The Reaper Virus

by Nathan Barnes

  A moment of silent contemplation followed as we continued down the quiet basement hall. Brad broke the silence, “Are we sure this building will be secure? If it’s not we could be walking into trouble.” His question was rhetorical of course; a step in any direction would lead us to trouble.

  “Look at it this way,” Lance said, “at least the workout will give us a little more muscle and make for a better meal. I say fuck it. At least we would be going out fighting.” Leave it to Lance it use his dry Texas humor in the face of certain death.

  Brad and I nodded in agreement as we reached our target door. I removed the master keyset from my jacket pocket and found what I thought to be the correct key. We shared a collective sigh as I fit the key into the knob and it worked. We had finally reached the pinnacle of high blood pressure. Then I opened the door.

  Boxes. Fucking boxes. Evidently I was the only one who remembered the subterranean escape route. For God only knows how long, the room had been used as a dump site for what looked like anything they could find. You couldn’t even see the back wall past all the clutter.

  “Well damn,” Lance said, “it looks like we’re gonna get more of a workout than we thought. By the time we reach the back of the room we should be all sweaty and delicious!”

  “Thanks asshole,” Brad said as we each grabbed the nearest box.

  * * *

  1640 hours:

  A pin drop would have been deafening in that moment when Lance moved a box and behind it was blackness. After what seemed like forever, the entrance to the tunnel revealed itself to us. The task before us was daunting to say the least. Any certainty we had in this newly uncertain world would disappear the second we passed the event horizon into darkness.

  Our bodies were exhausted from moving several years’ worth of storage items into the hall behind us. Our minds were even more drained from watching the world collapse around us in the days leading to this moment.

  I had the idea of moving everything to block the hall that led upstairs. This wasn’t to further condemn the coworkers locked in headquarters, but to try and save them. It was fair to assume we were the only ones who knew about the escape route.

  The worst case scenario was that we went through the other end of the tunnel and the infected were waiting for us. If that happened, they would likely make their way through the tunnel after finishing with the three of us. I wasn’t about to fill half of Police Headquarters with the infected just waiting to be released into populated areas. Even though I had little hope for those left, I wasn’t going to condemn them from below. At least clogging the hallway with boxes would create a physical barrier. I don’t think the zombies possessed the higher thought or physical stamina required for moving boxes like we did. If I could barely move the mound of boxes then it was unlikely a walking corpse could do any better.

  A few minutes later we had the opening cleared enough for us to get through, each with our own survival bags. Lance had his duty flashlight, Brad had a keychain light that did the job, and I had an LED flashlight I brought with me in my pack. Strategically, we should have gone lights-off. However, the ever-present and undeniable element of fear combined with the unfamiliar environment made flashlights a must.

  I had no idea how long the tunnel was. It was cramped; we had to walk single file and slightly crouched. Lance, having the only firearm, was leading the way. I wasn’t far behind him. My Kukri was held to my side gripped tightly in my right hand. It occasionally reflected glints of light from Brad’s keychain flashlight behind me. We were bathed in still, dark, and stagnant silence.

  It was difficult to keep from thinking about what we were traveling under. How often do you find yourself crawling beneath Hell? My mind drifted towards regret. What if we were making a mistake in leaving? If help was coming then we wouldn’t be around to enjoy salvation. I shook it all off and focused on the path ahead.

  After several minutes a faint red glow became visible ahead of us. The tunnel’s end opened into a wood and cloth partition. It was almost like a fold-up wall that blocked the entrance from view. Hey, anything was better than a couple of tons of boxes obscuring it. A generic EXIT sign was glowing above the door in the far corner of the basement room. I assumed it was on emergency power; everything else looked to be dead. That meant the power was out. I was silently praying that electronics were the only things dead in the building.

  Lance quickly cleared the room. We were alone at the moment. I looked towards Brad. He looked anxious and gripped a four-inch pocket knife I was unaware he even had. It looked like a decent lock-blade with a black half-serrated edge.

  I was fairly confident that we were in the old police office on Franklin. Fortunately, the building had about a third of the footprint Police Headquarters had. We were all drained and desperately wanted to rest, but first we had to search at least the basement area to make sure we were alone.

  The basement consisted of three more rooms, other than the one we were in. One by one they turned up empty. We were able to breathe a short sigh of relief after that. I glanced around some of the rooms for anything useful. Other than a lighter I found in a desk drawer, it was just a lot of crap lying around, cluttering up the place.

  Lance fell asleep in a chair near the tunnel entrance soon after we’d made sure the place was clear and I found myself envious of his ability to rest given the circumstances. Everything the three of us had just gone through was so exhausting that it would be wonderful to sleep here in this basement. However, knowing that we hadn’t even cleared the rest of the house and that a great feral unknown awaited us was too much to process for rest to be possible.

  Chapter 9

  Life Corroding

  1730 hours:

  Resting had become a futile practice. There was no getting around the fact that we couldn’t stay in the basement. The remainder of the building must be searched. Assuming everything was okay with the unchecked areas and we could find a way to secure the building, then maybe we can rest.

