The Nameless Survivor (Valkyrie) (12 page)

             
Only once did I run out of rounds, thankfully, reloading at a full sprint can be tricky at best. I am almost sure I dropped a few as well, waste that I have become adamant of not repeating. Once I had calmed my nerves the executions became much easier, yet each shot was still like a knife in my heart as guilt immediately set in. I had never killed a man before, and to this day I can recall the words of my father on his time fighting in Vietnam.              

             
“Son, killing another man, just may be the worst pain one will ever have to live with for the rest of his life.” Still, he had never killed a child, which was far worse.

             
One by one they fell, until only a young five-year old girl was left in the wake. Something prevented me from delivering an explosive charge to her sweet devilish face. Instead, I took out her knees and she tumbled to the ground. Unflinching, her tiny fingers dug into the earth as she tried to pull herself towards me, still attempting to bite. Slowly I knelt down before her, staring into her foggy blue eyes as she snapped her gaping mouth out at me. I could tell that she was once a beautiful girl, even under all that charred flesh. But now the virus had taken hold, leaving evil walking corpse. One of the many Ghosts of Humanity.

             
“I can only pray that your soul has moved on.” I said.

             
I couldn't kill her, it, she appeared harmless enough now. No longer able walk and more importantly unable to run. With a sympathetic kiss to my hand, I placed it upon her head briefly before rising to me feet again. Turning my back on her I moved on, heading towards mount Trumble, and leaving the disabled copperhead to crawl aimlessly about the land.

est. 20th day, 1st Outbreak Moon;

              One night I found myself stuck in the middle of a typical late spring snow-storm. Heavy wet snow, mixed with rain and sleet that almost seemed to pierce my skin like tiny icy needles. A thicket of pine trees became my shelter for the night which acted like a perfect all-natural wind barrier. It was still cold and wet, but much better than the beaten I would have taken beyond. I didn't sleep, instead I huddled into a ball and waited out the untimely tempest.

             
The storm ceased its drenching cold rage a little after midnight, I believe, the temperature had jumped at least ten, maybe fifteen degrees. The forest was unusually quiet, only the pitter-patter of soggy snow falling from the trees could be heard and dark gray fog shrouded any sense of direction or obstacle that may of lay ahead. Yet I set off anyway, I've been told before that I have a compass naturally built into my head. It's always sort of been a sixth sense of mine, but natures clues do tend to play a big part in it. If you open your eyes and your mind, nature will talk to you, even provide warnings of what was to come. This morning, however, there were no warnings.

             
It wasn't long before I emerged from the forests and into a snow-covered hayfield. It must have been twenty or so acres of frozen grassland stretching towards another swath of forest in the distance. Empty, quiet and blanketed with that same thick gray fog, only now the sun's rays tried hard to penetrate the cloud cover.  Just towards the adjacent dark tree-line stood a lone and ancient tree. A large oak, completely bare following a long winter. Its shadowy limbs hung out over that field of fog like the hand of the dead reaching straight out of its own grave.

             
The dreaded silence and dense fog made for an eerie scene, like something depicted in one of Poe's dejecting sonnets. Dark and utterly depressing, a visage that only a mind of despair could imagine. But, this was no gothic-poem, and my forest of safety beyond now seemingly moved closer towards me. An adjacent tree-line it was not, but instead an advancing horde on the horizon. The town of Skoville lay not far off to the west, formerly a population of maybe ten thousand, but I feared less than half had survived, the rest unknowingly marched onto my position. It was now apparent the infection had quickly gained on me, and even jumped ahead. The scenery of that morning was my first glimpse into the scope of this pandemic, and without hesitation I moved on.

             
That dark and sinister morning fog had become my saving grace as I slipped back into the trees behind me. I was confident I could flank them, and when they eventually reached the other side, I would already be back on track to my destination. Slow and quietly I moved on, leaving behind the mindless and wandering townsfolk.

est. 26th day, 1st Outbreak Moon;

              Bassett Valley, a long stretch of route twenty-seven utilized by truckers and tourists alike. Now it was all but deserted; homes, camps, condos and gas-stations abandoned as soon as the virus had spread out of the cities. What fools they were, those mountains and valleys provided protection, a point of resistance. Their stupidity, however, now provided me with much needed supplies as I raided the valley of anything left behind. Reaching this region meant I was getting close to my destination, maybe only thirty miles now.

             
They last newspaper I came across was dated a mere two weeks prior, and provided no new information. The only sign of a still surviving nation was that of a small convoy of military trucks lead by a large tank. They passed by in quite a rush, heading straight for the Canadian border, and with a specific agenda. They paid me no mind and never returned, in fact until Mia, I had yet to run into any other breathers. In fact, for a while I believed I was the last man on earth.

             
The temperature had spiked over the course of the previous few days, and all the recently fallen snow had melted away. But, my body was now feeling the effects brought on from weeks of walking. My feet ached from old busted blisters, raw and slightly infected. Poison ivy had spread its itching and burning rash up my left arm, and I was covered head to toe in a multitude of bug bites. Mosquitoes, black flies, and ticks have all left there marks. Mingies however were the worst, those invisible bastards would always get to me, no matter how well I covered up.

             
The emptiness of the valley gave me the comfort to stop for the night and rest my sore bones. A small abandoned motel, Johnson's, once a hotspot during the winter months where college students flocked to ski and party. The empty motel had been vacated for weeks, and already the signs of squatters could be read like the words in a book. The rooms were ransacked, not a single mattress, TV, or even the holy bible remained. Still, it was protection from the elements, so I setup camp in one of the rooms. Settling in, I unpacked only the gear needed for the night, and secured a makeshift bed on the floor. My aching muscles however seemed to burn even more and became tense as my body attempted to rest.

