Bleeders

by Max Boone

  I hated to think I agreed with him, but he was right. New York was only going to get worse from there on out. More than eight million people lived in the five Burroughs, yet we hadn't seen nearly enough people running around, not nearly enough bodies and Bleeders to explain where they'd all gone. Even if half of them had gotten out before the lockdown went into effect- which was almost impossible- that left four million panicked, psychotic or otherwise dangerous souls unaccounted for. That left one possibility I knew of- the rest of them must have listened to the emergency announcements and locked themselves indoors. But that would only last until either the food ran out, the water ran out, or they gave in to the virus.

  Then they would start to come out.

  After a bit more of us convincing Alison that she was in fact the package to be delivered, we worked out the details of the plan and got ready to leave under cover of dark.

  Jeremiah was the first to move, like always. His huge feet barely made a sound when they hit the dirt on the river side, but two Bleeders lurking between the containers still noticed him. One of the bikers raised his gun to take them out, but Jeremiah waved them off. We had agreed that there would be no gunfire until we reached the docks, and not unless absolutely necessary.

  The rest of us climbed and jumped down to the ground to help Jeremiah, but he was already dealing with the Bleeders. The first one tried to grab for him. He sidestepped its drive, pulled it off its feet and snapped its neck in one, frightening motion. As he let it go, the second struck him from behind and knocked him to the ground.

  It's hard to explain what happened next in any other way, and believe me I've tried, but the Jeremiah that tumbled down into that dirt was not the same one that got back up. His eyes weren't just red but on fire with pure rage. That wave he gave the biker a few moments before for the sake of silence was ancient history. He screamed and ran at the Bleeder, slammed him into the shipping container and set to destroying the thing with his bare hands.

  Seconds later, when he dropped the mutilated corpse like so much sticky garbage, the group was staring at him with horror on their faces.

  He looked over at them with crazed eyes and said, "You should be running."

  And they ran.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Jeremiah and I broke to the right toward the long loading pier while the rest of them, including Alison, broke left. The Bleeders were already stumbling their way around and between the shipping containers, drawn by the sounds of Jeremiah's vengeance, and we made sure they focused on us. We walked backwards and fired on them. Jeremiah hit one woman dead between the eyes. Blood and brains exploded out the back of her head and blinded the Bleeder behind her. I hit an old guy in the throat and his neck opened up wide. He kept coming, only mildly inconvenienced.

  As the Bleeders cleared the containers they broke into a run. We fired some more rounds off at them, taking out a couple more, and then decided it was time to run.

  We reached the start of the loading pier. It was a long structure that stuck out far into the river. I'd seen them before but never up close. It had a kind of pulley lift that went up on shore, allowing the rest of the pier to angle gradually down to the water at the far end. As we hoisted ourselves up the lift and onto the pier, I gave a quick glance toward the rest of the group to see how they were doing. Some of the Bleeders had followed them as they ran along the shore, but not nearly as many as were behind us. Which I guess I was supposed to be happy about, but really I wasn't.

  The climb wasn't enough to keep the Bleeders off the pier. In a mounting pile they clawed and pulled their way up. Some of them were crushed under the weight of the crowd pressing on them, but it didn't stop them or the ones behind them from surging forward. It was relentless, and with each fallen Bleeder the climb only became easier for the next, until the first Bleeding sack of scum flopped up onto the pier.

  A shot rang out on the shore. I gave another glance and could see the group was halfway to the white rocks Nkosi had mentioned, and beyond them a small dock with a boat covered in a tarp.

  "Well goddamn," I said. "He wasn't lying."

  But the group was in trouble. They were starting to become overwhelmed by what Bleeders had followed them, and the pop-pop of their panicked gunfire was drawing some attention their way. One of the remaining bikers was taken down on the shoreline, still firing his gun as they tore into his flesh.

  Jeremiah and I knew what we had to do. We screamed and fired at the crowd of surging Bleeders. More of them were already up on the pier. It was getting easier for them to climb with every dead body, but we had no choice but to keep firing. It was a delicate balance- we had to keep their focus on us while stopping them from overtaking us. We walked backwards as we fired, careful not to trip on the rails that carried the containers down to the water, all while we held back the screaming, bleeding mass of hungry bodies.

