We Are The Plague

by Steve Kuhn

  Wyatt posted up and dropped two that were between me and the jeep. I cranked the jeep up and backed out so I could get around front. Three more shots from something loud as hell came from around front. I figured that was Kylee’s rifle without suppressed ammo.

  Wyatt had a biter heading his way as he was getting in the other car, and my earlier assumptions about action films went right out the fucking window. I ran that bitch over before it was within fifteen feet of my boy. We peeled around the front, and everyone piled in while Kylee covered the vehicles.

  I was instantly reminded of how badass this chick really is as she laid down no less than four more before the others were even in the vehicles. She was popping heads without even using the scope.

  Wyatt’s plan had kept us all alive, and it was over in a matter of minutes. We were pushing 85 mph as we sped back to the Haven celebrating our respective badassery. The celebration was short lived, however.

  We approached the Haven, but the gates were already wide open. We stopped short of them and exited the vehicles, scouting the area for the dead as was now our normal habit. Empty… it was just… empty. We entered the grounds and found a desolate wasteland devoid of any signs of habitation.

  The camps were abandoned… the vehicles were gone… the supplies were gone. There was just trash and leftovers from a hasty exodus. All that remained was a small pile of items, which included some full cans of gas and diesel fuel, canned goods, and various ammo.

  Kylee pointed to a large piece of plywood posted just inside the gates by the cache. Huge, black, spray-painted letters read: ‘United States Marine Corps. Area Evacuated! Headed WEST on I-70.’

  We missed our shot.

  Entry 45

  Having pulled the vehicles inside and closed the gates, we all took a moment to grasp the situation. We just missed salvation by a very slim margin of time, and it was pretty much Wyatt’s fault. Granted, we were stupid to have all gone after him at once, but if he would’ve just talked to someone about what he was thinking, it could have all been avoided. Point being, Wyatt was already on the verge of a mental breakdown, so this was not the time discuss it. What we did need to discuss, however, was what we intended to do with this new turn of events.

  Tom spoke first, telling us all, “Bizzy and I are staying here.”

  Kylee snorted derisively and said, “Until you run out of supplies… or the water finally runs dry. Then you’re both as good as dead.”

  I couldn’t agree with her more. Safety behind the fences was all fine and well when there were guards on lookout and a steady supply line. Without it, they’d end up having to risk scavenging alone or hoping another group would come along to help out. Then they’d have to pray whoever did come along wasn’t going to rob them… or worse.

  Kylee took a closer look at some of the writing on the sign. There were numbers and shit, but I had no idea what they all meant. She clarified for us, saying, “Kilo Company… that’s an outfit from California. I wonder what they’re doing all the way out here. One thing’s for sure, though… they’re running just like we are.”

  Personally, I could’ve given a shit less where or why they were running. I just knew I wanted to get my skinny ass caught up to them. I was feeling pretty damn confident that if they were organized enough to evacuate the Haven in a few hours, they were a lot better off than we were.

  I told them all, “The more time we spend here playing patty-cake, the further away they’re getting. I’m going to assume I-70 isn’t far from here. We can take a little bit of time to clean ourselves up, but we need to hit the road. Not to mention, Trey’s group could still be on the way here.”

  Cutty nodded his approval and said, “Yup, I’m feelin’ it. Le’s clean up an’ load. An’ do it fast. If Tom stayin’, dat’s on him.”

  Wyatt spoke up a little frantically with, “Wait… we can’t leave Bizzy behind just because Tom’s staying.”

  Kylee shot him down. “Forget it, Wyatt. He’s an idiot, but he is her father. They’re both welcome to go with us, but we’re not forcing anyone’s hand here.”

  Tom responded to her sarcastically, spouting, “I’m the idiot? I’ve seen how your plans work out, G.I. Jane. I’m not going to trust you and end up like that redneck friend of yours.”

  That was fucked up. He had managed to simultaneously kick all of us in the face with that comment. I lost my temper and got in his face. I’m not a badass or a shit-talker, but I told him flatly that if the name ‘Junior’ or any reference to Junior ever came out of his mouth again, I would beat him until he turned… and once he turned, I would beat him again until he was destroyed.

