The Nameless Survivor (Valkyrie) (31 page)

              Something else is here with us, something lurks deep within this massive dungeon. Mia is still fast asleep, but the noises that echo from within the bowels of this mill has awoken both Nova and I. Sounds too faint to make out, possibly voices, but they were just too far away. I just hope that they are.

             
When I first awoke, I mistook the raucous to be nothing more than a pair of Owl’s seeking shelter from the cold. But, their hoots are too random, and without rhythm. And then there is an array of clanging, thumping, and smashing of unknown objects, followed by a few more hoots then a ghastly shrills. Thankfully it has been silent for the last few minutes, but the fear of the unknown has already set in.

             
Nova is aware and has become quite antsy, tense, like she's preparing to charge an enemy. The fur upon the ridge of her back is erect and her tail bushy with apprehension. She has not growled, or made any sound whatsoever. It doesn’t even appear that she is breathing, she is utterly focused on listening. Something is getting closer, and I dare not light a torch in fear of attracting whatever wanders these catacombs, what little moonlight shining through the dusty windows will have to be enough.

             
My pistol lays at my side in case this – thing, just happens to get too close. Although I would prefer not to pull the trigger which would breed echoes that will most definitely attract the infected from all around. The last thing we need is to be driven deeper into this tomb, cornered with nowhere to go.

             
I just hope that Mia sle…

continuance;

              My hearts painful pounding will not ease and I am finding it difficult to catch my labored breath. It is these close encounters that nearly give me a heart attack, and at my age it is becoming ever so likely. Yet, over all the racket, Mia was not woken from her slumber, and Nova is no longer agitated. Still, I do not believe I will be able to sleep tonight, which will make for a long and tiresome day.

             
He approached silently, like a hunter stalking it's pray. Yet I had surprised him just as much as he had surprised me. Stevie now lays to rest upon the cement floor in the adjacent room. Although it may have just as well been me laying there as he chewed through my sleeping beloved. It was a battle that ended with a simple flip of a coin. However I did have a slight advantage over that son of a bitch.

             
It was when a door in the other room creaked open that I dropped my pencil and silently crept over to get a better look. Foolishly though, I left my pistol on the floor, and did not realize it until I was already through the doorway. Just another idiotic mistake to add to my list, and it's getting big. Thankfully my knife was still strapped to my waste, which I quickly pulled out. The room was even darker than the one we stayed in, just a singular beam of moonlight bled in, and at first it appeared cold and empty. It did occur to me that a breeze may have pushed open the rusty door - if only that were the case.

             
As I turned to retreat back to our dusty condo, a familiar shuffle broke the silence before something lightly brushed against my shoulder. Together we whipped around, face to face, frantically startled. Startled? The dead are not startled? However, there was no time to contemplate the matter. The thing before me quickly reached up and his grimy paws grasped tight onto my shoulders as he pushed me hard against the wall. His teeth gnashed at me and a foul stench filled my nose as a gaseous vapor escaped his throat.

             
Gagging, I pushed him back with all my might, forcing him backwards and into that wisp of moonlight, giving me a better look. An infected black man, naked as the day he was born, and badly injured. His body was littered with wounds, shards of glass imbedded into the skin, a couple bullet wounds, and even a dried out wooden stick protruded from his shoulder.

             
The worst of his injuries, which is what gave me the advantage, were his eyes. They were not the cloudy, lifeless eyes of an infected, nor the bright clear eyes of the living. In fact, he had no eyes. Just putrid holes remained, long before cut away, or maybe even pushed in by a pair of strong thumbs. A blackened sludge seeped from the sockets, congealing upon his pale skin. His head cocked back and forth as he listened intently, attempting to pinpoint my location as his hands stretched out before searching the dusty air. If only there were a piano, and the entire scene may have been slightly comical.

             
But I had not time to laugh, it must have been my heavy breathing, for within moments he had locked onto my position and lunged for me. I darted to the side and swung hard with my blade... It was no longer within my grasp, mindlessly dropped with our first altercation. So without deliberation and unarmed, I attacked with only brute strength and overwhelming rage.

             
Swooping around to his back-side I successfully locked my arm tightly around his masticated neck. Increasing the pressure like a vice his throat collapse with a crunch, and a series of cracks a pops reverberated up his spine. His hands frantically reach back for me as my grasp tightened even more. Desperately he gagged and gasped for air, his fists slapping against my shoulder, unable to break free from my frenzy. Slowly he began to lose strength and gradually slid down towards the floor before completely collapsing.

