The the Infected, page 7
The deeper she made her way into the woods, the less dense the woods became, exactly what she was looking for. The larger the trees, the thicker the overhead canopy; the smaller trees were unable to take hold and grow along the forest floor. Carrie stopped and looked above, allowing her eyes to settle in the darkness. To her right, a medium sized tree with enough low branches to assist in her climb. Everyone knew they couldn’t climb.
It didn’t take long before she was secured in the tree, her pack tied above her head. Her stomach rumbled loudly as she bit into a large chunk of turkey meat. In the morning, she would finish whatever was left to give her the energy she would need to catch up with her friends. She ripped at the meat, tearing another large chunk, wishing she had some spices to enhance the meal—or a side dish—any of the standbys like cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes with gravy. Carrie smiled, laughing at herself thinking of more childhood memories. She swallowed, took another bite, and tasted the cranberry sauce and side dishes in her mind.
She stuffed the bones into her jacket so they wouldn’t fall to the ground overnight. She pulled the hood up over her head, tied the drawstring, closed her eyes, and let her body go numb with a full belly. Her eyelids grew heavy and her mind grew cloudy as sleep overcame her one again.
The clouds had broken and given way to a clear sky with stars and a half moon, its white light partially illuminating the area before him. He had walked for hours, only stopping to feed on beetles and other insects as he made his way along the path. Thoughts of the people in the photograph never left him as he walked. He was filling himself on insects he found under tree bark as he made his way towards—what?
There was another realization. All this time, he never quite understood where he was walking to. Something instinctively drove him to walk—somewhere. He didn’t know if he was walking away from something or to something.
With his bony grey fingers and long jagged nails, he dug into the tree and pulled out more insects. From between two pieces of bark, he hauled out caterpillars and tossed them into his mouth. Standing at the tree, he continued to rip bark away from the trunk finding dozens of dark caterpillars with a gold stripe down their backs. He would catch them, then eat and repeat until there weren’t any insects left on the tree.
Making his way out of the bush, he was again walking south with no clear destination in mind. The woods opened to a small clearing. Like birds flying south for the winter, was it evolution, instinct, or just plain nature? Was it nature that made him, or man? He stopped for a moment, unsure why he was suddenly having trouble seeing the trees. This had never happened before. He never had trouble with his vision at night. He squinted, then rubbed his eyes, but it didn’t do any good. Things were still blurry and dark. Squinting helped slightly but, like his skin colour, his vision was changing.
He continued to wonder about that photo he’d found in the wallet—two things he didn’t know even existed until a short while ago—or know what they were. If he was the same person from the photo, why was he now so different?
Carrie woke up in a panic. She turned in her sleep and might have fallen out of the tree, if not for the ropes securing her to the trunk. She reached out and took hold of the limb and righted herself. Breathing heavily, all the fears of what could have happened ran through her mind in an instant.
With all her strength, she tightened the ropes, checked the knots, and tried to calm herself. The thought of what might have happened scared her to her bones. Carrie was wet, afraid, and alone. She wanted so much to be with her family, be that little girl and have her mother make dinners and wait for the streetlights to come on so she would run home for a family dinner. She hated Noah at this moment for leaving. Her sobs turned into full body jerks as she let loose a torrent of tears and emotions that had built up for months. She swung her arms widely about wanting to hit something, punch someone, force the negative emotions from her body. There wasn’t anybody to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. Things hadn’t been “all right” for almost three years.
Carrie sat there, tied to a tree above the forest floor, exhausted, panting. There were no more tears, no one was going to come and hold her and make everything all right. Her arms dangled loosely at her sides; her fingertips numb. There was nothing left inside. She reached for the knots that held her tightly and picked at the ropes. Ending things was probably the best thing. Since the event, she had been alone almost the entire time, fighting for survival, struggling to find food, shelter, friends. Carrie was spent—there wasn’t anything left in the tank.
The first knot around her right leg was undone, the two ends of the rope fell on opposite sides of the large tree branch. Carrie fumbled with the second knot around her left leg, then the one around her waist. There was only one more rope securing her to the tree, the one around her chest. She would untie it, roll from the branch, and hope that from this height the fall would kill her. Then the thought came to her: what if she only broke her leg, maybe injured herself enough that she was left in constant pain. What if she lay there for days, hoping she would die—or if one of them came along and infected her, she would be one of them with a handicapped symbol on her back. She had never seen one of them with a handicap. Maybe they got eaten or left to die. Do they die on their own? Maybe they just lay there forever, unable to move. Instead, she thought she would shoot herself, take the handgun, point it at her temple and pull the trigger. But she might jerk the gun as she pulled the trigger, she thought, and just blow off part of her face. Maybe put the barrel in her mouth or under her chin.
She could do it in the tree; the scavengers would never reach her up this far and her body would decompose and eventually fall to the forest floor.
