The the Infected, page 4
Well into her run, even over the sound of her breathing, Carrie heard a branch snap in the woods. It was faint, but she heard it, distinct and familiar. A sound she had heard many times before. She didn’t bother to turn around; instead, Carrie kept her pace. Her heartrate and breathing increased. Between breaths, she heard the sound again coming from the same area. Stopping for a moment, she turned and held her breath. A few moments later she heard another branch fracture under the weight of something large. It was coming from the edge of the road to her right. Whatever it was, it had no intention of hiding its presence. It was definitely large—a bear, a deer or moose, perhaps even human. The sun was setting and the overgrowth along the road edge was mired in darkness. She waited for whatever it was to show itself as it crept closer.
Fear spread through her in an instant, and she knew that to remain still was foolish. Carrie turned and broke into a full run. She held the rifle at the ready, turning around every few moments to see if whatever it was had shown itself. It was difficult to see anything in the murky darkness, but nothing had broken through the brush.
It had been a long time since Carrie had been this afraid of the unknown, but at that moment she felt alone, scared, and vulnerable. She decided not to turn around, but she did stop, if only for a moment. She held her breath, waiting for whatever it was to make itself known. The sound of footfalls in the grass had increased; whatever it was, it was not remaining still; it was following her. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled, sending tiny lightning shocks down her spine. Taking in a deep breath, she bolted down the road, refusing to look back.
Her boots pounded on the gravel. The pack she carried made her feel as if she was being weighed down by hundreds of pounds. Carrie wanted to shed the pack but knew she needed the fresh water, food, and survival gear inside. She could run much faster without the weight, but could she make it back to the group without the equipment.
Not far ahead, Carrie spotted a thick group of trees that would provide protection against attack. In one movement, she slid on the gravel then rolled between the trees. She cocked the hammer back, aimed the barrel down the road, looked through the sight, and gently placed her finger around the trigger. Holding her breath again, Carrie listened for sounds of any kind.
Branches broke, grass crunched, but nothing showed itself; then the sound eventually stopped. For several minutes, Carrie waited for whatever was making the noise to move closer. There was nothing but silence. Sweat rolled down her forehead, beads stinging her eyes making her blink uncontrollably. She wanted to wipe her eyes but was scared the very moment she took her hand from the gun something would attack. After several minutes she chanced it and wiped the sweat free from her eyes.
With clear vision, she trained her eyes to where the mysterious noises had come from, but now there was nothing but the sound of crickets. Carrie held her breath one more time and stared down the barrel into the murky grass. Squinting to focus, she was positive she saw the tall grass move. Her index finger folded around the trigger and began to apply pressure. As she waited for whatever was in the grass to show itself, the movement ceased.
It’s getting ready to pounce, she told herself. She waited. Time passed and Carrie remained motionless. There had been too many times in the past when she gave up early only to be surprised that one of them would attempt a surprise attack. She watched as the shadows spread themselves across the road and the grass became nothing more than a large black mass, making it impossible to see if whatever was hiding was even there any longer. Eventually, the entire area became mired in darkness. She could no longer see any detail in the area from which she believed it was staring at her from. It would be easier for her to sneak away, if only she could avoid making any noise.
Her trigger finger relaxed; her thumb pulled back on the hammer and let it return to its resting position. The hammer made a soft clicking sound as it moved. Releasing her grip, she placed her palm flat on the ground, slowly applying more pressure, letting the dirt and grass settle under her hand. Pushing herself up, Carrie’s gaze never left the spot where she was still certain whatever it was lay in wait.
Placing one knee under her torso, Carrie was able to stand without making any noise, her eyes never losing their focus. She placed one foot behind her, the toe of her shoe on the ground, repeating the motions she had done with her hand. Her foot slowly rolling back letting the soil beneath her shoe settle as she applied more weight.
