Rise and Walk

by Gregory Solis

  Searing pain clamped onto his left shoulder as the corpse of Marcia Dahlgren bit into his flesh. His reflexes reacted pushing her away with a pained grunt. She flew back; a small amount of skin and muscle fibers remaining in her mouth. He started bleeding while his vision clouded with tears. Warm blood gushed down his chest staining his grey body hair. He blinked to clear his eyes and had difficulty understanding what it was standing before him. The woman lunged with surprising speed at Rickets. He back handed her with great force throwing her to the ground.

  The commotion caught the attention of three nearby campers. Two young men and a young woman saw what they thought was a domestic dispute. The two men witnessed Rickets hit the woman as if it were second nature. They both ran the short distance towards Rickets and tackled him. Rickets’ large body hit the ground, knocking his wind out. The young woman ran to assist what she assumed to be a battered wife. She knelt down and tried to reassure the creature with a kind voice and was repaid with a savage bite to her neck. The woman screamed a muffled cry. The creature chewed quickly, slime frothing from her stuffed mouth and bit the woman again destroying the jugular vein. The two men, dumbfounded by the situation, quickly forgot about Rickets and rushed to assist their friend. One man ran around and grabbed the creature in a headlock. The other man held the injured woman by her shoulders. Her wound was slick with thin streams of blood. She began to have a seizure. The man set her down and held her arms to prevent her from harming herself unaware that she was rapidly bleeding to death.

  “She attacked me,” wheezed Rickets lifting his face to look at the men.

  “That fucking bitch bit me,” he cried as he held his shoulder. He got to his feet, stepped over the seizing woman and kicked the corpse of Marcia in her skinless face. The young man holding Marcia was rocked with the transference of force from the impact. He lost his hold on Marcia and was pushed on his back. The creature rolled to its stomach stunned for a moment until it focused on the young man’s shin. Marcia’s mouth snapped closed on the young man’s leg like a steel trap. He grunted a loud protest as he lifted his other leg to kick the creature in the head. His bare foot slid off her slimy face deflecting some of the blow. There wasn’t much meat to be found on the front of the man’s shin. Her teeth rasped useless against the bone. Sitting up she turned her savage attention to the young man caring for the dying woman. The undead corpse crawled fast towards the dumbstruck young man. The young woman slowed in her convulsions as life slipped from her body. Rickets jumped on the creatures back while the bitten young man grabbed her leg. The living dead creature growled while it struggled inch by inch towards the frozen young man. She fought with the ferocity of a starving animal desperate to reach food. Rickets’ bulk finally weighed Marcia down so that she could no longer advance. He put the full weight of his right hand on the back of her head as he propped himself up, grinding her wet skull into the sand.

  “Chuck, is Kim okay?” asked the young man helping to hold the creature, his leg bleeding slightly.

  Chuck only stared at the still young woman.

  “Chuck!” the man called out again.

  “I think she’s dead,” Rickets replied looking at the pool of blood that now trickled off the young woman’s neck. He looked back to the young man with compassion, “I’m sorry man.”

  “What the hell?” demanded the young man as he stood, leaving Rickets to hold the struggling creature. He had a solid hold on her head and managed to get his knee up on her back. She flailed about with her arms to no avail. As Rickets watched the young man approach Chuck, he felt a wave of revulsion wash over him. He felt nauseous and a little weak from the confrontation. Rickets vomited a half a beer’s worth of stomach fluid on the back of Marcia’s corpse. His hot bile flowed down the curve of her spine and pooled around his knee. He fought back the urge to continue by raising his head in the air to breath in a deep breath. The sunlight caused his eyes to cloud up as sparkles danced before his vision. He felt faint. Turning his fat neck to get a look at his shoulder he could see that it was still bleeding. His sense of smell was hampered from the vomit that still clung to his throat but he thought that his wound had a stink to it. He forced air out his nostrils in a disgusting spray of mucus and inhaled again. There was a distinct chemical reek to his wound. Nausea fell over Rickets once more and he struggled to hold back the sick. He felt like he was developing a fever.

  “Chuck is she?” the young man questioned quietly.

  Chuck said nothing, bending to hold the woman’s limp body.

