Swarm (Dead Ends) (24 page)

I limped over to the bike, surveying my surroundings the whole time. All I could see were a few of the slow lurching zombies that didn’t seem to be concerned with much of anything aside from slowly putting one foot in front of the other in a sad attempt to keep up with the pack or perhaps find some nonexistent bus stop for the undead short bus that would allow them to catch up with the rest of their less mentally challenged brethren. Every litter has a runt or two. I carefully propped up the bike, trying to remember how these things worked. The last time I was on one as a kid, it didn’t end so well. I’ve got a nice big scar on my shoulder to prove it. I had been afraid to come anywhere near one ever since. But the threat of undead humans trying to eat me really has a way of putting my childhood fears into perspective. Now more than ever, there were worse things than falling off a bike and getting an “owie.”

It took a few tries to get it started but finally it lurched to life, making far too much noise for my liking but beggars can’t be choosers. The stragglers definitely took notice and as I revved down the exit onto a stretch of road I had never taken before, a few hunters came stalking out of the tree line, their eyes fixated on the source of the break in silence and especially on the meat candy sitting atop it. I pushed the accelerator as hard as I could but still I could only manage to get it just above 30 miles per hour. More hunters began to come out now. The dinner bell had been sounded. They were coming at an angle out of the tree line, closing the gap far too quickly. I knew this bike could go off road but I had no intention of doing so. I hugged the extreme right side of the road and prayed that the bike would sense my fear and dig down to find a few more horsepower. More of them came out now. Where they came from all of the sudden was a mystery. It’s as if they were hiding in the trees, waiting for something to cross their path, anything that would stimulate their hunger and remind them of their purpose. They came out in undulating waves, weaving in and out as they all gradually caught sight of their prey. A symphony of screams and groans rang out as their primal hunger increased tenfold whenever another of the pack got a look at me. I tried not to panic. I told myself, or perhaps convinced myself, that I had the angle; just enough space to squeeze by given their current speed. Then all I would have to do is just keep going. They’d give up eventually. Wouldn’t they?

I wanted so badly to swerve into the brush and create a better angle for escape but if I hit one bump I was a goner. So instead I prayed that this wouldn’t be my payback for falling asleep in math class in high school thinking none of this would ever help me in real life. My current situation clearly suggested otherwise. I steadied my arms as they got just close enough to breathe on me, close enough to feel the heat of the tailpipe as I narrowly passed them by. The plan was working so far but I had one last hunter to get past and he was adjusting his angle for my speed. Just watching him do this was terrifying. But even more terrifying was him grabbing my backpack as I passed by him in the last possible second I could’ve been allowed. I took my left hand off the handlebar and elbowed its wrist. The shift in momentum was almost enough to send me tumbling but I righted myself just as the tires began to groove into the side of the road. The hunter let go and tumbled into a bush and I got to the business of getting the hell out of here. I glanced back to witness the entire pack banding together as if they were being herded. They assembled into a single undead line, running at full speed, their bodies no longer burdened by muscle fatigue or shortness of breath. Nothing was going to slow them down, not as long as the high-pitched groan coming from the dirt bike continued to guide them to a meal. And if they weren’t going to stop, neither would I.

Chapter 21

After its initial burst up to around 30 miles per hour, the bike seemed to settle into a 25 mile per hour comfort zone once the accelerator had been pushed to its limit for a few minutes. The attempt to create distance seemed to being playing out in an agonizing slow motion. The road was an up and down undulating mess and every time I made it to a peak, I stopped and looked back. And every time there they were. The needle on the gas gauge steadily pushed towards that dreaded “E.” I had already used up a quarter of a tank with only half a tank left. I had no choice but to keep going. It was a two lane road with a sheer, slippery rock face on one side and a watery drop on the other. I needed more distance between these damn things before the bike went tits up. I knew it would be hard to accomplish but I told myself not to stop again. Even those few seconds of down time were enough for the hungry horde behind me to gain ground. It wouldn’t seem to matter much now but when the bike ran out of gas, every step I had on them was another chance to survive.

