Wasting Away (9 page)

There
was a base at the edge of a strip of highway. It had been partially converted
into an air museum, but on the far side, it had been an active military base.

Years
ago, my wife and I had taken a weekend trip to the mountains and passed this
very same base. We had been having some problems and needed to get away for a
while. I figured a few days in the woods, camping would do our relationship
some good.

There
had been planes for as far as I could see, stretched out along the airstrip.
But now, they were gone. I thought of distant wars and unseen enemies. I
thought of the dead being blown from the face of the Earth. I thought of
massacres and realized none of it was true.

Splotches
of desert camouflage dotted the base, bodies reanimated and left to weather in
the sun. The farther I looked, the more of them came into view. Weaponless and
ragged, dead soldiers overran every corner of the base. Slack, tired faces,
lurching shadows, bent and hungry frames.

Give
me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free; the
wretched refuse of your teeming shore … I shook my head at the thought.

I
walked the perimeter of the fence toward the main gates. My knees became weak
when I saw them. Between a set of small towers on either side of the entrance,
bodies were strewn. Littered with bullet holes, they were heaped up on one
another. To my right there was a breech in the fence, lonely strips of fabric
torn away and left like markers in time along the links, a time of panic and
fear.

“The
base was overrun?” Mary questioned.

I
nodded my head slowly.

“But
where had all the bodies come from?” In a moment of realization, she placed her
hand over her mouth. “No,” she said.

“Those
people had been alive,” I confessed. “They had been looking for safety. They
had searched out the one place they thought was safe and were mowed down. Not a
single head shot,” I said. “Not one.”

“Why
would they …” Her voice cracked. A look of realization crossed her face. “But
wouldn’t the dead have returned to life?”

“I’m
not sure why they didn’t,” I replied. “Maybe it was too early in the outbreak.
Maybe the military had secrets too terrible to imagine. Honestly, I have no
idea. At some point, it looked like the dead had gotten through the breach in
the fence. Maybe the soldiers were just spooked. I really don’t know. I would
hate to think it was friendly fire.”

“And
the soldiers fled when the dead got through?”

“I
think so,” I said. “Along the airstrip, I saw more bodies strewn about. I think
the planes must have run them down.”

“Why
wouldn’t they try to help?” she asked. “They could have at least saved a few.”

“I’m
only making assumptions,” I said. “There’s really no way to know for sure. All
I can say is that when a soldier is given an order, they follow that order, no
questions asked. If whoever was in charge decided that it was a lost cause to help
civilians, I can only imagine that’s why so many were killed.”

“My
God,” she breathed. “Why?”

“It’s
a foreign contagion,” I replied. “It’s quick, it’s vicious, and I’m pretty sure
there isn’t any way to contain it.”

“But
so many people,” she sighed.

“I’m
not justifying what they did, not by any means. But everything happened so
quickly, I’m sure they were as unprepared as we were. At least that’s what I
hope it was.”

As
curious as I was, I wasn’t stupid enough to scour the base for answers. I had
seen what had happened and there wasn’t anything I could do. I went forward and
tried my best not to look back.

A
few miles down the highway, I spotted something. It was a pointless massacre
just like all of the other pointless massacres I’ve come across. A fuel tanker,
charred black from long dead flames, jackknifed in the center of the road,
blocking traffic in both directions. Burned embers, husks of bodies littered
the melted asphalt, limbs twisted and brittle, pointing up toward an
unforgiving sky like a plea to the gods.

For
miles I could see the fallout. Luggage, camping gear and children’s play things
lay strewn out across the fields that stretched to each side of the highway.
Random excuses for survival; pictures of loved ones and blood stained blankets
left behind when they had no choice but to run. I saw cash, withered and damp,
smeared across the weeds and grass, pale reminders of a civilization lost to
the old ways. I wondered how many people thought they could buy their way out,
how many had emptied safes and mattresses, hoping to afford a way out of
perdition?

In
this desolate landscape, there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide amongst the
shrubs and flat earth that sprawled out for miles. Here and there, peppered
across the barren flats were bones; distant reminders of waste left behind by
the dead. If I listened closely, I could hear the cries that mingled so long
ago on the twisting wind. I could hear the helpless and the fallen, pleading
with emotionless monsters to spare their lives. I could hear fathers protest
and mothers beg for redemption. I could hear them die a thousand times over
before rising to their feet and killing what remained.

The
weeds rustled against my legs, scraping out my steps as I looked toward a river
that divided the field from a sparse cropping of trees. I surveyed the land
around me, listening on the wind for those distant cries. I filled my water
bottle and drank, repeating the process until my thirst was quenched. I sat on
a boulder adjacent to the river and removed my shoes and socks. I dipped my
feet into the cold current. A tingle wound its way up along my spine until I
became acclimated to the cold. I let the water rush between my toes and smiled
at the sensation.

Ever
vigilant, I looked again at my surroundings, watching for movement in the field
of grass behind me. A crisp scent was on the air, the smell of autumn grass and
dusty soil. I wondered who I had become through all of this. I wondered about
my future and my place in the world.

Slowly,
I removed my clothes and folded them atop the boulder where I had been sitting.
I laid my pack at the very top of the pile, revealing my nakedness to an all
seeing sun and the rushing flow of water beneath me. I waded out into the
surge, step by step, allowing the cold to beat against my skin. Lying back, I
let my head fall below the rush and welcomed the sensation. It nearly took my
breath away as I lay on a bed of sand and pebbles at the bottom of the steady
flow.

