Turning to Caitlin, Kitch said in a quiet voice,
“You gotta create a diversion to draw off the infected I’ll release from the mall over there.” Pointing to this side of the bridge, free of infected. Kitch added, “Soon as you hear the permaglaz windows break, set fire to those public cars. Then run back here and wait for me. There’s boat fuel on the hire jetty.” Kitch pointed to a line of distant jerry cans. “Place a can beside a car but spill some on the ground first. I’ll come back and get you.”
“What do I start a fire with?” Caitlin hissed. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to start one at the construction site without an igniter? Junior and Connor took turns beating us girls while we rubbed sticks together to create fire.”
“Use one of these,” Kitch said handing over a small olive-green tube marked in yellow writing—Flare—Military—Marker—Red—For the use of Signaling—Caution—Burning may occur. Point away from body. Pull endcap marked—Pull. Strike against rough surface. “I found a carton next to a portable incinerator.” He drew the tent flap aside, displaying fly-blown corpses stacked two and three high behind sandbagged defense points.
A heat haze shimmered over the road and rent bodies all the way to the mini shopping mall. A crated incinerator on a cracked sidewalk stared back at them, silent and unused. Pointing, Kitch said, “You and Marie take the opposite side of the road. It’ll be a slow trip because of the bodies, but safer than what we’ve come through. I’ll fire a flare. When you see it, strike yours, toss it on the fuel and run.”
Kitch kept his gaze on her as Caitlin’s eyes swept the scene before her, and she shuddered. Fly swarms and a host of winged insects were so thick that he knew Caitlin was thinking she couldn’t make it to the boat hire without inhaling several dozen. Crows, turkey vultures, and grackles hopped across corpses, pausing only to dip their stained beaks into a weeping wound before moving on to a juicer meal of rotting flesh. A crow plucked a writhing, fat grub out of a dead marine’s eye socket. Others watched the grub go down the bobbing throat with envy, even though they were swallowing chunks of putrid flesh.
A stinking black river of oozing bodily fluids trickled down the road toward the mall and bridge. He watched as her red-rimmed eyes were morbidly drawn to the top layer of corpses. Arms, legs, and chest cavities rippled, as if the muscles could reactivate. But it was simply maggots, bugs, small lizards, cockroaches and other insects feasting on a bounty of freely available, rotting flesh.
“It’s unlikely the infected on the other side of the river will see you. Even if they do, at the pace they travel, you’ll have plenty of time to get away. When you hear me break that mini-market window, pour fuel onto to a car and get ready to light the flare. Back off a to someplace safe. When you see my flare, toss your flare at the fuel and run back to this tent. Wait here for me.” Turning to face her, Kitch said, “I promise, I’ll be back.”
Caitlin nodded. Expression grim, she clutched Marie tighter. She was about to move, but something must have caught her eye. He watched as Caitlin tried to pull out two boxes partially concealed under a corpse. The words Surgical Masks and Gloves were printed on the side. “Quick, give me a hand,” she urged, tugging at a dismembered nurse’s remains to reveal medical supplies. Smiling grimly, Caitlin tore open a packet of surgical masks and distributed them. Easing the dead nurse’s backpack off, she filled it with whatever items looked useful. Kitch waited. Caitlin fixed the backpack’s flap tight before setting off to the mall.
Kitch glanced over at Caitlin and Marie on the opposite side of the roadway as they gingerly picked a path through an odorous sea of rotting corpses. Masses of insects hovered over their heads. A hot Charleston wind carried a stench of death Kitch couldn’t have ever imagined, not even in his worst Tourette’s inspired nightmares. Setting off on his journey of terror, Kitch simply shut his mind to the fact he was stepping on and over corpse’s two deep in places.
Kitch thought the insect clouds were so dense that they might hide him from the infected. Once he gained his previous mall observation post by the fence, Kitch studied the deserted public car park for something to smash two permaglaz doors leading into the mall with. Whatever it was, it had to be sharp and heavy. Permaglaz was designed to be one hundred percent recyclable and tough enough to withstand hurricanes and tornados.
