by Kirk Withrow
“I’m not sure, Dr. San,” the General said honestly. “I did not see or hear anything until I heard you cry out. As far as I know, no one even knows we are here. Perhaps they are just lawless people behaving lawlessly now that no one is around to stop them. God help us all if that’s the case.”
Lin stared at the Brazilian soldier as tears poured from her weary eyes. Although Rocha had not moved since Montes dragged him into the truck, he was breathing and he had a pulse, albeit a thready one. Lin gently brushed his short-cropped hair away from his eyes, feeling completely helpless. The wound on his neck no longer bled, and she thought his shallow breathing might be getting stronger. After another minute he began to stir, slowly at first. Excitedly, Lin said, “He’s starting to move! He’s coming around!”
Lin gazed at Corporal Rocha through a veil of hopeful desperation. More than anything, she wanted him to open his eyes. She needed him to open his eyes. She needed to know there was some hope of seeing this thing through.
As if he was reading her mind, Corporal Rocha’s eyelids flickered several times before opening sluggishly to reveal his bewildered, bloodshot eyes. He tried to speak, but no words came to him. While the throbbing pain in his neck had diminished considerably, it now pulsed through his entire body as if it were flowing through his bloodstream. With every heartbeat, he felt the pain expanding—dragging him further under. Almost as soon as they opened, the weight of his upper eyelids became too great and he was plunged into darkness once again.
When his eyes opened the next time, the unendurable pain was gone. Inexplicably, he found himself sitting on a comfortable bed with his little girl wrapped tightly in his arms. She slept peacefully, and he gently rocked her back and forth as he sang a Portuguese lullaby with his eyes closed. ‘Nana nenen.’ Her silken hair exuded an aromatic bouquet as he ran his calloused fingers through it. The humid warmth of her breath against the bare skin of his neck made him shiver slightly each time she exhaled. ‘Fica bem bem.’ He could not recall a time in his life when he felt as happy as he did in that instance. ‘Perto do meu coraco.’ In the distance, he heard a low rumble followed by rough movement that tugged on him from somewhere very far away. Voices, so faint and indistinct that he wondered if they were even real, echoed through the recesses of his mind.
With great reluctance, his eyes flitted open once again; he was greeted with the same unimaginable pain that was devouring his body from the inside out. It was as though the devil’s dirty fingernails clawed deep gouges in his very soul. Frantically, he peered around but saw no trace of his beautiful daughter or the comfortable bed. He saw movement—a man and a woman. Although they looked familiar, he could not place a name on them with any degree of certainty. Seeing no other means of escape from the agony of the hellish nightmare, he let his eyes drift closed and greeted the merciful darkness with open arms.
Again he sat on the bed, and though it was still comfortable, it was different, as if a dozen filthy people had slept in it since he was last there. His eyes were closed, and he still rocked his little girl in his arms. Although he tried to sing, his voice was little more than a hoarse rasp. ‘Fica assim perto de mim.’ Despite the vivid nature of the scene, he wondered if he might be dreaming. Can a dream be so beautiful, yet so malign, at the same time?
‘Se ano tem bicho papão.’
What he saw when he opened his eyes made him pray it was all just a dream—some terrible nightmare cooked up by his sick and dying brain. Nestled in his lap were the eviscerated remains of the thing that had once been his beautiful daughter. Her previously warm breath now felt cold, and possessed the fetid odor of perforated bowel and gangrenous flesh. Disgusted, he thrust the abomination away as he glanced around with wide-eyed terror.
Looking down, he discovered he was holding the small unicorn suncatcher. The sight of such a beautiful thing—little more than a trinket made by a child—amidst such vile darkness brought tears to his eyes. In a matter of moments, the deluge was so great he thought he would drown if that were possible. He watched with abject horror as the suncatcher dissolved under the cascade of tears, washing away like chalk on the pavement during a rainstorm.
