Swarm (Dead Ends) (16 page)

Just as I turned my body in the direction of the path to the tower, I heard a twig snap in the distance behind me. It might as well have been a gunshot. The sound pierced through the silence, immediately spiking the hairs on my neck. The pillowcase dropped to the ground, causing the cans to emit a cacophony of unwanted sounds; a low budget dollar store orchestra that reverberated off of every available surface. I fumbled for my machete as I quickly turned around. I wasn’t quite prepared for what came next. It was a deer. A young male from the looks of the barely formed antlers on the top of its head. We both looked at one another. It looking at me trying to assess my danger level, maybe wondering if I was one of the undead, me looking at it, getting lost in the moment of seeing something so beautiful and graceful littered amongst the fear, death, and (I couldn’t help but think) inevitable destruction of this beautiful land. I could hear another rustling noise further in the distance and a second later I detected movement from a bush behind the deer. I expected to maybe see his mate or perhaps some siblings following him to wherever they may be headed. Instead what I saw was something I couldn’t quite comprehend or perhaps didn’t want to believe.

A zombie, unlike any I had yet seen, came rushing out of the brush at breakneck speed. The deer, no doubt distracted by my presence, got a late start before it began to run from this abomination. It gained ground on the deer so quickly I could do nothing but watch in horror. The zombie dug its graying, bloodied fingers into the sides of the deer’s hind legs and threw it to the ground in a horrifying display of strength and agility. It immediately began chewing on the deer’s lower leg as if it were making a calculated decision to ensure the deer couldn’t escape. In no time, it had gnawed off one of its feet and made a quick move towards its throat. The whole scene looked eerily similar to a Cheetah taking down a gazelle and the grim realization of what that meant literally took my breath away.

I instinctively tightened my grip on the machete, swaying slightly to one side as my mind tried to wrestle with the reality laid out before it, a reality it must now find some way to cope with if I wanted any chance of getting out of this alive. I stepped to one side to right my balance which placed my foot directly into the pillow case full of canned food. I winced as the sound echoed off the trees and through the leaves until it inevitably reached the ears of what I was certain would be my undoing. I stood board straight as it looked up at me with what looked like a major artery hanging out of its mouth, the blood still draining from one end. My mind clung stubbornly, stupidly, to the Jurassic Park T-Rex theory that if I didn’t move, it couldn’t see me. It was admittedly the longest of long shots but it was all I had. My brain was toast. Pop culture science was all I had left.

It stood up now, drenched in fresh warm blood. Steam from the deer’s wound bathed the zombie’s face and (I hoped) clouded its vision enough to ensure that there was nothing to see here, that I was no threat and it could get right back to finishing its meal while I calmly shit myself and attempted to huff it for the nearest tree. Instead, it sniffed the air and did something I hadn’t yet seen one of these things do. It bellowed; a disturbing bit of noise that had no business coming from anything even remotely human. Then it just stood there staring at me, waiting for me to panic. A few long seconds passed before I realized what was happening. Just as it clicked, I heard the footsteps behind me. It was calling for backup. Before I could turn around, a second zombie had bit angrily into the sheath on my back. Mistaking the leather for human skin, it began tearing at it, trying to get at the fresh meat and blood that it lusted after. I wanted to swing wildly with my machete but knowing how sharp the blade was I didn’t want to risk losing an ear or chunk of skull as I attempted to play a blind game of whack-a-mole with the zombie’s head. Instead I rotated my body as quickly as I could while bringing my right elbow with as much force as I could muster to land directly into the side of its head.

The sharp tip of my elbow connected with its temple, resulting in an audibly satisfying crunch followed by something I hadn’t expected. A split second after bone met bone, the zombie actually whimpered like a dog, as if it had actually felt the pain, before it tumbled to the ground in a heap. As it clumsily came to a stop, it looked up at me, a mixture of fear, confusion, and anger screwing into the undead lines in its graying, bloodied face. I was fairly certain I had just pissed it off and completely convinced that I would soon come to regret it. I quickly glanced back at the first zombie I had seen and my worst fears were realized. It no longer had any interest in the deer. At its current rate of speed, it would get to me in 10 seconds or less, guaranteed. The timer began counting down in my head as I turned my attention back to the closer one, raising my machete as I faced it. The look of humanity quickly faded from its face, replaced by the all-encompassing hunger of the beast within as it looked at the blade knowingly, as if it knew the machete’s purpose and the danger it possessed. Again, something I had yet to see in any of these creatures until right now. Either there are different types of them or they are all evolving. I couldn’t decide which scenario was more horrifying.

