Alone No More (3 page)

Twelve girls all sat around a laptop in the middle of the room. The girls were almost the entirety of the soccer team for the school. Teams are hard to break up apparently. Deb and Kim were friendly with most of them, and a few of their acquaintances greeted them absently. One of them, one of the co-captains Kim thought was the one operating the laptop.

Over the next hour and a half they figured out that the girls had come from Phys. Ed., which explained why they were dressed almost entirely in shorts and tee shirts, or tank tops and athletic pants. They had gathered here because the campus wireless signal was strong in the cafeteria, and they were starving as well. Kim and Deb helped themselves to the giant tub of salad at the salad bar while they all eagerly searched for information online.

More of the picture was coming into focus. When the girls had finished their third or fourth bowl of salad (who was counting today anyway? Everyone knows there are no calories during a crisis) they had come to the realization that this problem was not far away at all. They’d also figured out this was beyond just being a problem.

Outbreaks had occurred all over the world. People suddenly attacking each other for no reason. It seemed to start near hospitals, nursing homes, ghettos, crack houses, and warzones. Anywhere people were sick or injured, it seemed to fester fastest. Anyone bitten by the sick contracted the same strange illness within minutes. At first it wasn’t anywhere in America, which seemed like good news, but the more the girls searched, and the longer they took to do it, more information came to light that it had in fact taken root in America. Quickly.

Boston, Dallas, Seattle, Detroit, New York City, San Diego, Tampa, Memphis, Charleston, Akron, Minneapolis, Chicago, Houston, New Orleans, and even Billings Montana had all reported large cases of these attacks. Some of these girls sitting right here at this table were from some of those cities and regions. It seemed like the harder they searched, the more reports they could find. And they did not like what they found.

The attacks were gory, horrific. So many people were biting, ripping the flesh of their victims apart, and leaving ragged, infected wounds behind. People ripped limb from limb, some disemboweled, many partially eaten. The pictures made their stomachs turn so badly most of them wound up vomiting the salads they’d just eaten. Kim and Deb had to move away and sit at another table. Soon enough, some of the girls started to cry. The ones from the regions reporting serious attacks all immediately started to think the worst. For them, going home was likely impossible until this all settled down. 

“The FAA and TSA just announced all flights are canceled.” The team co-captain said in between blowing her nose from crying. “Says here some of the flights that are in bound from other countries are being turned away, and some of them likely can’t find a place to land. Some will probably crash.” She barely got the word crash out before inhaling sharply, starting a trembling sob. That got them all going again.

“My little sister and my family are in Manhattan this week, visiting my aunt.” One girl said.

“My dad is in San Diego.”

“My brother lives in Redmond, near Seattle.”

The stories went on. Everyone here knew someone near one of the major outbreaks of violence. Locally the stories were just as bad. The state police were sealing off the borders, trying to keep anyone infected out, or trying to prevent any possible terrorists trying to spread it from moving freely. What scared them the most of anything though, was the simple fact that NO ONE really seemed to know what was happening. No one.

That was when they heard the loud crash outside. This was much louder than the fender bender they’d heard earlier. Kim and Deb looked up from their tissues, eyes red, makeup long since ruined. Commotion could be heard down the street, and in a single, simultaneous action, the entire pack of teens jumped to their feet and ran out to see the source of the noise.

After jogging back down past the school building they saw what it was. A small car, something expensive Kim noted, had driven right into the side of the school building. Somehow it had jumped the curb, gone over another one of those engraved granite benches, and come to a rest nearly upside down against the side of the building. The grass, mulch and hedges were all trashed from the off course vehicle. Dozens of staff, parents, and students all stood watching as some bystanders rushed in to give aid to whoever was in the small luxury car. The teammates all yelled out to their coach as he sprinted in, squeezing himself right under the wreck to get at the driver. He was fairly young still, and quite athletic. He made the squeeze in under the car like a professional athlete. Another staff member and a few parents saw him, and acted immediately as well to help. They moved to the passenger side and started to extricate that person.

