10 Minutes From Home: Episodes 1-4 Read online

  “Thom! We have to get out of here.” I said sternly. Thom turned his head to the right and looked at the empty bed frame where the mattress used to be. In the exposed spot where the mattress had been were some piles of clothes, some bottled water, and a cheap axe from Canadian Tire. Thom took in a deep breath, his stuffed up nose making a sniffling noise like that of a child home sick from school. He reached over and grabbed the axe handle, stood up, and stared at the door for a brief moment. He looked zoned out, as if he were looking far beyond what lay in front of his eyes. As the next wave of infected appeared in the doorway, he raised the axe and released a loud, indiscernible primal roar. He burst into a run, his first step hitting the mattress and springing him into the doorway. He hacked at the first thing that appeared in front of him, embedding the blade deep into the top of its skull. It stopped moving instantly and axe was pulled down with it as it fell to the floor. Thom continued his momentum by running up its body as it fell, one foot on its leg, then one on its chest, and then as it hit the floor, one on its throat as he yanked the blade from its resting place, the metal on bone screeched as it pried out. The axe swung out in a wide arc; chopping bits off anything within arm’s reach, and just kept swinging. Thom continued to move forward with the momentum, now in the hall outside of the room. He was covered almost head to toe in a thick yellow-red blood. He moved ahead and out of our sight as Clive and I stood alone in the bedroom with a pile of massacred infected bodies strewn out into the hallway. Clive and I looked at each other in disbelief for a moment, and then ran out after Thom.

  One would have to see the sight in the living room to believe it. Thom was in the middle of the room, axe gripped in both hands, surrounded by about 20 infected people, and he was swinging away at them like it was a cluster of British Columbia redwoods. None of the things got within 6 inches of Thom, he was a human weed whacker. Clive took the chance as they were busy with Thom and ran to the door of the other bedroom. It still seemed intact, although it was splintered and stained with a thousand bloody handprints. Clive knocked and tried to get someone’s attention on the other side as I went to help Thom. I raised my pistol and put it to the heads of any infected I came within range of, and started shooting. About forty-five seconds later, Thom and I were standing in the living room with a massive pile of bodies heaped in a circle around us. I ran quickly to the front door and looked into the hallway, where more infected were flooding in from the stairwells. I slammed the front door shut again, locking it up tight, the infected reaching the door just as I did. Their hands banged on the door, their moans seeped in through the walls, causing the hairs on my neck stand up and goose bumps rise on my arms. I turned back to check on the others. Thom still stood in the middle of the room, chest heaving from the sudden adrenaline rush. Clive stood in front on him, staring, trying to discern what state Thom was actually in. Clive turned back to the bedroom door, and eventually coaxed one of the adults to open it. Emily was the first out and her eyes widened as she tried to take in the carnage in front of her. She gave a shout back to the room to keep all of the kids in there--they didn’t need to see any of this. We did a quick once around the room, but we couldn’t see any sign of Frank. We checked with everyone in the bedroom, but no one, including Emily, had seen or heard from him. It was almost as if he had vanished when he left the bedroom. Emily was worried out of her mind, but she hid it well in front of her kids. Clive and I convened in the blood-soaked living room where Thom still stood, now motionless, and attempted to figure out some kind of plan.

  The building was swarming with infected, inside and out. That pretty much eliminated both of our exits in one fell swoop. We were out of options, and we didn’t think we had a chance to get out by attacking the infected. Sure, Thom was a wrecking ball now, and we could maybe clear the outside hallway, but to then get down three more floors and out of the building? Not bloody likely. I walked over to Thom to see if he was okay as he hadn’t spoken a word or even looked at any of us since the attack ended. I stood in front of him and looked him in the eyes, asking for a sign that he was okay. He looked past me; his eyes were distant, dead. I shook him a little, repeating my questions, but he was unresponsive. I decided it was time to get a little more aggressive. I slapped him across the face, hard. His face swung to the side and stayed there for a moment. Then he slowly turned his head back to me and looked me square in the eyes. His eyebrows lowered and his eyes squinted slightly in anger. The muscles in his jaw tightened. Then he exploded.

  His mouth opened wide and he screamed at the top of his lungs and grabbed me, one hand on my throat and one on my left shoulder. He ran with me in his grip, my feet tripping over one another until my back hit the wall. Thom slammed some extra force into me as I hit the wall and I could feel the drywall crack under my back and my head bounce off the stud behind. It hurt like hell. Spittle flew out of Thom’s mouth in long strands as he screamed profanities in my face, his hot breath smothering me. Finally he stopped screaming and put his face up to mine, Clive now at his back, holding him. He spoke quietly to me with the tip of his nose touching mine. The heat from his anger was palpable.

  “This is your fault Denny. They would have been fine in here were it not for you, and Isabel would be alive with us on our way out of town. You fucking did this you son of a bitch!”

