Apocalypse, Part 1
Title: Apocalypse [1/?]
Disclaimer: Don't own Heroes. Don't claim to own Heroes. But I sure do love Heroes.
Main Characters: Matt Parkman, Mohinder Suresh, Molly Walker
Word Count: 5621
Rating: This chapter is rated PG-13 for some course language. The fic as a whole is rated M.
Genre: General/Drama/ZOMBIE.
Summary: The infection has begun!
Notes: I am in love with the concept of M3, so they are going to be the main focus of this story. Don't like it? Bite me! (But don't really. I like having a functioning brain. DO NOT ZOMBIFY ME..! ;_; ) Also, this is my first time even attempting at writing something creative, so any feedback (negative or positive) is welcome. I hope you enjoy it! Also, major props go out to ibroketuesday for being my beta!
Cross posted to mytwoheroes , matt_mohinder , heroes_fic and undeadheroes !
April 24, 2008
“Mohinder, can people get rabies?”
Mohinder dipped his hand into the murky water of the kitchen sink, his fingers feeling for the plug. “Yes, they can. It's not a very pleasant neuroinvasive to have.” He yanked the plug with a little too much vigor and ended up with dishwater on his face.
Molly threw her arm over the back of their musty couch and turned her body just enough to see Mohinder behind her. The TV flashed images behind her as a familiar knot of warm exasperation and confusion developed between her brows. “A what?”
Mohinder offered a self deprecating smile as he wiped his face with a kitchen towel. “A virus. It's usually seen in animals but it can be transferred to humans, usually through a bite. Why do you ask?”
“Max Grossman has rabies,” Molly replied, spinning back around to face the television. She had once loved Max Grossman. Indeed, they had been the hot couple on the playground not too long ago. But that relationship ended when she spotted him sharing his gobstopper with Yuri Chu three days ago.
Mohinder spoke over his shoulder as he wiped the dishes dry. “Well, you have nothing to worry about. Rabies isn't contagious. It's not like a cold that can spread from person to person.”
“Yuri Chu,” she said the name with the utmost contempt, “has rabies too. She kissed Russ Mitchell yesterday and now he has rabies. Half the class wasn't there today because they have rabies, too.”
Mohinder smiled warmly as he placed the plates into the cabinet. Sometimes he envied the imagination of children. “I think what you're talking about is a case of the spring flu. Just wash your hands frequently and you won't catch it.”
“Nuh-uh!” Molly spun around, perching on her knees and peering at Mohinder from the couch. “Miss Gerber kept everybody inside at recess because she was afraid there was a nasty raccoon on the playground.”
“Miss Gerber has an overzealous imagination,” he said with a tone of finality. “Now go and brush your teeth. It's almost nine.”
With a defeated shrug of her shoulders Molly slid off the couch and sauntered gingerly into the bathroom. She emerged a few moments later, her mouth full of froth. “Wayo's Natt?” she asked around her toothbrush.
“He's downstairs playing Scrabble with Mrs. Blackmore. He should be up shortly. He knows when your bedtime is.”
Molly retreated into the bathroom, spat, washed out her mouth and reemerged into the hallway. “Doesn't she know he's dyslexic?”
Mohinder smiled with warmth. Mrs. Blackmore was a relatively new tenant in the building, an older woman, and Matt had taken an instant liking to her. He suspected a large part of that was because she was wheelchair bound. Matt's heart always went out to those in need. After spending a few days helping her settle in, Matt's affection for her became genuine. She loved to play Scrabble and Matt was always happy to oblige, despite his disability. “I suspect she already knows, but enjoys his company too much to say something about it.”
Without further comment on the subject, Molly stepped up to Mohinder and wrapped her arms around his legs. She looked up at him through her lashes, her clean teeth sparkling as she smiled. “Can I stay up until he comes home? Please?”
Mohinder smiled and rubbed his hand through her fine hair. “I suppose. But no later than nine thirty, okay?”
“Awesome! Can we play Guess Who?” When Mohinder responded in the affirmative Molly dashed off into her room.
“Minx,” Mohinder thought with a swell of affection.
***
“Brodaply isn't a word, dear.”
“She's a sharp one!” Matt announced to the otherwise empty room, trying to cover his embarrassment with humour. “You don't even need a Scrabble dictionary, do you?” He chuckled to himself. Below the laughing eyes, however, he was staring at the letters on the board. They looked right to him but that didn't exactly count for much. He reached a finger down and switched a couple of the letters around.
“Dropably isn't a word either, dear.” Mrs. Blackmore, Estelle to Matt, reached her weathered hand across the table and patted Matt's paw gingerly. She gave him a knowing and gentle look, inviting him to say what had remained unsaid between their Scrabble games. 'You can tell me, Matthew. It's okay.' When she could sense he still didn't wish to admit to his flaw she withdrew her hand. “I think we should call it a night. It's past nine and I would bet my bottom dollar that your little girl is waiting for you to tuck her in.”
Matt cast his gaze away from hers, feeling the heat rise up his neck and face. He knew that she knew he had dyslexia and he knew that she couldn't care less. Openly admitting his disability, however, always brought back a flood of unpleasant memories. He'd rather not ruin such a nice evening by inviting the past in. “Did you want me to make some tea for you before I leave?” He scraped all of the tiles back into the box, glaring at his failed attempt as they tumbled in. Why was it so hard to spell 'probably' anyways?
“Tut! Matt, I can clean that up. I still have two perfectly good arms, you know. Go and say goodnight to Molly before she falls asleep.”
Matt resigned with a happy sigh. “You're right. She probably begged Mohinder to stay up until I get home.”
“She's a little minx, that one.”
Matt stepped around the small table and planted a friendly kiss on Estelle's forehead. “Hmm. You're a little warm. Are you feeling okay?”
“I've just been feeling a little under the weather lately. Nothing a good sleep can't fix, though. Now go, Matthew! Little girls need their rest!”
“Call me if you need anything, Estelle. You have my number,” Matt offered as he retreated to the door.
“Tut!” Estelle nagged as she shooed him out the door.
That was the thing he liked most about Estelle; she was a spitfire. She was wise, funny and full of stories. Sometimes when she fell asleep in his presence he simply sat by and listened to her dreams. They were always exciting and vibrant and Matt could picture in his mind a younger woman, confident in her youth, courting the handsomest boy in town. In a way, she reminded him of his own mother. Strong willed, hard working and with a sense of perseverance, no matter what life threw at her. Beneath it all, though, was a gentle, kind soul that knew exactly what to say and when to say it. It was with a supreme sense of inner peace that he felt as he tucked the covers around Molly's neck and kissed her goodnight.
