I lay on the ground, motionless. My body was a seething mass of pain. There were so many injuries competing, they blurred into one immense, pulsing knot of agony. Only the pounding in my head stood out above the crowd. It was centered around my right temple.
When I moved my face, I felt the dried blood coating my skin crack. One eye was swollen almost completely shut. The other felt like someone had rammed a metal spike into it. When I blinked, it felt thick and gummy.
I waggled my toes and fingers. Even that slight movement sent warning shots through my nervous system, but at least they were still working. My right arm ached. I tried moving it, just an inch or two, and a dagger of pain shot up through my shoulder into my neck. I spasmed, the involuntary movement triggering fresh waves of agony. I choked off a cry, not wanting to attract attention.
Darkness crept toward me again, but this time I willed it to retreat. I took a deep breath, and my ribs shifted. Then I gagged. The bed of corpses beneath me—the zombies I’d killed and thrown over the cliff over the past few months—had provided a soft landing, maybe even saved my life, but they stank. I fought down the urge to throw up again.
Heavy drops of rain pattered against my face. The storm clouds were gray and fast moving. They rushed above me like a dark and deadly sea.
Hesitantly, I tried to raise my head. Pain swept down my spine, and this time I let out a cry. The sound was loud and seemed to hang in the trees. I strained to hear a response, zombies’ or Ling and his gang, but the forest was silent.
I watched the clouds streaming past, picking out the distorted faces of assorted zombies from the billowing grayness. Despair settled over me. I’d have been better off if Ling had killed me. Instead, I was going to starve to death lying on a bed of rotting corpses I’d unwittingly built for myself. Life was having the last laugh.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. I’d always expected to die young, but I’d assumed my work would be discovered, and I’d go out in a blaze of gunfire or drive myself off a cliff with the police in hot pursuit. With the zombies’ arrival, I’d expected to get myself bitten and either kill myself or join their ranks. I did not expect to die lying on a pile of disintegrating corpses, the victim of a wandering gang of thugs.
But part of me, a growing part, felt a strange sense of relief. After so long hiding, first from normal human beings and then from the dead, I was finally going to be free. Death might be a blessing. I closed my eyes and relaxed into the pain, drawing it in, willing it to overwhelm me.
I think I was hoping I could just give up and die there and then. But the shadow stopped me. I might have thought I didn’t want to live anymore, but the part of me that thrived on death and murder had other ideas. I couldn’t give up. There was more I had to do. The outbreak might have rid the world of many of its guilty, but there was still so much work to be done. My life wasn’t over yet.
I opened my eyes again and rolled my head sideways. I’d expected pain, but none came. If anything, my body seemed less battered, less broken. The ache in my arms and legs had lessened. Even my breathing seemed easier. I took an inventory of my injuries. Starting at my ankles, I went from point to point, assessing and compartmentalizing the source of each and every pain in my body. By the time I reached the pounding in my head, I felt I might actually have some chance of moving—at least a little way. It was as though by acknowledging the pain I’d robbed it of some of its power.
But where could I go?
The cliff was too high to climb. Even uninjured, I’d never attempt it. I could find a path back up to the ridge, but I couldn’t go back to the cave. I felt a flicker of anger. My tools were gone anyway, taken by Ling and his goons. They would think I’d been killed by my fall down the cliff, but they’d almost certainly be sheltering in the cave now. I wouldn’t be able to escape them a second time.
Even if they weren’t there, I needed medical attention. Which meant I needed to find people who would help me. The place Parker had mentioned, Sanctuary, might be closest, but I didn’t know where it was. No, I needed to return to Hope. Part of me rebelled at the idea, but the shadow quickly stifled my resistance. I was out of options.
The bed of corpses shifted beneath me as I tried to stand. The plastic I’d used to wrap the bodies crackled. Wet, sucking noises accompanied my ragged breathing. My hand sank into the flesh of a rotting corpse. Fighting back the urge to throw up, I pulled it out. Black liquid, thick and cold, coated it. I fell back, sinking deeper into the pile. Every movement sent waves of pain washing over me that threatened to send me back into the darkness. The air around me did its part as well, thick as it was with the heavy stench of decay.
