A New World: Untold Stories (7 page)

Fuck
!

Removing one of the larger shards, he uses it to try and signal the vehicle. It is coming to the end of the ridgeline, where it starts descending a winding road leading into a larger valley. Bill gives up after a short time as he sees the attempt is hopeless. The armored vehicle continues on its path.

Watching, Bill sees it come to a halt beside the road. His breath quickens and his heart flutters with excitement thinking he has been spotted. He doesn’t know how they’ll get to him but, if he’s been seen, it’s only a matter of time until they find him.

Looking at figures emerge from the interior, their size diminutive at this distance, his excitements turns to disappointment as he notes they are staring into the valley…in the exact wrong direction. Unshouldering his rifle, he fires three shots into the air, levering a new shell into the chamber between each one. Raising the binoculars, he sees that no one has turned in his direction.

He fires three more times and observes the same reaction from those far away; which is to say, there isn’t one. With a heartsick feeling, he watches them load back up and drive farther into the valley. Bill stares after them until they vanish from view on the far side.

There’s no way he’ll be able to get to wherever they may be heading. They’re already miles distant and he’ll be lucky if he can make it back to his cabin, which lies nearly a mile away through rough terrain. Feeling depressed, he stows his gear and turns, hobbling toward his cabin, still wondering if he considers himself fortunate or not.

# # #

Bill recovered and made his way to one of the survivor settlements. His headaches increased until one day, he went into a coma that lasted a little over two weeks. He emerged on the other side with increased strength, hearing, and oddly, the ability to see in the dark.

Carole stumbles and falls to the ground. On her knees, she grabs her head and folds forward into a ball. The pain inside is sharp and blinding, threatening to split her very bones. The agony subsides to the extent that she is able to look up. In the darkness, with the horizon beginning to lighten with a coming dawn, she sees the dim outlines of six others a few yards ahead. Apparently having stopped from a run, they are looking at her with feral expressions. A couple of them raise their heads to the night sky and emit ear-piercing howls.

With the remnants of pain still pounding in her head, she watches, stunned, as the snarling group starts toward her. After a few steps, they hesitate, looking toward the eastern horizon which is growing lighter by the minute. With a shriek, which rolls across a lake stretching beside her, they turn and resume their run along a paved road that circles the expanse of water.

The sharp pain in her head is now a mere echo of what it was just moments ago. A chill breeze blows across the surface of the lake, whipping its normally calm surface into an expanse of choppy water. Rising, Carole looks to the sky, growing brighter over the tops of several trees adjacent to a road she finds herself kneeling in.

How long have I been gone?
she thinks, confused.

The last memory she has is heading out for a run. Her husband had come down with the flu that had also infected a lot of her friends. He finally managed to fall asleep, so she decided it was a good time to go for a jog. It had been several days since she had been able to get out for one, and she was behind with her training schedule. Telling the kids that she would be back shortly, she had donned her running gear and headed out. They were on the Xbox and probably wouldn’t even notice that she was gone.

But that was early in the evening, just after sunset?

Memories continue to surface. She had been almost three miles into her jog, with two more to go. She had been thinking that her long run would have to be a greater distance if she was to stay on track with her weekly mileage. That’s when the pain hit, just like it did moments ago. The headache came on suddenly and dropped her to her knees. She thought this one was her recovering, but the rising sun tells her that too much time has passed for that to be true.

Maybe I blacked out
, she thinks, thankful that no one messed with her while she had been lying on the ground.

The fact that she may have blacked out for so long scares her, more so than thinking about lying alone in this little-traveled area.

Who were those other people? Were they some early morning running group?

Thinking back, she doesn’t think so as they hadn’t been wearing running apparel. And the way they turned toward her. With the feral looks they had given her, from pale faces that seemed to glow under the rays of the moon, she felt that their intent had been hostile. A shiver runs up her spine remembering the way their eyes glowed a silvery-gold when the last vestiges of the moonlight caught them right. Yes, she has no doubt that they meant her harm.

When did the moon turn almost full?
she thinks, seeing the bright orb near the western horizon.

Completely confused, Carole searches her memory for all of this to make sense. Her current surroundings, the time of day, and her recall aren’t synching. She can’t remember anything after going to the ground during her run. Feeling that something is just out of reach, she gets the sense that things have happened which she can’t recollect.

