The Reaper Virus (Short Story): Sarcophagus

by Nathan Barnes

  Ava fidgeted. Jessica tapped her on the knee to bring her out of isolation. She spoke softly into the little one’s ear, “no looking out the windows. I mean it.”

  Whispering back she asked, “are the monsters coming?”

  Jessica hesitated. There was no point in lying to the girl because the truth would likely become apparent within minutes. “Yeah, hon. The monsters are on the road behind us.”

  “But we’re safe in here, right?”

  “Safest people on the entire bridge,” Jess answered with a phony smile then turned to hide the fresh tear welling up in her eye.

  Remaining incognito was a difficult tactic for all to embrace, at least for those first twenty minutes after breakfast was interrupted. The retreat was a group of worriers and gossip entrepreneurs. Talking at any volume was second nature to the church crowd. This mentality was quickly abandoned once the horde’s first wave made it alongside the bus. They came like an eager pack of hyena sniffing out fresh carrion.

  A sedan in the farthest lane near where they’d looked over the bridge became an immediate center of attention. Inside was a family of three that allowed their fear to get the best of them. After a few of the undead noticed them the rest quickly followed suit. Ten creatures surrounded the car in a flurry of fists. More of them passed by the newly claimed bounty in search of other victims. A steady percussion of hands hammering against glass grew loud enough to be detected in the isolated coach. It served as a suitable companion to the persistent sobbing inside.

  Ballistic pops rang out once again. One of the men in the bacon-frying group came to the aid of the doomed family in the sedan. He held a long rifle with a wood grain finish and an oversize scope painted in woodland camouflage. The first two shots found their targets with the effect of a punching fist. First a dead man in a lime green polo that had gore splotches rivaling a Rorschach inkblot took a hit to the gut. Barely a step behind him a woman in a black cocktail dress with her right hand severed at the wrist took a hard punch in the shoulder. Rather than falling to the pavement, they spun towards him.

  The well-meaning shooter recalculated in seconds then another muzzle flash belched fire. Mr. Rorschach jerked his head back as a spray of black muck misted the area. As he fell the dead woman tripped over his lifeless corpse. Three more shots found their mark in the skulls of other attacking creatures. Precision took them down but it also occupied too much of the man’s attention. He was so focused that there was no time for him to react when an infected boy lunged. The boy, who couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven when the virus took him, dove into the shooter from the side.

  Impact of the two caused an inadvertent trigger-pull sending a bullet careening into the windshield of the very car he sought to save. Stunned by the source and suddenness of the attack, seconds of defense were lost. Two more creatures joined the undead boy. The man fought hard, wrestling the trio across the hood of the sedan bringing one down with his bare hands. Their fight raged on past the lanes and into the wall. It ended as quickly as it began with the shooter taking any monster he could reach over the wall, plummeting into the rapids beneath.

  Falling to his death kept the well-meaning man from knowing how much damage his efforts ended up causing. The stray bullet weakened the glass, which gave way within seconds. One by one, the family inside was pulled from the sedan into the ravenous jaws of the horde. This fate became inevitability for so many stuck on that stretch. The infected would not stop pounding on the glass as long as something moved inside. The exterior of their cars was no match to the never-ceasing predatory drive of the undead.

  Jessica tried to hide her tears. She tried to look strong for her daughter. Self-doubting thoughts would not accomplish anything; that much was clear. Yet she found herself wracked with more doubt than hope. This bus, their ‘salvation’, could not deliver them to safety and she knew it. Pastor Doug referred to the retreat as a chariot to keep them doing the Lord’s work. Now Jessica knew the truth; this chariot was more of a sarcophagus. Without any outside intervention, this would be their tomb.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hours passed. Tempers flared as lunchtime came. Foot traffic outside was steady. It was almost as if the Reaper virus used the highway bridge as a conduit out of the city limits. Surprisingly, the luxury coach was all but ignored. With the exception of a portly ghoul mindlessly walking into their breakfast buffet, loudly scattering it across the concrete, they hadn’t been noticed.

  Repeats of the sedan attack were heard or partially seen at an all-too-regular interval. Occupants of a few courageous cars tried to make a run for it; most failed in seconds. The frantic nature combined with undead swarming from every direction made chances of escape very low. Jessica wondered if they would be the last ones left alive by the time the day was up. “Is this our curse? Listen to death all around us until it’s finally our turn?” she thought. Her hand found the revolver in the bag under her seat. Running her fingers across the cool metal features she imagined a plan to fight their way out. Reality quickly seeped into her mental plan, with the possibility of failure too great to attempt.

  Paul stood at the front, ducking lightly to keep a low profile. He ushered those in the back to come closer so volume stayed low. Softly he said, “We need a plan for food. Other than a couple snacks I think we’re tapped out in here. Everything we’ve got is in the cargo hold. Frank thinks if we go out with a plan then we might be able to get what we need. If we can get some supplies inside here then we can hunker down until there’s a chance to push through traffic. For all we know, those things will lose interest and move on. I don’t like it but I can’t think of any other way. If you have any ideas, speak up now.”

