Our first order of business is to find shelter, but finding fresh water would be nice too. Currently, that’s leading us deeper into the jungle and higher ground. Cray picked up on the sound long before I could with his finely attuned hearing, and we’ve been moving in the direction he indicated.
It's not long before I too can hear the crashing flow of a river not far ahead. Hopefully we can also use the high ground to get a better idea where we are and what surrounds us.
All around, the jungle is alive. It teems with all manner of creatures skittering and snaking and chirping.
“It's a very dangerous place, Mira.” Eckert's words keep resounding in my head. Dangerous place. Dangerous place. That could mean anything. And I have no way of knowing what horror could be waiting around the next tree trunk. Adrenaline courses through my body, and before long, my nerves are shot. Every little sound becomes something from my worst imaginations.
If Cray feels the same, it doesn't show. He probably doesn't. He knows nothing of this place, and he's confident in his ability to take care of himself. Ignorance is bliss.
I would feel better if we had a weapon, but the gun Cray took was out of ammo. He dropped it when I dragged him out of the plane. Or maybe he just says it was out of ammo, and he dropped it because I dragged him out of the plane. Either way, it's gone.
After a considerable time, we come to the border of a huge clearing, and I see the river cutting through the landscape. It’s beautiful, cascading over boulders and rocks after dropping from an enormous waterfall. In any other setting it would be breathtaking, but it barely draws a glance from us due to the other object sitting in its path. Cray curses low under his breath, and I stand there with my mouth hanging open.
Downstream from the waterfall is a massive, sprawling, steel and glass dome at least a hundred yards in length. The river flows into one side of it and out the other. Heavy vines wind around and over the edifice, giving it the appearance that it sprang up from the ground and camouflaged itself in the landscape. Cray and I glance at each other, both of us silent and alert, and approach the building slowly. There’s no one visible from here, but we still move in with caution.
The structure is fascinating. All around the sides, the lowest starting about fifty feet off the ground, panels have been removed. In their place are decks constructed of wood and other random materials. They appear to be lookout posts. Here and there, ropes and crude walkways lead out to platforms fixed in the trees. Spaced out evenly in a large circle surrounding the structure are old torches, roughly ten feet tall, many of which have fallen over and lie on the jungle floor. It's an odd mix of modern-looking technology and primitive construction.
Cray takes point as we move ahead, and points towards a dark opening to the right side of the building. I nod, and we slink in that direction, eyes and ears scanning for anything out of the ordinary. The place doesn't appear to be inhabited, but it’s enormous, and there's no way to know for sure without exploring it. We both know without having to say it out loud that it could provide shelter. We also might find some supplies inside.
I keep walking, not sure what bothers me more, the fact that this incongruent structure is here in the middle of the jungle, or that the occupants felt the need to fortify it. Fortify it from what or who? I have a feeling I may not like the answer.
No sooner has the thought crossed my mind, than Cray freezes and holds up a hand for me to do the same. I haven’t noticed anything, but his senses are sharper than mine. All of the dread I've been feeling since we hit the ground compounds itself and settles into my stomach.
We make eye contact and he gives a small nod behind us. I turn my eyes slowly in the direction he indicates, but we’re not far into the clearing, and the jungle is so thick and the undergrowth so heavy that I don’t see anything. I strain my ears and eyes for movement, anything out of place.
Without warning, a huge creature lunges from the growth, its body and thick fur striped orange and black, giant fangs bared. It looks like a tiger, but it has to be the size of a horse. It’s the biggest cat I’ve ever seen.
Cray moves like a streak as I do the same in the opposite direction, the predator flashing between us where we had been standing only milliseconds before. I roll into a crouch facing the beast which has turned and is staring us down from thirty feet away.
To my left, Cray stands cradling his injured ribs and I notice blood coming from his back where the animal’s claws must have raked across it. The creature makes a deep sound in its throat and shows its canines. It could spring any second.
I don’t know what the animal is waiting on, but I decide to make the first move. Turning, I sprint as fast as I can in the other direction, hoping to draw it away from Cray and give him time to recover. The predator’s instincts must kick in because it charges after me. I throw myself at the nearest tree, the animal’s soft pads barely making noise as it chases me down. I spring as high as I can onto the tree trunk, making two quick steps up the bark before pushing off into a back flip that takes me out and over the attacking animal as it tries to charge up the trunk after me before sliding back down to the ground.
My landing is terrible. My feet barely touch the ground and my momentum slams me onto my back knocking the breath out of me, but Cray is ready now and is standing with something in his right hand. Even as the tiger turns back towards me, he rears back and throws a heavy rock with all of the force he can muster, grunting at the pain it causes him. Thanks to his impeccable aim, the rock slams into the tiger’s left eye, knocking its head to the side and eliciting a roar of pain.
The animal shakes his head and charges Cray, but this time he’s ready. He moves unbelievably fast and at the last second spins away from the tiger’s charge, the animal missing him by inches. As he spins, he slams both hands into the animal’s shoulder. The blow, combined with the animial’s momentum, knocks it off balance enough to send it sprawling.
