The Reaper Virus Read online

  “NOW!!” the suicide bomber screamed, still fending off the outer waves.

  A flicker of flame shot my eyes away from the musical diversion. Two other men ran from beyond my view. One was holding an amber colored glass bottle with a flaming rag jutting from its top. He hurtled the flaming Molotov cocktail at the excited horde. I shielded my face at the burst of light. Beyond me the group of thirty was engulfed in flames. In such a horrid scene, logic dictated that these human forms should have been reacting to being set on fire, but they didn’t. Some seemed irritated at the distraction from their interest. The rest just kept moving excitedly about as they had before, only completely consumed by fire. Any of the diversion had already become inaudible above the ungodly chorus of the dead.

  The fire bomber ran right back to where he came from after unleashing his attack. Now the second man’s weapon of choice was visible – a twelve gauge shotgun. The shooter dove prone and began firing the weapon. Booming blasts echoed along the tree line and filled my ears with high-pitched ringing. I covered my ears and realized what was going on. The man was clearly trying to pierce the propane tank!

  My eyes went wide knowing what was about to unfold. Some of the infected directly in the path of the blasts were cut down with lethal effectiveness. The searing munitions blew apart the weakened undead flesh and sent the front row to the ground. Everything was happening so fast I almost didn’t duck down. Then the man hit his target.

  A concussive wave knocked me from my feet and onto the gravel below. Sheer luck had me look down the moment of the blast. If I hadn’t, I question how well I’d be able to see right now. The explosive shriek of tearing metal was the last thing I heard. My already traumatized ears were drowned in a head throbbing ring.

  Fire was peppered everywhere. Some of the traffic jammed cars had caught fire too. A few feet ahead there was a charred leg, tennis shoe still attached, teetering against the rail from its meteoric impact. Standing up I was awestruck at what surrounded the area. Fallout from this attack could be seen anywhere I looked. Now would be a good time to move. The area crossing was thrown into such disarray that I’d never get a better opportunity to slip through unnoticed. Adrenaline again fueled my trek towards survival. I didn’t have time to think or plan. Despite the deafness that still afflicted me I had to act and so once again I ran.

  Through the smoke of smoldering corpses I couldn’t see the men that wrought this hell upon the zombies. The cars were now feet away. I made the mistake then of looking over towards the devastation and that’s when I saw the sprawled figure of the shooter. Shrapnel from the tank had cleaved his head in two. Burns consumed his back and arms all the way to the shotgun still fused in his outstretched grip.

  The first car I came to had a torso jutting out of the windshield, a hunk of ravaged flesh that stuck out of the glass like a tree limb after an accident. I averted my gaze and focused on the matter at hand. It took some careful side-stepping, but within seconds I cleared the traffic jam of corpses and cars.

  A blazing figure lunged at me from behind a tree that faced the school and very much like the ghoul, this tree had become largely engulfed in the cleansing fire. The demon did not behave like it was minutes away from ash; all it wanted was to devour me. I gave the Kukri a roundhouse swing. No part of me wanted to get closer to a zombie, let alone a flaming zombie, so the blade hit the beast’s forehead and decimated all in its path. The attack was more devastating than others I had performed. I wondered if maybe the fire weakened the infected flesh to make it more pliable.

  I jumped over a few more pieces of smoking debris. The fence welcomed me back into its protected borders. Trees sheltered me to the south and the school continued past the chain link wall to the north. Smoke and exertion burned my lungs. I slowed my pace and looked back at the crossing. A considerable gap in the horde had formed. Suddenly this all began to make sense.

  Still catching my breath I shifted my glance to the school. I saw the people staring back at me and the fires outside. It wasn’t just an attack – it was a rescue mission. Then elevated headlights cut through the smoke. I ducked to the tree line as the pickup truck ran over flaming obstacles and reached the school. Human figures raced in the wake of the truck. Every person I saw was armed with anything from rifles to a pickaxe. The men who made the kamikaze attack were clearing the way for rescue. Knowing this now, I hope the shooter was the only casualty.

