A New World: Untold Stories

by O'Brien, John

  The morning sun shines through breaks in the branches of the pine trees, casting beams of light through the woods. A breeze rustles the branches making the shadows dance across the ground. Pushing a larger branch to the side, Bill extends his arms and pulls himself a little farther, dragging his injured leg behind. The pain induced by the movement shoots up his leg. He sees the wooden stock with the black rubber butt plate of his rifle several feet away, resting in a pile of needles and branches. That has been his goal for the past while. For now though, he must rest.

  Grabbing his leg and bracing himself, he rolls onto his back. He gives a grunt as pain shoots through his body. Laying back, staring at the blue sky through the intertwined branches overhead, he feels the beads of sweat on his forehead cool from a breeze making its way through the woods.

  Until a while ago, things were going fine. He’d made it out of Sturgis when things went to shit, retiring to his hunting lodge to wait out the crisis. Only, the crisis didn’t end. Several trips on his horse to the edges of town confirmed that. No one moved in the day lit streets. He had just turned around and headed back to his lodge without looking for survivors.

  He knew from experience that a few rattlers could be found in the hills, but didn’t expect one in this region. Heading out at first light, he started by checking traps he had set in the area around his cabin, finding a couple of squirrels that had been caught. He then prowled some of the ravines searching for sign of deer moving through the area. Riding on such a nice day, he was relaxed and caught up in a reverie. The noise of the rattle came as near a shock as his horse shying. It rose up on its hind legs, dumping Bill to the ground, and then bolted through the trees.

  As soon as he hit, the snapping sound and the pain told him that he was injured, and more than likely had broken his leg. Holding his leg tightly, and working through the pain, he confirmed the breakage of his lower leg.

  Seeing his rifle laying a few yards away, tossed when he was thrown, he began a slow crawl toward it. It wasn’t just the rifle he wanted, but his pack containing most of his gear. He needed to get to its contents before he could think about locating a branch strong and straight enough to make a splint. His horse, nowhere in sight, will eventually make its way back to the cabin. However, Bill will have to make his way back himself. That is his next goal after retrieving his rifle and gear. After that, he will worry about how he is going to get around in order to sustain himself. With a broken leg and only a few medical supplies in the cabin, it’s going to be tough.

  To this point, it’s been one agonizing pull after another, with him nearing his gear one foot at a time. Each thrust of his body across the ground brings sharp, searing pain racing up his leg. The agony causes sweat to break out on his forehead with each pull, the intense pain almost triggering unconsciousness.

  He’s had to rest between efforts to let the pain ease to dull, aching throbs before forcing himself to do it again. Luckily, the skin isn’t broken and, other than the swelling, it doesn’t appear that he has cut any of the vessels, so it’s highly unlikely that he’s bleeding out internally.

  Lying on his back, letting the pain ebb and to catch his breath, Bill thinks back to the time months ago when he was forced to flee into the hills.

  * * * * * *

  He had come into town to pick up a few bales of hay and barley for the two horses he stabled on several acres just outside of Sturgis. After he had loaded his red Ford F250 at the feed store, Bill had driven over to his brother’s house. There was only the two of them left in the family, their parents having died many years ago. It had been two years since Bill’s wife died from cancer that came on suddenly, wasting her quickly and leaving them childless. Dave, his brother, had never married.

  Both of them were mostly retired, picking up the odd job here and there, so it was an easy guess that Dave was at home. Plus, Dave didn’t own a vehicle, choosing to walk everywhere. He could therefore almost always be found at his house. Every other week or so, Bill would drive into town and the two would pass the night visiting. This evening would be no different. Bill would most likely spend the night and head back to his place in the morning.

  The afternoon went by quickly, the passage of time marked by the growing number of empty Coors cans on an end table parked between two lazy boy chairs. They had only moved from their seats to replenish the empty cans with full ones, or if they had to relieve some of their fluids so they could replace it. After Dave fixed them dinner, they settled in for their usual banter and conversations about times past. The light through the thin curtains of the front window grew darker as the day slowly wound down.

