by Steven Pajak
Chapter 2
My Immortal
February brought more snow after a couple of weeks of mild days at the end of January. It appeared as though winter, although it came in with a vengeance, would go out with a whisper. After a brief reprieve, a series of winter storms rolled in and blanketed northern Illinois with more than 60 inches of snow in a short period.
We spent much of our time sheltered during the worst of the storm, only going out to do the necessary chores and to tend to the animals. All other work came to a halt and even patrols were kept to a minimum as visibility was less than zero and the temperatures dropped double digits below zero. I was concerned we’d lose someone to the elements which was not worth the risk. If the weather kept us inside and hunkered down, not much else would be out there. Even the crazies became inactive during the cold, resting beneath the snow and waiting for food to pass nearby.
Wesley and Cody grew anxious, having quickly taken to the farm life. Wesley had recovered surprisingly well from the shock of our journey. In just several months his life had gone from that of a typical eleven year old to one where he suffered the loss of his parents and survived an incredible journey where he endured more loss. Lara said he was young and could learn to adapt better than the rest of us, and I think she was right about that. He was also growing more curious about the creatures that had killed his parents. He spent a lot of time with my brother, Joshua and Kieran; the three young men were eager to learn how to kill the things. Brian was more than happy to train them, but he drew the line at assigning Wesley to patrols or any work that would put him at any actual risk. We realized in this new world we all had to contribute and we all had to learn the basics to survive. That did not mean, however, that we had to send children out to kill if it could be avoided.
Maureen also kept the younger children busy with schoolwork. She spent her afternoons teaching them reading and arithmetic, and held spelling bees on Fridays. She also taught them how to read music and play the piano. Stanley supplemented their education with history lessons and economics, but the kids were actually most interested in his science projects. Stanley kept them entertained for hours with simple projects like growing salt crystals, making their own fossils, and the ever-popular potato battery.
Wesley got along well with the two younger Finnegan girls also. Karrie was twelve and Krista was nine, and they were both rambunctious tomboys. Lara suspected that Karrie had a crush on Wesley and she thought the boy felt the same way about her, but they were both shy and awkward about icky boyfriend-girlfriend stuff and much preferred exploring the barns and making up grand adventures. As much as Wesley enjoyed spending time with the girls, like most boys his age, he was fascinated with Joshua and Kieran. He idolized the older boys and wanted to follow them everywhere, and they didn’t mind if he tagged along. It did my heart good to see him with kids his own age and I finally started to feel good about the decision to move here.
Near the end of February a string of mild days in the forties started to melt away some of the accumulated snow and for the first time this winter, folks were looking for excuses to be outside. Patrols started up again and on the second night, Justin reported that the fence-line on the far east side of the property had been damaged and possibly breached. Early the next morning, I gathered a few of the group and headed out to repair the fence and deal with any unwelcome guests that were trespassing on the property.
Although I welcomed the mild weather, looking forward to reuniting with the friends I left behind, I also worried that the thaw would reanimate the crazies. Even during winter, they were out there, but their level of activity severely decreased. Unless you practically walked on top of them, they were dormant, as if they were in some sort of hibernation. Once the weather warmed, I feared they would swarm again as they did when the outbreak first occurred. Our fences would not hold up to hordes; a group as small as five could probably break through easily enough.
Ian braked hard, bringing the tractor and flatbed trailer to a jerky halt. The smell of diesel exhaust disappeared almost immediately when he killed the engine. For a moment, there seemed to be complete silence in the absence of the obnoxious engine noise.
Over the last month, I only just began to realize the vast extent of the Finnegan Farms. Originally, I understood the farm had to be relatively large in order to produce the variety of crops of which Maureen spoke, but without a visual, my mind could not properly frame how much land. Kieran had explained that the farm was nearly 400 acres, although he conceded that much of it was brush or overgrown field. The actual land farmed was closer to 200 acres, which included the hayfields and cattle pastures.
