Swarm (Dead Ends)

by G. D. Lang

  I helped him onto the top rung. I could tell he was in pain but he kept quiet. It’s amazing what your survival instinct will do to your pain tolerance. Before all of this, I would’ve cried out in pain if I experienced even half of what was going on in my body right now. I guess after a while you just learn to live with it. Better to be painfully aware that you’re alive than sadly unaware that you’re undead. Doc slipped slightly as I guided him down, causing me to support his weight for a split-second, which was all it took to send another unwelcome wave of pain up and down my arm and shoulder. I remained a few rungs below him as we descended just to make sure he wouldn’t lose his balance. As I looked down to see how many steps were left, something warm dripped onto the crown of my head which immediately made me dab at it with my fingers. I pulled my hand from the top of my head to reveal blood. I almost didn’t want to but I knew I had to look up and see what was going on. Doc’s flannel shirt extended above his waistline as his good arm remained outstretched for support and I could see the remnants of what looked like a bite wound just above his left hip. Blood was leaking from the middle and the area where the teeth made contact and ripped the flesh away was severely bruised. There were dark outlines that looked like black veins snaking from the wound and extending several inches up his skin.

  Time seemed to stop and it took everything I had not to either jump off the ladder or pull him off and get back up to the safety of the tree before he turned. Instead I quickly and calmly descended, two rungs at a time, waiting for the familiar feel of earth at my feet and the machete that I had stuck into the ground right next to the ladder. I gripped it hard and waited for him to reach the ground, contemplating whether to just kill him before he turned around or at least wait to see if he had turned. Normally I’d think that since he was still climbing down at a relatively slow pace, being sure to place both feet on one rung before lowering to the next one that maybe he hadn’t turned yet but after seeing Ranger Zed’s light bulb moment a few short minutes earlier, I wasn’t so sure. With each step the virus, or whatever the hell it was, was slowly taking over his brain and by the time he reached me, I was sure he’d probably be ready to pop his undead cherry. I took a deep breath as his foot found the last rung. When his second foot was firmly placed, I readied myself.

  “I know I’ve been bitten” he said without turning around. It caught me off guard and I lowered the machete.

  “Yeah, I noticed that” I said quietly.

  “Do what you’ve got to” he said confidently.

  I wanted to lop his head off right then and there but a part of me was curious just how long it took for someone to turn. I remember the girl from the bathroom in Sportsman’s Paradise but I never actually saw her get bitten so I have no idea how long it might be until the zest for life gives way to the hunt for brains. Was it universal for everyone or did the time vary? It’s disturbing to think about but knowing these kinds of things could be the difference between life and death. There would come a point where we would have to stop just reacting to these creatures and start learning about them. That’s the only way we’d stand a chance.

  “I’ll give you two options” I said, “Number one: I kill you right now either by chopping your head off or shooting you, Number Two: I tie you up to a tree so I can see how long it takes for you to turn, that way you’ll at least be helping me learn something about how this happens.”

  He didn’t even hesitate. “Option two. But hurry. According to the CDC statement, it can happen in less than five minutes. There’s some rope over there” he said, nodding towards the base of a tree. “Tie it tight.”

  Chapter 11

  I tied Doc as best as I could to the tree, attaching one end of rope to each wrist and ankle and wrapping it around the tree. The virus was clearly starting to kick in because he no longer felt any pain. Mentally he still seemed to be all there, as much as I could expect anyway given that he knows his death is coming within minutes.

  “How you doin’?” I asked, “I mean I know how you’re doing but…”

  “It’s ok man” he laughed, “I’m at peace. But I’ll tell you what, if I’m gonna die, I’m not doin’ it sober.” He nodded towards the left chest pocket of his shirt. I reached in to find a small joint and a lighter, which immediately made me smile. I lit it and we both took a big inhale.

  “Ahh, much better” he sighed, “Listen, I know you might not be able to do what I’m about to ask you but all I can do is ask that you try…”

  “Anything, man” I said.

  “My daughter” he said as I put the joint to his mouth. He exhaled and said “I haven’t been the best dad but I just want her to know how much I love her. There’s a letter in my pocket that I just haven’t had the balls to send for years now. I’m guessing the mail probably isn’t being delivered anymore” he laughed and then looked me in the eyes, “but if you ever find yourself up in the San Juan Islands, maybe you could give it to her? Her address is on there. I know it’s a lot to ask but…”

  “Done” I interrupted, “don’t even worry about it, Doc.”

  He looked relieved as he fought back a tear. “I don’t know you that well Sam but you’re a hell of a guy in my book. I’d shake your hand but…” he moved his wrists slightly, “I’m a little tied up right now.”

  “Right back at ya’” I smiled.

  “It’s folded up in my back pocket” he said.

  “Ok, hold this for a second” I said, placing the joint between his lips.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  I slowly reached into his back pocket, trying to avoid touching any of the blood that seeped from his wound. “It’s not in there” I said.

  “Shit, try the other pocket” he said.

