The R33PR Virus

By Nathan Barnes

www.knightwatchpress.info

Published by KnightWatch Press This edition published 2012 Copyright KnightWatch Press 2012 All rights reserved This book is a work of fiction. The characters and situations in this book are imaginary. No resemblance is intended between these characters and any persons, living, dead or undead. Conditions of sale. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form or binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Written by: Nathan Barnes Edited by: Monique-Cherie Snyman Cover art / design by: David Naughton-Shires www.theimagedesigns.com Formatted by: www.themadformatter.com

ISBN 978-0-9878747-5-7

Dedicated to my three reasons for surviving.

Preface What do you see when you close your eyes? Maybe your imagination takes over and shows you the things you’d like to see. In those moments you become a hero, a savior, a lover, or anything else that takes you away from the life you know. A lifetime ago those fleeting moments once brought me imaginative satisfaction. Now all I see are rabid, once human mouths tearing away at whatever remains of my soul. All things considered, escaping the end of days with my life and haunted memories should be considered luck… But now the world is dead, with hordes of evil wandering about in search of any remaining life to consume. No, I’m not lucky… I believe the undead are the lucky ones. Before the end I was a Police Dispatcher experiencing civil service in all its thankless glory. The position yielded only tidbits of information on all happenings. Long ago I grew to accept that during any event, local or global; I would never get the whole picture, only a cryptic mental mosaic. A viral epidemic began to appear in the headlines. My work gave me slightly more information than the general public. After the story broke, I sat at a state computer all night reading news stories looking for tiles to add to my “mosaic”. I knew this situation was different. The news rarely

keeps a common theme for this long of a period. No matter how tragic something is – something worse comes along to take its place. The media is the embodiment of Attention Defecate Disorder. As I listened to the talking heads report about the spreading virus I began to believe more than ever that there was more to it than they were leading the general public to believe. Sometimes there is nothing worse than being right. So who am I? My name is Nathan; I'm a thirty year old husband and father of two. I'm a big dork, a good dad, and married a woman far better looking than someone like me deserves. I'm lazy, on the overweight side and see myself as kind of a ‘professional quitter’. I dropped out of college where I had gone for criminal justice as part of my life long quest to be a cop and save the world. Actually I was a cop for a short while. At least I was until the rigorous training at the police academy kicked my fat ass and I got injured. Something as small as a twisted ankle and busted finger served as just enough to have to drop out. The dispatch center ended up becoming my home. My level of dependability matched the department well. Eventually I found that my Co-workers on the night shift shared my twisted sense of humor, which made the hours of the shift bearable, even enjoyable at times. Being twisted is almost a prerequisite for spending at least eight hours a day listening to people in their worst moments, or just plain bitching. The police department was far from normal; in fact my department was quite unique. It served a college campus integrated throughout the city of Richmond, Virginia. When most people hear "University Police" they get a bit of a stereotypical image in their head of a bunch of wannabe cops beating drunken college ass, it wasn’t like that at all. The agency was home to around 140 sworn officers, a special narcotics unit, a security department, and provided exclusive po-

lice protection for the regional trauma hospital. University pamphlets bragged that the school was a "diverse, enriching, unique, and fulfilling higher education experience!" Diverse? To an extreme. Enriching? Ha! Unique? Doesn't even cover it... Fulfilling? That depended on who you asked. The reality is that the University was a thriving school buying up as much of this festering historical city as possible. Maybe the campus was just a completely different "city within a city" at night. Or maybe the problem was I only heard the bad things... Actually that's exactly the problem, hearing things, bad things. A few years ago there was this big flu pandemic that swept the globe. The viral outbreak was the result of the H1N1 Virus, or "Swine Flu" as the dumb shits in the media kept calling it. It killed thousands of people, terrified many more, and finally fizzled out. In the years since there have been a few different variations of it, a resurgence of paranoia by the media, and basically no change in everyday life. About a year ago they started talking about something different. Some called it a mutation of the H1N1 virus; others called it something entirely new. It started slowly, barely making headlines. I had to know more. I went to every news site imaginable; no two said the same thing about where this started. Some said Africa, some said China, and others said Area fucking 51. This was the first thing that had me worried. Normally the news tried to pick one side of a story that at least gives the impression they know what is going on. But this? Even through paranoia and sleep deprivation, I knew something actually wasn't right. The death toll hadn’t been announced at that point, but I had a feeling it was high. From the information I was able to gather, symptoms are severe muscle pain, nausea, vomiting, seizure, and in many cases, death. Every “expert” said something different about how the virus spread so it was difficult to pin down specifics.

Each night at work brought more and more shit from the hospital. Abnormal floods of sick people became more common. Reports of sick patients getting disorderly and biting or attacking the staff came into the office several times a night. Officers were constantly being dispatched to maintain control over the crowds of hypochondriacs that flowed into the Emergency Room like water seeping past a damn. I told myself this was just another Swine Flu and I had watched too many movies and played too many video games. Naturally, I was wrong. It didn’t take long for the world to go to hell, and fighting for your life quickly became as normal as brushing your teeth. After all that’s happened, I’m left with precious silence in this dark room, safe for the moment. Chance relaxation is invaded by the flood of memories from the preceding weeks. Any and all efforts to silence my thoughts have been in vain. Whether this is a result of good fortune or a karmic version of punishment; I have been given the chance to recall the events leading to this moment. So I’ll take myself to the beginning and try to think of it as therapy. Long ago a teacher told me that getting thoughts on paper can help you cope with them. Right now I’d give anything for some peace of mind. Although from what I’ve seen and done, I feel peace of mind is a luxury as fleeting as the notion of safety itself. If you’re reading this then you’ve been put in the unfortunate position of judging me. I ask that you judge me for who I am and what I fought for; not what I’ve done.

Chapter 1 Infectious Headlines Day One. November 9, 2015 – 0130 hours: The headlines were all about people getting sick. Everywhere you looked you were given the distinct impression that there was no way to avoid the illness. The media was getting more details about the virus itself. Evidently it shared origins with the H1N1 Swine Flu. The main difference between the two though, was that the illness, which had been named the R32PR virus, was incredibly unstable and mutated at a rate exponentially higher than its swine flu cousin. The name for it came from some chemical formula, I think. I bet they just picked some letters and numbers to make it sound like they knew what they were talking about. According to one story I read, the first known generation of the virus was named ’R1PR’. Scientists still couldn’t seem to narrow down where it came from, only that it was probably some third world cesspool that had accidentally been unleashed on the world. Also, the virus was so unstable that it mutated thirty-one times over a span of just a few months,

with each mutation becoming more severe and volatile than the last strand. The most recent mutation caused it to be far more contagious. The hospitals cracked down on how many people were allowed to visit their loved ones. I saw a lot of people wearing facemasks, even though at that point they had not said it was airborne yet. The president gave some song and dance speech about being vigilant and using good hygiene. Easy for him to say, he’d never been to our dirty fucking city. No one in my family had gotten sick yet, but I told the kids to let me know if people at school were getting sick more than usual. Even though they were young, my kids were smart, I was confident they’d be careful. I had to juggle my information gathering with answering the phones. Luckily most of the really paranoid people called during the day… at least I had that going for me on the midnight shift. 0513 hours: The first news agencies to update in the morning were always the ones overseas due to the time difference. I found this on The British BBC: Speaking on a condition of anonymity; a scientist working with a joint venture of the London Health Sciences Centre and St Josephs Health Care London attempting to map what is now know as the R32PR Virus was quoted saying the following: “The virus is more unstable than anything we have ever seen. Each mutation is the result of host strain being introduced to a foreign strain. The result is not a combination of the two, but rather acceleration and strengthening of the host. Recent growth of infected subjects is most likely the result of the twenty-eighth or twenty-ninth mutation. We cannot be sure which virus it was introduced to, but it’s possibly something to the

effect of a member of the family Calicivirida – commonly known as the Norovirus. Norovirus affects people of all ages. The viruses are transmitted by contaminated food or water and by person-to-person contact. I suspect this to be the case due to recent growth in the pandemic centralized in urban areas. What concerns me is recent reports of symptomatic severity growing exponentially. We are now working to predict its mutation and contain the host virus before it is exposed to something far worse.” This scared the crap out of me. I knew for a fact, from my years of service in this lovely city that there were some dirty people out there. What would happen if the virus got into someone already festering with several other diseases? Does it “join forces” with any virus it comes across? That could be bad, I thought it might be best to stock up on some supplies and be prepared to stay at home for a while. I was due to be off work at 0700 hours, assuming no one called out and I didn’t have mandatory overtime. I decided that instead of going straight home that a Wal-Mart trip was in order. With any luck I’d get there before people woke up to mob the stores. I hoped this was just paranoia, and the worst that could happen was that I would save trips to the grocery store for a month or so. I used the downtime at work to prepare my list of items. The sooner I was in and out of that place the better. Day Two. November 10, 2015 – 0013 hours: A lot of people started freaking out. The Today Show did this big segment about the R32PR Virus. I think it’s funny that a Virologist in the U.K. can spill the beans about this being a source of concern and no one mentions it, but as soon as those jackasses on the morning news show say something…

I’m lucky I went to the store early. Usually when I was there that early on a Monday morning the only people I had to contend with were the red-eyed stock clerks. On that particular trip though, there were a few other people, but most seemed pretty ‘with’ it. I noticed a majority of them were congregated around perishables. My tactic was a bit different. My shopping cart was packed; I ended up grabbing a second one and pulled it behind me. However, before I made my way to the food side I had a random eureka moment and started looking for basic survival stuff. If I ended up not needing it then great – I’d either give random Christmas presents or take Maddox camping than be caught with my pants down. We already owned sleeping bags and basic camping gear thanks to my childhood spent as a boy scout; but I picked up two extra sleeping bags and some cooking gear suitable for the woods. I grabbed two cases of water purification tablets. The goal was to get four to six of the little things like emergency blankets, travel toiletries and more of the personal use stuff as opposed to group use items. I also grabbed a few boxes of ammunition. Years back I bought a twenty-two caliber hunting rifle from a buddy of mine. When you spend as much of your time around cops as I did, eventually you’re going to get a gun. I also took Maddox shooting every now and then, more than anything just to give him a respect for firearms at an early age. He was only eight years old, but I’d be damned if he ever touched a gun without knowing what they can do. My favorite items came from the electronics department. I picked up a six-pack of two-way radios, the ones with a two or three mile range. I thought it might come in handy at some point or another, but I would hide those from Sarah just to avoid the inevitable argument. She’d just tell me it was a waste of money. The next items though I didn’t think she would mind because she was always a closet hippie – a few solar battery chargers along with an array of compatible bat-

teries. A stop by the Pharmaceutical aisle seemed like a good idea as well. After all, I was buying shit from everywhere else in the store, so why not? I grabbed a couple of two-packs of the basics; things like: Ibuprofen, Acetaminophen, Benadryl, multivitamins, Naproxen, cold medicine, etc. Our house was pretty well stocked on first aid, due to the two young kids and a clumsy dad. Injuries over the years gave us a free clinic’s worth of supplies. So I only grabbed a few extra packages of first-aid needs. The food I picked up wasn’t anything memorable. Most of it you could eat without preparation or water if needed just to get some food in you. All of it is pretty compact and had a disturbingly long shelf life. Including regular perishable food and the less savory items I picked up, we would be good for two months or so. If we somehow got completely cut off and had to ration… it could be stretched longer. I didn’t see that ever happening, but it’s good to be prepared for the worst. In the back of my head I rationalized it all by saying I’d have plenty to donate to the food bank in a couple months. Blame all the apocalyptic books I’ve read, but I tried to focus on supplies for the long haul. I bought a lot - much more than I probably should have – in retrospect, I wish I had bought more. Sarah was pissed I spent so much money and got some “unnecessary items”. That’s alright though; I could pay the minimum balance on the credit cards for a month or two (or four).

Chapter 2

Preparation and Mutation Day Three. November 12, 2015 – 0253 hours: The news is saying some more weird shit about the R32PR virus. Now they think it’s based in the blood, in a similar way to HIV. Official reports are claiming that over the life of this virus and its various mutations something like ninetythousand have died around the world as a result of infection. What’s weird is what they are saying about the people who have become infected more recently. They say the R32PR virus does something in the circulatory system that causes a darkening and thickening of the blood. Advanced cases show signs of where arteries and veins are very visible on the outside of the skin. Picture seeing someone’s veins outlined over their body. None of the pictures online are very good quality; but it still looks like sick miserable people. I assume people suffering from this advanced stage of R32PR are at a point of no return… the media seem to be going out of their way to not say it though. I’m guessing that’s so they don’t fuel any underlying panic in the masses. Panic is already here though. The last time I remember such a general-

ized feeling of paranoia and panic was right after the 9/11 attacks. If there’s any bright side to the new headlines, it’s that fewer cases are turning up. Could we be past the worst already? The new symptoms sound like something out of a nightmare, but it sounds like only three to four out of ten infected are showing the black vein phenomenon. This combined with the fact that fewer and fewer new cases are showing up could mean that the virus has run its course. Sure it also implies that those showing the new symptoms are probably going to join the death count, but it could stop there if we’re lucky. The C.D.C. announced they don’t believe the virus mutated again, but rather that it has reached the end of a “maturation cycle”. Maybe it is over after all? I’m just thankful no one in my family has gotten sick since this madness began. 0600 hours: About an hour ago one of our officers had to use deadly force for the first time in over five years We aren’t always privileged to the whole picture of an incident from our isolated dispatchers cave, though, so here’s what information I could collect: a student was walking home and cut through an alley when some homeless guy jumped out and attacked him. A bike officer was nearby and heard the kid screaming. The officer was yelling at the guy to back down when he charged at him or something. I don’t know how many shots were fired but the homeless guy eventually stopped. The kid was pretty messed up but alive… Richmond Ambulance rushed him off to the ER before onlookers arrived. 0640 hours: I’m a little freaked out. My buddy Lance was the second

or third unit to respond to the scene. I only saw him briefly before they rushed him and the other officers into a debriefing of the events. My initial intent was just to make sure he was alright, but then I saw his expression. All he said was that the homeless guy was infected; covered in black veins and that the officer that fired the shots had fired a lot of shots. Lance said that he was rolling up on the scene when he heard like eight to ten shots. There was only one guy - a sick old guy and our agency uses forty caliber bullets so “fewer” shots need to be fired in order to achieve a person to “stand down”.How is this right? Lance is a trustworthy source; we go all the way back to the academy. I’ve never seen him shaken like this. He did a tour in Iraq and didn’t ever look like that… I’m sure this will be all over the news, I know the last officer involved shooting was the talk of the town for days. Rather than going home I think this is motivation enough to go to the Home Depot for some more supplies. There’s an undeniable pit in my stomach that things are about to change for the worse… 1415 hours: My trip to Home Depot was a short one. I didn’t have time to think much about what I might need and didn’t want to be overly impulsive. After the crazy night I was also very ready to be home. It’s funny when something really bad happens on our shift - you go home just wanting to hug your family. My demeanor is normally that of a kid in a candy store, while I’m at a hardware store, but this morning I just wanted to go home and be with Sarah, Maddox, and Calise. I grabbed some basics for home repair. A variety of lumber pieces made it into the cart too. My only impulse buy was a mini crowbar. I’ve always kind of wanted one. It’s a heavy little bastard – looks like it could tear its way through most doors. I joked with Sarah that if all else fails, the crowbar

would allow me to fall back on a career as a burglar. She didn’t find my misplaced attempt at humor as enjoyable as I did. Naturally, I didn’t sleep for long. It’s fair to say that I’ve been a little restless from the moment those shots were fired this morning. What I needed to do is go and talk to my dad about all this. Dad has always been able to take a step back from panic to analyze a bad situation. That combined with his tendency to be notoriously level-headed while interpreting world events makes him a great person to consult when those world events are crashing down on our doorstep. If Maddox and Calise were in my shoes I hope they would be able to approach me the same way. My parents live close by, only like ten minutes away if you make all the traffic lights. I’ll take the kids over today for a visit so I can seek the comforts of fatherly wisdom. 2305 hours: As soon as I arrived at work I scoured the internet for what was said about this morning’s incident. Local news barely mentioned it! All that was said is that a shooting occurred early this morning. Shootings happen every day in Richmond, so it didn’t come across as a big story… I know University Media Relations is great at keeping the bad stuff away from the press, but when an officer is involved in the shooting? Surely it would have made a little more of an impact than that? Day Four. November 13, 2015 – 0003 hours: This damned pit in my stomach has become quite the nuisance. It only got worse after I talked with my dad. He’s worried too, more worried than I’ve ever seen him actually.

Evidently he has read a lot of the same stuff I have and came to pretty much the same conclusion as I have. As far as the virus is concerned, things are certainly going to get much worse before it gets better. This is merely the calm before the storm… or rather that’s what my dad and I think. Two years ago, he and my Mom bought a horse farm with about thirty acres a couple of miles from the Blue Ridge Parkway in Carroll County, Virginia. Why they bought a damned horse farm is anyone’s guess especially seeing as there aren’t any horses. Mom says it’s so that the little guest house and other buildings on the property would give us the flexibility to vacation there. The truth is she wants to move there when they retire. All the seclusion and privacy that the property offers makes it an ideal place for them to enjoy some quiet in their elder years. This summer they planned on staying there for a couple months to kind of test the feasibility of living there. They brought a car filled with supplies every time they drove there. My guess is that it’s fairly well stocked – makes sense why my parents are heading there now. Dad’s hope is that the R32PR virus will run it’s course and life will return to some semblance of normal. If not... well, my Dad has never had much patience for traffic. I’m not at all surprised he would choose for them to head over there early, before many other people try to skip town. Mom tried to convince us to pack up and join them. I tried to explain to her that I am “essential personnel” and can’t really leave the town on a whim. Only way I could get her to settle down was to promise that if things really go to hell, we would head to the farm. The truth is that I would have loved to go with them, but right now I think our best asset in all this is through gaining more information; something I have more access to than the average person. For now I have an internet’s worth of information to search and pissed off idiots on the phone.

For whatever reason, I passed my dad one of those twoway radios. Thought it would be good to have a worst-case scenario fallback for communication if the need arose. Call me paranoid if you wish, but I tend to listen to my gut feeling and my gut was telling me to be prepared. Perhaps it was the police training that gave me that instinctual characteristic, who knows? I just knew I had to give my dad one of those two-way radios. 0349 hours: Who would have thought eight hours a night in front of a computer would yield something useful? Reported by the Deutsche Presse Agentur (DPA), the German Press Agency and translated by some poor bastard at the Associated Press. The Bonn Institute of Virology at the University of Bonn Medical Centre, one of the largest Medical Virology settings in Germany, is currently devoting a large percentage of its resources to solving the current global pandemic. A confidential informant from within the Institute revealed the latest development: “It is our suspicion that the R32PR Virus has gone through yet another mutation. The hope of the global community had previously been that the virus reached a point of maturation – thus allowing laboratories to make progress in battling the pandemic. Medical institutions around the world have reported a similar evolution in symptoms from the afflicted. Infected patients experience an increased severity of previous symptoms. A violent behavioral shift in the infected is also becoming a common trend. Whether this is a result of increased adrenaline or a new symptom of some kind, I can only speculate. A perplexing darkening of the blood has also become common in approximately thirty to forty percent of cases. Patients in advanced stages look quite… different. The virus appears to alter the blood causing much of their circulatory system to become clearly visible from the outside. We are currently partnering

with other laboratories in the United Kingdom, Spain, and United States in making the official announcement, but this new evidence indicates that we are now dealing with the R33PR strain of this virus.” 0444 hours: I knew it was only a matter of time before an official announcement from the C.D.C was released. They were pretty quick on getting this out after Germany’s findings. I’m curious to see how the general public reacts. Thomas R. Frieden, M.D., M.P.H., Director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (C.D.C) and Administrator of the Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry (ATSDR), released the following official statement in reference to the current global pandemic. “New evidence suggests that the R32PR Virus has undergone another substantial mutation. This conclusion has been backed by an unprecedented partnership in laboratories worldwide. More than half of those afflicted by the R32PR virus have begun exhibiting new, often dramatic, symptoms. We have labeled the new strain the R33PR Virus. All symptoms of the R33PR strain are still being investigated. Death tolls have increased, but primarily in those possibly infected with this new mutation. It should be noted that this does NOT change day to day life. Doctors around the world are working to solve this situation before it escalates. However frustrating as this all may be, the good news is that new infections appear to be leveling off. There are fewer new cases being reported to medical agencies, even with an increased awareness of R32PR symptoms. Also it may not be encouraging, but it must be noted that the R33PR mutation is only being documented in patients previously diagnosed with the R32PR Virus. We will continue to update the public as necessary with any new developments.” I’ve read over his statement several times trying to decide whether this is good news. I find it curious that he didn’t go

into any detail about the new symptoms. Crazy looking sick people that is prone to violent behavior? I’d like to think that is worth noting. The homeless guy who attacked that kid was infected. Sure the public doesn’t know that, but I do. I keep trying to find out how the hippie kid is doing. My efforts have been in vain. 0611 hours: More calls are coming in for disorderly or violent patients at the hospital. These are common issue for our officers in the area of the hospital but not in this frequency. It’s starting to feel like every other time the phone rings there is a nurse desperate to get help restraining a patient. The entire area around the Emergency Room has been permeated with hysteria. Walking by the commanders’ officer I overheard the Sergeant and Corporal saying something about nurses having to restrain and isolate R33PR infected patients. Not sure what that’s about… I may make another trip to Home Depot and pick up some more wood to maybe board up the windows if we need to. Sarah would never let me hear the end of it if we came back home to find looters got into the house. I don’t want to give her ammunition in every argument we have for the rest of our lives… 1300 hours: Another day with little sleep there’s just too much on my mind. Maddox was asking questions about all the sick people. Calise is a little too young to worry about it. All I could tell them was not to worry. That some people are getting sick,

but I’m sure everything would be okay. I’m not fond of feeling like I’m lying to my kids, but sensing the concern in their busy little minds I followed it with, “Don’t worry, daddy would never let anything happen to you guys or to mommy.” I’ve never been more certain about something I’ve said in my life. I’m going to try and take it easy for the rest of the afternoon. It’ll be great to play with the kids and try to put them at ease. 1710 hours: Mom called to let us know they made it to the farm safely. She said traffic was heavier than usual but not as bad as dad expected it to be. A five and a half hour drive took them seven and a half hours. Again she pushed for us to join them. Evidently dad has stocked the place really well. I think there is a general store a couple miles away from there, but something tells me it’s less than extravagant and will only hold the bare essentials if anything. His goal was to make it so they could get away without having to make trips to civilization for supplies. Dad has never been a fan of “the general public.” Originally I was going to take a nap before work, but instead decided that I’ll stay up to watch the national news. I wonder when the President is going to make a speech about all of this, like he did when the H1N1 blew up. I remember him labeling it a “national emergency”. Swine flu didn’t scare me. This however, scares the shit out of me. For now I have to try and take my mind off things by spending time with the family. Maddox has devised some Lego cities that he needs my help to construct. Calise thinks all the furniture in her doll house needs new paint jobs. These are little tasks that belong in our normal lives. I’m thrilled to

do something normal instead of focusing on the abnormalities that have become so prevalent.

Chapter 3 Corrosive Revelation Day Five. November 14, 2015 – 0055 hours: It’s club night, typically one of our busiest nights of the week. Our police station is centered between two clubs, both of which provide unending business for our agency. On a good night, hours after officers break up the predictable fights there is usually enough O.C. pepper spray in the air to clear out your sinuses, even from inside our office. I didn’t see many people lined up outside the club entrance, which was directly across from the parking deck. I’d love to blame the lack of future arrestees on the unusually cold night, but I have a feeling it’s because I was not the only one who saw the news… You could read it all over the national news anchors face… even he didn’t believe what he was reading. Here’s a basic summary: the newly identified R33PR Virus has gained a foothold in most major cities. Once infection reaches final stages, the afflicted person exhibits extremely violent behavior. It is unknown whether or not this is a transmission method for the mature virus or

maybe even a result of altered brain chemistry from the infected and darkened blood. As a result of the propensity towards violent behavior; the C.D.C recommends infected family members who are showing signs of the R33PR virus should be isolated and reported. Scientists are still trying to determine the exact transmission method and level of contagion. At this point the death rate in the newly infected appears to be one hundred percent. This new phase in the pandemic has potential to cause a new collapse in the global economy unless drastic action can be taken in the coming days. Isolated and reported? What in the hell does that mean? Oh I forgot the best part… They are calling it the “REAPER Virus”. I guess “R33PR” looks like “REEPER” on a fucked up vanity license plate or something. Frankly, I’m surprised it took the media this long to think of a nickname for it. Well, at least it’s easier to say than R33PR – plus it sounds deservingly ominous… 0230 hours: Closing time for the clubs normally unleashes a tainted flood of humanity in streets near our station. Club patrons are kicked out of their sweaty confines of sensory bombardment and into the streets. Our agency responds by having extra officers in the area to deal with the inevitable brawls between intoxicated, scantily clad deviants. This pattern of crowd control is fairly predictable. I have seen girls waiting outside the club wearing veritable scraps of clothing compared to my many layers on nights where the temperature reached single digits. However, the unrest from the viral epidemic must have everyone truly scared because tonight there was barely a soul. Even though our officers cover two main areas they usually conduct operations utilizing one radio channel that is

controlled by a single dispatcher. If there is a special event or initiative, then command will authorize use of a secondary service channel used exclusively for that event. I wasn’t very surprised when they opened up a service channel on the radio just for the hospital units. It makes sense with their hands being so full with infected patients and family members though. Our air time was so clogged with distressed sounding transmissions from east officers that the ones on the academic campus could hardly get across. The other officers need to be able to reach the radio room just as badly since the infection is hardly isolated to the hospital area. While stepping out of dispatch I tiptoed by the commanders’ office. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but I sort of eavesdropped to see if I could learn anything new. I almost wish that I hadn’t…. All I heard was – “alley kid” “Reaper” – “bites” - and “from attack”. After that I think they heard my shoe squeak and closed the door. The last thing I wanted to deal with at the time was an irritated senior officer. I abandoned my efforts to overhear something useful and returned to the radio room. The covert effort to get an idea of what was really going on out there backfired because when I returned my mind was flooded with more questions than answers. Does this mean the kid got infected from being attacked? My imagination is often my worst enemy; and it was fueled by reading so many books and watching so many movies about zombies, because right now when I visualize the alley attack, all I can think of is that word… zombies… I spent time searching the web to see what else I can find. There has to be something out there that will make me feel better about what is rapidly transpiring. It is difficult not to neglect the phones with this nagging curiosity, but at least I’m able to sort of multitask between the two. However, my mind was around not cooperating with the phones, no matter how hard I tried to concentrate.

