The Redivivus Trilogy (Book 3): Miasma

by Kirk Withrow

  Bayani Lumaban shuddered several more times and then went still. Animal stared into his dead eyes for a moment longer. A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she caught it before it fell onto the Filipino.

  She sniffed and said, “That’s not for you.”

  Cujo stepped forward and extended her hand to Animal. She took it and climbed to her feet. Looking at both of the women in turn, Animal said, “Let’s finish this.”

  36

  John emerged from the stairwell and found himself in a room that was much darker than the one he’d just left on the second floor. Reeking of misery and death, the room instilled a sense of dread within him, and he squinted into the gloom looking for any sign of what lay ahead. The coppery smell of blood mixed with the putrescence of decay formed such a nauseating milieu that he couldn’t help but wonder if Connor, like Anthony, had lost his sense of smell. In his mind, that was the only logical explanation for why someone would intentionally enter such a rancid room.

  Suddenly, the air came alive with the whirring sound of a generator sparking to life, and the room was flooded with light. John, in turn, was flooded with emotions when he saw Ava tied to a chair on the far side of the room, a thick gag stuffed in her mouth. Relief, rage, fear, and concern all battled for dominance, leaving him overwhelmed and momentarily paralyzed. He didn’t know what he had expected, but he wasn’t ready for that. Similarly, he was not prepared when Connor barreled into him from the side. Standing flat-footed with his knees locked, he stood no chance against the impact that drove him to the ground with ease.

  The moment they hit the ground, Connor pulled out his knife and slashed at John’s throat. Recovering quickly, John parried the strike and moved his neck to the side, causing Connor to cut his rifle strap. The Tavor did not go with them when the two men rolled away as they fought for position.

  John came up on top and took control of Connor’s wrist. He slammed it against the ground repeatedly until Connor lost his grip on the knife. With all of his attention focused on disarming Connor, John didn’t see the other man’s left hand coming. It slammed into the side of John’s neck, leaving him stunned momentarily. It was long enough for Connor to buck John off and get out from under him.

  Connor immediately scissored his legs, landing a head kick that nearly knocked John unconscious.

  “This is about Garza! You should have stayed away,” Connor snarled as he threw a hard right hand punch that connected with the back of John’s head. The blow flattened John, and for a moment, he had no idea where he was.

  John’s senses slowly returned, and he heard Connor saying something about his plans being ruined. Because he was still lying face down, John couldn’t see Connor, but the sound of his voice gave John a good idea as to his opponent’s location. Taking a chance, John raised up abruptly, twisting to the side as he threw his elbow back toward the place where he’d heard the voice. It landed right on target, and Connor immediately fell silent.

  “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you kidnapped my daughter, asshole!”

  Although John was still rattled, his anger gave him considerable focus, and he was focused on only one thing: Ava. The distant look in the Puppet Master’s eyes and his tilted head told John that the man was still stunned from the elbow. Not giving him a chance to recover, John went on the offensive. He threw a backhand hammer fist that cracked Connor just behind his ear. Connor went dizzy and the room began to spin. Rising unsteadily to his feet, John lunged forward and drove his knee into Connor’s temple. The two men collapsed to the ground as John continued raining down punches. Somehow, Connor managed to pull his legs in between himself and John. He shoved hard with his feet, launching John into a worktable that sat just behind him. John howled in pain as his back collided with the corner of the table, hitting a nerve that sent electric shocks radiating down his legs.

  When Connor sat up, John saw a crazed look in the man’s eyes that made him look positively terrifying. Between Connor’s emotionless demeanor and dogged persistence, John wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to see exposed wiring or other mechanical components jutting out of his adversary’s many wounds. Does this guy ever stop? What the hell is he made of? Filled with pain to the point that he wondered if he could keep fighting, John wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer.

  “All right, Dad. I’ve had about enough of you for today,” Connor said coldly.

