by Carl R. Cart
Keyes backed away from an advancing zombie chimp, terrified beyond reason. The primate’s teeth snapped audibly as it pulled itself forward. She went down in the mud, holding one hand out before her to ward off the attack, and screaming into the other. The primate was almost on her when Sgt. Dyson shot it through the neck with his fifty-caliber rifle. The chimp’s head jumped off its body in a spurt of black blood. The headless corpse collapsed into the muck, digging feebly with its paws. The burly sergeant swung the Barrett rifle around on his hip, and quickly fired off two more decapitating shots into the chimps on the ground.
Robinson fired his KGP-9 until it was empty. Another chimp was pulling itself toward the captain, who had stopped shooting to reload his gun. The big mercenary calmly followed the primate as he pulled his axe from his belt. He leapt upon the smaller chimp, and, gripping its pointed head by the hair, sank his axe into its neck again and again. The chimp gave out a strangled, gurgling moan. Robinson’s third swing with the axe decapitated it, and he slowly stood, and tossed the severed head aside.
Something heavy struck me in the side and pushed me facedown down into the mud. A chimp clambered onto me, its claws ripping at my backpack as it slowly pulled itself towards my face. Its jaws opened and shut spasmodically, and its breath smelt like rotten meat. I panicked and scrambled for my pistol, but I was lying on top of my holster.
Blythe snatched up the primate and threw it away from us. I heard my back pack rip as the chimp scrabbled to hang on. It spun as it landed and immediately began pulling itself towards me again. The mercenary snapped up his sub-machine gun and shot it point blank. The chimp’s rotted face disintegrated. It sagged down into the mud, twitching violently, and slowly slumped over on its side. Its bloody tongue lolled in and out of its shattered mouth. I could see the trees on the other side of the road through the dripping hole in its skull.
Silence descended over the forest once again. I could only hear the ringing in my ears, and Keyes’ sobbing.
“Here, Doc,” Blythe offered.
He held out his hand and offered to help me up. Bright red blood was trickling down his forearm and pattering into the mud.
I leapt up and grabbed his arm, turning it over. A deep pair of scratches ran down the back of his bicep.
“Bloody hell,” Blythe sighed.
The others gathered around. We stood there in the mud for a moment, surrounded by twitching, headless chimps, all of us a long way from home. No one wanted to say it aloud.
I sterilized the wound and carefully wrapped it with a gauze bandage from my pack.
“Wasting your time, Doc,” Blythe suggested, but he let me continue. Once I was done he walked to the side of the road and took off his pack. He carefully propped his gun against a tree trunk and then slowly sat down.
The rest of us stood in the road.
“What do we do?” Keyes whimpered, tears running down her face.
“You know what we have to do,” Robinson growled back.
“Damnation,” Sgt. Dyson softly swore. He walked over and kicked one of the twitching corpses.
Blythe rummaged through his pack until he found his pipe. He sat back against the tree trunk, and slowly packed the bowl. He looked up at us. “It’s alright,” he suggested. He lit the pipe, and sat there, calmly smoking.
“How long until it happens?” Keyes asked.
“Not long,” I answered.
“We need to take care of it before he becomes dangerous,” Robinson suggested.
“No one does anything yet,” the captain stated. “Dr. Barry, we need to talk.”
The captain led me a short distance down the road. He hesitated for a moment.
“I know you are not going to like this, but you need to take this opportunity to study the virus’ progression,” he stated flatly.
“What?” I retorted.
“You heard me!” the captain replied. He paced a few steps away, and then came back.
“I don’t like it either, but it has to be done,” he added. “Why do you think mercenaries were brought along on this mission?” he asked. “They are expendable. It is written into their contracts.”
“No one is expendable!” I shot back.
“Wrong,” the captain said sadly, shaking his head. “We are all expendable. Blythe, Robinson, Dyson, Keyes, myself and you, in that specific order.”
He took his cigarettes out of a shirt pocket, shook one out and lit it.
