by Russ Melrose
I realized the other infected would have heard the screams and would be coming now, at least those who hadn't gone into the building yet. Since the front of the building was a half block away, I thought we might have four or five minutes before they arrived.
I knew I had to act, but my mind was dulled and I was drawing a blank. Sarah grabbed me by the arm. "Jake. We have to do something."
"Yes," I told her. And then I started to take my backpack off. "Get the keys, get in the truck, get it started, and then go."
"What? What about you and Dr. Nardone?" Sarah asked.
I turned and she was staring at me oddly. I didn't answer her and had lost track of the question.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"I'm fine," I told her, though I knew she wasn't buying it.
"You have to get out of here now, Sarah," I told her.
I didn't give her time to respond. I walked down the steps and tossed my backpack into the bed of the Tundra. I could still hear the helicopter as it made its way up the East Bench and beyond, and there was the sound of the infected pounding on the back door. I squinted from the bright sunlight that bathed the parking lot. It seemed so much brighter than normal. The day was remarkably still if not quiet, and the midday sun felt like a laser on the back of my neck.
Sarah and Becky had followed behind me and were at the back of the truck. Sarah searched the truck bed for the keys and found them.
The savage intensity I'd felt the first time I'd faced the Swimmer was nowhere to be found. I gripped the bat and clubbed it once on the pavement trying to wake myself up, but it didn't work. Not this time. Instead, I felt as if some kind of schism had occurred in my fragile brain and the vibration from it had yet to subside. I felt out of whack and needed to wait till my head righted itself, even though I knew I didn't have the time to wait.
The Swimmer clamped a long hand on top of Dr. Nardone's skull. A moment later he turned her head sharply to the left and kept it pinned there, exposing the right side of her neck. Dr. Nardone yelped briefly and then went back to quietly whimpering as if she'd thought any extra noise might upset him. I knew what was coming next, but the Swimmer seemed to be waiting on me.
Sarah and Becky were still standing near the back of the truck, and I couldn't understand why they weren't in the Tundra yet.
"Go, Sarah!" I yelled at her. "Get out of here!" And then I made a mad dash for the Swimmer and Dr. Nardone. I lifted the bat high above my head as I ran, gripping it tightly with both hands. I thought if I got lucky, I might be able to club the Swimmer on the head, maybe stun him. But before I'd finished taking the first step, the Swimmer had torn into Dr. Nardone's neck, ripping away the flesh with his teeth. Then he spat it on the ground next to him like someone causally spitting tobacco. Blood dribbled down onto his chin and chest.
Arterial blood sprayed from Dr. Nardone's wound in a spinning arc as she turned her head away from the wound as if she were trying to disown it. But she couldn't escape, and the Swimmer spun her roughly to the ground.
I was nearly on him, and despite the fragile condition of my mind, I swung the bat as hard as I could in an overhead arc as if I were driving a pick ax into his head. But he easily gobbled the bat up with one hand and ripped it out of my grasp. He gave the bat a glance and tossed it dismissively to the pavement where it clattered and bounced a few times before coming to rest.
I took an unsteady step back, then another. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Dr. Nardone. Her face was already pasty white and she lay on her side with her knees tucked inward. Though she was dying, she lay in a fetal position as if she'd come full circle. She gasped for air but choked on blood instead. She held both her hands to the wound in her neck, trying to stem the inevitable flow, but the blood seeped through her fingers and onto the pavement. There would be no stopping it. She had to have known it was too late, but she tried to hold on anyway.
The Swimmer kept his sharp, blue-green eyes on me, surveying me like a predator. He looked unreal with the ghostly ash-white skin, like a South American shaman with his face painted white. He knew he had me. He knew it and I knew it. Just then I heard the abrupt click of the Tundra's locks being unlocked. I looked back and Sarah held her arm up, key fob pointed at the truck. She grabbed Becky and they hustled around to the driver's side. I lunged for the back door handle, but he was on me before I could open the door.
He grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and the back shoulder of my t-shirt and tore me away from the door and flung me down to the ground. I righted myself onto my butt and scrambled backwards away from him. My senses were starting to come back.
And I couldn't help but notice the moment had a ring of familiarity to it, a sensation reminiscent of my adolescent days. The same feeling I had had during any one of those childhood confrontations I knew I was about to lose. And while I felt resigned to certain defeat, a part of me stubbornly opposed the inevitable.
The Swimmer limped determinedly toward me, mirroring my every movement and quickly cutting the distance between us. If he felt any pain from the bullet wound, he didn't show it. Then I heard the truck door crack open and I felt a sense of relief.
He pounced on me before I knew what was happening. A moment later he had me pinned flat on my back. He hovered menacingly over me like some avenging incubus, his face twisted in insatiable rage, his ash-white face suddenly filled with blood. He sat on my abdomen, his knees and legs pinching tightly into my sides, rendering me immobile. I felt as if my body were clamped tight in a vise. His hands went for my throat and I couldn't fend him off. I grabbed him around the wrists, but he was too strong. He forced his hands to my throat and began to squeeze. I could feel the air being cut off and I gasped for air without making a sound. I couldn't move my head and I began to feel acute pressure in my eyes as if they themselves were being squeezed. I was frantic and started to hit his forearms with my fists to see if I could get him off me.
Then I heard the thrum of the engine as Sarah started the truck and I knew everything would be all right. At least they would get away. The Swimmer's hands relaxed from my neck as he started to get up to go after them. I coughed harshly gasping for air and felt a sharp pain in my neck. I reached for his wrists before he had a chance to get up and gripped them as tight as I could and then pulled him toward me. The Swimmer made a brief, half-hearted effort to pull away as if I were a bothersome gnat. But I held firm, and he relented and came back at me with a vengeance. His hands were around my neck again and he leaned within inches of my face. This time he shook my neck violently as he squeezed it. I tightened my neck muscles to keep from being strangled and I kept my hands around his wrists and tried to pry his arms off me, but I couldn't budge him.
The Swimmer fixed his hazel eyes on mine and a brutal intensity shined through them. And if I could read his eyes, and I thought I could, they were telling me of his dominance over me. He wanted me to know that he was killing me. And it occurred to me that killing me satisfied some primal need within him.
I closed my eyes and my head became light as a feather. Streams of white dots flashed before my eyes like shooting stars. I was about to lose consciousness. I could still feel echoes of pain, but they were fading now like a lost memory, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace, and I knew it would be all right for me to finally let go. I didn't need to be afraid any longer. A familiar feeling of lightness and incredible warmth beckoned me like an old friend, drew me toward it, and I followed.
And though my eyes were still closed, and I was certain that they were, I somehow saw my left hand falling lifelessly away from the Swimmer's wrist, followed by my right hand. I gave it no thought as if it had nothing to do with me. My arms and hands fell harmlessly to the pavement as everything unfolded neatly in its time and place.
And then I heard a word screamed with unflinching resolution. The sound split the air, rising sharply before dissipating back into the void. I was sure what the word had been: "No!" And then there was another sound—the
sharp, unmistakable thunk of a baseball bat striking bone, clear and pristine. And a few seconds later, the sound repeated, accompanied by another, "No!"
Then I heard her call my name and I was suddenly thrust back into the pain. I tried to breathe but the pain only got worse. The wonderful feeling had vanished and I didn't know how to get it back. And then I heard a door open and then there was the clanking sound of something thrown onto the floor of the truck.
Then she was back and she lifted me up gently, cupping her hands behind my neck. "Jake," she cried urgently. "We have to go. They're coming. C'mon, open your eyes." And then she slapped me twice, hard enough that I felt it. "Wake up. You're going to be okay. But we have to get going. Right now, Jacob! Get up! Right now!"