She formed a pistol with her right hand, with her index and middle fingers playing the part of the barrel. She placed it against her temple, her thumb won the part of the hammer, lowered slowly as Carrie pursed her lips and let out a barely audible wisp of air, thinking that was the sound she would hear immediately before she died. She then placed the finger gun under her chin, discounted that, and stuck her fingers in her mouth. The thought of tasting metal before she died disgusted her. She moved her fingers back to her temple, pressed them hard into the skin, then imagined the courage it would take to pull the trigger. The bullet escaping from the chamber, breaking though her skull, ripping into her brain and destroying everything in its patch at it made its way to the other side. The bullet would blow a larger hole on the left side of her head, blood, brain matter, tissue and hair would follow. She wouldn’t feel a thing.
Bugs and other insects would soon make their way into the cavity—eat, nest, lay eggs—and birds would feast on her eyeballs. Her body would bloat, break down and ooze fluid as her tissue decomposed. Scavengers would pace frantically around the base of the tree hoping for a morsel of flesh as it broke away from her body.
Carrie wondered if she used a length of rope, tied it tightly around the tree, then slid a noose around her neck and jumped, would the fall break her neck so she’d die instantly, or would she struggle as she slowly asphyxiated. Then she wondered, even if the fall did break her neck, would she still be aware for a few moments, if her brain still had enough oxygen reserves to understand what was going on. Would she swing and dangle, unable to move her limbs, fully conscious of the fact that in a few brief seconds she would be dead?
Carrie reached down, grabbed the two ends of the ropes, and tied them tightly around her waist, then secured each leg. Maybe it didn’t take courage to kill herself, maybe it was the easy way out. It took courage to stay alive, hope, and work for something better.
Eyes closed, she wanted to cry, but there were no more tears to come; instead she listened to the sounds of the night—crickets chirping, cicadas, owls—hoping they would lull her to sleep. Carrie was days behind schedule and would need a miracle to make up the time and meet with her group.
She let her mind wonder, taking in the night sounds when one distinctive sound sent chills over her entire body—footsteps. They were unmistakable even in the dense bush. The sound they made was like no other animal or human—a lumbering, steady walk, mindless and without direction.
Carrie scanned the area knowing full well there wasn’t enough light to see much beyond the end of the tree limbs. Soon all sound stopped as well, the same as when any predator comes within range. The footfalls remained steady, one after the other, no break. The cadence was perfect, getting closer, closer, then nothing. The sounds of the forest night went still. There was only silence. Carrie listened, waiting for whatever was there to move on. Nothing. She leaned over as far as her bindings would allow. Then she heard it breathing. For the past three years, Carrie could honestly say she had never heard any of them breath before. She didn’t think they did breathe. Straining against the ropes, she got close, hoping to hear more, and then she heard it again. It was distinctive and regular; they do breathe.
Does that mean they also have a heartbeat and pulse? she wondered. Carrie was now more frightened than ever. No one has ever heard one breathe before. Are they evolving into something more? The very thought that they could become more, evolve into something worse, scared her. Perhaps she should rethink her suicide scenario.
It remained directly below her, unmoving. Could it sense her, smell her and know she was up the tree? They couldn’t climb, run or rationalize. But if they were evolving, maybe they could form logical thoughts and become more deadly than they already were. There was only one option, kill it now.
Carrie reached for her pack, released it from the trunk and rummaged around until she found the pistol and a small LED flashlight. The light would blind it, giving her time to aim and pull the trigger.
Inside the pack, she cupped the end of the flashlight to shield the beam and flicked the switch quickly to make sure there was enough battery power to illuminate the area. Carrie pulled the gun from the pack, rested it on her lap, closed the pack flap and secured it to the rope around her legs so it wouldn’t fall when she pulled the trigger.
She listened intently for the sound of breathing coming a dozen or more feet below her. There—she heard it again. She moved to her left and strained to lean closer to the sound. There it was again, steady, one breath every five seconds or so.
Like she had seen in countless police movies, she palmed the flashlight in her left hand, thumb on the switch, crossed her right hand over her left wrist and slowly cocked the hammer, then waited. She heard it again, steady; it was directly beneath her.
Carrie took in a deep breath of her own, held it, then thumbed the switch. The dim light illuminated an infected male. She steadied her hand to pull the trigger when it did something unexpected; it looked up at her, directly into the light. The thing looked like every other one she had seen or killed, but in the dim light she could see its eyes; they weren’t blank like the others—they were sad—and it was staring into the light. They weren’t supposed to be able to tolerate the light, yet it continued to look straight at her. For what seemed like an eternity, the two of them stared at each other. Carrie was certain it couldn’t see her, but it continued to look into the light. Then she realized it was the same one she’d seen before, the one wearing the suit. Was it following her?
She carefully lowered the hammer and moved the light around the base of the tree to see if there were any more of them gathered around. She positioned the light just to the right of the infected so the light didn’t blind him. Carrie wanted it to see the anger on her face.
“Go. Leave me alone,” Carrie screamed at the top of her lungs. She waited. No footsteps. The breathing from below remained constant. “Go. Leave me the fuck alone.”