“I am not going to use Blythe as some kind of human guinea pig,” I replied. “That is the same sick shit the Nazis used to do!”
“You will do what you have to,” the captain answered. “You can’t save Blythe, but you can make his death mean something. He died saving you. Do what you came here to do, Barry.”
He turned away from me and walked back up the road.
The others were standing a short distance away from Blythe. Dyson was watching the road. Robinson was carefully clearing the chimp cadavers, dragging them off into the brush. Keyes had moved towards the captain and me. I walked past the others and knelt down close to Blythe. He looked up and grinned.
“I really bollixed it up this time, didn’t I, Doc?” he laughed.
“Yes,” I replied, “Listen, Blythe.” I began.
“Do what you have to, Doc,” He cut me off. “I’m good.”
I hesitated for a moment. “Thank you, for saving my life,” I said.
“Get on with it,” he replied. He took a long drag on his pipe, and sighed.
“Describe how it feels,” I prompted.
“Not good,” he replied. “My head is pounding, and I feel very hot.”
I felt his forehead. He was burning up. “You have a fever,” I stated.
I retrieved my pack, and set up my microscope. “Keyes, hook up,” I requested. Keyes hesitated, and then she slowly walked over and began setting up her equipment.
I took blood samples every five minutes. The virus spread through Blythe’s body at an astounding rate. I surmised that direct introduction of the virus into the bloodstream through an open wound accelerated the development of the viral infection. I recorded the progression, step by step. His condition began to deteriorate rapidly. I knew he would probably lose consciousness before much longer. Blythe was shaking violently. He opened his eyes; his pupils were blown wide open. I knew he couldn’t see me anymore.
“Barry, don’t let me become one of them,” he demanded. He gripped my arm, and then relaxed. “I don’t want to walk around, dead.”
“I can’t stop the virus,” I replied.
“Cut me up, bury me,” he implored, “Before it happens.”
I covered my face with my hands. Keyes slowly got up and walked away towards the captain.
“Barry!” Blythe hissed through clenched teeth. “Promise me you’ll do it!” He blindly gripped my poncho.
“Alright,” I promised. “Once you’re dead.”
Blythe relaxed. He slumped back against the tree. A moment later his pipe slipped from his fingers. He went into convulsions, and then was still.
No one spoke. I pulled out my field surgeon’s kit and removed the bone saw.
“Robinson, dig me a hole.”
REPORT FROM RECON CHARLIE 1750 HOURS
BLYTHE, OTTO, CIVILIAN SECURITY CONTRACTOR KIA.
ENCOUNTERED INFECTED PRIMATES. POSSIBLE MUTATION OF VIRUS. CROSS-SPECIES DESIMINATION CONFIRMED TO CHIMPANZEES.
CONTINUING AS PER ORDERS TO GATOU
TRANSMISSION ENDS CAPT. CHRISTOPHER US ARMY
Chapter 9
8:36 p.m. Zulu
The Congo
Central Africa
We reached the Congo River just before dark. The captain had pushed us along until the road ended. After Blythe’s death, everyone became very quiet and withdrawn. It had brought the reality of our situation home. The river was in full flood, and had spilled over its banks. In the failing light the water looked black.
“We have a serious problem,” the captain stated. I could hear
the fatigue in his voice. He stood at the river’s edge, his map in his hand. The rain beat down on us all.
“The ferry has been washed away,” he explained.
I looked out at the raging river. I wouldn’t have wanted to try to cross it in a small boat anyway.
The captain rubbed his chin, and looked around. A derelict clapboard shack with a metal roof stood nearby. He pointed to it. “Robinson, Dyson, check it out.”
We waited in the rain while they checked the building.
“What now?” I asked.
“We get some rest,” the captain answered. “I need time to think.”
Sgt. Dyson returned. “It’s clear, Captain,” he reported.
He led us into the small ramshackle building. Robinson had pushed most of the junk inside against the walls, clearing a space to lie down on the muddy dirt floor. I spread out my sleeping bag and collapsed on top of it. I was numb.
