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  “This is the last building here?”

  “Yup. Sanderson went to fill up on gas so it’s just you and me this time,” Paton said loading his rifle. “Thank God we’re almost done here. I’m sick of this town.”

  “I’m sick of everything.” Roland cocked his shotgun. “I’m hearing screams in my damn nightmares, Paton. It’s all I hear anymore.” Roland leaned heavily on the hood of his white car.

  Paton’s hand clamped down on his shoulder and squeezed.

  “For our family?”

  “For our family.”

  The gunshots stopped sending chills up Roland’s spine by the time they reached the third floor. By the looks of the people in this building, the pain had already kicked in from the Fever. Roland hadn’t run into anyone who didn’t want to be killed, since the looter that infected Oma back in Scotchtown. Most people looked at him as an angel and begged him to end it. At first, it felt redeeming. He thought taking people’s pain away was the one good thing coming out of this virus.

  But nothing was changing. The death toll from the virus continued to rise. Roland hadn’t seen a police officer since the early days of the outbreak. Putting people out of their misery wasn’t making a difference and now, his anger and resentment over that fact was winning.

  He chose another door to his left, and Paton took the apartment across the hall, kicking in the door.

  Roland landed the ball of his foot on the door by the knob. A girl screamed from the other side and muffled shuffling followed. He kicked again, and the door exploded into the room. He raised his shotgun and shined his flashlight around the apartment. A crashing sound from the right drew him in further.

  “Don’t kill me,” a small voice said from his right. He turned to find a woman with blood seeping down from her eyes. “Please.”

  She was young—early twenties, late teens maybe, but the Fever made her look much older in the dim moonlight in the apartment. Something in the sound of her voice made Roland stop from shooting her. He let his shotgun lower.

  “You’re sick.” He tried to find better words to say, but nothing came. The silence hung over them both. In that moment, he realized neither of them would back down. Roland watched the girl’s face change from afraid to animalistic in seconds.

  She leaped from the corner of the kitchen tackling him into the wall. He kicked her off of him, sending her crashing into the counter. Roland sprung to his feet while the girl came slashing at him with a knife. He felt the first swing of the blade make contact before he was able to fire a shotgun round at her chest. The shot hit her with a muffled thud, and she fell in a heap.

  His breathing echoed inside his mask. He didn’t feel any pain where the knife had made contact with him, but to be safe, he illuminated the front of his body with his flashlight to check himself out. It lit up the front of his jacket and stopped just at the beginning of his gas mask’s filter tube. A small slash through the ridged material glared at him.

  Oh shit. He looked down at his body to see if there were any wounds.

  “Roland!” his brother yelled from the other room. “You good?”

  Oh God. It’s only a small gap. There’s a backup in these masks, isn’t there? “Yeah,” he said, zipping his jacket over the slash mark in his hose. She was infected. Why didn’t I just shoot her? Why did I hesitate?

  He drenched the girl in gasoline and dripped it out into the hallway.

  “That last apartment down there is empty,” Paton said making his way back toward his brother. “It was covered in plastic on the inside. But no one was in there. I doused it all.”

  “Let’s get the hell out of here then.”

  They both drained the rest of their gasoline down the staircase. Paton got the matches while Roland jogged out to his white lowrider. Sanderson pulled in behind his car.

  “Everything go okay in there?” he called out the cracked window.

  “Yeah—”

  “Help us, please!” a voice shouted from the alleyway.

  “Paton,” Roland called out. “Someone’s out in the alley.”

  “I’ll take care of them,” he answered. “Take off and meet us in Highland.”

  The phrase made Roland’s skin crawl. Will he take care of me when the time comes? Roland climbed into his car and turned over the engine. He peeled out from the parking lot and sped down the alleyway. A woman and man with white medical masks were on the ground in between the buildings. The woman lay in the arms of the man—she was covered in a deep crimson.

  That’s going to be me, and no one will be there to help it end.

  The infected reached out toward Roland’s car, but he sped past without a second look.

  * * *

  Roland rubbed the tips of his fingers together. The back of his shirt stuck to his skin with sweat. He knew the Fever got him hours ago, but he kept it to himself. All he felt was regret and resentment for anyone who wasn’t infected. He killed because the Fever took everything that mattered from him. It kept the anger at bay. But now he was dying because of bad luck with an infected girl. This isn’t fair.

  Paton leaned on his car next to him and slapped him on the back. Pain shot down Roland’s body—good thing these masks cover my face.

  “One more town in the books,” Sanderson said squeezing his shoulder. “You were really sucking wind back there man.”

  “It gets hot in these masks,” Roland responded, leaning back against the car. “Sue me.”

  “At least the Fever won’t take anyone else coming through here,” Paton said.

  “You got that right.” Sanderson leaned back on the car between Paton and Roland.

  Shuffling echoed in the alleyway and all three of the men turned toward its source. Roland squinted at two people dressed in full protective suits and masks. They hesitated before the taller one nodded once and turned away from them.

  “Hey!” Sanderson called out.

  The two figures flinched at the sound of his voice. The one closest turned and pushed himself in front of the smaller person. “Hi,” he responded with a wave.

