Tal turned onto Sultan Suleiman Street, the wall surrounding the Old City on his right. Briefly, he wondered about what was going on in there. Would masses of faithful be gathering at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher? Would the devout carpet the floor of the Dome of the Rock in prayer? Would the Western Wall echo the weeping of the Hassidim? Or would all those holy places stand empty, silent witness to the horror that gripped the City of David? Would the believers of the Three Faiths of Abraham point the finger and say, "You brought this doom upon us!"? Or would they notice that Christian, Muslim, and Jew alike fell before the teeth of this awful nightmare?
Maybe we have ALL been found wanting.
He brushed his thoughts aside and focused on the road.
The sun had been up for a couple of hours now, and the clock on the dash said it was close to 10:00 am, luckily the gas gauge next to it showed three quarters of a tank.
We can make it on that, I think, or close enough as won't really make a difference.
As he drove on, only a few shuffling people could be seen, though whether or not they were deranged cannibals would have to remain a mystery, and the roads were relatively open. Turning up Derech E-Tur Shmuel Ben Adya street it was only a few miles before he hit Martin Buber street. Turning left on to the street, it was a clear shot up to that little tourist spot before the Sculpture Gardens at Nancy Regan Square. As soon as he reached the camera trap, he turned off the road and onto the desert floor. From here, he'd follow some dirt tracks and goat paths to Highway 1, and then up toward Almon, and perhaps safety.
Tal began to come down from the adrenaline which had powered his flight from Jerusalem, the City fading into black smoke and distance. He'd either have to make Almon very soon, or pull over and have one of the others drive; his head was splitting and his eyes felt like sand paper. Soon the shaking would happen and then he'd be in trouble; he doubted there'd be a bottle of anything to be had anytime soon.
Chapter Four
The sudden emptiness of the desert was a stark juxtaposition from Jerusalem. The clouds of smoke that obscured his path and dampened the sun were gone; the open expanse and windswept scrub of the desert couldn't hold even the memory of them. In the City, the buildings had pressed in everywhere and it felt like the walls of a tomb, out here there were no walls at all.
People were ever present in Jerusalem, but with the exception of passing Anata on the East Ring Road, and the occasional shape wandering in the distance, they saw almost no one. Of course there was no chance Tal was going to stop to see if any of the people shuffling along near Anata were normal, it simply wasn't worth the risk. Besides, he needed to get to Almon, and he wasn't sure if there would be any problems along the road, wrecks, or people, or whatever, so it was best to put distance between him and any bunch of buildings.
Almon was a risk, but a manageable one, and the pay off might be worth it. If it was still there. He hoped it was, the military probably hadn't survived long enough to get to it, the crashed remains of the same helicopter he'd seen when he'd left his building had been lying just off to the side of the 437 junction. One of the pilots had been walking around, one arm completely missing, howling madly after the truck.
There was no rally point, they were jumping ship.
Nor did Tal think that it had been discovered by anyone else, everyone was too busy fighting over who owned the land to care what was hidden under it. They probably wouldn't have hidden it at Almon if it had been otherwise. He’d soon find out, the road to Almon appearing just on the other side of the junction. It was only moments before the outskirts of the settlement materialized out of the desert heat, the valley leading to Tal’s objective sloping violently down just past the last of the houses.
Tal pulled slowly into the settlement, the road he’d taken depositing the truck about three quarters of the way through the town; stopping right by the Secretariat building at which Route 1 conveniently terminated, and shutting down the engine, noted the empty streets. Who knew where the people had gone, and who cared really, as long as they weren't going to shuffle out of the wood work wailing and biting. He needed to get to safety soon, his headache was splitting by this point and his stomach was turning sour. He'd been sleeping for a while before having to run for his life, so his body must have metabolized a good amount of the liquor before he'd even regained consciousness. Lord only knew how, though, given how long he’d abused his liver. The exertion, and the resultant adrenaline, surely burned through the majority of what was left. Here he was, out in the desert, deranged cannibals everywhere, extra baggage he didn't need in the back of a stolen truck, and not a damn drop scotch to be found. Tal looked out to see the Prat River meandering just as it must have for centuries before this mess had even started.