  With so much evil in the new world it was refreshing to know that human compassion was still possible. Looking away from the mission being executed at the school I knew I should join them and help. It didn’t matter how many people were trapped in the building or who they were. All that mattered was that they were still people.

  My ears were still ringing. I moved a hand to massage my battered ears. It returned with a light amount of crimson red coating. Wonderful. Now my damn eardrum was probably ruptured. I wiped my hand across my filthy pant leg and noticed that up the tracks people were fighting off undead that had been drawn by the commotion.

  “I need to help them,” raced through my mind. The doors to the school were likely opened now. People began to pile into the truck bed and even more undead wobbled in and joined the battle to close the gap formed by the explosion. A stray bullet splintered into a tree a few feet from my hiding place. I looked at my hand. It was still stained with my own blood. Memories spurred by this sight flashed over my consciousness. I saw myself on the bridge. I could feel the frigid air biting at the tears streaming down my cheeks. The blood wiped on my jacket belonged to the friend I had just murdered.

  My hearing was starting to come back. I returned to reality with gunshots clattering all around. A man screamed, “GO! GO! GO! Watch out for the one behind you!” I looked at the Kukri, unmoved from my grip. It was polluted with flecks of charred flesh and the muck of infected gore.

  Turning away, I saw the barren railroad tracks that led to my family. Air properly inflated my lungs again. Adrenaline still ran so thick that my tortured body enjoyed a mild reprieve from the pain. I glanced back at the rescue mission. If the people didn’t abort their efforts soon all would be lost. Several of the defending gunmen were now using their weapons as clubs to stave off the eager ghouls. Shame filled my soul knowing what I must do.

  “I’m sorry,” I said under my breath. Once again my boot crunched against the gravel and carried me down the tracks. The school and the crossing grew distant, soon joining the featureless landscape of the infinite railway.

  The moment I was confident I’d put enough distance between myself and the battle, I sat to refuel. My hands clasped together and I prayed once again. “We had a deal, God. Judge me after I save the ones I’m meant to save.”

  * * *

  1211 hours:

  Hatred divided my body and brain. Brazen determination drove my mind. That was the only factor that had kept me standing. Every cell in my person supported surrender. I was honestly afraid that if I were to stop I would be unable to start again. Preventing my thoughts from becoming preoccupied with injury took more effort than the actual walk.

  It had been a long hour since last seeing the school. I don’t know if the rescue party ever succeeded in their mission. Of course I hope they did. I’ll never know if my turning back and helping would have helped anything. These people were risking everything to save other people. I suppose that has to mean they were “good.” While I stood in the shadows watching their valiant efforts I felt tortured with mistrust. Visions of Phil’s desperate betrayal permeated my reasoning. This blended with my homebound aspirations and forced me to turn the other way. I was growing concerned with how forcefully stoic I’d become. In the last day I’d done such deplorable things. My selfish actions were worthy of criminal acclaim, yet I felt no remorse. My obsession with getting home had blocked everything else.

  Since leaving the crossing at Jahnke Road I hadn’t had to deal with any undead. The fence along the tracks had been my saving grace. Many times I saw them standing at the wall. E
ach of the sickening figures just watched me pass while clattering against the chain link barrier, snapping their jaws at nothing. Whenever I would waltz past, the closest ones would get invigorated with hunger. Each stupidly tried to walk through the fence, letting out a frustrated array of sounds.

  My tolerance level for seeing the infected had worn dangerously thin. Forty-eight hours before, I crumpled just being close to them. I saw those who’d succumbed to the Reaper virus as victims. By that time, I was so tired I felt more hatred than fear. It should have been that anything moving with a human shape conveyed a certain level of respect. But after seeing so many deranged, deformed, and ghoulish looking people I feel little for them.

  At one point I was surrounded by a pleasantly wooded area of the tracks. Glancing at the scenic trackside I suspected calm might be achievable for the first time in hours. I took some of the tainted water and cleaned off my beloved weapon. The unpopulated area gave me some leeway with carrying it. The blade could rest in its scabbard until danger became more prevalent. Having both hands free made me think of snacking. I found my last power bar and enjoyed some lunch. My provisions were running low. If I couldn’t find some supplies or a faster way to travel, I’d be in worse shape.