  We gathered our things and ourselves and discussed a plan. Going through in a straight line didn’t serve us tactically anymore. The building was an office area with plenty of blind spots. If the only person with a gun was at the front and we got attacked from the back, the end result would be obvious. The nature of our undead attackers necessitated a weapon in every living hand.

  Each one of us had a weapon; some were just more effective than others. Lance was best off of course. Between his duty equipment and training he should be alright in theory. In theory, because nothing about the plight we faced was normal. Who was to say that a normal person with a blunt object or big knife wouldn’t be better off? I’d seen firsthand how quick those rotting fuckers could be in closed quarters. Maybe a bladed weapon would serve one better in that case. I became shaken with the realization that when this was all over I’d have the answer to that question one way or another.

  There was no time to be lost in thought. Seconds could become the difference between life and death. As we prepared to leave the safety of the basement Brad hesitated. Glancing back at him, Lance and I both realized how ill-equipped he was. I reached into my pack and pulled out the mini-crowbar. He grinned. What have we become that the thought of putting a crowbar through the skull of a human being could cause a smile?

  The three of us went over a possible plan of action. Once an agreement was reached, we approached the bottom of the narrow stairwell. Lance went first, followed by Brad, then me. Once at the top of the dark stairs we kept our flashlights on, but put them in our pockets. We all agreed that flashlights would serve as a source of comfort, but also as a beacon. Anything inside the house would see us immediately and thanks to the windows in the house-turned-office building, anything outside would see us too. Glowing pockets wouldn’t help us search the building, but it would allow us to determine friend from fiend.

  After a few minutes of waiting at different elevations on the stairs, we each sounded off that enough time had passed. The hesitation allowed us to
audibly survey the area to a limited extent, but more importantly it gave our eyes time to adjust to the lower light.

  We all held our weapons in white-knuckled grips as Lance eased the door open. The moment the door opened you could hear the cacophony of gunfire from Police Headquarters a block away. There was little light around us. I can’t say I was surprised by that since the power was probably out in the entire city, and the skies were cloudy and full of debris from fires.

  We branched out in separate directions, our movements quick and calculated. Any hesitation brought about by inevitable fear had to be thrown to the wind. Silence was our only lifeline. Alerting any of the infected in the area to our presence would easily undo our efforts to escape the horde amassed at Grace Street. Lance had his gun holstered and baton extended, for as comforting as its lethality may be, the forty caliber Sig must be a last resort.

  Brad headed towards the back of the building. There was a good chance that the front door was unsecured, so Lance took the front area. His mission was to get the front door shut and clear the area. If the door were to get rushed, then at least he would have the gun to give us a fighting chance.

  We estimated it would take ten minutes for everyone to clear their assigned areas. After that we were to rendezvous back at the door for the basement. If anyone was late they would be searched for, on the condition that the other two would be searching as a pair. In the event that only one person made it back on time then we agreed no one was to be a hero. That sole person was to go back to the basement, lock the doors and make their way back to Police Headquarters.

  My task was the middle area, encompassing maybe two rooms. Lance and Brad were lucky enough to have a little light from the exit signs over the exterior doors. I on the other hand had nothing. My eyes adjusted enough to keep me from running into the walls but not nearly as much as I would like. I was fairly confident that human shapes would be discernible.

  Imagination right now was a bigger foe than the zombies. Every water cooler or potted plant in a corner became an undead figure thirsting for my blood. My heart beat almost as loudly as the still audible gunfire in the distance.

  Corner after corner and room after room I found nothing. The flood of adrenaline in my system leading up to my first potential and intentional conflict with the undead was for nothing. After a moment of this sweeping realization I dropped to my knees and vomited up the small amount in my stomach. Wiping my mouth with my sleeve I saw my watch and remembered my deadline. I had slightly more than a minute before I’d be left alone with a city of infection.

  Fortunately, I didn’t have far to go. I hauled ass, trying my best to remain silent and not to run into anything. Lance and Brad were waiting by the door seconds later when I arrived. They both had weapons up ready to hit me.

  “For fuck’s sake it’s me!” I immediately said in a loud whisper. Their weapons lowered. Brad punched me in the arm in a semi-playful way.

  “Man, you’re too fat to run up on us like that with all the Reapers out there,” he said. I chuckled, rubbing the new sore spot on my arm.

  “Alright, this floor is clear, let’s move some heavy shit in front of the doors and check the upper floors,” Lance whispered. We kept our flashlights off to avoid outside attention. It’s amazing how well your night vision can be when survival calls for it.

  By the grace of God, the second and third floors were completely empty. Everything was slightly better illuminated, thanks to the unobstructed windows. Either it was that or our eyes had completely adjusted to the unnerving blackness.

  We all met again in the center area of the second floor. Lance and Brad looked like hell, and I’m sure I didn’t look any better. This was an opportunity we would likely never have again; one of safety. It should have been used to plan our next move or to discuss our enemy. However, with little discussion to the contrary, we did the opposite.

