Prit grumbled and accepted my reasoning, casting a longing look at the convertible. We set to work and exchanged its battery for a brand-new one we found in the garage. Then we loaded our stuff, including an increasingly restless Lucullus.
A sudden, loud noise made us jump out of our skin. I threw myself on the floor, feeling around for my speargun, as Prit cocked the AK-47. We looked around for the origin of the sound. A couple of yards from us, beating on the armored glass window, were two undead, watching us with empty eyes, roaring with rage.
It was a gruesome sight. Since I’d offed my poor neighbor, I hadn’t had an opportunity to study those monsters up close when I wasn’t running or fighting for my life. I eased up to the glass, an arm’s length away. That drove them nuts. They wanted me. They wanted my life. My blood. Fucking bastards.
Something dawned on me. A newly transformed undead, my neighbor for example, had pallor mortis, thousands of burst veins visible on its skin, bloodshot, vacant eyes, and homicidal behavior. The two men outside, though covered in bumps, cuts, and scratches, looked exactly the same. Those guys showed no trace of putrefaction, unlike a normal corpse. No rigor mortis, no decomposition...nothing. Amazing. They were dead. No doubt of that. The terrible gash in the neck of one of them was proof. But something kept then moving...and stalking.
Clothes worn thin from months outdoors was all that indicated they’d been that way for a while. I was sure their appearance hadn’t changed one iota since they were attacked. That had some disturbing implications. Over the past few weeks, I’d entertained the hope that over time these bodies decayed or even “died.”
That didn’t seem to happen. The passage of time didn’t seem to affect those monsters. I didn’t know what to think. Maybe they stay that way for months, even years. Maybe they’re eternal. How the hell should I know? I’m no scientist. I don’t have any data on their condition. I just know they’re somewhere between life and death. If I didn’t want to end up like them, I had to keep on the run and not get caught.
A bitter taste rose in my throat. As a species, a race, a planet, we were really screwed. I punched the glass in rage, right on one of those monsters’ faces. He didn’t flinch.
Prit watched me in silence, guessing my thoughts. Finally he came over and tried to calm me down. He said that when we got his helicopter, we’d find a place the monsters hadn’t gotten to.
I shook my head bitterly. Nice words. We had a long way to go before I’d feel completely safe.
We parked the SUV in front of the gate. Prit checked the tire pressure while I took my first hot shower in many weeks. It was heaven. The jet of water hit my back and my head. Clouds of steam curled around my body. I stood there for about twenty minutes, enjoying that wonderful feeling. Then, with scissors and new razor blades I’d found in a bathroom drawer, I shaved the beard I’d had for weeks. I didn’t look like a bum anymore. Something so ordinary before the apocalypse was now a real treat. That’s how far things had slipped.
ENTRY 78
April 16, 10:24 a.m.
* * *
When I got out of the shower, I found Prit in the manager’s office, hard at work. He’d cleared off the desk and set the black Samsonite case on it. He’d discovered a ton of tools in the garage, including a battery-operated grinder and a blowtorch. The Ukrainian was determined to open the damn case come hell or high water.
With my hair still dripping wet, I joked that if he found smokes in that case, he’d better share them with me, or else he’d wake up dead the next morning. Prit laughed and threw a piece of red tape at me. He said to make myself useful and find some gas for the SUV.
I left the office, listening to Prit singing softly in Russian, his voice drowned out by the shriek of the grinder.
It took ten minutes to find a gas can and five more to find a rubber tube to siphon the gas into the tank. As the tank filled up, I petted Lucullus. Every time I’m out of his sight, he goes nuts. I think he’s afraid I’ll leave without him. My poor cat.
I was wiping off my hands when a violent explosion shook the dealership. A huge white flash came out of the office, followed by a cloud of smoke and a burning smell. For a moment my ears whistled. Then I heard screams of pain. Prit.