As the last bright speck of color vanished, Rocha felt an undeniable change at the very core of his being. From a place so far away it seemed like another planet, he heard the plaintive cries of a woman in pain.
* * *
“We need to stop! He’s getting worse!” Lin pleaded.
Scanning the area for a safe place to pull off the road, Montes noted a break in the tree line less than a mile ahead on the right. As they drew closer, he saw an abandoned convenience store that appeared to have been destroyed by fire before the plague ever ravaged the land. Slowing to a crawl, he searched for any sign of danger but saw none. Cautiously, he pulled into the small gravel parking lot that was fast being reclaimed by weeds and wildflowers. All around were expansive fields of tall grass that swayed lazily in the breeze. It looked like pasture land used for animal grazing, though none were in sight. He knew stopping was a risk given that they had been attacked twice already, but there was no choice if what Lin said was true. The truck’s tires kicked up a thick plume of dust from the loose gravel and Montes worried it might broadcast their location to anyone watching. He only hoped they had travelled far enough that anyone in pursuit would not be close enough to see it. Unfortunately, that was not the case.
Pulling to a stop, General Montes hopped out of the cab with his sidearm held discretely at his side. If anyone was inside the derelict store, he did not want to give the wrong impression in case they happened to be friendly. On the other hand, he was enough of a realist that he was not willing to go unarmed. He told Lin to stay with Rocha while he investigated the building. After a couple of tense minutes, Montes returned to tell her that the place was clear and they moved Corporal Rocha’s ailing body into the old store. Although he had no idea of the nature of his infirmity, it was clear to Montes that his old friend was engaged in the most significant battle of his life. Easing the injured man to the floor, Montes directed his gaze toward Lin. “I know you are a doctor, but do you have any medical training?” he asked with hope burning in his eyes.
Almost imperceptibly, Lin dipped her head toward the floor as she said, “Unfortunately, no. My doctorate is in neurobiology not medicine, but we can still try to help him.”
Wordlessly, General Montes replied with a grave nod. In actuality, there was little they, or anyone else, could do to ease Rocha’s suffering. That fact would not have changed even if they had a team of world-renowned physicians and all the requisite medical supplies at their disposal. While neither Lin nor Montes knew it, Corporal Rocha was far past the point of being helped by modern medicine. The dart had cause irreparable damage to his body. Had they known and accepted this, things might have turned out differently.
They watched helplessly as Corporal Rocha’s languid stirrings grew steadily weaker and less frequent. Lin held a cloth moistened with the last of their precious water against his scorching hot forehead as she whispered gentle words of encouragement. Such was the case for the next several hours. Lin tended to the sick man as best she could while Montes kept a keen eye on their surroundings. She could not help but picture her brother, Kang, lying on the floor when she looked at Corporal Rocha’s still form.
As General Montes stared at his friend’s unmoving body, he felt certain they were overlooking something. Mulling the situation over in his mind, he repeatedly came up nonplussed. What the hell happened to him? That injury on his neck seems minor compared to his condition. The worst that could happen after being shot in that location would be a spinal cord injury, and I’ve already seen him move all of his extremities. It’s as if he was suddenly stricken by meningitis and is now stuck in some fever-dream world—neither awake nor asleep. The more he considered the issue, the deeper his confusion became.