0400 hours: Reports just came in that two of our hospital stationed officers got attacked by a patient in the emergency room. Violence towards police officers is not as uncommon here as it should be, especially in the emergency room, but this time was different. Both officers were rookies; I think one was still in field training and the other just got out of it, but I can’t be certain. All I could get was that they were rushed into isolation and everything possible is being done for them… whatever that means. No matter how you try to spin that “everything possible is being done for them”, it never sounds very optimistic. It is becoming overly obvious that the hospital is way under-prepared for this. Sure it exists to deal with sick people; but from pandemic proportions? The grim reality that nearly half of the infected crowds are now sick with something that makes them a physical threat to all those around them is compounding the degrading security our agency has over the area. I eagerly awaited an order from the commanders to contact Virginia State Police to get assistance from outside our department; but with their stubborn handling of this situation I have doubts that order will ever come. I’m pretty sure they’ve let Lance go back on duty after all the debriefings for the officer-involved-shooting. Policy dictates that they keep any officer-involved out for a while, on what is called “administrative leave”. Actually, it wouldn’t surprise me if they were desperate for people right now. From requiring extra units around the hospital to people calling out sick; they need all able-bodied units to keep this chaos to a minimum. I figured that I might try and catch up with Lance later to make sure he’s alright and maybe see what I can find out about what’s going on. Hopefully it isn’t what I suspect it to be. We’ve been friends for years so if anyone is going to be

straight with me over what has been happening I should hope it would be him. I’m still checking the news – right now there’s a lot of rumors, media speculation and propoganda, the usual stuff one gets used to, but the key is to look for a common thread in rumors; often you can find a hint of truth then. I don’t know what to think though, everything is such a jumble of information that simply doesn’t make any sense and when it does make sense, it’s not making me feel any better. 0615 hours: I bumped into Lance for a second in the read-off room. He wouldn’t say anything in the station, but he did mention quietly that I should meet him at the Third Street Diner, which is about a mile away from headquarters, for breakfast and a beer. For most people a beer at seven in the morning is a telltale sign of an alcoholic, but graveyard shift workers can never be classified as “most people.” Everyone should be sleeping in at home today so I doubt my being late will be noticed. When the shift was over I hustled up the street to meet him. I wanted to look closely at my surroundings along the way incase there were signs of the chaos I’d dealt with over the radio. Instead I found myself distantly lost in my thoughts; moving along on autopilot. Anxiousness over what my friend might reveal kept me focused on the destination rather than what passed by the car window. Entering the diner I saw Lance immediately in a corner booth. I sat, wincing at the shriek of my vinyl upholstered seat. Before even starting to talk Lance looked at me very seriously and said, “I’m not just here because we’re friends; but because I know that you have a family to look out for. They told me that if I talked to anyone about what I saw that they would have my badge. So, I’m risking my ass talking to

you.” I nodded, speechless because in the back of my mind, imagination whirling, I almost knew what he was going to say. “The homeless guy who attacked the kid was definitely infected with the Reaper Virus. His veins were dark all along is hands, neck and face. When I got to him he was already down. The kill shot, at least what I assume was the damn kill shot, went right through his left eye. It didn’t go all the way through, but it definitely made its mark. What came out of the wound was thicker than normal blood. It was a dark crimson, nearly black liquid and didn’t spurt out the way a wound like blood should. The guy got nailed with rounds around his body, easily six to eight other entry wounds. He was wearing a lot of dark colored layers – probably because of the cold. His jacket and outer shirt just looked thick, like it was soaked in Jell-O. It was pockmarked with bullet holes, several of which should have stopped him in his tracks.” He paused, took a deep breath, and continued. “The kid was a different story… Obnoxious hippie student type; looked like a real asshole. The bum fucked him up pretty bad. But the thing is that he didn’t beat him, didn’t stab him, didn’t do any of what you would expect…” Pausing again, he looked down at his beer for a second and after a moment he regained his earlier pace. “The bastard bit him. And not a nibble, a bite. He had a chunk taken out of his arm the size of a small steak. There were other bites all over his exposed skin. The shirt on his left shoulder was torn; it almost looked like a big dog had bit him. Even the tip of his fucking nose was gone. His nose! Probably in the stomach of the bums rotting corpse. It was an ugly scene. Hippie kid was screaming, the kind of scream I didn’t even hear in Iraq. The rookie who fired the shots was shaken and he kept saying something about the guy walking towards him – even while taking rounds in the chest. When the bum was about six feet away he lunged, using all the speed he didn’t use while taking bullet after bullet. That’s when he shot at his face and

the guy went down.” After a moment or two lost in our beer glasses I joked that the guy was “kind of like a zombie”. I’m a smartass at heart, and was just trying to break the silence. In the back of my mind though, I wanted confirmation… confirmation for something that shouldn’t ever be. “Zombie.” Lance said expressionless, “Why the fuck did you say that? I keep thinking that, but didn’t want to say it. You really think the Reaper Virus is like the ‘zombie viruses from all the movies, games, and shit?” I shrugged, waiting for a punch line to this joke the world is telling us. We didn’t laugh – instead a few minutes of silence followed this idea so absurd it had to be considered. “We need to find out what happens further in the infection. Are these people becoming violent and then dying or is it something else? Either way we need to gather more information before we make a plan. 0845 hours: I’m sitting on the couch at home, filled with dread because I know when Sarah wakes up I have to tell her what Lance told me. The last thing I’d ever want to do is worry her, but I’m realizing that denial in any form right now could be a deadly mistake. In the blissful quiet of my sleeping house I started forming a mental script of how I’d tell my wife the world might be ending. I felt my eyelids grow heavy. The comfort of my couch usually joins forces with the exhaustion of a busy night to knock me out before even making it to the bed. A fog of persistent grogginess started taking its justifiable hold. Then a little voice snapped me back to reality. “Good morning, Daddy.” Calise stood before me in pink pajamas that were patterned with kittens and cupcakes. She smiled sweetly with

messy curls twirled about her head like a halo. “Hi Princess. Did you have good dreams?” She smiled and said, “Yes I did! Were you nice to the sick people last night?” My heart sunk at the innocent question. I wish that the world were that easy. “Yes baby. I helped the police officers be nice to all the sick people. Now let’s stop talking and snuggle on the couch until your mommy and brother wake up. Daddy could sure use some snuggle time!” Calise was already nestled at my side under the blue and white afghan before I even finished talking. It wasn’t long before I dozed again. With a mini angel at my side it became easier to find hints of peace and rest. Sometime during my teasing of deep sleep Maddox joined us on the couch. Sarah emerged from the bedroom and rubbed my arm until I woke up to let me know it was time for breakfast. Everyone went to the table and began tearing through cereal like a swarm of locusts through crops. The sight of my family at the table always brings a smile to my face and this morning was no exception. However, there was an unavoidable hesitation in my actions. Sarah and I needed to talk about what Lance told me. She picked up on it and waited for the kids to finish before suggesting they go play with Lego’s together until one of their favorite shows comes on. When we heard their scurrying end down the hall in Maddox’s room I began to recount all that Lance and I discussed. She sat listening while I unloaded the burden of knowing the reality of this all. Normally someone should feel better once they don’t have to deal with something like whatever this is alone. The fact that I only feel worse is evidence that the world has departed from normality. She’s scared, but tried to cover herself with her typical adorable smartass comments. Frankly, I’m scared too… Many possible courses of action were discussed. After

weighing a few options we decided to keep the kids out of school and prepare them for the idea of having to go stay at the cabin with Grandma and Grandpa. I asked her to start packing bags for everyone. Warm clothes, several sets, the photo albums, which was her idea, some basic necessities, just in case and of course a medical kit… My goal is to have a week’s worth of basic, but suitable clothes for each of us to fit in a backpack, per family member. Other than that, I had been busy getting some tools ready as well as some lumber planks, just in case the house needed to be secured in a hurry. At this point it’s better to be safe than sorry and if these people were turning into zombies, I wasn’t going to let my family suffer the same fate. Sarah finally ordered me to stop packing and go to bed. She reminded me that I have one more night of work to get through then we’d be able to straighten everything out. We can prepare every way possible but if I’m not rested then I’ll be dooming myself to failure. The sinking feeling in my gut is reminder enough of what might await me at work. 1835 hours: National news started the broadcast with an update on the pandemic. The anchor didn’t try to summarize it up, instead they just played footage from the press conference with the head of the C.D.C. “From what we can tell, the R33PR strain is not an airborne contagion. The transmission rather occurs through exposure from infected blood or bodily fluids containing blood. Violent behavior occur at the most advanced stage of infection. Reports of new infections have increased drastically and from what we can tell most are the result of wounds received from a previously infected subject. Bites are the most commonly reported wound. It is unclear if the virus is also present in saliva or if infection creates a presence of blood in the saliva. At this time it is

imperative that new cases be reported and isolated in order to prevent further spread of the pandemic. Also, death is likely in any advanced case of what is being referred to as the Reaper Virus. Scientists around the world are working to develop a treatment.” He then put his hand up to indicate no questions and rushed away from the podium. The screen shot back to an awestruck anchorman. After that I turned off the television, not needing to see anything more. My Mom called shortly after the news was over. They saw it too. She had nothing but questions; asking about everything at work and in the city. I didn’t tell her much; just that things were getting worse every night. Evidently Dad was out all day around the farm making sure the fence was solid. It had to take him all day, because it’s quite a big property. Some parts will never be fully protected though, but nonetheless it was a little more secluded than here in the city. The land has a couple streams running through it and some heavy woods that surround it. These natural barriers add to the seclusion of the property. There are portions around the wooded areas where the fencing is flimsy. Hopefully the thick brush would or streams would create a natural defense where the manmade wall is inadequate. Although one of the reasons they picked it is because it was “fully” fenced. Mom pushed and pushed for us to leave tonight, but I told her it wouldn’t be possible before my day off, which was in two night’s time. In the meantime I need to be there, in the city, finding out what I can and Sarah needs to prepare the kids. I know she didn’t agree, but she stopped resisting after a while of me continuously persisting. Dad was asleep when Mom called so I couldn’t talk to him even though I really wanted to. I needed some insight from him to say the very least. This was a very odd situation for us and he was wise enough to help us overcome some of

the hurdles in our own minds, I guess. I never said the “Z” word to Sarah, but she’s read all the same books and watched all the same movies – I know she’s thinking it too. I didn’t want to scare her, because for some reason, I knew she was freaking out just as much as I was, but she kept it hidden from the outside world. What else could it possibly have been? What else turns people into cannibalistic freaks that infects indiscriminately? It is zombies. There was no better explanation for it. Day Six. November 15, 2015 – 0008 hours: There was a note in my mailbox at work from Lance. This tells me he doesn’t trust the phones and there are too many ears listening everywhere else. The note said: “Flirted the info out of a nurse down in Trauma who has a crush on me. Hippie kid is dead. He was hooked up to all the monitors and restrained. Then he flat lined, the defibrillator had no effect. They called it and shut the monitors down. Sweet Thing said his eyes were wide open still and had turned all dark like his veins. The doc reached forward to shut the kids’ eyes when the bastard lurched forward and bit onto his hand. He didn’t let go until an orderly put a fire ax into the top of his skull. It’s all going to hell man – it may be about time to cut and run.” 0155 hours: A lot of reports of promiscuous shooting have come in from all around the campus. In the past calls like these are countered with a flurry of police activity in the area. But with everything that is going on it feels like ‘shots fired’ is becoming a non-event. Many of those times we would get reports of someone getting hit by a bullet. I can count on one hand how many times I have been here when a person would

be found dead afterwards. One time the victim wasn’t found until a few hours later. An anonymous caller let us know that someone was passed out behind a vacant building. The call was broadcasted as a ‘man down’. These are a high priority but typically turn out to be some drunk kid or sleeping bum. With all these bullets flying through the air I expected every other call to be just like the person dead behind a vacant building. No ‘man down’ calls so far, but I’m just waiting to hear it. They took all radio control for the east/hospital campus away from us. Before things got all crazy the officers would arrive for duty or leave for the day we always see them at headquarters. Once they have done everything they need to on our side of the area, they make the trek across the city to where the hospital is. Geographically it isn’t a huge distance, but the misdeeds that accompany a typical shift makes it feel like my officers are in another country, The radio, as always, is the connector between us and them. When a dispatcher can’t talk to their officer any distance feels magnified ten fold. There is a smaller radio room in one of the basement areas down east that has become a full time radio room for all emergency personnel at the hospital. No clue who is working this new radio room, but it’s definitely not any of our people. That said, we haven’t been told anything officially yet, but I hear the National Guard is taking over with securing the hospital area of our jurisdiction. It’s believable too because the majority of the hospital units are back on our side of the city. I say most because they won’t tell us what’s going on with the others. My guess is they are dead or infected. Although when it comes down to it; dead or infected are kind of the same thing. 0239 hours: Well the ‘Zombie’ word is out – all over the internet at

least. None of the major networks are saying it yet. There’s only some word that the C.D.C. is planning another press conference. Some good a press conference would do, when the world is going to shit, but I’ll let them have their jollies while they can. Who knows, maybe they’ll give us some insight into this? One could only wish. I called it with predicting the “man down” calls. There have been two of them in the last thirty minutes. From what I can gather both were infected. I can’t get any info on the cause of death, suspects, etcetera though, but they called in the investigative Sergeants from home to respond to the scene. Everything is becoming very hush-hush – and it’s getting that way fast. Too fast for comfort, actually. If tomorrow night wasn’t my last day before a few off, well I might have to use up some sick time. I’m debating whether it’s a good idea to go straight to the farm or try and sit it out at home for a little while. My ever dwindling optimistic side wants to believe this will blow over in a week or so. The pessimistic side on the other hand says that the human race is doomed. I don’t know what to do, but I’m figuring that staying home and protecting my family might be the best thing at the moment. The inner-conflict had taken a hold of me as I weighed the options… There’s the dependable employee in me who is well aware that any extended and unnecessary time away from work could jeopardize my job. But beyond all of that, is the Husband and Father in me… that’s the side that sees a coming darkness, and refuses to let it envelope his family. One more day on and I realize that I have to take advantage of this and find out as much as possible. Then if and when we do have to run, we aren’t running blind. 0637 hours: The news is reporting that they have lost contact with

large portions of Seattle, Sacramento, Tucson, Kansas City, Tallahassee, and Rochester. Lost contact? What in the hell does that mean? I’m wondering if those were cities hit hard by the R32PR strain. If so, it’s morbidly logical that they would be epicenters for the Reaper Virus. I’ll spend the afternoon getting things ready just in case we have to go in a hurry. At the very least it would be smart to make sure the bags are packed. The car will be a tight fit with everything I’ve collected, but it will have to do. I’d much rather have too much than not enough. A few people on day shift have already called out… typical. Thank God I’ve already served my mandatory overtime sentence for the week. I always end up having to stay over or come in early when it is least convenient. Murphy’s Law can be a bitch 1000 hours: The C.D.C. released another statement: “The pandemic is growing at an alarming rate. Several urban centers that previously reported high saturation levels of the R32PR Virus have become overrun with carriers of the R33PR strain. Specially equipped containment teams have been dispatched to these areas to enforce quarantine protocol and prevent further spread to surrounding areas. It is imperative, imperative that healthy citizens defend themselves against the afflicted. Violent outbursts from those in the final stages of infection are believed to be the leading cause of new infection. We cannot stress enough that any healthy individual in close proximity to a suspected case of the Reaper Virus exercise caution, avoidance, and isolation.” Just one more night of work to get through, but I’ve never been more anxious about going in for a shift. I just want to get through it so I can worry about staying on my

side of the river and away from the city. A police station should be the safest place in a disaster right? My worst nightmare would be getting trapped in dispatch. I doubt it would ever, come to that. Getting a bag together, a survival pack of sorts might put me at ease. I don’t know, perhaps I’m paranoid? In this day and age it might be better to be paranoid though, just in case… In my mind, a ‘survival pack’ entails the following: Essentials like a box of power bars, a water bottle, a flashlight or two (with several sets of spare batteries), and a change of clothes. I’m debating what the C.D.C. statement about ‘defending yourself’ really meant. Should I be bringing a weapon with me? Granted I will be in a building staffed by people with guns, but I’m armed with… a pen and a headset? I know they always say that the pen is mightier than the sword, but I’m not sure how a little bit of Shakespeare would keep a damn ravenous freak from ripping my face off. I’ve collected swords for years. Most are for display only – the kind of shiny thing on your wall that would break in two if it were ever used in combat, but my favorite has always been something called a Kukri. Picture a cross between an axe and a knife; or even a machete mixed with a boomerang. Its design is ancient; one that is meant for chopping off an appendage with little effort. The thing is heavy and it even comes with a belt scabbard of sorts. As far as I know it’s genuine, from Nepal I think. My brother and I found it in a thrift store in Harrisonburg, VA when I was visiting him in college. Those were much less stressful times. Instinct tells me to bring the rifle. It’s not exactly an inconspicuous weapon though, but what if something were to happen around our house? The thought of leaving Sarah unarmed with fucking ‘zombies’ running amuck is too much for me to even think about. So I guess that I would leave it for her and the kids rather. I think the Kukri will be coming with me to work tonight. If I get pulled over I’d be written up

for possession of a concealed weapon – after all it is the size of a machete. Oh well, it can stay in the trunk. Something tells me state troopers have better things to do than pulling over a uniformed dispatcher with a kick-ass sword in his trunk. 1700 hours: I took a short nap. My new trend seems to be getting a restless few hours of sleep followed by more fully conscious worrying. I spent the rest of the afternoon playing in the backyard with Maddox and Calise. The boy had become quite the little soccer star. We kicked that ball back and forth in the grass for a couple hours with Calise in a giggle-filled chase after it. Actually enjoying myself made it a little easier to hid my inner worry from the kids. With so much worry everywhere we look, they never need to know when their daddy is feeling it too. For a little while there, I almost forgot how the world was basically tearing itself apart. A few years ago, when Calise was two, I fenced in the backyard so the kids could play a little more safely. Most of it was already fenced in from other people’s yards; I just finished the job and fixed up what was already there. In hindsight, it was the best home improvement I ever made. I was actually able to relax… some. It was nice just enjoying the moment without having to look around in a paranoid search for a danger that will probably never come. Mom called again to check in. She stressed her wish that we were already on our way down there. I assured her that we would leave after I get home from work tomorrow morning. At least that got her to back down. She handed the phone over to my Dad after that and I went into the other room. I told him what I knew, all of it. He was silent for a minute or two. In reality I knew he was debating over talking to me like I was eighteen years old. You know, the “I can’t tell you what

to do because you’re an adult, but you should really consider doing this” talk? But he didn’t. Instead he told me just to be careful and to use my best judgment. I could hear it in his voice; he knows this is going to get real bad, real quick. He changed the subject as soon as he could and started talking about the farm and what he’s been doing to prepare for the long haul. Disaster or not, I wouldn’t be surprised if they stayed down there indefinitely. After all the time spent on the phone I needed to get out. It’s time to start boarding up windows. Five or six other houses in the neighborhood have already been sealed tight, so I won’t feel too odd doing it as well. If I involve Maddox in the handy work it will look even less strange. The boy also loves helping me build things; I love spending the time with him. I’ve devised a way to secure the house, but also make room for an emergency exit. Directly beneath our bedroom window is a metal stand for the garden hose. It is solidly mounted in the ground and could make for a good step up/down to the window. My plan is to put the lower boards on a hinge to make it so they can swing out. This way we can get out into the backyard pretty discretely. I have some old hardware that could be used as a locking mechanism from the inside. If it works, it’ll be like a secret door but still strong enough to fortify the window. After that is sorted, I think I’ll load up the car too. Last year we bought a little hatchback suitable for a family of four. I’m going to pack as much as possible inside and on the roof rack. If we have to go in a hurry, I don’t want to stop to pack the damn car. We’re stocked up enough that loading the car shouldn’t take away from supplies inside the house. 2140 hours: Normal Sunday night Fox shows was interrupted for a

breaking news conference from the White House. Immediately my heart sank. I’d say there’s about a 99% chance any breaking news right now is going to be bad news. The screen went to a shot of the President standing next to the C.D.C. director guy at a podium stamped with the White House seal. Imagine watching a horrendous car wreck – I couldn’t look away. I could almost hear my heart palpitating. The President spoke first, briefly. He introduced Dr. Thomas Frieden, director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. He then prefaced that there will be no questions following the good doctor or final remarks made by himself. Silence fell over the crowd of reporters as he stepped aside and Dr. Frieden took the podium. I felt like I was going to vomit… Even the butterflies in my stomach were nauseous. “Laboratories around the globe have made combating the R33PR “Reaper” Virus their main priority. Regrettably, I must announce that little to no progress has been made in combating the voracious spread of this pandemic. The purpose of this press conference tonight is to address recent claims and rumors spreading worldwide. Our understanding of the virus thus far has been that symptoms increase in severity before leading to extremely violent behavior in the infected.” Sarah was snuggled on my left side, practically fused to me in her typical sweet cuddly way. The more the news conference progressed, the less blood circulated in my hand currently entwined within hers. “We previously believed that this violent behavior was possibly the result of increased adrenaline production in afflicted subjects or even purely coincidental. However, it is now believed that such outbursts are experienced in all subjects infected with the Reaper Strain. Unlike its predecessor, mortality rate is one-hundred percent for this mutation.

Recent outlandish claims are that the infected subject succumbs to the virus, and then engages in violent behavior after death. It must be noted that the only reason this is even being discussed is because this rumor has been circulated from independent sources around the world. ALL current medical data concludes that such a thing is not possible after death. The only reason it is even being investigated is because of the unusual nature of this virus.” Dr. Frieden quietly stepped aside as the President moved back to the spotlight. “It goes without saying that we are all affected by this pandemic. I ask all citizens to remain calm and avoid panic. Federal agencies are working diligently to support local hospitals and enforce containment. As difficult as it may be, it is vital that anyone exposed to an infected subject proceed with caution.” He talked a little longer but we didn’t listen. Sarah gripped my hand tighter and looked me in the eyes. For a second I had to fight a smile – even with such a worrisome expression on her face, I was struck by her beauty. She told me she didn’t think I should go to work tonight. I told her I had one more night to get through and we can either leave town or enjoy a campout in the house. She backed down after I showed her my “survival pack” – Kukri included. It also helps that she knows I’m going to a building filled with trained marksmen. I’ve decided to trade my shiny dress shoes in for my police-grade combat boots. I love those things and I’ve barely worn them. They’re left over from the police academy. Call it a consolation prize if you must. 2334 hours: Every mile that brought me closer to work made me want

to turn around a little more. In fact I probably would have if there were fewer cars going the other direction. The unusual thing about the traffic wasn’t that there was a lot of it, but that it was going in both directions. It gave me the impression that everyone was trying to run away – yet no one really knew where to run. Even though traffic was moderate around the parking deck it was fairly barren on the inside. It reminded me of parking over a holiday weekend. I parked at my preferred spot on the Academic Parking Deck, with no incident though. For years I’ve always parked my car on the second level, far northwest corner, with a good view overlooking Broad Street. The deck is six levels and backs up to our building with an alley separating the two. We have three back doors leading to the various sections of our department, all sealed with a maglock backed by a generator. Our door isn’t labeled and is easy enough to sneak in and out of - assuming there isn’t a line of patrol cars parked in the alley. After surveying the area I decided things looked active, but not violent or anything. It reminded me of Broad Street on New Years Eve. I debated bringing my “survival pack” inside. It’s usually frowned upon to bring a large machetestyle knife into a police station, employee or not, so siding with my responsible side, I left the pack in my trunk. Hoping it was the right decision this time around. Walking down the twenty-eight concrete steps and the hundred feet or so to the back middle door I took a moment to observe my surroundings. Looking around at the moderate activity I tried to put myself at ease. After all, I don’t see any obviously infected people. There have been days with busier traffic than this. Then I walked inside… Think of a hornets nest after some kid poked it with a stick. It was a flurry of activity, none of it as organized as a para-military organization should be. My stomach sank for the second time in as many hours. Both doors to the read-off

room were closed; always a sign that something big is going on. Walking down the long hallway to dispatch I expected to hear more activity. After going through the thick wooden doors I was perplexed to find things more on the quiet side. The student escort service, which is essentially a free taxi for ungrateful students/staff, has been suspended indefinitely. I’m told it was an order that came from the university president in an attempt to quell any spread of the virus. On top of that, all classes have been put on hold. The university is locked up tight; essential personnel are the only employees required to report. This of course means us.

Chapter 4 Before Sunrise

Day Seven. November 16, 2015 – 0019 hours: I’m feverishly going through every news site I can find; hoping and praying that what I’m reading isn’t true. It’s breaking news – no pictures, at least none discernable. Direct from the Louisville, Kentucky NBC Affiliate: “We’re still waiting on final confirmation from the F.A.A.; however preliminary reports indicate that a Delta Airlines Boeing 747400 has crashed. The plane has engulfed the downtown business district immediately south of the Ohio River. Unconfirmed sources state that the aircraft was attempting to make an emergency landing at the Louisville International Airport located almost seven miles south of downtown. These reports state that the plane issued a mayday minutes before the crash. It is believed that the mayday was in reference to an outbreak of the Reaper Virus from within the cabin of the aircraft. It is too early to ascertain how many may have been killed in this tragedy.” All the pictures show are a city on fire. It looks almost like a scene from any disaster movie. A silhouette of what

remains of downtown Louisville is backlit by a hellish glow. Is this really happening? 0050 hours: The White House has released a statement to all major news outlets. It says that the F.A.A. has grounded all flights to prevent another Louisville from happening. People are advised to stay indoors until the National Guard can be mobilized in all metropolitan areas. Outside, people aren’t being quite as “civil” as they were when I came in. There are fights breaking out all over the place. I wouldn’t be surprised if all officers run out of OC pepper spray by sunrise. Phones have lit up, but with escorts being completely shut down it could be worse. We have plenty of people working, but I don’t think patrol is as fortunate. I’m seeing officers from other shifts that never work midnights too, so things really must have taken a turn for the worst. The hospital area went into total quarantine about twenty minutes ago. Richmond Ambulance is all over the city doing their best to treat people on scene, but there are only so many people that are able help. Truth be told, we simply don’t seem to have the manpower for this pandemic. I need to get a look outside. If there’s a chance I can get out, I’m going now. Coming in tonight was a bad idea, which I realize now. I’d give anything to be home and listen to Sarah lecture me about her being right. Maybe it’s true that women are always right. 0100 hours: I stepped out front onto Grace Street to assess any chance of getting home. The answer became abundantly clear in the two minutes I was outside. In front of the Seven-Eleven,

half a block away, five guys were in a nasty fight. Two of the guys were covered in blood, one with a gaping wound on his right forearm. I heard maybe half a dozen gunshots; didn’t see any muzzle flashes, but they sounded close. Everyone around ducked in response to the booms. The group fighting didn’t seem to take notice; probably distracted by the knife pulled out by the guy with the open wound. There were a lot of people out, cars backed up and the air was thick with a palpable panic. Looking around I didn’t see anyone in uniform – suddenly, I had a target on my back. It didn’t take any more convincing; I practically jumped back inside. A magnetic door and bullet-proof windows have never felt so comforting. I didn’t have to explain the situation to my coworkers. My expression must have said it all. Not to mention the gunshots were plenty audible from within our brick tomb. I have to call Sarah – and now. 0127 hours: Moisture welled up in my eyes as I listened to Sarah try and hide her own tears caused by what I was saying. I know she was also angry, because I didn’t listen and I’m not there right now, doing my duty as a husband and father. Of course I didn’t tell her what I just saw – I even tried muffling the phone to cover up the gunshots going off probably a block away. I don’t know if it worked, but she didn’t ask about the background noise and I didn’t feel the need to alarm my wife more than necessary. Craving a distraction from my situation, I said, “Sweetheart I need you to lock the door, turn off all unnecessary lights, and pull the drapes. For all intents and purposes the house needs to look like its empty.” The reality is I have no idea what’s going on in the streets by our house, but I’m not taking chances. Then she asked when I was

leaving… All I could say was that I might need to stay for a while until the streets calm down. Hearing her gathering a protest I stopped her with a reminder that I’m in a police station. This place should be one of the safest in the city. Internally I didn’t believe a word I was saying. The reality is that in the coming hours our block would probably become flooded with panicked and possibly infected people. I told her that I loved her and the kids more than anything... She started crying in a much more obvious manner then. After reminding her that they were all well equipped in the house I said something I never thought I’d say. “If anyone tries to get into the house – you shoot first.” She was quiet. “I have one of those walkie-talkies I bought with me. If the phones go down, I’ll use it as soon as I’m within range.” I waited a minute and she eventually let out a sobbing “ok”. I told her I loved her again and reassured her everything would be fine. Before we know it we’ll be at my parent’s farm waiting this whole thing out. Minutes after hanging up I realized – I don’t have the walkie on me; it’s in my car… 0230 hours: There’s no paraphrasing this. I hate gut feelings. It’s all falling apart. From the New York Times website, my fears became a reality: “REAPER VIRUS SPREADS UNCHECKED THROUGH URBAN CENTERS WORLDWIDE… THE DEAD NOW WALK!” People are starting to congregate in front of the building. If only we could tear down the giant yellow “CAMPUS POLICE” awning in the front of the building. Other than the

lights acting as a beacon in the desolate block, the awning is a big invitation for any desperate person around. What’s more is that the power has been blinking. Our computers never shut down, but the lights will for a split second or so. It’s eerie to say the very least. We’re hearing more shots outside. It looks like someone is lying in the middle of the street at the end of the block. You can’t see much from the camera in front, because even when the world isn’t falling apart its quality is very poor, but it looks like three people are crouched around the person. I hope they’re helping the poor soul; although I don’t think that’s the case. 0318 hours: I’ve got to get to my car for my survival pack. Things are getting worse outside by the minute. I had to step out of the radio room for a moment just to clear my head. Lance was in the hall when I ran to the bathroom. He gave me the “why the fuck are you here!?” look. My response was only, “You live on the south side of the James so do you have a way back across the river?” His answer was silence. “Lance, I either need you to come with me or I need to borrow your gun…” He shot a puzzled look back at me. Before he could offer a rebuttal I answered his unspoken questions. “I have to get to my car on the second level where I always park. In my trunk there is a bag of supplies that could help us get through a few days in here. With everything that’s going on out there, I’d like to have someone to watch my back or a way to defend myself. I don’t plan on ending up infected or as a meal for some of the sick fucks out there.” He nodded and said to meet him by the vending machines in fifteen minutes.

