Born In The Apocalypse

by Joseph Talluto

  “What do you mean?” Dad asked sternly. “You didn’t touch him yourself, did you?”

  “No, Dad. Sheesh. We threw big rocks on him to keep him down, and then I crushed his skull with another rock. Trey stood on him, too. He couldn’t move.” I was kind of defensive about the situation, since I thought I had done pretty good.

  My father thought about that one for a bit. He didn’t say anything for a while, then he burst out laughing.

  “That’s great!” He clapped me on the back as he beamed with pride. “That took guts and brains, and I couldn’t have done better myself!” He laughed again.

  I felt a lot better, and actually looked forward to seeing my handiwork again.

  We slipped down the small ditch, and crossed the narrow two-lane road that ran behind our house. It had been a long time since a car was on that road, and it was broken up and cracked all over. Dad said that there were roads all over the place, and you once could go anywhere in the country just by getting in your car. Our car was up on blocks with the tires off. Dad said it wasn’t going anywhere anyway, and he’d probably just push it out to make room for another horse stall.

  Crossing the street, Dad stopped and turned his head into the wind. He closed his eyes and listened, and I knew enough to keep quiet when he did this. He told me he was using his radar, and I figured it had to be true since we never got into trouble when he did this.

  Crossing the road, we slipped through the brush and worked our way over to the rocks. There wasn’t a lot of animal activity right now, and I was slightly curious as to why. We had been here so many times it was funny how the locals had adapted to us.

  Getting to the rocky areas was pretty easy once we worked our way through the brush. The path I used on a regular basis was easy for me, but dad had a time because he had to get down to my height to clear the branches and brambles.

  “Where is he?” Dad asked, looking around. “Never mind, I see him.” Dad went over to where the body still lay, looking over the kill area, and looking up towards the top of the hill. He stepped halfway up the slope and looked down at the body from a higher angle.

  For my part, I couldn’t figure out what the heck he was doing. The body was right down here, right in front of me. It sure wasn’t going anywhere, and it sure wasn’t going to tell us where it came from. I had nothing to do but warm myself in the sun and watch the lazy water of the creek flow under the bridge and trickle out of sight around a bend. The sun bounced off the water, sending crazy reflections into the walls of the bridge.

  After a minute I got bored, so I used the time to practice drawing an arrow from my quiver and nocking it. I tried to do it faster and faster, and finally quit when I lost my grip on the arrow and threw it ten yards away.

  “Damn,” I said as I made my way over to where I thought the arrow had gone.

  “What did you say?” Dad called. He was down by the body, looking at the rocks and pulling the man over to see his face. From my angle, he didn’t get better looking in direct sunlight.

  “Nothing, “I said quickly. Dad didn’t swear, so I ended up learning the fundamentals from Trey. Dad always said we are judged by our words and deeds, so if you may have blown it on one, you could always try to build up the other. I figured I could curse as long as I did something heroic once in a while.

  I reached the spot where I thought I saw my arrow land and looked carefully for the fletching. I didn’t see it right away and knelt down for another look. I swept my hand through the grass and thought I felt the shaft, but was disappointed when it turned out to be a weed.

  Another sweep gave me a possibility, and I felt the stick up to the end where it flared outward in plastic fletching. I was just about to stand up and shout out my find when I saw it.

  Up the road, just across the bridge, was a Tripper. It was an older one with deep red splotches on his face. His clothes were tattered like he had been outside for a long time. One foot dragged along the other, but that was a fooler. When the rage hit, they moved fast no matter how bad they were injured. There were some deep looking claw marks on his face, and dried blood crusted his neck and shoulder.

  I didn’t want to shout, but I had to warn my dad somehow. I looked back, and instead of seeing my father, I saw nothing at all. He was nowhere to be seen.

  I didn’t know what to do. I had my bow, but I’d never shot at a Tripper before. If I missed, he would be on me in seconds. I needed to be able to shoot again quickly, but I didn’t know how. I was shaking as I watched the Tripper move closer and closer.

