The Diseased

C.4

Chapter Four

Until I opened my eyes, did I realize that it was a figment of my imagination. It was the raging paranoia inside of me that created it, to scare me, to make me realize something.
Maybe it was to make me realize that I wanted to live just a little while longer.
Whatever the reason, my yearn for survival, the great, metaphorical flame of rage that sparked inside grew into a wildfire, and I found everything I needed to do the following day easier to accomplish. It wasn't necessary, but I decided to make several trips down to the basement to lug up each and every one of those crates of survival tools up the stairs and to one of the classrooms that didn't have any windows, just for the sake of not dealing with someone screaming at me that they need tools and they see me, they see my things and they'll shoot if I don't help and then bam, the diseased will come and another human will lose and another diseased will win.
Unfortunately, this series of events happened about four times a week. I blocked out the inhuman noises with gauze pads I found in a first-aid kit, and believe it or not, gauze pads worked as pretty well earmuffs.
When I had finished bringing up every single one of the crates, I had felt a somewhat relief. The fact that I wouldn't have to go back down there ever again if I didn't want to just made life sort of easier. Not in such a drastic way, that it was like I had found a cure to the whole apocalypse, but it was still easier not having to go down there.
However, I felt the need to just check one more time to see if I had left anything-I had planned on clearing everything out from down there so the likelihood of me needing to ever go back down to the basement decreased as much as possible.
As I grasped my flashlight tightly, I even noticed the light that shone before me was shaking, because I obviously was.
There isn't any more of the diseased down here...right?
I took a shaky breath, tiptoeing down the stairs.
Of course not. They would've come out when you shot the first one.
I moved the flashlight around the room, checking to see if I had taken everything up to the classroom.
You've checked over this time fifty times or something, check the other side.
I nodded, and in one quick movement, I shut my eyes and shone the flashlight over to the left side of the room.
One after the other, I lifted my eyelids slowly, not ready to see if there was what I prayed there wasn't.
But there was.
Moaning, drooping corpses dragging themselves one leg after the other towards the light. I felt vomiting, but somehow couldn't bring myself to look away. They smelt foul, so I held my breath as I reached for the gun I had kept between my belt, and raised it before me, aiming, and then shooting.
The noise was loud, the gunshot, anyway. But the sounds that came from the diseased, or deceased, as they were now, were low. It somewhat resembled a raspy, sputtering noise, like a car running out of gas.
As I dropped my hands to my sides, catching my breath, another set of glowing eyes emerged from the darkness, groaning and grasping onto life.
I gasped, startled by the unexpected beast, and raised my gun to shoot again, but as I held back the trigger and released, all that emitted from the gun was an empty clicking sound.
Empty.
"No...no! Get back!" I cried, still trying to shoot the gun, praying that a miracle would occur, and a bullet would magically appear, sent from the heavens, but it never did. Just the click-click-click-click of an empty barrel.
I tried the door, but it locked itself when I closed it. There was no use in trying to open it, just like there was no use in trying to shoot an empty gun. I felt around in my pockets for something to defend myself with, but there was nothing. Then, I tried blinking, because maybe it was a figment of my imagination, of my paranoia. But that failed, too.
It was then, that I knew I would die.
But that thirst, that hunger for survival, for living, was still there. I looked around my surroundings for anything to defend myself with-a book, a really heavy book. Or maybe a baseball bat, or a large stick, or something of that sort.
Again, nothing. It was pretty much barren from when I cleared it out.
I sunk to the floor, shutting my eyes, whispering my goodbyes, my apologies, everything I wanted to say before I died. The raspy groans of the diseased came closer.
And then, I heard it. The sound of the door knob twisting and turning, trying to unlock.
"Beth!" Then, a pound of his fist on the door. "Beth! Can you open the door?"
I opened my eyes, and saw the creature a foot away from the stairs. I rose to my feet and started banging on the door.
"N-no! I locked myself in by accident, and I'm stuck, and there's a Diseased down here, and I need help! Please!" I cried out, tears slipping down my teeth.
"I'm trying!" He shouted as a reply, banging on the door. I could tell that he was throwing himself at the door, too, trying to bust it down.