He looked at her, their eyes making contact, then he did something unexpected. He smiled at her. It was a forced smile, but a smile none the less. It softened his appearance, making him look almost human again. He didn’t look as threatening when he smiled. She saw the dirt on his teeth, but she couldn’t believe what she noticed. His eyes had something in them. It recognized another human.
Before she was fooled into believing this thing understood what it was doing, Carrie thought it might be a learned tactic to lull humans into thinking they understood what was happening right before they attacked. He continued to smile for a few moments, then looked away. Carrie turned off the light, expecting him to finally give up and leave.
There was a sound, a rustle in the leaves and pine needles on the forest floor, then nothing. Carrie shone her flashlight down to the base of the tree trunk. He was now sitting down, his back against the trunk, just staring ahead. Paying no attention to Carrie or the light coming from above, he placed his hand over the wallet in his jacket pocket to make sure it was still there.
This was the first time Carrie had seen one sit, or rest, or do whatever it was doing. Her flashlight was becoming dimmer, the old batteries finally failing, but she couldn’t pull herself away from whatever he was doing. They usually had a single focus of just moving towards a destination. No one knew where the destination was, perhaps they didn’t even know themselves.
There was a soft click, and she was in darkness again.
Day 918
Carrie woke long after the sun came up. Stretching, she recalled the guest she’d had the night before and looked below to see if he was still there. Nothing. A sense of relief came over her. Maybe she had dreamt the entire scenario, maybe it never happened. Maybe he understood her yelling at him and did leave.
Before loosening her binds, she drank half a bottle of water and found the last remaining bits of wild turkey. It was warm, old, but was still good protein for the hike ahead. She set her priorities for the day: reuniting with her friends, water, food—in that order.
Removing the ropes and bindings, she lowered her pack to the ground, then she waited for a few minutes to make sure the area was clear. Carrie surveyed the scene, then carefully climbed down. She coiled the ropes, tossed them in her pack, then hoisted it over one shoulder, all the while keeping her eyes and ears open.
She looked up into the sun; it was still early, maybe six-thirty or seven in old world time. Carrie knew if she kept a constant pace she could be at the rendezvous in an hour. She would be late, but they would have left a coded message indicating where they were going.
Once on the trail she broke out into a slow jog, the rifle bouncing in rhythm with her stride. Carrie’s mind wondered as she ran; images, thoughts passed quickly, things that didn’t matter any more. She forced them out. Carrie knew now that if she romanticized the past, it clouded her mind. Still, she was alone and scared, and it helped.
The time passed quickly. Her feet hurt, she paused only to sip from her water bottle, and would have killed for an Advil and a new pair of shoes. In between breaths, she tilted her head back and sipped more water. She wanted more, but until she could find another source, what she carried was all she had. Carrie smelled it first, then noticed the wisps of smoke above the treeline. It didn’t appear to be that far away. She knew that smell. Fear spilled over; adrenaline coursed through her.
She capped the water bottle and ran, faster than she thought she could. The pack bounced on her back. She grabbed the straps and pulled them tight. Her feet were slipping in the loose dirt, but she kept her pace. Carrie could see the clearing ahead; the smell became more intense and now she was certain what she was about to see. She stopped short, her feet sliding in the dirt; then she let her pack drop to the ground. Pulling the handgun out, she stuffed it into her waist band, holding the rifle at the ready, knowing full well if it was an attack it would have been at night. If it was another group of humans, they wouldn’t have fought unless something seriously provoked them.
Carrie burst through the clearing and found them. It was her group, dead, all of them. She stood in silence, panting, arms at her side. Some of the provisions were on fire and several bodies were still smoldering. It was commonly known that if someone received a non-lethal wound from an infected, they would set themselves on fire or someone else would kill them before the change took hold.
During a night attack, one counter move was to light a campfire and blind the infected. Carrie thought that during the attack someone must have tried to set the infected on fire and the flames spread quickly as the fight went on.
There were several infected bodies lying alongside her entire group. She thumbed the hammer on the rifle and slowly made her way to each body. There was no way of knowing what exactly had happened, but she wasn’t taking chances. She found a large stick and poked any of the bodies that weren’t charred beyond recognition.
Most of the dead were human. Carrie walked slowly among the infected dead and human dead, listening for any sounds, looking for movement. Stepping over the bodies, she saw her friend. Years ago, she would have burst into tears, curled up in a little ball and sobbed. Today that person no longer existed.
She continued to poke the dead, the end of the stick pushed hard and deep into a section of soft tissue. Carrie didn’t hold back. A few times the stick punctured the skin and sunk deep into the corpse. She had to be certain they were dead.
One of the infected corpses was still holding tight onto one of her friends. The side of its head had been blown away by a gunshot, but Carrie noticed it had a large chunk of flesh in its mouth from the leg of one of the group members. She knelt and turned the human body over. It was one of the younger girls she knew well. Carrie recoiled. The girl was maybe sixteen, her youthful skin had already started to turn gray, becoming leathery. Her pupils had blown and were solid black. There was no way of knowing how long it would be before her friend would completely turn. Everyone was different. Carrie couldn’t take the chance.
