The Death Trilogy (Book 1): The Death: Quarantine (3 page)

Devin’s blue eyes focused like a laser beam on the edge of the corn at the end of the driveway, anxiously waiting to see who emerged.

The dog began to sniff the ground and turned down the driveway towards the house.

Devin’s painful wait was over when a slender woman appeared in the open. With two hundred feet separating them, Devin couldn’t make out her age or condition. She was dressed in jeans and boots, with a tight-fitting leather jacket. Her long brown hair was pulled through the back of a baseball hat and hung shoulder length. In her grasp was a rifle, from what Devin could tell it looked like an AR-type assault rifle.

She motioned the dog to head towards the house.

Devin flinched and ducked so as not to be seen. He now wished he had taken all those months to adequately prepare, but he had allowed his emotions and weak stomach to dictate his actions. He needed a weapon of some type and fast. Ensuring he was not in view, he darted towards the only place he could think of, the kitchen. He grabbed a nine-inch chef’s knife and held it. Looking at the stainless steel edge, he felt a bit more in control of what might be coming his way. An image then entered his mind as he remembered seeing a shotgun above the fireplace mantel in the living room. Why he chose to ignore it initially was a question he’d attempt to answer later. He dashed for the living room and grabbed the shotgun. He examined it, he wasn’t familiar with it, and in fact, he wasn’t familiar with any guns. His whole life had been one where he believed guns didn’t belong. He had been what many termed an antigun person, not for any reason except that politically he was told they were bad. Again, he found himself wishing he could go back in time and change that naïve mindset. He didn’t know how to use the shotgun, and his time had now run out.

The deck out front creaked under the weight of the woman and dog.

The dog's long nails clicked as it walked along the wraparound covered deck.

Just behind the clicking, he heard the woman’s slow footfalls. Taking cover behind a large rocker recliner, he knelt and waited for them to come to him.

The only sense he had now was hearing, as his field of view was limited. Listening intently, he could tell she was at the front door. He peered from behind the recliner to the front door not fifteen feet away. He saw the brass knob jiggle as she tested to see if it was locked; it was.

He heard her walk to the large bay window, where he had been earlier. There her footsteps stopped. All he could think was she was looking in.

A whine from the dog alerted Devin and her that he was at the back door.

Devin remembered that he hadn’t locked the back door. Conflicting thoughts entered his mind; should he try to lock it or just let her come in? He finally decided that she was coming in, regardless of a locked door.

He closed his eyes and listened. With each step towards the back, his blood pressure increased. He gripped the shotgun tightly while sweat poured off his brow.

She had now reached the back door; he could hear her whisper something to the dog.

An idea flashed in his mind,\; he knew what he had to do.

A wall separated him from the kitchen door; he stood and positioned himself against it. She was now only eight feet away. He waited for the sound that would call him to action.

The doorknob turned, and with a slight nudge it opened. The old alder door groaned as it was pushed fully open.

This was his cue; he came from behind the wall with the shotgun against his shoulder. However, whoever this woman was, she was ready and took aim on him.

“Stop right there. This is my house!” he yelled.

“Don’t do anything stupid. I’m just looking for food. It didn’t look like anyone was home,” the woman pleaded.

“Well, you were wrong!” Devin exclaimed, his sweaty grip tightening around the stock. His right index finger was on the trigger, ready to pull it back if necessary.

“Just lower the gun, and I’ll lower mine,” the woman said calmly, her green eyes intensely looking at Devin down the short stock and barrel of her AR-15.

“You lower yours first,” Devin snapped.

The dog began to emit a barely audible growl. His teeth now showed as he crouched down.

Devin looked at the dog and knew that he was outnumbered.

“Brando, it’s all right. This nice man won’t shoot us,” the woman said, her eyes not breaking away from her hard gaze.

Brando took a step forward.

Seeing this, Devin shouted, “Tell your dog to sit or something!”

“He listens when he wants.”

Devin didn’t know what to do; his actions were now guided by fear.

