Infected Planet

by Dennis Yates

  "Then who would it be?"

  "Your guess is good as mine. It makes no sense to me. The horses I knew of either got eaten by dogs or they managed to escape into the McCarthy."

  "What about the folks who left on horseback when the outbreak began?"

  "I never saw any come back. But I did find plenty of bones -- enough to convince me they never made it far.”

  Chapter 5

  Other than a few dead stragglers still roaming the streets, the horde seemed to have moved on without leaving behind a clue as to why.

  We took turns keeping watch from the roof while others slept under a tarp Ramos had strung up. The sun was vicious by 8 a.m. and continued to worsen with no mercy.

  Laura was starting to look a lot better after some rest. She’d managed to keep her breakfast down. She didn't talk much, and appeared nervous whenever Trevor approached. Trevor didn't help matters by casting flinty glances at her, but over the course of the day he seemed to soften after Jade took him aside to have a word with him. As deadly as Jade was with a variety of weapons, she also had the gift of changing people's minds. In the past, she'd been there when I needed to cool my head and not do something stupid. I'm certain she'd saved my life many times.

  The next day we awoke to a dark blue sky. Trevor took us to find a vehicle Ramos could resurrect while Jade stayed to watch over Laura. We were getting anxious that time was running out before a horde of the undead or a dangerous group of bandits headed back into town. As if reflecting our hidden fears, lightning lit up the red cliffs in the distance while thunder echoed angrily through the canyons.

  Trevor was fast on his feet and a challenge for us to keep up with. He knew of shortcuts between buildings Ramos and I would have been slow to find on our own. It also seemed as if the boy had a kind of sixth sense when it came to rotters hiding in shadowed doorways or around corners.

  The garage was near the railroad tracks in a large metal shack of indeterminate purpose from the outside. Several windows, as well as skylights had been smashed out, and shattered pieces of glass imbedded in the red dust mirrored the hot blue sky above. When Trevor slid back the door a biker rotter came lurching toward us. He had a machete sticking out of the back of his leather jacket and he’d been scalped.

  "I got this,” Trevor said. The boy allowed the biker to move closer before he shoved his crowbar through its eye socket and shoved it to the ground. He then stepped on the thing’s skull and yanked the crowbar free, releasing a flood of foul smelling liquid. Suddenly the garage was filled with the roar of other rotters awakened by our presence and we could hear them shuffling across the oily dirt floor.

  The three of us pivoted on our heels, straining to see in the near darkness. As soon as I had a clear target, I planted bullets into the head of another biker corpse dragging through the white beam of light coming down from a ruined skylight. I turned to see Ramos batter in the soft squash skull of another.

  We stood and waited for more rotters but none came. After several minutes of tasting the sweat running down our faces, Trevor found a light for us to use.

  All of the bikers appeared to have originally died of gunshot or knife wounds and all were roughly in the same state of rot. After examining the tattoos on their leathery arms and faces, it became clear that the two gangs had come to pick the garage clean of spare motorcycle parts. Us Dusters had heard stories about the bikers when we were young. Their savagery was legendary.

  "I don't like it here, Brand," Ramos said. "This can't be the last of them. Got to be more around here still alive or undead."

  "Let's just see what we've got," I said. "I don't want to be here either, but we've got to find some wheels. If we stick around this town much longer we’re bound to get unlucky."

  "Over here," Trevor said.

  He'd directed his light toward the rear of the garage where several trucks sat in various states of disrepair.

  Ramos slapped me on the shoulder as he walked past me, staring at the sight before him.

  Over time red sand had sifted through the steel walls' joints and coated the trucks in thick layers, reminding me of the tombs we'd once found in a cave when we were young. As nomads, we'd seen a lot of things on this world that most Dusters hadn't.

  Just as Trevor had warned, the trucks were beyond bringing back from the dead. But Ramos wouldn’t stop searching. We watched as he scraped sand from the final vehicle and startled us when he suddenly burst with laughter.