  Consumed calories and a lack of infected enabled me to feel surprisingly good. That was until I saw a lone zombie wedged between thick holly bushes and the fence. It saw me and jostled around like he was being tickled. The bastard didn’t care that it was stuck – it only wanted to get me. I slowed my walk and shook my head in disgust. He tried to make the biting motion reapers had become so notorious for, but couldn’t close his jaw completely. Instead, it rubbed up against the wire netting so much that I could see bone where his chin should be.

  I stopped and pondered the beast. Something compelled me to take a few steps closer. He grew wild with my new proximity. The zombie’s hair was shaven into a sloppy Mohawk. Beady onyx eyes glared through frames of metal squares. While this creature had a pulse he’d had a ratty looking goatee. Thanks to the fence it had been worn to the bone, along with the rest of his chin. Anything above the chin served as a sponge for untold types of gore. He didn’t wear a jacket, but instead sported a soiled long-sleeved white polo shirt. Embroidered on the shirt pocket in bold yellow lettering was the name – MARCEL - and beneath it – Cubit Mini Storage - in a smaller font.

  Days before I would have pitied the poor man for getting trapped at work just as I had. Now I just imagined him in life and concluded I wouldn’t have liked the guy. I went to walk away when Marcel got offended by my disinterest. He let out a frustrated gurgle and spewed a slick of noxious tar from his mouth. It spurted through the chain and painted the gravel bordering the fence. This disgusting flood now made his sanded facial features indiscernible. I could barely see the careful embroidering on the uniform someone once bestowed upon this pathetic employee.

  My knees creaked when I knelt down. I felt around the gravel and selected a few larger stones. Marcel cocked his head and chomped wetly. One by one I threw the stones at the zombie. Most of the rocks hit the fence or his body. This accomplished nothing other than making me feel slightly better. Almost like my pelting this undead man with rocks would scare off all of his brethren I’d inevitably encounter today. Marcel’s reaction to the stoning could barely be considered a reaction at all. He just kept writhing around, chomping at a meal that might as well be miles away. My sanity returned after the seventh piece of gravel. I knew I’d wasted time with this sadistic therapy.

  “I would tell you to rot in Hell if we weren’t already there, Marcel,” I said aloud to the beast. At hearing my voice, he thrashed about, the lubrication from his putrid vomit aiding his range of movement.

  My fist clenched around the cool last stone. It reminded me of the piece of coal Phil used to catch the rope on the bridge column. A deep sigh filled my chest causing needles of pain. “Phil, you’re never going to leave my conscience, are you?” Several feet beyond me, the reaper acted like I was teasing him. In reality I was. He cocked his head to the other side and a moan gurgled through his jaws. “Fuck you, Marcel! Who the fuck has a douchebag name like Marcel anyway?”

  I threw the last rock much harder. It missed the chain and caught Marcel directly in his left eye. His head jerked backward from the impact. For a moment he was still and I wondered if I’d scored a one in a million kill shot, but then his neck flipped back and I saw the rock protruding from his eye socket. Gelatinous muck seeped from where his eye had been a second earlier. The sight disgusted me. Marcel only let this deter him for a second. After his composure was regained he went right back to his moaning hunger.

  I’d had enough. It was time to keep traveling down the tracks. Marcel’s clattering quickly faded behind, and I heard only the crunching beneath my boots. Distance is a hard thing to judge in landscape that is so similar. My pace quickened to make up for the time I had wasted on Marcel. Ever since I started on this railed passageway I’d tried to keep my eyes on the goal ahead. The few times I deviated from this produced bad results. Of course, the most notable was when I rescued Phil. Aside from that I hadn’t encountered many nice things. Marcel and his oozing repugnance was no exception to the trend. In my peripheral vision I saw houses breaking the tree line. I had to put effort in dashing my hopes for seeing pleasant households.