             
I had collected a variety of herbs along the road and immediately utilized some of the gathered burdock roots to concoct an all-natural antiseptic. Soaking my feet in the boiled root was both soothing and agonizing at the same time. The hot water relaxed my aching muscles, however, the oils of the burdock root burned into the open sores like battery acid, a sure sign that its healing properties were working. After they soaked an hour or so I dressed them in some gauze from my first aid kit, then sat with my back against the wall to get some much-needed rest. My feet throbbed with pain as I attempted to fall asleep, fighting back the memories of those horrors I had seen thus far. A world full of fear can be even more dreadful once you close your eyes.

             
My feet continued to ache when my eyes snapped open a couple of hours later, however the burning sensation had drastically subsided. Although, it was not the pain that had pulled me out of my slumber. There was something outside, something shuffling about in the parking lot. I sat quietly, listening as the moon cast a bright blue light through the dusty windows, enough to see a tall shadow on the adjacent wall. Slowly it swayed back and forth in the moonlight, someone was out there.

             
Painfully yet quietly, I slid myself up the wall to peer out the window, at the same time drawing my pistol from the holster that hung upon a coat-rack. The parking lot was perfectly illuminated in the moonlight, but still I could see nothing. There was no more shadow, no figure, and the shuffling had ceased. An eerie calm had fallen over the area. Cautiously I crept out of the hotel, gun poised and ready to fire. Still nothing, no sound, not even the slightest breeze broke the silence.

             
I was almost to the main road when I heard the unmistakable sound of low gurgle followed by a menacing snarl – directly behind me. Spinning back around towards the motel, gun out and ready for anything, only to find a single man perched upon the rooftop. His pale skin almost glowed in the moon light, his arms draped down from his shoulders as he hunched over like an ape. For a moment I eased off the trigger thinking it was just another survivor keeping safe above ground.

             
However, with swift cat-like reflexes he leaped from his perch and landed mere feet from me. Startled, I stumbled backwards, fumbling to aim the gun at its head while trying to catch my breath. He was obviously infected, yet he was not like any I had ever seen before. He seemed to be almost perfectly aware of his surroundings, and definitely more agile. He stood there so eloquently, cocking his head from side to like it was checking me out. Studying me or even anticipating my next move, like a cat ready to pounce on a naive mouse.

             
He was a thin man, his lips scarred and blistered with only a few partially rotted teeth still hanging on to his bleeding gums. His dark curly hair was more of a mangled birds-nest, and his loose tank-top and jogging pants were stained red with blood. If memory serves, he bared no bites, nor scratches. There was no sign of any encounter with another infected. The only lacerations I could see were the tiny track marks running up his arms like an old road map. A junkie, inevitably turned by the sharing of needles, the ultimate overdose. Obviously the toxins running through his veins had altered the virus in some way, or maybe just allowed more freedom within the brain itself, I couldn't be sure.

             
Displaying swift reflexes its arm slashed out at me, knocking the gun from my hand and waking me from my moment of stupor. Hard and fast I bolted down the road, the gauze from my feet gradually unraveled and trailed behind like streamers in a parade. I wore only tighty-whities, carried no supplies, no weapons, and I was all but a dead man. Swiftly I glance back, praying not to find him at my heels, but instead I discovered a more sinister trait to this disease. Like a wild animal in the African jungles it leaped forward five feet with each step, zig-zagging along with me, anticipating my every moved.

             
Telephone poles, street signs and trees became his own jungle gym as he flung onto then leaped off them to maintain pursuit. It was obvious though, he was just playing with me, leaping and bouncing about simply to make me feel like I actually had a chance. It sounds crazy, but mindless he was not. Swiftly I darted left and down into the entrance of a small airport, the runway was nothing more than a paved field. No radar station, no air traffic control. A small town airport at its best. An open area that I may gain ground, and plan an attack.

             
Using a row of parked single-propped planes as cover, I pushed towards the runway itself. The infected thumped upon one plane and lunged onto the next, trailing up fast right behind me. As I past the last plane I snagged a monkey-wrench that lay atop a large rolling tool box and darted out onto the blacktop. With adrenaline induced dexterity I spun around and stopped dead in my tracks, leaving myself wide open to the blood-thirsty predator. He had already leaped from the last plane and was in midair, seemingly flying straight down atop of me like a mountain-lion leaping for its prey.

             
I swung fast and hard, powered by gut-wrenching hatred. HOME FUCKING RUN! His head exploded like a piñata as he plummeted atop of me, slamming me hard, down into the pavement. Quickly I threw the corpse off, and frantically crawled away before slumping down in exhaustion. Laying upon my back, I desperately caught my breath before I propped myself up to look back at the corpse. I'm unsure if it was the drugs that made it so nimble and lethal, but this was the one and only Tweaker I have ever run into. It is hard enough to deal with just one of them, but to think if there were hundreds? The inner-cities of New-York, Boston, or even Los-Angeles must have seen the highest populations of them.

             
Sleep had soon overcome me, right there on the runaway, only to awaken early the next morning just after sunrise. However, the run-way was no longer empty. At the far end were a few badly injured infected stumbled slowly towards me, dragging their feet behind them leaving trail of blood. There was no time to deal with any infected right now. I ignored them and immediately headed back to my hotel room. My feet continued to ache but I pushed on. Only thirty more miles, just a measly thirty, and then I could finally get some real rest.

circa: 1st Fish Moon thru 1st Blood Moon;

              Charles Darwin once said, “It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change.” The change that Darwin spoke of was change that occurs over a course of a few million years. Not change that occurs over the course of one hellish night. That type of change requires both of the for-mentioned traits; strength, intelligence and of course what Darwin failed to mention, absolute fortitude.