The Dead Are Sleeping

by Paul Westwood

  In the gloom I could see that I was in a classroom. There was a heavy table, a chalkboard, and rows of smaller desks. A smell of mustiness pervaded the atmosphere. It had been a long time since anyone had been in here. I moved stealthily toward the door. The only sound I could hear was my own breathing and the scrape of soles sliding along the tiled floor.

  I gently opened the door and then held my breath. There was a muffled sound in the distance. It was someone talking. And then someone else laughed, the sound echoing along the confines on the tight hallway. I slipped out of the room, keeping close to the wall and went toward the noise. Turning the corner, I saw a faint orange light. A few dozen feet ahead there were shadows bouncing against the painted concrete wall. As I got closer I saw a bonfire and two figures, nothing but black cutouts against the orange flames.

  I was close enough to hear their voices distinctly.

  A rough voice, that sounded as if a thousand cigarettes had passed the man’s lips, spoke. He said, “We got anymore whiskey, Jack?”

  The man who answered has a thick European accent that was almost unrecognizable as English. He replied, “You drink too much, boss. We’re all out of whiskey.”

  “Shit,” the first man spat out. “That fool I shot still alive?”

  “I reckon so,” was the reply. “I haven’t heard otherwise. Ol’ Billy is watching him now. It would be better if we just finish the poor bastard off.”

  “He’s not worth a bullet. Anyway he’ll give us some fun if he makes it through the night. No reason we can’t have our fun, right? But it’s too bad that girl got away. We could have had ourselves a real good time with her.” He laughed and it broke into a horrific cough that took nearly a minute to settle down.

  His words made me shake with anger. I crept closer, staying close to the wall and down low. I came to a doorway and ducked in before peering along the edge. This time I could see the first man. He was wearing a leather motorcycle vest with a large back patch, blue jeans, and black boots. A hunting rifle was hung over his shoulder. He was puffing on a cigarette and staring into the flames. The bonfire had been built in the middle of a hallway intersection. Above the fire was a broken skylight. A plume of white smoke escaped into the night sky. Next to him was grizzled old man who held a beer in his hand. He was wearing a tattered winter jacket and black pants tucked into a pair of snow boots. He was jerking his head side to side as if expecting trouble at any moment. He was obviously the paranoid type. I would have to be careful around him.

  They must have been holding the girl’s father, Ben, in one of these rooms. I stood and looked over my shoulder. The door behind me had a small glass window. It was dark inside this room. But across the hallway was another door. Coming from the window was a faint light that I hadn’t noticed before. I peeked around the corner of the doorway toward the bonfire. The two men were still there, each silent. I took this moment and darted across the hallway, hoping not to be seen. My luck held out. No one seemed to notice I was here. They were feeling safe in numbers.

  I looked through the window. It was a classroom. There was a collection of desks pushed to the side. On the floor was a camping lantern that ran off of batteries. Next to it was a man who looked to be in much pain. The cause of this pain was obvious. It was a gang member, probably the one named Billy, who was standing over the wounded man and thrusting his boot into the poor soul’s stomach, which was drenched with blood. I felt my own stomach contract with anxiety. This was one hell of a position to be in. I had no experience in street fighting and I’m sure these thugs could have torn me to pieces in seconds. But there was still a trace of civilization in me, one that I may lose in the future, but for now was still part of me. It was wrong to hurt a wounded man like that. I had to do something about it.

  I pulled the gun out of my waistband. My other hand went to the doorknob. Ever so slowly, I turned it until I felt the latch release with the quietest of clicks. Once the door was open wide enough, I slid inside and rushed Billy. He must have felt my presence or heard my footsteps for he turned just as I struck him in the head with the butt of the pistol. With a dazed look, he fell backward, cracking the back of his skull against the edge of a desk. I didn’t give him a chance to recover but instead delivered a few hard kicks aimed at the side of his head. He let out a single moan, low and not too loud. And then he shut his eyes and passed out.

  Only then did I give him a real look over. This scruffy specimen was tall, extremely thin, and had a sparse beard that was a slightly different shade than his scraggly hair. He was wearing holed blue jeans and an army field jacket that was spattered with mud. The boots were smeared with blood. Too bad he was still breathing. I quelled the urge to beat this bastard to death.

  Instead I turned my attention to the other man. He was watching me carefully as if expecting yet another round of torture. I found it odd to see that he was wearing a business suit. It seemed out of place in this new world. I could see the blossom of blood on his once-white shirt. He looked pale. A lifetime ago he could have been an accountant or insurance salesman. Now he was a wretched creature on the verge of death.

  I bent over him. I asked, “Are you Ben?”

  He nodded. Each movement looked painful, his jaw tightening under that sallow skin.

  “I’m Tom. I want you to know that your daughter is safe. I came here to rescue you. Do you think you can walk?”

  “I can try,” he croaked out, the voice as fragile as glass.

