Born In The Apocalypse (2 page)

Chapter 3

My dad took me by both shoulders and looked me in the eyes.  He was as serious as I had ever seen him.

“Take me there now,”  he said quietly.  He went over to the small locker we had by the door and pulled out a rifle.  It was a simple .22 rifle, but it was all we needed for this right now. Dad had trained me on it and I knew how to use it, but I wasn’t supposed to take it out unless there was an emergency.  Trippers were attracted to loud noises, and gunshots seemed to make them angry.  Or angrier.  That was a lesson that wasn’t learned early enough.  Dad said all the gunshots from people and cops trying to defend themselves just made the situation worse.  Crazed Trippers were not a nice thing to see.

Dad poked his head into the house to tell mom we were going to check on something, and we would be back in a few minutes.  Just to keep her from worrying, Dad told me to string my bow and take it with me.  I slipped the string on quickly, and threw my quiver onto my back.  I loved my bow, and according to my dad I was pretty good with it.  I made my own arrows and practiced whenever I could.  I didn’t take it with me too often to hunt because it tended to get in the way.  The only time I took it hunting was when I was looking for big game like deer.

We walked across the side yard and up the steps that took us to the top of our fence.  It was a tall wooden fence that Dad had reinforced with rocks over the years. It could keep out a horde of crazed Trippers and twice it had.

“Where did it come from?” Dad asked as we jumped down off the fence. We could have used the gate, but for some reason, Dad liked the steps.

“Don’t know,” I said, adjusting my quiver which had shifted in the jump. “Trey and I saw a body lying under a bush, and we looked close trying to see if it was a Tripper or if it was just someone who was sleeping.  It chased us out of the woods.”

“Did you have your bow with you?” Dad asked.

“No, just my knife.  The guy was pretty big,” I said.

“All right.  What then?”

“Well, Trey and I slid down the north side and waited by the big rocks near the creek.  The guy fell down the steep hill, but we jumped him when fell, “I said.

“What do you mean?” Dad asked sternly.  “You didn’t touch him yourself, did you?”

“No, Dad. Sheesh.  We threw big rocks on him to keep him down, and then I crushed his skull with another rock. Trey stood on him, too.  He couldn’t move.” I was kind of defensive about the situation, since I thought I had done pretty good.

My father thought about that one for a bit.  He didn’t say anything for a while, then he burst out laughing.

“That’s great!” He clapped me on the back as he beamed with pride.  “That took guts and brains, and I couldn’t have done better myself!”  He laughed again.

I felt a lot better, and actually looked forward to seeing my handiwork again.

We slipped down the small ditch, and crossed the narrow two-lane road that ran behind our house.  It had been a long time since a car was on that road, and it was broken up and cracked all over.  Dad said that there were roads all over the place, and you once could go anywhere in the country just by getting in your car.  Our car was up on blocks with the tires off.  Dad said it wasn’t going anywhere anyway, and he’d probably just push it out to make room for another horse stall.

Crossing the street, Dad stopped and turned his head into the wind.  He closed his eyes and listened, and I knew enough to keep quiet when he did this.  He told me he was using his radar, and I figured it had to be true since we never got into trouble when he did this.

Crossing the road, we slipped through the brush and worked our way over to the rocks.  There wasn’t a lot of animal activity right now, and I was slightly curious as to why.  We had been here so many times it was funny how the locals had adapted to us.

Getting to the rocky areas was pretty easy once we worked our way through the brush.  The path I used on a regular basis was easy for me, but dad had a time because he had to get down to my height to clear the branches and brambles.

“Where is he?” Dad asked, looking around.  “Never mind, I see him.”  Dad went over to where the body still lay, looking over the kill area, and looking up towards the top of the hill.  He stepped halfway up the slope and looked down at the body from a higher angle.

