Riposte (The Redivivus Trilogy Book 2) (8 page)

With his restraint suddenly absent, the elderly thing lurched forward. Grabbing the door’s handle, Corporal Rocha slammed it closed, but not before an arm shot through the narrow opening. A sickening crunch erupted as the brittle bones of its forearm snapped like dry kindling. Gnarled and limp, the mangled extremity protruded through the opening, preventing the door’s latch from engaging. Rocha grabbed the hand as if to give it a firm handshake, then pulled hard as he brought his knife down in a swift downward arc, slicing through skin, muscle, and tendon with no more effort than if he had been slicing a loaf of bread. He rammed his shoulder into the door and was rewarded with a satisfying click.

Breathlessly, he raised his boot and brought it down hard on the head of the last remaining churchgoer outside of the van. He started to raise his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow but froze when he realized he still held the old man’s severed arm in a firm grip. Shrieking like a little girl, Rocha tossed it away as though it were a poisonous snake.

Lin stared in awe as Corporal Rocha savagely and efficiently dispatched the infected that poured out of the van. Only when he raised his boot to deal the final quietus did she avert her eyes. As she did, she heard a rustling noise immediately to her left. Turning to investigate, Lin froze when she saw the vicious snarl plastered across Sergeant Garza’s face as he charged straight for her, gun raised. With a sudden jolt, she was knocked to the side just as the weapon discharged. Lin heard a wet
pop
as a shower of tissue and fluid spattered her face and arms. It felt cool, thick, and disgusting, with the consistency of tofu and jelly. Still in shock, Lin found she was unable to open her eyes to face whatever new horror lay before her.
My God! How much worse can it get?
Despite that thought, she did not truly wish to know the answer.

Lin heard the booming report of several more shots in close proximity but saw only vague flashes of light through her clenched eyelids. She felt a sharp tug as she was forcefully yanked to her feet from behind. What she saw when her eyes finally opened made her want to shutter them to the new, depraved world forever. The infected horde had closed to within striking distance—
danger close
—she heard Garza say. He was standing, legs slightly spread in a solid shooter’s stance, with at least a half dozen of the infected sprawled around him. One of the hideous, lifeless bodies lay less than two feet from her, a ruddy ooze trickling from the hole in its forehead as its blank, frosted eyes stared directly at her…seeing nothing at all.

As Lin watched Garza decimate the front line of the swarm, she realized that his fierce rage had not been directed toward her as she had initially assumed, but rather to protect her from the dead thing lying next to her. Feeling herself being dragged away from her savior, she heard Garza yell:

“And this is for the 918, assholes!”

Corporal Rocha reached the truck at the same time as General Montes with Lin in tow. As the General slid into the driver’s seat, Rocha called for Garza to fall back to the truck. With barely a break in his fire, Garza motioned for them to go as he realized that any delay might give the horde enough time to flank the truck, blocking its path, and boxing them in before they could make it through the narrow gap spanning the interstate. Seeing the same thing and understanding what Garza was asking them to do, Corporal Rocha paused before reluctantly tapping the General’s shoulder to signal him to move out.

As the truck pulled away, Rocha watched Garza fire headshot after headshot, as he slowly retreated from the massive, pestilential swarm converging all around him. The sickening realization that he would never again see the brave soldier who had been instrumental in their escape from the airbase settled hard in the pit of his stomach, making him want to scream at the top of his lungs, and curse the entire godforsaken world. As a fellow soldier, however, he knew without a doubt he would have done the same thing were the roles reversed. When it registered that they were leaving without Garza, Lin broke into hysterical sobs. Rocha gently restrained her as she pleaded, lurching and reaching in the direction of the doomed man.

As the truck maneuvered between stalled cars on the interstate, there were several not so subtle bumps as the truck’s huge tires rolled over the infected that Rocha had dispatched next to the van. When they were about to cross the last northbound lane, General Montes’ heart sank when he saw a smaller swarm of infected closing in on their point of egress.