Water, water, everywhere, yet water won't get you drunk. Actually, there’s not even much water.
Well, it wasn't going to do a thing for the tremors he'd be dealing with soon, but the river would help him get to safety. He exited the truck, no movement in sight, and decided it was time to socialize a bit. Tal walked around to the back of the truck, one door still partially open and raised his voice.
"Hey, I'm coming around back. Don't shoot, ok?" Tal slowly eased out away from the truck, so the man he'd given his pistol to would have plenty of chance to see him, and moved into view of the truck's cargo hold. The guy still had the gun, which was a miracle, but he was shaking as bad as Tal was going to be soon, eyes wide, sweat beading on his face. He was a big man, well defined with light brown hair. The hands that held the Jericho looked like they were no stranger to hard work.
"You ok? Lower the weapon, alright? Just breathe and relax for a sec." The young man didn't lower the weapon, but spoke in halting Hebrew.
"I…I'm not sure what…what…you say?" It seemed more of a question than an admission. "I only know…some small words….American? Yes? You know American?"
Ah crap. Tourists.
"I said take it easy and lower the gun, please." Tal repeated in moderately accented English.
"Oh, thank God! You speak English. Oh, that's great! Hey, what's going on? Can you tell me what's going on? We came on a pilgrimage, you know? See the Holy Sites, Church of the Sepulcher, all that, and then people started eating each other." The words just started spilling out, the poor guy couldn't stop talking, tears trailing down his cheeks, and all the while, the gun still shakily pointed in Tal's general direction.
"Ok, ok, hey, calm down! Listen, I'll tell you what I know later ok? First, point the gun somewhere that I'm not standing, alright? And I'm going to take a quick look around, so I know we are safe. You sit tight… You know what? On second thought, how about you give me that, you're gonna shoot yourself if you don't calm down and I need the bullets." Tal walked over and gently pulled the Jericho out of the other man's hand.
"John."
"What?" The random name surprised Tal, especially since he hadn’t asked.
"I'm John. That's my wife Christine. We're from Ohio." The young man replied, nodding toward the young woman who fared no better than her husband, by way of
introduction. She sat on the truck bed behind her husband, her hair mirrored her husband’s in color but was cut into a bob. She was pretty and muscular, not in a body builder kind of way, but in the way of a woman who was used to doing physically demanding tasks.
Who gives a damn who you are or where you're from?
"Tal. Now sit tight. I'm gonna recon around a bit. If you see anything, shut the door and get everyone banging on the side. I'll come running." Tal waited for John to shake his head that he understood, and began walking toward the river.
He could see straight down the main road to his left as he passed by all the way to the far western end of the settlement and through the bulk of the residential neighborhood, the Secretariat building and the few remaining streets sitting on his right to the eastern end of Almon.
Moving guardedly, but moderately sure that if there were anyone left in the town, they either would have
seen him and come out or stayed hidden when they saw that he was armed. If they were hiding it was just as well as far as he was concerned, he was already babysitting enough people; just so long as they weren’t hiding with rifles and itchy trigger fingers. The main road to the town intersected with Almon’s main road in a kind of ‘y’ shape, then bent off to the right, butting straight up against the banks of the river, and Tal hugged the Secretariat building as he made his way around the bend. He didn't want to move too far from the others, he'd saved them
(unintentional though it may have been) and so felt mildly responsible for them now, and he wanted to be sure that there'd be no surprises when he got the truck moving again. A small bar sat on the right side of the road with the windows busted out.
Probably bone dry in there, what a sin, and as Tal was looking at the residences just beyond for possible choke points or ambushes, a weak voice called out to him from the side of the building.
