The Upheaval

by Erica Stevens

  "Ready?" he asked.

  John took a deep breath before nodding. Carl kept hold of John's hand as he poured the liquid over it. The bubbles fizzled up and slipped over the side of John's hand in pinkish trails that plopped onto the ground. "Just leave it for a little bit." Carl's knees popped loudly when he bent to dig through the bandages and ointment that Riley had handed him.

  "You sound like a Rice Krispie," John muttered.

  "Apparently someone else believed you were the treat," Carl retorted.

  Rising to his feet again, John gave him the finger before allowing Carl to wipe the peroxide away. He liberally dabbed the antibiotic ointment on the wound and around it. Blood still rose up but it was far slower than it had been.

  "Do you really think this is going to keep me from getting sick?" John asked.

  Carl stared at the white bandages as he wrapped them carefully around John's hand and tried to think of an answer. He knew what he wanted to have happen but he also wanted his old life back and that wasn't going to happen either. He kept reminding himself that they weren't dealing with zombies here but every horror flick he'd ever seen with zombies in it flashed through his mind. When watching those movies, he would always yell at the stupid people who took one of the infected with them in the anticipation that somehow, miraculously, this person would be the one to make it through. He'd always felt some kind of ridiculous sense of vindication when the bitten person inevitably turned and ate the idiots who had insisted it wouldn't happen to them.

  He lifted his head and met John's troubled brown eyes head on. "I do."

  If John turned on him and ate him he would deserve it, but he couldn't bring himself to admit there was a chance that he was going to die, and he couldn't say it to John. He couldn't take all hope away from John, or tie him up, and he definitely couldn't leave him on the side of the road. But if he showed any sign of becoming what those people were, what Lee had become, he also wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in his head.

  They may not be dealing with zombies but it could be some kind of encephalitis, some form of rabies that was transmitted by a bite. Or it could be something else entirely, he reminded himself as he taped the bandage down. They had no way of knowing, not yet anyway, but between John and Josh he had a feeling they were about to find out.

  Carl handed John a couple of aspirin and a bottle of water. "Should help to keep the swelling down," he said.

  He stepped away from John, gathered up the supplies and put them on the front seat of the truck. He closed the door and walked around the hood. Riley knelt before Josh as she worked on taping a bandage to the bite in his shoulder. Xander stood behind her with his gun in one hand and a bottle of peroxide in the other.

  "How's it going?" Carl asked. He turned his back on them in order to keep an eye on the road, bungalows, and power lines.

  "Ok," Riley muttered as the sound of tape ripping reached him. John walked to the front of the truck and sat on the bumper. His shoulders slumped forward, his head bowed. "I can't sew it shut."

  "Neither could I," Carl informed her.

  "The bleeding is pretty much stopped. How's John?"

  John turned and lifted his left hand in the air. The white bandage had some pink staining on it but it looked to be holding up relatively well. "Looking good."

  "That's a first," Riley quipped but her voice sounded strained.

  "I heard that," John called back to her.

  "You were supposed to," she replied. Carl glanced over his shoulder at her as she rose to her feet and wiped her knees off. Their eyes locked when she looked up at him and he saw the same worry reflected in her gaze that was growing within him. "There was a pharmacy, at that intersection when we turned off the road from Walmart. There might be some medicine still in there."

  "No." John rose to his feet and walked over to stand beside Carl in order to face Riley. "We're not going back that way. Did you see how many of those things were back there?"

  "Not all of us would go," Riley said. "But two of us could take the car back, park off of one of the side roads and try to walk into the town. Two people would be a lot less noticeable. I'd be willing to go."

  "No," John said again.

  "There could be medicine there," Riley insisted.

  John slapped his good hand on the hood of the truck. "There's no way to know what's left in that pharmacy; it could be a suicide mission and a useless one at that."

