A Shrouded World - Whistlers (20 page)

From the limited amount of time Jack and I got to talk, I was pretty sure his and my world was mostly the same. I mean at least the locations, yet his was being overrun by night runners and mine zombies. This place certainly looked like any highway in the states, yet the names were different, and probably whatever was afflicting this place was different as well. Something niggled at the back of my head.

Were the night runners and zombies we’d encountered here indigenous to this place or had whatever brought Jack and me through brought some undesired guests as well?

This was a path I did not relish going down. If the zombies and night runners were ours, then what
was
here? Maybe whatever it was had snagged Lucy. That would solve at least one of my problems.

I was about to travel farther down this mind-path when the next thing I encountered stopped me in my tracks. It was a leg. Now, yes, normally a random unattended leg in the middle of the roadway would be cause for concern, and definitely something you might investigate. But I’d been in the midst of a zombie apocalypse for close to half a year, an arbitrary encounter with a discarded limb was not that big of a deal. I mean, I guess it was for the person that had lost it, but these days it was more of a background prop, relegated to the status of street sign, or tree, or telephone pole. In and of itself, it generally held no value. This one was different, though, and not because the person who it had belonged to was wearing camouflage pants and black military boots, but rather the way it was planted in the ground. The leg was sticking straight up and down, the knee on the ground the booted foot up in the air, as if someone were trying to grow a human.

I was looking around as I came closer to the leg. I lightly touched it with the toe of my boot. When it didn’t immediately fall over, I applied a little more pressure. It didn’t budge. I did a quick three-sixty around my perimeter. If anyone was around, they were doing a damn good job of hiding themselves.

I got down on my haunches to get a closer look at the leg. It was seamless where the pavement met the leg; it was not broken up or dug out. I looked completely around the leg. There was no reason this thing should be standing like this; at least, none that I could discern. I poked it with my barrel. Besides disturbing a squadron of flies, it did not move.

“Super Glue?” Was all I could come up with as I stood. “For what purpose?” I was going to stick with the glue theory for a little while longer. My alternative was that it was imbedded in the ground. That just wasn’t going to fly.

Getting to the military vehicles was not as easy a task as one might assume. There had to be two or three inches of brass casings on the ground. I wasn’t a fan of making so much noise, but I had no choice other than to kick them away, giving me a relatively clear spot to put my foot down. Falling over with a twisted ankle would have been worse. The civilians had fought back. The truck I was heading for was peppered with ineffectual divots in its armored hull.

Hunting rifles and handguns versus machineguns and armored transport is not much of a fight. That they’d even tried showed just how desperate they’d been. What was on the other side of this that made it worthwhile, or worse, what was behind that drove them to it? If I looked hard enough, I could still see smoke from a distant burning city.

How long could a metropolis burn? A few weeks I guess.

Yet I’d seen no living humans besides the ones that had been dragged into this mess for some reason. I could only hope I would get some answers, but right now, I was preoccupied with survival as I rooted around the trucks. I found a little more ammunition, which I gladly took, and more water than I could possibly drink, although I did my best as I bloated my belly with the wonderful wet substance.

Then I hit pay dirt, sort of. A brown, nondescript box was in the back of one of the Hummer-like vehicles. It was stamped with ‘FTE’ and then, in typical military fashion, it felt the need to spell out the acronym.

Why bother with the acronym to begin with?

No time to question it. Now that I’d slaked my raw thirst, I had another powerful need to take care of. My stomach was twisted in knots from lack of food. Two force-fed Phrito
’s from Trip nearly two days ago and the sickly sweet Pop-Tarts knock-offs wasn’t going to cut it.

FTE stood for ‘Food To Eat.’

I tore open the package like I was expecting filet mignon. The heavy plastic was gray. My guess, it mirrored the food. Right now, I didn’t care. As I tore into something called Protein Mass, I discovered that it was like beef stew, but without the catchy name, actual flavor, or taste. I ate that one and one just like it. I then grabbed a couple more and stuffed them in my pockets. I wasn’t full of hope and confidence, but I felt better. I’d eaten and drank. Taking care of those base needs had greatly improved my disposition.

“Time to follow the yellow brick road I suppose.”

I shielded my eyes to look at the grand openness ahead of me.

