Heading back to the raft, I gave Bergelmir one last look before shoving off into the water and jumping in. My last glimpse of him before the current swept me away from the island was unchanged. He hadn’t stirred at all. By the time he woke up, I would be long gone. I would let the river put some distance between us and let him figure out how he was going to get off the island. There would be no tracks for him to follow this time. Although, it wasn’t exactly a big leap of the imagination to figure out which way I had gone. We would be meeting again.
The sun was still low in the sky, so I knew it was still early morning. If I was lucky, I would be able to put quite a few miles between us before the sun was high in the sky. My only problem was that every mile brought me closer to St. Louis. It was one of the largest cities in the Mid-west, so logic would tell you that it would be crawling with the living dead. There could literally be millions of them waiting for me.
I began my journey by paddling out into the center of the already swollen Missouri River and letting the current take me. Then I decided it would be best to remain low in the boat to avoid being seen as much as possible. I would keep my head up just enough to avoid obstacles and make certain I didn’t run aground. Other than that, I was going to conserve energy and let the current take me where I needed to go.
At some point of just drifting along like Huckleberry Finn, I must have dozed off. The gentle flow of the river and the smooth motion of the boat conspired to relax me deeply. The next thing I was aware of was the heat from the sun and the jarring realization that the terrain had changed significantly. The sun was now well past mid-day. When I last knew, there were trees on either side of the river. Now, it was open sections of land broken up by industrial looking buildings. Although I was unfamiliar with the view from the river, I knew that I must have drifted all the way to St. Louis.
Despite the urban area that I found myself in, the place was remarkably empty. There was no sign of anything moving, either living or dead. The unearthly silence was nearly overwhelming. All of my memories of St. Louis were filled with noise. There was the noise of traffic, of people, of music and of life. Nothing was making any noise now. Not even the lonely cry of birds. The only sound I could hear was the whispering of the wind.
My wife and I had taken a riverboat cruise out of St. Louis years before. It left from a dock near the famous Arch and took a tour of the Mississippi River and returned. Although it was only an hour tour, it had impressed me greatly. I could vividly remember the way the shoreline looked from the deck of the boat. Although this was similar, it was unfamiliar. I knew that I must still be on the Missouri River. That also meant that I would be soon seeing the confluence of the two massive rivers. Part of me couldn’t help to be excited, but all of me wished it was under better circumstances.
From where I crouched in the boat, I could see a bridge that was looming up ahead. On both sides of the river, there were casino hotels. Karen used to love to go to both of them on our date-night trips to St. Louis. That meant I had to be near St. Charles, Missouri. We always stayed in Maryland Heights at our favorite hotel. It was right on the interstate and gave us easy access to wherever we wanted to go in St. Louis. I glanced in that direction, but all I could see was numerous wisps of smoke that were trailing into the sky.
As I got closer to the bridge, I could see where several vehicles had smashed their way through the guardrails. A couple of them were still hanging from the edge of the bridge. The eerie silence remained unbroken as I could picture the chaos that must have reigned on that bridge when the dead came. The screams and the death that no one had been prepared for had taken its toll. Black scorch marks marred one of the big support pylons, indicating that an inferno had ravaged one end of the bridge. With so much destruction and death in just a small area, I couldn’t help but wonder how the rest of the city had fared. Not well, I would guess.
Time seemed to lose its meaning as I watched the city drift by. I almost failed to notice when the area began to change yet again, revealing more and more signs that we were approaching the Mississippi. I could see abandoned boats and docks littering both sides of the river, now. Fluttering in the breeze above an empty docking slip was a faded sign that read “New Orleans Refugee Center Departures.” I could almost see the images of desperate survivors trying to get aboard any boat that offered hope. I couldn’t help but wonder if any of them had made it.
It was mid-afternoon as I made the transition from the Missouri River to the Mississippi. I could see where there were partially submerged boats, sunken cars and even scattered debris along both shores of the river. As I approached the big white suspension bridge that spanned the Mississippi connecting St. Louis with East St. Louis, I drew a sharp breath of surprise.
The bridge had collapsed in the center, leaving only the skeletal remains of either end as a reminder of the once beautiful architectural marvel. I had no way to know if it had been accidentally or intentionally destroyed. Since none of the others I had passed were down, I found it unlikely that the military would only take out this one. It had to have been something else.
As I was passing beneath the remnants of the span, I could see debris beneath the surface of the water. I was nearly clear when I heard a sound that I had been dreading. I heard the scraping of something against the raft. Whatever it was must have been sharp, because I immediately heard the hissing and bubbling of escaping air from beneath the raft. The boat immediately began to shift as the loss of air made it less rigid and unstable. I didn’t have long before it would sink.
“Fuck!” I snapped and started paddling hard for shore.