  The building was now as secure as it would ever be. Best yet was that we hadn’t alerted the area’s resident infected or uninfected, if there were any left, to our presence. This was a fact heavier than any tranquilizer or drunken stupor… it motivated each of us to pick a room, find a comfortable spot, and pass the fuck out.

  * * *

  2310 hours:

  Ever have one of those moments where you wake up after a sleep so deep you have no recollection of anything? That was the kind of rest I was enjoying before jumping back into the harsh consciousness. For a moment I couldn’t remember where I was or how I got there. I was sitting on an old leather couch in a room that looked even older. When I rubbed my eyes, it all came back to me.

  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Then I was home on the couch, Sarah resting on my shoulder and holding my hand. We snuggled under the blue afghan my mom gave to us on our first Christmas together. We were watching one of the many cooking shows on Food Network. Usually I turned to them knowing it made her happy. Her curly brown hair was draped across my chest until it touched the fringes of the weathered blanket. I was warm, safe, and happy.

  Opening my eyes I exhaled, filling the air in front of me with steamy breath. A dance of orange light led from the window across the ceiling. Nearby, something – God knew who or what – was traveling about, engulfed in enough flame to create a torch. Curiosity beckoned me to the window to investigate. My remaining connection to humanity and humility kept me on the couch. A chill ran through my body. My guess was that the ambient temperature in the room was in the mid to low forties. It was November after all.

  Another deep breath and I closed my eyes. Now I was in the yard playing with the kids. Maddox had jumped on my back and was waiting for me to take off running. Calise was latched onto my abdomen, tickling my stomach with her sweet little hands. They were both giggling in the sweetest chorus imaginable.

  Nearby, a gunshot brought me back to Earth. This one was louder, maybe a twelve gauge shotgun. It took all my strength to not break down in tears. This day was almost over. I would say it was the longest day of my life, but I had a feeling the following day would be even longer.

  After a few minutes I’d go check on the guys. It’d take all three of us to figure out how to get out of this wretched city alive. I needed a few minutes to even convince myself it was possible, let alone try to convince Lance and Brad.

  * * *

  Day Nine.

  November 18th – 0011 hours:

  Long ago this building was a real home with real people. At least it was until the university spread throughout the city with more determination than the Reaper virus itself. First it became the home for Campus Police administrative offices, the dispatch center, and security offices. After they renovated what was now an all-encompassing Police Headquarters a block away on Grace Street, the building became faculty offices.

  You could tell people lived there generations ago. The second floor of the Franklin Street office was composed of four rooms, three of which were comfortable enough, suitable to spend extended periods in, which was fortunate for us. The fourth room was a wall of file cabinets and nothing more. We each picked a room to call home for however long we would be there.

  After a short conversation before settling in for a rest, we all decided the second floor was best to set up camp. In the event we had to jump out the windows to escape I’d much rather get broken from a two-story fall than a three-story fall.

  I cautiously went to the other rooms. The last thing I wanted to do was startle one of my armed and sleep deprived comrades. Lance was sitting behind a desk, the chair pushed against the wall for head support. He looked to be fast asleep in the light green, upholstered leather executive desk chair. Gently closing the door, I moved to Brad’s room.

  He wasn’t as fortunate to find sleep as Lance. Sitting with his feet up on a small loveseat, he saw me and motioned me in with his right hand. Brad looked drained of life and lost in thought. I plopped myself down in a less luxurious computer chair across from his loveseat. We sat in the dark and cold silence for a while before I even attempt
ed to discuss the future of our survival with him. I felt like we were waiting to give someone a terminal cancer diagnosis. Survival was possible sure, but was it likely?

  “So what now?” Brad asked with a sigh.

  “Before we can make a plan, I think each of us needs to set a goal.” I tried my best to instill confidence. “I will get to my family, so I know what direction I need to head in. The question is how to get across the river and out of the city.”

  Lance walked in before I finished my thought. He was eating a granola bar from his survival pack. I stopped my sentence until he could settle into the conversation. Once the three of us were sitting close enough I continued. “You guys are welcome to join me. After I get home and round up the family I’ll head southwest to my parents’ farm in Carroll County. Obviously the pandemic isn’t just going to fizzle out. Survival is to prepare for somewhat permanent self-sufficiency.”

  I knew their answers before even proposing the idea. Brad was engaged – his fiancé lived somewhere in the east end. Lance had been married for a couple years by then. He and his wife lived on the other side of the river about a county over to the west. I didn’t know if his wife was at home or not. Surprisingly, he had kept that to himself. Wherever she was, his chivalrous nature would take him to her. I’d be a major hypocrite if I were to fault him for that. I was trying to convince myself that I wasn’t a coward for being terrified to travel without them.

  Guilt tripping them into joining me was never my intention. Leaving no real time to respond to the notion, I said, “For the time being we all have two common goals: survival and escape from the campus area. If we can figure out how to manage that, then we part ways.”