Rise & Walk (Book 2): Pathogen

by Gregory Solis

  Yeah, Getting in there wouldn’t be easy, Mason thought. This was no time to be low on ammo.

  “If we had all that ammo, we could repel any attack.” Mason mused aloud with a palpable longing.

  “Right here.” Nikki’s voice said with anticipation. Mason turned slowly into the dark neighborhood. The localized blackout meant that he would have to slow the vehicle or engage the headlights; something that would call too much attention in Mason’s view. About fifty yards in to the housing tract Veronica saw something strange.

  At first Veronica had trouble identifying the structure that lay parallel to the right side of the road. A long thick pole stretched into the air like the broken mast of a shattered ghost ship. Snapped cables dangled from a crossbar at the top giving hint to its purpose. She recognized it as a fallen telephone pole. It was clear now why there was no power in the area.

  “Damn,” Tony said in wonder.

  Pulling closer, the cause of the fallen pole appeared out of the dark. A brown Pontiac Cutlass had slammed into the bottom of the pole and wrapped its crumpled front around the stump. The broken end of the telephone pole flattened a wrinkled groove into the top of the late model vehicle.

  “Slow down,” Veronica said leaning forward.

  “Not a good idea” Tony said looking out his passenger window while clutching the shotgun.

  “Shine your light on the driver.” Veronica asked.

  Tony fumbled for his flashlight and put it against the window glass. Jack’s impatience grew.

  “My truck isn’t exactly quiet,” Jack mumbled.

  “This could be important,” she said as she leaned towards the window to examine the grisly scene.

  Unrestrained by a seatbelt, the driver’s chest was smashed inward around the steering column. His head leaned forward with an empty gaze. His jaw was slack and disjointed on the left side; only stretched skin held it in place. The grey haired man’s features were sunken. His mouth was smeared with dried blood, vomited under great pressure from internal organs that burst upon impact. Veronica tried to take quick clinical note of his condition.

  “Is he bitten? Can you see?” she asked. Nikki looked quickly and then looked away. Tony saw that other than the impact trauma, the man’s body appeared intact. Tony shook his head.

  “No. Can we go now?” Nikki said as Jack accelerated slowly. Tony switched off his flashlight as Veronica settled.

  “What were you looking for?” Tony asked.

  “Not sure,” Veronica trailed off in thought.

  Nikki leaned forward and indicated a house to their left. Mason slowed the truck to a crawl.

  “That one” she said.

  “Your house is directly behind this one?” Tony asked.

  “Yep, the Morley place.”

  “Seven-Seventy-Eight,” Mason said reading the address out loud. He patted Veronica’s leg to his right. She nodded and repeated, “Seven-Seventy-Eight.”

  “Okay, plans can change in an instant, so any problems; you guys get cut off from the front, that’s your plan B. Hop the fence and meet here.” Mason said as he pulled forward into the dark suburb. Nothing stirred in the quiet evening. No creatures could be seen. Veronica kept an apprehensive eye to the windshield, weary of any movement. Tony checked his shotgun one last time. Three rounds for the twelve gauge and that was it. No more ammunition. He tapped Nikki on the knee to get her attention. She almost jumped in surprise at his touch.

  “Ready?” He asked. She answered with a tense sigh.

  The white Chevy accelerated into the cul-de-sac like a prize-fighter entering the ring. It made a wide circle at the end of the court and carved its way across the lawns of four homes. The large tires tore at moist earth with relentless strides, catching bits of well manicured landscape in their maw-like treads. The vehicle lurched to a stop as Mason pulled in front of Nikki’s porch; tires almost resting on the step. Tony exited the passenger’s side with his shotgun ready. Nikki followed quickly, holding Tony’s flashlight, set on a bright white light. Mason opened his door, sword in hand, but still in the scabbard. He scanned the street. Nothing. No noise, no hungry army of undead, just an eerie silence. Veronica scooted over slightly and took the wheel according to their plan but it didn’t appear to her that an attack was on the way. There was an unsettling feeling beneath the idling engine but nothing more.

  “Go!” Mason whispered as he kept watch on the street.

