The Redivivus Trilogy (Book 3): Miasma

by Kirk Withrow

  “No…” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

  Mother’s sharp, commanding voice cut through the fear and worry that held Stack rooted to the spot.

  “Come on, Stack. We need to find another way to help them.”

  In an instant, Stack was back to his old self and following Mother around the corner of the building. They made it back to where they’d started, only to confirm what they’d begun to suspect—the alley was a dead end. The scavenging team was nowhere in sight. All they could see was the rear of the horde pressing forward like a mob of crazed concertgoers trying to rush the stage.

  “We have to draw them out,” Stack said. The anxiety he’d felt since leaving the CDC was back with a vengeance, and he struggled to keep his mind clear.

  “I agree. I don’t see any other option,” Mother replied.

  Nodding toward Mother, Stack shouldered his rifle and began dropping the infected with well-placed headshots.

  Acquire target. Exhale and hold. Squeeze the trigger. Acquire target. Exhale and hold. Squeeze the trigger.

  Stack repeated this cycle with flawless accuracy. For a moment, Mother stood in awe of the soldier’s robotic precision. One shot every couple of seconds, and with each shot another body crumpled lifelessly to the ground. Stack probably could’ve fired faster without sacrificing accuracy given how tightly packed the infected were. As much as he would’ve loved to kill every last one of rotting bastards, he exercised restraint. He didn’t have enough ammo for such an undertaking, and he needed to draw them away as quickly as possible.

  As he’d hoped, the revs closest to him turned to investigate the sound. One by one, they advanced on him. Some tripped over their fallen brethren, causing others behind them to do the same. The scene had a slapstick quality that would’ve been comical under other circumstances. Stack continued firing as he slowly backed out of the alley. Now that he had their full attention, he intended to keep it. For the first time since he and Mother left the CDC, Stack’s anxiety level diminished. He didn’t know if it was because he’d finally seen the scavenging team or because of the release that came with putting down so many infected. In truth, it was probably both.

  In between shots, Stack craned his neck to peer over the mass of infected in hopes of finding any sign of the scavenging team. His heart began to race when he didn’t see a single shred of evidence that they’d ever been there. Seeing no way they could have escaped the dead end, he envisioned the horde descending upon them like a pack of hyenas. Bile rose in his gorge when he considered that there didn’t even appear to be enough left of them to give them a proper burial. His gunfire faltered as tears blurred his vision.

  * * *

  John looked like he might vomit as he thought about what they were preparing to do. He took a deep breath and asked, “Everybody ready?”

  Before anyone could reply, several loud cracks came from outside. It sounded as though someone was setting off firecrackers in the distance. There was an oddly rhythmic quality to the pops, like a metronome was guiding them. They stared at one another, clearly unable to make sense of the unexpected noise that continued uninterrupted for nearly a minute. The scavenging team stood motionless, waiting for something or someone to tell them what to do next. A couple of minutes after the noise began, Plant and Reams turned to look at one another with surprise. Slowly but surely, the pressure exerted on the door by the bombardment of revs was decreasing.

  A huge smile that seemed entirely ill-suited for the situation appeared on Plant’s face as he said, “I think those assholes are giving up.”

  After the last dull thud faded away, Animal cracked the door and peered into the alley cautiously. What she saw left her speechless; the horde had turned en masse and was shambling toward the mouth of the alley.

  “I don’t know why, but they’re leaving,” she said in a tone that sounded equally confused and disappointed. Part of her was suspicious, because such strokes of luck rarely came without a cost. Good fortune wasn’t in great supply during the apocalypse. A smaller, more insane part of her had been eagerly anticipating the chance to carve a swath of death and destruction through the infected mass that was trying to kill them. Knowing the others would think her insane for harboring such a thought, she kept that sentiment to herself.

  “Let’s move before they change their minds, or whatever the hell they have up there,” Animal said.