I relaxed, trying not to think about the bodies beneath me. They were dead. I knew that. I’d put them there, but still, I couldn’t help but imagine rotting hands reaching up from beneath me, wrapping their fingers around my throat and limbs, dragging me down into the darkness. Rain splashed against my face. I concentrated on that instead of the corpses.
A crow landed nearby. It watched me, its head tilting from side to side as it assessed my potential as a meal. It hopped a little closer. I grunted and waved a hand. The motion awoke a fire in my shoulder and did nothing to deter the bird. My vision dimmed as my injuries overwhelmed me again. I clenched my teeth and counted each breath.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
The blackness receded.
The bird cawed, and the call was quickly answered by another from somewhere off to my left. I shouted again, a ragged bark. The crow tilted its head and let out another cry. I was struck by the sudden thought that the bird was talking to me. It was answering my cries of pain with words of encouragement and hope. Even as I had the thoughts, their absurdity spawned a grim laugh. I was losing my grip on reality. My mind was sluggish. It felt as though my skull had been filled with foam insulation. I had to fight to keep my thoughts under control—they kept wriggling out of my grasp.
There was a flutter of wings, and another bird appeared. This one was bigger. Its right foot was twisted and gnarled, either damaged years earlier or deformed at birth. The first bird ducked its head. It looked for all the world like it had bowed to the new arrival. The impression was reinforced when the first bird hopped backward to make room for its leader.
The second crow hopped unevenly onto the nearest body. Its injured leg made the movement awkward and graceless. A small piece of red cloth was stuck to the bird’s beak, a splash of scarlet against the black.
Forcing down the pain, I waved my arm again. This time, the crow reacted. It fluttered sideways, moving a little farther away from me. It landed on the head of one of the zombies. Its feet sank into the rotting flesh. Black blood oozed slowly from around the tips of its claws. It dipped its head toward the zombie’s head but raised it again almost immediately.
I’d never seen an animal eating the corpses of the infected. Either they’d quickly evolved to survive in the new world, or their natural instincts steered them away. A living but incapacitated source of food was a different matter altogether. The bird fluttered forward again. A movement in a tree caught my eye. Two more crows alighted on a branch.
I shifted my weight onto my left side in an attempt to roll off the mound of bodies. Blinding agony raced through my limbs, and I screamed. Rotting flesh collapsed beneath me, but my momentum carried me over onto my front. I swept an arm at the crow, and it launched itself backward, wings flapping. I pitched myself down the pile of corpses. The bodies gave way beneath me. Gravity took over, and I tumbled and slid onto soft earth. The two crows cawed and flapped their wings, disappearing off into the trees.
I pulled my legs up, ignoring the spike of pain that was being driven into my right ankle. A hand reached out toward my leg. Fingers grasped my calf. I pulled my leg back. The hand fell aside and lay lifelessly on the ground. My movement had simply dislodged it, and my disoriented mental state had done the rest. Still, I dragged myself farther away from the
corpses, until the pain had me almost blacking out again. Then I lay on my back, trying to ignore the slick substance oozing down my leg as I worked out how to get back to Hope.
The plan was very simple once I managed to get my synapses firing in the right direction. I knew the highway ran parallel to the ridge I’d been thrown down. All I had to do was walk to it then go north along the highway until I reached the path we’d used on the way to the bus. I could follow that back to Hope.
Finding the path would be the tricky part. That and dealing with the injuries from the beating and the fall. And staying conscious. And not wandering into the path of the living dead. If I met a swarm, I was done.
Keeping my movements slow and deliberate, I checked my belt. I didn’t have my knife. If I met even one zombie, I’d be in trouble.
A wave of hopelessness hit me, so strong I could feel it sapping my will. But even as the urge to give up threatened to overwhelm me, a spark of defiance flared inside. The shadow fanned the fire. This was not how I was destined to die.
