Dead World: Hero

by D. N. Harding

  Davis put a finger to his lips and waved him over.

  “Something woke me up. I thought it sounded like children screaming, but the harder I tried to catch it, the more it sounded like a motor. Listen. What do you hear?”

  Jack pointed his good ear beyond the building. The masses below had become strangely silent. It was as if they were expecting something. Gunfire erupted in the distance and then everything went silent again. Jack started to say something when in a direction he couldn’t pinpoint, he heard a high-pitched whine of a motor. It was several blocks away. Then behind the squeal of the motorcycle, Jack heard it. A child screamed. It was so faint that he wasn’t sure at first that he’d heard it.

  “You got good ears, Father,” Jack offered, his eyes searching the deepening night.

  The two men stood on the edge of the roof listening as the motorcycle drew closer and the child’s screams more discernable. At the same time, the rolling masses of people in the street became increasingly agitated. Most of them were trapped behind others and only able to move when those on the outer edges moved.

  “I think something is going on that I don’t quite understand, Jack,” Davis suddenly offered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’ve been playing things over in my mind and I don’t like the conclusions I can’t help but come up with. I mean, regarding those who are infected.”

  “I’m still not following you. What about those who are infected?”

  “For instance, that giant of a man you tangled with at the restaurant.”

  “Yeah? Don’t remind me,” Jack said and shook his head.

  “Don’t you find it strange that despite all the damage you did to him, that he shrugged it off like you were an infant. Jack, I heard his cheekbone shatter under one of your blows. People don’t shrug that sort of thing off.”

  “Not so, Father,” Jack said. “I remember a man coming into the county jail when I was first arrested. He was pumped up on some sort of drug that allowed him to whip four guards and two police officers single handedly. All the while, they beat him with nightsticks. They broke more than his cheekbone and he acted as if it didn’t even hurt ‘im. You’d be surprised what a person can take under the right circumstances.”

  “You’re probably right,” Davis conceded, the relief evident in his aged face.

  The screaming motorcycle was close enough to be tracked by its sound now. It was moving in from the south beyond the big blue building that was the tallest structure downtown. On it, over a hundred floors above the ground, was a sign that said 5/3rd Bank. It towered in the distance cattycorner to Jack and Davis’ building. Yet, it was so tall that it seemed right next door.

  Past the bank the motorcycle flew, in top gear. They couldn’t see it, but they could still follow it. The bike rumbled through its lower gears as it finally turned the corner at the Deli. The crowds of infected blocked the road. On the bike was a young man dressed in a blue cardigan, jeans and red tennis shoes. Seated with him were two children. They screamed when they saw the crowd of people directly in the path of the bike. The young man tried to stop, but only managed to topple it. The bike’s precious cargo was dumped onto the pavement in front of the gathered mob.

  The crowd surged forward, without excitement and without glee. The young man was the first to be taken. None of them were wearing helmets and so they lay on the ground in stunned helplessness. The children, a boy and a girl, were not much more than four or five years of age. Their best defense against the coming tides was their inability to fully grasp what was about to befall them.

  “Mother of God,” Davis whispered as he made the sign of the cross. “Help those babies.”

  “Hey!” Jack yelled as he ran across the top of the roof heading for the fire escape. “Up here!” He managed to distract some that were closest to the building, but those nearest to the children would not be deterred.

  The young man’s screams filled the night air just as the streetlights in the downtown area suddenly went out. Darkness filled the void where the light had once held dominance. The shock of it was almost audible. It was so overwhelming that neither of the men could see a thing while their eyes slowly adjusted to the sudden change. Screams echoed in the blackness throughout the dark canyon below them. And then, there was silence. In his mind, Jack heard Mr. Lee say, “Poriceman even say they will cut all of utilities to everywhere nobody to conserve energy and water.”

  “Blast!” Jack cursed. The sense of guilt he felt in the moment was unreasonable and he knew it. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow this whole thing was his fault. Of course, he understood where the feeling came from. He’d been carrying it for thirty years. Having murdered a child and her father, he was no different from those people down there. He looked down into the night below him. No, that’s not true. Those people don’t have a choice. I did.

  He could hear Davis praying as he turned and headed back over to the gazebo. The city lights might have been shut off, but there was still enough ambient light filtering through the clouds above him to recognize shapes and distances. Jack focused his attentions on the sound of gravel crunching under his boots. He wanted to cry, but no tears would come.

  Over the next several hours, Davis managed to get some fitful sleep as he reclined on one of the wooden chairs. Jack, however, needed to relieve some stress, so he turned to his old staple — calisthenics. He stripped down to his boxers and then jogged over to the far side of the building. Pushups, body squats, followed by an hour of jumping jacks and running in place left him feeling a little better. At one point, the clouds parted, bathing the city in pale liquid light. The glass in the buildings that towered over him lit up like the sheen of sweat on his arms and chest. He allowed himself a brief sigh.