April 25, 2008
“Parkman here.” He answered the phone with confidence, pulling a notepad closer to him and clicking the top of his pen. A fellow officer dropped a note on his desk as she walked by.
“Mr... Parkman? Matt Parkman?” The voice on the other end was tentative, a little hesitant. The tone someone adopts when they are stalling for time.
“Yes sir, what can I do for you?”
“Molly Walker is your daughter?”
Matt blanched and leaned forward over the desk. He himself had adopted that same tone of voice when he had to tell families that a loved one had been seriously hurt or killed. Dark scenarios began playing in his mind but he cast them aside quickly. He cleared his throat. “Yes, she is. Who's calling?”
There was a gasp of revelation on the other end of the line. The voice returned with a renewed confidence. “Mr. Parkman, of course! I'm sorry, the last name threw me off. This is principal Tucker from Molly's school.”
Matt rolled his head towards the ceiling in annoyed relief. “Yes, we've met. Is everything okay with Molly?”
“Well...no, not exactly.”
“What do you mean? Is she hurt?”
“Well, no.”
“Is she missing?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.”
“Then what?” Matt barked, his patience growing thin. He had met Mr. Tucker before and he couldn't say that he liked the man. He was a rather spineless creature.
“Molly had an...altercation with another student.” He paused, considering how to continue. “I'm afraid she punched a fellow student, one Allan Danter, in the nose. The nurse said it might be broken.”
“He bit me!” Matt could hear Molly cry. She didn't sound upset or scared. She sounded indignant, as if the charges against her were bogus.
“That's no reason to hit another pupil, missy! The Danters aren't going to be pleased with you!” Tucker snapped back.
“I'll...I'll be there as soon as I can. There are a few things I need to take care of first.”
“Of course, of course. Please hurry.” The other line went dead as Tucker hung up the phone.
Matt took a moment to look around his desk. He was swimming in paperwork, he had an interview in two hours and Fuller had left him three memos to see him as soon as possible. Something urgent. He couldn't afford wasting time at the school right now. He rubbed a hand across his face and leaned back in his chair. “Shit.”
***
“It was a silly mistake. You should forgive her.”
Mrs. Danter's face slowly transformed from an indignant scowl to a pleasant smirk. She turned to her husband and placed a hand on his chest. “Honey, it was a silly mistake. We should forgive her.”
And that was that. Matt hated using his ability like this but he just didn't have the time to sit here and bicker back and forth about accountability and medical bills. Molly was, of course, suspended for three days for violence on school grounds, but it was a much more acceptable sentence than the expulsion the Danters were demanding.
Matt took Molly's hand and led her out of the principal's office and through the hallways in silence. Beside him, Molly's thoughts were a mixture of incredulity at being suspended and mortal fear of Matt's reaction. She had never done anything that warranted a major punishment before. The thought of Matt and Mohinder being angry with her upset her to the point where tears began to well in her eyes. 'They're going to hate me!'
Matt let go of her hand and placed his own between her shoulder blades, leading her towards his car with more gentleness. He was angry, yes, but he didn't want her upset. He opened the passenger door of his for her and she climbed in unceremoniously. They sat in silence for a few minutes after Matt stepped in, Molly's thoughts growing increasingly erratic with worry.
“All right, spill,” Matt finally demanded. He turned in his seat towards her and put on a deliberately neutral face. It wasn't comforting, but it wasn't threatening either.
“He bit me so I punched him!”
“I gathered that much, Mols. Why did he bite you?”
“I don't know!” She was visibly upset now, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting out her lower lip.
Oh, screw it. He was never any good at being the authoritative one. Mohinder was the one who set the boundaries, he was the one who broke them. Matt reached across the stick shift and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Mols, it's okay. Just calm down and tell me what happened, okay? We'll go from there.”
Molly took a brief moment to compose herself before diving into her story. “We were playing Red Rover at recess. I was on a team with Mary, Allan, Elliot and Beth. Elliot and Beth had to be in the middle because they are the strongest. I didn't want to hold hands with Allan because he said he wasn't feeling very good, but Mary just broke up with him yesterday so it would be too weird if she was holding his hand again. We called Grace over and everybody was gripping tight except Allan. He was like a wet noodle, Matt! I told him to hold on tighter because Grace was running for us. And then he bit me! Look!”
Molly pulled back her sleeve and thrust her arm in front of Matt. Her forearm was wrapped in gauze, which Matt thought was totally unnecessary. He unwrapped the bandage without much preamble and examined the wound. It was swollen and there were definitely some teeth marks, but the skin hadn't been broken. “Wow, he bit you really hard. It must have hurt.”
“Yuh-huh! So I punched him but I didn't really mean to I just kind of did are you mad?”
“Nah, I'm not mad. I thought I taught you better than to hurt other people, though.”
Molly just cast her gaze to the floor and hung her head as Matt started the car and rolled out of the parking lot. “You're going to have to spend the rest of the day at the station. I have too much work to take you home and find a babysitter, and you know as well as I do that Mohinder is up to his ears in research. I'll ask Estelle if she can watch you for the next couple of days. No TV while you're there, though. No comic books, no computer and no phone. You'll do whatever she asks you to, you hear?”
Molly silently resigned herself to Matt's punishment. As the drove in silence through the streets of New York, something kept tugging at Matt's mind. He felt like something was off, like a piece of the puzzle was missing. It wasn't until they were stopped at a red light that he noticed what was bothering him.“Did you change your shirt, Mols?”
Molly shook her head somberly, a pout still present on her lips. “No. I didn't bring an extra shirt. It's getting too warm for extra shirts.”
“You must have hit him pretty hard to break his nose, huh?”
Molly grimaced. “Yeah. I even heard it crack. It was so gross. I felt really bad after I did it.”
Matt pressed his foot on the accelerator as the light turned green. He cast a sideways glance at Molly as he drove, specifically eying the cuff of her sweater. “Must have been a lot of blood if you heard it crack. You were probably grossed out.”
Molly shrugged. “He didn't even bleed. He just kind of stood there looking stupid. He was probably embarrassed that he got hit by a girl.”
“So you broke his nose, and he didn't even bleed?”
“Nope. It's probably because his nose is full of boogers.”
“Huh.”
April 26, 2008
“I want to go back to school,” Molly whined as she pushed the broccoli around her plate. “And I don't like broccoli.”
“Well, you're going to eat it. It's good for you. Makes you strong so you can punch all the boys at school.” To emphasize his point, Matt stabbed the largest piece of broccoli on his plate and shoved it into his mouth. He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she giggled around her mashed potatoes.
“Matt, we're not encouraging that sort of behaviour. You shouldn't make it out to be some sort of joke. She hit another student and it's unacceptable.” Mohinder fixed them both with a stare that dared them to defy his authority.