  "But if there is some of the supplies that helped Xander…"

  "If is a pretty big word to risk lives on, and not just yours. These supplies have to get back to the camp. If you don't come back, and whoever stays here with us ends up having to kill us because we become rabid freakoids, or if we end up killing them then what? Even if they do survive, they won't make it back to the camp on their own, and the people at that camp need someone to come back. The children need someone to come back. We'll be fine, right Josh?"

  The teen was deathly pale when he lifted his head to take them in. His eyes darted rapidly between all of them before landing on Riley. Don't say it kid, Carl pleaded silently as Riley looked helplessly back at him. John was right, they all knew John was right but if Josh asked her to go, Carl knew she would. Xander would either go with her, or he would tie her down and make her stay. It would turn into a fight but Carl would help him do it.

  Josh continued to stare at Riley for a minute before nodding. "John's right, we'll be fine," he finally said.

  "Thank God," John muttered and turned away.

  Carl silently agreed as Xander heaved a breath of relief and dumped the supplies into the backseat of the car. Carl's attention was drawn to the smoke rising high over the treetops; the store must have been fully engulfed by now. He wondered if the fire would draw those things in or if it would push them further away.

  "How are you both feeling?" Xander asked.

  "I feel fine," John answered. "A little lighter without part of my hand, a little nauseous from being someone's idea of a chicken wing, but I do feel fine."

  "Josh?" Xander asked.

  "I'd have to agree with John, on all accounts."

  "The infection hit me pretty hard but we weren't able to clean the bite right away. You might avoid that completely considering we got you cleaned up pretty quick."

  Carl appreciated the fact that Xander had referred to the infection as the only cause for him getting sick. He turned away from the front of the truck and walked to the passenger side door. He retrieved the map from the dashboard of the truck. "I'm going to try and figure out where we are," he said.

  He glanced over at Josh as the boy rose to his feet and wobbled unsteadily. The bandage that Riley had taped to his shoulder could be seen clearly beneath the jagged tear that had been ripped into his bloodstained t-shirt. Josh walked to the front of the truck and sat on the bumper beside John. Carl placed the map on the hood of the truck and unfolded it to take a look but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the two of them sitting on the bumper.

  He really didn't want to have to kill either one of them.

  "Do you think we should stay here for the night?" Riley asked from beside him. "Maybe we could make it back to the camp."

  Carl glanced at the darkening sky. "Let's see where we are first."

  "Ok, I have to go to the bathroom. I'll be right back."

  "Do you have your gun?"

  "Yes."

  "Xander…"

  She shook her head and glanced at where Xander stood by John and Josh. "Keep him with you. I know if they get sick it will take time to show, but just keep him with you." Carl opened his mouth to argue with her but she swiftly cut him off. "There are some things I'd prefer to do on my own."

  He lit a cigarette and nodded his agreement. "Don't go far."

  "I never do."

  He watched as she retrieved a roll of toilet paper from the back of the truck and vanished into the woods. He turned back to the map and ran his fingers over the roads on it. It wasn't difficult to figure out where they were but it
was going to be a convoluted trip back to the camp. He glanced at the sky again, then at John and Josh before returning his attention to the map. Xander appeared at his side and glanced around him.

  "Where's Riley?" he inquired.

  "Went to the bathroom."

  He didn't look at all pleased with that answer but he didn't comment on it as he studied the map. Carl glanced at the bungalow colony and then behind him to the power lines, but everything remained relatively clear. "There's a chance we could make it to the camp tonight. If the roads aren't too blocked we may be able to do it, or at the very least get closer to it. I'm going to have to navigate, can you drive this truck and I'll ride with Riley?"

  "I can," Xander said. "Let's get ready to go."

  Carl turned away from the map and stepped around to the front of the truck. "We're going to try and get back to the camp."

  "Is that possible?" John inquired.

  "We'll find out," Carl answered. "At the very least we'll be able to make it to the racetrack tonight. Let's go."

