The Nameless Survivor (Valkyrie) (9 page)

est. 2-3 Years After 1st Outbreak Moon;

              The hungry were everywhere, eating everything; dogs, cats, rats. Anything still alive. They searched the city streets, but there was only me left. I was alone and so very scared that I had crawled into a dark and wet pipe that stretched under the road. Shivers ran down my back with the tug of every spider web that got tangled up in my hair. I don't like spiders but they don't scare me as much as the Hungry do.

             
The cold damp pipe began to get even colder as night fell, and the Hungry began to move about even more. I couldn't hold back the shivers as I desperately tried to rub my arms to keep them warm, which seemed pointless. I didn't want to sleep in that hole, but the hungry are meaner at night, and there was no way I could out-run all of them. Especially how tired and starving I was. Every step burned into my legs, and made the pains in my belly worsen. I just wanted to eat and then sleep for days, maybe even a week.

             
As it got late, and darker, those terrifying noises filled my ears. The noises of the hungry at night. Just one of them growling and hissing is scary, but when there are a bajillion of them echoing along those narrow metal walls, it almost stopped my heart. Their shrieks and wails echo in the night, muffling the soothing songs of the crickets.

             
Shivering in the mucky pipe, I tried to hold back my whimpers, tried to remain silent. My hands, pushed hard over my mouth, but my sobs still escaped. The hungry heard me almost instantly. One of them jumped down in front of the opening of the culvert, snapping his teeth at me and peering deep into the pipe with his head cocking from side to side. I screeched in surprise, which echoed painfully in my ears.

             
He continued to snarl at me like a bad dog, reaching into the pipe trying to grab me with his long skinny arms. The gray skin on his cheeks sagged down over his jawbone like grandpa's old blood-hound. He had but two teeth, both on top. But that did not make him any less scary, only sillier. If I wasn't so scared I might have even laughed at him, he reminded me of Goofy the dog, only creepy.

             
The other end of the pipe was soon guarded by a few more hungry, I was trapped. Two men, and a small child, maybe only two or three years old. Just a baby, an innocent kid. His eyes were still so alive, not yet faded like most of them. His snarls though, I will always remember his snarls, unlike anything I've have heard before.

             
Soon, more and more hungry began gathering at the openings, almost piling up on-top each other as they pushed forward. Thankfully they could not figure out how to crawl through the opening of the rusty old culvert. Yet, I still began to sob even louder, closing my eyes tight as I tried to think back of a time before the world went bad. But there was nothing, no memories, just blackness with quick glimpses of sickness.

             
As I began to pray, a loud crack of thunder echoed from outside the hole, so loud I had to cover my ears as it rung up and down the pipe. For a moment I thought a storm was coming, but the flashes of light did not seem to come from the sky, and there was no rain. Soon, another crack, and the head of the buck-toothed Hungry exploded as a shower of blood, brain and skull sprayed into the muck before me.

             
A few more cracks of thunder and the rest fell the same way, all dead, at least the ones in front of me. My sobs slowly began to ease, and my heart began to settle. I was still unsure what had happened but was relieved anyway, knowing that they would not eat anyone else, especially me. For a second I thought that just maybe, God, had struck them down with bolts of lightning from his eyes.

             
But it wasn't God, a dark figure soon appeared before the opening. Slowly he stepped down into the pile of dead and peered into the pipe at me. This one was big and held an even bigger gun. He was definitely not a hungry, and I thanked Jesus for that.

             
“Come here child.” He whispered.

             
He was my hero, a hero sent from above, so I crawled towards his welcoming arms. As soon as I was close enough, he lifted me out of the drain and held me tight. It hurt a little, but felt good, just like the bear-hugs daddy use to give me.

             
“You out here all by yourself, honey?” he asked, and I nodded back. “You are safe now.”

             
Slowly he carried me out of the ditch and down the road. I stared back as the dead wandered the streets like the blind trying to find their way. They did not seem to follow, maybe they too were scared, or maybe they just hadn't seen our escape. Either way, the man hurried down the road, away from the town and all those hungry people.              

             
I felt for once, in such a long time, safe. He seemed like a nice man. He said his name was Ben something, but I just called him Old Ben. He wasn't old like Mr. Thomas, but he did have pepper colored hair like my uncle Roger. Old Ben was one of them black people, I don't believe I had ever met a black man before Old Ben. But, my daddy was right, they are just like you or me.

             
Old Ben's coat was soft and warm, so I snuggled deep into his arms as my body began to relax. The murmur of the dead soon faded as we moved further away, and the last sound I remember was the comforting lone cry of a loon from a nearby pond. Her soothing song allowed my mind to forget, and before long I drifted off to sleep.

             
I'm not sure how long I had slept, but when I woke I was in a small room and on a nice warm bed. I could see a light coming from under the doorway across the room, so I got up and opened it slowly to peek out. Old Ben was sitting in front of a fire place cutting into some wood with a small pocket knife.

             
“What are you doing?” I asked him as I walked into the room, he paused for a moment, looking up at me with a little smile on his face. His big brown eyes stared into mine as I approached his chair to get a better look. His smile grew with each step that I took.

             
“Whittling.” he finally responded, then looked back down and continued to cut into the wood. Quietly I sat down on the floor next to him and watched him slice thin piece after thin piece away from the block. I wasn't sure what he was making, but he worked carefully at it. Breathing heavily out of his nose while his tongue stuck partially out between his dry cracked lips.

