2015-The Plague Years

Chapter Two: Escape

A few seconds after we were in, the doors of the van slammed behind us. The engine started up, and we drove away quickly from the chaos outside.

I looked around at everyone else. About 10 or so people were sitting around us, and all of them had the same scared, wild eyes. You could just smell the adrenaline and blood in the air. Everyone seemed to relax slightly as we drove away, but the cabin remained silent except for the whimpers and sobs of the others around us. I put my knife in my pocket. Caleb was leaning on me, and after half an hour he was asleep. Caleb wasn't the only one. One man in the back had dozed off. Looking around at all the other passengers, I wondered where we could be going. The hospital, a disease center, a military base, it could have been anywhere for all I knew. And what about Mom and Dad? Would they drive home to discover the quarantine, or were they already infected? Were they safe? I tried not to think about them as we drove and drove further and further away, instead hoping that they would find us wherever we were taken. I hoped, hoped and hoped as hard as I could. Maybe it was a sort of mental prayer, maybe I was just trying to distract myself from everything that had happened, but I was so occupied hoping that I didn't notice the sleeping man stirring in his seat.

I was awoken from my thoughts by a scream. A scream, and a splash of blood. Red splattered across the walls, drips of it spattering across my face. I jerked to awareness, and saw to my right that the man had woken up and wasted no time before jumping across the cabin and tearing out the woman across from him's throat. I shook Caleb awake as everyone, and probably me, started screaming at the top of their lungs. Maybe if we had been quiet, he would have just eaten that woman. She was dead already, and it takes an hour or so for one of them to be finished with a body, and in that time we could've crept up behind it and killed it. I couldn't have been the only one with a weapon. But no, we all jumped up, screamed as loud as we could, and got his attention. I quickly grabbed my knife with one hand and Caleb with the other, turning to the door. Everyone was already at the emergency latch, fighting each other to turn it open. The infected quickly turned and stumbled the short distance to the crowd of panicked passengers at the door. I put Caleb behind me, holding my knife out in front.

I had never been an athletic person. I wasn't fat, but that didn't mean that I was muscular. I was a twig. My favorite pastimes included extensive reading, computer games, and periods of fanatical research into anything that interested me. My pastimes did not include sports, hard work, or other muscle-building activities. Hand-eye coordination and strength were not skills I possessed. I believe I've gotten my point across. But what I did have was adrenaline, a lot of pent-up anger, and a sharp knife. I acted on instinct. As the thing approached I stabbed upward, the blade slicing up through his throat. I swear I could feel his spine snap against the it. It went limp, slumping against me. I pulled my knife out and let it fall on the floor. I stared, fascinated and horrified at the bloodied blade in my hands. Caleb was still behind me, stiff with fear.

Everyone was still too panicked. They didn't know he was dead. The next thing I knew, I was being pulled out the open door and onto the road. I hit the asphalt hard on my back, bashing the back of my head against the ground, rolling and tumbling over the pavement. My head was swimming, unable to form a straight thought. I was afraid I might have cracked my skull. I was bruised and scraped and scratched and thought I might have sprained both my ankles. I watched the van drive away into the night. It was all too much. Our house was gone, my parents were gone, and now the only hope I had for at least some temporary safety was also gone. And... where was Caleb?

I looked all around me, shuddering out of my aching stupor. I saw him on the ground. Face down, on the asphalt, curled up into a little ball. I crawled over to him hoping beyond hope that he was okay. I reached him and turned him over. His face was badly bruised and scraped, covered in cuts. His clothes were torn. But he was still barely awake and breathing. "Oh thank God!" I said as I hugged him a bit too tightly. He winced. I looked up, back at everyone. Those idiots. Those fucking idiots who had just stolen away what hope there was for salvation. I screamed. Just a solid hateful scream, piercing it's way through the night and into the cold air. And then I picked up Caleb and attempted to stand up. My legs screamed just as loudly in protest. After two tries, I finally managed to stand. Everyone around me was equally beaten up and bruised, stumbling and crawling on the road. One person was heaving and vomiting all over the ground.

And then we all stopped and heard it. Carried by the wind, it was the most terrifying sound I had ever heard. A collective moan of dozens, hundreds, punctuated by the sounds of crashing cars and ear-splitting screams. I ran.