by Hawk, J. K.
“It’s the way of the world. We are the predators.”
“You are wrong. We are all prey, the dead are the predators. You and your people,” I paused, choosing my words carefully, “Are pathetic cowards!” And Callahan chuckled.
“Generally my men would have cut you to pieces by now, but you will be dead in a day anyhow. So we will take the girl, and leave you to the elements.”
“The girl stays.” I demanded. “Or kill us both.”
The man did not respond but instead stared into Steph’s fearful glare. She tried hard to look away, tears streaming down her cheek, and shaking uncontrollably. I racked my brain for ideas, trying to find another way out of this trap, with Steph by my side. There had to be something of value I could offer, something to persuade them to leave us be.
“I won’t kill her,” Callahan stated. “There is little currency these days, except for drugs, weapons, and of course snatch.” He chuckled. “You can move along, alone, or I can kill you, and leave you to rot, alone.”
“She’s infected.” I sputtered, unsure of where I was going. Steph’s gazed darted over to me.
“Bullshit.” Callahan spat.
“She is a carrier, and the daughter of a man who carries an immunity gene.” I grasped at straws. “That is where we are headed, to find her father, to find this cure.”
“Immunity, aye.” He said, approaching Steph and caressing her cheek, which she shied away from. “Which means she just doubled in value.”
“She is of no use to you, she holds no value.” I added.
“Ah, but you said she has an immunity.” He snickered. “We will have our fun with her, then unload her to someone who could utilize her more effectively. Create their own cure. That alone could pay big.”
“Simple minded fools!” I barked. “She is a carrier! Just kissing her could transmit the virus. By morning, you men will be walking corpses, as well as yourself.” Callahan glared back at me.
“I’d listen to him.” Jade finally spoke up. “He obviously knows what he is talking about.”
“I do.” I stated.
“Maybe.” Callahan continued as he turned towards me. “But I’ve lost two of my men, with little payout. I am gonna need compensation.”
“They have nothing!” Jade protested, only to be met with a swift back hand before she tumbled to ground.
“Women, you want women?” Steph spoke up, and Callahan turned his attention back to her, nodding, “Rangeley.”
“Steph!” I interjected, but she ignored me.
“You will find girls of all ages there.”
“Rangeley is a ghost town!” He barked. “We just came from there.”
“You didn’t look hard enough.” She said. “You must have noticed the plowed gardens, the cleaned streets, or the staked corpses?” He nodded. “They were hiding from you.”
Callahan contemplated her suggestion, his eyes darting from me to her as he considered the idea. My stomach churned in disgust at what she had done, but it was too late, the information was out and there would be no backtracking. In the spirit of our mission, I had to ignore the repercussions of this heartless negotiation, and hope that he accepts. But instead, he stepped towards me, placing the barrel of his gun upon my forehead and cranking back the hammer.
“You die first.” He said. “Then your little princess will show us these girls, and if she is telling the truth, she lives.” He released a slight snicker. “If she’s lying, well, her death won’t come fast enough.”
Steph lunged for one of the other men, ripping a pistol from his pants before whipping around and resting the barrel on the back of Callahan’s head. His men quickly raised their weapons, a preface to a bloody end. But everyone held back their rage, and the brute before me gazed back into my eyes with concern as he raised his other hand for everyone to remain calm. Once again he chuckled, like a crazed hyena.
“Rangeley, aye.” He finally said as he lowered the gun. “If you are lying, we will hunt you both down.” He added. “Let’s move.” He concluded with one last sinful gaze at Steph who slowly back away. The grunt she had snatched the pistol from rushed her, yanking it from her hands before pushing her to the ground and following the others.
“At least leave us a weapon.” I added, which Callahan responded with a sickening chortle before nodding at the stalky man holding Eeamon’s rifle.
“But it’s mine!” He protested.
