The Wanderers (22 page)

“
I mean to say that it’s not the only way. We also have the van.”

“
It’s not ready. And we already spoke about that, we don’t know what the roads are going to be like. We said that we would try first, just two of us, to see how everything is.”

“
Well... let’s calm down,” pleaded Moses. “Of course we’re going to finish the van, if we do actually use it. After all we’re not in a hurry; there still are enough provisions and we still have the surrounding stores to supply ourselves with water and whatever we may need.”

“
Trying the sewers is worth a try,” said Isabel, looking at Cripple. “Just to try... see how it’s like. If we know that those risks exist we can cautiously avoid them. Most dangers are so because their existence is unknown.”

“
She’s right about that,” said Moses, smiling, “and we also have you to guide us, it’s a good way to find out if it’s possible or not.”

“
Alright, you bastards,” said Cripple between clenched teeth, “I’ll stick my sexy limping self in shit, if that’s what you want.”

They all laughed.

Contrary to what they usually did, they continued planning up until the wee hours, too excited with the possibilities to even think of trying to sleep. The idea of finding themselves immersed again in a group of
thirty
people conferred an unusual dimension to the word “community”.

The following days brought about feverish activity. Moses, Roberto and Cripple often went outside to the surrounding bazaars for galoshes, rubber gloves, and rope. They had become very experienced in the art of avoiding and maneuvering around the specters, and they took special care not to excite them too much.

Late one morning, Cripple finally entered the sewers. It was even worse than he had remembered. He moved forward with difficulty, and as Theseus in the minotaur’s labyrinth, he used a string as a guide to remember the way back. The tunnel was narrow and had a low ceiling, and he had to bend his knees and walk hunched over to move forward. The stench was the worst of it; he had to cover his nose with his shirt, and even then it was suffocating, and he retched and dry heaved throughout his subterranean voyage. He did not, however, spot even one rat. He confirmed, on the other hand, that it was possible to advance much farther than he had thought, and although it was hard to say, he calculated that he had practically reached the river, which separated the building of El Corte Ingles from the center area.

Upon his return, the news was received with much joy by the rest of the group.

“
And another thing. We need masks, or air filters, or whatever, because damn, down there it
stinks
so bad you can’t even imagine it.”

“
Alright,” said Roberto, visibly content, “we can go for more equipment tomorrow, more gloves, boots... don’t you think?” looking to Moses, as if searching for approval. “How long could it take us? I think we could leave in two or three days.”

“
Well, we’d have to load all of the provisions we can in backpacks, man, “ said Cripple. “In the end, we don’t know what we’re going to find.”

“
That’s exactly what I was thinking,” said Moses.

They all remained silent. While he spoke, Isabel was studying him. By then, in a completely subliminal way, an unspoken consensus had been made in which Moses had become the de facto leader of the group. When Moses spoke, they let him. His opinion was sought after. His ideas were hardly ever argued, simply because they were
good
, and they always made sense.

“
We know that we can get to the river, but after that we’re going to have to go out to the surface and cross to the other side. And after that? Carranque is still far away. There’s a long street that would take us there, and if I remember correctly, there was a south entrance but... but... alright, imagine that we get there, probably exhausted and full of shit up to our knees, what do we do? Do we knock on the door? How many of those specters do you think we’ll find there? And if there’s a whole community in there for them to go after, how many of them will be... frenetic? You know, the ones that are really dangerous. They get excited with human presence, with activity...”

“
We could cross the river and go back into the sewers.”

“
I’ll vote for that, friend,” said Roberto, imitating Samuel L. Jackson’s voice.

“
Alright, we exit the sewers, cross the river through the bridge and reach the other side; once there we look for another sewer and cover the distance the rest of the way to Carranque. And once there... well, we’ll see what happens.”

“
That sounds like a good plan,” said Cripple with an ironic laugh.

“
We cannot ponder the imponderable. Who knows what we’ll find there? So let’s move our asses and may God protect us.”

Isabel did not say it, but when she heard the reference to the heavenly Father, she felt an intense shiver run through her.

Chapter 24

The wind had changed and it now brought along a penetrating scent of the sea. Father Isidro lifted his face towards the breeze that reached him from the south, tasting the penetrating salty aroma and feeling his head clear. He did not remember being able to perceive those things before Judgment Day, never so far away from the port or the beach. Before, it was impossible with the pollution and the smoke from the cars, the contaminating heat of the chimneys, smoke and gas exits, and... now he saw it clearly... the morbid excrescence of human misery, their sweat, their body heat, and humors. He smiled, moved by the unfathomable wisdom of God Almighty, who had eradicated from the face of the Earth everything that was not pure, everything that had corrupted the natural goodness of what He had created.

From his privileged position, he studied the city that extended before him. He had climbed up to the highest point he could think of, the Gibralfaro Mountain: a small natural lung located in the very center of Malaga and from which you could see, on a clear day, some of the mountain chain of the African Atlas, and the Strait of Gibraltar. The view was magnificent: an impressive panorama of the whole center, from the port to the last buildings to the far north. Observing the blocks of buildings clustered with no apparent order or coordination, he experienced a new flash of jubilee. How silent and tranquil was his new necropolis! It looked so beautiful. Using a pair of binoculars he had taken from a small business, he could perfectly see the streets and the Soldiers of the Lord tirelessly ambling through them.

He smiled, pleased. Very soon, it would be dark and then he would see
... he would see the small lights of disgrace par excellence, of those who were hiding, of the impious, of the sinners trying to survive in their little hiding places, their dirty hide outs, trying to escape Supreme Justice. When it became dark, he would see them all, oh Lord, all of them. They would turn on their little kerosene lamps, their candles, their emergency generators, and he would discover them. He would go to them carrying the Light of the Lord, he would drag them out of their lairs and he would throw them out to the Soldiers, to be judged.

