Pandemic (51 page)

“Oh my God,” she said. “Thank you. I never thought water could taste so good.”

He grabbed the box with the heater, slid it in front of her. “Unless you object, I’ll just go ahead and plug this in for you.”

Her eyes widened. She shivered. “
Heat
? Oh, Coop, if I wasn’t so messed up, you’d totally get a blow job.”

“Yeah? Well, then get ready for your panties to evaporate.”

Cooper walked out, gathered an armful of peroxide, cotton balls and gauze wrap. He walked back to her and set the pile of medical supplies next to the pile of food.

She weakly lifted her water bottle, took another drink. “I’ve had better dates, but not many,” she said. “Turn the heater on before I change my mind about fucking the living hell out of you.”

“Yeah, all your bleeding and shivering is such a turn-on.” Cooper ripped open the heater box. He looked at the cash register on the counter, followed the power cord down to an outlet. He plugged in the heater, turned it as high as it would go and pointed it at her.

The heater’s fan spun up. The air came out, warm at first, then it quickly turned hot.

Sofia closed her eyes, leaned her head against the wall. “Oh, hell yes. Thank you.”

Cooper gently opened Jeff’s coat and pulled up Sofia’s shirt to look at the wound. The edges were gray, almost black. It looked horrible. He had no idea what to do next.

He opened the bottle of peroxide, then a box of gauze strips. He poured peroxide onto the wound. Sofia hissed as the liquid fizzed into whiteness. He used the gauze to dab at the wound. He cleaned as gently as he could, wiping away blood both dry and wet. He used more gauze to cover the wound, then ran tape around her stomach and back.

“That’s all I know to do,” he said.

He smiled at her. She took a drink of water, smiled back.

Swishhhh
.

They froze: the front door had just turned.

They heard footsteps.

A man’s voice called out, and it was all Cooper could do to not piss his pants for the second time.

“Where are you, motherfucker? Are you in there?”

The voice sounded confident, aggressive; the voice of a man in a bar challenging another man to a fight.

Swishhh … swishhh … swishhh
.

More noises. Feet moving, cellophane rattling, boxes falling. More than one man; maybe three, maybe four. Then, the sound of a low,
deep
growl.

Too deep to be human.

Sofia’s hands snapped out: she grabbed Cooper’s jacket, surprising him. He started to lean back, but she pulled him close.

“They’re going to find us,” she hissed. Her face was only inches from his, her skin red, the edges of her nose cracked and raw. “They’re going to find us. They’re going to
kill
us.”

“Be quiet,” he whispered back, trying to push her away. She was losing it. She was making too much noise. He had to get her out of there, had to get
himself
out of there.

“Sofia, let
go
of me!”

Out in the store, something hit hard against a shelf. The shelf must have tipped over, because it crashed onto the floor with a sound like a broken gong. Cooper heard people moving around, yelling at each other.

Sofia’s puffy eyes filled with tears. She mouthed two words, over and over:

Shoot them!

The noises in the store grew closer.

Cooper grabbed Sofia’s wrists, pulled at them, tried to tear her grip from his coat.

He mouthed back to her:
Stop it!
She resisted for a second, even sneered at him, but he got his feet under him, then leaned away until her hands finally
snapped
free.

Out in the store, another rack fell over, the sound punching through him, shaking his atoms, letting him know the cannibals were coming and this panicking woman was going to get him killed.

He leaned in again, pressed his lips against her ear.

“Calm the fuck
down
. Just stay quiet, they’ll leave, they’ll—”

He felt Sofia’s right hand on his hip, sliding around to his back …

The gun
.

He leaned away hard, lost his balance. His ass hit the floor and he skidded into the heater, sending it clattering loudly into a wall.

Sofia scrambled to her feet. She tore off Jeff’s coat and reached for the door handle, her open, bloody shirt flaring out behind her.

Cooper pushed himself to his knees and dove — his fingertips closed on the shirttail, then slipped free. He landed on his stomach as she opened the door and hobbled out into the store.

