The Reaper Virus (37 page)

“I’d be cutting it close,” I said in the most
confident voice I could muster, “but I think we’re close enough
where you’d catch most of the shot.”

“I… I could shoot you just as easy,” he
started to say but was cut off by the concerned words of the girl
behind us.

She crept closer, disregarding the sight of
two pointed weapons. “Dad, what’s going on?!
Who
is this
? Mom sent me to bring you inside…”

His posture visibly dropped from a sigh. The
gun remained pointed at my person. “Hon’ just go back in! I’ll be
there in a minute.”

“But, Dad…” she persisted.

I saw the chance to interject. “Is this your
daughter? What is she, around eight?”

He looked angered by this. “That’s none of
your fucking concern, Officer!”

My arms ached. The short-barreled shotgun may
as well have weighed a hundred pounds. Both the fading light and my
waning strength remind me that this could not continue.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, man. I know
she is your daughter. My son is probably about the same age... he
is waiting a few miles in that direction.” I pointed west, up Hull
Street. His rifle lowered a few inches. It took everything just to
hold my weapon firmly enough to convey the point. “My son, daughter
and wife are all waiting for me to get home. I’ve been fighting my
way to get there for over two days now. I’m tired and injured. Not
to mention – I’m really fucking tired of killing things. If I fire
this gun, I’ll kill you and probably injure your girl. With all the
undead bastards tearing this world apart I’d really hate to take
out someone still capable of knowing
I
was
the last thing they saw.”

The rifle lowered and he took off his hat.
His eyes told the story of a man who had fought just as I had. This
stranger was willing to do anything to protect his family. I
lowered the shotgun to the level of my handlebars. The second I
dropped the gun his daughter ran up and grabbed the man’s hand.
Everything happened to the backdrop of my belabored pulse.

“Hon’, just go back in the library,” the
stranger said down to his daughter. “Tell Mom I’ll be inside in a
minute.” She said nothing back and jogged back to the building.

“You guys holed up in the library? Any other
people with you?” I asked both out of curiosity and to fill the
silent void.

He hesitated but answered. “Yeah we’re set up
alright for now. It’s me, my wife, our three kids and another
family of three.”

I tucked the shotgun back in my secured pack.
He moved the rifle for a second, unsure of my intentions. Once
seeing that I had no intention to kill him, he set the rifle atop
the library’s sign. “Well, I don’t mean any of you harm and I think
the infected get quicker at night, although I’ve never seen it up
close. If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to keep going
west.”

The stranger bent down to retrieve a bag
hidden in the bushes. I scrutinized his actions carefully.

“They are quick fuckers at night,” he said.
“Don’t get too close. I saw one of them get my neighbor that way
before we left to come here.” He slung the rifle over his shoulder.
“I ain’t gonna stop you. Sorry this happened. Sorry this whole
fucking thing has happened. I just… I thought you might be comin’
for my people or somethin’.”

“Don’t worry about it. I probably would have
done the same thing. After everything that has happened… how can I
judge?” My words accompanied the rattling sound of the bike
changing gears. I began to pedal away.

“Good luck getting home. Don’t tell any of
your cop friends I’m squattin’ in La Prade!” He shouted past the
quickly forming distance between us.

I laughed and yelled back. “As long as you
don’t tell them I stole this bike!” The sound of the stranger’s
cackle faded with every foot.

1628 hours:

Adrenaline pushed me faster. Having a gun pointed at
you isn’t a great experience, but can be a nice propellant up
hills. I quietly passed the fortified Sheetz gas station. The
offset foundation of the service station prevented getting a good
look. From what I was able to see, its windows were shattered and
the inside was disheveled. Orange bags covered all the gas nozzles
I could spot and I assume the bags were meant to tell people that
there was no gas. There weren’t any undead that I saw from my
passing view. If I had more time before dark I would probably stop
to find out if anything could be scavenged.

