“Sweetheart, I’m at the top of the street. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I was so winded that I couldn’t be sure she would even comprehend my raspy words. , and my words were cut off from a dry swallow I could no longer suppress.
“Nathan,” Sarah said, suddenly sounding more mothering than panicked, “be careful.”
“Of course, just be ready for me at the gate.”
“No, no, you don’t understand. A car hit the neighbor’s extension at the corner. It was pretty loud and a bunch of them are gathered around it.”
My sweet wife had only sounded like this in the past when she told me something she knew would upset me. It was reminiscent of years ago, when Sarah called to say that Calise had broken my Xbox.
The wind whipping by tried to mute our conversation. Kamikazes would have approved of the reckless pace I’d maintained. Familiar houses flew past in a blur. I should have been paying more attention to everything passing, but couldn’t. Sarah’s words and the few visible feet in front of me was all that mattered.
“Okay, baby… just be ready for me and don’t be alarmed if you hear shooting. I have a gun.”
I didn’t wait for her response, just clipped the radio to my belt without turning it off. It was reckless to not have both hands on the handlebars now. Dying because of something as ridiculous as a bike crash would be laughable. With everything I’d done and the distance traveled, I must be allowed to reach home, or, at least… that’s what I was telling myself. God may have forsaken this world, but what God could abandon me now?
The Cannondale flew down my winding street. Incoming nightfall masked any chances for adequate reconnaissance on the condition of our area. Even my reliance on hearing was dampened by the winds lashing against my exposed ears. Assuming I lived to see daylight again, I’d have to come back out to survey the true state of my neighborhood.
As soon as home seemed reachable, a nagging voice developed in the back of my head. It repeated to me, “What about after?” I could hear it behind every consuming worry. “What about after?” In the midst of every self-loathing, violent act, this voice tore at my thoughts. “What about after?” It was unavoidable to think about what would come next. My hellish journey had been broken down into goals. I always had a goal to reach. Once accomplishing those milestones, I had to set my sights on another. Breaking the trip down into smaller increments was the only way I could keep myself from focusing on the truth. If I were truthful, I’d break down thinking of the monumentally expansive pestilence separating me from home. But all the while, that voice reminded me that if I reached home my problems would only just begin. Pumping past houses etched in memory, I knew that “what about after” was a thought that must wait.
This collision course was set directly on my house at the bottom of the hill. The fact that my home was a mile out of view did not matter. My vision was limited to a car length. Such a short area was replenished every second from the rapid speed I’d gathered. Night vision transformed anything more distant into featureless shapes. Compared to many of the areas I traveled through the neighborhood was abandoned. However, the occasional ghoul jumping from the shadows kept my adrenaline-fueled readiness on high.
I rounded another corner. Although night prevented me from seeing it, I know what was ahead. This was the part in my street where the kids would always get excited on walks. We would enjoy sunny days by marching along this same stretch. Emerging from the shadow of a huge oak tree, either Calise or Maddox would happily say, “I see our house!” They would both giggle sweetly. “Yup! There it is!” I would jovially say back to my darling children. Back in the evil reality, I smiled. A muffled whisper escaped my cracked lips, “I see our house…”
The joy quickly gave way to despair. It only took another moment for my vision to register the blockade Sarah warned me of. A car had taken out the stop sign at the corner, jumped the dip in my neighbor’s absurdly well-manicured lawn, and crashed into the addition to his house. Through the pitch of night, a handful of creatures revealed themselves. It didn’t look like debris blocked the entrance to the cul-de-sac. The only obstacle I’ll have to contend with is that of the infected.
Every foot brought about more clarity. I couldn’t slow down, not this close. I peddled harder. My lungs stopped pumping air and seethed with desire for that day to end. Every dilated, infected pupil focused on the two-wheeled buffet. They converged on where I had to ride. I knew I had to punch through them and make it to the yard. If I delayed, I’d be bringing too many of them to the fence. That was… if I made it to the fence at all.