             
Even when any hint of life had left those infected bones, I continued to hold tight, ensuring the threat was diminished. My mind was dark, empty. Only a fire of hate burned within my neurons, hate and death. I was no longer the man I once knew, I changed, for that brief moment I had become something else. A beast, a mindless fiend with a thirst for blood. I was one of them, damned.

             
When I finally did let go and my thoughts slowly raced back together, I just sat on the floor and stared at the lifeless body before me. The beast within had left, and my ill-fated compassion flooded my senses. The man before me was no monster, just a lonely man lost within his own mind. Beaten and battered, mutilated and manipulated, a soul forgotten by time. Now, he was whole again, he was finally at peace. It wasn't until then that it dawned on me, Mr. Wonder should still be a threat.

             
The dead don't need to breath, did I just kill an innocent man? What about his wounds, even the gunshots, no man could survive with all that. No, he was most definitely infected, but he was also unlike any I had seen thus far. Maybe it was just habitual, instinctual contractions of the chest, something left over in that corrupted brain. Either way, I was not taking any chances that he may rise again. With a swift stomp of my boot, his head caved in releasing a rush of putrid blood and matter.

             
When I returned to Mia, Nova lay next to her with her blue eyes locked on the doorway. Mia however, had not even budged from her slumber. At least she will have a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, we will begin the final half of our journey, and for the time being I will keep Mr. Wonder to myself, or maybe even forever.

continuance;

              We emerged from the mill early this morning and set off to find an easy route to Highway Seventeen. It was going to be another nice day, aside from the cold. The sun is finding it harder and harder to warm the ever shortening days. Yet it provides an invigorating crispness to the air, as long as there are no corpses around. Late autumn in New England is a peaceful time of the year. Even in decay there is still such beauty. It is something the leaf-peepers knew, but something I had always disregarded.

             
We moved on, walking briskly and making good time. I would say we covered at least eight, maybe ten miles today, but we have so much more ground to cover, and the silence will only make it harder. Mia has not spoken a word since last night, she drifting. Even if we do make it to Rockland, I fear it will be too late. Her mind is about to shatter, and there is nothing I can do about it.

              Mia and I startled a woman and her young boy this morning while traversing a small ravine. We have continued to ignore the warnings of the GFS and avoid the main roads as much as possible, both in an attempt to save time but also in comfort that the trees provide us. Obviously we are not alone in that comfort. The two of them hadn't woken yet from last night’s slumber, but no one truly sleeps these days, the snap of an overlooked stick beneath my foot had proven such. The woman sprung frantically from her dusty quilt with gun instinctively drawn and cocked. Without pause I raised the rifle and cocked my head tight against the stock to take aim.

             
Aside from her greasy brown hair and disheveled appearance, I was instantly attracted to her, and ashamed of such feelings. There was something about her that pulled at my emotions, something that some may call ‘love at first sight,’ but it was not love. Lust maybe, my testosterone peaking just at the sight of her, another womb for me to souse. But just as quick, I banished such thoughts, my hormones will not define me. My love for Mia is still strong, stronger than anything I have ever felt before.

             
The boy at her side was not much older than six or seven, and he too had seen better days, cute but morbidly feeble. The woman trembled feverishly as the boy shied in behind her, and her gun rattled so violently in her hand that I feared it may accidentally go off. I too began to tremble as I watched her eyes dart between me and Mia then back again. She was naturally guarded but lacked composure, I had to extinguish the situation, and I had to calm her nerves.

             
“Don't shoot!” I said as I lowered my rifle. “We're not going to hurt you.”

             
Thankfully Mia took the initiative and stepped forward between the woman and I, which seemed to immediately ease her fear. Slowly she too lowered her gun, breathing deeply while trying to control her shakes. The daze in her big brown eyes showed her tales of a tortured past, plagued not only by the dead but also a river of deceit and depredation. Yet, it appeared she would prefer to trust and endure the consequences, rather than remain guarded and alone.

             
“You scared the shit out of us.” She finally stuttered.

             
“Sorry about that.” I retorted as I slung my rifle out behind my back. “Didn't mean to sneak up on you.”