0433 hours: As I sit back in the radio room, I’m trying to fathom everything I’ve just experienced. My hands are trembling uncontrollably. Just as he promised, Lance was waiting – fiddling with the Pepsi machine. “Ten minutes or less. I promise.” “If not, people will notice we’re gone and they’ll lock us out. The Corporal is talking about locking down the building until sunrise when they can get more people to come in.” He responded in a near whisper. I nodded and took my uniform shirt off, stashing it next to the drink machine. He did the same but kept his vest on. There’s no point in bringing more attention to us than absolutely necessary. We were down the hall about five feet from the back door when the power went out and stayed that way. Lance was walking in front and stopped in his tracks. He reached towards his back on his utility belt. For a second there I actually thought he was handing me his gun. Pulling his ASP Baton from its holster, he flicked it open from its collapsed position and handed it to me. “Well,” I thought, “at least I won’t be unarmed.” Stepping out the door we stopped to listen. I hear chaos in the background, but the generator drowned out everything nearby. This was both good and bad. Good, because it would cover up any sounds we might make – bad, because that works two ways. I eased the door closed. It’s thick and metal, likes to bang shut. There’s a slight alcove in the brick leading to the door. This gave some concealment and the opportunity to check out the alleyway. Streetlights were on, along with some of the emergency lights in the deck. I could hear more sporadic gunshots coming from all directions, glass breaking, cars

honking, and yelling… yelling from everywhere. The alley looked empty. There were a few shadows at the far end of the block where the person was laying in the street. We dashed to the parking deck side entrance. Heel to toe, heel to toe. Combat boots were a great choice; they don’t make a sound on concrete assuming you watch your step. Lance was two steps ahead of me, hand on his holstered weapon. The generator was blaring behind us, covering any sounds made; its mechanical whine blending with the echoing anarchy of the rest of the city. Wearing only a white undershirt I should be cold in the brisk November air. It would seem that an adrenaline surge makes for a great temporary jacket. Within seconds we reached the glass door leading to the stairwell on the southwest corner of the deck. My ID card was in hand ready to swipe the card reader several steps, before even making it to the door. No need – power was out and so were the maglocks. “Great, one more thing to be positive about, now the whole deck is open.” I thought. Lance’s expression told me he was thinking the same. All university owned buildings with maglocks connect to a monitoring system. Power failures cause a communication failure to the building – something we see on the monitoring consol in dispatch. Most of the exterior doors hold a residual charge in the magnet long enough for us to send a security guard out for manual locking. The problem is that it only takes one person to pull on said door hard enough that it opens; releasing the residual charge and leaving the building vulnerable. During your run of the mill inclement weather situation, this isn’t a huge concern, because plenty of people are available to quickly get to these doors. This isn’t your run of the mill situation. Lance barely touched the door and it opened. This was all the incentive he needed to remove his Sig Sauer P229 forty caliber service weapon from its holster. He glanced over at

me, the dimly lit stairwell ahead of us. I nodded once and we pushed onward. My right hand kept the cold steel baton in a whiteknuckled grip while the left, I hand muffled the car keys attached to my belt with a carabineer. We then slowly and quietly side-stepped up the dark concrete stairs while listening to every sound that could possibly be in our vicinity. I tried not to fill my mind with all the worst case scenarios. Damn my pessimistic tendencies! Thoughts of not being able to get back into the station, getting infected, getting eaten or worse, all swirled about my mind. Focus returned with a single thought of Sarah, Maddox, and Calise. Rounding the second bend in the stairs, light from the thick glass window illuminated something I didn’t want to see. Blood pooled over about half of the flat landing between flights of stairs beneath the window. Handprints, some so thick with blood they ran like wet paint, trailed from the pooled crimson to the window above. We stopped to listen – only distant gunfire and glass breaking from the street. Just a handful more stairs and we would be at the opening for the second level. We picked up our pace when the entryway was within reach. Then Lance stopped in his tracks. I nearly ran into him then; distracted by what sounded like a car colliding with a street sign. My eyes followed to where his gun was pointing. A human form was slumped face down over the stairs at the next bend in the stairs. Blood ran down the steps, led by its right arm draped down towards where we stood. In the dim light I could see the black veins trailing over the lifeless arm. Its face was buried in the concrete, concealed in a flood of red. This poor bastard had the Reaper Virus. We stood motionless for a minute or two. No sound, no movement. The clock was ticking; there simply wasn’t time to spare. Convinced this person was dead, we continued. Stepping into the cavernous deck we quickened our pace.

During the day every spot would be filled; now there were only a scattered few cars, all belonging to police employees. No one was around; the peppering of parked cars gave us some confirmation of that. Open walls provided slightly more light than the stairwell. This made it possible to see the broken windows and slashed tires of every nearby car. I headed to my vehicle, parked straight ahead of me. Lance moved towards his, which was parked off to the side where the incline to level three begins. As I crept closer I looked around the corner towards the east side of the deck. Centered in the drive at the far end, a silhouette stood motionless. I froze and watched it intently. Its posture reminded me of a scarecrow with both arms down, slumped and lifeless. After thirty seconds of eternity I crept across the open drive to my car. My steps stopped along with my heart the moment I heard glass crunch beneath my boot. The sound isn’t what killed my spirit though; it was the realization that my driverside windows had been smashed and the door left ajar. Looking closer I saw that the car sat at a tilt, both exposed tires slashed. I glanced back to the other side of the deck, relieved that the figure hadn’t moved. Exercising futility, I tried to stay quiet as I walked to the side of the car. The inside had been gutted, stereo gone and glass everywhere. Even the booster seats in the back seat were yanked out – a sight that enraged me more than anything. The trunk, what if they got to the trunk? I reached through the shattered glass to hit the “pop trunk” button. The sound of the trunk opening punctuated the still silence of the deck so well that it might as well have been a loud speaker. I immediately ducked behind the open car door and swung around to see if I drew attention. No movement from the scarecrow. The only movement I could see was Lance waving me to hurry from the stairwell. I threw

the trunk open and was nearly blinded by the trunk’s light. Finally some good news – the trunk was untouched. The backpack was stuffed. Almost a comfort of home, having it put me at ease. The handle of the Kukri protruded from the zipper, a sight that also gave me some relief. Fighting the urge to slam the trunk closed (as I always do), I decided to leave it open. A final glance at the inside gave me a smile. Peaking from beneath a blanket at the back of the trunk was the end of my mini crowbar. I must have forgotten to take it out when I unloaded the goodies from my Home Depot trip. Feeling relief from any good news I could get, I snared it to my backpack with the top loop. Now, there wasn’t anything left of value inside. My poor car has two eviscerated tires and broken windows And I only have one spare tire, which won’t do me much good in getting home with the virus being so rampant. I’ll have to come up with another plan to get home. If Lance doesn’t have any better ideas I hope he’ll be willing to accompany me In a near jog to the stairwell, I looked back at my dilapidated ride. We bought that car when Sarah was pregnant with Maddox. It safely brought both kids home from the hospital, took Maddox to his first day of school, and drove Calise to her first ballet class. The memories gave me a smile. With the world falling around me, I knew I’d never see it again. I glanced to check on the scarecrow before the far end left my view. He was nowhere in site. This quickened my pace. Within seconds I reached Lance. His right hand still with gun drawn, his left held his own retrieved bag. Now we just had to get back. What transpired as we ran into the stairwell spanned only seconds. However, the moment will inhabit my nightmares for the rest of my days. We passed through the entryway to the stairs walking nearly side-by-side. Lance was maybe a half step ahead of me.

The slight reprieve offered from the retrieval of personal items may have clouded our prior readiness. To his immediate left, the cold stairs continued up. In front was the blood stained plateau and the following decent to street level. The infected man must have been three of four stairs up from where Lance stood. It nearly leapt towards him; making a gut-wrenching sound I can only describe as a gurgling growl of a moan. If I had been standing in his place I would likely be dead. My reaction time has been considerably hampered by enjoying a life spent in the “seated” position. The shots were deafening. Two in rapid succession fired point blank in that concrete coffin. Shot number one took off the top right side of its head. The corpse dropped in its place; a quick airborne trail of darkly crimson muck and a spackle to the dirty gray wall remained. A second shot, fired in the considerable panic, cratered a stair near the next upward bend. In that eternal second I looked at the infected man, realizing its clothing looked like that of the previously motionless body draped over the stairs. A second was all the time allotted to me, before I met the infected man’s friend. Outside, a car struck the large street light standing in front of the club adjacent to the deck’s vehicle entrance. The flash from its sodium-vapor bulb exploding lit the stairwell like a lightning strike. My vision became filled with two black eyes, a gaping mouth, and a roadmap of dark veins launching towards my awe-struck frame. A cold, vice grip hand attached to my left shoulder -pulling me towards a feral snapping mouth. Instinct took over… I’d like to think it had some help from long forgotten Defensive Tactics training. My left arm pushed with a surging might against the cold mass of my attacker. Numbness immediately filled my shoulder under the oppression of a determined grip. The ASP Baton, now warm from my unrelenting right handed grip, met the infected temple with a climax of adrenalized strength. A bone cracking snap filled the stairwell mimicking another

gunshot. I would have been pulled down with the bastard, had his grip not released seconds after my strike. Continued momentum from my defense sent it towards the upwards stairs, where the nearly headless corpse lay. The sound of his head cracking on the stair filled my throat with bile. Caution to the wind, we basically ran back to the rear door. There were more shambling masses in the alleyway. Several appeared to be pursuing a panicked pair of kids running to the east, away from our building. Another officer stood at the door, holding it ajar and discreetly surveying the alley. She saw us coming and nearly slammed the door shut. Had it not been for Lance’s vest and familiar utility belt jingle – we would probably have been locked out. We ran inside and the thick metal door was closed, secured by the functioning and powerful magnetic lock. Moments after getting into safety, we heard pounding on the door. Guttural growling and moaning bled through the old, not-so-soundproof barrier. I crashed from the buildup of adrenaline – fighting both passing out and vomiting. I made a beeline for the bathroom not too long thereafter, which was closely situated to the rear of the building. Inside I was bombarded with both questions and anger for leaving, but I was gone only a total of eighteen minutes and only outside for nine of those eighteen minutes. Then again, it was nine minutes that will reverberate in my mind from this day forth. Thankfully Lance and I survived and I doubted very strongly that either one of us would ever make such stupid, careless mistakes again if we got out of this place. From now on, I’d not rush; I’d rather make sure my ass is covered. 0537 hours: Phones are ringing off the hook. Staying busy doesn’t

bother me; what bothers me is repeatedly lying to people. We got this printout supposedly from the chief that gives us a procedure for calls. Essentially it orders us to do nothing. The printout tells us to get a persons location and as much of the situation as possible. Then we assure them an officer will respond to their location “as soon as they are able.” In the meantime they are encouraged to stay indoors and not to confront any strangers. Lying every time I pick up the phone bothers me more than the realization that I may have killed a man earlier tonight… Did I kill him? Is it possible he was already dead? Every person I talk to is desperate, angry, scared, but what can I do? I have orders to follow and frankly, there simply isn’t the manpower and even if there was, we were kind of stuck in exactly the same situation that they were. Our families are also worried and alone, we’re really trying our best. I wanted to talk to Sarah more than anything else in the world. My fingers keep starting to dial the house. I always stopped with the same thought. After lying every time I answer the phone here at work - “Everything is going to be ok… I’ll be home soon” is a lie I’m not willing to make yet.

Chapter 5 Confinement

0600 hours: All the buildings are locked down. Only a handful of officers were at headquarters when things got closed up. Everyone else is either barricaded in buildings around campus or cannot be contacted anymore. Those who we still have contact with tried to get back, but with the roads being clogged by every obstruction imaginable, they didn’t get far. So far they are sticking with the magnetic locks on our building. If the generator starts to go they will probably get the master keys and manually lock them. Once our doors are key locked, they cannot be unlocked from the outside. In the meantime I can see why they would want to get in or out quickly. Three units were fairly close to Gladding Residence Center (GRC) – a dorm/student town home that’s kind of set up like a fort. GRC is one of the few dorms currently occupied by students; all others were supposedly cleared when classes started to get cancelled a few days ago. It’s a year round dormitory housing eight hundred and thirty upperclassmen or graduate students. Right now I wouldn’t be surprised if over four hundred were left over. Either seeking

shelter or exercising valiance, they made it inside and locked things up. The news is saying now that the Reaper Virus is being transmitted solely by “bite wounds” received by the infected. Time from initial infection to the victim succumbing varies on where the virus enters the body. People who only get a minor bite can take anywhere from twelve to twenty-four hours to succumb. However, if someone gets bitten on, let’s say the neck, or an area with major blood flow, they turn in minutes. 0821 hours: My right wrist is throbbing. I found an ace bandage in one of the dozen partial first aid kits we have in dispatch. I doubt I sprained it or broke anything, but it seems to help having a little extra support. The impact from swinging the baton against my attackers head must have reverberated back through my arm. I guess that I came out lucky, considering the violent attack, at least luckier than the other guy did. I wish my wrist was the only thing reminding me of what happened. It’s been running through my head over and over. Recalling the sound made by the impact of both my baton and it’s skull against the step is enough to make me gag. The thought of taking another life is overwhelming. I find myself consumed with a cold self-dread. Then I think… consumed. Was that bastard trying to eat me? Logic tells me I’m absurd for even questioning such a thing. I’m not sure logic means a goddamn thing anymore, quite honestly. 0900 hours: I talked to Sarah… didn’t elaborate on what happened though. I told her I’m safe in a secure building and I would find a way out as soon as I felt I can do so safely. I also left

out the detail about the car – no need to worry her more than I have already. Things seem to be ok in our neighborhood as far as I know. Sarah said she heard what sounded like a few distant gunshots throughout the night. Against my advice, she stepped out on the porch after sunrise to see if the cats were outside. Evidently all but one house in the cul-de-sac has empty driveways. In the few minutes she was out there she, saw a dozen luggage packed cars drive by. She could see a few people up the street boarding up windows. This update put me at ease just a bit. It sounds like most people are packing up and leaving. It’s a stark contrast to what’s outside our building. At least the rural areas seem to be responding to the end of the world in an “orderly” fashion. Both kids were awake so Sarah let each of them talk with me. It’s amazing how hearing the sweet voices of your children can make you forget all your troubles. Maddox asked me when I was coming home, but all I could say was, “I’ll be home soon buddy, I just need to help the officers a little longer. Make sure you are helping Mommy and looking out for your little sister.” His response was a shy but serious, “Don’t worry Daddy. I’ll make sure they are ok.” Talking to Calise made me want to break down. She very sweetly said she misses me, and to “watch out for the monsters, Daddy.” I guess they’ve seen the news. At least the television still works. 1130 hours: No one made it here from day shift. One called out; not a word from the others. I would be irritated, but I don’t know how they would get here. There are four dispatchers here including me. The radio slowed down a bit since most officers are either

unreachable or are barricaded inside random buildings. Phones are still busy, but not like before. My guess is Richmond Police are getting it far worse than we are. Anyone dialing 9-1-1 gets connected to the Richmond Police Department. If it’s in one of our buildings we get a notification, but that’s it. Part of me feels bad for RPD Communications; they have to be running themselves ragged. Then I remember how unpleasant they tend to be when we have to talk to them. The term “comeuppance” comes to mind. Everyone has continued to ask me what happened on the deck. I’m as vague as possible, only telling them to stay inside. I was the only dispatcher on duty parked at the deck; therefore no one else had the pressing need to go in there. Brad, a fellow dispatcher of the last several years, saw me wrapping my wrist a couple of hours ago. He motioned to it and asked me if I had a run in with anyone outside. I responded with an expressionless glance. Then he noticed what I had overlooked in the bathroom; a very dark crimson spatter stain on the right side of my undershirt by my neck. I opened my mouth to respond and he stopped me. “Why don’t you use the security master keys to unlock the managers’ office? Take the cushions from the window bench and make a little bed. We can all use a nap. Something tells me you should go first.” Partly pleased by the lack of pursued questioning, and very pleased at the thought of shutting my eyes; I agreed. My hope is that complete and utter exhaustion will overcome the images plaguing my mind. 1420 hours: I was dead to the world. Totally immersed in a physically and emotionally exhausted cloud. A loud knock on the solid wooden office door brought me back to semi-consciousness.

“Nathan, you should come out here watch the news.” It was the new part-time girl whose name I can never recall. I grumbled acknowledgement and rose from my makeshift bed. Slipping on my boots, I neglected to put my uncomfortable uniform shirt back on. It was hot in dispatch today, a little more so than it always fucking is. If I have to stay here I’d rather be comfortable in just a simple white undershirt. In my groggy state I forgot about the blood stain on my shirt. All eyes in the room were glued to the piece of shit television mounted in the corner above the lobby window when I emerged. The radio was silent, phones were ignored. A breaking news graphic gave way to the President, looking as if he hadn’t slept in a week. “My fellow American’s, I come to you this afternoon with an update on the R33PR Virus plague. All representatives of the C.D.C. are hard at work fighting this global pandemic, so I come to you alone.” He paused, breathing deeply. All the chaos inside and out immediately turned into white noise. Everything became falsely silent. “We have confirmed, in a cumulative defiance of anatomy and medicine, that this virus has the ability to reanimate a deceased human being. After reanimation, a person becomes violent and blood thirsty. They seek and attack almost anything living. If they succeed in catching their target they attempt to feed on it. The medical community has been unable to study a reanimated person without extreme risk of infection to all nearby. This has left us with many assumptions. We assume the Reaper Virus is somehow reanimating its victims as a means of further spreading itself. It has also been confirmed that anyone not killed outright by an attack becomes infected and eventually turns into a carrier themselves. There is no known cure. It is unclear how best to stop these unholy attackers if you are confronted. I urge all citizens to stay in your homes. Anyone who becomes infected, anyone, will turn into a violent carrier.”

The roar of the reporters inside the conference room caused him to pause. Trying to talk over the ruckus in front of him, he continued. “Effective immediately, I am declaring a nationwide state of martial law. In addition to all flights being grounded I am halting all rail travel to further attempt to ebb the virus’ spread. And now I am burdened with a duty never required of an American President… All overseas U.S. Armed Forces are to be recalled from their global posts. Before now American troops have never been deployed within the continental United States for combat purposes. These troops are to be stationed throughout urban areas in order to assist with containment of the Reaper Virus. This is a formidable task due to the crippled state of global transportation. But rest assured, help will come. Anyone using this crisis as a means to violate the law will be found and prosecuted. Our strength as a nation and God’s grace will see us through these dark days. Thank you and God bless America.” The screen went back to the blank screen with “BREAKING NEWS” plastered in bold lettering. I muted the television. We didn’t need to hear any more of it. 1650 hours: There isn’t any doubt that we are trapped here. A mob of thirty to forty people has formed out front. They look plenty alive, just desperate. Ignoring pleas for help from people over the phone is one thing – having to ignore people outside our door is another matter entirely. A few of the people have bandaged wounds. My guess is that they’ve been bitten. However, the bandaged ones seem to be blending in with the crowd. Let’s see how long that lasts once they turn.

1730 hours: Most everyone has gotten to take a nap in the managers’ office. The last person, the new girl that woke me up, is taking her turn now. Our building is separated into three sections: A – communications, B – patrol/ security/ communal areas, and C – all administrative offices, access to record storage, property and evidence rooms. It’s a solid building. Before it was transformed into a police station it was a bar. Long before that it was something else. Whatever it was, it’s still a solid old brick building. The reality is we could be in a much worse place. Some of the security people who got locked in made a similar sleeping set-up in the gym area. Everyone is taking turns getting some rest. Good thing too – this isn’t your average overtime assignment. I finally talked to Sarah again. The phones are still going nuts, but I neglected them for a few minutes. She’s hearing more gunshots but none have been close. Living in the good ol’ capital of the South, we have a shit load of rednecks in our neighborhood. I’ve always suspected our neighborhood would be better armed than a small country. The kids were napping when I called. Evidently they are taking things pretty well. The whole thing must feel like a campout or something. I reiterated to Sarah that the house needs to look empty. She promised the drapes are staying closed and the only outside views come from peaking through cracks. She asked when I was coming home. Again I said soon. I told her that if I’m not able to get out of here in a few days, she needs to get the kids in the car and head to the farm. After a tearful protest she eventually agreed. Something is going on outside – the screams are louder than usual…

1911 hours: I’m beginning to realize why we haven’t seen more infected outside – they just hadn’t turned yet. Thankfully I had just hung up with Sarah when we started hearing the renewed panic outside. The small congregation of desperation that had gathered outside of our building let out a joint shriek. It was loud enough to hear through the outer solid brick construction and drab office atmosphere inside. We jointly abandoned the phones and ran to the shuttered windows. You couldn’t see much. People were running west towards Seven-Eleven. That struck me as odd. Nothing outside is what you would think of as “orderly.” Cars are strewn about, store windows are broken, and the air is polluted by distant smoke. But suddenly everyone is running in one direction? Then it hit me – they are running from something. I stepped back from my colleagues at the window to look at the security monitor mounted above the main door. It was hard to discern details from the poor quality picture. I saw a lot of people running, tripping, stampeding over each other. One person, looked like an older woman, was knocked down and stayed that way. Just beyond her sprawled westward reaching body I saw what started the flood of panic… My initial count was four; that doubled quickly. They walked in a slow. but determined way. It was hard to see individual features in the poor light. The silhouettes were unmistakably chilling. Most walked at the same shuffled yet determined pace. The two in the front walked quicker. I wouldn’t call it a run though. It reminded me of those ridiculous speed walking old people in the mall. All stood at an unnatural stiff position. Their heads all lay limp at different angles. I think that’s what bothered me most. Then again, I couldn’t see specific details – I’m sure there were other things more bothersome about

them. Their advancement forward was direct and westbound. I tried to convince myself they were just poor people running with the rest; those thoughts ended the instant they saw the trampled woman. She looked alive still, just incapacitated. Even in the low light you could see the head of the foremost infected pursuer swing around in the woman’s direction. The rest of the unholy pack shifted their path to the sidewalk where she laid. It didn’t take them long to reach her; they now moved with new purpose. I watched in horror. Not even the lack of light could spare me from the grisly scene. The first infected leapt on her from a few feet away. Second and third place followed suit. There wasn’t a goddamn thing she could have done. Soon it became a writhing pile of limbs. Poor lighting saved me from seeing the gore that must have spilled from the pile. Most of the infected remained over the woman; wriggling and frenzied like piranha. The ones in the back of the herd must not have had luck getting through to the feast. They continued westward; back in a slow pursuit of the desperate crowd. At the very least, the woman bought everyone else some time and distance. I went back to my desk tasting bile once again. There was no point in watching the monitor any longer. My colleagues were still at the window. I loudly said that it would be a good idea to stay away from the windows when the infected walk by. We’d be fooling ourselves by thinking they will never find us in here; but there’s no need to draw attention to ourselves sooner than necessary. Everyone cleared from the window area, ducking around the corner from the nook leading to our shuttered outdoor view. The window was barely in my line of sight from the rear cubicle, which I used to call home. Shutters were closed. Only dim illuminated outlines of the wooden curtains could be seen. Then even the outlines disappeared...

Outside, the infected must have passed by one by one. The sliver of light disappeared and reappeared in an almost rhythmic fashion. Communications became enveloped in silence. Either the phones stopped or the sound of my heart beating drowned them out. My pulse raced further when the crack of light went out and stayed that way. I glanced at the security monitor with dread. What I assume was the last of the pursuing ghouls had stopped directly in front of the window. It was so close to the camera, yet you could barely see a thing. I think it was wearing a hospital gown. Its silhouetted head was hanging limp and forward. Bile again filled my throat with the realization that its jaw was opening and closing in a snapping motion. The creature paused for maybe a minute before joining its infected brethren in the hunt. The others returned to their desks. I started answering phones again. Whatever the person on the other end was saying went in one ear and out the other. It didn’t matter anyway – the phone calls are starting to blend together. Everyone is scared. Everyone is angry. Everyone is desperate. Erin (the last stuck dispatcher) is taking her turn to nap. I’m thankful that it’s my turn next. Sure I’m exhausted, but there’s so much going on that I doubt I’ll find sleep. I just want to be alone.

Chapter 6

Hopeless Night

Day Eight. November 17, 2015 – 0011 hours: In the two hours I was allotted, I may have slept thirty-five minutes. It’s hard to erase the things I’ve witnessed from my mind. Walking into the office I felt as if I’d been buried alive. Beyond the horrors I’ve experienced in the last day, I couldn’t shake a single thought from my head. I had the sinking, nauseating feeling that I would never leave this wretched place… I simply hoped and prayed that the feeling was wrong and that my pessimistic side was just overworking itself again. I took out my cell phone when I was lying there on the makeshift bed. The camera on it isn’t great, but that was what I was counting on. Hopefully the poor quality will hide the tears streaming from my face. First I recorded a message for Maddox. I told him how proud I am of him. He was the first great thing I ever made of my life. I asked him to be brave and to look out for his little sister and his Mommy. Next was a message to Calise. I started by telling her that she is without a doubt the sweetest thing I have ever known. That being her Dad has made me a

better man and that she will always, always be Daddy’s little girl. I had to take a minute to compose myself before recording Sarah’s message. How can you possibly tell the love of your life and the mother of your children how you feel in a damned cell phone video? Wiping the tears away I decided to keep it short and to the point. Through a genuine smile I told her that I loved her from the moment I saw her. That I cherished every moment we had shared together and that I’m sorry I had to break my promise to come home. I had to stop, the tears became too much. Truth is I could have talked forever. Instead I quickly said I love her and that I would always watch over them. I removed the Micro SD card from the cell and put it in one of the rooms’ computers. Opening each movie file, I checked to make sure they recorded alright. I changed each filename to the name of the recipient. Finally, I filled the info box with their date of birth, social security number, and current address. The whole process in itself was exhausting. I’m finding it difficult to muster up the mental strength to even consider what the future might bring. My survival pack was previously the same green JanSport book bag I carried from middle school through college. Its interior nylon dividers have since torn and turned the two sections into one. On September 11th, 2001, I took one of those little American flags they hand out at parades and stapled it to the front pocket. It’s still there; albeit minus a few staples and on the faded/frayed side. I have cleaned it out before – just not in ten years or so. The bottom is a compilation of scraps: a couple zip lock bags, various pens, a note pad, etc. Ejecting the Micro SD card, I made sure its ‘lock’ feature was activated. Then I took one of the decade old zip lock bags and placed the card inside; sealing it and wrapping it up to the point where all you could see was layered plastic.

