‘Maybe they don’t like walking uphill much.’ Tom made a mental note. His first instinct was to somehow draw them away in that direction, but he discarded the idea as quickly as it had come to him. If what they had seen the day before was anything to go by, then any diversion up or down the road was likely to trigger another mass movement along it. The dead would converge on the main street and move as one in an endless procession, effectively reducing the group’s chances of crossing it to zero.
He needed to find a way to draw them apart, split them along the middle of the road or move to one side. Needed to create a wide enough gap for long enough to move off to allow for a sprint of 300 yards between the resulting factions.
“Rocks.” Amadou looked down into the bed of the drainage ditch.
“Rocks?” The others stared back blankly.
“How far can you throw, big guy?” A plan came together in Amadou’s mind.
“Don’t know. How far do you need me to throw?” Papillon wasn’t following.
“Far enough to hit the first shop window from here.” Amadou pointed to the left side of the street, at the storefront of a vegetable shop at the corner closest to them. “I can’t throw that far, but if Papi here can do it, he will throw the first rock. As soon as that window shatters and the first deadheads move in that direction, we move straight up the line behind them, along the opposite side. Every few yards, we will chuck another rock at the stores across the road. By the time we pass the strip mall, these rotten morons should have created enough of a wedge for us to get through the rest of the way.”
Amadou paused for dramatic effect, but then his shoulders sagged, nothing but incredulous faces staring back at him. He had felt the solution was decidedly simple.
“And if they don't?” Nadia asked unconvinced.
“Then we won’t have to worry about what comes next anymore.” The answer was obvious.
“We have driven an APC through hordes of gun-wielding corpses, we have flown and crashed planes, and we have picked off the dead through laser-scoped automatic rifles.” Papillon recounted. “And now we are going to just throw rocks at them?”
The irony wasn’t lost on Tom either. But of any of the options, Tom could think of, Amadou’s plan was just about the only conceivably feasible one.
“Yes and no. We will throw rocks past them.” Amadou corrected.
“Oooh, I’m sorry. In that case, of course, count me in!” Papillon grinned.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, grant me sanity among these crazy people…” Nadia just shook her head in disbelief.
The bottom of the drainage ditch was filled with construction rubble, and they had no trouble finding right-sized pieces of concrete for the task. Each of them stuffed their pockets with just enough to have a few spares, but not so much as to slow them down. Then it was time to go through the move in more detail. They would leapfrog as they ran, the first in line stopping, throwing, and then re-joining the others who would overtake at that point, ensuring continuous movement and, more importantly, an ongoing distraction for the dead. Once they ran out of shop windows, they would aim at anything that, when hit by a rock would make a loud noise. They quietly readied and slung their weapons, ensuring safeties were on.
“Nothing like an accidental discharge to make our day.,” Tom had cautioned.
Murphy’s Law was hard at work at the best of times, and today wasn’t the day to provide an opportunity for overtime.
They lined up, just as the sun rose above the residential areas of Spring Valley, the rays as blinding as they were welcome after hours in the cold damp of the stormwater drain. The formation of the dead constantly shifted, and Tom waited for the right moment, timing their run for when at least the first forty yards had cleared a little. Keeping an eye on their anticipated route, Tom finally nodded.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Papillon’s huge arm stretch back and then fly forward like a medieval catapult. The sizeable rock left his hand and embarked on its trajectory, arcing high above the creatures, before hurtling towards the first window with unstoppable force. As planned, the noise of the impact was tremendous. The lump of concrete impacted dead-centre of the large window. Tom thanked the fact that tempered glass, for the better part, was still a novelty for most small business owners.
Giant shards fell from the frame in a domino effect of crescendos as loud as gunshots. Most of the dead in the vicinity turned towards the racket before the last pieces hit the shop floor. At Tom’s signal, the survivors jumped out of their hiding spot. With Amadou in the lead, they sprinted along the road on the opposite side, staying low on the broken sidewalk. Now parallel to the next store, he stopped and made the next throw. If the distractions were to follow each other in quick succession, the next rock would need to hit within seconds.
Like a baseball player pitching a speedball, Amadou leaned back and threw his piece of concrete in a virtual straight line. Skilfully timed, it passed between the corpses, but then hit the curb on the other side. The others leapt ahead, too focused to notice the mistake. Amadou held his breath as he watched the fragment bounce off the sidewalk. With just enough force left, it finally hit its target. The second window shattered.
Their plan was working. The noise of breaking glass not only drowned out the sound of their boots hitting the ground, but it also garnered the level of attention they had hoped for. Relieved, Amadou, caught up with the others. Hugging the perimeter walls of compounds and properties along their side of the road, they hoped to mostly stay under the creatures’ radar. The few corpses that had taken notice were easily taken off balance with a push by a passing survivor’s shoulder or hip before they even had time to alert others to the living presence.
