The TV blinked off and Emma stared at it from the couch, the words Global Pandemic burned into her retinas. She didn't want to see anymore. Even though nearly half the city was under quarantine, city officials were already expanding the zone. Small riots were breaking out all over Chicago, some originating from protests over the way the quarantine was being handled. Once someone went into quarantine, they weren't seen again—at least, that's what people were saying.
Emma watched the news every morning, and every morning reported higher numbers in the Pandemic, larger quarantine zones, and ever more riots across the country. They grounded all air travel, and Atlanta Airport had almost immediately erupted into conflict.
Emma knew it was only a matter of time before they restricted travel even further. Unfortunately, there were still arrangements to be made before she could head back home. When this was all said and done, Emma wanted to be sure she had an apartment and a job to return to.
Slipknot's "Duality" began playing from her phone and she snatched it up, checking the caller ID before answering. It was her mother, probably calling to tell Emma what she already knew.
"Hey," Emma greeted.
"Hey sweetie, is everything okay? Are you okay?" Her mother asked, panic already hinting in her voice.
"I'm okay."
"Tell her she needs to get out of the city as soon as possible," Mark, her step-dad, said in the background.
Emma rolled her eyes, already exhausted with how this conversation was about to go. Her mother relayed what Mark said, and Emma assured her she was doing everything she could to leave. She was going to pay the landlord next month's rent, and work had already extended her start time until things settled.
She was most disappointed about work, Emma said as the conversation shifted. She had just graduated college, and after landing a job at a small publishing company, had moved into a nice apartment in Chicago with the money she'd saved. Now she was leaving for who-knew-how-long.
"Okay, well, be safe. We love you, honey," her mother said.
"Love you, too," Emma said, hanging up the phone.
She set her cell on the coffee table beside her coffee mug which read "Poe me another cup" around a picture of Edward Allen Poe. Leaning back into the couch, she wiped her hand down her face and groaned.
This pandemic is inconvenient, she thought bitterly.
The next day, Emma rushed around her apartment, gathering what she needed and shoving everything into her suitcase as neatly as possible. The news had just reported the suspension of all non-essential travel starting tomorrow and she'd heard from across the hall that Martial law was almost certainly going to be declared. She didn't like to put much stock in speculation and rumors, but she liked taking risks even less.
Once she had everything that she thought was necessary, Emma zipped up her suitcase and grabbed her keys. She quickly dialed her mother and listened to the phone ring twice before it was answered.
"Emma! We just saw the news about Chicago—"
"I'm about to leave now. I just wanted to let you know," Emma said, interrupting her mother.
"Good. Be careful, honey," her mom said, sighing in relief.
"Is she leaving yet?" She heard Mark ask.
"She's leaving," her mother assured, her voice sounding farther from the phone as if she'd pulled it away from her face.
"Tell her to take back roads as much as she can, and use that map we bought her. Who knows how long she'll have service?" Mark went on. "Damn kids always relying on their phones, it'll be the death of 'em."
"Emma, did you hear that?" Her mother asked, returning to the phone.
"I did," Emma said irritably. "The map is in my glove box. I've got to go."
"Okay, honey. We love you."
"I—"
The call disconnected before she could finish her sentence and Emma pulled the phone away from her face to frown at the screen.
Call dropped. No service.
Emma furrowed her brow. A siren went off when suddenly the ground shook. She braced herself and looked around frantically for an explanation. She went to the window and spotted the black smoke a few blocks away.
She backed away from the window and turned, grabbing her suitcase and running for the door. Making sure to lock up her apartment, Emma forced her way through the crowded and confused hallway and down the few flights of stairs to the ground level.
Out on the street, sirens wailed past; police cars were rushing to the explosion. Emma figured ambulances and fire trucks weren't far behind.
Emma went for her car, popping the trunk of the red Toyota Camry and throwing her suitcase within before slamming it shut. She couldn't fathom the luck she had in finding a parking spot right in front of her building, but she had snagged it a few days ago and fed the meter to keep it until now. Emma went around to the driver's side, opening the door and throwing her purse into the passenger's seat before she went to climb in.
She froze when something hard pressed against her back and a hand wrapped around her arm.
"I don't want to hurt you, just give me the car," came an out of breath male voice.