She did this several times, each step calculated and slow to complete. Eventually, she felt comfortable there was enough distance between her and the stalker to make a run for it. She stood motionless, silent, waiting for movement from the grass or any sound at all.
Carrie slung the rifle over her shoulder, secured everything she had on her back, then turned and ran. As she did, her stalker sprang from the grass and gave chase. Dirt and grass crunched behind her. Carrie knew better than to look back. She could lose her footing, run into a tree, or fall. Instead, she took in a deep breath and quickened her pace. Instinctively, Carrie felt her stalker was gaining ground on her. The water, guns and supplies had added more weight that she would normally carry, and she again had a fleeting thought about shedding the gear to lighten her load. Instead, she found her pistol, pulled back on the hammer, planted her feet, slid in the dirt, turned, and pointed the gun into the darkness. From past experience, she knew a pistol was better for close combat.
Her chest heaved. Panting, Carrie tried to catch her breath as she waved the pistol from side to side, sweeping the area for anything that was following her. It was too dark to see anything more than a few feet in front of her. If she did spot anything, her stalker would be on her before she could get off a shot. She waited in the darkness for whatever it was to show itself. There were only the sounds of the leaves as they brushed against each other in the soft, evening breeze and crickets sending out their call. She could hear nothing else, nothing at all.
The chase had been too short for whatever it was to give up. Carrie knew with her gear she could easily be outrun. It still had to be out there, waiting for the right moment. Maybe it was small, she thought, too small to make an outright attack, and needed to attack from behind.
Carrie blindly stepped back, one pace at a time, her pistol still moving side to side. Her outstretched arms had begun to weaken, the gun slowly lowered, as she was unable to keep her arm straight. She decided to hold the pistol in the other hand, letting the blood flow again to her fingers. Carrie flexed her fingers, then relaxed them, repeating this as she continued to move slowly deeper into the woods.
Her mouth was dry, pasty, her upper lip stuck to her teeth. If she weren’t so scared, she would take a sip of the stream water from her bottle. Even warm, it would be refreshing. With her left hand, she reached for the water bottle, found it and attempted to flip up the flexible straw. Carrie fumbled with the lid, silently cursing the tight flip top that she thought was so great when she took it from the abandoned dollar store. Not wanting to lose her water bottle, she made certain it was placed back in the pocket of the backpack without taking a drink.
Carrie continued her slow backwards pace until the heel of her boot stuck something. She carefully backed up even more and felt the trunk of a tree against her pack. With her free hand, she felt the base and knew the tree was large and would support her weight. Reaching up to find a branch, Carrie felt nothing but the evening air. Instead, she made her way around to the other side to put the tree between her and her stalker, her eyes never leaving the sight at the end of the pistol. With the tree acting as a shield, Carrie felt she had the time to see if there was a low hanging branch, she could grab to pull herself up. A quick glance made her smile.
The pistol went to her left hand; she reached up, took hold of the limb, and pulled hard. It held. Carrie knew the steps she would have to take to climb the tree as quickly as possible: holster the gun, grab the limb with both hands, pulling herself up using her feet to help propel her, and scramble up the tree as far as she could without looking back.
She counted down in her head from three, hoping this would give her the courage and strength to save herself. Three. Pause. Two. Before she could get to one, her stalker sprang from the grass and ran toward her. A dog, feral now—but possibly at one point it could have been a family pet. Lips pulled back, teeth bared, it jumped at Carrie. In a panic, she pulled the trigger. The dog didn’t yelp. She’d missed her mark. She fell backward, landing on the ground as she blindly pulled the trigger, firing the remaining five rounds, her free arm protecting her face. The dog landed on top of her. She expected it to start biting; instead, the weight of the dog was limp across her body.
Carrie began to scream wildly, pushing and kicking the body of the dog off her. It rolled lifeless to the ground. She kicked the body several times to make certain it was dead. Finally, she took in a deep breath, thumbed the cylinder release and flipped the gun to the left, letting the empty cartridges spill from the barrel to the ground. Pulling a handful of bullets from her pack, years of practice helped her to quickly reload the .38 calibre pistol.