  Over to our right, Nkosi had reached the dock. He ran to its end and started to strip the tarp off the boat. Alison helped while the rest covered them from the shore.

  Click.

  My gun ran out of ammo. "Fucking shit fuck," I said, summing up our situation nicely. I tucked the useless gun into my belt and moved behind Jeremiah as he continued firing. One of the Bleeders took a swipe at me, missing my hand by inches before Jeremiah put a hole in his face.

  As Nkosi prepared the boat far to our right, we backpedaled to the end of the pier. We were almost out of room, but at least Jeremiah was driving the crowd back with gunfire.

  Click-click-click.

  The semi-automatic was out.

  Jeremiah looked back at me, slightly concerned.

  "Now what," I asked him.

  "Now I hope you can swim."

  "Yeah? I hope they can't."

  We turned to face the river. As the Bleeders surged forward again, screaming for our flesh, we jumped.

  The river was just as cold as it was the day before. This time there wasn't a fence to hold the Bleeders back, and they landed all around us like deadly cannonballs, snarling and thrashing and sinking straight down out of sight, clawing up the entire way.

  Thank God. They couldn't swim.

  We tried to swim parallel to the shoreline, but the current threatened to pull us out so we cut our way back toward land. Our clothes were heavy and the shore was full of Bleeders. The first wave of them ran into the water, pushing and sloshing toward us, but when the water got too deep they sunk and drowned. The second, smaller wave just behind the first did something surprising- they stopped. Instead of drowning themselves in the river, they moved alongside it, following our swim trail from land.

  Maybe there was an iota of self-preservation left in them.

  We fought our way back onto shore using our bare hands, which was easier now that there were so many less of them, but one false move could get us bitten. Over on the dock, the group was boarding the boat and preparing to launch. We fought hand and foot to reach them, our actions even more aggressive, more panicked at the sound of Nkosi starting the engine.

  Jeremiah worked his way to the half-eaten biker on the shore, grabbed his gun and started capping Bleeders. One fell after the other until there were only two left between us and the dock.

  The boat was leaving without us. My stomach dropped and I ran for the dock, not even thinking about the Bleeders in my way. Jeremiah took two shots. Each one caught a Bleeder in the chest. I pushed through them and ran for the boat as hard as I could.

  Just a few feet out of my reach, Nkosi gunned the gas. The boat pulled away from the dock, spraying me with cold river. Alison stared at me from the back of the boat. There was a sad look on her face as we locked eyes, yet she made no effort to stop the boat.

  Jeremiah joined me at the end of the dock. Together we watched the boat go until it rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight, its wake the only trace left behind in the night.

  "Armed forces," Jeremiah said after a few moments.

  "What?"

  "Army. Two tours in Iraq." He
turned to face me. "You wanted to know who I was. Before everything."

  "You said you'd tell me on the boat."

  "Yeah, well it looks like we're up shit's creek. I guess that's close enough."

  "Hold on- you fought in Iraq and no one gave you a job when you got back? Or a place to live? Is that even possible?"

  "You don't follow current events much, do you?"

  "Not really. I'm starting to see it's a problem." I had a thought and fished the keys from my pocket. "At least we have wheels when we get back." There was an addition to the keys I hadn't noticed before- a circular, brushed-metal keychain with a button at the center. At the push of the button, a USB stick popped out from one side.

  "Alison," Jeremiah said.

  "Yup."

  "You think there's really a WHO boat out there?"

  I shrugged. "That woman's crazy. There's no way of knowing what's real with her."

  He looked back at the half-lit city. "After you," he said.

  I sighed. "Don't mind if I do."

  As we walked back the way we came, Jeremiah stopped at the body of the partially-eaten biker to check him for anything else useful. "You know we should probably check on those two on the silo," he said, hoisting the guy's pack over his shoulder.

  "Ugh. Do we have to?"

  "Afraid so."

  "You Boy Scouts, man. You're the worst."

  Jeremiah chuckled. The sun was coming up on another ugly day.

  ***

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