  “Can you go get some fuckin’ help!” yelled Rickets to the young man. He looked at Rickets with the struggling creature then around the campgrounds. Some nearby campers looked to see what was going on yet made no attempts to get involved.

  “Help!” the young man cried desperately, the exertion of his efforts causing him to feel lightheaded.

  NINETEEN

  Veronica was speechless. Standing where she had left the injured man she couldn’t believe what she saw. There was only a drying pool of blood and her dirty shirt where the man once was.

  “He was right here,” Veronica protested.

  Jack squatted and looked at the blood. He guessed the amount to be at just over a pint. Looking down the grade he could see a broken trail of thick blood leading up from the shore. All together the man must have lost quite a bit, he thought, too much to get back to his feet. About three feet from the blood, Jack could smell something strange. A sort of ammonia aroma was in the air, similar to the sweat of an amphetamine user.

  “Tony, check this out,” he said.

  Tony dropped to one knee and looked at the blood.

  “Oxidized on the surface, the yellow stuff is plasma, it dries slower, fifteen minutes to a half hour, I would have to disturb it to get a better idea but the cops might not like that,” Tony surmised shrugging.

  “The smell,” Jack said having already made the same mental determination though not in so many words. Tony leaned forward a bit and inhaled. What he smelled did strike him as odd. The smell was different than what he was used to for blood. The distinct metallic odor wasn’t present.

  “Piss?” Tony conjectured.

  “Not unless he was bleeding from his crotch, Veronica said,” Jack paused to look at the dark haired woman in the sports bra; “It’s Veronica right?”

  She was distracted while scanning around the area for the man, a look of confusion on her face. She turned to Jack,

  “Yes,” she said. Jack continued,

  “Veronica said the guy had a neck wound, that’s here,” he pointed to the blood, “If it was piss, there would be a puddle about here,” he moved his hand down pointing where the man’s crotch would have been.

  “Then his blood smells funky,” Tony shrugged, standing back up unconcerned by the odor. Nikki, a mixture of fear and frustration on her face, spoke.

  “How do you know what blood smells like?” she questioned.

  “I worked in a butcher shop once,” Tony said looking around.

  “And I used to hunt a little,” Jack said looking up the grade to the camp road. Surveying the dirt for foot falls he thought he noticed something.

  “Maybe someone else found him and took him to a hospital,” Nikki hoped aloud. Jack moved his eyes to the incline leading to the road.

  “No, he got up,” he said standing. He didn’t know how someone with such an amount of blood loss could manage to get to their feet. Jack could now see tracks to the road that matched the ones leading to the puddle. He had missed the tracks near the blood because the others were moving around the scene obscuring the evidence. Veronica looked to the ground and tried to discern if she could see any footprints. She couldn’t see any signs of the man walking however she did believe that Jack could.

  “Is someone helping him?” she asked.

  “No, he’s stumbling around a bit but there’s only one set of tracks,” Jack said and started off up the grade. Tony caught up to Jack watching the ground for evidence. Finally he not
iced a smudged footprint. The man was indeed having trouble walking. His prints were smeared and close together indicating a short staggering stride. Veronica followed to Jack’s left with Nikki behind.

  Over the rise a man stood five yards away swaying like a drunkard. He looked about dumbly with his back turned to the party. Veronica moved to assist the man. Mason placed his left hand out in front of her, stopping her with a touch. He was sure to direct his palm towards her stomach avoiding the embarrassment of accidentally touching her in an inappropriate area.

  “Wait,” he cautioned, intuitive alarms sounding in Mason’s mind.

  The man turned to reveal a gaping neck wound caked with dirt and blood. His unsteady gait froze as cold dead eyes focused on the four samaritans. The man opened his mouth and appeared to release a roar. The only sound heard was a disgusting rasp of gurgling air from the man’s neck. Nikki yelped a small scream. Tony back peddled behind Mason and placed himself in front of Veronica and Nikki. The man moved his tattered form, unsteady on his feet, his arms outstretched towards the party.

  “Take it easy man, we’re here to help you,” Mason said with his left hand out; open in a stop gesture. His right hand at his side balled into a fist. The man became incensed, screaming without a voice, just the passage of air over dried decay. He leaned forward and picked up speed. Nikki put her hands on Tony’s arm and held on for dear life. Mason tensed like a coiled viper ready to strike. Veronica could tell that Mason was about to act.

