He gazed at the girl’s twitching face, his thoughts lost in a silent prayer for those he used to know, his family, and all those others he had had been forced to inflict things on he would never forget. Anger and guilt had become two powerful driving forces in his life, and although the resulting feeling of self-loathing was hard to keep at arm’s length, channelling their energy at times like this, for the most part, prevented him from losing his mind altogether. He had heard about soldiers returning from the battlefield with PTSD and doing terrible things back home as a result. For him, though, there never had been a chance to return as the trauma of battle had been his livelihood and home but a mirage in the recesses of his mind where he had locked up the memories and thrown away the key.
His boot crushed the little girl’s skull, merging black goo and bone fragments with the dust beneath her.
He turned towards the bus where Tom, this time careful and determined not to get taken by surprise again, was taking another peek inside. He disappeared into the vehicle, the sun’s reflection in the dusty windows blocking Amadou’s view of the interior.
“Clear!” Tom’s voice sounded, and his head appeared at the rear door a few moments later.
“I’d say we mount up before more of these things decide to crawl out from wherever they might be hiding.”
They began gathering up their scattered gear and anything else useful they found in the driver’s hut and stored it behind the front seats, within easy reach should they have to bail out at short notice.
Tom got into the driver’s seat and began fiddling with the keys while testing the paddles and gearstick. After a couple of attempts, the ignition turned, and the bus came to live, blowing dark plumes of smoke from its exhaust as Tom played with the accelerator.
“Coming?” He turned towards Amadou, who was still standing in front of the open doors.
Instead of getting in, he nodded at the three tiny bodies lying, mauled, and twisted in the dirt nearby.
“One second!” He yelled over the revving engine, and Tom understood.
Amadou took each one of the small corpses and carried them around the corner to the side of the garage where the driver had kept a small vegetable garden, which now lay abandoned, full of dried weeds and rotten maize. Afraid that it might not restart, Tom kept the engine running and waited patiently, thankful that this unfathomable duty had been taken off him. Amadou returned and briefly brushed the red dirt from his pants before getting in.
Neither of them spoke a word as Tom threw the bus in reverse and backed it up the narrow path towards the main road, quickly gaining distance away from the garage and the three small newly-dug graves next to it.
They pulled onto the dusty road, its surface like cobblestones as the bus hobbled over embedded rocks and swerving now and then as Tom struggled to keep its tires aligned with the deep grooves created by the many vehicles and trucks that had traversed it before them. They rode without speaking for a while, with the rumble of the engine, the clanking of the axles, and the occasional piece of gravel ricocheting off the undercarriage providing the only soundscape.
Tom kept the speed steady, keen not to let the growing urgency of his mission get the better of him; a sure recipe for disaster at the best of times, when they might have still been able to summon some sort of help, but a sure-fire way to end up dead in this new world where death was only the beginning of something even more terrifying.
They came to a T-section and finally turned east towards Lake Albert. Here and there, they would come upon a lone creature or a small group staggering along. In most cases, the bus passed without incident as the corpse’s reflexes were too slow and the bus’ bodywork too smooth for them to grab a hold. It was the ones that were in the vehicle’s path that constituted the greater worry for Tom.
Each time another body smacked into the grille, spraying black brains and blood all over the windscreen, the impact sent shudders through the chassis, leaving no doubt that its miles would soon be numbered if they collided with any more of the dead.
“This thing isn’t going to hold together much longer if we keep running into these things.” Tom looked over to Amadou as yet another body bounced off the left fender.
“We have about 50 miles to go.” Amadou estimated.
“That’s a day’s drive at our speed, and provided the road is relatively clear.” He raised an eyebrow and looked back at Tom.
“Not likely.” Tom gritted his teeth, grabbing the wheel tightly as he tried to steer around another group of the dead. “There are more and more of the infected, all moving in this direction. Actually, in the same direction. Not sure what that means, but whenever these things are involved, it can’t be too good.”
Amadou climbed over to one of the second-row passenger benches and started rummaging through his bag. When his hand finally emerged, he was holding a compass. He levelled and turned it a few times until he got his bearings and then squinted as he looked back over his shoulder into the afternoon sun.
“If we continue on this road, we will reach Bunia before nightfall. It’s not exactly a small town, so maybe we can stock up there and get some rest before we move on to the Lake tomorrow?”
It wasn’t as much a question but more of an instruction.
They had next to no food and barely any water, and whatever was left in the tank wouldn’t get them much further anyway. Even Tom, without any knowledge of the local geography, could see that. Amadou positioned himself behind the driver seat and looked through the windshield beyond the wheel.
“Just before we get to Bunia, you will see a turn-off to the right. Take that one. If these things are on the march the way they have been so far, the local militia will have closed off the main road to keep them away.”
He pointed at a series of low-rise structures approaching far off in the distance.
“If we take the turn-off, we can get around that and enter from a different direction, or at least at a place where we draw less attention to ourselves.”
“You seem to know this area rather well,” Tom asked curiously. There seemed to be more to Amadou’s story.
“Let’s just say, we used to do some not-so-official supply runs into the town.”