"Help…please…water, just a sip?" Lying half way on the ground, half propped on the bar's wall was a middle aged man, probably one of the residents, wearing a black suit with a white shirt open at the collar. He reached a shaky hand out for a moment and dropped it to his lap. Tal brought his pistol to the ready and looked around before putting his finger to his lips for silence. Seeing no immediate threat, he quietly moved to the man's side.
"Please…some water?" was all he said, a pleading look in his eyes, sweat on his brow, and an unhealthy pallor to his face.
No way, I'm not stupid and this guy's got something I don't want.
"Sorry. No water. Just ran with what I have on." he lied. Glad I left the pack in the truck, now it's only half a lie. "What happened?"
The man shut his eyes for a moment and weakly nodded his head in acceptance. His breathing was ragged and his left hand was holding a balled up old cloth to his side. Tal could clearly see blood had seeped into the threads of his shirt.
"Four days ago, some people were getting sick. Fevers, chills, thirst…heh…like me. It was like a flu, but it got bad, really quick. Really bad. At first it was just a few people, they were in their homes, family cared for them. Probably why we didn't know till too late. Saw smoke in Anata after that, two…three…days ago? Then people who were sick died. Then they got back up. Killed folks in their homes, in the street, ate them." The man's eyes were hazy like he was watching it in his fevered mind as he retold the his last few days, "The rest ran to Jerusalem. The dead followed them. Yesterday morning, my wife got sick. I boarded up the doors and windows with furniture when I saw the smoke, but then this morning…she died. I had to…took a frying pan and hit her in the head. I saw, the head's the only thing that works. She died again, but not before she bit me." The man raised the shirt a little with a palsied hand to show Tal the wound.
"Wait…the 'dead'? What the hell does that mean? Their just messed up, rabid or some shit, they're not dead, dead people don't get back up." Tal was sure that the guy was fever talking, not making sense.
Alright, not that sure. Not after that woman tore herself in half trying to eat my damn leg. And they didn't seem to care how many vital organs they got shot in…
"Dead. Dead…they died. Watched her die. No breath, no pulse, no…her…in her eyes anymore. I had to. She would have killed me if I didn't. Heh…killed me anyway." He looked at his wound.
"That's not fatal, it's bad, but not that bad." He said, knowing that the fever was probably going to be the death of him before that wound could do the job.
"No …bit me. That's all they need. Saw it after I boarded up the house. Saw them in the streets killing neighbors…friends. I couldn't help them, I was too scared, and my wife… The ones that died, they got back up too. Pieces missing; some dead for a few hours. It only takes a few hours at most. Some are much faster. Then you're like them." He seemed to really notice Tal just then, and looked from Tal's face to his own bloody side and down to the Jericho, seeming to come to a decision.
"Would you…help m e? Please?" he begged.
"Told you, I have no water."
"Not water. Too late anyway. The gun. Shoot me? In the head? Don't know what they are when they come back, but I don't want to do those things. Be those things. Not if there's a chance I'll still be in there somewhere. Won't be able to stop myself, having to see it
happen…please. I'm bit. I'm done. That's how it happens." The man tried to reach out to Tal again, pleading with his eyes, but barely had the strength to move his arm more than a few inches.
He's not gonna make it, not like this, not out here. Fever is so bad I can almost feel the heat coming off him. Even if the fever doesn't do it, one of those…ah, just say it…dead things… will just do it instead. You just gonna let him get eaten? You that screwed up? You're no saint, he's dead anyway, clearly suffering, and what's one more body at this point, really?
"11", he whispered to himself, and quickly shot the man in his head, before he could think it through any further.
Gotta move now, something might have heard that.
Tal rose to his feet and began jogging his way back to the parked truck, stopping up against the Secretariat wall just long enough to dry heave until the blood vessels around his eyes burst a little.
Ugh, now I remember why I don't stay sober this long.
