Chapter 4: Two Million Dead

The next hour was spent watching the news, checking social media, and fighting off exhaustion for as long as possible. Little changed, though the outbreak of mystery dog attacks was the main story on every station and news site. Any and every theory was put out there, ranging from frequencies beamed by the Chinese from spy satellites to enrage canines to an outbreak of medieval-styled mania leading to madness and self-mutilation.

James found his focus slipping. He knew he needed to sleep, that his body was exhausted, depleted on a fundamental level. What he needed was a substantial, savory meal with plenty of iron, and a good twelve hours of undisturbed rest. Instead, he kept sipping whiskeys and watching the TV with Herman as Serenity scrolled on her phone.

Dawn broke, though you’d never know it down here. Casualty numbers were being revised by the hour. Emergency rooms were overflowing across the country with lacerated and bitten victims, while morgues in turn were at maximum capacity, with mobile units meant for pandemic deaths being used instead to house the murdered.

“OK, enough.” Serenity set down her phone.

James blinked. He’d sunken into a stupor, warmed by the whiskey and lulled by the blood loss. He felt awful, but with a comforting blanket between him and the pain. “Hmm?”

“Time for sleep. I’m heading home.” She paused, looking at him expectantly.

With effort he sat up. “What?”

“How are we going to stay in touch? Where do you live?”

“I’m between homes right now.” A truth which had at turns been earnest excuse, then ironic deflection, then merely a dulled reflex. “I’ll find a corner.”

“Then how will I find you? Honey, we’ve got… eighty-four hours till Nemesis 2 comes chomping our way. You think I want to face it alone in the lady’s room again?”

“That’s three and a half days away.” James rubbed at his eyes. “But I understand what you’re saying.”

“You were an EMT, right? Come crash at my place. You can make sure I don’t bleed out. And don’t I need to change these bandages at some point? I live across the street. You can crash with me.”

“Yeah.” He roused himself further. “You grab your antibiotics on the way out?”

“Nah.” She finished her White Russian. “Wanted to avoid the cops, remember?”

“Then we can share mine till we pick up yours and finish the full course.” He stood, swayed. Was this the right move? Hell, anything was better than trying to find a corner to sleep in on a Tuesday morning. “Herman, good meeting you.”

“And you,” said the old man, tearing his eyes away from the screen. “Be safe out there.”

James followed Serenity out the door, up the steps, and then across the already busy traffic to a narrow door set beside a laundromat. Huge machines gleamed within, scores of patient looking people on their phones as they waited.

The doorway opened directly to a steep staircase, the walls off yellow, everything speaking of age and neglect. Serenity hurried up the stairs, fob of keys in hand, talking nervously all the way.

“This place used to belong to my uncle, Uncle Max, he bought it back when they were giving places away in the 70’s, and now it’s worth like almost a million dollars or something, but Maxie lives in Bermuda, can you believe that? Houseboat on a dock, he’s sent me postcards, but he won’t never invite me down.” She unlocked the door, put her shoulder to it, shoved it open. “I think he knows I’d never leave.”

James followed her inside. The place smelt of her. Smoke and booze, stale air and old food. The windows were covered by cheap roll-down blinders so that no natural light came in. Serenity turned on the lights, amber yellow, and turned to smile at him nervously again.

The place was a mess. The little corner kitchen had clearly been abandoned after the dirty dishes had overwhelmed the counter and sink. Clothing, magazines, Amazon boxes, all sorts of stuff lay everywhere as if a twister had torn through. Everything looked like it had been rescued from the curb. Old couch like a dead rhino, cheap prints on the walls, no dining table, one bedroom leading off the tiny living room. The rumble of washing machines came through the floor.

“If I’d known I was going to have guests I’d have spruced it up a bit,” she said, clutching her hands as she surveyed her home. “It’s normally much nicer.”

“It’s great,” said James. He forced a smile. “Honestly. You’re lucky to have a place.”

“Yeah, that’s what I tell myself. Coffee?”

“I’m good. We need to sleep. Let me check your bandages, then we can take our meds and knock out.”

“Right, right.” She hovered, uncertain, and James wasn’t sure if she was trying to figure out how to make him comfortable or -

“I’m taking the couch,” he said gently.

Complex emotions washed over her features. Relief? Disappointment? He couldn’t tell. “You sure? We could, you know.” She shrugged one shoulder, smiled uncertainly. “It’s been a weird night. Like, really weird. Wouldn’t mind some company.”