  Heads turned. Everyone looked about hoping someone else had a better plan. With no rebuttals he laid out his plan, “Six people. I think that’s what it’ll take to pull this off. Frank and I make two, so I need four volunteers. Three will run defense, two go for food and water, then the last will directly cover them while their hands are full. We can pull it off if we’re quick, quiet and mindful of what’s around us.” Paul let it sink in for a few moments then asked the million-dollar question, “any volunteers?”

  No one moved. Glances were traded. Each person waited for someone else to take the plunge. Paul frustratingly rubbed his paw of a hand through his thinning hair. Frank grumbled from behind him, “ya’ll wanna eat, right? We ain’t lasting long unless some of you grow some balls. That’s the problem with you folks - you think it’s just you. Guess what… it’s not! There are women and children on this trip. If you’re the righteous group that your Pastor told me about then I suggest you man up.”

  Jessica tried to look for reactions without being overly obvious. She noticed the female counterparts of several men prodding them to volunteer. Slowly Paul and Frank got their four volunteers. Paul appeared pleased by the supposedly courageous offering; Frank looked indifferent, still just a tired old man. Once their number reached six, the large-statured leader spoke with a tad more gusto than he had minutes before. “We’ve got the right number of people,” he said, “now we need to find a way to defend ourselves.”

  Frank chimed in, “we need anything that can be used as a weapon. I know this is a church group, but ya’ll ain’t blind so someone had to have thought to bring a safety measure in case things went sour.”

  “I have a pocket knife,” offered the man by the toilet.

  “That’s a start. Anyone got something with some kick? Them sick ones don’t go down with a little poke,” the driver asked.

  The metal of Jessica’s .38 special no longer felt cool to the touch. She’d run her hand over it so many times that it actually warmed from her nervous fiddling. Questions ran through her thoughts. ‘How will they react if they find out I have a gun? Can they make it out there without one?’

  Butterflies churned in her stomach. Finally she licked her lips trying to form the words. A raspy voice of one of the volunteers spoke up three rows behind her, “I brought my Glock
.” Several heads turned towards the man, Jessica’s included. He held a black pistol in a ballistic nylon holster above the headrest. “What? The whole damn world is falling apart. I bring this to the grocery store, do you think I wouldn’t bring it with me on this trip?” The man asked rhetorically.

  “No one blames you for bringing it along. After all that has happened I wish I had done something like it,” Paul reassured.

  Then Jessica stood holding her revolver up for all to see. “He’s not the only one,” she said in shaky sounding words. The reaction to her weapon was a little louder than it had been for the first man. She knew Ava was looking up at her yet Jessica couldn’t bear looking back. Feeling bashful, she sat with the gun holstered in her lap.

  Frank moved in the aisle next to her. His tone was genuine, “I’m not surprised. You’ve done what you had to just to protect that little angel sittin’ next to you. Because of her, I’m not about to let you join us out there. But if you’ll let me use it then I promise I’ll get some food on here for both of you. Can you trust me to do that for you?”

  She did trust him. In fact, she trusted him more than anyone on this bus. Much like Jessica and Ava, Frank didn’t belong with the church group. Their being here was a necessity, a job. Relinquishing the weapon didn’t fill her with a sense of vulnerability as she’d anticipated. Perhaps keeping it in the possession of a trusted guardian made it feel no different from holding it herself.

  Two more weapons were fashioned from the handicapped rails in the bathroom. These weren’t much compared to a firearm but they still added an advantage against the infected. The four volunteers hugged their spouses then joined Paul and Frank at the front. In an effort to keep tensions down in the others, they tried to keep their voices quiet enough for only the chosen six to hear. Despite all efforts, the close proximity of Jessica’s seat allowed her to hear every bit of the planning.

  After some back and forth amongst the anxious group, they came up with a solid plan. Frank was to guard the door with Jessica’s .38 special. Having a second firearm protecting the supply runners was tempting, however they couldn’t risk leaving the bus door vulnerable. The man armed with a Glock would run point on the outer defense accompanied by one armed with the handicap rail club. Paul would provide immediate coverage for the two carrying boxes of food and water.

  One by one they filed out of their haven into the apocalyptic wild. Frank picked up the rear then forced the door mostly closed behind them, as there was no way to completely close the bus door from the outside. This was an inadvertent safety measure because if things went sour they would have to get inside without delay. Inside the bus the tension was unbearable. Seconds later Paul’s squad made it to the hatch. Fortunately, they’d avoided drawing any unwanted attention from the new undead population as it weaved throughout the still cars on the bridge. Survivors in the nearest cars had already fallen victim. Thus, much of the horde had spread out.

  It all fell apart with a single misstep. While reaching for a plastic wrapped twenty-four pack of bottled water, the first food runner nervously knocked a box of metal spoons. The sound of spoons scattering across the street was loud enough that they heard it inside the bus. “Move it!” Paul commanded, “Grab whatever you can. They’re coming!”