"It's not working!" I yelled, twisting the knob.
I felt around in my pocket, looking for a paper clip or something of that sort to pick the lock, but nothing was there-just the key to the door.
"I-it's not going to work," I mumbled, as the banging of the brown-haired boy continued to pound against the door.
"Yes it..." Pound. "will!"
"I have the key, Ben, I locked myself in. It's not going to work." I repeated, staring at the door as if I was staring at him. "It's not going to work. It's not-"
And then, the horrid creature lunged at me, screeching and grabbing my limbs.
"NO!" I screamed, fighting back. It was useless, but maybe I could fight if off, just punch and kick and don't let it bite you and don't let it scratch you.
In the moment, the world sort of slowed down, and all noises sort of blurred, it wasn't distinct at all. All that was in focus was that one diseased creature that had its heart set on killing me.
But the pounding on the door was still heard. His screams were still loud and piercing.
It gave me the energy I needed to fight the thing back, and shove it stumbling backwards.
My breathing was heavy, and clearly unstable. But I needed to focus, and kill the creature before it was able to stand again. I strode over to the thing, its moans and groans raspy and its arms straining to grab my ankle or something like that.
There wasn't anything to kill it with, though. No weapons had remained in the basement at all.
So I settled for the next best thing, and used my boot to smash its face in. The actual skull wasn't at all tough to bash through, but the result was a brutal, grotesque mess of spattered, probably stained into the concrete floor, blood and bits of brain distributed in a mess of more blood surrounded the head that didn't even distinctly look like a brain anymore.
When it finally died, I was relieved enough to sit down on the floor, and evidently just lie down on the floor completely. The banging and the shouting never ended-I came to the conclusion that Ben was stubborn and obnoxiously sweet to the point that it was annoying. But I did enjoy the fact that he felt the need to return and check on me.
Yet as I lay on the extremely cold, concrete floor in utter peace, as if I was dead like the creature beside me, I realized that under the circumstances, maybe I would make it. If I conserved my supplies, and kept Ben close, I would make it.
Hopefully.
•
"Honey, would you come down here for a moment?" My mother called from the den on her laptop, the screen emitting such brightness that the light shone on her face. "I'm looking for preschools we could enroll Beth in, but...I don't know. Should we wait another year?" She stopped to bite her nails, a habit she did unknowingly and desperately hated the result of having crooked, uneven nails, which made her buy fake ones. Yet the fake ones were still bitten.
My father stopped to turn off the water that came pouring from the sink and dried his hands with a nearby towel, then made his way over to where my mother sat on the sofa, nervously chewing her no-longer neat nails. "I don't know what to do, Thomas. My mother homeschooled me up until I was ten, so that was when I was in..." she stopped to scrunch her nose and count on her fingers, then look up at my father with her eyes widened desperately for help, silently admitting defeat.
"So, your mother wasn't that great of a teacher, I see." He laughed, earning a glare from my mother.
"Of course she was! She just taught me better things then math and science and stuff." My mother replied, sticking her tongue out at my father, whom was holding in his laughter.
"Oh really?" He spoke, his laughter at the seams of bursting. "What did she teach you, then?"
"My mother, my amazing mother who was indeed an EXCELLENT teacher, taught me how to...oh! She taught me how to order food at a drive thru."
At this point, my father was guffawing so loudly, he must've woken up my brother. But he wasn't at the house at the time, because my father's mother insisted on taking care of him for the night, relieving my parents the stress of taking turns of sitting by his toddler bed, waiting for him to fall asleep. Thankfully, it wasn't my mother's mother, who would have probably not even offered for my younger brother to spend the night over at her house in the first place. Though both my parents knew she genuinely was a good person and that she truly did love my brother and me, she had no problem admitting she was done with dealing with children, toddlers, and babies for that matter.
"What an amazing, useful skill of her to teach you, Amber. She must've known how often you would visit a drive thru on a daily basis." My father replied with a sly tone in his voice.