  “Where are you two headed?” Sanderson asked.

  “I’m trying to get my daughter to…” the man started. He turned a slight glance over his shoulder at the girl. “To her mother’s house,” he continued. “My car broke down.”

  “Need a ride?” Sanderson pushed himself from the car and stepped forward.

  “No, thank you. We aren’t far.”

  “Well, we were just trying to help.” Sanderson looked over his shoulder at Roland and shook his head slightly.

  “Thank you,” the man responded, pushing his daughter away from them. “We better be on our way.” And then, they were gone.

  “That’s was weird,” Sanderson said once they were in silence again. Roland took a step toward where they ran off to, but Sanderson stopped him. “Where are you going, Roland?”

  “I’m going after them,” he responded.

  “Dude, we’ll get them when we get them. No need to go chasing.” Sanderson nudged his shoulder.

  “They might know where more people are,” Paton said pointing his pistol in the direction of the man and his daughter. “They could be hiding something—”

  “Roland, we don’t go hunting people,” Sanderson commented, nodding his head where the two once stood. “They’ll end up crossing paths with us again.”

  “So we’re just gonna let them go? They might know something!”

  “Roland, what are you talking about?” Paton said gripping both of his shoulders. “You sound crazy—”

  “You know how much blood we have on our hands? And all of it for what? Making a difference?” He shoved his brother away knocking him to the ground. His voice echoed off the walls of the surrounding buildings.

  “Roland, what the hell’s the matter with you?”

  His breathing pained his lungs while he braced himself against Sanderson’s car. The Fever was like a ticking time bomb. Each agonizing second reminded him he was one step closer
to dying. It toyed with emotions he thought were too fractured to still be there—emotions that were pushing him over the edge into a consuming spiral of anger.

  Paton pulled himself from the ground and brushed off his blue jeans. “Paton—”

  “Forget it,” he responded. “It’s fine.”

  Sanderson took a step toward Roland getting within inches of his gas mask. “You good, man?”

  He nodded while swallowing down vomit. “Yeah,” he responded. “I’m just…this doesn’t feel right.”

  “Sure, I get it. You’re feeling guilty for what we’ve been doing. You feel like a murderer, right?” Sanderson took a step into his car, leaning casually on the driver’s side door. “Unfortunately Roland, that’s the only way to help these people. And if no one else will, that’s where we come in.” He slammed the door leaving Paton and Roland outside.

  “What the hell man? Something’s been up with you since that last apartment building.” Paton shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Roland responded stalking away to his car.

  “I’ve been your brother for a long time, Roland.” Paton cut in front of him before he could reach the handle to his car. “You’re either gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours or I’m beating it out of you—”

  “I’m infected.” The silence that followed was like a heavy footstep crashing down on him. There was no relief to be given from the secret he kept when death was the only ending. Roland couldn’t tell if Paton was making eye contact with him through his gas mask, but he could feel the tension in an instant. Roland swallowed another mouthful of vomit—it tasted like blood.

  “How?”

  “I hesitated in that apartment building,” he responded. “My filtration tube was slashed.”

  Paton let out a panicked laugh. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “I’m not.”

  Paton shook his head. “Why would you tell me this?”

  “Because you’re my brother. Because I don’t know what to do, Paton. And I feel like I’m going to die being a murderer.” Roland reached out to him.

  “Get away from me,” he said holding his hands up.

  “Paton, please—”

  “Why would you keep this a damn secret, Roland? You realize that’s how that policeman infected my family. He kept a secret that was toxic. It’s how Ma got infected.” Paton shook his head and turned his gaze away. “Get in your car and go. Don’t follow us.”

  Paton marched past him without looking up. “We’re supposed to look out for each other,” he called out. “I need my brother.”

  Paton opened the back door to Sanderson’s car and looked over at Roland. He shook his head once and then climbed in. The door slammed leaving Roland with a hole in his chest. He climbed into his car and turned over the engine.

  A memory that Roland thought was long gone flashed before him. He was in the hospital—Paton lay on a bed after getting his stomach pumped for the third time that month. He had lied to Oma and Roland about where he was going. Somehow, he ended up at the wrong side of a bottle. A psychologist that Oma had hired for the family sat next to him. “It’s okay to feel angry at him,” she said.

  “Why would he do this to himself? Why won’t he talk to me about any of this?”

  The psychiatrist sighed and laid a hand onto his shoulder. “Some people build a wall in their head when something tragic happens, Roland,” she said. “It’s fragile, but we keep it there to ensure that the things we don’t want getting out, stay put. Your brother uses alcohol to keep his demons at bay. That’s his wall. He doesn’t need to talk about things because the drinking keeps it hidden.”

  “Well what happens to a person when he can’t build that wall anymore?” Roland looked over his shoulder at the psychiatrist. “What happens if he loses everything and it’s just too much?”

  “He breaks.”

  The memory faded with the sound of Sanderson’s tires squealing.

  He laughed as everything came crashing down on him all at once. I’ve got nothing. There’s nothing else to lose anymore. He peeled out behind Sanderson’s car and out of the alley.

