by JT Sawyer
He removed the last sheet of paper, which showed the lakes, rivers, and nearby harbors along with plans for using explosives in the water to harvest massive quantities of fish and sea life. Duncan had held off on following through on this strategy as many had advised against the devastating long-term effects on the food chain resulting from the destruction of the aquatic ecosystems. Killing our grandkids to feed ourselves, but what choice is there? While his munitions specialists had told him they had enough explosives on hand, he had been informed by the fishing crews, whose experience he valued, that they should be able to procure enough salmon, sturgeon, and cod for the coming winter. Except his meetings with them always left him pondering their definition of the word ‘should’ and he needed more certainty than his begrizzled skippers could provide.
Duncan had never had to worry about feeding a colony of people before—not off the land or remnant canned goods pilfered from fallen cities. In the past, you simply called in for resupply and let the logistics staff deliver the food pallets which kept the troops well-fed. Now he was faced with recreating a subsistence and neo-agricultural lifestyle that had taken humans millennia to perfect.
He heard a knock on his office door and shoved the papers back into the folder. “Yes, come in.”
A young redheaded woman in her thirties walked in and closed the door behind her. “Sergeant Major,” she said, standing before him. “There’s another group of refugees that have arrived from the south—around fourteen people including several children.”
“Really—that’s astounding. This is the third group this week,” Duncan said, tapping his fingers frantically on the manila folder. “In from where?”
“They indicated they had been holed up in a logging camp in northern California since the pandemic began. Their leader said the summer wildfires there drove them out. They’d heard about Lewis on the remaining ham radio networks and made their way here over the past month.”
“Have they all been cleared by medical?”
“Yes, they’re in a waiting room in D-Wing. Pretty shook up—they started out with twenty-one people and got whittled down to where they are now.”
Duncan winced and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “That’s a helluva trek on foot to make. I’ll need to talk with them later and see what they can tell us about the regions to the south. The kids are OK, though?”
She nodded with a troubled smile. “There’s one more thing—they said they heard on the airwaves a while back about there being a cure for the virus here—that that’s why they came to Lewis and that there were other small groups around the West planning on doing the same.”
Duncan put his fingers up to his forehead, rubbing his temples. “I’m glad those folks are alive and their ordeal on the road is over.” He looked out at the windows, wishing he was on the plane headed west. “It was just a matter of time before word got out about Pavel’s breakthrough despite my attempt at classified briefings with other base commanders around the U.S.”
“Should I keep the group in the waiting room for now or show them to some temporary quarters?”
“Take them to their quarters and let them rest. I’ll visit with them later this evening.” Duncan locked the folder back in his drawer and walked past the woman. “Right now, I need to have a sit-down with our explosives experts and then figure out just how forgiving Mother Nature really is.”
Chapter 9
Osaka, Japan, Two days after the Pandemic Began
Shiro walked up to Nora, who was leaning against the elephant-gray walls of the storage room, and handed her a bottle of water. Her baby was asleep in her arms. The fourteen survivors were clumped together amidst boxes of contraband liquor, imported jars of food, and forged paintings from the Meiji Period. This was a Yakuza hideout that Shiro had used in the past and its location, two levels below the subway tunnels, rarely saw even utility workers. After he helped to deliver Nora’s baby, the entire group had made their way along several miles of dark corridors until they arrived at the storage room. The past twenty-fours had seen them sleeping, eating, and discussing potential escape plans while debating what horror had unfolded in the city and possibly beyond.
“You look much better today,” he said in English as he squatted beside her.
“A few hours of sleep can do wonders. I don’t remember much of the past day,” she said, taking a drink and then looking around the twelve-by-twelve cinderblock room. Shiro noticed she had a poorly inked butterfly tattoo on her neck, partially hidden by the corkscrew curls of her strawberry-blond hair.
“Ah, I brought everyone here yesterday morning after we encountered a few goryo in the tunnel where your baby was delivered.”