Minutes later I noticed the ground leveling
out. I looked back and saw the rolling landscape of the hills. All
the times I came through here I’d never noticed the similarity to a
valley. It made me wonder what this place looked like without
people. How long before someone gazed down there and wondered what
it looked like without the walking dead? Swinging my view back to
the road ahead, I surveyed the sky. There wasn’t long before I’d be
finding out what the stranger had said about the zombies after dark
firsthand.

A shopping center was coming up on the left.
I knew the layout from memory. First I’d pass a pizza place and a
traffic light. The left hand shopping center would stretch deep in
the other direction. At the same point, a small shopping center
would begin that was much less expansive. The smaller, right-hand
shopping center still had the bakery where Sarah and I got our
wedding cake. This brought a smile over my determined face.

I was so close. I just needed to keep
pedaling. I’d only be exposed to both shopping centers for a few
minutes. The next light was my turn off from Hull Street.

Reality quickly confirmed my mental map, only
there were corrections that had to be made courtesy of the
apocalypse. The bank and Popeye’s Chicken that should have guarded
the deep expansion of the left-hand shopping center were smoldering
shells. Although the fire that gutted those places had been
extinguished, I could still see where it attempted to jump past the
parking lot and to the rest of the stores. The right-hand shopping
center didn’t fare much better. Beyond the crumbling remains of a
cheap motel I saw a strip mall with nearly all the windows broken.
The only shop that didn’t look violated was the police supply store
in the far corner. It had broken windows, but also had thick metal
gates. No doubt, a store that had ammo and guns would have been the
first target for looters.

I couldn’t help but wonder why those two
shopping centers looked so much worse than others. Maybe I just
stopped myself from fully looking at the many, many others I’d
passed. Or maybe a combination of the coming intersection’s
proximity to both housing areas and a nearby interstate made this
area an unfortunate target. Whatever caused this mess saddened me.
This was the world I knew well, but it was also so very different.
The ransacked area reinforced that any necessary scavenging I’d
have to do in the future could be complicated by things other than
the reapers.

The bike weaved around cars. Several undead
dotted the area. Thankfully, their efforts to nab me always failed.
Some came very close, but still missed. However, each aided a
resurgence of the adrenaline I needed to survive. Regardless of how
hard I tried to avoid thinking about the pain, it found ways to
hinder me. I’d start to think about the ache in my ribs or the
sting in my brow. Then one of them would lunge at me and the only
prevalent thought became flight. This pattern continued until I
found myself passing under the traffic light and finally off Hull
Street.

“I’ve always hated this fucking street,” I
said through huffing breaths.

I looked skyward. The twilight illumination
was discouraging. No matter how hard I pedaled now, I doubted I
would make it home by sunset. The dead scattered over the street
beyond me. After the intersection with Hull Street, the road
drifted into a slight downhill. I used the advantageous terrain to
soar. That was the fastest I’d ever gone on a bicycle. Even in my
younger, more physically fit days I couldn’t have propelled myself
to such a velocity if my life depended on it. It’s cruel to
recognize potential, because your life
actually
does
depend on it.

Houses zipped by. The undead lunged towards
me with increased ferocity. It felt like I was racing against a lit
fuse. My brain told me that if I didn’t make it to the bomb before
that fuse, my world would be torn to fiery shreds. Imaginative
self-delusions should never be so close to reality. Distance skewed
with the beat of my pounding pulse. If this area wasn’t so familiar
I probably would have pedaled into some kind of obstacle. Through
the fading light and torrent of feelings, I could see exactly where
I was. Minutes later I felt the bike shifting into a right turn. I
wasn’t the pilot here, but I sure as hell was being piloted.

Lactic acid flowed so intensely that it
burned through my pores. Both legs pumped up and down. More cars
and hints of forced desolation passed me on both sides. To my left
was a neighborhood entrance. Only a couple more turns and I should
be at the one that takes me to the top of my street. It was so
close now that nothing around me could break the targeted stare I’d
formed.