Eight seconds.

I attempted to slide the blade into its head as it got up but instead of getting straight up, it lurched forward slightly, sending the blade through its snarling mouth in a downward motion through the back of its neck, missing the spinal column and sliding out the back end like a skewer. The most unsettling part of this was that it seemed to take that action on purpose; accepting the collateral damage in an attempt to complete the overriding objective lain out by its apparent leader now closing the considerable distance between us with alarming swiftness.

Five seconds.

I could faintly hear the rustling of grass and pounding of footsteps behind me. I tried to pull the blade out but this dead fuck clamped down on it with the force of a German Shepherd, a knowing look in its eyes as it waited.

Two seconds.

I had no choice but to kick forward as hard as I could manage to create some distance as it stumbled clumsily backwards, falling to the ground once again. The timer screeched to an end in my head. I turned around just as the hunter approached the kill zone. My only weapon, a pillowcase hastily filled with canned food, rested near my feet. I gripped the end tight, the fabric tickling the inside of my wrist, and swung it as hard as I could in an upward motion just as he was certain he had me. I connected dead on with his chin. The force of the blow combined with his momentum sent him flying into the air as if he had just slipped on the mother of all banana peels.

Before it was afforded any chance at getting up, I bludgeoned it with my makeshift hobo weapon, smashing its head into hamburger, only stopping when the pillowcase finally ripped and the cans began to fly everywhere. I dropped what was left of the fabric and turned back to the skewered fuck who still laid claim to my prized machete clamped firmly inside of its jaws. It looked visibly upset as it stared down at what was left of its buddy. I took a step towards it and it caught me completely off guard by turning around and running for its undead life. I stared in confusion for a second but snapped out of it quickly when I realized he was getting away with the only weapon I had ever managed to have any proficiency with. I found a family sized can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew at my feet, and without much of a thought, picked it up and winged it in the zombie’s direction, nailing it in the leg just hard enough to affect its rhythm and send it horizontal once again, no doubt eating a handful of dirt as it thudded to the ground. I covered the distance between us with surprising speed and before he could manage to get up, I pinned its head to the ground with my boot, pulled the machete out of its mouth, bringing a few broken teeth with it, and methodically slid the tip through its temple, the honed steel cutting through the thin skull with almost no resistance. I scanned the landscape for any more sounds or movement and only after at least 30 seconds of looking and listening did I allow myself to relax.

The mere sight of these new breed of zombies would’ve been enough for anyone to just give up. Wave the white flag and say goodbye to this world forever. Especially when you’ve seen them in action like I have. Up to this point, the safety of knowing I could run from these things and survive was comforting but seeing how fast these two freak shows could run and how they seemed to actually be working together was enough for me to commit Hari Kari right here and now, disemboweling myself and letting the hordes eat me the easy way. The fiercest show of disrespect you could give any adversary; not allowing them the pleasure of killing you themselves. And the light in their eyes, the recognition that they seemed to have for their surroundings and what it all meant? I didn’t have words for that. Every other member of the undead up until this point just seemed to exist, shambling around until something caught their eye or ear. There didn’t seem to be any emotion other than a hunger that never seemed to be satisfied and a drive to pursue that hunger no matter the bodily cost.

These two had that brightest of lights behind their eyes. The hamster wheel was a bit rusty but it was turning. They had an understanding of their own existence and a drive to protect it. They looked as if they were being torn between two worlds. Their graying skin seemed to indicate that they were at a more advanced stage of decomposition but their bodies weren’t soft like the others I’d seen who still had more human looking skin. Their skulls still had some rigidity to them and aside from it being a creepy milky grey color the skin seemed taught on their bodies. Every other thing about them would suggest that maybe they had just been turned but I didn’t see any bite marks or mortal wounds anywhere on their bodies aside from the ones I gave them. I couldn’t make sense of it. But trying to make sense of anything that has happened in the last 3 days would prove to be an exercise in futility.

