I allowed myself a few more seconds of breathing deeply, then I methodically began to search the pharmacy for useful things, whereby I, probably following an old habit, did not immediately store the objects in my parka or my backpack, but first collected them on the counter. I started my search in the sales room, even though the drugs I primarily was here for were more likely to be found in the back of the shop. Two bottles of disinfectant spray, two first aid kits and some multivitamin pills made the beginning. Even a small pack of disposable gloves found its way onto the counter. Cutting the shard out of Mariam’s foot could have been performed much more safely and sterile with some of those.
Who could say when I’d get into a situation like this next time?
I turned on my own axis once. I had searched the front. Now I searched the shelves behind the counter. Yeah, there’s paracetamol and ibuprofen along with the other medications. Very good. I went to the counter and put some packs of each preparation to little pile with my prey. Then there was an iodine ointment and, after a few minutes of searching, I found a drug that I only identified as penicillin after having read the small print. I grabbed four packs. I ripped one of them open and swallowed a pill dry. As far as my shoulder wound was concerned, I did not want to rely on the disinfectant alone. Also I collected all kinds of other stuff, including some disposable scalpels, a small brown bottle of medical alcohol, blister plaster, even more shrink-wrapped gauze bandages, a box of tampons and the like.
I had to think about the dogs again and about Mariam’s inflamed foot.
Were there any vaccines against tetanus in pharmacies? No, I thought I remembered vaccines were usually stored directly in the doctors’ offices. I’d keep that in mind.
I quickly put my prey in my backpack and shouldered it. As I turned to the exit door, I thought about the dog. If it had bitten in my forearm instead of my crossbow, I could probably still have taken him out. However, it would have been possible that his saliva could have injected a rich potpourri of bacteria into my bloodstream, the deadly effect of which would only have come to light some time later. In the end, the bite may have killed me after all.
On the one hand, I decided not to take the direct route on my way back to Wanda and Mariam, but to expand my exploration and to keep my eyes open for a practice of a general practitioner. I was good in time and an hour more would hardly make a difference.
Secondly, I wanted safer clothes for all of us. My idea was towards motorcycle equipment or at least more resistant work clothes. Thick leather and protectors would make me feel less vulnerable. The temperatures would drop significantly in the next few weeks anyway.
Busy with these thoughts, I stepped outside the door again. The dog I had shot was nowhere to be seen. I looked to the left, because something on that side caught my attention. I can’t tell you exactly what it was. Maybe a noise, maybe the unnatural movement of the plants in the small grove in the track bed, about eighty meters away from me.
And then I saw them.
They came up the same way I had taken. Degenerates.
Was it a coincidence?
Had the dog fled in their direction, and they were now tracking back his path?
Or had they been sneaking up on me the whole time?
When I saw that one of them, the last to emerge from the thicket of the wood, was wearing a blood-crusted bandage around one hand, everything was obvious.
He must have found another degenerate group faster than I had thought possible and he had also been able to get them to stay close and keep their eyes open for me and his former prisoners. When he saw the shot dog run past him, his hunting instinct awoke, because the guy could surely remember crossbow bolts only too well, I guess. That at least this how I explained their presence to myself.
A moment later I had other worries than useless theories or to think about vaccinations and solid clothes. While I was standing way too many seconds at the entrance of the pharmacy and looked towards the group, which had grown to eight figures in the meantime, he had discovered me.
He raised his bandaged hand and pointed at me. He spit out a barbaric scream, not a word, a mere sound. Then he burst off in my direction and a second later his companions did the same.
The direct way back to Wanda and Mariam was cut off. So I turned around and ran along Hohlbeinstreet to the north. During the first three hundred meters I was able to keep the group at a distance despite my aching ankle. While trying to lose as little speed as possible, I searched my way through the wrecked cars, young plants breaking through the asphalt and craters from old grenade impacts covered with all kinds of grasses and ferns.
I reached a crossroad in the middle of which stood a huge, burnt-out tank, like the skeleton of a steel dinosaur. Towards the city center, the fighting had apparently become more destructive and deadly than in the militarily uninteresting residential area in which we had found shelter.
Around the tank lay corpses and parts of them, almost completely skeletonized and distributed almost in a circle, which I discovered only at second glance. Had the crew of the tank killed these people, or were they part of a platoon of infantrymen who, protected by the armed vehicle, had pursued long since become irrelevant targets? I guessed the first, because the remains of the clothes of the dead did not indicate any uniforming, even if that did not always have to mean something. The strangest plants thrive in the chaos of war.
I had no time to think any further, because while I was still standing in front of this involuntary war memorial breathing heavily, an arrow rushed right by my left ear and bounced off the perforated steel skin of the vehicle with a metallic clack.
Quickly I looked back and saw that the faster members of the group had approached me up to thirty meters. The archer, one of three, as I had spied out in the meantime, just put another arrow on the string and I lifted the crossbow and shot.
I had aimed roughly at the middle of his chest, but my bolt hit him in the abdomen and while the foremost of the three hunters were still running towards me, he collapsed with a cry of pain.
