by Norman Dixon
He fell further into the memory, but what made it a horrifying thing for him was that he knew what was happening. He knew he was losing himself, knew he was dying, and knew he needed to act now to help Bobby, but he couldn’t. Never in his life had he imagined it would end this way . . . lunacy, madness, the complete and total loss of reason. Ol’ Randy cried then, as he watched the Braves with his father. He couldn’t stand it.
Why did his only failure have to come at the end of his life?
CHAPTER 17
Bobby awoke suddenly to an eerie sensation running up his spine. He tried to recall the words, he was sure that he’d heard them, but he couldn’t wipe the film of sleep from his brain. He thought it was Ecky that had said something to wake him but . . .
Where was Yannek?
After using the highway to put even more distance between them and the wild horde Ecky finally allowed him to rest. They had stuffed themselves into a drainage pipe opposite a decrepit gas station. With Bobby’s ankle a mess Ecky took first watch. But where was he?
Bobby quietly readied his rifle. He couldn’t see anything except the moon’s silver light lining a bank of cloud. Everything was nearly pitch black and the thundering of awakened insects was a drill to his eardrums. He began to squirm his way out of the pipe when he heard it again.
Eyy—rr—ning . . . annnny—en—omes
Bobby craned his head to hear it better when he realized, hearing the voice was impossible over the buzzing and chirping of insects. As he came up from the ditch Bobby heard the voice again, a slow thing, like water thick with algae gurgling in a dying stream.
Eyy—rr—ning . . . erld—o—old
The pain had his ankle stiff and sore, causing him to limp, but it wasn’t the pain that stopped him dead in his tracks. As soon as he came over the rise back onto the road he found the source of the voice in his head and he found Ecky.
Outlined by a thin ray of moonlight Yannek stood in the center of what was left of the crumbling black top. Circling him were at least half a dozen Creepers. The weary engineer held his gun up, but he hadn’t fired it yet.
The Creepers weren’t moving. They just seemed to be shut down like robots, as if someone suddenly ripped out their source of power. But Bobby knew they were not shut off. He heard one of them speak inside his head. Ol’ Randy’s words came back to him, a passage of the journal he’d poured over all through the winter. It had him questioning every encounter he’d ever had with the Creepers, even his first lesson all those winters ago.
In the presence of their children our dead mothers became docile . . . as if held in thrall by the sight of their children. It is something more than that, but I have not the technology, man power, or time to quantify it. . . .
He didn’t really understand it, until now. The voice droned in his head again, but it was different this time, softer and slightly higher in pitch—another voice—but clear, concise.
The-they are coming . . . many men . . . this direction, the voice warned.
“Bobby, this is . . .”
“Quiet.”
Any-en-ning . . . ose-ow, another voice added.
The cloud cover broke, splashing them with bright white light, revealing the faces of the Creepers around them. A woman, fresher than most, a simple half-moon bite on her pale forearm. The rest were badly decomposed men. Victims of many harsh winters and the plentiful Colorado wildlife. His view of them put the voices within in perspective. From what he could see, and guess, the male Creepers were without tongues; some had ragged, grayish stumps, and the others had only bone white smiles.
How was it possible? He had never heard them before, even under great duress, nothing triggered what Danielson mentioned, and yet, standing in the middle of the road he knew it had happened before—only, he’d never given them time to speak. He was taught to kill, and kill quickly, and he did over and over. The only good Creeper was a dead one. Two in the head ‘til dead.
They—are coming, the dead woman warned again.
“Ecky, we have to go." Fear, cold and sharp, gripped Bobby. There were many questions but they’d have to wait. He wasn’t going to spoil such a gift even though it came from his most-hated enemy.
“Can you run?” Yannek hadn’t the slightest idea of what was happening.
“I can manage,” Bobby lied. The first true step almost dropped him flat, a sharp cracking-crunching sensation sent needling pain up his entire right side. But after that first step he stopped thinking about the pain and focused on living. Never taking his eyes off the Creepers—he still didn’t trust the voices in his head—he began a slow jog.
“Still many miles to reach Baylor,” Ecky said from beside him.