My hand found the Taurus nestled in its holster. I racked my brain trying to remember if I had enough bullets in the loaded magazine. If memory served me correctly, I had eight rounds to fire. There were at least nine zombies closing on me. Time slowed to a crawl.
Why do the shittiest moments pass the slowest?
Muzzle flashes from my pistol bathed the area like lightning. I couldn’t even tell if the bullets hit their mark. Chances of them striking any re-killing shots were one in a million. My approaching velocity combined with every extenuating circumstance formed unfair odds. I think one of them dropped down for good. The tearing impacts of my munitions shook others. Seeing that, I focused my fire on one area. If I couldn’t make a hole large enough to fly through then my trek would end there.
One of the reapers took some lead to his shoulder. He flipped around and dropped down to the ground. Two of his undead colleagues joined him in the fall. That created my gateway. I fired again, expecting the pistol to be empty. Fortunately for me, a final bullet burst forth and punched through the eye of a woman lunging for my tire. The collision course reached its end and I braced for impact.
Creatures flanked me on both sides. The moment froze in time. I was going to make it. By the grace of God, I cleared enough room to make it through. After all that time, the limited view ahead finally included my home. The gate for my backyard fence was to the left. Cemented into my right hand was the nine-millimeter. Panic kept the empty weapon in my hands. I pushed my gun-containing fist against the Cannondale’s grip in order to brace for punching past the dead.
“I’m finally here,” ran through my mind in that eternal second.
Then I was thrown off my steed. One of the monsters jumped towards me as I passed. If I had been going any slower he would have sacked me like a quarterback. He would have missed the bike entirely if I had been going any faster. His diving lunge sent a rotting arm into the spokes of my rear wheel. I heard the tearing sound of my rocketing momentum rip the zombie’s upper body apart. Consequences for the undead man were concealed by darkness. I saw the ground floating beneath me as I hurtled through the air. My body shifted. For a split second I knew my house was approaching at an unsafe rate. Then I saw the midnight expanse of the sky. Although it was probably the effects of shock or a blood vessel bursting in my eye, I could have sworn that through the rolling clouds I saw the glimmer of a few stars. Then the ground met me.
I hit the pavement hard. Pain blacked me out for a second. I opened my eyes, attempting to determine where I was. Through the blur I knew I’d traveled over half the diameter of my cul-de-sac. My neck was arched backward. Commands screamed from my brain. “GET THE FUCK UP! YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE HERE!” But nothing responded. The words ran through my overactive brain and were ignored by my crippled body.
Pain had become irrelevant. I tried and tried to move, but could not. Then I heard them. Moans washed over from the area I had just left. Clapping from wet, snapping jaws echoed around the pavement like audience applause. The dead were coming for me. In seconds I would be torn to shreds. My thoughts laughed at the situation, “at least I’m already tenderized for the fuckers…”
Fate would always win. The coming conclusion was inevitable. In my broken state I couldn’t do anything to stop it. All I could do was sit here and pray to the cruel God above. I prayed to him that he might watch over my family. My prayers begged that God also kept my loved on
es from watching what was about to happen to me.
“Don’t let them watch.” I prayed. “Please Lord, don’t let them see me die. And don’t let me become one of them…”
Movement entered my peripheral vision. “So this is how it ends…” I don’t know if my lips moved to say it but it was prominent in my mind. My eyelids began to close. I imagined the faces of those I love. The last thing I saw before closing my eyes was the ghoul excitedly hobbling over to me.
Things went black. I could see Sarah’s smiling face. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you,” she said reassuringly. “Maddox is waiting to let you in.” Her voice filled me with joy. Heaven was before me, but something was wrong. “Where is Calise?” I said to her. If this was Heaven and I was seeing my family, then where was my daughter?
“I’VE GOT YOU BABY!” Sarah’s voice was louder. It wasn’t happy at all, it sounded frantic. Something wasn’t right.
