Rotters

by Carl R. Cart

  “Keyes, can I ask you a question?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she replied. “You’ll ask whether I want you to or not.”

  “Why did you come along on this mission? I don’t mean any offense,” I added.

  “None taken,” she replied. “I didn’t know what I was getting into. I’d done some combat photography, back in the day. But, I was always imbedded with a large military unit, and always in urban areas, never out in the brush like this with absolutely nothing around. This mission sounded like a quick in and out deal, take some photos, run the comm gear and keep the computer working. You know, ‘see Africa on Uncle Sam’s dime.’ They sold it to me like a vacation with a fat bonus, and I was stupid enough to fall for it.”

  We walked along for a moment in silence, then she added. “If I had known there were going to be zombies here, I never would have come.”

  As we walked along I began to find my stride, and although I felt sore all over, I was definitely doing better than I had on the first day.

  Animals of all kinds were in great abundance. I began to see gazelle, wildebeest and zebra. We came upon a pack of baboons that ran screaming before us into the brush.

  At one point I noticed that Dyson had stopped, and was standing very still. He slowly held up his hand as Keyes and I approached.

  A pair of lions lay directly before us, less than one hundred feet away. They were pacing back and forth, their tails twitching, growling softly. I had never seen a big cat in the wild before. I didn’t like the feeling.

  I jumped as Keyes’ camera clicked beside me.

  “Stay still and quiet,” Blythe directed. He passed us on the right, and slowly advanced on the lions. He approached to within fifty feet, then stopped and clapped his hands loudly. The cats jumped and growled. “Go on!” Blythe shouted. He clapped again and advanced. The lions retreated, then turned and ran into the brush.

  “I’ll be damned,” Dyson exclaimed.

  “Nothing to it,” Blythe explained as he walked away.

  We traveled the rest of that second day without seeing any signs of the virus or its victims. Blythe explained that any human remains would be quickly scattered by the various scavengers native to Africa.

  I began to wonder how long a body would last here, before the insects and natural processes would break the body down to skeletal remains. My educated guess was less than a week, give or take a day or two. I supposed I would find out soon enough.

  We stopped for the night about an hour before sunset. We were still out in the open upon the savannah. There was no place else to go.

  Setting up a secure campsite was an elaborate affair, and the captain had put some forethought into the process. The site’s defenses consisted of three concentric rings of obstacles that became progressively more lethal.

  The outer ring was made up of a series of laser sensors mounted on aluminum rods that were driven into the ground. These were much like those commonly used on garage doors, and would trigger an alarm if the circle was breached. They were set at a three-foot height to allow smaller animals to pass through, while still being sensitive to intrusion by zombies. These formed a three hundred foot diameter circle around the camp.

  The second circle of defense was a double line of trip wire strung out between stout steel tent pegs, at a distance of one hundred feet. Nothing could stroll into the camp without falling down.

  Finally a tight ring of eight shape charges, attached to a central detonator, facing outward in all directions immediately outside the campsite. Obviously these were a last ditch defense, as they would probably attract more zombies than they would kill.

  Sgt. Dyson quickly taught Keyes and me how to use the detonator.

  I considered the explosives unnecessary; we would all surely die if we ever needed to utilize them. I also had a healthy dislike for explosives; they made me nervous.

  Each of the military men would take a two-hour watch through the night.

  Our actual campsite consisted of a large tarp rigged up to protect us from any rain, our thin sleeping bags rolled out beneath it.

  Once the camp was set up we enjoyed a quickly prepared meal of MREs, or as Sgt. Dyson called them, meals rejected by Ethiopians. Everyone was quiet; the enormity of what lay ahead of us was sobering.

  As I settled into my sleeping bag, I found it very hard to even imagine sleeping. The stars came out in a great profusion against the blackness that was the African night, and from all around us came the calls and sounds of a thousand hunting animals and insects. I imagined zombies closing in from every direction to kill us as we slumbered. Eventually, the weariness of the days walking won out over my nerves, and I fell asleep.

