Stage 3: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (8 page)

When he got to within ten feet of the old female, she stirred again. Mason froze in his tracks, but it was too late. He'd already been heard. The woman didn't charge at him, but instead took a single awkward step toward him and listened. Like the sharkman, she'd heard
something
, but whatever passed for thought processes in her puerile brain was uncertain whether or not the sound had been prey. Not wanting to remove any doubt, Mason drew in a deep breath, held it, and stood perfectly still.

It was time to test his ridiculous plan with the keys. Moving with painful slowness, Mason unclenched his fist and selected one of the keys at random. It was his apartment key. Perfect. Once he was out of this horror, he never wanted to see that place again. Recalling the scene in the stairwell, he chose a spot behind the woman and lobbed the key high over her head. She heard a rustling of his sleeve and bared her teeth in an angry snarl, but just as she was about to charge, the key tinkled to the pavement behind her. It wasn't much of a sound, but it was enough to get her attention. With lightning speed, she spun on her heels and ran toward the sound, and Mason took full advantage of her distraction. While her growls and heavy footfalls masked the sound, he took a series of long, graceful strides further down the road, and by the time the creature bumped into an abandoned delivery truck near the far curb, Mason had covered thirty feet and could resume his slow, careful plodding.

Twice more he used the tactic before reaching the next intersection, and it worked like a charm every time. The gentle tinkling of a key striking the pavement was enough to temporarily distract the creatures, but not loud enough to draw others in. Mason knew that the ploy would only work in certain specific situations, but it manages to get him through the gauntlet, and with that success came the first suggestion of real optimism.

He stepped into the intersection and paused long enough to take a new survey. The next block south was very much like the last, but with one crucial difference. A city bus sat facing him at an angle halfway down the block, it's front grill embedded into a row of parked cars. He could see the slumped shape of a body draped over the steering wheel, and could just make out movement behind. Someone else was on the bus then, but whoever it was, they were clearly no longer human. A sentient person would have either pried the doors open and fled, or hunkered down in silence. This shadow was pacing up and down the aisle like a caged beast. And besides, Mason realized with a certain dread, a human rattling around inside would have already drawn a swarm.

Idly, Mason wondered about the series of events that had brought this bus to this spot. Had the driver's sight failed him and caused the crash, or had he been sleepily plying his route when that lone passenger in the back quietly changed and attacked? Could it happen that fast? The newscasts said that the first symptom was temporary blindness, but surely, no one waking up blind would have hopped a bus instead of calling for an ambulance. So which had come first; the crashing of the bus, or the passenger changing from early morning commuter to maniacal nutjob? As the rising sun peeked between the buildings to illuminate the scene, Mason was afforded a better look and had his answer. The windshield of the bus was painted red with blood.

That one image was enough to shake Mason to the core. Clearly, the attack had preceded the crash. So it
could
happen that fast. From first symptom to batshit crazy in minutes. Mason felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck and took another moment to consider the implications. For all he knew, he might already be infected. After all, he had been part of that very first outbreak on the plane, so maybe those little bundles of genetic material were inside his body even now, churning out carbon copies by the billions and infiltrating every cell in his body. No fever, no chills, no sneezing; his first indication would be when he lost his sight, then it would be a quick descent into madness. After that, he would be just like these other monsters, mindlessly prowling the streets for his next meal.

No! Not a chance. Mason decided then and there that he would not allow it to happen to him. The moment his vision started to fade or blur or change in any way, he would end it. He would climb to the top of a building and jump, or throw himself off of a bridge, or find a piece of broken glass to open a vein. If he was denied those options, he would stand in the middle of the street and sing at the top of his lungs. Better he was destroyed by the monsters than become one of them. He even managed a bitter grin when he conjured up visions of himself being torn to pieces while belting out his best off-key version of God Bless America.

Oddly, facing that inevitability actually spurred him on. If he was to die, then so be it, but he wouldn't die as one of
them
. He would die as a human being, on his own two feet, and he would go out swinging. He couldn't fight whatever microscopic things might or might not be taking over his mind and body even now, but he could sure as hell do something about his own finale on the world stage.

