The the Infected, page 3
Ryan placed his hand on Jarvis’ shoulder. “I wouldn’t endanger anyone. We have a schedule; we’ll meet up with Scott and then we’ll continue north. Tell everyone I’m heading out to find a tree and take a dump.” He pointed in the direction he was planning on going. “Give me five minutes.”
Any time a team member wanted privacy, they had to tell someone where they were going and how much time they were going to be gone. Without saying another word, Jarvis spun on his heel and walked away. Ryan picked up his pack, slung it over his shoulders and slowly walked into the bush.
He found a fallen log, dropped his pants and sat down. He pulled a copy of Tecnobeat magazine from his pack and filed through the articles. In his previous life, Ryan had been involved in high-tech, designing software for new electronic devices. Now, he flipped through the magazine, reading articles from faded pages about devices that no longer existed. Even if he happened to come across a used laptop or cellphone, there wasn’t anything to power them. All device batteries had long since gone dead. He sighed deeply, longing for those days. After he was done, he rolled up the magazine, placing it carefully back in his pack, then pulled out a roll of toilet paper. As he did, a cellphone fell from his pack to the forest floor. He carefully picked it up, holding it before him, brushing off the dirt. He pressed the power button, knowing full well it wouldn’t turn on. Ryan wanted that phone to have just enough power to turn on one more time so he could open the photo app and see the face of his girlfriend. He held the button down; nothing happened. “Please,” he whispered. The phone battery hadn’t worked in years. He held the power down for another minute, but nothing happened. “Fuck technology.” He dropped the phone into his pack.
Jen and Greg returned with several plastic milk jugs filled with cool stream water, and half dozen dead birds hung upside down from their poles. In a cloth carrier, they had brought back fresh eggs, “Breakfast in thirty minutes.”
Ryan rejoined the group, smiling at the morning’s haul. “That’s amazing guys. How did you get all this so quick?”
Greg was ready to tell his story when Jen began to talk over him. “Greg found this field, open, beautiful. The birds were nesting on the ground, and we snuck up on them. It was a like a grocery store, isle after isle of birds and eggs.
Jen turned to Ryan, “You okay? Your eyes are red.”
He rubbed at them, wiping away the wetness. “Allergies. Miss the days when we could buy Benadryl.”
Carrie walked along the road; her pace just short of a power walk. She had been watching the sun make its way across the sky and guessed the time, 11:30. She looked at her watch, a cheap one she “acquired” from one of the homes they had come across years earlier. It was a wind-up watch, no batteries. Carrie made certain she wound the watch every few days, 11:42. “Close enough,” she said softly to herself, knowing no one could hear her. It had become a game she played with herself, learn to tell time by looking at the sun and stars.
She knew she was late. She was supposed to have met with Ryan at dawn. The group had most certainly broken camp, but she knew where they were going. She had discussed this with Ryan before attempting to meet with her aunt. Instead of a family visit, she’d had to burn her aunt and cousins and the family cottage to the ground when she’d found them murdered. Death had become commonplace; so common, she didn’t feel sad or shed a tear. Carrie almost envied them. Their pain and suffering were over, hers would continue for God knows how long. Sometimes she wanted everything to end and thought about killing herself almost every day. Maybe not every day, but unquestionably every night.
Luckily, Carrie didn’t need a map; she had an amazing ability to find her way around. If she had been somewhere, anywhere, once, she could find her way back. And, she had travelled these roads several times as a child. As she made her way, a familiar sound caught her attention; she paused for a moment, listened and knew what it was. She broke into a full run, breaking through the brush, pushing the branches aside, some slapping her across the face, others sticking her in the bare skin. She stopped in the clearing before a small, fast running creek with water collecting in a shallow pool. She dropped her backpack and rifle and fell to her knees, sticking her face in the clear water. She drank until her belly was full and couldn’t take any more. The water was cold, fresh, and delicious. Falling back on the grass, it was a slice of heaven in a world filled with evil. Rolling on the grass, her stomach made a long-forgotten sound of fullness as the water sloughed back and forth inside her. Eyes closed; she had a half-smile of contentment. She lay in the tall grass with the morning sun beating down on her damp face, wanting to fall asleep, and forget. Instead, she got on all fours, pulled several empty containers from her pack, and filled them with fresh water. The added weight would slow her down but having access to cold fresh water was a luxury she could not pass up.
