Survive (Day 4) Read online

  SURVIVE

  Day Four

  By: A.R. Wise

  Cover by A.R. Wise

  Photo sourced from istockphoto.com

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

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  SURVIVE

  Day Four – 12:00 am

  Day Four – 12:29 am

  Day Four – 1:03 am

  Day Four – 1:28 am

  Day Four - 7:30 am

  Day Four – 8:43 am

  Day Four – 12:16 pm

  Day Four – 2:33 pm

  Day Four – 3:01 pm

  Day Four – 3:32 pm

  Day Four – 3:38 pm

  Day Four – 6:42 pm

  Author’s Note

  Day Four – 12:00 am

  “We can help!”

  They were relentless.

  Red’s arms had been burned during his escape, but he ignored the searing pain. “This way,” he said as he ran down a hall of lockers, deeper into the building. A paper banner hung from the ceiling, one half connected and the other half draping to the tile. It was a declaration of support for the football team, and the Panther mascot’s face swept the floor as wind rushed through the hall. Leaves and ash skittered beside Red and June, masking their light footsteps. Multiple glass doors and windows had been broken in the assault, bringing in a cool breeze and leaves. The screams of helpers echoed through long, dark halls.

  “Keep going,” said June as they avoided the lights near the triage in the gym.

  “We can help!” The helpers’ voices were distant, but ominously determined. Their footsteps like a coming storm, rumbling and relentless as the helpers searched for anyone left uninfected.

  The helpers weren’t as loud as their victims. Survivors screamed in terror as they were caught. The infected didn’t want to kill, but wouldn’t hesitate if forced. Gunshots frequently rattled the walls. Something had changed since the start of the outbreak. The helpers no longer selflessly tried to spread the disease. Now they were concerned with their own survival, and would defend themselves if necessary.

  It got darker the further Red and June ran. They were plunged into blackness when they turned down another hall, lost in the heart of a building under siege.

  June cursed quietly between gasps as they stopped to gather their wits. “Where’re we going?”

  “We can try to get out on the other side of the school.”

  “I can’t see where I’m going,” she said while pressing her hand to the wall of lockers.

  “Let’s keep moving,” Red was in front of her, and reached back. “Take my hand.”

  She did, and they continued on, deeper into the maze of hallways in the overrun school. Then, ahead of them, a flashlight’s beam broke through the darkness, searching an adjacent, connecting hall, growing brighter as the owner advanced.

  June pulled Red towards an alcove. She accidentally thudded against a door, alerting the seeker.

  “We’re here to help,” shouted the man with the flashlight. His light bobbed as he ran their way.

  June opened the door as quietly as she could, but the squeak of the hinges couldn’t be masked. They went into the room, certain they’d be discovered in seconds.

  “He’s coming,” she said as they looked through the window on the door. The light in the hall intensified.

  “Don’t lock it,” said Red as he pulled her away from the door.

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because we’ll get trapped in here.”

  “What’re we going to…” she didn’t have a chance to finish the question before the helper was at the door. Red stood to the side while June ducked behind a desk as the helper peered in, his flashlight searching left and right. The door opened, slow and cautious.

  “Hello?”

  Red was pressed to the wall, avoiding the beam of light as if it could burn him. It was only a matter of time before the searcher spotted him. The man was short, thin, and dripping fresh blood from both a wound and his blade.

  When Red saw the knife, he lunged for it. He gripped the man’s wrist with both hands, and jerked him inside the room. He twisted, and brought the searcher to his knees. The flashlight spun on the ground, and settled near June.

  “I can help,” said the small man as he tried to yank his hand free.

  Red wasn’t a trained fighter. He quickly lost control, and the searcher slipped free. The little man fell to a seated position, staring up at Red. He scrambled to get up, slipping in his own blood.

  “Get his knife,” said June.

  Red couldn’t risk reaching for the man’s wrist again. Just one small cut would infect him.

  The searcher screamed to his fellow infected as he stood, “I’ve got one!” He faced Red, but glanced over his shoulder at June, aware of her presence.

  “I can help both of you.”

  June threw a plastic chair at the man. He saw the furniture coming, and lifted his right arm to block it. Red took advantage of the distraction by lunging, but the helper recovered quick. The knife slashed through the air, cutting across Red’s belly.

  The helper’s attack didn’t deter Red. He grasped the man as if giving a bear hug to an old friend. He held him tight, and then lifted him off the ground. Red slammed the helper against a wall, knocking down a plastic map and a set of dry erase markers. The knife hit the floor with the markers, but the helper wasn’t defenseless.

  Red felt the man bite at his shoulder.

  “Mother fucker.” He let go of the helper, backed away a step, and then hit him with a roundhouse punch that sent the thin, fragile man spinning. The helper hit the floor face down, twitched, and then stopped moving.

  “Are you okay?” asked June, breathless and terrified. “I saw him cut you. Are you cut? Did he…”

  “I don’t know,” said Red as he lifted his shirt. He put his hand to his belly and searched for a wound. “He cut my shirt, but I don’t think it got through.”