As the six of us put boots on the ground—and Cody set paws to the ground—I looked once again at the hand-drawn map that Kieran had made for me. Based on his rendering, we were near the extreme southeast corner of the property line, just over a mile away from the main house. These far reaches of the property definitely posed a logistics and security nightmare for which I was still trying to find a solution. I didn’t like having to send patrols this far out but it was necessary. Infected were still getting onto the property and it was better to kill them before they found their way into the crops or the back yard where they could surprise you.
“The fence is definitely damaged,” Ian said as he swung out of the cab. His tall, wiry frame moved with ease once he was out of the confines of the tractor. “No wonder the manky bastard’s are getting’ in.”
“Now you’re suckin’ diesel,” Kieran said. I still wasn’t accustomed to their idiosyncratic attempts at humor, but I couldn’t help but smile when Ian gave him a stern glance. The younger Finnegan just shrugged. “I’m just saying, way to spot the obvious, old man.”
“Don’t crack wise with me, boyo,” Ian said and picked up a pair of thick work gloves from the bed of the trailer. He threw them roughly at Kieran who caught them handily. “Go on and get to fixin’ the fence while the rest of us do the work of real men.”
Kieran rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into the gloves. At seventeen, that age on the cusp of boyhood and adulthood, Kieran felt the need to prove himself at every turn. Patting him on the shoulder as I passed, I said, “You’re not missing anything but a mess. Take Cody with you.”
As I walked away, Kieran mumbled something under his breath that I didn’t quite catch, but I’m sure his words were unflattering. Then I heard him call out for Cody. The shepherd dropped down from the flatbed and ran past me as I jogged to catch up to the others who eagerly moved forward to engage the group of infected that had breached the fence. By my count there were six unwelcome guests moving aimlessly over the grass and mud.
Although only a month had passed since the white out—one of the worst snow storms I’d ever experienced since I was a kid—it was unseasonably warm for late February. Snow had already melted, leaving wet, muddy ground and the infected had become more active with the change in weather, which led to actively increasing patrols along the far reaches of the property lines.
Brian was the first to reach the crazies and within seconds, he dispatched the creature with two quick blows from his machete. Although the remainder of the infected was now alert to our presence, the men on patrol engaged them with vigor. I stopped jogging, realizing that by the time I reached them, the killing would be over.
With my axe over my shoulder, I watched Ian kick an infected woman to the ground and then split her head open with the end of his sledgehammer. Joshua, the youngest of the Finnegan boys made his first kill—a particularly grotesque infected man with one arm—while Brian swung his machete and beheaded a teenage girl with filthy blonde hair. Meanwhile, Justin took on two crazies at the same time, expertly using his twin tomahawks to send them off to the afterlife.
I watched these men for a moment as they waded into the fray and put down the creatures that had once been human, just like them. I was both proud and saddened by the ease with which each of them dispatched the crazies. I was proud that these men had become wa
rriors who would kill without hesitation for the good of the community; I was saddened by the fact that some of them seemed to have developed a fondness for the killing.
I lit up a cigarette—a rare treat these days—and nodded my head as Brian gave me a thumbs up to signal all clear. Dragging deeply on the home-rolled cigarette, I turned away from the carnage. I killed when I had to, but I no longer had the stomach for it.
Kieran was already working on the section of damaged fence. He’d cut away the section of ruined barbed wire and was now working on resetting the wooden fence post. Beyond, Cody was exploring the land, moving in arches, sniffing the ground, raising his head suddenly as though her were listening, then frantically sniffing a trail again.
I admired the young man and had taken quite a shine to him over the eight weeks since we made this place our home. Although not the youngest, still he was treated like a child by his older siblings. He didn’t have the luxury of being the baby of the clan, either, like Joshua, who was doted on because of his age. Kieran had a sarcastic sense of humor and tendency to get into trouble just to spite Ian. But the kid was smart, intelligent beyond his years. He was a whiz at mathematics and was able to teach Wesley algebra and geometry, making it fun and easy.
