The night seemed to drag on forever as Michael tossed and turned, trying to get some form of sleep. The LED clock on the nightstand glared in his face every time he restlessly rolled onto his right side, being a consistent reminder that Tracey and Amanda hadn't made it home yet. The hours flew by… 11:00pm… 12:00am… 1:00am… 2:00am… The details of the news report were on replay in his mind. There was some psychopath out there, and his wife and daughter were vulnerable. He should have never let them go out; he should have at least warned them better. All because he didn't want to confirm his grown son's juvenile suspicions. Michael still stuck by his initial thought, regardless – there were no zombies.
Just then, Michael heard a few thuds on his bedroom door. By complete reflex, he reached into the nightstand's drawer and pulled out a pistol. It took him a bit longer to realize the sound was actually an innocent knock on the door, rather than some intruder.
"Dad?" Jimmy's voice whispered as he cracked open the door, peeking through. "Whoa, why do you have a gun?! Is something wrong?"
"No," Michael responded, lowering the weapon. "No, Jim, nothing's wrong."
"Mom and Tracey aren't back yet," Jimmy successfully brought Michael back around to the thoughts that were keeping him awake.
"They're probably fine."
"Have you tried calling?"
"They probably just can't hear their phones." Michael set the pistol on the nightstand, obscuring vision of the clock that seemed to be counting down to something rather than keeping time. Every minute that passed was another minute Michael had to worry about where his wife and daughter were.
"Are you serious?" Jimmy hissed, stepping further into the room, fully dressed. Michael assessed he had probably been playing his video games this whole time. It wouldn't be a surprise. "You're going to sit here and make excuses rather than go out and find them, and make sure they're okay? Especially after what we saw on the news?"
Jimmy was right. There was no way Michael would be able to sleep without having Amanda and Tracey back safely in the house. "Okay, point taken. You should go to bed, I'll go find your mom and your sister." Michael hopped out of bed and went to pull some jeans over his boxer shorts, and a worn brown leather jacket over the black t-shirt he was wearing.
"Can I come with you?"
Michael stepped out of the walk-in closet to see a determined look on his son's face, which faltered slightly when he saw the expression on Michael's face.
"No. I need to know that you'll at least be safe at home so I-" A muffled thud from downstairs cut Michael short. He grabbed his pistol, holding his finger gingerly over the trigger and moved slowly towards the door, and cautiously into the hallway.
"Mom, Tracey, is that you?" Jimmy called behind Michael, causing him to clap a hand over his son's mouth, shushing him violently. Jimmy needed no convincing as another thud sounded out, undoubtedly coming from the front door.
"Stay there," Michael ordered, descending the staircase while pointing his pistol at the door, expecting someone to burst in at any moment. As he descended, Jimmy followed behind, trying to get a glimpse of what was making the noises at the door.
The soft thudding continued, and it sounded like there was someone at the door, knocking shyly, waiting for Michael to open the door. He instead went straight to the window, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever was on the other side.
"What is it, dad?" Jimmy called nervously; the quiet pounding on the door was starting to create a very creepy vibe in the dark, quiet house.
"I don't know, I can't see. Whoever it is, they're just standing there." Michael began to lower his pistol, figuring it must just be some hobo at the door, trying desperately to mooch off the better-off people in Los Santos.
"Why?"
"The fuck if I know," Michael shrugged, grabbing his car keys off a small side table by the door. "I'm gonna go see if I can find your mom and sister. Stay here, alright?"
"Daaad…" Jimmy's voice shook uneasily as he pointed at something behind Michael, who was annoyed by what he thought was another protest against staying at home.
"What?" He looked up at Jimmy, who seemed to be glued to the spot, just pointing urgently. Michael spun around to see a familiar face, but something was wrong. Wearing a dorky-looking golf visor and standing stiffly in front of him was the De Santa family's neighbor, Hayden Dubose. His skin was greyed and his eyes looked dead, a visible whitish film over his eyes, making his faraway, unfocused stare even creepier. Hayden continued to shuffle towards Michael, who was holding his gun up at Hayden. There were no intelligible sounds coming from the man's mouth, which was a drastic change from the obnoxious "hey there, neighbor!" that Michael was used to. Michael took a step back, and Hayden seemed to leap forward at Michael, albeit very unsteadily.
"Cover your ears!" Michael called to his son on the staircase, who finally stopped pointing with his mouth agape and followed his father's orders without question. Immediately, Michael pulled the trigger and a loud bang rang out, disorienting Michael slightly, and Hayden fell dead at his feet, blood pooling out around his head.
"What the fuck?" Jimmy yelled, his voice even shakier than before, his hands shaking as well as he lowered them to his sides. "What the hell was that?!"
