The Diseased

C.6

Chapter Six

I awoke when the boy with the brown hair nudged me, shaking my arm.
"We pulled over-wake up! I'm not repeating myself. Too tired. Wake up."
"Mmf," I mumbled against my arm, in which I had used as a pillow to take a nap.
"We pulled over at an empty gas station...it looks empty. Anyway, we're getting food from the trunk, so get something to eat, okay?"
"Won't last long," I groan, flipping around in an awkward movement. I pressed my hands to my ears to avoid him talking to me.
"What won't last long?"
"Food. Won't last long."
"You have crates of food. It's okay if you have a granola bar and a bottle of water or something."
"No."
"Beth, you need to eat. It's not even healthy. My parents and I were on our own and we didn't even have a lot of food, because the other family we were with had stolen it. And we still ate what we had, and had like three meals of it a day. It will last, and if it doesn't so what? We can hunt for animals and stuff, but that won't even be necessary, because we're going to make it to Cambridge in a little less than two days. The crates will last. You need to eat."
I furrowed my eyebrows and followed him out of the car.
He led me to the open trunk, where Greg and Madeline sat, going through the crates of food and items.
"Gosh golly, sweetie! You sure do have a bunch of weapons, now, dontcha?" Madeline gasped. "You wouldn't mind at all if you shared, right sweet pea? We could sort of use the help, because we were running low ourselves."
"Um, yeah. Sure. Help yourself, I guess." I gestured to the box, and both Madeline and Greg nodded eagerly, and did as I told them to, help themselves.
I reached for my gun, remembering that it had run out of bullets. There was a button on side of the hand grip, ejecting the magazine.
"Can you hand me some bullets? They're in the red crate."
"Here you are, darling."
I took the bullets and loaded them into the magazine one by one. I reinserted the magazine by pushing upwards until I heard the clicking noise, indicating that it was locked in place.
I kept the safety lock on, not wanting to accidentally set it off while I had it where I usually kept the 9mm pistol.
I made my way to the trunk, sorting through all the weapons. Large rifles and shotguns like FN PS90's and Remington 870's that stuck out of the crate, and much smaller handguns and pistols like Glock G17's. The crate also included knifes, one of them in which I had snatched for myself, an M48. At the bottom of the crate was a crossbow, one far too heavy for me to lift, let alone quickly reload one arrow after the other.
I stuck the M48 in my boot, so that the blade was hidden, and I could easily reach down, and pull it out when necessary.
"Stop worrying about guns and stuff for a second. Eat." Ben said to me, handing me a granola bar and a bottle of water. It was a cheap store brand one, but it was still filling.
I tore open the wrapper, and as I took my first bite, I didn't realize how hungry I actually was. Just the one granola bar wasn't filling enough, even though it was incredibly satisfying. Ben, the freak that he was, stared at me as he ate, smiling confidently.
He held out another granola bar in his hands, offering it to me. "Here, have another-"
I snatched it from his hands, glaring at him as I ripped the next wrapper, and bit into my second bar. The flavor was different from that last one, which had a taste of peanut butter in it. This one had chunks of banana in it, and honey. It reminded me of breakfast...pancakes, to be exact. My family and I always went to breakfast restaurants, sometimes it was McDonalds, and other times we'd go to actual Latin American restaurant that sold everything related to Latin cuisine.
But like I said, it was typically McDonalds. My mother would rotate between an Egg McMuffin or a Sausage McMuffin. My father typically went for a Bacon, Egg, and Cheese Biscuit, and they would both get coffees. Aaron would always order hash browns, yet he always failed to finish eating them, as he clearly stated that he "only liked the crunchy part". I would indulge myself in Hotcakes. As I got older though, entering my teen years where all I was considered with was my weight and being healthy, I would decide to eat a Fruit 'N Yogurt Parfait for the sake of my well being.
And before I knew it, I was mindlessly eating the granola bar as I was lost in my own thoughts and memories. What made me realize I was in a zombie apocalyptic town and not a warm and welcoming McDonalds, surrounded by family and the smell of delicious breakfasts, was when I bit into the plastic wrapper.
I tossed it to the ground. Ben reached to hand me another one, and I hesitated to reach for it, but I shook my head, telling him no. Supplies wouldn't last long, and it was already stupid of me to eat two granola bars.