  Nikki ran to the side gate and pulled on a bit of cord dangling from the frame. The gate unlatched and opened. She and Tony entered the backyard. The flashlight’s beam danced across the rear of the house until it fell upon a small cement squirrel. Racing over to the lawn ornament, Nikki nudged it over with her foot to reveal a key. Tony looked inside the kitchen window and saw only his faint reflection. The lack of any activity or even candlelight troubled him. If her parents had fallen victim to the undead, he hoped they weren’t home.

  Nikki opened the back door and pocketed the key. She paused at the door for a moment staring intently into the darkness. Tony stepped in front of the young blond and entered first. He held his shotgun barrel pointed upwards for safety, but still ready should he need to use the weapon. He reached for a light switch and flicked the lever up. Stupid! He thought. The power is out. He placed his back to the kitchen wall to minimize his exposure to threats, all the while keeping an eye on Nikki. She was silhouetted by the spill from the flashlight as she spoke.

  “Mom?” Nikki’s voice trembled. Silence answered her. Her house, while familiar had become very unnerving. Her home was completely devoid of sound. The sensation reminded her of two years prior when her father had upgraded to double pane windows. The insulated glass not only kept out the cold but the street noise as well. It took some time for Nikki to get used to the change in her surroundings. Now it was different. The silence mixed with the darkness to alienate Nikki from the only home she had ever known. The once ubiquitous sounds such as the refrigerator motor or the gentle hum of the central air unit, sounds that she had come to identify with as a place of safety, were nowhere to be heard making her home feel bereft of life.

  “Mom, Dad?” Her voice called with a desperate resonance. Tony moved next to her and touched her back to let her know that she wasn’t alone.

  Tony focused on listening. He heard nothing, no snoring, no breathing, nor movement in the house. He drew in a long slow breath, searching for the sent of infected flesh. He detected nothing foul, only the pine scent of wood polish and cleaning products. Moving across the room towards the back door, he twisted the deadbolt closed.

  “Let’s check the rest of the house,” He said.

  Four

  Margaret’s house shook with the rumble of a large passing vehicle. She moved as fast as her spindly legs would carry her to the family room. Opening the door and peering outside, she caught a glimpse of the brake lights of a vehicle as it turned into a court, one block down the street. She knew that Pushkin Court had no outlet. Whoever they were they would have to pass her again if they left. She took two hesitant steps out on her porch, weighing her fear of leaving against the pressing loneliness of the alternative. She could try to catch the driver’s attention from her lawn, if the car came by again. Perhaps there was somewhere safe in the court, with people there who could help. What if she waited for a ride that never came, like she had for her church meal? What a shame it would be to hide in her house now knowing that others were so close. The uncertainties left her no choice but to set out in search of help. She would catch them in the court or they would pass her as they left. The relatively short walk would be a long journey for her old body but the thought of giving in, of just laying down and dying alone, was too awful to allow. Its now or never, old girl, she thought and left her house without bothering to lock her door.

  *****

  Jack Mason stood next to the open door of his truck surveying the evening as best as the available light and his fatigued eyes would allow. He cursed himself for not checking to make s
ure he had brought his flashlight from camp. The only light he could create now would be to crack one of his chemical light sticks. Light sticks were great to make a small amount of heatless illumination to use up close or to mark a trail, but without being able to focus that light, such a thing would only make him stand out as a target to anyone else in the area. Reaching inside the truck he searched the small area behind his seat. Underneath a compact car jack, he found an emergency road flare. It wouldn’t be subtle but a flare would emit plenty of light if he needed it. Stuffing the flare into a cargo pocket on his fatigues, he directed his attention towards the street. Mason had learned to make the best of his sight in the dark by looking in a general direction, not at anything specifically. The martial-arts training manuals that he had studied as a teen explained that peripheral vision was far more sensitive to movement. The trick was training the brain to decipher the wider scope of information. Seeing without focusing was how he explained it to Tony. The technique had benefited Mason on the football field. His job as middle linebacker was to run the defensive line. In high school he had an almost sixth sense to anticipate the other team’s move and stop their offense. Having the ability to look at the other team’s formation as a whole with his peripheral vision, taking it all in at once and mentally analyzing their strategy made Mason a leader on defense. It took more than just good eyes to succeed on the field; instincts too had their place. Right now, struggling to see in his generally unfocused manner, Mason’s instincts told him that something was out there, something was approaching. He looked back to Veronica.

