The Surviving Son (Valkyrie Book 2) (18 page)

If the apocalypse has taught me anything it is that I do not know
a damn thing. Sure, I am book smart, and I have the knowhow to
analyze and interpret the complex genomes of any pathogen. But
when it comes to the simple behavior of a manipulated mind, I am
at a loss. Valkyries true nature is swift expansion and grisly
conquest, and yet the Simpleton shows us a curious and confused
demeanor. He has the same pilot as all the others, but oddly pursues
conflicting priorities. I once theorized that rather than quell the
individual, in some brains, the virus merely formats the hard-drive.
In essence, the Simpleton is of the right mind, but like a newborn
child, its neural pathways are empty and without direction.

Elmer, for instance, was a wandering Simpleton that Adam had
encountered on his trek to Fort Rockland. Not driven by rage or
hunger, instead he was guided by inquisitiveness and knowledge, no
matter how basic or trivial it was. That journal entry, for which I
have read over and over, concluded with a simple question, ‘What
will become of him?’ Indeed, it was a query that would assumingly
never be answered.

Today I wandered off into the dense forest which reigns over
the mountain stones, alone, taking time to clear my head. I followed
Nash Brook up the mountain, past the swimming hole, and higher
than I have ever climbed before. The stream intersected two old
logging roads at various point of the climb up, their rough-timber
bridges had rotted and washed away long ago, leaving a blunt ravine
in the middle of an overgrown thruway. Further up and far from
those remnants of industry the brook narrowed and slowly faded,
until its flow disappeared somewhere beneath rocky earth.

Roaming so far from the cabin would be met with harsh
criticism from Steph as well as Abel. ‘Stupid Man,’ he will surely
call me, but I feel safe enough, being sure to pack my gun as well as
one of the boy’s make-shift spears. Foolhardy as it was, it was a hike
that I will not soon forget, and one that would ultimately bring me
closer to Adam and his own unimaginable experiences.

It must have an hour or two when I broke through the forest and
waltzed out into a large clearing that stretch for several acres.
Blueberry and Raspberries bushes overlaid a rocky mountainside,
and upon its discovery my stomach began to rumble. The berries
were just beginning to ripen, and I immediately scoured the masses
for the plumpest of the few, tossing them one by one into my mouth.
Although overly tart, not yet sweetened by the suns caress, I gorged
with gluttonous greed.

Slowly I moved further into the parcel, clambering over
boulders and dodging the sting of raspberry thorns, all for a rare and
overdue sweet treat. My mind was empty as I feasted, not even the
occasional twitter or chirp, nor ghastly grunt would break my
concentration. Grunt? My head snapped up, within feet from where
I stood was the tall and lanky form of the dreaded Prowler, and just
as fast as my stomach stopped its grumble and instantly twisted, I
was on the ground. Hoping and praying that I had not been
discovered.

Its back was to me, and it stood almost motionless in the
mountain breeze as the stench that arose from him wafted my way.
Firmly I placed my arm over my nose and scanned the area,
searching for his friends. It appeared we were alone, but I knew there
had to be others, somewhere within the dense tree lines, watching
me, waiting to strike. But time gradually passed, and with each
second, there was endless silence.

The Prowler eventually became antsy, shifting its feet as its
head twisted and turned as if searching for me. At first I assumed
that it caught my scent, but he never turned to face me, nor did he
show any sign of fury. He was almost complacent, and when his arm
brushed up against a raspberry cane, its thorn digging and tearing
into his blackened flesh, he gazed upon it in a mindless curiosity.

Slowly I pulled the pistol from my pack, ready to end its
existence before it notice mine. But as I cocked the hammer back
the cold hard steel echoed like a monstrous ratchet, its clicks
seeming to echo over the mountainside. The Prowlers head snapped
towards me as it leaned forward, gazing into my frightened eyes,
and without pause I pulled the cannon up towards its head. But it
showed no sign of concern, nor did it lunged at me in selfpreservation. Instead its attention turned back to the thorns as he
tugged and yanked, tearing them through its own skin.

My own curiosity took over as I removed my finger from the
trigger, and watched, still holding the gun in place as a precaution.
When the Prowler freed itself from the stinging grasp it turned and
slowly step towards me, cocking its head right to left as its arms
hung lifelessly from its shoulders. Leaning back to distance myself,
the ebony infection stopped abruptly before me, slowly kneeling
down. Calmly it reached out, the tip of its finger pressing gently
upon the end of the barrel then slowly along its side.

