The Nameless Survivor (Valkyrie) (28 page)

              Finally the trail intersected with old Route Twenty-Seven, now nothing more than a crumbled relic of an ancient society, a testament to the fall of mankind. The last time I stepped foot on this section of road was towards the tail end of the initial outbreak. Towards the end of my journey to safety. However it was not the highway that I remember, no longer was it a path to life, but now resembled the road into hell.

             
A few hundred yards away hung an old road-sign, it's once bright green paint had all but peeled away, and the posts that held it upright were severely rusted to the point of crumbling. However, in its decay, the words were still legible. Faded with time, yet still clear as day, it was a sign sought by our own desperation. Within all of the corrosion was our upcoming destinations and they distances that we would have to incur.

Kingfield               5 Miles

Augusta               65 Miles

Portland             105 Miles

              Kingfield was just the town I was looking for, a prime location for survivors, and even if it turned up empty then abandoned supplies is what we would seek. Mini-Marts, Hardware stores, and even restaurants should provide us with something. I just hoped for a simple bag of Dorito's, or even a can of Coke to ease my neglected cravings. But I would settle for a can of sardines and a warm skunky beer.

             
As we entered town the only sound that could be heard was that of the shallow Sandy River, which snaked its way for miles through Basset Valley. All of the buildings showed severe signs of neglect, decaying much like that of the dead. Doors hung loose and paint peeled away from the frames in long scraggily strips. Most of the windows were long ago shattered, either by the weather or possibly even looters. A ghost town like that of an old wild-west story, only these ghosts were real and hungry.

             
The local general-store is where we hoped to find some alternative foods for our aching bellies. How nice it would feel to finally have a big and healthy bowel movement, my lower intestines have been tightly bound into knots for the last few days. Dried meat and limited water has wreaked havoc on my insides. But at first glance our optimism faded, the place was in shambles, like most of the other building. The siding was pot-market with a multitude of bullet holes, and laying upon the front step was the dried out remains of a human skeleton, its flesh had been picked clean long ago.

             
The store was all but completely looted and ransacked, the floor lay littered with empty containers and bags. Walls of coolers and freezers remained dark and empty, and a strong musty scent filled the air. There was not much left to rummage through, not even one pack of smokes was left behind the counter. Unfortunately, it seemed, that we had arrived six years too late. However, with luck, we did recover an old can of Uncle Dean's Tomato Soup as well as a large canned ham. Also, in the storage room, we surprisingly found a case of bottled water and one bottle of Fat Bastard Wine. It wasn't the Dorito's I had wished for, but it was still better than nothing.

             
We carried the feast out into the parking lot and sat in the sun for a nice warm autumn picnic. The tomato soup, although no longer a vibrant red but rather a brown aged sludge, tasted just as good as when my mother would make me grilled-cheese sandwiches and soup as a kid. But only a few sips for me, Mia finished the remained slop which she eagerly quaffed.

             
An aged and musky odor escaped from the canned ham as soon as my knife punctured the lid. Never the less, I continued to fumble with the can until the lid was successfully pried open revealing a chunk of grayish-green meat. Rotten or not, it was required nutrition, and we wasted no time digging into the gelatinous pork byproduct. We choked down a couple of handfuls of the putrid, processed meat, all the while attempting to enjoy it. I even tried to close my eyes and imagine I was eating gourmet cheese, like Blu Stilton or even Limburger. However the true taste was not something that could be easily imagined and would prove to be unforgettable.

             
Mia soon focused on the water, sucking down one bottle after the other, showing no interest in the wine which was still amazingly sweet. I had half expected that it would have turned to vinegar by now. As we finished our beverages we sat quietly together, listening to the river and the birds as I gently rubbed Mia’s perfectly round stomach. We were once again content, our bellies were full, and just like after a big old Thanksgiving dinner we were both dead tired.

             
So we decided to hold up in one of the old hotels for the night. It was shocking to see Sugarloaf Inn had been hardly touched since the end of man. Aside from a ransacked lobby the rooms themselves looked as if the beds had just been made. A thick layer of dust was all that told of how much time had passed. Even the mini-bar was still stocked, which I greedily packed up all the little bottles of vodka, gin and other assorted liquors.

             
Like a herd of cattle charging up over the horizon a subtle tremble began to build within my stomach. Then the wave of tremors became a painful quake and I dashed to the bathroom. I had little time to drop my pants and sat squat onto the dust-laden toilet before lunch plowed through my bowels. The bone-dry porcelain-void was filled instantaneously, and the air permeated with a feculent stench. To my relief, a full roll of toilet paper still hung from its spool, but unfortunately it was impossible to flush all that filth away. The smell lingered heavily upon the entire hotel-room, so in an embarrassing silence we packed back up and found a new room to bed down in for the night.

             
Mia and her pup rested at the hotel as I utilized what was left of the day to explore this forsaken town. Determination and desperation guided my priorities to find an alternate means of transportation, as strong as she is, I am unsure how much more Mia or the baby can handle. At first I discovered two promising bicycles, however upon closer inspection, deflated tires were overshadowed by rust-seized chains. And the automobiles which lay in decay throughout the streets are either devoid of fuel or too far gone to crank over.

             
As the sun drew closer to the horizon, my determination faded, and my feet slowly carried me back to the hotel in defeat. But then, something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, a handicap school-bus. Parked within a narrow alleyway between two large apartment buildings. I had seen it previously one my way through, yet dismissed it as just another hunk of junk and moved on. Although now it appeared as a gleaming beacon of hope, these old buses were well built and commonly survived the tests of time, but I did not get carried away with false optimism.  If anything, this rusty heap of metal may hold something of value, even if only a book or two to help pass the time.