Kieran finally got the post settled and was filling the hole with damp soil. Since the others had the infected situation under control—and I wanted nothing to do with the clean-up—I decided to help with the fence. I retraced my steps and stopped at the flatbed trailer. Setting down my axe, I picked up an extra pair of gloves and stuffed my left hand into one of them.
Kieran had stopped shoveling and was looking off into the field beyond. I followed his gaze and spotted Cody standing ramrod straight, the hackles on his back rose. A guttural growl rose from deep in his belly and he took a tentative step forward.
“Cody?” Kieran called out to the dog. At that moment, the dog charged a small outcrop of brush.
I saw the muzzle flash before I even heard the gunshot echo across the open plain. I crouched and instinctively went for my sidearm, withdrawing the 1911 from its holster. In front of me, I watched as Cody flinched from the report, turned, and ran in my direction. Behind me, I heard Brian yelling for everyone to get down.
Heeding my brother’s advice, I dropped to both knees and threw my unfinished cigarette to the ground. On my knees, I leaned forward putting my face just inches above the cool, damp earth. I peered under the trailer and saw that Kieran was down, but he was lying on his back, not a natural position for someone seeking cover.
“Kieran!” He did not respond to his name and again I called out, more loudly this time. “Kieran! Talk to me.”
For a long moment, the boy did not respond. He lay unmoving, his face turned toward the overcast sky. Behind me, Ian continued to call out to his brother, but even he held his position—or was forced to—for fear of making another easy target for the sniper.
As I looked on, Kieran’s hand moved slightly and then his shoulders shifted as he tried to push himself onto his forearms in an attempt to sit up. Based on the way he was moving, I knew he’d been hit. I could see his body shaking from exertion just to raise his head a few inches. Before he could sit fully a third shot tore up a clump of soil just inches away from his head and he fell back to the ground.
Springing up from the ground, I aimed toward the small outcropping, where I remembered seeing the muzzle flash. I traversed the distance between Kieran and me, firing four quick shots of covering fire, trying to keep the sniper’s head down. Instead, the bastard answered with two shots in quick succession that tore up the ground to my right, missing me by half a foot, maybe less, before I threw myself down onto the wet grass.
Behind me, a volley of gunshots erupted; Brian and Ian were now also firing into the tree line to our south where the sniper most likely lay in wait. On elbows and knees, I dragged my stomach across the cool ground and kept my head low. I crawled the last several feet until I reached the downed boy.
I put a hand on his shoulder and whispered to him, “Kieran, where are you hit?”
Instead of responding, he lifted one hand slightly from his abdomen; it was covered in bright red blood. I noticed blood slowly oozing from his right temple, but quickly realized that was just a flesh wound. The second shot must have grazed his head.
Suddenly Cody appeared at a full run. His paws dug into the ground for purchase as he came to a stop next to me. He dropped to the ground, nudged Kieran’s ear with his wet nose, then slowly licked the side of the boy’s face.
“Stop it, Cody,” I whispered harshly.
A steady barrage of gunfire continued as Brian and Ian took turns firing on the sniper, trying to keep his head down while I helped Kieran. I pulled off my quilted flannel and used it to cover the stomach wound and I immediately began to apply pressure to stop the bleeding.
“That hurts,” Kieran moaned.
His face was waxen and tears ran from the corner of his eyes. He’d lost quite a bit of blood already and he appeared to be going into shock. His eyes started to roll back and flutter and for a moment he lost consciousness.
“I need some help here!” I shouted.
Without thinking, I sprung to my feet with total disregard of the sniper. Taking hold of Kieran’s coat with my left hand, I started to drag his body in the direction of the tractor while I fired the remaining rounds in my gun in the direction of our assailant.
I dropped the empty gun and took hold of the boy with both hands now and picked up my pace. The tractor was just twenty feet away. Cody ran beside us, weaving back and forth. I was worried he was going to get under my legs and trip me before I could pull Kieran out of the line of fire.
“Hold on, buddy!” I yelled at Kieran. “We’re almost there, just hold on!”
