The the Infected, page 2
In the bathroom, on the vanity, she found what was left of a bar of soap. Carrie picked up the soap, held it close to her face and inhaled. The fragrance of lavender overwhelmed her senses. For a moment, even with three dead bodies just outside, she thought about taking a bath—a long, relaxing bath—wash her hair, shave her legs and feel like a girl again. Bubbles and smooth legs, how perfect would that be? Perfect, she reasoned, if not for the bodies in the other room. As quickly as the thought came to her, it left. Beside the sink was a pail full of clean water. Carrie lifted the pail and drank what she could. The water was stale and tasted of plastic. She pulled the pail away from her mouth, coughed, then tilted it again. She drank until her stomach was full. With the remaining water, she dunked her hands and used what little was left of the soap to lather up and wash off weeks’ worth of dirt and grime. She looked at her clean pink hands with more dirt under her nails then she cared to admit.
From the bathroom, Carrie went to the front door, found a nylon poncho hanging from a nail, rolled it tightly and ran it through the loops of the backpack. In the bedroom closet she retrieved a rifle and almost twenty rounds of ammunition.
Standing over the body of the dead woman, she thought about her friend for a moment then flicked the lighter and lit the curtains on fire. She also lit the curtains in the main room, and the sofa, then stepped out of the cabin without looking back. She heard the crackling and felt the heat as the fire spread. It would certainly attract attention and she had to put some distance between her and cabin quickly. At the end of the lane, she turned back only to make sure the cabin was fully engulfed, then broke into a jog in the direction of the dirt road at the end of the driveway.
Carrie had to meet up with the rest of the group the next day and had a long walk ahead. It was still unseasonably warm for this time of the year. Holding the rifle in front as she ran to the road make it difficult to keep a steady pace. She wasn’t used to carrying so much weight for such a long period of time—or being alone; no one liked being alone anymore. Fatigue soon took over and she slowed her pace to a fast walk. Turning around, she saw the fire was now just a tiny glow in the distance. Beads of sweat dripped from her forehead and the tip of the nose. Carrie wanted to stop, but she knew that was a very bad idea in the open.
She kicked the dirt with her boots as she moved along the country road. It was wrong to make noise as she walked but it was something she had done as a girl and it still made her feel young. Except back then, she didn’t have to worry about being ambushed. When she had the energy, she broke into a slow jog, moving along as quickly as the load on her back would permit. Listening for any noise coming from the brush along the roadside, she longed for the days when she could listen to music as she walked or worked out. It had been years since she had heard her favourite songs, a podcast, or watched a television show. Not having any distractions was good. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be out after dark, but she had to rejoin the group, and soon.
In her mind, she hummed tunes and sang the songs as she remembered them; some of the lyrics most certainly were wrong. She chuckled at her lapses in memory, but it had been so long since she’d heard some of them. Batteries were almost impossible to find anymore, and if any did turn up, they were almost always reserved for flashlights or to power shortwave radios.
The sun broke through the tree canopy and provided some light as Carrie walked alone down the road. Mosquitoes attacked her from all around and bit her exposed skin. She slapped her bare arms, neck, and face, killing the insects by the dozens. Without any insecticides, insects had increased their numbers and had become more aggressive. She retrieved the poncho from the backpack and slid it over her head, pulling the strings tight around her hoodie. Carrie knew the nylon would impede her hearing against possible attack, but the onslaught of mosquitoes made it impossible to walk without covering her skin. She was breaking several key rules of survival:
Don’t walk alone
Don’t stay out after dark
Always be vigilant
But this wasn’t the first time. Over the years, the rules had become more of a guideline. And depending on who you spoke to, they all had their own version.