A blinding burst of light followed a thunderous boom. The endless clouds of Heaven’s expanse lit up. “This isn’t Heaven. This can’t be Heaven. I’m being sent down to Hell.” Then there was another boom. The fiery surge of light that came with it leaked through my closed eyelids.
I continued my prayers. It had gone beyond praying now. In my final moments it turned into a reflective conversation with the holy being that judged me. “You let me get all this way just to have me die HERE?” I felt anger for being so cheated. “Go ahead and send me to Hell. I killed Phil. I deserve to burn, but couldn’t you let me see them again?”
The sweet voice of my beloved entered the dream again. “Just hang on! Please, baby, hang on!”
The time had come to say my final words to the cruel savior above. This was to be my end. “I’ll watch in Hell as this world resents you for abandoning us all.”
Another flash of light. The thunderous explosion was louder. Its proximity startled me enough to crack open my eyes. “I’ve got you!” Sarah’s voice said again, but the heavenly dream of her voice competed with another sound. I heard the hiss and moan of death. Between my beloved’s voice rang the clamoring of a demon.
My teary eyes opened enough to focus toward the entrance to the street. I saw him come for me. The limited scope of my night vision portrayed death’s servant properly. Its flailing arms and twitching jaw yearned for my flesh. He fell to his knees. Momentum continued his lunge upon my left leg. Its grip was cold, robotic even.
“I hope I taste terrible.”
His rabid mouth locked onto my shin. I felt pressure equal to that of slamming my leg in a car door. The hungry teeth pressed into his bite like a mechanical vice. Sarah’s voice entered this horrible dream again, “NO!!!”
Her angelic tone disappeared behind one of anger. My defeated rationalizations picked at my acceptance of this purgatorial matinee.
“Angels don’t get angry,” I thought. “Why isn’t Calise here?”
Thoughts questioned my willingness for this to be the afterlife. Then I knew this wasn’t a dream at all.
I heard a final boom. It was so close that I felt the heat radiate along my broken body. The demon’s head disintegrated. His teeth were ripped off my leg by the power of showering lead. My eyes darted over to the source of bursting fire. Smoke billowed from the barrel of the shotgun held by my beautiful wife. Then I felt her welcome hands.
My shattered body caved inside her loving grip. Her gentle hands scooped under my arms and pulled me onto the grass. In my head, I screamed for her to run and leave me.
“I’ve got you, baby… we’re almost there,” she reassured me between labored breaths. Back towards the street I heard frustrated sounding moans in pursuit.
Every inch of me was numb. I only knew we were on the grass because of the frictionless drag beneath my back. She shouted away from me, “Maddox! Get the gate!”
I heard the rusty creaking of the gate hinges. Then I heard my boy shout back, “Come on, Mommy! They’re coming!”
Sarah grumbled and strained. I don’t know how she was able to drag me so far. I never ceased my inner pleas for her to leave me. Whether in death, life, or un-death – I refused to be the cause of my family’s destruction. We were feet away from the gate. Sounds of the pursuing reapers clattered along the yard. I could hear Maddox shouting for us to hurry.
I only saw darkness. Every sound became drowned into a muffle. I felt my soul pulling from my mangled body.
“Nathan!” Sarah shouted down at me. “Just hang on! We’re almost…” Her words trailed off as the blackness enveloped me. The soothing voice of my true love blended into the noise of nothingness. I smiled, knowing I had finally rejoined my reasons for surviving.
Epilogue
Heart Beats
Stubbornness is defined by the human heart.
From five weeks after conception to the undetermined last moments of our days, this muscle pumped life within our chests. God crafted this marvel to relentlessly pump life throughout our bodies an unfathomable number of times.
The heart had become an embodiment of everything meaningful. Never mind the reality of it being just another organ; people see it as a representation of love and soul. When you fall in love, it is said you give the person your heart. When that person breaks up with you, it is said that they have broken your heart. On Valentine’s Day, kids don’t pass overpriced cards with prints of the lungs or a brain. No - those sappy cards have pictures of the almighty heart. Obviously we talk about it a lot, because it has earned our praise.