No sense trying to figure it out now. My mind no longer held the capability. I’m liable to have a stroke if I try and connect the dots on some invisible puzzle that would probably be over my head even if I could see it. I picked up the backpack full of freeze dried meals as I looked at the contents of the now bloodied pillowcase scattered about the forest floor. Most of the cans were studded with thickened blood, chunks of mashed brain and hair, and shards of skull and I wasn’t about to take my chances on what would’ve been considered a surplus of food given the amount that was already packed into the Jeep and the multitude of freeze-dried food in the pack. I contemplated taking the Spaghetti-O’s but then I remembered that I had a fresh can of corned beef hash waiting for me back in the bunker. With what I just went through, I’d say I more than deserved it. The Ranger tower could wait until my belly was full and my mind was a little less rattled.

Chapter 16

Corned beef hash, Codeine, and Bourbon: The breakfast of champions. The ones that are still living anyway. Square-jawed stoicism and vigilant hyper-awareness were overrated. In an apocalypse, slightly dumb and comfortably numb was the way to go. This nightmarish road trip was dangerously close to screeching off the rails soon anyway. I may as well enjoy the scenery before I run out of track. The way I see it, it’s no different than all of those morons who would drive drunk and plow into a minivan filled with a family of 5 heading off to a birthday dinner at Chili’s. When all the screeching and booming stopped, who was usually the only person that survived? The one that was too fucked up to realize his life was about to end. It may not be fair but it’s still the truth.

I finished every last bite of my breakfast, savoring the salty fatty goodness as I watched the constantly changing and still live traffic cam footage populating every channel that came in. I drank until the images on the screen blurred slightly, like an old video game, I told myself. Escapist fantasy amongst an otherwise normal and mundane world. I almost believed it too. But no matter how much I numbed myself to my surroundings and to my inescapable fate, there was this tiny little miniscule niggling in the back of my brain. A tickle, almost, sending a message to the rest of my body. Something ancient. Something so intertwined with my DNA and so resolute in its message that I couldn’t ignore it. It kept flashing the same word over and over again, unwavering in intensity with no sign of letting up, I’m assuming, until I decided to heed it:
Survive
.

If only I had a way to tell that little bugger hiding in the recesses of my mind that I’m doing the best I can.
In my own way
. But right now I was more focused on taking what I assume would be the last comfortable and danger-free shit of my ever-shortening life. Corned beef always did do a number on me. Why do we love the things that hurt us most? There’s got to be a lesson in there somewhere. Maybe that’s why we all find ourselves in this position now. Who knows? Jesus, I think I just might be losing my mind.

***

With the maximum volumetric capacity of the chemical toilet properly and severely tested, I was finally ready to get to the damn Ranger’s tower. With everything that has happened, there better be a goddamn cure up there because the whole reason I’ve been forced to witness several Costco-sized barrels of death in the past 24 hours was the promise that the CB radio in that tower would give us some answer, some direction as to where to go and what to do next. Anything short of a warp pipe to a happier world filled with a 24-hour booze and pill buffet and devoid of anything “bitey” was going to be a soul-crushing disappointment.

I reached the tower, machete in one hand and Bourbon in the other, in what felt like 2 minutes but was probably more like 20, drug and alcohol induced hazes being what they are. The tower looked, I suppose, like a fire lookout tower ought to look. Four large wooden beams extending skyward towards a deck about 50 feet off the ground. A winding set of stairs in the center meandered up to the deck which had a small dwelling with windows on all sides. It looked much newer and more well maintained than the ones I remember when I used to hike Mt. Rainier, back in the days before drugs and video games were my main pastimes. The hike up was painful if not beautiful, the valley below becoming more and more visible as the stairs slowly took me above the tree line and I hoped above the stink of the undead that had begun to proliferate the lower elevations. Luckily, the deck was in fact devoid of any unwanted smells. I took a deep breath, wincing slightly as the pain in my ribcage sought to remind me of my impending mortality. A small price to pay for once again being able to take in the intoxicating smell of pine trees and just the slightest hint, I tried to convince myself, of ocean air. I sometimes forget just how beautiful my corner of the world really is. It’s a shame it took circumstances like these for me to actually get out and experience it once again. Though I suspect I’m not the only one who has started to think about the things I have still yet to do, the things I told myself that one day I would get to after some unnamed goal was reached in my life, some vague objective attained.