Several hours into her walk, Carrie realized she would never meet up with her group on time. Looking towards the sun, she estimated it was late afternoon, sometime before six, and knew all too well that there could be anything lurking in the woods just off the road and that she could miss a turn if she hurried. It was best to find a place to rest. She was close to exhaustion and hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. Up ahead, a hulking dead figure lay across the road. The shape was familiar, one that she hadn’t seen in months. Carrie swung the rifle from her back and readied it. Her pace slowed as she got closer to the abandoned car, then she stopped and listened. She waited, unmoving, for any sign that the car was a trap and that someone would jump from the woods or just shoot her where she stood.
Once certain she was alone, Carrie knew it was time to rest. A quick inspection found the tires flat, but more importantly, all the windows were intact, and all the doors were still attached and closed. She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered in through the glass. The car was empty. Carrie hoped the doors weren’t locked as she pulled on a handle. It opened without resistance, and she was met with a burst of stale air. A second look behind the seats and she felt safe that she was alone. She tossed her backpack onto the passenger seat, climbed in, and quietly closed the door locking them both, then pulled both front seats all the way forward and crawled over to the backseat. Curling up on the floor between the front and back seats, she covered herself with the poncho hiding herself from view. She would be safe from the insects, but if she were attacked, she wouldn’t stand a chance. The rifle was on the backseat, the hammer cocked in case she needed it in a hurry.
She retrieved the backpack and found a small can she had taken before setting fire to the cabin. Under the poncho, she couldn’t see what it was, and she didn’t care. Carrie pulled her Swiss Army Knife from her pant pocket. From experience she knew which tool to open and carefully removed the lid. She recognized the scent of dog food, most likely well beyond the expiry date, but it was food. No one cared about eating dog food, or expired food anymore. It was edible, and the protein and fat were badly needed. Using her fingers, she scooped out the food. Carrie had eaten worse to survive, they all had. At least she didn’t have to kill whatever she was eating. Even after all this time, she hated killing to survive. Her belly almost full, she wiped the inside of the can with her finger and licked it clean, then placed the can on the seat beside the rifle. She would bury it in the morning along the roadside.
The only sounds came from insects buzzing around the car and the animals outside—sounds she had grown to hate. Carrie longed for the noise of city life: car horns, tires rolling along the highway, people, lots of people laughing, drinking, dancing, music. She wanted to dance, to listen to loud music, to feel the bass thumping against her chest as she partied in the club, the smell of stale beer and men’s cologne. Carrie wanted to dress up, to wear something feminine, something other than boots and pants. More than anything, she wanted a hot shower—no, a bath, a long hot bath with bubbles and a glass of wine, piano music playing softly in the background. She wanted to sleep in a bed without the fear of death every night. She wanted to live, to enjoy living, not just survive. Right now, she wanted to cry. Instead, she began to hum a song. She couldn’t remember which one, or from which group; maybe it was a blend of many different songs; it didn’t matter anymore. Carrie bolted upright, reached over the seat, and pushed the power button on the radio. There wasn’t a key in the ignition, but she did it anyway. The radio didn’t light up, music didn’t start to play, there was no static, nothing. She fell backwards to the floor and began to weep. She was lonely, scared. Maybe dying was the easy way out. She gripped her pistol and felt the weight of exhaustion overtake her as she fell asleep.
Walking aimlessly all night until the sun was about to rise, he found the need to stop and sleep. He curled up at the base of a tree and buried his face deep in the brush to keep the morning light out. Not knowing why, the urge to hide and rest overcame him. He pulled more leaves and earth around his head to blacken out the light. As he lay still, ground insects began to crawl over his face, yet he felt nothing. They didn’t seem to bother him as they moved along over his open eyes, into his mouth. He didn’t move. Eventually his mind began to drift off, thinking of nothing, until he saw flashes of the dead people from the cabin. The images didn’t frighten him; they didn’t cause him any anxiety or any emotion at all. He had been an amoeba, unable to think for himself, just able to survive. Now, these images began to fill his mind, images that made no sense. He was beginning to—would he call it—remember?
