Resurrection (15 page)

Chapter 37

Charlie pulled a length of rope from his pack and tossed it over the side of the cliff.

“Looks as if we it’s a little short by about twenty-five feet or so be careful how you drop so you don‘t break a leg . Just remember to keep to the trees and that shiny medallion around your neck put it in your pocket for now,” Charlie said.

Peter eased over the side of the precipice, his stomach turned and he looked back up at Charlie who gave him a reassuring nod. He pushed away from the side of the cliff, and started shimmying down, slowly at first but quicker as he got closer to the end of the rope.

Upon reaching the end of the rope the awareness that “twenty-five feet or so” was actually a lot further than it sounded gave him a jolt. He clutched the rope tightly, unwilling to let go but at Charlie’s urging he finally dropped into the loose earth at the bottom of the cliff.

After Peter was safe on the ground, Charlie descended and dropped down beside him.   Cedar trees grew thickly on the slope of the mesa and these would afford the pair ample cover for their journey down into the valley. They descended about one hundred feet down the hill before stopping.

Charlie surveyed the valley floor for any signs of movement, but the only thing moving was a dust devil far in the distance. All he could see of the city now were just blurs of what appeared to be metal buildings far in the distance.

It was then that Charlie saw dust rising from the valley floor but from a different direction this time and it was no dust devil. He pointed it out to Peter and put his binoculars to his eyes.

“Is that another whirlwind?” Peter said.

But as he spoke both he and Charlie heard the unmistakable sound of hoof beats on the rim of the mesa above. He pushed Peter to the ground and dropped down beside him.

Through the brush he saw two men on horseback and then a third. He moved for a better view; he counted ten riders in all.

He and Peter crawled to a spot underneath the branches of a large cedar tree and waited.

“Out there.” Charlie said pointing below the hill. “More riders approaching fast; I imagine I know who they’re looking for.” Charlie said.

“How did they see us?” Peter whispered.

“My mistake was thinking that they wouldn’t be able to see us at such a distance. A fortress of this size and complexity would have to be well protected. I hoped to meet the citizens of this place on my terms but now I guess we’ll meet on theirs.”

The men at the top of the ridge pulled rifles from the scabbard in their saddles and dismounted. The riders in the valley approached the mesa and signaled to the men on top.

“What do we do now?” Peter said.

Charlie didn’t answer. The men on top of the mesa threw a ladder rope over edge and began to climb down. The men down below dismounted and started the climb up. All together the group consisted of about twenty-five men.

Charlie pulled his .45 from the scabbard on his side and told Peter not to move.

“Where are you going?” Peter said.

“Shhh,” Charlie said putting his finger to his lips. “Stay here and be quiet.”

Charlie slithered out of the hiding place and took cover under some trees a few yards down the hill. He turned and gave the ok sign to Peter before disappearing behind a large boulder.

Peter heard the sound of gunshots. He hunkered down and covered his head. Then he saw several of the men running and then Charlie appeared from behind the boulder. He ran up the hill and quickly left the men behind. One man threw a knife which struck Charlie in the leg and he fell into the dirt.

“No, we want him alive!” shouted McFadden.

“Just slowing him down, that’s all,” yelled another.

Charlie pulled the knife out of his thigh and stood and turned to face his pursuers. The men who had descended from the top of the mesa were quickly approaching from behind him.

He brandished the knife at the men in front of him and they stopped for a moment. Charlie grabbed his shotgun from off his back but someone threw a rope around him from behind.

Charlie grabbed the rope and gave it a quick yank and the man went flying down the hill. Then they were on him, he tried to fight them off but their combined force was too much for him.

They grabbed his feet and his arms and held him horizontal in the air. He struggled violently but the men held him fast.

“He’s a strong one isn’t he, pull him taught don’t let him get away.”

A bearded man stepped up the hill and pushed some of the men who were surrounding Charlie aside.

“Well, what have we here?” He said.

The man reached out with his hand, “let’s see your eyes boy.” As he did his back suddenly arched and his arms flailed the air violently. One of the men standing beside him gripped him by the shoulder as the bearded man fell to his knees.

He clutched a pants leg of the man who had him by the shoulder and then fell face first into the dirt with a dull thud. In his back was an arrow buried deep in his spine. The men stood stunned. Charlie seized the moment and broke free from their grasp. He picked up one man and threw him into the branches of a tree, another was sent rolling downhill by a boot the chest.

Then, from behind Charlie felt a smash to his head and then everything went black. Three of the men took off after Peter and after a few minutes dragged him back kicking and screaming.

Chapter 38

Charlie’s eyes fluttered and then slowly opened. At first his vision was blurred and his neck and the back of his head throbbed. He lay quietly for several minutes as his eyesight began to clear.

He found himself in a small room shackled by his right arm to the wall by a length of chain. He sat up slowly, the pain in his head increased with movement. He examined the shackle and pulled on it testing its strength. Then he stood and put one foot against the wall and pulled with all of his strength but the restraint held fast.