  I went to the other side and reached in to grab the envelope. He dropped the joint from his mouth and when I glanced up to his face, the change had already happened. The vacant look, the nightmare eyes filled with yellow and black, and a few seconds later, the recognition that dinner was right in front of him. I stepped away as he lurched at me, biting the air and struggling against the rope to get closer. I looked at the envelope and shook my head before placing it in my inside jacket pocket for safe keeping. I know that a part of Doc probably realized that I could’ve just been saying what he wanted to hear but I had every intention of getting that letter to his daughter, one way or another.

  For now though, the only thing I had to worry about was the question of how exactly to kill him, or it, at this point. Should I cut the whole head off or would he still be alive? Slice halfway through the head so the brain would be severed? Admittedly, my decision would be based on a mild dose of personal experience and a whole lot of otherwise useless science fiction knowledge that until yesterday had remained safely in the realm of fiction and in no danger of ever being considered a scientific reality. I wondered if this whole thing was even scientific in nature to begin with. Was it some lab experiment gone wrong or just a confluence of improbable and seemingly unrelated events like the Ebola monkey who bit the pretty-boy from Grey’s Anatomy? Some bumbling scientist who mislabeled a vial? Or perhaps the conditions were just right in a random stew of primordial ooze bubbling away in the far reaches of the planet.

  He was starting to snarl and make all kinds of unwelcoming noises, his flesh tearing against the rope as he quickly became accustomed to the unwavering strength and inability to feel pain that seems to be a perk of joining the undead. I decided on a vertical strike right down the middle of the head with the machete that belonged to him only a few hours earlier. The resistance surprised me. Since he was newly turned, his body remained rigid, still warm from the blood taking its last trip through the veins and arteries before it turned into a crude sludge that seemed to exist in some sort of semi-solid, gelatinous state that thumbed its nose at the laws of fluid dynamics. Up to this point, I had no problem de-humanizing these creatures because they literally looked like monsters. But Doc was different. He had a name, a story, an existence beyond undead flesh-hound
. For the first time I felt like I had just killed a man. I didn’t like the feeling one bit.

  I hunched over and put my hands on my knees for support, my sour stomach ready to purge all of the adrenaline that sprinted through my nervous system as it searched for an unknown exit. I attempted to steady my breathing and find a focal point on the ground. It seemed to work and as my breathing slowed, I noticed something out of place on the ground, hidden below a layer of forest sediment. I cleared the dirt and debris away and grabbed what looked like a cable that had been spray painted to blend in with its environment. At first I thought it was some sort of jury-rigged trap but upon further inspection, I could tell is was a satellite cable. I followed it to a nearby tree being sure not to tug it too much and when I looked up, sure enough, attached to the tree was a satellite dish, no different from the ones that litter apartment buildings all over the country. Where the hell was this thing plugged into? I followed the cable back the other way, slowly letting it slither through my hand until I reached… nothing. It just ended. I pulled the cable a little bit and the leaves and sediment gave way to what looked like some kind of hastily made underground lair. Suddenly I don’t feel so bad about not telling Doc about the other people in my party. He was holding back an even more valuable piece of information.

  I stepped down into a rather large bunker that could comfortably house 2 or 3 people. A small LED lantern lit up the space just enough for me to see enough food stacked on various shelves to last one person at least 6 months, a carved out bedroom in the back, various pieces of camping equipment, and the owner of the other end of that cable: a small flat screen television attached to some kind of power supply like you’d find hooked up to a computer to protect against power outages or fluctuations. As much as I wanted to turn that thing on and start getting answers to the unending questions rattling around in my head, I knew I had to get back to the girls. We’d been gone too long and I wouldn’t blame Jane for wanting to come looking for us especially if she heard the gunshot that took Ricky’s life. God, Ricky. The speed of everything that had happened was catching up to me now. Our group is now down to three. And I wasn’t anywhere near as capable as Ricky of protecting us from danger. Ricky could plan and adjust to whatever happened – aside from a shot gun shell shredding his head apart at point blank range of course. I was simply reacting. Shooting from the hip until I found something that stuck. Not exactly a recipe for long term survival.

  I used the walk back to the Jeep to come up with a way to tell Jane and Zoe that Ricky was no longer in our future plans but there seemed to be a void where my thoughts should be. I couldn’t get away with just saying he died. There are always questions after a statement like that. I’d have to explain things. How? Why? Who? All things I no longer felt the desire to dwell on. I wanted to look forward, not back. But the blanket hum of some undead army filled the air once again, leaving me no choice but to think about what has been and what is still to come. And none of it looks pretty. Not even through the most rose-colored pair of glasses.

  Walking through the woods alone definitely gives you a chance to do a lot of thinking. I remember a documentary I watched about life during and after the Civil War. In those days, the ability to fashion a livable shelter or cross a shallow river with all of your belongings could mean the difference between survival and death. Now, some 150 years later we’re back in the muck just like our ancestors. I recall a history teacher I had in high school who always repeated the mantra “those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it.” I’m not sure this is what he had in mind but the result is the same. Our way of life is unrecognizable to those who lived and died during the shaping of our country. We’re soft. Comfortable. Vulnerable. If this thing is spread beyond our little corner of the world, most of us don’t have a chance.