Michael didn't know what to say. There was Hayden, lying dead at his feet, but by the way he looked before Michael put a bullet through his head, it could be argued that he was dead before. "How did he get in here?" Michael asked suddenly, holding up his pistol at arm's length as he stepped around Hayden's body, trying to find evidence of a break-in. Upon seeing that the doors out to the pool were wide open, Michael swung them shut, and felt panicked. What did this mean? Did this have anything to do with the news report? Trying to think of the best course of action, Michael went into the living room and turned on the TV, where he soon found that every channel's programs were interrupted with an urgent newscast.
"All residents of Los Santos are advised to leave the city immediately. Survival kits are strongly recommended. Police will be doing a sweep of the city to assist residents and will be directing them to a safe house with continuous police protection, where air lifts out of the city will be given. The nature of the outbreak is still unknown, but doctors are claiming that corpses are… reanimating." The newswoman looked around uneasily. "Any residents with access to radios or televisions can keep up with any developments on all stations. Thank you."
The television lost the signal, showing nothing but static. Michael turned off the TV and dropped the remote on the couch. "Fuck," He spoke quietly to himself, running a hand through his hair and gripping the pistol in his other hand tightly.
"I think he was a zombie." Jimmy came into the living room where Michael was standing, speaking very quietly, shaken by the events that had just taken place. He had blood on his hands, which he attempted to rub off onto his jeans.
"Jesus, Jim, don't touch them, alright?" Michael instructed, his son just nodding quietly.
"What are we gonna do, dad?"
"I'll tell you what we're gonna do. I'm gonna give you a gun, you're gonna be careful as fuck with it, and we're gonna find your mom and sister." Michael walked over to the bookshelf, pulling a few of the books off a higher shelf and pulling a pistol out from behind them, handing it over to Jimmy, who took it readily, trying not to look too excited as he felt some colour coming back into his face. Michael pretended not to notice how his son reacted to being handed the gun. "You know how this works?"
"Yeah," Jimmy responded, pointing to different places on the gun. "Safety, trigger, magazine… baby stuff. And you thought my games were never going to come in handy."
"Alright, so here's the plan: we don't have daylight on our side so we shouldn't be out too long. I don't know how bad it is out there, but it sounds bad. We'll take my car out to check a couple clubs they might have been at and see what we can find out. And please be careful with that thing, Jimmy, it's not a toy."
"Got it," Jimmy nodded, trying to wrap his fingers around the gun sturdily but gingerly enough that his dad wouldn't have to regret giving him the gun.
"Okay. Let's go." Michael went out the front door, stepping over Hayden's body as he went, unlocking the black Obey Tailgater in the driveway, quickly climbing in and waiting for his son to take his place in the passenger seat.
Michael cautiously drove out onto the road, which seemed relatively quiet until he got deeper into the city. There were lines of cars everywhere, some abandoned on the side of the road, some people honking their horns frantically as they attempted to pass the long line of traffic.
"How are we gonna get past all this?" Jimmy asked, gesturing towards the traffic ahead of them. Not responding, Michael pulled up onto the sidewalk and his tires squealed as he accelerated ahead, half on the sidewalk and half onto the road. He weaved between some cars until he finally found the stretch of road he needed; one that wasn't plagued with cars full of people trying to get out of the city. Michael slowed down as he scanned the streets for any sign of Tracey and Amanda. It wasn't until then that he noticed the people walking as stiffly as Hayden Dubose had been, sharing the grey tinted skin, and as he rolled by, he could hear them groaning as they shuffled about aimlessly. Michael looked over at Jimmy, who looked back at him with an uneasy shrug before they both focused back on the street as they came up by a club.
Michael parked directly in front of the building, opening the door and shutting it quietly behind him, motioning for Jimmy to follow. So far, there were no grey "undead" people – Michael still refused to fully accept it – and there was a clear path into the club. With a twinge of hope, Michael noticed Amanda's red Sentinel parked beside the club.
Inside the club, there was loud music playing, with people dancing as though they had no clue what was happening outside. Michael made a beeline to the bar, with Jimmy trying to keep up. "Really, dad? Now? Shouldn't we look for mom, and Tracey?"
Ignoring Jimmy, Michael rested his arm on the bar and leaned in to speak with the bartender over the loud, pulsating music. "Do you really not have any idea what's going on out there?"
"You mean the whole cannibal thing? Yeah, we know. There's strength in numbers, man." The bartender replied, shrugging. The dark haired man with a goatee had an attitude so lax about what was happening, that it was quickly trying on Michael's patience.
"Yeah, let's see you say that while you're being eaten alive, huh? The door's not even locked, you idiot. Anyway, I'm looking for my wife and daughter so we can get the fuck out of here. You seen them around? A brunette and a blonde?"
"Dad, look, it's mom!" Jimmy interrupted, pointing over at a table by the corner of the club, where sure enough, Amanda was sitting with her hands wrapped around herself. She looked uneasy.
"Okay, well, thanks a lot, good luck with your ignorance, buddy." Michael said, tapping the countertop with his fist as he moved away from the bartender and towards the corner of the bar where his wife sat.