With the breeze blowing against her back, whipping her short hair against her cheeks, she smells a faint reek carried on the wind. Turning into the gusts, the scent vanishes. Looking at her clothing, which is barely visible in the early morning light, she realizes the odor is coming from her. Normally, running clothes carry the reek of body odor after a run, but she realizes the extent of the aroma goes far beyond that.

Rubbing her shirt and lightweight jacket, she notices they have stiffened like cardboard instead of the suppleness they should have. Her running tights have the same feel. In places, she feels something crusted onto her clothing.

It’s definitely been longer than I thought. Time has passed, but how much? And why didn’t anyone pick her up? While there may not be many, enough people drove by here and they would have assuredly seen her on the ground.

The sun is close to rising above the mountains, chasing the darkness away and allowing her to see more clearly. A visual inspection confirms what she felt. She can’t see any actual stains on her black running jacket and tights, but there is a variety of, well, things stuck to her clothing. Her light blue and gray ASICS running shoes are worn far beyond what they were and are in danger of actually coming off her feet. And, she feels different.

She rubs her stomach, realizing what it is that feels different. It’s something that she’s familiar with. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear that she was pregnant. There isn’t any bulge showing, but she knows. Attempting to unzip her jacket, she realizes that the gunk covering her has clogged the zipper. She thinks about hiking it over her head, but the chill of the early morning dissuades her. If she were to take it off, she doubts that she’d put the filthy garment back on.

I’ll deal with it when I get home. Home! My kids? Sean?
The thought pushes away all others. In her confusion and trying to rationalize what is happening, she had forgotten about them.
I have to get home
.

Panic takes hold, pushing any confusion aside. Gathering her bearings and realizing that she’s in almost the same location as when she went down, she sets out. She would run as home is only about two miles away, but she feels like she’s already been running all night. Her legs don’t respond to her wishes to move any faster than a walk and feel as if they are made of rubber. Plus, she isn’t sure her shoes will take the pounding.

Making it to the bridge passing over the waterway that connects Capital Lake with the inlet to Puget Sound, she rests against the rust-colored railing atop concrete barricades. Gripping the metal bars, she looks toward downtown. No one is moving within her line of sight. No matter the time of day, early or late, there are always people walking the streets. Now, it seems abandoned. Dirt is piled up against the curbs with litter drifting along side streets, carried on the gusts of wind. It’s a far different sight than what she’s used to.

A scrap of paper wraps around her lower leg. It hangs for a moment before a strong gust tears it free. The paper rises and floats through the railing. Sailing out over the water, it is tossed by the currents, rising and falling like an errant kite.

This is a dream. It has to be. I’ve had lucid dreams before, but not like this. This is just too real. When will I wake from this nightmare? Will I?

She stands for a moment; waiting for a car to pass, or any sign of someone moving within the city. There’s nothing. Listening for any sound of people, there is only the swishing wind, blowing her shoulder-length, blond hair into her face. Grasping at a strand, she feels grit embedded within the greasy lock. Her mind isn’t able to connect the obvious length of time that she’s been away and not being found in some way.

Sean or the kids would surely have called someone when she didn’t return
.

Her confusion remains, alternating between panic and a sick feeling to her stomach. The memory of those she saw in the darkness haunts her. They are the only ones that she’s seen so far, and she’s standing next to the busiest street in town. For a brief moment, she thinks about following in the direction they went, but the remembrance of their glowing eyes in the dark stills that thought.

As a matter of fact, that’s the last place I want to head
.
No, I need to go home. What has happened to Sean and the kids?

The emptiness of the city adds to a deep feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.

That’s enough of trying to figure this out. Dream or not, I need to get home
.

Pushing off the railing, she continues on her way home, climbing a steep hill on the other side of the bridge. As she walks, the same scene comes to her street after street; she’s walking through an empty city, one long abandoned.

Except for those six. Did the flu take everyone else?
she thinks, panic escalating.

Fear quickens her pace. She wants to run but her legs just won’t respond. As it is, she’s barely able to climb the steep hill that she used to push herself up. Blocks farther, she turns down her street.