He fell asleep as the images played over in his mind. Looking around, he wanted to get up but the pain in his stomach was intense. Running his fingers over the hole, he slipped a finger inside causing the pain to spike. He opened his mouth to scream but heard nothing. It took quite some time for the pain to settle, and the experience took a lot out of him. If he’d known what he was dealing with, he might be able to comprehend what he was experiencing. But he knew nothing. He tried to straighten out, but it caused him pain. Whatever he tried to do caused pain. The pain made him tired.
Closing his eyes, he fell asleep.
Day 917
The heat inside the car was becoming intense as the sun beat down through the trees. Carrie yawned and pulled the poncho to the side as she felt her muscles ache and demand to be stretched after a night of being cramped on the car floor. She slowly peeked her head above the top of the seats, scanned the horizon for anything moving and watched the treeline around the entire perimeter. Almost ten minutes passed before she felt comfortable enough that she was alone. She had slept past sunrise, longer than she wanted to, but alarm clocks, or time for that matter, no longer existed. Looking up into the sky through the windshield, she guessed it was a few hours after sunrise. The night terrors would be sleeping, but danger still lurked in daylight.
She carefully unlocked the door, pushed it open, holding the rifle directly in front of her. Stepping from the car, she continued to watch for signs of any type of movement from the edge of the road. That’s where she would be if she was watching the car. Satisfied she was alone; she got out and placed her pack on the roof. Carrie took in a deep breath, longed for a toothbrush and mouthwash, but settled for a bottle of water from her backpack and gulped it down. She tossed the empty back in the pack to refill from a stream if she came upon one.
Now that there was ample light, she went thought the car for anything she could scavenge. She opened the glove box and the trunk, looked under the seats, inspecting any little cubby hole that could hold anything of value or to trade. The car looked as if it had been ransacked multiple times, but she never passed up a chance to find something someone might have missed. She grabbed the back seat and pulled. The seat cushion came up easily and underneath lay two emergency road flares. Carrie smiled. She couldn’t believe her luck; no one had bothered to check under the seat cushion. She grabbed both flares— they felt dry and in good condition—then tossed them into the pack. With all her gear ready, Carrie buried her dog food can, flung the pack over her shoulders, readied the rifle, and began to make her way down the country road.
Her stomach rumbled. Was it hunger again, or was it the expired dog food? Carrie had some food in her pack but not enough if she didn’t make it back to rejoin the group. Only a few years earlier, she could have used her cell phone to call her friends and tell them where she was. But that was a long time ago, a lifetime ago. Those things didn’t exist anymore. Looking towards the treeline, the sun was just cresting the tops of the trees. Birds flew above and squirrels ran across the ground foraging for food. If the squirrels remained on the ground, she was safe. If they ran up the trees and began to shriek their high chirps, it was a warning that a predator was nearby. It was another warning sign that was now just part of life, nature’s security system. If she couldn’t find food soon, one of the alarm system squirrels would be lunch.
Ryan Bowker ordered the group to break camp, they would leave within the hour. Three of the four other members protested, but Ryan argued that staying in one place was what got people killed.
He was kneeling in the dirt, gathering his effects, stuffing them into his backpack when Steph stepped before him, silently, setting her foot on the corner of his blanket.
“I can’t really roll it up with your foot there, now, can I?” His voice was calm, his eyes never looking up at her.
“We’re leaving Carrie behind?” Steph lifted her foot.
Ryan stuffed the blanket in his pack, “We’ve already stayed longer than we should have. She knew we were supposed to leave at sunrise.”
Steph’s voice grew louder and sterner. “We’ve never left anyone behind before. Why now?”
Ryan used a bungy cord to secure his pack and stood. “I never made the rules. We …” He looked around to the others, and twirled his index finger in the air. “We all made the rules and agreed. If someone doesn’t make it back by the agreed-upon time, we leave. We don’t know what has happened to Carrie or even if something has happened, but we can’t take that chance, now can we? You remember what happened the last time we waited?”
Steph lowered her head and nodded.
He put his hand on her shoulder. “Two more hours, then we head out. I’ll give her two more hours.”