Bobby looked back, catching the Creepers still locked in thrall before the clouds hid them from sight again. “I can make it.”
“Survival before stupidity, Bobby, you’ve nothing to prove to me.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything to—”
Over the din of insects the wild woman’s unmistakable howl rent the night air.
“Run,” Ecky shouted.
Bobby obliged.
Bobby’s lungs felt as if they been blasted with hot, dry sand. He tasted blood on his tongue. Snot, tears and sweat ran salty rivers down his dirty face. Spots of color burst before his eyes, mixing with the hazy gray of the coming dawn. Keep moving, don’t stop, he told himself between gulping breaths.
Yannek wasn’t faring any better. A life-long smoker his breaths were interrupted by wheezes and coughs. He had them heading towards the strange looking mountain in the distance.
They took advantage of a slight downgrade in the highway, but they had to step carefully for a good portion of the old road had been swept away by rain. It looked like a massive hand gouged a line down it, as if some giant tripped over the volcanic mountain and groped the road for purchase. The scrub brush swayed in the stiff morning breeze. The sun crested over the mountain’s brainy contours.
And with the breaking dawn came the howls of the wild people.
Bobby looked back just as they crested the top of the road. The woman and the long-haired man were at the center with the others spread out to either side. Waving their crude weapons they charged down the road, stumbling and shouting as they came. Bobby snapped his rifle to his shoulder and put a hole through a narrow chest.
Ecky opened fire in controlled bursts from behind him, dropping two more.
Bobby sighted on the woman, regretting he hadn’t killed her when he had the chance. As he dropped the crosshairs over her chest the long-haired man stepped in front of her, letting fly an arrow from his crude bow. Bobby fired. His shot grazing the man’s shoulder. The arrow whizzed past his ear.
Ecky cried out; the rusty arrow embedded in his gut. The engineer stumbled but continued to return fire.
Bobby’s heart fell.
“Keep fire on them,” Ecky grunted. Pinkish spittle speckled his lips.
He couldn’t move, but Ecky’s swift kick to his rear-end set him in motion. The horde, though thinned, had closed distance. Another arrow clanged off the rusted shell of a car to Bobby’s left. Anger dictated his next movement. If he was going to die today he planned on taking them with him.
“Ecky, covering fire!”
Ecky’s controlled bursts went full auto, scattering the horde and sending them for cover.
Bobby set his rifle on what remained of the roof of a car. He loaded another two shells into the rifle. Five shots. He had to make them count.
“Out!” Ecky cried beside him as he dropped his clip and slapped another in.
In the few seconds it took Ecky to reload Bobby had the closest man sighted. Before Ecky had chambered a round Bobby had that man dead with a bullet through the heart. He tried to reach out to the Creepers to call to them but received only silence in return.
They’d both practiced a similar situation many times on the Settlement. Only that scenario involved a siege on their compound, which had the high ground, now the situat
ion was reversed. Bobby moved his scope further up the road away from closer targets.
Ecky slumped against the car next to him. “I keep them off you. Kill son of bitch who got me.”
Bobby didn’t need to turn to know how bad Ecky’s injury was, he heard it every breathless syllable. He searched for the man, found the woman instead, and fired. She stood waving her arms, shouting, commanding her wild horde. Bobby’s bullet smashed a hole through her forehead and sent her, board-stiff, to the dead American byway.
Ecky slapped in another clip saying, “L-last mag . . .”
Bobby counted five but he couldn’t find the man. He wasn’t even sure if Ecky’s shots knocked the rest down, but he didn’t have anything else to go on. He tracked one of the men through the thick scrub. The man’s stupid, wide eyes filled the center of his scope. Bobby sent him to the afterlife and chambered another round. He found another target, settled, fired again. As he turned to find another target the long-haired man burst from the brush beside him.
“Nyet!” Ecky screamed. He shoved Bobby to the ground and took the man’s swinging bow across his face. The engineer staggered then rammed the empty CAR-15 under the long-haired man’s chin, driving him back into the ground. Yannek yelled in thick Russian at the man.