Since it means so much to us humans, you’d think we’d repay it by living our lives carefully. We should all tiptoe around like a nitroglycerine-filled Faberge egg is housed inside our chests. However, God also made us so that we may have the ability to torment this biomechanical wonder.
It stays inside our chest in a never-ending fight to keep us living. Meanwhile, we make every attempt to push it to the limit. Humans exist to test our hearts using every emotional, physical and nutritionally reckless option available. Barring any unforeseen trauma, this muscle pumps away until it can do so no longer.
As a child, your heart perfected the art of racing. Every intentional startle by an older sibling… every eager Christmas morning… every play date… every lesson learned… the source of your pumping life grew along with you.
In the tumultuous teenage years your heart prepared for adulthood. It drummed anxiously on your first date. It thumped about your ribs while the driving instructor barked instructions to parallel park. It pumped rapidly while you snuck around doing things that would hopefully get expunged from your record at eighteen. It eased when you sat thinking about how stupid your actions were after being grounded for doing them. Your heart was ready to go into the great yonder with you.
As an adult, this precious muscle hates you for your continuous negligence and forced turmoil. It fluttered and surged during the wonderful day of your wedding. It strained to function after years of fast food bombardment. It palpitated while you watched the birth of you children. It audibly pounded during the job interview that could have led to better things. Throughout it all, your heart continued to fight so that you could do the same.
Now, imagine the almighty heart has become the source of your undoing. It stubbornly works to pump precious life throughout your veins. Blood passing the wound you’ve received is treated no differently. The crimson fluid reaches that circular bite mark. Some oozes out of the violated spot. What doesn’t seep out continues on its arterial mission to share the virus.
That determined muscle in your chest keeps performing its life-long task. Each second of pulse carries the evil through you. It’s inevitable to wonder if this is some kind of revenge for the heart. The newly nefarious organ continues working despite your impending doom. Perhaps it does this somehow knowing that when the virus takes you, its job will be over. Because when the heart stops beating… there is a different, ghoulish force that will propel you around this post-apocalyptic hell.
Special Thanks
First and foremos
t, thanks to all the readers for following me on this journey. I hope you keep following me as I continue this story in later books. A journey is exactly what I’ve embarked on over the time it took to get this out of my brain and into your hands. This story connected me to hundreds of great people in the never-ending horde of zombie lovers. It would be impossible to list them all so don’t be offended if I left you out. Here is the abridged version…
This novel would have never happened if it wasn’t for my beautiful wife. Thank you, Sarah, for being the most: supportive, creative, encouraging, persistent and twistedly imaginative muse that a sleepy husband could ever have. Also to my children, Maddox and Calise, thanks for embracing a childhood in a horror-loving household. You both showed my imagination the lengths I would go to just to see you two again. Oh, and I promise to pick up the tab for any therapy that might be a result from all the zombie talk!
Thanks to my parents for raising me with a love of both words and imagination. Because of that upbringing, writing a novel became a lifelong aspiration to me. My parents also showed me the true meaning of love. From the beginning, I was blessed with a proper example of how parents should treat their kids and how spouses should treat each other. I have cemented these attributes into my own family life. These are also the factors that served as the core for the novel preceding these thanks.
To my brother Josh and my brother-in-law Aarash – thank you both for being supportive from the moment I told you my crazy idea of writing a book. The continuous input and feedback you both provided throughout the process enabled me to quell every stubborn fit of writer’s block.
Thanks to the fine men and women of the police agency this story was based on (you guys know who you are). It was an honor to share such a ‘thought-provoking’ setting with you all during many long nights. The random encouragement/ pestering to write that I received every shift served as an excellent motivator. Special thanks go to Lance and Brad for allowing me to include their likenesses in my tale. Also thanks to these specific red-eyed civil servants who helped push me along: Doug Dawson, Jon McAchren, Randall Fish, Joel Abernathy, Shawn Kelley and Jennifer Riemann.
The Reaper Virus Page 28