Wiping his mouth with his hand and inhaling a long breath through his nose, he straightened and jogged out from the shade of the building toward the truck. John peaked out from behind the truck, spotting Tal as he was slowing.
"What happened? We heard a shot.", he said, eyes darting around in search of danger.
"Nothing." Tal replied, the look in his eyes clearly saying that further questions would be unwise. "Back in the truck. We're heading on a little ways, and then we walk. We'll be safer soon."
John climbed back into the truck and Tal got back into the cab, firing up the engine again. Pulling along the main road at a leisurely pace, they passed the bar where Tal had given that nameless man his mercy and he wondered as they rolled by, Maybe I should have checked inside. One bottle might have survived, right?
There were a few streets that branched off to the right of the main road, into some of the residential areas of the town, and as Tal passed he saw the remnants of the dead's last meals. Even from this distance he could see that there wouldn't be enough left for them to come back, if that’s really what was happening. He drove the truck past the first two streets and took the third down to a cul de sac, passing the modest houses of comfortable families. At the cul de sac, he stopped the truck a final time, and killed the engine. If things worked out, they could come back and load up the bed and head to…well truth be told he hadn't thought that far ahead. In fact he was somewhat surprised that they'd made it this far. He'd ran through a burning Jerusalem, blew up a small eatery, been shot at and almost devoured by apparently walking corpses, all after unsuccessfully trying to drink himself to death over the last two plus years. There were no odds for this, no
probabilities for success, no training courses or manuals or standard operating procedures that could provide any direction or peace of mind. This…this was all just…sooo majestically fucked up.
Deciding that action, any action, was preferable to trying to 'come to grips' with this turn of events, he eased out of the driver's seat and walked toward the cargo hold of the truck, tucking his pistol into the back of his belt. The one side was still swinging gently open, he'd left it that way so that John and the others could feel more comfortable and not imprisoned, and so that they could act as rear observation.
"Ok, everybody, come out here for a minute. There's no immediate danger and we have some stuff to talk about." he said as he opened the other door too and motioned for everyone to come out. In times of crisis, clear and firm leadership was often the only saving grace for people who would otherwise remain frozen by fear and indecision. Tal didn’t feel like a leader, but given the alternative, he was the best they were likely to get.
Slowly and cautiously John an
d his wife came out first, followed by the older man and his daughter, Levi still unconscious on the truck bed. Every one of them looked like frightened little rabbits, ready to bolt at the first hint of danger.
And why wouldn't they be? This is some truly messed up stuff. Tal gathered them into a small group just behind the truck and began to lay out his plan.
"OK. We are in Almon. It’s a small town outside of Jerusalem, somewhat to the
northwest. We should be ok for a bit. I don't know how bad all this is, if it’s local or…worse, but the Prat river is to our north and the mountains start to the south as you can see. We're in a three sided box right now. Up there in that wadi is Khriton Monastery. It's a ruin now, but we used to have a stash of weapons hidden up there. Almon used to have a detention center until the early ' 90's, which used to act as a deterrent to insurgents in the area, but when they closed it we stashed a small cache of weapons in the ruins in case Special Forces had to use Almon as a jumping off point to protect the nearby West Bank settlements. We're going in there to get it and load it back up on the truck."
"And then what?" the old man spoke up, his torn and sooty blue blazer flapping lazily in the light desert breeze.
"What do you mean, 'and then what'? Then we survive." He replied
"So you say. But where? This thing, it can't just be us. Right? We'd be quarantined by the rest of the world if it was. The W.H.O. would be here, or the U.N. or something. But there is no one, and it seems no help, so where can we go that's safe? The news was saying there were reports of a sickness in America and Europe a week ago, what if it's the same thing?" Tal had to admit, his logic was sound, and he might have thought of it himself, except he didn't want to believe there was a possibility that this was more widespread and he was miserable with alcohol deprivation at the moment. Plus he hadn’t listened to the news in a long time; news doesn’t get you drunk.
Seven Days Dead Page 4