“Oh, Mohinder, of course I'm not encouraging it. We had a talk about it and she won't do it again, right?”
“Right!” Molly echoed, nibbling at the stem of her broccoli.
“Seriously, though, why the heck would you want to go back to school? You got three days off with Estelle. You should be having a blast.”
Molly shrugged, shaking the broccoli off of her fork with a grimace. “She's boring. She just kind of sat there all day and did nothing. I asked if she wanted to play I Spy and she fell asleep. Talk about rude.”
“Molly!” Mohinder admonished, “she's an old lady. She doesn't have the energy to keep up with ten year old girls anymore.”
“Old shmold! We've met the same Estelle, right? She's a firecracker! She probably fell asleep because you were talking about boring things, like kissing boys.”
“Gross, Matt! Boys have cooties.”
“Max Grossman didn't have cooties, did he?” Matt teased, poking her in the side playfully. Molly blushed and Mohinder rolled his eyes with good humour. “Seriously, though. Estelle said that she was coming down with something. Probably a spring flu.”
“I don't want to get sick!” She let out a little gasp of horror. “Oh my god, does she have rabies?”
Mohinder let out an exasperated grunt. “She doesn't have rabies, Molly. The only animal she's been near for weeks is Matt.”
“Ouch, doc.”
“It's Mohinder.”
“Doc,” Matt said with finality. He turned to Molly, who was still deciding whether broccoli was actually edible or not. “I'll tell you what. Before I go to work tonight I'll check in with Estelle. If she's not feeling well I'll get you a different sitter, okay?” Molly nodded and Matt raised his index finger “But only on one condition.”
“What's that?”
“Eat your broccoli.”
***
Later that night, as promised, Matt checked in with Estelle before his night shift. “Estelle?” Matt pushed her apartment door open tentatively. She had given him the key to her apartment and invited him to drop in any time, but it still made him acutely uncomfortable to do so. After he had been knocking for a good sixty seconds with no answer he had slid the key into her doorknob. “Estelle, are you here?” Matt felt along the wall by the door and flicked on flicked the switch up. The room flooded with light and revealed the carnage of the room. Guess Who cards were spread across the floor, crayons lay beside their box on the coffee table and there was a half empty glass of orange juice. Molly had certainly been here.
“Matthew?” Estelle's voice croaked from the kitchen. “Matthew, is that you?”
Matt tiptoed his way through the mess towards the kitchen, seething with annoyance. Molly knew better than to leave her things lying around, especially considering Estelle's condition. He poked his head around the corner and found Estelle's wheelchair parked at the kitchen table. There was a full bowl of soup to her left, but there was no steam rising off. “Estelle, hi. I'm sorry about the mess Molly made she knows better than to leave her things lying around.”
“Oh, tut, Matthew!” Estelle chided, waving her hand at him dismissively. “She wanted to clean her mess up, but I told her to run along when Mohinder came home. She promised that she would clean it up tomorrow when she comes over. That girl is a real pistol, Matt.” She rolled towards him and issued a contented sigh. “She reminds me of myself when I was younger. Always curious. Unafraid to ask questions. You're doing right by her.”
Matt acknowledged the praise gratefully and moved on to the reason why he stopped by. “About tomorrow. Molly said that you weren't feeling too well today. I told her that if you weren't up to the task I would find another sitter.”
“Oh, Matthew. You're too thoughtful, checking in on me like this. I just feel a little under the weather, that's all.” 'If only I were thirty years younger..'
Matt couldn't help but chuckle at her errant thought. “It's my pleasure, Estelle.” He peered over her shoulder at the soup bowl on the kitchen table. “Thought you would have some soup to make you feel better, huh? Why eat it in the dark?”
Estelle's face flushed. “When I made it, it was still light out. I'm afraid I fell asleep before I could enjoy it. It's probably cold as ice now.”
Matt's brow knotted in concertation as he stepped towards her. Now that she had wheeled into the light of the living room he could see just how haggard she looked. He placed the back of his hand across her forehead and frowned. “Estelle, you're burning up.”
“Nothing a good night of rest can't fix. Stop fussing, Matthew. I've got more fight in me than you might imagine. Now off to work with you. You don't want to be late.”
A quick glance to his watch told him that she was right. “I'll check in on you in the morning. If your fever hasn't gone down I'm going to take you to the hospital. And no complaints,” he interjected as she started to retort, “you don't have a say in the matter.”
Estelle smiled and conceded. “If you think it would be best for me then I will put my faith in you, Matthew. I'll see you in the morning, then, yes?”
“I'll bring bagels,” Matt replied, planting a familiar kiss on her forehead. He strode from the apartment with confidence and a spring in his step. It wasn't often that somebody put such faith in him, and it felt good to be needed.
Estelle watched with resigned contentedness as Matt retreated into the hallway. A shy smile crept onto her lips, a smile that she remembered well from when she was a young girl and courted all the boys. “That boy. Tut.”
April 27, 2008
Holly Chalmers, a fellow officer with the NYPD, poked her head into Matt's office. “Parkman, we need your help. We're getting swamped with calls.”
Midnight had come and gone without much trouble. There were a few cases of drunkards making a scene, but the night had been rather slow. As the night dragged on, however, calls began to trickle in. Case after case of assault and vandalism were being called in at an exponential rate. Half the squadron were already out on the streets and the rest were preparing themselves for deployment. Matt, however, was stuck behind his bench. He was a detective now. Subduing drunkards and arresting brawlers weren't part of the job description anymore. Even though the detective job paid better and was certainly more fulfilling, sometimes he longed to be a beat cop again. That's why, when they called for his help, he was eager to please.
“Sure, what do you need from me?”
Holly eased into the room and ran a hand through her fine brown hair. “I hate to ask you this, but can you man the phones? There's a riot or something going on downtown and we're running low on available cops.”
“A riot?”
“Yeah. A bunch of people just started attacking others. We think it might be a racial thing, but we don't know for sure. We're just trying to get the crowd under control right now.”
“Don't you think I would be better suited out in the field? Have McGee man the phones.”
Chalmers laughed. “McGee? He's a pushover. The people calling are going to be angry and scared. You're good with people, Parkman. You know what to say.”
That's how Matt found himself sitting in the center of a circle of phones, each of them refusing to be silenced. Two hours later, the station was practically empty but the calls kept pouring in. Violence, aggression, assault, vandalism. What struck him as odd about the whole fiasco was the structure of the violence. In his experience, riots usually consisted of two opposing forces, be it sports rivals or racial groups. In this instance, however, each call was unique. Every assault seemed random. There weren't any words exchanged between the assaulter and the victim; just the violence. It was strange, yes, but he didn't have time to ponder the oddity of this riot. The phones were still ringing.