“Lucy, you coming?” I shouted behind me. “Maybe I should have called you Dorothy. What’s that make me?” I asked, looking down at my pink sneakers and poncho. “I’m guessing I’m the Scarecrow. My geometry teacher was always saying how I was lacking in the brains department. Betcha that fat fucker got eaten on day one. This one is for you, Mrs. Weinstedder.” I looked up and flipped her the bird.

I maybe should have turned that gesture towards myself as I brought my gaze down, I saw a giant blue road sign:

Atlantis
              25 miles

“You have got to be kidding me. Right?”

Was this where the fabled city had gone? Had ancient visitors from my world somehow found a portal that had brought them to this strange place?

“What is going on? And can I make twenty-five miles before dusk?”

I didn’t think so, but I was going to Atlantis. How could I not? That would be like someone asking if you wanted to see the center of the earth. I mean, you were sort of compelled to go, weren’t you?

I was a good half mile away from the tangle of cars. The day was beautiful; a deep blue canopy overhead with some wispy clouds. The sun was bright but not hot. A stirring breeze kept it cool enough that I was in no rush to shed my heavy-knit poncho. My guess was that, wherever I was, the fall season had just started. Birds were chirping, and some of the more industrious ones were migrating. Bugs were minimal to non-existent. If I had some beer and some decent company, it would altogether be a really great day. I turned to look back to Lucy, who was just emerging from the line of trucks.

“I was wondering where you’ve been,” I said.

She paused when she saw me. I raised my rifle. Five hundred yards with iron sights for a head shot was not mathematically impossible. Highly improbable, though. I was a fairly decent shot, and if I had unlimited ammo and time, I think I’d set myself up to take a crack at it. She was not an immediate threat, and time was definitely not on my side. The sun had already made its apex and was on the decline. That meant my other buddies would be coming to the party soon enough and I was about as much in the open as one could get. My priority was now going to be to find a place to hole up for the night.

Easier said than done
, I thought as I looked around.

I walked another mile or so and I’d seen nothing bigger than a grassy knoll as a means of defendable position for the evening. It was looking a lot like Kansas, minus the corn stalks and billboards proclaiming that ‘I’m loved.’ If you’ve ever been to Kansas, that would make way more sense.

With a shrieking twist of metal, the tower leans farther. The support structure snaps with a loud clang. I wrap my legs and arms tightly around the rungs as the list becomes a tumble toward the ground.

I’m thankful the tower twists and begins falling away. If it were falling in our direction, this little escape plan would be over before it really started. Of course, this isn’t exactly the plan. It might be John’s, but I’m pretty sure the plan Mike and I came up with didn’t involve riding a crashing water tower to the ground. Huddled close to the rungs, I feel the tower begin a free fall.

I’m glad we decided to climb lower down before attempting our escape. If we were still on the walkway above, we’d either be thrown for a mile
, or hit the ground like we were being beaten against the side of the cliff. As it is, this isn’t a fun theme-park ride and will more than likely leave a mark when the tower smacks into the ground.

My worry is that we’ll be stunned
, and this is the exact wrong time for that with zombies and night runners about. I’m sure they’ll forget their differences in order to get to us. I hear John above me shouting in glee like he’s enjoying himself. I wish I could partake in his enthusiasm and still can’t believe he shot the C-4 down like that. Not only because of his uncanny accuracy, but that he even did it in the first place. I just hope his angels are close by on this one.

I hear the top of the tower rushing through open space. It sounds like a heavy wind blowing across the treetops of a densely packed forest. I grip the rungs tighter as the angle steepens and the speed of the fall increases. Above the rush of the tower
dropping and the groaning of thick metal being twisted in ways it wasn’t designed for, there is the groaning of the zombies and shriek of the night runners only scant feet away.

The tower hits with a loud crash. The vibration from hitting so hard resonates through the metal structure, instantly deadening my hands and knocking me from my perch on the ladder. My teeth clack together and it rattles my brain. I see the ground rushing up
, and I am now on a path to meet it just like the tower. I suppose the silver lining is that the tower cleared the ground below.

I hit the solid earth hard, luckily missing the concrete slab the tower was bolted into. Grass and dirt are forced into my mouth and nostrils. My brain scrambles and I try to gather coherent thoughts. All that I manage to do is to lay stunned upon the surface. The feeble thought that there are the walking dead and night runners about is the only thing that gets me to my knees.

