Buried in the mud, protruding from the top, was a torn ear. Thick black hairs gathered like moss from the black hole. Donald couldn’t make out the creature’s face but he knew it was there. He grabbed the greying matted hair and picked it up. The head was severed, cut from its body. Dead, but didn’t know it yet. It was still actively moving, teeth gnashing and chomping and gnawing.
He stared the creature in the eye. The one that had been successful after so many failed attempts. Its expression was weary and tired, skin hanging loose from his features. The look of victory it had on its face was probably in his imagination. The mind often saw what it expected to see.
Donald put the barrel of his rifle point blank to the creature’s head and pulled the trigger. What useless brains it had spurted out the back of its skull. Its expression relaxed in the default position of the dead, a hangdog look on its face.
It didn’t change anything, of course. His fate was already sealed. There was no escaping the inevitable heading his way.
He headed back to the doctor, sitting down beside him.
“I don’t have any bites,” Dr. Beck said. “I checked.”
“Lucky you,” Donald said.
He pulled at the muddied sock on his right foot, revealing a studded half-moon indent above the ankle.
Dr. Beck’s head snapped in his direction.
“Donald. . .” he said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Donald said. “What will be, will be. Nothing to be done about it now. Well, almost nothing.”
He took the pistol out of its holster, pulled back the hammer, and handed it to Dr. Beck.
19.
“NO,” DR. Beck said.
“We both know you must,” Donald said.
Dr. Beck had done some terrible things in his life, most of which he made great efforts to avoid recalling, but he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t kill a man who had done nothing wrong.
“Here,” Donald said, positioning the pistol so it was aimed directly at his forehead. “Even you can’t miss from there.”
A ghost of a smile played on his lips. It didn’t pass to Dr. Beck.
“But. . . this isn’t right,” Dr. Beck said, shaking his head. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Nothing bad is ever supposed to happen,” Donald said. “It just does. There’s no rhyme or reason in the universe. Things happen because they happen. That’s all there is to it.”
“No,” Dr. Beck said. “I mean, yes. You’re right, of course. But you shouldn’t have gotten bitten. This is wrong.”
He didn’t understand how Donald could simply sit there and accept it. It’d been Dr. Beck’s plan all along to slow the other man down. He’d achieved that goal but at a price far too costly. He’d been bitten. He was infected and going to turn into one of those things.
“I need you to protect me,” Dr. Beck said.
“You’re going to have to learn to do that alone,” Donald said. “It won’t be so tough. Keep following the cart tracks in the mud. They’re not hard to follow. If they’re still heading to the City in Denver you’ll arrive there in no time.”
He grunted and clutched his leg, then his stomach, his chest. It was spreading fast, to all his major organs. That was how the Rage’s poison worked, affecting one organ at a time until it finally came to the brain.
“You have to do it,” Donald said through gritted teeth. “You have to pull the trigger or I’ll turn into one of those things. I’ve seen you shoot. You’ll never hit me if I come at you like the others.”
“I can’t,” Dr. Beck said weakly.
“Then give it to me,” Donald said, reaching out a hand to take the pistol from him. A spasm struck his arm, his muscles bulging like they were going to explode. He threw back his head in extremist agony, crying into the night. His skin was already bone white, losing all self-control. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. He couldn’t shoot himself. He was incapable of it.
Dr. Beck, a rabbit in headlights, sat and was about to watch the transformation happen. He’d never seen it with his own eyes before but he knew the procedure. He turned to look at the pistol in his hand, muscles tense, still unable to squeeze the trigger.
“Beck,” Donald mumbled through lips struggling to part themselves. “Do it. Kill me. Please.”
“I can’t,” Dr. Beck said.
“Then I. . . I will. . . kill you,” Donald said.
His body convulsed, then relaxed. His breaths no longer bellowed his lungs, his muscles no longer moving with the spark of life. Dr. Beck’s own breath was struggling to issue forth, chest rising and falling, struggling to harvest enough oxygen.
Donald’s body simply lay there, unmoving. But it wouldn’t for long. Soon it would begin to stir, sit up, and commence its never-ending hunt to quench the hunger that could never be satisfied. And Dr. Beck would be the first. A tasty ready meal.
He looked once more at the pistol in his hand, what suddenly felt like an alien artifact. He got to his feet and dropped it.
He ran.
20.
HE RAN without knowing where he was going. He ran, losing his footing every other step as his bad leg trailed behind him. He ran through the foliage, batting it aside without knowing what was on the other side. And then he ran some more.
21.
DR. BECK stumbled and fell for what must have been the hundredth time, face first in the mud. He moved to get up but his arms were too weak. He simply didn’t have the power to lift himself. He was exhausted. He’d been running for he didn’t know how long.
His clothes were damp from the broad leaves still wet with recent rain. He had a cut across his cheek where blood seeped to his chin and consolidated. The moon was out, thankfully bright and shining, lighting the forest with a silvery dream-like quality. Or perhaps describing it as a nightmare was more accurate.
His stomach grumbled, concerned with consuming itself. He hadn’t eaten in hours. He should never have left the City, not without an army to clear the way ahead. He wasn’t suited for this world, to survive in its harsh reality. His natural climate was the laboratory. That was where he belonged, where he was most effective. Not in the dirt.