"Michael! What are you doing here?" Amanda asked, springing to her feet and wrapping her arms around her husband tightly, grabbing the back of his jacket, clearly hoping he'd never let go. It took a few moments before she stepped back and gave her son a hug as well. "I'm so glad you guys are safe, where's Tracey?"
"What do you mean, 'where's Tracey'? That's what I was going to ask you," Michael questioned, growing incredibly irritated at having to yell over the music.
"She went back home," Amanda explained, becoming steadily more concerned. "At least she was supposed to. I told her to take a taxi, that I'd be coming right away, but then some police came in and told us all to stay here until they could dispatch a group to get us somewhere safer."
"Well, I don't know where the fuck she is, because she never came home." Michael still had his pistol gripped tightly in his hand. "Jesus." He hissed sharply before grabbing Amanda's wrist and pulling her through the crowds of people in the club, expecting Jimmy to follow behind.
"Ow, Michael, what are you doing?" Amanda pulled her wrist out of Michael's grasp, and stood stubbornly on the spot.
"Now is not the time for this, Amanda. We're going back to the house to see if Tracey made it, alright? And then we'll decide what we're doing next."
"But the police said to stay-"
"Fuck the police!" Michael responded angrily, yelling over the irritating dance music that was making him want to shoot out the speakers. "We're not going to find Tracey sitting around here, doing nothing, so let's get a move on."
"Fine," Amanda responded quietly, knowing her husband had a point. The De Santas made their way out of the club and climbed into Michael's car, and he had no problem driving on the sidewalk on their way back to the house.
They remained silent the whole ride back home, each of them watching the few people shambling along that were infected by whatever was spreading, causing them to become cannibalistic. The occasional person lying dead on the sidewalk, abandoned after their guts had been ripped out only made it more clear what was happening. Amanda turned away, putting her hand over the side of her face to avoid seeing any more gruesome scenes. Jimmy stared out the window in disbelief, and Michael drove with his hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel, looking straight ahead. He pulled up to the house and the three De Santas got out of the car and entered the house. Amanda gasped upon seeing the dead body at the front door.
"Michael, is that… is that our neighbor?" She pointed, before covering her mouth with her hands.
"Uh, yeah. I'll get rid of him later." Michael said, stepping over Hayden's rotting body once again before hopping upstairs. "Trace?! Tracey!" He called, quickly searching every room upstairs, hearing Jimmy and Amanda calling for her and looking around downstairs. The lack of response created an awful feeling in Michael's stomach. She was nowhere in the house. In a last-ditch effort, Michael checked Tracey's room once more, but she was definitely not around. Sighing in defeat, Michael headed downstairs to talk about some sort of plan of action with Amanda and Jimmy.
"What are we going to do, Michael?" Amanda asked softly, a tone of voice Michael wasn't incredibly used to. It wasn't just because Amanda was incredibly stubborn, or tended to enjoy picking fights, but also because she was generally a strong woman who could handle herself in most situations. To have her submitting now to whatever Michael thought was best was something that didn't always happen.
"I don't know. When I tried calling her phone earlier, it was either off or dead, so that's not going to work. I don't want to just sit here and do nothing, we'd be no better off here than in that damn club."
"Maybe we should check some of her friend's houses?" Jimmy offered, spinning the pistol around on the table that they gathered at.
"That's one idea," Michael responded, taking the pistol away from Jimmy, who looked dejected. "It's somewhere to start, at least. We could call around."
"We could ask the police?" Amanda suggested, and Michael shook his head.
"They've got too much on their hands now, with whatever's happening. There's no way they'd have the time to fill out a missing person's file and go through that process. It's unlikely they'd magically be more efficient than they usually are."
Ring, ring.
"Maybe that's Tracey!" Amanda said, leaping for the phone. "Hello?" Michael and Jimmy watched Amanda carefully as she waited for the reply on the other end, but the look of hopefulness in her face was quickly extinguished, creating the same response in Jimmy and Michael. "Michael, it's for you."
Michael slowly took the phone from Amanda, trying to think who it could possibly be. "Hello?"
"Michael. I'm sure you're wondering what's going on." The voice was unmistakable, though Michael hadn't had much reason to talk to the man lately.
"Lester. Yeah, you know something?"
"I might. If you want to come to my place, I'll tell you what I know. It would be helpful in preparing a plan of defense, too." Michael had to admit that Lester's matter of fact tone in such a confusing situation was a bit comforting, but that didn't change the fact that he had a more pressing matter at hand.
"No can do right now, Lester. Tracey's missing."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. But not being prepared isn't going to help that anymore. Come see me."
"Fine. Okay. I'll come over there, but you'd better explain everything to me fast and have some genius plan on how we can find my daughter."
"I'll do what I can, Michael." Lester hung up the phone, and Michael set his down on the table.
"Well, looks like Lester knows something about the whole… outbreak thing that's going on. I'm going to go pay him a visit so he can tell me what's going on. Jimmy, you stay here with your mom, and please don't play with this, okay?" Michael slid the pistol he had taken from Jimmy back across the table. "You guys be careful. I'll be back as soon as I can."