“New York Police Department, Brooklyn precinct. Parkman here.”
“Matt!” The voice on the other end was familiar, marred only by the panic in his voice. “Thank God you're okay!”
“Mohinder? What are you doing?” A jolt of fear raced through his body. Had the rioters already made it to Kimball Street? “Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine. You must turn on the news, Matt.”
“I don't have any time to turn on the news, Mohinder. If it's about the riot, I already know. They have me manning the phones and the calls won't stop coming in. I can't talk to you right now.”
“Matt, wait!”
“Mohinder, I have to go! I'll be home at eight. Lock the doors and don't answer any knocks without looking through the peephole, okay? Bye.”
“Matt--!”
Matt hung up the phone and moved on to the next caller.
***
Matt was relieved of his phone duties at dawn. A fresh batch of officers were starting their shifts, unaware of the insanity that awaited them. From the incidents of aggression that were being called in, it seemed as though the riot, or whatever one wanted to call it, wasn't moving in to one specific location. It was stemming out in all directions, spreading like wildfire in a concrete jungle. The incident reports still had the mass of violence several miles away from home, which was the first bit of good news Matt had had all night.
Rather jaded by the night's work, Matt didn't bother sticking around to help with the situation. He was tired and grumpy and wanted nothing more than to escape back to his family. He donned his leather jacket and left the station in a foul mood, a headache beginning to throb behind his eyes. His cellphone had several messages, all from Mohinder, but he didn't bother to check them. He would be home in a few minutes, anyways. Thankfully, the drive home wasn't as bad as it tended to be. There were a few pedestrians wandering around the streets, some looking rather worse for wear, and the streets were pretty clear.
'People probably heard about the riot and decided to stay in' Matt mused as he turned into the parking garage below his apartment building. The sound of the car door shutting and the thump of his footsteps echoed eerily through the quiet garage. The moment he stepped inside the building, a feeling of peace washed over him. Home was a sacred place for Matt. It was full of love, friendship, camaraderie and peace and he refused to bring his work, and any associated moods, home with him. He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the sixth floor. Then, before the elevator could get too far, pressed the button for the fourth floor. Estelle - he had promised that he would check in on her in the morning.
'Damn, I forgot the bagels,' Matt chided himself as the elevator came to a stop with a worrying squeal. He walked briskly to Estelle's room and knocked on the door lightly. It was hard enough to hear if one was awake, but not hard enough to wake somebody if they were sleeping. No answer. He knocked again and was rewarded with the same result. After fishing in his pocket for a moment, he extracted his set of keys, selected the one for Estelle's apartment and opened the door.
The room was dark, the gray dawn floating in from the window the only light in the room. Estelle was there by the window, looking out at the world below. Even from the doorway, Matt could tell her breathing had gotten a little ragged. “Morning, Estelle,” he called across the room as he unraveled Mohinder's tacky scarf from around his neck. “Why didn't you answer the door?”
Estelle didn't answer. She continued to stare out the window. It might have been the dim light of the early dawn, but her skin rather pale, almost gray. It was as he walked around the coffee table that Matt noticed something on the window that disturbed him. Dots. Small, round droplets, some of which had rolled down the surface of the glass and pooled on the sill. Blood. Had she been coughing blood? Matt rushed across the room and placed a concerned hand on her shoulder. “Estelle!”
It was at that moment that Matt Parkman's life began to fall apart. With an energy that he didn't think possible for an elderly woman, Estelle spun her head to the side and clamped her teeth firmly over Matt's forearm. From her throat issued a sound like that of a cat whose tail had been yanked too hard. “Estelle! Fuck, Estelle! What the hell are you doing?” Matt cried, more in fear than in any real pain. The leather jacket he had on protected his skin from any direct contact, but he could certainly feel the pressure of her teeth as they sunk down into his flesh.
Estelle stared at Matt with wide, dead eyes. He would have expected some anger with such a ferocious attack, but her features were completely emotionless, as if this were instinct rather than fear. Matt tried yanking his arm out of her teeth, but only ended up dragging her wheelchair a small distance. In doing so, the chair had spun around just enough so that Estelle's arms were now in reach of Matt's body. Her gangly arms reached for him and she began scratching at his chest, searching for the flesh beneath. “Estelle, let go!” Matt pressed the base of his palm against Estelle's forehead, pushing her head back as he pulled his captured arm in the opposite direction. This proved to be much more effective. His arm popped out of her mouth and her clamping jaws snapped shut. Matt quickly backed away from her, stumbling over some of Molly's toys. Estelle hissed and screeched and reached for him, lunging forward in her wheelchair. He retreated into the hallway, making sure to close and lock the door behind him.
“Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ! Damn it!” Matt slammed the side of his fist against the wall, his chest heaving with fear and exertion. What the hell was wrong with her? Why on Earth would a kindly old woman like Estelle attack him like that? It had to be her illness. He knew she was feeling under the weather. Maybe it was more serious than he had thought possible. Maybe it wasn't the flu at all. Maybe it was some sort of weird brain parasite that was affecting her behaviour. He needed to get her to a hospital!
Matt rushed to the nearest stairwell and raced up two flights of stairs. He burst into the hallway and ran to his apartment. Assuming that the door would be unlocked, Matt turned the knob and pushed forward. Instead of the door swinging open, his body slammed against the wood with a thud. Mohinder took his advice after all. “Shit,” he mumbled as he shakily rifled through his key chain. Before he could find the right key, the door opened. Mohinder stood there, wide eyed and scared.
“Thank God you're okay Matt! We were worried you'd--”
“We need to get Estelle to a hospital, now!” Matt interrupted, pushing his way into the apartment. He began searching. For what, he didn't know, but the method of looking was calming his nerves.
“Have you seen the news, Matt?” Mohinder asked with urgency.
“I don't care about the news, Mohinder! Estelle's really sick and we need to get her to a hospital.” Matt barked, spinning towards his roommate.
“She's sick? What do you mean she's sick?” Mohinder, realizing that the door was still open, hurried over and set the lock.
“I mean, I went over to her place to check on her and she tried to attack me. That's what I mean, Mohinder!”
“She's infected. Dear God.”
“She's what? She's infected? With what?” Matt asked.
“Matt, I really think you should look at the news.” Mohinder's voice carried such a calculating calmness that Matt finally caved. He glanced over at the television and was surprised to see that Molly was already up. She was standing beside the TV, staring at him with frightened eyes, her cheeks shining with drying tears. It wasn't, however, her distraught face that was holding his attention. On the screen beside her, written in bold, red letters a headline that sent a chill down his spine: Infection Rampant, Apocalypse in New York City.
