The Reaper Virus (31 page)

“At least I don’t have to cross between any
cars…” I thought aloud.

Midlothian Turnpike is a big street. The
tracks would be passing in between some heavily populated areas.
Nearby, there should be clusters of retail and housing. My anxiety
level was on par with how I felt before crossing the river. All the
overpasses thus far had been vacant. Going under them, I hadn’t
even been able to tell what, if anything, waited on top, but even
from a distance I can tell that this bridge wasn’t clear. Its
silhouette had the uneven contours of a city skyline. Poor lighting
from the thickly polluted clouds aided the moderate haze still
clinging to the landscape. Once again, circumstance would prevent
me from properly preparing for whatever was ahead.

Not minutes later the dreaded realization of
an unknown obstruction came to light. Something was on the tracks
that I’d be unable to avoid. After another minute of hesitant
walking I saw the unmistakable shape of an overturned car set askew
over the southern rail line. My blood pressure thumped higher when
several prone human shapes became visible around the beached
vehicle. This was bound to be another one of those “what now?”
situations, and if my experiences over the last few days had taught
me anything it was not to think that jinxing question.

I tried to assess the scene as logically as
possible on my approach. Logic didn’t mean much anymore, but it was
a habit I refused to break. From what I could see there were three
to four bodies around the car. It was too early to tell if they
were fully dead. If not then I’d have to take them out or run
around them. There was plenty of room to maneuver around the mess,
but having to run would make it so I couldn’t properly check the
darkness beneath the bridge.

After another minute I was able to see the
disruption in the stone wall the car caused. I had no idea how a
car could have plowed through something that solid, but it had to
have been one hell of crash. Seeing the accordion front of the now
smaller sport utility vehicle confirmed that. In the corner of my
eye I thought I saw movement. I shot my glance to the damaged
bridge above the wreck only to see nothing there. In my gut I could
feel this was going to be bad. The self preserving voice inside me
screamed to run the other way, but I had to push on because there
was nothing left behind me.

I already had a firm grip on the Kukri’s
handle. The paranoid startle on the bridge had prompted me to yank
it free with a comforting metallic clink. The personally soothing
sound had a different reaction from the corpses on the ground. Two
of them jerked awake like the ground had suddenly become
electrified. The closest one moved its arms in push-up form,
inching its ragged mass above the gravel. Just past it another was
obscured slightly by the car. Its head wasn’t visible, but its
newly twitching legs were. Thank goodness the other two carcasses
hadn’t changed.

I slowed my approach to a heel-toe creep,
both eyes remaining locked on the waking dead. As I got closer I
saw how little of a threat they were. The push-up zombie’s back was
oddly twisted, so I guessed it fell from the overpass and shattered
its spine. No matter how strong its will to hunt may be, it
probably couldn’t do anything more than crawl. I doubt the plight
of his female companion would be known until I passed them,
although her lack of progress in doing anything more than
convulsing gave me an idea of her threat level.

Every muscle in my body was stiff with worthy
hatred. I stretched my arms around, anticipating rapid movement in
the next few minutes. After a moment of consideration I decided to
continue on the straight path down the middle of the tracks, which
would take me right past the partial barrier. You can call it
over-confidence in my zombie killing skills, but I was pretty sure
I’d be able to handle the crippled monsters. My mind screamed for
me to run past them. The only reason I didn’t was that I wanted to
save energy, just in case. I moved at a moderate gait. Each
horizontal creature heard the volume increase in my steps. Push-up
zombie could do little but flop around like a suffocating fish. He
shifted enough to get both hands on the middle rail of the
northernmost track. Behind him trailed the deflated remains of what
once had been legs. It was difficult not to focus on the spectacle.
Not being mindful of all the bodies could be disastrous.