Brando slowly lifted his right front leg and placed it back down. He was inching towards Devin, stalking him like a predator does prey.

“Leave now!” Devin screamed, his voice muffled from the respirator.

“We’ll leave, no worries. Just don’t shoot us in the back.”

A slight feeling of victory ran through Devin after hearing what she said.

“C’mon, Brando, our host isn’t that hospitable.”

Brando didn’t listen; he was focused on Devin. His growls had ticked up in volume, and his white fangs were in clear view.

The woman stepped back till her back hit the screen door.

“Brando, come, boy,” she commanded.

Brando wasn’t listening; a stripe of thick black hair that ran along his back was raised now.

“I’ll shoot your dog, I will!”

“Whatever you do, don’t point the gun at him. I’ll get him to heel, just give me a moment,” she pleaded.

Brando’s growl grew in intensity, and he let out a bark.

Devin jumped and swung the shotgun towards him.

Brando leapt, his jaw open. He latched onto Devin’s right arm and clamped down.

Devin screamed in pain and pulled the trigger; however, the trigger didn’t move, it was locked on ‘safe’.

Brando shook his head violently, his jaw tightening on Devin’s arm.

The pain was like nothing he had ever felt. He dropped the shotgun and stumbled backwards, tripping over the edge of a thick Persian rug in the living room.

Brando wasn’t letting go. He dangled from Devin’s arm like an ornament from a Christmas tree.

Backwards and down both went.

Devin was still screaming in pain, but all was silenced when his head hit the coffee table. With the force of the blow, his vision blurred, then went dark.

FEMA Camp 13, Region VIII, Fifty Miles East of Denver International Airport

The loudspeakers blared out the morning wake up and shattered what little sleep Lori Roberts had gotten. After a night of tossing and turning, she had finally passed out from exhaustion only an hour ago.

The others who shared the large GP tent with Lori, her husband, David, and their son, Eric, were rustling and preparing for the day ahead, a day that Lori knew would be exactly like the one before and the one before that.

Tomorrow would mark their fourth month in Camp 13, but celebrations wouldn’t be in order. What had turned into a symbol of hope and survival from The Death now represented despair.

David, her husband, often joked that Camp 13 was like the roach motel,
‘You can check in, but you can’t check out.’

And so it was true, when they had arrived almost four months ago, they were happy to be alive and to have a chance at a new life, but that hope soon dashed when the realities of how bad things were for even the government response came into stark relief.

“Honey, get up. Let’s get some breakfast before the morning assembly,” David said as he put on his shirt.

Lori rolled over and looked at him, the morning light catching part of his face. “You and Eric go. I’ll meet you at the assembly.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m tired; I want to lay here for a bit.”

He knelt down beside her and took her hand. He kissed it and said, “Another sleepless night?”

“I’ve tried everything, but I just lie here, thinking.”

“Go see the doctor today, have him prescribe something.”

“No way, I’m not going to stand in a line for eight hours or more.”

“What else do you have to do? It’s your down week from working parties.”

“I’ll figure it out. Now go, grab me a packet of peanut butter and crackers,” she said, rubbing his arm.

“Is Mom okay?” Eric asked, looking down on both of them. He was sixteen and took after his father with his dark brown hair and tall slender build.

Lori often laughed that the only way she knew he was hers was that she’d seen him come out of her.

“Okay.” He stood and was about to leave but stopped. “Don’t oversleep.”

A splash of daylight illuminated the dusty tent as David and Eric exited. She cringed when it hit her as she rolled over. It wasn’t her physical weariness that kept her from getting up but an emotional one. David knew this but kept it to himself.

As the others finally left the tent she found herself alone, but this loneliness, this feeling of detachment was even present when she was surrounded by the thousands in the camp.