He sat back down on the bed and looked around the room. It was empty except for the cot, and a small table. He ran his hand across his face; his goggles were not there.  He was a captive now; he thought of Peter and speculated on how he may be faring or if he were still alive at all.

After about an hour he heard the sound of keys rattling on the other side of the door. When it opened a man stepped into the room. He was a short portly man who appeared to be in his early fifties.

“Are you hungry, I have a tray of food for you?” The man said.

Charlie was surprised by the man’s visit and by his friendly demeanor. The man picked up a tray of food from a cart in the hall outside the door.

Thought you might like some real food for a change after being out there all of this time,” he said.

Charlie was silent.

“Ok, well I’ll just leave this tray here for when you’re ready; I’ll come by later on and pick up tray and see how you’re doing.” The man said setting the tray on the table.

The man closed the door behind him and Charlie head a distinct click when the lock turned. He eyed the tray of food suspiciously but decided to give it a try. The food smelled good and it was hot. He examined it closely and then put his nose close and inhaled deeply taking in the aroma of the freshly cooked meal.

Charlie wolfed down the food; it was the first real food he had eaten in such a long time. He had at first feared it may be poisoned but then he thought if they had wanted to kill him then they would have done so already.

He sat the tray on the floor beside the bunk and lay back down and stared at the ceiling. He hadn’t intended to encounter human civilization in such a manner as this, his idea of how it would happen and the realities were night and day.

He looked around the sparsely furnished room and his eyes focused on the bulb in the fixture on the ceiling. That bulb, that simple incandescent light bulb brought back so many memories, memories he had tried to keep down in a well in his mind.

How much he had lost in the last few years, everything he had and everyone he had ever known were now dust. All he stood for, all he had worked for or longed for were now part of another life, or were they part of another’s life? It was hard now to know the answer to the question of who was Charles Lynch anyway, does he truly exist or is this an identity that he has stolen from someone else?

Chapter 39

July, 2024

Charles Lynch pulled the string on the basement light and the bulb flickered out. He stood in the dark for a moment and considered the situation he found himself in and then walked slowly up the steps.

At the top of the staircase he put his hand on the doorknob and then paused and took one last look behind him at the darkened room. He shook his head at the insanity of it all and then passed through the doorway and locked it behind him. He replaced the plywood in front of the door and drove several long nails through and into the door frame. Now his whole family was down there in the earth beneath the house.

He stepped into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror and removed his shirt and examined the wound his wife had inflicted on him. It was a nasty bite, a large hunk of flesh and muscle had been torn off and blood had run down his abdomen and into his pants.

He cursed his stupidity; he knew she could not be saved. It was the same when the children were stricken; he had believed there was a chance, that somehow they would recover, but in the end it was not so

He placed a bottle of alcohol and a vial of iodine on the side of the tub and removed his clothes and stepped into the shower. He irrigated the wound with the spray of water and screamed in agony as the antiseptics scorched the gash.

The bottom of the tub ran red. Blood swirled into a crimson whirlpool as it spun into the drain. He stuffed a towel into the wound and stepped out of the tub and bandaged the wound as best he could but it took several hours for the bleeding to slow.

All he could do now was wait, there was no reason to try and get help, even if there was a medical facility that was still open there was nothing anyone could do for him now. He decided to get drunk, to get sloshed out of his gourd, if he was going to become one of those, those things he may as well be a happy one.

He pulled a bottle of bourbon from the liquor cabinet.

“Drinks are on the house, everyone belly up,” he yelled as he slammed his glass down hard on the counter.

He filled a glass with the amber liquid and downed it and then poured another and downed that one as well. He fought to keep the second glassful down.

“Mustn’t throw up, it won’t do you any good on the floor.” He said laughing.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, “Here’s to you old man,” he put the glass to his lips and watched his reflection as it downed a third jigger.

“What the hell you looking at?” he slurred at the mirror.

He threw the tumbler and his image shattered into a thousand pieces. Then all the fight went out of him, his legs went limp and he collapsed into a heap on the floor weeping.

The next morning broke gray and stiff and a steady rain fell outside. Charlie slowly opened his eyes and sat up. His body was stiff and every joint and muscle hurt. He looked at his wristwatch; it was one twenty-seven pm.

He grabbed onto the bar and slowly and painfully he got to his feet. He felt like shit and he was running a high fever. He was in a cold sweat and nauseous from the alcohol.

He walked down the hall towards the bathroom and pulled his shirt open. The bandage that covered his wound was no longer bright red instead a black sticky substance now oozed from the gauze.

He stepped closer to the mirror and carefully removed the wrapping. The area around the bite was red and warm and it oozed a mixture of pus and the black jelly. He tried as best he could to clean the bite and then wrapped it again.

Charlie walked to his bedroom and crawled into bed. He knew what was next and that there was nothing to do but wait. Soon he would join the others, mindlessly wandering in search of flesh. This is how the world dies, he thought, this is the end; doomsday.