Plague World (Ashley Parker Novel)

by Dana Fredsti

  I remembered a commercial where an old lamp had been put out on the curb in the cold night, with sad music playing. The one where the narrator said, “it’s just a lamp, people!” Anthropomorphizing was ingrained in human nature, be it with animals, insects, plants, or inanimate objects.

  And yeah, I’d felt bad for the lamp too.

  I unslung my squirrel rifle, sighted down the barrel, and pulled the trigger. There was a soft popping sound and a small hole appeared in the center of the kid’s forehead. It crumpled to the ground next to the girl, one arm landing improbably to drape over her waist.

  “It’s just a lamp, people,” I said softly, and stepped back.

  INCIARTE TAR PIT, SIERRA DE PERIJÁ, VENEZUELA

  “What are we going to do?” Ana stood perfectly still, the smell of tar thick in her nostrils, afraid any movement would suck her down further in the viscous goo.

  “I don’t know.” Jonathan Rivera, her boss and mentor at ConocoPhillips, stayed equally still at her side, both of them mired knee deep, unable to move any further. Moans filled the air along the shore, the sound both plaintive and terrifying. She and Jonathan were about ten feet out from the shore. Only fear had enabled them to get that far into the mire without being stuck.

  “There has to be something we can do,” Ana said, trying desperately to keep her voice from breaking. “There’s got to be a way out of here, right?”

  “Ana…” Jonathan stopped as the volume of the moaning increased, the sound chilling even in the harsh light of day.

  Ana shuddered.

  Not seven feet away were hideous parodies of humanity—men and women with chunks missing from their bodies, milky corneas framed by yellow, bloodied whites. They stunk, the reek of rotting flesh warring with the acrid odor of tar.

  Greedy hands reached out toward them, fingers clutching for the prey that was beyond their reach. What made it worse was Ana recognized many of them as others from their team. People she’d worked with for the last few days.

  Ana had always been fascinated by tar pits, going into the field of paleontology based on a visit to the La Brea museum as a child. They formed when natural asphalt seeped upward from cracks in the sediment above oil-bearing rocks. Rainwater collected on the surface, making the pits look like harmless waterholes, luring thirsty animals to their doom. If they weren’t engulfed immediately through their struggles, they would starve to death. Predators looking for an easy meal became stuck as well, adding to the rich collection of fossils first found in the La Brea pits, and more recently in the Menes in Inciarte, Venezuela.

  Jonathan and Ana were working at the site where the fossilized remains of a saber-tooth tiger had been discovered in 2008, and many other fossils had since been extracted. It was a paleontologist’s wet dream, and the opportunity to be a part of the operation. It was the chance of a lifetime for Ana, especially with the added bonus of being at Jonathan’s side as his assistant.

  Only now that dream had turned into a nightmare, as it seemed that Ana and Jonathan might become part of the fossil collection.

  * * *

  They’d arrived later than usual because Jonathan was feeling under the weather, having caught the bug that was going around the site—not to mention the small hotel where they were staying. A few of the local workers had been sick enough the day before that they should have gone home, but most of them elected to stay.

  Ana had considered insisting that Jonathan stay back at the hotel, but he had seemed better after a cup of coffee and several packets of Thera-Flu, so they set off for the site. When they’d arrived, they’d found it strangely empty, the normal eager bustle and noise of the workers conspicuously absent. Hammers and chisels lay discarded on the ground along with buckets, dustpans, and broken plaster of paris molds vying for space with clipboards, pads of paper, pencils and measuring tapes.

  It was only after she’d gotten out of the jeep that Ana had spotted a severed human leg, foot still shod in a work boot, lying on the ground near the large canvas tent that served as a makeshift cafeteria and break area. The calf—what was left of it—was muscular and hairy. The thing had been gnawed to the bone in some places.

  Jonathan had gotten out of the vehicle.

  Ana stared at the bite marks, but it wasn’t until the first of the creatures had staggered out from the tent’s interior that she realized those bites were human.