Now fully determined, he walked straight toward the bus. The vehicle blocked his view of the far end of the block, but he strode confidently and quickly down the center of the street. As he neared the bus, the shadowy figure behind the glass grew more and more animated, charging up and down the aisle like an enraged beast. Mason paid it no mind and continued on, but then as he rounded the back end of the bus, he stopped dead in his tracks.

The way ahead was a charnel house. Bodies littered the roadway, and no fewer than a dozen creatures were busily feeding or standing vigil along the curbs. All the keys and car alarms in the world wouldn't let Mason get through such a swarm. He was just about to turn and retreat when he spotted the mouth of an alley just to one side. Instinctively, he headed toward it, but he had no sooner reached the mouth of the alley than he perceived three more creatures within. Again, he considered turning back, but the hesitation only lasted a second. His mind now full of dogged resolve, he strode into the alley and readied himself to confront the monsters. 

A huddle of metal garbage cans sat inside the mouth of the alley, so Mason took the lids off of two of them as quietly as he could and held them before him as he walked into the passageway. Suddenly, the closest creature charged; a young male, all hair and beard and hemp clothing covered in blood. Mason held up one of the lids like a shield and deflected the charge, sending the creature headlong into a brick wall. The thing hit the wall hard and slumped, but it quickly rose into a crouch and charged again. Mason brought up the shield once more and deflected the animal to the ground, then he brought down the other lid like a cudgel and slammed the creature on the back of the head. Again and again he pounded until he'd finally turned the back of the skull into mush. At last, the creature lay still, but the fight was just beginning.

The noise of the battle brought the other two at a run. Mason had barely risen to his feet when the first one was on him. He brought up the shield and skillfully deflected the creature into the corner of a dumpster and watched as the man's nose exploded, but the other was immediately on him, and it was all he could do to hold the big woman at bay. She pressed her bulk against the shield and clawed around it like a feral cat, hissing and snarling, but Mason planted his feet firmly on the ground and shoved with all of his strength. At last, he lashed out a foot and caught the creature's ankle, and the woman stumbled backward. He shoved again, pushing the creature to her knees, and wasted no more time. He kicked the woman in the side of the head, and when she collapsed to the ground, he lifted a leg and brought his heel down on her breastbone. There was a horrible
crack!
and the woman coughed blood in a little fountain, but though she made no move to rise after that, she continued to claw at Mason's legs even as he backed away.

By now, the other creature was back on its feet and charging. The man's nose had been turned to pulp, and blood poured from a fresh cut on its scalp, but he ran at Mason like a mad bull. Again, Mason brought up his shield and deflected the man into the brick wall, then he brought up his foot and kicked savagely at the small of the man's back. There was a decisive
snap!
and the creature folded to the ground, and Mason kicked again, targeting the back of its head. The creature's face smashed against the ground in an eruption of blood, then it lay still. Mason quickly turned back to the woman and levelled a kick at her head that flipped her onto her belly, then he brought all of his weight down onto a heel aimed at the back of her neck. There was a resultant
crack!,
and though she continued to snap her jaws as Mason stepped over her prone body, it was clear that she would never move from this spot again.

All of that commotion was drawing in others. Mason looked back, saw no fewer than five creatures hurtling down the alley after him, and he ran. He emerged from the far side of the alley and saw three others racing toward him, but instead of running away, he sprinted headlong into them. He deflected two creatures to either side with the force of his charge, then he barreled headlong into the third. This last one was a child, but he callously lowered his metal shield and ploughed right over the thing, sending it somersaulting away in a bloody heap.