  After a three count, Plant and Reams stepped back and yanked the door open. Cujo and Animal burst into the alley with weapons at the ready. All the tension they’d built up in preparation for fighting for their lives drained away when the only thing they saw was a dozen dead revs near the turn in the alley. Animal motioned for the others to come out, as Cujo cautiously crept down the alley with her rifle at the ready.

  * * *

  Feeling defeated, Stack considered dropping to his knees and letting the swarm of revs end his agony until he caught a glimpse of movement along the wall near the alley’s end. A door he hadn’t seen initially opened slightly, and a head furtively popped out before quickly disappearing back into the wall. It was brief and he couldn’t tell who it was, but it was all Stack needed to pull him back into the fight. With hope rising in his chest, he tightened his grip on his rifle and began firing with renewed vigor. Someone was alive in that alley, and that was all he needed to keep fighting.

  “Mother! Someone’s alive in there! Keeping firing. We have to draw them out!” Stack roared. If anything, he spoke louder than necessary in the hopes of further enticing the monsters moving toward him.

  Stack couldn’t hear Mother’s reply over the bark of his rifle and the ringing in his ears, but he knew he wasn’t alone in his endeavor when he saw the muzzle flash of Mother’s weapon in his peripheral vision. Just before he rounded the corner heading out of the alley, he saw Cujo and Animal burst through the doorway. A feeling of elation swept over him, creating an odd mix of emotions when it collided with the anxiety, fear, and rage currently occupying his brain. His eyes locked with Cujo’s, and for an instant, the two of them were the only people in the dirty alley. All the blood, noise, bodies, and chaos disappeared. There were no more revs, and there was no more LNV. In his mind, the alley transformed from a war zone into a paradise for that brief moment. Unfortunately, neither he nor Cujo realized that their gazes, which locked onto each other with the unshakable veracity of a heat-seeking missile, harbored so much lethal potential.

  Stack’s momentary lapse in concentration was all it took for one of the many revs advancing toward him to get in a lucky strike. With so much of his focus on the woman trapped in the alley, he didn’t see the infected adolescent that snuck in under his radar until it was too late. Its jagged teeth sank deeply into the soft undersurface of his left wrist. Although the pain was excruciating, he barely noticed it at first. Only after he felt the warm blood inside the fingers of his glove and saw the steady crimson cascade spilling onto the ground did he realize what had happened: the little infected monster had punctured his radial artery. Stack’s blood dripped from the rev’s mouth as it snarled menacingly, as though the little rev were bragging about what it had done.

  Enraged, Stack planted his boot on the rev’s chest and sent the rev sprawling across the asphalt. The gravity of the situation instantly tore through the mirage he’d been indulging in. Darkness seeped in through the hole that had been punched in his daydream, blotting out the brief moment of happiness he’d experienced like paint splattered on a beautiful work of art. Even though he knew what the bite meant for him, he refused to allow that knowledge to reach his face. If Cujo knew what had happened, she would act carelessly; being careless was how he’d ended up in his situation in the first place. The thought of Cujo succumbing to a similar fate was far worse than any pain he felt.

  When Cujo’s eyes found Stack once again, his expression bore no evidence of the physical pain he was experiencing. While she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what had changed, she sensed something different about him.
While he still smiled, the corners of his mouth had dropped ever so slightly. Even from a distance, his eyes looked oddly vacant. An unexpected chill swept through her, and she felt as though she were looking at the scene through a frosted window on a cold winter morning.

  When he’d first seen the scavenging team fleeing on foot, Stack had wondered if he might be hallucinating. Now, he didn’t know if it mattered. Everything was crumbling before his eyes like a sand sculpture in the rain. Nothing around him seemed real. Cujo didn’t seem real. Was I really bitten, or was that just a dream? No. There was no denying the very real pain scorching up Stack’s arm. His image of her began to gray around the periphery, and he became increasingly lightheaded.