Even without looking at him, Tom knew Amadou was smiling cheekily, as usual, not divulging more than was absolutely necessary.
The sun set once more as they reached the turn-off just as Amadou had described. Up ahead, perhaps some two miles away, they could see the outline of the town stretching in either direction.
There were few structures that had more than one or two stories, and ordinarily, there would have been few landmarks, if any, to speak of. Now though, several fires were raging throughout the town, and tall twisters of smoke rose into the air, ominously towering over the rest like giant skyscrapers of soot and ash. The one furthest to their right caught Amadou’s attention.
“That one over there.” He pointed in its direction so that Tom could see as well. ”It leads to the local airstrip. I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want you to get your hopes up, but I was hoping it would be intact.”
“It looks like it’s not.” Tom flicked his tongue in disappointment and sharply turned the wheel, deliberately sending a lone creature flying into a maize field next to them. “Damn it. And damn these things.”
“I think it’s time we slowed down.” Amadou tried to sound as calming as possible.
“I can handle it, don’t you worry. I have made it through all this shit so far, so don’t patronize me.” Tom’s nerves were stretched.
As slow as they were, the dead seemed a step ahead wherever they went; the virus traveling at a speed that made their current transport look even more antiquated than it already was.
“That’s not what I mean,” Amadou answered without emotion, ignoring him and instead again pointing into the distance. “I meant, it’s time we slowed right down.”
Tom turned back to face the road and immediately slammed on the breaks, sending Amadou cras
hing into the handrail with a painful thud. The breaks screeched, and the vehicle’s entire weight seemed to momentarily shift onto its front axle, the strain on the chassis, causing it to almost warp in the process. Taking out a number of creatures, the bus sled to a halt sideways, trapping and crushing them beneath its wheels.
Tom peered through the side window at the road ahead. There, less than a mile away, was another dark plume spreading horizontally across the area. Only this one wasn’t the same as the others. There was no fire, and this was no smoke. It was dust kicked up by hundreds of the creatures, all moving as one, shoulder to shoulder in a wall of death and decay. They were on their way into Bunia. They watched the large herd for a minute or two, in awe and fear at the same time as it moved with the kind of robotic, relentless determination, only the recently deceased seemed to possess.
“Looks like this is where we get off the road and head into town,” Tom finally said, turning the steering wheel hard left.
The bus hobbled across corpses, and its tires spun out for a moment as they lost grip in the sea of entrails and human tissue beneath. Neither of the two men dared look back as they finally cleared the tarmac.
“We will have to park this thing and then move on foot,” Amadou explained. “The side roads aren’t made for this kind of transport. We will get stuck, or worse.”
They made the turn and followed what was little more than a path, ordinarily used by schoolchildren and goat herders taking a shortcut in and out of the settlement. A few hundred yards later, the walls of a compound appeared; one of the many pieces of land that had been walled-in by the owners to prevent squatters from taking up residence or locals planting their crops on what for the region was considered prime real estate, especially near the airstrip. Tom pulled the bus alongside the compound, just in front of the small gate set into its perimeter wall, allowing them to access it via the bus’ rooftop while shutting off any other access to the inside.
Having climbed out of the roof hatch, they stood on top of the bus and observed the surrounding area. The majority of creatures had joined their peers on their march to nowhere, and the immediate vicinity seemed eerily devoid of any life altogether. They sat on the edge of the roof and contemplated next steps.
“I’d say we don’t loiter,” Tom opined. The town would be far too unstable for them to stay for long.
“We move in, get what we need if possible, and get back here as quick as we can. An hour, maybe. Tops.” Tom rubbed his chin, trying to estimate how long their supply run would take them. “We can then spend the night in there or in here, doesn’t matter much to me” He nodded towards the empty lot.
“If I remember correctly, there is a store just at the end of this road and a small bar just before you reach the main stretch,” Amadou pointed out.
The low lying roofs seemed increasingly foreboding as the sun set, and dusk wiped colour and detail from the canvas, leaving nothing but dark silhouettes ahead of them.
“Best move while we can still see,” Tom said and jumped down from the safety of their metal perch.
Amadou landed next to him with the grace of a gymnast and the stealth of someone who had made a living off sneaking up on places and people. Crouching low and using the long shadows of the buildings that encroached upon the narrowing path as cover, the two moved silently through the outskirts of Bunia town.
They could see laundry hanging from lines in front of windows and a few stalls where normally fishmongers and other traders would sell their wares to locals; all now empty and deserted, some overturned and goods strewn on the ground, left behind in a hurry as panic had surely rippled through the neighbourhoods as news of the arrival of the shambling dead spread like wildfire.
The good news about the route was that there was little in the way of surprises that could spring at them from either side. Mostly lined with the same kind of plastered perimeter walls they had parked the bus against and only the occasional gate interrupting the otherwise seamless surfaces, it was like walking through a corridor. The bad news was that any threat up ahead or behind could easily trap them anywhere along the way, a thought that increasingly bothered Tom.
“How much further do we have to go?” He whispered impatiently as Amadou scouted ahead of him.
“You can’t see it because of a slight bend ahead, but we are almost there.” Amadou sounded almost excited.
