The Roaming

by W J Hegarty

  “Even if you were ready for the unthinkable, what are you supposed to do with millions of folks living in apathy? The problem here in Pepperbush, leastwise, was that most people were content to know that whatever was going on out there wasn’t happening to them, at least not on the same scale as we saw on TV. Weeks of that mindset led us right here. We’re just not ready for this.”

  “I don’t know if anybody is. We ran into quite a bit of that ourselves. Civilians refusing to listen when ordered to leave their homes only compounded the problem. But what can you do? Short of nuclear fallout, I don’t think I’d abandon my home, either, no matter what I was told. Honestly, I don’t know much more than you. Like I said, we were on the ground as things escalated. I’m sure you’re aware that in the first days of the outbreak, all private and commercial aircraft were grounded. Military and official government craft still had unrestricted access to the airways, of course. The occasional private jet would be spotted from time to time, certainly not military, but the super-rich and powerful elite don’t answer to the same rules as you and I.” Takashi slowly shook his head.

  “They never have.”

  “Even when you’re trying your best to keep people safe and contain a situation, you are always going to have those hotshots who refuse to listen. And you know what? I get it. I really do. No one wants to be told they can’t do something, especially in their own back yard. Anyway, a few days after the flight ban went into effect, we watched an F/A-18 shoot down some poor bastard’s Cessna. Who can say what was said to the pilot over the radio, if anything at all? By that point, preventing the virus from spreading was all that mattered. No warning shots were given. Apologies could come later—or never. It didn’t matter. No one seemed to care, really. The neighborhood it crashed into was already overrun by infected. Besides, there were more important things to worry about than some guy getting blown-up for breaking the no-fly rule. He could have been a terrorist, for all they knew. After all, that’s what command was saying then. This had to be the work of terrorists, a chemical weapons attack of some kind. They were sure of it.”

  “But you don’t believe that, do you?”

  “Who can say for sure? I don’t know. It could be, I suppose. I’ve certainly never witnessed anything like this before, though, and I’ve seen black-project stuff that would blow your mind. But a weaponized virus like this, on this scale? No, this is something else entirely. Shit, by that point the country was largely under martial law, anyway. The cities that hadn’t had an outbreak yet were heavily policed to the point where they may as well have been Cold War Eastern Bloc states. How long has it been? Four weeks? Six? Doesn’t matter, I guess. Sometime during week three or four, they had a radical idea to stop the spread of the virus. It was thought that spraying a region with a sleeping agent from planes would knock everyone out, making it easier for the CDC to move in and quarantine an area. Unbeknownst to them at the time, unfortunately the infected were immune. In essence, all they achieved that day was spreading the infection to the remainder of the city, who while unconscious became helpless victims. The dead’s numbers multiplied tenfold in a matter of hours.”

  “Goddamned fools.”

  “You’ll get no argument on that front here. But they had to try something. The days of endless debate are over. If we don’t act fast, we’ll lose everything. If they didn’t know it then, they damn sure know it now.”

  11:45 pm - Shearburn Residence

  Vanessa was nearly finished securing her home for the long night. She was done boarding up the first-floor windows and arranging furniture as makeshift blockades against the doorways. The furniture’s additional weight was merely a precaution for fear of the door frames themselves collapsing under the strain of dozens of infected piling up. This would go much quicker if she had some help, she thought, but seeing that the entirety of town was currently doing the same thing, she was alone, as usual. Markus would have gladly helped, but she thought it best to leave Mother Leeds in the hands of someone she could trust. Lillian had every intention of riding the night out here, but her father balked at the idea. Rather than arguing, she relented. Vanessa’s thoughts momentarily drifted back to a better time when she and Clint first moved to Pepperbush. She smiled at the thought of him clumsily tipping over the china cabinet while trying to move it. At the time, she was pretty upset, as the porcelain heirlooms came from her late grandmother, herself coincidently widowed at a young age.

  Most of the windows were high enough off the ground that they should be safe. If any of those things broke the glass, they probably couldn’t climb in anyway. Her main concern was the front and back doors. To help with the issue, Sam suggested pulling her car up right next to the front door. The vehicle’s weight, along with the front door opening out, should be sufficient to keep any unwanted guests from getting in, he told her. With any luck, when the night was over, she would be able to return home and find her house the same as she had left it, more or less.

