166Chapter One: Discomfort
The gun makes a vacant, hollow click as I pull the trigger. Jack stares at me, annoyed. I smile and place the huge empty pistol in my lap, slinging the seatbelt over my chest.
He sighs before shoving the key into the ignition. "I hate it when you do that. I mean, what if it was loaded and you didn't pay attention? What then?"
"I always pay attention, Jack. C'mon, I've been using guns since I was eight years old; you know that."
"I know… I just don't like it when you play around like that. You might get hurt."
"Jack, I know what I'm doing."
"It's just… ugh."
Jack has never liked the idea of his girlfriend being skilled in gunplay, in the off chance that I would shoot myself. He especially gets uncomfortable when I whip out my favorite Desert Eagle.
"Why are you so paranoid?"
"I care about you."
"Pfft. Don't pussy up on me," I scoff. Noticing his frown, I soften my tone. "Jack, I know guns better than I know you. We've had this conversation ever since we first got together. Three years, Jack. Three years, and you're still worried about this shit?"
Defeated, he stares for a moment before he lets out a breath and turns the key, revving the engine of the Land Rover and backing out of the parking space.
"Hey!"
Jack and I shoot each other a glance, hearing the yell from somewhere outside of the car. He rolls down his window.
"Who was that?!" He shouts into the darkness.
"It's us, jackass!"
I recognize Stacey's high-pitched voice, and I press the little button to roll my window down. The two run up to us.
"Augh, you asshole! Why did you leave us?" Stacey almost screams at Jack.
"Yeah, you expect us to walk home?!" Mia adds.
I silently grin, using the 'I might throw up on you' strategy so I wouldn't have to explain myself.
Jack shifts in his seat. "What's wrong with you? I was taking Jamie home; I was gonna come back for you, you little bitch!" He yells at Stacey with a shove.
She's quiet for a moment. "Oh. Ohhhh…"
"I told you," Mia sighs. "Paranoid…" She starts to walk back to the concert.
"Well…" Stacey takes a minute to think. "…We're here already. Let's just go with them, okay? It was a stupid concert anyway."
Mia takes a few more steps forward before groaning and turning back around, kicking the dirt and muttering "I liked the stupid concert…"
They hop into the back seat and share the silent ride back home. I clutch the shiny gun in my warm little fingers, protective and blank-minded.
"Since when do you watch the news?"
Stacey jolts me out of my trance, walking into my room with a bag of fresh popcorn. Jack dropped us off at my house hours ago. Mia is in the corner, typing violently on my laptop about some new poem she had been writing. I'm leaning back in a black beanbag chair; the TV is set to CNN. Everybody has changed into some form of pajamas, and Stacey has removed her blood-red contacts to reveal her natural chocolate eyes. Her hair, shoulder-length, dark red with white streaks, is tied into a side ponytail, and she's wearing a black tank-top with white shorts. My jet-black hamster, Gail, happily rustles around as Stacey drops a piece of her popcorn into the cage. I glance at her; she knows I like to keep Gail healthy.
"Don't worry Jamie, it's free of, um… let's see… fat, butter, sodium, carbs-"
"Taste," Mia pipes up from the corner.
"Shut up, Mia! I'm on a diet, okay?"
"Stacey, you're seventeen and hot as hell."
"I can go on a diet if I want!"
Mia sighs and gives up. "It's sad that the pretty ones go on a diet and the fat bitches keep shoveling down the chocolate…"
Stacey starts to stomp toward her, but I tug on her leg. "C'mon, sit down."
"Alright."
She plops down next to me, munching on the admittedly tasteless popcorn and taking a few sips of her water.
"Sooo?"
"So what?"
"So why are you watching the news? You never watch the news."
"Oh. Um, well there's this cool thing on – there's this crazy disease going around in Africa or something. They're saying it's worse than Ebola."
"Oh, um… okay."
Stacey knows that I love gory stuff, and I know that she's very squeamish. About two years ago, Stacey puked all over our science teacher after he showed us a graphic video about the Ebola virus. I was one of the few that remained glued to the screen, observing the horrible disease that killed within days and turned its victims into soup.
"Um, I'm gonna go play with Gail, okay?"
I vacantly nod and wave her away, entranced by the images on the screen.
"Hello, this is John Shoran with the 11:00 news. Before the commercial break, we discussed an unknown disease going through most of Eastern Africa. The mystery virus is known to cause severe paling of the skin, slowed vital systems, paranoia, insanity, enormous brain tumors, and ultimately death. There have supposedly been at least six hundred reported deaths in the past month across several African nations, and three deaths with similar symptoms have been reported in southern Europe. Our president has made a decision to send biohazard quarantine specialists into the area in order to possibly isolate the virus."
