The Reaper Virus (30 page)

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.
Each 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
...”

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.