Jacqueline Druga - Immune

“We can walk there.”

An abundance of sadness hit Myron. “I’m the one dying, I’m the one that’s safe out there. They’ll still go after you. I can’t take a chance bringing you out there. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I’ll go get supplies.”

“There has to be a way,” she said. “Think, Bubby. You’re smart. Think. What if you conceal me some way?”

Frustrated, Myron moved from his window watch spot. He would try his hardest to think of something. He needed to get his grandmother safe. While they were good for the time being, the first floor apartment windows that were six feet from ground level wouldn’t be secure once those things decided they would get in. They were already pounding at the door nonstop. The hundreds out here were flushing through the buildings like scavengers.

His grandmother was right, Myron was smart. Once he figured out what it was that attracted them to attacking his grandmother, whether it was sight, sound, or smell, Myron would figure out a way to hide it. Or at least try.

The bathroom was not an option in any scenario. There was a tiny window that Grace wouldn’t fit through, and considering the power was out, the water probably wouldn’t be good for long. The one floor ranch style home was a trap for her.

Grace stopped trying her phone. She had to conserve the battery and put her attention on what she could do. A decision had to be made fast, and while Scott was still unconscious and Macy was locked in her bedroom.

Leaving the house wasn’t an option either, at least until daybreak. Where would they go? Grace didn’t know if the whole city was infected or only her area.

The only viable safe hiding place was the basement and family room. She could lock the basement door and block the staircase with that old bookshelf. Plus, the family room offered the ability to retreat to the laundry room and then garage. There was a means of escape, unlike the bathroom. If they were to make the move, they had to do it right away.

Candice wouldn’t let go.

“We have to leave the bathroom, baby.” Grace told her daughter.

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m scared.”

“I know you are. So am I. We can’t stay in here.” Grace listened to the sounds of Scott’s breathing; that loud, gurgling flutter sound mixed in with Macy slamming against the bedroom door. It was a flimsy door, like the bathroom door, and it was one time Grace wished she would not have taken the budget route on home decorating.

It wouldn’t be long until Macy’s racket woke Scott. Unless, of course, Grace did permanent damage when she hit him.

Slipping the phone into her pajama pants pocket, Grace stood up. Her stomach fluttered and her heart raced out of control. Candice had her arms and legs wrapped tightly around her and Grace reached for the knob.

Scared that Scott was going to jump up the second she opened the door, Grace prepared herself.

She opened the door a crack and peeked out. She saw Scott on the floor. The plan was to open the door, quietly step over his body, and run.

She opened the door enough to slip out. Scott didn’t move. Holding her breath along with her daughter, Grace carefully stepped over Scott.

As soon as she brought her other foot up, he grabbed on to it.

Grace screamed. Scott pulled on her, using her as leverage to stand.

Grace set Candice down. “Run! To the basement. Go!”

Once she saw Candice take off, Grace turned and kicked Scott. It didn’t do any good. The only advantage she had was that he was still half on the floor and having trouble getting up.

Grace stretched as far as she could, her fingers reaching for the trophy on the floor.

Almost there.

An inch away.

Scott pulled and when he was nearly to his feet, she had enough room to grab the bowling trophy, pivot her body, and swing down.

She closed her eyes tight because she was certain that hit was it. That was the one that killed him.

Shoulder bouncing, Grace whimpered, “I’m sorry,” and still holding the trophy, she bolted down the hall. As soon as she was passing Macy’s room, the little girl reached out her hand through the hole she had punched in the door.

Grace stopped.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Mommy is so sorry.” She grabbed the little hand and held it for a moment. “I’m sorry.” She brought her lips to it and a tear rolled own her cheek. Though Sick with an illness causing mindless violence, it was still her baby.

She stepped back, releasing the hand, and when she did, she bumped into Scott who was standing. Grace took off for the basement.

Surprising her, Scott did not follow.

Grace was correct in her choice to go to the basement. There not only was a door at the top of the steps but one for the family room. The emergency flashlight was at the bottom of the steps, and Grace turned on the kerosene heater.

The car was in the garage and at first light they’d make their way out. She wanted to put on the car radio, but was fearful of any noise.

They were safe in the basement. They had the soda that was stored in the family room fridge and the snacks from behind the bar. With only having to make it through the night, they were fine. Grace, who wasn’t much of a drinker, even had a glass of wine.

After retrieving another light from the garage, the family room had warmed up enough, and Grace held Candice as they sat on the sofa. She had no plans of falling asleep.

Candice did, and Grace was glad about that.

In the quiet darkness, Grace thought a lot. She thought about her life with Scott, how they met after college and waited a few years before having any children. Candice was planned but Macy was more of a surprise, and the reason they stayed married. They had trouble like everyone else, some times more than others.

They were toughing it out for the sake of the children.

Grace had always been quiet, and Scott liked that about her, until she started working at the museum. Suddenly, the loner career she chose brought out some sort of hidden personality via the historical place.

Scott didn’t like that.

A year before, when Grace was arrested the first time, she changed again. Scott hated the fact that she kept in contact with two of the women she met while in custody at the county jail. However, at that point Grace didn’t care. Like so many couples going through the motions, there were a lot of callous days.

The day of the outbreak was not one of them. Grace felt hopeless, scared, and sad, thinking about her family.

She was also wracked with guilt. She wasn’t ill and was hiding from them.

That wasn’t some monster she’d smashed with a trophy, it was her husband. Was she handling it wrong? Grace wished she knew how the rest of the city was handling it.

Above her head she heard the steady footsteps.

Scott must have released Macy. She heard the weight difference in the movement. All they did was pace.

Around five in the morning, Grace heard a large thump. She knew it was Scott. After the ‘thump’ she didn’t hear him anymore. Only Macy, and not long after that, she heard crying. Or at least something that sounded like crying.

It broke her heart. What if Macy was aware of what was happening? What if she was scared, and felt abandoned? She was only four years old.

After seeking out a hammer from the garage and making sure Candice was okay, Grace slipped from the family room, secured the door behind her, and went upstairs.

Scott lay in the middle of the kitchen floor. She saw him as soon as she opened the door, closing it quietly behind her.

Hammer in her strong hand, Grace approached him and reached down.

Scott was cold to the touch and he had a horrendous rotting smell to him. He also was not doing that snoring breathing anymore. To the best of Grace’s knowledge, Scott was dead. She was certain his death was her doing, and couldn’t even take time to mourn.