  She was nearly done securing the first floor and only had a few more things she wanted to do before heading off for the church. She promised Grace she would ride out the night with her and Broderick for the duration to help them look after the elderly and those unable or unwilling to help fight off the impending attack. When the house was secured, she would climb out of a second-story window onto her patio’s roof, then lower herself down the ten-foot drop to the ground. She was confident that she would be able to get back up when the night passed. If not, someone had to have a ladder she could borrow. All that remained was to tip over her refrigerator, wedging it in between an adjacent wall and the back door in hopes of blocking that entranceway.

  Vanessa allowed herself a moment’s rest, wanting a little peace before her world got a little closer to hell than it already was. She took a seat on the stairs, opened a beer, and lit a cigarette. Ten minutes won’t kill anybody, she imagined while enjoying a momentary respite.

  Vanessa stubbed out her cigarette and went upstairs to retrieve her shoes. Before his passing, Clint continually told her it was unsafe to rearrange the furniture or do yard work barefoot, but she always laughed it off.

  “Have you ever met anyone that actually dropped a sofa on their foot? I haven’t,” she would reply. “That’s stuff you see in movies.” Her logic on such things was forever lost on him, but that was part of her appeal. Vanessa’s carefree nature always intrigued him.

  A knock on the back door pulled her from thought before she reached the top of the stairs. Maybe it was Sam or Markus coming to give her a hand.

  Typical, now that I’m almost done, she thought with a smile. The effort was appreciated nonetheless. Whoever it was could at least help her climb off the roof. “You’re late, slacker. I’m already finished,” she yelled as she ran to answer the back door.

  “Matter a fact, I’m just in time, sweetness,” an intoxicated Jim slurred as he pushed his way into her home. His other hand carried a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

  The door slammed open, hard, breaking a pane of glass and embedding the doorknob in the wall.

  Vanessa gently approached the staggering brute. “Jim, get out of here. I’m trying to lock up. I have to leave. I promised Grace I’d help out at the church tonight,” Vanessa said while gently guiding him back the way he came.

  “You ain’t going nowhere, bitch.” Jim slapped her in the face, sending her spinning to the floor.

  Vanessa was quickly to her feet and dashing for the living room. She crashed hard into the front door and unlocked it in one quick motion. It didn’t open. In her panic, Vanessa overlooked her car, pinning the door shut from the other side. Sam’s idea to keep the infected out had her trapped with a monster just as deadly as the throngs descending upon Pepperbush.

  Jim was on her fast for a big man. His arm came down like a sledge.

  Vanessa’s head was spinning. She was dazed from the blow Jim landed squarely on the back of her skull. She struggled to keep control of her body as her legs buckled.

  J
im lunged. He pushed her hard, snapping her neck back and sending her crashing into the wall. The impact collapsed her to the floor. “You always thought you was better than me, ya little whore. Who the hell you think you is, coming to my town, flaunting that ass in my face like you laughing at me or something?” Jim yanked her up onto her knees by her shirt.

  “I’ve never done anything to you, Jim,” Vanessa choked as she tried to rise.

  “Where you think you’re going?” Jim said as he clubbed her in the head again with his huge bear-like fist.

  Vanessa crumbled to the floor, unconscious.

  Jim leaned over his prey, ripped open her shirt, and knelt down astride her, his mouth agape, drool falling onto her breasts. Jim fondled Vanessa’s chest while putting his other hand down his pants. “Whore.” He spit on her face. “Come to my town?” Jim struggled against his own large bulk to return to his feet. He unfastened his belt and dropped his pants. “I got something for you.” More drool fell from his mouth as he slurred. He shook his limp manhood furiously, cursing its uselessness while releasing his prey in exchange for the whiskey bottle.

  Vanessa was up in a flash. She lunged at Jim’s exposed genitals, latching onto as much flesh as she could grab with both hands. She was sure to dig in deep with her fingernails. Jim screamed for help as he pulled her hair and flailed about, trying to wrestle her hands away. His manhood was ripping and tearing with each passing second. Vanessa’s hands and arms quickly soaked with his blood as her fingertips finally penetrated his soft flesh and began migrating beneath the surface.

