The Reaper Virus

by Nathan Barnes

  It wasn’t the time to be depressed. At least I had made it to a way across the river that didn’t involve swimming. I pulled my stare away from the hanging bridge to the Lee Bridge above it. The perpetual shadow over Belle Isle is long, allows for three travel lanes in either direction, and provides some great sunrise views of the city. Every memory of taking the long way home in the morning just to enjoy a sunrise evaporated from the sheer idea of being trapped up there. I continued to scan the length of the concrete leviathan in search of reasons to not climb up to it. My answer quickly came with the sight of a reaper tumbling over the guard rail to the ground below. I imagined the sound its impact made and was thankful for the muting power of the flowing river.

  I buried my frustrated face in tired palms. A feeling of hopelessness inevitably overcame me. “What the fuck do I do now?” I pointlessly muttered to myself. The complete lack of concealment was lost to me as I sat on the tracks and wallowed in thoughts of my fleeting mortality. Thus far while traveling through this undead jungle I fought to focus my thoughts on the task at hand more than I fought the zombies. It had taken conscious effort to not drift into thinking of my family. This new flood of hopelessness negated those efforts entirely. I sat there, exposed and daydreamed of the people I love most.

  If Calise saw me like this, she would burrow her way into my protective stance until she was nestled against me. Those curly brown locks of hair would fall over her face as she attached herself to me in a bear hug so great no other five year old could top it. She would say something like, “Don’t be sad, Daddy. You can’t be because I’ve got you!”

  Sarah would be standing in the doorway watching this sweet, smaller version of her attacking me. Maddox would run past Sarah and join his little sister in the hug. His hugs always come with the moving power of a bulldozer. I’d be knocked to the ground amongst a chorus of infectious and smile-inducing giggles.

  After everyone caught their breath, Maddox would reveal the true reason for joining this battle to make me smile. “Daddy, can you come help me fix my track again?” The boy will end up being a railroad engineer someday. His love of trains has been going on since he learned to walk. Sarah and I always said that he’d grow out of it, but his future career in the field would be the ultimate way for him to stick it to us.

  This caused a smile to break through my woeful cloud, but it wasn’t just a smile that came to me; it was a realization that I had been traveling across for the last twenty minutes. The railroad line that parallels the James River leads directly to another train bridge. This pair of tracks cuts through an area almost completely devoid of people. It made perfect sense now and not thinking of it sooner made me feel like an imbecile.

  It wasn’t the most direct way to cross the river, but under the current circumstances it was the safest. I was also fairly certain that only freight trains traveled that line. It would be a longer walk than I’d like and would eliminate any chance of reaching home tonight. I took another glance at the shortcut home that was minutes ahead of me. After a deep sigh, I conceded to the reality that my only chance was to turn and walk the other way. There were a lot of unknown factors about this new route. I found it odd that the unknown parts of this journey were almost as terrifying as everything I did know.

  The first few minutes of back tracking would be my last familiar steps. Beyond them was an open expanse of parallel tracks that stretched farther than I could see. Even with the delightful absence of anything visible that might act as a deterrent, I was shaken to my core by the gravity of this unknown realm.

  Chapter 16

  Driftwood

  1515 hours:

  The walk was pleasant compared to the layers of hell I had already traversed. After almost forty-five minutes of walking I hadn’t seen a soul, living or dead. My paranoia locked all focus on the tracks ahead.

  I found the constant drumming of the James River comforting. As soothing as the torrent to my left may be, I dared not look at it in fear of missing some danger approaching. This diverted route had brought me away from civilization. The only reminder of humanity here was the rail beneath my feet.

  A sigh of relief worked its way through my chest. Even though it was brought on by a good feeling, it brought about terrible pain. My battered body screamed out for a break. In that moment of relative safety I saw no reason not to sit down for a few minutes. I could use some replenishment of the food/drink/painkiller variety.

  I plopped down on the rail closest to the water. If anything tried to shamble its way up on my turned back, I would hear it on the gravel. Finally I felt comfortable enough to pry my paranoid gaze from the road ahead and enjoy the scenery of the river. The James River held so many happy memories that taking a break at its bank might be good for me.

  Dirty rapids churned and smashed along the rounded rocks peppered throughout the torrent. I was a little surprised at the water level, even with the knowledge of recent rains. I could see an assortment of debris breaching the waves at random intervals. I had no desire to try and differentiate between branches or trash. With everything going on I could only imagine what had ended up in the flowing deathtrap. I strained my eyes and squinted to try and get a better look at the odd looking piles of trash floating by. Within seconds I was opening a bag of cheddar Sun Chips and taking a swig of water. Since allowing my tension to ease I was feeling the hunger pangs in my gut. The cool burst of refreshment lasted only a second before shock dropped my jaw and ran the water down my scruffy chin.

  My abject horror came from seeing arms waving above the water line. Those barges of litter were made of people… or at least they used to be people. Much like the dim lighting that spared me from the details of my first kill, the brown water concealed most of the gore. One or two would go by, then another so bloated it looked only remotely human, then a quartet got caught up on each other’s motionless corpses. There was one flailing near the bank on the south side of the river. Another was speared upon a tree branch protruding from a mass of timber stuck on a shallow.