  Rebecca was wringing her hands, anxiously dying to jump in, but for some reason she remained silent.

  Bizzy told us, “Just go. We’ll figure it out.”

  To which, Tom replied, “Yes. Please. Just leave.”

  After we all cleaned up, we reconvened at the gates and split the military cache between us, leaving Bizzy and Tom some fuel for the other car, food, ammo, etc. We left Bizzy and Wyatt together for a chance to say their good-byes, and we fired up the jeep.

  We waved for Wyatt after a while, and he and Bizzy approached the rest of us. Wyatt strapped his rifle over his shoulder and said, “All right.”

  Cutty called out, “Le’s hit it! I-70, here we come!”

  Kylee nodded at him and gestured for us to get in the jeep.

  “I’m staying.”

  Erm… what was that? I took a double take at Wyatt.

  “I’m staying,” he repeated.

  I thought he was fuckin’ around, so I grabbed him by his shirt and said, “Stop playin’, dude. We gotta go.”

  He pulled away from me and told everyone, “I’m serious. You guys go ahead. I can’t leave Bizzy alone here with Tom. We’re gonna stay here and try to make something of it.”

  I had to admire his chivalry, but now was hardly the time to go making a stand for love and liberty.

  Kylee asked him, “You’re sure about this, Wyatt? The odds are stacked against you, kiddo. The evacuation crews are leaving the East Coast altogether. The supplies are limited… You can’t be serious.”

  Wyatt smiled that boyish grin we had all come to enjoy. We never saw enough of that smile, to be honest. He told us all, “This is what I want. I want to be with Bizzy.”

  Cutty was becoming visibly frustrated with him and started giving him shit—told him, “Boy, if you don’t git yo’ ass in dis jeep…” We all wanted Wyatt to do the right thing here.

  But he didn’t. He insisted on staying, and that’s what he did. Kylee and Cutty relented eventually, and they each took a private moment with him to say their good-byes.

  When it was my turn, I simply told him, “Good luck. If the shit gets too deep, you run. Run west.”

  In typical form, he told me, “This is my chance to be a man. I can fix this. I have to do this for myself… and Bizzy.”

  I nodded and shook his hand.

  Stupid kid.

  We’ve been on the road for twenty minutes, and I’m already hungry. Kylee has been seething the entire time over Wyatt’s decision, as has Cutty. They’ve been up front chattering about how disappointed they are and bitching about how fucked everything is. If we catch up soon, we’ll see to it that they get picked up… if they live that long. Stupid.

  Entry 46

  I-70 is stretched out in front of us like the road to nowhere. I’m a little shocked at how many vehicles are strewn about it, and in some cases, we’re actually having to go into the grass to get around them. Tensions are running high as well with heated discussions about whether or not to turn around and go back for Wyatt. Bottom line is that he made a choice, and we have to respect that, regardless of how we feel about it.

  I often find myself reminded at odd moments that Junior is dead. It’s been less than twenty-four hours, and it still hasn’t sunk in yet. Wyatt’s departure has made it a little easier to cope, though, because we left him alive… It’s kinda like Junio
r is back there, too. I don’t know how to explain that, but it just feels weird. I will say this, when I wrote about refusing to see another friend killed, I must have seemed like an idiot. Those words hit the paper, and a day later I was writing an account of his death.

  When you go through a true life-or-death situation with someone, no matter how little you know about them, there is a bond formed that cannot be put into words. There is a mutual understanding that transcends the commonality of the word ‘friendship.’ I suppose it’s much the same as firefighters, or cops, or the military. I just miss him—Wyatt, too. It’s so far beyond just having another rifle around. That’s what pisses me off the most. There’s never any time to mourn anymore. It’s always—move, move, move.