“Goryo—that’s an interesting term.”
Shiro nodded but before he could respond, a woman in her late twenties sitting to Nora’s left muttered something in Japanese. “Goryo are malicious spirits that return for revenge to dole out destruction across the land.” The woman shook her head in disgust. “Silly girl—her baby probably knows more than she does.”
“I would think the term kitsune or tengu would be more fitting than ‘goryo,’” Nora fired back in perfect Japanese.
The woman, named Arisu, dipped her chin as she looked at Nora in shock. Then she stood up with a snort and moved across the room next to two women who were asleep against some crates.
Shiro grinned and then looked at Nora. “Impressive—your dialect has a hint of New York perhaps?”
“New Jersey actually, but not bad.” She tucked a loose flap of her shirt around her baby’s neck. “I grew up in Asbury Park but went to NYU for a dual major in English and Japanese. After college, I floated around Asia for a while then got a teaching job over here…uhm…going on eight years now.”
Shiro looked down at the baby and then back up at Nora, who seemed content to carry on the conversation. “Oh, the dad, yeah, he up and left a few months ago. We were going to move in with his parents in Florida. Then one morning I get up and he’s gone with all of our money. I was gonna finish out my summer semester of teaching and then maybe head back to the States. I wasn’t supposed to deliver for another month.”
He kept nodding, hoping she would pause so he could politely pull away but she kept gushing out her words. Just like an American woman—has to tell me her ‘amazing’ life story then will probably fish around for my opinion of her when she’s done. He wondered how someone as extroverted as her had survived in so reserved a country as his. Shiro slumped his shoulders into the wall and folded his hands across his lap, letting out a sigh as the woman continued in between sips of water, seemingly as thirsty for conversation as she was for her drink.
He tuned out her voice as he looked over the other thirteen survivors. They rarely looked at him except in passing glances. He knew they resented having their lives in the hands of so lowly a social figure as a Yakuza though most of the businessmen in the room had probably, at one time, frequented Yakuza-run houses of easy virtue to spend time with high-priced escorts.
The nine men ranged in age from eighteen years to forty-three. Most were reasonably fit but had soft, lotiony hands and they had tired out quickly the day before after trotting only a short distance in the tunnels. Three of them had the fighter’s spirit in their eyes and would kill if forced to. One of the men, a thin figure in his early thirties named Yoshi, had provided the most help so far and had slain several zombies that had flanked the group earlier in the tunnel with a hammer.
Shiro knew he might have to draw upon these men during the night ahead when they made their move to the Yodo River to acquire a boat. The other men reminded him of heads of sour cabbage, their minds filled with useless information as they spouted off their backgrounds in the stock market, insurance industry, or computer world. One of them was an optometrist so he had some use but the others were akin to the empty crates beside him.
The four women at the opposite end of the room were in their mid to late twenties. Two were dressed in formal skirts and pearl-buttoned shirts,
indicative of the fashion associated with a corporate setting while Arisu was clad in blue hospital scrubs typical of a nurse. She had stumbled upon Shiro only a few hours ago when he was reconnoitering the exit near the river. The fourth and youngest woman was wearing tattered jeans and a loose floral-print blouse that revealed her shoulders. Her silky, raven hair draped below her neckline. She sat huddled against a steam pipe in the corner apart from the other women. The humidity of the tunnels combined with her sweat had caused the woman’s heavy eyeliner to run amok over her flushed cheeks like she had been in a duel with a black marker. Her hardened demeanor reminded Shiro of the escort-girls that the Yakuza employed for visiting executives. Her eyes bore the look of an alley cat and he added her to his mental list of potential frontline soldiers.
He had analyzed enough street fights of his own over the years to know that the human factor more than the weapons often had a greater impact on a battle’s outcome. Employing overwhelming brutality in a fight and never admitting defeat even when the tide had turned against you was the key to surviving in this world or the previous one. It was the fierce blaze of hate flashing from the burning eyes behind the blade that won the battle.