  I got back to the Jeep to see Jane leaning against it, acknowledging me but instantly looking past me for Ricky. She looked back at me confused. I shook my head quickly, the look on my face relaying the message that needed to be sent. The look on her face confirmed she knew what I meant. We never talked about it again.

  Chapter 12

  Zoe was definitely running a fever now. Jane had been having a hard time getting her to drink fluids and when she did she just threw them back up. If we didn’t get her fever down, nothing short of an IV drip was going to save her. I brought them back to the bunker I’d found, telling Jane about Doc as we walked. Zoe hung limply in my arms barely aware of what was going on. All color had left her face and her whole body felt clammy and unusually warm, even for a fever. Survival was going to be hard enough without Ricky to turn to. Throwing a sick and defenseless kid into the mix didn’t exactly tilt the scales in our direction. I put Zoe down in the bed in the back of the shelter and covered her with what looked like a military issue wool blanket.

  “Jesus, who was this guy?” Jane said, looking around in awe at everything that was stashed in the bunker.

  “A survivalist from the looks of it” I responded, “these guys stay up here for months to protect the crops and make sure they’re healthy. They’re used to going without for long periods of time.”

  “Well, it doesn’t look like this guy was going without much of anything” Jane said, running a finger across the top edge of the television. “Does this thing work?”

  “Not sure, haven’t tried it yet. It’s hooked up to a satellite though. Tripping over the cord was what helped me discover this place.”

  Jane grabbed the power cord of the television and followed it back to where it was plugged in. She pulled away a burlap sack to reveal a small generator that was hooked up to what looked like a series of car batteries and a row of something else I didn’t recognize.

  “Please tell me those aren’t some kind of explosives” I whispered, not wanting to wake Zoe.

  Jane responded with a laugh, “No, they’re lithium ion batteries. A bunch of ‘em too.” She looked comfortable, almost as if she were in her element for the first time since this all started. It dawned on me that I had never asked her what she did for a living. Not that it mattered anymore.

  “What are they used for?”

  “Mostly to charge laptops and cell phones but this guy knew what he was doing” she said, inspecting the wiring. “He wired the generator to the lithium batteries so he could run things off of those, which would be way quieter than running a generator all day.”

  “Smart” I said, a flashing vision of Doc’s final moments catching me off guard for a few moments before I pushed the emotion down into some unimaginably dark cavern in my mind, hoping it would never find its way out.

  “And you see these?” she said her, fingertip resting on the car batteries. “These are marine batteries. You can use them to run a cook top or operate a radio.”

  I was only half-listening, my eyes glazing over as I fixated on the rows of canned food and bottled water. We could probably survive here for months if we needed to. It was the safest I had felt since all of this started. I felt like I took my first deep breath in days. Just as I let all of the air out of my lungs, Zoe began moaning in the bed. Jane and I looked at each other with a sort of quizzical horror on our face as I instinctually grabbed for the handle of my machete.

  “My head hurts” Zoe whined, turning around in the bed to look at us. We both let out a breath and Jane hurried over to check on her. A pang of guilt reverberated through my body upon the realization that the first thing I should have done when I found the bunker was search for medicine for Zoe. I pulled back a curtain near the entrance to reveal what looked like a chemical toilet and small medicine cabinet carved into the earth. It looked to be stocked with every medication one might need when disengaging from civilization for months at a time. I kept searching until I found something that worked for fever. I handed it to Jane who gave me a confused look.

  “Tylenol with Codeine? I think that’s a little strong for a kid” she responded.

  “Just give her a half a dose. She’s burning up. Maybe then we can all ge
t some sleep tonight.”

  A half hour later, Zoe was comfortably asleep, the slightest snore emanating from her mouth. Hopefully her fever would improve with rest. In the span of that same half hour, Jane and I had paced around looking at the flat screen and looking at one another, both of us seemingly afraid to see what might happen if we turned it on. A part of me hoped it didn’t work but another part of me wanted to know where we stood. If we had any shot at survival it would be kind of nice to know how much of a shot it was. We looked at each other once more and a kind of silent agreement was reached as Jane reached down to turn on the bank of batteries and I picked up the remote control.

  The screen flickered to life, filling the bunker with warm light. It wasn’t satellite television like I had first thought. The dish I had seen was some sort of high definition receiver that grabbed all of the free over-the-air broadcasts from every local TV station. I was relieved in a way. I’m not sure I’m ready to see the sort of world-wide carnage that might be awaiting us if we turned to CNN or Fox News. I instinctually turned it to KOMO News channel 4 because their weatherman went to the same high school as me so I always felt some sense of responsibility toward my fellow alum. The channel was blank at first but then the newscast came to life in full high definition. And sure enough there was trusty old Steve Poole in front of the green screen as he always was.