Reaching back in my pack I took out the second most important item (first being my Kukri) – a small roll of duct tape. From what I have seen so far, the turned infected don’t exactly maintain their ‘public decency’ so to speak. Again, I’ve never gotten a well-lit view, but some have been missing clothing or barely wearing any at all. I’ll be damned if the final messages to my family get lost in a ripped pocket or even looted. Thus I took the plastic wrapped memory card and duct tapped it to my left shin. At least my message should get delivered no matter what happens to me. I’m willing to sacrifice some leg hair if it means I can say goodbye. I looked like shit. My appearance hadn’t really occurred to me until I was looking at my image on the computer monitor. Looking closely you can even see the blood spattered on my white crew collar. 0100 hours: There aren’t any more people banging on our doors and windows outside. Sure there’s banging – but not from people… A group of around twenty infected have gathered. Fuck it… I’m just going to call them Zombies. The desperate people pleading to get in before were probably infected. These aren’t people anymore. They all move like the monsters that devoured that poor woman. I knew it was only a matter of time before they found us. We’re practically a beacon being fully lit with that damned generator blaring in the back. They are gathered around the front doors for A and B. Double glass doors serve as B’s entrance. Thank God for bullet proof glass… it works for dead pounding fists too. I highly doubt the original contractors had

that in mind when they installed the doors. Even with my now extinct horror genre fandom, I wouldn’t even have let that thought cross my mind a week ago. 0140 hours: Most news sites have stopped updating. I can only assume this means the same thing is happening everywhere. The internet works to a limited extent, though, it isn’t anywhere near reliable enough to get useful information off of. I thought about trying to email people with warnings or to get a read on what was going on elsewhere in the world. However, I decided against that once I realized that I was only able to get online because of the generators and not many others will have the same luxury. I’m shocked how this is all happening so fast. The world is unraveling in days or even hours. If I had known things would have snow-balled this quickly I wouldn’t have come in. I would have stayed home had I even thought such a decline were possible. That old saying, “Hindsight is twenty/twenty,” has always pissed me off. In the last hour the phones have reached their most active state. Judging on what is going on here and what I’m hearing on the phone; the first group infected by the Reaper Virus have finished their transformation… 0306 hours: Phone calls have started to slow down. There are still plenty coming in, but nowhere near the frantic pace of an hour ago. Over the last day the gunshots have slowed down too. You still hear them, but not like last night when I was on the deck. Then about twenty minutes ago we started hearing a lot of shots. It sounded like they were coming from right outside

on Grace Street. Looking into the monitors you could see several small flashes coming seconds before the delayed pops. The occasional dark figure would fall to the concrete corresponding flash and bang. Turns out while I was ‘napping’ a few of the officers trapped in the building found the roof access hatch. They had walked over towards the front of the building and were doing their best to thin out the crowd. The seething mob reached up into the raining bullets. Their determination, their unrelenting hunger, and their combined guttural shrieks all left the pit in my stomach deeper. Even as the few officers rained bullet after bullet into the tainted bodies… they continued to reach. Erin and New Girl were at the window. They cheered at first when the infected went down. Brad came out from his nap in the managers’ office with the sound of the first shots. I didn’t move from my desk. Instead I watched the monitor, unblinking and focused. I felt as if getting my hopes up would mentally jinx any chance of our salvation. Then, the fallen corpses began to move. Those who had sustained injury to the lower portions of their bodies did not stay dead. Each horrifyingly started to rise from their bulletridden crime scenes. Any optimistic feelings at the window box died there. Brad went back to his desk. The girls just kind of froze. I looked back at my computer monitor. My thought was so prominent that I think I said it out loud. “Shit. They are Zombies…” 0558 hours: About half an hour ago, we were faced with the reality of how secure our ‘fortress’ really is. We heard a scream echo down the hall. Seconds later were two gunshots followed by more yelling. Then a final shot. Before I could stop myself I

was already running down the hall. I wish I had stayed in my cubicle. It was a blood bath wrapped in commotion. I saw two bodies. The first was a security guard sitting in one of the kitchen chairs facing the hallway that leads to the back door. His neck had been torn out on the left side. The corresponding side of his light gray security shirt was still glistening from his spilled life. He was slumped over, what had been the back of his head still dripped gore onto the pistol dropped to his side. Behind him was a tall, older man in uniform. I quickly realized it was one of the Captains. The direction of his fall indicated that he exited from the secured inner door leading to the C section. That side of the building is off-limits to everyone, but commanders and administrative staff. My guess is that he had himself locked on that side. God only knows how long ago he reanimated; or how long it took him to bump into the exit button on the other side of the door. The poor security guard was probably asleep in the chair when the Captain came through. The good Captain was laying face down – you couldn’t see much. His right arm fell forward. It looked as if one of the fired rounds hit the hand on his reaching arm. Most of the fingers were gone. His body was resting in a small pool of muck. It reminded me of the color of red hair dye. Looking closely you could see the red; but from a passing glance it looked black. There was a shocking difference in the amount of ‘blood’ left by the Captain and the security guard. Red spatter stuck to the ceiling tiles above, while the pool around the guard’s body continued to grow. I didn’t want the details on what happened; if anything I wanted to forget the sight all together. Lance stood on the opposite side. We exchanged empty glances. After all, what was there to be said?

I’d seen more than enough. Slowly I walked back to dispatch ready to be berated by questions. As soon as I walked through the door Brad passed me to see the scene himself. I summarized things for Erin and New Girl. We sat in silence. The phones went unanswered for a while after that. 0630 hours: The sun should be coming up soon. I’m curious to see what kind of world it will illuminate. Maybe curious isn’t the right word… horrified is probably more fitting. Phone calls have slowed even more, but they still come in. I would address the morale in the building if there were any ‘morale’ left. The Corporal, who I guess is now the highest ranking officer around, pried open the vending machines and spread the wealth. A Twix bar and Mountain Dew became the best tasting snack of my life. It’s funny how living off of power bars and pretzels for a couple days can make anything taste divine. Hey, at least I won’t have to worry about my caffeine headache for a little while. My feeling of vulnerability reached its peak after seeing the aftermath of the kitchen incident. Concealed by my cubicle wall, I pulled my Kukri out and set it on the desk. I took my belt off and fished it through the loop holes on the leather scabbard. Now it hangs on my right side in a more intimidating way than any gun holster would. Its weight is comforting although I hope to God I never have to use it. Regardless, I’m so thankful to have it. A flash of the attack in the parking deck stairwell worked through my mind. My wrist throbbed through the ace bandaging. I shook it off and got up to stretch my legs. So far my views of the front had been from the monitors. At this point I didn’t see any harm in looking through the crack in the window shutters.

Walking past Erin she gawked at my gladiator-esque side arm. “Is that real?” She inquired in an ignorant and ridiculous way. “No it’s a toy that makes me feel like a man. I figured it might give the Zombies a good laugh when they break through our doors to eat us. Don’t ask stupid fucking questions.” I snapped back. By the way- when I’m sleep deprived my internal sensor shuts off and my inner smart ass takes over. Her eyes started to well up. Immediately I felt guilty. I gave her a hug and apologized. She said it was ok and asked if she could see my ‘fake’ sword. I slid it out of its resting place and set it on her desk with a thud. She nearly dropped it and let out a slight gasp. After a comment about not expecting it to be so heavy she handed it back to me. Again feeling its weight return to my side gave me a little confidence boost. It’s time to go and peek outside at the infected. Might as well learn what I can in case another close encounter is in my future. 0842 hours: I sat in the window box for maybe forty minutes. The phones were ringing, but we’ve stopped answering most calls. I’m not the only one who is tired of lying to people. The sun slowly rose but it gave little light. I was reminded of the late autumn fog that often radiates up from the James River. Except this wasn’t fog; it was smoke. Somewhere, Richmond is burning. However, a little light is succeeding in breaking through the veil. I found myself transfixed and sickened by watching the infected mob. The officers gave up their efforts on the rooftop. I don’t know if it was to save ammunition or that they just couldn’t stomach it any longer. A low wall of corpses surrounded the

front of our building, but I suspected that eventually more would come. Through the commotion it’s hard to tell exactly how many stayed down. My guess is at least twenty have stayed ‘dead.’ A barrage of bullets may not have killed all of them, but it certainly left a mark. Many had visible wounds that would have killed a normal person. The most grisly was an infected man wearing only his boxer shorts and one gray tube sock. It looked as if a round struck him on his cheek and took much of the lower jaw with it. His arm was wrapped in a filthy bandage and dried blood coated his chest. Others had bullet wounds trailing viscous crimson. There was one teenage looking girl who could have passed for a normal person if it wasn’t for her movements. That was the other thing… how they moved. I watched their actions closely. Their movements were both fascinating and confusing. One moment they were still and rigid. The sight of most reminded me of the ‘scarecrow’ I saw at the other end of the parking deck. Their heads hung limp on useless necks in any which direction. Each sickening jaw snapped at the air. Across the sidewalk I caught a glimpse of one as it vomited purged muck out like a fountain of bile. It stood just as stiffly as the others with its head drooped forward. Even as it spewed a disgusting mix all over itself its posture did not change; mouth biting at nothing. Then something would get their attention… The creatures would turn from near statues into rabid animals. It reminds me of a crocodile exploding from the water at a shoreline to drag a meal into the water. Temporary dexterity returns long enough for them to lunge arms out toward whatever attracts them. Their head jolts to an upright position with the jaw springing open in an unnatural angle. This burst of violent life is short lived. I can understand how it would be an effective tactic for catching ‘prey’. The

crowd out front had gotten so dense that any lunges were met with a fellow Zombie or the side of our building. I wish I knew what’s causing them to randomly attack. Are they hearing something? Seeing something? Even smelling something? Before long they return to their upright rigor. At least they have a short attention span… Note to self: Don’t get into a confined space with the infected. The lunge is fast enough to spell doom without some room to maneuver.

Chapter 7 Escape Plan

0900 hours: The Corporal came into dispatch right after we finished watching the frenzy that took place in front of the building. He grabbed the security master key set from the key box we oversee and a few minutes later he returned them and asked for our attention. “I’ve manually locked all exterior doors to our building. No one is to attempt exiting until help arrives. Keep up the good work, we will get through this.” He’s always sucked as a commanding officer… he sucks even more at lying. 1111 hours: I tried calling the house. The call didn’t connect. I’m pretty sure it’s on my end though. It seems like maybe one in ten calls actually go through. I have to tell myself it is because of the phone network. If I start thinking about something bad happening at the house, well I’m pretty sure I’ll completely lose it.

Over the last few hours the phone calls lessened to the point of only coming in sporadically. The phone is still ringing a lot; but not with all eighteen lines coming at once. Maybe one or two will ring at a time. Sometimes we answer it and others get ignored. All four of us are kind of taking turns picking them up. There’s no sense in all of us sinking into a depression from answering a desperate call every minute. It’s quite ironic that we’re stuck at a job of answering phones and helping people when we can’t really do either. About ninety percent of our monitored buildings are in communication failure. Chances are that the majority of those are also wide open. We are getting regular updates from the officers at GRC. Every student and room was checked for signs of infection. Twenty-six infected were found in locked dorm rooms. The building is clear at the moment. They are running out of ammo, but it sounds like the students pooled together enough food for the near future. If the gates around the building hold they will be ok until supplies dwindle. At least I’m with people I can talk to. I’ve known Brad for a few years now. He’s a good guy, but needs to stop talking about going to his car for his gun. It’s funny how ‘suicide mission’ is looked at different by a southern gun nut. Erin has always been tolerable. She has a good sense of humor and is easy to playfully pick on. I found out new girl’s name is actually Christine. She’s not saying much. In fact she is quiet enough to be concerned about. I guess everyone responds to the apocalypse in their own way. Christine is either going into shock or retreating deep into her thoughts to escape this hell. Lance came into dispatch and asked me to meet him out in the hall. Only Brad seemed to take noticed of the request. The girls were staring at the camera monitor with unflinching focus.

1205 hours: The entrance to side B is a double glass door. It leads to a central hallway that passes the walkway to dispatch, up to the commanders’ offices, then opens up to the kitchen and past the large read-off room before finally reaching the bathrooms and back door. Think of it like a dividing artery for our entire building. I met Lance in front of the doors. Normally the hustle of Grace Street is visible on the other side of the tinted bullet proof doors. Now all you can see is a mob of infected. Fists pound on the doors non-stop. Sickening smears are left where hands have been beaten raw. Our presence near the door stirred the hornets nest. The sound was deafening. Banging, gurgling, moaning, shrieking. Whatever Lance was saying couldn’t be heard. Realizing this, he took his baton out. Seeing him flick it open sent a chill down my spine. I repressed the memories as I watched my friend use the weapon as a pointer. He directed my attention to various point on the doors. I’m getting tired of that “heart sinking” feeling… Constant stress from the ever-growing group was taking a toll on the sturdy doors. The glass nearly bulged and the doorframe rocked on its hinges. For the moment, the magnetic seal was holding. At least the deadbolt should keep them out just a little longer. Sure it won’t hold forever, but it will buy us some time. We left the front and walked to the back near the bathrooms. It was still noisy, but you could hear a person talking in front of you. “Lance those doors are going to come down. And when they do...” I said just loud enough for him to hear. “I know Nathan. I know. Listen, I have to tell you about something that happened.” His tone of voice and expression reminded me of when we met at the Third Street Diner. I motioned for him to continue. “One of the other security

kids helped us clean up the mess in the kitchen. The Corporal opened the door to C and we secured the wing. Aside from some things the Captain knocked over – everything was fine. We put the bodies in one of the smaller offices and shut the door. That side is still separated so hopefully the smell won’t get to us for a while. The security kid didn’t say a word when we were cleaning up the mess. I thought he was walking to the bathroom to wash his hands off. Then I heard the back door open. He hit the button and walked right out. I ran to catch him. Before the door slammed shut I saw him get halfway into the alley before three of them swarmed. The door shut but I could still hear his screams.” After pondering it for a moment I said, “So is that why the Corporal key-locked the building?” I think I’m building up a tolerance to tragedy. “Yeah but everyone is talking about getting a group together to try and get to GRC. They think a way can be found to street level from the roof. It’s a death wish if you ask me. Don’t get me wrong, I want to help them, but I’m not in a hurry to get killed. Everyone is going about like help is coming. Do you think help is coming? Because I think we may be fucked this time.” He said; exhaustion overly apparent. I thought for a second. “Lance, I may have an idea. I’ve got to work some things out first and try and get a read on some of our fellow inmates. Meet me back here at 1500 hours. Bring what you need to take with you, because I’m not planning on coming back to this godforsaken place. In the mean time take a damn nap. I’ll try to do the same. Something tells me we’re going to need it.” 1300 hours: In a perfect world escape from such a situation would involve everyone trapped getting out. However, this is far

from a perfect world. I never thought I would be dreaming up a plan to escape a horrifying death without including the people I’ve been working with for years, but here I am, doing just that. Am I willing to sacrifice some of my humanity for selfbenefit? Then again, it’s not entirely for me. I absolutely must get back to my family. That is something I would sacrifice anything or anyone for. Looking at the ravenous abominable mass outside our building I’m beginning to question where the line between human and inhuman really is. The Corporal came in and gave us a hand-written schedule for when officers would be on the roof thinning out the infected crowd. Personally, I think it’s a futile effort. Futility aside, it brings up everyone’s spirits to see something being done. Next firing squad starts at 1500 hours. This is the first good news in days. A bunch of potential obstacles to our escape will be on the roof raining bullets on the infected. The gunshots and activity should provide a much needed distraction both inside and out. I’m using my secluded cubicle to go over my ‘plan’. There was a very basic campus map in one of the supply drawers that made its way to my desk when no one was looking. I’ve been writing notes on it and tracing a path with a sharpie marker. I can only spend a little while looking at the map. Meanwhile I’m watching my coworkers closely. When the time is right I have to sneak over and steal the master key set. Trying not to think about how doing such a thing could land me in prison. Observing my friends I’m saddened by what I see. Brad isn’t saying much. The girls are making it out like help will actually come. Christine made some remark about the Corporal doing a good job and feeling safe with the doors latched. It’s a bunch of bullshit in my opinion.

The plan will have to do. There isn’t much time left, before I meet up with Lance. Plus it’s finally my allotted ‘nap time’. I won’t sleep, but I have to rest. Timing will be pivotal in getting out of this tomb. With such uncertainty ahead of me, God only knows what is coming. Wherever God is, the only certainty now is that he’s not watching. 1435 hours: I got up from my nap a little early and offered Brad the extra time. This was all part of my plan. He declined and offered his slot to Christine. The plan is having problems already… wonderful. Brad is the only one in the room bright enough to notice that I’m up to something. I can’t let this slow me down. If this is going to work (emphasis on if); action must be taken immediately. Erin had made the alarm monitoring station her home. Luckily she is easily distracted. If not, it might be harder to get her to look away from the screen long enough to conceal my tampering. The computer at my cubical campsite has the alarm monitoring station program copied on it. I opened up the manual actions and found the door leading to C. This is the same door the late Captain came out of. Even though most of the buildings are down; all doors for Headquarters are still controllable at least the interior ones, the key locked doors will stay shut. The action is programmed; all I have to do is hit OK. Once I submit it, the action will show on a recent events area at the bottom of Erin’s screen. I just need about thirty seconds and it should disappear from view. Unfortunately, I can’t bring everything I’ve packed. If I don’t give the impression that I’m just stepping out of the room, questions will be asked. My excuse is that I’m taking my pack to the bathroom to change and wash myself up in the sink – I figure that’s reasonable enough.

This plan has NO wiggle room whatsoever. Everything has to be right on the dot; any deviations will likely lead to failure and failure could mean death. The idea of my life riding on something so constricted is nauseating. Here is the time frame: 1) 1452 hours – draw attention away from the computers and click OK on the manual action to unlock the kitchen to C door from 1501 to 1502 hours, 2) 1457 hours – use my bathroom excuse, 3) 1500 hours – meet up with Lance, 4) 1501 hours – make it through the door and pray no one spots us crossing to the other side. After fifteen minutes my absence will be noticed. My hope is that the kitchen area will be vacated. If not… well we might be able to talk our way through it. After all, as far as everyone else knows the building is sealed. What’s the difference if we go in the admin side? Another concern is Lance not being there, but I’m pretty sure he’ll do everything possible to get out of roof duty. If he’s not there when I get through the door I’ll have a twenty second window to prop it open, before an alarm goes off. I’d rather not consider the possibility of him not showing up. Leaving everyone in dispatch is enough to eat away at me. Having to leave someone who saved my life the other day is just too much. Assuming we make it that far, we head to the basement. If this works we’ll be out of here. Granted that will present a plethora of new problems. If it doesn’t - then either they will lock us in a room and the zombies will break in long before they figure out what to do with us; or I’ll end up back in dispatch like nothing happened. I tried calling home to tell Sarah I was coming, but it

didn’t connect. I can’t afford the distraction of thinking about why the call didn’t go through. For now I’m just watching the monitor to look for a grizzly enough looking infected worthy of people going to the window to witness. If we make it out and to a safe place that would be reward enough. Otherwise I’ll either be dead or trapped. The butterflies filling my stomach feel like they have fucking acid reflux. Its 1450 hours and I think I’ve found my distraction. Thank God for small favors…

Chapter 8 Into the Void

1507 hours: Lance was waiting, as scheduled. He looked anxious and confused, in other words, his appearance was mimicking my feelings, but I couldn’t dwell on that. Getting to my family was the most important thing right now; and if we didn’t seize this chance then it probably wouldn’t happen at all. Thankfully Lance had brought his bag of whatever he deemed worthy. No one was in the kitchen area. The two remaining security officers were napping in the read-off room, which made the coast clear for us. I motioned towards the door leading to C. The only visual indication of the magnetic door’s state will be from the lights on the small pad where cards are swiped. I saw the solid red lights and knew the door was still locked. If the plan works then those lights will change green in the next few minutes.. Lance followed me to the door without question. It’s good to know trust is still possible in a world turned upside-down. That trust could be our only lifeline once we make it out into the streets. At 1500 hours on the dot I heard the gunfire begin. The

guys were on the roof as scheduled, busy thinning out the monsters that the dead were turning into. Within seconds of the first shot, red lights turned to green on the magnetic lock. The door was unlocked and everything was going as planned, but it was too early for any sighs of relief yet. I quickly surveyed our surroundings and when I was convinced that no one was watching, I pulled open the door and motioned Lance through. The large metal door normally closes with a bang, but this time I eased it close and it barely made a sound. I allowed myself a moment of self-satisfaction for getting this far. Forty-five seconds after the door unlocked, we were down the quiet hallway and about to make the right turn for the basement stairs. That’s when I heard the metal door ease open. Fifteen feet away from the basement doorway, we froze in place. I swung around to see the potential source of disaster. In a moment of both surprise and curious relief, Brad stood at the now closed door. “Come on man, did you really think I didn’t know you were up to something?” He immediately said in a low tone. However, before I could respond to him, he put up his hand and stopped me. “Although I have no idea how… I know you’re planning on getting out of here. Whatever you’re going to do, I want in.” Lance and I exchanged a glance and then a nod. Our new trio continued down the stairs to the basement. The basement houses the records storage, ammunition storage, supplies, and the evidence room. Every door in here leads to a room containing either a shit ton of private information or a sampling of all things illegal and volatile. With the exception of the evidence room, none of the doors are monitored on the alarm system, but both the evidence room and ammunition storage room have unique locks. The keys for these doors are only given to the property manager and the

Chief of Police. It’s a shame though – we could have really used any of the things in those rooms. “Nathan, what the fuck are we doing?” Lance said in a loud whisper. I talked as we slowly progressed. “Years ago, when I left the academy, I spent my last two weeks doing clerical shit around the building. One day I was asked to help the property manager bring some boxes down into the supply room. We went into the room that is basically the far west corner of the building. Once we got into the room I set the boxes down and took a quick look at all the goodies around me. All the way in the corner I saw blackness. The wall disappears into an opening the size of a double door. At first I thought it was just a little storage alcove or something, but I realized this hole in the wall didn’t look like it ended.” We continued down the hall quietly and cautiously. After a deep breath I explained further. “Naturally I asked the property manager what it was. He didn’t explain, in fact, he didn’t say much at all, except that it was ‘Our entrance to the tunnel’. Pursuing further I asked him where it led to. He answered with a ‘Not far’. At that point I stopped questioning and just kept it in the back of my mind.” Both Lance and Brad looked hesitantly curious. “Although I’ve been down in the basement a bunch of times; I haven’t been able to go back in that room since that day. And since that day almost seven years ago I have pondered the mystery of that void in the wall. No one seems to know much about it. Either that or they won’t tell me. My guess is the tunnel leads across to West Franklin Street where the old dispatch and administrative offices were. Assuming this is the case, it would get us away from here and the hoard it has drawn. Hopefully, Franklin Street is a little quieter. If we make it that far, we’ll take it from there. Either way, it will get us away from here.”

A moment of silent contemplation followed as we continued down the quiet basement hall. Brad broke the silence, “Are we sure this building will be secure? If it’s not we could be walking into trouble.” His question was rhetorical of course; a step in any direction will lead us to trouble. “Look at it this way – at least the work-out will give us a little more muscle and make for a better meal.” Leave it to Lance it use his dry Texas humor in the face of certain death. He finished his thought, “I say fuck it. At least we would be going out fighting.” Brad and I nodded in agreement as we reached our target door. I removed the master keyset from my jacket pocket and found what I thought to be the correct key. We shared a collective sigh as I worked the key into the knob and it worked. We had finally reached the pinnacle of high blood pressure. Then I opened the door. Boxes. Fucking boxes. Evidently I’m the only one who remembered the subterranean escape route. For God only knows how long, the room has been used as a dump site for what looked like anything they could find. You couldn’t even see the back wall past all the clutter. Again we got treated to Texas humor, “Well damn it looks like we’re gonna get more of a work-out than we thought. By the time we reach the back of the room we should be all sweaty and delicious!” “Thanks asshole.” Brad said as we each grabbed the nearest box. 1640 hours: A pin drop would have been deafening in that moment when Lance moved a box and behind it was blackness. After what seemed like forever, the entrance to the tunnel revealed itself to us. The task before us was daunting to say the least.

Any certainty we had in this newly uncertain world would disappear the second we passed the event horizon into darkness. Our bodies were exhausted from moving several years worth of storage items into the hall from which we came. Our minds were even more drained from watching the world collapse around us in the days leading to this moment. I had the idea of moving everything to block the hall that led upstairs. This wasn’t to further condemn the coworkers locked in headquarters, but to try and save them. It was fair to assume we were the only ones who knew about the escape route. The worst case scenario is that we go through the other end of the tunnel and the infected are waiting for us. If this happens, they would likely make their way through the tunnel after finishing with the three of us. I’m not about to fill half of Police Headquarters with the infected just waiting to be released into populated areas. Even though I have little hope for those left, I’m not going to condemn them from below. At least clogging the hallway with boxes would create a physical barrier. I don’t think the zombies possess the higher thought or physical stamina required for moving boxes like we did. If I could barely move the mound of boxes then it’s unlikely a walking corpse could do any better. A few minutes later we had the opening cleared enough for us to get through, each with our own survival bags. Lance had his duty flashlight, Brad had a keychain light that did the job, and I had an LED flashlight I brought with me in my pack. Strategically, we should have gone lights-off. However, the ever-present and undeniable element of fear combined with the unfamiliar environment made flashlights a must. I have no idea how long the tunnel was. It was cramped; we had to walk single file and slightly crouched. Lance, having the only firearm, was leading the way. I wasn’t far behind him. My Kukri was held to the side gripped tightly in

my right hand. It occasionally reflected glints of light from Brad’s keychain flashlight behind me. We were bathed in still, dark, and stagnant silence. It was difficult to keep from thinking about what we were traveling under. How often do you find yourself crawling beneath hell? My mind drifted towards regret. What if we were making a mistake in leaving Police Headquarters? If help was actually coming then we wouldn’t be around to enjoy salvation. I shook it all off and focused on the path ahead. After several minutes a faint red glow became visible ahead of us. The tunnel’s end opened into a wood and cloth partition. It was almost like a fold-up wall that blocked the entrance from view. Hey, anything is better than a couple tons of boxes obscuring it. A generic ‘EXIT’ sign was glowing above the door in the far corner of the basement room. I’m assuming it was on emergency power, everything else looked to be dead. That means the power is out. Inside I was praying that electronics were the only things ‘dead’ in the building. Lance quickly cleared the room. We were alone at the moment. I looked towards Brad. He looked anxious and gripped a four inch pocket knife I was unaware he even had. It looked like a decent lock-blade with a black half serrated edge. By now I was fairly confident that we were in the old police office on Franklin. Fortunately, the building has about at third of the footprint Police Headquarters has. We were all drained and desperately wanted to rest, but first we had to search at least the basement area to make sure we were alone. The basement consisted of three more rooms, other than the one we were in. One by one they turned up empty. We were able to breathe a short sigh of relief after that. I glanced around some of the rooms for anything useful. Other than a lighter I found in a desk drawer, it was just a lot of crap lying around, cluttering up the place.

Lance fell asleep in a chair near the tunnel entrance soon after we’ve made sure the place was clear and now I’m finding myself envious of his ability to rest given the circumstances. Everything the three of us just went through was so exhausting that it would be wonderful to sleep here in this basement. However, knowing that we hadn’t even cleared the rest of the house and that a great feral unknown awaits us is too much to process for rest to be possible.