Lori was an accomplished woman, having been an architect and head partner of an architectural firm before The Death came and wiped it all away. Before, she often reflected and espoused gratitude for the life she had created. Then in an instant it was all gone. She still remembered watching the television reports as the virus began its spread, and thought, like so many, that it was something that would only affect others. How often do people see things and think that they’re just watching others’ misery; no one ever expects it to happen to them. If she could go back and change one thing, it would be to not be so self-absorbed. She wished she had heeded her husband’s gut instinct and not allowed the kids to go to school. However, she thought this was something that was being handled and that in no way would it come crashing into the beautiful little hamlet of Castle Rock, Colorado.

That simple nearsighted and naïve decision cost her dearly. The once confident woman who had gone into the business world and conquered it, who had the picturesque marriage and perfect little family, was destroyed by the small decision of sending her children to school. Her only daughter, Madeleine, had been a beautiful nine-year-old, with long dark hair and a face that was always graced with a smile. She was happy, and at the tender age of nine had her life planned, even had chosen the college she would attend. None of it would happen, as she died within a week of going to school. She had come back complaining of flu-like symptoms, and before anyone could diagnose her, she had fallen into a coma.

This wasn’t the first time that a poor decision had cost her; the first had occurred two years before when David had caught her in an affair with a Denver councilman. That series of bad decisions ended, and after months of counseling and pleading, she managed to keep her marriage and family together. After that she pledged to be a better wife, mother and woman.

David showed real strength through the affair and the death of Madeleine. After Madeleine’s death, she accused herself, but he comforted her and kept reminding her that she was not to blame. He would consistently point out that Madeleine wasn’t immune and would have eventually died anyway.

Lori never wanted to believe that; she thought it easier to blame herself for letting the kids go to school and be out in public, vulnerable to the virus, instead of believing that she would have been powerless to save her daughter.

Things unraveled quickly across the United States as The Death spread, killing all who weren’t immune, including animals. Those who had prepped and secured bug-out locations thought they were ready for anything and protected, but The Death found them too. No one could have truly protected themselves from something that was airborne and transmitted easily from human to human, human to animal, and vice versa. Nothing like this had ever been seen and might not ever again. The Death was unique in its capacity to spread and kill. The only way to survive its deadly grasp was to be immune.

After Madeleine’s death, David, Lori and Eric bunkered down in their house and watched the days turn to weeks. After two months they decided to venture out for more supplies. It was on one of those resupply trips when David encountered a unit of National Guardsmen. Not hours after meeting the soldiers, all three were on their way to Camp 13. Mandatory evacuation is what they had been told. At first they found the camp held promise, but that quickly changed.

Lori tried to rest more, but her mind raced with many thoughts and images. One by one they flashed, each worse than the previous. She imagined they’d never leave Camp 13. That they’d stay there forever with no hope of ever seeing the outside world.

Every morning the camp commander held an assembly; there he’d make announcements, and occasionally he’d call out names. Those he called upon were those select few who, for whatever reason, had been selected to go to Camp Sierra. What was different about Camp Sierra was still rumor, as no one had ever seen it. They only knew what had been told to them by the FEMA personnel.

Camp Sierra was an entirely new settlement, free of The Death and safe from the chaos that plagued the rest of the country.

Every morning they’d go to the assembly and anxiously wait for the Call only to be disappointed when their names weren’t mentioned.

The steady thoughts and images soon placed her in a trance. Lost in this state, she drifted back to sleep.

“Lori, get up!” David hollered from the open flap in the tent.

Lori’s eyes opened wide as she shot up. “What, huh?”

“The assembly, come on, they’re doing roll call right now, hurry!” David pleaded.

Lori jumped up, grabbed a pair of shorts and put them on, and tucked in the stained white T-shirt she had been wearing.

“Where are my shoes?” she asked as she frantically looked underneath her cot.

“I don’t know, but hurry, their getting close to our names.”

“There you are,” she said, spotting them. She reached, grabbed them, and began to pull, but one was stuck. She yanked and knocked over a small tote bag, emptying some of its contents. She yanked again and pulled the shoe out but took notice of the items, one being a photo of Madeleine. She hadn’t seen that picture in a while and wondered why it was out; she then wondered why her tote had been unzipped.