Influenza: Viral Virulence (23 page)

Chapter 23

As Michael drove
closer to his home, his heart beat a little faster. He passed his old elementary school on the left. It looked a lot smaller now than when he had attended it. Driving through the maze of streets, he remembered trick-or-treating at some of these homes. He also remembered his parents driving him through these same streets on Christmas Eve as he sat in the back, face glued to the window, mesmerized by all the Christmas lights and decorations. All the homes stared back at him now with empty hollow windows.

They passed an area where the county park bordered the road. Michael had spent many lazy summer afternoons with his friends exploring those woods. Their favorite pastime was trying to stop the flow of the local creek by building a makeshift dam out of rocks and mud. Sometimes they succeeded, but it was only temporary, as the relentless stream would finally breach their construction project. Building the dam was ultimately an act of futility, but he and his friends had a great time doing it.

Within a few blocks of home, Michael started feeling the excitement grow within him. Every second brought him closer. In his excited anticipation, he failed to notice an old rusty pickup truck following them at a distance.

He pulled his truck into the driveway. It was a neat ranch style house with light green siding and black shutters. The hedges around the house had been neatly trimmed at one time. A long, tall row of evergreens along the front protected the house from both the elements and prying eyes. Beyond the garage, a latched wooden gate led to the backyard.

“Is this it?” Lorie asked. She had never been to Michael’s home before. She was examining the house and imagining a young Michael running around on the lawn playing.

“Home sweet home,” Michael said as he got out of the truck. He almost wished his parents were here to greet them. It had been a long, hard journey, and he wanted it to be over. Knowing that all the doors to the house were locked, Michael used his keys to open the garage door. He turned the handle and heard metal scraping against metal as the bars slid free from the side rails. Success! He lifted the door, but it wouldn’t budge.
What?
he thought.

He hadn’t considered that the door was still connected to the opener. Just like at Liz and Jeffrey’s house, the override cord had to be pulled to disengage the garage door from the opener. It had been easy before because they had access to the inside of the garage. Now, they were on the outside―locked out. He cupped his hands on the little, tinted window in the garage door and peered into the dim interior. The red release rope dangling from the track near the ceiling was mocking him.

His parents had left the property when the electrical grid was still up. Thinking that Michael was on his way home, they hadn’t considered how he would get into the house without the use of the automatic garage door opener.

He heard the truck door open behind him as Lorie got out. Sandy jumped out behind her.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Well, I need to figure out how to break into the house,” Michael said. He stepped back from the garage door and examined it. The door was solid and had no exposed screws or bolts that he could remove.

“Let’s walk around it and see if there’s any other way in,” Lorie suggested.

They walked to the side of the garage and through the gate and tried the side door leading into the garage. It was locked and firmly barricaded. They continued walking around to the back of the house, which was enclosed by a tall privacy fence. Michael looked up at the windows. All the shutters had been closed. Unlike most modern homes that just had decorative shutters nailed to the walls, Michael’s father had installed heavy-duty hurricane shutters that could be manually opened or closed. The metal would stop most calibers of bullets from penetrating the house.

He supposed that if he had a crowbar, he could pry the shutters off. Then he would have to break the glass window and somehow crawl through. Not only would this process take time, but it would be messy and ultimately compromise the security of the home. He would only break the window if he had no other option.

“Nice garden,” Lorie said.

“What?” Michael looked over to see Lorie walking around his mother’s large backyard garden. With his lack of love for vegetables, Michael had taken little interest in his mother’s gardening project. He was sure he had eaten plenty of meals supplemented with the harvest from this garden.

“This looks like squash that’s ready to pick,” Lorie said, bending down to examine the green leaves more closely. “And over here are some scallions and onions. That’s broccoli over there…”

“Yum, my favorite.”

“…beets,” she continued, “and some sort of cabbage, or maybe kale.” She stood back up. “Your mother is quite the gardener. Some of these are ripe. They’ll just rot if we don’t pick them.”

Sandy sniffed around the garden, trying to find something worth eating.

“We’ll get them later, but first I need to figure out a way into the house,” Michael said. He looked around the backyard. He remembered his old swing set that used to stand in the middle of the lawn. As he had outgrown it, both he and his father had dismantled it. Now all that remained was a carpet of green grass. Over in the corner was a large toolshed. It was so large that Michael could almost drive his truck into it. The shed contained all their gardening and lawn equipment as well as other power tools. Michael’s mom didn’t want the garage cluttered with power tools, so Dad had relented and installed the shed to keep all of his toys inside.

They continued to make their way around the house. Both the back and front doors were impassable and all the windows had been secured. After thinking over the situation, Michael came to the conclusion that he would have to break his way into the garage. Both he and Lorie went back to the garage door windows and looked inside.

“See that red rope hanging down from the ceiling?” Michael asked.

“Where?”

“In the middle of the ceiling. Close to us.”

“Yes, I see it.”

“That is the manual override. It needs to be pulled down in order for us to open the garage door,” Michael explained. “I guess I’ll have to break out one of these windows. But even then, the window is so small I don’t know if I can reach the cord.”

“There’s a little hook where the rope attaches. Why can’t you just get a coat hanger and snag that?” Lorie suggested.

Michael peered closer through the glass and saw what Lorie was talking about. There was a hook on the end of the release lever. If he could get a coat hanger around that like Lorie said, and then pull…“Good idea! I’ll give it a try.”

