The first thing I registered was that it felt like my whole body was stiff and my limbs just did not want to cooperate. Images from the previous day roared through my head, forcing me from my dreamless sleep. My eyes flashed opened and I tried to move but realized I was confined in a small, hard area. Right, I was in the bathtub. I sat up only to smack my head on the faucet. Why the hell did I sleep with my head on this side?
Rubbing the sore spot on my head, I hopped over the tub wall, my limbs groaning as I was finally able to stretch out. I used to sleep in the bathtub when I was sick as a kid, but I didn't remember it being so uncomfortable. I lifted up my shirt to inspect my wounds and surprisingly they didn't look all filled with pus as I thought they would. Whatever was in that antiseptic spray actually worked; for once the stinging was worth it. So I applied some more, wincing at the burning sensation and taped the gauze over the wound, which felt much better than the mass amounts of Band-Aids I was using.
"You still alive in there?" Zoe asked hesitantly as she tapped on the door.
I was debating making a groaning sound in lieu of answering, but even I wasn't that cruel.
"Still kicking, just my side is killing me," I said opening the door.
Zoe gave me a brief hug which added unwanted pressure to my pained side, so I politely shoved her off. Relief was plastered on her face but her red rimmed eyes hinted that she had been crying.
"I'm glad," she smiled.
"That makes two of us."
"So does this mean you're immune?" Zoe asked following me back out to the beds.
"You're asking the wrong person," I shrugged. "Maybe it only gets passed on through saliva."
I turned on the news to see if anything had changed and after watching for a bit I realized that they were showing the exact same newscast that was on yesterday. The same reporter, the same clothes, the exact same words and expressions; could they even do that?
"So are we heading for that emergency shelter?" Zoe asked.
"You think we should?" I asked turning from the television screen.
Zoe nodded and I agreed. We didn't stand much of a chance just waiting in the hotel room. The school would have supplies, guards and maybe even transportation out of the city. We jumped into motion stuffing our bags with all that we had packed. I was glad I had brought my huge camping backpack even though I had never camped a day in my life, it just had all the storage I needed. And it came with a free compass, which is still wrapped in its original packaging in one of the various pockets. I hefted it onto my back to test the weight and I almost toppled over from the added pounds.
"Do you think we can bring our suitcases?" I asked, looking longingly at my stuff that I really didn't want to leave behind.
"Sure why not?" Zoe shrugged, "But you're wheeling your own damn suitcase."
"Oh come on, I'm injured," I whined and Zoe just shook her head.
We packed in silence for a little more before Zoe spoke up.
"I feel guilty that we left Mike yesterday," she said quietly.
"I admit I feel a tad bit guilty too but what could have we done differently?" I reasoned.
"I don't know, something."
"Like what? Run over to his gurney and have him attack us as we unstrapped him?"
She flinched at my words but I was speaking the truth. Mike had gotten whatever virus this was and would have eventually turned on us. None of the sick people we had encountered had seemed in their right mind; in fact they didn't seem to understand anything at all. Of all the infected people we saw yesterday, none of them spoke so much as a single word. Just snarls. And even a swift kick to the head didn't seem to slow them down. We needed some sort of protection, like a gun, not that either of us knew how to shoot one.
"What do we do if we run into more of the sick people?" Zoe asked as she tied up her shoes. I noticed she was fumbling with the laces, her knuckles white.
"Go Babe Ruth on their asses?" I joked to try to ease the tension and Zoe grinned slightly despite the craziness of the situation.
"And where would we get the bats pray tell?"
"Wal-Mart, sporting goods stores, pawn stores, take your pick," I guessed running through all the likely suspects.
"We could add nails to them too."
"What badass weapon wouldn't be complete without nails?"
I guess making light of the situation was a coping mechanism of sorts, because it helped to take our mind off of the horrors of the past day, if only by a little bit. A gun would be the best choice but who would sell a gun to an unregistered, twenty-two year old girl who has never even held a gun before? I played shooter games on my Xbox, but that was all the 'experience' I was limited to.
The mention of homemade explosives was tossed in there, although, my knowledge of homemade explosives was limited to putting a rag in a bottle of booze and setting it on fire; not that I had ever attempted that before. Knowing my luck, I'd set myself on fire instead.
We joked about the different methods of protection, but it felt forced. We were purposely avoiding what we wanted to say. Zoe stilled her mad packing, which was normally at lot more organized and looked me in the eyes,
"Bailey, aren't you freaked out?" Zoe scrutinized me the way one would for a particularly hard version of the daily crossword.
"No, I'm perfectly at ease. Just another day in New Orleans."
"You don't have to be such a sarcastic bitch all the time," Zoe scowled at me.
I turned full force on her, "What do you want me to say? That I'm freaked out because we're trapped here, practically a whole country away from home?" My unease was starting to leak into my voice, "Or worried that I seem to be considering building an arsenal like the Unabomber? Or that we seem to be living a high-definition version of Dawn of The Dead?"
