Surviving the Apocalypse: Pandemic

Chapter 3-2

Only he wasn’t. Laurie came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist—not in an attempt to seduce his old boyfriend—while rubbing another towel over his hair to dry it. And the apartment was still empty.

He sighed and walked into the kitchen. The coffee was ready at least. He went to the cupboard, took down a mug, and poured. He’d leave a note for Lync, apologizing for crashing in his apartment. He found a pencil and a note pad, and while he tried to think of what to write, he turned on the radio and fiddled with the dial. He liked music with his breakfast, and this was breakfast, such as it was. If Lync wasn’t happy with Laurie’s choice of radio station, he could change it whenever he got home.

Instead of getting “Rescue Me”—Pop preferred the music of the sixties, and Laurie had grown to like it himself—an announcer, not sounding at all like your typical radio personality, spoke with an almost weird calm.

“…and reports from the CDC state this situation is entirely under control. Patient Zero has been identified as a Mexican national who illegally entered this country, and he’s already been deported. There’s no need for panic. I repeat, there is absolutely no need for panic. However, you are advised to stay indoors for your own safety. Under no circumstances are you to leave your place of residence. It’s imperative you avoid contact with others at all costs.”

“What? Why?”

Of course the announcer didn’t respond to his question; he just continued speaking. “In addition, face masks are a necessity, but—” The smooth, even tenor of his voice broke. “—for God’s sake, stay indoors!”

Oh s**t. Laurie’s mug fell from suddenly boneless fingers, and he barely noticed the spill. He went to the only window in the apartment that faced the street. It opened onto what he’d heard the women in his family refer to as a Juliet balcony. He raised the window and poked his head out just enough so he could observe the street below. Directly across, he could see a pair of legs sprawled down the steps of the porch of the two-story duplex; the upper body was lost in the shadows.

He didn’t trust the balcony to bear his weight, so he angled his body farther out the window so he could see down the block, and he bit back a moan. Another body was face down in the road, the head looking strangely flattened. Beyond that, a car had crashed into a fire hydrant, and a stream of water gushed from it. The driver’s side door hung open, but Laurie couldn’t see a driver anywhere. But there was blood. So much blood.

He shivered and stayed where he was for a moment, watching, but there was no movement below. He swallowed heavily. Goosebumps raised up on his hair-dusted thighs and forearms and cold shivers racked his body. He knew what this meant. It was the zombie apocalypse.

He backed away from the window and closed and latched it with shaking fingers, then rubbed those fingers over his face. Okay, he would stay here—he wasn’t a fool and had no desire to see what else might be happening out on the streets.

He made double sure the door was locked, then tore through the kitchen, opening the pantry and the cupboards.

Empty. They were as empty as the fridge.

He began shaking harder. As much as he wanted to stay here—

Here…Where was Lync? Laurie hurried to the counter, grabbed up his phone, and keyed in the number he should have deleted after he and Lync broke up. “Pick up,” he begged helplessly. “Pick up, pick up.”

“Hi.”

Laurie almost cried with relief.

“This is Lync. I can’t take your call right now. Leave a message after the beep, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Laurie did cry, but this time it wasn’t from relief. Lync always picked up his phone, no matter what, even taking a call from his boss when Lync and Laurie had been in bed. Was he dead?

Laurie didn’t bother leaving a message. He had to call Mom. He scrolled to home and pressed the dial icon, but all he got was a really weird sound. Okay, he’d try her cell phone.

Nothing. Nothing for his sisters or his father either. Maybe the towers were temporarily down.

He worried his lower lip, then checked his voicemail. Maybe it was from his mother? He went through the usual hoops it took to access voice messages, and sure enough, it was from Mom. He listened, feeling sicker and sicker.

“Laurie, where are you? Why aren’t you picking up your phone? Never mind, just get home as soon as you get this. The National Guard is making everyone leave, but we’ll wait as long as we can.”

But the radio announcer had said to stay put. Laurie thought he was going to throw up again. Could that have been a recorded message? And how long had it been playing?

“Are you with some slut? If you were seeing a perfectly nice girl like Louise, this wouldn’t have happened. Pop had to go to your apartment, but when you didn’t answer, your landlady let him in.”

She what? Interfering old biddy.

“At least your place wasn’t a pigpen,” Mom muttered. “I’d have been mortified if that woman had seen it.”

How did Mom think Laurie felt, knowing his apartment had been invaded like that? He was twenty-five, for f**k’s sake.

She dropped the violation of his privacy with casual disregard and went back to chewing him out. “If this isn’t just like you. Why can’t you be where you’re supposed to be?” she demanded, then blew out an irritated breath. “We’ll be going to Aunt Ethel’s and Uncle Wilbur’s.” Mom’s sister lived in Indiana with her husband and six kids, more than five hundred miles away. Was it safe there? He worried his lower lip again, this time wincing when he bit it too hard. Maybe it was just the east coast that had the problem, if the National Guard was making everyone in Laurel Hill evacuate. “Get here as soon as you can.” She was yelling, “Goddammit, where’s Jo?” as the phone cut off whatever else she might have said.

This didn’t sound good. Mom never swore. And where was the sister he’d come to suspect was as deep in the closet as he was?

He wouldn’t think about the fact Mom hadn’t urged him to stay safe, hadn’t said she loved him.

Never mind, there were other things he’d have to do, number one being to head on over to the house where he’d grown up. It was closer to Lync’s place than his apartment was anyway, and he’d be able to talk to the family face-to-face and make sure they were all right.

