It felt good, too, that he seemed to actually want to spend time with me, and there were times it seemed it wasn’t just because we were stuck together. As I’ve said before, though, it’s not the time or the place for that. I had no illusions about where this all might lead, and I knew there was little chance we would make it out of this mess alive.
We had to focus on survival, and right now, I needed to focus on shelter for the night. “Are you thinking it will take days? A week?”
Kyle’s eyebrows scrunched as he considered my questions and stooped to a crouch, stepping forward with knees bent to avoid a low-hanging branch. Each of us, in turn, did the same.
“Okay, so if that’s too much to figure out for now,” I inserted into his thoughts, “how far do you think we should walk before sunset?”
Kyle gave my hand a gentle squeeze. He skimmed the countryside one more time and fixed on the scalloped silhouette of the hills in the distance before speaking. “Why? Do you need to stop for a rest?”
“No, not me. I was just thinking. We need a plan for tonight. So, can you estimate it so we can plan how long this is going to take?” I didn’t say aloud that I worried about how we would survive more than a day or two with limited supplies and not knowing what conditions we might find ahead. I understood why we couldn’t just drive, but a nagging fear that we needed to make better time just wouldn’t subside. Even though I knew each step brought us closer to Canada, and our chance to escape, it also took us one pace further away from the van, and the few seemingly abandoned farmhouses we’d passed.
“I’m not sure,” Kyle answered, leaning toward me. In that moment of distraction, a thorn grazed his arm, gouging a line of tiny rips in his flesh. He ignored the bright red droplets forming up and pulled the branch aside for me to pass. “We might reach the border in one or two hundred miles,” he answered.
“Dude, that’s kind of a wide range,” Jordan inserted himself into the conversation. “Can you narrow that down a bit?”
Kyle’s jaw tensed.
In the short time we’d been together, I’d learned to read Kyle’s every nuance. I felt we were all learning to do that with each other. Living under constant mortal threat must do that to a person. It was probably a survival instinct, a vestige of our shared, primordial origins, where survival depended on silent communication.
“What is it?” I asked him.
Kyle stopped walking and turned to face Verna and Jordan, who were still treading along behind us. “Estimating the distance isn’t that simple,” he explained. “Since we’re on foot and not following a highway route, I can only guess.” His mouth hung open for a moment before closing, and I sensed he had more to say, but was uncertain whether to share it.
“Is there something you’re not telling us?” Verna stepped forward, picking up on the same vibe. She planted her fists on her ample hips. I could tell from her posture; the gesture was more to relieve pressure from her leg than one of anger or expectation.
Kyle shook his head. “No, I’m not keeping anything from you. It’s just that there’ll be situations where we’ll have to veer off course to avoid the risk of being seen, or to walk around a landform. We can’t know exactly what lies ahead on our path. If there are houses, we may or may not be able to approach them. Even if we find uninfected people who aren’t hostile, we can’t risk interacting with them, because they may have been alerted to watch for fugitives. We might raise suspicion.” He jerked his head toward the horizon. “Those hills might involve a more strenuous hike than we can manage. We may have to go around.”
Jordan gestured toward the rolling mounds in the distance. “Well, they’re not the Alps, so I think we can take them.”
I wasn’t so sure. “How are you holding up, Verna? And don’t be heroic. I need a straight answer.”
“I’m doing okay,” she answered, her face flushed and cheeks moist with perspiration, despite the cold. “It’s painful, sure, but it’s less likely to get worse, now that I have the knee brace.”
“That’s the only good thing that came out of the safe zone,” Jordan tossed out with a sneer.
“Agreed,” I added. “So, how much further do you think you can walk?”
“I don’t know. As long as we keep this pace, I might be able to continue for a few more hours. The key here is avoiding having any other accidents. I can handle the pain. That’s not an issue. I just need to watch for swelling, if that happens, I’ll have to elevate the leg.”
“Who knew you were such a tough lady?” Jordan smiled at her. “Get out of here with your bad self.” He held up an expectant fist in the air.
Verna shot him a wary side-eye and then met his clenched fingers with hers, in a motion that was surprisingly less awkward than I expected.
“I wasn’t always just a school nurse, you know,” she informed us. “I did several years in the Peace Corps in Haiti, in the 90s, around the Aristide coup.”
Kyle’s eyes widened, and he gave a nod of admiration.
“I wasn’t combat-trained, of course,” Verna continued, “but I was involved in hostile situations, working within lands held by the resistance. Like now, there was no time for nursing one’s own injuries. People’s lives depended on you being where you needed to be when necessary, and being able to move fast at a moment’s notice.”
“I’m impressed,” I admitted, and I was. The gal had a past. “Remember, though, you don’t have to overdo it.”
“Exactly,” Kyle agreed.
“Well, we can’t sit around on our laurels, either,” Verna countered. She shifted and did a pretty good job of almost concealing a slight grimace.
“Point taken,” Kyle acknowledged. “So, let’s say we continue on for two more hours. At this pace, we’ll cover about five miles,” he surmised as he ticked off calculations on his fingers and glanced at his watch.