I was still twenty yards from shore and the raft was beginning to settle into the water. I was digging hard with the paddles and shoving towards the shore with all the strength I could muster. It was a race against time. Inevitably, the raft was going to sink and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
As soon as the water was shallow enough for me to see the bottom, I jumped over the side and started dragging the dying raft towards shore. I didn’t care if I got wet, but I needed to keep my equipment dry or my weapons would be useless until I cleaned them out. Only my revolver and the sword would work without being completely disassembled and oiled.
I managed to drag the dying craft onto the rocky shore just as the last of the air was escaping a long jagged rip that was clearly evident along the bottom. There was a bit of water sloshing around inside the seating area, but my gear was relatively untouched. I breathed a sigh of relief as I dropped the now useless raft onto the rocks.
Picking up my silenced M-4, I began to survey the area. If the noise of my arrival had alerted the dead, then I had nowhere to run. My ride was deflated and useless, leaving my only recourse to run. If there were any Sprinters in the area, then running might not be an option. With all of the gear that I was carrying, I’d be caught in seconds. The problem was, alone out here in the zombie wasteland, I needed every piece of equipment that I had.
I swept the area but didn’t see anything moving other than the wind. Considering the population of the St. Louis area, it was strange to see it so empty. I kept the rifle tight against my shoulder and continued to sweep, not really believing that nothing was coming. After a long, tense moment, I shook my head and lowered the weapon. I don’t think I have ever felt as alone as I did right at that moment.
“Get it together,” I whispered and began shouldering my gear.
It only took me a few moments to put my pack in place and get my weapons situated. The area I was in had several old docks that had once been used to load and unload barges that moved up and down the Mississippi, full of all kinds of supplies. They were all empty at the moment. I couldn’t help but wonder how many of them had become makeshift refugee ships ferrying people to the New Orleans Refugee Centers. I hoped that they had made it.
I glanced around nervously before deciding on my course. For whatever reason, I knew that my path was going to take me farther down river. If I stayed on the shore, I could a
void being seen by anyone in the city because of the high river banks. It would keep me dangerously close to the water, but it did give me a few options that being out in the open did not. I would stick to the water’s edge, for now.
Moving roughly south, I knew that my path was going to take me near the famous St. Louis Arch. Fond memories of taking my kids to the top for the view of the city leapt into my mind. I couldn’t help but smile, although it pained me to think of happier times. Forcing myself to change the mental subject, I started concentrating on my surroundings. I couldn’t see much of the city, but there were numerous obstacles in my path. The largest was going to be a riverboat casino called The Commodore.
I wasn’t really prepared for the sight when it came into view. The entire thing looked like it had been through a blast furnace. The boat had burned down to the waterline, leaving only the superstructure intact. From the amount of charred debris that I was seeing, there must have been a Hel of a fire around here. It might explain what had happened to the Musial Bridge. That much heat could have buckled the bridge and caused the suspension cables to snap.
I moved up into the parking area near the wreckage that had once been the casino boat and observed the burnt out hulks of parked vehicles. It was as if everything in this area had been flash-fried and left to burn. The gears in my head were beginning to turn, pondering just what could have caused such massive devastation. The list of possibilities was terrifyingly short. Some of them were unthinkable.
I kept low and crossed the parking area as quickly as I could, heading towards the park area to the north of the Arch. I had to pass through an urban area that was badly burned out, but thankfully devoid of movement. I passed through a small tunnel that led beneath the Eads Bridge. That brought me out across from the parking lot for visitors to the Gateway Arch. The once verdant trees that filled the park were charred and barren, without any sign of bud or leaf on the branches.
As I approached the pond in the middle of the park, I noticed a crashed helicopter on the shore. Next to it were the badly decayed bodies of two men that I assumed had been on board when it crashed. One of them was floating in the shallow water at the edge of the pond. To my right was the burned out wreckage of a military transport truck. A mist hung in the air above the trees, giving the entire park an otherworldly feel.
Through it, I could see the famous St. Louis Arch. The side that was nearest to me was heavily damaged, revealing the steel girders beneath the steel skin of the span. I couldn’t see the top of the Arch, leaving me to wonder if it was even there. From this vantage point, I just couldn’t tell. The eerie silence that fell over the park gave it a strange serenity, almost like a winter’s morning when the snow had freshly fallen. It chilled me to the core when I realized that it wasn’t snow on the ground. It was ash.
When the wind kicked up, I could hear it whispering through the city beyond the park. I felt like the only living thing left on the planet right at that moment. It was a desolate, lonely feeling and suddenly I wanted to be anywhere else, but here. I desperately wanted to see anyone or anything living in this place of death. The saddest thing was that there was nothing. Not even the dead.
I continued to move around the edge of the park, avoiding the now murky water. I didn’t know if there would be anything lurking in the ash darkened depths, but I wasn’t in the mood to take any chances either. The only sound I could hear was the wind and the soft sound of my footfalls in the ash. I walked slowly and deliberately, not wanting to make any more noise than absolutely necessary. In this silence, any sound would carry and give away my position.