I didn’t hear the gunshot, but I did feel the impact of the projectile as it tore through my flesh. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in the fleshy part of my leg just below my butt. I managed one or two more steps before the impact of the round knocked me off balance and I fell, my head just narrowly missing the wood frame of the trailer as I went down.
The pain was ferocious, but I tried to block it out. I found my grip on Kieran’s jacket and tugged him along as I struggled to drag my own body under the shelter of the trailer bed. My feet and elbows kept sinking into the wet soil and I felt the cool earth sliding down into my pants. Cody was nuzzling at my ear now, and I slapped at him, pushed him away.
I continued to crawl-pull Kieran the last few feet, while Cody danced around, barking sharply. Having reached the safety of cover, I shifted my position so that I could have a view of Kieran’s wounds while not inflicting more pain on my own.
“You’re going to be fine,” I said to Kieran, although I had no idea if that was true. I hadn’t been able to examine his wound and now I had to deal with my own situation.
“It hurts so bad,” Kieran said. When he coughed, there was blood on his lips; that was a very bad sign.
“Hold the shirt tight on your stomach, Kieran. You have to hold this really tight for a minute.”
As I struggled to remove my belt—careful not to put any pressure on my leg wound—I could hear the voices of the other men between evenly spaced gunfire. Brian was yelling for someone to move on a flank under covering fire. I couldn’t think about that now, though, as I had my own crisis. I had to trust that they knew what to do and would get it done.
Cody kept pushing his face in to see what was going on. He was a ball of nervous energy, moving, moving, moving. He kept nudging at my arms as I tried to get the damn belt off. I shoved him away again and yelled, “Cody, stay damn it! Lay down!”
Finally, he lay down and whimpered as I got my belt off my waist and wrapped it around my thigh, just above the gunshot wound. I slid the end of the belt through the buckle and pulled it as tight as I could. Pain, clear and present; for a moment, my vision began to tunnel and I felt myself losing consciousness.
Kieran’s grip on my hand began to loosen. The
voices around me muffled, muted, as though I was hearing through cotton wads. I could not pass out or Kieran might bleed out and die. Gritting my teeth, I focused on my breathing, deep in through the nose, out through the mouth, in and out, cold air filling my lungs. With every breath, I felt my pulse beating in my ears. In seconds, the tunnel vision dissipated.
I tied a knot into the loose end so that it would keep the buckle as tight as possible. This was not a proper tourniquet, but it would serve its purpose for now. Turning back to Kieran now, his eyes were open but he stared blankly up at the undercarriage of the trailer. The shallow hitch of his chest alerted me that he was still breathing, though.
Pulling the flannel away from the wound, I tore at his blood-soaked clothing trying to get a better look at the wound. I had a hard time with his coat zipper, but finally managed that. The buttons of his shirt popped off as I pulled the ends of his shirt apart. I lifted his T-shirt and wiped away the pooling blood to get a look at the entrance wound. The hole was relatively small, about the size of a quarter. The skin around the wound was dark purple and the flesh was ragged where the round hand entered.
Steeling myself, hoping I would not pass out, I managed to push Kieran onto his side so that I could get a look at the exit wound. Even as his body turned, I knew this was going to be bad; the amount of blood that accumulated on his clothing and the ground below was astonishing. I gagged when I saw the horrible pulp of mutilated flesh where the bullet had torn free from his body.
I don’t know how long I sat looking on as his blood flowed freely form the decimated flesh, but it was probably only seconds. I was probably in shock; I felt like I could not focus. My mind was trying to access the information about dressing a gunshot wound, information I knew was there, yet I could not grasp the knowledge. All I could think to do was try to stop the bleeding; he seemed to have already lost so much blood I was surprised he was still alive.
As I finally reached for the soaked flannel shirt with the intention of putting it on the exit wound to try to plug the flow, I felt hands pulling at me, trying to drag me out from beneath the trailer. I gripped Kieran as I was being dragged, but my bloody hands slipped from his jacket and within seconds, I was out from under the darkness and lying under the morning sun. Brian was leaning over me, his long hair hanging down, tickling my cheeks.