Steph looked up smiling. “Thanks.” She wrapped her arms around Ryan and gave him a hug, “We are all family now,” she said, and skipped away.
When Steph was out of earshot, Ryan mumbled to himself, “Fuck. This is gonna bite me in the ass. I just know it.” He looked to see his younger sister talking to the rest of the group, telling them they were going to wait a little longer for Carrie. Ryan took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, knowing he was putting the group at risk. They had an itinerary they had to adhere to, and this would cause a delay meeting up with the rest of the group in two days.
Ryan pulled a paper map from his pack, unfolded it, placed it on the ground and used stones on either corner to keep it from being blown away in the breeze. There were black marker notes in codes scribbled on the edges of the map. Each tribe had their own code, and the leader of each tribe had to learn at least one other tribe’s code. It was designed so that if any one tribe went rogue, they would only have the cypher for one other tribe: low tech security. Not long ago, paper maps were antiquated and obsolete. Now, paper was their only option. Ryan studied the notes, jotted a few of his own and used his finger to do some math in the sand. As he did his calculations in the dirt, another member walked over and stood beside him without saying a word.
Ryan continued his calculations, ignoring the person standing beside him. When he finished, he folded the map, secured it in his pack, then stood before Jarvis Cook. Jarvis had a look of panic, and his body language reflected his mood. He rocked back and forth waiting for Ryan to say something.
The mouse rolled over in the den. Pain flashed along its nerves, flooding its senses. This was a new experience for it. Its muscles twitched and its limbs contracted; its mind was becoming clouded and what few memories it had were gone. It kicked and clawed at the dirt; its tail flicked as it rolled about. Eventually, exhaustion took over and it collapsed. Hours later it woke up—changed—its mind numb, all survival instincts gone; the only things that remained were raw hatred and rage.
It walked down the dark, earthen tunnel, lumbering its way, not knowing where it was headed. It was drawn to the noise ahead. It stopped at a fork, listened to the sounds, and took the tunnel to the left. It scurried along, no destination in mind, no thoughts in its head. As it emerged in a larger chamber, it noticed a small cluster of adult field mice. For no reason, it lunged at the closest mouse, sunk its teeth into the unsuspecting prey’s neck and ripped out a chunk of flesh. The mouse let out a low whine as blood squirted from the open wound. The attacker ran at a second mouse, knocking it over and biting the exposed abdomen, tearing at the flesh, releasing its bite then attacking again. Hearing the assault, the other rodents turned, and fled down various tunnels, away from the attacker.
The infected mouse looked up while chewing on the bowels of its victim, watching the other mice disappear, then went back to feasting. Once it finished eating what it wanted from its victim, it slowly walked over to the mouse with the neck wound. The first mouse, on its side and close to death, was still breathing. It looked up at its attacker. If mice had feelings or were able to understand life, it wondered why this was happening.
The attacker opened its mouth wide and bit down hard on the head of its fallen prey. The skull crunched under the powerful jaws. Its teeth dug deep into bone and pulled hard, tearing the head off the dead mouse.
Jarvis had difficulty expressing his concern about waiting another two hours for Carrie without raising his voice. “We are supposed to be meeting up with Scott and his group before nightfall. If we don’t leave now, we won’t make it.”
Ryan stood patiently before Jarvis. “Listen, one thing you don’t know is that we always pad the meeting times. Remember when we used to take plane trips and sometimes they would circle the airport for half an hour or so, or they had a headwind and were delayed a bit, they always had reserve fuel. We do the same, if we are supposed to meet at six tonight, we have time. If we have to hustle a bit, we run for a few miles.” He politely smiled at Jarvis who didn’t look convinced. “Besides, we’re low on meat and water. I’ve already sent Greg and Jen out to hunt and gather whatever they can find. They’ll be back soon. As soon as they get back, we’re leaving. Is that alright with you?” Jarvis felt a little more comfortable with that answer and nodded in agreement.