“So that’s my deal—now you know everything about me,” said Nora, whose shrill voice snapped Shiro back to her presence. “What’s your story?” she said with an inquisitive stare.
Shiro rubbed his calloused hands together then interlaced his fingers, realizing he better say something fast before she started talking again. “Not nearly as exciting as yours. Perhaps another time—right now, we need to discuss getting ready to relocate. When nighttime comes, I want us all to move down to the river where I’ve located a few boats. From there we can hopefully make our way along the waterfront to one of the less populated peninsulas. We need to find out what is going on in the world and get some fresh supplies.” He pulled the flap of cloth back from the baby’s cheek and stared into its soft eyes. “And we must make sure the boy has medicine and warm clothes.”
“I grew up around sailboats—maybe I can be of help.”
As he leaned forward to stand, Nora grabbed his wrist. “I’m sorry about what happened to your brother back in the tunnel. I, uhm, heard you whispering to him. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
He stood up and nodded, his cheek muscles tensing as he looked away from her.
“Thank you for what you did for me back there—what you did for us,” she said, pulling her baby tightly against her chest. “I wouldn’t have made it without you. You’re a savior.”
He chuckled. “Savior—I’m no savior, Nora-san…”
She interrupted him. “I know what you did these past two days to save a bunch of strangers when you could’ve just left us to die on the streets.” She looked down at his tattoos with a glance of recognition and then back into his eyes. “You’re a good man. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.”
He was trying to process her puzzling comments. He felt mild irritation that he had been interrupted by a woman while at the same time being moved by her compliment, which was a rare pleasure in his life. Though he barely knew her, she brought out a confounding blend of emotions in him—their shared experience of being outsiders and his innate desire to safeguard her son. The inner workings of his shrewd warrior psyche had no programming to contend with her praise so he simply did a perfunctory nod and then walked out into the hallway to clear his head.
He left the door slightly ajar and glanced over to his right, peering at the distant sunlight filtering in through the terminus of the tunnel a half-mile away. The smell of the ocean wafted along the filthy corridor, intermingling with the rancid odor of waste water running along the curved floor. If we can get to one of those boats at the pier, we can make it across Osaka Bay to one of the islands. That should afford us more protection than waiting it out here like sewer rats.
He thought about the yellow-faced creatures he had battled over the past few days. They seemed possessed by an inner rage he had only witnessed in gangsters revved up on designer meth. His tanto blade had gotten him out of tight spots before and he had used it to dispatch several of the reanimated corpses but it put him in too close a range of their snapping jaws. Instead, he reverted to using a twenty-inch section of metal pipe that he pried off the wall. That enabled him to gain more distance and he could wield it like his old fighting sword. With Japan’s strict ban on firearms, even amongst the police, he knew they were unlikely to obtain guns and their survival would depend on simple bludgeoning moves with any improvised weapons they could obtain. Almost overnight, it seemed like his country had stepped back into the feudal era of warfare. What is going on? How could our great nation have fallen into such darkness? There have to be other survivors out there—someone who knows what’s happening.
As these thoughts rolled over the tired plains of his mind, he detected a faint sound coming from the dark confines of the passage to his left. Unconsciously, his senses sharpened and his breathing steadied as it always did prior to engaging a threat. His ears strained beyond the steady trickle of sewer water running below his boots. Shiro stood up and crept along the damp concrete wall, removing the metal pipe from his waistline. He walked for five minutes until he came to the first intersection and peered to either side. His nostrils flared as he sniffed at the paltry air. Something revolting yet familiar pierced his nose. It was coming from the right corridor and was accompanied by a shuffling sound.
Shiro squatted down alongside a large water pump emanating from the floor and focused his gaze into the center of the obsidian-colored tunnel. A faint ray of artificial light shone through a crack in the ceiling above, illuminating a four-foot section of the passage that was fifty yards distant. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the formation of a hundred or more creatures shambling his way, their sagging yellow faces highlighted by their bloodshot eyes. His own eyes widened in horror and he squat-walked back to the other tunnel and then sprinted away.