We continued walking toward Michigan, where we would seek shelter as we determined the safest way to cross into Canada. The lack of a concrete plan made me nervous. I’d never imagined I would ever be in such a position, and the fact I couldn’t plan and control for the unknowns tormented my gut. Since none of us had ever attempted an illegal border crossing, we could only piece together a plan based on what we thought we knew about the process. During his military service, Kyle had ventured into foreign countries, but, well, those circumstances were obviously different. The only thing we knew for sure was that we needed a stealth entry, arousing as little attention as possible.
Getting into Canada wouldn’t be especially easy under any normal circumstances, and a zombie apocalypse was anything but ordinary. Security had most likely been beefed up because of the viral outbreak. If we chanced going through official crossings, we’d need fake identification and may need to split up to avoid suspicion. Realistically, that would be hard to pull off. With no cash for IDs, and no useful contacts to acquire such documents, our chances of making a successful crossing were slim.
We also considered hiding out while just one person crossed over. That person could explain the situation to the authorities and then send for the rest of us. The final option would be to attempt entry through one of the less populated areas. There would be sensors and drones, of course, and eventually, we would be caught. The hardest part would be convincing the authorities that we needed asylum. We had no way of knowing whether the evidence we carried would be strong enough to compel Canadian authorities to accept us. No matter how we plotted it out, we knew there was a good chance we would be caught, detained, and potentially sent back to the states, where we could be taken into custody.
We still had a long way to travel on foot, and although we carried some food and supplies, none of us really knew what loomed before us. The weather was getting colder, and at any time, rain or early snow could develop. We believed the possibility of encountering zombies in this sector was low because the area wasn’t densely populated, but we had to stay on guard just the same.
Kyle led our group in a single-file line through a h
eavily wooded stretch of terrain. Verna and Jordan followed him. I covered the rear. With Verna’s knee still recovering and Jordan still weak from his torturous experience in the so-called safe zone, our progress was slow.
We’d left our escape vehicle behind, burned out, with four zombie corpses inside it. Perhaps if the authorities found it, they’d believe we were dead and wouldn’t come after us, but we couldn’t just assume that would work. We hoped our tactic could buy us some time, and with luck, it would be enough for us to escape.
On the other hand, by now, the BioGenetics corporation, and those they’d co-opted in the military, could have conducted tests on the zombie corpses we’d left behind. If they were able to collect viable DNA samples from the burned-out truck, they could compare them to the blood samples they’d taken from each of us upon our arrival in the safe zone. They would know we were still alive, and they’d come for us. Not knowing how long we had, it was best to keep moving.
By midday, my feet were getting sore, and a bitter wind chilled me to the bone. It was likely that Verna and Jordan were suffering, too, but to their credit, no one complained. Everyone but Kyle still wore the thin-soled slippers issued at the military compound. He still wore the boots he’d been issued.
With every step, roots, bumps, and stones curtailed efficient movement. A sharp pain stabbed my instep. I stumbled forward and landed on my knees, holding my breath to keep from crying out. I couldn’t yell, because it might give away our location should the military or police be in the area.
Just ahead of me, Verna stopped and turned at the noise I’d made when I fell. “Are you okay, Casey?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“Yeah,” I answered, whispering. “I just stepped on a rock. These shoes are so thin.”
“Do you want me to look at it?” Always the nurse, Verna was ever-ready to step into her helping mode.
“No, it will be fine.” I laid down my gun and took off the shoe. A red indentation was already forming on the bottom of my foot. It hurt like hell, but I couldn’t let this slow us down. We were fugitives now, not just for breaking out of the safe zone and blowing up the truck, but also for what we knew. We had to keep moving, to get the evidence we had out of the country and into the hands of any authorities who could help. We had proof that BioGenetics, the biochemical weapons manufacturer, was deliberately infecting human evacuees with their engineered virus as part of their twisted experimentation.
If we were captured in the states, I had no doubt we’d be killed. Our only hope was to make it out of the country. In Canada, we hoped to expose BioGenetics for what they were doing. We had to seek justice for the innocent, defenseless people they deliberately infected and then viciously mutilated in their research. Mostly, I wanted vindication for Harley, my infected friend, who we’d been forced to euthanize to save her from the corporation’s experiments.
As I inspected the mark on my foot, looking for any sign of broken skin, the thought of Harley sent pangs of guilt and loss through my heart. I imagined a knife to the chest might hurt the same way. Remembering Harley’s suffering was physically painful for me, and I doubted I would ever heal from knowing we had made the decision to euthanize her. I’d live with that for the rest of my days.
Harley was such a meek and gentle person, my closest friend, and I prayed if there was a Heaven that she was there. I wasn’t especially religious. I mean, I believed in God and all, but I wasn’t sure whether there really was an afterlife. For Harley’s sake, I kind of hoped there would be. I liked the idea of her being whole and healthy again, somewhere on the other side, but hope was in short supply.
I shook out my shoe, and a few stray bits of gravel tumbled onto the dirt. The only positive thing we could legitimately hope for was that the news we’d received, in a radio message on a military frequency, was accurate. A serum had been developed that was showing some success in treating the infected. They were manufacturing the medication and would begin distributing it within a week. There was hope for many, at least.
