by Hawk, J. K.
continuance;
By late afternoon we came to an old gas station, Everett’s Garage, and like a beacon from heaven I spotted the pint-sized radio tower barely clinging to the roof. A dusty solar panel rested purposely to its side, weather beaten yet in one piece. Just maybe those old and decrepit cells retained just enough life for a simple yet continuous broadcast, a message, a somber sonnet dedicated to a desolate but not yet dead world. I held back my excitement as not to give Mia any false hope, for all I knew this could be nothing at all, or quite possibly a trap.
Mia and her pup followed me towards the garage-bay, fearful and curious. The old repair-shop did not appear to be occupied, at least not for a few year now, anyway. The structure was weak and in the process of slow decay. Although I was unsure of its architectural integrity, my own curiosity negated any concern for our safety. Or maybe it was out of desperation, either way it was reckless at best.
Nova's ears perked up, and her soft pelt became erect and coarse, she could hear something. Calmly I pulled out my pistol carefully stepped through the hollow doorway and into the building. The garage bay was cluttered with rusted tools and other junk, garbage was strewn about the place and an old beat up Chevy Impala rested tireless upon crumbling cinder-blocks. The doorway to the office was obstructed by a stack of busted pine pallets, and at the far end of the bay stretched a staircase that rose up to a sagging second floor. Only foreboding darkness escaped from the room at the top, and for a moment I considered retreating back onto the street.
Slowly we ascended, if all was clear we would have ourselves a secure place to rest, at the moment my only concern was that the floor boards would hold our weight. Ignoring the groans and creaks of every step we entered a large room at the top. Only one dust-laden window spilled in the suns light revealing a similar scene to the first floor. A trashed and empty storage room with the remains of a mice-infested couch to one end. On the opposite side of the chamber lay another doorway, beyond, more darkness.
Slowly I crept forward, my gun poised in one hand, as my other held tightly to Mia's. Faint orange rays of sunlight bled through a single crack along the wall, barely enough to illuminate the room. The alcove was quite small, at first I assumed it to be a closet or even a bathroom, but in reality it was something much more sinister. As the floor boards settled from the strain, a faint whisper arose over the silence. I almost didn’t notice it, but then that familiar and depressing voice registered like a freight train in my ears. My eyes widened and adjusted to the dimness, and in the corner lay a small record player still spinning an old forty-five on repeat.
Beside the turn-table was a small lantern for which I quickly snatched up and lit. Mia gasped as the room came to light revealing a corpse in the other corner. More of a skeleton, its skull shattered long ago by the shot-gun that lay to the floor. His dingy clothes were still stained with blood and clung like skin to his bones. Whoever this man was, unlike most, knew that there is more to fear in life than there ever was in death. The only question we face is if there is something meaningful that is worth living in fear for.
We found little of use amongst all the junk, yet still decided to stay the night. Although I closed the door to Billie's room, Mia found it difficult to relax, and the faint mumblings dancing throughout the airwaves did not ease her anxiety. For some reason it just didn't feel right to shut down the broadcast. Dawn is almost upon as I conclude this entry and soon we will leave this place behind, allowing Billy's voice to live on as a timeless eulogy for the dead.
Requiescat in Pace.
16th day, 6th Blood Moon;
Back in the day, long before the fall and when I was just a boy, I heard many tales of a mysterious plague devastating the deer populations across the country. The Government warned citizens to avoid any consumption of organ meat, most importantly the brain. Yet, there was no evidence that this Chronic Wasting Disease affected humans. But with the scare of Mad Cow Disease among other food-borne illnesses, the CDC was taking no chances. Some, including my father, believed it all to be a myth, pathetic propaganda from PETA or some other hippy-veganist-organization.
However, when I was maybe fourteen, my father and I witnessed that horrible blight firsthand. We had been tracking a lone spike-horn for miles across unfamiliar country when the forest parted into a serene clearing. A stench of rotting flesh flooded our senses, the putrid smell was beyond grotesque, and we covered our face with our shirts in a failed attempt to block it out. That same foul odor would become all too common after the Great Outbreak.