  For the first time since taking to the rails I looked back towards Richmond. I had gone far enough that the quaint skyline disappeared behind the trees and this harboring landscape, but there was evil to been seen behind me just as there was flowing aside me. A plume of swirling smoke connected the devastation of the city to the desolation of the sky. It connected the ravaged land to the heavens above. There was no difference between heaven and hell… now there was only hell to be found.

  I could have stared all day. Seemingly every wave brought a new instance of this unequivocal repugnance. This was no longer the James River I knew – this was the River Styx. All of my happy memories felt drowned by the sight of this watery funeral procession for Richmond. Vomit began to work its way up my esophagus. Before submitting to this nausea, my attention was grappled from a noise somewhere ahead. I stopped dead and listened. The ever-present river roar and gurgle of my churning stomach were muted as I focused like a predator. The noise I heard was a voice. I grabbed my pack and bolted towards the westerly cry. The wonderfully pain numbing effects of adrenaline relieved my aching body in support of my excitement for finding another living human.

  “Help me!”

  Now I knew I wasn’t crazy. The voice grew louder as I closed the distance.

  “PLEASE SOMEONE! Please God, help me!”

  It was a man’s voice coming from an area on the bank just ahead. The already thin tree line between the tracks and water became even sparser here. I was close.

  I nearly fell over when I saw him. An oblong oak tree grew over the water. It formed a thick branched arm that came within inches of the surging rapids. The man clung to the branch. He faced the oncoming waves as his body traveled eastbound with the current. I released my survival pack from its place on my back before I even stopped moving. The loud crunch that rang from its impact with the gravel alerted the poor man to rescue.

  “Hey man, I’m over here!” I imagined him waving like an excited friend if his arms
weren’t wrapped around the long oak limb.

  “I’m going to get you out!” I shouted, eliminating my previous stealth. “Just hang on! I’ll get to you.”

  The muddy slope was treacherous. If I let the excitement get the best of me I’d end up down the river myself. My boots sank into the muck as I reached for the tree. The long horizontal branch dipped down at the tree’s trunk and went beneath the waves. It then broke from the water and continued up several gravity-defying feet before making its proper vertical climb.

  Assessing the situation, I knew that if I attempted to cross the branch I’d end up taking us both down the rapids. I could see him clearly now. He looked like a stray cat after being stuck in a rainstorm. What worried me more than his pathetic appearance was the sheer desperation in his eyes.

  “I can’t get across to you,” I began to say as he splashed his legs in the rapids and cut me off.

  “PLEASE OFFICER! You can’t leave me! Those things keep floating by!” he screamed back.

  “Sir, just settle the fuck down! I’m NOT leaving you.” Upon hearing this he stopped his frantic kicking and just froze. “Listen, I’ve got some rope in my pack. There’s more than enough for me to get a line to you.” I couldn’t tell whether or not he was nodding in acceptance or just freezing cold. “Just hang on, man – I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  It didn’t matter if he responded. Time was of the essence and I had to act quickly. The thing he said about “things going by” concerned me. Assuming I could get him on the line, one of the infected could grab him and we’d all end up in the water.

  I looked around, paranoid, my peace shattered. The butterfly coil of rope came off my pack without resistance. Before turning back to the river bank I had a vivid image of being swept away in the rapids by bloated undead arms. I yanked the crowbar free and tucked it into the belt line at my back. The last thing I want is to need it for defense or as leverage to pull myself from the water, but I’d rather have it on me than watch it disappear from the river.

  Three seconds later I was back at the murky waterline. I knotted one end around another oak tree a few feet from the rapids. The man watched every move as intently as a prisoner does his executioner.

  “What’s your name, buddy?” I was desperate to break the tension. The man was black with short hair matted with silt, and was probably just a few years older than me. He looked to be wearing a light jacket that was equally coated in grime. Everything chest down was still enveloped by the James.

  “Philip. Most people call me Phil,” he told me shakily, clearly exhausted.

  “Well, Phil,” I tried to sound confident, and selfishly was just worried about sounding like a coward, “my name is Nathan and it’s nice to meet you. Sure could’ve picked a better time to go swimming, eh, Phil?”

  This elicited a tight-lipped smile, his jaw trembling from chattering teeth. “Yeah… guess I could have. Are you a cop? Is more help coming?”

  My shoulders sank, and I silently screamed profanity at my stupid jacket. “I’m sorry to answer no to both questions. I just work… err worked for the police department and it’s just me trying to get home to my family.”

  The rope was tight. An infected woman splashed by about six feet from Phil. “Hey, Nathan… uh, can you please hurry?” Phil shouted through a wave that splashed against his cheek.

  Rather than responding I just worked faster. I grabbed a piece of driftwood that was sanded down from its watery travels. Its leg-length, oblique angle allowed me to attach it to the rope without issue. I set it down and tested the rig’s strength by stepping on it and pulling up.

