• Wakefield


    It began as a mutated form of rabies. The disease is latent for three days. It starts with a headache. Then, there are the spasms, the dry throat, the thirst. The moment water touches the lips, the infected’s throat rejects it. By the fourth day, any trace of soul that once occupied the body is gone, replaced by a semblance of the former self. The monster is born.

    Before, an infected would be strapped down and contained. However, this strain compels the brain to escape by any means necessary, even if it causes self-injury. Once it’s free, the disease drives the brain to attack anything living. And once it’s free, that thing, pray it doesn’t notice you.

    I remember seeing the videos online. It started as leaked footage on websites. There were recordings from livestreams. All of them ended in disaster. Not all of these came from locals or travelers looking for adventure, but some from tourists and older victims who were in the wrong place. The result was almost always the same: the demise of the cameraman.

    This was our introduction to the evil. We saw it swarming the streets. We saw it ripping through the smoke and tear gas on the streets. They climbed the balconies to enter hotel rooms. We saw these monsters in real-time. We saw the dilated pupils, the mouth foaming with saliva and blood, the unkempt clothing. The soiled hands swiped towards the victim. We noticed patterns in their behavior. It was always the same: the twitch, the lack of fine motor skills, the stiff movements, the slight rigidity of their limbs.

    Little did we know how familiar we would become with these features, that we would witness them throwing their flailing arms to knock down their prey. Little did we expect to witness them pounce on our neighbors, scratching them and sinking their teeth in bloodied flesh. The moment one of those things get a hold of you, you’re a dead man walking. There’s only a little time left for one to say goodbye, before the mind slips away.

    Before their arrival, it was only happening in Africa, and just another epidemic similar to Ebola. It had spread across rivers, and upon multiple cities. The cases seemed to quadruple and gain ground every day. I remember the United Nations declaring a global emergency. The efforts to quarantine the infected had failed. The curfews only trapped the healthy with infected who weren’t consumed yet. Eventually, the only solution left was to shoot anything showing signs of infection on sight and burn the bodies. However, the numbers only increased. The entire continent was declared lost.

    I remember watching the breaking news report of a large cargo ship washing ashore in Mexico. Then, there were the small neighboring towns becoming infected. We had seen it before, but it was faster. The airports had become breeding grounds for the disease, and it reached all major cities almost simultaneously. Migrants from south of the US border had become an unstoppable wave of survivors fleeing the chaos. With these came more infected hidden amongst the running.

    We decided to leave the suburbs before it was too late. My wife, my son, and I packed as much as we could and drove off. We were not the only ones who decided to leave, and the congestion made it impossible to leave the city. As we listened to the radio, news bulletins told every detail of the chaos. With only a rifle, I hoped we would survive long enough to overcome.

    After a week, we become acquainted with the new laws of survival. Rules were established to stay alive. No eating meat. Stay in the car and keep the lights off at night. Don’t approach anything moving. Make as little sound as possible. Only fight when you must; a gunshot will attract more. Only enter town when you must. We made a pact: none of us are to be infected. If any of us were attacked, we were to ensure that no one becomes one of them.

    I remember driving to Wakefield. It bore all the signs that it was a small Texas town. The apocalypse was recent; the only thing oddity was the lack of people. We found an abandoned gas station. From the outside, it looked normal. Nothing was broken and no signs of dead or infected. I gave my son the keys and told him to gas up the car. If there were any infected around, he was to leave us and drive away. He started lessons before, and we hoped he would never be put to the test.

    We took our precautions: surgical masks, and long-sleeved clothes. It was summer, but once we’re wounded from them, even the slightest scratch, we’re finished. I checked my rifle. Four bullets left. We left our teenager to fill the car, and we approached the station. I peeked through the window, rifle at the ready. At first glance, the place seemed deserted. The infected don’t have the capacity to ambush or lay traps, and attacks are either from swarms or bad luck.

    We couldn’t look for long, and time was a precious resource. I slowly pushed the door open and crept through the entrance. Suddenly, we were caught by a sensor. The sensor blasted like a doorbell to herald our arrival. I jolted and aimed my gun, pivoting in place to surprise anyone who were tipped off. As the ring echoed, I looked around for danger. My wife locked the glass door behind us. There was nobody at the counter, and the office door was closed. I scanned the aisles, and found nothing.

    A rattle came from the office door. We jolted back and waited, poised to strike the moment that door to open. Seconds seemed like hours. Then, it stopped and was replaced by heavy banging on the door. Whoever was behind there was infected and knew about it. He must’ve locked himself in before he lost himself. He bought us time, but how much we weren’t sure.

    Beyond the door was the swinging door to the storage room. I motioned her to stick close and get what we needed. I scanned the area. Aside from the foul odor, no sign of infected. She took out the bag and started to fill it. As soon as she started, we heard a loud crash from outside. We stood silent, my rifle aimed at the still-swinging door. We knew was was outside, and we had to sneak past it.

    I peeked out the window; saw nothing. I slowly opened the door, checking the corners for the monster. I saw the office door ajar. The lock and doorknob had been broken off. It was here. Sticking close, we crouched low and walked. I, in front, quickly turned to check every aisle as we approached the door. The b*****d didn’t make a sound, and there were no signs of him in sight.

    At last, we made it to the door. We switched positions, and my wife unlocked the door. As soon as she touched the lock, the sensor boomed. The tension and sudden sound made both of us jump. I turned right, and there it was, charging at us.

    I had no time to aim. I pointed my rifle and fired. The bullet struck a bottle of oil, but no flesh. The creature pushed me back with its shoulder, and threw me on my back. I didn’t see what happened next, but the shriek was enough for me to know. I hurried to my rifle and fired again. The monster recoiled from the strike. I waited, and aimed; no life. One shot was enough to kill it.

    I remember my wife, wounded and agonized. Her neck was bitten. She was lost. There was only one thing to do: honor the pact. I moved in front of the door, to hide what had to be done. The only thing my son would witness was an echoing gunshot. No one should see their father kill the mother. Once the deed was done, I picked up the bag and ran, shouting to start the car. More infected were soon to come.

    And so there are two of us. The teen had questions about his mother and what had conspired. The hardest part is giving the news without showing grief. There is no room for despair. It would set a bad example to break down and weep. I look at him, and see her looking back. He’s a reminder of my deed of killing his mother, my wife.

    One bullet left; one for my cure. Wakefied was my first lesson: there is no room for errors. A wrong move can determine life or death. I think about the future, how long we can last, which one of us is next. My future is with him. Without my son, I have no reason to stay. Thus, I live, for his sake. It’s my duty as his father.