by James Bierce
"I hate it when they do that..." says Beth.
"Do what?" asks Jake.
"Scream like that."
They've been listening to them every night for so long now that apparently he's grown used to it. For some, its a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream, and for others it sounds more like a primal howl — almost full of pride. Some of them do it all night long.
"Do you think Astoria is the same way?" she asks.
"Probably." He sits down, still keeping an eye on the commotion across the water. "Its like the entire fucking world has gone mad, and we're the only ones unlucky enough to witness it."
"I wonder what they eat...? They must be running out of food by now."
The thought hadn't really occurred to him, but she's right. Somehow, miraculously, a portion of the town has survived the infection, and apparently the only cost to them has been their humanity and intelligence. They've yet to see any sign of foraging or gathering of supplies from the crowds of people on the street, even if something useful is literally at their feet in front of them.
He points out some people holding onto the fence that surrounds the marina. It looks to be a woman and two men. "Why don't they ever try to climb that fence? That woman has been there almost every night for the last week, and she's never tried to climb over."
"I'm just glad she doesn't." Beth takes her eyes off of the crowd for a moment, and instead watches her husband, his face a mixture of emotions as he looks from one diseased soul to the next.
Some of the shadows are walking in stiff, uncoordinated steps, as though it causes them great physical pain to move — but most are moving almost normally, with only a slight carefulness in their gait. More than anything, they seem to be confused.
"I'm sorry about Sean. I know I pressured you to bring him..." he says, finally taking his eyes off of the people.
This was the first time he'd actually apologized to her. In fact it was the first time she could ever recall him expressing remorse at all. Normally they would ignore disagreements and awkward moments, letting them slip away outside of their consciousness, and into a place where they could fester and grow. It wasn't ideal, she knew that, but it had always worked for them — even when they were kids.
"I know. He was your friend, I understand that."
"I thought he was perfect for something like this. He stays cool under pressure, he knows his way around weapons — he's even saved my life a couple of times. I thought I owed him something."
"Don't feel guilty about what you did to him... You had to do it."
"I'm gonna have to kill him — that's the only way to stop him."
"If Larry is right, you might not get the opportunity. The ocean he's headed into is deadly this time of the year."
He looks back at the city, where the crowds of people are slowly disappearing in the looming darkness. "You should get some sleep, I'll take the first watch."
"Yeah, I'm getting a bit tired. Wake me up for the next shift, Larry needs all the rest he can get. Its gonna be a long trip tomorrow."
Just south of Westport is the extinct town of Cohasset. It was once a bustling and prosperous community during the great depression, one of the few that were, but the town slowly disappeared following World War II, and today remains only a suburb of its larger neighbor to the north. The houses along Forrest Street were mostly built in those early days, and most of them look it. The level of upkeep these last two months has been relatively the same as it had been during the past century — virtually nonexistent.
Sarah knew the houses were empty, but walking past them she was struck at how lonely they felt, a glaring reminder of just how isolated they'd been living. They were walking through what used to be a close-knit community, a neighborhood that had grown accustomed to banding together when times were tough. Today the street looked defeated.
Having already found nothing on the beach, Curtis decided that a walk down the highway might shed at least some light on whatever happened to everyone — but after traveling less than a mile, the mystery was starting to solve itself, and it wasn't good. A line of cars, stretching as far as they can see, are parked in the middle of the road in front of them — most of them with their doors open and keys in the ignitions. A thieves paradise, except there were no thieves in sight. It didn't take a genius to figure out what happened. All it took was a dozen or so cars clustered together in the roadway, blocking both lanes of traffic. Every car behind them was essentially trapped, caught between the soft and unstable sand dunes on the west side, and a flooded cranberry bog on the other.
"Why didn't we hear this?" asks Sarah, stopping to take in the scene.
"Its hard telling when it happened. It could have been weeks ago." replies Curtis.
"What happened?" asks Ben.
"It looks like a traffic jam that never got cleared up." answers Curtis.
"Where did the people go?"
"I don't know, but that's a good question."
The cars surrounding them look abandoned and forgotten, like tombstones in an old graveyard. After spending several minutes examining them, the family decides to move on, hoping that things look better as they get closer to town.
Its an unseasonably warm and sunny morning for this time of year, a rare autumn event that sometimes happens in the aftermath of a storm. It was a perfect day for their seven-mile hike into Westport. Sarah had hardly been off the property since they first came to the cabin, and she was both excited and nervous about going. Curtis had warned her that she would see things today that she wouldn't soon forget, and so would their sons. She wanted more than anything for their youth to be preserved, to feel like kids without the weight of the world being placed on their shoulders — but their youth has ended prematurely, and the cold reality of adulthood has taken its place. Early this morning, as they prepared for their hike, Curtis and Sarah sat both of their sons down and tried their best to explain what they would see today. They'd spent much of the night discussing how to do it, but in the end they decided there really wasn't a right or wrong way, just an honest way.