“Dyson, first watch,” the captain commanded. The sergeant moved to the shack’s wooden door. He jammed it closed with a loose board, and sat down nearby, peering through the crooked doorjamb into the deepening gloom. He lit a cigarette. I could see his face for a moment, illuminated by the flare of a match. He looked utterly exhausted.
I thought of volunteering to take the first watch, but I had already lain down, and before I could offer, I was asleep.
It seemed that only a few minutes later Sgt. Dyson was shaking me awake.
“Come on, Doc, time to go,” he suggested.
I attempted to roll away from him. “Leave me alone,” I replied. I noticed it was light again, and I could dimly see the others moving around, packing their gear.
I was stiff and sore all over. I sat up with a groan and attempted to clear my head.
Dyson handed me a canteen cup of hot coffee. It was instant, of course. I dug through my pack and found a bottle of aspirin. I shook out five and swallowed them down.
The captain stuck his head inside the shack and complained, “Come on people, we’re burning daylight.”
I struggled onto my feet, and repacked my gear. My backpack was torn and stained from the encounter with the chimps. I thought of Blythe for a second, and tried to put him out of my mind. I reminded myself that I was a necrologist. Horrors were a part of my job description.
Everyone stumbled out of the shack, back into the pouring rain. I felt just as tired as I had before I slept. The captain assembled us while Sgt. Dyson kept watch.
“We have to cross the river to reach Gatou,” he began. “Since the ferry is no longer an option we have to hump it on this side of the river to the nearest city with a bridge. That would be Juntah.”
The captain pointed to a dot on his map. “It is about twelve miles from here, downriver. The good news is that we will be moving in the right direction, more or less. There is a decent road that runs from Juntah to Gatou. The bad news is that Juntah is what passes for a real city in these parts. It has a population of around a hundred thousand people. Or it did. We have to assume that those people are zombies now,” he concluded.
“Wait a minute, Captain. If the city is closer to Gatou, those people should have caught the virus weeks ago. They shouldn’t be a threat to us after this much time,” I pointed out.
“You can’t assume that, Dr. Barry,” the captain retorted. “Some of them may have survived for a while, and come into contact with the virus later. We have to assume that there are still zombies there; lots of them.”
“I thought you said that the zombies were breaking down,” Keyes interjected.
“They should be,” I replied. “The closer we get to Gatou, the safer we should be.”
“I’m not so sure about that, Doc,” the captain shot back.
Sgt. Dyson interrupted us, “Like my old man always used to say, we’ll find out when we get there.” He nodded towards the forest.
“Let’s saddle up, people,” the captain ordered. “Stay tight. Dyson on point, Robinson take the rear.”
We struck out through the rain forest, paralleling the Congo River. We couldn’t get lost, but every twist and turn in the river slowed our progress. Following a river isn’t as easy as it sounds. We had only covered a couple of miles before we came to a tributary stream that ran back into the forest as far as we could see. Its banks were steep and muddy, and it looked deep from where we were standing. The floodwaters had backed up, and a treacherous current swirled the dark waters.
“Damn it. I knew this would happen!” the captain cursed. “Once, back stateside, I took my dog for a walk around a big lake. I figured I would just follow the bank, and circle around to where I started. Once I got half way around I started to run into creeks like this that emptied into the lake. They were too deep to wade, so I had to follow each one back far enough to cross. I didn’t think I was ever going to get around that damn lake.”
“So, what do we do?” I asked.
“That was about the time I bought my GPS,” the captain answered. He pulled the unit from his jacket pocket and turned it on.
As it acquired its position by satellite, the captain also extracted his map, and opened it up.
“I am going to plot our course to the bridge with the GPS. We’ll cut straight through the forest to Juntah and should pick up the main road just east of the city.”
The forest away from the river looked uninviting and dangerous, even without zombies.