  He moved over to the edge of the roof and sat down, letting the fresh breeze of the evening cool him. Maybe he was too hasty in judging the circumstances. Surely, in a few days the government would have the situation under control. It takes time to clean up a mess, especially one as big as this one, he thought, nodding to reassure himself. He did not exchange one prison for another. He was free — free to do whatever he wanted. His eyes dropped to the ground where the moonlight revealed the crowds of people still standing around the building. “Well,” he amended as he stood up. “I’m free to do whatever I want with a few restrictions.” Jack dressed and sat back in one of the chairs next to Davis. Before long, he was asleep.

  Wednesday, September 1st, 2017

  Bursts of light lit the sky and Davis waited, half asleep, for the thunder that would soon follow. The flashes continued without the rolling response. He cracked an eye and looked up at the sky. The clouds were low, but the light was not coming from there. It was coming from somewhere on the ground in the distance. He raised his head and sat up. The light reflected from the buildings up and down Vine Street leaving tracers in his vision when he closed his eyes.

  “Jack,” Davis said and nudged his big friend. When Jack’s eyes sprang open, Davis said, “Look.”

  The two men walked to the edge of the building on the side that was closest to the flashing lights. Moans and wails erupted from below. The crowd was stirring. They seemed to be transfixed by the light as it reflected from windows, air conditioners, automobiles, and anything else that might be reflective. Then a sound filled the air drowning out the moaning crowds below them. It was so high-pitched that they wondered if it was coming from inside them or out. The crowd below them turned to face the source of the noise as if they were capable of what Jack and Davis were not.

  Jack could only find one word to describe what he witnessed next. It was “stampede.” Thousands of people crowding the streets below him began to surge awkwardly toward the flashing lights and the source of the high-pitched whine. He realized that whatever was creating the distraction probably intended for it to function like that. Maybe they’d found a cure and needed to corral those infected so they could administer it. Before long, the streets below were empty
except the occasional stragglers that came from further up town.

  “They’re drawing them together on purpose,” Davis said.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Jack responded.

  “But to what end?”

  “Maybe they need to gather them together to administer the cure. The plague could be over,” Jack said with hope in his voice. “There’s one way to find out. Why don’t you wait here while I go take a look.”

  Davis didn’t look at Jack, but nodded slowly. “Something doesn’t feel right. Be careful.”

  Jack grabbed the mop handle and snapped the plastic end off. It looked like a long staff now. Jogging over to the second fire escape he had discovered that afternoon, he disappeared over the edge of the building. The street below was deserted and trash-strewn. A handful of masticated bodies lay here and there along the route that Jack took as he ran toward Main Street. Often he would smell the corpses before he actually laid eyes on them. On one occasion, he sprinted around a corner so fast that he was forced to zigzag through a dozen or so of the infected.

  Main Street was completely blocked by the crowds of infected trying to push themselves closer to the noise and light. Jack couldn’t get nearer than a block away if he intended to remain healthy, so he looked for an alternate route — up. Taking a sharp left into a narrow alley, he found himself pulling at a fire escape ladder with his mop handle. Up the ladder he climbed until he hit the first landing. The building was four stories with a white stone façade. All the windows he passed were closed and he quickly realized that it was a good thing. Bluish hands and faces pressed to some of them. They were inviting him to dinner. Jack declined the offers and continued up the steps until he came to the ladder leading to the roof.

  The flashing lights revealed to Jack that the roof was much like the one he’d just spent most of the night on, with its tarred and graveled surface, except for being nearly three times the size. It was easily as large as a football field. He was breathing heavily when he finally reached the Main Street side of the building.

  Davis watched Jack disappear into the night. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. Scratching the stubble on his chin, he stared off into the night. The high-pitched sound was steadily keening, off in the distance. The lights flashed at a steady rhythm. Flash . . . flash . . . flash. No! He was wrong. The timing between the flashing lights was not consistent. He closed his eyes and held his breath. The lights flared brightly through the skin of his eyelids as he counted silently in his mind. One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three. His eyes flew open. He was right. The time between the flashes of light was getting shorter and shorter. He looked to his hands and placed his thumb on each finger consecutively as he worked the math out in his head.

  “Thirty minutes,” Davis said aloud, but what did it mean?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  J ack leaned against the three-foot tall crenellation that comprised the edge of the roof. He could scarcely believe what his eyes were telling him. In the center the street, where First and Main intersected, stood a two-story device that looked like it belonged in a science fiction movie rather than parked at an intersection downtown. It appeared to be made of polished stainless steel. Its base was square and about the size of three or four boxcars. Mounted to the center of the box was a tower that looked like an enormous bishop from a colossal chess game. Chains mounted to the head of the tower were bolted to the base to keep it steady. The blinding light pulsed from the highest point on the tower, making it hard for Jack to see much detail without using his hand to block the light. This was the source of the sound, yet there were no speakers or other noticeable means to determine how it was produced.

  Packed tighter than a boatload of refugees, the crowds of infected people were mesmerized by the device. In fact, many of them at the base of the device were standing on top of those who had fallen under them as they struggled to move closer. It was a veritable dog pile and if left alone, some of them might actually be able to climb on top the thing.

