Wasting Away (7 page)

Sometimes,
I felt like I was witnessing this all from afar, like it hadn’t really
happened. It was as if I would suddenly wake up and my wife would be standing
above me, telling me that breakfast was ready. She would wear that smile that
melted away my cares and give me the want to rise and make the most out of the
dawning day. I would see the twinkle in her eye and be at peace with my way in
life.

But
those memories were quick to dissolve when the howling awakened me from my
stupor.

They
came from the cracks and crevices, rooted up from the shadows like nightmare.
There was hunger in their rancid voices, a hunger exclusive to only them. The
slap of their decomposed footfalls echoed from building to building, mustering
a strange reverberation. The way they shambled gave the sound of their dragging
feet a type hollow throng as if they were coming from everywhere all at once.

I
took off past the houses, winding along the sidewalk. My breath was quick and
shallow, racing along with my heart and filtering into my ears like the noise
from some far off dream.

I
could hear them grinding their teeth behind me. Their gurgling rasps bloated
out in syncopated rhythm with my own footfalls. I cut a corner through a side
path between two houses and emerged into the back yard of an abandoned home. At
the far side of the yard, I hopped the fence into the property, leaving the
dead to claw at the chain link that divided the two.

With
my heart still racing, I hurled myself from yard to yard, jumping each fence
that blocked my way.

I
kept up my pace until I could no longer hear their guttural moans. The pangs in
my stomach churned and kept me focused. I used my hunger as a weapon, dividing
the gap between them and me. I thought that this must be the way that they
feel, always hungry, always persistent, always searching for that thing that
will make the pain subside. The tingle in my body from that hunger urged me
forward. It kept my muscles from tightening, yet violated my every move.

It
was either adrenalin or focus that kept me moving, I wasn’t sure which.
Whatever the fuel was, I managed to keep running. I ran through the pain of my
blistering feet. I ran for everything I was worth. I ran for fear and life and
selfishness. I ran for survival.

Streets
intersected, merged, developed into urban sprawl and finally laid way to high
rises and skyscrapers.

My
muscles began to cramp and knot, sending pain all through my body, and I was
forced to slow to a limp. I panted and heaved, but kept myself moving. I no
longer heard the dead. Windswept buildings cried above me. The utter silence,
the unnerving wheeze of empty city streets moaned in lonely defiance. A
crumbled piece of newsprint fluttered by, dragging itself along the asphalt.

I
crept up through wide, sprawling streets, through the decay that littered the
pavement; fell from desperate weeks gone by. Soft ash covered the asphalt,
swirling with dust devils that corrupted its rest.

I
held my breath as I tiptoed past the bodies; small spaces in between, allowing
me to step over the rotten foliage of death as I made my way through bullet
casings and spent magazines. From a barricade ahead, I could see the machine
guns mounted to concrete rails. Their exterior was showing signs of rust, worn
by weather, allowing images to play over in my mind of the massacre that must
have unfolded.

Police
cars and military vehicles blocked the way, parked in crisscross patterns to
defend the area beyond. Uniformed corpses graced the pavement like wilted
flowers, collected and discarded in haste by the folly of war. Rubble was
spread out along the sidewalks where it had rained down from buildings, burst
out from the seams.

All
I could concentrate on was the unnerving silence in these ruins. The absolute
quiet of it all, I felt like the last man standing. Sorrow is such a demanding
emotion.

High
above, I could see the bloated remains of a skyscraper, steel beams unfurled
from its interior like boney fingers, grasping at the clouds. In the dank
silence of the outer rim of the city, the building shivered and cracked. It was
a sound of temptation and sorrow; a sound like the weak, gasping for breath.

A
creature dangled from a window ledge above, caught upon the remnants of a
broken steel beam. It flailed in the air as if it had something in its sights.
It stared down at me and rasped in muted silence, too far away to project its
gruesome moan. I looked at it for some time, twisting thirty stories up,
swiping out as if I was within its reach.

I
was in awe as I stared at the crumbling buildings. I couldn’t imagine what kind
of bomb could have done this.

How
long? I wondered. How long will it dangle there? How long will the body move?
How long until it finally falls away to dust?

I
thought of how long it would be before the building finally came crashing down.
Would there be any one left to hear it fall?

I
glanced through the open door of a police cruiser at several snapshots taped to
the dash. Nestling myself into the driver’s seat, I pondered over the pictures
of children, smiling and happy. The fabric beneath me let out a cloud of dust
as I sat down. The wisps loosened between my legs and fluttered up toward the
window, peppering the photos of the children with specks of decay.

Time
was unforgiving.

When
I looked at the bodies that surrounded me, spent and sprawling on war torn
asphalt, the image of that atrocity who took my wife came traipsing into my
mind also. I cannot see one without the other. Where there are thoughts of my
wife, the putrid façade of that infectious death that swallowed her away from
me comes too. Where there is life there is also the promise of death to reclaim
it.

Before
leaving, I scoured the cruiser for ammo and any supplies I could find. I
wrapped the rounds in lengths of fabric I tore from the bodies on the ground. I
wrapped them to keep them quiet. I filled the extra clip for the pistol and
tucked it into my jacket pocket.

A
few blocks away, I discovered a camping supply store and nearly cried out in
joy. The windows in front were whole and undamaged. The contents inside
unspoiled.

Chapter 7

“I
really need to get going before it gets dark,” I said.

She
nodded and went to the window. “Are you sure you’re ready?” she asked.

“As
ready as I’ll ever be.”