He walked over to her, and when he placed his hands on her upper arms she flinched. “I’ll be right here. Best thing for us is sleep. Yeah?”

She laughed in a brittle fashion. “Sure. Doctor’s orders. Let me find you some sheets.”

James sat on the couch and tiredly pulled his boots off, then sat with his hands between his knees, gazing at this reflection in the tiny flatscreen TV’s dull surface. He should have taken more Stamina. He felt like a piece of steak that had been hammered into a thin sheet, like the Cubans did before breading and frying it. What was that dish called? Laney’s favorite.

James blinked and banished that line of thinking. A moment later the bedroom door opened and Serenity came around, hesitant again. It was interesting. She’d been so casual at the bar. Now it was like she was another person. Or had shed a layer.

“Sit,” said James, instinctively taking control.

She did so and offered him her bandaged arm.

“Not much I can or should do right now,” he said, taking it carefully. “It hurt?”

“Not really.”

“Hmm.” The bandages were good. No seepage. He scrutinized them carefully, then released her arm. “You should be in pain. Then again, my neck and arms don’t hurt much either.”

She ran her other hand over her bandaged forearm. “Then why aren’t we hurting?”

“Dunno. Maybe something to do with our new sheets, or…” He shrugged. “No matter. Here. Drink this down. We’ll get more when these run out.”

They downed their antibiotics.

Serenity paused in her doorway, turned back to him. “You think we’re going to be OK, James?”

He’d lain down, draped an arm over his eyes. “You and me?”

“All of us. Humanity.”

He didn’t answer at first. It would have been easy to lie. But even on the streets he’d tried to hold on to his integrity. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah.” He heard her sniff. “I don’t either. Still. I’m glad I ran into you. I’d hate to be going through this alone.”

He dropped his arms. She was leaning against the doorframe in a huge Cure t-shirt, her legs pale and skinny, her black hair pulled back into a ponytail, her face washed of all make-up. She looked five years younger, and with the boosts her stat increases had given her, her increased strength and vitality, she didn’t resemble the strung-out lady he’d met in the ER at all.

“I’m glad I met you, too.”

She smiled, ducked her head, then stepped into her room and closed the door.

* * *

The sound of distant sirens and dishes being cleaned awoke James. He stirred, confused, then glowered at the open corner kitchen where Serenity was tackling the huge mess, or at least trying to figure out where to start.

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“Hey, afternoon,” she said, smiling over at him. “You sleep well?”

He grunted and sat up. Took a moment to check in with himself. No hangover. No pain. No fever. He still felt worn out, but all things considered, it was by far one of the best wakeups he’d had in ages.

“I’m trying to find my coffee carafe,” said Serenity apologetically. “I wanted to wake you up with some. You know?” And then she sang the Johnny Cash jingle tunelessly: “The best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup.”

“How you feeling?” he asked. “Fever?”

“I feel great, actually. Like, ten years younger.” She blew a lock of black frizzy hair out of her face. “Having Stamina 7 is great.”

He grunted again. So much for sinking his points into Arete. His Lead aura had done fuck-all for him so far. “Well, good.” He hesitated. “Mind if I take a shower?”

“Go right ahead. You got a spare change of clothes? ‘Cause it doesn’t look like you do. I only ask ‘cause I found some old ones that an ex left here ages ago. Might be your size?”

“Perfect.” He hesitated. “The TV work?”

“Sure. I steal cable from my neighbor.”

James took up the remote, turned the TV on, found the closest news channel.

“…we’ll be continuing our around the clock coverage of what is now developing into a national emergency. The White House will be giving a speech on the outbreak of mysterious murders that has swept the country at 4pm this afternoon, and expectations are high that the president will begin deploying the National Guard, though debate continues as to where and how.”

Serenity drifted over, a mold encrusted plate in one gloved hand.

The anchorman looked strained, his features drawn, and his left hand was a club of white bandages. “Experts and officials are baffled by what has taken place over the last twenty-four hours, but what is clear is that we are being faced with an unprecedented attack. The estimated death toll across the nation is now at over a hundred thousand, with twice that number of injured survivors, while a similar story is being told by countries around the world. From London to Cape Town, Hong Kong to Sao Paulo, reports are unanimous, and the incredible nature of this threat can no longer be dismissed.”

“A hundred thousand?” whispered Serenity.

