Chapter Three: Meet Pete

Lanni brought the rubber tubing down on his barrel like a jump rope, deflecting it towards the floor. With a deafening blast, it destroyed the tile between her feet. She dropped into a wide legged squat, throwing a loop of hose around the barrel.

Off-balance and surprised, the cop stumbled back against the door frame, holding the gun's stock in one hand while his other grasped at the wall to regain his balance. Lanni dropped to her side on the floor and kicked his ankle, tugging the weapon towards her as he fell.

Dropping the hose, she snatched the shotgun from the air and spun it towards him, pumping a shell into the chamber.

"Get in here and close the door," she said. The world returned to a normal pace after its strange slow-down. The cop did as she said, and put his hands up.

"Easy does it," he said. "I don't want to hurt you." His eyes dipped for moment at her naked body, and then shot back up to lock onto hers.

"I guess your Remington has a mind of its own, then. I better hang on to it until we're sure it's going to behave."

He nodded without looking away from her eyes. Smile lines and crows feet furrowed his round, tan face. It was a friendly enough face. She could almost see the wheels spinning behind his eyes; trying to figure a way out of his predicament.

"Fair enough," he said. "You got two shells left. If you can find your way to not putting either of them in me, I'd be in your debt. I'm Pete. What's your name?"

"Nice to meet you, Pete. My name's none of your business. Get over on the other side of the bed. Let me know if you see my clothes. Remi and I are watching, so keep your hands away from that pistol."

"I'm not interested in shooting you, okay?" He kept his voice calm and steady as he limped past her, scanning the room. "That was an accident. Everyone outside that door has gone crazy. They're killing each other out there. I'm just a guy trying to stay alive, and I can help keep you that way, too, if you'll let me."

She remembered the bloody scene in her parents' bedroom, and the monster that had killed them. Jacob, her brother's friend, had gone a bit crazy, too. In that light, Pete's story wasn't beyond belief.

A woman's voice came from the hall. She ran past the door screaming in an oddly low, primal tone. A clacking sound, like an animal with long toenails or claws followed after her, and then they both fell silent.

"I don't see your clothes, hon," he said, untucking his shirt. "If we stay here, something's gonna find us, and we'll have to fight it. I don't plan on standing here with my hands in the air waiting to get torn up. If you're gonna shoot me, let's just get it out of the way." He started unfastening his shirt buttons as he spoke.

"What do you think you're doing, Pete?"

"It's the apocalypse out there. Do you really want to run around killing zombies with nothing but a shotgun and a smile?" He pulled his shirt off and tossed it onto the bed. "I'll turn around while you get dressed. Meanwhile, you should think about taking my pistol and letting me carry the shotgun. It'll be easier for you to manage. I'll give you a quick lesson on how to shoot before we go."

"Put your pistol on the bed, too," she said.

He flipped the holster's safety strap and drew the pistol with two fingers and gently set it beside his shirt.

"Here you go. It's loaded."

"I'd sure hope so, Pete," she said with a touch of sarcasm. She looked the weapon over, ejected the clip, and pulled the slide to check the chamber. It was a nine millimeter with a much fatter grip than she would have liked. At least the trigger was in the right place. She set the shotgun back on the bed, barrel towards Pete.

"Well?" she asked, gesturing for him to turn around.

Pete's shirt was bulky and ill-fitting, but as a dress, it worked better than many she'd seen at school. The mixed scents of his B.O. and perfumed deodorant helped mask the monster-stink that seemed to follow her everywhere. It was a little gross, but a fair trade.

"You can take your Remington," she said, tying the rubber tubing from the blood pressure cuff around her waist as a belt. "But I'm not leaving until we find my brother. If you want to protect me like you said, then you're helping, too. Those are the rules. Does that suit you?"

"Yes, miss. I reckon it does."

"Good," she said. She kept an eye on him, but she didn't expect him to be any trouble. He seemed sincere enough.

"You're a pretty unique little girl," Pete said. "You kick like Norris, move like Chan, and you obviously know your way around guns. I've met less confident Paris Island drill instructors. Who are you, Darlin'? Is your daddy a cop? A marine?"

She wasn't sure how to answer. Her dad was a hunter. He made sure everyone in the family could handle a firearm, and sometimes they would shoot paper bad guys together at the range. The rest was as big a mystery to her as it was to him.

Another unintelligible shout came from further down the hall, but she kept her attention on Pete. He looked nervous.

"Don't worry," she said. "If I shoot you, it won't be an accident." If he chuckled at the comment, the buzzing alarm drowned him out. His eyes definitely crinkled, though. She hoped she wouldn't have to.

The thought hit her like a punch on the chin. When had she become so hard? She had never been a softy, but, Scarlet O'Hara, what was happening to her? She almost felt possessed, like these moves, thoughts, and ideas were coming from someone else. Normal teenage girls didn't assault police officers in the nude, or threaten them with loaded weapons.