  “He’s sick, don’t hurt him,” she pleaded. Mason sighed feeling that this was no time for indecision. He wanted to help the man but not at the risk of himself or his friends.

  The bloody man lunged. Mason grabbed the underside of both his arms in a modified Judo move. Using the man’s momentum he threw off his advance. The move would usually require one to grab the shoulders but Mason didn’t want to touch the man’s blood. Veronica was right, this guy was sick. He had a feeling that there might be some possibility of infection. The man hit the ground, air forcing from his lungs escaped through his trachea sounding like a thick sneeze. Tony pushed the girls back behind him with his arms wide and kept his eye on the man. The man turned upwards towards Mason, snarling disgusting sounds from his neck. Attempting to push off the ground, Mason prevented the man from rising with a boot to the inside of his elbow, collapsing his arm.

  “What the hell is wrong with him?” Nikki questioned in fright.

  Veronica studied the man. His neck was slimy and covered with filth. Dark foam drooled from his soundless mouth. His eyes were glazed and dry. There were blue patches on his forehead that looked like blood pooling from rigor mortis, but that is impossible. She thought that she must be mistaken.

  “Some kind of disease?” offered Mason as he pushed the man down once again with his foot.

  “I have no idea,” Veronica said becoming very afraid, “we should restrain him.”

  “Fuck that issue, I’m not touching him,” Mason grunted as he kicked the persistent man hard down the grade. He rolled uncontrolled to a stop some yards away. Mason turned to the group.

  “We don’t know what kind of bug that guy’s carrying. Let’s get out of here and get the Sheriff,” he said shaking his head. Tony nodded in agreement. Nikki was already moving towards the camp road. Veronica, torn between her will to help and the truth of Jack’s words, hesitated for a brief moment. Looking down the grade she saw the man struggle to all fours and begin crawling like a madman towards her.

  Veronica joined the others as they ran towards the camp road.

  TWENTY

  Barbara and Ted Erwin beached their boat on the sand in front of their campground. Barbara stepped over the side into the cool water wondering where her Timmy was. She had missed her little darling on the morning boat ride. He wasn’t feeling well. She wanted to go home but Ted wanted to take the boat out again. We are losing our Sunday, she remembered him saying in that selfish whine that he called a voice. As she walked up the beach to their camp she noticed her boy wandering around. Poor thing must have been lonesome without us, she thought. He came running towards her. She opened her arms to receive him. Something was wrong. The state of her child frightened Barbara. He was awash in blood and lacerations.

  “Ted, look at Timmy,” she cried to her husband as he exited the boat.

  “Stop babying him Barb,” he hollered back in frustration of his wife’s constant fussing.

  Concern sat on her face as tears threatened to flow for her baby. Timmy ran into her arms. She embraced him without her usual worry that his condition might stain her blouse. She hugged him close. Ted drew near, catching the faintest of glimpses at his son’s apparent trauma. Maybe there is something wrong, the father thought.

  “What happened to my baby?” asked Barbara consoling.

  Teeth bore down on her neck with merciless force, breaking Timothy’s retainer. Blood erupted from Barbara’s wound splashing on Ted’s prescription glasses, obscuring his view. Timmy held his collapsing mother’s body up while her legs buckled out from under her. He chewed the flesh that he ripped free while holding her convulsing frame. The bite was very large in comparison to his mother’s delicate neck.

  “Timothy! Stop that,” his father ordered removing his soiled glasses. The creature was far beyond the capacity to understand any form of language yet his father’s voice did call its attention. The blood covered boy looked at his father with stoned dead eyes and chewed in defiance. The meat was warm and slippery in his salivating mouth. Swallowing the flesh and part of his retainer, the thing disregarded his father and took another, deeper bite. Barbara’s body contorted and jerked in her son’s arms as he dug his face into her neck. Ted shoved his hands between their bodies and tried to remove his son. Timothy growled and held on like a wild animal. Ted was a small man with very little strength. He moved behind Timothy and found better leverage. The boy let go allowing his mother’s body to slump tragically to the ground. The boy turned and menaced an angry roar. Timothy grabbed his terrified father who offered only a pathetic struggle. Falling to the ground, Ted raised his arms to shield himself from his son. Bite after bite, his child continued to take little bits of flesh from his small arms. Finally, with no more strength left, Ted dropped his useless tattered limbs as his son tore out his skinny throat.