“But nothing.” Callahan scolded. “The rifle or your pistol, fair is fair.” He said as the man reluctantly removed a small revolver from the holster and stepped forward. “Not here!” He exclaimed. “We will leave it a ways down the road. You can retrieve it when we are out of sight.”
The others tightened their packs and gear and one by one moved down the road, back towards Stratton. Callahan stayed behind, eyes locked on mine with a vaunting smile across his shaggy face. I was overburdened with both guilt and ferocity, wishing to lash out at the man before me like a caged animal. Yet, the repercussions of such action was all that held me back, and instead I petitioned for some reasoning of this man.
“I request a favor of you.” I stuttered.
“That is?”
“The people of Rangeley are mostly children.” I added. “Try and maintain some form of decency.”
With a hoarse cackle he turned and followed his men, not once looking back at me. As their silhouettes began to fade I was barely able to make out one of them bending down and placing my pistol upon the ground. He stood and stared back at me for a moment, raising his hand and stiff middle finger, before disappearing around the bend with the others, and with haste, I scurried down the road.
Unsurprised but still disappointed, I found the thirty-eight special upon the pavement, loaded with but one round. Instead of protection, the cold-hearted bastard left me an ill-fated exit, and my fury urged me to run him down with it. Instead, I stuffed the weapon in my coat, secured my pack and rejoined Steph to continue on. As we shuffled along, I could not help but stew over the interaction, and Steph’s haste.
“You’ve condemned those children.” I finally said.
“Evolutionary Cleansing.” She added. “Both sides will lose life. And if we hurry, and get back to Maribel, you can order a rescue mission.” She said, the pain of her actions clearly resonating from within her voice.
Sign of the Times
“God’s will is a bitch.” My voice was carried out across the gloomy green meadow, and before long it echoed back to me, even though the words came at a low mumble. Steph looked over at me for a second before her eyes fell back upon the dismal scene that lay before us. The Dead River lapped the edges of this antiquated pasture, its banks were riddle with bodies, everything from sun-bleached skeletons to barley cold cadavers. But, the grassland itself was much bleaker than what we had found down at the river’s edge.
The acreage had been claimed, long ago, as a refugee campsite. Towards the north end, just before an ancient rock-wall that had been more recently built-up and reinforced was a garrisoned perimeter. Trucks, vans, and even rusty old recreational vehicles formed a large, and impenetrable barricade with a quaint little campsite at its center, along with a still smoldering fire pit. A long clothes-line remained strung between two vans, graced with an assortment of torn - blood-stained - clothes and under garments swaying peacefully in the morning breeze.
Steam still rose from the mass of death within, wisps dancing over the cold morning air, and placing the slaughter within the last hour. We had just missed it. However, it would seem that this was not the first massacre upon this land, as the scrolls of corpses read a long and torrid past of predation and deceit. What would guise as a place of serene sanctity, has many times become a grave for the lost and the weak.
“We should go.” Steph whispered. “Let’s look for supplies first.” I sugge sted, and was met with a glare of disapproval, but still she followed my lead.
Unlike The Survivor, the act of rummaging through the pockets of the dead seem
ed barbaric and callous, like desecrating a saint’s tomb. My faltering sense of morality hanging on by a thread. So, out of respect, I focused on suitcases, backpacks, and vehicles in search of anything that could ease our mission. Steph on the other hand, followed behind, but searched nothing. I believe she is still in mild shock after Eeamon’s death and now at the sight of all the senseless death around us, a wickedness she has little experience in.
After a few minutes of coming up empty handed I made one last effort and popped open the lower storage compartment of an RV. A hard stone smile cracked my face. Not out of satisfaction in my find, but in amusement at the versatility of true survivors. What should have been a cramped alcove for suitcases and non-perishables, had been modified and extended all the way to the adjacent side of the vehicle. Altogether it could easily fit 4 adults laying down, and the rations of bottled water, food, along with make-shift air vents and interior locks would allow a familyto hide for days if needed. God’s will may be a bitch, but the will of man should never be underestimated.