He jumped to his feet, drew the pistol as he rushed after her, just in time to see Sofia trip over an overturned rack. Her face bounced hard off the metal shelves. Blood poured instantly from a long gash across her forehead.

The blow staggered her, took away whatever adrenaline-fueled energy reserve she’d found. She flopped to her back, the tilted rack beneath her, the top of her head on the tile floor, her legs dangling off what used to be the rack’s bottom.

She looked at him with glazed eyes.

But Cooper Mitchell didn’t really see Sofia. What he saw were the six people standing there, three on either side of her, all staring at him, all hunched forward in clear aggression.

The same people who had killed that woman in the street.

Killed her, and
eaten
her.

Six people … and by the revolving door, mostly hidden by the racks of merchandise, that hulking form Cooper had seen coming across the bridge, head still wrapped in the blue scarf.

Five bullets; he couldn’t get them all.

He was going to die.

They all held weapons: long knives, a fire axe, a machete, a tire iron. The woman in the blue snowsuit had a chrome-plated revolver in her left hand.

Cooper was too afraid to move. His pistol was pointed down … he had to raise it, had to do
something
 …

The tall man in the red jacket took a small step forward, then stopped. The knife he’d used to kill the woman in the blouse caught the store’s fluorescent lights.

Clean. The blade is clean. He took the time to clean it …

The man stared at Cooper. He lowered the knife. The others stood still. They weren’t attacking.

Cooper looked at them. They looked at him, but they also looked at the gun in his hand.

“Help … me …”

The thin voice came from the floor, from Sofia. She weakly tried to roll to her stomach, but she didn’t have the energy to even lift her legs. Blood coursed down her face, made a puddle on the floor.

Six people, one thing, five bullets …

And then another memory rushed up: Chavo, back in the hotel … Chavo, trying to sniff, asking if Cooper was a friend … asking Cooper why he didn’t kill Sofia …

Seven of them, five bullets … I don’t want to die …

Cooper’s breath stopped. One thought overwhelmed him, one hope consuming every ounce of who he was.

He aimed his gun at Sofia’s face.

She saw it. She didn’t look dazed anymore. She lay inverted on top of a ruined rack of toothpaste and mouthwash. Her trembling lips formed the word
please
, but no sound came out.

I want to live … Sofia … I’m so sorry …

Cooper squeezed the trigger.

The gun leaped in his hand, rising up so fast it almost flew away. He blinked rapidly, the muzzle flash a strobe of green then red then white each time his eyes opened anew.

His vision mostly cleared. Glowing afterimages danced at the edges of his sight.

Sofia’s left leg trembled sickeningly. Her left hand made clutching motions, half closing, then half opening.

The bullet had punched a hole in the right cheekbone, spraying blood across the white tile floor behind her head.

She blinked … her eyes locked on him, narrowed with recognition and realization, then relaxed. Her head lolled back.

She stopped trembling.

The six people looked at him.

You had to do it you had to do it you coward you murderer say something or they’ll tear you apart you know what you have to say so say it say it now
.

Cooper looked at each of them in turn, then he spoke: “She wasn’t a friend.”

The Tall Man nodded. The others smiled.

Seven of them and now only
FOUR
bullets …

Cooper fought the urge to turn and run. He knew he wouldn’t make it far. He didn’t know where the back door was, or if there was even a back door at all.

“She almost got me,” he said.

The Tall Man looked down at Sofia, then back. “Then why were you carrying her?”

Cooper held up the gun. “She had this against my neck. She was hurt. I knew if I could keep her from shooting me long enough, I’d have a chance. She was going to come out of the office and shoot you guys, so I had to make my move.”

The bulky man by the front door — the thing that was human and
not
human at the same time — walked forward. Seven feet tall, at least. In each hand it held some kind of long, white blade.

Do not run, they will kill you if you run …

It wore no shirt, leaving its pale yellow skin exposed —
yellow
, the color of pus, of coagulated grease. Whitish, black-rimmed rashes dotted its wide chest and bulging, bare arms. Thick fingers flexed, thin blood oozing from cracks and splits where fingernails had fallen off.

