Iggy ran until nightfall. The storm cleared out, yet in the distance, the sky was saturated in orange and red colors from the setting sun. Overhead, a lightened array of blues with small white freckles shimmered. The magnificent beauty of the natural world brought his feet to a sudden stop and his heels uprooted two patches of green grass from the ground. The irritation in his chest was exacerbated by all of the running, gripping tight as hell, with an itching streaming up his throat and burning his teeth. The strong wind turned from freezing him through his drenched clothing into a soft breeze.
He had escaped.
The fresh clean air, the wet grass, and hard bits of mud between his toes were proof of it. But he had to keep going. The forest seemed to last forever, never going to let him go, until he came to the crossing of two desolate roads and peered up at the name sign. The first road was called Main and the second was called Hinderhurst. Andy McLaren at 95 Hinderhurst on a red card flashed through his mind. A sudden clench on his throat told him that he was thirsty, although he wasn't.
He followed the paved road, Hinderhurst. It brought him to a neighborhood of medium sized homes that were similar to the homes he had seen in the village but a story larger. There were occasional chicken coops and gardens and bright colored children toys left across the front yards carelessly. Strayed pieces of paper and garbage rattled against the wind. Cars were parked in the driveways and some were decorated with stickers and labels.
Beginning with house number one, Iggy ran until he found house number ninety five, then he stopped again. He clamped a shaking fist over his incision and approached the car parked out front. A laminated ID card dangled from the rearview mirror. It read, "Andrew McLaren E Lab Biochemical Engineer." Just when he thought that he had run far and fast enough from the labs, he found himself back at their doorstep, yet this time he ended up there on purpose. He knew that it was on purpose that he was there. It was meant to be, because he was going to prove good on the promise that he had made to himself.
The warm glow of light flickered on in the main room where a large window faced the street. Covered with a beige blind, Iggy could only see a shadow walk across one room to the next. He wrapped around the side of the house and snuck up to an old window that was dark inside. It was so old that it didn't even have a lock on it. The ones who lived inside were cocky to believe that they were safe enough without one, even from their own people. The military had everyone convinced that everything really was under control and that there was nothing to worry about.
Oh, how he hated them!
His hands quaked as he propped open the thin piece of glass. It rattled loosely and the frame creaked. He dove inside of the room as if not a single noise had been made. The room was a wasted storage room, cluttered with boxes, exercise equipment, and clothing. It would've been difficult for someone uninfected to navigate through such a mess without knocking anything over, but he wasn't at that sort of disadvantage. Able to see exceptionally well in the darkness, he crept to the door and watched the light shining from beneath.
Someone was approaching. He stepped back. Then, the shadow passed by.
He pushed the door open just a slit to see the hallway on the other side. A woman with straggly brown hair wearing a bathrobe was walking down the hallway. She fondled her robe with one hand while the other held a coffee mug. She stopped before a door on the same side of the wall, opened it, and turned on the light. Then she stepped one foot inside.
Iggy shot down the hall right behind her and embraced her in his arms. One hand covered her mouth, muffling her scream, and the other shut the door casually behind them. Grasping the mug like a rock, she whipped her hand back at him, striking him right above the eyebrow. Hot tea splattered over both of them. He tripped her onto her back, slamming her against the floor between the tub wall and toilet, and planted himself over her. Her legs thrashed him with kicks. Their struggle was increasing in volume with each second.
Eager to end it, he sank his teeth into her pulsating artery right through her hair. He sucked, but strands of her hair got entangled in his throat. He detached, gagging and blood sprayed into the air, dashing even more color onto the walls and floor. Through the red fountain, he swiped her hair away from her neck and sank his teeth into another area of her neck. The blood pulsed out of her and against his face as well as into his mouth.
Before he was anywhere close to finishing, she started to convulse beneath him. Even the weight of his whole body wasn't enough to hold her still. The first wound he had made started to swell and pull her tendons. As her head tilted toward the pull, her cheek pressed hard against his, cutting him off. He retracted his head and looked at her face. Her eyes had pulled up and around. Pink foamy ooze seeped out of her mouth and through his fingers. Gurgling sounds came from behind his palm. A pungent smell of urine filled the air.
Heavy footsteps barged through the house and down the hallway, heading straight toward the closed bathroom door. "Jessica?" a man called. It was Andy McLaren of 95 Hinderhurst. "Are you alright in there?" Andy knocked on the door with the soft side of his fist. He rattled the door handle. As the incident progressed, he grew intense in his calling, "Jessica!" until he was screaming it. When he started to kick the door in with his foot, Iggy straightened up off of Jessica and pressed back behind the door against the wall.
The door flung open and Andy dove into the small room. His hair was ragged grey and he wore wrinkled street clothes. He didn't look like a doctor at all. He landed on his knees at Jessica's side and struggled to grab hold of her as she whipped to and fro in convulsions.
With his hand open and raised, Iggy made one long step away from the wall, and he flat handedly struck Andy on the side of his head, crushing his eardrum with the hit. Dazed, Andy abandoned his wife and threw himself back into the hallway. Unable to walk straight, he flipped around and crawled on his hands and knees down the hall.
Iggy prowled after him, much like a cat stalking a mouse, through the living room and to the front door. When Andy reached for the door handle, Iggy snatched him by the wrist and whipped him back around to face him. Andy fumbled onto his back. His mouth twisted, his face construed with fear, and his eyes dilated. Iggy locked his hands tight around his arm. He asked him, "are you a doctor?"
Andy's other hand rose, showing him his palm. "Yes! Please let me go! We have a-"
Iggy stomped his foot into Andy's chest and snapped his shoulder out of its socket. The shriek that came out of him was shrill and high, even thrilling. Iggy opened his bloodied mouth and laughed. Wanting more, he squeezed his fingers tighter and pulled all of his strength together. He ripped Andy's arm completely off. Shredded it off, actually.
He flung the limb overhead, splattering blood across the beige window treatments along the front wall of the house. The blood seeped out of Andy and pooled on the floor next to him. In shock, Andy quaked under Iggy's foot and became ghostly pale.
Iggy bellowed in laughter. He leant down and picked up Andy's other arm. He extended it straight up, grasped it hard, ready to pull it off, but then, he saw her.