The sun dazzled down upon an unimaginable and horrific sight. The secluded plot was abandoned of foraging critters, and overrun with a swarm of flies buzzing around the dead and dying carcasses of maybe thirty or forty deer. Those that were still alive were barely able to lift their heads above the golden swale-grass, simply too weak from malnutrition. Ribs bulged from their pelt and swollen tongues hung from their lifeless mouths. It was exactly how they had described the disease, factual propaganda and an unfortunate waste of life.
At first I was confused by the sight before us. Why did they all come to this place, why die here? Just by the perplexed look on my face, my father knew what I was asking myself. He slowly knelt down, tugging my arm to follow suit, and in his wisdom he explained as only he could interpret it. “In the face of death, life tends to seek out the comfort of their own kind.” Social instinct I presume, life’s natural fear of death.
I hadn't thought about that day for many years, not until today. Mia and I left the roads and began walking through a vast stretch of abandoned farmland, hoping that cutting cross country would save us some time. Grasslands, pastures, and corn-fields, now overgrown with milk-weed, hog-grass and all sorts of ravenous plants. Each field lay sectioned off by miles and miles of rock walls. These old barriers have stood for many years, built way back when men were stronger and more self-sufficient. A time when a hard day of manual labor was respected and a normal part of everyday life. A time when the dead, actually stayed dead. A better time.
One such meadow stretched down a gradual slope through a mass of tall golden reed-grass, almost untouched by other more hideous weeds. Towards the far side rose a large and ancient apple tree with little foliage left on its dry limbs, let alone apples. An ominous flock of crows circled elegantly above, like us, hoping to find some fresh fruit still worth eating.
Nova instantly darted off into the tall reeds, rapidly zig-zagging through it like she was dodging bullets. Mia on the other hand, slowly picked her way through a maze of discarded spider webs, the broken strands still cradling the remains of spent bugs. And although the garden-spiders had already died off with the coming winter, the bug necropolis was an unfortunate sign that, unlike humans, the insect population was booming.
As I made my way across the field, a growing and all too familiar rotting stench filled my nose. Nova smelled it as well, although I could not see her, she had stop in her tracks and had begun to let out her signature menacing growls. The odor was slightly more putrid then that of those wasted deer, the decay in the air seemed to rage like fire within my nostrils yet also muddled with a strong yet sweet overtone. Unmistakably this was the rotting odor of the infected. I pulled out my gun and immediately signaled for Mia to hang back as I pushed forward.
In reservation I cleared the tall grass and found myself standing before that great tree, only to have my deprived stomach empty itself upon the ground. Strewn about the area laid a mass of decaying corpses. The crows that circled above were after them, not the fruit, as it was obvious that some of the corpses had been pecked clean to the bone. Men, women and children along with a small assortment of woodland creatures were among the masses. An execution site was my first assumption, a small herd gunned-down by a group of survivors. Yet it wasn't until I forced myself to inch closer that I realized the true nature of this unsettling pastoral scene. A single female body, resting back against the tree, shriveled and rotten much like the fallen fruit that surrounded it.
>
The corpse's legs were rotted away below the knees, leaving only shattered, sun-bleached bone. Her clouded eyes stared up at me as if asking for help, yet still she lay motionless, lifeless. But, she was not dead. None of them were truly dead. Weak, decayed and starving, wasting away within an unbreakable shell of evil. This was no massacre, nor was it a cleansing, those bags-of-bones came together in the face of an ungodly famine. Maybe out of instinct, driven by the virus’s will, or maybe, just maybe there was something of humanity left within their gray-matter. A lost fear of dying utterly alone. The irony in this unforeseen behavior soon set in, this Necrotic Wasting Disease.