It showed no interest in myself, but of only the gun, gazing into
the gleam of its chromed steel like it were car keys to a baby. Elmer,
was my first thought, but never before had we seen a case like this.
A Simpleton who had evolved into a Prowler, he should be hunting,
lethal and tactile. Not docile. But the chances of this actually being
the lost soul of Adam’s first undead friend were slim to none. Yet I
take comfort in that assumption - Elmer, a friend of a friend.

As he studied my weapon, I took advantage of being so close
and studied his features in detail. Although the majority of his
clothing had long rotted or been torn away, there were still remnants,
encased within its putrid flesh like the faded outline of a fossil.
Elmer’s face, scaly and cracked, his eyes sunken and dark, and his
jaw protruding outward with ashen teeth of an unsightly under bite.
A foolish looking oaf, gentle and oblivious.

Elmer cocked his head again, looking up at me, then back to the
weapon, his fingers never leaving its smooth surface. I repeated the
word again, putting emphasis on the G, and much louder this time.
Elmer’s hand retracted slightly, then placed back upon the barrel.
His breath permeating my nostrils, but I held back my disgust, my
own curiosity reveling at his own.

“bah.” The subtle sound escape its lips like a ghost.
“GUN.” I said again.
“BAH!” He barked.
“GUH-N.”
With an annoyed snort he grabbed hold of the barrel tightly,

never trying to pull it from my hands, but in attempt to understand.
For a moment I felt like the Miracle Worker, introducing a deaf and
blind child to a whole new world. But my enthusiasm was
misguided, for the Simpleton cannot learn, but only observe and
possibly wonder. As it was proved when his attention turn towards
the caw of a crow soaring overhead.

“BAH!” He exclaimed, before rising back to his feet and
sluggishly stumbling away.
I followed him close, watching his every move and a variety of
mannerisms. My only regret is not bringing along my notepad, or
even having access to a video camera. For a moment I considered
using my belt to secure him to a tree, then returning to the cabin for
my instruments, but such actions could prove foolishly dangerous.
So much could be learned with such a specimen, and I can only
speculate to the secrets which he holds within. A part of me even
wonders who he was back before The Fall; a lawyer, a doctor, or
quite possibly a criminal. His personality, unlike most of the
Infected, invokes many theories that will never be proven.
After several clumsy shuffles, Elmer once again became
fixated, this time upon one of Mother Nature’s most beautiful
creations. A Butterfly– Predominately black, much like that of
Elmer’s rancid flesh with contrasting white spots alongthe outer rim
of its wings and silky blue smudges towards the center of either
appendage. The Spicebush Swallowtail, in my youth I was quite the
entomologist, before such infatuations lead to my enthusiasms
towards the bugs of the microscopic world.
The bewildered monster watched with curiosity as the
weightless creature danced around him like a seductive fairy, and I
couldn’t help but stare in amazement. There was something
strangely parallel between them, something that nobody else
would’ve have perceived. Scientifically the two of them were alike,
each sharing an alien and morbid metamorphosis, except one
became the epitome of beauty, and the other of death.
I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through Elmer’s
mind as he stared at this angel before him. Quite possibly, nothing
at all, and what I was observing was mere echoes of what we would
call curiosity. The mannerisms were active, but nothing was
recording. On the other hand, did he possess some primitive ability
to analyze and interpret? Could he theorize and question? Was he
conjuring an archaic and basic belief system? Was this floating
spectacle before him God?
The answers never came, and as the sun slowly descended, I
debated on heading back, or to wait a few minutes longer and see
what behavior he would display next. However, I didn’t have to
dwell on it for long, a cool breeze picked up across the mountainside
and twirled the butterfly chaotically in the air. In a last ditch effort
to correct itself the insect gently glided over and landed upon
Elmer’s nose, slowly flexing its wind battered wings.
The feathery assault did not bode well in the eyes of my new
friend who lashed out violently, swatting the air, and stumbling
backwards. He grunted with annoyance, and snarled in utter detest
as the delicate monstrosity held tightly to its perch. For a moment I
almost chuckled as I watched the hilarity ensue, but then, Elmer’s
right fist landed a crushing blow, squashing the bug as well as
breaking what remained of his own nose. Black infectious blood and
butterfly entrails splattered across his face as the rage more
commonly witnessed in the dead grew from a painful fire.
Elmer roared in fury, his phlegmy voice echoing back from an
adjacent mountain as a swath of birds took to the air. My curiosity
and entertainment instantly melted away as his eyes locked upon my
own and swiftly he lurched towards me, arms outstretched, reaching
for an easy dinner. The ravenous monstrosity within had been reborn
from the womb of pain, but for Elmer, the sensation was not
perceived as we would such an injury, but instead it triggered his
gluttony.
Fumbling to raise the gun I stumbled backwards, tripping over
a root and crashing hard upon a sharp ledge. Stinging pain shot up
my back as I yanked the trigger back and the fifty caliber round
blasted through Elmer’s shoulder, knocking him back a few steps
before he resumed his attack. This time I focused on the shot,
blacking out the pain, and slowly squeezing the trigger.
The bark of the gun reverberated across the mountain, just as
the echoes of the first round had faded. Surely Abel and Steph had
heard it, and I surmised that he was already on his way before
Elmer’s knees had buckled and his body toppled down upon me.
Quickly I threw him off and rose to my feet, arching my back and
rubbing the growing bruise. Elmer lay upon the ground almost
lifeless, just a negligible twitch from his lower jaw as his rewired
nervous systems quickly shut down.
The bullet vaporized everything from his nose up, and putrid
sludge gurgled and hissed up through its masticated airways. With
the threat gone, I took a deep breath and examined the body, looking
for more data to assimilate and assess. What caught my attention,
scientifically rather than perversely, was his genitalia. Or what was
left of them. I had never paid much attention to them in my previous
close encounters, and what I found in Elmer was the beyond curious.
Commonly, useless organs are shed or consumed, but between
his legs remained both penis and testicles. However, they had
shriveled and were encased with scar-tissue, creating a recognizable
impression of what they once were. The same thing I found of his
belly button and nipples, a shallow cavity and two dismissible
lumps. Simple curiosities that have no importance except for the
infatuation of a wondering mind. And as my examination
concluded, a bubbling putrid sludge expelled from Elmer’s bowels
and I turned to walk away before the stench could waft my way.
‘A friend of a friend who became my enemy.’ I thought to
myself as Abel’s juvenile voice cracked up and over the palisades.
“STUPID FOOL!”

