Jacob's Odyssey (The Berne Project Book 1)

by Melrose, Russ

  I had to get off the block as quickly as possible. My best bet was to head east toward the freeway and the mountains. The backyard fence was made of cinder block which would make for a quiet, easy trip over the wall. I walked cautiously across the yard keeping an eye on the ground to make sure I didn't trip over anything. Yards were trickier to navigate these days as nature had begun to take over. The grass was maybe ten inches high which was certainly tall enough to hide objects. I quietly made my way to the middle section of the back fence and jumped up, grabbing at the top row of cinder blocks, lifting myself up high enough to get a quick view of the neighboring backyard. The neighboring fence was made of wood which wasn't ideal. But I didn't have an alternative, so I pulled myself up and over.

  I made my way to the gate, located next to the side of the house about halfway up toward the front yard. The moans of the approaching pack were growing louder, and I could hear the scudded scraping of their shoes against the asphalt. I quickly studied the fence near the gate. It was about six feet wide. I decided the corner post looked to be the sturdiest section of the fence. And that's where I'd climb over. I tested the horizontal wood brace of the fence with the toe of my hiking shoe and it seemed stable enough. I put my weight on it and it held up well. I grabbed the top of the wood planks on either side of the corner post and lifted myself up, then swung my right leg up to the top of the fence and pulled myself up all the way. I grabbed the top of the post to stabilize my balance and looked back to the sliver of street between the houses nearest the feeding but didn't see any infected. The angle hid me well. But as I turned back around, my weight shifted and one of the wood planks beneath me groaned. Right before I jumped down, I looked back and saw the Swimmer's face appear in the crack of space between the houses. For a fleeting moment, I was certain his eyes locked onto mine.

  I landed quietly on the grass, my mind racing. Would the Swimmer run around the block to get to me? There were maybe five houses to the end of the street and then he'd have to go right another half block to get to the street I was on, so if he came after me, I'd probably have a couple minutes before he arrived. I wondered if the others would follow him or if they'd be too engrossed with their feeding. And then there was the pack to consider. Would they follow him? I moved quickly toward the front of the house but slowed once the end of the street to my left came into view. And then I saw movement. There were maybe a dozen of them trundling excitedly down the street, another group drawn by the Swimmer's shrill howling. Their attention was focused in the direction of the feeding. It seemed they sensed what was going on without actually being able to see it. I didn't move a muscle. I'd have to wait for them to move past the intersection. I remained perfectly still, aware the Swimmer might be moving closer with each passing second.

  The early morning sun quietly baked my face as I waited. It was unrelentingly bright and I could feel its intense warmth penetrate the layers of my skin. I was crouched down ready to sprint across the street, every muscle in my body tensed and coiled. It was a windless day and would have been remarkably quiet if it hadn't been for the sounds of the infected. Their incessant moans and the scraping of their shoes on the asphalt breached the air. And then I heard a sound that was strikingly out of place. A sound that caused the hairs on my arms to stand straight up as a ghostly chill passed through me. I ran without thought or hesitation. And just before I reached the street, I glanced to my left and saw the last stragglers in the group clear the intersection. I headed for the nearest fence across the street, running faster than I ever thought possible. And then I heard the creaking of the fence behind me and heard him land on the grass.

  The fence had a gate, but I ignored it out of habit and climbed over the adjacent part of the fence. I raced past a backyard swing set to the back fence and quickly pulled myself over a white vinyl fence. The thought struck me that I might have an advantage over the Swimmer. Climbing fences had become second nature for me, and I knew the easiest and most efficient ways to climb over any kind of fence. Other than running track in high school, I had never been much of an athlete, but I did have some agility. And I believed the increased strength in my arms and shoulders from the pushups and from climbing countless fences the past week would help give me an edge. At least that's what I told myself. All I thought about was putting as much distance between myself and the Swimmer as was possible. I was halfway through the next yard when I heard him clamber over the gated fence to the previous yard. I planned to head east two more blocks to create a little distance, and then I'd head north a few more blocks. The key would be to create enough distance that he wouldn't notice when I turned north.

  After I cleared the fence at the side of the house, I ran with utter abandonment across the street. I didn't check the street for any infected. I simply headed to the nearest fence across the street. I focused on the fence and nothing else, an oak-stained wood fence that had been kept up. It looked solid. A six-footer like most of them. Before I reached it, the Swimmer had jumped down from the fence back across the street. It was easy to hear him climbing the fences and running. He made no effort to be quiet or stealthy.

  He wasn't gaining on me, but he wasn't losing ground either. When I got to the fence, I jumped up, grabbed the planks at the top, and pulled myself up and over. Several trees lined the fence in the backyard. A large oak tree in one corner and three silver dollar eucalyptus trees spread evenly along the remainder of the back fence. The morning air was motionless. Not a single leaf stirred with movement. I cut through the stillness as fast as I could and headed to an opening between the oak tree and the first eucalyptus tree. I reached it in no time and moved smoothly over the fence. My energy was jacked up and I felt as if I could run all day. But before I reached the fence at the side of the house, I heard the Swimmer again and realized he was easily keeping pace with me. And for the first time, doubt crept into my mind and it pushed me to move even faster.