  Connor made no attempt to conceal the fact that he was coming for John as he climbed to his feet. John tried to do the same, but the pain and weakness in his legs slowed him considerably. A heavy boot slammed into his jaw before he was halfway up, dropping him instantly. He rolled onto his back as Connor leapt onto his chest, straddling him and pinning him to the ground. Bruised, cut, and swollen, the man hovering over him was a monstrous figure, and John couldn’t help wondering if he looked any better. He certainly didn’t feel any better. His body was so battered that he felt incapable of responding to his brain’s increasingly desperate pleas to keep fighting for Ava’s sake. The pain he felt was so great that it took him a second to even realize that Connor had started punching him again.

  Blood sprayed out of John’s mouth as Connor slammed his fists into his face repeatedly. Connor’s knuckles were cut and bruised, and he felt like a couple were broken. The substantial swelling on John’s face made it look as though he were having an allergic reaction. Although it might have been a side effect of the concussions he’d sustained, John felt like Connor’s punches were coming with less and less power. He found strength in that fact, and he brought his hands up to shield his face in the hopes of weathering the storm long enough for Connor to run out of steam—if such a thing ever happened.

  Unfortunately, rather than fighting to get John’s hands out of the way, Connor merely changed his attack to work around them. He grabbed John by the hair and began slamming the back of his head against the concrete floor. Each blow brought John closer to unconsciousness. He wanted to scream; he wanted to tell Ava he was sorry for failing her. As it was, he could hardly focus his eyes as his brain bounced back and forth between the rigid walls of his skull. All of a sudden, everything stopped, and John wondered if he’d passed out or even died. It took his addled brain a few seconds to realize that neither were likely the case if he was still able to think about the reason. Somewhere in the distance he heard a garbled sound that seemed strangely important.

  “Wmwopp…rrrh…wuhh.”

  Ava whimpered and screamed despite the gag in her mouth. Her face was beet red as she fought and pulled at her restraints. Enormous tears ran from her swollen eyes.

  Connor heard Ava’s increased cries and stopped what he was doing. He didn’t do so because of the obvious agony she was experiencing. In fact, he didn't even notice that. He had simply responded to the commotion she was making.

  Connor’s swollen tongue and lips caused his words to slur, making them only slightly more intelligible than Ava’s muffled pleas. “I have no idea what you’re saying, sweetheart. Right—I’m sorry. This asshole is your dad, so you probably want me to stop smashing his head into the ground, don’t you? Okay. I am a reasonable man.”

  Despite the situation, Connor still managed to affect something approximating a sadistic grin. He released John’s head, which hit the ground with a dull thud. Slowly, Connor climbed off him and stood up. John did not move.

  Although John was not unconscious, he wasn’t far from it. He didn’t care whether Connor had stopped attacking him because of Ava’s increased cries or because he’d simply run out of energy. He wouldn’t have even cared if he’d known the real reason, which was that Connor still had to deal with Garza. All John cared was that Connor had stopped. That, and…what? Something stirred in the depths of his bruised gray matter.

  Ava!

  All of a sudden, John remembered why he was lying in a pool of blood on the abandoned factory’s dirty floor in the first place. He felt galvanized by the thought of his little girl. As she had done
so many times before, she gave him the strength and the will to keep going. Although Connor didn’t see it because his back was turned, John raised his arm, as if wanting to ensure he could still control his extremities.

  As Connor staggered away, he said, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on the princess. She’s looking kinda lonely if you know what I mean.” When he neared a side door located halfway across the room, Connor glanced over his shoulder and added, “I’ve got some friends I’d like you to meet, Dad. I’m not sure they’re your kind of people, but they are going to absolutely love you.”

  Something banged on the other side, as Connor grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open with a villainous smile. The deathly odor intensified a thousandfold as the door’s movement drew the concentrated stench into the room. Ravenous snarls replaced the banging sound as the revs that had been locked in the small room rushed forward like racers after the starting gun. They pushed and shoved one another as they all tried to crowd through the narrow doorway at once. Connor said something that John couldn’t make out over the din.

