It happened in a heartbeat. One minute he was alive, although he had looked a little under the weather at first glance; the next, he was Undead.
He had been sitting by himself toward the back of the bus, sort of slumped over himself in the seat. There was a bandage on his forearm but to be honest, I didn’t think too much of that; not everyone sporting a bandage is infected.
Barbara was the first of us to react, mainly because she was the closest to the disturbance occurring toward the rear of the bus. Knowing that firing a gun in such close quarters and with the number of people now trying to get as far away from the newly but ravenous Undead was dangerous and careless, she drew a short spear she had fashioned from a fallen maple branch.
She lunged at the thing that was once a middle-aged man as the bus took an inopportune moment to hit a pothole nestled in the road. The bus floor lurched and threw Barbara off-balance, allowing newly dead hands to clasp tightly onto her shoulders.
Before any of us had a chance to react those Undead arms were pulling Barbara ever closer.
Closer to the open mouth of certain death.
Its lips settled into the crook of her neck like those of a lover initiating an intimate interlude. Its teeth could be heard biting into her flesh in the comparative silence of that moment. The head jerked back and a surge of crimson burst forth.
Barbara screamed; in panic, in terror, in realization of what she would likely become. Her face turned to us, disbelief fairly evident but the control was still there. She was prepared to do whatever she could to save many more
The hole in Barbara’s neck looked massive, a chasm of crimson on an alabaster background. While you could see the panic in her eyes and hear the panic from the other riders, she kept its attention focused solely on her. In an attempt to what I can only assume was to save her own life, she tried to get her hands up to help staunch the blood but it had too great of a hold on her. Giving up, she clung to the Undead man as it turned its attention to the rest of the riders.
The bus driver pulled over to the curb, opening the doors as he did. Everyone with the ability to exit did so, leaving their belongings behind in their haste. A few people were trapped in the back of the bus, unable for various reasons to pass by the carnage unfolding before them. Everything but their eyes was frozen in horror.
In the space of a moment, the Undead dropped Barbara. She had lost a lot of blood, that fact was apparent from the map of it on her clothing, conquering new ground each second in its quest for freedom.
The shock in her countenance was plain to see. Shock from the attack as well as shock from blood loss. She wasn’t dead yet but soon she would be. There was no way Ben would have been able to repair the damage done to her neck. No way that we could have undone the damage that bite had done to her blood as well.
There was no saving Barbara; we knew and so did she.
The Undead turned and came at us, its speed still slightly quicker than most of its kind mainly from the fact that it still had some oxygen in its blood to help feed the dying muscles.
Bob’s rage in that moment was palpable. Barbara lay dying and now it was coming for more of us. He pulled out his hunting knife and with a swift and powerful arc he sliced through its neck almost completely. His aim was kissed by pure chance, or maybe it was a little skill.
Its head hung on for the briefest of moments only by the strength of a few tendons but as the body went limp the last remaining vestiges tore free. The severed head, still clasping the morsel of Barbara’s flesh in its teeth, tumbled toward the rear of the bus, startling a response from the frozen passengers. It was as if that was the signal for them to leave and quickly, they fled from the carnage in their wake.
Our attention immediately turned to Barbara. She had slid down the support pole bolted in the middle of the bus and was now slumped forward. Her face was so pale in comparison to the pool of blood growing around her. She was bleeding out; the Undead had punctured her carotid artery in its haste to taste her flesh.
We knew that it wouldn’t be long before she was dead. And now her blood, her body was infected. One of our biggest fears had befallen us. We would again be charged with killing someone who we cared about. We knew it and Barbara knew it. She quickly told us that she was sorry and then ordered everyone but Bob to leave. She had clearly chosen him to put an end to what she was going to become.
She had nominated him to extend to her the final dignity that every living thing deserves. Death.
We knew the moment of her death. It was marked by the cry of soul shattering grief that exited the bus. The single shot of Bob’s firearm ended her reawakening.
Upon exiting the bus Bob looked at no one, only turning to head back out of town. We gathered our supplies and silently fell in behind him. Bystanders tried to engage us, screaming in their demand to know what was going on. We had no answers, only warnings.
Get out. They’re coming.
None of us spoke for quite some time, all of us lost in our thoughts of Barbara. The first to break the silence was Bob. All he said was this: She didn’t deserve that. And he began to tell us more about Barbara. Things that we hadn’t known until that moment.
Barbara had grown up really poor. Her family had next to nothing and lived from paycheck to paycheck. Her father barely had work most of the time. Nothing was ever full-time but he was willing to work almost around the clock to make sure that Barbara and her sisters had food to eat and a roof to cover their heads at night.
In school, she was never popular. She had a few friends but they were constantly playing at being mean little girls so she separated herself from them as much as possible without becoming a complete loner. Being a loner would have served her just fine, however. She knew that she wanted to get out of the small northern town and she was willing to study harder than everyone else to get there; and get there she did. Full scholarship to the University of Toronto.