"Well, she must've known that my husband wouldn't ever cook dinner for the family, isn't that right, Bethie-Boo?" My mother responded, and I knew she was secretly bursting with joy on the inside at the fact that she had totally gotten her husband with such an outstanding comeback. She contained her pride, and lifted the little four year old me in her arms, and ran her fingers through my dirty blonde hair. It was odd, my hair, because when I was younger, it was such a light blonde, but as I aged, it got darker. Supposedly, the same scenario happened with my father, and he now had dark black hair, with minimal strands of grey hair.
"You know what? You win, sweetheart. Now, about preschool?" My father held up his hands in defeat, and sat closer to my mother to view the screen of the laptop.
"Yeah-I don't know if we should enroll her this year or the following year. And if we do, I'm not even sure which school to put her in." My mother frowned and gave the laptop to my father, and settled to sitting back on the couch and kissing my forehead, playing with my hair once again.
"Well, we'd have to look at all the schools in the area, and then we can drive and see the pros and the cons about all of them. And it would be great if they had an orientation or something for new parents-oh! I know what we can do, what if-"
"Sweetheart, that is actually amazing, but I'll leave that up to you because I sort of just zoned out on you for a second." My mother spoke with a humorous tone, then lifted me out of her lap and carried me over to the kitchen, where the rummaged through the cabinets for something to eat.
"Are we out of those Girl Scout cookies that Amelia made us buy for her daughter? 'Cause they were actually really good, you know those...those...what's-it-called cookies?"
•
Within a matter of time, the banging stopped.
"Beth?" He spoke, and for a moment I thought he believed I was dead. "I don't know if it got you or not, but...I just wanted to let you know that my folks and I tried to get you out. We really did. And..." In that moment, I heard his voice break, and I could tell he was fighting tears. "I didn't really know you long, but I could tell that you were fighting really hard. And you were trying to make your parents proud. I'll tell you what-you did. You made them so proud, Beth. So...so good job. Oh, and I just wanted to let you know that my folks and I are leaving California. Yeah, um, we're headed to Massachusetts-Cambridge, Massachusetts. Rumor has it that there were students that broke into the school for shelter-kind of like you, y'know?" He stopped, and I heard him sniffle, and I could almost picture him using the end of his old Michael Jackson hoodie as a tissue of some sort. "Anyways, they put the school on lockdown, and they bolted the doors shut, but they just ran out of food, apparently, and they can't get out. They're telling people they have a cure to the whole apocalypse epidemic though, and if enough people help them get the doors down to the school, they'll be able to spread the cure and kill the virus. So...this'll be the last time we see each other, then. Even though I can't see you right now-yeah. Anyways, my parents are outside, I told them I was saying goodbye to a friend. So, I'm not really a liar, so...goodbye." And then, his sobs were finally distinctable as a sob.
Cambridge has a cure. I thought. My mind raced as I lurched up and sprinted to the door, banging on it once again.
"Ben! Ben! I'm alive; I want to go to Cambridge! Help me open the door! Please!"
"BETH!" He cried, and he went back to slamming his fist against the door repeatedly. "I'll, I'll get my parents! They'll help!"
His footsteps grew softer and softer until I could no longer hear them, but the only thing I kept my mind focused on was the fact that there was, in fact, a cure. I wouldn't take no for an answer, and I would get the cure, and I would make sure it was spread fast enough to kill the virus before one of the diseased took another living soul.
There's a cure.

"Bethany!" An older woman's voice called out. "Oh, don't you worry sweetie, we'll get you out of there! I heard you had quite a scare earlier, huh?"
"Uh, mom, she doesn't like to be called Bethany. 'Cause that's not her name. It's Beth." The familiar, brown haired boy's voice spoke out.
"Oh nonsense, Beth is short for Bethany, Benny. Like Benjamin is short for Ben-oh what a silly goose I am-Ben is short for Benjamin. So I'll be polite and call her Bethany because that is indeed what her parents intended for her to be named. Alright?" The woman continued to ramble and scold her son, which was quite amusing to me, but I heard him sigh under his breath, and I couldn't see him, obviously, but I could tell he was rolling his eyes.
"Christ, Madeline! I'm trying to focus!" an older, masculine voice yelled, most likely Ben's father, and the older woman, Madeline made a humph sound.
"Oh, Gregory, please don't strain your wrist, you know-"
"Madeline!" The older man, Gregory, shouted again.