  Trevor frowned. "I told you. There's nothing here but scrap."

  Ramos grinned and pulled back the tarp hiding a pressure wrapped truck that had escaped the destructive hand of Lazarus.

  "You're wrong Trevor."

  We could barely control our excitement. Our ticket out of here had finally arrived.

  ****

  After we helped Ramos gather all the tools we could find, the big man crawled beneath the truck and went to work. By late afternoon, I started growing concerned about Jade and Laura back on the roof. I wished we had radios so I could tell them what was happening. They might be thinking the gunshots they heard were us getting killed. I bent down so I could see Ramos under the truck.

  "How long is it going to take for you to get that thing going?"

  "By later tonight if we can keep working."

  "Then you and Trevor should stay here," I said. "I can go back to the others and break camp. Maybe find some extra fuel for the truck on the way. You two can swing by once you’ve got it running."

  "Sounds like a plan," Ramos grunted as he pulled a wrench. "The sooner we get the hell out of town, the better."

  "I hope so," I said. "But we might just find we've jumped from the fry pan and into the fire."

  Ramos wiped his face. "I think all of us are ready to take that risk, Brand. A town without tequila is worse than an army of dead folk.”

  "Can’t say I disagree," I said, smiling.

  I set down two water bottles and some dried jerky I'd stuffed in my pack before we'd left roof camp. They would need the energy to keep going and I had to travel light if I was going to scavenge for gas.

  "See you tonight," I said.

  ****

  I ran back as fast as I could, sticking close to the shadows whenever possible. Some long-bearded settlers dressed in overalls came at me but I managed to dodge their rotting fingers. A faceless girl lunged out from a doorway and tried to bite my arm before I punched her in the head and knocked her to the ground. And yet when I turned to look behind me twenty seconds later, I could see she was up again and following me. How she knew where to go without eyes I had no idea.

  See you in my nightmares sweetheart, I thought.

  Somewhere along the way I realized I'd gotten turned around. And although I once knew the town by heart, I suddenly felt lost. Had things changed that much since I was a boy?

  And then it occurred to me I was still being influenced by the ill effects of deep freeze, that my brain had been unable to fully process the situation. It felt as if there were overloaded wires in my head shorting out and poisoning my mind with panic.

  This is a losing game, a voice in my head laughed bitterly. The cards are stacked against you higher than you can imagine. Odds are good those things are going to get you one way or another. I guess you could say I never was the most upbeat drinker you'd find gathered around the punchbowl. Not that I've hovered around many.

  To prove I wasn't losing my mind, I slapped myself across the cheek hard -- just to be sure what was happening was real. While my skin burned from where my hand had undoubtedly left its mark, I glanced up and saw several buzzards staring down at me from rooftops, like wizened gargoyles with crusted blood on their cruel beaks. They started to cluck at me as if mocking my stubborn instinct to survive. All of a sudden I felt something clamp around my foot and I careened forward, striking my face hard against the ground and eating a mouthful of sand.

  As soon as the sparks in my head cleared, I realized I was lying on my back in the middle of the street. What th
e hell had happened? I sat up and spat, glanced down at my foot which had gotten stuck inside the bear claw trap of a half-buried ribcage. Lying upright in the sand not far from me was what I assumed to be the ribcage owner's grinning skull. The dead sure enjoy having the last laugh, I mused.

  I next heard a thudding sound, and when I turned I saw a crowd of fly infested meat lurching toward me. Navigating around the legs of the undead, a man with only a ragged upper torso dragging behind him lurched sideways like a crab. When he got closer, I saw his milky eyes and gnashing jaws, and as soon he noticed me he raised his spindle arms and grasped the legs of other rotters to carry him faster.

  I got to my feet and started running, hoping I was still heading in the direction of roof camp. It wasn’t until I was a safe distance away before I remembered my rifle was still on the ground where I’d fallen.

  You complete dumb ass.