I had no time to get the crossbow ready again. I turned around, circled the destroyed tank and ran further towards the city center, throwing my crossbow over my shoulder and pulling my machete.
The fast steps of my pursuers in my ears and trying to avoid the constantly appearing obstacles, our unequal race shifted further and further to the north. I didn’t dare to look over my shoulder anymore, because on the one hand I had to keep an eye on the terrain in order not to fall, and on the other hand I didn’t know what I should have done at the moment anyway - except simply running away.
So while I was running, two more arrows passed me by. First one way too close, close to my right hip. The other one flew a few meters over my head and got stuck high up in a tree. In front of me I saw the bank of the Main and an intact looking narrow bridge supported by steel cables leading to the other side of the river.
I had just passed a large, somehow official looking and partly bombed-out building and crossed a street intersecting my path in a right angle, when the steps behind me became louder and gasping breath met my ear. The fastest runner of the group had caught up. I tried to estimate the distance between us by the sounds, and wondered if he had already raised his spear to throw, but soon gave up trying, because my own panting breath made it impossible for me to assess the situation correctly. A staircase led up the bridge on the left hand side, and to be able to use it I would have to reduce my running speed considerably. My lungs were burning painfully anyway, and so I made a full run to the left, slowed down, thrusted myself around, the machete raised to the blow.
The deg was a few meters further away as I had imagined it with my adrenaline-flooded brain and he wasn’t carrying a spear but a club. No, it was more of an old, gnarled branch, if I saw it right. His face was strongly reddened and distorted by his efforts and in his eyes I could see that I had managed to surprise him with my maneuver.
While he was still trying to brake and bringing his c
lub in a defensive position, I attacked him with a feint, fooled a high blow and then pulled the machete down at the last moment. The blade went deep into his upper leg and dark, sticky red blood shot out.
Driven by pain, shock and primal rage, a loud scream left his throat. He dropped his club, pressed his hands on the gaping wound and fell to his knees. I would have liked to have finished him, but his comrades just came to a standstill ten meters away and struggling for air.
I heard another arrow approaching which it the ground just a few centimeters from my foot and slipped clattering further when the guy with the injured hand gave order to form a semicircle and advance on me.
I was surprised at two things. First: he had given the order in German, which might mean that the Cardinal’s influence had already reached further than I had assumed, and second: I wondered why the others, who in my opinion must have belonged to a separate group of degenerates, accepted his orders in the first place. Had he killed their original leader?
No time to think, they started coming closer. I had to leave. My opponents blocked my way to the right and left. The only way out for me was the narrow bridge over the Main.
As I took a deep breath and got ready to give the degs another hunt, I looked into the hate-filled face of Onehand, as I had baptized him in the meantime, even if that was not completely correct.
He grinned and run his thumb over his throat. Then he yelled:
“Get him!”
I did not wait for his entourage to react to the command, but, accompanied by the sound of released bowstrings, ran up the steps to the bridge, away from the degenerates, but also away from Wanda and Mariam.
***
As fast as I could, I ran over the small bridge. I didn’t dare to look over my shoulder, didn’t want to give up a fraction of a second of my scarce lead. My lung burned, my ankle ached, and in spirit I begged an indefinite, higher power full of fervor for its favor, for a miracle, or at least an idea what’s to do. That I would endure the murderous chase despite my ailing physical condition and decide the race to my means. The wheezing sound of my own breaths reached my ears miserably and asthmatically and made it impossible for me to determine the distance between me and my pursuers without looking back.
The circumstances left me no time for that at all.
Another arrow flew over my head when about fifty meters away from me, at the other end of the bridge, three figures suddenly appeared. They were also ragged and armed with bows and who seemed to wait for the Onehand’s degenerates to drive me towards them, to a distance they could not miss me. As I came closer and closer they put the arrows on the tendons and pointed the bows at me.
Panic and fear stretched their greedy fingers for my brain, all my actions were completely blocked and somehow ... crystalline, like frozen. It was more than unlikely that I would survive the next few seconds. Maybe the first or second arrow would miss me, but I was sure that at least one of them would find its target.
I had no choice.
The only way out I could think of was the river.
Not a fraction of a second too soon did I put my desperate decision into action.
Better cold and wet than cold and dead.
At full speed, at the same moment that the three shooters released the tendons of their bows, I started my jump. When I wanted to push my body into the air, a hellish pain twitched through my damage ankle and my jump, which should have catapulted me head first over the handrail, fulfilled its purpose, but my right foot remained stuck on the upper edge for a terrible moment, which added a new component of pain to my fearful scream.
Then the moment was over and I saw the muddy-brown river racing at me. The impact was literally breathtaking. It tore the machete out of my hand, the cold water flooded my mouth, bit into my clothes in a flash and pulled me down with a sluggish but terrible force.
I fought with all my might against this leaden weight, which reached for me, because under no circumstances did I want to lose the backpack with the medicine for Mariam to the river. With an unbelievable mental effort I pushed my fears away and forced myself to calm and even movements and a few endless seconds later I broke through the surface and gasped for air.