  Confident it wouldn’t snap on us, I moved back to the waterline. “Listen, Phil – this seems solid. I’m going to throw it as close to you as possible.” The desperately pathetic man nodded furiously with every word. “It might take a few tries so don’t grab it if you’re not sure. We’ll keep trying until you’re out of the water.”

  I made a pseudo-throwing motion to signal the ready. “Alright, my friend, you ready to get out of there?”

  “I’m ready.” The water splashed over his head again. A downward facing and motionless corpse coasted closely by.

  The first toss missed him completely and the current tried to pull the whole rig downstream. This told me that when I did get him on the line, I’d have a tug-o-war on my hands. Toss number two was close enough to splash him on its impact. Those were my practice throws… I had the hang of it.

  Toss number three came within inches of his back. For all I know the driftwood did hit the part of Phil which was submerged in the rapids. He released his hold and flipped towards the lifeline. Immediately I felt like I was fishing and had hooked a whale. I braced against the other oak tree, which was the only thing that saved me from getting yanked into the water. Every pull took levels of strength I did not think I still had. My body screamed at me for subjecting it to more torture.

  Phil still had enough in him to hang on. The length of rope between us shortened inch by inch. I tried not to think about how many times I felt my muscles telling me this was the end. My desire to have the company of a living person again fueled each pull. A few agonizing minutes later I began to see more of Phil emerge from the murky depths. My burning palms radiated their pain throughout my body. Another second and the pulling became easier. Phil’s feet were finally able to find leverage on the bank. With his last lunge for self-preservation and another yank on the life line from me, Phil at last emerged from the water.

  I threw a numb arm out and grabbed him near his elbow. He did the same, pulling back using all the strength he could muster. Momentum carried us past my vertical oak bracing and to the sloping bank. A banshee-like shriek emanated from the spot Phil just vacated. I only caught a second’s glance of the half-faced beast before the rapids silenced it. Pulling this poor man from certain death had already made me wish to be far away from this river, but hearing that unholy sound only spurred me on. I leapt to an uneasy footing and dragged Phil to the gravel line by my pack.

  I’d like to think even an Olympic athlete would be wiped out after this ordeal. Both of us lay motionless and near hyperventilation. Everything hurt so bad that I wanted to sleep right then and there. It didn’t matter that my new companion had been through far more than I. All I could think now was how the steel rail and coarse gravel were as comfortable as my memory foam mattress.

  With every heave of my chest, my thought process jumbled further. I have always thought of myself as someone who has affected many lives, but I’ve never directly saved one. Pulling Phil from the James River was an out of body experience. Even though I was exerting myself like never before, the immediate memory was that of watching someone else doing it. I was not the hero. I was not the savior. All I was was someone who wanted to get home.

  Reluctantly, I’d become the hero. From then until whatever day I die I would be the one who was completely responsible for the continuation of another life. The plan that had kept me alive to that point would have to change. Any selfishness that came through surviving the newly severed bonds of human reality had to be abandoned. Those thoughts unnerved me. Lance came to mind; that must be how he felt around me. I began to wonder if he was still alive but stopped that train of thought to focus on everything around me.

  Phil drifted in and out of consciousness a few feet from me. A glimmer of medical training popped into my brain. Letting him fall asleep probably wouldn’t be helpful for his possible hypothermia and shock.

  What mattered was that we were safely beyond the reach of the churning deluge. If I had the strength to stress myself out with thinking, then I sure as hell had to find the strength to keep Phil alive. The sun had moved to the far end of the sky. Glancing at my watch I remembered the approaching darkness and sighed. Sunset was less than two hours away and I was stuck without shelter, with a waterlogged stranger. I groaned like an old man and rolled over to check on my new companion.

  * * *

  1541 hours:


  It took two hard slaps on the face before Phil came to. He sat up in a fearful startle. Still worried about drawing any landlocked zombies to us, I stopped him from expressing his surprise out loud. Several minutes later he began to come back down to our harsh reality.

  “How did you get here?” Phil inquired in a shakily uncertain voice.

  “I walked in from the city. I got trapped on duty a few days ago.” I removed the crowbar from my back and returned it to the proper place in my pack while I spoke. He watched me closely. In this new, violating world still being human wasn’t enough to earn trust. Phil had every right to be suspicious of me. I sure as hell was suspicious of him. “How is it that you ended up dangling from a tree limb in a corpse filled river?”

  His eyes drifted to the left then back towards me. “My girlfriend and I were canoeing and camping our way down the river. We started a week ago. Last night we camped on the outskirts of Powhatan State Park.” Phil stopped and coughed up what I hoped to be water. “Today we started seeing the bodies. Every minute we got closer to Richmond more bodies were in the water. Then we started seeing some of them on the banks. My girlfriend would call out to them, but no one responded. We’d never been through Richmond… I assumed it was because they weren’t friendly. I mean I read about that virus and all, but we both camped a lot to stay away from people. I didn’t think these people we were seeing were sick.”