  With the darkness closing in on the world outside, Bill kicked back, letting the footrest rise. That was when he heard the first scream. It was barely audible, but it was distinct.

  “What the fuck was that?” Bill asked, pausing in the midst of bringing his fourth beer to his mouth.

  Dave turned his head and glanced toward the window.

  “Who knows? Fucking kids are out at all hours of the night when school breaks for the summer,” Dave answered, gesturing outside with his beer. “If you ask me, I’d keep them in school year round. They’d stay out of trouble that way.”

  Bill nods and resumes his drink. He didn’t agree with Dave, remembering the fun summers they had hiking through the Black Hills together, but he didn’t say anything. Dave had grown grumpy in his later years, although they were both only in their early forties, and he didn’t want to let the peacefulness of the evening be interrupted by disagreeing. If he did, Dave would launch into one of his harangues about the youth and their lack of respect these days. Sometimes it was fun to prod him and watch him climb onto his high horse to discourse about the ills of the world.

  During an earlier visit, they talked about the pandemic sweeping over the world and the number who had taken ill, with many dying. Dave had mentioned his going into town to purchase food and supplies, saying something like, “Those motherfuckers aren’t going to get me sick.”

  Bill had kept busy with chores at his place for the most part, not focusing on the flu and how many had come down with the illness. There were times though, that he worried about the high death rate and whether this virus was going to shake civilization to its very core. He was under the opinion that it was not an ‘if’, but ‘when’. Sometimes while making dinner, he wondered if this was ‘the one’.

  He had a well and enough food. He knew the Black Hills to the southwest like the back of his hand, so hunting to find enough food wouldn’t be an issue. It would be inconvenient for sure, but not impossible. It was to what extent the flu would take people down that worried him. He knew some who had already succumbed and each time it happened, his anxiety grew.

  He had hesitated about coming into town at all, and he knew that if his brother hadn’t lived within the city limits, he wouldn’t have. Buying the extra bales had just been insurance. Driving through the town had seemed odd. There just hadn’t been anyone around and many of the small stores had posted signs: “Closed until further notice.”

  Even the diner where he had lunched had been mostly empty. That was a real shock. Most of the times when he had dropped in, it was packed with a lunch crowd, or old-timers hanging around drinking coffee and swapping stories. This time, when he walked in, there had only been a couple of tables taken. It was the same at the market when he picked up the beer for his and Dave’s evening. Many of the shelves had been empty.

  Apparently people don’t like Coors, he had thought, grabbing a half rack.

  There had been plenty of that besides the one he had purchased, with many other labels having been depleted.

  Several more shrieks interrupted their peaceful evening; coming from the nearby neighborhood streets. Dave sat up in his chair, looking again toward the front window.

  “That had better not be the Mayer kids partying,” he said, referring to one of the families living just a few houses down. “Their parents are ill and at the hospital.”

 
; “I doubt they’d be doing that. They seem like pretty good kids to me,” Bill responded, forgoing his earlier decision to not disagree. Dave only grunted and eased back into his chair, taking another drink from his beer.

  “Mooooom. Stop! Moooom,” a cry erupted from the night, edging on panic.

  Both men sat straight up.

  “Dammit!” Dave said sharply, rising from his chair and stepping toward the window. “This isn’t right, Bill, I’m tellin’ ya. The world just isn’t fucking right. We made a wrong turn somewhere and this flu thing is another piece of evidence saying just that.”

  A scream of agony overrode the yells of “stop” causing Dave to hesitate a moment on his way to the curtains. Shaking his head, still holding his half-empty can in one hand, Dave continued. Throwing one side of the drapes aside, he stepped to the window, cupping one hand against the glass before the curtains fell back into place, hiding him from view.