Life in the big city was quite a shock to Barbara. She was a shy country girl from up north. Her town didn’t have the multicultural aspect that makes up so much of Canada now. She was lost and alone, but quickly made friends with the boy that lived across the hall from her; Bob. Soon they would start dating and become inseparable. They would study together, even though they were in different programs and around the campus, they became known as the power couple; both of them winning awards in their respective fields of study.
They were perfectly matched. The both had a quick and intense intelligence and they made the cutest couple (or so everyone told them).
Then, in third year, Barbara got pregnant. And it was the pregnancy that tore them apart. Bob was in favor of keeping the baby and Barbara against it. Not because she didn’t want children but because she knew that having the baby could have put a hold on her dreams of achievement. It was a slightly selfish reason, but she wanted to have it all before she brought a child into the world.
Slowly but surely, though, Bob was beginning to bring her around to the idea of being a family together. But it wasn’t in the cards for them. The unthinkable happened and Barbara lost the baby.
Bob’s anger in that moment turned itself completely in her direction. He blamed her. As a result, they broke up and didn’t talk for quite some time. It was only in the year before Bob left for Afghanistan that he sought Barbara out to apologize to her. They quickly fell into their friendship again, but it didn’t amount to more than that despite Bob’s attempts to rekindle them. He had hurt Barbara so badly, that she couldn’t even think about allowing him that kind of access into her life again. So they remained friends while they both secretly desired more.
With Barbara gone, Bob seemed a little less whole. We’ve all experienced loss, some of us quite a bit in the past few days. All we could do was support him in his grief as he had supported us in ours. The truth is that no one deserves to become one of them.
Please do everything you can to avoid that fate. Those are my only words of advice for tonight.
Day 6:
> After what happened yesterday, we’ve all been on edge. We’ve taken no chances today and avoided all signs of civilization. It’s just too soon for us after losing Barbara to gamble with our lives again. We knew that there would come a time when we would need to resupply ourselves but yesterday’s painful lesson has taught us to be that much more careful the next time.
We’re seeing less and less of the Undead the further west we travel. That makes us hopeful that we have gotten in front of the encroaching infection. After yesterday we’ve had to re-evaluate our escape plan. There was no way that we could attempt to cross the border into the United States so close to where people were dying and then returning as the Undead. We needed to find a spot where the border wasn’t likely to be closed or on high alert.
Since we truly have no idea how far the Undead have multiplied, we don’t know where we might encounter too many questions or possible detention. The idea is to get across the border without drawing too much attention to ourselves; and to be perfectly honest, we’re starting to attract more than a little unwanted attention.
Think about it. We’re travelling on foot with weapons, both firearms and melee, and we’ve got dried blood and gore on our clothes. If anyone with any kind of authority were to have seen us, I’m sure that we would have been detained for questioning.
Let’s think about it for a second, it’s not like there is much of anything being reported in the news and after our altercation on the bus, there is a nation-wide All-Points Bulletin out on individuals matching our description.
It’s imperative now that we stay out of sight and hopefully we’ll be out of mind fairly soon as well. I shouldn’t say that though because the only way that we’ll be forgotten about is if the Undead show up in full force. We’ve been very lucky so far with that. I guess the five and a half million people in the Greater Toronto Area are keeping them busy for the time being. Unfortunately that translates to five and a half million Undead potentially heading out of the city at some point as well.
What we don’t understand is the lack of disregard that locals have for what is happening only a few hours away from their doorsteps.
Classic head in the sand attitude.
If you’re reading this and you’re one of those people, consider this the “ah ha” moment where you take your heads out of your asses and start preparing to live. Because otherwise you’re going to die, and that doesn’t equate to eternal rest anymore.
We’ve located an abandoned factory to spend the night in. The structure itself is very open concept, mainly just a large vacant room. It’s strategically not very secure but all of the offices are located a level above the ground floor. The main benefit therefore being that they can only be reached by one staircase.
It was a hard call whether or not to stay here. The singular staircase is both an advantage and a disadvantage. Technically speaking, it’s only one entrance to watch but that makes it only one exit as well. In a pinch, we supposed that we could go out the window. There is a rusted fire escape, but it ends about eight feet from the rocky ground below it. The chance of breaking a leg or spraining an ankle is high but in a tight situation, we would use any exit we had. It would just be seriously difficult to make a clean escape with all of our gear and an injured team member if something went wrong.
Feeling slightly safe and having found that the Wi-Fi connection in the factory is still connected (I know, seems crazy that an empty, abandoned building would still have unsecured Wi-Fi but I guess there was a computer glitch at Bell Canada during the disconnection process), I’m scouring the ‘net for any tidbit of information that I can find. For any reports of the dead rising around the globe - I haven’t found anything yet.
It’s just so strange, so odd to find nothing. We’d always assumed that the spread would be lightning fast but that’s just not the case. It’s hard to say what the speed of the vectors of transmission truly are in a situation like is. We’re getting our information on the fly and not from a clinical setting.