  The bottleneck caused by the doorway slowed them down, but it wasn’t long before a steady stream of revs poured into the room. Whether due to the smell of blood or the fact they’d only seen him, John didn’t know, but the group headed directly toward him rather than Connor. Even from where he lay on the concrete, he could see he was in big trouble.

  Although John’s faculties had begun to clear, he was in no shape to fight or run from even a single rev. Additionally, his daughter was on the other side of the small horde, and he’d just as soon die as leave without her. The situation seemed hopeless, and despair crept into his mind for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

  Despite the excruciating pain in virtually every part of his body, John crawled into the narrow gap under the nearby worktable. With no other way out, the claustrophobic space felt like a tomb. Soon, the shadows of countless pairs of feet flooded into the area. Aroused by the prey they sensed close by, several of the revs dropped to their knees to investigate the evidence of the battle that had taken place. They clawed at the blood-soaked floor in confusion; their grotesque faces little more than an arm’s length away.

  With the monsters crowding in all around him, John resigned himself to the fact that he’d failed his little girl. He’d given everything he had, but in the end he’d come up short. He’d lost, and Ava would have to pay the price. The thought was more painful than the death he knew he was facing once the revs figured out where he was. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he wished he could see her one last time.

  Across the room, Connor flashed Ava an ugly grin as he approached. “Did you miss me?”

  The little girl shook her head furiously as she screamed something unintelligible through her mouth gag. His smile widened when he saw the fear and anger he sparked within her. Walking behind her, he untied the knots that bound her to the chair. Even though her hands were still tied behind her back, she tried to run to where she’d last seen her father the moment she was freed from the chair.

  Connor jerked her backward by her bound arms and said, “Whoa, there. I’m not sure that’s the safest way to go. Besides, Garza and the good doctor’s cure are this way.”

  Ava seethed. The sight of her father had filled her with hope; watching Connor brutally beat him had filled her with rage. It didn’t seem possible for the hatred she felt to grow, but it did. As Connor dragged her toward the stairs leading down to the second floor, she squirmed and kicked until he nearly lost his grip on her. When he tried to wrap her in a bear hug, she slammed the top of her head into his jaw, causing him to curse loudly.

  Ava shrieked in pain when Connor hit her with a hard backhand that left her seeing stars.

  “Hold still, you little bitch!” he growled.

  John thought he heard a scuffle, but he couldn’t be sure over the noise of the horde milling around. When he heard Ava’s shriek, he immediately assumed the worst. Her dreadful cry brought her situation back to the forefront of his mind, and he knew he couldn’t wait for death to find him cowering in his hole. He had to try to get to her, no matter how impossible the odds. And they seemed quite impossible.

  All John could see from under the table were the infected monsters’ decaying faces. Overcome by frustration, he jerked his head, only to slam it into the table above with a hard thud. Not only did it hurt like hell, but also it captured the attention of one of the infected crouched nearby. It dropped its head to the ground, and John imagined it was sniffing him out like a bloodhound. Something the old preacher, Ezzard Mack, had said popped into his mind.

  “Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the Devil.”

  Suddenly, he remembered the vial Lin had given him, and he was relieved to find it was still in his pocket. He had no idea what it was, only that is was supposed to act as a sort of invisibility cloak against the infected. Despite not knowing exactly how to use it, he knew it would work. His faith in Lin’s abilities was immeasurable.

  One-handed, John unscrewed the lid on the little vial and immediately wished he hadn’t. What percolated out was the vilest thing he’d ever smelled—like everything the apocalypse could muster all concentrated in a tiny test tube. It was all he could do to turn his head to the side before he puked.