A
slight crack emitted from the field, a subtle sound as if a foot had taken a
misstep. I sat silently in the rush, quietly checking my surroundings.

Nothing
came.

I
dipped my head below the water again, letting it wash through my hair and my
beard, letting it take away the grime and the filth from the road, letting it
sooth my soul. The tiny hairs upon my face separated and danced in the flow - like
fingers conjuring magic.

There
came another crack and I sat up. I knew there was something there, this time I
wasn’t mistaken. I saw movement from the grass, the slightest twitch as the
blades shifted and swayed before finally parting. A brown face stared at me,
eyes wide and teeth barred. Clothes like the rags of a castaway graced its
hollow frame. Ribs darted out from in between scraps of cloth and there was a
black concave where its guts had been.

With
a fierce, echoing howl, the creature staggered from the field, dragging its
nearly fleshless legs. It wore a scowl tempered by rot and leathered skin,
tight against its jaw.

As
I stood, there was another that came from the brush, damp with mucus, leaking
from its rot. A hiss escaped a gaping wound at its neck, coupled by the
gurgling puss from within its throat. And then another emerged, and another
until my way back to the highway was blocked.

I
stood on uneasy legs, wavering in the water, wanting for my clothes and pack,
resting on the boulder only a few steps away. The dead lumbered toward the edge
of the river, seemingly howling my name, grinding their teeth expectantly to my
nervous movements.

As
more came from the fields, I backed away. I backed toward the forested side of
the river and onto sharp rocks and loose sand, stumbling as I stared at my gear.
They were coming from everywhere across the brush and weeds and undergrowth.

One
stepped into the water, releasing its foulness into the river. Another moved in,
and the others followed until they were standing only a few feet away from me,
making their way through the rapids.

My
soul screamed for my things, yelled for a way to retrieve them as the dead
surrounded me. I panicked, my heart pumping out a steady beat of fear and
regret, of want and survival. I hissed through gritted teeth and turned. I ran
off through the forest as twigs and saplings slapped at my skin, raising welts
along my arms and legs. I could hear them struggling through the forest behind
me. I could hear their wet, rasping voices as the blur of the woods rushed past
me.

The
forest floor cut into the soles of my feet, but I didn’t slow. I kept up my
pace, winding through shrubs and brush, past old growth trees, twisted with weather
and age. I made my way to a trail that suddenly parted through the trees.

Panting,
I kept up my speed, not daring to slow down for the fear of collapse. I held
fast as the sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes and blurring my vision.
What the river had cleansed, the forest gave back, two fold. Dirt clung to me
in fine layers that built steadily as I ran. My feet were black with mud,
running up toward my shins in caking smears.

My
legs began to give out, stinging with exertion, cramping in pain. A burning
sensation swelled in my chest as my stomach lurched, causing me to heave. The
dry, clenching spasms sent me to my knees, groping the forest floor, wadding up
handfuls of rotten leaves and dirt as a trail of spit hung from my lips. I
gasped for air and fell to my side, naked and exposed, hugging away the cramps
in my gut.

Splintered
leaves hung from my beard. I must have looked like some sort of Wildman,
hacking away the final remnants of the civilized man inside. I lay there,
gasping for air and tingling from exhaustion. I watched the sky overhead; the
clouds parting like tufts of cotton, drifting slowly through the treetops. I
could smell the raw patchouli scent of years of soil collected beneath me.
Primal images of death and exposure tore at my mind. I saw my death. I saw my
inevitable end as I hacked out the last bits of hope through my acrid mouth. I
clenched my jaw and rose.

There
was anger in that moment, an evil, hateful emotion that tempted me. I retraced
my steps, winding back through the forest from where I had come. Along the way,
I picked up a fallen branch. I held it at my side and walked with purpose.

I
smeared away the dust from my eyes, spreading it along my face. I could feel
the fire in my eyes, burning with anger. This feeling swelled into rage. It
burned from somewhere I had never felt before. It rose through me, threatening
to burst.

Straggling
through the brush and new growth, a body emerged. I waited, paused for my heart
was still pounding. I breathed deeply, held the branch above my head, and took
the first few steps toward the creature. Before it could howl out, I smashed
the branch down hard upon its skull. I heard a pop and suction sound come from
its eye sockets, bursting the white and grey globes from its head. 

Again,
I swung hard, connecting with a corpse to my left. The branch hit at the base
of its neck, urging out cracking sounds, muffled by rot. I stood upon the
fallen thing, placing my foot on its chest and stabbed at it. The skin tore. It
issued a faint wheeze and I pushed the branch down through its eye. I used all
my weight and twisted until it stopped moving.

Lurching
low through the wood and brush and thick air, I crouched and threw the branch
up in front of myself, blocking a wild swing. I held firm and kicked out,
sending the body over backwards. It skidded on moist leaves, and scurried to
right itself. I stomped on its face and broke away its jaw. Tongue lapping
along crooked teeth, it still tried to gnash out at me. I held it down with the
arch of my foot and brought the branch down like a spear, impaling it through
the throat, and removing its head with a twist.

It
writhed on the ground, expending what energy it had left. The head rolled along
a small decline, gathering twigs and leaves upon the thick that covered its
face.

Others
wound through the trees. Bending, twisting things shrouded in the shadows of
the canopy. Hallow cries rose up in laced warning as they neared. I could smell
them in the air, growing and building as they tried to surround me.

A
lump rose up in my throat and I swallowed it down hard. The hairs stood upon
the back of my neck as they moved forward and tore through the brush. There
seemed to be more than I imagined at the creek.