At the water’s edge, she spied a frog staring at her. It was large, green, and would give her enough protein to last the day and probably the next day as well. She stopped, looked at the frog and remembered her bedroom as a child. Porcelain frogs, frog stickers, fluffy stuffed frogs, they all adorned her room and now she longed for the large green plush frog doll she slept with. Carrie pointed a finger at the eyes in the water, “Today is your lucky day my friend. Hide when someone comes by to drink from your home and stay alive or the next time you may get roasted.”
Just above the water’s edge where the frog kept his lookout, Carrie spied a small bush with red berries. Her spirits soared; her pulse quickened as she stood, steadied herself and jumped across to the opposite bank. Kneeling, she gently cradled the raspberry bush, carefully turning over the branch then pulling berries free and placing them between her lips. She closed her eyes and let the berries fall into her mouth, they were sweet and juicy and delicious.
Carrie turned to the frog in the pond who still hadn’t moved, “Oh my God. I had forgotten how good these taste. It’s been so long.” She pulled one more raspberry free and tossed it into the water. Again, the bullfrog didn’t move, it’s eyes never leaving Carrie. The berry floated and bobbed not far from the frog. “My way of paying for the berries I’m taking from your home.” The berry settled along the bank, lodged in the wet grass. “Not a berry eater, huh? Well, I am. This is the sweetest thing I’ve had in a long time.” She sat down and continued to pick the raspberries off the bush. “I appreciate you letting me eat and drink here. You’re a mighty fine host. I don’t suppose you get many visitors along this way.” Carrie looked over her shoulders, first right then left, “It’s beautiful here. Maybe when all this is over, I’ll come back and build a cabin right over there,” she pointed to a large clearing. “The living room windows will face south, and I can stop by every morning and chat with you when I gather my water and raspberries.”
She knew talking to a frog bordered on insanity but having an opportunity to have a casual conversation was too good to not take advantage of.
She popped another handful of berries in her mouth, closed her eyes and let the juices flow as she squished the fruit, “This is heaven; it really is.” With her mouth still full, she introduced herself to her host, “I’m Carrie. And you are?”
The frog continued to stare at her, never moving, wary of her presence.
“I hate those cliché names; you know when they use names like Froggy or Kermit. Although, I have to admit, I loved Kermit. You don’t look like a Kermit. How ’bout Mulder? He was in my favourite show growing up. If I call you Mulder, I can never think of you as dinner.” She filled her mouth with berries again, “I loved—I mean, loved—Mulder. He was so, I don’t know, cute.” Carrie laughed as she savoured the berries and looked at Mulder in the water. “Well Mulder, I’m so pleased to meet you. I hope you and I will become close friends and get to know each other really well.”
The remaining ripe raspberries on the bush were giving way to smaller berries that needed a few more days to mature. Carrie ate another handful, thanked her host again, then decided it was time to leave.
She placed the full bottles of water in her pack. The aroma of the lavender soap rose up to from the bottom and she briefly considered taking a bath in the stream. “I would never muck your home Mulder. Even though I would love a bath. I can always find another place to clean up.” Carrie leaned forward, stuck her face in the water one more time and drank as much as she could until she felt she would burst. She turned back to the eyes in the water. “I want to see you next time I stop by for a drink Mr. Mulder.” Hydrated and with a full stomach, she gathered up her gear and made her way back to the road. It would be difficult to keep the pace she’d had before stopping for a drink, but she hadn’t felt this full in a long time, even if it was just water and berries. An odd thought came to her. For the first time in a long time, my pee wouldn’t be yellow, but clear. She smiled. The little things in life.