I raced into the office and saw Prit lying on the floor. His hands were badly burned, and he had wounds on his chest and face. He was writhing in pain, howling like a wounded wolf. I crouched beside him and took a look. The face and chest wounds were superficial, but his hands looked awful. They were completely burned. I could only see three fingers on his left hand; the right hand wasn’t much better. He was bleeding heavily. Blood also trickled from his ears.
I scanned the table for something to staunch the bleeding. My eye fell on the briefcase. Or what was left of it. That fucking case must’ve had a pyrotechnic device inside to keep any unauthorized person from gaining access. The device exploded when Prit forced the case open. He was lucky it didn’t blow him to bits.
I stared, absolutely helpless, as Prit’s cries of pain echoed in my ears. Whatever was in that case now burned with a fury, its valuable and mysterious contents quickly becoming a pile of ashes.
ENTRY 79
April 17, 6:37 p.m.
* * *
I was in shock and scared to death, more than at any other time during all this shit. Prit was hurt badly, and I didn’t know what to do. His hands looked terrible. All that was in our little first-aid kit were some mild painkillers, antibiotics, and sunblock.
I struggled to get him on his feet and to the bathroom, then washed his hands and forearms as best I could. What a fucking mess! His right hand was raw, burned all over. They looked like second-degree burns to me. His left hand was worse. He was missing his little finger and middle finger; the bones of the ring finger were sticking out. He also had a deep gash in his left palm that wouldn’t stop bleeding. Fuck. I rummaged through the dealership’s medicine cabinet and found some gauze and a gel for burns. I smeared his right hand with the cream and put a lot of bandages on both hands to stop the bleeding. It was a pretty sloppy job.
I had to do something fast. Soon all the undead in the area would be on top of us; they’d surely heard the blast hundreds of yards away. Plenty were groaning outside already.
I settled Prit in the SUV, between waves of pain. Dozens of undead were crowded around the dealership. I’d only have a few seconds to open the gate and climb in the SUV before those things swarmed all over me. I wouldn’t have time to close the gate. Those monsters would then invade the dealership. One less refuge.
I needed bandages, analgesics, and especially antibiotics. In the best-case scenario, I’d find a doctor to tend Prit’s wounds, but that wasn’t going to be easy.
Xeral Hospital was a mile or so away, in downtown Vigo. I didn’t really think anyone would still be there, but I hoped I’d at least find the medicine Prit needed.
I had no choice. I set off the alarm of one of the sports cars at the other end of the dealership. That cleared the door just enough so we could get out. Prit was losing blood by the minute and couldn’t bear the pain much longer. I had to get to that fucking hospital no matter what shape it was in.
ENTRY 80
April 18, 11:02 a.m.
* * *
I was an idiot. I let Prit suffer in pain for more than an hour before I remembered there were several injectable vials of morphine at the bottom of the soldier’s backpack. They were hard to miss. They were in a box with a red cross against a white background on one side and “Morphine” printed in big letters on the other. Any lamebrain could’ve figured out what that was. I completely forgot about it until I took a curve too fast. The backpack shot across the backseat, hit a window, and spilled out its contents. But I’m getting ahead of myself again.
We beat a quick retreat out of that dealership. Given the jam we were in, that was the best news. The car alarm drew most of the howling mass to the opposite end of the building. I knew the sound would attract many more of those things, but it
was the price I had to pay. No matter what, we were getting the fuck out of there.
I walked up to the huge metal gate and pried open the door’s security latch. I pressed the red button to open it. Of course, nothing happened, since there was no electricity.
Pressure and stress were playing tricks with my mind. Cursing under my breath, I surveyed the device, looking for a manual switch. There it was! A small lever next to the coupling of the cable drew the door open.
When I activated it, it made a soft clank. When the counterweights in the door started to move and the huge gate folded back (faster than I’d expected), I ran like crazy for the SUV idling in front. As I climbed in, I realized that, with no electricity, the only way to close it was to drag it manually with a pole located somewhere at the top. I had no idea where the hell that was. Anyway, what did that matter now?