  “What about your shoulder?” asked June as she stood warily far. “He bit you. I saw him bite you.” She’d picked up the flashlight, and was frantically aiming it at him.

  Red pulled his shirt collar aside and tried to inspect himself. “I don’t think he got through.”

  “Take your shirt off.”

  “June, it’s okay. He didn’t…”

  “Take your shirt off.” She didn’t trust him.

  The helper’s attack had cut into the sweatshirt, leaving a gash and a smear of blood. June pointed the flashlight at the hole, and stood several feet away. Red did as she commanded, and tossed the soiled shirt onto the top of the unconscious helper. He lifted his arms and asked, “Happy? Can we go now? I’m not sure how long that guy’s going to be out.” He massaged his sore knuckles.

  “Stay there,” she said. “Don’t move.” She came forward, the light focused on his stomach.

  Sweat had matted the hair on his belly, and obscured the spot where the knife grazed him. She didn’t want to touch his skin, and stood a couple feet away as she said, “You’re cut.”

  “No I’m not.” He swiped his hand across his stomach. He could feel where the knife had touched him, and it was tender, but there was no open wound. A long welt was forming. “He didn’t break the skin.”

  “What about your shoulder?”

  “No. He didn’t get through the shirt there either. I’m okay. Let’s get the hell out of here.�
�

  “Stay ten feet in front of me. Just for now.”

  He stared at her in disbelief.

  “If it was me who got attacked, I’d expect you to treat me the same way. Keep away from me. I want a fighting chance if you go postal.”

  “Fine, whatever. Turn off the light for a minute.”

  “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Because he just fucking screamed to his friends, that’s why. They might come looking for him, and we don’t need to be waving around a goddamn flashlight to tell them where we’re at.”

  “You stay on that side of the room, by the door.” She turned off the light, and walked away. He heard her bump into a table in the dark.

  “I’ll tell you if I feel myself… changing or whatever.”

  She didn’t respond, and melded with the shadows.

  “Did you hear me?”

  She still wouldn’t say anything. He thought he saw a shape move through the dark, but his previous direct exposure to the flashlight left a red squiggle in his vision, all but blinding him. He eased his way towards the door, and then placed his hand against it in search of the window. Once he found it, he peered into the hall.

  A burgeoning glow of distant blue revealed the lockers on the side of the hall. The light gleamed on the black and white tile as leaves swirled in a miniature tornado near a corner. The glow intensified.

  “Someone’s coming.”

  June was silent. She might’ve escaped through another exit for all Red knew.

  The flashlight’s beam shone down their hall, and then the opposite way as the owner yelled, “Who’s there?”

  Red’s victim groaned. Red moved slowly to him, hoping to be silent.

  Red found his victim, but was at a loss as to how to keep him quiet.

  “Hello?” muttered the man on the floor as he began to rise.

  Red wrapped his arm around the man’s throat, and lifted his head, arching his spine in the process. He sat on the man’s back, and squeezed his neck as hard as he could. It was no easy task – not because of lack of strength, but rather will. Murderous intent didn’t come easily to Red, and his muscles refused to apply the necessary pressure against the man’s throat, as if he was merely participating in a wrestling match. It wasn’t until his victim began clawing at Red’s arms that the severity of the situation demanded full strength.

  He tightened his squeeze, and heard his victim’s gasps turn to pained wheezing. He could feel the veins in the man’s neck fiercely trying to pump blood. The slickness of sweat, the stench of blood, the sounds of desperation trying to escape the man’s crushed esophagus, the sensation of fingers reaching for his eyes – it was a horrific moment that refused to end.

  The helper reached for his knife.

  Red pulled back harder, like a fisherman hauling in a catch. Now the knife was out of reach, and the helper went back to clawing at Red’s arms. This was a quiet, but violent murder. The loudest noises came from the victim’s hands slapping against Red’s cheeks as fingers searched for eye sockets to gouge.

  The struggle ended. The victim fell limp. His hands slumped to his sides, and the tension in his neck eased.

  Blue light faded as the searcher passed their room, unaware of what’d occurred inside.

  Red waited until certain it was safe before letting the body fall limp to the floor. The corpse hit the tile with a wet thud. Red got up, backed away, and shook his hands to alleviate the pain left behind by the murder. His hands were nearly numb, beset by pins and needles, and the crook of his right arm pulsed from the pressure. He searched the spots where the man’s hands had gripped his arms, but found no lacerations.

  “Is he dead?” asked June, a wraith in the dark.

  “I think so.”

  She stepped closer, her shadow materializing from the blackness like a spirit. “It’s not murder.” She spoke with odd assurance, as if an authority on the matter. “He wasn’t human.”

  Red didn’t say anything.

  “I know how it feels. After I shot that guy the other night...” She hesitated, uncertain what to say. “It’s not murder.”

  “I’ll be okay,” he lied. His heart raced, and his body ached. He didn’t have time to ponder what he’d done. Regret would come some later day.