  After I cleared the front yard fence, I ran out into the street and nearly came to a stop. Two things came into my field of vision at the same time. Three houses down across the street, four infected men sat in the yellowing grass of a front yard, picking the bones of what was left of a small animal. I could also see the wall to the I-215 freeway no more than two blocks away. The four infected men raised their heads at the same time to look at me. One of them, a slender man with straggly brown hair, got up first. But in his haste to get to me, he lost his balance and crashed to the ground. The other three rose clumsily to their feet, moaning excitedly. They staggered eagerly toward me, but I was already closing in on the fence. No way they could get to me. Then I heard the Swimmer clamber over the fence behind me. And in the few seconds it took for me to reach the fence, I knew I needed a different plan.

  With the freeway so close, there was no way I could put enough distance between myself and the Swimmer to change direction without him noticing. He was too close and the freeway was about to box me in. Whether I headed north or south, the Swimmer would know.

  And while the four infected might not be able to follow me, their desperate moans could draw more infected to the area. There was one other thing that concerned me. The moment I spotted the infected and the wall to the freeway, my energy seemed to dissipate all at once. I could still run and could still climb fences, but the rush of adrenalin that had given me the extra edge was gone.

  I spotted the soccer ball on my way over the fence. It lay in the grass in the side yard. And I knew exactly what I would do before my feet hit the ground. I quickly released the front buckle of the support strap on my backpack before picking up the ball. I went around the corner of the house and quietly slid my backpack off and set it noiselessly onto the grass. I could hear the slapping of the Swimmer's tennis shoes on the asphalt as he ran across the street. I slipped the bat from the pack and set it gently against the back wall of the house and got into position to throw the soccer ball. My timing would have to be perfect. I needed to throw it over the backyard fence right before the Swimmer reached the f
ence at the side of the house. If he heard it, he would likely think I was over the fence running through the next yard. I had to make sure I got the ball over the fence but without too much clearance. I didn't want there to be any chance he might catch a glimpse of the ball.

  I turned my attention on the Swimmer's footsteps. I could hear him running in the grass now. And I did my best to filter out the rising sounds of the moans as the four infected men drew nearer. They were still at least a house away.

  The Swimmer was about halfway to the fence. He would be at the fence in another second. I reared back and let the ball go with everything I had. It sailed a few feet over the fence and landed with a soft thump on the grass. I could hear it bounce twice more before it rolled to a stop. The Swimmer attacked the fence and was over it quickly. I had already grabbed the bat and was holding it upright in a striking position, my hands tightly clenching the neck. I felt an incredible tension in the muscles of my arms and chest and upper back. I heard him running and knew it would only be a fraction of a second now. I jumped out from the back wall of the house and let out a maniacal scream as I wildly swung the bat at him with malignant force. I held nothing back. He tried to slow his momentum but he ran right into the wheelhouse of my bat. He started to raise his right arm defensively, but it was too late. The fat of the bat struck him flush in the chest just above his nipples. I felt a vibration from the impact ride down the bat into my hands. His legs whipped up in the air and he landed heavily on the back of his head and his neck. His body and legs were nearly vertical when his head struck the ground. I took a step back as the rest of his body came crashing down. I was still all tensed up, ready to strike him again if necessary. And I could feel a visceral intensity welled up within me that I'd never felt before. I felt powerful and irrevocably resolved to protect myself no matter what.

  The Swimmer lay on his back making a muted croaking sound, gasping for air. After several seconds, he gingerly rolled onto his side, his ash-white face contorted in pain. He was still struggling to catch his breath. Other than a subtle tracing of arteries and veins just below the surface of his skin, he looked nothing like the other infected. He almost looked human. He may have looked strange with the ash-white skin, but he didn't look anything like one of the walking corpses. He looked physically intimidating and scary, and he was infinitely more dangerous than the other infected. He suddenly seemed to be catching his breath a bit and he began to measure me with seething hazel eyes. Intelligent eyes. I took a step toward him and raised my bat as if I would strike him again and he shrank back and raised his hand in front of his face in a defensive gesture. It wasn't a fearful gesture at all, just defensive. It was as if he were doing the most sensible thing given the circumstance. Anger and hatred filled his eyes. I moved cautiously over to my backpack and put it on, keeping a wary eye on him and keeping my bat handy.

  The other infected were at the fence now, pounding at the fence with their fists and heads. Their wailing moans filled the air. The Swimmer's chest was raspberry red where the bat had struck him and the shape of the wound was identical to the fat end of the bat. He had begun inspecting his wound and was gently testing the area with his fingers. The Swimmer was different from the other infected in another aspect. He could feel pain. The others didn't seem to feel a thing.

  With my backpack secured, I headed for the back fence. I thought about debilitating the Swimmer further with my bat so he couldn't follow me, but the feeling of power I'd felt earlier had vanished, replaced by my usual extreme cautiousness. I didn't believe with his injury the Swimmer would continue his pursuit, and I knew I needed to get going. The moans would draw more infected.