Emma swallowed hard, trying to think of some way to get out of this situation while keeping her car, but it was a fool's errand.
"Can I get my stuff first?" She asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
"I'll be takin' that, too. Just get out of the way," the man said, pulling her away from the vehicle.
She'd never been car-jacked before, and she was appalled at how calmly it was going. The man—a tall, pale man with a green beanie—held his hand out for her keys, his gun still aimed at her abdomen.
She dropped them into his hand and he climbed into her car. He slammed the door shut and started the car, pulling expertly out of her parking spot and away down the street in the opposite direction of the explosion.
"Shit," she huffed.
Shouting caught her attention, and she looked down the street to see people filtering in around the corner. One threw something, and she watched as the object made an arch in the air before crashing through the front window of the café she liked. As fire spilled out of the window, several loud claps went off, something like a car backfiring rapidly and repeatedly.
Emma took a step back before turning and running in the opposite direction, following her car thief.
Emma huffed, leaning against the wall of an office building. She had been forced to take backroads and alleys trying to avoid the rapidly filling streets. It seemed like half the city was trying to escape, while the other half was busy trying to destroy itself. But now, she was utterly lost.
Having only been in Chicago for a month, she hadn't exactly become an expert on its streets, and now she had no phone and no map to guide her way.
There was a groan behind her and she looked over her shoulder, prepared to make a run for it again only to see a figure standing, rubbage falling from his body. He stumbled toward her and into the light that was filtering into the alley from the street.
"This is the last thing I need to deal with," she grumbled to herself as the drunk reached out to her.
Rather than allow him to come closer, she started off again. A few blocks down, Emma paused to catch her breath.
Not far off was a crowd of people. But they weren't shouting and throwing things like she expected. They merely shambled through the streets. It was the smell and the groaning that threw her off.
Emma backed away, not wanting to alert the herd of people, only to find herself walking into someone. She turned to face them, instinctively wanting to apologize only for a pair of dead eyes to stare back at her.
She screamed as the woman grabbed her, her teeth snapping at Emma's face.
"Get off me!" She demanded, attempting to push the woman away. "Let me go!"
"Ah!"
Emma stumbled back, tripping over her feet and falling to the ground as a man appeared, slamming a large piece of cement into the woman's head. The two toppled to the ground and he continued to slam his weapon into the woman's head until it was a bloody mess.
He panted, sitting up as he dropped the cement beside him. He looked to Emma.
"Are you all right?" He asked, getting to his feet.
"You—you killed her," Emma said, dumb-founded.
"She was already dead," he said.
"What?"
"Not a lot of time to explain. We need to go," the man said, looking over Emma's shoulder.
She followed his gaze to see that the crowd of people had shifted their attention to them and were now slowly approaching.
"Come on," the man ordered, pulling Emma into the alley.
Emma sat beside Trevor, eating her share of the small groups meager breakfast. After he'd saved her, Trevor had led them out of his home city, where they met up with some of his friends. The four of them—Trevor, Freddy, Melissa, and Steven—agreed to let Emma join their merry group and travel to the safe zone in Virginia.
Martial law had been declared, but that hadn't lasted long. The world had quickly fallen apart after the mass riot in Chicago, succumbing to the dead. That was three months ago. Now, they were sitting on the side of the road next to a red van they'd stolen, preparing to start their journey for the day. Despite everything, they were still headed to Virginia, and they were almost there.
As breakfast wrapped up, Trevor bumped Emma's knee with his and they grinned at each other. She admired his dark eyes and hair brushed back from his face.
"It's too early for the romantic crap," Steven grumbled, tossing his granola bar wrapper over his shoulder as he stood.
"Sorry," Trevor mumbled, but nonetheless, he kept his knee pressed against Emma's.
The group picked up camp and Freddy, who had kept watch through the night, crawled into the back of the van to get some rest. Once everyone was buckled into their seats, Melissa steered them back onto the road. Steven sat in the front seat, reading the map and directing Melissa. With the man preoccupied, Trevor reached over and took Emma's hand.
The ride was quiet for the most part; they only stopped to refill their gas tank and to scavenge for supplies. They'd gotten pretty good at their routine, watching each other's backs and taking out the dead. Emma had even gotten the hang of a gun, though the boys refused to take her hunting.