Steph did not hesitate to reach in and snatch the bottles of water, stuffing them in her own pack as she also filled her pockets with foil sealed toaster-pastries. Her depressive demeanor had lightened momentarily, the sweet snacks putting a smirk of happiness across her face, as well as my own. After clearing out the compartment she turned to walk away in satisfaction, only to immediately halt with a paled face of fear.
Whipping around I found a young woman several yards away and slowly closing in. Mid-twenties, gorgeous golden blonde hair and one bright blue eye. The other, recently chewed away along with the whole right side of her face, and her neck was masticated like ground beef. She had turned mere minutes ago, which meant there were others nearby, and this plain of the passing was still brooding in peril.
Never before had I reacted without thought, which is why I always preferred hardened veterans by my side, but my past pitfalls fell aside to simple instinct. My hand fished out the small pocket knife from my coat on its own accord, and with one swift motion I stepped forward, swooping my hand around the Freshy’s head and sliding the blade up behind the base of her skull. The entire maneuver lasted a second and surprisingly successful. I’d seen Mason do this many times, but had never thought that I would have it in me.
The light in the young woman’s eye was extinguished instantly, and gently I guided her dainty remains to the ground. I’d like to believe I did it out of compassion, but that was not the case, because in these crazy times a trivial thump upon the earth can become a screaming banshee-filled pit of hell. And as ironic as it sounds, the racket of big-city commerce and progress that we use to dread, would be more than whimsical against the deafening roar of the lower-world.
With a deep sigh, I looked back, myeyes falling between Steph’s legs then through the under-carriages of the fortified burial-ground. Within the misty haze was the undeniable shambling of the waking dead. Steph jumped in fear as they smashed their hands against the sides of the automobiles, and I lashed out, pulling her fast to the ground and covering her mouth. They hadn’t noticed us yet, and I aimed to keep it that way.
“HELP ME!”
The shrill of fright split the air like a knife, and just across the river my eyes caught sight of a lone woman, much older than the life I had just ended and quite possible her mother. Frantically she scurried through the thick alders, stumbling and tripping in complete terror. Tangled gray hair, slightly overweight, and clothed in only a dirty old bra and underpants, it was obvious that she had been rudely awoken this morning and now savagely pursued. And although some of the fresher corpses began to rustle and rise from the woman’s shrieks, it was not them that she feared.
Three men followed not far behind her, and by their dingy attire plus the domineering and sadistic chortles that echoed about, it was clear these were simpleminded and lawless rednecks. As the dead around us rose and followed the racket, I held Steph down, my hands clamped tight over her mouth, and I watched the distraction ensue, all the while praying that the poor woman’s peril was a cruel yet necessary sacrifice. And as I stared upon the uprising my heart sank beyond compassion when she tripped upon and tangle of roots and tumbled to the forest floor.
The scrawny hillbilly in the lead reached her just as she rolled onto her back and held up her hands in defeat. The other two strolled up soon after, snickering at the sight of their desperate prey. Her whimpers wafted over the river just as the Dead stepped into its sandy shore, but none of the imbeciles paid much attention to them. They had one-track minds, inbred and corrupted, with little instinct for self-preservation, only social predation.
“We have to do something…” Steph whispered as she pulled my hand from her lips.
“Wha…”
“NO, PLEASE, ILL DO ANYTHING!” The woman’s pleas broke my response.
“We don’t need your cooperation, bitch!” The man above her snarled.
With a quick spat, he raised his gun towards her head and pulled the trigger without a moment of second-thought, her head lurched back upon the earth with a quick bounce, and abruptly she became still. With a guiltless chuckle he nudged her lifeless body with his foot before looking towards his friends for approval. Once again I held Steph’s mouth as the thunderous blast faded over the mountains, and the dead drifted from a curious approach to a ravenous assault. The men immediately took notice, as two of them snatched up an opposing leg and dragged the body into the forest.