Father Isidro shed a tear, moved by the unbounded love he experienced. It covered his body like electric shocks. God loved him, He had chosen him, among all of the men and women, to undertake that wondrous task, and he intended to do so until he exhausted the last bit of his energy.

He remained seated there until the sun set. Around him, several spectral figures ambled, sluggishly dragging their feet, indifferent to the religious fervor the priest was going through. He resorted to his binoculars every few seconds and swept the streets, the tall buildings, and each window. At a point, he retired to some shrubs and defecated some sort of puree that had a weak, unusual color, covered in thick and whitish slime; but he did not pay it any heed. He had lost so much weight that the tendons of his neck were as pronounced as iron cables, and the cavities between them were deep gaunt. His lips were thin and dry; barely two whitish flaps of skin he continuously covered with his small, pointed tongue.

Finally, a light appeared in the dark. It was barely a small dot, yet so discernable in the darkness that it reigned in the coastal city that it immediately caught his attention. It was an attic in the Ciudad Jardin area; he already knew the building, it was a humble building full of humble people. He smiled, satisfied with himself, and with his idea to climb to the highest point of the city to discover them all, and that it was successful. He did not hurry; he continued canvassing all of the windows, the balconies, the far-away streets plagued with the erratic dead figures that appeared in his black binoculars that still smelled new. It was not long until another light appeared somewhat further away, close to the Heredia Pier area. This time it was a spacious balcony where several pieces of furniture were piled without any order. Above them, a row of lights on a cable, like a Christmas ornament, rocked in the wind. In the interior of the house several more lights flickered.
“Probably,” he told himself, “small candles.” And some seconds later, more lights appeared, all of them flickering and weak, in different points, remote in relation to each other.

Father Isidro stood up with a leap, experiencing a sensation akin to euphoria. He jogged wildly towards the dusty old road that zigzagged among the trees to the streets of the center of the city. The darkness was almost complete, but his eyes had grown accustomed to it. Running through the trees and shrubs, he received scratches on his calves and arms, but he did not suffer from pain any longer; naturally, he sang.

It took him about thirty minutes to reach the closest one of the illuminated buildings, in the area of La Malagueta. The ground there was completely covered with bodies in apparent decomposition, and as a result, the air was impregnated with a nauseating stench: rancid and sweet, profound and suffocating. He briefly asked himself what could have happened, but the idea soon disappeared from his mind of its own accord. At the end of the street, a timid moon dyed white a black and tranquil sea.

He looked upwards to the tall balconies, and exactly as he had expected, there it was, pushing away the darkness of the night. He could almost hear the clattering hum of the generators, located on the balcony.

“
I’m coming,” he announced, to no one in particular. “I am the guardian, I am the judge, jury and executioner.”

He passed over the fallen bodies and approached the entrance, which was naturally closed off with piled furniture. He pulled at the door for a while until, through the opaque smoked windows of the double door, he discovered a heavy duty chain with an enormous Yale padlock.

Father Isidro turned on his feet and scrutinized several deteriorated cars. He became interested in an old Seat Toledo model, but it did not have the keys in the ignition. The next car shook with a horrible noise, more closely resembling a consumptive hyena than a motor, and it did not start. After several more failed attempts, he finally was able to start a small ash colored Daewoo. The motor sounded like the roar of a tiger in the jungle; loud, solitary and powerful.

Turning it around was a little more complicated than he had thought. The cadavers strewn about on the ground made up potholes that, on occasion, gave in with the weight of the vehicle, or made the wheels turn crazily, unable to find a spot to support them. Finally, he was able to align the front end of the car with the building’s entrance. He pulled the emergency brake and fired the motor up. When he let go of the brake, the Daewoo propelled itself at a high speed and crashed into the door and dragged all of the piled furniture with it, flinging pieces of wood off in every direction. Finally, it stopped when it collided with the first set of stairs inside the building.

Slowly leaving the automobile, Father Isidro looked out at the street. The zombies were visibly more nervous now. He approached the one closest to him, which was moving its arms uncontrollably. He grabbed it by the hand and pulled it towards the entrance, and moved a second one inside by simply pushing on its back. All of this activity was awakening the rest of the dead; their moans and clucking noises began to increase in volume, their mouths opened, hungry, and their heads restlessly moved, searching. From a distance, they began to arrive in greater numbers. It was just what he needed.

It took him a few more minutes to prod a good number of specters into the entryway. He shook them, hit them and shoved them hard, making them react increasingly quicker, and with more hostility.

As the other time at the Plaza de la Merced, it did not take him much effort to make them climb up the stairs: he hardly guided them and they began to slowly move in the correct direction. They patted the walls, entangled their own legs, and stumbled often, falling upon the marble floor, but afterwards they stood up and continued in the right direction.

Satisfied, Father Isidro began to intone his song.

The people who were surviving hidden in their home did not have many opportunities to escape. Father Isidro brought his horde of resuscitated cadavers and knocked down the door without much effort; the survivors never expected the zombies to reach them. There he encountered their terrified faces, a woman advanced in age and with a haggard look, and two young girls who also appeared to be sickly. When the first specter crossed the threshold, they screamed and threw a chair at it. Fleeing to the living room, they overturned the table and afterwards ran from room to room while the specters flooded the house. In the middle of the maelstrom, Father Isidro, prey to his unbridled excitement, devoted himself to reciting Bible passages while pushing the specters.

In the last bedroom, there was no possible escape. Father Isidro heard the screams and kneeled on the floor, looking upwards at the ceiling. He prayed at length for their souls, which had been found guilty and subjected to the last judgment.