I stopped the large French doors of my apartment right before they slammed against the threshold. I then eased the old stained wood into its place, took out a shiny brass key, and locked the doors. The bright sunshine blared in my eyes and the cold of January nipped at my nose. I stumbled down the crumbling concrete steps of my apartment complex, eager to get to work. I had a shoot for an up and coming designer that day, not to mention that I was able to see my best friend at work. She manned the receptionist’s desk while I modeled so there wasn’t much time to talk, but at least we could come home to the same apartment. I had given Nadia a key to my place earlier this month to help her out after she had fallen on hard times.
I could easily walk to the Charpentier Modeling building in thirty minutes flat. Within minutes I was in the heart of Paris. The city was getting ready to start a new day; tiny shops and humble kiosks were just opening up, couples strolled aimlessly while a few rushed to squeeze in a morning jog. I even saw a girl that looked just like Nadia, only very pale and she looked extremely sick. She was stumbling somewhere, cursing at the ongoing walkers. It was very odd, but I didn’t have much time to stop and stare, I needed to get to work. As I passed by the local electronics store, I slowed to a halt. I always stopped for a few seconds, making time in my walk, on my route to work to watch a bit of whatever was on. I peered through the store’s glass windows and into the crusty old television. Clips of men vandalizing houses, boys mugging old women, and even families robbing fast food restaurants plagued the screen. My jaw dropped as I stared in awe. Everyone is advised to stay inside. A man’s voice shook as he gave the news. These people are dangerous. This broadcast is in effect for the areas below. A list of cities in France scrolled across the screen.
“I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die,” I panted as one of my hand’s fingernails’ dug into the other. I stood motionless, waiting to see, or rather not see, “Paris” come rolling along. Thankfully, it never did. I let out a sigh of relief, knowing that I now definitely wouldn’t be dying today. Once again, we are advising… The sound of the man’s voice trailed on behind me as I rounded the corner of the street.
My little stop had cost me several minutes of my precious walking time, and I was determined not to be late. I clutched my Louis Vuitton printed bag with one hand and searched for my phone with the other. Once my jet-black new company phone was found, I pressed speed dial number two.
“Carpentieeeer Moodeliiiing,” bleated an unfamiliar voice. It was very unlike Nadia’s smooth voice, which alarmed me, because she was supposed to be manning the desk.
“Oh! Yes, hello. Ummm Is Nadia there? I thought she was supposed to be in right now,” I said.
“Nu. Shey eez noot een rhight noo. Zey saint er ome beecows shey whaz feelung baaad,” The squeaky French girl replied.
“Oh, okay. I am a model in the next shoot, but I need to check on Nadia. Can you postpone the shoot at least an hour…?” I crossed my fingers. What if that girl walking by was Nadia?? The French woman’s mouse voice brought me back.
“…Whell zee dierhectors ahr runnine a littol late so zat cayn bee ah-rainged. Buht I dunt noh why jou wood wunt tu zee somewoun ZHAT ZEEEK,” She spat before hanging up. I was concerned by her words, but Nadia needed my help anyway. I shoved the phone back in my bag, swiveled on my two inch red Prada heel, and bolted back to my apartment.
Key in hand, I was at the door within a few minutes. But when I touched the mahogany doors, they creaked open with a gust of cool air, without the aid of my key. I padded onto the plush carpet, looking for any signs of Nadia. I peered down the long hallway. A figure stood shaking, banging into the plastered wall with its head.