"For goodness sakes, Gregory, I'm just trying to help! Well then, I guess- "
"MOM!" Ben cried, and I burst out laughing in spite of myself.
"Oh, she is alive." Gregory muttered.
"I told you, Dad, but you didn't believe me-"
"Oh you don't mind him, Benny, he just hates being wrong."
"Madeline, if you make one more comment, I swear I will-"
"What, Gregory?"
"I will...open this door." He spoke, swinging the door open, and I matched the faces to the voices that I had just listened to. And with that, I immediately recognized his tone to become happier, and he was clearly joking the whole time, which was sort of a relief to me.
"Oh, Gregory! You're such an angel, thank you, thank you, thank you! Now Ben, what do you say to your father?"
"Mom, I'm not five. I was going to thank him but you didn't-"
"Oh hush, Benny, let me take a look at this girl." Madeline clapped her hands, and gestured for me to come out of the room.
I quietly came up the stairs, and out of the basement. Madeline squealed and wrapped her arms around me, shaking from side to side as she hugged me.
"Ooh, aren't you just the prettiest thing? You know, I've always wanted a daughter, but Mr. Greg over here only wanted one child. I sort of had a little girl for a while though, you see, we survived for a while with another family who had a little girl, but she...she ran away, and we don't know if she's alive, but we split up with that family later on. But enough sad things, we're headed to Cambridge, Massachusetts. Ben told me he told you everything, but we're leaving...well, right now, actually. You see, Gregory has a truck and plenty of gasoline that he traded for a gun or two. Anyways, the trip is about...hmm, how long is the trip going to be, honey?"
"According to my calculations, it's about 3,010 or something miles and it'll take about two days to get there." Gregory stated simply, crossing his arms over his son, meanwhile Ben tried to squirm out of his grip.
"Right then, 3,000 miles or so, two days to get there. So we better get on over there and help bust down those doors, hmm Bethany?" Madeline smiled a toothy grin, placing her hands on her hips.
Ben grunted, finally free from his father's arms.
"Uh, her name, it's Beth."
I turned to Ben, raising an eyebrow.
"No, I don't mind if she calls me Bethany. It has a nice ring to it, hmm, Benjamin?" I chimed excitedly, ecstatic that we were on our way to find a cure.
He rolled his eyes, and his mother laughed, or cackled, would be a better word, and nodded her head.
"So! Now we best be going now, honey, so is there anything you'd like to bring with you?"
My eyes widened as I remember all the food and supplies in the classroom I had stored.
"Err...yes. Quite a few things, actually." I mumbled, and led the way to the classroom, which contained everything I had hoarded.
As they entered the classroom, Gregory and Madeline's eyes widened at the sight of it all.
"Oh, goodness, we just struck a gold mine." Madeline spoke, her eyes never leaving the sight.
"This could last us months!" Gregory gasped, and Ben coughed.
"Uh, we should take it all to the truck, don't you think? Y'know, we need to hit the road? Now?"
"Oh, um, yes, certainly Benny."
"Ben-" He corrected, clearly annoyed.
"You told me your parents were obsessed with Michael Jackson," I leaned over and whispered.
"Well, uh, I'd like to think they named me after a Michael Jackson song." He replied, keeping his tone low. "Truth be told, they don't know even know who Michael Jackson is."
"Oh." I frowned, sort of feeling let down. But I dismissed the feeling as the older couple began carrying crates back down the stairs to the truck.
"Don't just sit there!" Gregory exclaimed, his tone serious. "Get these crates in the truck!"
I nodded obediently, and immediately lifted two of the smaller crates and began carrying them down to the truck, Ben following me. I shoved them in the trunk, and let the couple know that Ben was coming with the last crate. They said thank you, and told me to get settled in the truck.
"It's going to be a very, very long ride."
Ben sat in the car seat next to me, and warned me that his mother enjoyed country music.
"Oh, that's fine. I don't mind it." I replied, and pulled on my most convincing smile, though I wanted to cry, because if there was any sort of music I hated, no, despised, it was country music.
Finally, his parents sat in the drivers and passengers seat, and before at last, I was out of the abandoned preschool, and two days or so away from spreading the cure to the apocalypse.