  One of the workers—Ana thought his name was Pedro—had a chisel sticking out of his stomach. Black fluid, as viscous as the tar, oozed from the point of penetration. He reached for her, taking lumbering steps that brought him dangerously close. Ana grabbed the protruding end of the chisel, shoving with all of her weight behind it, sending the thing into another monstrosity that was coming up from behind.

  Jonathan gave a yell as more of the creatures appeared.

  “Get back in the car!” he hollered, breaking into a hacking cough as the words left his mouth. Ana turned to obey, but found her path blocked off by a half dozen of the things clustered around them. One of them, a former young intern, with shapely legs, looked as if she’d been wading with piranhas. She grabbed Ana’s arm, uncoordinated fingers scrabbling on her long-sleeved cotton shirt. Ana had shrieked, slapped the thing’s hand away, and run in the opposite direction, Jonathan close at her heels.

  They had barreled right through the safety of the worksite with its wooden walkways and railing, tripping over the grids of twine. The creatures followed relentlessly, their numbers cutting off any escape, until she and Jonathan found themselves faced with the choice of stepping further into the unprotected pit itself, or being torn to pieces.

  * * *

  Now they stood, unable to go any further as the zombies slowly trudged after them, sinking into the tar beneath the water’s surface until they too were trapped.

  One of them, intestines spilling out over its khaki shirt and pants, kept reaching, bending toward them until its upper half finally collapsed into the ooze, arms still outstretched, fingers clutching as it tried to pull itself forward. It kept moving long after it should have suffocated.

  “What are they?” Ana whispered. She prayed desperately for someone, anyone to come and rescue them. She didn’t want to die like this.

  Jonathan coughed again, eyes jaundiced and bright red from his illness and the fumes from the tar. Suddenly his eyes rolled up in his head and he buckled over, folding in on himself. Ana cried out and grabbed him before his body could hit the tar. She nearly keeled over herself. Only the goo holding her legs in place stabilized her enough to take Jonathan’s weight and remain upright.

  Maybe I should just let us both go down, Ana thought. Surely death by suffocation would be kinder than the slow torture of starvation. And yet she couldn’t give up. Couldn’t believe it was inevitable that she and Jonathan would share the same as those unfortunate animals from so many centuries past.

  Jonathan’s bulk grew heavier by the moment, until Ana realized she’d either have to release him, or they’d both go down. Her arms trembled with fatigue and she prepared herself to make the choice of letting him die, just so she could have a few more hours of life.

  “Please wake up, Jon, please wake up, please don’t be dead,” Ana intoned the words over and over like a prayer.

  Just as her muscles couldn’t take any more, Jonathan emitted a sudden groan, and stirred in her grasp.

  “Oh, thank God!” Ana gave a laugh of relief, despite the hopelessness of their situation. At least she wouldn’t be alone.

  Then Jonathan lifted his head and stared at her with dead eyes. He groaned again, wrapping his hands around her body and pulling her close. As his teeth sunk into her neck, Ana realized the choice had been made for her.

  She only hoped she didn’t come back.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Our little group was quiet as we made our way south along the edge of the beach, sticking close to the water to hide our presence as much as possible from the zombies above. The hard-packed sand was easier to walk o
n, too, and we needed to keep our pace brisk.

  Even JT was subdued after witnessing the sad little drama we’d left behind us in the storm drain. As for me, I wouldn’t want to talk even if it’d been safe to do so. Scream to the heavens, maybe, just to get some of the sorrow and horror out of my head.

  The kid I’d killed had already been dead, but both he and his girlfriend had suffered a drawn-out, terrifying fate. And let’s face it—I would always empathize with the damn lamp. Moisture from the fog mingled with a slow but steady stream of tears trickling down my face. I didn’t bother trying to wipe them away. They’d dry up eventually, and none of my companions would judge me.

  We passed a long stretch of sandy slope to our left. I could see some sort of structure up top, and yet more abandoned cars. The strident cries of peacocks mingled with the moans of the damned. JT nodded in that direction.