The ringleader looked back at the approaching herd as they sloshed up out of the river and fought through a tangled mass of alders. With a scoff, he slowly turned to join the others, but not before his eyes drifted across the river and caught my own. His retreat came to an instant pause as we stared each other down, but the advancing army soon lit a fire under his feet. With a quick salute, the man smiled, then dashed off after his friends. As the horde pursued I pulled Steph back to her feet and we scurried back towards the roadway, never once looking back.
I urged Steph to pick up the pace, to cover us much ground as possible before nightfall, but her dismay only slowed our retreat. The look in that man’s eyes was that of sinister musing, and possessing no moral fiber, it is obvious he would soon be on the hunt again. And I’d rather we not be his next prey. I must admit, it would appear that my calculations of the human population in this region was drastically underestimated.
Deluge of Apathies
The sun never rose the following morning, instead mother-nature blanketed the sky in dark clouds and torrential rain battered the thin and dank canvas which barely covered our heads. With no fire to keep warm, we huddled together beneath a tall hemlock, seeking what little protection we could from its ancient canopy. It was just another dreary day in a series of dreary days since the dawn of The Fall.
Steph and I have not spoken since the incident the day before, neither have our eyes connected, as hers remain lowered and distant, and my own gaze out into an unrecognizable world. We were on a roller coaster of emotions, both of us silently debating in our heads the moral implications of her actions the day of Eeamon’s death, along with the ruthless massacre back at the refugee camp. Coming to terms with the reality of our own purpose and survival. We were at the will of nature, nearly weaponless, defenseless, but the mission must go on, that is our only purpose. The needs of the many, shall condemn the few.
We passed a small boarded up cabin yesterday, and although it would have been a more suitable place to hold up, it was the dreadful sounds of shuffling that deterred our stay. But, it was a monument, or as some would see a tomb, to the varying impressions this world bestows on each of us. In a dark red paint, or quite possibly in blood, scrawled out across the cabin’s outer-walls were the words of just another Nameless Victim.
“I will not be enslaved, I will never be extinguished.” And yet, if the soulless fiend behind those walls and covered windows was the one who wrote this message, he fell to both. Valkyrie enslaved his body, as she extinguished his persona. In man’s final m
oments, when death caresses his face, he resorts to brandished courage and fearful threats. But maybe this message was not from the resident within, and the true poet continues to wander this foreign landscape without cause, yet with infinite sorrow and uncontrollable hate.
His words incite a bit of optimism in my own mind, the drive I need to continue this mission, and believe that there is still an end to all of this. And as the day passes by, and the rain clouds retreat to the waning of the moon, I reach out and embraced the novice young women beside me, holding her tight, as we fought our fears and prayed for sleep. We fought off the thoughts of the events in days past, and thought not of the obstacles that awaited off in the darkness, waiting to send us aimlessly before them. We thought only of sleep, and a peaceful dawn.
Vestige of Hope
Following the old highway north I can picture how this area looked prior to The Fall. Vast sceneries of endless forests, rivers and mountains, intersecting with all of man’s achievements. A metropolis of both nature and industry which once coexisted in an elegant yet fragile balance. Years later, nature is taking back its prestige, re-rooting and reconquering all that was raped away by man. And aside from the scattered pieces of pavement and the sagging power lines, the area is returning to how the ancient Abenaki’s once saw it.
Still determined to complete the mission, I fight back to fears of failure, nor do I allow myself to be discourage by how much more we will need to overcome. The pack which strains my back is all that drives me, its contents, although minimal, are all I have to reclaim our world. So I hold tightly to delicate optimism, for even if a cure is found, getting back to the GFS and supplying it to the world will be yet another dreadful undertaking.
By midday we had walked several miles, and for a moment I was concerned that we had missed our destination, and soon the fear of backtracking set in. But as the sun sailed over the sky, and the lifeless wind-turbines that dot these mountain came into view, my eyes fell upon a beacon of hope. A monument described once within the chicken-scratch of one courageous survivor, it was a symbol of triumph over the evil that can be man.