"It's fine if you want another, you probably haven't eaten-"
"I'm fine," I hissed, dismissing him. "I'm full." I added matter of factly; as I twisted open the bottle of water labeled Zephyrhills. As I brought it to my mouth to drink, the water slipping down my throat, I had affirmed that it was just what I needed to get the weird feeling that the granola bar caused down and out of my throat. On top of that, it wasn't extremely cold, but it wasn't exactly boiling hot. It was lukewarm, and it had me gulping down the water sip after sip. I knew I had finished the bottle of water when there was nothing left to drink, and nothing remained in the plastic bottle.
I flung it to the floor, wiping the excess water from my lips.
"So Beth," Greg said, still going through the weapons. "How long were you in that preschool?"
I shrugged, thinking of an estimate. "I'm pretty sure it was about two years-yeah, two years. Because the Occurrence happened when I was fourteen and my brother was only twelve-"
Aaron Macoy, my little brother, who was made entirely of pure innocence, died when he was only twelve years old. He had done nothing to deserve something so cruel. He would have never graduated high school, let alone middle school. He would never get his license, or a job, nor had an actual girlfriend who he was truly in love with. He would never, ever, be able to throw up his cap at a graduation ceremony and have watery eyes and think I did it and he would never get the chance to because he was so unfortunate to lose his life at such and young age, and during my first nights at the preschool I would cry myself to sleep knowing that my family wasn't in the same place as I was, because they were gone and I wouldn't ever have them back. And I would ask myself constantly, begging for an answer on why, why me, why my family. But it was just because life wasn't and isn't fair and it never will be.
"Yeah. He was only twelve. He was two years younger than me, and I've been in that place for two years."
The boy with the brown hair, he must have seen how I had spaced out, seen my pathetic face that I unintentionally wear when I think of my family. He shot a glare at his father, and then started to go through the crate of weaponry himself.
"My, that must have been lonely. And your folks? Did those, uh, demons get 'em?"
"Dad, you should see what there is to eat. Do you want water? There's plenty of water. Eat something. Beth is tired. Leave her alone." Ben defended, gesturing towards the many crates, specifically the one with the bottles of water.
"Oh, I see. Touchy subject, huh? Course it is, it's your parents. Well, say no more, I'll shut my trap."
"Um, I'm going to go sit in the car." I mumbled, and opened the car door, slammed it shut, slipping in the front seat to flick the engine on. After a few buttons were pushed, the air conditioning was enabled.
I let my head rest against the window, overhearing the conversation that the family shared.
"So, did Beth ever tell you about her parents, Benjamin?"
"No, I didn't ask. I'm not rude like my parents are." He scoffed.
"We're not rude, just curious." Greg stated sternly.
"Anyways, it would just help us get to know her a little more!" Madeline added, whining, sort of.
"We have bigger matters of importance. Like, I don't know, the fact that the world is currently undergoing a zombie apocalypse?"
"Don't you use that tone of voice with your father, young man!" Madeline scolded, and it was pretty much silence after that. Madeline would attempt to play I Spy once again, but both would ignore her.
Soon after, several minutes later, came the sound of men in their twenties or thirties, yelling orders.
"HEY! IF YOU DON'T WANT TO DIE IN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS, DROP EVERYTHING AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEADS NOW!"
I sunk low in the seat.
"DID YOU HEAR ME, BOY? DROP THAT LITTLE GUN OF YOURS, NOW!"
"No..." Ben murmured, uncertain or unconfident with his actions.
One of the men swiftly made his way over to Ben, and pointed a large, bulky gun to his forehead.
"I will not hesitate to shoot you, alright? Now, are there other people with you?"
"No." He replied, making me so incredibly grateful for his stubbornness.
"Will anyone look for you or come after us when we kill you?"
Silence.
"WILL ANYONE LOOK FOR YOU-"
"No."
"You sound unsure of yourself, boy. I don't believe you. Are you lying?"
"I'm not lying!" Ben shouted at the man, and then came a long, awful chuckle.
"Boy, you just made the biggest mistake of your life, you hear me?"
Bam.
Screams and cries came from the boy with the brown hair, blood spattered across his arms and reaching the base of his neck and the tip of his chin as the man shot his right palm.
He fell to the ground, holding his left hand to his right, crying in agony and pain.
I jumped in the seat, biting my lip as I listened intently to what was going on. Tears welled in my eyes, and I cringed as I heard his pain, but I stayed where I was, unable to move. I just had to wait.