Michael fished a coat hanger out of one of his suitcases. He had mostly plastic ones, but he still had a few of the old fashioned wire hangers. He pulled the wire apart and wiggled the hook end up between the opening of the weather stripping and the garage door. Sandy watched and panted as he guided the wire up, and with Lorie’s helpful guidance, he managed to get the hook around the release lever. He pulled the wire and felt the lever pop open.

“You got it!” Lorie exclaimed.

“We got it,” Michael corrected and lifted the garage door up.

He got back in the truck and drove it into the garage. From there they entered the house by the door that led to the family room. The air inside was stale and stagnant from lack of air-conditioning. As Michael suspected, all the doors to the outside had been securely reinforced with door braces. He leaned his rifle against the wall in a corner of the family room and then proceeded to take Lorie on a short tour of the house. Sandy took her own tour as she went around sniffing by herself.

When he showed her his old bedroom, she wandered around looking at the pictures on his dresser and the posters hanging on the walls. She looked over the multitude of books neatly arranged in his bookcase and some of the Little League trophies he had managed to collect before he realized he wasn’t very good at sports.

“Are these yours?” she asked.

Michael looked over her shoulder to see what she was inquiring about. A little plaque of various tiny medals hung on the wall.

“Oh, those are some medals that I won at summer camp.”

“Pro-Marksman,” she read. Then she continued to read the others. “Marksman, Marksman First Class.” She looked up at him. “You didn’t tell me you were a sharpshooter.”

“These are for rifles,” Michael replied. “I find that rifles are easier to use than pistols when it comes to hitting the target.” He pointed to the Marksman First Class. “This one was the toughest to earn. I had to hit the required target ten times with only ten shots.”

“Wow,” she said, honestly impressed.

Michael just shrugged. “It was some time ago. I’m out of practice now.”

He led her to his sister’s room and then to the master bedroom. She was impressed with the master bathroom. His father had remodeled it for his mom a year ago. It had taken a long time, but the results were spectacular. He had gutted the entire bathroom and installed a Roman tub and new vanities, sinks, and toilet. He had finished it off with a marble floor that had radiant heat underneath.

“You can take your pick of where you want to sleep,” he told her after the little tour was over.

“I think I’ll sleep in your sister’s room for now,” she said. “It would be a little awkward for me to sleep in your parents’ bed.”

“Go ahead and make yourself at home,” he said. “I need to go out back to the toolshed for a minute.”

“Okay.”

As he walked to the back door, he recalled his last conversation with his mother. She had asked if he’d mow the grass. She had obviously meant something else, because the last thing they would want him to do now was some basic yard work.

Michael removed the brace that kept the back door securely shut, unlocked the deadbolt, and walked out into the backyard. Sandy followed him and went exploring to see if she could find anything else in the garden worth eating. Michael crossed the lawn and unlocked the door to the shed. The latch gave him a little trouble, but he finally got it. He opened the door and stepped inside. He had to stand still for a few minutes to let his eyes adjust to the gloomy interior. Behind him, the shed door started to slowly swing shut, the spring hinges automatically closing the door.

Inside the house, Lorie was walking from the family room to the kitchen when the door leading to the garage suddenly flew open behind her. Two mangy-looking men burst into the room. One had wild, red hair and was dressed in a dirty plaid shirt. The other had greasy, black hair and looked around wildly. They both had guns drawn. Seeing her, they started toward her.

Lorie turned and raced through the living room and into the kitchen. Skirting around the kitchen table as quickly as she could, she heard heavy footsteps pursuing her. With her right hand, she grabbed one of the kitchen chairs as she passed by and tried to tip it over. She finally reached the back door and turned the knob. She flung the door open.

“Michael!” she screamed and then felt a searing pain on the side of her head as something hard hit her from behind. She stumbled a little, and her vision began to fade. The last thing she felt before she passed out were large, rough hands pulling her back into the house.

Michael’s eyes had just adjusted to the dark, and he was stepping forward into the depths of the shed when he heard Lorie’s frantic call. Sandy started barking. He spun around and was about to dart out the shed door. The door had just about completely closed, but there was still a crack of light around the edge. Through this little crack, Michael saw a man with long, dark hair run down the back steps and head toward the shed. He was pointing a gun at the shed door. If Michael opened the door now, he didn’t have a chance of surviving. With nowhere else to go, Michael backed away from the door, which continued to close until it latched. He was plunged into darkness. A little light came through the dirty window on the side of the shed as he navigated around a workbench. Keeping his face toward the door, he backed up.

In seconds, the man was at the shed door. Michael could hear him fumble with the latch mechanism. It usually took him two hands to unlatch the lock, and the man was having trouble trying to balance the gun in one hand and work the lock with his free hand. Michael was still backing when he ran up against the rear wall of the shed. He glanced back at the workbench, frantically looking for anything he could use to defend himself. He thought about the rifle leaning uselessly against the wall inside the house.

Searching the pegboard along the back of the shed, he reached up and grabbed whatever he could get his hands on that would serve as some kind of weapon. The shed door flung open, and Michael dove behind the cover of the workbench.

The man stood blocking the doorway. Michael knew he was hesitating while his sight adjusted to the dark interior, just as Michael had done. But any second now, his eyes would correct for the low light, and he’d be able to see. Michael was a sitting duck, trapped behind the workbench.

He looked down at what he had grabbed from the pegboard. In his hands he had a total of three circular saw blades and hedge-trimming scissors. Not much. He was going to die. After this whole ordeal, after surviving the many deadly encounters to get here, he was going to die in his own home at the hands of some stranger because he was stupid enough to leave his firearm in the house. It just wasn’t fair.