This often left her alone with Melissa who, with her black-belt in Karate, taught Emma some defensive moves. During these lessons, Melissa liked to say that they needed to be able to defend themselves when the law couldn't.
Suddenly, the van jerked and the engine squealed. Melissa maneuvered them to the side of the road as they sputtered to a stop. She turned the ignition only for the engine to choke and whine at them. Then there was a pop and smoke began to spill out from the hood.
"Well, shit," Steven grumbled, kicking his door open.
They all got out of the van and Freddy—resident mechanic—popped the hood. He waved the smoke from his face, coughing up a lung.
"It's shot," he said. "Won't get this piece of shit moving again without a new engine."
"Bertha," Melissa bemoaned.
Steven laid the map out on the ground, crouching over it.
"It's fine. We aren't that far from the city," Steven assured. "We can make the rest of the way on foot."
"I still think going in there is suicide," Freddy said.
"You guys don't have to go. I can make it on my own," Emma said in response.
It was a conversation they'd had every other day for the past few months, and the result was always the same.
"We promised to get you home, and that's what we're gonna do," Steven said, folding up the map. "Now let's grab our gear and go."
The five made their way through the city and into Arlington, passing the cemetery and all the monuments, only dealing with the dead that got in their way. Finally, nearing the airport, Emma led them the rest of the way to her childhood home in a neighborhood positioned behind a Holiday Inn.
A few blocks into the neighborhood, Emma stopped at a red brick, two-story house. She stared up at it, her heart pounding. The front door was open and the car was gone.
"We'll check it first," Steven announced, checking his gun and nodding to Freddy and Trevor.
"Stay here with Melissa," Trevor instructed.
Emma didn't argue.
"It's going to be okay," Melissa said, wrapping her arm around Emma's shoulders.
A few minutes passed before the boys returned, their faces impassive. Trevor approached and Emma looked to him, awaiting his report before she was willing to react.
"They aren't here," he said.
Emma nodded and started toward the house.
"Emma," Trevor called and she looked to him. "There was… there was blood in the kitchen."
Emma's heart skipped a beat but she turned and continued into the house. It was dusty, and the air itself felt dirty as she moved through the living room and into the kitchen. There was blood on the counter and more pooled on the floor. A bloody handprint smeared across the pictures stuck to the fridge.
On the floor in front of the fridge was her mother's cell phone. Emma picked it up and hit the power button, hoping it would turn on, but the screen continued to reflect her image back at her. Emma gripped her mother's phone tighter and made her way through the rest of the house in search of any clue as to where they went.
Blood on the floor didn't mean they were dead. Maybe one of them was hurt and they'd gone to the hospital. Or maybe it was a stranger's blood. Someone could have broken in.
There were no signs in the bathroom where Emma saw her reflection clearly for the first time since her apartment—her normally short, red hair was now at her shoulders and her cheeks more pronounced. She continued on. There weren't any signs in the master bedroom either. She made her way to the spare room that used to belong to her before she moved. Emma settled on the floor in front of the guest bed, pulling her knees up to her chest as she stared at her mother's phone.
A sob ripped itself out of her throat and her shoulders began to shake as tears slowly trickled down her cheeks. She hugged herself as she cried, rocking gently back and forth to try and soothe the pain she felt in her chest.
"Emma?" Trevor called softly, pushing the bedroom door open.
Seeing the state of her, Trevor said nothing as he dropped down beside her and wrapped her in his arms. She leaned into him, allowing herself to cry into his shoulder until she had no more tears. Even then, he continued to hold her.
The group gathered around the kitchen table the next morning, eating and making a plan. Steven decided that South was the way to go, and everyone unanimously agreed. Everyone except Emma, who remained silent. They packed up what they needed, and Freddy hotwired a car. They were ready to leave when Emma finally spoke up.
"I'm not going," she said.
"You can't stay here," Melissa argued. "It isn't safe."
"Emma," Trevor implored.
"I can't," she said firmly. "I'm going to stay here as long as I can. In case they come back."
"They're probably dead," Freddy said as if he were saying they'd just run out to get groceries.
"Freddy," Melissa chastised.
"Emma, are you sure about this?" Steven asked, stepping forward.
"This is what I have to do," Emma said, looking at first to Steven and then to Trevor.