  “I think we’re okay, kill the engine. I’m gonna go recon for a bit.” He said to her and closed the door slowly so that it only clicked quietly shut.

  Recon? Veronica wondered as she disengaged the ignition, short for Reconnoiter? A French word for sneak about and get into trouble? She watched Jack’s crouched form recede silently into the night and vanish. Feeling alone and left behind, Veronica wished she wasn’t injured. She couldn’t tell if her side was easing up or getting stiffer, but it sure as hell hurt. Feeling a touch of resentment, she mumbled to herself in a low macho voice.

  “Gonna go recon for a bit.”

  The evening was pitch. The scattering light reflecting in the sky gave Mason’s eye some contrast to cling to. He saw the roofline of the neighborhood homes silhouetted against the sky and a smattering of Elder trees but little else. He crept forward keeping both knees slightly bent to distribute his weight. He did his best to keep his motorcycle boots, not ideal for stealth, from thundering his approach. The best he could manage was a soft grinding of asphalt underneath their reinforced soles. He stopped and knelt down on one knee. One deep breath; senses stretched to their limits, Mason tried to center himself. Swimming in a storm of his inner fears had been the constant worry about his mother. The radio said that San Francisco was a war zone. He understood the blonde’s need to see to her parents; Jack wished he could do the same. His mother was almost five hundred miles away in a city with a population of eight-hundred thousand. At the moment, he could only pray that she was alright. He closed his eyes gently for a moment. God, please take care of Mom and Angelo, and my father, wherever he is... Amen. With that short prayer, Mason could focus for the time being. He exhaled and opened his eyes. He still sensed something out in the evening, something still approaching. He turned his head to let his ear become his eyes and listened.

  *****

  With each empty room, Nikki grew more and more frantic. At the top of the old wooden stairs, in her parent’s empty bedroom, her composure finally failed her. Mentally exhausted, she sat down on her parent’s squeaky old bed, and submitted to hopelessness. Midway up the stairs, Tony heard her sigh and sniffle.

  “Anything?” he asked wanting to avoid surprising her. A frustrated and broken voice said “No.” Deciding to leave her alone for a moment, he thought he should let the others know. There was little more that he would rather do than to try and comfort Nikki. Something told him that now was not a good time. Shuffling to the bottom of the stairs, he knew there was nothing he could possibly say to help her right now. No bit of verse or philosophy he could devise or quote from an obscure poem would ease her longing. Tony frowned and opened the front door. A folded piece of paper fluttered free from the doorjamb to land on the porch steps. As Tony stooped to retrieve the paper, his movement caught Veronica’s attention.

  “Hey,” she whispered through the half lowered window.

  “Hey,” he answered, “Where’s Jack?”

  “Reconnoitering,” she sighed.

  “Something up?” He asked alert.

  “Nope, just reconnoitering.” She mocked.

  “Yeah, he likes that.” Tony said standing with the paper. He opened the passenger’s door and in the light of the cab saw the words, “Love, Mom” written at the bottom.

  “Are they here?” Veronica asked.

  “No, but its okay,” he answered with a smile.

  Veronica looked out the window at the empty lawn and dark vacant street. The evening seemed a little safer then before. Tired of being left behind, she spoke,

  “Wait a sec. Help me down.” Veronica said opening the door.

  When Nikki heard Tony bounding up the creaky wood staircase, she scrambled to compose herself and turned her head away from the door.

  “Your Mom left a note,” Tony smiled and sat down next to her. She accepted the piece of paper, no longer concerned with hiding her tears and directed the flashlight over the note.

  Nicole,

  The community emergency plan was activated this morning. It’s probably just a reaction to the odd stories on the news. I can’t imagine anyone around here wanting to riot for any reason. Your father and I have opened the school. If we aren’t back by the time you get home, meet us there. We’ll have food. You know how these drills bring out the freeloaders.

  Love,

  Mom

  Nikki read the note twice, her lips mouthing the words in silence. She smiled.

  “Where’s the school?” Tony smiled back.

  Five

  Twenty-five yards from the edge of her lawn, Margaret McCormack stood at the mouth of the cul-de-sac. Her lower back burned from what had been an unusually long walk for her age. Her tin flashlight felt cold in her left hand; in her right the scissors were just as cold. The flashlight shook as she he pushed the stiff plastic switch upwards. A sad ray of light struggled through the plastic lens, browned from many years.