“Nadia…?” I called. No reply. I called twice more, but again there was no sound. I inched closer, eager to get a good look at it. I watched as it tore at the hallway’s carpeting, took a water pipe to all of my pictures, and then collapsed onto the carpet. But as I took one step further, a board creaked beneath me, waking the nearby beast from its momentary coma. I held my breath in a panic. It lifted its head slowly, looking feeble and helpless. It called to me, beckoning me to its side. It sounded just like Nadia… I cautiously walked to it, paralyzed by fear and not knowing what else to do. If it truly was Nadia, I would find some way to help her. I was now only a foot away from the creature’s head, and I could tell that it resembled Nadia completely. The same shiny dark brown hair, her perfectly manicured nails. But some things were different. Her once honey colored skin was now pallid and vein-stricken, and her once sultry gold eyes had turned a gruesome shade of blood red. They shone like beacons out, raging with fire next to her bulging white skin. Her appearance took me aback, but I pressed forward still, confident that this was still my Nadia. I was dead wrong. A moan came from her gaping mouth, then she started to rise up. Its eyes bulged while its voice grew louder still; her hair was in a tangle as it flowed back and forth. She was strong in her uprising, slowly but steadily she straightened her back and stood completely upright. She suddenly silenced her moan and stood completely still. Her crimson eyes met mine and I could feel her breath on my face. It was ice cold. I was mesmerized by the sheer beauty of those glowing eyes, but also scared to death by their odd color. I leaned in closer, the reason why, I don’t know. As fast as humanly, or in this case, inhumanly possible, she knocked me down. I fell hard with a whoosh and a smack onto the light stained hard wood floor. My head throbbed as I lifted it, but a hand pushed me down. That thing was staring down at my hungrily. She then bit me on the bicep of my arm furiously, growling like a primal animal. Then, as if driven by instinct, she sniffed the air then ran out screaming. I heard her clang into various things, get into a short fight with a man nearby, then the bloodcurdling scream he let out. You’ve bitten me! He screamed in shock. Then she ran off. I could hear her fall and tumble, and then nothing. I managed to crawl to the doorway to see her lying on the pavement, face first with a pool of blood forming next to her head. I slumped against the bashed in wall next to the entrance and lifted my arms. They were trembling uncontrollably, and it took me a few moments to steady them enough to look at my wound. I grimaced at the two half moons of blood on my left arm. Bright blood ran down my arm, and I was starting to feel nauseous. I slowly got up and stumbled into the kitchen. I reached with bloody hands for the dishrag cabinet, dirtying the antique brass handle. Once I had the rag wrapped around my bicep and secured tightly, I went off to the living room. I turned on the TV for recent updates on the attack. As I waited for it to boot up, my eyes found the large gold-framed mirror that was positioned all by itself on one wall of the room. I saw my reflection, and I realized that I looked totally ridiculous! One heel broken off, dress now hanging by one arm, hair going every which way, and a dishrag around my arm. I looked like I had just stepped off the sets of both LOST and Survivor. I giggled at myself now, blocking out my friend’s death.
A sudden burst of noise made me jump, but I relaxed once I realized that it was only my TV. I huddled next to the giant red pillow on my couch, lowering myself onto the black la-z-boy L-shaped leather couch. I fumbled with the remote and tried to flip through the channels to get to the news. A broadcast came on and I leaned forward, anxiously awaiting the current state of the epidemic. All citizens of France are ordered to stay inside their homes. There is no cure for this disease they call “rampage”, but we have found out these facts: 1. The disease the infected carry is spread through saliva contact of any kind. 2. The infected are very pale with deep red eyes. 3. The infected WILL die within THREE HOURS, I repeat, THREE HOURS. I sat silently. I had been bitten. I had less than three hours to live. I didn’t know what to do. What is one supposed to do at a time like this? I lifted my good arm towards the television with the remote in my hand. I was alarmed to see that it had turned completely pale. I hopped up and looked in the mirror. My whole body had turned an eerie pasty white color, and my eyes were light red. I needed to get help—fast. I grabbed my bag and scurried out the door. I swung the doors shut behind me, took out my tiny brass key again, and locked my quaint apartment. But I couldn’t help feeling like it was a goodbye. I shook off the feeling and bolted down the cracked steps. From the porch you could hear me start to yell involuntarily, hear the clanging of body and metal. Then finally, the sweet sound of my skull on the pavement. But I was not the sweet Olivia France had known and loved, not anymore. She was gone, and now a beast like them was in my place, life gone, face down, on the corner of 52nd and Maple.