Kitch’s gaze concentrated around the dismembered bodies outside the drug store. Most had makeshift weapons or sharp objects fastened to long-handled cleaning implements. Good enough to pierce flesh with a stab, but useless in a fight with a determined opponent.
Confident enough to stand now, Kitch was certain the only nearby infected existed inside the mall. He thought he saw what looked like a crowbar embedded in the back of a deceased woman’s skull. A male wearing a plaid shirt, from which protruded a long shard of permaglaz out of his chest, still held it in his hand. Kitch’s father had purchased one a year ago when he was restoring an antique car, using it to pull the metal apart. It was just the tool he required.
Kitch moved openly now. If there were infected in the mall, he wanted them excited and ready to pursue him. Luckily the crowbar was the long sort. Hefting it experimentally in his right hand after he tugged it out of the woman’s head, Kitch was certain it would do the job. After wiping the filthy black and green brain matter remnants onto the woman’s clothing, Kitch jogged lightly around the sprawled, rotting corpses to the mall entry.
Once there, he commenced tapping the permaglaz doors with the crowbar. Within seconds the imitation jungle forest entry was crowded with milk-eyed infected. The harder Kitch tapped, the more frenzied the interned killers clawed at the glaz to get at him. Surprisingly, there were fewer infected trapped inside than Kitch imagined. Tapping harder, more urgently, Kitch noted all wore uniforms. Employees must have banded together and driven everyone else out in a last-ditch effort to hold onto life before one of them turned.
His eyes flicked across the internal entry. Kitch had made many trips there before the contagion spread. In those lazy days, there was nothing better to clear his mind than a short walk to the mall for an ice-cold soda. The mini-market’s shelves were filled with goods—looters, it seemed, were not desperate enough to brave the infected inside while easier pickings were nearby.
Kitch went over the mall’s layout in his mind. His targeted path was from the entry straight into the mini-market on his left. Kitch stepped back to better observe through blood-spattered doors. The infected at the rear were attacking the infected pressing against the bulging doors. He took a further half pace back, raised his crowbar, covered his eyes with his forearm and then swung with all his might.
Kitch’s blow shattered the permaglaz into thousands of shards, spilling the moaning infected into the sunlight. Those at the front fell. Trampled, they squirmed as the infected at the rear clambered over them. Kitch waved, yelled and banged the crowbar on the road surface, drawing them out. Backing carefully away between corpses, Kitch drew the moaning mob toward the main road.
When he was satisfied the last infected was pursuing him, Kitch set off his flare. Seconds later, he smelled boat fuel burning. A dull, thunderous explosion soon followed. The infected froze. Kitch couldn’t afford to take his eyes off them, so he sidled slowly backward. As the mob commenced to shuffle in the direction of the distracting boom, Kitch leaped behind a line of blue permaglaz dumpsters. Watching from a sprinter’s crouch, Kitch waited until the last infected stumbled onto the road. Another explosion followed. A small black mushroom cloud marked the position of the burning car. A collective moan went up from the infected as the last shambler departed the car park, dragging her feet.
Kitch dashed into the gap made in the shattered doors. Using the crowbar, he swiftly crushed the skulls of two infected writhing on the ground. At speed, Kitch entered the mini-market. Removing his backpack, he carried the crowbar for protection in his right hand. Kitch commenced scooping freeze-dried food packets into his backpack. Ignoring the stench of meat rotting in giant freezers
, he threw in things like toilet paper, soap, toothpaste, razors, feminine products, shampoo, and candies, but it still wasn’t enough. He slipped the backpack on. Scooping up two discarded shopping bags, Kitch filled them with whatever came to hand until they bulged with goods.
Almost bow-legged, Kitch staggered from the mall entry carrying his loot. His jaw dropped at the horrors staggering on the road heading back toward the mini-market. Clothes, hair, and flesh burning, they emitted a stench of overcooked meat as they shuffled in all directions, setting small spot fires. Most of the cluster stood around the blazing car Caitlin had set fire to, fizzing loudly. One or two fell twitching to the ground.