  Sgt. Dyson woke me gently by placing his hand over my mouth and sitting on me. He held one finger to his lips for silence and then pointed towards the edge of camp.

  The sun was up, but it was still very early. I immediately noticed the stillness. There were no animal or insect noises.

  Then I heard the moans. A cold chill went up and down my spine.

  Sgt. Dyson motioned for me to stay low and follow him. We crawled to the far side of camp. The others were already there.

  We had camped on high ground, on one side of a small valley. Moving through the valley perpendicular to us was a veritable army of zombies. They staggered along, moaning, bumping into one another; a pathetic parade of corpses.

  No one spoke. We watched in complete silence as they passed by. Even though they were far away I could feel the danger. I began to tremble; the adrenaline flooding my veins had nowhere to go. I felt close to panic and wanted to run.

  Sgt. Dyson lay very close to me, removing the protective covers from the scope upon his fifty-caliber rifle. I could see the excitement in his eyes; he must have seen the fear in mine. He gripped my forearm and squeezed very hard. Damn he had a grip. The pain focused my thoughts, and I slowly stopped shaking.

  The sergeant released my arm and brought his Barrett rifle up. He didn’t fire, but he slowly tracked the passing zombies with the rifle’s scope. The crazy bastard was actually enjoying himself.

  Keyes lay on her stomach, shooting with her camcorder. Her hands were shaking badly.

  The zombies had been passing our camp for over twenty minutes. It was inconceivable to me that there could be so many of them. Finally, the last few staggered out of sight. I slid back from the crest of the hill and exhaled. I hadn’t noticed that I had been trying to hold my breath the entire time.

  “That was intense!” Dyson laughed.

  “God in Heaven,” Blythe said.

  “And the gates of Hell were flung wide, and the dead walked the earth,” Capt. Christopher intoned.

  “I never imagined there could be that many of them,” Keyes stuttered. I could see that she was as shocked as I had been. “How many was that?”

  “Thousands,” the captain replied. “More than we could have killed. We will have to be very careful.”

  “Why weren’t we warned about that?” I asked. “Can’t Home Plate track large groups like that by satellite?”

  “Not at night,” the captain replied. “Zombies don’t give off a heat signature. They were already on us, and I wanted to see what we were up against.”

  I couldn’t decide if I should be mad at him or impressed by his calm demeanor.

  “I told you we were on our own,” Capt. Christopher said softly.

  He fished a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit it, inhaled deeply, and blew out the smoke as he spoke. “Once we enter the forest the satellites won’t be able to watch our backs. If you get lazy, and depend on technology, you end up dead.”

  “Don’t worry, Doc,” Sgt. Dyson laughed, slapping me on the shoulder. “I got your back.”

  “Why would the zombies just be wandering around like that?” Keyes asked.

  Everyone looked at me for an answer. “Hell if I know,” I replied. “I suppose the virus could be driving them to look for fresh victims. I can’t tell you guys anything unt
il we actually start examining them.”

  “No time like the present,” the captain said as he stood and stretched. “Let’s start earning that fat paycheck, people.”

  We broke camp quickly. Sgt. Dyson stood guard as the captain and the two mercenaries broke everything down and packed it away. I used a small portable camp stove to make instant coffee. I shared half of mine with Keyes and we talked as everyone else worked. I wasn’t usually at ease with beautiful women, but the grim situation had quickly broken down social conventions.

  Once everyone was ready we walked down to the valley floor below us. It was easy to see the trail the horde of zombies had left behind. Since they had been moving south we followed in their wake. Better to be behind them than in front of them.

  Capt. Christopher ordered everyone to don their respirators, no one seemed to mind. I had eaten a granola bar for breakfast and was considering another when I stepped in a pile of putrid intestines a zombie had dropped in the track. As I pulled my slime-covered boot from the mess I found that I had lost my appetite.