Seeing this, Lin cried from the back seat, “What are we going to do?”

Gritting his teeth and white-knuckling the steering wheel, General Montes exclaimed, “Hold on! This is going to get pretty damn bumpy!”

She was glad the truck was a hardtop and not one of the old open air jeeps previously used by the military, as body parts and gore bounced off the windshield before sliding over the truck’s roof and sailing overhead.

6

October 23, 2015

Marengo County, Alabama

“You win, you’ve finally taken everything,” the woman said to the world in a voice heavy with exhaustion and resignation. She had not spoken a word since she stepped out of the house earlier that morning. There was no one left with whom to speak. She wandered aimlessly without any real concern for her destination. In truth, she no longer cared if she made it anywhere at all—she had given up.

* * *

While the fall of the civilized world at the hands of the merciless plague was difficult and unpleasant, she managed to cope remarkably well, and accepted it for what it was. This was infinitely easier because her husband, Sean, was by her side providing emotional and moral support. The instant they had realized what was happening, they fled their home, and fell into a routine for survival that served them well amidst the chaos of the collapsing world around them. Despite the fact that they had never considered such a globally catastrophic event possible, and thus had been totally unprepared, they were resourceful people and adapted quickly. They never stayed in one place for long, moving only short distances during the daylight hours so they could maintain maximum awareness of their surroundings. They scoured the houses and small businesses they encountered along the way taking only the bare minimum required for survival in order to remain relatively unhindered, and thus more mobile. While they knew supplies would eventually become scarce, they still remained relatively plentiful in a country where abundance and excess had been the rule—provided you knew where to look.

Sean’s family owned a small, isolated cabin about a hundred miles away, and their plan was to head there. As they drew closer, they intended to start collecting more supplies in hopes of stocking the cabin as a long-term shelter. What they could not carry, they would hide so they could come back for it at a later date. The trek proved to be a grueling endeavor, but their 10-year old son, Aaron, displayed remarkable courage and resilience throughout the journey. She marveled at how well he handled the immense hardships thrust upon him. Although she could not have been more proud, she knew Aaron’s courage was fragile, and she vowed to remain strong for his sake.

For nearly two weeks they survived and subsisted while so many others perished. In as much as it was possible, they remained a happy family. All that changed two days ago.

She and Aaron kept watch for Sean, who was scavenging for food and supplies in the two-story house across the street. Like so many times before, they had investigated the exterior of the house for signs of trouble. Peering through the unbroken windows, they watched for signs of any infected lurking within. Seeing none, Sean prepared to head inside while his wife and son took up position across the street.

Silently, Sean defeated the locks on the back door, slipping inside with an uncanny degree of stealth for a man untrained in such tactics. His former occupation as a locksmith had proven far more useful than he would have ever anticipated. Once inside, he tapped his only weapon, the heavy four-foot wooden walking stick, against the kitchen’s hard tile floor. For a full two minutes, he listened intently without making the slightest movement aside from the periodic tapping. If he heard any sound at all, he would simply make a silent exit the same way he entered the house, and they would move on to the next location. They took no chances.

Having watched scores of people try and fail to combat the infected, he realized early on that the best strategy—the only foolproof way to stay alive—was avoidance. Speaking to his wife on that point previously, he had said, “Even a low chance of getting bitten is still too great a risk when you’re talking about an incurable disease with 100% mortality.”

No matter how adept a man was at fighting them, fate could transpire against him at any moment. An untied shoelace might lead to a fall, then a bite—dead. A gun jams, then a bite—dead. A sudden turn results in a sprained ankle, then a bite—dead. With a 100% rate of infection as far as anybody knew, one bite was all it took.