  Jim’s pants and underwear remained tangled around his ankles as he tried in vain to stumble away. Off-balance, Jim crashed through the coffee table to the floor. The furniture exploded on impact. Glass and wood shards littered the room. The impact sent Vanessa’s laptop skidding across the floor. She stayed with him for the duration of the fall, digging deeper and deeper into his skin. Jim’s screams changed octaves as Vanessa succeeded in tearing his dick and balls completely from his body. Ripped, jagged flesh lined a bloody, oozing cavity.

  Vanessa’s living room walls dripped with blood. The carpet, the furniture, and her, all hopelessly drenched. Jim’s wound gushed. He stumbled and tripped, clawing at the damage, trying desperately to hold back the crimson from leaving his body. His flaccid, severed genitals lay in a puddle at his feet. He smashed them beneath his boot in his panic.

  As Jim’s agonizing wails grew, Vanessa tried to cover his mouth, attempting to muffle the sound, to no avail. His screams were booming, and if not for the abandoned street, they would have most certainly attracted attention. She leaned hard against Jim’s throat with her elbow. His screams gradually turned to loud gurgles, though she begged the universe for him to go silent. “You like that, motherfucker? Can you breathe? You like how that feels?” Vanessa screamed at the man, nose to nose with her would-be killer.

  She applied more pressure, the full weight of her body against his throat. One by one, as they succumbed to the weight of her sharp elbow, the tiny bones in his neck began to pop. Jim’s naked, blood-drenched body was slippery. Vanessa could barely hold on as the dying man struggled. He tried to grab her hair and momentarily pulled her head to the side, but she fought against it. Ultimately his struggling did no good as Vanessa put all of her weight onto her elbow, crushing Jim’s neck and cutting off his air supply completely. He began to cough up blood as the gurgles grew slower and much quieter. Eventually, after what seemed like far too long and when Vanessa was on the verge of exhaustion herself, Jim finally stopped fighting. Spent, Vanessa slid off of Jim’s mass, coming to rest on the floor beside him, panting for breath.

  Vanessa’s living room was silent, save for a low hum and a quiet gurgle spewing from Jim’s crushed throat. Spittle erupted from his mouth as tiny geysers of blood sprayed into the air in sync with the dying man’s futile gasps for breath. Otherwise, Jim wasn’t moving. Fine mists of red landed on Vanessa’s face, fast becoming trickles of blood dripping down onto what was left of her torn, blood-soaked shirt.

  “You son of a bitch, you son of a bitch!” Vanessa screamed. She reached for her laptop and slammed it down on Jim’s chest and face over and over again. The device shattered. Jim’s nose and teeth did the same. She ceased her pummeling after his jagged broken teeth and her ruined computer began tearing into her hands.

  Vanessa dropped the broken machine in a heap next to Jim and leaned back against the twisted remains of her coffee table, panting like a dog. The room before her was ravaged. Broken furniture littered the place, and blood spray covered the walls, culminating at Jim’s dying mass at her feet. His face was near unrecognizable. An occasional twitch from his hands or a leg kept her mind on the situation. She inched closer to the bloodied behemoth and put an ear to his chest. A slight wheezing was just audible. Jim still lived.

  Vanessa slowly rose and made her way to the kitchen. Her hands shook nearly uncontrollably as she opened the refrigerator and fumbled for a beer. Her back was already tightening as she wearily sat at the kitchen table and lit a blood-soaked cigarette with trembling hands. Outside, the rain continued to pour as thunder and lightning set in, some of if deafening. Between bursts of thunder, Jim’s gurgling was clearly unmistakable and seemed to grow louder with each passing barrage.

  Over on the countertop, near where she always left her keys, the knife rack had spilled over in the struggle. Shiny blades glistened, twinkling along the walls with each flash of lightning. Vanessa wasn’t about to leave Jim like that, even if he was a piece of shit. Did he deserve it? Absolutely, but she wouldn’t—she couldn’t. She knew what needed to be done.

