A New World: Untold Stories

by O'Brien, John

  Arriving back at his place, he packed some of his belongings and hunkered down. The next day, he saddled one of his horses and rode back to town. The streets were filled with bodies. Their blood had dried in the arid air but left behind splotches and streaks. Stopping at Dave’s, there wasn’t any sight of his brother or his truck.

  Downtown was a mess. Most of the windows from the shops were broken with bodies lying in the streets and along the sidewalks. Staring through the light of the day into the gloom of the stores, he could make out more bodies within. It was as if the town had just died. Keeping his shotgun at the ready, he expected more of the drug-crazed people to emerge. There wasn’t anything except a soft breeze blowing through the deserted avenues, ruffling the clothing of the dead.

  The dead weren’t just dead though; they had been torn apart. He had ridden in expecting some law and order to have been restored. There was nothing but the remnants of the night. Riding back to Dave’s, he left a note telling him that he was at the hunting cabin and went back to his place. He didn’t know what had happened, but he packed more gear and rode into the hills. Over time, he came to understand exactly what transpired that night, several months ago. He never did find Dave, or his truck.

  * * * * * *

  Somewhere high overhead, hidden within the intertwining boughs, a squirrel calls its high-pitched staccato warning, drawing Bill out of the memory and back to his present predicament. Blinking out of the memory, he gazes upward at the branches gently swaying from the breeze. If it wasn’t for the intense throbbing in his leg, the bed of pine needles at his back and warm day would make for a great place to nap.

  Gritting his teeth and knowing what is to come, he grabs his leg and rolls over, the pain causing sweat to immediately break out on his brow again. He bites down hard in order not to scream. There are infected still in the valleys below and he doesn’t want to attract their attention. That would be all he needs in his present condition. Reaching in front, he forces his weight onto his elbows and pulls his body forward. He grimaces at the effort and the piercing pain.

  I’ve made it through everything so far. This isn’t going to defeat me. I’ll make it as far as I have to.

  Earlier in the day, he thought he heard the sound of an aircraft in the distance but didn’t see anything, so he had put that out of his mind.

  No use tricking yourself into believing something that isn’t there. Chasing down a false hope could be treacherous.

  The headaches he had experienced from time to time since his fight with the infected one bothered him, but they were nothing compared to his present agony.

  Just a few more pulls.

  After seeming hours, he reaches out and his fingers wrap around one of the shoulder straps of his pack. He pulls it to him. Likewise, he is able to grab his lever-action 30-30.

  Made it you bitch. Thought you were going to get me, huh?

  He rarely uses the rifle to hunt, preferring to stick with his bow. The sound of the report would carry and he doesn’t want to attract any of the infected. However, he keeps it with him because, well, it would be stupid not to. His bow and quiver are nowhere to be seen, having been more securely attached to the saddle. When his horse finally wanders in, he’ll have it back.

  Bringing his gear with him, he pulls himself to the nearest tree and, with sharp, sheering agony racing up his leg, he rolls into a sitting position with his back against the scratchy, rough bark. Panting from the exertion and pain, Bill takes a moment to recover.

  Several thicker sticks are nearby and, with the help from his rifle, he pulls them toward him. Removing his knife and thankful that didn’t come free and impale him, he strips the bark and nubs from one side of several branches.

  With effort, he pulls his pant leg up. Even through the swelling, the break is readily apparent. The area surrounding it is red and bruised. One positive point is that his leg length appears to be the same, denoting that only the tibia is broken. The broken ends of the bone haven’t cut through the skin or he’d have a lot of other problems down the road. However, the ends are adjacent each other so he’ll have to realign them. Dreading what he’ll have to do next, he removes a large length of 550 cord from his pack.

  Painfully, he crawls to a nearby trunk and wraps the cord around it, bringing both ends back to his original place. If he doesn’t put the broken ends back to where they need to be, there’s a chance that the leg may never heal correctly and he’ll be crippled.

  Bill ties one of the cord ends around his ankle and scoots a few inches away from his sitting position. He then places the pruned branches, with other lengths of cord ready to wrap around them, next to his leg. The lengths of branches are thick but purposely not long. These will be to hold the bones in place. He’ll tie longer splints afterward to secure his knee and ankle.

  He readies the branches, looping the cord under them; ready to tie off quickly. With one end of the cord tied around his ankle, he pulls the other end taut around the tree behind him, securing it with a knot. With a stick between his teeth, he steels himself.

  It needs to be done. The pain will only be momentary and fade. Come on, Bill, you can do this.

  Biting down on the stick, Bill pushes himself backward, the rope at his ankle pulling tight. Red pain envelopes him, making him dizzy. The bones don’t move. Afraid of the pain, he’s hesitant to truly pull. He has one chance at this as the procedure he’s doing will cause intense swelling. If he can’t align the bones now, the swelling will prevent a further attempt. He’d have to re-break the bones later and go through the same thing. If he could.