A song sprang unbidden into my head—the lyrics urging me to break my problems into tiny, manageable chunks. The longest journey begins with a single step.
The nearest tree was about five feet away. It must have taken me ten minutes to crawl to it. By the time the tips of my fingers touched the trunk, I was breathing heavily and sweat beaded my forehead, but I was already growing used to the pain. Each time I moved, the agony lost some of its power.
Not allowing myself to rest, I struggled to my feet, using the tree to take the weight off my right leg and prevent me from sinking back to the ground. I closed my eyes and basked in the glow of my meager victory.
My injuries felt manageable, but I clung to the tree, delaying the inevitable. My subconscious rebelled against me. It wanted to stay here, among the trees. Whether it was because of the difficulty and the pain I’d face during my journey or the thought of having to throw myself on the mercy of others, I didn’t know.
The shadow grew ever more impatient. My attempts to justify my behavior by insisting I was gathering energy for the journey had no effect. It whispered in my mind, cajoling me, urging me onward.
The rain grew louder as the storm intensified. Drops of water splashed against my head and dripped down my neck, somehow managing to find me even under cover. I moved a couple of steps away from the tree, keeping one hand pressed against the trunk for support, and tipped my head back. The rain was cool and refreshing. I opened my mouth in an attempt to ease my parched throat. It wasn’t much, but it helped.
Neither my jacket nor my jeans provided much protection from the rain, and I was already soaked. The rain might be sharpening my senses now, but my temperature was plummeting. My teeth chattered. Tentatively, I removed my hand from the tree. When I didn’t immediately collapse, I orientated myself to the ridge and began moving slowly through the forest toward the highway, each step slow and uncertain.
Chapter 26
Step by Step
The journey to the road was a hazy mix of pain and disorientation punctuated by just enough snatches of clarity to make sure I didn’t wander too far off track. Everything hurt. Even breathing. I figured I had at least one broken rib, and every time I put my right foot down, pain laced up my shin. But by some miracle, I didn’t seem to have broken or punctured anything critical. I fell into a rhythm. Walk four hundred paces then stop and lean against a convenient tree for a few minutes to let my aching limbs recover. Then steel myself and walk the next four hundred steps.
I saw three zombies but spotted them before I got close. They didn’t notice me, and I avoided them easily. Even so, each near-encounter left my heart pounding. I kept listening out for Ling and his gang, convinced they were following me, biding their time before moving in for the kill. An hour into the trip, my nerves were a tangled, jangling mess. I was unarmed, injured, and exhausted. I certainly didn’t have the strength to defend myself.
By the time I reached the highway, the rain clouds had completely swallowed up the sun, turning the world a dismal shade of gray and making it impossible to tell what time of day it was. The solidity of the road came as a welcome relief. I could finally walk without having to worry about tripping or breaking my ankle. My relief was tempered somewhat when I realized I was at the bottom of a long, curving slope. I didn’t recognize the stretch of road, but I knew I needed to head north, and that meant climbing the hill.
The rain had stopped, but a trickle of water ran along a ditch at the roadside. Moving with slow, jerky movements, I crouched down and rinsed my hands in the stream as best I could. Then I scooped some up and sipped it. It was ice cold, almost sweet.
An old tree lay on the ground nearby, the trunk half-swallowed up by moss. I sat on it, wincing as a hitherto unknown stabbing pain made itself felt in my lower back. I swallowed and tasted blood. I spat and tried not to think about internal bleeding.
I sat on the tree for sixteen, maybe twenty minutes until my legs began to stiffen up. My head was pounding, and a second, more intense headache was forming right between my eyes. The temptation to stay put was strong, but if I didn’t get moving, I’d be stuck for the night. The shadow had no intention of letting me die out here in the dark. Groaning, I pushed myself off the log and began shuffling up the road, my movements slow but steady.
As I walked, I passed signs of a swarm’s progress—patches of dark blood, torn clothing—but there were no zombies. I kept checking behind me and peering into the forest on either side, convinced they must be creeping up on me, but the road was clear. The only shapes I saw in the forest were a long way off. The closest I came to meeting a zombie was a young girl crouched at the roadside, eating some sort of animal, roadkill maybe.