Chapter 9 Life Corroding

1730 hours: Resting was a futile practice. There was no getting around the fact that we couldn’t stay in the basement. The remainder of the building must be searched. Assuming everything is okay with the unchecked areas and we can find a way to secure the building, then maybe we can ‘rest’. We gathered our things and ourselves and discussed a plan. Going through in a straight line didn’t serve us tactically anymore. The building is an office area with plenty of blind spots. If the only person with a gun is at the front and we get attacked from the back… the end result would be obvious. The nature of our undead attackers necessitates a weapon in every living hand. Each one of us had a weapon; some were just more effective than others. Lance was best off of course. Between his duty equipment and training he should be alright in theory. In theory, of course, because nothing about the plight we face is normal. Who’s to say that a normal person with a blunt object or big knife wouldn’t be better off? I’ve seen firsthand how quick those rotting fuckers can be in closed

quarters. Maybe a bladed weapon would serve one better in that case. I became shaken with the realization that when this is all over I’d have the answer to that question one way or another. There’s no time to be lost in thought. Right now seconds can become the difference between life and death. As we prepared to leave the safety of the basement Brad hesitated. Glancing back at him, Lance and I both realized how illequipped he was. I reached into my pack and pulled out the mini-crowbar. He grinned. What have we become that the thought of putting a crowbar through the skull of a “human being” could cause a smile? The three of us went over a possible plan of action. Once an agreement was reached, we approached the bottom of the narrow stairwell. Lance went first, followed by Brad, then by me. Once at the top of the dark stairs we kept our flashlights on, but put them in our pockets. We all agreed that flashlights would serve as a source of comfort, but also as a beacon. Anything inside the house would see us immediately and thanks to the windows in the house-turned-office building; anything outside would see us too. Glowing pockets wouldn’t help us search the building, but it would allow us to determine friend from fiend. After a few minutes of waiting at different elevations on the stairs, we each sounded off that enough time had passed. The hesitation allowed us to audibly survey the area to a limited extent, but more importantly it gave our eyes time to adjust to the lower light. Lance eased the door open as all weapons were held in white-knuckled grips. The moment the door opened you could hear the cacophony of gunfire from Police Headquarters a block away. Little light could be found around us. I can’t say I was surprised by that though. After all, power is probably out in the entire city. That combined with all the clouds and debris in the air from fires.

We branched out in separate directions. Our movements were quick and calculated. Any hesitation brought about by inevitable fear had to be thrown to the wind. Silence now was our only lifeline. Alerting any of the infected in the area to our presence would easily undo our efforts to escape the horde amassed at Grace Street. This being the case, Lance had his gun holstered and baton extended, as comforting as its lethality may be, the forty caliber Sig must be a last resort. Brad headed towards the back of the building. There was a good chance that the front door was unsecured, so Lance took the front area. His mission was to get the front door shut and clear the area. If the door were to get rushed, then at least he would have the gun to give us a fighting chance. We estimated it would take ten minutes for everyone to clear their assigned areas. After that period we were to rendezvous back at the door for the basement. If anyone was late then they would be looked for, on the condition that the other two would be searching as a pair. In the event that only one person made it back on time then we agreed no one was to be a hero. That sole person is to go back to the basement, lock the doors and make their way back to Police Headquarters. My task was the middle area. This encompassed maybe two rooms. Lance and Brad were lucky enough to have a little light from the exit signs over the exterior doors. I on the other hand had nothing. My eyes adjusted enough to keep me from running into the walls but not nearly as much as I would like. I was fairly confident that human shapes would be discernable. Imagination right now was a bigger foe than the zombies. Every water cooler or potted plant in a corner became an undead figure thirsting for my blood. My heart beat almost as loudly as the still audible gunfire in the distance. Corner after corner and room after room I found nothing. The flood of adrenaline in my system leading up to

my first potential and intentional conflict with the undead was for nothing. After a moment of this sweeping realization I dropped to my knees and vomited up the small amount in my stomach. Wiping my mouth with my sleeve I saw my watch and remembered my deadline. I had slightly more than a minute before I’d be left alone with a city of infection. Fortunately, I didn’t have far to go. I hauled ass -trying my best to remain silent and not to run into anything. Lance and Brad were waiting by the door seconds later when I arrived. They both had weapons up ready to hit me. “For fuck’s sake it’s me!” I immediately said in a loud whisper. Their weapons lowered. Brad followed it with punching me in the arm in a semi playful way. “You’re too fat to run up on us like that man with all the Reapers out there” he said. I chuckled, rubbing the new sore spot on my arm. “Alright this floor is clear, let’s move some heavy shit in front of the doors and check the upper floors.” Lance whispered. We kept our flashlights off to avoid outside attention. Amazing how well your night vision can be when survival calls for it. By the grace of God, the second and third floors were completely uneventful. Everything was slightly better illuminated, thanks to the unobstructed windows. Either it was that or our eyes had completely adjusted to the unnerving blackness. We all met again in the center area of the second floor. Lance and Brad looked like hell, I’m sure I didn’t look any better. This was an opportunity we would likely never have again; one of safety. It should have been used to plan our next move or to discuss our enemy. However, with little discussion to the contrary, we did the opposite. The building was now as secure as it would ever be. Best yet was that we hadn’t alerted the areas resident infected or uninfected, if there are any left, to our presence. This was a

fact heavier than any tranquilizer or drunken stupor… It motivated us to each pick a room, find a comfortable spot, and pass the fuck out. 2310 hours: Ever have one of those moments where you wake up after a sleep so deep you have no recollection of anything? That was the kind of rest I was enjoying, before jumping back into this harsh consciousness. For a moment I couldn’t remember where I was or how I got there. I was sitting on an old leather couch in a room that looked even older. Rubbing my eyes, it all came back to me. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Then I was home on the couch, Sarah resting on my shoulder and holding my hand. We snuggled under the blue afghan my mom gave to us on our first Christmas together. We’re watching one of the many cooking shows on Food Network. Usually I turn to them knowing it makes her happy. Curly brown hair is draped across my chest until it touches the fringes of the weathered blanket. I’m warm, safe, and happy. Opening my eyes I exhale, filling the air in front of me with steamy breath. A dance of orange light leads from the window across the ceiling. Nearby something, God knows who or what, was traveling about engulfed in enough flame to create a torch. Curiosity beckoned me to the window to investigate. My remaining shreds to humanity and humility kept me on the couch. A chill ran through my body. My guess is that the ambient temperature in the room was in the mid to low forties. It is November after all… Another deep breath and I close my eyes. Now I’m in the yard playing with the kids. Maddox has jumped on my back and is waiting for me to take off running. Calise is latched onto my abdomen, tickling my stomach with her sweet little hands. They were both giggling in the sweetest chorus

imaginable. Nearby, a gunshot brought me back to Earth. This one was louder - maybe a twelve gauge shotgun. It took all my strength to not break down in tears. This day is almost over. I would say it was the longest day of my life, but I have a feeling tomorrow will be longer. After a few minutes I’ll go check on the guys. It’ll take all three of us to figure out how to get out of this wretched city alive. The truth is I need a few minutes to even convince myself it’s possible, let alone before I try to convince Lance and Brad. Day Nine. November 18, 2015 – 0011 hours: Long ago this building was a real home with real people. At least it was until the university spread throughout the city with more determination than the Reaper Virus itself. First it became the home for Campus Police Administrative offices, the dispatch center, and security offices. After they renovated what is now an all encompassing Police Headquarters a block away on Grace Street, the building became faculty offices. You can tell people lived there generations ago. The second floor of the Franklin Street office is composed of four rooms. Three of which are comfortable enough; suitable to spend extended periods in, which was fortunate for us. The fourth room is a wall of file cabinets and nothing more. We each picked a room to call home for however long we would be here. After a short conversation before settling in for a ‘rest’, we all decided the second floor was best to set up camp. In the event we have to jump out the windows to escape I’d much rather get broken from a two story fall than three story fall. I cautiously went to the other rooms. The last thing I

would want to do is startle one of my armed and sleep deprived comrades. Lance was sitting behind a desk, the chair pushed against the wall for head support. He looked to be fast asleep in the light green, upholstered leather executive desk chair. Gently closing the door, I moved to Brad’s room. He wasn’t as fortunate to find sleep as Lance. Sitting feet up on a small loveseat, he noticed me and motioned me in with his right hand. Brad looked drained of life and lost in thought. I plopped myself down in a less luxurious computer chair across from his loveseat. We sat in the dark and cold silence for a while before I even attempted to discuss the furture of our survival with him. I felt like we were waiting to give someone a terminal cancer diagnosis. Survival is possible sure, but is it likely? “So what now?” Brad asked with a sigh. “Before we can make a plan, I think each of us needs to set a goal.” I tried my best to instill confidence. “I will get to my family. So I know what direction I need to head in. The question is how to get across the river and out of the city.” Lance walked in before I finished my thought. He was eating a granola bar from his survival pack. I stopped my sentence until he could settle into the conversation. Once the three of us were sitting close enough I continued. “You guys are welcome to join me. After I get home and round up the family I’ll head southwest to my parents’ farm in Carroll County. Obviously the pandemic isn’t just going to fizzle out. Survival is to prepare for somewhat permanent selfsufficiency.” I knew their answers before even proposing the idea. Brad is engaged – his fiancé lives somewhere in the east end. Lance has been married for a couple years now. They live on the other side of the river about a county over to the west. I don’t know if his wife is at home or not. Surprisingly, he has kept this to himself. Wherever she is though, his chivalrous nature will take him to her. I’d be a major hypocrite if I were

to fault him for that. Inside I was trying to convince myself that I’m not a coward for being terrified to travel without them. Guilt tripping them into joining me was never my intention. So leaving no real time to respond to the notion, I continued. “For the time being we all have two common goals: survival and escape from the campus area. If we can figure out how to manage that… then we part ways.” “The sooner we go the better. It didn’t take long for more and more of those mother fuckers to show up at H.Q. If it continues that way we won’t have a chance. I say we go in a couple hours.” Lance said confidently. “I agree.” Brad interjected, “We’re vulnerable the longer we’re here. The darkness can be a good cover. We go block by block towards the river. Things should clear up when we get farther from campus. After that it shouldn’t be as hard for us to go on separately.” “Alright gentlemen, I’m sold. How’s 0300 sound?” It was hard to sound even remotely sure of myself. “That’ll give us a couple hours to rest. We can meet at the front door.” That was the end of conversation. Both Brad and Lance gave an acknowledging nod. Lance and I walked out and retreated to our temporary accommodations. 0130 hours: The alarm on my watch was set to give me twenty-five minutes to gather my things and prepare myself. Some stretching exercises would likely be beneficial. Who knows what kind of physical activity is in my future. I’m not worried about staying ahead of the dead in the short term, though; I could easily get worn out staying ahead of them for a longer duration. Twenty minutes of exercise won’t help me cover for years of being a lazy bum but it will help my reflexes right now. We’re going be traversing some tight spaces where I’ll

have to limber up. I think I’ll be alright but there’s no point in fooling myself into thinking I’ll be able to keep up with Lance and Brad. They are both in much better shape than I am. Sleep would have been smart, but who could sleep knowing what is coming? The only thing I wanted was to call home. Digging through my pack I found my cell phone. I turned it on and got a surprise of my life when it found a signal. My heart stopped beating as I dialed home. “We’re sorry, all circuits are busy…” I stopped it, before it got any further. Desperate, I decided to attempt a text message. “I’m on my way home. Keep the walkie on and wait for me to tell you I’m close before going to the windows. I love you all so much.” The phone displayed the SENDING window for several minutes. At one point it said the message sending was eighteen percent complete. My eyes hurt from tearful anticipation. MESSAGE FAILED… I could have collapsed with the sinking of my heart. There are very few times in my life that I can recall being this restless: standing in a tux next to my brother, before walking down the aisle, sitting next to Sarah in the hospital, exhausted and back throbbing with pain as we waited for Maddox to be born, then again a couple years later in almost the same room, we desperately tried to get Calise to slow down so the doctor could arrive in time. Thoughts bombarded any chance I had of getting a nap. I felt as if I was a soldier traversing rocky seas to storm the beaches of Normandy. Soon I paced around the room until finally settling by the window to try and do some reconnaissance. Reading about the virus is all well and good. However, we’re about to get up close and personal with the wretched thing. That being the case, I’d rather use my own observations to ensure my well-being. From my second floor vantage point I could only see

what was directly in front of the building. Three cars were in view. One was parked on the far side of the street. Though it was hard to fully make out, it looked as if it had been pushed over the parking meter by another vehicle. My guess is the striking car hit the parked one pretty hard. In the bad light they almost looked fused into one awkward shape. Another car was sitting in the middle of the travel lane nearly out of my field of view. I could only see the front half – the rest was blocked by the windows frame. From what I could tell, the car was just sitting there with the front doors open. It’s impossible to tell if the vehicles are occupied. I have to strain just to make out the shapes of the cars themselves. Maybe it’s best that the darkness is obscuring any colors. My imagination sees pools of crimson around the opened doors and spattered all over the twisted wrecks. Despite all the carnage I had already seen, I wanted a better view. Throwing the notion of ‘curiosity killing the cat’ to the wind, I decided to venture downstairs. Creeping past Lance and Brad’s doors I couldn’t discern any sound from within. Hopefully they are asleep. If so, they’re much luckier than me… I felt like a teenager again trying to sneak out of my parents’ house at night. This time though I wasn’t worried about anyone hearing me inside the house. Fear has a way of magnifying all the senses. Every creaky floor board made my heart palpitate. Although it’s doubtful that even the most alert zombie outside could hear it; paranoia still justifies caution. Before the dead came back to life I saw paranoia as inner fear trying to manifest itself in other ways. Fear has now become more common place than tranquility; so I see no need to ignore the teasings of paranoia. I lightened my step hoping to return stealth to my late night trip through the house. Snaking my way through the hall I headed to the front room facing the street. This room has a large bay window that should provide a great vantage point of the street. I

could make out the silhouette of the drapes the moment I went in the room. Carefully I approached what was easily the buildings most vulnerable point. Sitting next to the windows was an easy chair. I gently maneuvered myself to sit on the plush arm rest and peered through the inch gap between drapes in the center window. The shadows played with my vision, like phantoms. My eyes adjusted to the slight difference between the interior and exterior of the building. At the very least I could see the area in front of the window much better than I could from the second floor. A well groomed hedge obscured most of the lower right hand window, which kept me from seeing any more of the car with its doors open. The difference between my view of the car accident from upstairs and down was negligible. There may have been a human form strung across the hood of the striking car, but it was hard to tell though; it depends on how hard I squint. The good news is that nothing looks to be moving. I was about to return to my room and do some stretching when the window became filled with a horrid obstruction. I don’t know where the infected man came from. It’s possible he had been lying down in the grass beneath the window or just off to the side of the building. None of that mattered now. The only thing that separated his rotting face with mine was an eight of an inch of glass. I froze. My heart stopped and my lungs were paralyzed mid-breath. In that moment I felt like every living biological function in my body stopped. At that moment I felt as dead as the face outside the window. My first instinct was to reach for the Kukri secured at my side. Inside my brain screamed for self preservation. Nothing happened. I didn’t move and neither did it. Then it hit me – the infected didn’t know I was there. Fear kept me frozen. I was petrified by the idea that even blinking would alert the zombie to my presence on the other side of the window. My eyes were the only thing

moving. I wanted to memorize every aspect of the ghoul. If I ever come this close to one of their faces again it will likely be the last thing I ever see. Imagination filled in what darkness hid. There were some things about it that no imagination could create. Its skin was mottled and pale. Black veins trailed across the dead flesh-like ivy on a brick wall. The rabid jaw opened and closed without rhythm; my mind saw putrid drool flowing from the vile opening. When you look into someone’s eyes you can see humanity in them. You see sorrow, happiness, love. Inside someones eyes should be a window into the innocence of a child, the tribulations of a teenager and the solidifying foundation of adulthood. Make eye contact with a human being and whatever looks back at you alludes to their soul. That is… if they have one. Looking into the blackness that once housed a person’s emotions and dreams, I saw nothing. Ever since we left Police Headquarters we had lived in darkness. That was nothing compared to what stared back at me. It looked like the pupils had become so dilated that they enveloped the whole eye. My mind told me that the eyes rapidly moved about. They searched for movement, for life, for me. Something caught its attention and it darted off to the east. I threw myself back from the window and practically leapt to the door. However, before leaving the room I looked back at where I was sitting to see if the creature returned. A full outline of the drapes was visible again. Satisfied I moved towards the stairs with all the stealth I could muster. Just because the reaper wasn’t at the window, doesn’t mean it wasn’t nearby; or at least that’s what my fear told me.

Chapter 10 All Good Things Must Come to an End 0220 hours: With every blink I could see its face… The black eyes searching for me. The feral mouth snapping at me, wanting my flesh. I fell over with a dry heave – adrenaline was catching up with me. I should have been stretching or doing something productive. Instead I was back in my room sitting motionless, entirely lost in my own thoughts. My mind suffered through a hailstorm of visions that attempted to distract me from the matter at hand. I saw the smiling faces of the kids, of my beloved wife. Then their faces would transform into the rotting visage of what I had just locked eyes with outside. It was the first time I worried that the horrors outside were clouding my focus on where I needed to be. Another sobering bout of nausea made me shake my head and clutch my gut. It passed and focused on thinking about nothing at all. The forced trance became broken by the irritation on my left shin. Hard to believe I forgot about the skin I’d paved over with duct tape. I toyed with the idea of taking it off.

Discomfort aside, I can’t risk losing the messages I recorded for everyone. That Micro SD card won’t last long against the ravages of infection or injury. I’ll deal with removing it and the scars that follow if I live to see home again. Then I had a disturbing thought about the nature of those infected with the R33PR Virus. I decided to leave my solitude and find the guys to talk things over. Brad was completely passed out. I opted not to bother him and moved to Lance’s room. He was awake and ushered me in when I cracked the door. I sat down in the chair across from him and took a deep breath. Slowly I recounted the events that just occurred downstairs. This led me to my thought. “The virus obviously rewires human physiology in some way. We know this because suddenly you’re dead and moving.” “And crazy as fuck… and hungry.” Lance interjected. “Shut up and let me finish.” He smirked and I continued. “What if the virus spreads itself by turning the infected into like a predator or something along those lines? Pupils dilate to see better when it’s dark. That could mean that the virus rewires people to be nocturnal hunters.” He looked intrigued and burdened. “Now that I think about it, the ones I saw before at H.Q. did move a little faster when it was dark.” After a pause he hesitantly said, “So you think it’s a bad idea for us to go when it’s still dark.” “Pretty much.” I said through a sigh. “At least in the daylight we would be able to see where we’re going.” “True enough. There are a lot of blind corners.” He picked up his black forged stainless steal firearm from the table and holstered it with a distinct click sound. “I’ll go talk to Brad. You go back to the window and see if you can see anything useful.”

0726 hours: I spent the time leading up to sunrise gazing out the window with the periodic stretching break. As ridiculous as it may have been, I also practiced some “fighting moves” with the Kukri. Regardless of how absurd the practice felt, inside it prepared me for the idea of plunging the curved blade into another’s skull. Any attempts to cat nap were to no avail. I’d like to think it didn’t bother me, after all I gave up sleep six years ago when I moved to the midnight shift. This thought allowed me a moment to chuckle at myself. The notion that I abandoned any hope for rest so long ago is as ridiculous as it is true. I chuckled again thinking that I turned into a zombie before the virus even existed. It was good to know laughter was still possible; even if it is at your own expense While perched at the window I only saw two infected pass near the building, maybe it’s because I have a better knowledge of them now, but I could swear they moved faster than the zombies I saw during the daylight. This reaffirmed our decision to move at first light. In all actuality I have little basis for comparison. Any daytime sightings I’ve had were through a crack in the window or from a crappy security camera. Twilight was skewed from all the new pollution in the air. Sunrise should have been a little before seven o’clock. We decided to meet and prepare ourselves near the front door at about quarter till. All three of us were eager and anxious to meet our fate, whatever it may be. Three days ago we became trapped in this godforsaken city under siege of the undead. It’s not unreasonable that we would desire any fate other than prolonged confinement away from our families. Now here we are, ready and willing to plunge into an undead world. We’ve been camped by the barricaded front door for over half an hour. Brad and Lance were at the

doorway of the room with the bay windows. I was sitting at the window, where I came face to face with the infected earlier, watching the street to determine the right time to leave. The grim world became slightly more visible by the minute. I could see the car wreck much more clearly than the evening before. There was a body on the hood of the striking vehicle. It didn’t move at all the entire time I watched it. More than likely it was actually dead. I hoped it was deaddead, but to stay on the safe side, my instincts told me to keep the corpse in mind anyways. Call it survival instincts if you want, perhaps some of the training did actually sink in, either way, I was not going to take any chances. Everything was dull and drab in color. There was no vibrancy; nothing spectacular distinguishing itself from the hints of pestilence all around. It reminded me of watching some indie film with a percentage of the color removed. I think there are pools of blood near the car with open doors, but it’s still hard to tell. Something tells me we’ll be able to see everything far too well once we’re out there. I inhaled deeply, held the breath for a moment, then exhaled. Inside I said to myself that I was ready to take the leap into the unknown. I turned to my comrades and saw that they were just as nervous. Obviously I couldn’t blame them, but the time was approaching for us to leave this place. “Hey guys…” I whispered loudly as I turned from the window, “It’s time.” They both acknowledged with a nod, saying nothing. Instead their response was to move to the door and start moving the barricaded furniture. I collected my bag and went to assist. Moments later Lance had his hand on the doorknob, gun drawn. Brad was close behind him with the mini crowbar at the ready position. I pulled up the rear with my Kukri in a tight fist at my side.

The door cracked and both Lance and Brad recoiled in near blindness. It didn’t seem quite as bad to me since I had spent the last half hour looking out the window. Gun or not, I should have gone first. Fortunately there wasn’t a set of undead jaws awaiting us. After a moment of adjustment, we crept out of our safe haven. I listened. A distant cacophony of bangs, car horns, and shrieks could be heard in seemingly all directions. A spherical hedge sat on both sides of the front door. This gave Lance enough cover to peak around and check the area. After studying both east and west very carefully, he motioned for us to follow with a directional head nod. Once I cleared the hedges and carefully traversed the handful of steep steps I got a look at the street. There wasn’t anything moving nearby. A blend of either fog or smoke put a veil over everything eastward. Looking west I could see more cars, more debris and more death. Lance motioned to the car accident. It sat in front of the Scott House. This was an old plantation style home that is used for formal activities by the university. The two fused cars blocked a cobblestone driveway that leads to an overhang area attached to the house, then beyond to a small servants shack at the far southwest corner of the property. A seven-foot stone wall surrounds the old confederate style grounds. Though it was never said out loud, in the name of stealth, I knew our course would take us through the property then over the wall. I hadn’t realized that the building had been blocking the background sounds from behind us. Reaching the sidewalk I immediately became aware of the persistent banging still echoing from Police Headquarters, which was situated to the north of us. My first thought was selfish yet strategic, “Thank God they are all still gathered around H.Q.” I tried to find some reassurance in this. Maybe all of the zombies in the area would be around the building rather than waiting for us to

stumble upon them while fleeing in the opposite direction. At the same time it meant that everyone was still trapped and help had not come. I pushed it all back in my mind and focused on the mammoth task before us. After all, there is little room for guilt in survival. Our three man convoy moved with a silent proficiency across the street and around the driver side bumper of the striking car. It was difficult not to step on glass or debris. Every movement of my foot brought about a silent, albeit, gut-wrenching crunch sound. Within seconds the true horror of the car accident became apparent. A lifeless, mangled body lay from the windshield wipers to convergence with the other car. Its shape was remotely human, but that was all that could be said about the poor soul. With a foreboding glance I saw that little remained of the head. I was confident this person would stay dead. Whatever color this car once was, it was now just a mix of dirt, dust, and blood. The windows were broken. Inside was a peppering of blood and obvious tissue. At the point of impact was a visible soup of humanity that had little resemblance to its origins. There was so much of it there that I doubt it could all belong to the corpse on the hood. The twisted arm of the driver blocked a full passing look of the horror. I’m sure if I could have stomached looking close enough, I would have seen the undead fingers protruding from the gore beyond the arm. Maybe then I would have spotted the fingers rooted to the hand of a tethered ghoul; concealed and twitching about the viscera. Lance followed the oblique angle of the connected vehicles and stopped at the front passenger wheel of the parked vehicle, facing the Scott House. Brad followed a few steps behind him, crouched at the grisly impact point. I was rounding the bumper checking behind us to make sure we hadn’t drawn any attention. Just as it had in the parking deck, time slowed to a crawl.

Turning my neck to pan my view and see where I would stop - I saw it… From beneath the wreckage a disfigured, infected torso swung towards Brad. Its arm, reaching upward and sandwiched between the bumpers, became hyper extended in the feverish movement. With a nauseating crack the lifeless flesh tore and the arm ripped at the shoulder. Freed from its tether, the creature fell from suspension and landed in the puddle of blended horror, I assume, once belonged to its lower half. It reached towards Brad with a single-minded tenacity. Everything transpired so quickly I doubt any of us would have been able to avoid it. Brad looked down as the infected fingers latched onto his left pant leg. I watched his expression turn from surprise, to mortal terror and ended in with pain-polluting rage. The zombie’s feral jaws found his calf; biting with enough force to spray bright red arterial blood from the sides of its mouth. In the back of my mind, the morbid sight reminded me of biting into a ripe fruit. Brad’s reaction was as quick as it was devastating. The mini-crowbar swung downward in a left-handed fury. Its forked carbon-steel edge met the infected skull just past the temple with no resistance. The jaws released and the creature fell to the ground. Brad let the crowbar, still embedded in the infected skull, drop with his attacker. His legs gave way through pain and heaviness of knowing his fate. We rushed to his aid. The wound wasn’t even visible through the seeping blood. A large vein in his leg looked to have been severed from the bite. Even under normal circumstances we would have to get him to a hospital quickly from an injury like this. Sadly the blood loss isn’t what worried me. Lance gave me a look – I’m sure he was thinking the same thing I was. Any bite to an artery or vein as vital as this meant the person could turn in minutes. We all gazed at the hemorrhaging wound. The dread was palpable. “Shoot me man.” Brad’s voice was eerily calm.