And maybe there was some cereal or something else he could eat there.

He unplugged his cell phone from the charger. What the f**k? Why did it only show seventy-five percent charged?

He went to the light switch and flipped it, but nothing happened. s**t. Power must have gone out again. But the radio was still on, replaying the earlier message. Laurie went to it and turned it over.

Right. It’s got a backup battery.

He wanted to throw things, but there wasn’t time. He looked down at himself.

He had to get dressed. He didn’t relish the idea of putting on the clothes he’d worn the day before, but he had a plan. He and Lync were pretty much the same size, although Lync was a little bulkier than him.

Laurie went to the small dresser in Lync’s equally small bedroom and began opening drawers. He found a pair of black and green plaid boxer briefs and paused for a second with his hand on them. His one-time boyfriend had always had a weakness for plaid underwear. He had them in black and blue, black and red, black and yellow…Poor Lync. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t accommodate Laurie’s taste for a little paddling in the bedroom, a little being tied to the headboard…

Laurie shook himself out of his melancholy thoughts and pulled on the briefs. He was reaching for an undershirt when he paused again. At the bottom of the pile of plain white undershirts was a flash of purple. He moved the white shirts aside and caught up a violet pocket T-shirt.

This was his. He’d left it the last time he’d stayed overnight with Lync. Laurie couldn’t even say it was a mutual decision to call it quits. He’d gotten slightly carried away and ran his fingertips over Lync’s sides, tickling him. It had just been a little tickle, but Lync had blown up and said they were through. Laurie had been mortified, and he’d left in a hurry, only realizing when he got home that he wasn’t wearing that T. He waited for Lync to call him to come get it—he was too embarrassed by his reaction to Lync’s rejection and had no intention of calling his former boyfriend ever again—but Lync never had, and eventually Laurie had written it off as lost.

He thrust his arms into the sleeves and pulled it over his head. The lingering scent of the body wash he used clung to it, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Why had Lync put the shirt in with his clean clothes? If Lync didn’t want to send it back to him, why hadn’t he washed it? Could it be Lync wanted the scent of Laurie close by, that he regretted breaking up with him?

God, he was so confused. Well, it no longer mattered, and it was silly to let it bother him now.

He turned away and went to the closet where Lync kept his shirts and pants. Laurie chose a brown, short-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. He’d need a belt, and fortunately Lync had one for special occasions. Like funerals.

Unhappy he’d forgotten Lync was alone in the world—his father had died of a gunshot wound when Lync was thirteen, and his Uncle Connor had disappeared into the woods five years later—Laurie threaded the belt through the loops and got dressed. Then he transferred everything in the pockets of his work pants to the jeans pockets. He studied his car keys. He might not need them, but then again, he just might.

What else?

Socks. s**t, he’d forgotten socks. He went back to the dresser and took a pair of white crew socks, then sat on the bed to put them on. Lync’s feet were bigger than Laurie’s, kind of fitting when he thought of Lync’s big c**k. He’d missed the feel of that c**k almost splitting him in two. He didn’t need much prep, but Lync always took his time even when Laurie just wanted—

No, he wasn’t going to think of that, think of how none of his hookups in the time since they’d split up had ever set his world on fire as Lync had. Instead, he reached for his work boots, slid his feet into them, and laced them up.

Now what else? Lync didn’t have much in his apartment, and Laurie supposed he could fill a trash bag with whatever was available…Abruptly he remembered the backpack Lync kept in a corner of his closet. Lync had chuckled and called it his INCH bag—I’m never coming home. It was a bugout bag, and he’d explained how his dad and uncle, who’d been doomsday preppers, had instructed him on how to put one together. Laurie took it from the closet, almost toppling over backwards. He’d expected it to be much heavier than it was.

“Well, that’s gonna make it easier to travel.” It was a large backpack that would cover him from the back of his head down to his butt and would be secured across his chest by a sternum strap. A sleeping bag was attached to the bottom, a coil of rope was fastened to a carabiner clip, and there was a hidden sleeve on each side of the backpack to hold stainless steel bottles for water. He filled the bottles from the sink and inserted them into the sleeves, then went looking for one of Lync’s hoodies. He’d tie it around his waist.

What was he going to do about a face mask, though? Normal people—which included Lync—didn’t have any need for them.

Laurie rummaged through Lync’s drawers, sagging in relief when he found a black and orange bandana. He folded it into a triangle. Before he left the apartment, he’d tie it around his face.

It was about noon, and the apartment was becoming even hotter, since no power meant no fan. Lync didn’t even have an air conditioner. Laurie had to get out of here.

He tucked his phone into the breast pocket of his T-shirt. He’d need something for protection. Lync didn’t have the rifles Pop did—you’d think the son of a hunter and a doomsday prepper would be better prepared. A glance around the kitchen showed him something he could use. On the counter was a wooden knife block. Laurie took the largest knife, a fifteen inch carving knife, and tucked it into his belt.

Okay…His stomach growled. “Damn you, Lync, for not going shopping.”

He couldn’t even have a quick cup of coffee. The damned power must have gone out again while he’d been in the shower, because the coffee pot apparently went dead in the middle of a cycle. There’d been barely half a cup in the pot, something he’d been too distracted at the time to notice. To top that off, most of it had spilled onto the floor when he’d dropped the mug.

Before he headed for home, though, he straightened up the kitchen—his mother had seen no reason for him not to do housework, even if he was a man, and it would only take a couple of minutes.