Disclaimer: Don't own Heroes. Don't claim to own Heroes. But I sure do love Heroes.
Main Characters: Matt Parkman, Mohinder Suresh, Molly Walker
Word Count: 5621
Rating: This chapter is rated PG-13 for some course language. The fic as a whole is rated M.
Genre: General/Drama/ZOMBIE.
Summary: The infection has begun!
Notes: I am in love with the concept of M3, so they are going to be the main focus of this story. Don't like it? Bite me! (But don't really. I like having a functioning brain. DO NOT ZOMBIFY ME..! ;_; ) Also, this is my first time even attempting at writing something creative, so any feedback (negative or positive) is welcome. I hope you enjoy it! Also, major props go out to ibroketuesday for being my beta!
Cross posted to mytwoheroes , matt_mohinder , heroes_fic and undeadheroes !
April 24, 2008
“Mohinder, can people get rabies?”
Mohinder dipped his hand into the murky water of the kitchen sink, his fingers feeling for the plug. “Yes, they can. It's not a very pleasant neuroinvasive to have.” He yanked the plug with a little too much vigor and ended up with dishwater on his face.
Molly threw her arm over the back of their musty couch and turned her body just enough to see Mohinder behind her. The TV flashed images behind her as a familiar knot of warm exasperation and confusion developed between her brows. “A what?”
Mohinder offered a self deprecating smile as he wiped his face with a kitchen towel. “A virus. It's usually seen in animals but it can be transferred to humans, usually through a bite. Why do you ask?”
“Max Grossman has rabies,” Molly replied, spinning back around to face the television. She had once loved Max Grossman. Indeed, they had been the hot couple on the playground not too long ago. But that relationship ended when she spotted him sharing his gobstopper with Yuri Chu three days ago.
Mohinder spoke over his shoulder as he wiped the dishes dry. “Well, you have nothing to worry about. Rabies isn't contagious. It's not like a cold that can spread from person to person.”
“Yuri Chu,” she said the name with the utmost contempt, “has rabies too. She kissed Russ Mitchell yesterday and now he has rabies. Half the class wasn't there today because they have rabies, too.”
Mohinder smiled warmly as he placed the plates into the cabinet. Sometimes he envied the imagination of children. “I think what you're talking about is a case of the spring flu. Just wash your hands frequently and you won't catch it.”
“Nuh-uh!” Molly spun around, perching on her knees and peering at Mohinder from the couch. “Miss Gerber kept everybody inside at recess because she was afraid there was a nasty raccoon on the playground.”
“Miss Gerber has an overzealous imagination,” he said with a tone of finality. “Now go and brush your teeth. It's almost nine.”
With a defeated shrug of her shoulders Molly slid off the couch and sauntered gingerly into the bathroom. She emerged a few moments later, her mouth full of froth. “Wayo's Natt?” she asked around her toothbrush.
“He's downstairs playing Scrabble with Mrs. Blackmore. He should be up shortly. He knows when your bedtime is.”
Molly retreated into the bathroom, spat, washed out her mouth and reemerged into the hallway. “Doesn't she know he's dyslexic?”
Mohinder smiled with warmth. Mrs. Blackmore was a relatively new tenant in the building, an older woman, and Matt had taken an instant liking to her. He suspected a large part of that was because she was wheelchair bound. Matt's heart always went out to those in need. After spending a few days helping her settle in, Matt's affection for her became genuine. She loved to play Scrabble and Matt was always happy to oblige, despite his disability. “I suspect she already knows, but enjoys his company too much to say something about it.”
Without further comment on the subject, Molly stepped up to Mohinder and wrapped her arms around his legs. She looked up at him through her lashes, her clean teeth sparkling as she smiled. “Can I stay up until he comes home? Please?”
Mohinder smiled and rubbed his hand through her fine hair. “I suppose. But no later than nine thirty, okay?”
“Awesome! Can we play Guess Who?” When Mohinder responded in the affirmative Molly dashed off into her room.
“Minx,” Mohinder thought with a swell of affection.
***
“Brodaply isn't a word, dear.”
“She's a sharp one!” Matt announced to the otherwise empty room, trying to cover his embarrassment with humour. “You don't even need a Scrabble dictionary, do you?” He chuckled to himself. Below the laughing eyes, however, he was staring at the letters on the board. They looked right to him but that didn't exactly count for much. He reached a finger down and switched a couple of the letters around.
“Dropably isn't a word either, dear.” Mrs. Blackmore, Estelle to Matt, reached her weathered hand across the table and patted Matt's paw gingerly. She gave him a knowing and gentle look, inviting him to say what had remained unsaid between their Scrabble games. 'You can tell me, Matthew. It's okay.' When she could sense he still didn't wish to admit to his flaw she withdrew her hand. “I think we should call it a night. It's past nine and I would bet my bottom dollar that your little girl is waiting for you to tuck her in.”
Matt cast his gaze away from hers, feeling the heat rise up his neck and face. He knew that she knew he had dyslexia and he knew that she couldn't care less. Openly admitting his disability, however, always brought back a flood of unpleasant memories. He'd rather not ruin such a nice evening by inviting the past in. “Did you want me to make some tea for you before I leave?” He scraped all of the tiles back into the box, glaring at his failed attempt as they tumbled in. Why was it so hard to spell 'probably' anyways?
“Tut! Matt, I can clean that up. I still have two perfectly good arms, you know. Go and say goodnight to Molly before she falls asleep.”
Matt resigned with a happy sigh. “You're right. She probably begged Mohinder to stay up until I get home.”
“She's a little minx, that one.”
Matt stepped around the small table and planted a friendly kiss on Estelle's forehead. “Hmm. You're a little warm. Are you feeling okay?”
“I've just been feeling a little under the weather lately. Nothing a good sleep can't fix, though. Now go, Matthew! Little girls need their rest!”
“Call me if you need anything, Estelle. You have my number,” Matt offered as he retreated to the door.
“Tut!” Estelle nagged as she shooed him out the door.
That was the thing he liked most about Estelle; she was a spitfire. She was wise, funny and full of stories. Sometimes when she fell asleep in his presence he simply sat by and listened to her dreams. They were always exciting and vibrant and Matt could picture in his mind a younger woman, confident in her youth, courting the handsomest boy in town. In a way, she reminded him of his own mother. Strong willed, hard working and with a sense of perseverance, no matter what life threw at her. Beneath it all, though, was a gentle, kind soul that knew exactly what to say and when to say it. It was with a supreme sense of inner peace that he felt as he tucked the covers around Molly's neck and kissed her goodnight.