  “Watch your step, Dr. Barry.” Keyes mumbled through her hand. As she stepped around me I stopped her. “Help me out, Keyes,” I requested. Without missing a beat I stopped and took off my pack. Here was my first opportunity to see the virus.

  The captain had stopped everyone and stood by, watching my actions.

  I quickly unpacked the electron microscope, and handed its connector to Keyes. The microscope was a prototype manufactured by the Army specifically for this mission, and by far the most expensive piece of equipment I had ever possessed. Most electron microscopes were heavy, bulky affairs; this one weighed twenty-five pounds complete with its rechargeable lithium battery. It was powerful enough to allow visual inspection into the range of nanometers, and could photograph anything visual through its lens.

  Keyes connected it to the laptop and the communications array, so that we could pass information back to the real world. I prepared two slides by taking fluid samples from the intestines. My hand was shaking as I inserted the first slide and focused the lens.

  “Damn it!” I spat.

  “What is it Dr. Barry?” the captain exclaimed, stepping closer.

  I laughed at myself. “There are at least four viral strains in this sample and I can’t identify any of them.”

  “I see,” replied the captain, quite disappointed.

  “I just have to sort this out,” I suggested, shaking my head. Someone in the states would be able to identify the viruses if they were known. I asked Keyes to request an identification from the photos, and then carefully secured the slides in sterile containers and repacked the scope.

  Keyes disconnected the comm unit and secured her gear. I wiped off my boot as best I could, then sprayed it with the sterilizing foam. I was sure that I had seen the virus; I just didn’t know which one it was yet. The captain motioned everyone back onto the track.

  We started out again, moving south. I considered my options as we walked. I wasn’t a virologist, and I needed more basic information. I needed to conduct a field autopsy.

  I approached the captain. “Capt. Christopher, I need access to a fresh zombie.”

  “A fresh zombie,” he repeated.

  “Yes. Maybe, you could just have Sgt. Dyson shoot one for me,” I requested.

  “I’m sure nothing would make him happier,” he replied. “Sgt. Dyson!” the captain barked.

  The sergeant trotted back from his position on point. “Yes sir!” he replied as he approached.

  “The doctor here, needs you to shoot a zombie for him. He wants a fresh one,” the captain explained.

  Dyson grinned. “Where do you want him shot, Doc?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?” I replied.

  “You know,” Dyson queried. “Head shot, disabled, what’s your game plan?”

  “Go ahead and shoot the first one through the head,” I quickly decided. I didn’t want to deal with an active zombie until I was sure I had learned everything I could.

  “Captain, if it’s alright with you I’ll just pick off the last straggler in the group up ahead of us,” Dyson suggested.

  “Fine,” The captain replied.

  “You all just keep walking, I’ll have him ready for you,” the sergeant said. He trotted off down the trail, and disappeared over a rise.

  We walked on through the tall grass for another hour. I was beginning to worry about Dyson a little when we caught up to him. He was sitting alongside the trail, smoking a cigarette as we approached.

  A zombie lay in the track, its head missing. The sergeant had neatly driven tent stakes through its limbs, pinning it to the ground. The body still twitched ineffectually.

  Keyes hung back a little. “Did you have to cut off its head?” she asked.

  Dyson patted his rifle’s stock. “Ole Betsy did that, Miss,” he laughed. “A fifty cal will clean take your head off, that’s why I brought her along.”

  Keyes didn’t seem amused.

  I approached the body. “Give the doctor a perimeter, gentlemen,” the captain ordered.

  The other men moved to the four compass points, stopping within sight of each other. Keyes and I set up our equipment.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Keyes stated as I set up the microscope. She had stretched the cords as far as they would reach in an attempt to move away from the body.

  “You get used to it,” I replied.

  I had to admit; the zombie wasn’t any too fresh. I put on surgical gloves and pulled my AVR over my face. The zombie had been a fairly young girl. She had obviously been severely malnourished in life.