After a while, I let the rhythm of the road dull my senses a bit. I got the feeling that the last break I’d get is right here on this bike and I needed to take full advantage of it. For the first time since this began, I thought long and hard about my family. There was a part of me that was ashamed and embarrassed that it had taken me this long but I suspect many people felt the same way. We were all forced to react to something that we could never imagine happening. And when it did happen, we were reduced to our most basic of instincts. Memories and possessions no longer held any weight when the immortality of our species was suddenly threatened. But now, on the relative safety of this bike, is when I decided to have the “life flashing before my eyes” moment that had eluded me days before. There were so many regrets. So many failures. I wondered if my parents were still proud of me. Or if they were even still alive. They lived in the heart of Seattle so common sense told me not to hold out hope on that one. My sister lives in Montana with her husband and kids but I haven’t talked to her in years. We were never that close but I still prayed that she was alive and well because I fear that soon she may be the only family member left alive. She would definitely have a chance in Montana. Plenty of open space, not a lot of people. I told myself that she’d made it. No matter what, she would make it.

The sputtering of the engine shocked me back into the present. The tank was just about empty. It seemed to happen a lot quicker than I had estimated. But time passes differently when it’s filled with crippling uncertainty and pants-wetting fear. As if the universe knew that the one thing we all wanted right now was more time and in keeping with the laws of supply and demand, time was the one thing that suddenly became hard to come by. It was worth its weight in gold, or perhaps water, given the current state of things. I thought of the vodka in my backpack but I wasn’t sure the engine would take to it and the vodka was worth more to me as an antiseptic as well as a shot of liquid courage from time to time when things got even darker than usual. So when the bike could carry me no further, I did the only thing I could. I ran. I kept up a steady pace until my feet burned and ached and then I ran some more. I ran until my lungs wheezed and my back ached. I ran through searing pain, through all-encompassing doubt, through crippling fear, because I knew there was no other option. I ran until my body could take no more and then I ran some more until finally I reached an off ramp that led into what looked like an upscale suburb. The thought of staying in a big fancy house even if just for a day or two was almost euphoric. I really needed a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow right now and I knew I was setting myself up for disappointment but I was sure I was going to find it in this neighborhood.

The development was quiet. Somewhere between
Peaceful
and
Too Damn Quiet for Any Good to Come from This
on the Tranquility Scale that I just made up in my head. It was by no means an official reading but it was good enough for me considering the alternatives. The faint aroma of what I could only assume to be burning flesh permeated the air in just high enough of a concentration to remind anyone that no place was immune to whatever it was that was happening. It looked as though the residents had managed to fortify the place surprisingly well given the resources they probably had at their disposal. I imagined every neighbor clearing out their garages of anything useful, anything that could act as a weapon or a roadblock of some type. The fortified gate was overrun but it looked as though it had probably held for a while; just long enough for everyone to have hope, to think that they were special, that somehow the dead would spare them, if for no other reason than that they were rich and they felt they deserved some special treatment. They grasped foolishly onto the notion that money could fix anything because a few short weeks ago, it probably could have. But now it meant nothing. Other than maybe owning a big fancy SUV that might give you a slight leg up if you needed to get the hell out of town and had to run over a few bodies to get there.

I stepped cautiously through what was left of the battered down security gate. It was littered with blood and chunks of skin and hair but there were no bodies. I’m sure the rotten smell of charred flesh explained that. It was stronger now that I was inside the walls. I walked through the barren streets imagining the shock on these people’s faces when they realized that they were going to die just like everyone else. The sight of discarded large caliber shell casings resting between blades of perfectly manicured grass shook me to the core. Pools of blood and trails of viscera in the street seemed all the more ominous without the bodies that once accompanied them. Whatever happened here, it must have happened in the very beginning. Now it mostly resembled a long forgotten battle site; a reminder that the most powerful country in the world was in the process of being brought to its knees by something that it never could have planned for. The doors all had spray painted markings on them that reminded me of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina but I couldn’t quite remember what the numbers meant. All I knew is that one of them referred to the number of dead people inside. Biohazard stickers were plastered in the windows of some of the houses; I’m guessing the ones filled with the remnants of the undead.