As they make their way through the endless maze of cars and fallen tree limbs, she was trying hard not to think about Annie, but she couldn't help it. Though it caused her an incredible amount of emotional agony and guilt, her mind wouldn't let even a trace of time go by without thinking of her. Looking back, Annie's innocence had disappeared without her even noticing. It was less than a year ago when she walked into Annie's bedroom while she was packing for college, realizing for the first time that her child was no longer a child, and wondering what had happened to the girl she once knew. It was a bittersweet moment that all parents must come to terms with, despite the heartache they feel. As hard as it was, that feeling was natural though, you're supposed to feel those emotions when your child grows up. For Matt and Ben it wasn't happening like that. She noticed it, she recognized every heart-wrenching step into maturity — despite her best efforts to keep them grounded in a childhood that no longer existed.
She had taken walks in the woods around the cabin nearly everyday, but only a couple of miles into their journey she was already feeling the effects of her backpack. They were all wearing what seemed like a ridiculous amount of cargo — but Curtis had insisted on preparing for anything, and she wasn't in the mood for an argument. They had extra clothes, food, essential medical supplies, and of course the revolver that seemed to never leave Curtis' side these days. Sarah wasn't a fan of guns, in fact she despised them — but considering the circumstances she felt better that he had it with him today.
Looking around, she realizes that the family is now walking through a stretch of extremely well-kept homes, a sight not often seen in the Grays Harbor area these days.
"Do you know any of the people that live in these houses?" she asks Curtis.
"A few of them."
"What about this one?" she asks, pointing to a particular house.
He stops and looks at the house in front of them. Its an unusually nice house,
even for this neighborhood, with an immaculate yard out front — aside from the knee high grass. The house itself is an older two story Victorian with over-elaborate moldings and even a widow's walk that looks as though it once had a view of the ocean. Today, several majestic maple trees stand in the way of the view, trees that were no doubt younger than the home.
"That's Ms Wilson's house. She died a couple of years ago, a stroke I think."
"You knew her?"
"Sort of, I used to follow her around in her garden when I was young. I think her son owns the place now."
As soon as the words leave his mouth he feels awkward. Her son was probably dead, which didn't really bother Curtis. He was an asshole as a kid, and from what he'd heard from people around town he'd likely died an asshole.
Looking back down the road he sees Matt looking into one of the cars with a strange look on his face. "Matt, what are you looking at?"
"There's somebody inside." he says, pointing at the driver's seat.
Sarah holds Ben back as Curtis approaches the car. Sitting in the driver's seat, slumped over the steering wheel, was a body. Whether it was a man or a woman he couldn't tell, but they were definitely dead, and had been for some time.
"Don't look at it." Curtis tells him, gently pulling his shoulder. Matt couldn't take his eyes off of it though, and finally Curtis pushes him away. "Nobody look in the cars." he says, looking at all three of them. Then looking directly at Matt, and in a stern voice... "I mean it."
They walk in silence for the next twenty minutes, an image of horror still freshly imprinted on Matt's brain. As they walk, Sarah's thoughts wander into places she never knew existed until today. Her son had just witnessed something horrible. It wasn't just the idea of seeing death for the first time, everyone at some point will experience that — some younger than others. This meant more than that. At almost any time in the last two-hundred-thousand years, people have awakened to a world with more souls in it than the day before. Progress was seen as something that required hard work, but it was also inevitable. This world, however, was entirely different from the one she grew up in. Thousands of years of progress has been reduced to ashes in only a few months, and adjusting to that reality was proving to be overwhelming.
It was all so surreal — walking into a town, hoping they weren't the only people left alive, and praying that whoever was left was still uninfected. What made these ideas even more unreal is what surrounded them. They were walking through a picture of serenity. Towering fir and spruce trees were hanging over the road, giving shelter to birds who chose to winter over on the mild-weathered coast rather than fly south. The air was filled with the thick, salty and nostalgic fragrance of the ocean. The sun had even managed to find its way through the clouds and the ever-moving trees, giving the road in front of them a golden shimmer.
This all contrasted sharply with the image of chaos left along the roadway. Whether the scene around her was getting worse, or whether she'd only now allowed herself to pay attention to her surroundings, she didn't know, but Sarah began to notice details about the cars left stranded. Most of them were simply left behind, as though they'd been left in a parking lot for the past several weeks. Others were more difficult to look at. Some held the remains of family pets, or even family members. Heavier pieces of garbage still littered the asphalt, the lighter scraps having been removed long ago by the constant wind. There were places where the road had been jammed completely, an obvious sign that people had tried to drive around the gridlock, and failed. These were the areas that displayed the worst side of humanity.
Sometimes you have to do whatever it takes to get by, leaving compassion and the wellbeing of others behind. Even the most well-intentioned person is capable of cruelty, if that's what it takes to survive — but none of these people did.
