Not minutes later the dreaded realization of an unknown obstruction came to light. Something was on the tracks that I’d be unable to avoid. After another minute of hesitant walking I saw the unmistakable shape of an overturned car set askew over the southern rail line. My blood pressure thumped higher when several prone human shapes became visible around the beached vehicle. This was bound to be another one of those “what now?” situations, and if my experiences over the last few days had taught me anything it was not to think that jinxing question.
I tried to assess the scene as logically as possible on my approach. Logic didn’t mean much anymore, but it was a habit I refused to break. From what I could see there were three to four bodies around the car. It was too early to tell if they were fully dead. If not then I’d have to take them out or run around them. There was plenty of room to maneuver around the mess, but having to run would make it so I couldn’t properly check the darkness beneath the bridge.
After another minute I was able to see the disruption in the stone wall the car caused. I had no idea how a car could have plowed through something that solid, but it had to have been one hell of crash. Seeing the accordion front of the now smaller sport utility vehicle confirmed that. In the corner of my eye I thought I saw movement. I shot my glance to the damaged bridge above the wreck only to see nothing there. In my gut I could feel this was going to be bad. The self preserving voice inside me screamed to run the other way, but I had to push on because there was nothing left behind me.
I already had a firm grip on the Kukri’s handle. The paranoid startle on the bridge had prompted me to yank it free with a comforting metallic clink. The personally soothing sound had a different reaction from the corpses on the ground. Two of them jerked awake like the ground had suddenly become electrified. The closest one moved its arms in push-up form, inching its ragged mass above the gravel. Just past it another was obscured slightly by the car. Its head wasn’t visible, but its newly twitching legs were. Thank goodness the other two carcasses hadn’t changed.
I slowed my approach to a heel-toe creep, both eyes remaining locked on the waking dead. As I got closer I saw how little of a threat they were. The push-up zombie’s back was oddly twisted, so I guessed it fell from the overpass and shattered its spine. No matter how strong its will to hunt may be, it probably couldn’t do anything more than crawl. I doubt the plight of his female companion would be known until I passed them, although her lack of progress in doing anything more than convulsing gave me an idea of her threat level.
Every muscle in my body was stiff with worthy hatred. I stretched my arms around, anticipating rapid movement in the next few minutes. After a moment of consideration I decided to continue on the straight path down the middle of the tracks, which would take me right past the partial barrier. You can call it over-confidence in my zombie killing skills, but I was pretty sure I’d be able to handle the crippled monsters. My mind screamed for me to run past them. The only reason I didn’t was that I wanted to save energy, just in case. I moved at a moderate gait. Each horizontal creature heard the volume increase in my steps. Push-up zombie could do little but flop around like a suffocating fish. He shifted enough to get both hands on the middle rail of the northernmost track. Behind him trailed the deflated remains of what once had been legs. It was difficult not to focus on the spectacle. Not being mindful of all the bodies could be disastrous.
There were so many things I had to see at once: the uncertain bridge above, the motionless dead, the twitching female infected – which was still partly hidden – and the unknown horrors in the shadows past the wreck. But ignoring all of that, I could not break the tunnel vision I’d formed on this broken upwardly arched demon. He saw me with widened black eyes, his unholy jaw snapping wildly. Seeing a meal running up got him so excited that his load-bearing arm shot out towards me. The push-up zombie stumbled to the steel rail. I could hear some of his teeth crack apart even louder than my steps and anxious breaths.
I moved my blade to a perpendicular angle. I saw myself speeding by and letting the Kukri hit with the pass. The reaper regained composure quickly and was lurching towards me when I came into range. I executed my swing in a flash of silver. The impact rocked through my arm with agony. His skull put up a good fight to no avail. Push-up zombie was moved a few inches down by the force and I caught a short glimpse of his head drooped over, spilling its payload like a jar of jelly that had a hole chipped out of the base.