  I scanned the road for something I could use. Found a collapsed building where I was able to break free a club-sized chunk of wood. When I took a couple practice swings, I felt my palms being pierced by slivers. My makeshift weapon would have to do. The rotters were far enough behind me now that I had some breathing room. But it wouldn’t last for long.

  Several blocks ahead I spotted the building where roof camp was located. I hoped I wouldn't encounter more rotters. I couldn’t afford wasting any more time, there was so much to do to get ready. I approached a truck lying on its side, half buried in a drift of sand. I walked around it, taking note of the corpse clawing at the passenger window to be let out. The canopy in back was mostly crushed but there was a narrow passage to the inside.

  I dropped to my knees and scooped back the sand with both hands until there was enough room to slide into the waiting pocket of darkness. I prayed nothing would attack and clicked on a flashlight. To my relief, the truck bed was empty except for two red fuel jugs and a crushed skeleton lodged beneath the collapsed canopy. My heart bounced with joy.

  Forgetting for the moment how vulnerable I was, I wriggled inside and grabbed the handle of the first jug and tugged. When I didn’t hear the slosh of fuel within, my hope instantly dropped like a stone. To be certain my suspicions were correct, I unscrewed the cap and poured out a handful of desert sand. The second jug, however, was topped with fuel. I took hold of it and slid back out of the canopy on my stomach.

  We’re going to need a hell of a lot more of this if we want to make it across the McCarthy, I thought. I’d spent much more time trying to get the jug than I’d realized, for the sun had already dropped behind the ridge. A hot wind from the west had kicked into high gear and riding on it was the cruel sweetness of death. The smell was so overwhelming that I stopped to vomit up the last of my water.

  In the final stretch to roof camp, I was surprised as several street lights flickered back to life -- a clue that some of Cranston’s solar grid had escaped complete destruction. I started to run again, afraid of being spotted.

  I was about two blocks away when I saw shadows rounding a corner.

  "Over there!" a male voice shouted.

  A group of leather-faced men appeared with machetes fashioned from iron scraps and pieces of wood. The one leading the group brandished a pistol, but when he saw I was only armed with a club he stopped walking and put his gun away like a true gentleman.

  “Here, Rash,” a scrawny figure said from behind the gunman. A polished steel baton was passed to him, a cruel instrument I immediately recognized as prison guard issue. Memories of the warden’s sick games came flooding back, and it took all I had to push them aside.

  I gritted my teeth as the man pressed a switch and electrical arcs flickered from the end like a snake with multiple blue tongues. I expected this was merely a prelude before the man named Rash entertained himself with torturing me. Yet to my relief, he moved over to allow others to pass.

  The first three bandits came at me fast. I faked a glance toward a darkened doorway, stealing the closest one's attention enough to leap forward and smash him across the bridge of his nose with my makeshift weapon. As he fell, I snatched his pistol and dove to the ground before rolling over and shooting the other two -- striking one in the throat and the other through the left eye.

  Afterwards the gun stopped firing. I was out of bullets and not sure that my attackers realized it. The bandits seemed unfazed by their dead companions sprawled in the sand. I’d hoped they’d scatter long enough for me to escape. No such luck.

  "Hey cowboy,” a voice said before something leaden cracked the back of my skull and drove me into the ground. The impact had made me bite my tongue so hard I thought I'd spit it out with all the blood. If that wasn’t friendly enough, a nasty boot heel tried separating my spine before I lost feeling in both legs.

  They helped themselves to the jug of gas. I waited for them to kill me before continuing on, but their minds seemed already diverted to the next task at hand. They’re leaving you to the buzzards or undead to finish off, I thought. First come first served, and don’t call me too late for dinner. Dread filled me with a cold darkness. I’d dreamed about buzzards all my life, afraid that one day their cold eyes would turn toward me in anxious anticipation.

  Rash bent down and showed me the electrified baton up close. Its blue flames burnt the air and made me want to choke. He told me if he found me still alive when they passed back through town, he’d light me up until I was nothing but a crispy critter.

  “Even the damn buzzards won’t be interested in you after I’m done.” He’d grinned with blackened teeth as I attempted to move my legs. “So you best get to dying.”