"BENNY!" Madeline screeched, her hands cupped over her mouth as tears slipped down her cheeks. Gregory did nothing, only stood still as his eyes watered. He probably knew he would only make matters worse if he dared to defend his son.
"NOW, MA AND PA." The man instructed, turning around to face the couple.
"You're his parents, aren't you?" He hissed, snake like and evil.
Greg nodded. Madeline eagerly shook her head up and down, muffling her cries with her own hands.
"Ah, I see...where are you headed?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. While he did so, he gestured for the two other men to go to the trunk, and most likely raid the whole thing.
"T-to Cambridge." Greg said slowly, staring at the man.
"Huh, why so? The weather here in California is just so peaceful."
"We...we heard that that school, Harvard, had boarded up their doors and they're running low on food, so they're coming outside with a cure for the whole apocalypse but they can't get their doors down...we're going to try and help get them down.
"They need food, eh? Well, it looks like you came with plenty of food for 'em."
"Yes, sir."
The two men sorted through the trunk, piling all the supplies into their own vehicle. Once they finished, they opened the door to the backseats.
"Well, it's a shame you won't have anything to offer by the time I'm done with you." He smiled grimly, and held his gun to Madeline's temple.
"Don't you dare shed one more tear, or I'll make you watch your son's death. And you." He pointed his other gun to Greg. "You'd better stay standing right there, or I'll make you watch your son's death, and then your wife's. You hear?"
Greg just nodded, the horror in his eyes real and true.
"Yo, Chief." One of the men said, sorting through the items in the backseat, which were mainly scraps. "Should I, uh, take a look in the front seats, too?"
"Well, why wouldn't you?" The man who held his the fate of Greg and Madeline in his hands, referred to as Chief, retorted with a snarl.
"Alright, calm down!" The first man rolled his eyes, and the Chief furrowed his eyebrows.
"What?" He walked up to the man, and pointed the gun to his forehead. "Did you say to me?"
"I-I'm sorry, I wasn't thinkin'. Don't shoot, just put the gun down-"
The Chief didn't listen to him. In fact, he did the exact opposite.
The dead body slumped down, and fell against the car. His blood was splattered all over the windows and the door.
"What about you, Toddy?" The Chief shouted, and aimed his gun at him.
"No, sir." The second man, Toddy, shook his head. "Won't say nothin'."
The Chief nodded and strode back over to Greg and Madeline and stood between them, holding both guns to each of their temples.
Ben still remained on the floor, and he had steadied his rapid breathing. He had his hand clenched to his chest, holding it tightly clenched with his left hand.
Toddy came around to the front seats of the car, and opened the door to the driver's seat.
As soon as he did, his eyes caught mine, and he was about to call for the Chief, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping, but I had already had my gun out, and aimed at the door before he had opened it.
After I shot him, he too stumbled backwards, collapsing dead on the ground. Again, the Chief turned back to the car, angrier than before.
"Didn't I tell you to check the car, you imbeciles?" He shouted, stomping back over to where they once stood. When he came across the other dead body, the open door, and no one inside the front seat, however, his face was flooded with confusion.
And then, it was flooded with pain, as I had used the M48 knife I had stashed in my boot to stab the Chief in the back, as he collapsed to the ground, groaning as his muscles expanded, then contracted.
I bent down and tugged the M48 out of his back, the blade drenched with his blood, and then I used it to plunge the knife into his skull. Again, I took it out of his skull, and he stopped squirming.
Madeline and Greg still stood there, not moving in fear that they might die. Ben remained on the floor, wounded and injured. I crept out from behind the car, my eyebrows knotted in worry.
"I'm sorry I didn't come out but...I would have made it worse. He might've killed one of you, but, he's...he's dead now-oh!" I explained, but only got midsentence because Madeline threw her arms around me, weeping.
"Dear goodness, thank you thank you thank you. Beth, I owe you my life. Thank you," She repeated, tears gushing down her cheeks. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
"Um, yeah. Ben, though..." I mumbled, and Madeline gasped, nodding quickly.
I made my way over to him, sitting on my knees.
"Maybe you shouldn't be so stubborn all the time."
He bared a small smile, clearly in pain.
"Maybe."
I furrowed my eyebrows, staring in concentration at his hand. It was drenched in blood, especially the center where the bullet was lodged.
"Do you think there's a doctor anywhere?" Madeline spoke up behind me.