  I paused to give the body a cursory examination. I already knew the cause of death. Each of the girl’s limbs bore evidence of zombie attack; with at least a half dozen bite wounds evident. I noted that the girl’s fingernails and toenails were missing, and her skin had burst and split, exposing the major muscle groups in the arms, legs, abdomen and neck. Considerable decay had occurred, but the muscle tissue was in remarkably good condition considering that, by my estimate, this girl had been dead for over a week.

  “This is not possible,” I said out loud.

  “What isn’t possible?” Keyes asked.

  “This,” I answered, pointing to the girl’s arm. “The muscle tissue shows very little degradation. It is consistent with someone who had been dead for a few hours, maybe a day, but the rest of her body tissues are in an advanced state of decomposition. This differential decay isn’t possible under normal circumstances,” I continued. “Somehow the virus is preserving the muscle cells.”

  Insect depredation had removed a considerable amount of the soft tissues and fat. Maggots were still feeding within the body, but not as many as I had expected.

  Given the number of zombies walking around the flies could probably not keep up.

  I broke out the field surgeon’s kit Capt. Christopher had provided me and removed a large scalpel. The kit dated back to the First World War, and was still original down to its roll-up leather case. It included various scalpels, forceps, probes, clamps, and a serviceable bone saw. It was perfect for the grim work I had before me.

  I cut away the girl’s clothing, a dirty T-shirt and a pair of torn, filthy shorts. As I made the Y incision I could hear Keyes gag, the stench easily penetrated my respirator. I cut the girl’s chest cavity open from each armpit to abdomen, and then down to the genitals. The stench was overpowering, I instinctively waved my hand over the body to fan the odor away.

  I used a pair of heavy snips to split the rib cage, exposing the internal organs. These were then removed, one at a time. The heart was a blackened lump, and the lungs were a shriveled mass of rotted tissue. Clearly these were nonfunctional. I examined each organ as I removed them, noting the advanced level of tissue decay and desiccation.

  I then prepared a microscopic slide for the heart, liver, spleen and lungs. I wanted to examine these at a cellular level to see what I was dealing with. I also needed a sample of brain tissue
.

  I bent down on one knee and searched the track.

  “What are you looking for, Dr. Barry?” Keyes asked.

  “This,” I answered, holding up a skull fragment, complete with hair. I quickly scraped a sample of brain tissue from the underside and discarded the bone.

  An autopsy in a laboratory would have been much more thorough and intensive, but given the circumstances, this would have to do. I sprayed my scalpel and snips with the cleansing foam and laid them aside.

  I switched my attention back to the microscope, and laid out the slides I had prepared.

  “Dr. Barry,” Keyes whispered.

  I looked up to see the captain approaching at a quick pace. I immediately shut down the microscope, and reached into my pack for a sterile container to store the slides in.

  “Let’s go, you two!” the captain ordered. “We’ve got company.”

  “I need these,” I countered, scrambling to pack the slides.

  The captain grabbed my scope with one hand and my arm with the other, and began to drag me off the track.

  “Come on, Keyes!” he shouted.

  The mercenaries ran by us; Robinson on the left and Blythe on the right.

  Keyes broke into a run, her equipment clutched to her chest.

  Only Dyson was moving back towards the track. He passed us and dropped to the ground just beyond the zombie I had been examining. He readied his sniper rifle.

  I pulled off my gloves and flung them aside.

  Capt. Christopher handed me the electron microscope and pushed me ahead. “Keep going,” he ordered. “Go to Robinson and Blythe.”

  He turned and walked back towards Sgt. Dyson. I could not help but look back as I hurried to catch up to Keyes.

  From behind me came the distinctive thump of Dyson’s fifty-caliber rifle, ten shots in quick succession. Even at a distance that rifle was loud. Then I heard a sound like ripping paper as the captain’s KGP-9 sub-machinegun opened up, covering Dyson as he reloaded.

  I couldn’t help myself; I had to stop to watch.

  Keyes looked back once, and then ran on up the hill in front of us.