Jacqueline Druga - Omnicide

“Cass, we’re getting you help.”

She saw his face. A streak of blood ran down from his brow. “Eb.” She sobbed. She didn’t feel any bodily pain. She didn’t even know why they were taking her. Her head turned the other way and when she did, she saw her parents’ car, a small fire smoldered up front. On the ground next to it she saw two covered bodies. Both of them small. “No!” she screamed.

Just like that everyone she loved was gone.

It didn’t matter how careful of a driver her father was, he wasn’t in control of the others on the road. She blamed herself for telling the kids they could ride with her parents. Her oldest daughter, Jordie, was eight at the time, her youngest, Layla, was four. It didn’t matter what Eb said. She felt guilty. It wasn’t just the loss that tore her and Eb apart, it was Cass. She just couldn’t accept that she witnessed their deaths, never got to say goodbye, and never died with them that day.

“He can say things like that,” Cass told Kit. “With a smile. Me… no. I mean, yeah, I think of the girls and the memories and smile but… back then. He was strong.”

“He was broken, Cass,” Kit said. “He just threw himself into work. We do what we need to do to get through. You did what needed to be done.”

“But Eb did it the right way.”

“Is there a right way?”

Cass just looked at Kit. “Maybe not. But we can say there’s a wrong way.” She peered down for a second to her drink. “I didn’t just want to die that day, I wanted to die back then. I tried.”

“Oh, I know.”

Everything was blurry. How many pills had she taken? How much booze had Cass drunk? The road felt rippled and sideways when it wasn’t. On the dark highway, the bright headlights of the tractor-trailers glared in her double vision. The only thing that was clear was the sound of the long warning horns that sounded off every time a truck avoided hitting her.

A double blip-blip of a police siren and Cass stopped.

She turned around swaying, shielding her eyes from the flashing lights.

“Cass!” Kit shouted to her and raced her way. “What the fuck are you doing?” He grabbed hold of her arm.

“Leave me alone, Kit, I just want to die.” She pulled her arm away.

“You don’t think drinking and popping pills won’t eventually get you there?”

“Not fast enough.” She brough the bottle to her lips.

Kit grabbed the bottle and threw it. “Not on my watch, Cass. If you don’t care enough about yourself, care about Eb. Don’t do this to Eb.”

“He already divorced me.”

“He still loves you. I will not let you do this to him. Now, let’s get in the car…” He reached again for her. “Get you back home and—”

“No!” Cass yanked away, spun, and backed away. “Let me do this, Kit. You’re not stopping me.” She tried to run, staggering some. She saw the lights of the oncoming truck and she walked right to it.

“You tased me,” Cass said, then after a beat she softly chuckled. “I can’t believe you tased me.”

“Gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Have I ever thanked you for saving my life that day?” Cass asked.

“Yeah, you did. You hit rock bottom, Cass, all of us knew you’d make a change once you did that. My Taser had nothing to do with it. I’m glad you stopped wanting to die.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s my way to keep them alive,” Cass said. “You know some ancient something or other says a person lives as long as someone is around to remember them.”

“I think that’s Westworld ,” Kit said.

“Or the movie Coco .” Cass smiled and looked over her shoulder. “So, I see you’re meeting with our newcomers. Is it official police business?”

“No, just talking. They still aren’t specific. They still say we’re safe. They want me to ask around to see if anyone left town yesterday at all. You know, see if they’re showing signs of this… thing, whatever it may be. Did you, Cass,” Kit said with joking tone, “leave town?”

“Not me. Well, Miller Run Road, but that’s not out of town. Brian went to Seaver.”

“Brian went to Seaver?”

“Yeah, for lunch yesterday with Patty. They were there for a while,” Cass replied.

“Where is he now?”

“Get this,” Cass said. “You’ll crack up. He’s sick or something.” She noticed Kit immediately looked over toward Bill and Art. “Kit, he’s fine. You talked to Seaver yesterday, they’re a safe place.”

Kit looked at her.

“You did talk to Seaver, right?”

Kit didn’t answer.

“Goddamn it, Kit, you lied?”

“Well, Cass I just didn’t…”

“Son of a bitch.” She slammed her hand and stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“To check on Brian.” She lifted her drink, downed it, swiped up her keys, and stormed out.

Kit tossed up his hands after she flew by him. “And she drinks and drives.”

Cass was on Brian’s porch at the front door when she heard the call of her name.

“Cass, wait!” Art called out.

She turned around. Kit, Art, and Bill were walking toward her.

“Don’t go in there,” Art said. “Not alone.”

“Cass,” Kit scolded. “You flew here, downed a double shot, you know at your body weight…”

“Shut up, Kit, it’s not even in my blood stream yet,” she snapped. “Something is wrong. I called. I knocked. I tried the back door. He’s not responding. Drapes are drawn, I can’t see in.”

“He’s obviously home.” Kit pointed to the car in the driveway.

“No shit.” Cass tried the front door. “Locked. Can you break it down or something?”

“Hold on.” Kit ran back to the police car, popped the trunk, and reached in. He returned to the door with a Halligan bar.

Cass stepped out of his way.

Kit wedged the bar in the door and with a grunt pulled to pry the lock. The door opened.

As soon as the sunlight entered the dark home, Cass saw Brian on the floor.

“Oh my God.” She ran to him. “Brian.”

“Don’t touch him.” Art shouted. “Don’t touch him. Please. Wait.”

“Is he contagious?” Kit asked.

“Not him so much as what might be on him.” Art pulled out a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket. “Don’t touch anything in this house. Not yet.”

“I’ll put the light on,” Kit said.

“Not yet. Don’t draw the drapes.” Art crouched down and gently felt for his neck. He shook his head. “He’s gone.”

“What?” Cass asked in shock. “What happened to him? Look at him.”

Even though it was dark, Cass could see what looked like fresh wounds on his arms and around his mouth.

Art carefully removed the rubber glove, placed on another and from his front check pocket pulled out what looked like a pen light. It was, but it was a black light. He aimed it at Brian’s mouth and chin. The light exposed bright spots, some round, some looking like clouded smear marks. He ran the light down to his hand and it was the same there. “Subcutaneous route of infection,” Art said. “He touched it. It was on his hands, his arms, he touched his face, probably a secondary inhalation exposure as well. This”—he pointed—“is what we were running from.” He slowly stood up. “There’s no running anymore.”

In the immediate aftermath of the discovery of Brian’s and Patty’s bodies, Kit was lost. He rattled questions to Art in an angry manner. “Do we have a biological hazard here?”

“In a sense.”

“In a sense? So this is all highly contagious.”