             
“Are you from Fort Rockland?” She asked and immediately Mia and I look at each other.

             
“No, actually, we were hoping that you were.”

             
“Sorry, No. My name is Heather, and this is Little Marky.” She said as she reached out and shook my hand.

             
“Looks like we're heading in the same direction.” I said after introducing Mia and myself.

             
“I had hoped we would of run in to others sooner, you’re the first we have seen in months.”

             
“Don't get your hopes up to soon, we still have quite the trek ahead of us.”

             
“I'd offer you some breakfast, but we ain't got much to offer. A few stale crackers and a can of - something.”

             
“Tell you what, breakfast is on us.” I offered as I hauled out some jerky and handed everyone a generous piece.

             
Little Marky gorged savagely upon the tough chunk of meat, as if he were a feral boy who hadn’t eaten in weeks, which wasn’t far from the truth. When he finished his piece he smiled up at me, a silent thank you for my generosity. I doubt he has seen much in his life, and if it wasn't for Mia, I expect our introductions would have fell south very rapidly. An armed man in this wilderness is something to fear, but a well fed and bruise free pregnant girl gives one a little hope that not everything in the world is shit. Just most things.

             
In return of my generosity, Heather stoked up the coals in her makeshift fire pit and brewed up some fresh pine-tea to wash down the dry meat. The liquid warmed and energized our bodies from the oppressive boreal-air, and as we relished in it our fears subsided and we began to converse. Nothing much of importance, mostly about the GFS.

“Do you really believe they built a secure fort?” She asked.

“Doubtful, but there is no harm in being optimistic.” I answered with a wink.

“Optimism is a rare commodity these days.”

“True, but just getting word from other survivors, organized survivors, is definitely a boost.”

             
She through me a quick smile before staring back down into her half-empty mug, but her smile did not initially fade away, a sliver of a smirk remained. I too was smiling, grinning ear to ear, as much as I tried to ignore this feeling it only burned hotter in my veins. I barely met this woman, so how could I have such feelings? How could I when I am infinitely devoted to Mia?

             
Mia? Her eyes seared into me with anger in jealousy. She could see the connection between Heather and I, for which she fumed silently to herself. So in a selfless gesture to ease her temper and reassure my love, I flashed a quick smile and leaned over to kiss her. Unfortunately she quickly turned her head, but still I made contact with the smooth flesh of her cheek. I fear that her depression may only grow deeper now, and I know not how to cure it…

             
The sun had broken over the pink horizon by the time we were done, and Heather packed up before we made our way out of the ravine and up onto the barren roadway. Four pairs of feet are hard enough to silence in the forest, eight pair would have been an impossibility. Unanimously we heeded the GFS’s advice and followed the beaten pavement.

             
“You seem more prepared than us, how about you take the lead?” she offered.

             
“I was heading for Union, I'm guessing it's only seven or eight miles from here.” I suggested.

             
“Union, what so special there?”

             
“These days, nothing.” I answered. “But my grandfather’s old farm-house is out that way. It should be secure, we can hold up there for the night, then start again in the morning.”

             
“So you know the area well?” she asked.

             
“Born and raised.” I answered with a smile.

             
As we moved on, Mia and the boy lagged a few yards behind Heather and myself, talking each other’s ears off like two little kids in a schoolyard. It was nice to finally see Mia talking, even if it was to someone else. Heather and I walked ahead, getting to know each other, along with innocent yet condemnable flirtation. Mia was well aware of this, her gaze burning into the back of my head for the entire day.

             
“So, where are you coming from?” I asked Heather.

             
“Canada.”

             
“Shit, you’ve been on the road awhile then.”

             
“We have.” She muttered.

             
“It’s odd that I hear no French accent.” I probed.

             
“Aimez-vous les accents francais?” She responded with a devilish smile.

             
“My mother’s side is of French decent, just don’t expect me to converse much. I speak very little of it.”

             
“I see,” she paused, “I wasn't born there, moved up from New York about eight years ago.”

             
“That’s quite the migration.”

             
“My husband got a job, at a paper mill. We couldn't pass up the money. Two years after the move I was pregnant with Marky, then Jason lost his job. We received an eviction notice the day before the outbreak was announced.”

             
“What became of Jason?” A stupid question.