I slowed as I approached and passed by on the opposite side of the road. She raised her head as I drew level with her but didn’t come after me. Instead, she just returned to her meal, tearing a fresh chunk of bloodied meat from the carcass with her teeth and chewing as I continued on up the road.
By the time I reached the top of the hill, my legs were shaking, and each breath felt like a dramatic victory. My heart sank. I’d reached a false summit. The road dipped down for a few hundred yards then gradually climbed again. Despair gnawed at me, sapping my will and urging me to just lie down at the side of the road and let nature take its course.
I almost did. The grass verge was far more enticing than the unyielding asphalt stretching endlessly out in front of me. But I could see a dark shape at the side of the road near the top of the next hill. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the wrecked car we’d passed on our way to the bus. I peered up at the sky above me. Even with the clouds, it was obvious the sun was going down. It wouldn’t be long before it was dark, but if I could make it to the wreck, I’d have somewhere safe to sleep. Things would be better in the morning, after some rest.
My lungs complained as I started walking again, and soon my right leg was adding its own percussive beat to the symphony of pain being played across my body. I ignored them and went back to counting the steps before I could rest again.
I was right about the shape being the car we’d seen earlier. I circled it warily, just in case one of the swarm had found its way inside. The body Novak had removed lay beside the open driver’s door, but the car seemed unoccupied. I even checked underneath, just in case.
The trunk was still open. I dug through its contents, looking for a weapon. There was an old map, an empty gym bag, some grease-covered cloth, and a plastic ice scraper—no weapons. I’d almost given up when I remembered to check for a spare tire. It was hidden neatly behind a removable panel in the trunk, and when I popped the panel open, I found a four-ended lug wrench. It was light, but it would do for now.
Back in the car, blood and bits of brain were spattered across the driver’s headrest. I was used to dealing with such viscera, but that didn’t mean I wanted to sleep in it. I closed the driver’s door with my foot and got into the passenger’s side.
I sat in the
gloom for a few minutes. My headache had grown worse, probably due to lack of water, and my limbs and ribs still ached. And I was hungry. At the thought of food, my stomach let out a low, almost painful growl. I thought back to the girl I’d seen at the side of the road. Maybe I should go looking for roadkill in the morning.
I fumbled around at the side of the seat until I found the release handle and then tipped it backward. There was a long slash in the gray fabric covering the ceiling. I stared at the tear, convinced the aching in my limbs and the hunger would make it all but impossible for me to get any rest. A few minutes later, my eyes drifted shut, and sleep claimed me.
Chapter 27
Driver’s Dead
The thumping on the window woke me. It was daylight outside, but it took me a few seconds to remember where I was. Then a burst of fear hurtled me back to reality, and I was scrambling across the car onto the backseat, away from the zombie swiping at the passenger door.
His face—or hers, it was impossible to tell at first—had been torn apart. Ragged scraps of skin hung from scarlet muscle. His lips were missing completely, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. He pushed his face against the glass, smearing it with red-black slime.
There was another thud, and a second zombie lumbered into view. This one was huge. He pawed at the side of the car, his bloated form squashed against the glass, blocking out the light. I looked around, convinced I’d find the car surrounded by a swarm of zombies, but there were only two.
As my terror subsided, I searched for a weapon. I reached forward, pulled open the glove compartment, and yanked out the mass of paper and wet wipes wedged inside. There was a length of wire—some sort of charging cable. No weapons. I tried beneath the driver’s seat. After several seconds of unsuccessful fumbling, I remembered the lug wrench.
It had fallen down the side of the passenger seat. I found it and clutched it to my chest. It felt good in my hands, reassuring. I took a deep breath and coughed. The air in the car stank of the dead. It came from me, not the things outside trying to get in. My clothes were covered in gore that had dried during the night. As I moved around, I left flakes of blood and decaying matter across the seats.
Serial Killer Z: Volume One Page 40