At the end of the road sat what looked to be the largest house in the community. The only house without any markings on the door. At one point it looked as though there was a large church-like spire protruding from the roof; the kind of eccentricity that only the rich possessed. But now it was lopped off as if a bomb had gone off. A fitting apocalyptic sign if ever there was one: God is no longer in charge. An American flag rested at half-staff in the front yard. As I walked past the house, I saw what had hit it. A military helicopter, just like the ones I had seen from the Ranger tower, had crash-landed into the large stone fence that bordered the back of the community, putting a serious dent in the supposed security of this place. It was still mostly intact, no doubt the work of a talented pilot or perhaps just dumb luck. The inside of the craft was empty but blood covered the instrument panel. There was a small satchel underneath the pilot’s seat. I grabbed it and rifled through it, finding a treasure trove of useful items, including a silenced revolver with several boxes of ammo, several bottles of penicillin, a large bottle of vitamin C supplements, water purification tablets, several days’ worth of military issue MRE’s, and a flare gun with 3 flares. I slung the pack over my shoulder and followed the blood trail of yet another dragged body that led towards what looked like a child’s playground.

The source of the pungent smell of death was no longer a mystery. I walked to it, the fetid stench increasing exponentially with each step. The entire playground was scorched. Remnants of charred skulls were all that remained. The bark dust that lined the bottom of the playground had disintegrated in the heat. The large plastic slide, full of happy care-free children only a week ago, had melted slightly in the heat, leaving rigid plastic icicles fruitlessly reaching for the ground as they cooled. Once the shock wore off, I looked up to see bloody drag marks darkening the concrete. They seemed to come from every direction. It looked to me as if the military knew what this was and wasted no time in getting rid of the evidence. Maybe that was just my skeptical mind but it definitely felt like an attempt at a cover up. I scanned the area for a while, letting it sink in how little hope there must be left in those that remain. Suddenly I became sharply aware of how long I had been out in the open like this, prone to whatever may be lurking in the shadows. I pulled the silenced revolver out of the satchel and clicked the safety off, thoughts of Red and the Sunrise Market fighting hard to bubble to the surface. I pushed them down and walked back towards the large house, the only house I hoped didn’t have anyone, dead or otherwise, inside.

The door glided open silently as I raised the gun, mentally reminding myself that even though this had a silencer on it, I should still conserve my ammo and try not to shoot at things like my own shadow or the family cat who’s just thrilled to see anyone alive. My extensive experience with first person shooters like Call of Duty and Battlefield gave me a false sense of superiority. Like I’d been there before. Like I belonged here now. Even though a large part of me knew I didn’t have a damn clue what I was doing. The house was impeccably clean and even though I knew I should have cleared the whole thing, I went straight for the kitchen. Rich people have awesome food and while I knew the fridge would probably be a no-go, I was imagining cupboards filled with fancy snacks that I couldn’t pronounce. I pulled open all the cupboards and found mostly the standard stuff that people usually had lying around, waiting to be eaten when all other options had been exhausted. Sardines, smoked oysters, crackers, olives, dry roasted peanuts, cookies, etc… I grabbed the peanuts and ate a few handfuls, unaware of just how hungry I was until the smell hit my nostrils. I opened the fridge which didn’t smell as bad as I had anticipated, and pulled out a mostly warm can of Coke. The thought of caffeine and sugar combined as one made me smile.

The pleasing snap of the can opening was accompanied a second later by a thud from upstairs. My Coca-Cola moment all but ruined, I set the can down, my stomach painfully tightening around the peanuts I had just stuffed down my gullet. I raised the gun and walked slowly up the stairs, hoping to hell that it was nothing. Just the house creaking or a bird hitting a window or something. A part of me knew that wasn’t the case but fantasies keep people going, especially in times like these. I got to the top of the stairs and saw a man sitting up against a wall, his body slightly slumped to one side. The wall seemed to be the only thing keeping him upright. The shock of the moment made my legs go weak. My foot slipped on the carpeted stairs and I began to fall backwards. I grasped at the stairs, righting myself just in time, but not before sending a single shot into the middle of what looked like a very expensive painting at the top of the stairs. I’m really starting to think that me and guns just don’t mix. Hair triggers and short attention spans don’t make for a good combination when survival is the ultimate goal. But to be honest, I had no idea if this qualified as being a hair trigger seeing as how I had never actually picked up a real gun until a few days ago. A few steps closer was all it took to tell that the man was dead. A gun resting at his side and a small hole in his temple cleared up any confusion. He was decked out in full military garb with a dizzying amount of pins and insignias littering his jacket. Whoever he was, he was really damn important. And
he
had decided to kill himself. I thought that maybe he had been given the truth about what was happening and could no longer take it until I saw the bite mark on his wrist. He was just doing what needed to be done.