Chapter 11, Katrina's Mansion

Emily turned her head towards Katrina one more time and lightly smiled with her lips pressed together.

Chris was looking at the family photos on Clint’s coffee table when Katrina came upstairs. He turned around and she smiled, “Shall we go?”

“Yeah. To your old house?”

“Not quite what I had in mind.” Katrina was gripping her purse rather tightly.

“Come on. You have to face you fear. I’m here. You need to go back sooner than later; get it over with. From what I understand, we’re right near by.” Katrina turned towards the front door while Chris followed out of the house.

11.

They walked to the right once out of Clint’s house and continued on down the street about two blocks. Katrina wasn’t interested in speaking to Chris but he figured that was due to her nerves; this would be her first time back to the house in over three years.

“I’m not happy about this Christopher.” She looked at him for only a split second.

“I know you’re not. And not even my mother calls me that.”

They ran out of blocks to continue walking on and when they made their last right, Chris looked at the properties on the left side of the road. They were lined with large fences which only allowed you to see the tops of the roofs, but that was a good indicator of the sheer size of the mansions. The over-sized rot-iron gates were just a minor touch to the significance of the property.

Chris could only see two houses—or roof tops rather--but knew there were more properties that lined the street; he remembered from when they were on Mama’s roof top the other night. They crossed the street and what had resembled forest, was actually a brick wall covered in over grown weeds and plants. They continued walking a few more steps until they came to the first rot-iron gate. The two intricately designed doors were at least twelve feet tall and were—together-- 20 feet across. Now looking at the house through the gates, it looked like a modern brick castle.

Katrina was trying to maneuver the chain locking the gates together so she could spread apart the gates enough to squeeze through. “Mama has the key to the gate’s lock, but I have one to the house too. She’s been taking care of the place a little. Can you squeeze through here?” Katrina was forcing the gates apart with her arms.

“I think so.” Chris sucked in and ducked under Katrina’s arm forcing his upper half through first then slithered each leg through like a snake. His right leg got caught underneath the gate on its way through and he stumbled forward. Katrina managed to catch the back of his shirt and restore his balance with one arm. “You’re not very good at this ‘getting around on two feet’ thing are you.”

Chris felt his face flush. “It’s never been a strong suit.”

They both stood staring at the house. Forty feet away from them was a two-story, modern Victorian-style home. Chris was astonished at the size of the wooden doors with rot-iron hinges the size of his head. On each side of the door were floor-to-ceiling windows Tradition burgundy drapes were blocking any peeping toms from looking in. The upper level had a balcony running the length of the home with white French doors in the middle. There were six foot, curved windows on each side. They didn’t have drapes on them and looked like they might be a seating area in a bedroom. On the left of the house was a large turret that ran from the ground to ten feet above the second level. There appeared to be an attic, but only two triangular windowa set out from the house and barely big enough to get more than a tunnel vision view from. Chris could see more peaks of roof popping out from the back and there looked to be another turret in the back right of the house. He was distracted by the sound of Katrina jingling her keys out of her purse. “Ready?” He asked putting his arm around her. She relaxed for only a second before she took a step forward.

What's in the basement? Chapter 11

....He turned and walked through the hallway into his bedroom.

They all waited for the door to close before anyone moved. Katrina grabbed her bag and headed for a small door just off the living room. She opened it quickly and lightly shut it behind her.

Chris stood staring at the closed door, like a lost puppy left in a stranger's house; unconsciously imagining what was going on downstairs. Mama startled him when she put her had on his forearm. “I’m gonna go now chicken. I’ll see you two later?”

“Oh, I don’t know what time we’ll be home. We have to go over to Mary-Jo’s for dinner tonight. That reminds me: do you want to come? She asked us to ask you.”

“Oh dear me, tell her ‘no, thank you’. I think I’ve enough of the rumor-mill today—- don’t tell her that part.”

Chris chuckled and smiled at Mama. “I won’t.”

Mama winked at him and continued towards the hallway. “Oh, and one more thing: her meat pie has nothing on mine— no matter what she says.”

*****

Katrina entered the basement slowly and quietly. It used to be a place where Emily and her would go to play away from the grown-ups. Emily used to talk about how she would decorate it like her own apartment.
Katrina looked to the left at the familiar shape of Emily sleeping; she would be so disappointed in the way Clint had tacked some ratty bed-sheets to the walls to cover the pink fiberglass insulation. Emily’s legs were tied together and then each was tied to the bottom corners of the bed. The same was of her hands; only the rope was tied strategically to a bar on each side of the bed so she wasn’t restricted to one sleeping position. She was laying in the position she was most fond of: her arms bent up beside her head—it reminded Katrina of when they used to dance around singing YMCA, spelling all the letters out with their arms. Emily’s head was turned to the left as if she was looking out the basement window. She looked almost normal.

Katrina moved even more cautiously towards her, carefully reaching into the small pocket on the front of her purse—never removing her eyes from Emily. Emily’s feet twitched to the right, stopping Katrina half way. She reached further in the pocket, feeling the shape of the needle and then the small bottle of liquid medication.