  The Swimmer watched me go but made no attempt to get up as I tossed the bat over the fence and lifted myself up and over. After maneuvering over the front fence, I checked the street and it was clear. I gazed at the imposing ten-foot freeway wall just past the next row of homes. And then I realized something. There was a frontage road on the other side of these homes. And if the frontage road were clear, I could just run down that road. The freeway wall made for a natural barrier to the east and the row of homes bordering the frontage road would create a barrier to the west. As long as the frontage road itself were clear, I'd be relatively safe. And I could make great time. All I'd have to do is check the roads that t-boned into the frontage road. And then I realized something else—without intending to do so, I'd created a diversion. All the infected in the area would be drawn to the yard where the four infected were still frenziedly pounding at the fence trying to get to me.

  When I arrived at the frontage road, I retrieved my binoculars from the backpack. I took my sunglasses off and spent several minutes meticulously checking the road in both directions. But I saw no infected. Then I started off down the road walking at a fast pace. Being able to walk out in the open gave me a feeling of freedom I hadn't felt since the virus hit. And then I began to jog. If I could just go four or five blocks north, I decided that would be a safe enough distance from the Swimmer and the other infected. But I also needed to get away from the freeway. I didn't want to feel boxed in. I wanted to be able to head in any direction if the need arose. I figured three blocks west of the freeway would be sufficient. Every once in a while I'd look back, half expecting the Swimmer to appear on the road chasing after me. But I never saw him.

  Chapter 6 – The Josephsons

  For the past two days I'd taken refuge in the home of Jordan and Angela Josephson. It was a lovely home. And judging from the photo layout on the console table in the Josephsons' living room, they had quite the sprawling family. In one photo there must have been about thirty-five family members queued up in rows according to height, at least four generations worth, probably five. The Josephsons were an elderly couple and their home had been beautifully updated with wood floors throughout the main level except for the kitchen and bathrooms which were tiled. There were also matching granite counter tops in the bathrooms and kitchen along with some elegantly designed maple cabinets. Not that any of that mattered anymore. It was a brick ranch style home in the Holladay area, likely built back in the sixties. Holladay was located on the east side of the valley in the shadows of the Wasatch Mountains. It was an upper middle-class neighborhood with beautiful backyard views. But more importantly, it placed me perhaps two days from my target area.

  I settled in at the Josephsons' home because of my close call with the Swimmer. And while I'd never spent more than a single day in anyone's home, this was my second day at the Josephsons'. Before my encounter with the Swimmer, I'd never felt comfortable enough to stay longer than a single night in anyone's home. While I may have felt a connection with the people in whose homes I'd stayed, I'd also felt an undercurrent of uneasiness. I could feel it now. Call it the Goldilocks syndrome. Ever since I'd left my condo apartment, I'd been paranoid of homeowners coming home to discover me napping on their couch or raiding their refrigerator. I knew it was a ridiculous idea considering the circumstances, but it played around in my mind nonetheless. And then there was my scavenging. I could never quite get comfortable traipsing around the homes of strangers as if I were some kind of thief or voyeur, rummaging through their things. I sometimes imagined the shadowy presence of anguished ghosts silently watching me as I skulked through their dusty rooms. And while I knew my imagination was getting the better of me, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling I had. And I kept telling myself that the feelings of discomfort I experienced explained my preference for being outside each day. There was no question I felt more at home trespassing through neighborhood backyards and clambering over fences than I did lounging around someone else's home.

  Despite my uneasiness, I talked myself into staying a second night at the Josephsons'. Better than being out there and running into the Swimmer again. Despite my success in my encounter with the Swimmer, I was nobody's fool. I knew I'd been lucky. If not for the serendipity of finding a random soccer ball lying about, things may not have ended so well for me. I might have been killed and consu
med, or worse yet, infected. And then there was the savage intensity I'd felt when I attacked the Swimmer. Just thinking about it unnerved me. I had no idea where it came from. The feeling seemed to be so much more than mere adrenalin. I'd never felt that powerful or determined. And then the feeling disappeared as quickly as it had shown up. I had absolutely no control over it, and that's what was bothering me. Like most people, I liked being in control.

  Then again, there was always the flip side to consider. And while I did so begrudgingly, I had to admit to myself that the savage, out-of-control intensity I'd experienced that day had very likely saved my life.

  The truth is, I've never considered myself a physically courageous man. I'm one of those people who navigate their way through life using their analytical wiles. I'm intellectually curious and painstakingly logical. I probably should have been a scientist. Certainly, no one has ever mistaken me for a Viking and I've always been okay with that. Alex was the lone Viking in our family, blessed with an imposing physical stature and natural strength.

  The closest I ever came to feeling like a Viking was running track at Murray High. The 800 meters. Alex talked me into it, told me I'd be less of a dweeb if I ran track. He said it affectionately of course, and I bought into it. And maybe he was right. At least I felt that way. Turns out I had something of a knack for running track. My best finish was third at a region meet. Not bad at all. I had good stamina but not much of a finishing kick. Alex joked that my running ability stemmed from my experiences evading bullies growing up. Of course, the way I remembered it, I didn't get away all that often.