If only a cure had been developed before the explosion that unleashed the virus, so many would have been saved. I guess that is just the way BioGenetics operated. They seemed to have had no contingency plan. The company’s chief interest was in developing genetically-engineered biological agents to kill; not cure. It was clear to me they hadn’t prepared for the possibility that their manufactured virus could mutate and turn people into flesh-eating zombies. Initially, the virus was airborne, infecting anyone who breathed in the contaminated gas. Then, it spread as the zombies attacked. The disease infected people through contact with the undead carriers’ bodily fluids.
I gave my sock several hard flicks to dislodge any small debris stuck in the fibers and shook my head at my own thoughts. You would think the military would have developed an antidote or a vaccine or whatever, even if only to protect their own soldiers. I inspected my injury and was glad to see my skin hadn’t been punctured, but a deep red depression marked the tissues of my inner arch.
“That must have hurt,” Kyle commented as he moved closer and looked at my foot. His eyes met mine and held steady. My stomach gave an involuntary lurch, the kind of sensation you get when you miss a step on a staircase. I willed the feeling away.
“Glad you were able to stay quiet. Good job, trooper.” Kyle patted my shoulder and flashed a smile before resuming his soldier persona. “Remember, everyone, we’re not in the clear yet. From here on out, if we’re attacked by zombies, we’ll have to fight them off by hand. Do not discharge your weapons, or we’ll be heard.”
“Then why are we packing them at all?” Jordan asked, gesturing to the rifle slung across his back. “We could have ditched them and brought along more food.”
“Right,” Verna agreed. “They’re unnecessary weight if we can’t use them.”
I studied their faces. “We can use them as a club,” I reminded them. “Their heaviness is a strength, not a liability. Swinging a heavy weapon increases the force of your strike. There’s no substitute for cold, hard steel for knocking zombies off the map.”
“Exactly,” Kyle affirmed, his eyes glinting in the sun. “You can kick the bastards, and you can hit them with anything you can get your hands on, as well. A gunshot will be heard for miles. So just don’t fire, or the army will be onto us. Only discharge your weapon in a last-resort situation,” he instructed. “Preventing imminent death is the only acceptable circumstance to take a shot.”
I brimmed my forehead with the back of my hand and peered at the sun, which was already past the mid-day point. Days had been getting shorter, and now the loss of daylight was a higher risk than ever. “Let’s keep moving,” I told them. “It will be dark before long.”
“Casey’s right. We need to get past the known boundaries of the infected zone. The sooner we’re out of here, the better,” Verna added.
I got up, and we continued walking. We resumed our positions, with Kyle leading and me bringing up the rear. It was quiet in the woods, and that made me feel a little more secure. If zombies were around, we would most likely hear them. Their labored, raspy breathing and horrible screams were unmistakable.
***
Over the next few hours, as we continued our northeastern route, we crossed over a deserted interstate, but saw no more farmhouses, or buildings of any kind, for that matter. The nagging realization that we might have to sleep outside wore away any threads of hope I had for a secure shelter to spend the night. I looked toward the west and noticed the sun was well past its midday arc. The first brushstrokes of violet and red had begun to appear in the west.
At one point, I might have considered the sunset beautiful, but now it was only another marker of time, signaling the greater potential for zombies. Again, the sun glinted off evening dew settling on leaves, casting flickers of red, green, and blue.
The occasional vivid pink flicker shone in the distance and brought Harley into my thoughts. She remained there, really, just beneath my consciousness, so close that any small
reminder awakened new waves of grief and regret. Memories of Derek were usually not far behind. It was as if one loss triggered another and another. I focused on the light, and if I let my imagination take over, I could almost see shades resembling my foster brother’s amber-gold strands of hair. I felt myself smiling as I imagined their spirits out there frolicking in the fields. In this daydream, though, Harley wasn’t infected. Derek was healthy, and his behavior was closer to normal. They both were well, and none of this insane hell had ever occurred. I felt my throat tighten,
“Hey, you okay—?”
I jerked with a startle as Kyle’s hushed voice whispered close to my ear. I whipped around to look at him and smacked his nose with a hard crack. I hadn’t noticed he’d left his position at the front of the line, apparently to come back and check on me. Glancing around, I saw Verna and Jordan backtracking toward us. I guess I’d been so lost in my thoughts I’d allowed them to get way ahead.
“Geez!” Kyle yelped, cupping his nose with his free hand.
I recoiled in embarrassment as I clapped my palm to my temple. It hurt. Bad. I knew Kyle had to be in pain, too. “I’m sorry. You okay?”
He pulled his hand away from his nose and cocked an eyebrow at me. “Jumpy, eh?” A trickle of blood spilled from his nostrils.
“Oh, no, what if I broke it?”
Kyle snickered and shook his head. “If that were the case, I’m sure it would hurt worse than it does.”
“It’s unlikely,” Verna agreed, as she reached us. “You didn’t hit him that hard. It’s easy to cause a nosebleed with just a minor impact.”
Jordan’s head bobbed in agreement. “Been there,” he agreed.
The Viral Series (Book 2): Viral Storm Page 6