  Rickets was tired. Fatigue chewed at his muscles as he strived to maintain control of the crazed woman underneath his knees. The young man with the small bite wound had left to go get help, leaving Rickets with a catatonic shirtless young man named Chuck and the corpse of a young lady. Rickets thought that they said her name was Kim. He shook his head. What does it matter? This crazy bitch killed the girl, there’s no need to remember her name. He was feeling very ill now. He knew he had a fever and his shoulder was starting to smell really bad. The woman underneath him sporadically attempted to escape in small fits of energy. His vomit began to congeal and cool around his leg. He thought it strange that the woman didn’t put off any body heat. She seemed cold, perhaps it was his fever making him feel that way, he hoped. Rickets had to get off of the woman and lie down or risk throwing up again.

  “Hey man. Hey! Can you get me some rope or something?” he called to the crying young man holding his dead friend. The man ignored him.

  “Chuck!” He exclaimed, “Please man, help me the fuck out over here.”

  Hearing his name shook Chuck loose from his catatonia for a moment. He turned to Rickets slowly with tear stained eyes that lacked recognition. Kim’s body jerked in his tender embrace causing Chuck to turn his attention back to the woman. Her face was pale but perfect. He had always had a thing for her. His unspoken feelings for Kim plunged him into an emotional coma when he thought she was dead. Chuck’s heart soared at the thought that she was going to be okay. He would wait until she was better and then he would tell her how he felt, how he had always felt, about her.

  “Kim,” he said with smiling relief. She opened her eyes and looked from side to side. Her beautiful blue eye
s were now somehow hollow and empty. She looked confused, as if she were awakening for the first time. She focused on Chuck. He brushed her soft brown hair off her face with care.

  “Are you …” Chuck whispered.

  Before he could finish she struck out. Her fine teeth caught Chuck on the cheekbone. She dragged the top of her teeth down across his jaw like a wire cheese cutter, flesh peeling back and collecting in her mouth.

  “Kim?” he protested in shock, his voice raw and horse. She threw her arms around Chuck as he tried to back away. Pulling him close, her head over his shoulder, she bit aggressively into the meat of his trapezium.

  Witnessing the attack, Rickets had enough. He jumped to his feet off of the woman and felt a surge of blood rush to his head. Standing so rapidly had almost caused him to pass out. He made his way on shaky legs towards his vehicle. He retched again and disgorged while stumbling. Vomit splashed against his struggling legs. Rickets threw open the door of his van and collapsed in the rear losing consciousness. He lay helpless with his legs exposed outside of the vehicle unaware of the sand covered, skinless face that soon found his limbs. The disgusting creature that was once Marcia Dahlgren tore into the marbled tissue of his calf. She fed greedily upon Rickets unfazed by Chuck’s cries. After four generous bites, his body cooled to the point where she no longer found his flesh palatable. She rose. Her exposed eyes in their constant lidless stare, peppered with sand and grit, looked about the campground in search of more food.

  TWENTY-ONE

  The Dodge pulled into the empty campground. Lance exited his truck wondering where Wanda had gone.

  “Zeke, go call the ambulance,” he ordered as his men got out of the passenger’s side. Zeke did as he was told and left towards the general store. Lance looked around the camp and saw the burnout left in the soil by his Porsche. Shaking his head at the deep groves in the dirt he decided that it might be time to take the car away from his girlfriend for a while. Lance liked to enforce his way by restricting Wanda’s access to his possessions. Teaching her a lesson was how he put it. When she would exhibit too much free will for his liking, he would put the car in the shop for some unnecessary work. She didn’t have a car of her own and Lance was sure to never give her enough spending money so that she could squirrel away a savings. She would have to stay around his house and work out with Tae Bo videos or swim in the heated pool. She would get the message and would as always submit to his authority. What else could she do? She wasn’t the type of person to give up her lavish lifestyle and get a job. Lance smirked as he walked past the tracks in the dirt.