A New Infection

Chapter 6

Zach panted exhaustedly as he ducked into the entrance of a dance studio, propping his bike up against the right-hand wall. He had finally lost the mindless mob that had been chasing after him. It was the second one he'd encountered after fleeing the hardware store. Making his way inside the studio, he ran his hand along the mirror, relishing the cool relief on his blistered palms. He slumped against the mirror, his legs finally giving out. Hopelessness threatened to overwhelm him; the world was in shambles - all functions of daily life had shut down and people couldn't be communicated with, not from lack of effort. Over the past day and a half, he had tried numerous times to reach people, but to no avail. They reacted to noise but didn't seem to understand each other. Every time he called out to them they reacted to the sound, shuffling quickly towards him, but saying nothing. He always ran just before the closest one would try to take a chunk out of him. Zach shuddered. What would Dad do? He seemed to be asking himself that question more and more frequently but finding a less definitive answer than he was used to. The last interaction Zach had had with the hero of a man was out of character, confusing and chaotic. His self-sacrificing nature had taken a turn - he'd prioritized the two of them. He took more comfort when they left the bunker, though the memory was bittersweet.

~

When they had finally reached the front room, where the entrance was, it was surprisingly empty. Straining his ears over the rhythmic tapping of his father's steel-toed boots on the floor, Zach thought he heard screams from the other side of the bunker. Following his father's previously heroic stance, he yearned to see the danger, to protect the innocent from harm. But sticking to his previous intuition about his father's temper, he kept his mouth glued shut. His father threw open the door and rush out onto the street, covering his mouth. Emulating his dad, Zach covered his mouth with his t-shirt. Cocking his head seconds before Zach heard the hiss of gas or mist releasing Mr. Williamson broke into a sprint. He opened a broken dark wood closet on the side of the street and threw Zack in. Gasping wildly, Zach inhaled a mouthful of foul-smelling gas. As he drifted out of consciousness because of shock and the painful gas entering his system, he heard his father's screams of pain as the white gas descended on the city.

~

His father's yells still echoed in his head whenever things grew quiet, harmonizing with the rest of the city's anguish. It hurt to know so many people, good people were suffering and he couldn't do anything about it. He'd tried reasoning, having conversations with someone, anyone, but everyone he'd met had descended too far into madness from conditions out of the world's control. His frustration at his helplessness built and he whipped around and punched the mirror, splintering it. Shards of glass fell at his feet, leaving gaps onto the corkboard behind the mirror. He hissed and shook his right hand, dislodging fragments of glass. Blood spots appeared on his hand, making Zach chastise himself for losing control so easily. He picked up on of the larger shards, carefully holding it on the flat edge. His hand caught his attention, growing red, possibly from the blood rush to the area. I'm going to have to fix that. And soon.

"Ow!" Somehow, while he was distracted, the glass, which was sharper than he anticipated, bit into his palm. Thankfully, his hand was no longer red, though it now sported a gash below his pinkie and was dripping blood faster than before. He looked around for something to wrap his hand. Spotting a half-open door, he walked over, hoping for a storage room. Success. Inside were shelves crammed with musty smelling leotards and a dozed tutus in various sizes and volume. Stuffed into a clear box on one of the bottom shelves were ribbons for tying ballet shoes. He pulled the box out with his good hand and started rummaging through for a moderately clean one. He pinned the ribbon between his wrist and started wrapping it awkwardly with his left hand, maneuvering to cover his hand to make sure nothing got infected. Because there's no way any doctor would be available to look after me if I got sick.

Satisfied with the haphazard job he'd done, Zach meandered over to the door to check on his bike and investigate the street outside. Zach could almost see the tumbleweed float by as he stepped out. A bird cooed overhead, breaking the silence. His hand throbbed as he placed it on the handlebar and he swung his leg over the seat. His legs ached from the strain of the past day, but he pedaled on. He was searching for a government-funded building - he knew from his father that they all had food in the offices of higher-ranking officials since they were often required to work overtime.