  The two of them climbed off the bumper and walked with slumped shoulders in between the vehicles. They had to make it back, Carl thought as he pulled the map from the hood of the truck. He was about to open the passenger side door when two men stepped from the woods. At first Carl assumed they were some of the sick ones, but then he saw the raised rifles gleaming in their hands.

  CHAPTER 23

  Al,

  A sick feeling twisted through Al's stomach as he stared down at the wreckage of the body the others had just savagely killed. His gaze lifted to search the trees but he didn't see anything moving through the thick foliage. He grabbed hold of Mary Ellen's arm when she went to take a step forward on the stand. "Wait," he whispered.

  "They're heading for the camp." Her eyes were wild as they met his, her arm rigid in his grasp. "The children."

  Al continued to study the woods, he saw nothing moving amongst the trees and underbrush but he couldn't shake the feeling that there were eyes upon them. Those sick people were too smart. He knew he could be letting the group of them approach the camp, knew he could be putting the others at risk, but he still didn't move. All of his years of hunting had taught him one thing, even if you couldn't see the deer, that didn't mean they couldn't see you and it didn't mean they weren't there.

  A chill ran up his spine, he had to make a decision. If he was wrong then the children were in danger, but if he was right then they would be stepping into a trap. "Al…" Mary Ellen said in a pleading tone of voice.

  "If we get onto that ladder and they're still out there, we'll be vulnerable," he told her.

  "Everyone at the camp is vulnerable," she whispered frantically.

  He gave a brief nod, she was right. Even if those things were hiding within the trees, they couldn't stay on this stand. Not if there was a chance the sick were heading toward the camp and the children. "Ok but we have to get off of the ladder as fast as we can."

  "Yes, yes," she said and went to turn away.

  He pulled her back toward him. "Even if they're not waiting for us out there, we can't go directly to the camp behind them. We have to circle around to the other side."

  "What? Why?" she demanded.

  "If Claire, Nancy and the children start shooting at those things there are going to be a lot of stray bullets," Al explained. "There's a good chance we could be hit by one of them if we come up behind those things."

  Mary Ellen chewed nervously on her bottom lip but she nodded in agreement. He could feel her anxiety and the desire to get to her daughter coming off of her in waves. All he could do was hope that she didn't do anything foolish enough to get herself killed. "You have to keep your head," he told her.

  There was still no color in her face and her hands shook but her eyes didn't hesitate to meet his. "I will," she vowed.

  Taking a deep breath, he nodded and turned away from her. Donald stopped him when he went to grab hold of the ladder. "I'll be able to get off the ladder faster and give you guys some cover."

  Al stepped back; Donald grabbed hold of the ladder and swung himself onto it. He didn't take a single breath as he watched Donald rapidly descend. Donald was three quarters of the way down when he leapt off the ladder and landed agilely upon the ground. He remained crouched for a minute, watching the woods intently before rising to his feet. Al grabbed hold of the ladder and climbed down as rapidly as his old legs would allow him but they certainly weren't going to allow him to jump off the ladder like Donald had.

  Mary Ellen was already on her way down when he landed on the ground. "Do you see anything?" he asked Donald.

  Donald shook his head but Al could feel the tension radiating from him. "Once we go into those trees we'll have no way of knowing if they're coming at us."

  "I know," Al said as Mary Ellen climbed off the ladder beside him. "Make sure you keep searching above us too. The last thing I want is one of them landing on my back."

  Donald shuddered and nodded his agreement; Mary Ellen stepped closer to the two of them when they approached the decimated remains of the dead one the other sick had torn apart. Al tried not to look but his gaze was repeatedly drawn back to the torn ligaments, bones, and other body parts he could no longer identify.

  He kept his gun before him as they cautiously approached the woods in a triangle formation with Donald at the front. He knew it wasn't true but every step sounded louder to him than the screeching birds that had taken flight earlier.

