The deer whipped its head back and forth, arching its back. It struggled against Harley, emitting bleating squeals and fighting against her attack.
Somewhere in the back of Harley’s mind, or perhaps lodged deep within what fragment of DNA that still retained its humanity, an inkling of sadness rose to her awareness. It vanished as her hunger demanded satisfaction. It would not be ignored. She grasped the deer’s head with one hand and flicked it off in one swift motion. The animal’s carcass hadn’t yet stopped spasming when Harley lowered her mouth to the creature’s neck and began to feed.
***
When Harley finished eating, only half of the deer’s body remained intact. Her need for sustenance fulfilled, the teen zombie lifted the hindquarters onto her shoulder and ran back to the tree where Tamra still remained on the ground, in the same curled-up position. Harley dropped the meat at her feet, just out of Tamra’s reach.
Tamra’s head barely turned, and an inflamed eye tilted toward Harley, then to the meat, and back again. She remained still, and her frame quivered under the early evening sun.
Harley tilted her head and looked at her. “Eeeeat,” she commanded in a guttural grunt.
Tamra rolled onto all fours, and, keeping her body low, she scooted toward the remains. She glanced up and cowered as she crept slowly forward.
Harley lunged at her, and Tamra shrank backward. Her terrified shrieks echoed across the rolling hills.
Harley smiled, and something close to laughter gurgled from her chest. Good dog. “Eeeeat,” she instructed again, before walking away.
While Tamra dove into the carcass, Harley walked to the top of the ridge and looked into the distance, sniffing and searching for any sign of the direction her friends had gone. Still nothing. Visions of Casey flashed through what was left of Harley’s conscious thought. She could see her in her mind’s eye at her house, and Jordan was there with Matt. And Derek. She raised her nose and sniffed before opening her mouth to draw in air. Amid the microscopic particles of tree and wildflower spore that wafted over the sensitive glands in the back of her throat, she detected the distinctive signatures of the highway, carrying on the prevailing winds. It would lead her and Tamra to Casey’s home.
Chapter 7
Casey
A familiar, painful tightness formed in my chest as I squinted into the distance until Jordan and Verna were out of sight. It was a long moment before the ache subsided, and I could finally speak.
“So, what now, soldier?” I asked Kyle. My words were dull and chunky from my swollen lips and stuffy nose. I sniffed and wiped the fresh wave of tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand.
“We find a way to get to the army depot. We’ve got to get that serum.” Kyle’s voice broke. He looked away, and I noticed his jawline flexing with tension. Raising his arm, he gestured toward the top of the next hill. “Let’s get to that ridge so we can see what’s ahead and plan the best route.”
We turned and back-tracked, lumbering up the slope in a westerly direction along the northern bank of the river. As we hiked, disturbing thoughts of everything that could go wrong with our plan swam through my brain. Doubt crept into my mind as I considered just how difficult it would be for us to get into the depot facility without being identified. After about an hour into the trek, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to say something.
“Kyle, we can’t just walk in there. Remember, they took our photos for identification back at the compound. They’ve probably uploaded the pictures and put them in some kind of database. For all we know, every military facility in the country could have them by now. What will we do if they recognize us?”
Kyle worked his way through a tight space between two trees overgrown in thorn bushes. He pulled the branches back with him as he stepped over a fallen tree. “Yeah,” he agreed as he turned and offered me his hand. I hesitated, unsure I would ever get used to someone offering me help all the time.
“C’mon, Casey, it’s okay to let someone help you sometimes, especially when your arm is inflamed.” He reached further toward me.
A curious collage of feelings swept over me. I felt foolish and weak for needing help, appreciative of Kyle’s gesture, and annoyed that he was right. My arm pulsed with pain now, and over the last hour, I’d become aware of growing fatigue. Feeling vulnerable wasn’t part of my modus operandi. Relying on others for help wasn’t a luxury I’d enjoyed in life and, in fact, I’d come to avoid it altogether. Reluctantly, I took his hand and stepped over the tree trunk. He caught me in his arms and took advantage of the opportunity by holding me a bit longer than was necessary. “Yeah, about that,” I said. “I’m not likely to change that part of me. I’m not wired that way. And another thing, just because you kissed me back there…I don’t want either of us having unrealistic hopes about the future.”
“Seriously, Casey? We’re both carrying the virus right now, and you think I have hope for the future? I get that you’re worried. I understand why you feel the way you do, but all we really have is right now. It’s all we may ever have.”
“Point taken,” I responded. Kyle was right. This was it, and with each passing minute, I felt my body getting weaker. My bones were beginning to ache the way they do at the onset of the flu. We didn’t know how long we had before the virus took us down, or whether we had a prayer of reaching the depot in time to get the cure before we changed. Who knew if the treatment would even work on us? We had to consider our alternatives if the worst-case scenario occurred. “Kyle, both of us have to be emotionally prepared for what we might have to do.”
A questioning arch formed across Kyle’s brow. “Meaning what?”
“If either of us turns before we can get to the depot—.”
“That’s not going to happen,” he interrupted.