Ears trained for any hint of danger lurking in the dusky recesses of the house, he exhaled a sigh of relief in response to the absolute silence that he heard. Quickly, he unslung his pack and began filling it with the food and water he found in the kitchen. When he had loaded enough to last them a couple of days, he searched the drawers for medications. Although not severe, Aaron suffered from asthma and had lost his only inhaler several days ago. Despite scouring every inch of the last few houses, Sean had been unsuccessful at finding a replacement. He hoped his luck would be different today, so after coming up short in the kitchen, he proceeded up the stairway leading to the second floor of the house.

Sean stopped suddenly as the floor of the landing creaked underfoot. The sound was earsplitting against the silence filling the dead house. After another unanswered pause, he continued forward praying the stairs beneath him would refrain from any further groans of protest. Despite having patiently
checked
the house for any infected, he treated every house as one should treat a firearm: always assume it is loaded and therefore lethal.

When he stepped onto the carpeted hallway at the top of the stairs, he saw what he assumed were three bedroom doors opening along its length. The first bedroom, a boy’s nursery, overlooked the front yard as well as his family’s position across the street.

Moving to the second door, he saw the room of another boy, perhaps just a little older than Aaron. The bedroom still possessed telltale signs of the innocence of adolescence. Various toys and action figures, abandoned mid-battle, were strewn across the cluttered floor, eagerly awaiting their owner’s return. At the same time, faint glimpses of the teen angst soon to come poked through the room’s childish veneer. Gone were the teddy bear sheets, replaced by ones printed with a ‘Skate or Die!’ pattern. Next to a pair of duct tape-covered shoes that looked more tattered than those of a homeless man, set a well-worn skateboard. Judging by its position of prominence in the boy’s room, Sean imagined the skateboard was among the boy’s most prized possessions.

The last bedroom he came to was the master bedroom. He rifled through the drawers of the bedside table as well as those in the adjoining bathroom. His heart leapt in his chest when he saw the little L-shaped plastic container with ALBUTEROL printed on the side of the metal cartridge protruding from the top. Mission complete, Sean triumphantly scooped up the inhaler and moved back into the quiet hallway.

Thinking of Aaron as he passed the young boy’s room, Sean decided to grab a couple of the abandoned action figures scattered about the room’s carpeted floor. “All right, soldiers! Are you ready to get back into the fight?” he said.

When he came to the nursery, he walked over to the window and gazed outside at the overgrown, lush, green grass basking in the warm sun. Scanning the wooded lot across the street, Sean located his wife and son. They were certainly becoming skilled in the art of camouflage, as it took him nearly a minute to spot them despite knowing where to look. When they saw him in the window, they gave him a subtle wave of acknowledgement. Beaming with pride, he held up the action figures in one hand then slowly raised the inhaler in the other. The mile-wide smile on his wife’s face told him she knew exactly what he found. Despite the fact that Aaron rarely needed the treatment, her worry that he would be without it when he did weighed heavily upon her.

Sean returned a broad smile that was cut short when a searing pain erupted in the back of his left leg just above his Achilles’ tendon. He let out an involuntary shriek as he whirled around to confront the source of his pain. With his leg inexplicably tethered, he lost balance and toppled to the ground.

Outside, all smiles faded suddenly as well. Despite the double pane glass, the woman heard her husband’s cry of pain as he went down. Hoping he had merely tripped and twisted his ankle, she anxiously awaited Sean’s reappearance in the window. After a few unbearably long moments, he returned, his face now a sickly, ashen gray—devoid of any trace of the pride and happiness it held only moments before. Staring at her through eyes overflowing with sadness and defeat, he merely shook his head from side to side. The pallor that overtook his wife’s formerly beaming face shattered his heart into a thousand pieces; the quivering in her lower lip proceeded to grind them into the dirt like the heel of a boot. When she started to stand, Sean held up a hand to tell her to stop. Holding up a single finger, he gestured for her to wait as he stepped away from the window. In a moment, he returned with a plain white sheet of paper in hand. On it, scrawled in green marker, were the words:

‘BITTEN. SORRY. I LOVE YOU BOTH.’