             
“Trampled at the border when we tried reenter the country. The military was unable hold back all of those people. I was able to get through thanks to trucker who was heading south.” She said, yet her tone had become almost mournful.

             
“A trucker?” I pushed.

             
“A life-saver... And a life taker.” She wiped a single tear from her eye. “He just drove over all those people, I begged him to stop – but, it was for the best. The border was soon over-run, and all those people would have died anyway.”

             
“What happened to this trucker?”

             
“Dead.”

             
“Bitten?” I asked.

             
“No – I slit his throat, right after cutting off his balls.” She said with contempt.

             
I knew not to press the subject any further. So, I told her my story, and a bit of Mia's as well, being sure to leave out details I myself try to forget. And so we walked nonstop most of the day and arrived at the old farm-house a bit after sunset. Sadly, though, it had burnt down years ago. The assortment of bleach white skeletons strewn about the place was evidence that the area was overrun early into the outbreak. The last I had heard was that my Uncle Alfred took ownership of the land, and justifiably one of those carcasses may have been his. The sight of my child-hood memories turned to ash only deepened my depression.

             
Luckily though, the barn still stood, tall and strong. Moreover the loft remained full with bales of hay, untouched for years. We did not hesitate to build ourselves large and comfortable beds, Heather and Marky remained on the ground floor, while Mia and I chose to above. It was comfort, something we knew would not last for long, but we tried hard not to think about that. 

continuance;

              Luckily Heather had something substantial to feast upon this evening, two unmarked and rusty cans. We quickly cracked them open, eager to see what our bounty would be. However the dark gray goop inside could have been a number of things but the smell test unanimously found it to be a Cream of Something soup. She poured each can into a small pot that she had carried with her and I threw in the remaining jerky and dried fish without hesitation. It was a possibility that if we left early enough in the morning we could make it to Fort Rockland by nightfall, and a full stomach would be better than a barren one.

             
While sitting around the campfire, watching our dinner concoction brewing, Heather and I told more stories. Mostly get-to-know-you tales and every so often a few jokes thrown in to lighten the mood. Mia though, remained silent, huddled against me and fixated on the crackle of the fire. I gently ran my fingers through her hair, trying to reassure my love for her. But she failed to acknowledge it, and focused on the fire as she ran her own fingers through Nova’s fur.

             
During that long missed social hour I witnessed something that for a moment caught me off guard. Maybe it is just a side of survival I had not been accustomed to. Heather, still breast fed little Marky. Nutrition aside, it seemed all too foreign to me, a grown boy still suckling his mother’s breast. Even though this oddity baffled me, it also aroused me. Not the feeding itself, but just the sight of Heathers bare breast. Casually I squeezed my thighs together, hiding away my erection as I tried to think of trivial things. Hoping that Mia would not notice.

             
However it had soon become clear that Marky was not feasting at all, in fact he was holding the milk in. His cheeks bulged out as he sucked more and more, like a chipmunk trying to stuff its mouth with as many nuts as possible. Mia did not seem to notice, or just did not seem to care. I, however, could not peel my eyes away.

             
Then, Marky pulled himself from his mother’s tit with a slight pop, then turned and nonchalantly walked over to the fire and released his bounty into our stew. I choked back the gagging that ensued, trying hide my grimace. Meanwhile, Marky gracefully walked back over to repeat the process. Heather did not seem to notice my reaction, nor did she offer some comforting explanation. Instead she babbled on about some old movie she use to watch when she was feeling blue, “Gone with the Wind,” maybe. I wasn’t really paying attention. 

             
The thought of consuming breast milk was revolting to me – Me? Sickened by the thought? What about all the things I have eaten over the years? It was naturally unnatural to me. Although I've now come to realize that our child may have to do the same thing. A new type of society, were ones bounty is everyone’s bounty. As shocking as it may be, this new society might just actually work, a custom that may bring people even closer together. Bring society back together.

             
Heather decided our half-and-half porridge had stewed long enough after another hour, so I reluctantly grabbed a few old hub-caps hanging from the barn wall to use as bowls. I watched the others as they began to eagerly slurp down what I had come to call, Survival Goo. I swirled my spoon around the bowl of slop, contemplating if I should actually try it.  Surprisingly the smell was amazing, but smell can always be deceiving. The others were almost finished before I gained the courage to take a large gulp.