April 25, 2008
“Parkman here.” He answered the phone with confidence, pulling a notepad closer to him and clicking the top of his pen. A fellow officer dropped a note on his desk as she walked by.
“Mr... Parkman? Matt Parkman?” The voice on the other end was tentative, a little hesitant. The tone someone adopts when they are stalling for time.
“Yes sir, what can I do for you?”
“Molly Walker is your daughter?”
Matt blanched and leaned forward over the desk. He himself had adopted that same tone of voice when he had to tell families that a loved one had been seriously hurt or killed. Dark scenarios began playing in his mind but he cast them aside quickly. He cleared his throat. “Yes, she is. Who's calling?”
There was a gasp of revelation on the other end of the line. The voice returned with a renewed confidence. “Mr. Parkman, of course! I'm sorry, the last name threw me off. This is principal Tucker from Molly's school.”
Matt rolled his head towards the ceiling in annoyed relief. “Yes, we've met. Is everything okay with Molly?”
“Well...no, not exactly.”
“What do you mean? Is she hurt?”
“Well, no.”
“Is she missing?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.”
“Then what?” Matt barked, his patience growing thin. He had met Mr. Tucker before and he couldn't say that he liked the man. He was a rather spineless creature.
“Molly had an...altercation with another student.” He paused, considering how to continue. “I'm afraid she punched a fellow student, one Allan Danter, in the nose. The nurse said it might be broken.”
“He bit me!” Matt could hear Molly cry. She didn't sound upset or scared. She sounded indignant, as if the charges against her were bogus.
“That's no reason to hit another pupil, missy! The Danters aren't going to be pleased with you!” Tucker snapped back.
“I'll...I'll be there as soon as I can. There are a few things I need to take care of first.”
“Of course, of course. Please hurry.” The other line went dead as Tucker hung up the phone.
Matt took a moment to look around his desk. He was swimming in paperwork, he had an interview in two hours and Fuller had left him three memos to see him as soon as possible. Something urgent. He couldn't afford wasting time at the school right now. He rubbed a hand across his face and leaned back in his chair. “Shit.”
***
“It was a silly mistake. You should forgive her.”
Mrs. Danter's face slowly transformed from an indignant scowl to a pleasant smirk. She turned to her husband and placed a hand on his chest. “Honey, it was a silly mistake. We should forgive her.”
And that was that. Matt hated using his ability like this but he just didn't have the time to sit here and bicker back and forth about accountability and medical bills. Molly was, of course, suspended for three days for violence on school grounds, but it was a much more acceptable sentence than the expulsion the Danters were demanding.
Matt took Molly's hand and led her out of the principal's office and through the hallways in silence. Beside him, Molly's thoughts were a mixture of incredulity at being suspended and mortal fear of Matt's reaction. She had never done anything that warranted a major punishment before. The thought of Matt and Mohinder being angry with her upset her to the point where tears began to well in her eyes. 'They're going to hate me!'
Matt let go of her hand and placed his own between her shoulder blades, leading her towards his car with more gentleness. He was angry, yes, but he didn't want her upset. He opened the passenger door of his for her and she climbed in unceremoniously. They sat in silence for a few minutes after Matt stepped in, Molly's thoughts growing increasingly erratic with worry.
“All right, spill,” Matt finally demanded. He turned in his seat towards her and put on a deliberately neutral face. It wasn't comforting, but it wasn't threatening either.
“He bit me so I punched him!”
“I gathered that much, Mols. Why did he bite you?”
“I don't know!” She was visibly upset now, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting out her lower lip.
Oh, screw it. He was never any good at being the authoritative one. Mohinder was the one who set the boundaries, he was the one who broke them. Matt reached across the stick shift and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Mols, it's okay. Just calm down and tell me what happened, okay? We'll go from there.”
Molly took a brief moment to compose herself before diving into her story. “We were playing Red Rover at recess. I was on a team with Mary, Allan, Elliot and Beth. Elliot and Beth had to be in the middle because they are the strongest. I didn't want to hold hands with Allan because he said he wasn't feeling very good, but Mary just broke up with him yesterday so it would be too weird if she was holding his hand again. We called Grace over and everybody was gripping tight except Allan. He was like a wet noodle, Matt! I told him to hold on tighter because Grace was running for us. And then he bit me! Look!”
Molly pulled back her sleeve and thrust her arm in front of Matt. Her forearm was wrapped in gauze, which Matt thought was totally unnecessary. He unwrapped the bandage without much preamble and examined the wound. It was swollen and there were definitely some teeth marks, but the skin hadn't been broken. “Wow, he bit you really hard. It must have hurt.”
“Yuh-huh! So I punched him but I didn't really mean to I just kind of did are you mad?”
“Nah, I'm not mad. I thought I taught you better than to hurt other people, though.”
Molly just cast her gaze to the floor and hung her head as Matt started the car and rolled out of the parking lot. “You're going to have to spend the rest of the day at the station. I have too much work to take you home and find a babysitter, and you know as well as I do that Mohinder is up to his ears in research. I'll ask Estelle if she can watch you for the next couple of days. No TV while you're there, though. No comic books, no computer and no phone. You'll do whatever she asks you to, you hear?”
Molly silently resigned herself to Matt's punishment. As the drove in silence through the streets of New York, something kept tugging at Matt's mind. He felt like something was off, like a piece of the puzzle was missing. It wasn't until they were stopped at a red light that he noticed what was bothering him.“Did you change your shirt, Mols?”
Molly shook her head somberly, a pout still present on her lips. “No. I didn't bring an extra shirt. It's getting too warm for extra shirts.”
“You must have hit him pretty hard to break his nose, huh?”
Molly grimaced. “Yeah. I even heard it crack. It was so gross. I felt really bad after I did it.”
Matt pressed his foot on the accelerator as the light turned green. He cast a sideways glance at Molly as he drove, specifically eying the cuff of her sweater. “Must have been a lot of blood if you heard it crack. You were probably grossed out.”
Molly shrugged. “He didn't even bleed. He just kind of stood there looking stupid. He was probably embarrassed that he got hit by a girl.”
“So you broke his nose, and he didn't even bleed?”
“Nope. It's probably because his nose is full of boogers.”
“Huh.”
April 26, 2008
“I want to go back to school,” Molly whined as she pushed the broccoli around her plate. “And I don't like broccoli.”
“Well, you're going to eat it. It's good for you. Makes you strong so you can punch all the boys at school.” To emphasize his point, Matt stabbed the largest piece of broccoli on his plate and shoved it into his mouth. He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she giggled around her mashed potatoes.
“Matt, we're not encouraging that sort of behaviour. You shouldn't make it out to be some sort of joke. She hit another student and it's unacceptable.” Mohinder fixed them both with a stare that dared them to defy his authority.
