Jacqueline Druga - Immune

“No!” Grace screamed over and over. She couldn’t handle the pain. It was horrendous, an emotional agony like a thousand knives in her soul, what her poor child was enduring. It worsened when she no longer heard Candice cry.

No screams.

Only the sound of infected.

There was nothing left. Bits and pieces of flesh, some of her hair, and a single shoe. Not even a shred of clothing was recognizable. In an instant, Candice was devoured.

It was something Max could not tell Grace. He didn’t need to; more than likely, Grace knew.

Candice wasn’t the only casualty. Seven others fell into the throes of the infected feeding frenzy, but Max focused on Candice, his heart breaking.

He plowed his way through them, fighting with everything he had. Driven by emotions, he reached into the crowd, trying to pull her out. At one point he had her. Her little hand reached out and Max grabbed it.

“I got you. I got you.”

Her fingers wrapped tight around his hand and Max pulled. He swore he felt an emotional reprieve, but it was short lived. Her grip released.

He had never screamed before in his life, but he did in that gym. He cried out loud and in agony.

They were overrun and he realized when he finally made it to the roof that most of the infected were inside.

Where was Grace? He turned left and right, looking for her. That was when he saw Myron covered in blood. He tried to sit up, but he was bleeding too badly. Max ran to him. “What happened?”

“Someone let them in,” Myron grunted, breathing heavily. “I got caught in the crossfire.”

“Eugene?”

Myron shook his head.

“Fuck!” Max cringed and stood. The roof was empty. “Where is everyone? Did anyone make it out?”

Weakly, Myron held up his hand showing three fingers. He then pointed out to the edge of the roof. Max ran over and looked down. He saw the three people running.

It fell apart. It all fell apart.

At the end of his emotional rope, feeling defeated, he turned. He finally saw Grace, sitting against the large ventilation unit. Her legs were drawn to her chest and it was a painful walk to her.

“Grace, I’m sorry.” He reached for her and she swatted his hand away.

“Grace, we have to go.”

“I can’t. They’re all dead.”

“I’m not. You have to. We have to go.”

“I’m not going. I’m done,” she sobbed. “I’m done.”

“No, you’re not. Come on.” He grabbed for her arm, lifting her.

“No!” Grace screamed. Pulling back, she swung out her arm and dove forward, grabbing the pistol from the waist of Max’s pants.

“Grace, give me the gun.”

“Go away.” She put the gun to her head. “Just leave. I have nothing left!”

“Grace, listen to me, do you think Candice would want—”

“Oh my God, what she went through! My poor baby. She screamed and screamed… and I dropped her!’

“You didn’t drop her, Grace. They grabbed her from you. You tried.”

“No, Max, you tried. Thank you, but I’m done.” She engaged the chamber and placed the gun to her head. “I’m sorry.” Her shoulders bounced as she cried.

Max held out his hand. “Come on, Grace. Let’s go.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t.” She lifted the weapon, placed it under her chin, and fired.

Max’s reaction was a bloodcurdling scream as Grace fell to the roof. It was a dream, a nightmare. It didn’t feel real. How could she do it? How could she give up?

Max looked back and knew it was completely done. Myron lay on his side, eyes open. He had passed away.

Max lost it. He paced in circles, crying out every ounce of his sadness and anger until he fell and folded in an emotional collapse.

He stayed on the roof for a while, staring out, thinking, crying. He didn’t move from the spot until the sun went down. Night or day didn’t matter to him. He was immune. Max stayed there while he contemplated what to do. There was one thing he was certain of, no matter how bad things were, he couldn’t put a gun to his head. As much as he thought about it, he couldn’t.

He had been alone most of his life, and now he was alone in a world devoid of people. As hard as it would be, he would push forward. To do so he needed a focus and goal other than just staying alive. There was a safe zone out there, somewhere, and that would be his goal.

Even if he had to walk, someway, somehow, Max would get there.

He had to. He was a survivor.

Eugene’s voice was froggy from being tired. He had caught an hour sleep after they spoke to Tara. She and her people already had an escape plan, and they were headed to the airport.

He told her to find a terminal and to get to it from the fields, not the front entrance. To send immune people into the terminal and secure it. Each terminal was self contained.

There was no coffee, and he desperately needed some. He and Myron ended up staying in the east wing after they rested. There wasn’t a choice, someone needed to keep an eye out. The sun had started to rise, and they sat on the roof listening to the sounds of the infected below. There were so many of them, it sounded like an orchestra of groans and squeals.

“Where are our soldiers?” Eugene asked. “Didn’t you say there were, like, eight?”

“When Stanton didn’t come back, they left.”

“Smart guys.”

“I thought we had one left.” Myron grunted and stood. “He was supposed to be up here. Are we going to tell Paul?”

“I hate to do it, but yes. It’s only right.”

“I agree.”

“We can always knock him out if he—” Eugene had walked to the edge and looked down. “Holy shit.”

Myron rushed over and looked as well. “It wasn’t like this twenty minutes ago.”

“And it won’t be like this twenty minutes from now.”

A sea of infected had converged on the school property, a few still straggling on the street, but they crammed in. The barricade had completely collapsed from the weight of all of them pushing through.

“So much for five at a time,” Myron said. “We should move on this now.”

“Agreed. Let’s get Paul, radio Tara that we’re leaving, and get everyone to the roof to evacuate.” Eugene climbed in the hatch and down the ladder. “Max is getting them ready now.”

The last they had seen, Paul was in the south hall. That was their first destination. If Paul was sleeping, he had no idea what was going on. When they arrived at the south hall, they found the door to the science center open.

“Paul?” Eugene called out.

Myron walked ahead and checked the four rooms. “He’s not here. You think he left?”

“No. He must be in the gym. Let’s radio Tara.”

“Wait.” Myron moved toward the stairwell.

“What are you doing?”

“Just seeing if he left. If he did, this door—”

“He didn’t leave. Where would he go? Come on.”

Heading back toward the gym, they hit the main hall and raced into the office. As soon as they entered the principal’s office, they realized what had become of Paul. The radio was gone and all that remained was a note.

‘Good luck,’ it read.

Paul had left.

With a sickening feeling, Eugene reached for the note. “Is he crazy? He couldn’t have left. Immune or not, how would he get through them out there?” He retracted his hand when he heard the high pitched squeal

Myron’s eyes widened. “By letting them in here.”

Eugene rushed by Myron out into the hall. “Oh my God.” He backed up, running right into Myron.

Infected poured in through the main doors, one of which was propped open by a garbage can.