“Stop it. Don’t you see, you’re already letting your emotion cloud your judgment? I get the whole think positive philosophy, but we have to be prepared. Kyle, if I turn before we can get there, you have to kill me. I can’t go on worrying about what I might do to someone else. I don’t want to go on if I can’t be sure you’ll do what I ask.”
I felt Kyle’s body stiffen, and he gave a sharp inhale. He pulled me closer and buried his face in my hair. He began to rock me slowly back and forth.
“Okay, Casey,” he whispered, his lips close to my ear. “It would destroy me to hurt you, but if that’s what you really want, I’ll do it, and then kill myself, too. I wouldn’t want to deal with this anymore; not without you.”
How odd it seemed, being relieved that he agreed to kill me. In the strangest of ways, his promise made me feel closer to him. I slid my arms around his waist and fanned my fingers across the tight muscles of his lower back. The contrasting temperature of his body beneath my fingertips registered somewhere deep in my brain. He felt cool to my touch. I must be getting a fever. The virus was strengthening. I relaxed my embrace. “Let’s keep moving,” I suggested. “We may not have much time.”
Kyle nodded, and we continued our ascent up the hillside. With each step, movement became more difficult for me. It was as if I were walking against the currents in an endless pool, like the one we had at my old high school. My muscles felt strained with every step. Kyle was staying close beside me, and I could tell he was slowing his pace for me. When we reached the top, I turned to him. “You were right, though,” I said. “We need to think about disguising ourselves.”
He nodded, reached out, and touched my hair. He ran his fingers through the cascade of long, blonde curls that hung to the middle of my back. “It’s a shame this might have to go. It makes you stand out. You should cut it, and maybe even color it, if we can get what we need to do it.”
“We should do something to yours, too,” I told him, though I didn’t know what. Fortunately, we hadn’t been in the safe zone long enough for Kyle to get a military buzz. Otherwise, he would look too much like a soldier, and that would be difficult to conceal. Instead, his thick, sandy hair hung well below the collar of his t-s
hirt. Maybe a darker shade would help prevent him from being recognized.
“We definitely need different things to wear. I’m not as cold as I was,” I said, “but it can’t be good for us to continue on with damp clothes.”
“Yeah, me, too. Got a little wet back there.” Kyle was still wearing military fatigues, and I wore the khaki scrub pants issued at the safe zone, along with a touristy t-shirt from the truck stop.
Safe zone. The thought made me laugh bitterly to myself. We’d been so hopeful when we heard the army had a place where we could take refuge from the zombie outbreak. We couldn’t have imagined the horror we found when we realized we’d been trapped there and were being held captive in BioGenetics’s research concentration camp. Now, here we were, forced to walk right back into their clutches. Things were getting worse.
***
By early evening, my feet ached with every step, and we’d reached the outskirts of the Tri-State Army Depot. Although I knew the temperature was dropping as the sun sank lower in the western sky, I wasn’t cold at all. In fact, I was burning up and sweating. I could tell that Kyle, on the other hand, was uncomfortably cold. He shivered visibly as we walked.
We couldn’t stop to rest, though, because neither of us knew how long we had before the virus took us both down. Over the last month, we’d learned the disease was unpredictable. In some people, it caused an outbreak of bleeding sores within hours. In others, it took days. Eventually, the victim would succumb to a death-like state, while the genetically engineered virus incubated and took over. The body would then reanimate, I guess. That was the best word I could think of to describe it. The infected dead would come back to life, even as they decomposed. The cycle continued like that. Death, regeneration, and death again.
We kept our eyes open for any signs of life, human or zombie. That meant we had to be prepared for anything. We weren’t sure why, but the viral strain was clearly either mutating, or it affected some differently than others. Some were able to move fast, and others walked in a slow, stumbling shuffle. Some were impossibly strong, while others were weak. I felt the most worrisome mutations involved intelligence. Some zombies were so helpless they couldn’t even process how to move around effectively in their environments. If they ran into a wall, they might just stop there and stare at it, or keep running into it. Others appeared to retain at least some of the intelligence they’d had as normal living humans and could be seen manipulating objects around them in ways that suggested they were thinking.
Regardless of how the disease coursed through us, if we kept walking, we had a better chance of making it to the depot. If we didn’t make it, the change was inevitable. The horrible existence of being not quite dead and not quite alive, while feeding on human flesh…I couldn’t bear it.
The nagging guilt that Kyle was infected because of his feelings for me kept creeping into my consciousness. Still, it was oddly comforting to have a plan, even if it meant death for both of us.
A gas station and convenience store loomed ahead at the side of the highway that led to the depot. As we watched the building from a distance, under cover of the woods, a car drove up to the store, and two individuals got out. One was holding what appeared to be a pistol, and he stood guard over the vehicle while the other one went to the entrance. After a few seconds, someone opened the door, and the individual went inside. The door closed behind him.
“You think they’re operating?” I asked. It excited and unnerved me. The possibility there was some sign of civilization still in existence gave me hope. It also worried me. Who knew what the people inside were like, and whether or not they’d help us?