There were so many things I had to see at
once: the uncertain bridge above, the motionless dead, the
twitching female infected – which was still partly hidden – and the
unknown horrors in the shadows past the wreck. But ignoring all of
that, I could not break the tunnel vision I’d formed on this broken
upwardly arched demon. He saw me with widened black eyes, his
unholy jaw snapping wildly. Seeing a meal running up got him so
excited that his load-bearing arm shot out towards me. The push-up
zombie stumbled to the steel rail. I could hear some of his teeth
crack apart even louder than my steps and anxious breaths.

I moved my blade to a perpendicular angle. I
saw myself speeding by and letting the Kukri hit with the pass. The
reaper regained composure quickly and was lurching towards me when
I came into range. I executed my swing in a flash of silver. The
impact rocked through my arm with agony. His skull put up a good
fight to no avail. Push-up zombie was moved a few inches down by
the force and I caught a short glimpse of his head drooped over,
spilling its payload like a jar of jelly that had a hole chipped
out of the base.

There wasn’t any time to confirm my kill, as
this course brought me to the second reaper. I was going to run by,
but decided to stop and see if she could pursue. My eyes followed
her twitching legs alongside the overturned car. Just past the
bumper I noticed why she could only convulse on the ground. One arm
was missing at the elbow. The other arm looked to be twisted
beneath her corpse. However, I could look into her face even though
she lay stomach down. This departed soul’s chin was bent to touch
her vertebrae and gravel embedded one side of her skin enough to
give the appearance of scales.

Nausea swept over me. These people had
sustained so much body trauma and yet the virus kept them animated.
Their heads remained mostly intact though. I assume this was the
reason for their crippled un-death. I scanned over the other
bodies. Both had enough damage done to their heads to make their
features unrecognizable.

Something grabbed my attention to the
southern tree line, behind me. I painfully swiveled around. The tar
painted branches directed my eyes and I noticed that above the
fence, a torso was stuck like a S’more-readied marshmallow. Before
this I had been so focused on the push-up zombie that I’d missed
her completely. Studying the situation, I saw how a splintered
branch formed a skewer that had pierced the woman at the
breastbone. Viscera dangled down from where her waist and legs
should have been. The soiled white Gore-Tex jacket didn’t help sway
my imagination from seeing her has a speared marshmallow. She faced
away at an angle that suggested her flight began from the downed
car at bridge level. S’more Zombie’s face angled away enough to
spare me the added horror, but the noise from me taking out her
friend must have alerted her to my presence, because her arms and
neck wiggled about excitedly.

I’d passed the range of “too much” days ago.
There was no need for me to spend another minute there. I turned to
leave when an impact just about sent me into cardiac arrest.
Another infected man had fallen down from the hole in the bridge.
He didn’t move at first, so I had assumed I’d be able to clear him
before the Reaper virus brought him back to awareness. I gave the
impact area some room and started to jog. That’s when another fell
where I’d been standing not a moment before. My jog turned into a
run. Another creature was drawn over the edge with enough speed to
angle it right in front of me.

The near miss filled me with equal parts rage
and fright. I jumped backward and teetered on unstable footing.
This new reaper had hit the gravel path face down. He immediately
flipped on his back and started flailing about like a beheaded
serpent. Again, I saw more of the gray gravel than skin. Dark,
mucilaginous fluid drooled from his shattered orifices as he lusted
after me. This shining example of undead determination angered me
so much that I returned to a run and introduced my rugged boot to
his face. His already broken face imploded like a papier-mâché
piñata. Only my sprinting momentum prevented the boot from getting
stuck in the reaper zombie’s skull.

What little banked energy I had was used for
flight. I didn’t want to be anywhere close to this awful place. As
I ran I heard other infected toppling from the bridge. Some fell
through the opening while others made it over the stone wall on the
other side. Nothing could have turned me back there. It didn’t
matter how many were on top of the bridge or how many decided to
hit the tracks. My pulse pounded and my body throbbed. I ignored it
all just to get as far away as possible. Echoing sounds like a
makeshift bass drum thumped behind me from the bodies plummeting to
the ground.