  Pulling himself harder backward, he feels the bones slide free. Nausea twists at his stomach and the pain threatens to send him into unconsciousness. Keeping the pressure, he pulls the branches to his leg and tightly ties the cords off, but loose enough to allow for circulation. He’ll have to monitor the swelling and loosen or tighten the cords as needed. If he doesn’t pressure the bones out of place, they should heal correctly.

  Still gripping the stick between his teeth, Bill eases off on the pressure against the cord. The pain intensifies, and then eases. The nausea remains but his breakfast ceases trying to spill itself onto the forest floor. Spitting the branch out, he wipes a sleeve across his forehead, clearing the beads of sweat that had formed. With the pain easing, he begins to bind the longer splints.

  Finished with splinting, he hopes that the splint will hold well enough to get him back to his cabin. He finds branches that will serve as a set of crude crutches. Bill then stows his gear in his pack and throws it over his shoulder. Rolling away from his splinted leg, he rises to his other knee. Using the tree, he forces himself into a standing position. He won’t be able to put any weight on the leg, but at least he’s upright.

  Making sure to keep his weight off his leg lest he tear through any more tissue, he gathers his bearings and cautiously limps slowly toward his cabin, making sure to limit further damage. There is no way he’ll be able to survive in the long run if he doesn’t have all of his capabilities. He knows from his previous visits to town that the infected ones still occupy it, so there’s no help to be had there. There will be other problems to deal with once he reaches his cabin but, for now, getting there is his only focus.

  He pauses as he crests a ridgeline, where a thin screen of trees barely holds onto a rocky and dirt-covered surface. Hobbling into a clearing at the top of the hill, a panoramic view unfolds and he can almost see to the town of Sturgis itself. Movement far away catches his eye. Leaning against one of the few standing trees, he pulls a pair of binoculars from his pack.

  Gazing through the magnified view, he is startled to see a military vehicle making its way along a road cut into a ridge a little over a mile away. A deep ravine is between him and the moving vehicle. Reaching into one of the quick access pockets of his pack, he feels the sting of something cutting one of his fingers. Pulling his hand out quickly, he sucks on a small amount of blood oozing from a cut. Looking closer at what sliced into him
, he finds shards of glass from his signal mirror.

  Fuck!

  Removing one of the larger shards, he uses it to try and signal the vehicle. It is coming to the end of the ridgeline, where it starts descending a winding road leading into a larger valley. Bill gives up after a short time as he sees the attempt is hopeless. The armored vehicle continues on its path.

  Watching, Bill sees it come to a halt beside the road. His breath quickens and his heart flutters with excitement thinking he has been spotted. He doesn’t know how they’ll get to him but, if he’s been seen, it’s only a matter of time until they find him.

  Looking at figures emerge from the interior, their size diminutive at this distance, his excitements turns to disappointment as he notes they are staring into the valley…in the exact wrong direction. Unshouldering his rifle, he fires three shots into the air, levering a new shell into the chamber between each one. Raising the binoculars, he sees that no one has turned in his direction.

  He fires three more times and observes the same reaction from those far away; which is to say, there isn’t one. With a heartsick feeling, he watches them load back up and drive farther into the valley. Bill stares after them until they vanish from view on the far side.

  There’s no way he’ll be able to get to wherever they may be heading. They’re already miles distant and he’ll be lucky if he can make it back to his cabin, which lies nearly a mile away through rough terrain. Feeling depressed, he stows his gear and turns, hobbling toward his cabin, still wondering if he considers himself fortunate or not.

  # # #

  Bill recovered and made his way to one of the survivor settlements. His headaches increased until one day, he went into a coma that lasted a little over two weeks. He emerged on the other side with increased strength, hearing, and oddly, the ability to see in the dark.

  Olympia, Washington

  Carole stumbles and falls to the ground. On her knees, she grabs her head and folds forward into a ball. The pain inside is sharp and blinding, threatening to split her very bones. The agony subsides to the extent that she is able to look up. In the darkness, with the horizon beginning to lighten with a coming dawn, she sees the dim outlines of six others a few yards ahead. Apparently having stopped from a run, they are looking at her with feral expressions. A couple of them raise their heads to the night sky and emit ear-piercing howls.

  With the remnants of pain still pounding in her head, she watches, stunned, as the snarling group starts toward her. After a few steps, they hesitate, looking toward the eastern horizon which is growing lighter by the minute. With a shriek, which rolls across a lake stretching beside her, they turn and resume their run along a paved road that circles the expanse of water.

  The sharp pain in her head is now a mere echo of what it was just moments ago. A chill breeze blows across the surface of the lake, whipping its normally calm surface into an expanse of choppy water. Rising, Carole looks to the sky, growing brighter over the tops of several trees adjacent to a road she finds herself kneeling in.

  How long have I been gone? she thinks, confused.

  The last memory she has is heading out for a run. Her husband had come down with the flu that had also infected a lot of her friends. He finally managed to fall asleep, so she decided it was a good time to go for a jog. It had been several days since she had been able to get out for one, and she was behind with her training schedule. Telling the kids that she would be back shortly, she had donned her running gear and headed out. They were on the Xbox and probably wouldn’t even notice that she was gone.

