Epidemic: Chapter 2

"Guys, it's time to properly suit you up for what's coming up ahead," you announced, motioning for them to stand.

When they stood you turned and went to your duffel bag, rummaging through it and placing some items onto the coffee table. Neatly arranged on the table were sets of skydiving goggles, airsoft masks, gloves, elbow and knee pads, nose plugs, forearm guards, and shin guards all in various colors and designs. You nodded at Alfred. "You know which ones are yours."

"Thanks for bringing them," Alfred said as he plucked his own gear out of the sets.

"No problem." You tossed Ivan a full face mask with his flag emblazoned on it, and Arthur a full face mask with the Union Jack design dominating it.

"Why did you bring gear for us already?" Arthur questioned as he pulled his mask over his head.

"Да, how did you know we would need it?" Ivan asked, looking at you curiously through the built in goggles on his mask.

Shrugging, you donned your own mask. "Al wanted me to bring them just in case."

Alfred nodded, his own Star-Spangled mask shielding his face. "Yeah, you never know when you'll run into those things . . ."

"Won't these masks stick out?" Arthur asked as he modeled a pair of forearm guards.

"They're easy to camouflage," you assured him as you shrugged a black leather jacket on. "Not like you'll need it, though; they'll know you're there before you know they are." Arthur visibly gulped. "Say, do you guys have any leather jackets you can wear? They're good for close quarters combat."

"Да, I do."

"No, I'm afraid I don't . . ."

Sighing, you stood up, removed your mask, and put your hands on your hips. "Alfred, can you take Arthur to go get a jacket?"

"Sure, be back in a flash," he replied before he grabbed the Englishman by the elbow and dragged him to the elevator.

When the elevator doors closed behind the pair, you turned to Ivan and fussed with his mask to make sure it was on correctly. He watched you with mildly amused lavender eyes and decided to stir up some conversation. "How do you know so much about the undead?"

You smiled as you wiped at his goggles. "I've been around them long enough to know a thing or two."

"Why do we need leather jackets?"

The bubble you were blowing with your gum burst. "They're thick and hard to tear." You backed away from him and threw a pair of shin guards and forearm guards to him. "Put your jacket on and try these on for size."

"As you say," he said before he left to go into another room.

Ivan's transporter had ducked out during the meeting so you were alone for the moment. You spotted a sniper rifle leaned up against a wall next to a window; you're best guess was that it was Alfred's and he was playing sniper before the meeting started. You approached it and heaved it up onto an end table in front of a window, set up the stand, and checked the magazine. The rifle was fully loaded already so you poked the barrel out of the window and placed your eye in front of the sights, lining up for a clean headshot on a zombie limping around outside. You switched the safety off and placed the tip of your finger on the trigger, pulling it back slowly and letting a bullet loose. A spray of blood burst out of the zombie's head and you smirked triumphantly.

"Impressive."

You switched the safety back on and pulled the rifle inside and turned to find Ivan, shin and forearm guards in place. "Thanks; do those fit correctly?"

"Да, they do."

You nodded and leaned the rifle back against the wall. "That's good. Now, pick out one of everything on the table there."

"Why?"

"Different battlegrounds demand different equipment. That's rule number two in my book."

"What's rule number one?"

"Don't get killed."

Ivan chuckled. "Of course."

You peaked out of the window and spotted a familiar navy blue car zooming along the road. "Look, there's Alfred and Arthur."

The Russian man moved to stand beside you in front of the window. "How long do you think it will it take to get the jacket?"

"Not too long," you answered. "Hey . . . aren't you supposed to be picking out your gear?"

"Ah, right. I'll go do that." He paused before leaving you. "I'll be taking a shower and then going to sleep once I'm done here. The flight was tiring."

"Okay."

You seated yourself in an armchair, crossed your legs, and watched as the deep blue car disappeared into the distance made of neon and buildings blurred by the desert heat. Your lips pursed as you blew another gum bubble, the pop of it like a bomb in the near silent room. Frowning as you chewed, you propped an elbow up on the armrest and rested your head against your closed fist. This vision of Las Vegas just wasn't right. The city should have been abuzz with life and laughter, drunken adults staggering to their hotel rooms on the sidewalks, children's eyes alight with wonder as they saw the grand hotels lining the Strip. Instead, stray people scurried off to their hotels as it was going to be curfew soon. The patrol had already started up and you spotted National Guard soldiers diligently marching along the sidewalks, M-16 rifles held strictly at a forty-five degree angle against their chests.

After a few minutes, Alfred's car zoomed by again and drove into the parking garage. Another few minutes passed and the suite's door was pushed open. Not bothering to turn around, you said a polite greeting and got up to draw the curtains closed.

"Name, Arthur and I have been talking and we came up to a decision," Alfred announced with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

You faced him and Arthur, who were standing just across from you behind a couch. "Well, what is it?"

The strawberry blond man let out a sigh and let his eyes drop to his shined black leather shoes. "We've decided that we'll be going through Alaska first."

Your eyes narrowed and you crossed your arms over your chest. "That's risky, Al."

"I know . . . but there are a lot of people there in danger. The population is pretty dense for a snowy place . . ." He looked up at you with pleading eyes. "It'll also be a great place to prove that our fireteam idea will work."

"Well . . . I guess we could give it a try."

"Thanks," he said with a megawatt grin.

"Alfred, you need to go and get some sleep, so move along and get dressed for bed," you ordered. "Arthur, you need to pick one of everything on the table and get to bed, too."

Chuckling, Alfred clapped you on the back affectionately. "I could have sworn that I was the boss around here."

With a roll of the eyes, you punched him on the shoulder. "Just get along now and get changed."

"Wait, who's sleeping in which rooms?" Alfred asked.

"Arthur and Ivan and then you and me," you answered.

"Why are we sharing rooms?" Arthur questioned. "There's plenty of space here . . ."

Poor man still doesn't have a clue about how things work.

"It's precautionary," you explained. "Rule number three: Two bodies are better than one against zombies."

---

With Arthur and Ivan tucked away comfy and cozy, you were left with Alfred. It wasn't like you were dating him or anything; it was more like you both were comfortable around each other. It was a mutual respect, trust, and familiarity thing between the two of you. Plus, you owed him your life for everything he's done for you. He helped you rise from the ashes after that terrible day, helped you move on, and helped you live again. From that day, you promised him that you'd be whatever he needed. Whether it was a friend or a weapon you would be whatever his situation called for.

He looked over at you from across the room. "Are you still having the dreams?" he asked with a casual air.

You paused as you were folding your clothes from earlier. ". . . Yeah, I am."

Smiling, he stretched his arms out towards you. "Do you need a hug?"

The corners of your lips pulled the tiniest bit upwards and you went back to folding. "No, I'm fine."

Alfred came from behind you and clasped his arms around your hips. "You need physical contact every now and then, Name, it's good for you."

"I don't . . . I don't like it," you mumbled as he squeezed you against his sturdy frame, "it reminds me of—"

He hushed you and let gentle words drip from his lips. "It's just me . . . you know that I'm not going to hurt you."

"You're usually so loud . . . what's up with you?" you noted offhandedly.

"You don't need that side of me right now, right?" he asked rhetorically. "So I'm just . . . just trying to be a supportive friend like any true hero would do."

Your mouth contracted into a genuine smile. "Thanks . . . I appreciate that."