It took only perhaps fifteen minutes, but eventually they had three people out and on the ground. Unconsciously the girls had moved closer to the accident to get a better look. Despite their earlier stomach turning experience with the news, they found themselves compelled to see what was happening right in front of them. Everyone turns and looks at the car accident when they drive by, after all.

The driver was the worst off by far. His arm had been caught between the car and something stronger than it, and had been shredded into pulp. His bloody pink exposed arm bones were cracked in multiple places, and it splayed out at a strange, impossible angle. His blood pumped freely out of the elbow area into the grass. His skin color drained in minutes, and he clearly and quickly faded into a still oblivion. The two other passengers were bad as well. The back seat held one of their fellow students. A freshman Kim thought, one of the members of the so-called Lollipop Guild Deb and Kim dubbed them. It seemed like every year the freshman got smaller and younger.

The student had very labored breathing, and couldn’t focus on the people helping him. The coach muttered something about shock, and internal injuries. The front seat passenger was clearly the mother. She was the best off of all, and she still had broken legs. The front of their car had crumpled just enough to fold her knees backward, cracking the kneecaps, making them useless. She barked out scream after scream every time someone touched her, or moved her. They tended to her legs and her son for some time, trying to comfort, trying to treat. She started to quiet down when she fully saw her son’s struggles. She went silent when she saw her husband with the severed arm stand.

No one noticed him until it had already happened. Everyone in the crowd was completely fixated on the fate of the son and his wheezing, struggling coughs. The dilated eyes of the child held everyone’s focus just long enough for the father to rise inhumanly to his feet once more, and dive down on top of the coach.

Coach was wearing a grey school sweatshirt with a hood on it. He had been crouched down trying to render first aid to the boy when the father attacked him. Kim and Deb watched in horror as the recently dead driver of the car grabbed the sweatshirt hood with a vicious yank, throwing the coach on his back. The dad plunged his mouth downward with a silent snarl, and ripped a gouge out of the prone coach’s shoulder, right where it met the neck. 

The soccer coach screamed out in pain and slugged the driver in the face. He struck him so hard his body was thrown almost entirely onto the severely injured son. Using his shattered forearm like a crutch, the dead father raised him body to a half sitting position. Everyone gathered around had started to back away, either silent in shock, or screaming in confusion and panic. The zombie of the dead dad slowly looked around at the circle of people, his eyes milky white and vacant, yet filled with a strange, almost supernatural malice. 

He had propped himself up enough to get to his knees when his son behind him made another wet, wheezy gasp. His head snapped around hungrily at his very own child, and he launched his whole body at the kid. People started running at full speed as the undead dad chewed his way into the stomach cavity of his own flesh and blood. The son’s breathing labored further, and his eyes rolled into his skull as he fully succumbed to his agony. The screams of mortal horror from the mother were soul rending. She watched on helplessly, just a few feet away as her own husband ate her only son alive. 

The girls jumped into action, strangely unified by the horrible scene unfolding in front of them. The entire team of soccer players rushed forward to aid their fallen coach. He had been slowly crawling on his back, trying to get away from the cannibal mauling the child in front of him. The girls got the coach to his feet just as the father was turning his attention to his helpless wife. Coach held a hand firmly over the deep bite wound on his neck, trying to stop the steady ebb of his blood. It wasn’t working. His sweatshirt sleeve was already dark brown all the way to his elbows. He would bleed out soon if they didn’t get him medical attention.

Leaning heavily on the two largest and oldest of the soccer players they managed to get him slowly past the school building, and around the corner of the cafeteria, over a hundred feet away. He collapsed on the ground, taking one of the girls with him, falling in a pile of limbs, bruises and blood smears. He rolled onto his back and started to direct the girls.

“Plug it, stick a shirt in the hole, put pressure on.” He got the words out barely through force of will. One of the girls had an extra shirt on and she stripped it off immediately. It was warm that day, she wouldn’t be cold. The girl nearest his neck rolled it up into a ball and pressed it into the holes from the attack. It looked like a solid tug on the bite wound could pull out a chunk of pink flesh the size of a plum. The bleeding slowed somewhat, but the coach was starting to slip into the glorious haze of shock. Some of the girls started to cry out again, begging him to stay with them.