* * *

1249 hours:

I lost sight of everything not directly in
front of me. Every horror I was subjected to at the Midlothian
Turnpike overpass blurred anything but the steps ahead. The burning
in my lungs became dwarfed by the stabbing pains in my ribs. I took
a quick look to ensure that no infected were within lunging range
before my legs gave way and I came to a skid on both knees.
Immediate pain from both the impact and the jagged stones just
blended with whole-body misery.

At this rate I wasn’t going to make it home.
I saw this as God taking his vengeance early. My vision was clouded
and any remaining strength was utilized to keep me from passing
out. A shaky hand dropped the Kukri and opened my pack. I guzzled
what little clean water was left a few precious seconds later. Pain
leaching from my forehead duct tape bandage became unusually
noticeable. Now the Reaper virus had some competition in stopping
me by means of infection.

Minute by minute I tried to steady my breath
and clear my sight. I arched my neck upward vainly seeking the
clarity of blue skies. Of course nothing but dreary clouds looked
back at me. Since sprinting from the bridge all I could hear was
the pounding of my own heart. The thrumming sound of my pulse
gradually began to subside. Then I heard something that couldn’t
possibly be. I focused on a distant buzz that sounded like an
airplane. It couldn’t be... Not factoring in the mitigating
circumstances of the apocalypse, the president had grounded all
planes days ago. I scanned the skies, looking for it. Then I saw
it! A single engine plane punched through a towering blackened
cloud. It was only visible for a second before another cloud
swallowed it up.

I shot to my feet. The sight of a human
piloted craft made me not give a damn about the crippling pain that
I endured. Knowing that someone, a pilot of all things, was still
out there, above this hell gave me hope. I felt revived. Spotting
the plane took my mind off of the dwindling supplies and energy,
and I felt like Sarah and the kids were closer than ever.

Behind me I could still see the shapes from
Midlothian Turnpike. Some of those shapes were closer than others.
I was being pursued by a handful of infected that survived the
plunge from the overpass. They still had a ways to go before
reaching me, but no matter how badly I’d like to lay there forever,
I planned to be long gone before they arrived. I turned my
attention back up the tracks. In the intensity that followed the
horrors of Midlothian Turnpike I hadn’t really looked beyond the
steps ahead. Finally regaining some clarity and motivation from the
skies I refocused my sight. My eyes grew wide with the sight of
another overpass a quarter of a mile in front of me. It had to be
the crossing with Hull Street! Finally my goal was in view. Now all
I had to do was follow it and I’d be home. But if things were ever
that
easy, I’d have already been there by
now.

It had been years since I’d been over that
crossing. I came within a mile of it almost every day, but never
ventured past the western interstate. During my trek over the rails
I’d imagined that the intersection with Hull Street would be open
and accessible. However, the menacing bridge ahead told me that my
memory was flawed and that I somehow had to get off the tracks and
onto the road. After everything I saw at the last crossing I didn’t
know whether or not climbing was an option. Back on my feet, I
progressed at a snail’s pace, every step heavy with contemplation.
I felt so close, but at the same time infinitely far. The feeling
didn’t get any better when I became aware of the shapes and
movement on the bridge ahead. I looked around desperately for other
options.

Late fall gave the trees a desolate winter
allure. It was all oddly suitable for the post-apocalyptic
wasteland I now called home. Tactically, this aided in being able
to see danger through the stripped bare trees. Similarly, though,
it also made it so that I could be seen. I just had to accept that
safety was just as dead as everything else. This line of thinking
couldn’t help me, but it was so hard to escape and it made me feel
a sense of vulnerability that could be remedied by my stowed blade.
The handle was still warm from my grip. I tried to yank it free
from the scabbard and it gave unusual resistance. I looked down at
the hole it ripped through my jacket the last time when I
frantically re-sheathed it. Strips of the nylon and polyester blend
police jacket tethered my Kukri to the side. “
Damned jacket!
” I cursed under my breath. It took a
light twist with the sharpened end and a yank to free it. Having
the weapon free I tried to assess the damaged I’d done to my coat.
The sideways leer gave way to a revelation to my right.