Jacqueline Druga - No Man's Land

I would like to sincerely thank those who walked this book along with me: Thank you to Paula Gibson who is always one text away. To Vulpine Press and Sarah Hembrow. Last but never least, my exceptional beta readers of my Apocalypse Facebook Group. They are the backbone of my process.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

We had been prepared, ready. We had done everything right.

It was supposed to be a happy day, not one filled with fear and worry. It was supposed to take place in a bright sterile room in a medically stellar facility, not a dark, vile, and dilapidated tool shed in a stranger’s backyard.

I envisioned my wife, lying in a clean bed, monitors strapped to her tight and large abdomen, the watery, swishy sound of a fetal heartbeat ringing loud in the room. Instead I watched her fight a birthing position, holding on to her stomach, while screaming to me, “Make it stop, Calvin, make it stop!”

The happy blessed event was to be witnessed not by nurses and doctors, but by mine and Leah’s family who impatiently waited in a room, not far away, for the arrival of their first grandchild.

We were supposed to be surrounded by those we trusted and loved. Instead we were surrounded by the dead.

While they had many names, the Infected, the Formers, Virally Exposed or VEs, as Officials named them, most of the time I called them what they were… dead.

I felt utterly helpless. We sought shelter in the large tool shed because it was our only viable option. It was dank and smelled of rotten flesh. After I secured the door and pulled out the flash light, I realized the smell came from the bodies stored inside the shed.

They were placed there for a reason, perhaps a proper burial later. All of them had fatal head wounds, which told me they were sick at one point and had to be put down.

They weren’t in any particular order, more like scattered about.

When we first took refuge in the shed, we were at a safe distance from the throes of dead that took over the area. Our light along with Leah’s cries of pain attracted them faster, and they were relentless about trying to get in.

They caught the scent of life; it was their meal and they wanted it badly.

I wanted to tell her to stop yelling. To be quiet and maybe they would go away. I couldn’t bring myself to be so heartless to her pain. I just had to focus on doing what I could, which at that moment was moving the bodies and trying to create a clean area for the arrival of our child.

“Calvin, this can’t happen. We can’t let this happen here,” she cried.

“We don’t have a choice,” I said. “It is happening.”

There was no doubt about it. Her waters had broken two hours earlier. We tried to keep going as long as we could. We moved slowly and steadily, leaving what would be considered a proverbial bread crumb trail of amniotic fluid.

Boards were missing from the side of the shed. Not many, but enough for the dead to reach through, trying to get us. It wouldn’t be long before they ripped the place apart.

Leah wasn’t well, I could see that. She hadn’t eaten in two days and she barely took any water. I hadn’t determined whether the birth of the child was a blessing, or a curse.

Whatever we viewed the birth, the truth remained: Leah wouldn’t be around much longer.

She had been bitten.

The infection itself wasn’t an overnight event, it was circulating around in her veins for a while. When it finally broke all boundaries, and turned the corner from being contained to out of control, the final part happened quickly. It seemed overnight. Up until then, authorities constantly fed us information, which kept us knowledgeable. We were relieved to learn the human being safest from the virus was the third trimester child still in the womb. They had already developed enough and even if the mother were to become infected, as long as the child was born before the mother died, the baby would be safe. They found that many newly born babies carried immunities.

There were so many reports of infants being born healthy and alive from an infected mother.

So there was a future generation who could survive the outbreak, if there was anyone left to care for the children.

The noise around us grew louder, arms and hands extended in.

“Stay away from the walls,” I told her.

“They’re gonna get in.”

“Not if we’re careful and quiet.” I finished clearing a space in the center of the shed. “Sit down.”

“Kill us.” She pulled out the long kitchen knife from the backpack. One of several ‘grab what could be a weapon’ in a rush to leave our home. “Please. Kill us both right now.”

She extended the knife to me and I took it. I would be lying if I said in that split second, I didn’t think about doing it.

Leah was going to die anyhow. All that it would take would be to kill her and the baby would die along with her.

I couldn’t. I took the knife, placed it behind my back and told her, “Don’t be ridiculous. Now sit down.”

As she lowered, a pain hit her. One that made her cradle her own abdomen, and drop to her knees.

Hurriedly, I crouched down before her. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” she grunted loudly, then released a long cry out. On all fours, she lowered her head. Leah’s long hair dangled, covering her face.

“Maybe you need to lie down,” I suggested. “Let me try to help you.”

She screamed again, causing the dead outside to increase their pursuit in intensity.

“Leah, please, shh. You have to be quiet. They’ll come crashing through.”

“Maybe it’s for the best.”

Easy for her to say. I looked down to her arm, the one that had been bitten. The wound was still gaping open three days later. It failed to heal, in fact her arm had become discolored. She was more than likely in her latent state; she had developed what was called “the scent.” Those about to succumb to the infection had an undetectable smell. They were hidden to the dead. I still was noticeable and so was our unborn child.

If the dead made it in, they would ignore her and rip me to shreds, then if our child was born, he would be taken too.

No. I couldn’t have that. I wasn’t ready to give up the fight.

“Stop. You have to stop. I know this is hard. I know this is painful,” I said. “But please, try, for my sake, for our baby’s, please, try to be quiet. We have a chance, Leah.” I spoke soft. “We have a chance. They’ll eventually go away. You have to stay quiet to give us that chance.

After a single whimper, she nodded then lifted her head. “I can’t hold back. It’s time,” she said with quiet, breath-filled words. Her face was pale and her dark eyes locked into mine. “He’s coming.”

“He’s coming.”

Magdalene never knew the meaning of whispering. She hadn’t a clue how to lower her voice. I attributed that to years of smoking and when she did talk softly, she squeaked. “He’s coming,” she whispered loudly again, peeking out the blinds of the back conference room.

I cringed.

“Yeah, well, he probably heard you, so there goes the surprise,” I said.

She hushed me and waved her hand at me. She was a senior clerk at Bigby, Long and Thomas Accounting, the only other person there that could rival me for time with the company. Well, other than Martin Long.

He had been there the longest, outliving Bigby and Thomas and while nowhere near death, he was ready to retire.