Kim and Deb decided they needed to get help. Real, actual medical help for the Coach. The school nurse was located in the office building near admissions, but that would mean going over past where the accident had happened. It would be stomach turning at the very least, and potentially even deadly. Gritting their collective teeth, they went anyway.

The nurses’ office was on the other side of the car accident. Taking a wide circle the two of them jogged quickly across the street and around the corner. They slowed and watched the disgusting scene at the accident continue to play out. The father was still murdering his wife when they slipped by. The son, who had died at his father’s hands not five minutes earlier, was twitching on the ground. The girls didn’t know if he was still alive or not, but they couldn’t risk getting closer to the murderous dad to find out. The mother’s body jerked reflexively as the father gnawed at her chest and throat. After a few moments of watching, the two girls froze. The dad had stopped eating, and was slowly rising to his feet. From far down the campus street another argument could be heard, and the father’s attention went that way, towards the sound. He started a slow gait down the street, his legs propelling him forward almost as if he were on stilts. Their movement was no longer fluid and human, but artificial, and pure evil.

The girls stayed still until he was well away from them and the accident, then they bolted into the staff office building. The nurses’ office was less of a clinic setting, and more of a straight office. There was a plain vinyl couch that served as medical bed, and a handful of sterile stainless steel rolling cabinets. Otherwise it was the same as all the other offices in the building. Deb and Kim burst into the office, bleating out the details of what was going on outside. It was a few seconds before they realized the office was empty, and they were talking to no one.

“Are you shitting me?” Deb blurted out.

“Wow. Where the hell is Nurse Daniels? Of all the frigging days.” Kim wandered into the office and started rifling through drawers, looking for bandages and medical supplies. Deb joined her after a second, and within a few minutes they’d gathered what they thought was enough supplies to save the Coach. They left the building at a jog and headed back to where they had left the group. When they passed the accident scene the father was long gone, and his son had joined him. The only body still lying in the destroyed greenery was the mother. As they walked past her, she began to twitch as well. When Deb and Kim got back to the area where Coach had collapsed, everyone was gone. All that remained behind was a dark red smudge on the grass where Coach had been bleeding. The two bunkmates rolled their eyes almost in unison. Abandoned yet again. 

Deb pointed at a spot of blood on the sidewalk leading into the cafeteria, “Dude, inside.” 

Kim and Deb took off and pulled open the glass doors into the cafeteria. Laying on one of the blue tables was the Coach. He was still alive, but in clear pain. He was tilted to the side just enough so he could drink some water from a bottle one of his players held to his mouth for him. He coughed when he drank too much, and slumped onto his back again, exhausted.

“Here!” Deb said as they rushed over to the table. The inexperienced medical practitioners went to work, doing the best they could. They applied ointments, bandages, and tape in alternating levels. None of them knew what to do really, and the Coach was in no position to give them any advice. It was all he could do to grit his teeth against the pain. Some of the girls who were emotionally drained than others simply sat watching, tears slowly running down their dirty cheeks.

“What’re we going to do?” Kim asked the group after they finished getting the Coach bandaged up. It seemed to be working, his pain seemed to be abated, and the bleeding had stopped.

“I don’t know.” Was the most common response to her question.

Coach cleared his throat with effort and spoke softly, “Get somewhere safe and lock your selves in.”

The girls all seemed to agree with him, and a dozen plans all began coming out in a cacophony of girl voices. After just a few seconds arguments began to spring up between the teammates. Coach sat there, eyes closed, listening to the immature girls threaten one another over different plans. After a minute or two he opened his eyes, and rolled his head to the side with a wince to face his young co-captain. She looked around helplessly as her friends tore into each other with insults and petty grievances. She looked down at him and made eye contact. He didn’t say anything, but the simple act of meeting her gaze reminded her of who was in charge there.