As I approached the base of the Arch, I could see the steps that led down into the museum that lay beneath it. If anyone in this area had survived the firestorm that had destroyed this part of the city, they would have been able to find refuge down there in the subterranean structure. Despite the fact that it would be as dark as a cave, I decided it was worth checking out. If nothing else, it would be a good place for me to spend the night.
Hesitantly, I headed down the steps. I could see that the glass doors that led inside had shattered. It was likely that they had shattered from the tremendous heat that had engulfed this area, but they could possibly have been broken before. Anyone or anything could be lurking in the darkness beyond. Activating the tactical light on my M-4, I swept the interior just beyond the doors. I didn’t see any sign of movement, so I stepped through the doorway.
My boots crunched softly on the glass, but I kept peering into the darkness. I continued to pan back and forth with my tactical light, revealing nothing but the large lobby. To my right, the museum branched off away from the main part of the room and across the way I could see the stairs that led to the elevators that would take you to the top of the Arch. I had taken my kids to the top just last year, before all of this. That seemed like so long ago. It was like an age had passed since this place was full of life.
As I panned my light into the museum area, I froze as a figure loomed out of the darkness. I nearly panicked and shot a mannequin dressed in old style clothes. Breathing a soft sigh of relief, I headed deeper into the museum. Every shadow and display case seemed to have one of the damned things in it. My heart was beating like a jackhammer by the time I finished sweeping the entire museum. Despite the fact that the place had been ransacked, it was empty. Someone had done a very thorough job of searching this place for anything that might be useful. At least that meant that there were survivors here at one time.
I crouched down next to a civil war display case that had been smashed open. Whoever had broken into it had taken anything resembling a weapon and left all of the other artifacts. I was about to move on and continue searching when something caught my eye. Lying among a few old photographs was a battered harmonica. Brushing aside the photos, I picked it up and turned it over in my hand.
It was a Hohner Harmonica. It must have belonged to a civil war soldier, perhaps one of the men in the photos. Moving the debris around, I searched for the placard that identified this particular artifact. After a few moments, I shook my head and gave up the search. I might never know who it belonged to, but it was mine now. I cocked my head to the side as I examined it closely. Despite being scratched and dented, it looked to be in good condition.
Putting it gently to my lips, I blew softly through it and delighted when I discovered that it still worked. Either they really knew how to build them back then, or it had been restored at some point. Either way, it was mine. It had been years since I had played one, but I thought it would be worth a try. If nothing else, it might serve to alleviate the loneliness that was filling me in this desolate place.
Slipping it into my pocket, I continued on my way. Other than items of historical value, there was nothing here for me. The place had been picked clean. As much as I wanted to rescue the items that held historical significance, I could do nothing for them now. Maybe one day I could return here and salvage some of them. Alone and on foot, I could only afford to carry items that would not weigh me down. The addition of the harmonica would not affect me, but it might be the only item I could save. I only wished that I had known more of its history.
Making my way out of the museum, I headed towards the stairs on the opposite side from where I had entered. I wanted to get a better look at the city. Then the thought struck me that I could get an amazing view from the top of the Arch. If the structure was intact, I could climb to the observation deck and see for miles. I could also spend the night up there in relative safety. Zombies didn’t do well on the stairs and no one living would think to go up there if I didn’t do anything to draw attention to myself.
Heading down the stairs to the elevators, I swept the area and found it empty. It took me a few moments to locate the maintenance door that I knew would lead to the stairwell. Once located, I only needed a few seconds to pop the lock and slip inside. I secured it behind me and scanned the area. Inside, I could see the tracks that the elevator pods used to climb to the top as well as the staircase
that wound its way through the structure. The stairway disappeared around the curve of the arch and I suddenly questioned my decision. This was not going to be fun. It was the equivalent of climbing the stairs to the top of a skyscraper.
“Well, shit,” I muttered and began climbing.
My legs were burning and exhaustion nearly overtook me long before I reached the top. Sweat ran down my face in rivers and my breath was wheezing in my chest by the time I reached the final landing. I stood there for a few moments, catching my breath and resting before I opened the door to the observation deck. If there was anyone inside, I wanted to be able to defend myself. It took me several moments before I was comfortable enough to risk opening the door.
Swinging it open, I stepped out and brought the M-4 to my shoulder. I was stunned to find it in almost the same condition as the last time I had been here with my kids. The steel and thick glass of the windows had protected it from the firestorm that had destroyed everything else. There was no sign of anyone or anything. I was probably the only person to step foot in here since this all began.
As I stepped into the center of the deck, my breath caught in my throat and the shock of the view nearly made my heart skip a beat. The city below had been scorched and charred almost beyond recognition. Most of the structures were only rubble, but the heavy stone and mortar structures stood like the ghost-like shells of their former selves. The devastation was horrifying. Only one thing short of a nuke could cause this kind of damage. It could only be a thermobaric bomb. Only they could produce that kind of heat.
Ragnarok Rising Page 23