Next in line was Nadia. She stopped, sweating as much from the pressure as she did from the sprint. She focused, her hands trembling and vision blurry from the strain she had not thrown a ball, let alone a rock since childhood. Just like before, the others had already leapt ahead. She needed to throw now. Closing her eyes, she hurled the rock with all her strength, but her aim was off. Just as it left her hand, a handful of corpses had stumbled in front of the target. She stood and watched in horror as the rock, instead of hitting the window, caught one of them square in the head. The creature’s face caved inwards. Arms flailing like someone about to drown, it staggered until its foot caught on the curb of the narrow sidewalk. It crashed into the storefront and impaled itself on a shard of glass protruding from the bottom of the window frame. By the time the glass penetrated its mid-section, Nadia was already sprinting to join the others.
By now, they had covered about a third of the way, and from what Tom could see, things were progressing as planned. Their very survival depended on keeping up the rhythm of distractions in what had taken the form of an impromptu relay race. Nadia’s throw had marked the end of the row of storefronts. Now targets, at least those producing the right effect, would need to be acquired at random.
It was Tom’s turn, and he had already identified his. On the other side of the road and inside the forecourt of a small petrol station stood an old tour bus. It would be a long throw, but with its windows larger than other vehicles’, Tom was confident he could make it. An avid cricket player in his teens, many things had been filed in his muscle memory, and eye-hand coordination was one of the first. Taking an extra second to align himself with his target, Tom took a step back and raised his arm high above his head. One of the corpses nearby cocked its head, taking note as he readied himself for the throw. With just enough room for a couple of steps, Tom utilized every bit of available space and accelerated to max speed. The rock found its aim with precision, while Tom collided with the perplexed creature, connecting with its chest and sending it onto its backside. The shattering of the vehicle’s side window once again attracted the desired level of interest. Even the dumfounded corpse sitting on the ground where Tom had bowled it over, turned its dislocated neck towards the petrol station. The dead massed together in eager pursuit
of the noise, all moving towards the other side of the road just as the survivors had hoped.
The main commotion now behind them, it did not take long before Tom, and the others found themselves in a virtually empty street. They stopped and took a breather and looked back where they had come from. With new arrivals quickly running out of room, the horde had already filled the corridor their manoeuvre had opened.
“It actually worked.” Amadou scratched his head in disbelief.
”I’m glad no one ever asked you whether you thought it would!” Papillon slapped his knee and laughed.
Nadia, near fainting from the run, had propped herself up against a street lamp, trying to catch her breath.
“Let’s move.” Tom had no more time to spend on anything other than embracing his loved ones.
They turned their back on the teeming horde, its members busy clawing at each other to get to the front row. Glass tore into bare feet, cutting tendons and flesh. The frenzied back rows pushed forward in waves. The remaining shards shredded faces, arms, and torsos, the broken shop becoming virtual meat grinders. It would take a while for the message to pass through the ranks that there was no meal to have, no warm flesh awaited. The jostling would continue for hours.
Within a few minutes, the survivors stopped in front of a grey compound gate.
“This is it!” Tom could barely contain the mix of excitement and anxiety.
Needing no further instruction, Amadou clambered up the gate’s exterior and dropped down to the other side. A second later, the gate swung open.
“I think you had better go first,” Amadou said with a smile as heartfelt and genuine just as the man Tom had gotten to know him.
CHAPTER 6
The door was slightly ajar. He reached for the handle and paused, standing still in the darkened hallway. The morning light cast long grid-iron shadows from grilled windows through the curtains, across the carpet and walls. For a moment, his mind wandered back to the sleepless nights when flashbacks of war would keep him from sleeping, and he would sneak out of the bedroom to sit downstairs, staring at the walls in the dark while the cinema in his head would replay past events in an infernal loop. How often had it stood in this corridor, just as he did now, hesitating to go back into the bedroom to the two people he loved most, for fear they would one day wake up and see him for the man he had become. And each time he opened the door, the sight of the two figures beneath their blankets, sleeping peacefully in their large bed behind a veil of mosquito nets, with the empty space where he laid before like an open invitation, everything was at peace. The serenity of love and the home Julie had made for them in this far away land would sweep away the cobwebs of PTSD and return him to the safety and comfort he craved more than anything.
He smirked at the thought. There was a certain irony of him standing there in the dark now, lost in the warmth of memories of a world that no longer existed. A world that, as of late, resembled anything but safety and comfort. A world that had turned into an even uglier rendition of Dante’s Inferno than anyone could have imagined and where the terms not only had lost most of their meaning but could safely be struck from the vocabulary of whatever was left of humankind at least in this region. For their sake, he only hoped it would be different elsewhere.
The door creaked ever so slightly as he pressed the handle, the noise amplified by the silence. He pulled up his shoulders and grimaced, ducking and raising himself onto his toes as he tried to peak into the darkened interior of their bedroom. A slight breeze kicked up as the door opened, sending the large curtains covering floor-to-ceiling windows into a gentle wave.
Much to his relief, the air smelled clean and fresh. Further proof that the house had indeed not been touched by the dead. He listened for any kind of noise as he gingerly placed one foot across the threshold. The toes of his steel-capped boots brushed against the fringes of the large carpet reaching out to him like tiny tentacles, pulling him into the safety of familiarity and the prospect of the kind of happiness only a family can provide. To Julie, the carpet had always been an eyesore, a reminder of what he had gone through and what they as a family unit had lost. To him, though, it was one of the rare things of beauty he was able to come back with from the otherwise God-forsaken battleground that was Northern Afghanistan. Treading on it always a reminder that he was indeed still alive.