Mary
slipped a CD into the radio and slowly extended it along the clothes line,
threading the set of battery jumpers along as she went. The sound of music
widened as the radio slipped out, high above the parched and vacant faces that
looked skyward and clawed as if to reach for the notes. There was gravity in
the milky calm of their eyes - a look that seemed to breathe the answer to
questions that have plagued us for ages. In that moment, staring down at the
dead, I saw in them the same expression I had seen when they were alive. I saw
thoughtlessness. I saw confusion. I saw the questioning eyes of the multitudes,
drawn and feeble, hollow and raged. I saw only empty, vacant eyes.

I
tried to hold the idea as Mary turned to me and told me she was ready. “I’ll
watch for you,” she said.

“Give
me an hour,” I told her.

“Then
I will watch for you in an hour,” she said with a quick nod.

Quickly,
we filed along the stairs to the entry. With a dry click, she had the door
opened and the sun was exposed through the alcove at the front of the building,
shaded slightly from the overhang. The sweet smell of rot, rancid beneath its
core, wafted up and tried my courage.

I
peered around the corner and saw the streets were empty.

“I’ll
play the music again in an hour,” she whispered, “and unlock the door for you.”

I
nodded and gazed into her eyes, catching the reflection of the sun as her pupil
dilated, constricting into a tiny dot. I reached for her and grazed her arm as
I turned and breezed away past the bushes and the tree that graced the front
yard.

The
pistol was at my side, neatly tucked into the waistband of my pants. My
movements sent the sight into my skin and I adjusted the weapon farther forward
and took to a sprint. I could hear the distant moaning like a rumbling in my
chest. The knotting sounds shook the ground beneath me and I imagined the earth
crumbling beneath my feet. The farther I went, the sounds would not subside.
The deep, mouthing incoherence of the dead stayed with me and reminded me of
what I needed to do. Dead voices shrouded in soft music.

I
slipped past a brick building at the corner of the street and peeked around the
edge as a rasp came from over my shoulder. The corpse was on me before I could
react. The blackness of its open maw swallowed the light and only bent, jagged
teeth remained. I ducked and countered, coming up behind the creature. I pushed
the thing forward and it stumbled. I withdrew the pistol from my side and
aimed, but I thought better of firing. The sound of the shot would only bring
more. I moved to the side as the corpse staggered forward and I clasped it
behind the neck, pushing it to the ground. A wheeze escaped as bloated air
knocked out from its chest. Like rancid sewage, the breath met my nose and I turned
in disgust as I held firm. I grabbed it beneath its chin and twisted. As I
struggled, every snap of its spine coiled and I could feel its neck breaking
all along my arms. Every crack, every pop ascended through me and finally, the
thing went still. It lay slack on the sidewalk and my hands were covered in its
waste. I wiped away the slick and nervously checked my surroundings.

There
had only been one, a single straggler, fixated on the moans, making its way to
the source. As often as I have been among them, what drove them still eluded
me. At times, the sounds of others drew them. At other times, it was as if they
were deaf to the calls. I hated their unpredictability. They were chaotic
things.

I
calmed myself and took to the next street. According to what I remembered of
the map, I was only a block away from the market and the path ahead of me was
clear.

I
narrowed the gap and saw the building in the distance. Full length windows
stretched across the front of the store. Past a small parking area, I kept low
and looked for a way inside. The edge of one of the plate windows was broken,
leaving a small gap at the edge of the sill. Tempting fate, I pulled a shard of
the glass away and widened the opening. I shook my head at how stupid an idea
it was to crawl under a pane of glass that could easily cut me in two. With a
deep breath, I slid through as the shard shook with my movements.

One
of them was inside, maybe since the beginning. He could have been anyone. He
could have been a survivor looking for food or an employee locked in when
everything went to hell. It was hard to tell.

I
sidestepped the creature, grazing the side of its jacket. It let out a mournful
moan. It was as if it were begging me to let it eat. I stared at its misery and
watched it drag itself forward. I pulled the pistol and pointed it at its head.
I watched it waver there, almost entranced.

I
looked into its eyes, just a brief, fleeting glance. I knew what I had to do,
but the guilt kept me back, kept me moving away. It had such powerful sadness
in its eyes. I breathed deep and it moved forward, arms outstretched.

As
it came closer, I leaned to the side and used my free hand to grab at its
jacket. With a healthy wad of fabric in my hands, I tossed it to the floor,
tripping it over my leg. I pulled the jacket over its head and wadded the
material into a ball above its forehead as it struggled. I placed the pistol
into the wadding of jean and grime. Gritting my teeth, I pulled the trigger. A
muted snap and the body went limp.

I
left its jacket balled up over its face. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it
again. Another deep breath and I stood. I looked around to get my bearings and
scoped a set of shelves with canned goods neatly placed in a row. Vegetables
and canned meat, fruit cocktail and soup all lined the shelves. With the bag
open, I began to swipe the food by the armload into the opening until it was
full. I zipped it up and heaved it over my shoulder.

I
went through the rest of the store and filled my pockets with odds and ends. I
took off my jacket and made a pouch and stuffed all the water I could carry
inside and strung a length of twine from my pocket around it, making a bundle.

Even
as far away as I was, I could still hear the music that Mary played. It was
faint and gave me a sense of security. To know there was someone out there
waiting for me brought a happiness I hadn’t known in a long time.

With
the weight on my back, and the bundled jacket at my side, I was forced to keep
my movements slow and ordered, watching every step, treading carefully for fear
of the cans clanking and bringing the dead. Every time I heard them adjust in
the pack, I would stop and check my surroundings, waiting for the dead to
appear. It took me twice as long to get back to Mary as it had to find the
market, and by the time I finally arrived, I was exhausted.