The captain cross-referenced his map to the GPS coordinates, and checked his compass bearings.
“What if we run into more infected chimps?” Keyes asked.
The captain sighed and shook his head. “Keyes, I keep on telling you, there is no safe place here in Africa right now. The zombies move around; they could be anywhere, but if Dr. Barry is right, then it is safer to keep moving forward.”
Keyes shook her head in disagreement, but she didn’t say anything.
“I want us to stay really tight,” the captain commanded. “Dyson, Robinson, give us about fifteen, twenty feet. Watch the canopy, move quiet. No talking now, Doc, not until we reach the road. I want to ghost through to the other side. Let’s go.”
Dyson moved ahead; the captain, Keyes and I took the middle, Robinson brought up the rear. We slipped through the old growth forest like our missing shadows. The damn, eternal rain fell in a mist, and dripped in fat drops from the leaves overhead.
Everything smelled fresh and new and the air was full of moisture. It reminded me of being in a warm shower with your clothes on. The mud was just as bad here as it had been on the road, but now there were huge twisted tree roots to watch out for. They stuck up out of the mud like black skeletal hands, eager to grab an ankle and bring you down.
We all cursed the roots and the rain, but we made good time. The captain kept us moving along in the right direction. The forest passed by as we walked. I saw huge exotic flowers and creepers thicker than my arm. The trees were enormous; I had never seen anything like them. Occasionally, an opening in the multitude of trunks would appear, and you could peer down an avenue of trees and vines into a dim, green tunnel that led into the heart of the rain forest.
We walked through the morning and on into the afternoon. I lost all track of time. There was only the forest, the mud, and the rain. Eventually, I got hungry.
I nudged the captain in the ribs. “Lunch?” I whispered, pantomiming eating a bite of invisible food.
The captain let out a low whistle that brought Sgt. Dyson up short. The Marine turned around and walked back to us. Robinson reached us at the same time.
“Take five, eat,” the captain suggested. He walked a short distance away and slowly paced back and forth, watching the surrounding trees, his KPG-9 at the ready.
I gratefully slipped out of my pack and rummaged through it for some food. I found an MRE packet and opened it up. Everyone else was doing the same. I shielded the package with my body and opened the foil envelope. I gobbled up the spaghetti and meatballs cold, and then found a power bar to eat for desert.
“This is great,” I remarked quietly.
Dyson looked at me, and held his finger to his lips.
“Did you hear that?” Keyes asked.
“What?” I whispered. Then I heard it too.
An audible snapping noise could be heard from the thick brush, very nearby.
Everyone froze. The captain strode over to us, his head cocked to one side. The rain was still pattering down, and it was hard to hear anything distinctly, but a crunching noise was barely discernible.
“Animal,” Robinson whispered.
Dyson quietly pulled the bolt back on his KGP-9 and then silently slid it forward. He glided forward and parted the brush, the sub-machinegun held before him. Everyone moved forward towards the sound. The captain held me back, and motioned for Keyes to stop.
Dyson suddenly froze. I looked ahead, through the foliage. A zombie was just ahead of us, squatting in the mud, its back to us. It was slowly breaking a bone with its teeth. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
The zombie looked exactly like an anatomical model I had seen in medical school; a model where the skin had been removed to reveal the muscle and bone. All of the soft tissues were gone, and the remaining musculature was black and hard. Strands and bundles of bright green bacteria were interwoven throughout the muscle tissue and wrapped around the bones. The skull was clearly visible, and its neck muscles jerked as it chewed. It had no ears, no organs that I could see at all, but somehow it sensed us. It slowly turned its head towards our position. Its eye sockets were empty black holes.
Keyes screamed and everyone opened fire at once. The zombie was blown to pieces as dozens of hollow point nine-millimeter bullets hit it at point-blank range. The sub-machineguns barked and roared. Smoke filled the air, and the gunfire echoed through the trees.
“Cease fire!” the captain ordered.
Dyson’s KGP-9 stuttered twice more and fell silent.