  As much as Stack hated to take his eyes off Cujo for even a second, he looked away in the hope that he could continue to conceal his plight from her. He transitioned to his sidearm and tried to hold pressure on the wound while he fended off the infected that were steadily closing in on him. The little rev that had bitten him was back on its feet and moving in with its bloodstained teeth bared. Stack squeezed the trigger and watched the bullet shatter its deadly teeth as it punched a hole though the thing’s face. The projectile exploded out of the back of its head with a spray of blood and bone. Stack wasn’t even bothered by the fact that the rev had been a child.

  Unfortunately, it proved nearly impossible to maintain effective fire and staunch the bleeding simultaneously. Stack was in a lose-lose situation, and it struck him as ironic that he was trying so hard to keep the virus-tainted blood inside his body. He knew LNV would kill him if he didn’t bleed out first. Either way, he was going to die.

  Mother was busy contending with several revs and thus didn’t notice that Stack was in trouble. When he saw Stack firing his pistol, he assumed he’d run out of ammo for his rifle. Still battling the revs and backing out of the alley, he converged on Stack’s position.

  Mother froze as soon as he was close enough to see Stack clearly. The soldier’s skin was ashen, as though he’d been drawn in black and white, except for his wrist and hand, which were colored a deep crimson red. The sticky blood glistening in the fading sunlight guaranteed it wouldn’t go unnoticed.

  “Stack—your hand. You’ve…been…” Mother stuttered.

  His mind flashed back to what he’d done to Annalee. The sickening feeling of her severed arm before he’d tossed it away like a scrap of meat was still fresh in his mind. Her skin had been cool to start with and had grown steadily cooler as his blade had cut deeper. What he’d found the most disturbing of all was the weight of the little girl’s arm in his hand when the blade finally separated the joint. The memory made Mother instantly nauseous; he didn’t think he’d be able to do it again.

  Stack’s face was fierce and determined when he cut him off. “Never mind. I’m not dead yet, and we still have a mission to complete.”

  The words must have reached the pragmatic soldier portion of Mother’s brain, because he immediately returned to the task at hand as though he hadn’t just learned that his friend had received a death sentence. The two soldiers fought back to back, firing as they lured the horde out of the alley and away from the scavenging team.

  Spotting another alley across the street, Mother said, “This way. We can draw them through here. Then we need to get you back to Dr. San ASAP.”

  Stack started to protest Mother’s last statement. As much as he would’ve liked to think the doctor could help him, he knew it wasn’t true. It was already too late for him; he could feel it.

  Their efforts paid off as all but a few revs pursued them into the alley across the street. Mother moved ahead of Stack to ensure that the other end of the alley was clear.

  Stack breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the scavenging team pass by beyond the heads of the remaining revs. He muttered a prayer of thanks for the chance to see Cujo one more time, even if only for a second. A sense of peace came over him with the knowledge that she had a fighting chance to live. He knew his friends weren’t out of danger yet, and he wished there was more he could do to ensure their safety. Before he’d finished the thought, an idea struck him.

  Stack glanced over his shoulder and saw that Mother was at least fifty feet ahead of him. Stack nodded his head in confirmation of his plan. He let his rifle fall to its sling before opening a pouch on the front of his vest. The small metal object inside made him smile weakly. He grasped the M67 fragmentation grenade and pulled the safety pin. His smile widened as he thought of the hellfire about to rip through the horde. Without another thought, he lobbed the grenade into the middle of the advancing horde. The sight of the spoon glistening in the air as it separated from the steel orb momentarily transfixed him. After a couple of seconds, Stack dove for cover behind a nearby dumpster.

  The explosion was deafening and disorienting. Smoke and light filled the narrow alley as debris and gore rained down upon him. A severed arm lying less than a foot away caused Stack to look down to ensure both of his arms were still attached. His eyes watered, his lungs burned, and his entire body ached.

  Stack peered around the corner of the dumpster to survey the carnage the grenade had caused. He felt a sense of pride when he saw the dozens of mangled and dismembered bodies in the settling dust. Much to his surprise, several were still crawling toward him despite the massive amount of trauma they’d suffered. A few even shambled forward on unsteady legs as though nothing had happened. While he had dealt a significant blow to the horde, he knew he had to keep moving if he wanted to stay alive for much longer.