Lance stuttered, taken aback by the demand. “Fffuck no! I’m not going to be the one to kill you, you motherfucker! Take my gun and go out on your own terms for Christ’s sake. We can take it from you after.” I said nothing. After all, what could I say? I should have been watching to see if the commotion got us noticed. Instead I took a few cautionary steps back and watched in absolute horror. “Lance I need you to shoot me. Please!” Brad repeated as more of a command. Pushing his hand against the car he hoisted himself back to a staggered stance. The pain he was in must have been excruciating. “No! Fuck you, man.” Lance echoed again. His left hand met the right, returning his weapon to the forward ready position. “SHOOT ME!” He screamed. With a single fluidic motion he reached into his belt and removed his pocket knife. He lunged at Lance raising the blade above his head. I would have covered my ears to shield them from the blast if I weren’t in shock. Lance fired once. One shot was all it took. Brad’s momentum took him to the ground face first. He lay motionless in a growing pool of his life. We should have stopped to mourn. However, mourning is a luxury that went away with the living. The entire ordeal broadcasted our position like a megaphone. Lance cautiously checked for a pulse on Brad’s right wrist, his hand still in a fist around the small knife. It may have been paranoia, but I became acutely aware that the background noise suddenly sounded much closer. I pried my gaze from the fallen friend at our feet and started looking about frantically. “Lance we need to go. I’m sure one of them heard us.” He stood from checking Brad for signs of life and looked around the same way I just had. While he did that I retrieved my crowbar. I had to put my boot against the bastard’s skull

just to get enough leverage to pull it free. It emerged coated in black filth. I tapped it on the curb to remove whatever gunk I could. There was a dirty tee shirt in my bag. After the hazardous end was covered I tucked the heavy piece of metal through a strap on the bag. “Alright we can’t leave him here.” Lance knelt and grasped both arms. “Grab his legs. We can move him behind the bushes along the stone wall. Hopefully none of them will find him and decide to snack.” I moved to Brad and grabbed him by the shoes. Hopefully he laced them tight – if I have to go any higher on his leg I’ll be touching where he was bitten. After seeing me nod, he mouthed a countdown from three. We stood and sidestepped our way over the sidewalk to the cobblestone. His body was heavy and cumbersome. It was difficult to fathom the fact that moments ago this was a friend and ally who was unfairly taken. I tried not to dwell and rather focused on the task at hand. It was even more difficult to not think about how easily it could have been my body being toted away. Approaching the threshold for the stone wall, I took another look around us. Fear surged through me as I saw at least two of the creatures stumble out of the eastern fog. The dead pair was coming towards us with all the speed they could muster. While doing his best to keep a good pace, Lance must have seen my expression change. I was facing east and saw them approach first. He turned and saw what was coming. Nothing was said, but we did our best to go faster. Just ahead was a line of mulch for a garden with tiny shrubs backed up to the wall. There was a couple a feet between the fringe of the shrubs and the stone. I hoped this would hide him. We walked over the mulch. There were no flowers because, of the cold that we were experiencing, due to the seasonal changes. Flowers would have been fitting for

a grave though. We hoisted the body over the knee high shrubs and did our best not to drop Brad. The entire time we carried him he was still face down. I don’t think either of us wanted to see his face. Our infected pursuers had reached the car accident. I counted at least four now. Lance saw them too. Practically dropping him in the dirt, we turned and sprinted to the rear wall. Lance arrived first and nearly scaled it with a skillful leap. I’m not nearly as aerodynamic. Fortunately for me, my partner thought to stay on top of the wall and extend his arm to help. It took a moment of struggling against the abrasive and uneven wall, but I made it over. If I live through this, I need to loose some goddamned weight. Awaiting us on the other side of the wall was an empty courtyard. It should allow us a few minutes of recovery before moving on. We jumped from the ledge at the same time. The small crowd of reapers was about even with where Brad lay when we jumped. I don’t think they saw him. Why pay attention to a dead meal when you can try to feast on the living? Thank God there is no way the infected could have gotten past the wall. For the moment we were safe. We were safe and our friend was dead. Face down in the dirt behind some fucking bush with zombies all around his corpse. How fucked up is that? I collapsed on a backless wooden bench. Now the memory from the incident in the parking deck would have some competition in plaguing my thoughts. I’d like to think that Brad’s death will be the last horrible memory I’ll have to contend with. That is if we survive long enough to make it out of the city.

Chapter 11 Budding Wasteland 0810 hours: We spent about ten or so minutes in the courtyard. Neither of us said a word the entire time. Instead we caught our breath and gave our bodies a moment to calm down before having to throw them back into the ringer. Every second we idled was utilized to listen to whether or not we’ll be brunch. You could hear the small crowd of infected beyond the stone barrier. The wall was too thick and solid to hear their fists pounding, but that didn’t mean they were silent. A nauseating chorus of gurgles and moans painted a vivid picture of the group in my mind. I imagined them bumping and scraping against the stone, their dead hands pawing at the abrasive wall until fingertips became bone. Lance came over and sat on the bench next to me. We spoke quietly. I doubt anything farther than a few feet away would be able to hear us over the creatures beyond the wall. “You follow right behind me.” He started in an unflinching and calculated voice. “Keep your sword out and ready. I’m going to keep my ASP out so we stay quiet. If our quiet

defense doesn’t hold up then I’ll keep the gun drawn.” I nodded in agreement. The Kukri was already unsheathed and laid in my lap. I was running my finger along the blade testing its sharpness when he came over. He had my undivided attention. “Whenever possible we need to keep to the walls. We avoid all doorways or inlets. Do you have any ideas on how to keep us alive?” This had already been on my mind for days now. I’ve been keeping sort of a mental list of zombie behavioral observations. As a life-long dork and previous fan of the zombie genre, I had to be sure any tactical decisions made were the result of my own observations rather than something I saw in a movie. My voice croaked as I tried to speak quietly. “I don’t think we need to haul ass. They aren’t exactly quick. The key will be to avoid any close encounters…” “Like the parking deck? I saw how that fucker jumped at you.” Lance interjected. “Exactly. There’s no point in wearing ourselves out by running all the time. As long as we can stay ahead of the infected and stay out of any bottle-neck situations I think we should be alright.” My goal was to sound confident. Futilely allude to the notion that escaping this city would be as simple as staying in the open. For a second there I almost believed myself. Whether or not Lance believed in our chances remained to be seen. He acknowledged my insight by removing his ASP Baton. A flick of his wrist extended it as he stood from the bench. In a low voice he said, “Let’s just keep a low profile and not draw any attention to our position and don’t forget to look where you’re walking… I’m not going to be forced to shoot you too.” “I appreciate that. Oh and speaking of that.” I whispered with a grin, “Don’t forget to aim for the head… not that I

have to remind you.” This whole end of the world thing has forced me to give up so much of my own humanity. The last thing I intend to give up is my twisted sense of humor. “Asshole...” Lance chuckled. “Let’s just get the fuck out here.” I shouldered my bag and strapped it to myself however possible. Stealth was secondary only to survival. There couldn’t be anything jingling or rattling. We can’t be sure what the hearing capability is for the undead. No point in needlessly giving ourselves away with a damn key jingle. “Try to keep up, fat ass.” He said through a smile. “That’s fine, that’s fine. I deserved that.” I snickered. “Just remember that my knife is bigger than your stick.” The only response was a proper display of his middle finger. Nothing more was said for a long time. We had a job to do. Lance cautiously and intently started our route. Though I wasn’t a hundred percent sure exactly what that route would be, I followed closely behind him. I’m sure he had a basic course set out in his mind, just as I did. The fact of the matter is that we have no clue what we will come across. Right now our best option is to head a general direction and wing the rest of it. To the east of the courtyard was Hibbs Hall. This is a fairly large classroom building that serves as a cornerstone to one of the campus’ more populated regions. Beyond the building, to the east, are: a dining center, several high rise dormitories, and the rest of downtown Richmond. South of it is: the campus Library, student commons, more classroom buildings, a recreational facility, the downtown expressway, some old trashy neighborhoods and finally the James River. There is a good chance that a majority of the people will be cleared from the campus owned areas. After all, the campus did close down right before the shit hit the fan. If the horde around Police Headquarters is any indication, most of

the zombies will flock towards clearly populated areas. With the university closed, most buildings should be largely empty. My guess is that we have at least a mile and a half to traverse. At that point we have to find the best way to cross the water and beyond it who knows. It clearly was one enormous obstacle after another. Hibbs Hall is located at the corner of Park Avenue and North Linden Street. Park Avenue is an old street with even older houses that closes to vehicle traffic at the point of our courtyard. At that point, cars continue southbound on Linden while the remainder of Park becomes a large pedestrian vein for the University. I followed a step behind Lance along the wall of the old classroom building. Approaching the brick corner, we became exposed to the west. I anxiously looked down the vehicle portion of Park Avenue. Thankfully nothing dangerous could be seen. Lance inched up to the corner to peak around at the wide, potentially dangerous, pedestrian causeway. After a few seconds, he silently motioned for me to switch places and look for myself. The sun had made a little headway in getting through the clutter in the air. By now we were able to see about as well as we should have been able to upon leaving West Franklin Street. Dark clouds still coated the sky. The wind occasionally blew low accumulations of smoke or ash above us. If viewed in a photograph the atmosphere could easily be mistaken for preceding a late-January snow. Slowly I gazed beyond the wall and down the walkway. My attention immediately went to the four figures standing motionless maybe two hundred feet past us and just before them laid two mangled corpses. Spotted about were pools of carnage. The zombies all faced away from us and their kill. Although I was thankful for that, I also found it eerie and confusing. Why are they all looking the same direction? I shook it off and looked to their victims. They had been

torn to pieces… Just days ago I would have been nauseated by the site. The zombies had no interest in their kill anymore. Additional blood stains were visible sporadically around the walkway. Some had red drag marks leading to or from the pools of crimson, which morbidly indicated their ravenous sprees. Lance pulled me back from the corner by my backpack. “We have to get past. Follow at my pace. If I run then you run.” He ordered in barely a whisper. He stepped back in front without any need for my acknowledgement. With a quick look to ensure the infected were still looking away he slowly walked out of our cover. There wasn’t a moment to hesitate; I had to follow. We were completely exposed for maybe forty-five feet. The distance felt like a mile. I had to watch Lance to see if he sped up, but it was so hard not to stare at the undead figures, which were standing just a shout away. The only movement I could see came from one of the middle creatures. Its jaw opened and closed like so many of the others I had seen. Sick, rabid monster. There wasn’t any other way to describe the scene. In the moment of distraction the space between Lance and I grew. He sped up. I had no clue why, but knew I had to catch up. We were at a jog by the time the distance had been cleared. A parked SUV served as suitable cover just beyond the expanse. Our jog came to a stop and Lance ducked behind the large car on the street’s side. I took the hint and ended at a crouch. After a moment of catching my breath I cautiously peered back at the infected. All four had turned towards us. They remained still. I don’t think they saw us. Now, I could clearly see every sickening jaw snapping at nothing. A wet, percussive gurgle emanated from the group. Raspy moans accented the clatter of dead teeth chatter. For once, I don’t think my imagination

was filling in the blanks. I froze upon seeing the quartet of unholy, rotting eyes. It felt like hours, but it was only minutes. We could have been surrounded by an infected horde and my attention still would have been focused on the group ahead. Sensing this, Lance tugged on my shirt and motioned with his head that we needed to keep moving south on Linden. I took the hint and followed at a crouching run up the street. Running on the street itself may not have been the wisest course of action, but it seemed like a better option than risking exposure to the curious group behind us. At the end of the block Linden ends at Floyd Avenue. Beyond it the street continues as another pedestrian walkway that cuts a path through some of the largest classroom buildings and student areas. Normally the notion of running through an area as bustling with activity would be a death wish. My hope was that the evacuated campus would provide safe passage. Assuming all goes well; Linden Street should take us to the outskirts of campus all the way to the Downtown Expressway. A mile or two past the expressway and we will reach the river. Our pace remained rightfully quickened up the block. Lance paused when we reached the intersection of Floyd and Linden. While he surveyed the safety level I desperately tried to catch my breath. I’m sure it would be worse if my adrenaline hadn’t become such a welcomed companion. Damn my being out of shape – I’m not even running for my life and I’m still winded! He carefully eyed both east and west before walking beyond our cover of parked cars. My cautious glances around us were almost superfluous. After all, if Lance spotted danger nearby then my guess is we would be either stationary or walking much faster. That doesn’t mean danger wasn’t still obvious. The increasing light illuminated several motionless and some shambling silhouettes in both directions of Floyd

Avenue. The road-turned-brick walkway is bordered by cherry blossom trees for much of its length between Floyd Avenue and Main Street. A courtyard fills the space between the walkway and the sizable Student Commons building. Passing this area we are almost completely exposed to the east. On the western side of the building is the beginning of a classroom building network that covers an area the size of around two square blocks in total. It is comprised of four buildings that lead into each other joined by outdoor walkways or second-story street-crossing connections. If this outbreak happened with the full population present, we would be walking through an inner circle of hell. Now it is vacant and eerie. It feels like a ghost town. An absence of sound left enough room for my fucking imagination to eat away at me. We slowed our pace a bit towards the end of the courtyard area. On both sides we were flanked by trees, which were normally so beautiful. Now they are bare with a winter gloom suitable for the death befalling this city. I started to become acutely aware of a distant clatter to the east then. The moment took me back to a memory of standing on the banks of the Swift Creek Reservoir, hearing the marching band drum line practicing miles away at my high school. Anywhere along the banks it was an unavoidable noise. Banging like that through distance turned into a droning echo. I shook with the realization that the only drums sounding now were that of undead fists pounding to get at trapped soles. Barely a block away from where we stood was Gladding Residence Center, the dorm where a handful of students and few officers awaited rescue. By the ruckus echoing from the area it sounds like they had drawn every infected in the area. That place is a tomb now. I doubt rescue will ever arrive.

Once again we are put at an advantage at the expense of others. If the dorm wasn’t such an appetizing target we would be overrun. I can’t allow myself to feel the weight of the lives, which are likely lost, just to our east. All that matters now is survival. My thoughts were interrupted by a much closer racket. I looked over my shoulder and saw a housekeeper banging on the glass from inside the second floor of the Student Commons. He probably would have been visually pegged as a zombie, even if one of his arms hadn’t been missing. A black stain ran the entire length of his left side from the ragged stump. The handicapped creature pounded furiously at the sight of two meals walking past his window. A smirk forced its way over me from the sight of the gruesomely pathetic display. Lance saw it too and had the same twisted joy on his face. The gimpy zombie started getting a little more animated when we stopped to evaluate him. As the noise went up a few decibels, the fear of others being alerted made us move on. Nervousness had become redundant by the time we reached the crossing at Linden and Main streets. Before the world went to hell, this crosswalk was one of the busiest in the area. There’s a stop light there simply for foot traffic and the students don’t believe in yielding to traffic, so they pretty much walk through whenever they please. It struck me that this was probably the only stretch of road not clogged with cars. We were exposed - completely. A step farther and we are in an open intersection; an inviting buffet for every infected in sight. Our proximity to the ever present drumming of dead flesh on hopeless walls brought my hypertension to palpable levels. Lance motioned for me to walk next to him, rather than a few steps behind. I can only assume this was so that we look like less of a target from anything looking at us up the street. Main Street is pretty much a straight line for a few miles. Any

zombies within two or three blocks will likely see us crossing if they happen to glance in our direction. I watched as Lance started a physical countdown from three to one with his fingers to signal when we should start across the street. Our entire trek through this budding wasteland has felt like an eternity. My mind took the short moment as an excuse to wander. How long have we been out here? How long since I’ve been home? Today has been such a flood of emotions that my thoughts can’t seem to process the flow of time. The last gloved finger went into his fist and we stepped off the curb almost in sync. We kept a moderate pace while every impulse firing in my brain was screaming to run. About five feet into the street I glanced to my left, past Lance, towards the racket around the dorm. I immediately regretted my curiosity. A putrid mass of infected had gathered, thicker than the morning fog not even a block away. Individual shapes were difficult to discern through the density and writhing of the group. They had swarmed around the dorm, eager for the meal barricaded inside. The only urge stronger than the one to stare at this horror was the one propelling me out of this city. Lingering in the street would mean certain death. With that many infected in one spot it is likely we had already been spotted. I focused on the path ahead of us. A few more feet and we were over the curb, greatly relieved by the concealment of a building in both directions. My quick look to the east while crossing the street was the only time I looked. I’m sure we were now being pursued – I don’t need visual confirmation to know it. Either way, our priority of escape hasn’t changed. Linden Street continued southbound another two blocks. The first block remains a bricked pedestrian walkway up to its intersection of Cary Street. After Cary it accepts vehicle traffic for a short block before ending at the Downtown

Expressway. The Expressway had been our goal this entire time; it acts as a southern boundary for the University. All the classroom buildings in this area are linked by walkways. We could have traversed half this distance indoors just by using these walkways. As easy as that may sound, we have no idea what is lurking in these buildings right now. At least the outdoor travel is quick and we can see what’s coming. After walking under the three-story walkway connecting the buildings on this side of the street, I squinted at the joyous site beyond us. Excitedly seeing the fence for the Expressway in my distant view, I nearly missed Lance making a sudden detour to the right. He caught my hesitation and muttered, “More cover this way… I have a plan.” Directly to our right was the entrance to a courtyard that is closely bordered by a few large classroom buildings. Lance was right, once we were in the courtyard the only way to see us was to be looking out from a building or very close by. This gave us a little breathing room from being seen by the crowd we just passed or any random zombie that were in hiding. The area was darker than others we had traveled through. With the sun low on the horizon still and the mix of fog and airborne remnants of devastation it would probably be midday before visibility is better. Lance motioned towards a bench surrounded by the dry winters grass. I knew our break would be short, but my body was screaming for a reprieve from this day.

Chapter 12 Premeditated 0837 hours: “We can only sit for a second,” Lance whispered. “We’re almost to the Cary Street field. The fence is high and solid there. I figure we can take a real break inside and plan what’s up next. Do you think you’ll be able to scale the fence? I doubt we’ll be given the luxury of using the gate.” “I’ll make it over. The thought of a fence between us and them is a nice one.” I said through exasperated breaths. “Did you see what was going on by GRC?” His face was blanketed in sorrow. “Yeah I saw them. I’m not sure the army could even get to everyone inside...” He trailed off. A police department is like a dysfunctional family. All issues aside, nothing can change that we were all part of that family. Our break had already run too long. I broke the second of silence with a rhetorical question, “Do you think they saw us?” The fact that Lance was already standing and tightening the strap on his pack spoke louder than his one word answer, “Definitely.”

Our target was at the southwest corner of the courtyard. Two classroom buildings converge there and another walkway passes over the sidewalk. This breezeway is the narrowest entrance to the area but it also is the gateway to the wide open fridges of the university. The Cary Street field, Lance’s goal for a ‘protected’ break is just across the street from the narrowed passage. Hurriedly, we made our way across the grass towards the darkened corner. Lance was a few steps in front of me. I began to adjust the position of my scabbard to my right when Lance stopped in his tracks. He held out his left arm as I bumped into him. Sheer luck prevented me from knocking us both over. I knew better than to voice any protest, something was very wrong. I looked past Lance, beyond the slight cover of a shrub, and saw our new obstacle. Two infected stood in the narrow breezeway. If they had been facing us we would not have had the liberty of standing nearby to plan. From behind, they looked like normal people. I can only guess what the front view held. The poor lighting in the passageway kept from seeing any small details in their motion. However, the awkward angle they both stood at gave them away as being undead. If anything, their normal appearance is what made what we had to do so disturbing. Lance stealthily removed his ASP baton from its holster on his left side. The fact his sidearm remained holstered spoke loudly to how he wanted this to go down. He gripped the metal cylinder in a fist. We were too close for him to extend the baton. Its distinctive clink would easily give us away at this distance. I pulled the Kukri from its sheath. My body stance changed with its absence from my belt. Suddenly, I experienced a vulnerability, which I had not felt all morning. As I gripped the solid handle my confidence slightly restored with the sight of the thick curved blade. With the element of surprise still on our side, there was

no point in waiting. About ten feet ahead of us the walkway split into stairs and a handicap ramp. A metal railing rose from the split and trailed the ramp down, past the breezeway, until the path became whole again. The ghouls stood just a few feet beyond the dividing railing. Lance pointed his free hand towards me, then towards the reaper on the ramp to the left. He nodded quickly in an act of self-recognition and motioned to the creature standing a step down on the right. I took a deep breath and prepared myself to attack a human form premeditatedly for the first time in my life. A mental block took hold of my thoughts from the gravity of such an action. Again, I watched as a gloved hand rose to do a silent countdown towards action. My heart was beating so hard I felt like it would burst from my body. There must have been a hundred drumming beats within my chest between Lance’s count of three…two… The countdown ceased. Our attention turned completely around towards the corner of the courtyard, where we first entered. A crowd of at least six infected had shambled their way into our temporary sanctuary. Sounds of their pursuit hadn’t reached us yet; but I knew we had few seconds, before they would alert the targets in front of us. We exchanged a second’s glance before bolting into action. Quick steps brought us to our victims in half a second. I raised the Kukri above my head and propelled it downward with all my might. The widened end of my blade struck the once human figure before me in the back of the head. It connected at the skull right below the ear line. My blurred vision and the poor lighting spared me from full recognition of what I had done. I felt like the steel became an extension of my own arm. The sensation of connection between metal and flesh was as curious as it was evil. It reminded me of slashing at a partially frozen pumpkin. The blade undoubtedly cracked through the

skull, blending whatever remained inside, and passed through the creatures left. Needless to say, the deed was done. In the fight to pass this undead obstacle, I never completely saw what Lance had done. I assume the pop I heard was that of his closed baton punching through the zombies head. His target fell to the side as he passed. Mine fell forward on its face. I caught a glimpse of the new shape I had made out of this poor soul. The Kukri did exactly what it was designed to do and passed clear through the skull. I didn’t quite decapitate it, although the way the undead head snapped forward reminded me of a Pez dispenser. I leapt over my victim and ran from the shade into the birthing light of the morning. We rounded the corner and saw the fence guarding the Cary Street field. There were three zombies scattered between us and the field. Our original pursuers were probably nearing the end of the courtyard behind us. Lance flicked his ASP baton to its proper length. He headed towards the infected standing closest to the fence. The other two were off to the side, closer to me. They were not as close as the one by the fence, but knowing their capacity to lunge I knew I would have to deal with at least one. The trio saw our approach and moved to intercept. Lance reached the fence and swung his weapon with the force of a baseball bat. Its head caved in and Lance was scaling the fence before the zombie’s body even hit the ground. My target was a guy wearing a maintenance jumpsuit. The light blue color was unrecognizable from the dark stains and gore that splotched his person. I don’t think he had been ‘dead’ long. His speed and moderate dexterity indicated that humanity had left him not long before. There wasn’t a bite wound I could notice, but it’s not like I was given the liberty of looking for long.

The Kukri met his right temple with the impact of shattering a clay pot. I could not be spared from details now in the brightness of a cloudy morning. The blade exited in a trail of bone, flesh, and indistinguishably dark muck. His scalp flipped back and the creature fell. While my right arm was still in the final points of its swing, the second beast closed the gap between us with a lunge. This one was not nearly as fresh. He wore a filthy gray polo, covered in spots by the tatters of a pea coat. Scratches, head to toe, covered his person. It looked like in either life or un-death he fought an army of cats. Now he was nearly upon me. There was no time to return to an ideal attack stance. I flipped the blade in my grip and threw my arm out in the same motion you would toss a Frisbee. Steel met his cheek and passed through jaws of rabid teeth. I wish to God that this could have been a fatal blow. The strike threw him off balance for a second. His head was turned away from me but still he stood. The moment the creature turned back for another attack is a moment I was fortunate to have nothing in my stomach. Its cheek line had been completely sliced open. Now the zombie’s mouth had a gape that hung twice as wide as before. All the while, the man continued to snap his jaw in excitement at the prospect of a meal. A bloated tongue moved around the opening so franticly that if the jaws were able to close it would be snapped off. Its injury acted as no deterrent. In the mind of this creature, driving hunger is all that mattered. As the ghoul turned to attack me once more I wildly swung my Kukri. The strike lacked calculation – I just wanted this horrible sight to be gone. My grip loosened enough for the blade to turn. It was the broad side of the weapon that struck the man’s temple. Such an impact would have put a living soul into a coma. The force of it reverberated through my arm. In the event my adrenaline ever subsides – I will be hurting.

My attacker slumped over the curb. Not knowing if the vicious slap did the job, I began to move over him and finish the job. Both hands gripped the handle and raised the blade to chest level in preparation for a fatal stab. “NATHAN!” Lance shouted from the other side of the fence. I looked up from my rage to see him pointing back towards the courtyard exit. The dead were spilling from the breezeway. A dozen infected were stumbling down the hill towards me. The blade dripped blackened blood and bits of tissue over the motionless human form beneath me. Is this what I am turning into? So caught up in a rage that I nearly missed death itself barreling down the hill towards me? I bolted to the point in the fence where Lance eagerly stood on the other side. Within seconds I was looking up at the eight foot chain link barrier before me. My right hand was gripped tightly in fusion with the handle of my lethal salvation. The Kukri was coated in gore. It looked like it had been used to stir a vat of tar and blood. Even with the intensity of the moment I couldn’t bring myself to re-sheath the weapon in such a state. My right arm was like silly putty. I waved Lance to the side and with a rubbery throw, tossed the blade over the fence. It sliced through the air just as easily as it recently had with skulls and speared into the ground about ten feet into the field. The dead were seconds away from their lunging distance behind me. I began my ascent. The chain metal fence was cool, refreshing even, within my fervent grip. A couple feet up though, I looked over my shoulder. They were nearly here. Panic caused a misstep and I suddenly found myself back on the sidewalk. The fall brought me almost directly on top of the edacious pack leader. It looked like she hadn’t been dead for long. The speed she was able to muster in pursuit of me gave

her a good thirty second lead ahead of the rest. If my sudden fall hadn’t thrown her off as much as it did me, I would be dead. She hesitated. Maybe her infected mind was unable to process the new opportunity sitting within arms reach. I frantically pawed behind my back with my left arm; my right was still clinging to the fence. Desperate fingers found the end of the mini-crowbar protruding from where the two zippers converged. I swung the crowbar in a wide and wild arc. It connected with the woman’s neck so forcefully that the creature’s spine bent to a ninety degree angle. She bounced to the fence and landed awkwardly on the sidewalk. Death was seconds away. I turned to the fence to see my partner with his gun drawn. He was aiming past me at the zombies and their collision course. “No wait!” I yelled and jumped at the fence. Using the crowbar to hook a higher part of the chain link, I gave myself the split second that compensated for my first failed attempt. This time I fell to the grass on the other side. The infected were lunging at the fence, before I even hit the ground. And hit the ground I did… hard. The fall knocked the wind out of me, filling my sight with a blinding flash. All I could hear was metal shaking and the nauseating ruckus of the infected. Lance grabbed both the handle to my backpack and the collar of my jacket. He dragged me across the field towards the two small buildings at the corner of the protected boundary. It was difficult to take my eyes off of the fence. Zombies lined the area where we had stood, shaking the chain links violently. I know the fence is solid; it would take hundreds more to break through. Something to the side caught my attention enough to break the stare. The Kukri stood parallel in the ground beside me; its blade pointing southward towards home. “I’m good

man. I can walk.” I said, finally catching my breath. “About damn time!” Lance said with a snicker. “We can hide over hear until they forget about us.” I pulled my weapon from the dirt and quickly followed him. There were two red brick buildings before us. The larger of them was a support facility. This contains small locker rooms, bathrooms, and a vending area. An equipment storage building, less than half the size of the support building, is just beyond it. We hustled past the covered vending area and to the first locker room door. Lance immediately held out his hand and motioned for me to stop. The astro-turf colored door labeled ‘LOCKER ROOM #1 – AUTHORIZED PESONNELL ONLY’ was cracked open. From what I could see through the opening, the inside looked to be bathed in blackness. Lance took pulled his flashlight from his service belt and mouthed the words, “wait here.” The ASP baton, still in its open position, was raised to a striking height. He stealthily entered the room and disappeared from view. I pushed my back to the wall in an attempt to keep a lower profile. The ravenous crowd at the fence had not forgotten about us. There were a couple dozen, easily. It didn’t look like any more were joining from the area of the courtyard. With the exception of a straggler here and there; all in the area seemed to have gathered at the fence. A few loud snaps of a fingers and a loud “pssst” brought my attention back to the door. Lance waved me inside and hastily closed the door. I rushed in, threw off my pack, and practically dove to a padded chair next to a wall of lockers. The only lighting inside came from the few vents along the ceiling line by the door. For the first time in this godforsaken day, I felt safe enough to let my guard down. Lance put his bag down and jabbed the baton at the floor to close it. I watched him move back to the door, examining ways to secure it.

All morning my body was caught in a flood of adrenaline. I was pushed to physical extremes and total panic. I watched a friend kill and another die. I… killed. The weight of everything collapsed upon me. I vomited the few stomach contents I had into a little office trashcan next to the chair. My brain and body shut down. Sleep completely overcame me.

