Respect the Dead. Shawn McLain

      Downtown

      Dave and Bridgette had just finished unpacking the last of the boxes in their first apartment together a couple of days ago. It wasn’t much but it was theirs. Located above a dance studio on the third floor of an old building downtown, the rent had been just right for the young couple moving in together right after graduating college.

      They liked the location downtown and the lack of neighbors. Of the four apartments only two others were occupied. This suited the young couple just fine as they liked to play their music loud and have a good time. Today the apartment was quieter than normal. Bridgette had come down with the flu that had been going around. Dave watched the news nervously. The commentators posed theories, argued over the causes, and showed maps projecting the spread. The east and west coast where already covered in red dots. New York was completely covered in solid red. He looked from the TV to his laptop. The stories on the internet did not help calm his fears. The web was reporting deaths and some weird stories about people suffering from heavy fever that caused them to act crazy and attack doctors and loved ones.

      Swine Flu, bird Flu, whatever flu, Dave didn’t really care. What he did care about was Bridgette and she was very sick. She was cold no matter how many layers of clothes and blankets covered her. She also complained of a horrendous headache and stomach ache. Dave was staying home from work to take care of her. She had always been a bit sickly and frail. Dave was not surprised when she got ill. She was lying in their bed coughing. Dave gave up on the news. He was now in the kitchen making her some tea.

      “Dave…” she called. Her voice was very weak. He wasn't sure he had heard it at first. When she called out again he hurried to the bedroom. “I really feel terrible. I think I need to go to the hospital.” She moaned starting to cough.

      “I’ll get your coat ok, be right back.” He ran to the hall closet, her coat wasn’t there. He remembered she was already wearing it to beat the chills. Shaking his head in frustration he grabbed his coat for her. He hurried back to the bedroom. It was quiet.

      “Bridge? Bridge!” He yelped at her motionless figure.

      The coat dropped from his hand onto the floor. He rushed to the bed feeling her wrist. She didn’t seem to have a pulse. He leaned over her ear close to her mouth, checking for breathing. He couldn’t feel anything. He put an ear to her chest praying to hear a heartbeat. No sound came. “Bridge? Bridgette?” He asked, finally yelling her name.

      Her eyes flew open, relief washed over Dave. Her eyes watched him as a sound escaped her throat. Dave leaned over to hear what she was saying. Relief turned to terror. She lurched forward sinking her teeth into his neck. Blood sprayed over her lips and across the wall. He jerked away in agony and fear. Stumbling back he stood straight up, his hand flew to his neck. He tried to cover the severed artery spurting blood over the walls and bed. Dizzy he turned to run from the room but she caught him by the arm. Her weight pulled him back to the bed. He fell over across it knocking free of her grip. She was on him in a second biting him in the face.

      He tried to fight off the small woman. His blood flowed freely from his neck onto the comforter. His eyes focused on the floral pattern he hadn't liked to begin with now covered in red. He didn't even notice when Bridgette grabbed his hand. He had tried to keep her away, holding her at a distance. She was biting off one of his fingers, chewing the digit like a chicken wing. Dave’s eyes darkened as he died. Down the hall an older couple watched the news. The burning buildings in Pittsburgh mixed with the reports from New York and LA had them frightened. The screams, then absolute quiet coming from the new tenant’s apartment was enough. Frantically they packed, now was the time to get out, get out before panic made it impossible.