  “The zoo is up there, across the Great Highway,” he said quietly. Which meant there were a bunch of zombies up there, as well. There were bound to be some that had found their way to the beach.

  Nathan picked up his pace even more, motioning for the rest of us to do the same. I didn’t need to be told twice. Even as we hurried further south, I saw human silhouettes in the fog moving slowly in our direction. One missed its step on a steeper part of the sandy slope, tumbling down the rest of the way like a Raggedy Ann doll. It landed in a tangle of disjointed limbs about twenty feet behind us, getting slowly to its feet and emitting a low moan as it realized food was near.

  Nathan quickly dispatched it with a round to the head, but it was too late. Others answered the moan and more forms emerged from the fog.

  “Move it, people,” Nathan growled.

  We started jogging down the beach—not my choice of exercise on a good day, let alone lugging however many pounds of gear I was carrying. My M4 and squirrel rifle slapped against my back and shoulders as I jogged. Luckily my thigh and groin seemed to have recovered, thanks to the wild card perk of accelerated healing.

  I wondered how soldiers dealt with all their deadly accessories efficiently and without getting the shit beaten out of them by their own gear. Maybe it just took practice. Well, I wasn’t going to be finished with my on-the-job training any time soon, so I had plenty of time to get good at it.

  And with that totally depressing thought I sucked it up. Even with the crappy visibility, I could see the beach narrowing, the coastline bulging out with an artificial stretch of boulders and slabs of concrete added to stave off erosion. Directly ahead of us it narrowed down to a few feet between the water’s edge on our right and a very steep rise to our left, made up of rocks topped by a lip of crumbling asphalt.

  Waves crashed onto shore, curls of white foam rolling in to splash against the rocks before receding. I did not like the looks of it.

  JT’s brow furrowed.

  “You’ll wanna watch it going around that outcropping. Winter surf makes for sneaker waves, although they’re not as bad here as they are on some of the other beaches.”

  Great. Sneaker waves. The idea of getting washed out to sea bothered me more than going mano a mano with the undead. I mean, zombies could be stopped—a bullet to the head did the job. The ocean, on the other hand, wouldn’t pay attention if I said, “Please don’t drown me or smash me against these rocks.” And I couldn’t put a bullet in its brain pan, either.

  I thought of those kids we’d found, and gave an involuntary shudder.

  The tide was definitely rising. Each set of waves seemed to encroach just a little bit further onto the few feet of sand still visible. One out of every five or so sent foamy water hissing over our feet. It wasn’t too bad, though, until we got to the outcropping. Waves slapped against the rocks, water swirling in and around the crevices and hiding the sand.

  The water receded, leaving a foot or two of wet sand. There were rocks sunken in depressions, making little hidden land mines. I noted their locations as best I could before the incoming waves covered them up again.

  “Next time the water goes out, we run for it,” Nathan said.

  Moans echoed through the fog. I glanced back and sure enough, slumped figures slowly emerged out of the mist, mangled features and misshapen limbs becoming visible as they slowly but steadily made their way toward us. Creepy as hell.

  Eat your heart out, John Carpenter.

  More sets of waves rushed in, coming in quick succession, each one a little higher than the previous one as we waited impatiently for a chance to go. What looked like the last big set splashed high up against the rocks.

  JT raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll see you on the other side,” he said. Then, as nimble as a spider monkey, he scrambled up and across the rocks and out of sight.

  “Come on, tide,” I muttered as the zombies grew closer. It was probably just my imagination, but their pace seemed to pick up when they caught sight of us. Nathan kept a cool eye on them, taking out the front two with calm efficiency. Then again, he pretty much did everything with calm efficiency. It may have been his only setting.

  Finally the water receded with a hissing sound, far and fast enough to leave a damp spit of sand.

  “Now!” Nathan waved Tony and me ahead, taking one more shot and felling one more zombie before following behind us. We ran for it, darting around and leaping over the now partially submerged rocks as we raced the waves.