She wasn't nervous, or even a little bit scared. It must have been adrenaline. An abundance of confidence from her successful martial arts moves surely contributed, but she wasn't that good of a martial artist. She shouldn't have been able to do those things.

Don't question it. Just keep being a ninja-assassin for a little longer. If you live long enough, you can figure it out later.

"Your patch says North Charleston. Where are we?"

"This is the St. Francis Medical Center in North Charleston," he said. "By the mall. Y'all drove here from Goose Creek? Which way did you come? Not River's Ave, I'll bet."

His last phrase came out too loud as the alarm klaxon stopped. They both froze, straining to listen for signs that they'd been heard, while the alternating red and white strobes continued flashing.

Pete wordlessly handed her two full clips, gesturing for her to put them in the shirt pocket, and then fed two more shells into his magazine. She decided to trust him enough not to shoot him. For now.

"I don't know which way we came. My brother drove and I slept. What's going on out there? What did you mean about people going crazy?"

Pete looked at her for a moment, and then nodded, apparently deciding she could handle what he was about to say.

"About four hours ago," he began, "calls flooded the nine-one-one dispatch. They came in three waves. First, people flipped out and attacked each other. Not just strangers, either. Neighbors, friends, even family members were hurting, and sometimes killing people. The strange part is that none of them used weapons.

"The second wave of calls, if you can believe it, was worse. Escaped wild animals were attacking and eating people; mountain lions, bears, wolves, you name it. They said the same of pets, too. A few even claimed they saw aliens, demons, or monsters that looked like headless dogs."

Lanni nodded. She'd seen that much for herself, though she wasn't sure she'd admit it to anyone but Alex.

"Those calls didn't last long," he continued. "The last batch were reports of people dying. Some just fell over with no signs of what killed them. Some said... well, horrible things. About fifteen minutes after it started, the phone networks died. All of them. Land lines, cell phones, even satellite phones. TV, Internet, radio. All gone."

"How can they do that if we still have power? Is it terrorists?" Lanni asked. She believed he was being honest, but it didn't make the least bit of sense.

"Maybe. I don't know. After everyone started dying, it was every man for himself. Even if we could communicate, there aren't enough survivors for it to even matter."

Pete had the same sad expression she used to see on her father when he had bad news to share. Maybe he felt bad for being so candid about it with her. He seemed more affected than she.

The trauma of losing her family, and now learning that so many other people died, too, hadn't hit her yet. She knew she'd be a crying wreck later, if there was time to cry. Until then she'd just keep taking in one shock after another, filing each tragedy away to be addressed later.

"I think we better get going," she said. She had heard enough, and wanted to act. "What should we do?"

"We find your brother, first. We get him and any other survivors somewhere safe. My mother's house out on Johns Island is well-stocked and remote. There's all the fish and crabs you can pull out of the river, too. We can survive out there until things settle down. What do you think?"

"Okay. That makes sense. Let's get going." She wanted to occupy herself with action to keep from thinking about how increasingly grim the future looked.

"Which one of y'all is older, you or your brother?"

Pete seemed like a decent sort of guy, but something in Lanni's head wouldn't let her give her full trust so quickly. She didn't really know him from Adam. He must have noticed her hesitation.

"You don't have to tell me anything. I just want to recognize him if I see him first," Pete said. "It's okay if you don't trust me. In fact, I'd say that's pretty smart of you. Whether you trust me or not, I only want you and your brother to be safe. As long as I have anything to say about it, I won't let anyone or anything hurt either of you. You have my word."

"We're twins," she said. Pete's patience was reassuring enough to earn at least that much trust. "We kind-of look alike. At least we did before he got sick. His hair is thin, now. He's lost a lot of weight. Pale skin."

Describing Alex upset her. Aside from forcing her to acknowledge his illness, it made her realize she hadn't seen him since the Scout. She assumed he'd brought her here, but in truth, she didn't know.

I'm not going to cry. I won't cry anymore.

Pete came around the foot of the bed and put a hand on her shoulder. He gave her an understanding, slightly sad smile. "Okay. Stay close to me, and watch our backs. Tap my shoulder if you see anything move. I mean anything. You ready?"

She gripped the pistol with both hands, like her father taught her, and nodded. Without the deafening alarm, the place had become so quiet she could hear the light bulbs buzzing overhead. The screams, crashes, and running feet had all stopped, too.

Pete put a hand on the open edge of the door and looked back at her. "You want to tell me your brother's name?" he asked. "It might come in handy."

"Why not?" she began. "I'm Lanni. My brother's name is..."

Lanni gasped as a hand shot through the gap and locked onto Pete's wrist. He stiffened like he was being electrocuted, and fell to his knees with a vacant expression.

Lanni stepped back and aimed her pistol as the door smashed into Pete, knocking him over. Still holding Pete's wrist, a short doctor wearing an ill-fitting, white lab coat stepped into the room.

"Call me Alex," he said with a distant, almost ecstatic expression.