All I know is that once someone who is infected dies, it takes them only a short period of time to come back as one of the Undead. That’s a pretty fast vector if you ask me. Given that piece of information, I can only infer that the infection will continue to spread. There are just too many people that have been infected and way too many of the Undead shambling around.
I’m sure that you’re out there thinking that what I’m writing here is in fact some major prank. Or perhaps some publicity stunt for a new movie. If that’s the case, that’s sad and disheartening. I wish I could make you all believe that what we’re running from is in fact real.
But you won’t believe me until you open your front door one day and come face to face with your now decomposing neighbor.
Maybe the infection is contained to Toronto and the surrounding areas.
Maybe there are no reports to find because no one else needs to worry about telling the world of their struggle for survival.
Maybe hordes of the Undead have not massacred the populace.
After everything that I have seen and witnessed in the past week, though, I just don’t think that’s the case. I can feel the Undead breathing down my neck everyday even though I know they’re not literally there. It’s that feeling that is keeping me going, keeping me fighting.
It’s a constant concern of mine that I will come across a press release or a cry for help. Perhaps a blog from some shut-in thinking that their hastily boarded up windows and doors will be enough to keep the Undead at bay. And that just resurrects all of the fears and regrets that you have about your own loved ones; the ones you left behind, the ones you knew you had to leave behind. It kills you inside but at the same time your own survival is all that you can really worry about. At least their memory will live on in you.
The day that Brooks VanReit rose from the dead I called my parents in British Columbia. I told them to start heading south as soon as they could. To head south and to stay away from towns and cities where the Undead had been observed. Knowing my father, he would have refused to go thinking I was just acting crazy. If it’s not on the news coming out of Newfoundland, it can’t be true. I can actually hear him in my head saying it. My mother on the other hand would have understood the urgency of the situation and started packing the car. Packing it with things they were unlikely to need but at least moving in a positive direction.
The only thing I cannot predict about them is whether or not they will actually leave. Two differing ideologies, likely fighting a battle of wits. On one side the chance for survival, on the other stupid, pig-headed denial and most probably death.
I haven’t heard from them since that day. Neither of them lives in the technological age so there are no cell phones or a computer. The phone at the house just rings; no answering machine either. I’ve got no way of knowing so I must choose to forget about them until I have the luxury to wonder.
The main thing that we need to remember is that we cannot save everyone. In the end, I believe that we’ll hardly be able to save anyone. If what we see in the movies or read in any of the books is correct, there really won’t be any chance for most people. By the time they’ve figured out what’s happening it’s going to be too late. And while urban areas will likely have a larger and more concentrated effort to fight back, the numbers will ultimately work against them. The Undead just need to get one across the front line to wreak havoc and turn a scared subsection of the population into converts. And then exponentially the army of the Undead will grow again. It’s like a vicious circle. Our past has shown us that we are likely to fail…
We’ve talked at length when we stop about the people that we left behind. It’s a painful subject but one that we cannot allow to fester. If we think too long and too hard on those that we have loved, and probably lost it may affect our own survival. And it’s not about ignoring the topic completely.
When you’re on the move, you end up spending a lot of time in your own head. Too much time in there and you find yourself
winning the “what if” game.
“What if” I had gone after them and made them leave?
“What if” I hadn’t left that petrified, frozen person to be attacked?
So many questions of the opportunities that you really didn’t have end up running through your head and clogging your decision making synapses. Then the “what ifs” of before become the plans for the next time and you run the risk of ending up in a situation you just can’t survive. It’s a vicious cycle and the only way to keep it all from playing over and over in your like a looped tape is to talk it out. Getting it out is cathartic.
I think Ben feels the most guilt at the moment. There was so much that he witnessed in the Emergency Room that day that he feels he could have stopped. He’s such a gentle soul and he took the Hippocratic Oath so seriously from the day he decided to become a doctor. When we do find some solace in sleep, I know that his dreams haunt him. I have had to wake him many times on my watch from the nightmares that have him clenching his fists and grimacing in abject terror.
We all have those same nightmares, the fatigue we wear on our faces a small measure of the hell it puts us through. But Ben, poor Ben, he experiences it so much more deeply. That may be a hard thing to believe if you’ve got any idea what we’re up against but I can tell it’s the truth
Bob and Max are used to dealing with things quickly and moving on. Moments might haunt them in sleep, but the war in Afghanistan taught them to stow it deep inside so that they could function. Ben and I don’t have the luxury of that kind of experience. We’ve both dealt with difficult situations but we’ve been able to decompress after each one. On the move, there was no time for decompression so all of these moments and horrors just keep building and building. It’s going to reach a point where it we either learn to stow it, or we’re going to go into immediate meltdown.
I worry for the meltdown. Is it going to happen at the worst possible time as tends to be the norm these days? We can only hope that the meltdown never comes…
Days With The Undead (Book 1) Page 3