  June retrieved the flashlight, pressed the glass to her palm, and then turned it on, muting the glow. Her hand turned crimson, like a Chinese paper lantern in the otherwise dark space. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” said Red. “Let me have the flashlight.”

  “Keep it against you,” she said before handing it over. “Don’t let it shine too bright.”

  He cupped the light against his chest, and knelt beside his victim.

  “What’re you doing?”

  He didn’t answer, and instead pushed at the body until it rolled over. He let slip a shaft of light between his fingers. It fell over the dead man, illuminating his pale face and teary, bulging eyes.

  “Sorry,” he whispered and touched the dead man’s hand. Then Red reached for the knife.

  Day Four – 12:29 am

  “Put the knife down,” said June as she backed away, her dread revealed in her wavering voice.

  “It’s okay,” said Red. “It’s not for you. I’m not trying to help. Or I am, but not… you know what I mean. I’m okay. I figure this could be our ticket out of here.”

  “A bloody knife?” she asked, nearly as scared of Red as she was of the helpers.

  “Yeah. How could they know we’re not infected? They’re all running through the halls with flashlights and knives. How the hell can they tell who is and isn’t infected?”

  “I don’t know, but they can,” she said. “They’ve been able to every time we’ve seen them.”

  “Yeah, but what about from far away? There’s no way they could tell in the dark, down a long hallway. Right? If they see us searching around with a flashlight and a knife, maybe they’ll let us go.”

  “Or maybe they’ll come running at us like every other time. And what if the military shows up? They’ll shoot you without thinking twice.”

  “We can worry about the military some other time. Right now, as far as I can tell, they’re all dead.”

  “Then what’s the plan?”

  “We get out of this hell hole before that fire spreads.” He spied through the door’s window.

  “Tell me if you start to change.”

  “Change?” he asked, but then realized what she meant. “Oh yeah, all right. I will. Don’t worry, the knife didn’t cut me. It just scraped across the surface.”

  The hall was empty when they left the room. Smoke had traveled deep into the school as the blaze grew. It wasn’t thick enough to choke them yet, but it soon would be. Red and June aimed the flashlight low as they tried to make their way through the maze of halls and classrooms.

  Evidence of normal lives surrounded them – memories of what life was like less than a week ago, before news of the impending coronal mass ejection. Fliers for an upcoming dance covered the walls. Paper chains of grey and purple draped from the ceiling, some broken and dangling.

  “This way,” said Red, pulling June down a different hall.

  Someone else’s flashlight turned their way. “Do you need help?” asked a woman far off, her visage hidden by the glare of her light.

  “We can help,” said Red. The knife in his hand dripped blood.

  The helper hesitated, her light still focused on them. She was more than thirty yards away, but distance gave little comfort. Finally, she focused elsewhere and ignored them.

  June breathed a sigh of relief. “There’re windows that way.”

  Red’s flashlight reflected off the windows. They headed to them, quickening their pace. The aurora borealis that’d brightly lit the previous couple nights had faded to a dull blue glow that looked more like dusk than a massive solar event. The stars had emerged, twinkling through the blue haze in the midnight sky.

  The wall of windows looked out upon a park
ing lot that’d been walled off with concrete barriers topped with looped razor wire. Massive green tents housed supplies and beds. Soldiers’ corpses were scattered about, felled in battle and left for dead.

  “Holy shit,” said June as she looked at the remnants of the massacre. “Why’d they do that? Why’d they kill them all?” Her questions came fast and fearful. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I thought they wanted to spread the disease. Since when do they use guns?”

  “I don’t know,” he repeated, annoyed by the unanswerable questions. He found a door that led to the parking lot, but didn’t open it. “I don’t think we can get out this way.”

  “Is it locked?”

  “No, but look.” He pointed to the parking lot. “The lot’s walled off.”

  “Maybe if we go…” June pointed down the hall, and was going to suggest heading in that direction, but she stopped when they saw a helper coming their way. “Shit,” she muttered, and then pushed at the door in front of Red.

  “We can’t…” he whispered.

  “Go. Act like we’re searching.” She proceeded to shout, “We can help.”

  They headed into the parking lot. Red shined the light down on the nearest soldier’s body. The young man was on his back, staring at the night sky, his eyes were wide but rolled back. His mouth was agape, and his hands were splayed. His weapon had been stolen. A pool of blood had grown beneath him, leaking away in tendrils of red to fill a crack in the pavement.

  It was the first of several bodies, each of them shot dead where they stood. The tents had been shredded by bullets that’d passed through to lodge in bodies or concrete. The pavement was dotted with holes, evidence that the attack had come from an elevated position. Red looked up at nearby buildings and a hillside that housed a neighborhood. He wondered where the helpers had staged their attack.

  “It was planned out,” he said, muttering his thoughts aloud.

  “What?”

  He didn’t have the chance to answer before the door to the parking lot opened and a helper joined them. “Stick the dead,” said the man who joined them in the lot. “Just in case.”