  As I sat there in the brush, I realized I was concealed, and the Tripper would walk on by. Maybe I could get him from behind which would buy me some seconds if I missed if I didn’t get a kill shot on the first try. I didn’t have any options, I just hoped my dad wouldn’t come strolling over the hill, whistling like he normally does, and get that Tripper all riled up.

  It was dead silent as the infected man slowly trudged past. I could see more details, and there was a deep, black bite mark on his left arm. If I had to guess, that was where he originally got bit. It was said once you were bit, it was over for you in a matter of hours. There was no cure, and there was no vaccine. At least, we never heard of any. Dad said it was a mercy to put these poor creatures down since they were living in hell anyway. Their minds gone, their memories gone, their bodies altered and twisted. I wondered sometimes if they attacked the living in the hopes of getting killed so that they could end their suffering with a bullet to the head.

  I pushed all that out of my head as I slowly made my way through the brush and grass. Years of stalking small game since the time I could walk had made me a very stealthy hunter, and I saw the Tripper as my prey now. That was the only way I could do what needed to be done without falling down in fear. Besides, my dad was probably watching, waiting for me to make a move, since his rifle would call any more Trippers to the area.

  It wasn’t easy crawling forward with a loaded recurve bow in my hands, but when I reached the edge of the road I was glad I had it ready since the Tripper was a lot closer than I had anticipated. I stood up on the side of the road, still partially concealed by the tall grass that grew there. Behind me was the bridge over the creek, and I could hear the water as it tumbled past the dozens of rocks Trey and I had thrown in there over the years. That sound probably had helped mask my approach, and for that I was grateful. When I realized that I could have accidentally crawled out of the grass at the feet of the Tripper, I started to sweat again.

  Pulling back my arrow, I held the string for a second as I adjusted my aim. The arrow trembled slightly as the energy from the limbs prepared to launch it forward. I adjusted for the wind coming from the north and let go.

  I didn’t watch the arrow; I was busy whipping out another and nocking it quickly, drawing the string back, and looking for a target to come running at me. I was a bit surprised to find no target, so I eased the string forward, keeping my hand on the arrow. I stepped out of the grass and onto the road.

  The Tripper lay face down in the middle of the road with his head turned to the side. Sticking out of the back of his head was my arrow. The point had gone in on the right side of the back of his skull, and the field point had blown through the bone like it wasn’t there. Creeping forward, I could see the arrow tip had exited through the right eye, close to the nose. The eye was turned in my direction, almost as if it was asking me what the heck just happened.

  I looked at the Tripper for a long time, not feeling anything. It was like a switch had turned off when I hunted him. It wasn’t an infected person anymore, worthy of our fear and pity. It was just something I had to put down for my safety and my dad’s.

  Just as I was about to pull the arrow out, a voice called out of the brush.

  “Leave it there.”

  I jumped a mile, and nearly fired an arrow at the sound, when my dad stepped out of the grass. He was holding his rifle and pointing it at the Tripper. Kneeling down, he looked over the man from head to toe, taking
careful note of the two-foot pointy stick poking in and out of the man’s head.

  Dad looked a bit more, then scanned the area where the Tripper had come from. Seeing no danger, he stood up, and grabbing a handful of pant leg, dragged the dead man over to the side of the road.

  As he worked, Dad spoke to me. “You’ll have to replace that arrow, Josh. It’s full of virus now, and you could get yourself infected.”

  I understood that thinking, as we usually washed and burned anything that had come in contact with a Tripper. I wasn’t happy having to make another arrow, but I had done it before and would likely do it again. We didn’t get out much to scrounge up any pre-made stuff, and when we did we were usually looking for stuff for the house. Dad was always wanting ammo and canned stuff; mom was usually looking for some sort of material. I typically grabbed whatever was shiny.