“And that’s both an undercount and just in the States.” James felt a ball of ice form in his gut. “There are about three hundred and twenty million folks in the US.” He pulled out his phone. Did some quick math. “That’s over two million dead worldwide.”

A graphical insert had appeared to the left of the anchorman, listing a series of directives.

“We will be broadcasting this preliminary bulletin as prepared by the NSA every thirty minutes. The first and most important directive is to not acknowledge the initial communique when it appears in your field of vision. Doing so has been proven to trigger the Nemesis 1 aggressor, while leaving it unanswered will prevent it from appearing.”

“It can’t be that simple,” said James. “This whole system can’t be stopped by simply not acknowledging the attack.”

“But what if it can?” asked Serenity. “You’d have to live with those words in front of you at all times, but that’d would be better than having that little shit show up.”

The anchorman was still speaking.

“If you have acknowledged and defeated your Nemesis 1, know that there are reports coming in that the Nemesis 1’s of those who did not survive can see and will attack you. As far as we can tell, acknowledging the message opens you up to all Nemesis 1’s. Thus, if you have survived your attack, do not venture outside and remain somewhere safe.

"Third, Nemesis 1’s will not attack those who have yet to be -”

“What?” Serenity’s voice rose an octave. “We can be attacked by the others?!”

James leaned forward, desperately trying to listen.

“- meaning that you are safe as long as you have not initiated the attacks. Fourth, emergency services are currently overwhelmed, so we shall be following this announcement with a broadcast of how to provide aid to those who have been attacked and cannot get timely treatment.”

James sat back, the icy ball in his gut expanding to flow into his veins, so that a general chill fell over him. “Holy shit.”

“James?” Serenity glanced from the screen to him.

He stared at the screen, then rose abruptly and moved to the window. Tugged at the blinder so that it rolled all the way up and looked out.

Barely any traffic was rolling by. The sound of sirens was constant. Otherwise the city looked quiet. He craned his neck, saw people hurrying along the sidewalks, almost everyone studying their phones. Fear on their faces.

“We need to think,” he said. “I need to wake up. Can you get that coffee going? I’m going to take a shower.”

Serenity nodded jerkily and almost ran back to the kitchen. James paused to stare at the TV where a nurse was explaining how to handle bites and lacerations.

“…if the wounds are not life threatening or too deep, allowing the puncture or cuts to bleed for five minutes will wash out possible infectious agents…”

James shook his head and marched into the bedroom. A quick glance took in the full mattress lying on the floor, the huge pile of clothing in one corner, the magazine and coffee cups, the crooked lamp, the overflowing ashtrays.

He felt absolutely no judgement. Everyone did what they had to in order to survive.

The bathroom was tiny. He stripped, turned the water to blistering hot, and then got in and allowed the water to scour away a week of sweat and dirt. James availed himself of showers whenever he came across them, but as the years had rolled on, he’d found himself content to shower once a week unless an accident happened. But each time he stepped into a good shower like this one he renewed his promise to do so more often.

His new reflex kicked in, and he checked the count down:

79 Hours till Nemesis 2 Released

His thoughts whirled like leaves before a storm wind. It was too enormous what was happening. But if the news was now talking honestly about the situation, it was because they had no choice. Too many deaths. Probably some serious officials had been attacked and survived, people whose accounts couldn’t be dismissed as fanciful or manic. A critical mass of senators, congressmen, directors, and other people in power.

It took a serious crisis to risk general panic. The government was conservative in that way: always better to downplay a crisis until there was absolutely no choice.

Which meant the 100k death toll was probably way too low. How many died? Five times that number? Ten?

James ceased lathering himself up and stared at the grimy tiles. Mass panic meant people no longer going to work. And with no signs that this was about to stop, that meant that critical infrastructure would start to shut down. The power grid and water would only last a day or so if left unattended. The police were already at a breaking point, as were the hospitals.

But it was worse than that.

New York City had over eight million people living in it. Running the city was an everyday miracle. The sheer amount of food that was transported into the city each day, the amount of refuse that was shipped out - a disruption would see grocery stores stripped bare in hours and then not refilled.

James stepped back and stared at the water bursting forth from the shower head. If the water supply cut out, that would be millions with nothing to drink. If a person didn’t hydrate, they’d be dead in days.

How many deaths could the city take before everything fell apart?

Wait, what was that noise? Trembling, rocked by these thoughts, James reached out and turned the water off.

Screams were coming from downstairs.

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