  Sitting up in his chair, worried over what the scream might mean, Bill waited for word from Dave. The terror inherent in the piercing shrieks made Bill believe that some kid had been found doing something elicit and the mom was about to descend with the hounds of hell behind her. Discipline was one thing, but causing such fear as he heard in that shout, along with the scream of pure agony, well, that was just going too far. He was reaching for his phone when he heard Dave.

  “Whoa! What the fuck?” Dave said from behind the curtains.

  “What?”

  “There’s a bunch of people running down the street,” Dave answered.

  “How many are there? And why are they running?” Bill asked, curious and still holding onto his phone.

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell but I can see some of them running this way under the street light at the corner. It beats all that I’ve ever heard.”

  Bill pushed down the leg rest, thinking about joining Dave, wondering what was happening outside. The shrieking sounds, having become more numerous, also gained in intensity. The first twinges of fear crept into Bill, agreeing with Dave’s exclamation that “this isn’t right.”

  “Whoa! What in the serious fuck?” Dave exclaimed, beginning to back out of the curtains.

  The sound of breaking glass shattered the last remnants of their peaceful evening. Bill watched as Dave stumbled backward. Reaching out in an attempt to keep his balance, he only managed to pull the drapes down. Stunned, Bill saw someone grab hold of his brother. Stumbling over the falling drapes, Dave went down with his attacker, who apparently charged through the plate glass window, falling on top of him. Dave’s beer was thrown from his hand, arcing through the air and spraying its remains across the room.

  Bill remained standing, startled and watching on with disbelief. His beer slipped from his hand, forgotten. The can hit the floor sending a spray of liquid and foam into the air. Falling over, fluid flowed from the opening, gurgling onto the carpet.

  With the living room opened to the outside, the shrieks were much louder. Dave screamed, adding his own cries to the mix as he fought the person on top clawing at him. Still in shock, but seeing Dave in desperate straits, Bill ran around the chairs and launched himself at the person attacking his brother.

  Slamming into the side of the intruder, Bill grabbed hold of him and rolled over, pulling the crazed man from Dave. The attacker continued shrieking at an ear-piercing volume, all the while trying to free himself. It was all that Bill could do to hang on.

  Throwing bales of hay around and working on his little plot of land kept Bill in good shape. He shouldn’t have had any problem subduing the screaming man on top of him. However, the smaller man gave him all that he could handle.

  To the side, Bill saw Dave gain his feet and rub at his arm. Wrestling the invader furiously, Bill felt trickles of blood flow down from where the man was cut when he came through the front window. With the attacker’s back to him, and with his strong arms wrapped firmly around the man, Bill expected Dave come to his aid. He was a little peeved that Dave seemed to be taking his time.

  “Dave!” Bill shouted, “Do something, man.”

  There was no reply. Bill’s leverage was weak and the strength of the man on top was starting to break through his hold. With all of the force he could muster, he rolled and tossed the intruder to the side. Continuing his momentum, Bill moved to his knees and quickly gained his feet. With a snarl, the attacker also sprang upward.

  Could this dude be on something?

  Amazed at the speed of the man, Bill took a few steps backward and bumped against the chair where he had been relaxing with a beverage only moments ago. Looking for Dave, he saw him standing near the open front door. His eyes were wide with fear, and something else. An apologetic look?

  Bill continued backing away from the snarling man. Blood from cuts on the man’s head streamed down his pale face but he acted as if he wasn’t injured. The bleeding man looked from Bill, to Dave by the front door, and back to Bill as if measuring which one of them to attack. Rounding the chair, Bill looked to Dave, pleading for help. Dave gazed at Bill, meeting his eyes momentarily, then at the intruder. He then fled out of the door, leaving Bill alone with the blood-covered man.

  A memory surfaced. Dave had done something very similar back when Bill had been in the tenth grade and his brother in the ninth. Cornered after school by several high school bullies, Dave had fled, leaving Bill to deal with the beating. Bill had limped home sometime after, bleeding and bruised. His anger at his brother for leaving him had quickly faded and he had understood his brother wanting to flee. Bill wanted to do the same but the boys would have caught and beat them both. So, Bill stayed behind. However, this wasn’t the tenth grade and there was only one attacker.

