, but it didn’t matter because I could feel my jagged weapon sinking again and again into her.
“Stephanie, drop down!” I heard Alex yell at me from behind. Without thinking, I buckled my knees, dropping my weight down, and pulled the woman part way into the kitchen with me.
I heard the crash of a gunshot near my head and felt a splash as blood and brain matter exploded out of the sick woman’s skull, covering me and the counter above me.