  A quarter of a mile down a tapping sound stopped my walk. I could barely hear it above the pattering of the grinding pebbles. My body froze and my breathing reduced to a pathetically battered wheeze. No tapping could be heard. Was I losing it? The undead world had succeeded in battering my wits enough to make background noise poke holes in my precious sanity.

  Then I heard it again: tap – tap – taptap – tap. Immediately my brain filled in the finalizing “tap tap”. This was the melody behind every lame secret knock for kids’ clubhouses around the country. Now I was convinced I’d lost what remained of my mind. Searching for some kind of sane confirmation I looked around the fence on both sides. There was a house with a window protruding from the barren trees. Something in the window caught my eye…

  Malnutrition, exhaustion and suppressed pain have a way of distorting your vision at times. I squinted to compile the blurred fringes into something recognizable. The source of this secret knock quickly saved me the effort. In that top window there was a small shape of a person waving excitedly. After taking a few steps closer I saw a little girl hoisted up on the opposite side of the glass, her tiny arm clad in the sleeve of a puffy pink coat. Her blonde hair bounced wildly with each excited wave.

  Still not convinced this was real I stepped closer. The little girl knew she’d gotten my attention and smiled so wide I could clearly see it. She put her little hand in a fist to make the secret knock again. I smiled. Calise would have done something just like this. Even the mere thought of my daughter flooded my thoughts with mixed sorrow.

  Tap – tap – taptap – tap…

  I shifted so that my hands would connect to a side not obscured by my person. Just moving in a way that was outside of the marching routine I’d developed creaked pain from places I’d almost forgot were injured. With a faked pseudo-clapping action I replied: Clap – clap.

  She bounced up and down with her little pink arms flailing around. I waved, my smile now genuine, amazed to see innocence on this wretched journey. The little girl waved back until a larger figure yanked her out of view. My hand froze in the air and I stared, fearing something horrible. An adult figure was now in the window. A woman with tied back hair stared down at me with a blank look. Hoping for the best I resumed my wave. The woman shook her head with scolding disapproval. She exaggerated a point in my direction. I pointed at my chest questioning her motives. Her head nodded even more like I’d finally gotten the message. She then pointed down the tracks very forcefully. A startled surge hit my gut. This woman had to be warning me that danger was coming!

  I drew my weapon and flipped around. The gash on my forehead stung when my makeshift bandage moistened with
nervous sweat. That voice of doubt scolded me inside. How could I have let my guard down like that? Nothing was there. The tracks were just as empty as they’d been since the battle by the school. I looked back at the window and saw it empty.

  Had I imagined all that? After a few seconds I grew very sad at what had transpired. There was no way I could have hallucinated the little girl and the knock. That woman, the girl’s mother perhaps, just wanted me to leave. To her I was just an outside threat. Honestly, I don’t blame her, because I probably would have done the same. The tracks were clear ahead. I returned the Kukri to its scabbard and kept walking.

  Maybe you should just let go of what's left.

  The words found their way out of my thoughts to the loneliness around me. It would be easier if I was too far gone to care. I shook my head at the defeatist rambling. I was ready to give up on myself and on this fucking place. The mindless walking had turned into a self debate on suicide.

  “But I'll never be ready to give up on them...”

  Chapter 22

  Boundaries

  While marching another quarter mile up the tracks I felt fairly sure that I’d be coming up on Midlothian Turnpike soon. For the life of me I couldn’t remember if the tracks crossed this road or went under them. A few minutes later I could see the dauntingly shaded overpass formed by the major road. My shoulders slumped down.

  “At least I don’t have to cross between any cars…” I thought aloud.

  Midlothian Turnpike is a big street. The tracks would be passing in between some heavily populated areas. Nearby, there should be clusters of retail and housing. My anxiety level was on par with how I felt before crossing the river. All the overpasses thus far had been vacant. Going under them, I hadn’t even been able to tell what, if anything, waited on top, but even from a distance I can tell that this bridge wasn’t clear. Its silhouette had the uneven contours of a city skyline. Poor lighting from the thickly polluted clouds aided the moderate haze still clinging to the landscape. Once again, circumstance would prevent me from properly preparing for whatever was ahead.