The raging fire and noisy explosions drew the infected from the park across the river onto the bridge in a shambling horde of slavering corpses on legs. As the moaning mob approached the fire, another public car exploded into flames, igniting the front ranks of the approaching infected. But that didn’t stop them, nor could they, even if they could feel pain. The moaning mob’s momentum and combined weight were so great that they pushed the front ranks deeper into the spreading flames.
Another explosion ripped through the stalled public cars. Bright orange flames skyrocketed into the air as a spray of hot battery fluid engulfed the infected. Many were crushed up against burning cars, igniting hair, dry skin and clothing, spreading the flames swiftly until they were all engulfed. Dry clothes and flaps of sun-dried skin along with leaking human fat provided more fuel for the hungry flames.
Kitch’s attention was diverted briefly. Two infected torches approaching him collapsed when their burned black legs snapped. Even so, they continued to claw their way toward him leaving gobbets of smoking, burned black flesh in their sooty, blood-slimed wake.
Kitch’s heart raced. In the short pause he’d taken to assess the situation, bright flames were outstripping his ability to maneuver through the sea of corpses. He would be cut off unless he moved right now. Fire might be cleansing, but it was also indiscriminate in who and what it consumed. Jogging as quickly as his burdens would permit, Kitch remained mere paces ahead of a fire fanned by an increasing and malevolent wind. He could feel searing heat drying the perspiration on his back beneath his shirt.
Up ahead, Kitch heard Caitlin yelling at him to run faster. Such was his load, Kitch couldn’t lift his head to respond. Kitch doubted he possessed the lung capacity to push out a shout for help anyway. His arms ached with the strain the weight his burdens placed on his back. His legs threatened to give out. Kitch could feel his pace lessening as his lungs drew heat-seared air into them through his surgical mask. The ,perspiration flooding down his face was blinding him as black, stinking, acrid smoke trickled through the surgical mask, and he coughed.
Bending his head, he closed his eyes briefly. Kitch employed the same mental toughness he applied when confronted with a severe Tourette’s attack. Summoning all his strength and willpower, Kitch called on his deepest reserves and charged forward. Suddenly, Caitlin was beside him snatching a bag from his hand. Together with Marie, they staggered through the shredded military outpost seconds before it too burst into flames.
“Which way?” Caitlin shouted over the roar of the all-consuming flames.
Coughing and wiping away smoke-inspired tears, Kitch nodded toward a gap in the road between stalled vehicles, staggering as fast as he could in that direction.
The fearful and equally grateful trio paused on a strip of grass that had once been a nature reserve at a light rail collection point. Turning, they watched the destruction taking place behind them. Licking flames driven by powerful, dry wind gusts continued to pursue them, but at a slower pace as fuel ran out. Thick billows of acrid black smoke threatened to choke the air from their lungs. Kitch figured the flames would probably pass not much beyond the military post because of a lack of corpses. His guess proved true when a wall of flame whipped high in the air on the back of a wind gust. It seemed to Kitch that with some vigor, the voracious flames pounced hungrily on the as yet unburned but smoldering piles of dead.
Cocking his head, Kitch faced the road leading from the bridge to the military outpost. “Quick,” he urged. “We have to move before the flames draw the infected from the retirement village.”
* * * *
Caitlin didn’t question his logic. She simply jogged after the retreating Kitch, briefly pausing when movement caught her eye. It was the infected they passed earlier moving toward the crackling flames. Nearly all were village retirees. She could tell by their older style clothing. Attracted by sounds and undeterred by pain, they lit up like birthday candles as they entered the sphere of the fire’s flaming heat. Turning, she followed Kitch and Marie along a water easement to a deserted street.
Kitch held up his crowbar, signing they should stop. Breathing heavily, he cocked his head as if he was trying to listen for sounds of infected over the distant roar of flames. Seemingly satisfied, Kitch motioned them forward. At a quick pace, he led them to the front door of a nearby house. Holding his bag, he positioned himself before the house security camera in a familiar stance Caitlin adopted many times at her own home before the outbreak. A thin green light beam jabbed down at Kitch’s right eye before it disappeared. A split second later, the front door quietly popped open, and for the first time in almost five months, Caitlin stepped into a climate-controlled room and uttered a sigh of relief.