  Clive pulled Thom away from me, his fists still clenched, his knuckles white. Thom shrugged Clive’s hold off of him and backed up into the middle of the room. He was still breathing heavily, sweating now. He looked exhausted and angry. He screamed again, then picked up the axe and raised it above his head, everyone in the room yelling “NO” at the same time, hands shooting out in front of them. Thom brought the axe down in the middle of the floor, then pried it back out and took another swing, hacking at the floor with great conviction. We all stood frozen, unsure at first what was happening. However, as his chopping started to open up a hole in the floor and light shone up from the apartment below, we understood. Thom was digging us out.

  CHAPTER 23: SAVIOUR

  I had never seen anybody move with such conviction and anger as Thom was then. He had that floor splintered open in a matter of minutes. After chipping away the rough edges with the head of the axe, Thom stood up straight and looked right at me with a fire in his eyes; a confused, burning, angry fire that I had only ever seen once before from him. He broke the stare and took a step forward almost as though sleepwalking, and dropped right through the hole. As if by reflex, we moved forward and knelt on the floor, looking down through the gaping hole that had opened inside this beast of a building to us. Thom stood in the middle of someone else’s living room, and was already hacking at the floor there. I moved to drop down the hole myself, but Clive held his hand to my chest.

  “I’ll go. You should keep your distance, at least for a while. ”

  I didn’t like hearing someone tell me to stay away from my best friend, but he was right. I backed off. Clive sat on the floor and stuck his legs through the hole, and I helped lower him down. He hung from my hands for a second, then he let go and landed beside Thom, who didn’t even look over--he just kept swinging that axe as if he were slaying some invisible dragon. By the time Clive had checked out the apartment below, Thom had already finished his second hole and was heading through to the next apartment. Thom was now on the second floor, and he began savagely attacking it, letting out loud grunts with each swing of the axe. I jumped down one level to join Clive. Everyone else would stay put until we were sure it was safe. After another 30 minutes of Thom the one-man-wrecking-crew’s efforts and he was standing on the ground floor in some stranger’s apartment. Clive appeared beside him and they both looked around that apartment to be sure it was safe. I was above them now and watching them through the second floor hole as they both disappeared from view.

  Out of nowhere, I heard a sudden scream, a young-sounding voice, and I quickly jumped down the hole and towards the noise, my gun drawn. I ran into the hallway, almost bumping into Clive. We both got to t
he bedroom Thom was in at the same time, and wedged into the doorframe together, frozen. Thom stood in the room over a small single bed. The bed was drenched in blood. A woman in her fifties was splayed out on the mattress, literally ripped apart. Slumped over her was what looked like a young boy, lying on his stomach over her torso, his head sideways with those fluorescent yellow eyes, and Thom’s axe buried between his shoulder blades. Thom stood beside the bed, hands still wrapped around the handle of the axe, his face wet with blood and sweat, his whole body shaking. I stretched my hand out, eager to console my friend, but just the motion of my hand moving in his general direction seemed to repulse him, and he recoiled quickly, pulling the axe out of the child’s back. He stepped away from the bed and adjusted his grip, rocking back and forth from left foot to right foot. I opened my mouth to say something, but before the words could even form, Thom flew into another rage. He slid the axe through his belt and tore through the apartment. In the living room he picked up a sofa by one end and shoved it across the room at top speed, yelling loudly in a raging, animalistic voice. The sofa crashed into the patio doors and created a small supernova of shattering glass. The shards flew everywhere as we cowered behind our own arms. Thom dropped the sofa once it was outside the door, leaving it half-sitting on the balcony. He turned to us and took a few deep breaths before speaking.

  “You’re on your own now Denny. You’re all on your own. I have to leave before I do something I’ll regret.”

  My brain barely had time to register these words yet they already haunted me. Thom turned and ran, and as he got further and further from the building, a small crowd started forming behind him, running in the same direction, following him. They were leaping off the building over our heads, hitting the ground with thick thuds, some breaking joints, but still attempting to join the migration after Thom, even crawling, pulling their useless bodies behind them, but following nonetheless. I moved forward to follow Thom and the sea of infected, but Clive clamped his hands on my shoulders, halting my departure.

  “You can’t do anything Denny. He is a lost soul now; he has suffered too much and needs to find his own answers. You saw the look in his eyes; he won’t listen to anything you have to say.”

  “Then I’ll beat him into submission and carry him back with me! It’s better than those things getting him.”

  “He’ll be okay; he knows what to do and where to go. He’ll be fine.”

  “What do you mean he knows where to go? What the hell did you say to him? Where is he going?”

  “Denny, he needs to be alone; he needs to sort things out in his soul, in his heart. I sent him to my church. There is a secure, single room in the cellar where he can hole up; he’ll be safe. There are supplies there for him, so he’ll be fine. He has nowhere else to go now Denny, leave him be.”

  I wanted to punch Clive in the face, but I knew that what he was saying made sense. Thom had lost everything twice over. As long as I knew he was safe I should leave him alone. I could come back after I got Diane and Jordan; I could come back and see that he was all right. Even though he was angry with me, he had sacrificed his own safety to get the infected away from the building long enough for us to get away. Now we stood together, the three families plus Clive and me. I had no idea where we would take these people, but I now felt it was my responsibility to make sure they would be safe before I could continue on my way home.