  October 18th – evening

  I felt foolish for risking my life for a dying man but the thought of Sarah waiting for our return kept me going. With my help Ben made it back through the school hallways. It took a lot of work to get him out of the classroom window I had broken into. He groaned and moaned all along but was a real trooper since he didn’t let out a scream. I know I would have. We were soon lying together on the damp grass, both panting with exhaustion. When my lungs weren’t screaming for air, I helped him stand. Like drunks we both staggered across the football field, headed toward the fence. I was expecting an outcry and wasn’t too surprised to hear the roar of motorcycle engines coming from the front of the school. The hunt was on.

  The problem was that Ben was moving slower and slower. The rough ground was making it difficult for him to walk. But he kept on going inch by feeble inch. Soon we were past the broken fence and into the woods. I could see the street and the truck beyond.

  “Come on!” I demanded.

  “I’m trying as hard I can,” he grunted painfully in reply,

  We reached the sidewalk. Once Ben’s feet hit the concrete he let out a sigh that was heavy with agony. He was shaking now as the muscles rebelled against the work.. Even with my support the poor man could barely stand. I stopped to look him over, letting him sit. The gloom did little to hide the dark stain spreading along the torso. He had lost a lot of blood. I felt helpless. I certainly wasn’t a doctor but I knew a belly shot like that meant only a little time was left for him unless we could find some medical treatment. The chances of that were remote.

  “Let me rest here for a moment,” he pleaded with a voice that sounder weaker than before.

  I could hear the sound of a motorcycle engine. It was close by – perhaps a street or two over. “You stay here and I’ll get the truck,” I suggested.

  “Okay,” Ben replied through ragged breaths. He blinked a few times; the eyelids moving slower each time. And then he slumped on his side with his body lying across the sidewalk.

  Taking off in a run, I charged down the street, heading straight toward the truck. It was a good deal farther than I remembered. By the time I got to the vehicle I was sweating. With keys in hand I hopped inside, started the engine, and jerked the transmission into drive. I sped forward, quickly making up the distance that I had just run. As the truck neared Ben, I saw a flash of oncoming light. It was a motorcycle rounding the corner.

  It was heading straight toward me. I didn’t even have a chance to swerve, nor did I want to. Instead the d
river of the motorcycle, who, in the glare, was just a shadow sitting on the seat, tried to steer out the way. It was too late. There was a terrific crash as the front bumper of the truck collided and then the tires rolled over what was left of the twisted wreckage of man and machine. I jammed on the brakes and the truck skidded to a stop.

  As I opened the door, a feeling of queasiness passed through the entire length of my body. I remembered what I had done to that soldier. This seemed to be worse. I could have tried to stop or turn out of the path of the motorcycle but had made the conscious decision to kill the rider. But I decided not to dwell on it for now. I had to get Ben somewhere safe and see what I could for him. There would be time for guilt later.

  October 19th – morning

  I was at the back of a motel, the sort of place I would have gladly driven by in the past. It was a low one story building with a dozen units, a battered and empty pop machine, an ice maker, and the manager’s office. Last night I had picked up Sarah and driven her here along with her bloodied father. After securing a set of keys, I had dragged Ben into the closest unit and put him into bed. I did what I could for his wound, staunching the flow of blood with some clean towels. His daughter, understandably, was distraught to see him so close to death. So I had left the two of them there to have some final time together. I had then driven the truck to the rear where it couldn’t be seen from the road, and found a room for myself. I went asleep – not very deeply and filled with nightmares.

  After sunrise, I had dragged myself out of bed. The land here outside of town was sparse with only a gas station across the way and a farmhouse in the distance. It was quiet and cold. I walked to the back to the truck. I examined the poor thing. Beyond the bullet holes it had plenty of damage with a crunched bumper stained with blood, a grille that had been crushed in, and a corner of the hood with a sizeable dent the size of a grapefruit. It was most likely caused by the impact of the motorcyclist’s helmet. Once again I felt ill with the thought that I had really killed someone. But in this new world I would have to make decisions that would inevitably harm others. There wasn’t any other choice if I wanted to stay alive.

  I dug into the gear, pulling out the camping stove, a pot, some spoons and bowls, and a can of corned hash. Before checking in on the others, I returned to my room and put the items down. I wondered if Ben was still alive. It was going to be a tough day dealing with another death.

  I knocked on their door, announcing myself as I turned the handle. “Good morning.”

  Sarah was sitting on the edge of the bed next to her father. She held his hand tightly. Ben blinked a few times and gave me a crooked grin. It was a miracle that he was still alive given the waxy pallor of his face. I had a bad feeling he wouldn’t be around for much longer.

  “How is he doing?” I asked.

  “Okay,” she replied, obviously lying to herself. I could see tracks where tears had run down that grimy face.

  “Good,” I said with a voice that rang hollow.

  “Let me talk to Tom here for a moment, dear,” Ben croaked to his daughter. His voice was a mere whisper. “Go outside and get some air, honey.”

  “Okay, daddy,” Sarah said as she slowly let her hand fall away from his. By the whiteness of the skin I could tell she had been gripping hard as if trying to keep him alive by sheer willpower. And maybe that was all that was keeping him alive.

  She edged past me and went outside. I had only caught a glimpse of her expression but I could tell she was scared.