Rounding the corner that led to the storage room, he ran straight into two gangly creatures dressed in coveralls with tool belts. Shiro nearly lost his footing on the slick ground and he struggled to regain his grip on his weapon. As he raised his pipe for a lateral swing at the snapping beast to his left, he caught sight of the skull coming apart from a crashing blow. He couldn’t see where it came from and he instead slammed his heavy pipe into the creature to his right, the sidewall of its skull collapsing like a deflated soccer ball.
“I thought I might be of further help,” said Yoshi, who was standing a few feet away, his hand trembling from the adrenaline dump.
Shiro smirked and then shot a glance over the young man’s shoulder. “We have to go, now. We need to get to the pier or we’ll be trapped in here for good.” He turned and both men sprinted down the corridor to the others, who had stepped out of the room. He yelled at the long-haired woman in jeans to lead the others while he paused to help Nora.
The younger woman with streaked eyeshadow gave him a disappointed look. “Leave her—she’s just a burden and will slow us all down.
“Then she and her son will be my burden,” he shouted as the woman turned her back and began bolting along with the others. Yoshi turned back to help Shiro and they grasped Nora under the shoulders as she clutched her baby. They scampered down the murky corridor as the moaning horde of flesh-eaters quickened their pace.
A few minutes later, they neared the tunnel mouth beside the waterfront. Shiro saw the others running down a narrow cement walkway that hugged the shoreline and led to a row of boat docks in the distance. He stopped and motioned for Yoshi to continue on with Nora. Shiro retreated back into the tunnel until he came to a series of water pipes lining the wall. He swung his metal pipe along an elbow-joint connecting two sections until water fissured out from the battered edges. The hot water flowing out combined with the cold air of the tunnel produced a heavy mist that obscured the passage. He heard the creatures trotting along the corridor forty yards away. This should slow them up for a while. Shiro
retreated back into the daylight.
He hadn’t noticed it before from the sound of the waves lapping against the concrete walkway but he could hear faint screams emanating from across the bay. As he ran, Shiro saw people in a high-rise apartment building jumping from their windows onto the streets below while others were battling against dozens of enraged creatures on the roof. The nearby buildings around the city held similar scenes of carnage and for a moment Shiro thought he had emerged into a demonic netherworld. There were mangled bodies floating in the water beside him and he gulped down a breath, trying to reaffirm that he was still alive.
As he neared the docks, he saw Nora at the helm of a jetboat shouting instructions at Yoshi, who was at the rear, furiously manipulating something in the engine compartment. The dark-haired woman was screaming at Nora to get them out of the bay while the others stood huddled together watching the scenes of destruction unfolding along the city front. Shiro ran along the tattered boardwalk of the marina and saw four creatures pulling themselves up along the dock from the seaweed-coated surface of the water.
The creatures were moving quickly once they emerged, limp-trotting as shrieks emanated from their bloated lips. Two that were clad in black business suits rushed towards the young woman, yanking at her long, raven hair. She shrieked and fell back into them as they gnawed at the soft flesh on her neck while jets of bright red blood spurted skyward.
The rotund optometrist ran forward, grabbing the woman’s arm, but a creature slithering up on its chest from the water chomped on his calf, causing him to wobble and fall over the edge into the greedy hands of more corpulent freaks.
The remaining survivors had grabbed oars and reachpoles and were trying to drive the beasts back when Shiro arrived. He saw black smoke coughing out from the rear exhaust pipes of the jetboat as Nora turned over the engine. He quickly untethered the boat’s mooring rope from the dock. Filling his peripheral vision was a stream of movement and he pivoted to see thirty creatures floating down the sidewalk above; some tumbling over the twenty-foot-high cement guardrail and landing on the pavement continued their sprint despite the many bone fractures.
