The Surviving Son (Valkyrie Book 2) (3 page)

“Wake up, they’re coming!” Steph’s voice echoed in my ears as
my eyes fluttered open. It was dark, even though the morning sun
had already risen and a myriad of instruments flickered with random
lights and alarms. It was the black smoke that choked out the light,
fraught with burnt oil, suffocating our lungs. Before I could react,
one of the soldiers fiercely pulled me from the crumpled remains of
Vesta and into the cool misty morning air.

No one argued, Steph and I hastily followed Garrison and Mills
into the forest, as two other grunts followed behind while firing
randomly into the swirling fog and smoke. Shaken and disoriented,
as every bone in my body ached from the impact, I pushed hard and
fast, trying to keep up. What had happened was still unclear and
there was no time for questions, it was apparent that we were being
followed. Prowlers were my biggest fear, or even a wayward horde
of Necrotics, either way our mission was at risk.

The gunfire to our rear slowly ceased not long after our escape,
but still we traveled at full tilt for what seemed like hours. Although
I was far from fit for this test of endurance, it was Steph who
collapsed first, her legs buckling to the leaf carpeted ground within
a small mossy dell. The commander, Lieutenant Garrison, held his
hand up stiffly to signal everyone to halt.

“Setup a parameter.” He commanded the others who instantly
followed his orders.
“My pack? My gear?” I questioned, trying to catch my breath.
“Private Stetson has it.” Garrison answered as he held out a
canteen to Steph who instantly guzzled away at it.
“What happened?” I asked.
“RPG, from below the tree line, hit our tail rotor.” He answered
angrily.
“RPG? By whom?”
“Lawless raiders Ipresume.”Hesnatched the canteen from Steph
and handed to me. “It doesn’t appear that they have pursued us,
probably more interested in the chopper. We will camp here for now,
give us some time to get our bearings.”
“The pilots?”
“Dead.” He answered mournfully as he pulled a map from his
front pack and began to examine it.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Just outside of Rangeley, about thirty miles from our LZ.” He
paused and looked into my troubled eyes. “But only twenty to our
objective.”
“Then we are not that bad off.” I huffed.
“Except we have not chopper and two men are dead.” He said
coldly.
“I apologize for my lack of sympathy.” I said. “Those men are
heroes.”
“There are no heroes, just don’t let their deaths be for nothing.”
He stammered before focusing his attention back to the map.
Minutes passed by in silence before Private Stetson returned,
carrying my gear and an arm load of dried wood.
“We’ve set trip-flares fifty yards out in all directions, no one is
getting by them.” He said as he dropped the wood and tossed my
pack to me.
“Let’s get a fire going, we will rest for the day and move on in
the morning.” Garrison advised.
“What’s the plan?” Stetson asked as the other two soldiers
returned.
“We will make for Rangeley, it’s about six clicks from our
current position, up and over Moose Back Mountain.”
“We’re climbing a mountain?” I asked.
“Welcome to the Appalachia’s.” He said sternly, “We need to
replenish what supplies we’ve lost, Rangeley is are best shot.”
The conversation ceased, and Stetson worked on sparking a small
but inviting fire as the others sorted through what was left of their
gear. Steph, as always, stuck her nose back into her notepad,
scribbling down every thought that tumbled through the vastness of
her mind. I myself laid back to try and regain some of the sleep I
had lost earlier, but my mind kept racing as I stared up into the
canopy and watched the sun sail across the sky.
Night seemed to befall us faster than usual, probably from all the
excitement of our morning endeavor, and before long the grunts
were breaking out their MRE’s as we all sat around the meager fire
to keep warm. The packet of my entre read Cheesy Tortellini, but it
was more of a bland yellow paste with mushy chunks of flour,
completely unpalatable. However, the Hooah energy-bar was much
easier to choke down. As I nibbled away at it, our escorts retold war
stories and random jokes with each other, I found it interesting to
hear their perspective on today’s world.
“She may have been dead, but she was still hot.” Tellar praised,
“If only she used her mouth for something other than biting.” He
chuckled.
“Yeah, she was all over you like a five dollar hooker.” Heckled
Mills.
“It’s too bad her tits fell off when Icopped a feel.” He responded,
as the other cringed in disgust.
“Enough!” Garrison shouted. “There’s a lady present, Iknow it’s
a stretch for you thugs, but try to act like gentlemen.”
“It’s okay, I have heard worse.” Steph acknowledged.
“So, Mr. President,” Stetson addressed, “About the mission, do
you really see an end to all of this?”
“I am optimistic - if we succeed.” I answered. “But there are a lot
of variables.”
“Yeah, and we’ve got off to a great start too.” Mills stammered.
“Mr. President, if you don’t mind sharing your expertise,”
Stetson continued, “How is it that a virus can control a rotting
corpse? Naturally the brain controls movement, and they are
obviously brain dead.”