I shook my head. "Of course there isn't. We...we just have to take it out ourselves."
"I...I don't do well with blood, Greg," She murmured to her husband, and he nodded sympathetically.
"Beth, I know this is...well, quite a lot to ask of you, but Madeline and I don't do well around blood. In fact, even if he had the tiniest scrape, we would take him to the hospital because we just can't deal with that! So would you mind horribly if-"
My mouth dropped at the task they expected me to do.
I just saved your lives, now I have to do this?
"Yeah-sure. I don't mind." I said slowly, and took a deep breath.
Think of it like a splinter. Aaron's gotten splinters before, and you've seen Dad take them out with pliers. Except this is a bullet. And his hand could become potentially paralyzed. But you can do it. Just get some pliers.
"They put the supplies in their truck, so can you go through it and find the medical stuff?" I asked, trying not to come across as nervous as I already was.
"Of course, sweetie." Madeline mumbled, looking like she was about to faint when she caught sight of Ben's hand.
Madeline followed Greg over to the Chief's truck, where they began sorting through the materials.
I looked back at Ben, who was staring at his hand.
"It doesn't really hurt anymore."
"That's because it's in shock from the pain, stupid."
"Oh."
Silence.
"Hey, what if there were more people with that Chief guy? And what if they come looking for us?" He asked.
"We'll be out of this part of town already." I responded.
He nodded.
And then, more silence.
I looked over at him, and pursed my lips.
"You said that there wasn't anyone else when I was in the car."
"Yeah? And?"
"Why?"
"I'll answer that as soon as you tell me why you didn't run away, escape or whatever."
"Your parents would have had a mental breakdown."
"And?"
I rolled my eyes, laughing slightly. "Uh, a road trip with your parents seems just as painful as that bullet in your hand, so I'm relieving you some stress."
"Oh, well, thanks."
"Honored."
"Hey, do you-"
"We found it!" Madeline cried, running back over to Ben and I, Greg following right after with the medical crate.
"Oh, good. Are there pliers in there?"
"Let's see what we got...here we go." Greg scavenged through the crate, and then handed me the set of pliers.
Okay...what did TV shows do? Stop the bleeding. Right. With something tight...a belt.
"Greg, I need your belt."
He nodded and fumbled with the loops, unhooking the latch, et cetera.
"Here," He tossed me the belt, and I took it and wrapped it around Ben's bicep, as tightly as it could go.
I took the pliers, and examined his bullet wound. I carefully took the pliers, holding in my breath, trying not to shake too much, I looked for the bullet. I finally did, and I took it out slowly. Once it was out, I discarded all the materials and lunged, almost, at the crate, scouring the bin for something to wrap his hand and a part of his arm in.
I found a bandage wrap, and wrapped Ben's hand and part of his wrist in it. Afterwards, I unhooked Greg's belt from around his arm, and threw it behind me, where Greg bent down to pick it up and put it back on.
Ben took a deep breath, and sat up.
"I...I'm going to try and stand up."
"No, that's not really the ideal thing to do, just, uh, Greg, can you carry him to the car?" I asked.
"I suppose so," He obliged, and lifted to pick up his son.
Ben's eyes widened in pure horror, embarrassment, or a mix of the two as he lifted him up and sat him in the back seat of the car.
While he did so, I turned to Madeline, who was turned around, staring at a tree.
"I got the bullet out, Madeline. It's okay to look."
"Oh, thank the heavens. Was it okay? Is he hurt?"
"No, I think he's fine. I just had to wrap his arm up, but he's fine."
"If you say so. Beth, I really can't repay you-"
"It's the least I can do for you and your husband helping me bust out of that basement back at the preschool. Oh, and you're giving me a free trip to Cambridge, might I add, which is half way around the country. Trust me, you've already done plenty. In fact, I'm trying my best to repay you."
Madeline smiled genuinely. "I cannot thank you enough, Beth. I'm so glad that Ben found you."
I nodded appreciatively. "Yeah."
Madeline brushed her palms against her jeans, and made her way over to the vehicle to see her son and her husband.
I followed her, but didn't enter the car. I opened the trunk to the car, and began to bring the several crates back from the Chief's truck to our car. It took about four trips, walking back and forth, carrying the crates.
I slammed the trunk door shut, and made my way around and inside the car. I didn't bother pulling the seat belt over and across myself because honestly, it didn't really matter at this point in the world.
