He opened his eyes and reached for her. In a moment of relief, her mind in denial and unable to accept the truth, Anne leaned down to her husband and wrapped her arms around him. Pressing her cheek to his lips provided all the motivation he needed to clamp down on her face and tear away a flap of skin. Anne fought to get free, but her husband’s hungry embrace made it impossible as he ripped away her lower lip and swallowed it. Her body twitched as she fell on top of him, legs kicking out with muscle spasms until she, too, fell silent.
Alfie continued to eat away at her upper body. He rolled over, now on top of her, and dug his fingers into the mangled flesh of her once kind face. As he leaned over her, she slowly began to move. First it was a hand, and then her head lifted. Her meat now tainted by infection, held no interest for Alfie as the contagion overtook her and she reanimated completely. Alfie got unsteadily to his feet and walked out of Meg’s view, followed moments later by her mother.
Meg sat in shock on the kitchen floor in a puddle of her own urine, unmoving for nearly a full twenty-four hours. Finally, the sound of gunshots pulled her from her reverie. She forced herself up and walked on stiff and aching legs to the front window to find the convoy passing by her home. Flinging open the door, she ran with all she had to catch them. Halfway across the lawn she came to a halt. Her parent’s finally-dead corpses lay on the lawn, heads obliterated by the impact of bullets. She stood transfixed by her family until a passing soldier guided her to the back of the transport and away from her childhood home forever.
“What about Vinny?” Jake asked.
“I don’t know. He called home that morning and told us he was coming home. They had been called back to the states for something, but they didn’t tell them what. He never called back. I’m really worried. What if he tries to go home? What if we never see him again?” That meant Vinny was back on US soil and fighting on home turf. I thought back to the soldiers lost during the trip to Target and stuffed down my fears that he’d met the same fate. Vinny was Vinny. He’d make it through this. I just had to keep telling myself that for my sake and Jake’s… and now Meg’s.
Chapter 12
Gone Fishing
Out of the sixty soldiers we joined forces with, only thirty-two made it back to the Target compound. Lieutenant Dan (pronounced in my head Day-an) held a small service for his fallen men. All were in attendance. Our group now totaled fifty-one soldiers and twenty-eight refugees. Seventy-nine people, against 150 thousand the odds were not in our favor. After a moment of silence, Lieutenant Dan called the group to order.
“I know many of you have questions. The simple truth is that I can’t answer most of them. We’ve lost communication with forward operating base, cutting us off from intel. Last report from Captain Crawford informed us that this thing had spread as far west as Nebraska and all the way up the Eastern Seaboard to Canada.” I felt a sting in my chest as I thought of my parents in Massachusetts.
“Sir,” interrupted Jake. “Who is the ranking officer here?”
The lieutenant fixed him with a steely gaze, “You’re looking at him. Armed forces from all branches have been called back from overseas and are expected to make ground in Washington over the next few days. I know of two other platoons in Southwest Florida but have received no reports since early this morning. At this point, I have to assume they’re gone, and we will receive no aid until our boys land and begin fighting this war to win our country back.”
Adam stepped forward. “Do we know how this started?”
Sighing heavily, the lieutenant shook his head. “Son, I have no intel on that. We’ll need every man, woman, and child to contribute here. Not only for our safety, but for everyday living. The barricade must be manned at all times, meals need to be made, living accommodations set up, and so forth. Every resident will need to put together a bug-out bag. In the event we need to make a hasty retreat, that bag may very well be your only source of food, water, medicines, and clean underwear.”
The crowd erupted in chaos. Questions were yelled out; many people broke down in tears, men and women alike. The pregnant woman, Noelle—I had come to learn her name—stood next to her husband as he shielded her protruding belly like he could somehow protect the precious cargo from all that was happening. Jake stood next to me with his arms around a crying Meg. As the crowd broke, he led her into the store, and they huddled together on one of the display sofas. His eyebrows raised in question when I didn’t fall into step with them.
“I’m going to look around the store and find us some new clothes.” We were both still clad in the over-sized items pilfered from our last safe house. Looking down at my dirty, exposed legs, I’d be glad to burn every item on my person and get into something clean. I browsed the women’s section and settled on a pair of blue jeans and a plain purple tee shirt, picking out a black bra and panties along the way. In the shoes section I picked out the most comfortable pair of running sneakers I could find, then I went into the dressing room.
As I undressed, the events of the last few days bombarded my mind. I sat in silence in my self-imposed solitary confinement of the dressing room and cried.
I held Daphne and ran my hands through her silky fur. “I miss them, Daph.” I cried into her little body.
“I don’t even know what to feel. My parents so far away; Ollie so close. Am I supposed to grieve? To just assume they’re dead?” She didn’t answer me, but I felt a bit of my burden lift as I spoke the words.
Visions of Officer Donnelly, Alicia, Kat, and Jake’s parents cycled through my head. I whispered a soft goodbye to them as I tasted the salty tears that stung my cheeks.
I made my way out of the dressing rooms and discarded my dirty clothes into a bin meant for items that were to be returned to their shelves. No one would be putting those clothes away at the end of their shift. As I browsed the aisles to pick out clothes for Jake, I came across Adam. He was standing at the end of an aisle, fingers brushing a plush teddy bear. Seeing him felt like an invasion and I turned to leave him to his private moment.
“Emma, right?”
“Um, yes. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just looking for some new clothes for Jake. I can look somewhere else.”
“No, don’t. I could use some company.” He looked back to the teddy bear. I couldn’t read his face.
“Gabby will love that.” I nodded in the direction of the toy.
“What? Huh? Oh.” His arm dropped to his side. “It wasn’t for Gabby,” he said so low I could barely make out the words. “My daughter’s name was Janelle.”
I inhaled quickly, trying to find a way to answer him. “I’m sorry,” was the only thing that came out. What could I say? One of my instructors used to tell us if we looked up sympathy in the dictionary we’d find it between shit and syphilis: three things that no one wanted. Since then I had always shied away from telling people that I was sorry for their loss. I worked on being empathetic as opposed to sympathetic, but empathy meant I needed to share the feelings of another. I hadn’t lost a child, so I couldn’t empathize with Adam. Quickly changing the subject, I blurted, “Thank you, by the way.”