Chapter Seven: Purposeful steps
The instant Kitch’s front door sealed the trio in a controlled environment, it was clear to all that body odors might test friendships and cross personal boundaries. Nevertheless, Caitlin and Marie paused expectantly in the short hallway, looking meaningfully at Kitch, who was letting his OCD marvel at the how clean the house was after witnessing the random destruction he experienced outside. Kitch immediately tuned in to a slight buzz. Household ‘bots were beavering away somewhere nearby.
The cleaning machines extracted power from solar cells nightly parked in the dining room depot. During the day, they followed a well-defined routine, methodically cleaning each room, removing dust, dead insects and a host of unwanted material pre-programmed into their chips. Reacting to sudden the introduction of unwashed body chemistry, the cooling system selected fragrant scents of cinnamon and roses.
Hefting bags of liberated food, Kitch jerked his head sideways. “Wash up first. I’ll show you around after we’ve eaten,” he said, leading them into the kitchen. As he set two bags beside the refrigeration unit, his eyes were drawn to his VOID and the sheet of plexiglaz he’d left for his father. A heartfelt sob broke uncontrollably from trembling lips, along with tears of frustration. Remembered parental love that knew no bounds had his chest heaving as his deep sense of loss poured from his soul out his eyes and down his cheeks.
Caitlin laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Cupping Kitch’s wet face in the palms of her hands, she turned his tear-streaked cheeks toward her, saying, “Mourn him Kitch, with love and regret, but never forget who killed him and how that came about.” That said, she gently kissed the rolling tears on each cheek until his grief subsided to a shuddering, sniffling halt.
In a tear-wracked voice, Kitch pulled himself together then said, “I’ll organize a meal. You and Marie shower and change. This way,” he urged, leading them into his bedroom. Lights flickered into life as they entered. Sensors were automatically compensating for the inclusion or exclusion of external light and persons in the room. Gesturing to a chest of draws set into the wall, Kitch said, “The bottom two draws contain old clothes. They’re clean and ironed. You and Marie should find something you can wear in there.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll work something out,” Caitlin responded, touching his shoulder lightly.
“Bathroom’s one down. Recycled, filtered water is stored in underground tanks heated through solar collectors. You’ll have a hot shower in about ten seconds.”
Caitlin nodded. “Why don’t you start the meal while I organize Marie?”
Kitch left the sisters to return to the
kitchen. After stowing the food and household items away, he set about creating a meal from packets of freeze-dried potatoes, mixed vegetables, and spiced meats. Cooking consisted of adding water and heating packet contents in the InstaCook.
Caitlin returned as he was setting three plates on the table. “It’s a pity we can’t stay here,” she remarked, sitting at a family dining table made of timber. Laying her hands flat on the shiny surface, she remarked with genuine appreciation, “This is a nice home. I’ve never seen a table like this except in a museum.”
“Dad worked hard at making it so. He loved old things made from natural substances. He’d travel for hours to collect them. I know we can’t stay, though. Sooner or later an infected or one of Junior’s killers will notice the cooling unit’s hum or smell discharged household odors. We’ll either be surrounded by a thousand infected and starved or burned out by Junior’s murderous followers,” he said dismally. “This tiny window of opportunity we’re experiencing is preparation to build our reserves for the next phase of our escape.”
“Escape?” Caitlin replied with a frown of puzzlement as Kitch set steaming bowls of delicious-smelling food on the table. “This is our reality, Kitch. There ain’t no escape from what’s out there. We’re in the deep end with no life jackets, no weapons and nowhere to run, with no one but each other for back up. We either deal with what’s outside that front door, or we’re done for.” Heaping her plate with food, she went on, “God I love that naivety about you, Kitch. Sexy as all get out, but a real trial at times.”
Survival_Book 1_And Tomorrow Page 15