The opportunity to visit an actual town and be free from the rebels even for a few hours had been the highlight of his existence over the years. As they got closer, he remembered more and more about the area. Within a few more anxious minutes, Tom found himself pleasantly surprised as the two, having successfully sled open an unlocked shutter, entered a small local bar, just as Amadou had promised.
The front entrance consisted of nothing more than large metal shutters which had been closed but, for some reason, had remained unlocked, and although they did not exactly provide them with complete safety, they at least kept them out of sight. There was a banged-up cooler in which several cans of beer still swam in now lukewarm water. A toppled rack of bar snacks, most of its contents strewn over the floor, lay behind the bar improvised from old barrels and a singular warped plank of wood.
Tom retrieved two beers and tossed one to Amadou before taking a seat on the cooler and inspecting the rest of the interior.
“Love what they did with the place.” He smiled and toasted Amadou, before emptying the can in a few large gulps.
Amadou meanwhile took a small sip and started moving around, peering at the outside through the small gaps in the shutters protecting the ramshackle space.
“I don’t see much happening out there,” he whispered. “Maybe two or three of these things staggering around across the road, but this side seems clear.”
Satisfied with what he had observed, he turned back and shook his head. Tom was busy stuffing a couple more cans into the side pockets of his cargo pants.
“What?” Tom said innocently. ”Can’t let a good thing go to waste!”
They decided they would exit the way they had entered and then proceed to the corner instead of taking the risk of a squeaky opening shutter drawing unnecessary attention to their presence. Now almost at the main road, Amadou turned and hushed.
”We are about 50 yards from a shop to our right. If we stay low and stay close to the storefronts, we should be fine. There aren’t many of them by the look of it.” Amadou assured, and Tom couldn’t help but wonder whether the Congolese was reassuring himself more than anything as he jogged his memory.
The two readied themselves for the short sprint ahead. Amadou was the first to leave their position, but no sooner had he rounded the corner, he rebounded, almost catapulted back by some unseen force. Tom brought up one arm, preventing yet another tumble and then stepped aside while supporting Amadou with the other.
He didn’t need to look long for what had caused the sudden stop. The short, pudgy creature came wobbling around the bend, its arms already outstretched and almost gaining a grip on a panicked Amadou who was struggling to reverse away from it. What at some stage had been a heavy-set woman, was now little more than a heap of rotting blubber in sweat-stained rags, her large shredded breasts reduced to torn sacks loosely flapping over what once had been a round belly. Ripped open and ribs showing, it gaped like a giant maw. Its stench was overpowering, and Tom wondered instantly why they hadn’t smelled it coming. Its teeth gnashed, and black spittle dripped from the corner of its mouth as it leaned forward in an effort to get closer to its meal. With the creature’s focus completely on Amadou, Tom circled around it and into the open street until he was directly behind the corpse. Planting the tip of his knife at the bottom of the folds of the woman’s bullish neck, Tom waited a split second until she was perfectly aligned with the blade. He thrust it deep into the sweet spot, upward just between the two vertical tendons that run parallel to each other at the base of the skull.
There was no sound as the floppy form fell forward onto the broken sidewa
lk. Its belly flaps connected with the concrete with a slap and squish and frothy bubbles escaped the squashed intestines, reeking fluids spilling in a large puddle beneath her.
“Guess I’ll go first now?” Tom winked.
Amadou looked visibly shaken. He thanked their maker as the rest of the street was free of any further threats, and the two continued the short journey without interruption. He had never seen Amadou stressed. Now huffing and puffing, his hands shook as he struggled to keep up. It had been a call to close for comfort.
As they had expected, the small supermarket had been looted to a large extent, but whoever had broken in had been in such a hurry that a good part of its stores had remained intact. Tom stood watch, and Amadou rummaged through the various boxes and shelves, placing bits and pieces into his bag virtually at random. Tom was dying to have a look for himself but knew that one of them would need to keep eyes on. His French was barely good enough to say ‘hello,’ and ‘good-bye,’ but nowhere sufficient to read labels and identify useful things merely by packaging.
He tossed his bag over as Amadou’s quickly filled with goods. Soon Tom’s bag, too, was brimming with all manner of things he had no idea what they were. They dropped down briefly. Hearing the roar of a large engine, they feared it heralded the arrival of troops, but then it soon trailed off again into the distance. The crackle of fires, crunching glass, and the occasional moan of the dead were the only noises now.
It was dark by the time the last item found its way into their bags, expertly packed by Amadou, whose looting and pillaging skills, Tom began to think, would place them at a distinct advantage no matter what was to come. Stealthily and without any further encounters, they returned to the bus, the way back seeming much shorter than the way there, something that for some reason seemed to apply to virtually all round-trips, no matter where.
They ripped the lining from some of the seats in the bus and retrieved the foam rubber cushions, creating make-shift beds with them in the centre aisle. The thought of dismantling such a shining example of vintage vehicle maintenance had originally bothered Tom, but in the end, the prospect of sleeping on something other than rocks and the irony of trying to preserve antiquity when everything else around them was falling apart, had won the argument.
The Virophage Chronicles (Book 1): Dead Hemisphere Page 14