  Before the spread, I always felt like I was running for my life; the boss is breathing down your neck, everyone is scratching and clawing for employment, the mortgage is due, the fridge is empty. It’s a lot like it is now in that respect. You’re busting your ass just to see another day, regardless of whether or not that next day sucks… just hoping that tomorrow is better, except the dead aren’t walking… or trying to eat you… and I had a place to sleep… and I had a family… and friends that weren’t dying.

  Okay. Those two are actually nothing alike. It made sense for a second.

  I chuckled to myself, just then. I think all of us would give anything to go back to those times. I never had a lot of money, but I also never had to worry about making fire with two sticks, either. That shit will mess with your head.

  We’re out of Maryland now, and the sun is beginning its downward fall. Still no sign of the Marines up ahead, save for the tire tracks we spotted in the grass, but at least we’re on the right path. We’ll have to stop soon and figure out a plan for gas stops, food, and water. No idea how long we can keep up this chase.

  Rebecca and I had a chat about how she ended up at the Haven and with Cholo. She said she was trying to reach her mother, Cutty’s sister, but her car was rear-ended by an SUV and she slammed into the person in front of her. When her car wouldn’t start, she left it and grabbed a ride on the back of a motorcycle with one of the Haven guys.

  At the time, they weren’t really established. The groups were much smaller. He said he was going into the city with a few other guys for supplies and that he would drop her close to where she needed to be. They never made it, though.

  By the time they reached the tunnels that go underneath the harbor and into the heart of the city, the tunnels had become a mausoleum. What amazed me the most about her story was the amount of people and their desperation. Hundreds of them became so overwhelmed with a desire to get to their loved ones that they left their vehicles and ran blindly into the tunnels, only to be devoured. Rebecca choked up when she described the sounds of echoing screams and the way they were almost amplified by the tunnels.

  The motorcyclist spun a U-turn and fucked off outta there, and Rebecca stayed with him throughout the establishment of the Haven. That was Trey. She refused to speak about Cholo, adding only that he and Trey had fought about her on one, single occasion. It didn’t go well for Trey, and that was that.

  Hmm! Another sign posted beside the road. ‘DO NOT BLOW THE BRIDGES! TRAINS RUNNING!!!’

  Kylee said, “Never thought I’d see the day. They’re using the railroads.”

  Cutty asked, “Fo’ whut?”

  Kylee answered, “Could be anything: supplies, reinforcements, survivors… Point is, we still have some infrastructure. Granted, we’re back to rudimentary processes, but it’s a good sign.”

  Rebecca told us all, “The railroad parallels I-70 and crosses over and under at regular intervals. Maybe we should keep driving until we come to a crossing and check it out.”

  Sounds like a plan to me. Maybe I’m becoming the ‘cross that bridge when we come to it’ kinda guy after all.

  Entry 47

  We stopped shortly before nightfall in an area of the road that was full of abandoned vehicles. Looked like one hell of a traffic jam as everyone was trying to get out of the nearby city.

  Where the hell are we anyway? Note to self: Quit being a fucktard, and find a map ASAP.

  Kylee pulled into the middle of the snarl of cars as far as she could, and I hopped out with Cutty. The plan for camp was pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. I opened some of the cars and put them in neutral; then, with Cutty pushing, I steered them into place, forming a nice circle around our jeep. We staggered them and butted them up tightly so if some deadheads passed by they wouldn’t be able to get through the perimeter. They could get over eventually, but they can’t climb for shit, so we’d be well aware of any presence.

  Rebecca and Kylee took a decent inventory and prepared us some food. Baked beans again… Seriously, I’d like to find the guy who came up with the idea of canned beans and flick him in the nuts. I’m pretty sure that guy didn’t have the word ‘apocalypse’ in mind at the time, but let me explain why I loathe this person so badly.

  You can’t just run off and go to the bathroom out here on your own. If you don’t have a lookout, you end up in a Gary-style situation. The girls go together, and the guys go together. Try and understand me here… Imagine standing six feet away from Cutty while he squeezes out a funky-ass baked-bean shit on the side of the road. It’s bad sauce…

  Anyway, I’m exhausted like the others. On the bright side, I found a pack of smokes in the military cache we brought along, and I’ve decided to pick up my old habit whenever I can. I’m reminded of that part in Stand by Me, the Stephen King thingy, where the kids finish eating and they talk about how a smoke after a meal is a thing of beauty. It really is, if you’re into that kind of thing.