“Oh, Mohinder, of course I'm not encouraging it. We had a talk about it and she won't do it again, right?”
“Right!” Molly echoed, nibbling at the stem of her broccoli.
“Seriously, though, why the heck would you want to go back to school? You got three days off with Estelle. You should be having a blast.”
Molly shrugged, shaking the broccoli off of her fork with a grimace. “She's boring. She just kind of sat there all day and did nothing. I asked if she wanted to play I Spy and she fell asleep. Talk about rude.”
“Molly!” Mohinder admonished, “she's an old lady. She doesn't have the energy to keep up with ten year old girls anymore.”
“Old shmold! We've met the same Estelle, right? She's a firecracker! She probably fell asleep because you were talking about boring things, like kissing boys.”
“Gross, Matt! Boys have cooties.”
“Max Grossman didn't have cooties, did he?” Matt teased, poking her in the side playfully. Molly blushed and Mohinder rolled his eyes with good humour. “Seriously, though. Estelle said that she was coming down with something. Probably a spring flu.”
“I don't want to get sick!” She let out a little gasp of horror. “Oh my god, does she have rabies?”
Mohinder let out an exasperated grunt. “She doesn't have rabies, Molly. The only animal she's been near for weeks is Matt.”
“Ouch, doc.”
“It's Mohinder.”
“Doc,” Matt said with finality. He turned to Molly, who was still deciding whether broccoli was actually edible or not. “I'll tell you what. Before I go to work tonight I'll check in with Estelle. If she's not feeling well I'll get you a different sitter, okay?” Molly nodded and Matt raised his index finger “But only on one condition.”
“What's that?”
“Eat your broccoli.”
***
Later that night, as promised, Matt checked in with Estelle before his night shift. “Estelle?” Matt pushed her apartment door open tentatively. She had given him the key to her apartment and invited him to drop in any time, but it still made him acutely uncomfortable to do so. After he had been knocking for a good sixty seconds with no answer he had slid the key into her doorknob. “Estelle, are you here?” Matt felt along the wall by the door and flicked on flicked the switch up. The room flooded with light and revealed the carnage of the room. Guess Who cards were spread across the floor, crayons lay beside their box on the coffee table and there was a half empty glass of orange juice. Molly had certainly been here.
“Matthew?” Estelle's voice croaked from the kitchen. “Matthew, is that you?”
Matt tiptoed his way through the mess towards the kitchen, seething with annoyance. Molly knew better than to leave her things lying around, especially considering Estelle's condition. He poked his head around the corner and found Estelle's wheelchair parked at the kitchen table. There was a full bowl of soup to her left, but there was no steam rising off. “Estelle, hi. I'm sorry about the mess Molly made she knows better than to leave her things lying around.”
“Oh, tut, Matthew!” Estelle chided, waving her hand at him dismissively. “She wanted to clean her mess up, but I told her to run along when Mohinder came home. She promised that she would clean it up tomorrow when she comes over. That girl is a real pistol, Matt.” She rolled towards him and issued a contented sigh. “She reminds me of myself when I was younger. Always curious. Unafraid to ask questions. You're doing right by her.”
Matt acknowledged the praise gratefully and moved on to the reason why he stopped by. “About tomorrow. Molly said that you weren't feeling too well today. I told her that if you weren't up to the task I would find another sitter.”
“Oh, Matthew. You're too thoughtful, checking in on me like this. I just feel a little under the weather, that's all.” 'If only I were thirty years younger..'
Matt couldn't help but chuckle at her errant thought. “It's my pleasure, Estelle.” He peered over her shoulder at the soup bowl on the kitchen table. “Thought you would have some soup to make you feel better, huh? Why eat it in the dark?”
Estelle's face flushed. “When I made it, it was still light out. I'm afraid I fell asleep before I could enjoy it. It's probably cold as ice now.”
Matt's brow knotted in concertation as he stepped towards her. Now that she had wheeled into the light of the living room he could see just how haggard she looked. He placed the back of his hand across her forehead and frowned. “Estelle, you're burning up.”
“Nothing a good night of rest can't fix. Stop fussing, Matthew. I've got more fight in me than you might imagine. Now off to work with you. You don't want to be late.”
A quick glance to his watch told him that she was right. “I'll check in on you in the morning. If your fever hasn't gone down I'm going to take you to the hospital. And no complaints,” he interjected as she started to retort, “you don't have a say in the matter.”
Estelle smiled and conceded. “If you think it would be best for me then I will put my faith in you, Matthew. I'll see you in the morning, then, yes?”
“I'll bring bagels,” Matt replied, planting a familiar kiss on her forehead. He strode from the apartment with confidence and a spring in his step. It wasn't often that somebody put such faith in him, and it felt good to be needed.
Estelle watched with resigned contentedness as Matt retreated into the hallway. A shy smile crept onto her lips, a smile that she remembered well from when she was a young girl and courted all the boys. “That boy. Tut.”
April 27, 2008
Holly Chalmers, a fellow officer with the NYPD, poked her head into Matt's office. “Parkman, we need your help. We're getting swamped with calls.”
Midnight had come and gone without much trouble. There were a few cases of drunkards making a scene, but the night had been rather slow. As the night dragged on, however, calls began to trickle in. Case after case of assault and vandalism were being called in at an exponential rate. Half the squadron were already out on the streets and the rest were preparing themselves for deployment. Matt, however, was stuck behind his bench. He was a detective now. Subduing drunkards and arresting brawlers weren't part of the job description anymore. Even though the detective job paid better and was certainly more fulfilling, sometimes he longed to be a beat cop again. That's why, when they called for his help, he was eager to please.
“Sure, what do you need from me?”
Holly eased into the room and ran a hand through her fine brown hair. “I hate to ask you this, but can you man the phones? There's a riot or something going on downtown and we're running low on available cops.”
“A riot?”
“Yeah. A bunch of people just started attacking others. We think it might be a racial thing, but we don't know for sure. We're just trying to get the crowd under control right now.”
“Don't you think I would be better suited out in the field? Have McGee man the phones.”
Chalmers laughed. “McGee? He's a pushover. The people calling are going to be angry and scared. You're good with people, Parkman. You know what to say.”
That's how Matt found himself sitting in the center of a circle of phones, each of them refusing to be silenced. Two hours later, the station was practically empty but the calls kept pouring in. Violence, aggression, assault, vandalism. What struck him as odd about the whole fiasco was the structure of the violence. In his experience, riots usually consisted of two opposing forces, be it sports rivals or racial groups. In this instance, however, each call was unique. Every assault seemed random. There weren't any words exchanged between the assaulter and the victim; just the violence. It was strange, yes, but he didn't have time to ponder the oddity of this riot. The phones were still ringing.