There wasn’t any time to confirm my kill, as this course brought me to the second reaper. I was going to run by, but decided to stop and see if she could pursue. My eyes followed her twitching legs alongside the overturned car. Just past the bumper I noticed why she could only convulse on the ground. One arm was missing at the elbow. The other arm looked to be twisted beneath her corpse. However, I could look into her face even though she lay stomach down. This departed soul’s chin was bent to touch her vertebrae and gravel embedded one side of her skin enough to give the appearance of scales.
Nausea swept over me. These people had sustained so much body trauma and yet the virus kept them animated. Their heads remained mostly intact though. I assume this was the reason for their crippled un-death. I scanned over the other bodies. Both had enough damage done to their heads to make their features unrecognizable.
Something grabbed my attention to the southern tree line, behind me. I painfully swiveled around. The tar painted branches directed my eyes and I noticed that above the fence, a torso was stuck like a S’more-readied marshmallow. Before this I had been so focused on the push-up zombie that I’d missed her completely. Studying the situation, I saw how a splintered branch formed a skewer that had pierced the woman at the breastbone. Viscera dangled down from where her waist and legs should have been. The soiled white Gore-Tex jacket didn’t help sway my imagination from seeing her has a speared marshmallow. She faced away at an angle that suggested her flight began from the downed car at bridge level. S’more Zombie’s face angled away enough to spare me the added horror, but the noise from me taking out her friend must have alerted her to my presence, because her arms and neck wiggled about excitedly.
I’d passed the range of “too much” days ago. There was no need for me to spend another minute there. I turned to leave when an impact just about sent me into cardiac arrest. Another infected man had fallen down from the hole in the bridge. He didn’t move at first, so I had assumed I’d be able to clear him before the Reaper virus brought him back to awareness. I gave the impact area some room and started to jog. That’s when another fell where I’d been standing not a moment before. My jog turned into a run. Another creature was drawn over the edge with enough speed to angle it right in front of me.
The near miss filled me with equal parts rage and fright. I jumped backward and teetered on unstable footing. This new reaper had hit the gravel path face down. He immediately flipped on his back and started flailing about like a beheaded serpent. Again, I saw more of the gray gravel than skin. Dark, mucilaginous fluid drooled from his shattered orifices as he lusted after me. This shining example of undead determination angered me so much that I returned to a run and introduced my rugged boot to his face. His already broken face imploded like a papier-mâché piñata. Only my sprinting momentum prevented the boot from getting stuck in the reaper zombie’s skull.
What little banked energy I had was used for flight. I didn’t want to be anywhere close to this awful place. As I ran I heard other infected toppling from the bridge. Some fell through the opening while others made it over the stone wall on the other side. Nothing could have turned me back there. It didn’t matter how many were on top of the bridge or how many decided to hit the tracks. My pulse pounded and my body throbbed. I ignored it all just to get as far away as possible. Echoing sounds like a makeshift bass drum thumped behind me from the bodies plummeting to the ground.
* * *
1249 hours:
I lost sight of everything not directly in front of me. Every horror I was s
ubjected to at the Midlothian Turnpike overpass blurred anything but the steps ahead. The burning in my lungs became dwarfed by the stabbing pains in my ribs. I took a quick look to ensure that no infected were within lunging range before my legs gave way and I came to a skid on both knees. Immediate pain from both the impact and the jagged stones just blended with whole-body misery.
At this rate I wasn’t going to make it home. I saw this as God taking his vengeance early. My vision was clouded and any remaining strength was utilized to keep me from passing out. A shaky hand dropped the Kukri and opened my pack. I guzzled what little clean water was left a few precious seconds later. Pain leaching from my forehead duct tape bandage became unusually noticeable. Now the Reaper virus had some competition in stopping me by means of infection.