  We made it to the next recession in the beach, the coastline curving back in to form a little cove. JT was already there, examining the next rocky barrier with a clinical eye. The three of us trotted up next to him.

  There was a good thirty-foot stretch where the tide had already reached the edge, leaving no visible ground. The murky water left no way of knowing how deep it was. It could be a few inches, or a few feet. A twisted ankle waiting to happen—a broken one if the misstep was really bad, and a quick trip out to sea if a sneaker wave decided to pay a visit.

  Climbing over the rocks, however, didn’t look much better. The ones near the bottom were already wet, covered with nasty slippery green moss, and the ones above it weren’t much better.

  “This sucks,” I said.

  Tony nodded, looking glumly at the water and the rocks.

  “It’s, like, a total Scully-versus-Cherry moment.”

  We all looked at him.

  Scully versus Cherry? It sounded like X-Files porn to me.

  “You know,” Tony explained, “the whirlpool and the monster in the cliffs that that Greek dude had to get by, and like, he had to decide which one was a better choice.”

  “Scylla versus Charybdis,” JT said, pronouncing them with ease.

  Show off.

  Tony nodded.

  “Yeah, those. Manny and I used to call them Scully and Cherry. Drove our English teacher crazy.” He grinned to himself at the memory, a flash of genuine happiness before his face clouded back over. His friend Manny had died in Redwood Grove during the initial zombie outbreak.

  “Not a bad analogy,” Nathan said. “Question is, which one do we choose?”

  Just then a larger than normal wave crashed against the rocks nearest to us, sending spray in our direction as the water roiled up around the cliffs and lapped at our toes.

  Sneaker wave.

  We looked at each other.

  “Cherry?” I said.

  “Cherry,” Nathan replied.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  We stowed our weapons in their respective slings and sheaths to leave our hands free for climbing. JT led the way, finding footholds and handholds with ease as he made his way about five feet above the slick, moss-covered rocks.

  “There isn’t a sole around with enough traction to deal with this shit,” he said. We followed as best we could, Nathan bringing up the rear again.

  I found myself falling behind, however, tentative in finding my footholds and handgrips, slipping on what seemed like every damn rock I stepped on. I found myself taking a slightly lower and slower route than the menfolk in part due to a lifelong fear
of heights. I was so not going to take up mountaineering in the near future.

  My foot slipped on one of those damned mossy patches, making my stomach lurch. I reached out with my right hand for stability, grasping at an outcropping only to have my hand slip into a slimy crevice. Something moved in there and I shrieked in surprise, sounding embarrassingly shrill.

  “You okay?” Nathan paused about five feet above and ten feet ahead of me.

  “I’m fine,” I said, really hating my shaky voice. “I think there was a crab or something.”

  “Well then, get your ass up here where it’s dry,” he replied unsympathetically.

  “Indy, euwww,” Tony whined. “I can’t save you. There are icky bugs!”

  “Fuck you, Tony,” I responded.

  He laughed, which just pissed me off even more.

  A wave crashed onto the rocks, soaking my legs and making me aware just how far down I was in comparison with the rest of my team. I was really feeling the weight of my gear about now. And it smelled bad on the rocks, rot and brine mingling in an unpleasant olfactory experience. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but somehow it never got any better.

  A flash of metal caught my eye, a stake sticking in one of the larger crevices. It looked like one of those things fishermen used to anchor their poles in the sand when fishing off the beach, a sand spike or something like that. I wondered what happened to the fisherman who’d put it there, and then decided I really didn’t want to know. It made a good handgrip, though, as I navigated a particularly slippery patch of rocks.

  Suddenly the stake punctured something that felt like a balloon, releasing the rich smell of shit as it did so. I gagged just as a hand reached up from the crevice and clutched at my wrist, fingers blue and bloated like rotting sausages. I yelped, causing Tony to snigger again.

  “What’s wrong, Willie? Another bug?”