  Much to his relief, however, the rev that had taken an interest in the crevice under the table stopped dead in its tracks, as though it had suddenly forgotten what it had been doing. It was working! Although unimaginably foul, it was as if all traces of John vanished in an instant beneath the noxious chemical screen. Hope surged in John’s chest, and he took a deep breath, which he instantly regretted.

  Turning the small vial over, John dumped the mixture into his hand before dabbing the disgusting mixture onto his face and neck. It burned everywhere it touched his skin, but he didn’t care. His thoughts were once again consumed with Ava and the prospect of saving her from the madman.

  With nothing to lose, John scooted toward the rev still crouched at the edge of the narrow gap. Although it was no longer clawing to get to him, it didn’t move out of the way. Before the infection, the monster had been an elderly lady that didn’t appear to weigh more than sixty pounds. When he was close enough, he grabbed one of its ankles and lifted. Its cold skin tore in his grip and slid up like a pant leg being raised. The thing didn’t even notice he’d grabbed its leg. With its meager weight shifted slightly, the off-balance rev toppled to the side, giving John enough room to ease out of the crevice.

  John got to his feet, the pain in his body making his movements virtually indistinguishable from the revs all around him. Reluctantly, he wiped the repulsive liquid over the rest of his body. Several of the infected stumbled past him, even bumping into him, but otherwise paying him no attention. He’d lost his rifle and his sidearm; he was weaponless in the middle of a sea of enemies. It felt surreal to be standing in the midst of such deadly evil, yet somehow he knew the monsters would not harm him. Perhaps it was due to Lin’s invisibility cloak or simply because he felt there was nothing left they could take from him; either way, he felt absolutely no fear. Thank you, Ezzard, and thank you, Lin.

  John tried to think about what he was going to do next, and nothing came to mind. What can I do? He had to come up with something for Ava’s sake.

  Once again, John’s past crept to the forefront of his mind, providing him with a welcomed distraction from the sea of death he was wading through. He recalled the encounter he’d had with the strange old man and the monkey on the outskirts of Atlanta before arriving at the CDC. Although the old man hadn’t told him his name, he called his monkey Bananas. The name seemed fitting given that everything the man said had sounded like the insane ramblings of a lunatic, or the profound wisdom of a higher power—it was honestly hard to say which seemed more likely. John had sensed something special about the man, and he couldn’t help feeling that the latter was the case.

  To John, much of what the
old man had said seemed to be prophetic. He’d told him that the road he was planning to follow was fraught with peril, and that there were far easier paths he could take. Every fiber in his aching body could attest to the truth behind those words. He’d also said that there must be something quite important at stake if John was willing to knowingly face certain death. Every neuron still functioning within his battered brain knew that there was nothing more important than Ava. The old man had wished them luck on their journey and told them that there were many people counting on them. He went on to tell them about rumors of settlements of people evacuated to the west before the pandemic overran the U.S. John didn’t know if there was any truth to those stories, but believing them had certainly made fighting to stay alive a more compelling prospect.

  As John staggered through the crowd of revs toward the stairs leading out of the room, he thought of the last thing that the old man had said before he left to continue walking toward the Gulf. It had been something that only he had heard.

  “When the time comes for you to walk with the devil, stand firm, son.”

  At the time, he’d no idea what the old man meant. The comment had even made him reconsider his initial notion that the man wasn’t certifiably insane. Now, he understood exactly what the old man had been telling him. As he emerged from the horde, John wondered if the man ever made it to the Gulf. He imagined that the old man and his monkey were sitting on the beach at that very moment, reveling in the sand beneath their toes. John hoped that the old man knew they were still fighting and that he would’ve approved the merit of John’s actions.

  Without the revs obscuring his view, John saw that Connor and his men had used the room as a workshop. There were saws, blades, ropes, and spray paint on one table, while another held wires and various electrical components. Aside from grabbing one of the knives, he gave none of it a second glance until he noticed a small case sitting on the edge of the last table. All of a sudden, it dawned on him what the room had been used for. Son of a bitch…the IED revs.