Minute by minute I tried to steady my breath and clear my sight. I arched my neck upward vainly seeking the clarity of blue skies. Of course nothing but dreary clouds looked back at me. Since sprinting from the bridge all I could hear was the pounding of my own heart. The thrumming sound of my pulse gradually began to subside. Then I heard something that couldn’t possibly be. I focused on a distant buzz that sounded like an airplane. It couldn’t be... Not factoring in the mitigating circumstances of the apocalypse, the president had grounded all planes days ago. I scanned the skies, looking for it. Then I saw it! A single engine plane punched through a towering blackened cloud. It was only visible for a second before another cloud swallowed it up.
I shot to my feet. The sight of a human piloted craft made me not give a damn about the crippling pain that I endured. Knowing that someone, a pilot of all things, was still out there, above this hell gave me hope. I felt revived. Spotting the plane took my mind off of the dwindling supplies and energy, and I felt like Sarah and the kids were closer than ever.
Behind me I could still see the shapes from Midlothian Turnpike. Some of those shapes were closer than others. I was being pursued by a handful of infected that survived the plunge from the overpass. They still had a ways to go before reaching me, but no matter how badly I’d like to lay there forever, I planned to be long gone before they arrived. I turned my attention back up the tracks. In the intensity that followed the horrors of Midlothian Turnpike I hadn’t really looked beyond the steps ahead. Finally regaining some clarity and motivation from the skies I refocused my sight. My eyes grew wide with the sight of another overpass a quarter of a mile in front of me. It had to be the crossing with Hull Street! Finally my goal was in view. Now all I had to do was follow it and I’d be home. But if things were ever that easy, I’d have already been there by now.
It had been years since I’d been over that crossing. I came within a mile of it almost every day, but never ventured past the western interstate. During my trek over the rails I’d imagined that the intersection with Hull Street would be open and accessible. However, the menacing bridge ahead told me that my memory was flawed and that I somehow had to get off the tracks and onto the road. After everything I saw at the last crossing I didn’t know whether or not climbing was an option. Back on my feet, I progressed at a snail’s pace, every step heavy with contemplation. I felt so close, but at the same time infinitely far. The feeling didn’t get any better when I became aware of the shapes and movement on the bridge ahead. I looked around desperately for other options.
Late fall gave the trees a desolate winter allure. It was all oddly suitable for the post-apocalyptic wasteland I now called home. Tactically, this aided in being able to see danger through the stripped bare trees. Similarly, though, it also made it so that I could be seen. I just had to accept that safety was just as dead as everything else. This line of thinking couldn’t help me, but it was so hard to escape and it made me feel a sense of vulnerability that could be remedied by my stowed blade. The handle was still warm from my grip. I tried to yank it free from the scabbard and it gave unusual resistance. I looked down at the hole it ripped through my jacket the last time when I frantically re-sheathed it. Strips of the nylon and polyester blend police jacket tethered my Kukri to the side. “Damned jacket!” I cursed under my breath. It took a light twist with the sharpened end and a yank to free it. Having the weapon free I tried to assess the damaged I’d done to my coat. The sideways leer gave way to a revelation to my right.
Through the barren trees I saw the back of a house. I took a few steps towards the fence line and looked intently. Past the house was an obvious cul-de-sac. Where there is a cul-de-sac there’s got to be a neighborhood. I could only hope that any neighborhoods bordering that closely to Hull Street would have an outlet to it. The fence was high, but I thought I could manage it. It was either I defy gravity and haul myself up another vertical obstacle or deal with the darkly demonic corridor ahead.
My ribs painfully protested the climb as I scaled the fence. Fortunately, the wall was chain link instead of coarse brick. The length of the fence rattled and rang as I toppled over. Leaves cushioned my way down just enough to silence the impact, thankfully, but internally everything was screaming. My stomach growled and everything capable of feeling pain desired recognition. The wave of energy from hitting the ground reverberated through my injuries like a strobe light.
Compared to the gravel I’d spent the last day on the leaves felt great. There weren’t any trees where I landed, but beyond it lay a wall of naked intertwined thicket. The Kukri treated each forested limb like that of the undead. Some branches sliced and some splintered, but not all gave way. I vaulted through with my vision locked on the grass, which was visible past the woods. This lack of caution brought scraping bark around previously tender areas and a thin pine branch grazed my forehead.