             
Slowly I pulled myself up into the bus which appeared all but barren, only a foreboding corpse guarded the rear, possibly the former driver. I assumed by the dry and crusty remains that he took refuge within the yellow steal-cage during the initial panic of The Outbreak. Trapped to die in what would become his own personal coffin. Surprisingly though, his body has withstood the elements. Its flesh still remained but now dry like leather, dryer, naturally mummified.

             
His shriveled eyes were sealed shut and his mouth hung agape in frozen despair, parched for eternity.  He was a shielded victim of a world gone mad, and his tomb nothing but a dusty antiquity. Another dead end, just a disheartening sign of the times. And with respect, I threw him a subtle salute and turned to exit his sanctuary. But another gleaming beacon caught my eyes, the cloudy gauges upon the dash, and a half tank of fuel.

             
“What the hell.” I said out loud.

             
The springs beneath the driver’s seat creaked loudly with age as I plopped myself down upon it. It was doubtful that she would start, not after all these years of neglect, but at least I could say that I tried. It took a couple powerful and swift kicks with my boot to break the steering column free and reveal a tangle of wires. My young adventures of hooliganism taught me well for this task, and with these old vehicles it was all too simple. Within moments I had found the starter wires and pulled them from their junctions. Praying there would be enough juice in the old battery, I took a deep breath and touched the two ends together.

             
There was a low groan from the engine as what power was left struggled to ignite the rusted pistons. Frantically I pumped the gas, the groans and grinding increased rapidly as years of corrosion broke free and the engine churned to lubricate itself once again.  Then, a loud crack blasted out from the rear, and a cloud of black smoke rose up from the grate in the front. Violently the old bitch roared back to life, like the phoenix rising from its ashes. Our chariot, an armored vehicle to take us through hostile territory. Thankfully it appeared that my luck still lingered within me.

             
“Fuck Yeah!”

             
But my excitement vanished with a crusty presence of a hand up my shoulder. Whipping around, my heart began to pound as I found the once petrified corpse standing behind me. His mouth still agape and its jaw just barely attached by dry, jerky-like flesh. His eyes were now open, revealing nothing but sunken and grotesquely shriveled up prunes, black as the night. With hardly the strength to move, its dehydrated muscles prevented it from attacking with the ferocity I was accustomed to, slow as death. So I shoved it back and reached for my revolver, but it was not there, I had left it in the hotel room with Mia. My beloved luck tends to shine for mere moments before it cowers away.

             
The mummified corpse reached out again for me, desperate for sustenance to ease its feeble form. A master of conservancy, unlike any other life form on this planet. Years of starvation, silently and patiently waiting, for an unsuspecting victim to come along. He was the trap-door spider of this disease, just another evolutionary leap for the true dominate species. And the link to man’s extinction.

             
Swiftly I leaped from the bus and grabbed an old rusted shovel that lay against the wall of the adjacent apartment. The Necrotic slowly stumbled out from his den, a dry and dusty hiss escaped its throat as it again reached his frail arms out for me. Hard and fast I swung the rusted spade up against this walking-blights skull like a sledge hammer. An explosion of dried skin and bone billowed up above its head as he tumbled to the ground with a hard thud. Without hesitate I swung the shovel high up over my head then landing a few more blows atop of his.

“Mother Fucker!”

              Breathing heavily I focused on easing my adrenaline induced anger, and stared down upon the body that lay lifeless before me. A viscous black goo oozed slowly out of his skull and pooled upon the dirt-covered ground. As my heart settled, I stumbled back onto the bus and cranked the door shut behind me. The engine continued to idle hard, sputtering and backfiring as it worked to stay running off of the old diesel fuel within its belly. Quietly I sat in the driver’s seat, taking a moment reflect on yet another close call before moving on.

             
Before long I was on my way back to my beloved, ignoring the complaints of an old rickety bus as it shook and jolted violently in detest of its rude awakening. Mia was already awaiting me on the street as I pulled up to the hotel. The racket of this bus had drawn her outside, concerned over what had sounded like gunfire. But, she met me with a large beautiful smile stretched across her face as she slowly rubbed her large firm stomach. And without effort, I began to smile as well.

             
“Hopefully she will start again in the morning” I muttered as I disconnected the power and shut off the engine. I did not hesitate to jump out of the bus and rush over to my love, gently lifting her up into my arms to give her a big kiss. However her ever growing belly makes this more difficult every day. As I held her close, a faint, yet distinct sound approached us. A low buzzing that slowly grew into a loud rumble. It was something I had not heard since before The Fall, something I would have never expected to hear again. It was the sound of relief, the sound of a dawning new era, and end to all this death.

             
“That's a plane!” I exclaimed as I set Mia down and backed myself into the street. I held my hand up high to block the glare from my eyes, and at first I couldn't see a thing. But then - there it was - a large military aircraft, its long wings stretched out like a soaring eagle as it glided over the town. An aerial display of mankind’s achievements and will power, a message for the plague, we are here to stay.

             
Desperately I threw my arms into the air, frantically waving them in an attempt to signal the pilot, knowing all too well that it was far out of sight, but I waived anyway. And without acknowledgment the aircraft moved on, out of town, with no hope of rescue. The luster of my excitement diminished, and then was as faint as those thunderous props. The plane was gone as fast as it had come, and once again we were alone, or so we thought.

             
Multiple explosions rocked the streets as poofs of smoke billowed throughout the air just above the streets. Instantly I charged into the hotel, dragging Mia inside with me and to the dusty lobby floor. The bombardment continued as we covered our ears, and my mind began raced as more blasts echoed throughout the town. Windows shattered and the ground shook in what appeared to be a military sanctioned cleansing.