Grime covers the cars of her neighbors, friends that she waved to on a daily basis on her way to one kid activity or another. The yards are overgrown with small piles of dirt in the doorways. Some of the windows have been broken and several doors left ajar. She is the only one out. Part of her mind shuts down from the information overload; or rather the drastic differences. She is barely able to record what she sees. Part of her knows that shock is setting in, but she focuses her attention on just getting home.

Finally, she stands in front of her house. The dark green mini-van is in the driveway, but covered with the same grime as those of the other houses. One of the front tires is low and it’s obvious that it has sat in place for some time. Carole, feeling numb, looks to the house windows that are covered by drapes. The front door is one of those that has been left open.

She doesn’t know what to think. On one hand, she wants nothing more than to rush in and see about her family. On the other, she is afraid of what she’ll find. The wind rushes through the branches of the trees lining the street and gusts against her clothing. The utter silence is nearly overwhelming. There’s just nothing but the strong breeze. However hard she tries, she just can’t wrap her mind around the world that she’s woken into.

Coming to a compromise, she calls out, “Sean? Brian? Mark?”

Her shout bounces against the house walls, echoing down the street. Nothing. No curtains stir. No one steps out onto their covered porch to welcome her home. She can’t move. She doesn’t want to; doesn’t want to acknowledge what the world around is telling her. She doesn’t want to face the reality that is being shown.

This is just a dream. This is just a dream
, she chants over and over as her feet obey and she walks up the drive.

Sensory overload causes a numbness to settle within. With that dissociation, she trails a finger along the van creating a line through the grunge. Walking up the wooden steps, she thinks about descending them only a short time ago, in her mind at least, eager to run. If she could only take that moment back and change it. To one side, a porch swing squeaks, rocking slowly in the wind.

Walking to the entrance, she hesitates. The foyer, partly seen through the partially open doorway, is hidden within a gloom. A small pile of dirt stands against the door, sweeping part way inside.

“Sean?” Carole calls.

“Brian? Mark?” she shouts hesitantly.

Expecting return cries of “Mom” or “
hon
”, there is no reply. She pushes on the door. It hesitates, partially blocked by the dirt, before opening to the sound of squealing hinges.

This is far too real
, she thinks, stepping into the tiled foyer.

Passing by coats hanging on hooks near the entrance, she walks farther into the shadowed house. It reeks of mustiness, the smell and feel of emptiness. Reaching to turn on the light switches, nothing happens. They were already in their upper, or ‘on’, position. There’s no electricity. It’s another indication pointing to her having been gone for some time. Rounding the corner to the living room, Carole draws a sharp intake of breath. The once pristine room is a mess.

The coffee table is upended, scattering the books, magazines, and hurricane lamp she kept there across the floor. The couch pillows are likewise tossed randomly about the room. The two gaming chairs she and Sean purchased for the kids are turned over, one resting on its side near the dining room entryway. On the floor, near one of the chairs, an Xbox controller lies in the shadows.

Carole can’t tell for sure, but it seems like an arm is reaching out for it, as if it was dropped and someone is stretching to retrieve it. Fear, dread, and panic surface through her numbness. Dashing to the windows, she throws the curtains open, flooding the room with light from the early morning sun.

Turning to the middle of the room, she brings a hand to her mouth and cries out, falling to her knees amidst the wreckage of the room. The numb feeling she had shatters. Replacing it is a pain far worse than any she’s ever felt. Her heart threatens to rupture from grief. The pain of loss becomes too much to hold within. Tears burst forth and her wails bounce loudly within the enclosed room.

On the floor near the gaming chair, wearing his favorite Seahawks T-shirt, his long, dark hair obscuring his features, Brian lies face down.

No…no…no…please…no
, she wails, rocking back and forth on her knees.
Noooooo!

Hot tears streak down her cheeks, creating pathways through the grime. Mucus streams out of her nostrils. She wants to go to her boy, pick his head up and hold him, make him better. Surely if she could hold him, he will be alright.

Scurrying on her hands and knees across the carpeted floor, she draws near her son. Beside him, she lifts his head to her lap. The sight is too much; most of the face is missing. His clothing is partially shredded and chunks have been taken out of his legs. Leaning to one side, she vomits bile. Emptying her stomach, her vision blurred by tears, she lays her sons head in her lap and strokes his hair.