Once she got close enough to Emily to hear the pattern of her breath, she slowly pulled the utensils out of her bag. She removed the cap off the needle with her teeth and only looked away for enough time to pierce the needle through the lid of tiny bottle, and then again to make sure there were no air bubbles in the needle.

Katrina took another step closer to Emily. She grabbed the rope on Emily’s right arm and slowly slid it down the pole until it was straight. Katrina bunched up any loose rope and held it firmly with her left hand so Emily wouldn’t be able to move it. Emily inhaled deeply and turned her head towards Katrina, opened her eyes and formed her mouth into the shape of a smile. Only, this wasn’t a friendly smile; it was more like an efficient way to make a hissing sound, showing her displeasure at her current situation.

Quickly, Katrina stuck the needle into her upper arm and plunged the stopper until it wouldn’t go any further, all it’s contents emptied into Emily’s arm. Emily thrashed briefly, but Katrina did not waver; in a minute she would be calm.

Katrina disposed of the needle and the glass bottle in the trash beside the bed. She watched Emily for a brief moment, her eyes were closed and she looked peaceful again. Her face looked almost flush and her scar was a little more even with her skin tone. Katrina turned to leave just as Emily turned her head towards Katrina one more time and lightly smiled with her lips pressed together.

Going to Clint's

Outside of the police station, Chris and Katrina took a left turn and headed towards the church. Instead of stopping, Katrina announced that they were going over to Clint’s. Chris was excited, he desperately wanted to hear Clint's story about Emily. Once They walked through the headstones, past the bell tower and through the other-side of the church, they were in the residential area. Another few minutes of weaving through streets and ducking under over grown trees, they arrived at a smaller, one-storey brick house. Chris noticed the brush was grown out and the grass hadn’t been mowed in about a month. There were trees in the front of the house that were so big and full, they looked like ancient guards hovering over the front yard; scaring away any unwanted intruders.

Katrina walked up to the door and pushed it open with no hesitations. Chris tentatively followed, examining the interior walkway decorated with family pictures. Clint obviously hadn’t had the heart to take them down since his wife’s passing. Everything was neat and tidy, but Chris assumed Mama had a hand in that.

Katrina was sad at the appearance of Clint’s house; she could remember playing in the front yard with Emily. Now the front yard resembled a house that neighborhood kids all over would be afraid to come to on Halloween; afraid they would be gobbled up by little old witch.

She pushed through her feelings like a velvet curtain, walked up to the door and opened it like she was to be expected. She had already been inside since she’s been back, but it still surprised her how unchanged the house was. She would have thought Clint would have tried to re-decorate, renovate or even move out of the house when the chaos started to subside.

She walked through into the living room where Clint was sitting with Mama on the long, brown, faux-velvet couch. They were already looking up to see who had walked through the door uninvited. Both smiled at the sight of Katrina, but Katrina noticed the smile melt off Clint’s face when Chris came out of the hallway.

“Who’s this?” Clint demanded.

“This is Katrina’s friend Clint, all the way from New York.” Mama offered.

“I met him on the plane out here.” Katrina said. “We told you about him.” Katrina said excitedly, trying hard to diffuse the bomb that was about to explode.

“The one reporting on the infection?”

“Yes, that’s me.” Chris smiled the biggest smile he could muster and walked up to Clint to shake his hand— despite the fact Clint was still sat comfortably on the couch. Looking through Clint’s eyes into his angry and destroyed spirit made Chris feel sympathetic and intimidated all at the same time.

Clint didn’t shake Chris’ hand, instead he got up, excused himself and walked down another hall into what Chris assumed was a bathroom.

“Sorry,” Mama and Katrina blurted.

“It’s OK.” I’m an unwanted guest, trying to pry into his life again.

“Maybe just don’t ask any questions until he gets to know you a bit more around here chicken.” Mama warned.

“No problem.”

Clint came out of the bathroom and stopped in the entrance to the living room. “Look, I’m kinda tired. It’s almost two O’clock. I think I’m gonna take a nap. Katrina, if you want, go down to Emily quickly and then I’d appreciate it if y’all would leave.” He turned and walked through the hallway into his bedroom.

finishing the interview with Glen

We had to put him down.”

“You what?” Chris was amazed that the description used to terminate a human was as easily exchangeable as that used with a cancer-inflicted dog. He was silently writing down point-form notes.

“We had to take him in the back and shoot it.” Glen said, lowering his voice and talking out the side of his mouth so the walls couldn’t hear.

Chris wanted to leave this interview, but knew he was close to being done. “Is Doctor Stevensen a snitch for you?” He regretted the word as soon as it left his lips. He waited for Glen to retaliate.

“In a sense. He used his own discretion as to who he thought needed to be visited. But like I said, we stopped taking care of that a long time ago.”

“Yes, tell me: why did that leave the jurisdiction of the police department?”