“I take it you have never read the Official Report?” I asked.
“We’re Jar-Heads, not Book-Worms.” Garrison answered, Steph
casting him an annoyed glare. “No offense.”
“I see. First of all, as I have stressed many times, Valkyrie is not
a virus. Second, the Infected are just that, infected, but not dead.” I
explained. “Blood still flows through the veins, the heart still pumps,
and some of their synapsis still fire.”
“They sure do look like corpses to me.” He responded.
“Nonessential organs are disposed of. Valkyrie consumes the
liver, kidneys and so forth. It is quiet an efficient beast, utilizing
everything it can, with no need to filter what it devours. What it does
not consume, such as the skin and hair, decomposes.”
“Not a virus?” Tellar asked.
“It’s a single celled organism, more like a parasite, although she
does have many attributes of a virus.”
“If it’s not a virus, how did it spread so fast?” Garrison asked.
“Evolution, really. Aside from the bites, the organism multiplies
rapidly, can survive in almost any environment, and when
conditions do become a threat, for instance when you kill a host, it
crystalizes and essentially transforms into spores. As the body rots
these spores are released into the air through escaping gases. Which
is why we recommend burning the remains.”
“So these spores are in the air? Why are we not all infected,
then?” Garrison stated.
“That my friends is one question I have yet to answer. But
evidence has shown that certain blood types are more susceptible to
the spores than others. But I have yet to test that theory.”
“And what about the Prowlers? Where the fuck did they come
from?” Stetson asked.
“Again, Evolution.” I answered. “The infection found a way to
assimilate the brain further than ever before. I fear, if left alone, it
will gain full access, and then we will see the rise of a new human
hybrid, with gluttony, rather than greed, as its primary sin.”
“Well that’s just great.” Stetson muttered.
“My own research suggests that SPV-1C had something to do
with this new strain.” Steph added.
“SPV1C?” Garrison asked as Steph nervously glared at me from
the corner of her eye.
“Yes.” I answered. “The antigen I created to combat the virus.
Although it is questionable, evidence does indicate that the harmless
strain caused an evolutionary leap.”
“So it’s your fault!” Stetson angrily denoted.
“Watch your tongue!” Roared Garrison. “He leveled the playing
field, there are less Necrotics now than before. Plus he is here with
us, trying to fix it”
“It’s okay. Iadmit, I made the same mistakes as those who started
this pandemic. But I do believe the answer is in these hills, and I will
sacrifice myself to find it.”
“If it’s alright with you, sir,” Garrison responded. “We will do
the sacrificing.” And I nodded respectfully.
“Correction, sir,” Mills called out. “The Dead will be the ones
who are sacrificed.”
“MORS PRO MORTUIS!” They all cried with a hushed tone.
There was a break in the conversation, Stetson began humming
an old tune, one I recognized but for the life of me could not put a
finger on it. Garrison continued to go over his map, searching every
angle - for an efficient and direct course. And Tellar, fiddled quietly
with his weapons, cleaning every nook and cranny before counting
his ammo over and over. Steph on the other hand kept her head
down, buried in her notes.
“The Hawk of Barrington.” Tellar finally spoke up, nudging
Mills, as the others chuckled.
“The Hawk?” I asked, and Mill’s stood from his perch, tossing
more wood onto the fire.
“The Hawk was a recluse we encountered about three years ago,
I believe.” He began, as the others, knowing the story all too well,
became quiet and eager to hear it once more.
“It was just after the Portsmouth Purge, four months prior to
Albany, and we were sweeping west, towards Concord, our next
objective. About two miles into Barrington my path became
unwelcomely obstructed.”
“He got blindsided by a net trap.” Tellar interrupted.
“Strung a good fifteen feet into the trees?” Garrison questioned.
“More like thirty.” Chuckled Tellar.
“Anyway, some self-proclaimed overseer of Barrington had set
traps to catch the Infected, or so we presumed. An older, balding
man, dressed in ratty overalls and no shirt. His first words after
stepping out from the bushes were, ‘Useless Vermin’ referring to
myself and interrupting the roar of laughter from my oh-so loyal
comrades.”
“We’re still laughing.” Stetson commented.
“So, after he released me, he invited us back to his home for a
meal, not too far from where the trap was, and afterlivingoffMRE’s
for a month we welcomed the gesture.” He paused for a moment.
“Now his humble abode was more of something out of the Texas
Chain Saw Massacre. A two story dwelling adorn with salvaged
scraps, sheet-metal secured over the windows, sharpened rebar
scattered yet firmly staked all about the lawn, and even a maze of
rusty blades set on hair trigger springs. Definitely no place for a
child.”
“Or anyone for that matter.” Garrison added.
“The Hawk, as he called himself, was bat-shit crazy, a real
fucking loon. We realized this after he offered us some moonshine.”