Ben was there beside me, staring at his arm.
"It'll be fine in a few days," I assured him, breaking the silence. "Or weeks. Just don't sleep on it."
He laughed, sort of, not a loud, hearty laugh, but a gentle one. "I'll be sure to do that."
My mother had always said that laughter was the best medicine, and whenever I got sick, she told me that she would always put on the Wiggles, a TV show where grown men make fools of themselves, yet in a totally educational way, and she would constantly make me laugh by telling me ridiculously cheesy jokes, and tickling me until my sides ached. In a weird way, it had always worked, and I was rarely sick. She would do the same to Aaron, yet he always hated the tickling part.
But seeing Ben laugh made me sort of understand why my mother always made me laugh when I needed it. It was nice to see loved ones laugh.
"Did you hear about the sensitive burglar?" I asked him again, smiling.
He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Wait, what? There's a burglar? Is he actually taking supplies-"
"No," I interrupted his ramblings. "But he does take things personally."
"Wha-Oh!" He grinned, laughing slightly once again. "That's actually really clever. Oh, hey, did the disappointed smoker get what he wanted for Christmas?"
I started to say something, but he quickly interrupted.
"Clothes, but no cigar."
I erupted in a fit of laughter, thinking of my father, the ex-smoker. When he had quit smoking, he had always puffed on one of those fake pipes, using a bubble mixture instead of real drugs to make my brother and I laugh, then try and convince him to let us try, leading to my mother being so against it that she'd hide his pipe for a week, just because he let Aaron puff on it once.
"I thought you would say something about him setting fire to something after not getting what he wanted," I shrugged my shoulders with a smile, but as I analyzed my words I spoke them, I realized how morbid I sounded.
"Oh god, that wouldn't be very nice of him." Ben nudged my arm with his elbow, making me nod in agreement.
"Yep. He would get coal for Christmas."
"Wouldn't that enable him to set more fires, though?"
"On second thought, he should be banished."
"Just because he was a smoker who didn't get what he wanted for Christmas."
We both turned to look at each other for a moment, and found this ridiculously amusing, that we both burst in a fit of laughter, and I thought for a second, that maybe we could find a cure for this apocalypse, and made he would forget about his hand for a second, because I honestly did want it to feel better.
He pretended to wipe a tear from his eyes due to the laughter, and he sighed.
"Beth, I-"
"Wait, where are your parents?" I asked him, leaning over the center console to look in the front seat.
"Oh, my dad is trying to fix something with the engine. It wouldn't really affect the trip very much, but it is draining the fuel sort of quickly." He explained. "But anyways-"
"Idiot, if it's draining the fuel quickly, it would cut the trip in half or something. We'd run out of gas faster than we would get there."
"Oh." His eyes widened, as he turned to get out of the car. "We should go help them, then."
"No!" I cried, lunging over him, landing my torso on his lap to try and stop him from exiting the car. "Your hand, you can't." I mumbled, sitting up normally now. "Stupid."
He rolled his eyes, and shook his head. "I'll be fine. I'll use my other hand."
"You're left-handed?" I scoffed.
"I'm actually ambidextrous," He smiled proudly.
"Ambi-what?"
"I can use both of my hands, like, I can write with my left and right hand. I'm mainly right handed, but I did learn how to use my left-"
"Okay, whatever. You still shouldn't move. Just try and sleep or something," I tried to convince him as I opened the door, climbed out of the car, and slammed it shut.
"Greg?" I called, searching for the older man.
"I'm over here," He called, and I saw his hand waving me over towards where he was.
"Ben's in the truck. You saw him, didn't you?"
I nodded, thinking about Ben's smoker joke. I had thought about sharing the joke with Greg, but I thought that I should probably save it for another time.
"Yeah, he said that he wanted to help with the car but I told him that he shouldn't with his arm and everything."
Greg nodded understandingly. "Yeah, that boy sure does like to help around a lot."
"It's sweet that he cares so much, though." I defended Ben roughly, a bit too roughly, I think. Which made me apologize quickly, not wanting to come across rude to the couple that was allowing me to journey with them to a state all the way across the country.
"No, I know, he's just obnoxious when it comes to helping people. He wants to do everything." Greg reasoned, meanwhile he was examining the engine.
"It's polite."
Greg stopped his work to look at me directly in the eye, and then he smiled.
"Yes indeed, my son is very polite."