Dead Quarantine (20 page)

Sarah returned from her excursion in the
bathroom. He noticed she had washed her face. Clean, pretty,
however her eyes were red from crying. The hardness in her eyes was
now replaced with sadness—a hurt he believed they shared. She had
bandaged her wound.

“Remove your jacket and shirt,” she
said.

“Just give me the bandages and I'll do it
myself.”

“Just take them off.”

He would rather not. He felt uncomfortable
being half-naked in front of a woman. He couldn't stand their
judging eyes. He took his jacket off and pulled his shirt off. He
was glad to see no judgment in hers, though there was something in
them he couldn't place. Whatever it was, he preferred it over
quickly, so he could get his clothes back on. She cleaned his
shoulder wound and bandaged it. She did the same with the one on
his hand and forearm. Her fingers were nimble and strong and sure.
You could never tell it was her first time bandaging someone
else.

“Thanks,” he said as he put his shirt back
on.

“The least I could do.”

***

Sarah helped him drag the bodies down. It
was difficult for him, holding his parents as if they were sacks of
rotten potatoes to be discarded. She offered to drag Ginny down by
herself, but he refused. He should do it. It was his family and his
responsibility. He was glad for her help, though. In the tool shed
near the garden, he grabbed a shovel and started digging one big
grave, six feet by four and about three feet deep. It took him well
into the evening. By the time he was finished, his hands were
blistered.

He watched his family lying on the ground
for a long time—three bodies lined up, cloaked in linen like
mummies—before he put them in their grave. His parents went first
and then Ginny in their arms. Forever together. He knew that
wherever he died, he would not be buried with them. It was a
disconnect he would never have chosen freely. He was not part of a
family anymore. Sarah put a hand on his shoulder and kept it there
for a while before she left him alone.

He held the shovel in his hands and felt the
wood dig into his blisters, screaming its presence, egging him on
to do the job he imagined he would do. He stood over the grave,
hesitant: it took a long time before he shoveled the dirt and
started filling up the hole. At the same time, the loss made a hole
in his heart. It took him close to an hour to fill the grave.

He entered the living room covered in dirt
and greeted by the aroma of food being cooked. Sarah was making
diner. Until now, he had not thought about food at all. It seemed
he had not the time too, and with all that had happened, he
couldn't image having any cravings. But now, smelling the food, his
stomach crumbled and his mouth watered.

“Go clean yourself and put some clean
clothes on,” Sarah said.

Sarah stood in the kitchen only in her bra
and panties. She noticed him gawking at her. “I couldn't possibly
cook in those clothes and make the food tasty.”

She did look nice; he already knew she did,
but he never really got the chance to see her this way. He tore his
sight from her, feeling uncomfortable with the inappropriate
thoughts running through his mind. He went upstairs for a shower,
glad that the water and electricity still worked. It could not stay
working for long. Eventually, something would break and there would
be no one to fix it. He realized he couldn't shower without wetting
his bandages. Not wanting to have to reapply them, he took a wet
towel and scrubbed himself clean instead. He rinsed his face and
hands and then went in his room and put on a pair of sturdy,
outdoor pants and a woolen, long sleeve shirt.

He had to get something that would fit
Sarah. His clothes were too big for her. His mother was more her
size. His parents’ scent was strong in their bedroom. It brought
memories of happier times. Ralph choked up. He didn't want to stay
in here for too long and loose himself in nostalgia and regret. He
found some outdoor clothes his mom bought when she was into running
and hiking. This fad of her lasted a year. He grabbed a pair of
pants and a long sleeve, fleece sport jacket.

Back downstairs, Sarah was serving the meal
she cooked.

“I brought you some clothes.”

Seeing her half-naked was distracting, but
so was seeing her put the clothes on. The clothes fit her well
enough. Sarah had wider hips than his mother, which made the pants
a bit tight, and she had a smaller waist, making the fleece jacked
loose around the middle, but again tight at the top.

“I'll have to go home for some of my clothes
before we leave the city.”

“So we are leaving?”

They sat down at the table.

“Yes, we can't stay here with the dead
walking around. We should go somewhere more remote.”