When I stepped on the gas, the GL leaped forward and burned rubber. I think I bumped against a couple of those things. I recall a middle-aged woman in a pearl necklace and big hair splayed out against the back of the SUV. Otherwise, the entrance to the highway was relatively trouble-free. I noticed that the broken-down van we’d come in was surrounded by a dozen undead; some had gotten inside.
What attracted them to the abandoned vehicle? Did they detect our scent or body heat in it? They may have lost “human” qualities, but they’ve compensated with more subtle senses. More dangerous to us.
After a couple of miles, I noticed that the GL had a small screen on the dashboard. I finally realized it was a GPS, standard in a high-end model like that. I pressed the button and prayed the thing still worked.
The screen lit up with a flashing blue light as it connected to satellites in geosynchronous orbit. I sighed with relief. Society had collapsed, and the undead had taken over, but satellites continued on their silent, unflappable paths in the solitude of space, indifferent to the chaos unleashed thousands of miles below. They were still working, and they’d go on working for a long time, until the lack of ground control or some other incident rendered them useless forever.
The GPS was an expensive model with a touch screen. Keeping one eye on the road, I quickly searched through the menu for nearby hospitals. From time to time, I had to swerve around a wreck or dodge some undead, but in general the road was clear.
With a beep, the GPS told me that the nearest medical center was Meixoeiro Hospital, not Xeral, and mapped out the shortest route. Fantastic! That saved me from having to reenter the rotting carcass that had once been the city of Vigo.
Engrossed in the screen, I almost didn’t see the pileup. Suddenly, rising up before me was a twisted mass of at least fifteen wrecked vehicles. I hit the brakes hard and desperately turned the wheel to the right, trying to avoid the inevitable.
Its tires screeching, the GL skidded sideways for a few yards and came to a stop just inches from the first vehicle. All of its flashers emitted a loud click-click. Everything else was silent.
I wiped off my sweat, grimacing. If it weren’t for all the safety features like minibrake assist and other technical marvels, I’d have plowed into that wall of twisted scrap metal. End of story.
I shuddered. We live on the razor’s edge, and we don’t know it. There’re no police, army, doctors, or anyone to help us if something happens.
We’re screwed.
We’re alone.
All alone.
I put the SUV in first gear, raced on to the shoulder, and drove off the highway. Engaging the four-wheel drive, I plowed through the low barrier at the outer edge of the highway that had kept animals off the road in the old days.
After ten minutes of violent bouncing off road through abandoned farms on weed-covered roads, I stopped under a clump of trees. It was cool, sheltered, and, above all, out of sight. There was not a soul around for hundreds of yards. Not human or undead.
A broken-down old washtub lay abandoned beside the road, almost hidden under blackberry bushes. A jet of cold water gushed from a pipe. I got out of the SUV and plunged my hands into the water. It was cool, almost cold, in contrast to the searing afternoon heat. It was delicious. I drank like a camel, filled up the canteen, then wet Prit’s dry lips. Half conscious, he wouldn’t or couldn’t drink.
I touched his forehead. He was burning up. Either he was suffering from shock or his wounds were starting to get infected. Whatever it was, he needed antibiotics immediately. I gave him a shot of morphine to ease the pain and got back in the car, leaving that brief moment of peace behind.
We peeled out in a huge cloud of dust. We still had a long way to go.
About thirty minutes later we had to cross a small stream. It wasn’t too deep, but the Mercedes, though luxurious, was not built to ford streams. I couldn’t keep water from coming in through the door seals and air vents. We were going to get a little wet.
The sky was clouding up, so we were going to get wet one way or another. After days and days of heat, we were due for a big storm. Lucullus was really agitated, something that only happens when there’s a storm.
We got on to a back highway about three miles from the hospital, according to the GPS. The muddy SUV skidded a little on the weeds growing on the shoulder, but thanks to its four-wheel drive, we made it back on to the deserted highway. I stopped to take a look at Prit. He was delirious on account of the morphine, fidgeting, half asleep. I looked up and down the highway. I didn’t see a single living being, not a fucking soul. Some weeds poked up through cracks in the pavement. No one had been down that highway for weeks. In a few months, the weeds would completely swallow it up.