Chapter 13 Why so serious? 1120 hours: My eyes fought the notion of opening. They cracked apart and revealed a dark room made even darker by hazy vision. My mind was completely blank. I felt like a coma patient waking from pseudo-time travel. Details in my memory started popping back into my thoughts from where they had become irrevocably etched. There was a figure standing nearby. I was too groggy to determine if it was friend or foe. Frankly, I was too exhausted to act if it was the latter. “Good morning sunshine.” Lance snickered. “It’s about fucking time. I thought I was going to have to leave you.” I grumbled a response that could hardly be considered English. My head was nestled in a corner made by the sheet aluminum lockers and the cold brick wall. Under normal circumstances I would have been in extreme pain from the sleeping arrangements. Right now, it felt almost as good as being home in my memory foam mattress… After another moment of enjoyed mental fuzziness, my physical state brought me back down to this wretched Earth. Every fiber of my being screamed self-loathing. There wasn’t

a single part of me that didn’t hurt. “Here,” The shadowy figure in the room came more into focus as he stepped closer. Lance handed me a small bottle. “I found it in one of the lockers.” Every joint in my hands hurt. They echoed from the absorbed impacts of lives I retook earlier this morning. I fumbled with the childproof bottle and removed three of the liquid gel tabs inside. If my mouth wasn’t so dry and filled with a horrible taste I probably would have swallowed them immediately. After tucking the medicine in the front pocket of my uniform jacket, I bent over the side of the chair and tore through my backpack. I quickly found two power bars and a small bottle of water. Seconds later, I had inhaled everything quicker than oxygen. Taking a few ibuprofen would have been unwise on an empty stomach. “How long was I out?” I rasped, still overcoming my dehydration. The room had become slightly brighter from the late morning sun shining through the wall vents. “A little over two hours.” Lance replied. He had set up a resting area in the corner a few feet away. Another chair had been moved beneath one of the wall vents; I assume so he could look out. The door was closed and blocked by a towel bin turned wheels up. “You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long… We need to move while it’s still light outside.” My voice was returning. I hope he recognized my irritation as situational. “I tried to wake you after forty-five minutes!” He responded in a matter-of-fact tone. “You were out cold. I actually checked to make sure you hadn’t been bitten. Besides, I know you didn’t sleep last night and you’re going to need every minute.” “I’m sorry man. Obviously, I wasn’t made for battle. If I were born in ancient Rome, they probably would have left me on the hill at birth.” This caught him off guard. He muffled

his laugh. “What’s the situation outside?” The casualness of our conversation halted there. His tone got serious. “The fence was pretty crowded until about half an hour ago. A lot of them wandered east, towards the dorms. I can’t see much by the parking garage to the west, but I don’t think many walked that way. There are a couple milling around where we hopped the fence. From here, it looks like the fence itself is fine. We could easily stay here for a while if you want.” “I can’t stay.” The look on his face told me that my response was predicted. “I told Sarah to leave the house after a few days and head to my parents’ farm. Although I know she’ll wait longer than she should, the kids safety will make her leave eventually.” Lance gave a thoughtful nod of approval at my answer. “Yeah, I knew you’d say that. I probably would have smacked you if you said anything else.” I cracked a smile and he continued. “That being the case, once we clear the fence on the other side of the field you’ll be on your own.” I felt like I’d lose my delectable power bar meal. “What the fuck are you talking about? I thought we would clear the river at least before going separate ways.” “Yeah… I’ve been thinking about it all day. I’m pretty sure my wife would have gone to a friend of ours that lives closer to her office.” It took every ounce of strength to act like I was still in control while listening to him. “Our apartment wouldn’t be the easiest place to secure from… well from zombies. Our friend’s house is in a new neighborhood. He is one of the only people who have even moved into the street. If it were me, that’s where I would go and she’s a hell of a lot like me.” Lance’s expression was solid. His decision was made. “Where is it?” my defeated tone was obvious. “Far west end. Almost to Goochland. It’s a good ways away, but I should be able to stick to neighborhood streets

for most of it.” As he spoke I was envious of his confidence. We sat in silence for a while after that. The sounds outside lightly filtered into our shelter. A moan. The sound of the metal chain link fence shaking. Distant car alarms. Gunshots echoing at irregular intervals. All reminders that our current safety was a futile illusion. 1134 hours: The pain killers started taking the edge off my full-body ache. I began moving around the tiny locker room a bit to prevent my muscles from going into rigor. After a few slow, stretching laps of the short row of benches the feeling of normalcy again seemed possible. Two feet from my chair lay the Kukri. The scabbard was still tightly attached to my right side. Muck was so thickly caked on the blade that little silver could be seen. It was a good thing I didn’t re-sheathe it. Had I done so, I doubt the weapon would ever come out clean again. Thank God there was a sink in the room. I grabbed a towel from the corner and used it to scrub the blade under the cold running water. Once it regained its sheen I was satisfied and returned it to its home. Without a second thought about water quality, I thoroughly washed my face and hair. Although, I stopped short from drinking it, I did fill my empty water bottles. Even if I never get the chance to boil the water, I’ll probably need to clean off the Kukri again. Now I just have to mark them somehow so I don’t accidentally drink the wrong water. Watch me get infected from a dirty drink instead of a bite… I knew the city water was bad. Lance was repacking his bag. “You about ready to head out? I was thinking we would tiptoe over to the equipment storage shed to see if there’s anything useful.” “Good idea.” I nodded with the reply. “If there aren’t too

many of them watching us from the fence, we should also try to hit the vending machines on the other side.” “Sounds good to me man. Do what you gotta do… we leave in ten. Ideally we should be clearing the fence by noon. That will give us both a good five and a half hours before sunset.” His face went from business to concern. “I doubt either of us will be able to get home in that time. Hopefully it’s enough to get to somewhere that’s safe for the night.” 1145 hours: We cleared the door of our feeble blockade. Lance peered out. After a tense minute he inched out and gestured for me to follow. The day was much brighter now. At first glance one might confuse this as a normal November morning… that is, if it wasn’t for the dead walking about sporting various ‘mortal’ injuries. There were six or seven of them in sight. They were scattered across the fence line from which we came. Three bodies lay where we crossed over. I felt alarmingly little at the realization that two of those corpses stayed dead because of me. Thankfully the fence is high and sturdy. This was a handy tidbit considering how quickly we were noticed. The small group at the far side of the fence became slightly more excited upon seeing us. Realizing that there was little point in trying to act stealthy, I got Lance’s attention. “We have their attention already. I think every one of them over there has seen us.” I said while pointing to the fence line. “I don’t give a flying fuck if they do see us.” He said without even cracking a smile. There was a serious tone behind his colorful terminology. “As long as they stay on that side, I don’t care. If they start to move around the fence then we’re going to have to move real quick to head them off.”

He had a point. The notion of going on alone hit me again. I replaced the fear in my gut with hunger. “Hey, we should hit the vending machines. I doubt we’ll come across many that haven’t been looted after this.” “Good idea. I’m glad you can still think with your stomach even during the end of the world.” He snickered. I must have looked hurt. “Sorry. I’m just fucking with you and you know it.” I showed my appreciation by extending my middle finger. We walked a few feet closer to the crowd of undead and into the covered vending area. I pulled the crowbar from my bag and went to work while my cohort stood guard. Breaking and entering has never been my forte. I struggled with prying open the largely glass snack machine. This continued until Lance tapped me on the shoulder. He pointed to the side of the fence that was closer to us. Beyond this point, to the west, is the parking deck that marks the southwestern corner of the academic campus. Then I saw what he was directing my attention to. It was the zombie with the newly sliced open jaw from before. The sight made me vomit a bit inside my mouth. His jaw hung wide open like a massive yawn. Sinew and flesh ran between the ends of the wound I inflicted. These little bits kept the jaw from falling off completely. Its tongue still wagged around in a grotesquely obscene way. The infected man had wandered to the side of the fence. Fortunately he looked to be the only one to figure out that there might be another way to get closer to us. “Why so serious?” He joked while watching the color drain from my face. I quickly realized he was referring to the likeness the beast had with the Joker from Batman. If I wasn’t so sickened I would have laughed, since he was right. “You’re such a fucking asshole.” I grumbled. “Sorry I couldn’t resist. You’re taking too long – gimme

that.” He grabbed the crowbar and went to the snack machine. Lacking all subtlety he jabbed the glass with the pointed end of the tool. The sound of it shattering echoed slightly off the recessed field. If the infected around the fence hadn’t seen us already, they did now. Lance moved over to the drink machine. I saw this as my cue to start pulling snacks from the newly exposed dispenser. While rummaging through the front pocket of my pack I found a plastic grocery bag. The plan was to fill it and divvy up the goods between us later. There were two rows of Nutri-grain brand cereal bars that quickly made it to the bag. I grabbed a couple candy bars and some Chex Mix to top off the loot. By the time I was satisfied with my haul Lance had opened the drink machine. Looking inside, I don’t think I had ever been so excited by the site of Gatorade. We each grabbed a bottle and guzzled it. Evidently I’m not the only one who was feeling the effects of dehydration. The sudden surge of sugar and electrolytes gave me a new clarity for our current situation. My feeling of relief ceased the moment I recognized that the gurgling I heard wasn’t coming from my stomach. My friend, the ‘Joker’, had worked his way in between two lines of hedges at the western fence. From the look of it he had gotten caught on something that was keeping him from reaching the fence. The sounds emanating from the beast were utterly repulsive. It was a chorus of gurgles and slurps. The loosely hanging jaw jostled around as it tried to snap shut. I was ready to throw up, before seeing it begin to vomit a black mess from his horrid mouth. I averted my glance as Lance snapped his fingers to get my attention. “Get with it Nathan.” Every word he said was spoken as seriously as life or death. “Yeah, that thing is fucking nasty, but I doubt it’ll be the nastiest thing you see before making it home.” “But I made it that way. I sliced its mouth open. Now the

only thing I regret more than that is not killing him.” I felt like I was unraveling. Lance pointed at my face. His expression was blank. “Shut your mouth and get the fuck with it. You didn’t kill him. He was already dead. You’re not the one who made him sick. If you were walking around without a pulse and he was trying to get home to his family, I promise he’d have done the same thing. Now, get over it, because you’re about to be on your own. Don’t make me feel like shit for the rest of my life, because I left you alone while beating yourself up over messing up a zombies’ smile.” I laughed. Really, laughing was all there’s left to do anymore. He was right after all. The world has become a place where making a walking dead man become all smiles isn’t a dastardly crime, but borderline comical. “Ok, ok I get it. You’re right. Just stop fucking pointing at me. You’re not even a parent, how do you have practice doing the judgmental parenting finger point?” “Parents deal with kids that are too young to be smart. Cops deal with people that are too stupid to be smart.” He joked. “Enough bullshitting – we need to move.” After grabbing the few drinks we’d be able to travel with we moved back past the locker room doors and toward the equipment storage. The doors for this tiny building face south, away from the crowd pacing around by the fence. Cover from the small building and the hedges behind us provided some much needed concealment. Lance, still holding the crowbar, got to work on the door. I used the few minutes of the down time to separate the newly looted snacks. If I hadn’t been forced to leave some of my things behind at police headquarters, I wouldn’t have any room left in my bag. The front pocket and middle portion of my green backpack were fully stuffed; everything else was left in the plastic grocery bag for Lance to take. It only took Lance a few minutes to move in and out of

the equipment building once the door was pried open. He emerged with a shovel in one hand and two butterfly coils of rope in the other. “Not much in there that we can use. There is a thing of rope for each of us. Mind if I take the shovel?” I shrugged and caught the coil of rope he tossed at me. “I don’t see why not. At least it would give you more reach than the ASP.” I handed him the plastic bag of snacks. We both sat for a moment fiddling with our packs; trying to contain everything, before going back out in the undead world. By the time I was satisfied with my equipment, Lance was already peaking around the corner of the equipment shed. My pack was filled beyond capacity. The coil of rope was looped around the left strap and hung parallel to the bag against my back. I hoped and prayed the zippers would hold. High school memories of the bag coming open from being overstuffed with books came to mind. Both of my weapons were clean and stowed. The Kukri would remain in its scabbard until we crossed over the fence while only the curved end of the crowbar protruded from the bags dual zipper. The joints in my hand ached at the realization that on the other side of that fence, either weapon would probably be held in a tight grip for the rest of the foreseeable future. Lance pointed to a spot on the south fence a good halfway down the field. The spot was the home to a stack of equipment, which I couldn’t identify. There weren’t any reapers visible on this side and we could easily pass back over the fence using the stack of crap as a step. Within seconds Lance was handing me his shovel and scaling the fence. He landed on the other side, scoped the area for a minute and then waved me on. I stepped up on the pile of miscellaneous pads and passed the shovel over. Even though this was less of a climb than before it now felt like a greater obstacle. It’s amazing how fighting for your life can

turn you into an athlete. I eased myself over the other side and winced at the clanking of the chain links. All our infected fans were still grouped at the northern end of the fence. They moaned and clambered about like we were still directly on the other side of the fence. The pathetic site provided me with the absurdly sarcastic thought that they are all so hungry to compensate for being retarded. Around us were a few parked cars and a few more abandoned in the street. The sinking feeling returned to my gut as I looked back at what could be the last ‘safe’ place I visit in my life.

Chapter 14 Preconceived Notions 1217 hours: Ever since the night on the parking deck I had planned for this moment. Getting out of the confines of University property had been the only goal other than survival. Now, while standing on the other side of the fence I was overwhelmed with the thought of, “What the fuck do I do now?” This daze evidently overcame more than just my thoughts as Lance smacked my leg with his shovel to bring me back to reality. I jolted back to harsh reality and saw Lance had been talking to me. “Get with it man - daydream later.” Embarrassed, I nodded. He rolled his eyes and went on, “Let’s go up to the corner at the bridge over the Expressway. After that you cross the bridge and I’m going to keep going on parallel to the Expressway on Parkwood Avenue.” Before I could muster a response he added, “We’ll be out in the open there so go quick and quiet.” “So, I guess that’s it then, huh?” I said. “Yeah... It is.” He extended a hand to shake. “Tell the

family I said hello.” I shook his hand, making every attempt to not show that I wasn’t scared shitless. “Here…“ I passed him a ratty sheet of folded loose-leaf paper. “This is the address to my parents’ farm. You and the wife would be welcomed.” He stuck the paper in his pocket and gave me a nod. There were no more words between us. Where ‘thank you’ or ‘be careful’ could have been said, there was only anxious silence. We jogged up the quarter block to the intersection. My friend, the ‘Joker’, was still caught up on the bushes across from the locker rooms. He saw us and attempted to snap his vile jaw excitedly. A black tar-like sheen covered the front of him. I knew I’d be seeing him in my nightmares for the rest of my days. I veered to the sidewalk on the far side of the four-lane, two-way bridge. Although I’m sure it would have been interesting and informative to look down upon the Expressway, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was so panicked that I had already crossed the expanse, before looking back. Standing at the corner of Harrison Street and Grayland Avenue I looked back to see a lack of any pursuers. It also hit me that my partner in escape was nowhere to be seen. For the first time since my car ride into work, I was completely alone. I knelt down against a stop sign to get my bearings. Getting out of the University and across the Downtown Expressway had been the first hurdle. Now I have to get across the James River. Thinking about doing so and finding a place to stay overnight was beyond my comprehension at the moment. Going south will lead me to the river, but not across it. There are only a few bridges within my limited walking time. Somehow I don’t think going across a roadway is the best

idea. The only way a pedestrian can cross is to go over to Belle Isle. Belle Isle is a Richmond landmark. It has been several things in its long and tragic history including: a civil war prison camp, a steel mill, a power plant and currently a city park. The island is accessed by a pedestrian bridge that hangs under the Robert E. Lee Bridge. This bridge is a little intimidating as it is a narrow metal grate that hangs directly over the often raging James River. Although there is a much larger road access bridge; it is on the opposite side of the river. The island holds nothing but happy memories for me. I used to bike there when I was younger. When Sarah and I were dating I tried to win her over with picnics on the giant rocks peppering the water on the south side. We took the kids there so often that probably forty percent of the family pictures hanging up in our house were taken somewhere on Belle Isle. I became lost in thought from the happiness of the past. Smiling, imagine that! This has to be a sign. Belle Isle would provide for a way across the river without going on a highway. That, plus the notion of traversing an area devoid of houses and I was sold. Having another location set as a goal was somewhat comforting. Hopefully it won’t take as long to get down by the river. One advantage to the end of the world is that you don’t really have to obey traffic direction or ‘no trespassing’ signs. Normally, I’d have to go up several blocks to reach the normal access point for the island. My plan now is to pass through the Oregon Hill neighborhood and over the CSX railway as a shortcut. I’m not fully familiar with the neighborhoods I have to cross through. This is concerning, but as long as I keep due south I should hit my mark. A sound nearby caught my attention.

Three human forms were just east of me. This intersection is very open. The off-ramp from the Downtown Expressway cuts an acute angle across a normally square shaped block. It forms a large triangle-like area of grass and trees. The figures were near a sizable bush halfway up the triangle. I was stupid for stopping in such a vulnerable place. Somehow, they didn’t notice me right away. If they had, then my daydream would have gotten me killed. It was possible to run a block around them, but I opted not to. Frankly, I was fucking tired of these zombies. Now that I’m out of University property the prospect of being home seemed reachable. Walking all this way is hard enough… these undead fuckers don’t make things any easier for an out of shape guy who misses is family and bed! No. No, I won’t go around them. I’ll see how easy it is to avoid them close up. I couldn’t help but think about last night in the window… staring the enemy in its rotting face and unable to move. The difference now is that I know I’m capable of doing what I need to do if they get too close. I quickened my pace and headed right for them. The tall one came into focus first. It was a guy. He was bald and wore most of a green flannel shirt. Both arms were missing from the bastard. One was torn from the shoulder and the other was severed at the elbow. He used the nub to hoist himself up from the ground where he was knelt down. Ignoring the fact that he started to lumber towards me; I focused on the area he had been kneeling over. The third figure or what was left of it, lay face down. Both of the infected had been so thorough in devouring the person that I couldn’t identify much from my passing glance. The final member of the gruesome trio had moved behind the bush, so I was spared from seeing it until I was nearly upon them. Everything was going great until this point. I was able to keep a good distance even with them advancing

on me. Then I saw him. Anytime you think of a ‘zombie’ you think pretty much the same thing and a child isn’t one of them. The boy had tucked himself back by the bush with my approach. For whatever reason, he did not take the tall ones lead and chase another meal. I became so disturbed by the site that I lost my pace. The tall one made an armless lunge at me. Thank God I came to before he reached me. I reacted quickly with a wild slash, the Kukri thankfully still gripped in my hand. My blade caught him in the neck and passed clean through. His bald severed head fell to the grass while the tall body was carried by momentum towards me. I nearly jumped to avoid it as it fell in my path. Lacking any desire to engage the undead child, I broke into a run. I bolted up the block until I was nearly at the St. James Church. The minor crowding of infected around the church forced me to turn south on Cherry Street. Were there people in the church? Could be... It would explain why there was a crowd in front. Yet another thing I would be left wondering about for as long as I’m alive, but I ducked around the corner before any of them noticed me. I passed half a dozen others, before my burning lungs forced me to stop. The whole incident served its informational purpose. It showed me that I can run past them if need be. Although I doubt I’d be able to do it in a closed space. There was a bus stop on the next block. I did a fast survey and didn’t see any undead occupying the area. A bus bench has never been so comfortable. My chest was on fire from panicked breaths taken over the last several minutes. Since fleeing headquarters I hadn’t run much. Jogged yes, but not a whole lot of running was needed. The reconnaissance mission with the two zombies and

the body was a catalyst for my panic. It was stupid of me, really. All my actions leading here were horribly reckless. Running through a mostly unfamiliar area teeming with reapers all because a zombie kid freaked me out? I have to get it through my thick skull that the world I knew now is dead. My sitting alone on this damned street, on this cold bus bench, is the result of more consecutive wrongs than I have ever committed. The only thing more haunting right now than the site of the infected boy is the thoughts of my co-workers used as bait. Questions bombard me every second I don’t actively force myself to think otherwise… Is everyone at headquarters still alive? Are the gates at the dorm still holding? Is Lance still alive? Do I deserve to be alive after what I have done? The only things not plaguing my thoughts are worries for Sarah, Maddox and sweet little Calise. I know that they are alright. I can feel it in my heart. If there were any doubt here I don’t know that I’d be able to muster the strength to continue. Somewhere south of my resting spot, a gunshot sounds and snaps me back to reality. I have to stop getting so lost in thought. My goal now is to get to the footbridge and cross the river. There should be plenty of time to get on the island and find a place to stay the night. Right now there is no way I can possibly make it home before sundown. 1255 hours: Break time is over. I took a few swigs of Gatorade and headed south once again. My course will take me in the direction of the recent gunshot. Who knows, maybe I’ll find a living companion. It’s sad that I’ve been alone less than an hour and I already can’t stand it. There were a few infected in the area. They stood alone

like rotting statues. If I kept a low profile and didn’t draw any attention to myself they didn’t even seem to notice me. Most stood angled towards the east – facing downtown. It’s so odd that they all stare off in similar directions. Maybe, they have all picked up on a food source in that direction, but can’t drive themselves to pursue. The undead brain knows a victim is close, but the nerve impulses haven’t fired to move. The distinguishing features of each reaper have started blending together in my mind. Everyone is different, but I cannot bring myself to look closely. Ignoring all but their proximity to me gives the illusion that I’m just passing through a crowd. If I looked closer I’d notice the missing limbs, the ‘mortal’ wounds and the gore and despair caked all over them. This is the world now… this is a world of blending into a crowd of unfathomable horror. I nearly stumbled over one of them while passing a black Toyota Prius that had sided-swiped two parked cars that remained against them. The wreck scene was on the west side of the street. I had been too distracted by the change coming in the landscape. Ahead of me, the street was becoming lined with houses only on the eastern side. Hollywood Cemetery, a massive burial ground for Civil War icons, began its framing of the other side of the street that would continue all the way to the river. This site made me a little excited, because it meant I was getting closer. This ghoul had no legs. He actually looked familiar to me. His raggedy appearance combined with the fact that his missing limbs were behind pants tied with a knot made me think he had been a homeless man that frequented the area. He groaned and took a swipe towards my feet. I began to walk past him knowing pursuit wasn’t possible. I would have continued to walk by if he hadn’t started making such a ruckus. The handicapped creature began

thrashing around. Like a fish out of water. It flailed about in a frustrated tantrum. Everything about the scene reminded me of a toddler mad he didn’t get his way. There was nothing I wanted more than to keep walking, but the creature persisted. He started letting out a nauseating mix of moans and gurgles. His jaw snapped open and shut. The dental nightmare made a clicking noise that nearly kept a beat when paired with the rest of his motions. “Are you fucking serious, man?” I cautiously turned and approached him again. The tantrum settled slightly with my renewed proximity. He acted like a stray dog who wanted my companionship and flesh. When I was just out of arms reach he stopped moving. Both arms went to the pavement and he pushed his corpse up like a pushup. Looking at him closer up and intentionally was a mistake. The undead are much easier to deal with when you only look at them from a distance or whilst fleeing. He was pathetic, really. All that moved on him now was his jaw. It snapped open and shut with a determined frenzy. His stubbly beard was caked with evidence of his undead crimes. Blackened veins were visibly spider-webbed over any exposed skin that wasn’t already covered in blood or dirt. I shook my head at him and turned to walk away. Again he started making a racket. This time I was worried he might alert some of his bipedal brethren that dinner was ready. “Shut your goddamned mouth.” My frustration was boiling over. If I didn’t calm down, it would be me who alerted all the nearby zombies. “You’re not going to eat me and you’re too pathetic to kill.” I turned again and made it all of three steps. He protested loudly and pulled himself a foot closer. I had enough. Cocking my arm back I took a wide swing with the Kukri. The broad side of the blade intentionally hit him in the side of the head. I don’t know if I was trying to kill him or knock him out. I really just wanted him to be quiet. The

strike was forceful enough to jolt his head sideways nearly ninety degrees. He flipped to his back and stopped his tantrum. “I’m sorry.” Such an act of violence against something once human is becoming a nasty habit. I felt no urge to grieve for what I had just done or the pathetic creature behind me. Instead I picked up the pace and continued south. Two cars up the street, I heard him again. This time he was louder. My rage bubbled over. I ran back to him ignoring everything, but my anger. The way his head hung mimicked relaxation. Somehow he flipped back to his stomach. Once I was in arms reach he desperately grabbed hold of my ankle. In one furious motion I swung my blade down, severed his arm at the elbow, and brought it back up over my head to grip with both hands. Tethered by part of his jacket that didn’t come into contact with the Kukri, the severed arm remained with his body. He seemed somewhat flustered, but unaffected by my attack. The ghoul was missing his legs and now his arm. This didn’t deter his efforts to consume me. He lifted his head as much as his shattered neck could manage. I looked down at the abomination as it attempted to look up at me. Rage blocked any sympathy or remorse. Both hands gripped the heavy weapon’s handle as I plunged it into my stray zombie’s head. It entered at an angle above his right eye. The entirety of the blade’s wider portion disappeared into my victim. Honestly I had no idea that I was capable of such an act. Chopping and slicing my way through an escape route is one thing, but this was driven by pure anger. If the crippled zombie had dropped to the ground immediately I would have turned and let my adrenaline carry me straight to the river. That’s how I would have pictured it happening in a movie at least. What with the ‘hero’ brutally killing the zombie, it falling to the ground, then him turning and running to the next member of the undead horde. I need

to learn to let go of my preconceived notions about what the zombie apocalypse should be. In reality the creature was already on the ground and my Kukri was lodged in its skull, like a head on a pike. My left hand let go and the right maintained its permanent grip. His black eyes stared blankly at me. The only motion coming from him was from my pulling on the blade trying to free it. If this didn’t end soon I would end up vomiting on the bastard too. Somehow that felt like overkill. I shook and pulled on the Kukri. It moved very little from where it protruded at the lower part of its forehead down between his eyes and along the bridge of his nose. At least he was quiet now and dead…again. After a second of shaking and pulling I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t bear the putrid site and couldn’t waste any more time here. My grip on the handle loosened enough to reposition. The sole of my right boot met his face and pushed out. Between the push of my foot and the pull of my arm the blade freed itself. The sound it made coming out was enough to send my stomach over the limit. I turned away from the pathetic, infected corpse and spewed blue Gatorade vomit all over the sidewalk. Both hands were trembling. The Kukri shook with my arm. Filled with relief at being able to move the weapon again, I looked at it casually. It was coated in black muck all the way to the curving center of the blade. Imagine the way a kitchen knife looks after you spread peanut butter. Only the peanut butter was black God-only-knows-what and the jar was a walking dead man’s skull. This brought on a fit of dry heaving. I could have curled up in a ball right there. Every inch of my body hurt. Saying that I felt tired would be an understatement. Towards the University I heard a bang followed by a car alarm… one of them must have set it off.