The sun breached the Appalachian skyline casting a myriad of
light like a blast from a fourth of July firework. Brilliant and
blinding, a welcomed contrast to the pitch black of night, for which
we have hiked through non-stop. I was rudely awakened by Abel
well after midnight, but not quite dawn, far too early to be navigating
the treacherous landscape of these mountains. But the boy was on a
mission, and would not be deterred.

Steph was left behind to sleep, and my mind was constantly
thinking back on that night she gave herself to me, but in away the
thought create more guilt than bliss. It was as if I had betrayed Abel,
even though his crush was both juvenile and fleeting. But there was
something else growing from within, adoration, I was falling for her.
And although we have not spoken about that night, we do
occasionally share subtle winks and flirtatious smiles. I fear, though,
her infatuation with me may too be fleeting, just a simple affair
fueled by circumstance.

Abel has said little to me on our journey, for which I concluded
hours before was not one of his daily hunts. But I did not question
him on the matter, but instead put trust in his supernatural abilities,
such that has protected us so far through this Devil’s landscape. He
brought no gear, only a make-shift spear and a stag-handled knife,
and with trepidation I followed the perpetually cryptic child,
unknowing what was in store for us, in store for me.

Almost immediately after losing sight of the cabin the Prowlers
were upon us. Although not once did they show themselves, instead
they clung to the night like shadows upon a summers scorching
black-top. Visible, yet hidden. And if it were not for their unearthly
articulation, we may have never sensed their presence. At least not
myself, the boy on the other hand sensed their emotions from a mile
away, and was phased none by it.

For the last hour we have followed atop a flat and patchy alpine
ridge which horseshoed just below the peaks of two mountains,
connecting them as one. The view of the valley below us was both
breathtaking and brilliantly divine, a thick morning fog scarcely
covered the canopy below, yet cloaked the river from sight. And off
in the distance, Bigelow Mountain towered over all the rest, it’s five
peaks watching over the land like mother-natures guardians.

The sun had pulled itself up and over the horizon when we
abandoned the ridge and slowly ascended to the summit of the
adjacent mountain. Not and extremely steep climb, yet an obstacle
ridden march of fallen trees and unstable boulders. The ground
cover, so brittle and dry, seemed to constantly slip out from under
by boots with a deafening raucous and easily giving away our
position to the Prowlers, yet still they never once charged us.