He was lost. He didn’t even know which direction he’d taken off in, didn’t know which way he ought to head next. He needed to find the road again, do as Donald had told him. Locate the tracks in the mud that led to the kids’ location. To Denver City. He’d been there before. He knew what he was looking for.
He patted his person, looking for what he had on him. His rifle. He still had that. That was lucky. The strap was strewn across his shoulders. He wasn’t the best shot but he could fire it when necessary. He pumped it, cleared it of gunk. Fired a shot. It still worked.
He’d get away from wherever this place was and find the road. That’s what he needed to do. Donald’s demise was a setback, that was all. He could come back from this. No biggie.
Newly invigorated with purpose, he got to his feet and moved to an unusual-looking plant. It had large leaves shaped like buckets that caught the rainwater. Dr. Beck dipped his hands into it and splashed it over his face, refreshing himself. Ready for action. Ready for anything.
He took off in the direction he’d come from. Came to a stop.
A thick wad of vegetation hung from a broken tree bow. Something big inside it shook. He wouldn’t make the mistake of assuming it was an animal this time. Every unknown sound in the undergrowth was a potential threat.
He couldn’t afford to die. Not here, not now. He aimed the rifle at the leaves. Cocked and loaded.
“Who’s there?” Dr. Beck said, voice wavering uncertainly. “Come out if you’re alive.”
The shaking stopped. The night was so quiet. Even the backing track of nature had stopped. Too quiet. Deafeningly silent. Dr. Beck didn’t lower his guard this time. The foliage shook again. This time Dr. Beck didn’t hesitate. He fired in a spray. Leaves spat and twigs snapped, peppering the soil. A flock of birds took awkward flight, having previo
usly been nesting.
Nature was silent again.
“I’m glad you’re such a bad shot.”
Dr. Beck took aim at the wall of silvery leaves, like dragon scales in the moonlight. It took a moment for Dr. Beck’s shocked mind to realize who the voice belonged to. It took so long because that person was meant to be dead, or something close to it.
“Donald?” Dr. Beck said.
“The one and only,” Donald said.
22.
DONALD STEPPED from the tree bough on the other side of the clearing. In one piece. Difficult to ascertain the state he was in in the darkness, but there he stood.
“You left a trail like an elephant troop passed through,” Donald said. “So obvious I could have tracked you in the dark! Oh. It is dark.”
Dr. Beck approached the man he was certain he would never see again, at least not in any recognizable living form. His worst nightmare was stumbling upon him in the darkness of the forest after he’d been reborn as one of those. . . things.
This couldn’t be happening. Perhaps he’d lost his mind.
He reached out with a hand and touched the apparition. It was Donald all right. His body was warm. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t a Rage.
What in God’s name was going on?
23.
“THAT’S IT?” Dr. Beck said. “You just woke up?”
“Yes,” Donald said. “It was hard going at first, but as I kept moving, I was okay. It was like the worst hangover I’ve ever had.”
“I can’t believe this,” Dr. Beck said. “I’ve never heard of someone not turning into a Rage after they get infected.”
“Lucky me, I guess,” Donald said.
No, there was no luck involved. There rarely was with anything. Things happened—or didn’t happen as this case may be—for a reason. The universe didn’t suddenly decide to suspend the laws of nature in someone’s favour. There would be a reason Donald hadn’t turned and Dr. Beck was going to get to the bottom of it.
“I’ll run some tests when we get to the City,” Dr. Beck said.
“I’m not a lab rat,” Donald said.
“You are now,” Dr. Beck said. “You might hold the key to the cure.”
“No pressure,” Donald said wryly. “I don’t think the Rage bit me very hard. So maybe that’s why nothing happened.”
“There have been cases where there was no bite at all,” Dr. Beck said. “Where a single drop of saliva entered the victim’s body. That was all that was necessary. In many cases, a single scratch is enough. Sometimes, the victim didn’t know they had it.”
“I don’t like to be prodded and probed,” Donald said.
Too bad, Dr. Beck thought. This was too much of a rarity for Donald to be left to his own devices.
“We’re here,” Donald said, pulling the wall of leaves aside like a curtain.
They were back where they’d started. The scene of Donald’s attack. They were careful to move around the mound of body parts this time, giving it a nice wide berth—some of the more determined Rage bodyparts were still moving—and approached their dropped backpacks. They picked them up, cleaned their weapons, had something to eat, and continued on their journey.
Things hadn’t worked out as badly as Dr. Beck had feared. They were both still alive—Donald, mysteriously—and they’d wasted a bunch of time, allowing the kids to slip a little further from their grasp.
Dr. Beck, for one, was in good spirits.
24.
THE FINAL few days were largely uneventful. Donald kept a rigorous pace but not nearly as fast as the one he’d maintained from those first few days. Dr. Beck, in exchange, moved as fast as he could on his leg. He didn’t slow down or try to eke out the kids’ lead a little farther. What was fair was fair.