  The nausea made his head burn. He shifted the car into the next gear and turned his head out toward the driver-side window. For just a split second, he caught a glimpse of the father and daughter from earlier running toward him.

  Roland slammed on his breaks and threw the car in reverse. With Sanderson and his brother out of his life, the only thing to cling to was the anger. He didn’t want to feel the hole festering in his chest, and the anger was the only thing that hadn’t left him. A fire filled his lungs until he felt like he was drowning in it. I’ve got nothing. No one is watching my back. Nothing is keeping my demons at bay. What’s one more death on my hands before this virus kills me too? He turned the car down the alley.

  A coughing fit splattered blood onto his mask, blurring his vision. The figures both stopped short. One made impact with the car and flew several feet away. Once he came to a complete stop, Roland watched the remaining person sprint toward the one he hit. Roland grunted and lifted himself from the car. He stumbled in her direction and gripped the girl by her arm.

  The girl struggled against his throbbing fingers, but his anger empowered him. He squeezed tighter. He tried to tell her he was sorry. Tried to tell her that she would probably be the last person that he took from this horrible world. That’s what this is, right? The blood in his throat tangled with his vocal cords.

  Three crisp gunshots boomed in the air. Roland released the girl and stumbled, glancing down at his chest. “Oma,” he sputtered and fell backward.

  He thought he knew death. He’d caused it more times than he could count; all the apartments cleared, people left in the wake of destruction—his mother. But it wasn’t until he was dying that he truly realized what it was.

  It wasn’t salvation. It wasn’t filling the missing piece.

  It was relief. A relief that was only realized at your final breath.

  Learn more about Kelsey D. Garmendia

  Some mistakes you can’t take back, and Sierra had made a slew of them lately. One right after the other, like a snowball rolling down a hill that she was helpless to stop. It had resulted in her wallowing in self-pity on her couch, watching a four-day marathon of Pretty Little Liars and The Vampire Diaries. Sometime during the second day, she’d turned off the home phone so she wouldn’t have to hear the recording from school saying that she was absent again and in danger of failing her senior year. She thought about her father’s warning to stay out of trouble and decided if he really cared, he’d just come home from his business trip. With the trial still pending, the court could go after her for truancy, but after everything that had happened she couldn’t bring herself to care.

  Her cell phone buzzed from under the pile of empty containers that littered the coffee table. She was just about out of food, and with her parents still away, she knew she’d have to face the world eventually. Even if it was only to fill up on Chunky Monkey with the cash they’d left behind, though the prospect of facing anyone was too daunting to think about.

  Quite accidentally, the news turned on after she switched off the DVR. She hadn’t seen the outside world in days, and she was avoiding her parents’ voicemails, which were few and far between. Not like they cared, anyway. She flipped through the channels, and every station was reporting some stupid epidemic. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of Jake. If she were a conspirist, like her ex-boyfriend’s family, the news of the epidemic would have freaked her out.

  She’d been avoiding Jake for months, though, even before the accident. He’d called a couple times to check on her, but she didn’t answer. She told herself she didn’t know what to say, but the truth was she was embarrassed. She’d been awful to him. The final straw between them had been when he took her to that preppers meeting with his folks, and she said some awful things that she couldn’t take back. She cringed at
the memory of calling his family a bunch of crazy freaks. That was her first mistake, the moment the snowball dislodged and started rolling down the hill, taking her life with it. She’d convinced herself that if she wanted to be popular she couldn’t have Jake at parties sporting his stupid theories about contrails and GMOs. That was when she started hanging out with Mason anyway, and Mason was much safer, socially anyway. Captain of the football team, and every girl’s dream—he’d already accepted a full scholarship to Boston College. She didn’t have to worry about nuclear war or safety bunkers when she was around him. She didn’t find out until after the accident that safe didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean loyal, or kind, or loving. The news of widespread outbreaks brought to mind all of Jake’s warnings. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was right after all. He was a genius, in his own way, and he had a smile that could make her melt.

  At the moment, though, she had other problems.

  When she got up to grab the last tub of Ben & Jerry’s from the freezer, the light on the machine blinked an ominous red, flashing off and on in warning. It illuminated the trash and empty cartons that littered the counter, bringing up a momentary pang of guilt. She’d heard the lawyer’s calls earlier in the week, each message increasing in severity. Her arraignment was next week, and though her dad’s lawyer was confident they’d go easy on her, she’d never forgive herself. It was only a few weeks ago when she’d taken her eyes off the road for a second, but that was long enough for Kelsey to dart out from between two cars in the school parking lot. Now Kelsey might never walk again, and Sierra’s life as she knew it was over.

  Mason was supportive in the beginning, but he was friends with Kelsey too. He couldn’t take the pressure at school, he said, especially since Sierra wasn’t there anymore to defend herself. And he probably felt guilty too; he was the one she was texting. To tell the truth, it was a relief when he bailed. Every time she looked at him she thought of the thump when she hit Kelsey, the blood that matted her blond hair, and her legs stuck out at unnatural angles.