Indestructible: V Plague Book 7

by Dirk Patton

  “Nothing big enough for us to worry about,” he said. “Used to be mountain lions, but they’re long gone.”

  I nodded and kept walking, trying to get a better view of what was moving. A few yards later I was able to see enough to tell it was human. But infected or not? Pushing on, I got a better look and identified it as a male. Then I could see something sticking up from the body. A couple of minutes later I was close enough to recognize an arrow sticking straight up from the man’s back.

  “Got to be an infected,” I said after I told Joe what I could see with the scope.

  Keeping a very close eye on our surroundings, we continued on until we were within a few feet of the male. It was infected. An arrow was lodged dead center in its lower back, and had presumably severed the spinal cord. It was pulling itself along with its arms, dead legs dragging behind it.

  The wind shifted and it must have smelled us. Its head raised and turned in our direction as it emitted a low hiss and began trying to pull itself towards us. The male was dressed in what I presumed was traditional Osage garb. I glanced at Joe who was staring mesmerized at the poor soul on the ground.

  “Know him?” I asked.

  “He’s a-ki-da,” he nodded. “One of the ten for the Sky Chief. Never been off the Res, and didn’t even speak English as far as I know.”

  “What about the arrow?” I pointed at the long shaft protruding straight into the air from the male’s back. The shaft was obviously made from a straight tree branch and had what looked like real bird feathers. It was stained a bright red, a color so brilliant and deep it had to have come from a berry.

  “Traditional warrior arrow,” he said. “May I borrow your rifle? Mine makes too much noise.”

  I looked at him for a moment, then worked the sling over my head and handed over the weapon. He clicked the selector to semi, stepped forward and fired a single round into the infected’s head. The skull deformed before rupturing, then the male lay still.

  Returning my rifle, Joe leaned down and grasped the arrow’s shaft, wrenching it from the body. When it came out the resulting wound looked just like the wounds I hadn’t been able to identify on the female infected back at the crash sight. Snapping the shaft in half with his hands, he mumbled something in Osage and tossed a piece of the arrow on either side of the corpse. I didn’t bother to ask what he was doing. He’d tell me if he wanted me to know.

  “Let’s go,” he said, turned and resumed our run to water.

  12

  Half an hour later Joe slowed to a walk. We were approaching the edge of a cut in the terrain and before we could silhouette ourselves on the high ground he dropped to his belly and began crawling forward. Not needing to be told, I followed suit and together we moved to a sharp edge and looked into a large bowl shaped depression, about eighty yards across.

  If I had to guess, I’d say the dent in the earth was made by an ancient meteor strike. The terrain for the past several miles had been perfectly flat, then for the past few hundred yards we had made a gentle climb to reach the lip. Spread out below us was a perfect circle, pressed fifty feet into the ground as if a giant had come along and stuck his finger into the dirt.

  In the middle were two tall windmills, their towers raising the blades high enough to catch the wind that seemed to be constantly blowing across the prairie. Between them sat a large, circular tank full of water. It reminded me of an above ground swimming pool, no more than four feet deep. Both windmills were turning in the stiff breeze and I could see a disturbance on the surface of the tank as more water was pumped in.

  In several places around the perimeter of the depression there were well-defined trails leading down from the prairie. These had to have been worn into the ground by the heavy hooves of the cattle that came to drink. There weren’t any cows in sight, but there were three horses tied to a leg of one of the windmills. Two men stood in the shade of a willow tree that grew close to the far edge of the tank. The tree was massive with lush, green branches, almost certainly well watered by overflow from the stock tank and well fertilized by the animals that frequented the location.

  “More warriors?” I mumbled to Joe, looking at them through my scope.

  “Yes. For the same chief as the man we found. The extra horse must be his.” He answered.

  I was still watching them through the scope and neither had moved. Something didn’t seem right, and I took a moment to scan the open ground to our rear. Nothing was moving other than wind tossed grass. Turning back to the front I focused again on the two Osage warriors. They still hadn’t moved or even shifted a foot.

  “You said there were a lot of Osage that refused the vaccine. Right?” I said.

  “Well over half. Why?” Joe asked.

  “I’m guessing your tradition bound warriors all refused.” I said, still watching the two men stand perfectly still.

  “Shit,” Joe muttered, understanding where I was going with my questions. “Infected?”

  “Can’t tell from here, but neither of them has moved a muscle since I started watching. Not definitive, but that’s kind of odd.” I said.

  We stayed where we were for a few minutes, watching and waiting, but the men never moved. The horses were calm, which threw me off, but then I didn’t have any idea how a horse would react to an infected. People think horses are smart, and in some ways I guess they are, but in my experience they are one of the dumber animals. Don’t get me wrong. I love horses. I’m just not sure they’re terribly smarter than a stick.

  Standing up to get a better view I scanned the area, but couldn’t see over the far lip of the bowl to my front and sides. Behind me, the prairie stretched away, seemingly to infinity. There wasn’t anything concerning in any direction that I could see. I got back on my belly and settled into my rifle, zeroing in on the man to the left.