I had no response. My world consisted of breathing as quietly as I could to help keep the pain at bay. And then she started to lift me and I stiffened and opened my eyes in protest. It was then I saw the panic in her eyes. She kept peeking over her shoulder as if she were expecting the grim reaper. But he didn't concern me at all. And I couldn't help but notice how beautiful Sarah was even with the bruised, worried face.
I heard the excited rasping breaths and I knew they were close and getting closer. I also knew she wasn't going to leave me alone. I knew she would keep at me, keep pestering me. I didn't know why she couldn't just let me go. I finally helped her since I knew she wasn't going to give up, and the two of us managed to get me to my feet. Sarah helped me to the truck's open back door and I crawled onto the back seat and lay there. Sarah closed the door behind her and climbed into the front seat from the back. A few seconds later we were gone.
I was stretched out on my stomach on the back seat. I gripped the front edge of the seat to keep myself balanced. I didn't want to move. My head lay fragile on its side facing the back seat. I focused on the pain hoping to lessen its intensity. I knew my neck wasn't broken since I could move it and the rest of my body. But I didn't dare move an inch for fear of making the pain worse.
The Tundra roared up the street. Sarah was driving fast. I grabbed the seat belt receptacle with my left hand and used my feet against the door to brace myself.
"Mom," Becky drew out slowly, as if in warning. And then I heard a distinct thump on the left front fender and I guessed we must have hit one of them. Sarah made a sharp right turn and then we were driving through front yards. There were a few soft bumps here and there, but I managed to keep my head immobile. And then she swung left and we were out on the street again.
I managed to talk without moving my head, but my voice was scratchy and barely registered above a whisper. "Sarah... we need to get to a house... on the top of the East Bench. Okay?"
I could hear her turn in her seat. "Yes, Jake. I'll find us a home to stay in."
A few moments later, Sarah took a left and not long after that a right and I could tell from the incline of the truck that we were headed up the mountain. There was a final left and then she slowed, and a minute later she stopped.
I noticed the bat on the floor in the back as they were about to help me out of the truck, but I didn't grab it. Sarah did and handed it to Becky. And then she slowly and carefully helped me out of the truck. Sarah had already taken all the backpacks to the back of the house before coming back for me.
I knelt at the back door, my forehead propped against the door for support. I felt the pins lift into place and I turned the tension wrench as I had so many times before. Sarah had her hands on my shoulders for support and she rubbed my back. Becky was next to me and she kept whispering to me that I was going to be okay. She spoke to me in the same way she often spoke to Ralphy.
I scratched the door loudly and waited. But there were no sounds. And then I opened the door and we went in. Sarah made me sit on the floor in the kitchen and Becky stayed with me while Sarah took the bat and scouted out the house.
I leaned my head back against a kitchen cabinet. Becky held my right arm with one hand and rubbed the upper part of my arm with the other. I felt a lot of pain and could barely breathe, but I knew we were going to be all right.
Epilogue
Dark shadows and brilliant light played across the surface of the creek as the morning sun filtered through the trees. A light, buoyant breeze gently lifted the leaves. Becky turned to watch her back cast, then used a three-quarter forward cast with a tight loop to throw the line into the stream. The fly landed just in front of the beaver dam in relatively still water. Becky was a natural when it came to fly fishing. By the third day she had mastered the casting motion and the basics. She couldn't wait to go fishing every morning, every evening too. There were three spots along the creek we used for fishing and the beaver dam was where we often had the best luck. Sarah and I sat on two lawn chairs twenty feet away in the shade of a poplar tree, watching Becky fish.
It had been nearly three weeks since we'd left the Salt Lake Valley. We spent three days at the house Sarah had picked out before we left for the cabin. I needed the time to recuperate, and Sarah helped nurse me back to health. The concussion was relatively minor but the neck and throat injuries were more serious. After a few days I was able to swallow and eat something other than liquids, though it still hurt to swallow. My voice wasn't much more than a rough whisper, and Sarah let me know my voice might stay that way. She suspected I'd suffered nerve damage to my vocal cords from the neck trauma, something she called vocal fold paresis.