  After hauling the Tripper away, Dad went and dragged the other dead man out of the rocks. He wasn’t as pretty as the other guy who was sporting a new arrow through his head. This guy was bloody and flat headed from where I had pounded his skull in. Dad just grabbed another handful of leg and pulled it over the man’s head, yanking him out of the rocks. Blood and brains eased out of the wound as the body was dragged through the gravel.

  I was watching the proceedings with interest as I usually did with the things my Dad did. He never wasted movement, never did anything that required him to clean up later. Everything was thought out, and he always had a plan.

  Once the bodies were out of the way, Dad piled a bunch of rocks on the men. It was as good a burial as they were ever going to get, since their families were probably long gone.

  One thing bothered me, and I must have had a look on my face since my Dad asked me the question I had in my head.

  “So why didn’t I shoot him?” my dad asked me.

  “Yeah!” I said, probably too loudly. “How come you let me waste an arrow?” I was focusing on the fact I had to make more arrows now.

  Dad smiled. “Don’t get me wrong, Josh, I would have killed him had you been in any danger. But I wanted to see if you could get close without being heard or seen, and I wanted to see if you would be able to take down a full adult with your bow.”

  Dad ruffled my hair a bit. “You passed on both counts. Now I know I don’t have to worry about you when I’m away.”

  I was mollified, but still a little angry. I decided to change the subject.

  “Dad?”

  “What, Josh?”

  “Where did he come from?” I was serious in my question. If these two Trippers were a sign of things to come, I didn’t want to run into them when I ran my trap line.

  Dad got a real serious look on his face. “Don’t know for sure. I’m trying to figure that one out. If he came from the north, that’s to be expected. But if he came from the south or west, there could be some serious trouble ahead.”

  “Why?”

  “South means there’s trouble in Manhattan and the outliers. West means there’s trouble in Frankfort,” Dad said simply. “The guy you took down with your bow was old, likely two to three years infected. The other guy, the first one, he probably was more fresh, and that’s a worry to me.”

  “What can we do?” I asked, not having a clue as to where my dad was going with this.

  “Well, I think the only thing to do is to track him back as far as we can, and get a general direction as to where he might have come from. After that, we check our maps and head for the towns and homes that way,” Dad said.

  I thought about that one. It was going to take a lot of work just for one Tripper. “Maybe he was just a roamer,” I said. Roamers were just single Trippers that wandered the countryside, sometimes just laying down for a while. They were a nasty surprise when they jumped out of the grass at you. Dad nearly got killed when three of them tried to jump him. Fortunately, Dad’s horse jumped away in time, and he put enough space between himself and them to get the killing shots off.

  “Can’t know unless we look,” Dad said. “We’ll start off tomorrow morning.” Dad started to head across the street to the opening that led to our property.

  I suddenly got excited. “I can come with?”

  Dad nodded, smiling. “Of course. You’re too good with your bow to leave behind. But you might want to make a few more arrows.”

  I walked lightly behind my Dad, my steps barely touching the ground. I had never been invited to a search before. I wondered if I should ask to bring Trey, but I decided against it. I’d rather have Trey jealous of me for a change.

  Back at the house, Dad went into the stable to take care of his horse. With cars not working and electricity scarce, we made do with what was available. Dad didn’t mind. He said it allowed him to slow down and make sure he didn’t miss anything.

  Just as I passed the door Dad turned to me. “Don’t forget the rabbit for the Simpsons.”

  Crud. I’d hoped he had forgotten that little nugget. Oh, well. “On it. I’ll be back later,” I said, hauling the rabbit out of the tank and dumping it in a sack.

  “Take your bow,” Dad said from behind the horse. “Just in case.”

  I didn’t know what my dad was thinking, and he didn’t reveal his plans all that often, so when he did something out of the ordinary, it tended to stick out. Something was at play, and I was very curious as to what it might be. But I knew dad wasn’t going to tell me, and mom sure as heck wasn’t.