Gently I knelt down before the young girl and looked back into those murky eyes. She was maybe only eight when she turned, just a child. She appeared so fragile and innocent that a moment of sympathy had nearly caused me to forget her true nature. And yet there was also something too familiar within her dark and sunken gaze. Something from my past, something...
The Devil’s Orchard! It was the same child-beast I had crippled many years ago back at that desolate orphanage. How she survived this long boggled my mind, and even more how far she had traveled. No longer was she the sweet little ginger from hell, but withered and ultimately forsaken. Only the faded freckles on her cheeks and the emptiness in her eyes gave away her identity, let alone the shattered bones in her knees. Her finger tips were no more than dirty and worn bone, the flesh torn away from digging into the earth and dragging herself across the state for so many years.
Gently I brushed the girl’s scraggly hair from her partially decayed face, her mouth trembling open as she tried to use what little strength she had to bite. A pitiful site to see, such a ferocious creature now weak and helpless. Guilt that was once long forgotten flooded my emotions again, the guilt of allowing her to suffer any more than she already had.
“I should have ended this long ago.” I whispered, just as Mia cleared the tall grass and walked up behind me. Silently I pulled out my knife with one hand and pulled the girls head down with the other. Swiftly I plunged the blade into the base of her skull, and what little life remained within those degraded muscles vanished in an instant. “Rest.” I breathed as I drew the blade back and wiped it clean upon her ratted dress.
“You knew her?” Mia asked.
“Not exactly.” I answered. “She was just a past revelation.”
“I don’t understand.” She mumbled.
“It doesn’t matter.” I said with a quick wink. “Give me a hand.”
Mia helped with the task of dispatching the remains of the others. She assisted with a sharp stick without any rejections as I continued on with my blade, such a strong-willed woman she has become. There was no time to bury them, instead we would leave them where they lay, for the birds to feast. Before walking away I took a brief moment to carve a short inscription into the bark of that old tree. A eulogy for the condemned and tormented. A memorial to those who have suffered and continue to suffer, and to those who gathered at that very tree to forever waste away.
“Here lay a strange and bitter crop,
Some fruit for the crows to pluck,
And some for the sun to rot.”
20th day, 6th Blood Moon;
I have come across many simpletons over the years, absent minded, yet curious and soulless beings. They are just one of the many personalities that the infected possess. From a distance one might even mistake them for the living, which is what taught me to always demonstrate extreme caution with every undead fiend. Rarely ravenous, I assume they have even starved to death in their own stupor. Although my name for them depicts a mindless being, they are by far without some form of human thought process. I am unsure if this is trait caused by the virus itself, or merely the remnants of a lost soul.
They wander about with persistent curiosity, easily fixating on almost any visual stimulus. Simple things though, things that the living would never pay much attention to. Wayward twigs, a piece of garbage, or even a soaring turkey-vulture that watches them with hungered anticipation. When they become bored with one object, they move on to find another. Constantly searching for the next clue, as if searching for answers to a question they cannot ask. Starting from scratch in the pursuit to the meaning of their own existence. They are the Pioneers of the damned, doomed within their own inquisitiveness.
Elmer was one of those simpletons, one that both Mia and I observed in detail for a few hours today. When we first stumbled across Elmer, he was unknowingly blocking our path. But, rather than maneuver around him to keep our course, we instead, maintained distance and took interest in studying his behavior. It was a neglectful waste of our time, but he was slowly and surely heading in the same direction as us. Taking a moment to get to know him gave us some comfort in socialization, something lost and yearned from the old world. Although, Elmer was by far the most linguistic conversationalist.
He was an overly tall man, pushing six and a half, maybe even seven feet tall. His skin still a pale gray, not yet rotten and black. His eyes sunk back into his narrow skull and his short gray hair lay greasy yet completely intact on his scalp. He still wore a dingy-blue business suit and walked about barefoot. A gold chain dangled from his hip, one end clipped to a belt loop, the other attached to a cloaked watch resting deep within his barren pocket.