With the speed of a lightning bolt, the pieces that had been swirling through his mind as though taunting him with the a
nswer began to come together. General Montes’ thoughts flashed back to the pink blur he had seen out of the corner of his eye as he slammed the truck door before speeding away from the unseen assailant for the second time. He recalled the distinct ping of something ricocheting off the door despite having heard no shot fired, just as he heard no shot before Corporal Rocha was hit. Nothing. Not even the muffled sound of a suppressed rifle or the delayed report of a shot taken from a great distance. The next image was that of Corporal Rocha staggering around the front of the truck, drunken and ataxic. Montes had seen far more people shot than he ever wished to admit, and not one of them had exhibited the type of gait disturbance that Rocha had. It looked like the man had been drinking at a bar all night. No. He had to have gotten into some toxic plant or been exposed to some chemical. He looked like that bull after my dad hit it with…
Overcome with the nostalgia of a childhood spent on the cattle ranch with his father, his thoughts slipped away to an experience that had left a significant impression on his seven-year-old mind. He had seen his father loading a small syringe filled with a sedative agent into the bore of a strange looking gun. It looked more like a toy than a real gun, and he had wanted to play with it at first. Taking aim, his father lined up the gun’s sights with the large cow in need of medication and vaccination. A faint hiss preceded a vibrant, gently arcing blur as the dart, with its brightly colored tailpiece, soared through the air. It was so fast and quiet that the huge animal’s abrupt reaction startled the young Montes. The enraged bull bucked immediately, and then broke into an unsteady run. It made it less than twenty feet on wobbly legs before sagging heavily to its knees. Staring at the formerly strong and imposing beast, now rendered completely helpless, the young Montes had felt sick to his stomach. He no longer wanted anything to do with the strange-looking gun.
Breaking free from his reflection, Montes moved briskly to where Lin sat tending to Corporal Rocha. “I think I know what happened to Rocha,” he said with an excited edge to his voice. “I think he was shot with a tranquilizer dart. That could explain his condition, the lack of any report, and the relatively minor appearance of his injury. I also think whoever shot him with it tried to shoot me as I was getting into the truck.”
Incredulously, Lin responded, “A tranquilizer dart? They were trying to put him to sleep? Why?”
“That’s the thing. I’m not sure what the shooter was trying to do, or why. A tranquilizer dart is just a syringe that can be fired from a weapon. They can be filled with anything. South American Indians used a poison called curare to paralyze victims, ultimately causing death by asphyxiation. If that’s what happened, there’s no way to know what it contained—could be anything I suppose,” General Montes said.
A gloomy shroud descended upon them as they watched Corporal Rocha struggle for his life. At one point, Lin pleaded with General Montes to load the infirmed man into the truck so they could try to get him to a hospital.
Having seen suspicious movement outside the store, Montes vetoed the suggestion. As bad as he needs medical attention, I can’t risk taking Dr. San outside until I know it’s safe. If there is any chance that she can cure this plague, then her life is worth more than the rest of ours combined. Besides, who knows if there are even any hospitals left? Not wanting to place such a heavy burden upon her shoulders, General Montes kept his sentiments to himself. After all, he was a soldier the same as Corporal Rocha, and he knew they would both lay down their lives readily for the success of this mission.
The setting sun soon painted the sky in foreboding shades of crimson red, making it seem as if the edge of the earth was ablaze as the fiery orb sank below the western horizon. As majestic as the sunset was, Lin could not deny the sickly feeling it left in its wake. Whether it was due to the horrors she had seen as a result of the plague or something more, she felt certain that the worst was yet to come.
* * *
Sliding like a snake through the tall grass, the shooter crawled through the field adjacent to the derelict convenience store. Exasperated by the situation, he was having an increasingly difficult time keeping his cool as the group of survivors had evaded him not once, but twice thus far. At least two of them had anyway. Of course, that may have changed by now…
His men had radioed the location where the truck stopped several hours earlier. Approaching the building from an angle, he could not see the truck but had witnessed a hint of movement inside the building’s darkened interior. Once, he thought he saw a figure staring directly at him through the cracked glass of the storefront window. Shit! Slow down, you’re causing too much movement. With nightfall rapidly approaching, he knew that the subtle movements of the grass overhead would soon be far less noticeable. That, however, would not matter if he were already spotted.
Unbeknownst to the shooter lying prone amidst the dull gray stalks of gently swaying grass, the movement spotted by the man in the store was not caused by him at all. In fact, that which General Montes noticed was about seventy-five yards beyond the shooter, and was caused by a less skilled figure approaching along the same vector. So focused on the target ahead, the shooter paid little attention to the rear of his position as he stalked toward the survivors huddled inside the dilapidated building.