For my part, I couldn’t figure out what the heck he was doing.  The body was right down here, right in front of me.  It sure wasn’t going anywhere, and it sure wasn’t going to tell us where it came from. I had nothing to do but warm myself in the sun and watch the lazy water of the creek flow under the bridge and trickle out of sight around a bend. The sun bounced off the water, sending crazy reflections into the walls of the bridge.

After a minute I got bored, so I used the time to practice drawing an arrow from my quiver and nocking it. I tried to do it faster and faster, and finally quit when I lost my grip on the arrow and threw it ten yards away.

“Damn,” I said as I made my way over to where I thought the arrow had gone.

“What did you say?” Dad called.  He was down by the body, looking at the rocks and pulling the man over to see his face.  From my angle, he didn’t get better looking in direct sunlight.

“Nothing, “I said quickly.  Dad didn’t swear, so I ended up learning the fundamentals from Trey. Dad always said we are judged by our words and deeds, so if you may have blown it on one, you could always try to build up the other.  I figured I could curse as long as I did something heroic once in a while.

I reached the spot where I thought I saw my arrow land and looked carefully for the fletching.  I didn’t see it right away and knelt down for another look.  I swept my hand through the grass and thought I felt the shaft, but was disappointed when it turned out to be a weed.

Another sweep gave me a possibility, and I felt the stick up to the end where it flared outward in plastic fletching. I was just about to stand up and shout out my find when I saw it.

Up the road, just across the bridge, was a Tripper.  It was an older one with deep red splotches on his face.  His clothes were tattered like he had been outside for a long time. One foot dragged along the other, but that was a fooler. When the rage hit, they moved fast no matter how bad they were injured. There were some deep looking claw marks on his face, and dried blood crusted his neck and shoulder. 

I didn’t want to shout, but I had to warn my dad somehow.  I looked back, and instead of seeing my father, I saw nothing at all. He was nowhere to be seen.

I didn’t know what to do.  I had my bow, but I’d never shot at a Tripper before.  If I missed, he would be on me in seconds.  I needed to be able to shoot again quickly, but I didn’t know how.  I was shaking as I watched the Tripper move closer and closer.

As I sat there in the brush, I realized I was concealed, and the Tripper would walk on by.  Maybe I could get him from behind which would buy me some seconds if I missed if I didn’t get a kill shot on the first try. I didn’t have any options, I just hoped my dad wouldn’t come strolling over the hill, whistling like he normally does, and get that Tripper all riled up. 

It was dead silent as the infected man slowly trudged past.  I could see more details, and there was a deep, black bite mark on his left arm.  If I had to guess, that was where he originally got bit.  It was said once you were bit, it was over for you in a matter of hours.  There was no cure, and there was no vaccine.  At least, we never heard of any.  Dad said it was a mercy to put these poor creatures down since they were living in hell anyway.  Their minds gone, their memories gone, their bodies altered and twisted.  I wondered sometimes if they attacked the living in the hopes of getting killed so that they could end their suffering with a bullet to the head.

I pushed all that out of my head as I slowly made my way through the brush and grass.  Years of stalking small game since the time I could walk had made me a very stealthy hunter, and I saw the Tripper as my prey now.  That was the only way I could do what needed to be done without falling down in fear.  Besides, my dad was probably watching, waiting for me to make a move, since his rifle would call any more Trippers to the area.

It wasn’t easy crawling forward with a loaded recurve bow in my hands, but when I reached the edge of the road I was glad I had it ready since the Tripper was a lot closer than I had anticipated.  I stood up on the side of the road, still partially concealed by the tall grass that grew there. Behind me was the bridge over the creek, and I could hear the water as it tumbled past the dozens of rocks Trey and I had thrown in there over the years.  That sound probably had helped mask my approach, and for that I was grateful.  When I realized that I could have accidentally crawled out of the grass at the feet of the Tripper, I started to sweat again.

Pulling back my arrow, I held the string for a second as I adjusted my aim.  The arrow trembled slightly as the energy from the limbs prepared to launch it forward.  I adjusted for the wind coming from the north and let go.