Zoe arched a brow as I stopped to take a breath, "Feel better?"
I sighed and plopped down on the bed, finally allowing my mind to process the last 24 hours. We were living the start of every zombie movie ever and I chuckled at the thought. The laughter spread through me like an electrical current and soon I was clutching my sides as the peals of laughter just wouldn't stop. Zoe gave me the look that meant she was contemplating my sanity.
"You always laugh at the worse times," she muttered. "So this must be serious."
I wiped the unwarranted tears from my eyes and I felt marginally better; like I had just undergone a twenty second therapy session. But the hysterics came at a price. My side was starting to burn again from the sudden movement and I held my breath; my usual reaction to pain. Once the throbbing started to subside, I turned back to our task at hand.
"So, just how screwed are we?" Zoe asked her voice uneven.
"Truthfully, I don't know." I looked at her and she quickly looked away.
But not before I spotted the tear slipping down her cheek. I was not one for comforting, nor did I have the capacity for it at the moment, so I just kept going on like I hadn't noticed. Zoe sniffed and wiped at her eyes. I scanned the room for the Kleenex box and grabbed a tissue. She took it without hesitation.
"I wish I could deal with things the way you do," she admitted.
I was rather shocked at her declaration, "Trust me; I'm just trying to keep it together."
Zoe was the nice girl who got along with everybody, why would she want to be like me? I was the girl who made sarcastic remarks and managed to make more enemies than friends. If anything, I envied her ability to make friends and trust so easily. I shook my head, realizing now was not the time to go down that road.
With our bags packed, we took one last look around the room to see if we missed anything. It felt like we had taken everything that wasn't bolted down. I peeked out the door and motioned for Zoe to follow when I didn't see anyone in the hallway. Well, at least I wasn't going to miss this place. I had to maneuver my suitcase through the mess that was the hallway, so that it wouldn't tip over. I could hear noises coming from behind a couple of the doors, someone even rammed up against one from the other side it sounded like. I looked at Zoe and she gave me a frightened look in return.
"Ah, hello?" I asked as I approached the door labeled 315.
Instead of an answer, snarling erupted from the other side and whoever was in there started to hammer and bang against the door.
"Holy shit, let's move," Zoe said grabbing my elbow and trying to steer me towards the elevator.
Why couldn't the person open the door? Did the virus wreck the brain so much that they couldn't even figure out how to use the door handle? They could still move, so motor functioning wasn't the issue. It was like once infected, the person turned into some mindless, violent predator only focused on attacking others. I was really trying to stay clear of the word zombie because it seemed so ridiculous, but it looked like Hollywood got it right for once.
We rode down the elevator for the last time and started on our long walk to the school. The streets were not a busy as the previous day, but the destruction and chaos still remained. Stores were broken into and windows were smashed. Cars were all over the place, some just sitting in the middle of the road with their doors wide open, but no one inside. It truly looked like some sort of mass evacuation had gone on, because no one would just leave their car sitting in the middle of the road abandoned. I had a rusty 2001 Honda Civic back home and although it was a hunk of junk, I still wouldn't have just left it.
People were still scurrying around; smoke was rising from some of the buildings on the east side of the city. Luckily the school we were trying to get to was south and a good distance away from the billowing smoke. Downside to that; it was a fair walking distance from where we stood.
"We could not look more like tourists right now," Zoe sighed as she rolled her suitcase behind her.
I chuckled, "Might as well have a please rob me sign plastered on our foreheads."
Our joking cut off abruptly as we spotted a body lying in the street, next to one of the abandoned vehicles. There was bloody stain all around the unmoving corpse and I could smell the rotting stench from the sidewalk. Why has the body not been removed? A flash of color, made me turn my head to witness a crazed man chasing a woman around the corner. At that, we started to walk faster.
After walking for a few minutes, we noticed a small crowd of people of about ten, all standing around. When we got closer, I saw the bus stop sign sticking up over head the crowd.
"Aren't the buses cancelled?" I stopped and asked one of the people waiting.
"There was an emergency broadcast saying that the buses are in use only for transportation to the shelters," one lady answered, looking about her nervously.
Zoe and I shared a look and we parked ourselves and our bags in the queue line to wait for the bus. All the people in line seemed to be in a daze, one child was quietly sobbing into her mother's jacket, and others were whipping their heads around for any signs of sick people. Just as I was starting to get antsy, the bus roared around the corner and everyone started to grab their bags in anticipation. Through the windows I could tell the bus was only about half-full, which was good since there were now twelve of us.
"Ah, I don't have any change," I said to the driver.
"Were not charging anyone, since this is to go to the emergency shelters," he replied.
There was no room to sit, so Zoe and I had to stand, which was still better than walking all that way through the chaos. The bus driver announced that we would be going to the high school located on the south side of the city and that if we wished to go to the arena, then we would have to wait until the next batch of people were picked up.