  Letting go of the memory and with a rising sickness and fear, Bill grabbed for the small, wooden end table. The man, seeing Dave flee into the darkness, rounded on Bill. With a jump that not many could perform, he leapt over the chairs, arms outstretched toward Bill. Startled by the method of the attack, Bill threw the table at the leaping intruder. Although the man slapped it away while still in mid-air, it gave Bill an opportunity to slide to the side, evading the attack.

  The pale man landed where Bill had been standing, seeming surprised by him not being there. Backing up a step and reaching behind, Bill felt the cool metal of a fireplace implement. Not knowing which one it was, but obviously needing some weapon against the crazed man, Bill wrapped his hand around it.

  With only a few feet separating them, the man charged as Bill was bringing the tool around, hoping it wasn’t the whisk broom. He and the attacking man would probably die laughing if it was.

  That would just be my fucking luck, he had thought, barely able to get the instrument in front of him due to the speed of the attack.

  He felt his arms jar as the invader crashed into whatever he had brought around just in time. Bill stumbled backward from the collision, the force of which caused him to lose his grip on the tool. The man faltered, his momentum caused him to slam into Bill. Falling backward, Bill felt the heavy weight of the intruder fall with him. He hit the floor hard, knocking the wind out of him.

  The man screamed in his ear and began clawing at him. Bill felt fingernails rake across his cheek and did his best to keep the attacker at bay. He was pinned under the attacker and couldn’t do much to defend himself. The pale face was inches from him. Blood flowed from the cuts on the man’s face and his lips were pulled back, revealing a bloody set of teeth. Frothy red liquid poured out of the man’s mouth, with bubbles of the same coming from his nostrils.

  “Daaaave!” Bill shouted.

  The man’s shrieking turned to a gurgle. A large amount of blood and mucus poured from the man’s mouth, covering Bill’s face. The attacker’s weight became heavy, falling fully upon him. Wiping the blood from his eyes, Bill saw that the man’s head had fallen to the side, staring at him with glazed eyes.

  Recovering, with panting breath and a pounding heart, Bill shoved the interloper to the side. Wiping his face and seei
ng blood streaked across his arm, he rose. Gazing down at the man, he saw where a fire poker had entered the man’s abdomen, driving through his back from the force of the collision.

  Coming out of his tunnel vision, Bill heard shrieks continue from outside through the open doorway and shattered window. Thinking that several people were drugged up to the point of attacking others, his thoughts immediately went to Dave, who had vanished into a night apparently filled with drug-crazed people.

  Stumbling to the front door, Bill saw several groups of people running under the street lights. Some were shrieking while others appeared to be screaming in fear. About to call out for Dave, Bill noticed his red pickup missing from the driveway. In his fight, he’d missed that Dave had apparently taken his keys, started up his truck…and left.

  “Dammit Dave!” Bill muttered, angry that Dave had once again left him in the lurch, and then had taken his ride.

  Seeing the streets filled with running groups of people, some in twos and threes, others more numerous, he knew that wasn’t his way out. And it was obvious that being in town wasn’t the place to be. He needed to get back to his home and regroup. He’d look for Dave come morning when this had blown over and order restored.

  We’re going have a discussion about sticking together and being there for one another when I find him. And he’d better not have wrecked my truck, Bill thought, closing the door.

  He went into his brother’s bedroom to grab the shotgun stored there. Collecting a few shells, he felt hesitant about going out into the night armed. However, giving what he had just been through, he’d be foolish to be without protection. Amidst the shouting, the distant sounds of pounding and breaking glass carried on the night air, dispelled any thoughts he had about staying and waiting for Dave.

  Leaving through the rear door, Bill made his way through back yards, staying away from the screams that filled the night. Most had seemed to be coming from the center of town. His journey back to his place, playing the scene at Dave’s through his mind and hearing the continued chaos, seemed surreal. It was as if he had been watching himself walk through the darkened yards.