  “No,” Margaret shuddered as she shook the flashlight. It blinked slightly brighter for a moment then resumed its dim shade. Reflecting a small smear of light on the street, she oriented herself to walk straight into the court then turned off the poor flashlight to conserve its power. With some effort, she proceeded into Pushkin Court.

  An unreal stillness surrounded Margaret. Her hearing certainly wasn’t what it once was but the lack of any background noise seemed to amplify her footsteps. Each scuffle, each placing of her tiny feet, resounded in the thick air. Her calves burned from disuse. Her tendons groaned like tiny stressed cables, fraying at the joints. One small hand cramped around the Ray-O-Vac, the other holding the night at bay with a pair of scissors. If one could see the poor woman in the surrounding dark, they would see her once beautiful eyes now wide with fright. She was reminded of a time when she was a young girl after seeing the movie “Cat People” with her friend Katherine, how the film had left her so awfully frightened. Walking home she was so afraid that some cat-person was waiting to pounce on her from the bushes, she had walked up the center of the road the entire way home, fearful that each new yard was home to some predatory beast. Margaret almost had to laugh that seventy years later she was again walking up the center of the road.

  She tried to walk slower, to ease the pain creeping up her legs. She rolled her foot from heel to toe and walked more deliberately. I must be careful, she thought. At her age, the fear of falling was a constant threat. Margaret always feared that breaking a hip was a death se
ntence to someone her age. She paused for a moment to rest her burning calves, but the sound of shuffling feet continued. The sound continued from behind her; a shuffling not her own. She heard a faint crunch from in front of her. Stupid girl, why did you have to leave the house? Margaret turned around towards the shuffling sound and pushed the hard plastic switch on her flashlight. It flickered with a final yellow flash as the lamp-bulb burned out. Margaret, frightened beyond all measure, turned again to her original direction and set out as fast as her pained legs would allow. One foot after another, she moved faster and faster until her efforts brought her a painful limp but still her pace wasn’t enough. She kept the dead flashlight with the intention of bashing anything that got in her way.

  *****

  Mason bristled with anticipation. He couldn’t see a damn thing in the dark but he could hear a faint scraping sound ahead. He needed some light down-range. Without a flashlight to cast a beam, he was left with little choice. Go back to the truck and wait for what ever it was to get closer, or head off the issue here. He considered the road flare. Setting his sword down, he removed the flare from his pocket. If I do this, it’s gonna blow my night vision, he thought. A small reflection out of the darkness caught his eye and then vanished. He almost doubted his eyes. That’s it, I’m sick of this bullshit. Keeping his eyes closed to protect his night-vision, he struck the top of the flare. On the second try, he heard the Whoosh of ignition. Raising the flare high above his head, he opened his left eye. Mason grasped his sword by the scabbard and stood. The flare glowed orange in a radius of about eight feet, not enough to see anything approaching. He hurled the flare down the street.

  The flare burned an arc through the air, lighting up the area underneath. As the flare landed about three house-lengths away, Mason could make out two shapes shambling towards him. The eerie orange backlight created inhumanly elongated shadows for both forms that reached out towards him. Mason drew his Katana with his right hand and held the scabbard as a blocking weapon in his left. Okay; do I get Tony, or just do this myself? He calculated that he didn’t have the time to get his friend without allowing the creatures too get close to the house. I better do this, fast and quiet. Jack Mason began to run towards the figures. A plan formed in his mind; he would thrust for the eye on the first monster and push its body into the second. He hoped the force would be enough to punch the chisel-like tip of his sword into the creature’s brain. He’d have to see how the momentum went and improvise the rest after that. Mason was centered and knew what he had to do. He closed the distance fast and raised his arm like a jouster, ready to strike. Mason was shocked to see the first creature throw a small flashlight. The tin flashlight missed him and shattered its plastic top on the roadway. The creature then raised a pair of scissors defensively and shrieked in fear. It’s a person!, he realized. Jack stopped short and swung his sword arm to the side to avoid spearing the cowering figure’s face. This left his stance open and unprepared for the second figure, just paces behind the first. The creature sprang on Mason with a foul intent sending him tumbling back to the asphalt.