“New York Police Department, Brooklyn precinct. Parkman here.”
“Matt!” The voice on the other end was familiar, marred only by the panic in his voice. “Thank God you're okay!”
“Mohinder? What are you doing?” A jolt of fear raced through his body. Had the rioters already made it to Kimball Street? “Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine. You must turn on the news, Matt.”
“I don't have any time to turn on the news, Mohinder. If it's about the riot, I already know. They have me manning the phones and the calls won't stop coming in. I can't talk to you right now.”
“Matt, wait!”
“Mohinder, I have to go! I'll be home at eight. Lock the doors and don't answer any knocks without looking through the peephole, okay? Bye.”
“Matt--!”
Matt hung up the phone and moved on to the next caller.
***
Matt was relieved of his phone duties at dawn. A fresh batch of officers were starting their shifts, unaware of the insanity that awaited them. From the incidents of aggression that were being called in, it seemed as though the riot, or whatever one wanted to call it, wasn't moving in to one specific location. It was stemming out in all directions, spreading like wildfire in a concrete jungle. The incident reports still had the mass of violence several miles away from home, which was the first bit of good news Matt had had all night.
Rather jaded by the night's work, Matt didn't bother sticking around to help with the situation. He was tired and grumpy and wanted nothing more than to escape back to his family. He donned his leather jacket and left the station in a foul mood, a headache beginning to throb behind his eyes. His cellphone had several messages, all from Mohinder, but he didn't bother to check them. He would be home in a few minutes, anyways. Thankfully, the drive home wasn't as bad as it tended to be. There were a few pedestrians wandering around the streets, some looking rather worse for wear, and the streets were pretty clear.
'People probably heard about the riot and decided to stay in' Matt mused as he turned into the parking garage below his apartment building. The sound of the car door shutting and the thump of his footsteps echoed eerily through the quiet garage. The moment he stepped inside the building, a feeling of peace washed over him. Home was a sacred place for Matt. It was full of love, friendship, camaraderie and peace and he refused to bring his work, and any associated moods, home with him. He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the sixth floor. Then, before the elevator could get too far, pressed the button for the fourth floor. Estelle - he had promised that he would check in on her in the morning.
'Damn, I forgot the bagels,' Matt chided himself as the elevator came to a stop with a worrying squeal. He walked briskly to Estelle's room and knocked on the door lightly. It was hard enough to hear if one was awake, but not hard enough to wake somebody if they were sleeping. No answer. He knocked again and was rewarded with the same result. After fishing in his pocket for a moment, he extracted his set of keys, selected the one for Estelle's apartment and opened the door.
The room was dark, the gray dawn floating in from the window the only light in the room. Estelle was there by the window, looking out at the world below. Even from the doorway, Matt could tell her breathing had gotten a little ragged. “Morning, Estelle,” he called across the room as he unraveled Mohinder's tacky scarf from around his neck. “Why didn't you answer the door?”
Estelle didn't answer. She continued to stare out the window. It might have been the dim light of the early dawn, but her skin rather pale, almost gray. It was as he walked around the coffee table that Matt noticed something on the window that disturbed him. Dots. Small, round droplets, some of which had rolled down the surface of the glass and pooled on the sill. Blood. Had she been coughing blood? Matt rushed across the room and placed a concerned hand on her shoulder. “Estelle!”
It was at that moment that Matt Parkman's life began to fall apart. With an energy that he didn't think possible for an elderly woman, Estelle spun her head to the side and clamped her teeth firmly over Matt's forearm. From her throat issued a sound like that of a cat whose tail had been yanked too hard. “Estelle! Fuck, Estelle! What the hell are you doing?” Matt cried, more in fear than in any real pain. The leather jacket he had on protected his skin from any direct contact, but he could certainly feel the pressure of her teeth as they sunk down into his flesh.
Estelle stared at Matt with wide, dead eyes. He would have expected some anger with such a ferocious attack, but her features were completely emotionless, as if this were instinct rather than fear. Matt tried yanking his arm out of her teeth, but only ended up dragging her wheelchair a small distance. In doing so, the chair had spun around just enough so that Estelle's arms were now in reach of Matt's body. Her gangly arms reached for him and she began scratching at his chest, searching for the flesh beneath. “Estelle, let go!” Matt pressed the base of his palm against Estelle's forehead, pushing her head back as he pulled his captured arm in the opposite direction. This proved to be much more effective. His arm popped out of her mouth and her clamping jaws snapped shut. Matt quickly backed away from her, stumbling over some of Molly's toys. Estelle hissed and screeched and reached for him, lunging forward in her wheelchair. He retreated into the hallway, making sure to close and lock the door behind him.
“Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ! Damn it!” Matt slammed the side of his fist against the wall, his chest heaving with fear and exertion. What the hell was wrong with her? Why on Earth would a kindly old woman like Estelle attack him like that? It had to be her illness. He knew she was feeling under the weather. Maybe it was more serious than he had thought possible. Maybe it wasn't the flu at all. Maybe it was some sort of weird brain parasite that was affecting her behaviour. He needed to get her to a hospital!
Matt rushed to the nearest stairwell and raced up two flights of stairs. He burst into the hallway and ran to his apartment. Assuming that the door would be unlocked, Matt turned the knob and pushed forward. Instead of the door swinging open, his body slammed against the wood with a thud. Mohinder took his advice after all. “Shit,” he mumbled as he shakily rifled through his key chain. Before he could find the right key, the door opened. Mohinder stood there, wide eyed and scared.
“Thank God you're okay Matt! We were worried you'd--”
“We need to get Estelle to a hospital, now!” Matt interrupted, pushing his way into the apartment. He began searching. For what, he didn't know, but the method of looking was calming his nerves.
“Have you seen the news, Matt?” Mohinder asked with urgency.
“I don't care about the news, Mohinder! Estelle's really sick and we need to get her to a hospital.” Matt barked, spinning towards his roommate.
“She's sick? What do you mean she's sick?” Mohinder, realizing that the door was still open, hurried over and set the lock.
“I mean, I went over to her place to check on her and she tried to attack me. That's what I mean, Mohinder!”
“She's infected. Dear God.”
“She's what? She's infected? With what?” Matt asked.
“Matt, I really think you should look at the news.” Mohinder's voice carried such a calculating calmness that Matt finally caved. He glanced over at the television and was surprised to see that Molly was already up. She was standing beside the TV, staring at him with frightened eyes, her cheeks shining with drying tears. It wasn't, however, her distraught face that was holding his attention. On the screen beside her, written in bold, red letters a headline that sent a chill down his spine: Infection Rampant, Apocalypse in New York City.