The fox stood motionless at the base of a tree watching the fallen leaves on the forest floor rustle as the mouse scurried beneath them. The mouse poked its head above the leaves then ducked back under the foliage. It moved about back and forth, pushed its nose in the dirt, then raised its head again.
The fox slowed it’s breathing, never moving, only its eyes followed the rustle of leaves hiding her prey. She hadn’t eaten since the day before and her empty stomach ached with hunger. A mouse wasn’t a meal, but it was better than going hungry looking for larger prey like squirrels.
The movement under the leaves stopped. The fox lowered its head to just the top of the leaves and opened her jaws, ready to strike. As she was about to pounce, she felt a sharp pain on her back and yelped loudly. Turning to see what was causing the pain, she noticed another mouse had attacked her and dug its teeth into her skin. The fox spun around in tight circles, attempting to toss the tiny attacker from her back. Failing to rid herself of the aggressive mouse, she rolled over onto her back, another instinctive move to lose the attacker. When she righted herself, the mouse was still holding on tightly with its bite. The pain from the attack increased causing the fox to contort herself so she could kill the mouse which was now riding on her back like a cowboy breaking a horse. The fox’s teeth dug deep into the aggressor then pulled hard. Unable to hold its grip on her skin, the mouse let go and decided to attack the face of the fox. It bit the lip, tearing into the flesh, ripping out a small chunk of skin.
Although the fox had sunk its teeth through the body of the attacking mouse, the little rodent never let up on the assault. It was close to death, yet it spit the skin from its mouth and attacked the fox again and again until it died. The fox didn’t bother to eat the kill. Instead she lay down, pain searing through her, blood dripping from her lip. She whimpered for a few minutes then felt something new as her nerves began to feel like fire roaring though her body.
He rolled over in the brush unable to rest. He couldn’t recall if he had ever had this problem before. Did he sleep; was he supposed to sleep? Was it that he couldn’t remember, or that everything was new and he didn’t have a programed response.
There was an irritant in one of his eyes, so he blinked repeatedly to remove it. Debris fell from his shoulders and back as he sat up. He leaned against the tree and rubbed his eyes. Looking at his fingers, he noticed tiny bugs crawling over his hands. His mind registered something new, something he had never noticed before. As he rolled his hand back and forth, staring at it, he noticed a small circle of colour had formed on his index finger. Looking at the rest of his hand, the rest of his skin was a solid shade of gray, no variation, no deviation. Pulling his sleeve up, the colour of his skin remained constant.
He looked beyond his arm to the forest, and again he was amazed by what he saw. The sun had not yet set, the light bothered his eyes, but it showed him something that he’d never noticed before. There was a hint of new colour, the leaves on the trees cast a hue, a colour that didn’t have a name. There was never any colour in his world before today, only shades of gray. In fact, he couldn’t recall anything before yesterday, yet he clearly remembered everything he’d done on that day: waking up in the cabin, fighting to find a way out, walking through the night, and waking up here. He remembered everything, but nothing before that.
His world had been night; during the day, he’d buried himself in the dirt away from the sunlight. It was instinct; not done because he wanted to, but because he was coded that way. Standing up, he fumbled slightly and braced himself, then stood tall and stretched. His joints cracked, and he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. He remembered the wound. He slid his hand down; there was tenderness where the hole had been, but it was better today. Pulling his hand away, he noticed something again; his hand had a small amount of wetness on it that yesterday was black, but today it was something different. There was a colour to it, not like the colour of the patch on his finger or the colour of the leaves on the trees, it was darker. He looked up past the treeline and directly into the sun. The light burned his eyes so badly, he shut them quickly, dropping to his knees. He fumbled about, put his head down and pulled loose dirt and leaves around his head to block out the light. Pain coursed through his head as tiny bursts of light popped in his eyes. Eventually they stopped, and he rested.
