Those Lazy Sundays: A Novel of the Undead (14 page)

"All right. Have a good night Kate. See you tomorrow!"

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Sarah. Night."

Kate leaned back in her chair grabbed another soda. She didn't care for soda normally, but she was tired, and she needed the caffeine. She noticed that the sound of the shower had stopped, and she glanced towards Phil's closed bedroom door. After a couple of minutes, the door opened and Phil limped out of the bedroom, dressed in a pair of striped pajamas. He still looked stiff, and walked with a pained look, like every movement hurt, and he looked unnaturally pale, like every bit of color had drained from his face.

"I'm just going to grab a bite to eat and get back to bed, if you don't mind," he said.

"No problem," Kate replied, smiling. "It's your house after all."

Phil staggered to the chair next to Kate and sat down, then reached down for the bread. Or tried to. He groaned in pain, and sat back up, breathing heavily.

"God, I feel like I turned ninety over night," he said.

"Want me to make you something?" Kate asked.

He shook his head. "No, that's okay, thanks though."

He tried to lean down again, but again stopped with a groan of pain.

"I'll get it," Kate said.

She made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and handed it to him.

"Thanks," he said. "I hate to be rude, but I'm going back into the bedroom. You're welcome to come in and watch the TV if you want. Not much else to do right now."

"Thanks," she said, smiling. She followed him into the bedroom and sat in front of the TV again. The news was still going on with reading e-mails from viewers, cuts to their helicopter, and additional reports about the situation across the state, where things seemed to be getting worse, at least by the judgment of the newscasters.

Phil gagged behind her, causing Kate to look over her shoulder. He spit out a chunk of sandwich into his hand, then pulled a tissue from the box on the nightstand and wrapped the partially-masticated sandwich chunk in it.

"Just bought this bread and it's already stale," Phil said, grimacing.

Kate frowned. "It was okay when I tried it."

"Must've gotten a bad piece," Phil replied. He tossed the whole sandwich on the nightstand, then grabbed the glass of water and downed a few gulps.

He laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes again.

"Tired," he mumbled, and seemed to doze off again.

Kate looked at him. The red comforter moved up and down, his mustache standing out all the more on his pallid face, barely distinguishable against the white pillow.

I
T HADN’T BEEN a dream. The horror of the day before, the mobs of sick people, fleeing for their lives, taking refuge in the police station. It had all happened. And it hadn't passed on like a thunder storm or cold spell overnight. The police, the National Guard, the Center for Disease Control, nobody had swept in during the night to fix things, or to rescue them. They woke up one by one to that reality. They woke up to the dingy, old police station, to the persistent growling and banging coming from outside, to the sight of pallid hands grasping at the bars above the jail cells.

They also woke up to hunger.

Kyle sat up in his place and groaned when he saw where he was.

"Darn, I thought that I'd wake up in Disneyworld," he said, looking around. Sarah was already up, while Mary, who had been sleeping against him, was just stirring. Mike and Brent Williamson were also awake, though Mike was only sitting on the cot in the cell, looking dazed.

Sarah was sitting against the wall with the laptop computer, with Brent sitting next to her, looking at the screen.

"God I'm starving," Kyle said, his stomach growling. He stood up and stretched, and looked around the police station. A dim, gray light came in from the windows above the cell, adding to the gloom of the scene. Otherwise, things were exactly as they had been when they'd each gone to bed. They'd worked in shifts overnight, each of them taking a turn staying awake, holding Brent's shotgun, not that any of them, aside from Brent himself, had ever fired one. Mike was the only one who hadn't taken a shift. He'd slept straight through, and they hadn't bothered to wake him.

"Anything new?" Kyle asked, walking over to Brent and Sarah.

"Nothing," Brent replied. "Same bullshit as last night. Government has their thumbs up their asses, haven't given us anything."

"Sounds like it's getting worse," Sarah said. "All the schools across the state are closed... across New England, I think. They're saying a whole bunch of towns are like here now. I was just reading an article that downtown Burlington is completely trashed, and these people are all over Church Street and everything."

"Just means everyone else finally caught up with Allentown," Brent said, standing up. "Can't say I ever thought Allentown would be leading in anything. Figures it would be in this... shitstorm."

They spent the next few hours doing what they'd done the day before: reading the news, sending e-mails and Facebook messages to friends and family telling them that they were okay, and trying to ignore the noise, which still hadn't abated. Sarah called Andy, and after not picking up twice in a row, he finally picked up the phone on the third call.

He sounded groggy, but more than that, just
off
somehow, and it worried Sarah. He insisted that he was fine, just tired he said, but she grew more worried as they talked. It seemed ridiculous. He was just down the road. A quarter mile? A half mile? She didn't know for sure, but he said it wasn't far. He might as well have been on the moon. They hung up and agreed to talk again later that afternoon or evening. Andy promised to call her this time.

She wasn't sure that he would.

The news came quickly in quantity, but slowly in substance. It was mostly made of anecdotes, interviews with so-called experts, an abundance of speculation and innuendo, and re-hashed stories couched as new developments. More than anything, it was depressing, though nobody said that outright. It was depressing not because of what was in the news, but because of what wasn't: there was nothing to suggest that it would be over soon, that the answer was at hand ˗ that they'd all be able to go home and resume their classes, their businesses, their daily jogs and workouts, watch their favorite TV shows, play video games, visit porn sites, read books, sleep in a bed, take a shower, make love.

Eat.

It was three o'clock when Brent finally picked up the shotgun from the floor beside him and walked to the storage room again, pausing in the doorway. "Anyone up for a late lunch?"