Elmer stood in place during our initial introductions and stared up into the sky, directly into the blinding sun. Not once did he flinch from its blazing light, instead his eyes remained wide and focused. Every so often his head would cock to one side, as if attempting to attain a better view or maybe even catching sight of something that is generally undetectable by human eyes. Either way, he studied this foreign light source for quite some time, oblivious to our intruding presence.
We inched closer when he lost interest in the sun and began to move off down the street. Staying only a few yards behind him, following cautiously, keeping silent as not to catch his attention. It wasn't long before his eyes fell upon something else and he stopped dead in his tracks. Gangly he scooted down towards the ground, his head cocking side to side as he tried to make sense of his latest fixation. Carefully we moved closer, stopping mere feet away from him, just to see what it was that amazed him so much. And even though Elmer should have seen us out the corner of his eye, he paid us no mind.
He was obsessively infatuated on a once valued object which lay upon the sun beaten pavement. A corroded and long forgotten quarter, now nothing more than a worthless chunk of nickel and copper. But, to Elmer, it was a magnificent mystery, for which he spent the next half hour studying. There was even a moment that he slowly reached down and lightly brushed his finger over it, almost as if to make sure that it was real. Then slowly pulled his hand away and leaned his face closer towards it.
In a moment of boredom and idiotic thrill-seeking I decided to test out his attention-span. Slowly we distanced ourselves a few feet away, as a precaution just in case he became angry at my interruption. Although he seemed mild-tempered, one should never underestimate the vicious nature of the beast. It is unwise to provoke the dead, no matter how meek they may appear to be, and yet it still deterred me little. With a deep breath I loudly called out to him.
“Elmer!” his eye remained locked on his discovery, and Mia grabbed hold of my arm in an attempt to prevent my antagonistic calls. Yet again, I shouted, even louder this time, “Hey, Elmer!”
That got his attention as his head turned slowly towards me, his eyes cast an annoyed glare into mine. But he did not abandon his stance, nor did he show any aggression towards me, aside from a muddled and deep-throated grunt. Then tuning us out, he returned his attention back onto the specimen before him. Decisively, I did not press my luck any further, and soon Elmer moved on as we continued to follow him. It was getting late in the afternoon, and I contemplated pursuing him any further, but my own curiosity had gotten the best of me. Over those few hours I had developed an odd and unspoken friendship with him, a fondness that cannot be explained in words.
Mia’s patients for my carelessness had run thin, and just as I was ready to say my goodbyes, Elmer stopped before the Norrville Bank and Trust. The large mirrored windows were completely intact, and it was his own reflection that had caught his eye. A distorted figure staring back at him, a queerly familiar face. It just might have been the first time he had seen his own reflection, at least since the day he turned. He was ultimately perturbed at what he saw, stepping closer and closer to the figure, grunting offensively at himself. With each passing moment he became more and more agitated with this new visage, and soon the rage commonly found within the infected exposed itself. Elmer released a ferocious roar and slammed his fists into the glass.
The pane reverberated from the strike causing Elmer's reflection to shimmer violently across the sheet of glass. This only deepened his misguided anger, and with another roar his fists smashed through the window, sending shards of glass crashing down onto the sidewalk. His anger immediately subsided as he now stared down at a glimmering mass laying before his feet.
Not once did he look up at the fifteen or so infected that now stumbled out of the run-down bank and made haste towards Mia and I. My friend Elmer had put us into a tight spot, especially since Mia was unable to waddle too quickly. So without hesitation we scurried back the way we had come and towards the safety of the forest, hoping to lose them in the maze of trees and brush.
Elmer’s thirst for knowledge is in many way's inspiring and full of wonder in on itself. He is the evidence that this contagion does have the potential to become more than what it is. To become a sustainable and evolutionary life-form that could replace mankind forever. If only the virus could unravel the complexities of Elmer's mind, to once again become the man that he once was.