“He’s coming back out,” Kyle said. The man exited the building, and he carried two bags in his hands. “Guess they might be selling supplies.” As the two got back into their vehicle and drove off, Kyle turned and looked at me. A shadow of concern crossed his face. “You should stay here, and I’ll go see what I can find out. I need to get some dressings for that bite, and maybe I can talk them into letting me use one of those cars. Do you feel like eating?”
“Not really,” I answered. In fact, my stomach was starting to feel queasy, but I didn’t want to admit this to Kyle, or to myself.
“No offense, but I think you’re better off waiting here because you’re starting to look pale. They may not let me in if they see I’m with an infected person, so you can wait. I’ll just go in, get the hair dye—.”
“I think we need a different plan,” I said, cutting him off.
“Why?”
“Well, when we talked about hair dye, I thought we’d find an abandoned store. Don’t you think it will look suspicious if you go in there to buy that? Who thinks of dying their hair in an apocalypse, other than someone trying to hide?”
“So, what do we do then?”
“Not sure. We may just want to focus on clothes right now. We’ll cut my hair and ditch the color idea for now.”
I stepped back into the woods, where I hid behind a stand of trees and underbrush while Kyle made his way to the store.
***
I awoke to the sound of a car door slamming. My rifle slid off my lap as I jerked to attention. How did I let myself fall asleep? I was so exhausted, and my body shuddered in the cold evening air. Peering around the tree I sat against, I saw Kyle coming toward me. He carried a plastic bag and some folded clothing.
“Hey, let’s get this wound rebandaged, and get to the car,” he said. “You look like you’re freezing.” He dropped the bag and clothing to the ground and knelt beside me. He reached for my arm and unfastened the knotted strip of cotton I’d used to make the bandage, carefully peeling the wrap away from my skin. It was saturated with blood and, underneath it, the site was still oozing. The flesh around the bite was swollen and inflamed. Kyle pulled a packet of antiseptic wipes from the bag and dabbed my arm. Some parts stung on contact, and others just felt numb, as if my nerves weren’t functioning at all. He reached into the bag and withdrew a bandana, Kyle folded it in half on the diagonal to form a large triangle, then rolled the cloth into a long strip.
“This is all they had, but it will work until we get to the depot,” Kyle explained. Holding the thickest part of the strip over the wound, he applied pressure and wrapped it around my upper arm. The loose ends were tied into a knot. “We should probably go ahead and cut your hair before we get in the car, just in case we’re seen,” he suggested as he worked.
I nodded in agreement and rummaged through my pack and found a pocket knife. I wouldn’t be setting any fashion standards with a cut from this, but it would get the job done. Handing the knife to Kyle, I shrugged. “Guess you should to this. I can’t see the back.” I stood up to make it easier, and Kyle rose to his feet.
Kyle swiveled the most prominent blade from its casing with a snap, tilted his head, and smiled. “Here goes. It won’t be perfect.” Stepping behind me, he ran his fingers through my hair and divided it into sections.
“I’ve given up on perfection in life.” It was true, and perfection wasn’t the only thing I felt like giving up on. As Kyle worked, it crossed my mind how much I used to take for granted. Now, something as simple as a haircut had become difficult to manage. Gentle tugs on my hair, followed by long, wavy strands falling to the ground, signaled that Kyle had settled on a strategy. As my curls landed softly in the weeds, I hoped this would be enough of a change for me to blend into the crowd. If they didn’t realize who I was, perhaps we could get in, get the vaccine, and get out fast. Even if things went well, I didn’t want to linger. My goal was to reconnect with Jordan and Verna as soon as possible.
Kyle finished cutting, reached down, and scooped up the pile of my hair with his hands. He kneaded the gold-toned strands in his fingers and stared at them for a moment with a pensive look in his eyes. Stepping further into the woods, Kyle buried the trimmings beneath a layer of leaves and twigs. “Wouldn’t want anyone driving by, or walking through here, to see it and get suspicious,” he explained.
Th
e clothing he’d brought from the store were some surprisingly decent navy-blue sweats sporting gold and white Purdue logos. Thankful to get out of my damp clothes, I took my pair and headed for the bushes to change, as did Kyle. We stuffed our previous attire beneath the underbrush. Unfortunately, I was still stuck with the safe zone-issued slippers, but they would have to do for now.
“We should get going. I’ll drive,” I announced. We gathered our packs and guns and walked to the car.
“Are you sure you feel like it? Can you manage with that shoulder?” he asked.
“Yes.” My tone was decisive. “I want to drive at least one more time while I still can.”
I walked around the car and slid into the driver’s seat. Kyle tossed me the keys as he climbed into the passenger side. My newly shorn self looked back at me from the rearview mirror. Kyle had managed a blunt, choppy approximation of a pixie style. The effect was surreal. After having long locks for so many years, I felt like I was looking at a stranger. The overall change gave me the appearance of someone much older, more mature, and worn out. I’d lost weight over the last month, like most of us had, and my nose, chin, and cheekbones had taken on a more angular quality. My face was decidedly more rawboned, there was little of my former self in my reflection. I looked like an older, low-maintenance version of my mother. The change was so drastic that even my friends might not recognize me in a crowd.
“You’ll need to give me directions,” I said.
The Viral Series (Book 2): Viral Storm Page 10