  “Joe,” I said, making sure I was solidly on target. “Would these guys have a problem with you if you went down there by yourself?”

  “No. I might not be friends with them, but we’re the same clan. Why?”

  “Because we either need their help, or we need their horses. And we definitely need water. Go talk to them and see what you can do.” I said.

  I was fairly well convinced these two had turned. Humans don’t just stand rock still like a statue for no reason, and they certainly had no reason to behave this way. Not out in the open like this. We’d been watching them for several minutes, and not once had either of them turned to check the area around them.

  “You think they’re infected, don’t you.” He said.

  “I do, but I don’t want to start shooting until I know for sure. You’re the bait. If they are, I’ll drop them before they ever get close to you. If they’re not, I’ll stay right here with the rifle in case you have a problem.” I answered.

  After a few moments he got to his feet and stepped over the edge, slowly working his way down the slope. He had covered half the distance to the tank and neither of the men had moved. Joe paused and after waiting a short time he called out something in Osage. His voice was clear and strong in the hot mid-day air.

  Both men jerked, immediately starting to turn around in a stumbling and uncoordinated fashion. That removed all doubt. They were infected. Adjusting my aim slightly, I pulled the trigger and one of them spun to the ground and lay still. Shifting slightly to the right I fired as soon as the red dot settled on target.

  The second man fell and I quickly stood and made another scan of the area. Still clear, but it bothered me that I couldn’t see a large swath of the horizon because of the upper edge of the depression. Standing, I started down, catching up with Joe where he waited for me.

  “I was hoping you were wrong,” he said when I walked up.

  “Me too.” I walked past him, heading for the tank and a long drink.

  The water was cool and it felt wonderful to bend over and submerge my sunburned head. We both drank our fill and replenished our supply. I took a few moments to dig through my pack , finally remembering
that I had a shemagh stuffed in the bottom. Soaking it in the water, I wrapped it around my head and face. Re-energized, I walked over with Joe to check out the horses.

  There was an appaloosa and two roans, contentedly munching the thick grass growing in the damp soil at the base of the windmill. The appy raised its head and watched us with big, brown eyes as we approached, the roans continuing to graze.

  “You know how to ride?” Joe asked.

  I looked at the horses, none of which had saddles. True to tradition, the Osage warriors had been riding bareback. I hadn’t been on a horse in probably twenty years and had never been on one without the benefit of a saddle.

  “Fucking white man,” Joe said when I just stood there looking at the big animals, not saying anything. “Just don’t fall off and break your stupid neck.”

  “Really funny, asshole,” I shot back. “How the hell do I get on his back?”

  “Her, dumb ass. Jesus, you really are thick, aren’t you?” Joe laughed at me. “OK, first, you’d better get to know the horse. The appy’s the biggest, so you’re on her. I’ll take one of the roans. Come up in front of her, no sudden moves, and get to know her. Talk to her in a calming voice, then rub her head once she relaxes.”

  Following his instructions I got to know the animal. There were a couple of false starts when I thought she and I were going to have a problem, but soon we were getting along famously as I rubbed her head.

  “OK, so what now?” I asked, keeping my hand going.

  “Get on.” He demonstrated.

  Watching him, it looked so damn easy. One second he was standing next to the horse, grasping its mane at the animal’s withers with his left hand, then the next second he made a little skipping-leaping motion and was seated on its back. He looked at me and shook his head, dismounting with the same fluidity.

  “Stand like this,” he said, positioning himself next to the horse’s left front leg, facing rear. “Grab a fistful of mane right here, take a little skip and leap up as you throw your right leg over her back. While you’re jumping, reach up and grab her withers with your right hand to pull yourself over. Like this.”

  He did it again, and it looked just as magical the second time, but the hell with it. I’ll try almost anything once. Making sure my rifle was slung securely down my back I moved down the side of the horse and grabbed her mane where Joe had showed me. Taking a breath I took a small skip and leapt, reaching for her far shoulder with my right hand.

  I slammed face first into the side of the horse and crashed to the ground. Fuck that hurt! Joe began laughing in a deep, loud voice and I briefly thought about shooting him just to shut him up. Standing, I refused to dust myself off and repositioned to try again. And achieved the same results. Joe laughed harder and I was about ready to drag his ass off his horse and beat on him when he finally shut up and hopped down.

  The horse had taken me crashing into her side without so much as a twitch, merely bending her long neck around to stare at the crazy human lying in the dirt. I kept waiting for her to start laughing, but all she did was lift her tail and spray a stream of urine onto the ground.

  “Try it without your pack and rifles,” Joe said, walking over and extending a hand to help me to my feet.

  I dropped the pack on the ground and worked the rifle slings over my head. Probably fifty or sixty pounds lighter I took a moment to rub the horse’s neck before attempting another mount. This time I jumped too hard, my momentum carrying me onto her back and nearly dumping me to the ground on the far side. Only a fistful of mane kept me from going all the way over.

  “Say one word. I fucking dare you!” I said to Joe as he held my pack up.

  He shook his head, a smirk on his face as I took the pack and slipped my arms through the straps. He handed me the rifles, walked to his horse and sprang onto its back with little apparent effort. Asshole.