They passed a commune in the trees called Woodstock and traded some of their weaponry—they had little else to trade with—in exchange for a meal and water. The people there seemed very happy to receive them. Donald asked about a group of kids that had recently passed this way. The locals were nervous, not wishing to betray the young kids, and gave little information.
“I’m their father,” Donald said. “Of two of the boys. The eldest one, Donny, and one of the younger lads, Jamie. I only want to know they’re okay.”
The tree-dwelling traders eyed him uncertainly before informing him that the kids were in good shape when they left.
Donald’s whole body relaxed with relief. Dr. Beck had never been a father, had never known what it was like to love a child more than you loved yourself, but he got a glimpse of it now in Donald. He was usually pent up and tough, never one to openly display his emotions. It was like seeing the sun peak its head out tentatively from a gang of stocky black clouds, it’s light bright, shining and very much needed.
They finished their trade and were given one large bowl of hot rabbit stew each with a bread roll to dip in it. It was the most delicious thing Dr. Beck had ever eaten. Perhaps not ever, but it was damn good. The food in the City was always good but he’d perhaps gotten too used to never feeling particularly hungry to fully appreciate it. He would ensure to do so when he got back. If he got back.
“I can tell Fatty’s been here,” Donald said.
“How so?” Dr. Beck said.
“He has a special touch when it comes to food,” Donald said. “This is his recipe.”
“You don’t say,” Dr. Beck said. “I’ve only ever seen him excel at one thing.”
“Eating?” Donald said. “Complaining?”
Dr. Beck laughed. It was the first time he’d done it in days. They could almost be two friends enjoying a nice trek.
“He did plenty of those too,” Dr. Beck assured him. “No, I was referring to the flight simulator.”
“Flight simulator? Fatty?” Donald said, shaking his head. “If you say so.”
“I do say so,” Dr. Beck said. “He progressed through the first ten levels without crashing once. I’ve never seen that before.”
Donald’s bottom lip protruded.
“I guess we all have our own little secret skills,” he said. “What are yours?”
“I’m a mean fiddle player,” Dr. Beck said.
“Really?” Donald said, trying to figure out if the doctor was joking or not. “I’d love to hear you play one day. Would have been good to bring on this trip.”
“I didn’t have space for it,” Dr. Beck said.
He liked to work out his frustrations on his weapon of choice whenever he was working on a particularly difficult problem. Things never seemed as bad after he relieved his tension, and his relaxed mind often made unusual connections immediately afterwards.
“Would you like another bowl?” a local woman carrying a baby said.
Donald had been using the last of his bread to wipe up the remains in his bowl, soaking up every last drop of the delicious stew.
“We only traded for one,” Donald said with regret.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” the woman said with a girlish giggle.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” Donald said.
“My problem is, I’m always in trouble,” the woman said with a wink. She turned to Dr. Beck. “How about you, lovely?”
He hadn’t even finished his bowl yet.
“Refill?” the woman said.
“Yes please,” Dr. Beck said, a lump of potato on his chin.
“You can wash in the lake too,” the woman said. “If you want.”
Donald looked at himself, then Dr. Beck. They were caked in mud. Dr. Beck could think of nothing better than a nice bath after long days of marching through merciless mud. He wouldn’t argue with Donald. Let him decide.
“I suppose we do look a little rough,” Donald said. “I guess a few minutes to wash ourselves up wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
Sometimes the biggest turning points came from the smallest of decisions.
25.
A DELICIOUS belly-filling meal and a wash in clean water. Besides sleeping i
n a nice warm, soft bed Dr. Beck couldn’t think of anything better. There was still a lot of daylight remaining and he wasn’t about to suggest they stop here for the rest of the day. Dear God but he would have liked it.
They left the tree dwellers with a wave of the hand and continued on their journey. Every few minutes one of them smacked their lips and had a small smile on their face. They were both still thinking about that meal. To die for.
It wasn’t for the next day, early in the morning, that they passed a sign that declared Denver was only two miles ahead. What had grabbed Dr. Beck’s attention wasn’t the news about Denver but the name of the small town underneath it.
The town of Jury.
Suddenly, Dr. Beck was no longer walking beside the road in a broken post-apocalyptic world. He was in a house, down this very road. It was twenty years ago, right when the Rage virus was at its most prolific, sweeping across the planet and marking a red cross beside the human race.
He’d been ordered by his friend— now the President of the United States—to get his ass to the City and help with a plan to solve the Rage problem. On the way there, he’d gotten waylaid in the town of Jury, holed up on the second floor of an abandoned house. That was where he’d written his story. He didn’t know he was going to survive, didn’t know it would be only the opening salvo of his adventures, that he would pass by within spitting distance of that house almost twenty years later to the day.
“The kids stopped here,” Donald said, crouching down. “To take a break. You can see their footprints heading into the woods and then back again.”
Dr. Beck nodded but wasn’t present. He was still far away on the plateau of time. Donald must have noticed the subdued expression on Dr. Beck’s face but didn’t say anything. They carried on down the road.
There was an alley that contained a skeleton, stripped bare of its flesh by Rages. Something might still remain of the woman he’d loved. If they’d killed her, it was the best outcome. If she’d become one of them. . .
After the Fall- The Complete series Box Set Page 47