My old and weathered bones creaked with each step, and ached
with persistent fire. I was not built for this type of adventure, I was
a lowly lab rat, a geek, not a survivalist. It was now obvious I may
have bitten off more than I could chew, and in hindsight I
contemplated alternative actions to the mission before me. An
impenetrable fortress for instance, a Zombie Proof Metropolis
where we could bide our time as they slowly starved to death. But I
had to be realistic, and reserved my complaints as I curiously
followed the unhindered and unrelenting Abel.

“There!” The boy finally exclaimed, as he pointed further up
the slope and through the trees.
Beyond the thickets, just a couple hundred yards away, barely
visible through the dense and ancient timber was the summit with
the telltale supports of a fire-tower at its center. A man made
structure deemed obsolete many years before The Great Outbreak,
and a now a skeptical sight after a full nights hike up a treacherous
landscape. Why have we come here? How will this withered and
unmaintained tower benefit our cause? But still, I held in my
questions, and heeded my trust in the boy.
Breaching the crest the boy did not hesitate to climb the ladder
towards the enclosed lookout above. I myself waivered at the sight
of the brittle, dry-rot rungs that lead upwards, but after a moment of
consideration I followed. As I ascended, the ladder barked at me in
agony, creaking and cracking with each step and thoughts of
plummeting to my death clouding my mind. But the old cedar spire
held its own, and I sighed with relief as I pulled myself into the
lookout and slumped down upon the floor in exhaustion.
“Here! Will this help?” The boy screeched.
I did not immediately look, and to a degree ignored the boy’s
excitement. My curiosity was buried beneath a euphoric state of pain
and fatigue, Abel was a distant memory, my mission forgotten. But
only momentarily. Soon my racing heart slowed, my blood-pressure
equalized, and I rolled over to see what the boy had for me. Upon a
desk that sat below a clouded and dusty window rested a masterpiece
of technological engineering. A dusty yet heavenly hand-crank Ham
Radio, and as the image sunk into my muddled thoughts, I leaped to
my feet and vigorously cranked life back into its corroded circuitry.
“Smart boy.” I commended.
After a few moments I flipped on the switch and sluggishly the
dials lit up, for which I proceeded to adjust them to the GFS
emergency frequency. Years ago we had constructed a network of
radio outposts between our colonies and several secured towns, and
I just hoped we were in range to reach them. The boy watched as he
gloated to himself with a big smile of triumphant satisfaction, and I
smiled back, without a word this was his way of letting me know
that he would return with us. With my mission back on track, I took
a deep breath and grabbed hold of the microphone.
“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, this is an emergency message for
the Global Federation of Survivors, does anyone read?”
Static…
Once again I repeated the message, only to be met
again with the depressing analog snow, but I did not give up.
Multiple times I had to crank the power as the lights slowly faded,
but with each recharge I repeated the same message. Over and over
for what seemed like hours before I halted my efforts and lay my
head upon the desk in defeat.
“Keep trying.” They boy exclaimed.
“I will.” I answered. “Let’s give them a moment.”
“How far away are they?” He asked.
“Very far.” I said, looking over into his shadowy eyes. “How
did you know about this?” I asked.
“Papa brought me here once.” He said, his smile diminishing.
“But, you wouldn’t let me play with it. He said it was dangerous.”
“He may be right.” I said with a smile. “What made you decide
to come with us?” I asked.
“I decided a long time ago.” He answered. “But you keep
wandering off and are gonna get yourself killed. So last night I
figured it was time.”
Reach over I rubbed the top of his head, his greasy hair tangling
up upon my fingers, and then with a smile I patted his shoulder. I
might have called him a brat for holding out on us, but at this point
I was too ecstatic to complain. Better late than never, the cliché was
most welcome. And as I gazed down at the boy, I pulled the mic
back up to my mouth for another round of calls, only to be pleasantly
interrupted.
“This is… station 43… please adjust… 1104.5.”
The faint voice
broke through the static, and feverishly I readjusted the dials for the
proper station.
“Is this the GFS?” I called back, “Over.”
“This is ECS 43 of the GFS, please identify yourself… Come
back.”
“This is Patrick Zimmerman of Operation Upper Hand. It is
imperative that I speak with President Mason ASAP!” I called back,
and was briefly met with silent static once again as my request sunk
into the mind of the speechless service woman.
“Call sign and service number… come back.”
The young voice
finally stuttered.
“Alpha One, service number One-One-Three-Two dash FiveZeroVictor… over.” receiving once again a minute of silence.
“One moment… Mr. President.”