  Stack came up to his elbow and tried to haul himself to his feet. Try as he might, it was to no avail. Instinctively, he glanced down to identify the problem. Although the cause of his difficulty would’ve been readily apparent under other circumstances, his head was still swimming from the grenade’s concussive shockwave. He couldn’t make sense of the pile of rubble that occupied the space where his legs should have been. Intense pain suddenly shot up both legs, as if the sight of the concrete blocks had reminded his nerves that they had a job to do.

  The infected’s snarls brought his mind back to the present, and he realized he no longer held his pistol. Frantically, he felt around on the ground but was unable to locate the weapon. Still not processing the fact that his legs were pinned under rubble from a wall that had collapsed when the grenade detonated, Stack tried to roll onto his stomach. He was rewarded with renewed pain in his lower legs and the crunching sound of bone fragments grinding against one another. He stifled a scream as the pain robbed him of his will to move.

  The grenade’s blast wave had hurled Mother onto the asphalt. He squinted his eyes to peer into the haze filling the alleyway. The only movement he saw was that of a few dark figures still shambling in the smoky wreckage. Not seeing Stack anywhere, he feared the worst. Debris and barely recognizable body parts littered the ground around where he lay. Less than three feet from his head was an arm that had been blown off just below the elbow. The hand lay palm up with its grimy fingers mostly extended as if waiting for a high five. Mother halfway expected the extremity to flip over and start crawling toward him.

  The air continued to clear, and Mother came up to one knee as he kept a watchful eye on the approaching horde. Even though there were significantly fewer revs in the alley, he had no doubt there were still plenty out there. Movement on the ground near a dumpster on the left side of the alley caught his eye. He believed it to be one of the infected that had been maimed until he noticed that the movement looked more coordinated than he would have expected. A short break in the smoke afforded him a clear view of the figure’s face; it was Stack.

  Jumping to his feet, Mother raced down the alley toward his fallen comrade. As he drew near, he took in more of the devastation caused by the hand grenade’s blast. While it appeared to have leveled nearly half of the horde that had been pursuing them, it had also done significant damage to the building walls that formed the alley’s boundaries. One of the walls had toppled over, burying Stack’s legs in the p
rocess. He didn’t move when Mother crept up next to him and called his name.

  Even though Mother had tried to keep his voice down, several of the ambulatory revs must have heard him, because they snarled in reply. When he looked up, there were at least twenty revs still moving in his direction. He brought his rifle to his shoulder and dropped the closest of them with well-placed headshots. The weapon’s muted cough seemed incongruous with its lethal effect. Not waiting for those next in line to get any closer, Mother grabbed the drag handle on Stack’s vest and tried to extricate him from the ruined wall. Stack let out a pained grunt, but he didn’t budge an inch.

  Working feverishly, Mother slung his rifle and began clearing the debris off his friend’s legs. Stack drifted in and out of consciousness as Mother worked, and after a few seconds of digging, his left leg came into view. The lower leg was crushed, and the unnatural bend made Mother wince. Forcing the sickly feeling out of his mind, he continued working in the hope that he could free Stack’s right leg. This, however, proved far more difficult, as it was pinned under a large, heavy slab. Mother scanned the alley for anything he could use as a lever and fulcrum. He jumped when Stack placed a surprisingly steady hand on his arm.

  “Mother, it’s okay. There’s nothing you can do. You need to get out of here so we both don’t end up like this,” Stack said, gesturing to the bite wound on his left wrist. The tissue around the injury had already turned an unhealthy grayish hue, while dark red streaks extended toward his elbow.

  Mother stopped what he was doing but otherwise didn’t move. Stack snatched the pistol from Mother’s holster and put down the next few revs in line before turning his attention back to Mother. The debris and fallen revs served to slow the advance of those that remained.