  Excited groans and gurgles emanated from all sides. Obeying their one track infected hunger; the dead flocked toward the disturbance. The man armed with a Glock fired a precision round through the skull of the first to arrive. Frank answered his shot with his own from the snub nose revolver that knocked an advancing creature into the path of one of his undead brethren. Eyes inside were planted against the tinted glass watching their hope unravel.

  “Only go for their heads! That’s what keeps ‘em down.” Frank yelled as he fired two more shots. This left him with only two bullets. Inside the bus Jessica held onto another five rounds that she forgot to hand off with the weapon.

  Three quick pops rang out from the cargo hold. “Ah shit!” Hollered the Glock man, “she fuckin’ jammed!”

  His partner ran up with the rail club. Cracks to a pair of skulls in a wide swing sent the two creatures to the ground. Unable to clear the jam, the Glock man spun his beloved pistol around to use as a blunt weapon. The dead traipsed in from all angles. For every monster they took down, three others replaced it. The two men on outer defense duty fought valiantly then fell horrifically. Swarming mouths tackled them simultaneously to a grisly demise.

  Both runners had carried full armloads. Paul scooped up a lone box that was dropped then slammed the cargo hold door closed. His free arm gripped the metal rod in a desperate attempt to keep the attackers at bay. “Go! Go! Go!” He yelled to the remaining team as his big arm swung wide arcs with the handicap rail. Zombies covered the fallen men like ants on a dropped candy bar. Preoccupation with this new bounty is all that allowed Paul and the two runners to reach the door.

  As Frank pulled the door open for the runners to enter, a gangly specimen oozing crimson tar from its impatient jaws set upon him from behind. It clamped down on his shoulder in a spray of red. Frank cursed loudly then spun to use the butt of the revolver to cave in the creature’s left temple. “Come on, you assholes!” He shouted to the other remaining men while holding his right hand against the hole in his neck seeping blood.

  One runner made it through then an infected woman lunged towards the second. Paul shot his hand forward, grabbing hold of the woman’s hair. He yanked so hard that her scalp tore off. This delay enabled the second runner to clear the threshold of the bus. Meanwhile, all color drained from Paul’s face as he dropped the bloody mess of hair, trying to process what had just occurred. The scalp-less woman, however, wasn’t nearly as thrown off by the ordeal as Paul was. She latched onto the arm that was used to stop her previous attack. Her bite caused their large-statured leader to scream in agony until he drove the blunt end of the makeshift club straight into the top of her exposed skull.

  Paul and Frank stood across from each other with the open bus door between them. A chorus of the stimulated horde grew louder every second as they closed in. Blood steadily dripped down Paul’s arm to the pavement. Frank’s front glistened from the life that spilled from his wounded neck. The two men exchanged the same glance, one of acceptance, one of peace.

  The driver felt woozy, weak from blood loss and the virus now running rampant through his system. He shouted with as much volume as he could muster up the stairs, “close the door!”

  Inside the second runner sat next to his dropped goods, stunned by the command. Simply shouting made the old man so weak he had to lean against the front of his bus. Paul moved closer to the opening and used every bit of physical presence he had to stress the command, “do it now! They will be here in seconds. There’s no time!” This motivated the dumbfounded runner to work the crank and secure the door.

  Both men breathed a sigh of relief. Members of the infected horde surged closer. Frank turned towards Paul and found barely enough volume to be heard, “I was right about you being their leader.”

  “I tried my best,” Paul said with tears coating his cheeks.

  “And that was enough. Sometimes you gotta accept the cards you’re dealt.” Frank checked the number of rounds in the revolver then asked, “you ready?”

  Paul nodded once. Frank raised the gun and fired one of the two remaining bullets. It caught the large man in his right eye, cratering with enough force to send his bulk spinning to the ground in a swirl of red mist. Noise from the execution tantalized the wave of undead that was barely a car length away. Frank slumped against the bumper, taking a swig from a flask he’d hidden in his sock. When the wave of death reached lunging distance, the old man put the revolver to his temple and robbed the Reaper virus of one more soldier.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As if the events of the supply run weren’t enough to draw attention to the bus, the noise inside after the doors closed drew every walking corpse to their walls. Chaos erupted in the cabin after Frank’s fina
l act spared Paul and himself from being devoured then subsequently turned. Outside the undead piled against the walls trying to claw their way in.

  They raced to cover up the lower half of the windows. By design, the windows were elevated and tinted. This did nothing to deter the horde from aggressively pursuing the meal they knew was locked inside. A mantra of ‘if we disappear then they will go away’ was repeated as they used paper, clothing or whatever they could find to increase their shield. Ava was handed a pack of sugar-free bubble gum and told to chew with all her might. Wads of sticky gum were then passed to whomever needed a dot to adhere a covering to the window. Before long the door was completely blocked by coats and only a few rows of upper glass were left uncovered; the result was an eerie darkness enveloping the cabin.

  The wives of the two runners helped them inventory what supplies were retrieved. Paul’s now vacant seat was used as a prepping ground to divvy up their minor bounty. With adrenaline from the lunchtime slaughter fading, hunger returned. Small lunch portions were passed out. All of the retreat members ate listening to the relentless slapping of infected flesh against their walls.