ECS 43, the Emergency Communication Service stationed just
across the border, but not the border I needed. Although nestled atop
Mt. Washington in New Hampshire, it would take time for them to
locate and connect me to Ash. A couple of hours at least, and the
time did not pass quickly as our patience ran thin and the afternoon
drew over us, heating up the lookout like a sauna. Sweat poured
from my brow, and the all too common smell of roughing it
overpowered my nostrils. However, the boy seemed unaffected by
the heat, and showed no signs of perspiration. But his nose did
crinkle with distaste as my pungency wafted his way.

Waiting, we chit-chatted about this and that, yet Abel was more
interested in the life history of Nova, for which I had little to tell.
Unlike her adventures with Adam and Mia, I gave her a more quiet
and lazy life. Although she never complained about the dullness,
never took off to find her own adventure, never cared to be a part of
the dead world again. She was content to lay about or get fat off the
scraps of food her admirers would toss her.

“They’re here.” Abel said after a long pass of silence.
“Who?” I asked.
“The dark ones.” He said calmly.
I shuffled over to the window, looking down into the dense

mountain top below, yet saw nothing. Not even the slightest
movement, not a scampering squirrel, nor the flutter of a bird. The
forest was silent and dead, nature was hiding from the presence of
death. We were in the worst possible place to fight off an assault,
and I feared the call we waited for would not come until after the
light faded, which would make our survival even more farfetched.

“Alpha one, do you copy?”
The familiar voice broke through
the silence just in time, and jump started my heart. Without
hesitation, I dashed back to the radio.

“Yours too. We presumed you dead weeks ago. Where are you?
over.”
“In a rickety fire-tower just east of bum-fuck. - over.”
“How many are left? Where is Garrison?”
“Dead, they’re all dead. It is just Steph and I... Oh, and the boy!
- over.”
“You found him? - over.”
“I did,” I took a moment to process how I would advise further.
“He is the hope we came for. - over”
“You have the cure?- over.”
“Negative. I have something … else.” I looked at Abel and
smiled. “Something better than a cure. But we need rescue ASAP. -
over”
“Can you get me coordinates, I can have a chopper to you in
two hours. - over”
“Negative.” I said. “There is no LZ here. We require a new
location for extraction. - over”
“How close are you to the original LZ? - over”
“Not close enough, my friend. We can make for Rangeley, but
it will take a couple of days…” I paused a moment. “And bring a
gun-ship as well. We may have others to rescue. – over.”
“I’ll see what I can scrounge up, sir. Our forces are pretty thin
right now – over.”
“Why? What’s going on? over.”
“War, sir. - over.”

“War with whom?
- over.”
“Everyone sir. Factions have popped up all over with their own
selfish agendas. The Republic of Texas is currently at war on both
sides of their border, with one group claiming to be the United States
of America, as well as the Democratic Republic of Mexico which is
evidently run by the former Juarez Cartel. The Christian Alliance
and the Islamic Coalition of Social Cleansing have begun their own
campaigns and have sacked three of our outposts. Those are just the
big players, its complete anarchy all across the country, not to
mention overseas. - over.”
“After everything we’ve gone through...” My head dropped in
silence.
“
I take full responsibility sir, I should have seen this coming. over.”
“And done what, Mason? Start your own campaign? The best
thing you can do is defend what is ours and try to open up diplomatic
lines of communication. – over.”
“I have no confidence in my diplomatic skills, the people want
their leader. They want you, sir. - over.”
“Then our rescue is all the more important.” I took a deep
breath, thinking of a way to lighten the mood. “I may have to doc
you a few day’s pay for failure to keep order, my friend. - over.”
“Copy that.”
Ash called back with a chuckle.
“Although I
warned you that I was not cut out for this job. - over.”

“You’re the only man for it.” I said. “Tell the pilot to keep his
eyes open, they have RPG’s. - over.”
“Copy that. I’ll be seeing you in two days. Over and out.”
That conversation with my old friend, although not containing
the best of news, was uplifting and gave hope that we still had a
chance. Yet the thought of leaving the safety of this tower and
venturing deep into the forest on a long and treacherous journey did
not bode well for me. Exhausted and with almost no supplies, it
would take a miracle for our survival. But, Abel may be that miracle,
only he could get us through this.
“Where we going?” He asked.
“South.” I answered with a smile. “We need to go back and get
Steph first.”
“No, you stayand rest. Iwill go.” Hesaid as he crawled through
the hole to descend the tower. Before closing the trap-door he threw
me a quick smile, “Keep it locked, stay low.” And with that, he
slammed the door shut and was gone.