Mills chuckled. “Mr. Tellar here, took the first swig, and
unfortunately discovered it to be no more than The Hawk’s own
fermented piss.” The others joined with laughter. “After an
unidentifiable meal, he offered for us to stay in his home for the
night, this just after making it clear that he loathed the living. But,
we accepted, per the Lieutenants ever so sound judgment.” He
paused to allow his subtle sarcasm sink in.
“Easy now, Chief.” Garrison growled.
“So, we settled down in what was once the dining room of his
freakish home.”
“He really does mean freakish,” Tellar added. “The Hawk’s walls
were decorated with a variety of preserved organs. Mostly of the
genitalia from both male and female, but so dried and brittle they
simple looked like pieces of shit hanging off the peeling wallpaper.”
“Did he ever say why he kept them?” I asked.
“They were the remnants of those who attempted to fornicate
with his wife.” Mills answered, “They were ‘lured by her insatiable
beauty.’”
“That attractive?” I asked, which was answered with a roar of
laughter.
“We didn’t find out till later.” Mill’s continued. “Since we
arrived he appeared to be all alone. But later in the night I left the
safety of our sleeping quarters, and ventured outside to take a piss.
On the way back, I noticed the cellar doors were left open, and could
hear a soft yet unusual noise coming from within.”
“For which he thought best to investigate it, dumbass.” Tellars
mocked.
“Your right, if I were smart I would have ignored it, and let a
Necrotic slip through to tear out your tongue.” Mills roared.
“Anyhow, down in the basement Ifound some new typeof ‘Abstract
Art,’ or maybe just an overly perverse fetish. I can’t be too sure.”
“What was it?” Steph asked.
Mill’s looked at her with a smile and his own perverse thoughts
burned behind his eyes, “A cocktail party, of sorts. About a dozen
of the Infected, each one securely chained to his own jackpost.”
“Jack post?” She questioned.
“Support beams, too many for this house. Setup just for the
purpose of The Hawk’s collection.” He answered.
“So he had a few pets, that’s not uncommon.” I added. “Many
have had a hard time letting go.”
“The Hawk had ‘let-go’ long before we arrived.” Garrison said.
“Each one was a character in some psychotic circus.” Mill’s
continued. “There was one dressed like a jester in King Arthur’s
court. Clown make-up with a cap n’ bells to boot.” Mill’s chuckled
to himself. “There was a ballerina with pink frills and all, a
burlesque dancer, and a princess or Miss America – I can’t be too
sure.”
“Don’t forget about Manson.” Stetson muttered.
“Charles?” I asked, only to receive a chorus of laughter.
“Marilyn.” Garrison muttered. “Long strands of greasy black hair
gothic face paint and an overtightened black and red corset.”
“Those are just to name a few. Now to the far end of the basement
was a large cage made of welded pieces of rebar. Inside, a makeshift
throne, and what was once a young woman, turned long ago, draped
in a dingy and crude hand sewed renaissance gown.”
“His queen?” Steph asked.
“And her faithful subjects.” Garrison touted.
“The vision before me hadn’t completely registered when the
cold hard steel of a shotgun pressed hard against my scalp.” Mill’s
stopped, jabbing the fire with a stick. “It was The Hawk, and he was
pissed. ‘Trying to steal her for yourself, aye!’
‘Who?’ I asked, raising my hands above my head.
‘Sandra!’ He yelled. ‘This ain’t no cat-house my friend!’ for
which I responded with ‘I have no intentions towards your wife sir.’
And of course he responded with, ‘Why not?’ – And in a feverish
tremble I was oblivious of how I should answer.”
“Tactful would have been best.” Tellar recommended, another
roar of laughter.
“Which my response was not.” He added. “‘Cause she’s a
corpse.’ I answered without forethought.” The others roared even
louder. “That is when the hammer of his shotgun cocked back.”
Mill’s finished.
“I had heard the voices from upstairs,” Garrison piped in. “And
snuck down into the basement. It was right when the sound of that
hammer clicked in to Mill’s bumbling brain that I put a round in that
madman’s skull.” Hesneered. “If Iwaited anylonger the poor chief
would have soiled his drawers.”
“You killed him?” Steph asked in protest.
“I did, and proudly.” Responded Garrison.
“There was four of you, and you couldn’t simply subdue him?”
“To what end? Take a chance that he pulls the trigger first? Even
if we did end it peacefully, should we have left him to inflict the
same psychosis on someone else?”
“He was obviously troubled. He just needed help.” She
stammered.
“Hewas a fuckingloon, and dangerous one at that. The following
morning we found a large compost pile out back, nothing but human
bones, with no sign of infection. He trapped living and fed them to
his sideshow of freaks. He was an unimaginably perverse and
twisted soul. And there is no coming back from it.” Garrison
assured.