The eggs she baked tasted good and the
sausage wasn't bad either; the rice was a bit wet though. He never
knew Sarah could cook. He had always seen her as someone who had
people do stuff for her.

“What if I don't want to go?” he said, still
chewing.

She was taken aback by him questioning her
and frowned. “I thought it was for the best.”

“And you thought that I would just agree and
follow you?”

That was more like the Sarah he knew. He
agreed with her; it irked him that she just assumed that he would.
She didn't know him well enough to make assumptions about him.

She cast her eyes down. “If you really want
to stay, then we'll do that.”

Maybe he shouldn't be the one doing the
assuming. He put a spoonful of food in his mouth. He obviously knew
her as little as she knew him.

“I'm sorry, Sarah. You are right. I suggest
we leave at dawn.”

They finished their meal in silence. Ralph
didn't want to sleep in his room, so they each took a sofa to crash
on. With hours of hardship, their bones and muscles tired, their
bellies filled, within minutes both fell into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The
sound of rotors whooping in the air woke Ralph up at midnight. He
shook Sarah awake. “Do you hear that?”

Wide eyed, she looked at him. “A
rescue?”

“No, not a rescue. I've seen this happen
before and it certainly wasn't a rescue.”

She jumped up and went for the light.

“Don't turn them on.” He quickly put his
jacket on. He tucked the gun in his waistband, passed the lumber
axe to Sarah, and grabbed his hammer. “Follow me.”

He ran outside for the truck. The rotors
sound intensified. From the night sky, beams of light cut through
and swiped from house to house. Sarah clicked the doors open. Ralph
got behind the wheel and Sarah next to him.

“Wait here,” he said.

Ralph got back out and ran to his mother's
car and popped the trunk open. He took off his jacket, put on the
bulletproof vest, and his jacket over it. He grabbed the shotgun
and ammo and shell boxes and ran back to the truck. He put the
shotgun in the space between the driver and passenger seats and the
boxes on Sarah's lap.

She looked at him.

“Got them from a police cruiser; the cop had
no need for them anymore.”

He left the headlights off, left the
driveway, and drove up the road. He was sure they must have blocked
the city again with fresh troops. He didn't know what they were
looking for, but whatever it was, he didn't want to be it. He had
seen how callously the military had treated the ill and whoever
might have been among them—just sent them indiscriminately to the
burner. They didn't care if people could get better or weren’t ill.
They followed whatever order they were given. The government might
have a part in this; however, it was only his suspicions, and he
wasn't going to stay to find out. At the intersection, he swerved
around a zombie and took a left turn. He knew somewhere southwest a
trail led to the forest, and through the forest, they could get out
of the city, while the canopy of leaves would protect them from
being seen from above.

“Where are we going?”

“To the Blackwell forest; there is a path
that leads out.”

“I know where it is. Take the right here,
right now.”

He steered sharply to the right. He took
part of the curve and hit the taillight of a parked car. Its alarm
went off, the sound clamoring in the silent night, the car lights
flashing like a beacon. One beam in the air closed in fast, arching
in their direction. Ralph downed the gas pedal, sending the truck
speeding ahead.

“No, they'll see us,” Sarah said a note of
panic in her voice. “Park in that spot.”

She pointed to a free parking space two
hundred yards away. He sped toward it and carefully parked in it so
as not to set off another alarm. He killed the engine. By that
time, the helicopter could not have been more than a mile from the
car they hit. The beam stayed on that car for a short while, and
then suddenly moved up and down the street over the surrounding
area. It swiped over their truck once or twice. Ralph and Sarah
ducked away. Ralph lay over Sarah, his body pressing down on her,
and she tried to make herself as small possible, as if they could
see them sitting in the truck from the helicopter.

The helicopter moved up the street and
hovered a hundred yards behind them. Ropes were dropped and
soldiers in black with facemasks rappelled down. Ralph assembled
his courage and dared a peek. Slowly, the soldiers crept in their
direction. Their SMGs pointed forward. They must have had heat
sensors that read their body temperature or more likely the heat
emanating from the truck's engine.

“They are coming for us,” he whispered. “You
need to change places with me and drive while I try to hold them
back.”