  “Already have it,” I said. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a routine visit, and it wasn’t even suppertime yet.

  Crud.

  Chapter 4

  I stepped out of our property and walked along the road that connected the houses in this area. I thought it odd to have a collection of homes out in the middle of nowhere, but Dad had pointed out that when everyone had cars and gas, people drove all over the place. Living away from stores and towns was perfectly normal back then.

  I wouldn’t know. All I’ve ever known was this world where people walked or rode horses. Some people rode bicycles, and Trey’s family had this bicycle car that his dad had picked up somewhere. It took two adults to make it move, so I didn’t know how useful it was.

  As for me, I was walking. I tied the sack to my belt so I could have my hands free, but the downside of that was the washed rabbit got my right pant leg wet from my knee down.

  I passed several houses that were empty, the creepiest being the one at the bottom of a hill just three houses down from mine. Dad said when the everything went bad, that family refused to join the other families in fighting off the Trippers, and just shut themselves into their house. No one had ever seen them again. Trey said the dad went crazy and ate everyone else in there, except for his little boy, who escaped by climbing into the attic. Trey said the dad spends his time walking around the house, following the noises of the attic.

  I didn’t believe him, but passing by that small home tucked away in a wooded corner, I did wonder if some of the rumors were true. I’d never seen a light or movement in that house in the entire year my dad had finally let me out on my own. As I walked by, I stopped suddenly. Did a curtain move? I looked carefully from the road, but could not see any movement in any of the windows. Out of spite, I brought my bow up and drew the string back, hearing the slight rasp as the arrow slid along the shelf. I aimed at each window, daring myself to fire, but after a time I slowly eased the bow back. I shook my head, calling myself all sorts of names for my imagination.

  I walked on, looking back once more. My breath caught in my throat, and I moved quickly away. In the far right window I swear I saw a small white hand gently touching the glass.

  I turned right at the fork in the road and walked past several occupied homes. These people had survived the worst of the Trippers and were doing well on their own. They had fenced their yards with timber taken from abandoned homes and used their neighbors’ land for additional grazing and planting. If you found yourself alone with five homes around you empty, you could easily gain an additional acre
or three with just a few removals of fence between the yards. That’s how we gained the land for our horse and our gardening.

  At the end of the block, I stepped up to a gate and peeked over the top. I was at the Simpsons, a decent sized ranch house on a corner lot. They worked pretty hard to keep their land up, but while they were good farmers, they couldn’t keep up in the meat. It was sad, really. They had a decent bit of forest behind them, and a small creek as well. They could have dammed that creek and had fish for the taking, and good snares would catch the small animals coming to drink. Heck, even bigger game might stroll down just for the asking to drink at the pond.

  I rang the little bell that hung on a string by the gate. I knew better than to just stroll up to a house unannounced. That would get me killed or seriously hurt. Dad said back in the day a lot of people were killed by Trippers coming up to the house and people stepping out to meet them thinking they were just other folks. You learned too late that you were about to be wiped out.

  “Who’s out there?” a small voice called out.

  I recognized Lucy’s voice. Lucy Simpson was a girl about my age, and she came over to our house three days a week for schooling. She was nice, but lately she had been getting moody, and two days out the three she was mad at me or Trey for something we said or did.

  “It’s Josh Andrews, Lucy!” I called. “Got a rabbit for you if you want it. I got lucky on the trap line today. Mom said to bring it over to see if you wanted it.”

  “Leave it there,” Lucy said. “Mom’s not feeling well, and I don’t want you to get sick.”

  I winced. Sickness was a constant problem, and I tended to think more people died from the flu each year than Tripper attacks.

  “Will do. Hope your mom feels better soon,” I said, hanging the sack over the gate.

  “Thanks. Tell your mom we said thanks,” Lucy said, closing the door.

  I turned away, not answering, since she wouldn’t have heard me anyway. I guess I got lucky in that she didn’t hate me today.