“We had a whole unit dedicated towards the infection-- Voluntary obviously—But, once we went through three groups of twelve men, and Jerrid and Greg said they could handle it with their own volunteers, the sheriff decided that it would be best if the police department stuck to old-fashioned house calls.”

“Who was in the voluntary group that helped Jerrid and Gregory?”

“Mostly people that had lost loved ones, and some of the people that worked in the police department too, but then they were told they would lose their jobs if they continued.”

“Did you know anyone who was in that voluntary group; that was defeated, I mean.” Chris gave Glen a sympathetic look. He thought it might help to fish some more information out of him.

Glen studied Chris’ face before finding the ability to continue in Katrina’s.

“My captain.”

“Tell me.” Chris probed.

“He was in the first group that raided the old hotel on Second street. He survived. The second raid on the hotel was not so lucky.”

“This is the hotel you were going to stay at.” Katrina offered.

Chris looked at her, with nothing to say. A feeling of happiness towards Mama’s hospitality filled him with warmth.

“You were thinking of staying there?” Glen asked.

“Yes,”

“Oh, well I don’t think it’s even open anymore.” Glen stared at the paper he had in front of him briefly. “Where are you staying?” He probed.

“He’s staying with Mama and I.” Katrina said proudly.

“Oh, I see. Well.”

Chris was afraid Glen might have been turned off from the interview now, so he continued to push: “Did he tell you anything about the first raid?”

“Yes,”

“What happened?”

“They found out there were at least two rooms in the hotel that were being used as feeding grounds. People would come into the hotel, but wouldn’t check out—if you know what I mean. Soon the numbers of infected started to grow and the hotel staff started to notice a decline in personal checkouts, and a few of the maids weren’t clocking-out or showing up. That’s when the Hotel management called the police and a raid was set up for the next day. They closed the hotel, which made no difference to the infected, except making them more hungry.”

“What happened when the group went in?”

“They were too concerned about saving civilians.”

“Well that’s important. Isn’t it?”

“Not in a situation like that; no one’s going to survive a room full of the infected anyways. If they don’t become zombie food first, then they’ll be turned.

Chris made a circle with his pen, signaling Glen to continue.

“So, they went into the room, were taking to long to kill the infected. They didn’t know there was whole other room full of them, and they snuck up on the police raid, killing three of the officers and infecting a few more before they were finally terminated.”

“So did your Captain have to kill the infected police officers?”

“I honestly don’t know if they were killed by the infected or by the raid team. Sometimes, when the infected get hungry, they won’t just turn a victim and stop; most of the time they are eaten. Only the people that escape usually make it at all.”

“I thought that the infected didn’t eat each other.”

“If they get ‘em before they’re turned then it’s fine. It’s almost as if eating a steak before the meat goes bad: The cow has been shot, but needs to be diced up before the meat spoils. Kinda like that anyways.

Chris cringed at the visual he got, “What happened on the second raid?”

Katrina stood up and announced she was going outside for a cigarette. She had heard about the raids over and over again. She didn’t need to hear it a thousand and one times.

Both men watched her walk out the open door and go a few steps to the left before lighting up.

“She smokes when she gets stressed,” Glen shook his head. “Poor girl.”

Chris wanted to say that he already knew, and that Katrina wasn’t a ‘poor girl’, or someone that needed to be taken care of at all. He refrained in order to get on with the interview. “You were saying?”

“Right, the second raid. It was a few months after the first; they had already changed out the carpets and re-done the rooms. But this time they had gotten into an old storage room in the basement. No one knew they were there for days, because no one went down there,”

“How did they find out then?”

“Some persistent bitch—‘scuse my language—was adamant that her jacket was down there; one that she left months before-hand. Her and an employee went down to look and he got attacked as soon as he opened the door. She went running back upstairs, without a thought in the world for the employee. She was screaming bloody murder quite literally.

A raid was dispatched later that day.”

“Seems like that raid would have been easier to clear up than the other one. How come everyone died in that one?”

“Because of a hotel maid.” Glen paused dramatically and Chris stared at him, waiting.

“She was still in the building when the raid was going on—even though the hotel was required, and thought to be-- fully evacuated. She was walking around, looking for people. She walked by one of the open doors to the basement and heard a bunch of shots being fired. When she went down the stairs she saw, what she said was the officers being attacked. She claimed to have not seen anyone living, so she locked the door to the basement and came to the police department. That’s when she was informed that every officer down there was still living and was in contact with the department just before the door was locked on them. She was charged with at least four counts of murder.”

“I assume that the door only locked from one side and that’s why the infected didn’t get into the rest of the hotel?”

“Exactly.” Glen smiled at the air and Chris knew that Katrina must be back inside.

“I guess that’s all for now,” Chris said, standing up. “We can continue this another day if we need to.”

“I think I’ve told you pretty much everything that you would want to know.”

“Ok well thank you,” Chris extended his hand to Glen.

Glen gripped it as tightly as he could and shook. “So, when do I get that ice cream?”