Even from inside the house, Sean heard his wife’s mournful wails. He was relieved to see his son trying adamantly to quiet her, and pull her back into cover. After a moment, the boy succeeded, and a wave of relief washed over Sean with the realization that his little boy was man enough to take care of her.

Sean unslung the backpack and secured the action figures and inhaler in a small zippered pocket on the front. Nearly blinded by tears, he walked over to the window and unlocked it. He raised the pane and knocked the screen out with a sharp kick that sent it flying across the front lawn. Holding the pack so his wife and son could see it, he gently swung it out of the window before dropping it onto the hedges below. As he watched it fall, seemingly in slow motion, he felt like every important moment of his entire life raced through his mind. When the pack finally hit the shrub with a soft thwack, a violent jolt tore through his brain as though he had been electrocuted. In that instant, with the connection severed, the realization that his run was truly over came crashing down upon him. Unable to chance another look at the family he was leaving behind, he stepped away from the window and walked into the depths of the house that was now his mausoleum.

As he neared the nursery door, Sean eyed the little monster that had been his demise. After finally shaking the thing loose, he had flung it across the room. The boy, who was likely the room’s former occupant, had probably been no more than two years old when his life was brutally ended by the LNV infection. Not really old enough to make much sound, it had probably been lurking silently under the bed when Sean came into the room. It briefly wriggled on the floor before coming up on all fours and crawling slowly toward him. Sean wanted to scream when he saw the characteristic unsteadiness of the infected in the toddler’s movements, but he could only stare in disgust.

Now, as the hideous thing drew closer, Sean’s upper lip twisted into a snarl. He raised his shoe high in the air, poised to end its miserable existence for good. Just as he was about to crush its tiny skull, something caused him to hesitate. Whether it was the kinship shared between two doomed souls or simply the fact that the life he was about to end used to belong to a beautiful little boy, he was not sure. Nevertheless, his foot dropped back to the ground next to the squirming form. Sean bent down and picked the thing up, no longer afraid of the certain death it harbored.
There’s no reason to fear what has already found you.
The infected toddler felt cold and reptilian as it struggled in his grasp. Crossing the room, he placed the thing in the crib against the wall with as much care as if it was his own child.

Outside, the woman’s loud, mournful sobs had softened, shifting first to disconsolate caterwauls then finally to little more than bereaved whimpers.

Despite being only 10-years old, Aaron struggled to keep his own emotions in check, and did his best to stay strong for his mother’s sake. Although the loss of his father saddened him beyond belief, Aaron had seen a pleading in his eyes and somehow knew what his father was asking of him:
Take care of her for me, will you?
Without hesitation, he silently vowed to himself that he would do so to the best of his abilities.

The two remained there, ensconced in the wooded lot across from the house that was Sean’s tomb. Neither spoke until well after nightfall when Aaron finally asked, “Mom, are you okay?”

Although she had stopped crying an hour ago, her son’s tender question sparked a new wave of tears as she replied, “Oh baby, I’m fine. We are going to be fine. I’m so, so sorry. How are you holding up?”

Mother and son embraced for a long time, letting the unspoken knowledge that they understood one another’s pain pass between them. When they separated, Aaron looked up at his mother, and asked, “What
are
we going to do, mom?”

She reflected on his question for a moment before answering. “We should probably stay here for the night. We’ve been here all day and haven’t seen any infected so it should be as safe as anywhere else. One of us will keep watch at all times. We’ll move on at first light.”

Nodding, Aaron replied, “What about dad?”

With a resigned coldness in her voice, she said, “Aaron, your father is gone. There is nothing we can do for him.”

Hanging his head, Aaron replied, “Yeah…but what if he wasn’t infected? Maybe we should check to make sure?”

Before he spoke further, she broke in, “No, Aaron. Your father gave us that message for a reason. He knew he was infected and did not want to risk us becoming infected as well. He would not have written those words if there was any doubt.”