Bobby got his feet under him. He looked around for his rifle but couldn’t find it. Pulling the Auto Stryker out he stalked over to the wild man pinned under Ecky’s weight. The long-haired man’s deep brown eyes found his. As Bobby dropped to his knees the long-haired man spoke one word through his sharpened, rotten teeth, “Dead.”
Bobby pressed the knife into the wild man’s throat and yanked it across, severing the neck to the spinal cord. The man’s blood gurgled forth, drawing out the proclamation.
“I knew you’d get him, Bobby,” Ecky laughed.
Bobby looked around frantically for his rifle. He found it near Ecky’s foot. He peeked over the car. The only thing that moved were the brush and trees. High overhead a falcon searched the field of battle for an easy meal.
“Is okay,” Ecky coughed, “I got them. Used most of my bullets but I got them.”
Bobby slung his rifle and helped Ecky into a sitting position. His friend was a mess. A long gash bled freely across his cheek. The rusty arrow bent at a sharp angle from the struggle, and a stream of blood ran from Ecky’s mouth. It was bad, really bad. Bobby shook. He didn’t even know where to start. He could fashion a splint, dress a wound, even stitch the laceration on the Ecky’s cheek, but none of it would matter. He couldn’t do anything about the wound to Ecky’s abdomen. He couldn’t do anything except watch his friend die.
“Get me up,” Ecky huffed.
“Ecky, you can’t . . . you—”
“Get me up! Don’t you cry, Bobby! This is life in world!" Ecky’s eyes betrayed the toughness of his words. Bobby read the terror in them clear as day.
With a sad heart Bobby helped Ecky up. He picked up the CAR-15 and handed it to Ecky, who cleared the weapon, and placed the empty magazine on the rusted car.
“Get magazine for me,” Ecky said, pointing to the ground.
Bobby quickly retrieved the magazine and laid it next to the others.
“Ammo check.”
Bobby rummaged in his rucksack for the remainder of his ammo and Ecky did the same. They didn’t have much. But none of that mattered now as Bobby watched the growing puddle of blood beneath Ecky with dread.
Ecky wiped the blood from his mouth and began to load a magazine. His blood smeared fingers shook uncontrollably and he dropped the shell. “Shit,” the word was almost inaudible.
Bobby retrieved the shell and clasped his hands around Ecky’s. “Let me help,” he said calmly. “Can’t be a proper commie bastard without a fully loaded gun." He didn’t really understand the nature of the joke, but he’d heard Ecky and Ol’ Randy share it many times.
“Th-this is very true, Bobby." Ecky’s face was pale as freshly fallen snow. The light of life waned in his eyes. “Not, bad . . . two magazines worth . . ." Ecky stared at the strange looking mountain. “Get me cigarette, Bobby.”
Bobby wanted to scream. He could feel his friend’s death come closer with every word. He wanted time to stop. He prayed for it all to stop. But nobody heard his prayers. No God from on high came down to right the horror before him. The only thing he was certain of was the cruelty of death.
He did his best to roll Ecky a cigarette out of an old newspaper clipping. The words of a forgotten headline blurred by his tears. Bits of loose tobacco drifted to the ground. He managed to craft a rough version of what he’d seen the man do a thousand times. After lighting it he handed it to Ecky.
“Eh, look at that . . . not bad, Bobby." Ecky puffed. He coughed and spat blood; his eyes all but gone from the world. “Baylor is bit of an asshole. He didn’t get the name Mad Conductor for nothing. Show him what you can do. Use stupid gadget in pack to barter. Damn thing better be worth extra weight." Ecky coughed. The cigarette hung at his lip for a second before falling. “Ju-just . . . remember . . . train . . . never—stops!" There were so many things Ecky wanted to say but the life left him before he got the chance. He fell to the ground with a wild man’s arrow buried in his stomach and the light of a new day warm on his face.
Bobby hugged him, pulled him close, but his friend was gone. And for the first time in his life he was completely alone in the world.
Despair threatened to knock him flat. His heart began to thud against his chest. Heavy pressure beat against the back of his eyes. The glow of morning was a dizzying blur of golden-blue that sent him crashing to the eroded black top. Smoke from Ecky’s cigarette wafted in his face. He retched, stomach clenched like a hangman’s noose, bile steamed on his cracked lips.