I shifted into first and headed for the hospital. After a few minutes, I relented and turned on the lights. It was just six in the afternoon, but it was almost dark. A storm was on its way, and I couldn’t see for more than thirty or forty yards. Distant thunder rattled the SUV’s windows.
I concede I was spooked in the dim light, but the fright I got five hundred yards ahead still nearly gives me a heart attack. When I swerved around a small eucalyptus tree growing right out of the road, the headlights lit up a grinning skull, wrapped in a pile of rags, lying on the pavement. I was almost right on top of it, so I braked hard. I heard a crack under the front wheels as I drove over that pile of bones. I stopped the SUV and wiped the sweat off my face. The wind was rising. The first gusts of the storm were whistling through the trees. I was sure there was something huge right in front of the car, but in the dark night, I couldn’t see what it was. There was something sinister about that place.
I cocked the AK-47, painfully aware of how little I knew about firing it, and got out. The purring engine was the only sound except for the roar of the wind. I walked cautiously in the space lit up by the headlights. My shadow projected before me as I approached the black figure at the back.
I held the rifle tight. My hands were sweating, and my heart was pounding wildly. That shapeless mass took up nearly half of the road. I still couldn’t figure out what it was. The hot wind enveloped me like a blanket. Then the smell hit me. My God.
Stacked in front of me were dozens, maybe hundreds, of rotting corpses slowly decomposing, at the mercy of the weather and vermin. I leaned against the barrel of the AK-47 to keep from falling down. Oh, Jesus. My legs failed me, and I had to sit down. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from what I saw in the headlights.
The figure I’d spotted in the shadows was a pile of huge spools of reinforced concrete and some kind of metal container with barbed wire stretched in front. It was an abandoned checkpoint.
All the bodies had bullet wounds. The ground around the checkpoint was littered with shiny copper casings as far as the eye could see. It was a huge graveyard, reminiscent of Rwanda during their civil war in the 1990s.
I could guess what had happened. It was an army checkpoint in a strategic place, by the hospital. Suddenly hundreds of undead had converged on the road, attracted by human presence. Security forces fought them desperately, taking out hundreds of those creatures, frantically calling for reinforcem
ents.
What happened next was clear. The dried blood splattered against the walls and a couple of assault rifles lying on the ground told me everything I needed to know about the fate of the checkpoint’s defenders. The undead had made it through. Just like in Pontevedra. And Vigo. And everywhere else.
I headed back to the SUV, tears streaming down my face. As I climbed into the car, lightning lit up the grim scene. In the space of a few seconds, the SUV crushed hundreds of rotting bones as I drove over that heap. I drove through the checkpoint and didn’t look back. We had to keep going.
ENTRY 81
April 19, 12:37 p.m.
* * *
The lightning was so bright that for a few seconds the whole horizon turned a sickly blue. Thunder rattled the SUV’s windows with a gruff, deep, terrifying rumble that lasted seven or eight seconds. Lightning and thunder followed each other about every minute and a half. The rain hadn’t broken yet, but the air had a strong smell of ozone. A helluva of a storm was coming.
Startled by the roar of the GL’s engine, a flock of crows and fat, glossy gulls flew up in the air. Over the months, I’ve learned to sort through all the haunting images, blocking out the ones that disturb me the most (too many, sadly). But I saw what those scavengers had been feeding on—another pile of lifeless bodies. The image of the half-decayed body of a little boy about three years old with empty eye sockets and pecked cheeks gut-punched me. I was fucking sick of being sick. True, all that bullshit is making me harder, but I can tell I’m getting crazier by the second.
According to the GPS, the county road abruptly intersected with a much wider and better-cared-for road half a mile from the hospital. The area was wooded; a dense mass of eucalyptus and pine trees was shaking wildly, whipped by the wind. The road was strewn with twigs, tree bark, and piles of rotting corpses. The undead had been through there in droves, but resistance must have been tough. I was coming to the scene of a disaster. I started to feel light-headed.
Apocalypse Z: The Beginning of the End Page 24