I didn’t watch the arrow; I was busy whipping out another and nocking it quickly, drawing the string back, and looking for a target to come running at me. I was a bit surprised to find no target, so I eased the string forward, keeping my hand on the arrow.  I stepped out of the grass and onto the road. 

The Tripper lay face down in the middle of the road with his head turned to the side.  Sticking out of the back of his head was my arrow.  The point had gone in on the right side of the back of his skull, and the field point had blown through the bone like it wasn’t there.  Creeping forward, I could see the arrow tip had exited through the right eye, close to the nose.  The eye was turned in my direction, almost as if it was asking me what the heck just happened.

I looked at the Tripper for a long time, not feeling anything.  It was like a switch had turned off when I hunted him.  It wasn’t an infected person anymore, worthy of our fear and pity.  It was just something I had to put down for my safety and my dad’s.

Just as I was about to pull the arrow out, a voice called out of the brush.

“Leave it there.”

I jumped a mile, and nearly fired an arrow at the sound, when my dad stepped out of the grass.  He was holding his rifle and pointing it at the Tripper.  Kneeling down, he looked over the man from head to toe, taking careful note of the two-foot pointy stick poking in and out of the man’s head.

Dad looked a bit more, then scanned the area where the Tripper had come from.  Seeing no danger, he stood up, and grabbing a handful of pant leg, dragged the dead man over to the side of the road.

As he worked, Dad spoke to me.  “You’ll have to replace that arrow, Josh.  It’s full of virus now, and you could get yourself infected.”

I understood that thinking, as we usually washed and burned anything that had come in contact with a Tripper.  I wasn’t happy having to make another arrow, but I had done it before and would likely do it again.  We didn’t get out much to scrounge up any pre-made stuff, and when we did we were usually looking for stuff for the house.  Dad was always wanting ammo and canned stuff; mom was usually looking for some sort of material.  I typically grabbed whatever was shiny.

After hauling the Tripper away, Dad went and dragged the other dead man out of the rocks.  He wasn’t as pretty as the other guy who was sporting a new arrow through his head.  This guy was bloody and flat headed from where I had pounded his skull in.  Dad just grabbed another handful of leg and pulled it over the man’s head, yanking him out of the rocks.  Blood and brains eased out of the wound as the body was dragged through the gravel.

I was watching the proceedings with interest as I usually did with the things my Dad did.  He never wasted movement, never did anything that required him to clean up later.  Everything was thought out, and he always had a plan.

Once the bodies were out of the way, Dad piled a bunch of rocks on the men. It was as good a burial as they were ever going to get, since their families were probably long gone.

One thing bothered me, and I must have had a look on my face since my Dad asked me the question I had in my head.

“So why didn’t I shoot him?”  my dad asked me.

“Yeah!” I said, probably too loudly.  “How come you let me waste an arrow?” I was focusing on the fact I had to make more arrows now.

Dad smiled.  “Don’t get me wrong, Josh, I would have killed him had you been in any danger.  But I wanted to see if you could get close without being heard or seen, and I wanted to see if you would be able to take down a full adult with your bow.”

Dad ruffled my hair a bit.  “You passed on both counts.  Now I know I don’t have to worry about you when I’m away.”

I was mollified, but still a little angry.  I decided to change the subject.

“Dad?”

“What, Josh?”

“Where did he come from?” I was serious in my question.  If these two Trippers were a sign of things to come, I didn’t want to run into them when I ran my trap line.

Dad got a real serious look on his face.  “Don’t know for sure.  I’m trying to figure that one out.  If he came from the north, that’s to be expected.  But if he came from the south or west, there could be some serious trouble ahead.”

“Why?” 

“South means there’s trouble in Manhattan and the outliers.  West means there’s trouble in Frankfort,” Dad said simply.  “The guy you took down with your bow was old, likely two to three years infected.  The other guy, the first one, he probably was more fresh, and that’s a worry to me.”