CVS, Chicago Avenue, Chicago, IL
Samantha kept her guard up as the woman approached, taking the sketchpad and pen to write down a quick response. At the very least she'd put away her gun, which was mildly comforting, but she'd also made a point to cover her mouth and nose like a surgeon prepping the OR, which was just a tad bit disconcerting.
- Food, water, to survive. Maybe a safe place to sleep.
The girl started to sign a response out of habit but stopped herself. Taking back the sketchpad she scribbled another note.
- I'm Samantha.
Then another woman arrived, and then another man. Fear quickly turned to confusion as Samantha looked to each new face before circling back to Sarah with a questioning gaze.
CVS, CHICAGO AVENUE
The Infected man shambled along the street, his clothing torn and dirty, eyes pale, one of nearly a dozen gathered near the corner of Chicago and Campbell. Aimless. Wandering with no purpose. A few were picking through an abandoned Civic, others were fighting amongst themselves, pushing one another with small grunts of annoyance, and at least one was sitting in the middle of the street, rocking back and forth as it cried softly to itself. The man was alert. Sniffing the air. Hungry.
It heard the not-so-distant shout of Lynn Matsubara. It perked, as did a few others.
The man hurried, not running but walking with a newfound purpose, a handful of others tagging along in the growing excitement. Others were taking notice, picking themselves up or else emerging from the ruins of storefronts to watch.
Even the crying woman had stopped to listen now.
Waiting.
Expectant.
The man spotted Angela Rus as she stalked her way closer towards the CVS. A living human. Food. The Infected snarled and yelled, a perverted scream of what once was human, and in that instant the nearby others gave way fully to the coming frenzy. They came running from where they'd been, confused, angry, gravitating towards the scream like hounds on the scent of a rabbit. They, too, spotted the human, the food, and they screamed, loud and angry, a yowl coming forth from the bottoms of ones' nightmares, and they drew more of their kind in like a beacon, awakened from their slumber in bitter hunger. In moments a few Infected had become a dozen and a half.
And they were rushing ahead in reckless abandon. On the hunt.
CVS, KINZIE STREET
The Infected had spotted Zachary Cash and the family of three. A handful of former-humans, but their hungry shouts soon alerted more who lay unaware on nearby streets. A slightly overweight woman led the charge, charging like a bull with no intent on stopping. Behind her followed a greying man and a younger teenager with matted hair. Behind them more Infected turned onto the street, curious, and soon enraged at catching sight of the survivors. Three Infected had become nine. Behind the survivors more Infected appeared. They were surrounded now by twenty-one Infected. Some stumbling along, others sprinting, a few having yet to catch on to there being food to kill.
Fighting was not an option.
LYNN LAN PHAN
Cudahy Science Hall, Loyola University, Chicago, IL
The past few days had been uneventful.
Lynn and her girlfriend, Morgan, had taken refuge in the science hall at Loyola University, and although having enough food and water to sustain them they had failed to consider entertainment on the list of items deemed crucial to their survival. With only the two of them their days had been spent talking, or playing made-up games to pass the time, agonizingly slow as it was, or else taking advantage of the alone time they now had in abundance. Morgan had some books in her backpack, Harry Potter and another young-adult novel, reading aloud from cover to cover, twice now; Lynn had her acoustic guitar and dabbled in keeping the mood lighthearted. The computers in the science hall still worked, as did the electricity and water fountains, but the internet was down, as was service to their cellphones. They had considered heading on over to Mertz Hall to bother the girls holed up inside, ask for a DVD or two, but the Infected patrolling the quad like enthusiastic mall cops had killed that idea in the crib.
Morgan could maybe risk the journey, but she'd never leave Lynn by herself.
Lynn was in a computer classroom. She and Morgan had pushed the tables to one side, making an open space for them to camp out as they awaited the end of the apocalypse, or for help to come — or the final option that neither would openly consider. She was sitting on a chair, fingers picking at her guitar to create an absentminded tune of no discernible harmony. Casually dressed in a loose-fitting top and khaki bottoms, her long hair neatly combed by Morgan who, admittedly, doted on Lynn more than was necessary.
She didn't like being treated "special" but allowed it for Morgan's sake.
The two had been attending Loyola University. Lynn was majoring in music; Morgan was a photographer. They had met when the school's newspaper had done an article on the music department. Friendship came naturally. The relationship was accidental, the result of a few too many drinks at a house party (Morgan had been insistent on Lynn "getting out more" in fear of her being a homebody forever), and, as expected, the morning after was horribly awkward. It was awkward to think about to this day more than a year later. Them dating just sorta happened. It clicked into place. A happy accident. Serendipity.
Their little secret.
Another twang as Lynn teased the note. She paused, eyes closed and ears open, the sound of her guitar fading to the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of hurried footsteps, loud-and-clear in the otherwise empty building.
If she strained a little harder she could almost hear screaming in the distance.
Morgan practically kicked open the door to the computer classroom. Her hijab, simple in its casualness, was a bit askew, allowing a strand of dark hair to fall into her face. She was scared. "We need to go."
Lynn, eyes closed, cocked her head to one side. "What's wrong?"
"They got into Mertz," she said, hurrying over to where their meager supplies were gathered in a pile, starting to pack whatever she could into their backpacks. They, the Infected, had gotten to the other girls. Were they dead? Were the Infected coming for them next? Morgan didn't say, too preoccupied in her task to give answer to the question hanging in the air between them.
Lynn was quiet for a long moment. Unlike Morgan who panicked at the most minor of things she was calm and collected. First she packed away her guitar, reaching out with a cautious hand to find the plastic case, a methodical search, and with the instrument locked away she stepped on over to Morgan, feet probing the ground lest she trip on something unseen. Lynn had opened her eyes now, dark like deep pools of muddy water, but her sight remained unchanged.
Blind since the car accident however many years ago.
She'd hit her head, so was lucky to have survived with only blindness and some narcolepsy.
"You don't have to. I can pack," Morgan said, taking the time to worry about Lynn who'd troubled herself to cross the room. Lynn offered a smile and helped anyway. This calmed Morgan a small bit.
"So where are we going." Still calm. As if packing for a vacation and not a life-or-death situation.
"Somewhere."
"Very descriptive."
Morgan tugged at her headscarf, a sign that she was nervous. Lynn would think it was cute if she could see it. "I don't know." Neither of them had family living in Chicago, so no home to return to, not close by in any case. "I'll figure something out."
"Did they really get into Mertz?"
Morgan nodded her head then realized how stupid that was. "Yeah."
"Are they..."
"I don't know. But I don't want to stick around longer than we have to." Another scream in the distance. From Mertz Hall. "We go and we find someplace safe, with food, and a shower." She smiled. They both did. "Everything will be fine."