Despite having grown up in the city, all the streets he rode through seemed foreign and repetitive, and he couldn't get a handle on his location. All the landmarks he'd used before were unrecognizable, if he passed any at all, he couldn't tell. I wonder how many buildings the government decided to fortify? They're generally pretty stingy, seeing as Dad had to act independently. His situation seemed hopeless, but he had to keep going, do as much as he could to fix the world.

His front tire jumped, throwing him off the bike. He landed on the road, somehow making a clean cut through his other palm. It dripped blood faster than the first cut, though it seemed to be shallower. Cursing silently, Zach tore a precious strip off the bottom to staunch the blood flow a little. He grimaced as he straddled the bike again, his hands slipping on the handlebars. Thankfully, he saw a police station on the corner ahead. He pulled up to the door, his muscles sighing in relief as he let himself somewhat relax. He pushed the door open, but it got caught on something. With a jiggle and a shove, it flew open, slamming against the wall, sending dust showering down on him and making him wince at the sudden noise. It didn't help his growing headache. He crept through the building, following his memory of the general layout to the kitchen. It took him about three tries, but he finally made it, going straight to the fridge and tapping the screen to get out a water bottle. He cracked the seal effortlessly and moaned as the cool liquid soothed his dry throat. When he put the bottle down, it was half empty, having been drained in all of two seconds. Opening the fridge, he stuffed five bottles into his bag, along with four apples, ten compact meal bars and two donuts for a pick-me-up. Grabbing a fifth apple, he started up the stairs, keeping an ear out for unwanted encounters. Thankfully, the station seemed quiet.
The first office's door creaked as he pushed it open. Officer Shmutz, as proclaimed by a diploma on the wall, was clearly a neat freak. The shelves had impeccable files stacked, organised by date, upon closer inspection. One of the drawers held boxes of paper clips, another hundreds of identical pens. Yes! The third drawer Zach open yeilded three dozen insta-meal bars. He grabbed a handful, disturbing the pristine organisation. He scanned the files on the wall, but none seemed to be from recently, at least, nothing important. He needed to know more about the world's situation if he wanted to do something about it. Effortlessly pulling the hover chair aside, he saw the safe tucked underneath the desk. Thankfully, it was a government issued one, which all had one of five passcodes. The safe popped open on the third try, revealing half a dozen documents. Shuffling through them, he stashed two somewhat relevant folders into his bag. A higher up will have something better. He swung the door shut behind himself, pulling out one of the files to start reading.
Wham!
He slammed face first into the door of Chief Hark, whose name was displayed on a golden plaque. Cursing his carelessness, a mindset he couldn't afford. He grappled with the handle, which seemed to be locked, until it fell into his hand. What the heck? Ow! The edge was sharper than it looked. He stuck his hand inside the cavity left by the handle, groping around until the lock clicked the door swung open. The office was substantially larger than the last one, and almost as bare, save for a few empty, sagging boxes stacked in a corner. Zach went straight to the safe under the desk, since the last office didn't have anything important anywhere else.

This time it only took two tries to crack the safe. He grabbed all the documents from the last two months which were still sticky with frosting, and stuffed them in his bag.

Thump!

Something fell downstairs. Something in the kitchen. Zach slowly rose from where he'd frozen, creeping down the hallway, a lot more careful than he'd been before. Did I leave the door open? Thinking back, he decided he hadn't. There aren't usually back entrances. And if there are, they are locked to almost everyone all the time.
He was still puzzling through the noise as he creepy down the stairs. A silhouette was rummaging around in the kitchen. "Hello?" he called out. If they could rummage, surely they'd be able to understand him. The figure started and ran out the front door, which was now open, though Zach was confident he'd closed it. Making his way into the kitchen, he found traces of what looked like slightly blue blood and a few threads of fabric. The police station wasn't as safe as he'd thought. He sighed. Time to move.

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