The Infection

He recoiled, his face burning with embarrassment while anger flared in his chest. She had made him feel childish for enjoying Warhammer 40,000 when he had always understood that it was a game that adults played. It was not stupid. And his mom was fine. Dad had put her in a special facility where she was getting around-the-clock care. He also tried to get Todd to see a therapist, but luckily they were all booked up with new patients after the Screaming—indefinitely, it seemed. Why would he need a therapist anyhow? He was at home lying on the living room couch sick when the Screaming happened, fast asleep; he had missed the entire thing and had to see it on TV later. Half the school’s bullies were in a catatonic state and the school itself had been closed. His mom was sick like the other screamers but he knew that she would be okay. They would all be okay. He had tremendous faith in the government’s ability to solve problems like this. A cure was coming.

Todd said nothing, racking his brain for something to say, maybe something funny that would ease the tension.

She sighed. “I got to go, Todd. My mom is yelling for me.”

“All right.”

“Oh my God,” Sheena X shrieked happily. “Mom says Dad is waking up!”

“That’s great,” Todd said, laughing.

“I got to go. Bye, Todd!”

Todd hung up, grinning. If Sheena X’s dad was waking up, so was his mom.

His grin evaporated. And so are all the others. Like John Wheeler.

And they would reopen the school. Maybe even keep school going past the end of June to make up for the lost time. Todd felt deflated at the thought. God had a crappy sense of humor.

The phone rang. That would be his dad bearing good news. He picked up the receiver.

“Todd, listen—”

Couldn’t they all just stay asleep for one more month?

“Hey, Dad. Are you calling about Mom?”

“Listen to me. I don’t have much time. That barricade is not going to hold. We have nothing to fight them with—”

“Aren’t you at work?” His dad worked in an office as a manager of something. In one of those big cubicle farms like you see in Dilbert.

“You need to get my gun. It’s in a shoebox on the top shelf of me and your mom’s closet. Make sure you get the bullets, too. Don’t leave the house. Shoot anybody who breaks in. Shoot to kill.”

Todd laughed. “Dad?”

“They’re coming in. DON’T RUN! STAY TOGETHER! FIGHT! Todd, I don’t know. I don’t know. We’re fucked. I love you, kid. Yeah. I guess that’s it. Take care of yourself.”

A flurry of screams at the other end of the phone.

“Dad?” Todd said into the dial tone.

He smelled smoke through the open window. Sirens continued wailing from all four corners of the city. Other sounds ripped the air: screams. And splashes of gunfire, startlingly loud. Todd looked out the window but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just his boring little typical suburban street washed in bright May sunshine. Every lawn was perfectly manicured; even the front yards of the homes abandoned by the screamers had been well tended by charitable neighbors. Looking at this gentle scene, it was hard to believe that even the Screaming had happened.

One thing was wrong, though: The street was empty except for a single distant running figure, which quickly disappeared behind a house. The headlines on the major news sites on the Internet announced widespread rioting in California. Todd wanted to head downstairs and turn on the TV to find out what was going on, but remained rooted where he stood, torn between the thrill of massive developing tragedy and the uncertain terror of finding out that something awful had happened to his dad. He tried calling his dad’s office line and got voicemail. He left a message, trying to figure out what to do next to keep his growing sense of panic at bay a little longer.

He looked down at his front yard and saw a big cop in a motorcycle helmet marching purposefully down the sidewalk.

“Hey, officer!” he called. “What’s going on?”

The policeman looked up at the window, showing his gray face and wet, blackened chin.

“Are you okay?” Todd said.

The man ran up the front walk of his house, quickly disappearing from view.

“What the hell is he doing?” Todd mumbled to himself, both alarmed and amused.

He heard the front door crash open. Moments later, the motorcycle cop came banging up the stairs.

“Oh, crap,” he said.

Todd threw himself onto the floor as he heard the stomping in the hall, and crawled under the bed as his door flew open, knocking half his Space Marines off his dresser.