She stood, panting, adjusted the pack on her back, then used her foot to tap the body of the dog once again. Her heart still pounding, Carrie knew full well dogs now ran in packs, and unless this was a loner there would be more to follow shortly. It was safer to climb a tree than risk walking alone in the dark. She picked up the dog’s hind leg and dragged it to the edge of the clearing. Scavengers would be by throughout the night; she was certain of it. Carrie didn’t want to attract attention to herself if they caught her scent. Once the carcass was displayed in the open without any obstruction of trees or thickets, it wouldn’t take long before others came to feast on the fresh kill.
Carrie rushed back into the woods. She found a suitable tree to rest in for the night, holstered her gun, grabbed the lowest branch, and pulled herself up. The backpack kept getting caught on the overgrowth. She braced herself between a large branch and the trunk, pulled the pack off, retrieved a few items for the night, then wrapped the straps around the highest branch she could reach. Exhausted, she climbed up as far as she could, in the darkness, found a fork between two large branches and settled in snuggly. She secured her legs, torso, and chest firmly to the tree with the rope she had in the backpack so she wouldn’t fall out when she fell asleep. It wouldn’t be as comfortable as the back seat of the car, but it would be safer than sleeping on the ground alone. She closed her eyes, and let her mind drift off to Mulder the frog and the serene creek with fresh water and berries. It wasn’t long before she was asleep.
He pulled himself up from his covering, and once again the recent sensation of pain coursed through him. He reached around and rubbed his lower back, his fingers digging deep into the stiff muscle. It soon felt better. Putting his head back, he let out a soft whimper. The noise startled him. He wasn’t aware he could make that sound. He felt the area on his stomach where the hole was and ran his finger around the edge. The pain was still there, but now it was barely noticeable, and the bleeding had stopped. He ignored the wound, looked about, then made his way through the trees.
His mind was once again filled with strange images and thoughts. If he had been more aware of who and what he was, he would have realized the images were memories from long ago. Now, the memories were foreign; strange images of places and objects that he couldn’t recall or even recognize what they represented.
He shook those new images from his head and felt that pang in his stomach, hunger. He needed food. He had only walked a few feet beyond the treeline, and he noticed the sun was low in the sky with bands of orange, red and yellow streaming across the horizon, melding with the clouds. Colours, he was noticing colours once again. He marveled at how beautiful the sky was, no longer seeing just shades of grey. He stood motionless, staring at the sunset, wondering what it was that caused those colours and how he could have missed seeing them before.
It was only then he realized something he hadn’t done before; he was considering time. Staring into the sky, he began to wonder about a lot of things, but the sounds made by his empty stomach won out. He walked along the treeline hoping he could find something to eat soon. Moving slowly, he sniffed the air hoping to catch a whiff of something in the area. Nothing. He scanned the area, looking for movement in the grass or in the trees. As he approached, the crickets went silent, alerting the animals that a predator was nearby. He carefully lowered himself to his knees, remaining motionless for minutes on end. Eventually, the crickets would begin again to chatter. Even then, he wouldn’t move. Something new occurred to him; he noticed he was having a more difficult time seeing in the dark and had to squint to see the movements around him.
He continued to listen closely as the crickets chirped. Cupping his hand, he focused on the sounds, then slammed down upon an insect. Picking it up, he popped it into his mouth. He chewed once or twice, then swallowed. It wasn’t enough to fill his stomach; he repeated the process over and over again. His belly barely noticed a dozen or more insects.