             
He had a nice house, not as big as I once had with my parents, but it was warm and cozy. A stone fireplace roared with a numbing crackle and a comforting warmth. The random sparks and pops of the flames chewing their way into the wood allowed us both to relax. However the boarded up windows were just another reminder of what the world behind them had become.             

             
Old Ben's block of wood slowly got smaller and smaller, and soon began to resemble a person. He was careful around the face, making sure to get every little detail, he was really good at it too. As he worked the knife he told me things about himself and his family, he really liked to talk and rarely asked me any questions.

             
He had a wife, Nicki, who he said was the most beautiful girl in Connecticut. He also had a son, Joseph, who wanted to be a race-car driver. He spoke a lot about Joseph. I could tell he really loved him. He said he had moved his family north, just before the Hungry's came. He had got a good job at a warehouse or something, not too far from where we were.

             
Looking around curiously, I asked, “Where is Joseph?” He stopped cutting, and only his eyes rose to meet mine with such sadness.

             
“Joseph - Joseph and his Momma got sick a few months ago,” a big crocodile tear ran down his cheek, “I had to lay them to rest in the back yard.”

             
I wished I hadn't asked, I missed my family too and knew how he felt. So I got up and hugged him tight, he did not return the hug, instead he just let me hold and comfort him. His tears collected in my hair, the moist sadness sinking deep into my skin. For a moment I could see them both - Nikki and Joseph. They were holding hands and smiling at me, Old Ben was right, she was very beautiful.

             
“It's okay, I'll be your family now.” I said as I squeezed him tighter. I could tell he wanted to pull away, but I wouldn't let him, and after a moment he rubbed my head and asked.

             
“You want something to eat?”

             
Standing up I nodded yes and he quickly got up to make me some oatmeal. He didn't say any more while he heated up my food on the fireplace, not once did he look over at me. Still I watched him, fumbling around with a spoon as he stirred the boiling oats. The oatmeal wasn't that good, but I didn't tell him that, I don't like to be rude. But, those packages of oatmeal with peaches that my mother cooked for me in the microwave were much better. His was just a big thick clump of tasteless oats, and still I ate every bit of it, I was quite hungry after all. It was definitely better than some of the things I had eaten when I was on my own.

             
Old Ben took care of me for a long while, feeding me and keeping me safe. It was the longest place I had stayed since mommy and daddy got hungry. It was nice, I even thought of it as my new home, I was happy and Old Ben was too. In a way he reminded me of my grandfather, so I like to think of him as just that. Old Grandpa Ben, of course I never called him that, I think it would have embarrassed him.

             
We would do all the daily chores together, collecting and chopping wood, searching old houses for leftover food, actually we searched for pretty much anything of use. Old Ben even taught me how to shoot a gun, but I didn't like it, they are just too darn loud.

             
“A gun will save your life, sweetie.”  He would say to me. He seemed to be a smart man, so I listened close and learned everything. I became a pretty good shot too, I even surprised Old' Ben, I think he was even a little jealous. Especially the day I came back from the forests with three wild-rabbits, which Ben stewed up with some taters and onions.

             
The second winter with Old Ben was the roughest, we were running low on both food and fire-wood. It seemed everyday was even colder than the one before in what appeared to be an endless winter. So cold that rarely did we venture outside. Instead we sat inside by the warmth of the fire and whittled.

             
I became quite good at it too, I made a horse, a frog and even an elephant all from memory. Of course Ben helped me with the details, I had broken three trunks before he took over for me. We had even made a string puppet together, he carved the body and head, and I whittled the legs. Unfortunately I lost it the following summer while running from a hungry herd.

             
For some reason Old Ben fell into sadness during that winter. I could hear him crying at night, over and over he would whisper, “Nikki, I'm sorry.” Sometimes, but not always, I could even hear him fiddling with his gun while he whimpered in the dark. He must have been cleaning it, I'm sure of it. A few times I tried asking him what was wrong, and he would just say, “Nut'n sweetie.” But I knew that there was something, something horrible, which made me worry even more. I think it had something to do with Nicki, but I can't be too sure. He was also drinking a lot more during those months, nasty smelling stuff in a thick glass bottle. It was a pretty gold-colored liquid which he always called his Happy Juice. But, to me, it smelled like sweaty old Foot Juice. He even offered me some one time, but I refused.

             
During those months he became even fonder of me, kissing me more and more. He would gently kiss my forehead and my cheeks, my ears and even my hands. After a while he began to kiss my lips, like mommy use too. It didn't bother me much, but it seemed to bother him. After every kiss he would gently push me away and start to cry some more. I don't know why, but it always made me cry too.

             
One night, around Easter I think, when the snow was all gone and the robins had returned for spring, Old Ben had finished a bottle of his happy juice and quickly began to act oddly, more than usual. He was stumbling from one side of the house to the other, punching the walls and shouting out in anger.

             
“Joseph! Pick up your god-damn room!” he yelled, I tried to remind him where Joseph was but it was like he couldn't hear me. I had wanted to grab his arm or shoulder to get his attention, but I dared not. I had never seen him so angry, and it scared me.

             
“Who the fuck was that, Nikki!” He screamed while pointing a knife at the wall. “You best not even think of cheating on me, I'll cut you bitch!” It was also the first time he had ever spoke of Nikki that way, never before was there any hate when he mentioned her. I'm not sure if it was just his imagination or if this was something that happened in the past, and still I dared not ask.

             
Again he began to cry some more, “I'm sorry baby, you know I love you.” It was odd how his emotions changed so quickly, but always from anger to sadness. His Happy Juice must have been spoiled, or maybe he just hadn't drunk enough of it.