  13

  We spent several minutes walking the horses around the bottom of the depression. Joe obviously knew what he was doing, but I was struggling just to stay balanced. Fortunately the big appy was calm and steady, forgiving all my errors as I got the hang of how to let her know what I wanted her to do. Eventually I was able to get her to walk, stop and turn as she responded to my body. I thought I was going to wind up on my back the first time I pushed her into a trot, but held on for all I was worth.

  “I’ll learn the rest as we go,” I said after completing two circles around the area at a slow run.

  Joe nodded and turned his mount to head up the closest game trail. He had released the second roan and it stuck to the tail of the horse he was riding. Shifting pressure and pressing with my legs as I leaned slightly forward, my horse fell in behind them and we were off. I still had a death grip on her mane, thankful she wasn’t objecting to me using the only handle I could find.

  “Would it have been too much to ask for your warriors to use saddles?” I called out. Whatever Joe said in return was lost in the sound of the horses’ hooves on the rocky soil of the slope. Probably just as well. I doubted it was anything flattering about either my heritage or me.

  We crested on the far side of the bowl from where we had arrived. More endless prairie stretched away to the north. Joe had pulled to a stop and I maneuvered until I was sitting next to him. The view from the horse’s back was dramatically better, being nearly twice as high as when I had been standing on the ground. Far to the northeast a massive dust cloud spread across the horizon, appearing as a heavy, brown smudge against the blue sky above.

  “What the hell is that?” Joe asked.

  “I was hoping you were going to tell me that’s a storm,” I said, but he shook his head. “That’s a big herd of something, then. Unless the buffalo have made a miraculous recovery, it has to be infected.”

  I had raised my rifle and was looking through the scope as I spoke, but whatever was churning up the ground was too far away. It was at a point over the horizon from where I sat, only the dust rising in the air letting me know something was happening. Joe turned to me, a look of horror and revulsion on his face.

  “How many does it take to do that?” He asked, pointing at the billowing dust cloud.

  “A lot,” I said. “I saw a herd in Texas a couple of days ago that was miles long. Probably three million or so.”

  He turned back to the front, staring ahead with his mouth open in awe.

  “But how the hell are they surviving? There’s no water up there and they’re still human. They have to drink.” He said in a frightened voice.

  “Beats the hell out of me,” I said. “They can do things and endure injuries that would kill you and me. You studied the virus that came with the nerve gas. You should know more about it than I do.”

  “Studied the virus, yes, but only to find a way to combat it. Not what its long term impacts on the human body are. Jesus Christ! How the hell do we stop them?”

  “We kill every single one of them. That’s all that’s worked so far. Like you said, they’re still human. They will die. It’s just a lot harder to kill them than it is a normal person.” I answered.

  “We need to get moving,” I finally said when Joe just sat there, staring at the horizon.

  Urging my horse forward, I got her turned and circling the bowl so we could head south to pick up the trail we’d had to abandon in pursuit of water. Soon Joe was riding beside me, the third horse following along behind. Once we had reached the southern edge of the depression I was able to see the path we had left in the grass as we came north. After a little coaxing I got the appy moving at a trot.

  What had been an hour’s run for us was covered in less than fifteen minutes on the horses, then we reached the dry river. Two vultures were intently tearing flesh off the corpse that had fouled the water, both of them turning their ugly heads to look at us when we rode up. I got the horse stopped, watching them just standing there, unmoving, staring at us.

  Vultures were one thing I was accustomed to seeing in Arizona. I spent a lot of time out in the desert,
and they were always present, cleaning up the remains of any animal that had died. They are loud, raucous and always in motion. If they’re not eating, they’re spreading their large wings to scare away any competing scavengers, especially when approached as we had done.

  But these two were just sitting there watching us. No ear grating cries. No wings extended in an attempt to appear large and intimidating. Just still as statues. With mounting concern I raised my rifle and looked at them through the scope. Red eyes. They were infected. Then it struck me that these were the first scavengers I’d seen since this all started.

  Sure, I’d seen a bear in the Tennessee woods feeding on a corpse, but bears don’t fall into the scavenger category even if they will help themselves to an easy meal. I remembered the truck stop in Arkansas where I’d gotten the Lexus, and all the corpses lying around without a single scavenger in sight other than insects.

  The larger of the two birds suddenly spread its wings, extended its neck and hissed at us. Before it could take flight I pulled the trigger and put three rounds into it. There was an explosion of feathers and blood as it was punched back by the impact of the bullets. The second one continued to stare at us, not reacting in the slightest to the death of its companion. I put three rounds into it, following up with a single shot when it didn’t die right away.

  “OK, just what the fuck was that?” There was a note of hysteria in Joe’s voice. “They were infected?”

  I nodded, taking a moment to scan the horizon, then the sky to make sure I didn’t see any circling buzzards that were about to swoop down on us.

  “Seriously?” He sounded like he was about to lose it, and if I hadn’t seen everything I’d seen up to that point I’d probably have been right there with him.

  “Let’s go and I’ll tell you while we ride.” I said, getting my horse moving in the right direction.