"God I hate busses," Zoe muttered as she looked around in disdain.
"Why Francis? Why must you hate everything?" I joked and she cracked a smile.
Ironically it was usually the other way around; I was the one hating everything. Zoe still calls me Daria as a joke every once and a while. The bus took a sharp corner and I was thrown into the person behind me, my elbow connecting with their nose.
"Oh god! I'm so sorry!" I quickly apologized as I scrambled to get of the person's lap.
I got a nasally response, "It's alright, at least your giant suitcase didn't come with you."
The person I happened to smash into turned out to be a decent looking guy with black, short hair and a grin plastered on his face, despite the fact that he was now holding his injured nose. His broad shoulders were framed nicely in his dark brown leather jacket which matched his eyes. I found myself grinning back in return as I sat back up.
"Yeah, it probably would have done even more damage," I said apologetically.
"What do you have in there?" he asked, eyeing the suitcase warily.
"Oh you know, everything."
"I'm Darren by the way." He flashed his white teeth as he smiled. He scrunched his nose, making sure that it was not seriously injured. At least I hadn't made it bleed.
"Bailey and this is Zoe," I said pointing my thumb at her.
She wiggled her way over, the prospect of a good looking guy too much to pass up.
"Bailey, that's a nice name," Darren said, pulling a line from every pick up ever.
"Well my mom's a raging alcoholic so..." I struggled to keep myself from laughing and ruining the joke at the look of shock that over took his face.
"You're kidding right?"
"Don't mind her, she's always like that," Zoe barged in, saving the poor guy. He laughed a little in relief.
"Which shelter are you guys heading to?"
"The high school," Zoe answered.
"Me too," Darren said, "Seems like a better choice than the Arena."
"So, you here for Mardi Gras too?" I asked.
"Yes I am, not that there will be any more partying going on."
"By yourself?" I prodded and his face faltered a little bit.
"No, I got separated from my group last night and haven't been able to meet up with them," he said but his answer sounded off to me somehow. I couldn't put my finger on why.
"They probably headed to one of the emergency shelters too," Zoe beamed at him and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
Here we were in the middle of some viral outbreak, and Zoe was flirting up a storm. Well at least she was good at it. The more we talked to Darren the more I faltered in between believing him and feeling that something was off with him. I suppose I could have just as easily been separated from Zoe at the hospital and maybe his tale of losing his friends was the truth.
"So Zombies huh?" Darren offered when our conversation hit a lull.
"That sounds so ridiculous," I sighed.
"How else can you explain it?" Darren countered.
"Maybe mad cow disease has made a comeback and this time got passed on to humans?" I mused.
"Maybe, but I saw a girl bite and chew on another yesterday. You saying mad cow turns people into cannibals?" Darren asked.
"Hey I never said I was a scientist," I put my hands in the air in mock surrender. "It's just that the word zombie seems absurd."
"They're only zombies if they're dead," Zoe pointed out. "Are the sick people dead?" None of us had an answer to that.
I thought back to when the doctor and woman bled out in the hospital, then started to move around again once I thought they were dead. So far it seemed George Romero had it right, except for the sequels to the Dawn of The Dead; now those were just terrible.
The bus came to a halt outside the school, which was surrounded by police cars and emergency response teams. As we filed out of the bus, we were directed into the building by people in flashy reflective vests. I felt Zoe grab onto the back of my sweater so that she didn't get yanked away and Darren followed close behind.
"How many?" A man at the entrance asked holding up his clipboard.
"Two," I answered.
"Make that three," Zoe corrected.
Great, another stray.
"Anyone in your party sick?" He asked with a serious, no-nonsense face.
"Nope," I answered calmly even though I was sweating on the inside.
What if they found out I was scratched? Would I even get a chance to explain that I didn't catch the sickness?
"Go on through the main doors," the man said ticking off something on his clipboard.
I followed the parade of people in front of me, leading to the main doors. Before we got through the doors there was a bunch of shouting back at the man with the clipboard.
"What do you mean he can't come in?" A hysteric woman was yelling, motioning to her son.
Standing small beside her, the boy must have been ten years old. His face was ashen and grey, his eyes almost sunken in. Rattling coughs were shaking his body.
"Sorry, no one who is sick is allowed into the shelter. It's to protect the others inside and prevent further spread of the virus," the man tried to reason.
Other emergency workers were called over and basically ushered the distraught woman and her sick son off the premise. I felt bad for them, but at the same time I was relieved they weren't going to be sharing any enclosed space with us. Like me, I'm sure there were a few people who were hiding wounds made by the infected people and weren't owning up to it. I knew I was ok, but would the others be? No one looked sick at the moment, but I knew that could all change in a heartbeat. All it took was one to start attacking others and spreading it around.
Great, suddenly I didn't feel so sure about going to the school now.