  The birds…

  His head tilted back but he didn't see any of them taking flight from the trees and then, fifty feet to the right of them a few more birds soared into the sky. The sick ones were on the move but they weren't scaring the birds from the trees like they had before. Had the sick split apart and were now moving in smaller groups? He wondered as he continued to search for any sign of the monsters in the woods with them. Had all the birds already been frightened from their roosts?

  His old ticker wasn't going to be able to take this, he realized as they continued through the woods toward the camp. The sick ones are smart and they all moved with such stealth. He suspected that even if they were following behind the group of sick people, tracking their movements, they weren't the hunters. They never had been.

  He studied the treetops but he didn't think they would be above them, not anymore. They were luring them back toward the camp. Luring them toward the others so that they could take them all down at once.

  "I think we're in trouble here," Donald whispered.

  "I think we are too," Al agreed.

  A loud crack caused all of them to jump and spin toward Mary Ellen. She stared back at them in dismay before glancing down at the branch beneath her foot. "Sorry," she mouthed.

  Al took a deep breath to settle the rapid beat of his heart. "This way." He moved toward the right so they could begin their circle around the camp.

  He kept his ears alert for any noise but he found the utter stillness of the woods even more unnerving than the sight of the rabid sick ones turning on their own had been. Donald held up a hand and stopped before them. He pulled his knife free from his holster and pressed it against the handle of his gun.

  Al fell into step beside him until they arrived at an area about a quarter mile off the back right hand corner of the cabin. The continuous silence enshrouding the forest troubled him even more than the fact he didn't know where the sick humans had gone.

  He grabbed hold of Donald's arm, holding him back when he caught the soft sound of a stick breaking. Donald turned toward him, his brow furrowed in confusion as Al held his finger against his lips. Al strained his ears but he didn't hear anything else. He couldn't shake the feeling there was something out there, watching them. He pointed in the direction he'd heard the noise coming from but as he turned to look that way something inside of him instinctively caused his head to snap back.

  He took a step away from the tree above him as someone launched at him from the leafy branches. Throwing himself backward Al avoided the man
coming at him but he was unable to keep himself on his feet and landed heavily upon the ground. Shifting his hold on his gun, he grabbed for his knife as the man launched at him.

  Donald swung out, catching the man across the cheek with a sharp right that sent him spiraling to the side before the man could get to him. Al rolled as rapidly away as he could and pushed himself back to his feet. Another sick person emerged from the shadows and descended on them with the deadly silence of an owl swooping down on a field mouse.

  He held his gun and knife up before him, he couldn't fire off a shot and risk bringing more of those things down upon them, but he might not have a choice as the two sick ones circled them. Where are the other sick? He wondered as he kept his eyes focused on the one who had first leapt out of the tree at him.

  "What are they waiting for?" Mary Ellen demanded.

  "Backup, maybe," Donald muttered.

  "I don't think they were with the other group," Al said as he studied the two now hunting them. He tried to recall what the main group had looked like but he was fairly certain these two hadn't been with them.

  Al adjusted his grasp on his knife as Mary Ellen's back pressed against his. The one who had leapt from the tree hadn't taken the landing too well, he now limped off of his right leg. The other one was mostly focused on Mary Ellen but he knew that if one attacked the other would be right behind it.

  The one with a limp lunged for him at the same time the other went for Mary Ellen. Al swung out with his knife, catching the man across his chest and slicing him open. Blood spilled forth but it did little to deter his attacker as he kept coming straight for him. Al managed to adjust the knife and point it upwards as he fell back onto the forest floor beneath his crazed attacker.

  The man fell on top of him; his weight drove his body forcefully onto Al and the blade of his knife. His gun was knocked free of his hand. Arms and legs kicked above him, flailing as the man tried to get at him. Warm blood trickled from the vicious gash in the man's lower sternum; it ran over Al's hand and dripped down to plaster his clothes to his skin. Revulsion slid through Al but he twisted the knife deeper to try and put an end to the man's suffering as small mewls of agony escaped him.