Even in the advanced stages of decomposition, it was obvious that a large number of the people around the gridlocks were murdered, with some of their skeletons still tangled in a struggle. In one spot alone, Sarah counts at least fifteen bodies strewn across the roadway and ditches, some of them quite young judging from the size of the bones.
Curtis looks up to see a sign alongside the road, saying simply 'Welcome to Westport!' It seems ironic in a way, being welcomed to a town without any residents.
"This is it, Westport." Curtis says.
Sarah looks around, seeing the same sparsely populated houses as she'd seen for the last hour.
"How far until we get to the actual town?" she asks.
"You act like you've never been here before." Curtis says, a smile on his face.
"I've never walked into town before."
"Fair enough. Its just a little farther, probably half a mile." He looks behind them at the two boys following. "Are you kids getting hungry?"
"No." says Ben.
"What about you Matt?"
Matt shrugs his shoulders. "Not really."
"We'll get something to eat once we get there. When I was here yesterday I saw soup, crackers, potato chips, all kinds of stuff."
As they get closer to town, Sarah notices the houses growing closer together, along with empty side streets that look like something out of a horror film. She felt like she was dreaming. It wasn't only the emptiness, it was also the silence. The woods had always seemed quiet, but here the constant noise of civilization was expected, and its absence seems to suppress the silence even further. She could hear the crashing of waves and the annoying screeches of the seagulls coming from the beach to her left, but beyond that the only sound came from their shoes kicking the fallen maple leaves across the asphalt as they walked along the road.
"I thought you said the stores were empty...?" Sarah asks.
"They are."
"So where did you see the food?"
"Take a guess."
"We're going into people's homes?"
"Don't worry, they aren't home." A quick glance toward Sarah shows that she's not amused. "They're dead, we're alive, its as simple as that. We'll find whatever we can, and if we find enough we'll come back with the truck and load everything up."
"Ah yes, the truck we couldn't bring today, because gas is in short supply..."
"We'll just siphon some out of the cars."
Sarah notices that Ben is starting to lag behind, dragging his feet with every step. "Are you getting tired, buddy?"
"Yeah, are we ever gonna get there?" he replies.
She turns to Curtis. "What time is it?"
"About four-thirty. We should have gotten an earlier start, we haven't made very good time."
"Maybe we should spend the night here, then go into town at first light..." she replies.
"There is a hotel in town, the Regency. Its pretty nice."
"I'm not spending the night in town. I'd rather stay out here where it doesn't feel so strange."
Curtis stops walking, prompting the others to do the same. He looks around at the few houses nearby. "I guess its one of these then. Which one is it?"
"I don't suppose we can sleep outside...?" she asks.
"If you want to freeze to death you can."
Matt points at a house on the ocean side of the highway, a single-story faded yellow rambler that's the least impressive of the bunch. "What about that one?"
Curtis looks confused. "Why that one? The porch is falling off, and the roof looks like its about to cave in."
"It has a chimney."
Sure enough, it does have a chimney, which is something the other two houses don't have.
"I'll be damn, so it does. Good eye, son."
With a broad smile plastered on his face, Matt leads the way across the overgrown lawn, walking right past an old apple tree with fruit hanging from its branches.
Sarah stops underneath it and begins picking the apples up off the ground. "You and Matt go check it out, I'm gonna stay out here with Ben." she tells Curtis.
"I wanna check it out too!" says Ben, his voice frantic with desperation.
"You can stay here and he
lp me pick some apples. We'll make them into something for after dinner."
The first thing Curtis does when he approaches the front door is to lift his hand up to knock, and he's still not sure if its the appropriate thing to do or not. For all he knows, the place still belongs to someone who is very much still alive — in fact they might still live here. With his son standing beside him, he decides that using proper manners would be best, to set an example if nothing else. After knocking a couple of times, waiting for the sound of footsteps after each one, he grabs the doorknob and opens the door — surprised to find it unlocked.
"It smells." says Matt, covering his face in the crook of his arm.
"Its been shut up for a while, its just musty." He takes a couple of steps inside. "Hello? Is anyone home?"
"They're probably dead, Dad."
"Yes, I know that. A little common courtesy doesn't hurt though." He strolls farther in, followed by his son. "That doesn't bother you, knowing that all of these people died?"
"I guess. We didn't know them though."
Curtis sighs and shakes his head. He can't really argue the point.
"What's that spot on the ceiling?" asks Matt.
Curtis looks up to see a sagging dark spot on the living room ceiling. "That's the roof leak I mentioned. Lets check out the bedrooms."
It takes all of about two minutes to thoroughly search the house for any residents still left, and when they're done they find absolutely no sign of anybody living there. The house would be considered old in many neighborhoods, but not in this one. Curtis figures it was probably built sometime in the late-50s or early-60s. It has no electricity, no running water, a nagging smell of mold and decay, and a roof that's seen three or four winters too many — and yet he's quite certain that its an improvement over the conditions they've been living in.