I roll over, spitting dirt from my mouth and get to my hands and knees. My brain is still reeling and I feel like I’m in a haze with my head stuffed with cotton. Confusion reigns. I stare down at the torn up ground under me, hearing faint groans. The sharp sound of metal popping enters my foggy consciousness. I rise unsteadily to my feet, checking my gear to affirm I still have everything.

Looking around, in the grays of my night vision, I see numerous zombies stumbling about unsteadily. Several night runners are attempting to shakily rise to their feet as well. The blast from the C-4 and the falling tower appears to have stunned everyone. We need to be the first to recover if we’re to have any chance of getting away.

In amongst the twisted remains of the tower legs, I see John rolling to his feet just a few feet away. He rises and dusts himself off as if we haven’t just taken a ride on a falling water tower and hit the ground like running into a brick wall. He shakes dirt out of his hair and looks in my direction. I know he can’t see in the dark, but he looks right at me.

“That was fun. Can we do it again?” he asks, digging dirt out of his ear.

“No, John, we have to get out of here and we have to do it now,” I answer. “Where is Mike?”

“Who is this John everyone keeps asking about?” Trip replies.

I shake my head and feel the anxiety of needing to get out of here before the zombies and night runners fully recover.

“Forget him, where’s Mike?” I ask.

Trip looks around in confusion as if Mike should be right there with him.

“I dunno. Maybe he’s off
retrieving my skivvies that he threw to the ground,” Trip answers.

Ignoring Trip, I look quickly around for Mike but find no sign of him. Grabbing Trip by the arm, we make our way through the twisted metal structure. Mike may have been thrown from the ladder when we hit and may be lying nearby. Time is not on our side
, but it would be way uncool to just depart without knowing what happened to him. After all, he did save my life.

Near where the top of the tower impacted the ground,
the ground is churned like a river ran through, which, in fact, it did. The top of the tower itself broke open like an egg upon smacking into the hard ground, spilling its contents. Grass lays on its side from the tidal wave that swept over it. Following the flow, just inside the edge of the trees, I see prints with a tread similar to the pink shoes Mike was wearing in the muddy ground. The faint trail snakes farther into the woods. There is no other sign of Mike but, by the tracks, I take it he is okay. A loud shriek rises above the groans of the undead. It’s time to be off.

Trip reaches down quickly and whips out his slingshot. He pats his pocket and pulls out one of h
is marbles, muttering, “Oh good, I still have some of my marbles left.”

No, those left some time ago, my friend
, I think, watching him place the marble in the slingshot pocket.

He pulls back on the elastic bands as he rapidly raises the weapon, pointing it at my face. I have no idea how he is doing this in the dark
, but I don’t question it as he obviously is. I duck quickly as he releases. My only thought is that the fall has addled him even farther. He may think I’m one of the others in the dark and means to plant one of the steel bearings in my brain.

The elastic travels forward, propelling the steel bullet with a snap. I
both feel and hear the zip of the projectile go over my head. It immediately hits something behind me with a solid thud. I feel a liquid spray against the back of my head and neck. Turning, I see a zombie fall to the side, coming to rest against a twisted metal beam carried by the flow of water. The steel marble took the zombie in the eye and it fell to the side, its arms resting over the pillar. It slowly slumps, hitting its chin on the metal before sliding to the ground.

I turn back to Trip. “Thanks, man. How did you see that in the dark?”

“I didn’t. But it’s a good thing you ducked or I might have missed,” Trip answers.

Not really knowing how to respond to that one, I just shake my head, wishing I had that kind of luck.

“Mike went this way,” I say to Trip, pulling him by the arm.

Relieved by the signs that indicate Mike made it out, Trip and I start off into the woods. We need to put some distance between us and the recovering zombies and night runners. Once they become fully alert, they’ll be after us. I’m hoping they’ll just resume their confrontation rather than chase us down
, but we can’t count on that. With Trip unable to see in the dark, we’ll be substantially slowed.

“Where are we going, man? I’m not fond of night hikes. Can we just wait until morning?” Trip asks.

“We’re going anywhere that’s away from here. And no, we can’t wait a moment longer,” I reply.

“If we have to do this, I’ll just light
up and then I’ll be good to go.”

I stop and round on Trip, gripping his arm tightly. “We don’t have time for that. Do you understand what’s going on?”

“Chill, dude. I was just askin’.” A single shriek echoes across the field with the fallen tower.

“Shit. That was one of those howlers,” Trip says, looking anxiously around in the dark.

“Yeah. We need to go.”

“Wait, where’s Mike?”

