Jacqueline Druga - Immune

Leona asked, “Is it going to crash?”

“No.” Stanton shook his head. “The gear is down, they’re landing.” He lifted his radio. “Rufus, you see that plane? Watch for direction.”

“You got it Sarge.”

Paul asked. “Why are we watching that plane?”

“You wanted to figure out where to start. That’s where,” Stanton replied. “If we need to get out and get away from this mess. We just figured out how.”

“If it doesn’t crash,” Myron said. “That was too low to be getting to the airport. I can’t think of a place around here something that big can land.”

Her concentration was divided, but Grace had to go forward.

At sun rise, she quietly crept from the back door, walked to the driveway, and backed the car down and into the garage.

She expected a quiet street; what she saw was neighbors roaming aimlessly. Some up and down, some in circles, all were infected. It answered Grace’s question on whether or not it was only her family. Seeing all the sick people told her the reason 911 calls didn’t go through.

It was a nightmare.

Mr. Withers from next door was covered with blood. His right arm was missing, yet he walked past. Most of the infected walked stiffly, unless they ran. They seemed to move more freely while running. None of them ran for Grace. They did when she pulled out of the driveway, however, but that was only because they spotted Candice. There was something about her that they wanted.

They chased the car, smacking their hands against it, jumping in front of it.

It took all Grace had to keep it together and get off of her suburban street. Without thinking about what she was doing, she floored the car, drove forward, tried to miss people but in case she didn’t, she muttered, “God forgive me.”

Once out of her division, she was safe. Fewer people. Only a couple of cars zipped by her. She beeped her horn but no one stopped.

Grace wasn’t a survivor. She wished she would have packed more, but couldn’t. She took blankets, flashlights, some soda because she didn’t have bottled water, and whatever snacks and chips were in the family room. Hopefully, she would find more later.

She knew where she had to go.

Candice barely slept. When she did it was short naps and she’d wake scared and weepy. Grace was sacred and weepy, as well.

Her heart broke for her family. Trying to not think about the fact that she had killed her husband was difficult. She justified it that he was violent and not in his right mind. It still bothered her and caused a guilty pain in her chest when she thought about it.

Had it not been for Candice needing her, she would have crumbled. She couldn’t; she had to stay strong and get help.

She had a mental list of places to go, and the last on the list was the shelter the emergency broadcasting announced over the radio.

Her location was between them both. It was six of one, half dozen of the other on where to head.

Her first stop was a mile from her home; the local police station. Surely, if there was anyone in authority, it would be there. The campus for the borough held the police, fire, and EMS buildings. It was the logical place to go.

As soon as Grace pulled up the driveway, she knew it was useless. The garage doors for the fire department and ambulance were open and infected roamed the area.

She couldn’t understand why they gathered there or how they ended up mobbing the police station trying to get in. Was there someone like Candice inside?

More than anything, Grace wanted to check, to help, but she couldn’t. She had her child.

As soon as she turned the car around, the infected spotted Candice and again it was a goose chase. Grace’s eyes shifted to the rearview mirror to see them still in pursuit.

Her next stop on the list was a hospital. It was a plague or infection, surely people would go there to try to get medical attention. Most of the hospitals were in the city, and Grace could see the smoke coming from that way. The city wasn’t safe. There was one on the edge of the county, a short highway drive.

Getting to the highway was a maze, and to make matters worse, her gas tank was low. Before the exit, Grace stopped at a gas station. No one was there, and the front doors were busted out. She hoped the pumps worked. All she needed was a little gas. She wasn’t going to steal it, she’d use her debit card.

“Mommy,” Candice whispered. “Do we have to stop?”

“Stay here. I’ll be right outside pumping.”

Grace stepped from the car, lifted the pump, clicked the trigger, pressed the buttons. Nothing happened.

Then it dawned on her.

No power.

No pumps.

No gas.

At that, she had a mini break down. How was she going to do it? She felt defeated, slamming the nozzle several times in a tearful frustration before letting it fall to the ground.

She’d hoped the car made it to the next station. It was highway driving, as long as Grace didn’t drive with a lead foot, she could conserve gas. She had a quarter of a tank. The radio said not all places were without power. Although, most of what she heard was from the automated emergency broadcast. The only other radio playing was a DJ named Cee, who had locked herself on the third floor of the station, proclaiming she was safe and wasn’t going anywhere. They still had power there.

She was taking phone calls, most from panicked people with no real information needing someone to talk to. Grace wished her phone worked, she would have called.

By the time they hit the highway, Candice had fallen asleep again, and Grace listened to her breathing, just in case.

Grace kept checking her rearview mirror and that was when she saw it coming. It was a dot at first and before Grace knew it, the plane roared so low and close overhead it rumbled the car and pulled it along.

Candice sat up with a start, “Mommy?”

“It’s okay. It was a plane, probably crashing.” Grace kept looking ahead, waiting for the impact. The plane was too close.

When a crash didn’t occur, Grace deduced that it was probably farther and higher than it seemed.

The highway, for the most part, was free and clear. Cars and trucks were scattered about randomly, the doors opened as if people had ran from them. Grace was diligent in staying slow and moving carefully around them.

She knew the town of Canonsburg wasn’t that far, and gratefully, her gas gauge barely moved. The last sign she saw was four miles. The hospital there, along with gas, were her goals. Maybe even real food.

She came over the ridge onto the straight portion of the highway and that was when she spotted the plane a mile from her, parked on the highway.

Grace slowed down. Could she go around it?

While registering its presence and figuring out what to do, she saw two men running from the plane. They moved fast and Grace panicked.

More infected, but it was only two. She thought she could drive around them until she saw the mob a good twenty yards behind the men and more coming from the plane. They leapt from the side door, landed, and injured or not, they got up and hobbled in a run.

Then she realized the two men were probably not infected, they were being chased. The Good Samaritan in her headed their way. She saw them better as she closed in on them. One was in a white shirt and dress pants, the other looked bloody and messy.

No. They were infected and upon that thought, Grace slowed down and turned the wheel. She’d find another exit.

Had she not taken one more look at the men, she wouldn’t have seen the man in the white shirt waving his arms frantically at her.

Infected didn’t do that.

She stopped and clicked ‘unlock’

They ran faster to her, looking behind them. Grace grabbed her chest and almost drove off. The horde of raging infected were closing in.