  I had no reason not to take Rash at his word. If I wanted anyone in our group to survive, we’d have to work together to turn the tables on the psychopath and his gang.

  "Wait," I slurred. “There are others and we’ve got supplies.”

  Rash turned back and stared at me, the baton twirling in his hand.

  "You have my attention."

  "Don’t leave me here to die. I can show you the way to our camp.”

  The scrawny man I’d seen earlier stepped forward and squinted at me with bulbous eyes. "You got any women in your group?"

  "Yes," I said, hoping I wouldn’t live to regret it. But I saw no other way out. I’d had to come up with a reason for them to not just leave me in the street to die. If they took me with them I might be able to somehow warn Jade and Laura we were coming.

  Rash and the others had laughed heartily at the scrawny man’s question. He’d sounded like a desert toad whose lust was awakened by the promise of rain. Once the laughter died away, Rash came over and waved the baton near my face.

  "I guess it's your night. Just remember if you lie to me, I’m going to feed your tongue to the buzzards.”

  I closed my eyes and nodded.

  He reached down and pulled me up. I could barely stand on my own, the numbness in my legs far from gone. Two bandits came and held me. I shuffled between them like a drunken marionette.

  I passed out off and on, causing the men to swear whenever they had to support my shifting weight. Every time I regained consciousness, I would have to start back at the beginning and attempt to remember what kind of reckless plan I’d made.

  My guards dragged me between them while Rash and scrawny lizard man stayed close behind. The other bandits led the way, occasionally putting down rotters they flushed from darkened buildings.

  When an armless thing slid from the ruins of a truck, I remembered what I needed to do and dredged up the strength to do it. My escorts stopped while one of the bandits in front sank a large hook into the deceased driver and dragged it out of our path. As they hacked the rest of the thing into pieces, I broke away from my guards and ran to the truck. I climbed inside and pounded on the horn, noticing one of the thing’s arms lying on the dash. Rats had eaten most of it.

  My cursing escorts yanked me out of the cab and onto the ground, then proceeded to take turns kicking me in the ribs. When I began shouting insults they started to work on my head
until an approaching figure cast its shadow across the sand and caused them to step back.

  “What the hell is your game?” Rash demanded, pointing a revolver at me. “I should have shot you earlier and saved the boys and I time. I’m going to kill you if this turns out to be some kind of trap.”

  When I sat up my ribs felt as if they were on fire. I clenched my jaw to keep from screaming. Sweat seemed to rush from every pore, and I knew if I didn’t get water soon my body would start to shut down and I’d be completely screwed. That’s assuming, of course, Rash hasn’t first turned me into a ghost.

  “I had to let them know or they would have killed us,” I lied.

  “Who?” Rash asked, the cause for worry making him glance about nervously.

  “Snipers,” I said. “I’m sure we’ve been in their sights for a while now.”

  “Doesn’t matter if I believe you or not,” Rash said, lighting a cigar. Damn if it didn’t smell good.

  “And why is that?” I asked.

  “Because you’re a dead man walking either way.”

  When we first reached the brick building, the bandits stopped to marvel at the pile of writhing rotters. Apparently, they hadn't been close enough to witness what had happened the night before. Rash snatched the key from my trembling hand. He unlocked the steel door, threw it open and pushed me inside.

  I struggled up the flights of stairs until Rash became impatient and shoved me out of the way. I tumbled down and the others stomped over me, sniffing the air like dogs chasing a scent trail.

  Soon the building thundered with gunfire and I heard Laura’s screams coming from roof camp. I grabbed hold of the railings and pulled myself up the stairs, each step sending a jolt of pure agony up my spine.

  When I finally reached the roof, I was met by several dead bandits covered in blood. Rash, on the other hand, was still alive with a machete pressed against Jade's throat. Two of her severed fingers lay in her lap. She glanced up at me and pointed toward Laura with searing eyes.

  "That bitch is with them, Brand."