Victor Methos - Pestilence

They drove through Malibu, to Thousand Oaks, and then up through Bakersfield. The farther they drove from Malibu, the fewer choppers were in the distance. Howie drove near Interstate 5, where he saw nothing but normal vehicles. A couple of roadblocks were up, but if you knew the area they were easy to avoid. Didn’t do your research before coming here, did you bastards? Howie thought.

“They didn’t quarantine up here,” Mike said. “Why would they just do Malibu?”

Howie didn’t respond. He was busy trying to find a way back onto the interstate. When he came across an entrance that was blocked by signs indicating the onramp was being repaired, he ignored them and drove up. He didn’t see any damage anywhere.

“Where you going?” Mike asked.

“Up through Nipton and into Las Vegas. And then as far away from here as I can get.”

“I don’t know anyone in Vegas. Do you?”

“No. But I have a brother in Seattle. Maybe we’ll go out there after and figure out what the hell is going on.”

The city disappeared behind them a short while later, and they were on I-15, heading through the desert near Joshua Tree National Park. The dunes and rock formations were interspersed with patches of forest, and he stopped outside one at a gas station. People were getting gas and snacks like they would on any normal day. Howie watched them and felt sorry for them. In a moment of fear that was coming, when they heard a pounding on the door, they would comprehend they were helpless to stop it. And it would terrify them.

They walked around and stretched their legs, and Howie realized he didn’t have any money to pay for gas.

“What’re we gonna do?” Mike said. “It’s pay first.”

Just behind them, a man pulled up in a silver BMW and got out. He swiped his card and put the nozzle into the tank, then went around to the side of his car to check for scratches while the tank filled. Howie looked to Mike.

“We have to do it,” Howie said.

“Beat up some innocent guy and take his wallet?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not doing that.”

Howie thought of his daughter. “We need to get over the state line. We’re in trouble, Mike.”

“Let me handle it.”

Mike walked over to the man, “Hey, you’re not going to believe this, but both of us forgot our wallets. I promise you we will send down a check if you could help us out right now and fill up our tank. We’re in really-”

“Fuck off, asshole,” the man said as he came around the car and finished his exterior check. As he passed Howie, he grimaced.

As soon as he was turned around, Howie wrapped his arm around the man’s throat. He took him down to the ground as Mike grabbed his legs.

Howie reached into the man’s pants and took out his wallet. He flung it to Mike. “Fill up the fucking tank!”

The man was struggling, and Howie had to get on top of him to hold him down. He got hit in the face twice before he got his knees around the guy’s ribs and was able to hold his arms down at the elbows.

“Get the fuck off me!”

“Sorry. We need to do this.”

The man was grunting and writhing around like a wild boar. Mike filled the tank, glancing into the gas station to see if anyone was seeing this.

“It’s full,” Mike said as he climbed in.

“Don’t follow us.”

Howie got up and jumped into the jeep. The man in the rearview ran to his car. He reached into his glove compartment and came out with a pistol.

“Shit!”

He grabbed Jessica’s head and pushed her down to the floor of the jeep as the first shot nearly shattered their windshield. He slammed on the gas and peeled away as the pop of gunfire went off behind them.

The man and his pistol chased them only a dozen feet or so as Howie sped down the dark highway.

Samantha froze. She didn’t take the test results out of the hematologist’s hands for a moment, and the doctor pushed it closer to her. She lifted it and read the page.

Negative.

She let out a sigh and felt weak. The results fell out of her hand, and the doctor appeared perplexed. He bent down and picked it up, then returned to the lab before she could thank him. She stood staring at the door, unable to speak, until Duncan roused behind her.

“What’d he say?”

“Negative,” she said after a long pause.

“Wow. Thank the Lord,” he said.

“I don’t think the Lord has anything to do with this, Duncan.”

She turned away and collapsed in the chair next to him. Every muscle ached, and her entire body was pulling at her to sleep. Though she’d been only a day without sleep, she felt as if she could pass out at any moment. Her eyelids drooped, and her mind was a slushy mess.

“Probably a reaction to the weakened virus,” Duncan said. “We need to run the blood for antibodies and see if she’s developed immunities.”

Sam nodded. “I need to sleep.”

“Do you want to get her out?”

“Not yet. Until she recovers, she’s probably the safest here.”

“They’d booked a hotel for us. You wanna go back there?”

“Yeah. Lemme say bye to her and let her know. Can you call Olsen and have him pick up the blood for testing?”

“Sure.”

Duncan headed downstairs as Sam went back to the quarantine zone. She opened her sister’s door, and Jane was asleep in the darkness, a slight snore escaping her lips. Sam woke her softly and told her the news. They both cried and held each other.

Deciding to take the stairs to help wake up, Sam felt her legs more acutely than she had in a long time. She felt almost as if they were letting her know they were about to abandon her, and she could no longer rely on them. She placed her hand on the banister for balance.

As she headed downstairs, she heard the swoosh of papers flying onto the floor and then the thump of something heavy hitting the linoleum. Down the corridor, a man in a pinstripe suit stood over the body of a hospital security guard. Behind the desk, a nurse was leaning far back in a chair, a single hole in her forehead; blood oozed out and down her temples.

The shooter kicked the officer to make sure the man was dead, and then his head came up, and her eyes met his.

She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. He was there for her.

As she darted up the stairs, two slugs embedded into the wall where she had been standing, spitting drywall and dust into her face. She pushed her legs as hard as they would go, but she felt as though she were running through sand. Another shot rang in her ears as the round bounced off the metal railing and ricocheted somewhere below.

She opened the first door she came across and ran down a corridor with patient rooms on either side. She sprinted past a nurse’s station, where a single nurse was sitting behind a computer. The nurse yelled something to her, but Sam couldn’t hear.

Sam turned to her, still running, and shouted, “There’s a man with a gun!” She couldn’t think of anything else to say that would convey the urgency of the moment. But she ran a bit, and when she glanced back, the nurse hadn’t moved. The door at the end of the corridor opened, and the shooter stepped through.

Sam ran to the elevators and pushed all the buttons. Out of breath, with panic slowly closing in around her, she wasn’t there. She was back in her house with a man named Greyjoy standing above her, telling her she was about to die. Samantha felt as though she were breathing through a towel.

One shot, nothing more than a spit, sounded like a plastic cup falling onto linoleum. It zipped past her, close enough that she sensed the wind from the shot. The round exploded the window behind her as one of the elevators opened, and she jumped on. The shooter chased her at a full sprint.