  “Come closer,” Ben said with a weak voice. He didn’t move his arms, which were lying motionless by his sides.

  I did as he suggested, sitting on the edge of the bed. There I could see that the towels that I had packed tightly against his stomach were now drenched were blood. He must be in agony.

  “I don’t know who you are,” Ben started. “But you seem like a good guy. Will you look after my daughter for me?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “What did you do before all this bad shit went down?”

  “I taught geology – you know the sort of thing – a bunch of students not paying attention as I tried to teach them about rocks. It all seems like a bad joke now.”

  “You don’t look like a professor. I worked in Washington DC.” His eyes shifted from side to side as if checking if we were being overheard. “Top secret sort of stuff.”

  “FBI? CIA?”

  “Something like that, though those kids weren’t worth shining our shoes. We did the real hush-hush stuff that didn’t exactly get congressional oversight. We were our own little government within the government; stopping the bad guys before they even had a chance to do anything. We could stage a car accident, let’s say, to take out a foreign nuclear physicist working on a bomb project. Or even help overthrow a government that was less than friendly to ours. That sort of thing. It involved a lot of worked with the military.”

  I didn’t know exactly what to say. “I see,” I finally mumbled out. I wasn’t sure what to believe.

  He gave me a weak grin. “I bet you’re wondering how a super spy like me ended up with no gun and a slug in the belly. You see I wasn’t directly involved in the nasty work. I handled inventory. You know someone has to keep track of the planes, guns, and all the poisons. It also gave me access to plenty of information.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I had to track the movement of inventory from one city to another. That would let me know that something big was about to go down. It was one of these tidbits of information that let me tie a whole bunch of threads together. That’s why my daughter and I were on this trip.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” And I didn’t.

  “You will. This goes against all of my training but I have to tell someone. I know I won’t be around for very much longer so you’ll have to do.” He motioned toward the water bottle sitting on the bed stand.

  I handed it to him. “You’re in bad condition,” I said. “I was hoping to find a pharmacy. There I can get antibiotics and painkillers. There’s a chance that you could pull through.”

  Ben painfully swallowed some water and then handed the bottle back to me. “I know better than that. It would take a surgeon and a skilled medical team to save me now. I’ve been shot in the intestines. The infection will carry me away soon enough. That’s why I have to tell you what I know.”

  “Go ahead,” I said, knowing that he was right. At this point nothing could save him short of a miracle.

  He nodded slowly. “Our agency had a special division that specialized in germ warfare and poisons. Their job was to come up with ingenious ways to kill a single man or even a whole group of people and make it look like an accident.” He stopped to see the look of distaste on my face. “I know it is nasty work and it isn’t something that I exactly approve of. But if you kill a few dozen people to stop the murder of a few thousand, then it has to be worth it, right?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, not exactly wanting to get into this philosophical debate.

  He gave me a blank look before continuing on. “There is a research facility – codenamed Zeta – that began ordering a bunch of medical supplies, including equipment to handle quarantines. I’m talking about full biohazard suits, breathing apparatuses, oxygen tanks, plastic sheeting, and who knows what else. This was all ordered and delivered a week before those meteorites came down.”

  I made a few mental connections. My jaw dropped with shock. I then was able to say, quite angrily, “You mean that someone knew this virus – the one that has killed billions of people – was going coming to Earth?”

  Ben grimaced as if in deep pain. He didn’t look as if he could remain conscious for very much longer, not with his quick and shallow breathing. But he blinked a few times and took a deep breath as if marshalling his energy for one last push.

  “It gets worse than that. I think there is a chance that this was no accident and the virus was deliberately released.”

  I was even mor
e enraged than before. I stood up and began to angrily pace the floor. “This is monstrous! Who did this? Why?”

  Ben continued, “It’s just a guess. I still have no definite proof and my supervisors didn’t want to hear about it either. Of course at that time everyone was dying so they may have been too distracted to hear what sounds like a conspiracy theory. I tried to call down there but I had no luck making any contact. After my wife and son died, I decided to go down to New Orleans and find out for myself. I had to know.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you thought this trip out very well,” I commented angrily.

  He gave me a sour look, one part borne of his coming death and the other of annoyance. “I will admit that I didn’t think my plan very well through. I just wanted to get down and find out what really happened. I needed to know who killed my wife and son. And why.”

  I thought of my own wife. Revenge was a good enough reason for me. “I can see why you would want to go there. We all thought this virus was extraterrestrial in origin, an alien menace that found itself here by accident. If your information is right, then there is something even more monstrous going on than I expected.”

  October 21st – afternoon

  It took all day and the part of the next for Ben to die. At first he lost consciousness, only to come around again, and then he slipped away without saying another word. The last communication I saw was his staring and slow blinking at Sarah, who stayed dutifully at his side. I felt as if I was intruding so I had left the two of them alone. Instead I went scrounging around the area, searched the rooms – only finding a few stray items of interest – and then went to bed. In the middle of the night I heard the sound of a motorcycle in the distance. I wondered if that gang was still on the lookout for us. I quickly fell back to sleep, almost not caring if they found us. I was too tired to fight back.