"Brent, what're you doing?" Sarah asked.

Receiving nothing but confused looks, he continued into the storeroom. Sarah slid the laptop onto the floor and hopped up.

"Where is he going?" Mary asked.

"Outside, I think," Sarah replied, and hurried to catch up with Brent. Kyle and Mary followed behind.

"Brent, seems like you're tempting fate here!" Sarah yelled, as Brent opened the door, revealing the stark, gray alley outside. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at her.

He never saw the blur of motion from his left.

W
E APOLOGIZE FOR any technical or other issues as we continue our broadcast. For those who have been following throughout last night and into today, you'll know that we are operating on a skeleton staff. We have advised our usual day shift to not come in, and those of us who are here have been advised to not attempt to return to our homes, both for the safety of our staff and to comply with the Governor and Mayor's directive for people to stay off the roads. So, we are working in shifts here with the staff that we have, and we ask that you bear with us. Bob Bartolo and Elizabeth Etherton are both resting, and will be back on at four. We have breaking news coming in that the governor has signed an order asking all National Guard personnel to report to their units. I repeat, the governor has ordered all National Guard personnel to report to their units...

"Damn," Phil whispered. He was still lying in bed. He'd managed to force down half of the sandwich that Kate had made for him last night, though he still swore that the bread had gone bad. He was awake, but felt like he'd been run over by a truck. He'd checked his wounds when he took a shower, and though they hadn't gotten any better, they didn't seem any worse either, which was good. But
he
felt a hell of a lot worse. His body felt stiff, and he hurt all over.

Jack and Kate were both locked onto the television, their concern growing by the moment. It didn't sound like this was going to be solved today. It almost sounded like it wouldn't be solved tomorrow, either. The man sitting at the news desk now was Harold Tomassi, the weather man. His messy silver comb-over and wrinkled suit were practically a trademark for the station's weather report, but didn't quite fit as well in his role as a news anchor, though there was a good chance that Bob Bartolo and Elizabeth Etherton wouldn't look quite so polished the next time they came on the air either.

"Wonder how long it will take them to get the Guard mobilized," Jack said.

"Normally they can get together pretty quick," Phil replied, his voice hoarse and barely audible, like he had a bad case of laryngitis. "But with these circumstances, who knows."

"So we just stay here until someone on the TV tells us to do something else?" Kate asked.

"Think so," Jack replied.

Phil coughed behind them and opened his eyes. He reached for the water glass on the nightstand, and realizing it was empty, set it back down again, and started to push himself up.

"I'll get that, Phil," Kate said, and got up, grabbed the glass, and took it into the bathroom where she filled it up from the faucet.

"Thanks," he said weakly. "Sorry, I hate to be this much trouble."

"Phil, you keep saying that. It's your house! You've been great to us."

She smiled and handed him the water.

"You know, I was kind of pissed, if you don't mind me being candid, when you two showed up here with those... people. But I'm glad you did. I'd be rotting here on my own otherwise."

"Glad we can help," Kate replied. "Hey, you should try calling your family again. I got through to one of my friends last night. It took a few tries, but eventually it worked."

Phil nodded. "That's a good idea," he said, a hint of enthusiasm coming through in his weakened voice. Kate brought the phone in from the hall and handed it to him. He dialed a number and waited. A few seconds later, he disconnected it and tried it again.

Jack got up and went into the hall, then into the bathroom, where he pulled up the blinds. Rain drops were still rolling down the glass, making the view blurry, but he could see into the front yard of the house now, where Phil's SUV was still parked. A few people roamed aimlessly in the yard, their sopping clothes hanging off of them, raindrops dripping off of their matted and wet hair. He counted eight that he could see.

He heard Kate come into the room behind him.

"Sorry, you need to use the bathroom?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, just wanted to see what you were up to. Also wanted to give Phil some privacy. Trying to call his wife, I think."

"Yeah, that's why I left too." He gestured toward the window. "They're still out there. Counted eight of them outside, just walking around in the rain, like they don't have a care in the world. I don't get how they can just be out there all night like that."

Kate shook her head. "I don't think anyone gets it right now. Hey˗" she paused, thinking, then leaned in, and said with a whisper, "Phil seems like he's getting worse. Like, really sick. I mean right now he seems a little better but..."

Jack looked at her, not quite getting what she meant. "Yeah, I know what you mean. He was hurt pretty badly. He might have an infection or something. Hopefully if he rests enough˗"

"No, I mean..." Kate whispered, interrupting. "Well I don't know, but I mean, what if he caught something from the guy who bit him. Like... what all those people had."

Jack breathed in deeply, thinking.

"God I hope not."

"But what if he has it?" Kate asked.

"I guess we can't get him to a hospital," Jack said. "The only thing we can do is watch him. We just... have to be careful. If he gets sick like that, he could be dangerous..."

He trailed off, and their eyes met in a split-second of communication.

He turned back toward the window. A girl with short brown hair and dressed in a pink jacket and jeans, who didn't look older than twelve or thirteen, staggered forward into the arms of a gruff looking man dressed in a pair of overalls and work boots, whose left side was gashed open, as if a large animal had taken a bite out of him. The man put his hands on the girl's shoulders and seemed to regard her for a moment, and then shoved her away and continued wandering around the front yard.

"Some of these people, I just... I don't get how they're still alive. I mean, that one guy who chased us by the road, his neck looked like it was snapped in half."

He shook his head.

"Maybe they're so sick they don't feel any pain," Kate suggested. "Just, like, completely in a trance. Something like that. They said something like that on CNN."