Defeat threatened to finish him then. He envisioned a simple end: put the rifle between his legs, barrel in his mouth, squeeze and it would all go away. Just another death in a world full of it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Too many people sacrificed everything so that he could live. He owed them the decency of at least trying to succeed. But just because he knew what to do didn’t make it any easier. He had to get moving. A core lesson in his training was to never stagnate, to stop was to die, he had to keep busy, had to keep moving.
The sun was high overhead by the time Bobby willed himself to action. He traded his rucksack for Ecky’s larger pack and went through the process of lightening his load. But he had to retain much of the weight, he needed things to barter with, and he doubted very much that the old CB radio would be enough to . . . to what? To warrant passage on the train? Where would he go? What would he do? Would he see Ol’ Randy again?
Even over the course of the winter he never thought of such questions. At the time all he could think about was Ol’ Randy’s journal and his brothers. Now he had to find those answers, and they were as far from Ecky’s body as possible. He finished eliminating the extra clothing except for the socks, ditched the crowbar, packed everything around the rifle, and zipped up the pack. He didn’t like the action of the CAR-15, but it was made for what he was about to take on. He teetered for a moment as the weight of the pack settled. Once he had his center of gravity, he found movement sluggish, and the throbbing in his ankle had returned.
He closed Ecky’s staring eyes. You were a good friend, Yannek. I will miss your voice but I will carry your words with me as long as I live. Long rest far from the Creepers breast—As Bobby thought the parting words he wondered what if? What if he waited? Would Yannek rise before him a member of the undead? Would he be able to hear him like those outside the drainage ditch? Would he be able to communicate with him? No, it doesn’t work like that and you know it, he reminded himself.
Bobby wanted nothing more than to bury his friend; the man that had become another surrogate father in a long line of them, but he didn’t have the time, and Yannek would curse him from the grave for wasting the energy on such an archaic task. During the winter Ecky shared many opinions with Bobby, most of which he didn’t
quite understand, but he was beginning to believe in the non-existence of God. It went against everything he felt in previous winters, but as he stared at his dead friend, lying on the ground in a dead world, surrounded by more death, it made sense, though, God could have abandoned them all, too.
But he couldn’t just leave the man to the stomachs of wildlife.
Ditching the pack for a moment, Bobby searched the side of the road for wood and dry brush. He began to form a crude pyre around Ecky and with the man’s lighter he set it ablaze. As the orange flames licked at Ecky’s pants Bobby looked to the bloody corpse of the long-haired man. The animals would have their fill of that one, but not Yannek, and the same went for the rest of the savages dotting the road. They could all rot.
Without looking back Bobby donned the heavy pack once more. He had seven miles to go and not a lot of daylight left. His uncertain future opened up before him as he broke into a jog towards Dostero. Seven miles, maybe eight, judging by what was left of the mile markers on the defunct highway.
* * * * *
Under the cover of night Dostero was quite ordinary, but as Bobby watched it from afar the morning light painted a different picture. Lush green pines dotted the top of the volcanic mountain like hairs standing up on a tanned arm. Bits of bright-white snow lingered along the peak tucked neatly in nests of dense trees. Stretches of tall, swaying evergreens tapered off midway down the mountain before stopping entirely at its base. In between the runs of trees, like earthen veins, were rich, brown, and natural formations that seemed to drip down the mountainside.
The beauty of it reminded Bobby of the dense, sweet cake they used to make once a year on the Settlement; ruddy earth like icing melting in every nook and cranny. Had he any breath left from the run it would’ve been taken away by the stark randomness of such a creation. Before, well . . . everything, the earth had coughed up its inner fire, scorching the land, eradicating everything in its path. It left nothing, though, Bobby knew that wasn’t exactly the case. He had been taught about what had happened. Not here, but the concept of places like this. The earth left the richness of its self, the essence at its core for the future—much like Bobby’s mother had done for him. The minerals and Time, a perfect marriage, made this sight of ancient ruin a fertile land of life that thrived in the present.