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He nodded. “You were used to the smell. You didn’t even notice it, but you were in a building with hundreds of dead people.”
“Ugh! I can’t...”
Justin considered for a moment. “Tell you what, why don’t you wash your things out in the bathtub, and I’ll go out to that store down the street and see if I can find anything clean for you to wear in the meantime. Okay?”
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Carly chewed on her lower lip. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to be left alone there.
“I won’t be long,” he said, and he gave her a reassuring smile. “If you get scared, all you have to do is shout. I should be able to hear you down the block.” He went into his room and fished around in his bags until he came up with a T-shirt and shorts for her to wear. A faint odor clung to them, but it was tolerable.
“Give me all of your clothes,” Carly said.
Justin playfully grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and whipped it over his head. “Yes, ma’am!”
Carly swatted his shoulder. “Not the stuff you’re wearing. The stuff in your bags. It stinks a little, too.”
Justin put his T-shirt back on. “Carly, you don’t have to wash my clothes. I’ll do it myself when I get back.”
“I can at least start them soaking. I really don’t mind. Maybe some bleach...”
“No, don’t use that. We need it for purifying water. I’ll get you some vinegar while I’m out.”
“You’re putting bleach in our drinking water?”
“Just a little. A few drops per gallon. I’ll show you when I get back. Which reminds me, don’t drink from the taps. Use our bottled water. I’ll be right back. Put on the slide locks and don’t open the door for anyone.”
“I won’t.”
He laid her small gun on the night stand. “Be careful with this. It’s loaded and the safety is off. All you have to do is aim and shoot, okay? Don’t hesitate to use it if you have to.”
“Are we in danger?” The idea of being alone in the world was terrible, but so was the idea there might be dangerous people lurking around. Like many people, she lived in her own little bubble where crime was something that happened to others. With her dad downstairs and a police officer living down the hall, Carly had always felt safe. But currently there were no police officers, either to protect people or to arrest criminals. They were on their own.
Justin hesitated. “My spidey-sense is tingling. I think there’s someone here, watching us. Maybe they’re just as afraid as you were when you first saw me, but let’s be cautious.” He slung one of the rifles over his shoulder and wore it along with his pistol and knife.
“I’ve changed my mind. Don’t go out, Justin.”
“I’ll be fine, Carly. Don’t worry.” And with that, he gave her a swift hug and went out the door. Carly flipped the slide lock and engaged the deadbolt. She watched him through the window until he disappeared around a corner, then she sat down on the bed and opened her bag. She took out the Lord of the Rings DVD and traced her finger over the raised lettering on the cover.
She and her dad had watched it during that period when her mom seemed to have just a slight cold. Gloria had gone to bed, but Carly and her dad couldn’t sleep.
They had been watching the news all day. She remembered having the same feeling of shock and disbelief watching the Twin Towers fall when she was eleven. She’d been home with the flu that day and watched the whole thing live. This was so much worse, probably because the horror was sustained with new images every day, day after day. There was footage of hospitals so crowded the doctors had only a few inches of space to walk between the Infected—lying on cots, lying on blankets, and lying on the bare floor. There were piles of bodies outside, stacked like logs. Mass graves were dug by bulldozers. There were riots, looting, and cities ablaze with no one left to fight the fires. Roadblocks were put up to try to fight the spread of the disease, but people stubbornly streamed around them. There were not enough National Guard or regular troops left, not enough police. Not enough anything.
Once upon a time, the government might have been able to control the flow of information, but today’s media was too widespread, too interactive for that. Thousands of people were filming the Crisis with cell phones, iPads, and cameras, uploading the video to the Internet, and sending it to news organizations. The Internet went down at one point, and people accused the government of sabotaging it, but tech buffs all over the country had an “Undernet” up and running within days. Pirate radio stations informed people how to use it.
Carl heaved himself off the sofa and went into the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He poured an inch or so of the liquor into each and handed one to Carly. She wasn’t much of a drinker, and she’d certainly never drunk with her dad, but she took the glass from him and sipped from it until it was empty. Carl refilled it, along with his.
The television showed scenes of looting and senseless destruction. One man stood in the front window of an electronics store hurling televisions to the sidewalk out front, smashing them for the apparent fun of it. He was probably Infected, his mind burned away by the fever, but at the time Carly couldn’t understand what she was seeing. There was just a constant barrage of nightmarish images her mind tried to deny. Police officers beaten to death when they tried to hold the crowds back. Refugees streaming from cities, weaving between stalled and wrecked cars. From interviews they gave to reporters, many of the refugees had no idea where they were going. They were compelled by instinct to flee from the specter of Death. Some were following rumors there were places in other parts of the country where the Infection had not spread.
Some communities attempted to isolate themselves. One mayor was lynched after he had tried to seal off his town to prevent the Infection from entering. He was killed by enraged townspeople who wanted to bring their families there, where it was “safe.” They didn’t understand or accept that bringing others in would destroy that safety.
“Things fall apart, Sugar Bear,” Carl said, and his voice held a hollow note she had never heard before. “The center does not hold.”
He flipped the channel, and there was a preacher behind a pulpit, his face burning red and his eyes bleary with fever, raving that the president had released the virus to kill Christians. On the next channel, a talk show host was insisting the virus had been released by religious zealots trying to bring on Armageddon. An “analyst” on another channel declared it could only be the work of terrorists, and they needed to start bombing immediately before it was too late.
The president himself was on the next channel pleading for peace and order, and begging people to obey the quarantine orders. He swore the government and the CDC were doing all they could to stop the spread of the Infection and find a cure.
“He’s in the bunker,” Carl said.
“How can you tell? What bunker?”