  Jack shook his head as he strafed his eyes back and forth over the crowd below. The streets were so packed that he was sure that there couldn’t be any of the infected anywhere else in the city. They were all here. The buildings up and down Main Street were filled with them. They seemed frantic to get at the flashing device as they pressed their faces and hands against every window and glass door he could see.

  Setting on the sidewalk next to the building across the street, Jack noticed several wooden crates. Individually, they stood about eight feet. The stack itself was three times that. He couldn’t quite make out the marking on the outside of the crates. A red cable, about as thick as a man’s wrist, snaked from a bottom crate and disappeared under the feet of those filling the streets. When he picked it back up, it was connected to the steel device. At the base of the bishop-like tower were hundreds of cables meandering in all directions out through the crowd.

  Jack tried to follow them during the flashes of light, but kept losing them. Then he looked to the base of buildings around him. From his vantage point, he could see up and down Main Street. Hundreds and hundreds of those stacks of crates could be seen lining the thoroughfare. The hair stood up on the back of his neck.

  Forgetting to pick up the mop handle, Jack made for the fire escape. He had to know what was in those boxes. He gripped the ladder and let himself slide down to the first landing. His feet pounded against three stories of metal stairs until he found his boots connecting with the pavement of the narrow alley. Apparently, stragglers had continued to gather in their feeble attempt to get closer to the machine and now the mouth of the alley where he had entered was blocked.

  Jack spun on his heels and headed the other way. The alleyway was filled with trashcans and dumpsters. He had to slide over the hood of a small car that was turned sideways blocking the narrow passageway. When his feet hit the pavement again, he found himself standing next to a stack of wooden crates. They were much larger than he originally surmised. A red cable exited one of the bottom boxes through a hole drilled in its side. Scrolled across the cable in bright yellow was the word, “Caution.” Moving around the corner of the box, he recognized the symbol stamped on it in red. He’d seen it in movies. It was the symbol for high explosives.

  A cold clammy sweat broke out over him as a chill coursed through the very core of his being. What did this mean? Was this their only cure and why so much of it? There were enough explosives sitting in the downtown area to create a crater the size of—.

  It was slow in coming, but he managed to put the pieces together. His eyebrows rose at the revelation . . . and then he ran. Fear pushed him like the wind in a sail. At the other mouth of the alley, the infected were crowded. However, there was a gap between the corner of one building and the crowd and it was shrinking. Jack knew time was running out, so he didn’t bother slowing. Around the corner he dashed, dodging those he could and shouldering those who wouldn’t get out of his way fast enough. In his mind, he saw a picture of the hell storm that would soon descend on the downtown area, maybe even the whole Quarantine Zone. Buildings were going to come crashing down on top of the infected crowds like a boot crushing a bug.

  He made another left and then a right, before scuttling up to the building where he and Davis spent most of the night. He wanted to shout his warning, but couldn’t catch his breath. All he could think about was that he’d found more stacks of crates on his way back — one was just a quarter of a block from his present location.

  “Was it as bad as I suspected?” Davis asked as he stepped from the shadows of the building behind Jack. He was carrying the potato sack filled with their pilfered provisions. He handed Jack a bottle of water.

  After taking a long swig on the bottle, Jack said, “They’re going to kill them all. We have to get out of here. I don’t know how much time we have left, but—.”

  “Seven minutes,” Davis answered the question before it was finished. “The amount of time between flashes is getting sh
orter.”

  “Crap!” Jack swore. “We’d better get moving. We’re standing less than fifty feet from enough explosives to knock this building down.”

  The two men headed up the street away from the coming apocalypse. Davis directed them toward Willow Street. If things worked out as he planned, the two would be eating a hot meal and enjoying a shower by the time the sun hit the horizon.

  “I can’t believe they’re going to do it,” Jack said as they walked. “I mean, this is America. We’re different from other countries who massacre people. We’re not Nazis, Al Qaeda, or Iraqi Death Squads. We care about people, right?”

  “I’m concerned about what this may mean in the long run,” Davis said as they approached another intersection. “Is this the last attempt to curb the spread of infection?”

  “I think — hold on,” Jack said, holding his arm out to grab Davis. They were walking down the middle of the abandoned street approaching an intersection several blocks away from where they began. It wasn’t nearly far enough from downtown to Jack’s liking. The darkness of the early morning hours was washed away by an intense light coming from up the street to the right. Across the street was a residential neighborhood. Trees, homes, automobiles and a mailbox were illuminated, casting long dark shadows.

  Jack led Davis over to the corner of a building that was marked with yellow signs advertising cellular service. From the direction of the light, he could hear motors rumbling and distant voices floating to him over the hum. When he peeked around the corner, all he could make out were giant floodlights pouring their brightness down the boulevard like water from a pail. Ghostly images moved around behind the wall of light. The occasional glimpses gave him the impression that military personnel were present.

  Counting stoplights, Jack figured that the military had reduced the quarantine area by several blocks and now the line was two blocks away. He turned to Davis in time to see a pregnant woman dressed in a yellow summer dress reach out for him. Neither of them had heard her approach.