  But that was early in the evening, just after sunset?

  Memories continue to surface. She had been almost three miles into her jog, with two more to go. She had been thinking that her long run would have to be a greater distance if she was to stay on track with her weekly mileage. That’s when the pain hit, just like it did moments ago. The headache came on suddenly and dropped her to her knees. She thought this one was her recovering, but the rising sun tells her that too much time has passed for that to be true.

  Maybe I blacked out, she thinks, thankful that no one messed with her while she had been lying on the ground.

  The fact that she may have blacked out for so long scares her, more so than thinking about lying alone in this little-traveled area.

  Who were those other people? Were they some early morning running group?

  Thinking back, she doesn’t think so as they hadn’t been wearing running apparel. And the way they turned toward her. With the feral looks they had given her, from pale faces that seemed to glow under the rays of the moon, she felt that their intent had been hostile. A shiver runs up her spine remembering the way their eyes glowed a silvery-gold when the last vestiges of the moonlight caught them right. Yes, she has no doubt that they meant her harm.

  When did the moon turn almost full? she thinks, seeing the bright orb near the western horizon.

  Completely confused, Carole searches her memory for all of this to make sense. Her current surroundings, the time of day, and her recall aren’t synching. She can’t remember anything after going to the ground during her run. Feeling that something is just out of reach, she gets the sense that things have happened which she can’t recollect.

  With the breeze blowing against her back, whipping her short hair against her cheeks, she smells a faint reek carried on the wind. Turning into the gusts, the scent vanishes. Looking at her clothing, which is barely visible in the early morning light, she realizes the odor is coming from her. Normally, running clothes carry the reek of body odor after a run, but she realizes the extent of the aroma goes far beyond that.

  Rubbing her shirt and lightweight jacket, she notices they have stiffened like cardboard instead of the suppleness they should have. Her running tights have the same feel. In places, she feels something crusted onto her clothing.

  It’s definitely been longer than I thought. Time has passed, but how much? And why didn’t anyone pick her up? While there may not be many, enough people drove by here and they would have assuredly seen her on the ground.

  The sun is close to rising above the mountains, chasing the darkness away and allowing her to see more clearly. A visual inspection confirms what she felt. She can’t see any actual stains on her black running jacket and tights, but there is a variety of, well, things stuck to her clothing. Her light blue and gray ASICS running shoes are worn far beyond what they were and are in danger of actually coming off her feet. And, she feels different.

  She rubs her stomach, realizing what it is that feels different. It’s something that she’s familiar with. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear that she was pregnant. There isn’t any bulge showing, but she knows. Attempting to unzip her jacket, she realizes that the gunk covering her has clogged the zipper. She thinks about hiking it over her head, but the chill of the early morning dissuades her. If she were to take it off, she doubts that she’d put the filthy garment back on.

  I’ll deal with it when I get home. Home! My kids? Sean? The thought pushes away all others. In her confusion and trying to rationalize what is happening, she had forgotten about them. I have to get home.

  Panic takes hold, pushing any confusion aside. Gathering her bearings and realizing that she’s in almost the same location as when she went down, she sets out. She would run as home is only about two miles away, but she feels like she’s already been running all night. Her legs don’t respond to her wishes to move any faster than a walk and feel as if they are made of rubber. Plus, she isn’t sure her shoes will take the pounding.

  Making it to the bridge passing over the waterway that connects Capital Lake with the inlet to Puget Sound, she rests against the rust-colored railing atop concrete barricades. Gripping the metal bars, she looks toward downtown. No one is moving within her line of sight. No matter the time of day, early or late, there are always people walking the streets. Now, it seems abandoned. Dirt is piled up against the curbs with litter drifting along side streets, carried on the gusts of
wind. It’s a far different sight than what she’s used to.

  A scrap of paper wraps around her lower leg. It hangs for a moment before a strong gust tears it free. The paper rises and floats through the railing. Sailing out over the water, it is tossed by the currents, rising and falling like an errant kite.

  This is a dream. It has to be. I’ve had lucid dreams before, but not like this. This is just too real. When will I wake from this nightmare? Will I?

  She stands for a moment; waiting for a car to pass, or any sign of someone moving within the city. There’s nothing. Listening for any sound of people, there is only the swishing wind, blowing her shoulder-length, blond hair into her face. Grasping at a strand, she feels grit embedded within the greasy lock. Her mind isn’t able to connect the obvious length of time that she’s been away and not being found in some way.

  Sean or the kids would surely have called someone when she didn’t return.

  Her confusion remains, alternating between panic and a sick feeling to her stomach. The memory of those she saw in the darkness haunts her. They are the only ones that she’s seen so far, and she’s standing next to the busiest street in town. For a brief moment, she thinks about following in the direction they went, but the remembrance of their glowing eyes in the dark stills that thought.

  As a matter of fact, that’s the last place I want to head. No, I need to go home. What has happened to Sean and the kids?

  The emptiness of the city adds to a deep feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.

  That’s enough of trying to figure this out. Dream or not, I need to get home.