  We discussed our options and at first we thought about checking another building for a secure apartment, but it seemed too risky considering the events of this afternoon. Clive suggested we go to a self-storage place not far from here. Since the units run on electricity produced by a generator, with a few supplies it could be the ideal place to hole up until either help came or this thing somehow ended. Then there was our other option. We could go straight to the military encampment set up by the mall. The families would definitely be safer there--I just knew I wouldn’t.

  We decided to go with the safest choice, so I would accompany them as close as possible, then make my own way in another direction, staying clear of the armed forces. We figured it wouldn’t take any longer than 20 minutes or so to get there if we went straight across the highway. The way was wide open so we’d be able to see everything in all directions plus it wouldn’t look like we were sneaking up on the military once they saw us. Ensuring there were no accidental shootings was our first concern; we had to make it very clear that we weren’t infected and that we needed help. Clive would lead the families across the highway, and I would cover them from the treeline on the farmland to the north of the highway, using a scoped rifle that Frank had. I wasn’t the best rifleman around, but I could handle it if I needed to.

  We all started moving in the direction of the highway. After about 500 metres I splintered off to the east and headed into the woods. I quickly came to a hill that provided good visibility and proceeded to lie down in the tall grass. I followed the group through the scope, watching them run at a good pace, the adults helping the kids over the guardrails of the highway. Once they started moving across the blacktop, I moved the scope to focus on the north to see if there was any activity from the military. There was a makeshift guard tower not far from the north side of the highway, and the soldier in it finally took notice of the group after a short time of daydreaming in the haze of the midday sun. He raised his rifle and took aim at the group after tilting his head slightly to mutter some warning into his shoulder-mounted radio. I looked further north and saw a hummer already making its way over to them. It skidded to a stop at the base of the tower and four soldiers jumped out with great urgency and rushed to the northern guardrails. They all fell into strategic positions and yelled out harsh warnings to the group, who stopped in the middle of the road, hands raised. Wayne yelled something I couldn’t make out and two of the soldiers jumped the rail and approached them. They did a quick search and pat down of everyone, then led them over the rail and into the area where the post was located. The families were all safe for now, and I didn’t have to fire a shot. Until a hand landed on my shoulder from behind. My finger twitched and a round flew into the air, the echo carrying on the wind. I rolled over in the grass, swinging the rifle around with me, and the barrel was stopped by Frank’s large hand. His other hand was held out in a stopping gesture. Frank looked up and beyond me as I turned to look back towards the military encampment. It may not have been the shot heard round the world, but it was certainly the shot heard round Scarborough. The troops had already started to mobilize in our direction.

  CHAPTER 24: DENVER LEO COLLINS

  I was born on August 15, 1969, at twelve noon on the dot. My mother always said that was why I was never late for lunch. My parents were Charles Paul Collins and Christiaane Angeline Collins.

  My father was a gentle giant, soft spoken, a big man of six-foot-three. He was never a much of a disciplinarian, but if you disappointed him you knew it, and that was much worse than any punishment you could receive. He was a hard-working man, having worked in an auto parts factory for many years, then working until retirement for Canada Customs as a regional supervisor for the Durham Region. He took pride in his work and his family and was generally a happy and optimistic man, despite often being dealt a bad hand in life. He always had financial strife, mostly due to bad luck and poor timing. Nevertheless, he made sure the bills were paid and always had food on the table. And I was never left wanting of anything as a child. Christmases were always memorable, and I always got the things I wanted most; the smile on my face was payment enough for my father. As I grew older, I started to notice my parents growing apart, being less affectionate with each other. I always sensed the gap between them was not by my father’s choosing, but it was a subject never addresses with me personally, so I never knew the reasons behind it. When I was around 16, my parents got a divorce, and I stayed with my father in Oshawa, while my mother moved out on her own. My mother had instigated the separation, but my parents seemed to stay on fairly good terms as the years went by. I always k
new his heart was broken though, and that he never stopped loving my mother. He eventually ended up remarrying some years later, and lived out his retirement years very happily with his new wife, Beth.

  During retirement, my father took to enjoying what he could in life. He was a carpenter, and an all-around handyman who enjoyed tinkering and fixing things in anyone’s home, not just his own. He was an avid reader and loved to spend time with his family. About ten years into his retirement, my father began having some health problems, mostly related to his heart and mostly due to his having been an enthusiastic eater and smoker throughout his life. He had a heart attack at the age of sixty-eight, and had a faulty valve replaced. The years after the surgery were tempestuous at best. While his immune system was at its most vulnerable after the surgery, my father seemed to catch virus after virus, keeping him in a perpetual state of illness. His weight ballooned up and down, he contracted jaundice, and he began retaining water to the point that he looked twice his weight. Through it all, he tried to maintain a positive attitude, and he still tried to enjoy life the best he could. My father had a deep hatred of hospitals, and stayed out of them as much as he could.