There’s no time to rationalize. There's only survival. I jump onto the beast before it can rise, trying to get my arms around its neck, but it rolls and spins so quickly that I find myself underneath it, its jaws lunging for my neck, its massive body crushing down on me.
I throw up my arms out of reflex, catching it just under the chin to deflect the bite coming at my face. I can hear Cray charging and screaming. The beast is distracted by him for just a moment and I reach up, throw my hands between his teeth and pull in opposite directions harder than I’ve ever tried to do anything in my life. The tiger makes a sickening sound as its jaws break, stretched beyond their limits, and it slides off of me, pawing at its injured face. Shock and pain flash through the killer's eyes, but he's not done yet.
He charges at me again, but before I can move, Cray comes out of nowhere, a long torch pole in his hand, the end from the ground sharpened to a point. The makeshift spear plunges deep into the tiger's pelt behind his front leg and knocks it onto its side.
I race forward, barely dodging a swipe of one of the creature's gigantic paws, and swing my fist into its head like a hammer. Pain flares from my hand, up my arm, to my shoulder, but the creature slumps, unconscious. I stagger backwards as Cray pulls the spear from the animal and stabs it again and again until it's no longer breathing.
I stand over its limp body, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my hands bleeding from several deep gashes where I pulled against its teeth. My arm aches from the impact, but I don't think anything is broken. Cray comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly.
“I’ll be fine. What about you?”
I turn to him. His breathing is worse than mine, and he holds his side with both hands. He’s doesn’t say so, but I know he’s in terrible pain.
“We need to get to shelter, and then we can worry about injuries,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’ll be okay until then. I don't want to meet any more of the wildlife.”
We stare for a moment longer at the unreal beast in front of us, then turn and make o
ur way carefully towards the structure and the hope of shelter. Our nightmare seems to have only just begun, and neither of us are looking too good.
I run a bloody hand through my tangled hair.
Welcome home, Mira.
Chapter 21
Somehow, the dome looks more massive on the inside than it did on the outside. We stand in the entrance way gaping at the sight.
Lush, wild vegetation covers the floor for acres. To our right, the river runs into the building through a thick grate and rushes through the landscape into the distance to emerge on the other side, its ebb and flow musical and surreal and peaceful, offsetting the very real dangers this place may hold.
Towering trees stretch to the dome high overhead. Once, a long time ago, they wouldn't have been tall enough to reach the top, but now, they press against the steel latticework and transparent panels, nature trying to force its way through man-made confines.
“Wow,” Cray whispers beside me.
But it's not the landscape he's referring to. In the trees is a city. Or village would be more accurate. One that appears at first glance uninhabited. Tree houses dot the trees in every direction. A maze of walkways spans between them, some platform bridges, some rope bridges, with no rhyme or reason other than to connect the structures.
They're elaborate, intricate structures, but again, with primitive materials. They stand in stark relief against the steel and glass of the dome itself.
Something scampers through the brush to our left and we both crouch defensively.
“Well, it didn't sound big,” Cray quips after a moment.
I'm not reassured.
“We may be able to find shelter here for the night,” I say. “Maybe even some supplies. But we need to make sure it's clear.”
“Agreed,” he says.
His back is still bleeding, but he stands like a statue, ready for anything.
“I'll take the trees,” I say. “Are you okay to clear the ground?”
“I'm fine. You be careful.”
I start to point out that of the two of us, he looks more like a tenderized side of beef, but think better of it as he sets off without looking back.
If there was an easy way up into the elevated village, it’s gone now, so I have to climb to the first tree house the old fashioned way. I scout them while Cray scouts the ground level. We need supplies, but more importantly, we need to know there aren’t any more nasty critters waiting in here for us.
It takes about fifteen minutes. Several walkways have collapsed and I sometimes have to jump thirty or forty feet from one structure to the next, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.
I'm careful, aware that danger could be lurking in the next house or room, but I'm awed by what I find. Each house is a microcosm of rudimentary living, but not recently. Thick layers of dust cover everything. Hammocks hang from ceilings. Some have beds fashioned from planks and ropes with straw mattresses. All contain chairs and tables. Most have some form of plumbing, and many are adorned with artwork, carvings, even elaborately woven rugs.
Fireplaces and cleverly crafted stoves are in most, and I notice that piping crisscrosses above the homes. Usually three to five homes are connected by pipes which run to openings in the dome above or one of the platforms leading outside, a place for the smoke from each to escape without gathering inside the dome itself. The whole place is amazing.
After I’ve scouted them all, I drop back to the ground beside the river. No predators so far.
I set off to find Cray, passing several varieties of fruit trees in the process, the apparent remnants of a time when this place was occupied and doing the job it was built for. Insects buzz around the ripe produce that’s fallen to the ground. At least we’ll have food.
After a few minutes, I hear my name softly from a darkened doorway to my left. I walk over and squint until I can make Cray out in the darkness.
“Any wildlife?” he asks.