The white blades …

The thing wasn’t
holding
them at all. The blades protruded from behind each wrist, jutted out from torn yellow flesh … and they weren’t
blades
, they were
bones
: jagged, pale, as long as its forearm, wicked scythes tapering to hard, sharp points.

Its jeans had shredded at the thighs to make room for rippling muscle, turning the denim into dangling strips of fabric. Its shoulders were broader than any man’s had a right to be, its neck easily thick enough to support the huge head. Long, thin patches of brown hair clung wetly to its scalp, a few more hung in front of its eyes.

It reached up a thick hand, bone-blade pointing to the ceiling, and its fingers pulled down the blue scarf.

… the face …

Cooper’s reality warped and cracked.

“Jeff?”

The monster smiled, showing teeth that had grown wider at the base, and also grown longer, like fangs with the points chipped off.

“COOOO-PERRRR.”

The Tall Man in the red jacket looked at the thing that used to be Jeff. “You know this guy?”

The monster nodded, a motion that made his massive shoulders dip up and down as if the thick neck couldn’t quite bend all the way.

The Tall Man seemed pleasantly surprised.

“Well, that’s just fucking titties and beer,” he said. He smiled at Cooper. “You can join us. We’re supposed to lie low. Stanton said to find the uninfected and get rid of them, but we’re not supposed to burn or wreck anything.”

That name again. Could it be a coincidence?

“Stanton?
Steve
Stanton?”

The Tall Man nodded. “Yeah. I actually got to meet him. The others haven’t.”

He said
got to meet him
as if it was the highest honor anyone could ever hope for.

It all fell into place. It all
clicked
. Stanton’s machine had grabbed something from the bottom of Lake Michigan. The Detroit incident of five years earlier … the conspiracy theories that some alien ship had been shot down … Blackmon on TV, talking about the medicine … bringing the
Platypus
aboard the
Mary Ellen
, and everyone feeling ill shortly afterward … coming to Chicago … the city becoming a living hell …

Jeff, getting sick, and now he was … 
that
.

Cooper didn’t know what had happened, but he knew it had started when Steve Stanton walked into JBS Salvage.

So many people dead. A city in ruins. Stanton’s work had killed hundreds, thousands.

But not Sofia … 
YOU
killed her, didn’t you?

Cooper shook away the thought. He had to think, had to get out of this alive. Knowing Jeff had earned respect from the Tall Man. Maybe knowing Steve would bring even more.

“I brought Steve Stanton to Chicago. Five days ago.” Cooper nodded at Jeff. “He was with us.”

The Tall Man took a step back. He looked at the others in an unspoken message of disbelief, then he looked at Jeff.

“
You
met Stanton?” The Tall Man said. “Why didn’t you say so?”

Jeff nodded again, almost bowed, a motion that made the muscles under his sickly yellow skin ripple and twitch.

“COOOO-PERRRR, MY FRIEND.”

Jeff smiled his shark-toothed smile. Cooper couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. He stared down at Sofia’s body.

You shot her you coward you murderer Jeff is a monster what the fuck what the
FUCK
you killed her and that’s your fault but it would have never happened if not for Stanton … Sofia would still be alive … Jeff would still be Jeff
.

Fear stabbed through him, made his breath rattle, filled his head with fuzz. He wanted to curl up, shut down, hide and pray these killers would just
go away
. But far more than that, he wanted to live.

Cooper slid the pistol barrel into the front of his pants. He left the handle out so they could all see it. He had watched them tear a human being apart. If they realized he was lying, he’d suffer the same fate — he didn’t want them to forget he had a gun.

A gun with just four bullets.

He forced himself to look at the freakish thing that had been his best friend. Cooper would save one bullet for Jeff; he wouldn’t let his friend suffer this horror.

The Tall Man brushed his hands together, as if he was dusting them off, done with the whole scenario. He knelt, patted down Sofia’s corpse. He reached into her pocket, pulled out Cooper’s cell phone.

“That’s mine,” Cooper said. “Give it to me.”

The Tall Man stood. He shook his head. “Only group leaders get cell phones, and I’m the group leader.”

He dropped the phone on the floor, then stomped down on it with his heel, smashing it.