He smiled as he allowed himself to think of the arguments they had had in deciding whether to condemn the piece to storage or actually have it in the house as a permanent reminder of the very different feelings each attached to it.
He took a deep breath and stepped through the open door, immediately looking to his left and right. The silence aside, he was all-too-aware of the surprises that nowadays could lay dormant anywhere, triggered into flesh-eating action by the slightest disturbance. But there was nothing. No movement. Nothing to indicate the kind of unholy aura that surrounded the dead, betraying their presence well before they themselves made an appearance. He focused on the large bed before occupying the centre of the ornate room.
There, under the thick blankets, Julie and Anna’s outlines were barely discernable. It had been cooler in Nairobi before than it was now, but Julie had always preferred the cosiness that came with the thick covers, calling him a human furnace on more than one occasion for his preference to sleep on top of the duvets. He wanted to let out a cry of joy and jump in there with them, much as he had often done on those lazy Sunday mornings when everything was just as it should be. He would sneak out to make their favourite breakfast, then make it his mission to re-enter the room undetected. Each time the smell of pancakes and bacon announced his arrival, and Anna would wake but pretend to still be asleep. Tucked under the blankets and squinting, she would lie in wait for dad’s weekend sneak attack. And without fail, the two would meet as he jumped into bed. Anna mounting her counter-surprise by rapidly pulling down the blanket and screaming at the top of her lungs, they would end up in a crumpled heap of sheets, blankets, and laughter until Julie put an end to it with a stern look and a finger pointing towards the alarm clock.
This time though, things were different. He had gone over the moment again and again in his head, imagining the different scenarios, the different circumstances that may dictate their reunion. He had made a point of refusing to accept the worst as a real possibility, an attitude that had kept him going through these past few weeks. Now looking over the comfortably familiar scene, he was glad that he had.
He took a step closer to the bed and, in the faint light, could now see their shapes more closely. Julie and Anna, sleeping peacefully. Apart from a few food wrappers, uncharacteristically left by Anna’s side of the bed, and a pile of clothes in the corner, the room seemed the same. Shadows danced across the mosquito nets and sheets as the incoming breeze parted the curtains, turning every surface into a kinetic dance of light and dark.
For a second, he thought he could see a dark spot on the sheet where Julie was sleeping, but the next moment it was gone as the breeze subsided. He slipped under the mosquito net on Anna’s side, eager to wake her. Trying not to startle her, he leaned closer, anticipating for her to jolt up with a scream at any second. He was about to put his hand on her shoulder when he hesitated.
‘Perhaps better to wake Julie first,’ he thought and, crouching, made his way around the foot end of the bed to the other side.
He knew Julie would recognize him even in the dark, and under the circumstances, her instincts would keep her from reacting as exuberantly as Anna might. Now near the headboard next to the bedside table, he could see her hand extending from under the sheet. Her head on the pillow, motionless and slightly slumped forward, she lay in the deepest of sleeps. Slowly he reached for her arm, careful to adjust his grip to give rise to as little alarm as possible.
To his surprise, despite the relative warmth of the dry season air, Julie’s skin felt cold to the touch. Instinctively his hand jerked back, and he immediately reprimanded himself. Looking over his shoulder and around t
he room, he reassured himself that all was in order. There was no obvious reason to be afraid, and yet the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He turned back towards the bed, and his gaze crossed the floor in front of the bedside table. There, blending into the pattern of the carpet and barely noticeable, lay several bandages. Some clearly used, some still sealed, but all scattered about. Dropped in a hurry.
A lump rose in his throat. He again stretched out his hand and touched Julie as gently as he could. Her sleep seemed deeper than usual as her arm slipped away and came to rest on the bed frame with a low but audible thud. Suddenly there was movement under the sheet on the other side. Against the light of the window, Anna’s silhouette appeared as she pushed herself up and off Julie. Tom smiled. She liked to use her mum as a human pillow whenever it was just the two of them. Half asleep, she rubbed her eyes, which instantly grew wide as she recognized the shape of the man next to the bed. She was about to yell out, ‘Dad!’, but Tom raised his finger to his mouth.
“Shhhhh…”
To his delight, Anna did exactly as they had always rehearsed. Despite her excitement, she complied instantly. Tears welled up in her eyes, glistening like crystals in the morning light that now seemed to flood the room as his eyes fully adjusted. She moved to leap forward across Julie and into his arms, but something seemed to pull her back. Instead, she sat straight up and looked at him with wide eyes. Whatever it was that she was trying to suppress, she couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Dad…” She whispered with exuberance.
And yet Tom detected a hint of sadness, of quiet desperation in her voice. He once again moved to place his index finger on his mouth, but this time to no avail.
The Virophage Chronicles (Book 2): Dead Hemisphere [Keres Rising] Page 10