An agonizing second later I breached the tree line. I stumbled to the ground onto dry grass. It was wonderful to not feel gravel beneath me. The clearing was a tiny peninsula shaped opening that I imagined looked like an arrowhead from above. My target was the structure nestled under a spindly maple tree, which was opposite to the maple where another bare maple stood guard over a larger building.
Approaching an unfamiliar house made me uneasy. I’d been spared from blind corners and potential hiding spots for most of day. There was a sky-blue late nineties Chevy sedan sitting at the apex of the building’s angled position. I tiptoed around the car that only showed damage from years of abandonment. The structure looked like a garage or workshop. From my point of view it was as appealing as a toy store. Something in there must be useful.
Something else caught my eye then. Before, I couldn’t see it because of the angle of my approach, but now a familiar headlight and bumper peeked past the house. The obscuring structure had to be the residence. I stepped up a little farther to confirm my suspicions. My dry lips quickly formed a smile thanks to the sight of a black unmarked police cruiser.
Chapter 23
Cache
1317 hours:
I forced myself to keep a cautious pace even though on the inside I wanted to prance up to the Crown Victoria like I’d won the lottery. I inched to the corner of the house and peeked around it. There wasn’t anyone, alive or undead, around, but other concerns were prevalent. When I saw the driver’s side door was wide open, I hunched to a lower profile. Reaching the far bumper, I looked to the side by the door. I saw five bodies total. Three were piled over one another by the gas cap. Number four had its face to the ground a foot further away. The last lay face down in the opposite direction, but still close to the others. All of the corpses had the stereotypically ragged appearance of reapers.
Patches of Richmond typical soil spotted the brittle grass. The clearing was like a calico mix of clay-filled dirt and color drained lawn. At that moment I happened to be standing on one of the orange tinged clay regions. I bent down and grabbed a few clumps. The ambient cooled globs crumbled slightly in my nervous grip. I’d imagined tossing the clay at the corpses. Each would startle from their prone dormancy and attack me. It would all be another battle in my siege against the undead, but when I threw the disintegrating chunks at the bodies t
hey did nothing. Just to be sure I threw a couple more. All of the corpses remained lifeless.
My mind raced through hundreds of possible outcomes. If the dead did get a rise out of my pelting I’d be able to take them on without surprises. Approaching them in their current state gave me flashbacks to the killing field on Cherry Street. When I got around the other driver’s side of the bumper and towards the opened door things became clearer.
There were shell casings all over the place. Crimson-black blood of the infected inked the ground, but it was the stain of human-shaded life that bothered me. It trailed from the open door, past the fallen zombies and toward the rear yard belonging to the neighboring property. I traced the drag marks as far as I could see and never saw a body of origin. One of the corpses was right in front of me. I jabbed it with the Kukri. It was like poking a rock. These demons had been slain days ago.
Thanks to the opened door I got a look into the back seat. Barred windows of the cage car made it difficult to see everything, but I saw the treasure trove it contained. I sidestepped over the pooled gore crushing spent shell casings into the soil. I leaned onto the felt-covered seat and pressed against the glass divider. The excitement once again made me forget about my head injury. Pain surged from hitting the glass, but I paid it no attention. It couldn’t even dampen my spirits from seeing the dark duffle bags in the protected seats. Two large bags with the glorious white letters spelling in bold: POLICE.
The officer that lived here must have tried to get to his car when he was attacked, because everything was packed and ready for him, but the dead took his chance away. My eyes darted around the front compartment hoping to find a way in. I’d never get to those bags if I couldn’t find the keys. The wide leather duty belt on the front seat was hard to miss. It shined back at me like a glossy ring from heaven. All its belt keepers were there: handcuffs, latex gloves, O.C. Pepper spray, a radio cradle, an empty gun holster and finally… KEYS!
The Reaper Virus Page 23