She pushed forward under him to his seat
while he crawled over her. Sarah sat at the steering wheel, and he
sat straight on the passenger's side, loading the shotgun with
shells. The soldiers noticed them. Six of them, Ralph could see
from the rearview mirror while he pushed the last shell in and
cocked it in the chamber. Two ran for a car and broke in; the other
four ran to get them before they could flee.

Sarah started the engine and charged out the
parking spot, revving the engine. Ralph rolled his window down,
stuck his body half out, aimed in the soldiers’ general direction,
and shot. All four hit the ground and returned fire a second before
Sarah turned the corner. The impact of a bullet sent Ralph flying
back into the cabin, scratching at his chest where the vest had
stopped the bullet. It hurt badly, worse than being punched in the
chest. He had difficulty breathing. He gasped, trying to get some
air in.

“Are you all right?” Sarah screamed, panic
in her eyes.

Ralph could only manage to nod, too busy to
get air in to be able to say anything. A beam of light hit the car.
The whoop of the rotors echoed high above them. Breathing normally
again, he crawled into his seat while being rocked about when Sarah
took another corner.

“We are almost there,” she said.

A bullet shattered the rear window and went
through to shatter the windshield on its way out. With his feet,
Ralph kicked the windshield out. Air blazed in their faces. He
pulled out his gun. A sedan was chasing them with a soldier hanging
out from the passenger side. Ralph crawled in the back of the truck
and shot at the soldier and missed. The soldier shot again and blew
a tire. The back of the truck swung sideways and back straight as
Sarah regained control. Sparks spewed out from under the blown tire
while the rim carved the road.

Ralph aimed at the center mass of the car
chasing him. Knowing his aim was not as accurate as the soldiers,
he hoped he would hit something before they got him. He emptied his
clip at the car. Bullets hit the hood, smashed a side mirror off,
and one went through the windshield and out the back. Another hit
the driver in the chest and another in the shoulder; the rest went
wide and no where. When shot, the driver swung the steering wheel
and crashed against a parking car, sending the soldier hanging out
the car flying against a lamppost.

Sarah turned the truck down a dirt road. He
could see the dark tree line ahead. The helicopter was close on
their tail. They sped forward, the tire eating dirt, the truck
swaying here and there, unstable on three wheels and one rim.

“We have to change the tire quickly,” Sarah
yelled over the blowing wind in their faces.

She was right. They couldn't go on like this
off road without crashing into a tree for their effort.

“Get us past the tree line, far enough that
they can’t see us visually.” He knew they probably still knew their
location with whatever electronic surveillance systems they had on
board, but the soldiers not being able to see them gave him and
Sarah a fighting chance.

“Can you change a tire?”

She nodded.

With difficulty, she managed to get them
into the forest and on a solid part of the dirt toad. They quickly
got out. Sarah ran to the back and got the spare tire and the
wrench out. She started changing the tire.

“How long do you need?”

“Five to ten minutes.”

He left her to do her job and went to the
tree line. The chopper hovered a distance away. He watched,
wondering what would happen next. He didn't have to wait long. He
grew wary when he saw another helicopter move in fast. He glanced
back. Sarah was still busy; he could not possible see how far along
she was. Five minutes must have passed when the second helicopter
moved in closer to the tree line. Ropes were dropped and six
soldiers in black rappelled down. They hit the ground, weapons
ready, and immediately started advancing. He shot at them. His
shotgun roaring in the night didn't stop the soldiers in their
advance. They fired while moving and hit the tree he stood behind.
The moment they stopped firing, he ran toward the truck. Sarah was
putting the last screw in. He took cover behind another tree. He
peeked and saw that the soldiers had reached the tree line. He
sprung from cover and shot twice at the closest one, hitting him in
the chest. The soldier staggered back and fell to his knees,
grabbing where he was hit. Ralph didn't wait for what happened
next. He ran for the truck. Sarah was already sitting behind the
wheel. She had left the passenger's side wide open. He sprinted
while bullets hit the ground behind him. He jumped in and Sarah
spurted away. The truck hobbled over the terrain. Bullets whizzed
past. She took the bend in the road out of the soldiers’ sight.