“He’s ahead of us. Let’s go.”

“Hmmm…I didn’t know he liked hiking,” Trip says, allowing me to guide him into the pitch black under the trees.

We begin to walk quickly through the trees. Their density prevents much undergrowth which makes our going much easier. Of course, that means it will be the same for any pursuit. Nighttime just arrived, so we have a long time until we are safe from the night runners. And we are never safe from the speeders. I’m not so worried about the slow walkers unless we happen to meet them head on. I’m guessing though, that any in the area were gathered at the tower but I can’t fully rely on that.

We aren’t very far into the trees when I lose Mike’s trail. There isn’t time to search the area to pick it up again
, so we plunge on into the forest. So far, I don’t hear any indication of pursuit, but shrieks and screams echo faintly within the trees. It’s difficult to tell exactly which direction they’re coming from. Perhaps the ones we left behind are once again engaged in their struggle and may not have seen us slip away. The smell of the undead could be masking our scent, but it only takes a single night runner catching wind of us for them to break away and streak after us. With Trip’s night blindness and our inability to run, we’d be quickly caught.

We trudge onward. I guide Trip with one hand and have the other resting on the M-4 at my side. He manages with only a few stumbles on tree roots or occasional imbedded rock. I don’t have a coherent direction or destination in mind as I have no idea where anything is in this messed up world. My only goal is to get as much distance as we can from the water tower and
the horde that was there.

I
check my compass every so often, trying to keep us moving in the same direction. I have no idea what the needle is actually pointing to. North in Amissus could be something entirely different, but it does provide a way to keep us aligned more or less in a single direction. To march through the night only to walk in a circle and arrive back at the water tower would totally suck.

The screams faded some time ago as we make our way under the dark branches. The silence is almost complete with only our soft footsteps on the forest mulch and occasional scuff as John earns his moniker and
stumbles over some small obstacle. I have no idea where we are headed, seeking only to make it through the night, and will attempt to orient ourselves with the coming dawn. At that point, I intend to find our way back to the highway and try to find out what happened to Mike. I assume he’ll also try to make his way back to the road. I wish I had another radio which I could have given him.

That sure would have made things easier
, I think, pondering the situation.

I’m walking through a dark forest in some land named Amissus, which, according to the man at my side, means ‘lost’.

They certainly have that right
.

My traveling companion is some hippie, from yet another world, whose mind has become addled from years of drug use but has some uncanny abilities which show up at the most unusual times. He hit a falling block of C-4 out of the air with a slingshot while hanging from a tower ladder. I shake my head at that one. Not only because of the shot
, but because I can’t figure out why he did it. Those out-of-the-blue actions could jeopardize us, but I can’t very well just leave him out here alone. Plus, we did get away and he did save me while we were still recovering. I’m wondering just how exactly those angels on his shoulder work.

As we move along, I keep thinking this nightmare will end and I’ll find myself back at Cabela’s
, hearing a chuckle from Red Team as a story is finished. So far, that’s not to be. I’ve never had a dream as detailed as this one, nor one that has lasted so long. I can’t understand, and am beginning to seriously consider that this is more than just a dream. It’s too real and lasting too long. I need to figure a way out. I really miss my kids and Lynn. I feel a deep ache in my heart at the thought that I could be trapped here forever and never see them again. I think that maybe I could have entered into another coma and that my mind may be lost in this place. The worse possibility, the one that scares me even more, is that they were the dream and this is reality.

A faint shriek drifts through the trees, penetrating the stillness of the woods. Other screams follow from behind. It’s hard to tell how far away they are within the densely packed trees, but I can only assume our scent has been picked up. There isn’t any breeze to speak of so our smell will linger along our path. It may dissipate some to the side but the night runners behind will eventually home in on us.

“We need to run, Trip. Do you think you can manage?” I ask. I’ve stopped calling him John as he just looks around when I do, looking for another person.

“I suppose I could use my flashlight,” he answers.

“Wait, you have a flashlight? Why didn’t you say so to start with?”

“You didn’t pull one out
, so I thought you wanted to hike in the dark.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” I say, incredulous.

We could have made much better time and been farther away had he just said something. I guess I could have asked and note that I’m going to have to be very specific when talking with him.

“Why would I do that?” Trip asks, fumbling in his pocket and looking around. “Where’s Mike?”

“We lost him when the tower fell. You remember the tower falling, right?” I ask.