  Sobbing, Vanessa held the tip of the knife near Jim’s eye. Tears ran down her cheeks, falling to mix with the blood on her shredded hands. She knew she shouldn’t be upset. This monster would have done a hell of a lot worse to her had he kept the upper hand. The thunder roared again, followed by a quick spasm from Jim. Startled, she drove the knife deep into his eye socket. Vanessa pierced him in the eyes repeatedly. As she continued her assault, Jim’s head rolled to the side. The blows continued but were no longer penetrating as the knife scraped his skull. Glancing blows sliced off pieces of his cheek and jaw. She continued thrusting long after what remained of Jim’s face was scattered in front of her, until ultimately the knife broke. Vanessa collapsed atop the wet mess that was Jim. She slid off his slippery bulk and onto the floor beside him, exhausted from the effort and panting for breath.

  1:07 am - The Berm

  Charles and Beth had married just weeks before the outbreak. Neither had much in the way of savings to speak of, so even the most modest of honeymoons remained a pipe dream. They were more than content with each other, so a vacation as far as they were concerned didn’t mean a thing. They were in love, and that was all that mattered. It was amusing for them to listen to their friends and family bicker over their lack of a honeymoon. The arguments that sometimes ensued and the entertainment they offered were well worth missing a trip to some stuffy resort.

  They were the only legitimate couple working berm duty. It was completely Beth’s idea, as Charles wouldn’t hesitate to let people know. Everyone had to contribute in light of current circumstances, and she thought it much wiser to walk for a few hours at a time rather than do any number of the other boring, sometimes downright awful tasks that needed tending to around town. Charles wouldn’t argue her logic, but nights like this gave him pause.

  Conditions made it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet in front of them as they came upon a ladder to a watch post near the southern edge of the berm. The pouring rain and near-constant thunder became disorienting as Charles helped his wife reach the top of the rickety platform.

  “Want to mess around?” he said, only partially joking.

  “Very funny. This is ridiculous.” Beth pulled her hood tight. She could barely keep her eyes open as the cold rain ran down her face and into her coat. Any attempt at keeping out the weather failed miserably for her. “We can
barely even manage in this shit. There’s no way those things can find us in a tsunami.”

  “I don’t think you know what a tsunami is, babe, but I hear you. Let’s just take a look and move on,” Charles suggested. He shone his flashlight down the outer edge of the berm. The light illuminated thousands of infected clinging to the slick, muddy wall. The mass stretched the length of the berm and back out into the forest as far as his light would allow.

  The closest of the infected were already atop the berm on either side of them. The downpour masked any noises the creatures made. The infected lunged, forcing the couple over the edge and away from the safety of their perch, down into the sea of flailing limbs below. Charles and Beth were swallowed up by the horde with no time for even a whimper as their bodies were torn limb from limb. Crunching, tearing, and a cacophony of excited moans were all drowned out by the growing storm. Any trace the newlyweds ever existed disappeared in seconds beneath a mass of rotten flesh.

  Just beyond the southern edge of the berm, carriers clawed and dug at the town’s only defense. The undead masses piled atop each other like so many army ants. The first to reach the berm were trampled into the soft mud by the sheer weight of numbers forcing their way in from behind. As far as the eye could see along the southern defenses, a massive wall of infected numbering in the thousands bore down on the unsuspecting town. Inch by inch, they crawled up the berm. The slower, heavier ones were buried in the mud and acted as footholds for lighter, more agile carriers. First by the dozens, then in the hundreds, infected began pouring over the top of the berm, their moans and shuffling drowned out by the fury of a late-spring thunderstorm. Pepperbush had been taken unawares.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Onslaught

  The engagement was underway at the front line. A shot rang out, followed by another, then another. Within moments, a barrage of gunfire erupted in the formerly peaceful forest surrounding Pepperbush. Once it began, there was no stopping it. The soldiers and a handful of the volunteers remained calm, picked their targets, and didn’t waste any ammunition. The remainder of the would-be marksmen, however, were consumed by fear, firing at anything that moved. Not far from Miller, three men targeted the same infected. By the time they put it down permanently and moved on to other targets, the thing’s chest looked like a cannonball had hit it.