But it wasn't the physical injuries that had Sarah worried. She was more concerned about my mental state, and for good reason. A dark shroud of despondency lingered over me like a morning fog that refused to burn away. Feelings of despair would come and go without warning. The source of my malaise came from those rapturous seconds I'd spent outside my body during the time the Swimmer was strangling me. I couldn't forget the incredible feeling of lightness and warmth I'd experienced, yet I couldn't recapture the essence of the feelings either. And the memory of the feeling, faded as it was, rendered the pain and suffering of this world more acute.
Even though I still wasn't myself by the third day, I knew we had to get out of the valley. We were pressing our luck as it was. Sarah resisted, saying I needed more time to recover, but in the end she relented and we left for the cabin.
We skirted the upper edges of the East Bench and used the homes for cover. We were extremely careful and none of the infected spotted us. Since we weren't scaling any fences, it only took us an hour to get to East Millcreek Canyon, then we mirrored the canyon road from above. I had precious little energy and we had to keep stopping so I could rest. I felt embarrassed by my weakened state, but Sarah and Becky were patient and supportive.
The mountains themselves were quite safe. The sprawling Wasatch Range was essentially an infected-free zone. And the mountains were as serene and beautiful as ever.
During the second day, I had a bit of a breakdown. I sat down on a boulder and started laughing hysterically—or at least I tried. Not much came out, just a muffled sound like abortive hiccups, and my throat hurt like crazy from the effort. And I'm sure my face must have been quite the sight—a paradoxical mix of failed laughter and pain. Sarah and Becky were bewildered, even a little frightened. But there was nothing to worry about. I was simply laughing at the folly of my life. I'd spent my entire adult life living in fear, or at least being driven by it. And I only realized it now because the fears were gone. They'd vanished back in the parking lot when I'd had my intimate brush with death. They'd slipped quietly away like a summer breeze.
It took us two and a half days to get to the cabin, and we were all exhausted by the time we arrived, no one more than me. But just a few days at the cabin helped revive us. Even I felt reborn.
The cabin offered us a safe haven from the madness. And at times, we were so dissociated from the craziness, so removed from it, it was difficult to imagine that what we'd experienced had actually been real. It seemed to belong to a whole other world we were no longer a part of.
The cabin and the woods and the mountains were
our world now. The cabin wasn't luxurious, but it was functional. There was a small living room with a wood burning stove, a bedroom with two twin beds, a kitchenette, and a bathroom. A few years back, Alex and I had run a PVC pipe from the stream to the cabin for water. We even had a sewage tank. The cabin had always been a labor of love for us, and it took us several summers of work and a good chunk of money to get the cabin where we wanted it.
The underground bunker was well stocked. It was about forty feet from the cabin amongst a copse of trees. A large rock hid the lock to the trap door. Sarah and I inventoried the food and figured there was about two months worth of canned food there. But Alex and I had stored more than food there. The bunker was where we kept all our fishing gear. And Alex kept one of his rifles in the bunker, a Savage 30-06. So we had a weapon if the need arose. And there was also a crossbow Alex had purchased several years ago but never used. I decided if we ran into any infected, the crossbow would be a better choice than the rifle because of the noise factor. It would work for hunting too. Becky and I practiced with the crossbow every day. She was enthusiastic, just as she had been with the fishing. Sarah showed no interest.
After several days, we began to develop something of a routine. Besides the fishing and the crossbow practice, we worked with Becky on her schooling. Sarah was excellent in math and science; I handled English and history, not that history seemed all that important anymore. And for exercise, each morning we would take a twenty minute climb up the mountain. We'd found a spot that offered a spectacular, sweeping view. We would eat breakfast there and enjoy the vista. I'd use my binoculars to check out Victory Highway which stretched north and south about a mile out from the cabin. The cabin itself was camouflaged from the highway by the woods, and we were also a good hundred yards from the dirt road that branched off the highway. The cabin was essentially invisible.