A video of two people in biohazard suits fades onto the screen.
"C'mon, where are the gross images?" I ask the television. "It's the 11:00 news; no kids are watching, man…"
"…have been trying to analyze the disease, but to no effect. To help us better understand the disease, we have world-renowned virologist André Dubois in the studio tonight."
The anchorman turns in his seat, and the camera zooms out to show an older man in a brown suit. His nose has some dark freckles, and he has a thick salt-and pepper goatee. The anchor clears his throat, smiles, and heartily shakes the man's hand.
"Dr. Dubois, thank you for coming to the studio."
"Thank you for having me John," he says with a moderate French accent.
"Dr. Dubois, what has your team discovered so far while researching this new virus?"
"Well John, I must say that this discovery has been very exciting for the medical community…"
I scoff at the television. "People are dying horrible deaths, and all you can say is 'exciting', you asshole?"
"…is unlike any virus we have ever seen. I have witnessed the effects of this disease in person, and let me tell you, John; it is an utterly horrific sight."
"It certainly seems so, Dr. Dubois. I believe we have a photograph queued up; can we show that? Can we…"
I lean forward for a moment, waiting for the image.
"C'mon, c'mon…"
After a minute of fiddling around, they finally decide to show the image. "Ladies and gentlemen, the image you are about to see may disturb you. We advise you to execute strict viewer discretion."
The picture fades onto the screen.
"Holy shit!"
Mia and Stacey both look up. Mia stops typing, and Stacey stares for a second before her sudden, piercing scream rings throughout the house. She bolts out of the room, holding my little hamster tightly in her hands. Mia sets down the computer and walks over to me, glued to the inhuman image on TV.
A shirtless, ghostly pale human being is laid out on a cot; he has no hair, his skin is peeling and his exposed ribs are clearly visible. His mouth is dripping a thick black substance, and a long, tentacle-like appendage has replaced his tongue. His eyes are vivid yellow marbles devoid of pupils, and his nose has disappeared into his face. His entire body is deteriorating; blood has spotted up in random places all over his torso.
Stacey makes a loud groaning noise in my bathroom, and my frightened hamster scuttles back to me. I absently pick her up and let her squirm around in my hands.
"I'm sure the audience now knows that this situation is no laughing matter. We'll have more on this subject after the break."
The CNN theme song plays and a commercial for car insurance switches on. I get up and turn off the TV with my free hand.
Mia looks stunned for the first time in her life. "Shit…"
It takes me a moment to shake off the fear, but I manage to blankly call "Stacey, are you okay?"
She makes three or four violent coughs, and a few seconds later we can hear the toilet flush. She weakly walks back into the room, sipping her bottle of water. "Yeah, I'm fine." She grunts.
We all sit quietly, stewing in the image we just witnessed, until Mia gets up and grabs my laptop, typing something furiously. Stacey leaves her popcorn untouched.
The overpowering blast of the Desert Eagle cracks through the silence as I fire at the cardboard dummy several meters away. The bullets blast apart its chest and head; Jack leans against the wall behind me, staring. He doesn't like it, but I can tell he's impressed.
The firing range is my home-away-from-home; it makes me feel whole, and gives me a strict purpose. I can feel the gun merge with my hands, blasting away with a mind of its own. My wrists are stiff and locked, and my mind becomes an arrow focused only on the target in front of me.
The CNN news report we saw a few days ago is still imprinted in my head, and the cardboard target slowly turns into the pale monstrosity that was apparently a human being. My lips begin to quiver, but I keep my wrists tight so that the recoil doesn't break my arm. The demonic beast screams and keeps coming at me as I fire bullet after bullet into his powdery body. I squint my eyes and fire one last shot before the clip is empty.
"Hey Jack?"
He takes out his protective ear plugs and walks toward me as I reload.
"Did you say something?"
"Yeah… Jack, did you watch CNN the other night?"
"What night?"
"When we went to the concert."
"Oh, okay. No, I don't ever watch CNN… wait, since when do you watch the news?"
"I was just flipping through the channels… and I saw this thing about a new virus in Africa."
"Cool."
"…Jack, Stacey threw up after watching it."
"Stacey is really squeamish – you should know that better than anyone."
I pause for a moment before saying "Mia wrote a poem about it."
That finally strikes him – Mia only writes about dark, horrific topics.
"…what the hell could they have exposed on CNN?"
"...I'll show you."
One hour later, I'm lying in Jack's arms in front of my TV. Gail is asleep in my hand.
"Hello, this is John Shoran with the 7:00 evening news. The recurring topic tonight – the new mystery virus circulating Eastern Africa that many are dubbing 'the first sign of the coming Apocalypse'."