A dead man jumped at me from behind a
motionless sport utility vehicle. I saw him before his lunge began
and threw a fist outward. My gloved hand caught his cheek and threw
him the other way. Pain seared from the impact point. The pounding
of my heart drowned out any cracking of my bones. Luck or divine
intervention was all that kept me atop the rapidly spinning wheels.
Darkness now consumed the land. Exposure to this gradual fade
adapted my night vision enough to keep me functional.

I hit the turn leading to my street so fast
that I almost lost control. The bulk of my mass hovered over the
ground close enough to think I’d meet it. Physics worked to my
advantage once again. Centrifugal force was most likely the only
thing stopping the pavement from giving my face a cheese grater
treatment. After making the successful left I had a few hundred
feet to pass before reaching the top of my neighborhood. My aching
hand flew back to where I stowed the walkie talkie. It was
difficult to find any voice past my rapid breaths.

The red transmit light glowed so bright it
hurt my darkness-favoring eyes. My voice croaked out “
Sarah.
”

“NATHAN!” she immediately responded. “Oh
thank goodness!” Hearing her voice made me feel like heaven. It
enabled me to push the agonizing and all-encompassing exhaustion to
the wayside.

“Sweetheart, I’m at the top of the street.
I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I was so winded that I couldn’t be
sure she would even comprehend my raspy words. , and my words were
cut off from a dry swallow I could no longer suppress.

“Nathan,” Sarah said, suddenly sounding more
mothering than panicked, “be careful.”

“Of course, just be ready for me at the
gate.”

“No, no, you don’t understand. A car hit the
neighbor’s extension at the corner. It was pretty loud and a bunch
of them are gathered around it.”

My sweet wife had only sounded like this in
the past when she told me something she knew would upset me. It was
reminiscent of years ago, when Sarah called to say that Calise had
broken my Xbox.

The wind whipping by tried to mute our
conversation. Kamikazes would have approved of the reckless pace
I’d maintained. Familiar houses flew past in a blur. I should have
been paying more attention to everything passing, but couldn’t.
Sarah’s words and the few visible feet in front of me was all that
mattered.

“Okay, baby… just be ready for me and don’t
be alarmed if you hear shooting. I have a gun.”

I didn’t wait for her response, just clipped
the radio to my belt without turning it off. It was reckless to not
have both hands on the handlebars now. Dying because of something
as ridiculous as a bike crash would be laughable. With everything
I’d done and the distance traveled, I must be allowed to reach
home, or, at least… that’s what I was telling myself. God may have
forsaken this world, but what God could abandon me now?

The Cannondale flew down my winding street.
Incoming nightfall masked any chances for adequate reconnaissance
on the condition of our area. Even my reliance on hearing was
dampened by the winds lashing against my exposed ears. Assuming I
lived to see daylight again, I’d have to come back out to survey
the true state of my neighborhood.

As soon as home seemed reachable, a nagging
voice developed in the back of my head. It repeated to me, “What
about after?” I could hear it behind every consuming worry. “What
about after?” In the midst of every self-loathing, violent act,
this voice tore at my thoughts. “What about after?” It was
unavoidable to think about what would come next. My hellish journey
had been broken down into goals. I always had a goal to reach. Once
accomplishing those milestones, I had to set my sights on another.
Breaking the trip down into smaller increments was the only way I
could keep myself from focusing on the truth. If I were truthful,
I’d break down thinking of the monumentally expansive pestilence
separating me from home. But all the while, that voice reminded me
that if I reached home my problems would only just begin. Pumping
past houses etched in memory, I knew that
“what
about after”
was a thought that must wait.

This collision course was set directly on my
house at the bottom of the hill. The fact that my home was a mile
out of view did not matter. My vision was limited to a car length.
Such a short area was replenished every second from the rapid speed
I’d gathered. Night vision transformed anything more distant into
featureless shapes. Compared to many of the areas I traveled
through the neighborhood was abandoned. However, the occasional
ghoul jumping from the shadows kept my adrenaline-fueled readiness
on high.