The remaining crickets stopped their chirping as he stood and made his way through the tall grass. He heard rustling as tiny rodents ran for cover. To him, the sound of rodents in the brush was nothing more than a potential meal. He fell to his knees and began to grab at the sounds in the dark. He slapped to the right, then left, wherever the sounds went; he haphazardly cupped whatever was making the noise. Finally, he felt something under his hand. Whatever it was, it scratched and dug at the dirt attempting to escape. He slowly closed his hand around the prey until it was unable to move. Squeezing it tightly, it was now completely trapped. Holding his cupped hand close, he pulled his thumb back slightly to reveal a tiny field mouse. He was about to toss it into his mouth and eat it whole when the thought suddenly seemed repugnant to him. He could barely see the tiny rodent in the dim light, trapped in his hand, it’s face staring back at him with no clue of what had almost occurred.
He loosened his grip, the mouse took advantage of the moment, jumped to the ground and disappeared in the grass.
From Carrie’s perch high in the tree, she could hear scavengers attacking the carcass of the dog she had killed earlier. She felt uneasy about being so close to them, but she didn’t want to be caught by another hungry predator dragging the carcass any further. The sounds of the animals fighting over scraps of meat frightened her. The smaller animals yelped as larger one’s bit or snapped at them if they tried to eat before their turn. Carrie heard bone breaking and flesh being ripped from the body echoing in the trees, making her stomach turn. She pulled on the knots, checking them to make sure they wouldn’t give way in the middle of the night. She questioned herself, wondering if she should have climbed higher. Could the dogs, or wolves, or whatever they were climb up and attack her as she slept. Maybe it was something other than a dog or a wolf. “No!” she told herself, what she was worried about didn’t make any sounds and she knew they couldn’t climb trees.
Eventually, the sounds of the feeding frenzy waned until Carrie could not longer hear the scavengers at all. She stared into the cloudless night sky through the branches, their leaves remaining perfectly calm, to the moon surrounded by thousands of stars. Despite how the Earth had changed, the moon and the sky hadn’t changed a bit. She recalled looking up at the moon with her father when they spent time at the summer cottage. The stars were exactly as she remembered. She pointed at them with her index finger and traced the patterns in the sky the way her father had taught her. Carrie had forgotten the names of the constellations, but the patterns her father had shown her repeatedly until she had perfected them, never left her. Over the years, Carrie promised herself she wouldn’t dwell on the memory of her family. It re-opened a wound she wanted healed. A wound that went deeper each time she thought of them.
Feeling exhaustion taking hold, her compulsion made her double check the knots, tugging them; they hadn’t changed since the last time, but she didn’t want to fall if she rolled later in the night. Before she could think of her father again she fell fast asleep, her chin resting on her chest.
Waking several hours later, Carrie heard a noise she was familiar with. She rubbed her eyes, quietly yawned, then scanned the ground through the leaves in the direction of the sounds. There was enough moonlight to illuminate the open area where she’d left the dead dog. Carrie had seen similar sights in the past; yet, regardless of how many times she had seen it, the mere thought repulsed her. All she could make out was a shadowy, lone figure in the dusk. The figure, a male she suspected from the way it stood, was wearing whatever was left of a suit, the tattered edges hanging freely. It was hunched over the carcass, pulling, tearing, then eating whatever it ripped from the body. It made loud smacking sounds as it chewed and gnawed on a bone. It dropped the bone and went back to pulling at another part of the carcass. Not being able to pull anything free with its fingers, it reached in with its mouth and bit at the exposed ribs. It chewed and pulled away small chunks of raw flesh, then went back for more. The figure continued to feed for almost half an hour before it stood and simply walked away.
Carrie shifted and strained to see the carcass. The body had been ripped open and devoured in the short time since she’d killed it. It was difficult to see, but even the skeleton had been broken apart and picked clean of flesh. She swallowed hard to keep what little food was in her stomach in place.
She tilted her head back, cracked her neck, and tried to relax and get more sleep before the sun rose. She knew that she had fallen behind and would have to make up more distance just to catch up. Carrie hoped they had left a message for her to find where they were headed. Now was not the time to think of such things. Now was the time to sleep, recharge and make sure she survived the night.