  I should probabl***@*#$* @ %*&*(@$(!)@#$ *(&*()(!@ #$&(* ()!@*($# & * )!&@)# $*(& !($!@ $!@*)$)@$*&%*()!@ &$ _(!@_$&!%_ &(($

  ATTN: Col. Lang

  This particular page of the diary is in really bad shape. It was badly burned, and it’s taking us some extra time to get it sorted out. I’ve cut aside a few members of the team to focus on this single entry, and we’ll transmit it as soon as we have it completed.

  In the interest of maintaining a steady flow of information, we’re forced to move on with the following entry. Be advised.

  - SSG Chalmers

  Entry 48

  Hunkered down in this fucking piece-of-trash boxcar with about thirty pissed-off, stinky, maggot-ridden biters right outside the door was not the way I expected to spend the afternoon. What’s more is that they weren’t just passing through. They knew we were inside, and they were scratching and clawing to get at us. It felt like nothing more than a huge, metal coffin. The dead just don’t get tired and walk away. Once they’re onto something, they’re fixated. Night and day, they will pursue it until it folds under the pressure.

  It started out simple enough. We made it to a point where the road crossed over the railroad tracks, so we got out to investigate, as planned. We trudged our way down the embankment to the rocky base of the tracks and started walking. I figured we’d give it a mile or so before we headed back to the jeep. As we rounded a bend, we saw an old freight train that had about four cars attached. We also spotted a lone biter wandering around.

  Cutty told us, “I got ‘im.”

  But Kylee interjected and said, “No, wait a sec. Rebecca, c’mere. Dext, give her a gun.”

  I did as instructed and passed Rebecca one of my two.

  Kylee told us, “She’s never gonna learn if she doesn’t practice. Isn’t that what you said, Dext?” She turned her head to me and stuck out her tongue.

  Smartass.

  She showed Rebecca how to square up and take aim, and she explained the use of the sights on the weapon, lining up the three dots and all that. I played it off like I knew all that shit, but I was listening like a muh-fug. When Rebecca was ready, Kylee whistled.

  The loner raised its head and started shambling towards the four of us. I still can’t understand how they hear… or maybe just some of them do. Anyway, Rebecca took a
shot from about thirty feet and missed terribly. We even heard it ding off the railcars.

  The loner kept on its path towards us, and Rebecca exhaled, then held her breath. She fired off another round, this time from about twenty feet away. It was so badass. That geek’s wig flew back so hard as the round hit it right below its nose. There was huge back-spray of brain and skull, and it dropped faster than a bridesmaid’s panties (stole that one from Junior). We cheered, and even Cutty told her, “Nice shootin’. Think ya can do dat again?”

  Becca shrugged, unsure, but she was wearing a huge smile.

  Beyond the downed loner, a huge group of deadheads began spilling from one of the boxcars. They were clumsy as shit, almost falling out of it, but they were regaining their feet and on us quicker than I would have thought possible.

  Geeks can’t climb, as I’ve stated before. So I’m a little baffled at how they all got in a boxcar.

  Kylee spouted, “Shit! Come on.”

  We turned to move out, but we were cut off by another pack rounding the bend. I gauged our choices and told everyone to follow me around the opposite side of the train from where the geeks were exiting.

  It was my initial goal to get to the top of the train and take them out from an elevated position but, sadly, as we made it to the cars, I couldn’t find a Goddamn ladder anywhere… They were all on the geek side. Cutty grabbed me and Rebecca by our shirts like some dumbass kittens and tossed us into an empty boxcar… Well, we thought it was empty.

  As soon as we were inside, a biter set upon Rebecca and pinned her to the ground. She shrieked and started fighting it off. I was yelling, “Cutty! Get your ass in here and help out, man. It’s Becca!”