Now he didn't even stop long enough even to take account of his surroundings. He turned south and ran over one creature after another in a desperate scramble. Four, five, six creatures fell under the force of his blows, and still he raged on. At last, as he felt a stitch in his side and his breath devolved into a series of harsh gasps, he saw something that caught his interest. There was construction going on in one of the buildings on this street, and piles of earth and pyramids of bricks had been stored in an empty lot adjacent to the place. Beside those was a mountain of debris destined for the recyclers. There was drywall, wooden flooring, concrete, and a mound of steel reinforcing bar. Mason stopped at the vacant lot long enough to discard one of the garbage can lids and select for himself a seven foot length of rebar from the pile, then he ran on.

Now, here was a weapon! Seven feet of good American steel; thirty pounds, more or less. Light enough for Mason to give it a good healthy swing, yet heavy enough to damage the thickest of skulls. And presently, he had an opportunity to test the assessment. A big male was charging straight at him. The creature's eyes were glazed, but they shone with rage, and a mad growl issued from his blood-rimmed mouth. Mason deflected the creature to the ground with a blow from his remaining shield, then he brought the length of rebar down in a heavy blow. The weapon cleaved through the back of the man's head, splitting it open like an overripe melon, but before Mason could even register the carnage, he heard a growl from behind and turned to see another monster closing fast. This was a middle-aged woman, hampered by a shattered ankle, but still astonishingly fast. Mason swung the rebar and caved in the side of the woman's head, and she collapsed to the ground, a quivering and convulsing mess.

The next closest was still fifty feet away. It had been a young man, heavily muscled. At another time, Mason would have run. Now, he dropped the garbage can lid to the ground, gripped the rebar in both hands, and took a batter's stance as the creature tore toward him. Mason waited until the creature got to within reach, then he swung the metal bar across the creature's forehead and cleaved it open like a rotten pumpkin.

Mason cooly collected his shield and padded as softly as he could away from the carnage, but then he saw something that brought him to an abrupt halt. Four creatures were coming toward him, but they weren't running; they were plodding along slowly, almost casually. Not quite able to understand what he was seeing, Mason stood still and watched the bizarre spectacle.

A young female was leading the swarm. She was a tiny young thing, not quite into her teens, with a big tangle of fiery red hair framing a pretty face. She was obviously blind, but she was also most certainly still human, for she skirted the front of a building with her hands outstretched, feeling her way along. The other three formed a loose mob at a distance behind her, but the girl made so little sound as she tip-toed along that they followed behind almost suspiciously.

Suddenly, Mason's heart went out to this unknown girl. Somehow, this tiny wisp of a thing had survived this far, treading through the lions' den as gently and gingerly as a kitten. But it could never  last. The creatures on her trail were confused by the barest whispers of sound she made, but they wouldn't be for long. Their longer legs were gaining on her inch by inevitable inch, and they would soon be close enough that all doubts would be gone. And then they'd be on her.

Suddenly, Mason's steadfast resolve toward self-preservation was put to the test. The decision should have been an easy one for a confirmed misanthrope like Mason, but it wasn't. If all of mankind had but one neck, there were times when he'd have gleefully hacked it through, but one human, alone and desperate, tended to spark an underlying and endlessly irritating sense of morality within him. No matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn't imagine simply abandoning this gentle creature to the monsters. She wouldn't stand a chance. She'd be torn apart. And so it was decided. He might very well die in the attempt, and the reprieve he offered would probably turn out to be all-too temporary, but so be it. If his last act on earth was to be one of benevolence, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad way to go out after all.

He brought up his weapon and was just about act when the girl suddenly stopped in her tracks. Clearly, the poor little thing was scared and exhausted, but she had no way of knowing that stopping now was the worst thing she could possibly do. She turned her sightless eyes back, seemed to consider for a fraction of a moment, then she left the certainty of the wall and stepped across the sidewalk. She held her tiny hands out in front of her and soon came upon a line of vehicles parked against the curb. She bumped softly against a minivan and followed its shape until she came to the sloping front end, then she stepped in front of the van, felt for the next vehicle in line, and padded softly between the two. She tip-toed to the far side of a big sedan in front of the minivan and stood perfectly still. Once she stopped moving, the creatures who'd been following her drew to a halt and adopted the familiar head tilt.