She decided last night that she would stay. She couldn't just leave without knowing for certain what had happened to her mom and Mark.
Steven nodded understandingly and patted her on the shoulder.
"Be safe," he said, in that fatherly way he always seemed to have about him before he walked away.
Freddy, the least affectionate of the group, gave her a single nod. Emma returned it. They had never gotten close, but an understanding had formed between them that couldn't really be compared to anything else she'd experienced.
Melissa pulled Emma into a hug, tears in her eyes.
"Remember everything I taught you," she said, reaching into her back pocket.
She produced a small square, forcing it into Emma's hands.
"And don't forget us," Melissa added, stepping away.
Emma looked at the photograph Melissa had taken of them with a Polaroid they'd found one day. She had convinced them to squeeze together into the frame and had to take a few before they got a good, clear picture.
Finally, Trevor stood in front of her, a forlorn look on his face.
"Is there any way I can convince you to come with us?" He asked.
Emma bowed her head. She had half-hoped Trevor would stay with her. But his question was all she needed to know that he wouldn't.
"I have to stay," Emma said, looking up at him.
He sighed but pulled her into him.
"I'll miss you," he muttered into her hair.
"I'll miss you, too," she said, wrapping her arms around him.
Finally, they pulled apart and Steven, Melissa, Freddy, and Trevor loaded up in the green Nissan. She watched as they pulled onto the road and drove away, standing in the yard until they were gone.
It had been a month since Trevor and the others left for the South, and Emma had run out of houses in her neighborhood to scavenge. This left her with no other option but to venture outside of the safety of the suburb. She decided to start with the Holiday Inn.
She made her way across the street, quick so as not to attract any attention, and made her way to the parking garage and back entrance. There she found that the double glass doors had been shattered, giving her easy access into the building.
Emma stepped inside, glass crunching under her boots as she held her knife aloft; she didn't bother with her empty gun. She moved through the lobby and found a little alcove filled with snacks and an assortment of travel sized toiletries. She stuffed the items in the duffel she'd taken from Mr. Heather's house. With nothing more to take, Emma made her way through the halls, searching for an employee's only sign.
Finally, she came across a cleaning cart and grabbed one of the black trash bags, filling it to almost bursting with soaps, shampoos and conditioners, and clean towels from the cart. She tied it closed and was prepared to sling it over her shoulder when a groan came from the nearby room.
Emma set her things on the ground and pushed the door open. Lying on the ground, half of its body obscured by the bed, was a corpse reaching out to her in hunger. She wondered why it hadn't gotten up as she approached, but soon noticed the wheelchair pushed into the wall.
Grimacing at the creature, Emma knelt and stabbed her knife into its ear so that it would stop making that awful noise. She hated the groans and snarls. She hated everything about the monsters that roamed the streets, wanting nothing more than to eat.
She took a step back. What she hated most of all was how lonely the dead made the world feel.
Emma walked back out into the hall, gathered her bags, and started for the house without incident. But when she got there, the front door was wide open. Dropping her haul on the porch, Emma pulled her knife and cautiously entered the dwelling.
The sound of drawers and cabinets opening came from the kitchen and Emma followed the noise. It was clearly a human. She pulled her gun, despite the lack of bullets, and came around the corner, aiming at the man's back.
"Turn around, slowly," Emma instructed.
"I don't want any trouble," the man said, putting his hands up.
"I said turn around," Emma snapped.
He turned slowly and she put on the hardest face she could muster. She needed him to believe she'd pull the trigger. He was clean, well kept, and gorgeous.
"Hi," he said, smiling uneasily.
"Who are you?" She asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
"Well, uh… my friends call me Jesus," he said, laughing nervously.
"Damn," she said before she could stop herself, "and I was hoping this wasn't the Second Coming."
"My real name is Paul," Jesus chuckled, lowering his hands and taking a step forward.
"Stay where you are," she demanded, focusing her aim again, and he paused.
"You're not gonna shoot me," he said. "You would've done it by now. Let's just talk. What's your name?"
She said nothing for a moment, wondering if she should trust him. He clearly belonged somewhere. Somewhere safe. Clean. Maybe there were people there, too.
"Emma," she said, lowering the gun.
"Well, Emma, it's nice to meet you," he said, grinning at her.