The main road broke into a fork. Carrie stopped, dropped her gear, and decided to rest. The area around the intersection was a large clearing with the overgrowth of trees and bush at least fifty feet from the road’s edge. If anyone or anything tried to approach, she would hear them or see them before they got too close. She sat on her pack, took off her boots and socks, then rubbed her feet. “What I wouldn’t give for a mountain bike,” she said to herself, half expecting a response from some unknown bystander. Mulder’s stream was too narrow for a bath, but it would have felt good to soak her feet after she filled the water bottles. Time didn’t allow for such indulgences. Carrie could feel fatigue begin to take hold and knew if she stopped for much longer, she would most certainly fall asleep. She donned her boots, took a sip of water, lifted the gear in place and kept to the road on the left.
Along the way, cars, trucks, and other vehicles littered the road and shoulders. Over the years, all the vehicles had been scavenged for any useable parts. The doors were open, the trunk and hood were up, and the gas caps were open. Anything and everything that could be used for survival was gone: gas for fuel; mirrors to help start fires or use as communications devices; batteries for power; tools that could be used as weapons. Fabric torn from the seats could be used as a fire starter or clothing and anything mechanical that had a use was pulled from the wreck. There was little reason to go through these heaps of metal, they no longer had any value to anyone.
Less than an hour later, Carrie came upon a deserted camp. She knew the group had a schedule to follow and would leave without her, and it was her own fault she was late. It was high ground, an excellent vantage point all around; easy to defend. She walked to the fire pit, placed her hand over the embers and felt the warmth. She turned over the rocks from around the pit until she spotted what she was looking for, a tiny arrow showing the direction the group had taken. She smiled, scrubbed the dirt to erase the arrow, and headed in the direction the message indicated.
Carrie kept a strong pace as she made her way to the meeting point. She wasn’t far behind and wanted to alert Ryan to her position. She glanced up at the sun hanging low in the sky, estimated the time and knew she might have to pick up the pace. She unslung the rifle from her shoulder, checked the magazine, fired one shot into the air, counted to ten, then fired a second. She counted to ten and heard a single shot in the distance. Over the years, they had all developed the skill of narrowing where the gunshots were coming from and how far the other shooter was.
From the sound of the gunshot, Carrie knew she was on the right road and estimated her group was only a few miles ahead. If she kept a steady pace, she hoped to meet up with them by sundown. The last thing she wanted to do was spend another night alone and unprotected. She pulled one of the water bottles from her pack, took a long slow drink, capped the bottle, and replaced it. Even though the water was no longer cool, it was still the best water she had tasted in a long time.
Most of the time, the water they drank was brown with sediment at the bottom of the bottle. When they were forced to start drinking lake or stream water, many became ill after clean water became a luxury. They drank what they could when they found it. Not long after the event, Carrie came upon an abandoned Coca-Cola delivery truck. Much of the load had been scavenged, but she found a few dozen cans that had rolled under the vehicle and had been missed. The cans were still intact, and she drank the sweet, carbonated pop until she burped and her belly was bloated. That was the last time she recalled drinking something sweet. The simple taste of sweetness had been replaced with bland foods, no salt, no pepper, no spices, no sugar.
Carrie felt refreshed enough to break into a jog despite the weight of her pack. A mile or two at this pace and she certainly would meet up with her group by sundown. Carrying the rifle in both hands, the gun rocking back and forth in cadence with her stride, she felt like a soldier, heavy equipment pack and a rifle bobbing side to side. A few years back, all this would have been a dream, she chuckled, a dream, more like a nightmare. Sweat formed first on her brow, then dripped steadily off the end of her nose and down the centre of her back. Her shirt had become moist and her breathing laboured, but she fought against it. She could no more bear another night alone in the woods than she could killing Mulder the frog.
She thought back to her plush frog in her bedroom. A clean house, a bedroom, a bed with fresh sheets. She longed for those things, but they were things that belonged in a different world. Carrie was from a different world, one that believed in families and comfort and things like beds and plush toys.