“Nothing major.”
“Me neither.”
There are large shapes in the darkness, but I can’t distinguish much.
“What is this place?” I say.
“A control room,” he says. “The hub of this whole thing.”
I start to walk farther in, when on a whim, I reach over and flip the light switch by the door.
We both blink in surprise when the lights in the ceiling of the room flash on. Several are burned out, some are broken, but there are enough to see with no difficulty.
We look at each other, both of us wearing the same shocked expression.
“I’m not sure if I’m glad or worried that this place has power.”
I know what he means. If this place has been abandoned as long as it appears, one would think whatever was supplying power would have been drained or fallen into disrepair.
“Hydroelectric? From the river maybe?”
He shrugs. “Perhaps.”
Now that the lights are on, I see that the large shapes in the darkness are actually enormous banks of computers. All of the screens have been smashed as well as the hard drives. Looks like someone didn’t want the information that was stored here accessed by any future passersby.
We look around the room for a while, but find nothing of use or interest.
“What did you find in the sky village?” he says. “Anything we can use?”
“Sure. It’s basic, but they’ve got most everything you could want in a cozy little place. Beds, furniture, even fireplaces.”
He shakes his head. “No fires. We can’t risk smoke giving our position away in case Johnson is looking for us. But I do think we should use one to crash for the night. Besides, I’m thinking they were up there for a reason. Probably to keep out of the reach of animals.”
“You’ll have to climb. You feel up to it?”
He gives a humorless grunt. “No, but I’ll do it anyway.”
I smile at him, but I’m anxious to get off the ground. I’ll feel a lot safer tucked away in one of those houses overhead.
“I found fruit,” I say. “We can grab some on the way up. But we need to get your wounds cleaned first.”
“And yours,” he says.
He stubbornly insists I clean my wounds before he’ll let me look at his. I climb back into one of the near tree houses and retrieve some old blankets. I give them a good shaking to remove the buildup of dust, then drop back to the ground.
He turns away, keeping alert for trouble, while I remove my trousers and wade into the river, careful to brace myself against the strong current. The water is clear and cold and exhilarating, but I don’t have time to savor it. Safety is paramount. I quickly scrub the blood stains from my thigh, wash the gashes on my hands, splash water on my face and hair, then walk back up the bank.
He is holding the blankets I brought down, and puts one behind his back for me as I approach. I take it and begin to wrap it around my waist, but not before his eyes wander quickly to my legs and away again.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist. “Find what you were looking for?” I say with a playful lilt.
Even through the stubble, his cheeks burn as red as fire. I walk in front of him and take the second blanket, smiling up at him to let him know I’m not offended.
“Sorry…” he blubbers. “I didn’t meant to…kinda instinct, you know?”
“It’s okay.” I place a hand on his forearm for the briefest moment, then walk around him without waiting for a response.
I rip several long strips from the blanket and roll them into rags. I dip them both into the river, allowing the frigid water to soak them through. I squeeze them out a little, but leave some excess, retrieve my trousers and the fruit we picked, then help Cray up into the trees.
I lead him into the house I got the blankets from, then get to work.
He faces away from me, and gingerly pulls the tattered shirt over his head. I turn him to the window, a large open rectangle with a retractable covering, where the bright moonlight filters through the treetops. It’s s
ufficient.
The gashes on his back are ugly, deep, and run from his right shoulder blade, through the medical tape that had been wrapped around his torso for his ribs, and end on his lower left side right above the line of his pants. Most of the bleeding has stopped except for some oozing in places, but the wounds are a mess. They’re caked with dirt, and where the claws ripped through the tape, shreds of it have been pushed into the flesh. I wince in empathy.
“Brace yourself,” I say.
I begin pulling away the tape, moving as slowly as possible, careful to remove all of the remnants of it from the edges of the wounds. He groans.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know this hurts.”
He huffs. “So what else is new? Keep going, I’m fine.”
I’m impressed with how well he can handle pain, but it’s obvious from looking at him that he’s had a lot of practice. I look again at the scars covering his torso, the same ones I saw in the old house, but now I can see more of his back, and it’s even more scarred than his chest. A lone warrior, that’s what he is. A master of death, accustomed to suffering in isolation.
At first I felt sorry for him, being all alone like that. I believe his job makes him feel disconnected from the world around him, but I now realize he’s also a lot stronger emotionally than I gave him credit for.
Once the tape is gone, I pick up one of the improvised rags. I raise it to his shoulder blades and squeeze, letting the water pour down his back, washing away the loose dirt. He moans again and I pull my hand back.
“No,” he says. “It actually feels good.”
I grab the other rag and squeeze it as well. It helps, but there’s still a lot of soil smeared in, too thick to be easily washed away. I set to the task, gently rubbing and working. It takes ten minutes before I’m satisfied. By now, most of the excess water has dried. I run my hands down his skin, feeling for any moist spots, but no longer intent on the job at hand, I’m suddenly distracted.
The Night Sweeper: A Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles Book 1) Page 10