My eyes inevitably looked up, towards the bridge. I registered that I had drifted about twenty meters away from there, and while I did the only thing that occurred to me at that moment, namely to simply increase the distance to the degs, rowing backwards with my arms, I saw something that astonished me.
There was fighting on the bridge above me!
In the end, the three newly arrived figures may not have targeted me at all, but Onehand and his gang of degenerates - or perhaps just anything and anyone who should dare to cross the bridge.
It didn’t look good for the three, though. While one was parrying a blow with his bow, which in course of this broke in the middle, another fell to the ground with a spear in his body. About where I had jumped into the river, the body of one of Onehand’s men lay in death, his hands cramped around the shaft of the arrow sticking out of his chest. Another degenerate hung limp and upside down over the railing of the bridge. The rest reached the battlefield the moment the bridgeman with the broken bow managed to get rid of his useless weapon and drag a large kitchen knife out of his belt, dodging a fierce blow from his opponent. He immediately went over to counterattack and I noticed that something was wrong with his movements. A few meters further back the other survivor of the bridge guarding trio just pulled his bow when his companion was hit in the mouth by an arrow and fell backwards. The archer now stood alone against Onehand and his cronies.
He, too, seemed to have noticed this fact, for he fired an random-looking shot in the direction of the deg who had meanwhile come closest to him. The arrow only grazed the guy’s cheek, but that was enough to dissuade him from his plans of attack and make him feel for the wound, screaming loudly. The shooter turned to flee. When the remaining degenerates reached their wounded man and, without paying attention to him or the blood coming out between his fingers, started chasing the archer, a barking order from Onehand sounded.
“Stop!”
Onehand, the last one to arrive at the scene, stood at the bridge railing and looked in my direction. A few meters further on, his subordinates had come to a standstill and did the same.
I had paddled further backwards the whole time and had not been able to avert my eyes from what was happening. This, however, changed abruptly when I saw that my heavily breathing hunters were paying their attention to me alone again.
I turned around and swam down the river as fast as I could. They’d come after me for sure. If I didn’t get out of the water quickly, they could stroll comfortably along the riverbank and every few meters send an arrow in my direction if they felt to do so. Which they would.
I took another look back.
Onehand was still standing there watching me. But his entourage had now finally crossed the bridge and was hurrying down the small staircase that represented the transition to the road. I changed course and headed for shore. I guessed that my lead would be just enough to catch my breath on dry ground for a second or two and then continue my escape.
How successful this escape would be, with my clothes heavy from the icy water and the backpack that became a handicap in the same way, I would rather not imagine - and one thing I knew: As soon as I would pause to breathe and the adrenaline in my body would fade away, a miserable, disgusting coldness would take possession of my whole body.
Then for how long would I be able to keep on running?
The muscles of my arms and legs were already heavy as lead and when I finally reached the shore, dripping and wheezing, gravity hit me with all its might and let me break to my knees.
No living creature was up there in the middle of the bridge anymore. I could see this from the crouching position, in which I held out for a moment and waited until a little of the hellish weight had dripped off me. Now all of them were after me. As I grabbed the strap of my crossbow over my h
ead and pulled the backpack off my shoulders, I wondered how much time I had left before they would catch up.
I had to drop my precious payload if I wanted to stay alive.
I could already hear them breaking through the undergrowth without regard for losses and no sense for their safety. I fervently hoped that I actually would be able to find my belongings again after a successful escape, so that I could bring Mariam the medication. But I didn’t want to mark the spot. The degenerates were not allowed to find the drugs. Under no circumstances. I hastily cocked the crossbow, inserted a bolt, turned around and continued my escape after depositing the backpack in a bush. I cursed in thought. No more time to wring out the parka. Except for the crossbow and the cheap survival knife on my belt, I had left everything behind. I just had put two more bolts into the back pocket of my sticky-wet jeans.
As well as my tormented ankle allowed, I rushed past bushes, avoided dead wood and large boulders, which must have once been part of the river bed, almost stumbled over a rusty bicycle rim and relentlessly drove myself to hurry. Behind me the undergrowth still crashed and rattled.
Louder now.thirties
They were getting closer.
As I continued to avoid obstacles, I thought I noticed that the degenerates had caught up even more. Right behind me I could hear a quietly mumbled curse, and footsteps that had briefly come out of their rhythm and then found back to it again.
Keep running! Just keep running!
In front of me the green cleared and made room for a debris field of fragmented pieces of concrete. At some point during the war someone had destroyed another bridge for some unknown reason, the remains of which now made my escape more difficult. I climbed further into the debris field, slid and scrambled between the monolithic man-made rocks and after about ten seconds I heard calls and Onehand barking commands behind me. He and his subordinates had arrived at the edge of the rubble field and set out to pursue me further.
The Rats of Frankfurt: The Gospel of Madness (Book 1 of 6) (The Gospel of Madness - (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Series)) Page 9