Dead Quarantine by A. Rosaria Page A

straight to his head and made him feel a
little lighter. He didn't mind. He could use the distraction. He
emptied his can and put it down on the coffee table.
    “Nice house, isn’t it? Wanna buy it?” the
man said.
    Ralph shook his head. The neighborhood
wasn't very lively; everything seemed a little dead. No thanks,
siree.
    “No, you sure? Figures, no one wants to.” He
twirled his finger in the air. “This one was the first one built,
decorated, and furnished, so prospective buyers could come and see
what kind of house they might get, to entice them into buying. You
know how many families showed up the first year?”
    The man showed five dirty fingers.
    Zombies were walking the earth. Who cared if
houses sold? Ralph shifted in his seat.
    “The next year even less showed up. No one
was buying. Still we built the other houses; you would think the
higher ups would take the hint. No, they thought in two or three
years things would turn around. It didn't. The subprime mortgage
fiasco won't go away that easy. Still, they kept us building. Sure
it was fine as long we got paid, but the company went bust and this
week was my last one employed. Knowing this, they still held us to
our contract. We still keep building these houses; houses that
likely will be razed the month after we finished them. We could
have been with our families, but no. Half the crew came to work
sick, because we all needed the cash, but damn I wished they had
stayed home.”
    The man looked out the window. One of the
zombies walked past.
    “Billy there could have been with his
pregnant wife instead of walking around mindless out there.”
    Ralph kept silent. Instead, he observed the
man. He had denim on, work boots, and a checkered shirt. He was
about 6 feet with a muscular build. His clothes were bloody. It
wasn’t his blood; he had no visible injuries.
    “I forgot my manners.” The man stretched a
hand out. “The name is Norman. You can call me Norm.”
    Ralph shook his hand. “Ralph, pleased to
meet you. Thanks for saving me.”
    “Yea a real bother too. Made me take care of
old Terrence, our foreman. Hated his guts really.”
    The pleasantries done with, Ralph hoped to
get to business and figure out what Norm knew or had on him that
could help him get away in the morning. Or call for help. Or at
least reach home.
    “Do you have a phone?”
    “No signal this far out.”
    “A landline maybe?”
    The man guffawed and pointed to the door.
“Outside in our work shack. It is the only line phone for miles.
Although, you will have to find a way through all my coworkers.
Would be a waste really. You have little chance. I doubt you'll
manage getting there in one piece.
    “I really need to call my mom.”
    “Mommie's boy? Can't sleep without first
saying nighty night? You're a man now.”
    “It's not that. I am worried about my mother
and sister; they are ill. I have to know if they are all
right.”
    The man’s face turned serious. “I'm sorry,
but if they were sick, they are dead now.”
    Ralph felt his throat tighten; he couldn't
accept that. “I heard on the news there are people that are
resistant to the virus. These people must have a greater chance of
recovery, and it's not like everyone that gets infected by a bug
dies. Maybe some get better.”
    Norm finished his beer. “Do you believe
everything they tell you? Maybe they lied about the numbers. And if
I remember, it was all about the flu. Does this look like the damn
flu to you?”
    Norm was right, but still it was not clear
if everyone that got ill became one of them. He remembered on the
bus more than half of the kids were still alive when the others
turned. Lauryn was alive and she looked less feverish when he left
her behind. Left her alone. Left her to die.
    “Why would the doctor lie?”
    “No idea why they would, but governments lie
all the time, so why not about this?”
    He knew nothing about governments. He just
lived his life, went to school, and didn’t think about