Now, barely visible in the scant light filtering in through the lens of his scope, the shooter saw the seated form of a man that looked broken. Head bowed and face in hands, the foreign military officer was painted with weakness and defeat. At less than fifty yards, every tired crease in the old man’s weathered skin looked like a canyon carved in stone through the rifle’s optic. The shooter’s lips curled downward in disgust as he readied himself for the shot. As much as he would have liked to use the Teledart rifle, the fact that his target was behind a pane of glass made that impossible; his Steyr .308 would have to suffice. He inhaled deeply, letting the cool evening air percolate through every inch of his lungs before exhaling slowly. With smooth, gradual pressure, he squeezed the trigger, barely able to contain his excitement as he waited for the shot to break.
BANG!
The roar of the gunshot was deafening, scattering the silence like a pack of vultures in oncoming traffic. As the last echoes of the blast faded into oblivion and the silence returned to its rightful place in the dying world, he sagged to the ground in shock.
10
October 4, 2015
Cobb County, GA
He peered through the riflescope with confused, disbelieving eyes. His target, the old man, stared directly at him through the intact glass of the widow. The pain screaming through his left shoulder made it nearly impossible to keep his rifle trained on the officer’s equally startled face. The shooter watched the old man’s expression transform from confusion to concern, as his attention shifted toward something inside the building.
No longer capable of supporting the fifteen-pound weapon, his injured left arm let the rifle fall to the side. Blood, hot and coppery, flowed like an aquifer of molten metal underneath his sleeve before dripping from the ends of his fingertips. When he raised his hand to his eyes, however, the blood seemed cold and black in the dim light of the cool evening, and he wondered if cold and black was all that remained inside of him now.
The sound of rushing footsteps pulled the shooter’s thoughts back to the present. Rolling onto his back, he prepared to face his attacker. Unable to draw his sidearm, he struggled to raise the unwieldy rifle despite the pain in his arm. A man so caked with dirt and grime that he blended almost seamlessly with the starless sky, emerged from the shadows like a raging bull. The shooter fired wildly from the hip in the direction of the charging man who sidestepped as the shot went wide.
Undaunted by the gunfire, the man shifted his angle of attack and continued forward. Seeing his attacker’s rifle barrel come up, the injured shooter lurched forward, slamming into the man’s legs, and sending him flying past in a blur. All of a sudden, a shrill, terror-soaked scream rent the air in the distance. Just like that, the fight was over as the attacke
r tore off in the direction of the woman’s mortified screams.
* * *
Tired.
That was really the only word that came to Montes’ mind. Tired of death. Tired of sickness. Tired of fighting.
Despite his military career, which spanned more than three decades, he felt as though the entirety of those years paled in comparison to the insanity of the last several weeks. He thought about all the people he knew and wondered if any of them were still alive. Truthfully, he had no way of knowing. All he could say for sure was that he was alive, Dr. San was alive, and Corporal Rocha…he was barely alive. If he were honest with himself, he didn’t hold out much hope that the younger soldier would survive. If anyone is tough enough to pull through, it’s Rocha.
His dark musings were suddenly interrupted by the sharp crack of a rifle fired close by. He ducked instinctively as the round ricocheted off the side of the building, causing him to swear at how careless he had been to allow someone to get that close to their position. Staying low, he scurried over to where Lin held vigil over Rocha. He was surprised that the sound of the gunshot had elicited no reaction from the woman as she stared vacantly at the still form of his friend on the floor.
“Someone took a shot at me but hit the outside of the building. We need to take cover and think about getting the hell out of here,” General Montes said in a forceful tone that was still miles away from sounding panicked. The General scuttled around the cashier’s counter, hoping the meager barricade would offer some degree of protection against any further incoming rounds. Turning, he saw that Lin had not followed him. Alarmed at the thought that she may have been hit, Montes hastened back and found her just as he had a moment earlier—unmoving, as though she were a statue.