This was enough of a cue to keep moving. I went over to the crippled, actually dead, zombie. Thank God he was face down now in a small pool of oily black. I bent over and wiped the Kukri on his dirty pea coat. It wasn’t clean; but it made looking at the weapon less stomach churning. Reverence had no place here. I gave the one-limbed corpse a nod and jogged to the next block. My jog only stopped when I couldn’t see the crime scene I had just left beyond the obstructions. Panting filled my burning lungs. A purposeful and cautious walk would have to be my pace for now. If I wasn’t careful, there wouldn’t be any energy in me to use if I actually had to go in a hurry. Now that I was traveling along Hollywood Cemetery I actually had something pleasant to look at. Gazing through the wrought iron fence I was captivated by the solemn beauty of monuments from another era. It also made me wish I could have found a way over the fence to walk through the grounds. I’m sad and amused that the idea of walking through that graveyard is so much more appealing than walking through this graveyard. Fortunately, the area I’m in isn’t highly trafficked. It wasn’t long before I could see a change in the road ahead. I stopped to catch my breath and evaluate the new development. There was an older model Dodge pickup missing a tailgate two car lengths up. I climbed aboard the truck to get a better vantage point. Fortunately the clunker was too old to have an alarm – any newer truck would be blaring away with my fat ass climbing on it. This was the first time on my journey that I was flanked by trees on both sides. It was a small, but peaceful piece of road. The tiny grouping of trees, east and west, provided a sense of false security as I looked to the road ahead. From what I could tell, the road completely ends three quarters of a block up. Beyond it is a sloping ravine that is peppered by some small trees, bushes, rocks and crap I don’t want to walk

across. To the left is another street that provides an outlet for any cars. The fence for Hollywood Cemetery follows the gap seemingly without interruption. I was frustrated by the diversion, but was left with little recourse. Then my attention caught something else. In front of the final row of houses were bodies… enough bodies to raise an eyebrow. None of them looked to be moving. They were scattered around from the sidewalk to the street in no particular order. Does this have something to do with the gunshot I heard a little while ago? I wracked my brain trying to remember every detail of the sound that snapped me away from daydreaming earlier. Directionally it fit, but I only heard one shot when there are easily a dozen bodies. I opted to sit in the truck bed and rest for a moment. Although I may not know what waits ahead of me, I won’t handle it well in my current state. Ten minutes to sit, listen and re-hydrate will do me a world of good.

Chapter 15 Passageway 1327 hours: My break was a silent one, beyond the sound of my breathing and gulping there was nothing. Occasionally a distant reminder of chaos would break the peace of the moment. Holding still for a few minutes can do a world of good for the post-apocalyptic escape artist. I had finally caught my breath and retained some fluids. The bed of a truck had never been so comfortable. It took extreme willpower to not pass out on top of the leaves that had collected there though. I wished that I had brought a different jacket. My uniform jacket has patches on it that make me look like law enforcement. Even though I know it’s just my paranoia, the police appearance makes me feel noticeable. Really, my active pulse is all I need to be noticed. The area around the truck was clear. I dismounted the truck bed and took hesitant steps toward the array of bodies. This was a scenario where my recent desensitization to grizzly sites proved useful. There wasn’t much point in counting them. As long as all remained ‘dead’ I didn’t care how many of them littered the

ground. The closer I got, the more disgusted I became. Corpses in unnatural and final positions were everywhere. The ones I could bring myself to look directly at showed obvious signs of cranial damage. Gore spattered near their bodies led me to believe that the re-fatal wounds came from a bullet or two. I stopped at the fringe of this hallowed ground. A foot beyond laid a female cadaver that was perfectly faced-down in her own spilled undead blood. Looking around, I confirmed there wasn’t any way to bypass the killing field. About two houses past the last bodies was the break in the road. Squinting I could see the road pick up again after the ravine. This was good news. If need be, I can hike through the dip in the terrain and avoid any detours. On the other side of the dead woman I became overwhelmed by the sick game of ‘mine sweeper’ I now had to play. Slowly and carefully I started across the area of corpses. I tried to focus more on where I was putting my feet. Doing this kept me from looking at the violent crimes I was walking past. Hopefully, I’d detect any movement from them in my peripheral vision – God knows I wasn’t looking for it any other way. It all changed when I was about halfway through. The corpse to my left looked like it was in the middle of a stretch routine before working out. The zombie’s torso was twisted awkwardly, so that his legs were down like he was on his back, but then twisted for him to be on his side. It twisted to face west, in the direction of the cemetery, towards me. I was spared looking into his face, because there wasn’t anything left. In fact, I only assume it was male in life because the clothing was fairly androgynous and the face was missing from hairline to chin. Behind the stomach churning wound was a blend of blackened innards that seeped from the gape like Jell-O in an overturned mold. The same moment my throat filled with vomit from

looking too closely the abomination lurched forward. His position lost its awkwardness as the corpse violently flipped over to his stomach. The sudden movement startled me so much that I could have missed the crack from the rifle that caused it. A bullet impacted the zombie on his right shoulder, the one not pressed against the pavement and its subsequent forced caused the body to turn. It is surprising that my pants leg didn’t get covered in organic mist from the wound. If this happened to a living creature I would have been coated in biological spray. My brain raced to process what just happened. Wait... even my thoughts sounded out of breath. That was a fucking gunshot! I threw my arms up in the air. The Kukri, in all its filthy glory, went right up over my head with my arms. “Don’t shoot!” Screaming was a bad idea. All the work I had done to remain incognito went to hell in a second, but when a rotting corpse moves towards you because of a bullet that was fired at you… well I don’t think I could be faulted for yelling. “I’m not one of them… I’m ALIVE.” I saw the pattern then. All the bodies were scattered in a way that indicated they had been moving towards this point in the street. This point being the one in front of a house that had someone alive barricaded inside. It just so happens that the person is armed and either is a great marksman or had a ton of ammunition. Frantically, I looked at the house. My pleading glances searching for someone to show that I’m not infected. The house’s third floor had a tiny window. Every other window and door was heavily boarded. Under normal circumstances the house would look like it was condemned, rather than defended. This small ovum shape of a window looked like maybe it was a vent for an attic or something. I thought I saw the glint of a rifle scope peak through the darkness within. The awning and flower planters beneath the window were littered with spent shell casings.

“Please! I’m from the police!” I used my non-weaponized hand to point to the large patch on my jacket. Suddenly I didn’t feel so bad about not having a different jacket to wear. “I’m just trying to get home to my…” My desperate calls got cut short. The first shot that hit the corpse was my warning shot. This shot was meant for my head. It cut through the air so close to my left ear that it popped from the disturbance in pressure. Pleading wasn’t going to work. This person was going to take me out zombie or not. I threw caution to the wind and ran faster than I thought possible. Each step was wider than the next. I had to practically jump to avoid the corpses littered around. Then another crack from the rifle menacingly echoed from the sniper’s nest. The round missed me and hit the wrought iron fence for Hollywood Cemetery. Its impact made a sound like a gong. Ricocheting, it went through the rear passenger side window of the white two-door Saturn parked a few feet ahead. I’d be more pissed off that this person is still shooting at me even though I’m running away if I wasn’t scared completely shitless. Adrenaline carried me through the bodies and to the guard rail for the ravine. I was in such a rush that I didn’t even notice the street detour to the left. At full speed I leapt over the rail and tumbled down the hill on the other side. It’s a miracle I didn’t lose any of my things on the crash course down the hill. If I had hit one of the trees or other obstacles I would have probably killed myself. My momentum ceased after I had tumbled down a majority of the downward slope where a holly tree broke my fall. I hurt everywhere. The fear that one of them had followed me down the hill or that one was waiting for me at the bottom overcame any pain. Tiny pin pricks from my spiny leafed resting place kept my focus to the immediate area. A roll brought me out of the bush and I leapt to my feet.

The Kukri never left my grip. Trying to regain my balance, I pushed it against a tree and remained still long enough for my vision to stabilize. I frantically spun around looking for the undead that had to be waiting for me. Not scoping out an area, before literally diving into it was just plain stupid. My inner pessimist was convinced that this ravine would become my grave. After an anxious moment, I finally exhaled. I was alone. Thank God the gunshots had stopped. An eerie peace covered this break in the road. Relief at the lack of immediate peril made room for the pain to be felt and boy did I ever feel it. My chest was filled with a dull ache. Sharp pangs made their way through the generalized pain with any deep breath. “Shit. I bet I cracked a rib or two.” I grumbled to myself. There were small abrasions over parts of my exposed skin that joined their stinging into a combined irritation. The world looked blurry and my eyes burned. I hadn’t released the Kukri from the safety of my fist since hopping the fence at Cary Street field. With a tender respect I inserted the blade into the dirt, so that I could gather myself. Leaning against a tree I took off my pack to rummage through it. My eyes still stung. Even with the low temperatures I’m sweating like its July. Water had never tasted so divine. I found a semi-clean undershirt in my bag to wipe down with. It seemed unwise to clean myself off with anything that could be contaminated, like my sleeve or shirt. I took the shirt to my brow in hopes of restoring my sight. I was astonished when the shirt returned soaked in blood. Using my hand I searched every crack and crevice of my forehead. Everything I touched was numb and tingly from exposure to the biting winds. It didn’t take long to follow the slick of my blood to the gash above my left eyebrow. Trying not to think about the bacteria my ‘clean’ shirt

could be harboring, I used it to apply pressure to my forehead. I was more worried about the numbness in the area. The more I pressed, the more I felt the wound. After a couple minutes I pulled the shirt back. It was soaked in my blood. How strange that I found my red blood comforting. God knows it’s better than the black blood I’ve been seeing so much of lately. I lightly touched the gash. It was deep – deep enough to be worried about. The contour of the wound could only be felt for a second before the area became slick with my seeping blood. I kept pressure on it with one hand while the other rummaged through my bag. Soon my hand found the familiar circle of the roll of duct tape. Needing both hands to MacGyver my way to a field dressing, I let the wound be. It dripped into my lap as I worked through the throbbing pain. The only weapon in my possession that hadn’t been used against the infected was a small multi-tool. I used it to cut a length of the shirt that wasn’t soaked in my blood. In the front pocket I found a small bottle of hand sanitizer. Behind it was a folded wad of paper towels I put in there a couple years ago when we went to my brother-in-law’s wedding in New Orleans. Being a sweaty bastard, I try to plan ahead and have something to dab moisture off my face. Lucky for me I had forgot about this one and never used it. I found the least-bloody part of my shirt turned gauze pad and attempted a thorough cleaning of the cut. Gritting my teeth I looked up and poured the hand sanitizer in the wound. “GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!” I howled through my grinding teeth. The necessary act made my face go from rotating sharp and dull pain to the feeling of taking a shower in napalm. Thirty fun seconds of excruciating pain later and I dabbed the area and covered it with the paper towels. I secured the pencil length, tightly folded section over my gash with a small amount of duct tape. Rushing to prevent the dressing from

becoming drenched with blood, I wrapped the strip of cloth around my head and covered the injury. I pulled it tight enough to feel like an improperly fitting baseball hat. Since every hat I’ve ever worn has been tight and felt this way, I wasn’t concerned about it being too tight. Once the field dressing could stay on by itself; I topped the area around the cut with duct tape and wrapped some around the knot in the back for good measure. I have no doubt that I look ridiculous, but the jerry-rigged bandage seemed to stop the bleeding. The pounding of my head made the thought of downing a couple more pain killers appealing. I refrained both out of consideration for my stomach and the fear of any anti-coagulating properties that would affect my head wound. Finally confident that I wouldn’t hemorrhage from my forehead, I checked every part that hurt. This took a moment since all of me hurt. Aside from a few minor scratches and areas that would turn an array of colors later I was fine. I was still alone in the area. None of the infected had tried to make their way down the hill after me. If anyone knew I was here they didn’t bother to get to me. This was a luxury I had to exploit in preparing myself for the road ahead. After repacking my bag I tightened and secured everything for a stealthy journey. A nearby slab of concrete served as a welcomed seat. Sitting to rest and mentally review my plan felt like the greatest idea ever to my aching body. 1400 hours: In order to get over the water and onto Belle Isle I have to make it over the foot bridge. The thought of crossing puts another pit in my stomach. Every inch of the steal grated, suspended pedestrian bridge redefines a bottleneck situation. Composed as I’d ever be, I made my way over the rest of the expanse. It bordered a small basketball park lined with

trees then gradually increased in elevation. Finally, I traversed the debris-strewn hill and back to the remainder of Cherry Street. At the guard rail I could see back to where the bullets were flying. One shambling figure moved in my general direction. Its head was slumped back and to the left, until it suddenly was jerked to the right. The zombie’s body followed the motion of its head and fell over. My confusion ended with the crack of a gunshot that finally found its way to my ears a second later. At least the sniper went back to aiming for the undead. Another creature rose from within the ranks of bullet-ridden corpses. For a moment I wondered if it had been laying there when I walked through. It was pointless to dwell, all that mattered now was the road ahead. The ghoul didn’t even get to a full standing position before the sniper put it down for good. Cherry Street only lasted another quarter of a block. That is where the road stopped and things were bound to get interesting. I was treated to the wide open view of the James River and a portion of the cityscape. Anarchy was all that waited to the east. Plumes of smoke rose from many of the high rise buildings. I could see glowing orange areas from the towering Dominion building. If several floors were actually burning there and no one stopped it… well I’m pretty sure Richmond’s skyline will be changing in the near future. I wish there was some way to see the pedestrian bridge leading to Belle Isle from here. Even though I can see parts of the island and the river, the rest of my view is obstructed by the few buildings on Tredegar Street directly before the water. Lucky for me I could see a clear path to a better vantage point. A narrow dirt path cut through the bush line at the end of the pavement. Beyond this short expanse an incline of speckled gray gravel led to parallel railroad tracks. Richmond has been a railroad hub in the south for easily two hundred years. Amtrak and CSX rail use these lines

often. Under any normal circumstances I wouldn’t walk on railroad tracks. Supposedly, the President shut down all rail travel when things started getting bad. Thus using the tracks to get closer to the islands entrance shouldn’t be a problem. Compared to everything else I had traveled through, the train tracks looked wonderfully pristine. The most important detail is that they were completely vacant. I couldn’t see anything, standing or otherwise, in either direction. Any stretch not occupied by zombies is a welcomed one. I made my way over the dirt path and to the gravel line. One stop on the stones made my stomach wretch. Tiptoeing over an inevitably loud surface made me feel like a teenager sneaking out of the house again. It was difficult to keep my feet on the rail ties and steal beams. The short trip could have been fun if it wasn’t for the whole end of the world thing. Every step brought me closer to the Lee Bridge. From where I was I couldn’t see the pedestrian bridge hanging beneath it, but it felt comforting to know that it was near. My goal since leaving headquarters has been crossing the river. I felt giddy at knowing my passageway out of this wretched city was finally close. Right now I wouldn’t even let my lack of a plan for after Belle Isle deter this anticipation. After two hundred playfully skipped feet down the tracks I stopped dead in my tracks. Grief overcame my balance as I sat down hard on the cool steal railroad beam. My empty stare remained on the newly visible pedestrian bridge… something that was far from empty. The bridge was constructed to have a barred gate built into the framework that would be able to close off any access to the island. I had seen this many times in my visits. There had only been one time when the island was closed due to severe flooding that I witnessed the gate closed. From what I could remember, the gate was secured with chain and a padlock. This was factored into my decision to take the bridge. If I were to find it locked, I’d either break through it with the crowbar or climb around

the damn thing. I never imagined that the gate would be closed with a dozen infected blocking the other side. There was no time for delay. I snapped out of it and did my best to evaluate the bridge logically. However, my good intentions couldn’t surpass the bleak reality of this newly illogical world. My confidence has increased with the practice I’ve had during the last day with combating the undead. Gazing upon the edacious group bottlenecked beyond the gate I knew that no level of confidence would allow for survival. If there were only a few of them I might take the chance. Assuming I’d be able to breach the metal bars, my doing so would draw them all towards me. No matter how I looked at it, the pedestrian bridge was out of the question. This wasn’t the time to be depressed. At least I had made it to a way across the river that didn’t involve swimming. This pulled my stare away from the hanging bridge to the Lee Bridge above it. The perpetual shadow over Belle Isle is long, allows for three travel lanes in either direction, and provides some great sunrise views of the city. Every memory of taking the long way home in the morning just to enjoy a sunrise evaporated from the sheer idea of being trapped up there. I continued to scan the length of the concrete leviathan in search of reasons to not climb up to it. My answer quickly came with the sight of a reaper tumbling over the guard rail to the ground below. I imagined the sound its impact made and was thankful for the muting power of the flowing river. I buried my frustrated face in tired palms. A feeling of hopelessness inevitably overcame me. “What the fuck do I do now?” I pointlessly muttered to myself. The complete lack of concealment was lost to me as I sat on the tracks and wallowed in thoughts of my fleeting mortality. Thus far while traveling through this undead jungle I fought to focus my thoughts on the task at hand more than I fought the zombies. It has taken conscious effort to not drift into thinking of my

family. This new flood of hopelessness negated those efforts entirely. I sat there, exposed and daydreamed of the people I love most. If Calise saw me like this, she would burrow her way into my protective stance until she was nestled against me. Those curly brown locks of hair would fall over her face as she attached herself to me in a bear hug so great no other five year old could top it. She would say something like, “don’t be sad Daddy. You can’t be because I’ve got you!” Sarah would be standing in the doorway watching this sweet, smaller version of her attacking me. Maddox would run past Sarah and join his little sister in the hug. His hugs always come with the moving power of a bulldozer. I’d be knocked to the ground amongst a chorus of infectious and smile-inducing giggles. After everyone catches their breath, Maddox would reveal the true reason for joining this battle to make me smile. “Daddy, can you come help me fix my track again?” The boy will end up being a railroad engineer some day. His love of trains has been going on since he learned to walk. Sarah and I always said that he’d grow out of it; but his future career in the field would be the ultimate way for him to stick it to us. This caused a smile to break through my woeful cloud, but it wasn’t just a smile that came to me; it was a realization that I had been traveling across for the last twenty minutes. The railroad line that parallels the James River leads directly to another train bridge. This pair of tracks cuts through an area almost completely devoid of people. It makes perfect sense now and not thinking of it sooner made me feel like an imbecile. It’s not the most direct way to cross the river, but under the current circumstances it’s the safest. I’m also fairly certain that only freight trains travel this line. It would be a longer walk than I’d like and would eliminate any chance of reaching home tonight. I took another glance at the shortcut home

that was minutes ahead of me. After a deep sigh, I conceded to the reality that my only chance was to turn and walk the other way. There are a lot of unknown factors about this new route. I find it odd that the unknown parts of this journey are almost as terrifying as everything I do know. The first few minutes of back tracking would be my last familiar steps. Beyond them is an open expanse of parallel tracks that stretch farther than I can see. Even with the delightful absence of anything visible that might act as a deterrent; I’m shaken to my core by the gravity of this unknown realm.

Chapter 16 Driftwood 1515 hours: The walk was pleasant compared to the layers of hell I had traversed up until now. After almost forty-five minutes of walking I hadn’t seen a soul, living or dead. My paranoia locked all focus on the tracks ahead. I found the constant drumming of the James River soothing. Soothing as the torrent to my left may be, I dared not look at it in fear of missing some danger approaching. This diverted route had now brought me away from civilization. The only reminder of humanity here is the rail beneath my feet. A sigh of relief worked its way through my chest. Even though this sigh was brought on by a good feeling, it brought about terrible pain. My battered body screamed out for a break. In this moment of relative safety I saw no reason not to sit down for a few minutes. I could use some replenishment of the food/drink/pain killer variety. I plopped down on the rail closest to the water. If anything tried to shamble their way up on my turned back, I would hear it on the gravel. Finally I felt comfortable enough

to pry my paranoid gaze from the road ahead and enjoy the scenery of the river. The James River holds so many happy memories that taking a break at its bank might be good for me. Dirty rapids churned and smashed along the rounded rocks peppered throughout the torrent. I was a little surprised at the water level, even with the knowledge of recent rains. An assortment of debris could be seen breaching the waves at random intervals. I had no desire to try and differentiate between the branches or trash. With everything going on I can only imagine what has ended up in this flowing deathtrap. I strained my eyes and squinted to try and get a better look at the odd looking piles of trash floating by. Within seconds I was opening a bag of cheddar Sun Chips and taking a swig of water. Now that I allowed my tension to ease I was feeling the hunger pangs in my gut. The cool burst of refreshment lasted only a second, before shock dropped my jaw and ran the water down my scruffy chin. This abject horror came from seeing arms waving above the water line. These barges of litter are made of people… or at least they used to be people. Much like the dim lighting that spared me from the details of my first kill; the brown water concealed most of the gore. One or two would go by, then another so bloated it looked only remotely human, then a quartet caught up on each others motionless corpses. There was one flailing near the bank on the south side of the river. Another was speared upon a tree branch protruding from a mass of timber stuck on a shallow. For the first time since taking to the rails I looked back towards Richmond. I had gone far enough that the quaint skyline disappeared behind the trees and this harboring landscape, but there was evil to been seen behind me just as there was flowing aside me. A plume of swirling smoke connected the devastation of the city to the desolation of the sky. It connected the ravaged land to the heavens above.

There is no difference between heaven and hell… now there is only hell to be found. I could have stared all day. Seemingly every wave brought a new instance of this unequivocal repugnance. This is not the James River I knew – this is the River Styx. All of my happy memories felt drowned by the sight of this watery funeral procession for Richmond. Vomit began to work its way up my esophagus. Before submitting to this nausea, my attention was grappled from a noise somewhere ahead. I stopped dead and listened. The ever-present river roar and gurgle of my churning stomach were muted as I focused like a predator finding prey. The noise I heard was a voice. I grabbed my pack and bolted towards the westerly cry. The wonderfully pain numbing effects of adrenaline relieved my aching body in support of my excitement for finding another living human. “Help me!” Now I know I’m not crazy. The voice grew louder as I closed the distance. “PLEASE SOMEONE! Please God, help me!” It was a man’s voice coming from an area on the bank just ahead. The already thin tree line between the tracks and water became even sparser here. I’m close – I can feel it. I nearly fell over when I saw him. An oblong oak tree grew over the water. It formed a thick branched arm that came within inches of the surging rapids. The man clung to the branch. He faced the oncoming waves as his body traveled eastbound with the current. My survival pack was released from its place on my back, before I even stopped moving. The loud crunch that rang from its impact with the gravel alerted the poor man to rescue. “Hey man I’m over here!” I imagined him waving like an excited friend if his arms weren’t wrapped around the long oak limb. “I’m going to get you out!” my shouting eliminated my previous stealth. “Just hang on! I’ll get to you.”

The muddy slope was treacherous. If I let the excitement get the best of me I’d end up down the river myself. My boots sank into the muck as I reached for the tree. The long horizontal branch dipped down at the tree’s trunk and went beneath the waves. It then broke from the water and continued up several gravity-defying feet before making its proper vertical climb. Assessing the situation I knew that if I attempted to cross the branch I’d end up taking us both down the rapids. I could see him clearly now. He looked like a stray cat after being stuck in a rainstorm. What worried me more than his pathetic appearance was the sheer desperation in his eyes. “I can’t get across to you.” I began to say as he splashed his legs in the rapids and cut me off. “PLEASE OFFICER! You can’t leave me! Those things keep floating by!” He screamed back. “Sir, just settle the fuck down! I’m NOT leaving you.” Upon hearing this he stopped his frantic kicking and just froze. “Listen, I’ve got some rope in my pack. There’s more than enough for me to get a line to you.” I couldn’t tell whether or not he was nodding in acceptance or just freezing cold. “Just hang on man – I’m not going anywhere without you.” It didn’t matter if he responded. Time was of the essence and I had to act quickly. The thing he said about ‘things going by’ concerns me. Assuming I can get him on the line, one of the infected could grab him and we’d all end up in the water. Back on the rails I looked around in a way reminiscent of the paranoia I enjoyed not ten minutes earlier. The butterfly coil of rope came off my pack without resistance. Before turning back to the bank I had the vivid thought of being swept away in the rapids by bloated undead arms. I yanked the crowbar free and tucked it into the belt line at my back. The last thing I want is to need it for defense or as leverage to pull myself from the water, but I’d rather have it on me than

watch it disappear from the river. Three seconds later I was back at the murky waterline. I started to knot one end around another oak tree that enjoyed a few feet of distance from the rapids. He watched every move as intently as a prisoner does his executioner. “What’s your name, buddy?” I was desperate to break the unbreakable tension. The man was black with short hair matted with silt and was probably just a few years older than me. He looked to be wearing a light jacket that was equally coated in grime. Everything chest down was still enveloped by the James. “Philip. Most people call me Phil.” Every word was shaken by his fearful exhaustion and the November rapids. “Well Phil,” I tried to sound confident. Selfishly I’m just worried about sounding like a coward. “My name is Nathan and it’s nice to meet you. Sure, could’ve picked a better time to go swimming, eh Phil?” This actually elicited a tight-lipped smile. His jaw trembled from chattering teeth. “Yeah… guess I could have. Are you a cop? Is more help coming?” My shoulders sank. Inside I screamed profanity at my stupid jacket. “I’m sorry to answer no to both questions. I just work… err worked for the police and it’s just me trying to get home to my family.” The rope was tight. An infected woman splashed by about six feet from Phil. “Hey Nathan… can you please hurry?” Phil appropriately shouted through a wave that splashed against his cheek. Rather than responding I just worked faster. I grabbed a piece of driftwood that was sanded down from its watery travels. Its leg-length, oblique angle accepted being attached to the rope without issue. I set it down and tested the rigs’ strength by stepping on it and pulling up. Philip watched my every move. Confident it wouldn’t snap on us, I moved back to the

waterline. “Listen Phil – this seems solid. I’m going to throw it as close to you as possible.” The desperately pathetic man nodded furiously with every word. “It might take a few tries so DON’T grab it if you’re not sure. We’ll keep trying until you’re out of the water.” I made a pseudo-throwing motion to signal the ready. “Alright my friend, you ready to get out of there?” “I’m ready.” The water splashed over his head again. A downward facing and motionless corpse coasted closely by. The first toss missed him completely and the current tried to pull the whole rig downstream. This told me that when I did get him on the line, I’d have a tug-o-war match on my hands. Toss number two was close enough to splash him on its impact. These were my practice throws… now I think I’ve got the hang of it. Toss number three came within inches of his back. For all I know the driftwood actually did hit the part of Phil, which was submerged in the rapids. He released his hold and flipped towards the lifeline. Immediately I felt like I was fishing and hooked a whale. My brace against the other oak tree is the only thing that saved me from getting yanked into the water. Every pull took levels of strength I did not think I still had. My body screamed at me for subjecting it to more torture. Phil still had enough in him to hang on. The length of rope between us shortened inch by inch. I tried not to think about how many times I felt my muscles telling me this was the end. My desire to have the company of a living person again fueled each pull. A few agonizing minutes later I began to see more of Phil emerge from the murky depths. My burning palms radiated their pain throughout my body. Another second and the pulling became easier. Phil’s feet were finally able to find leverage in the newly accessible bank. With his last lunge for self-preservation and another yank on the life line from me, Phil at last emerged from the water. I threw a numb arm out and grabbed him near his elbow.

He did the same; pulling back using all the strength he could muster. Momentum carried us past my vertical oak bracing and to the sloping bank. A banshee-like shriek emanated from the spot Phil just vacated. I only caught a second’s glance of the half-faced beast before the rapids silenced it. Pulling this poor man from certain death had already made me wish to be far away from this river; but hearing that unholy sound added insult to injury. I leapt to an uneasy footing and dragged Phil to the gravel line by my pack. I’d like to think even an Olympic athlete would be wiped out after this ordeal. Both of us lay motionless and near hyperventilation. Everything hurt so selfishly that I wanted to sleep then and there. It didn’t matter that my new companion had been through far more than I. All I could think now was how the steel rail and coarse gravel were as comfortable as my memory foam mattress. With every heave of my chest, my thought process jumbled further. I have always thought of myself as someone who has affected many lives; but I’ve never directly saved one. Pulling Phil from the James River was an out of body experience. Even though I was exerting myself like never before, the immediate memory was that of watching someone else doing it. I am not the hero. I am not the savior. All I am is someone who wants to go home. Now I’ve become the hero. From now until whatever day I die I will be the one who is completely responsible for the continuation of another life. The plan that has kept me alive to this point will have to change. Any selfishness that came through surviving the newly severed bonds of human reality must now be abandoned. These thoughts unnerved me. Lance came to mind. This must be how he felt around me. I began to wonder if he was still alive but stopped that train of thought to focus on everything around me. Phil drifted in and out of consciousness a few feet from me. A glimmer of medical training popped into my brain.

Letting him fall asleep probably wouldn’t be helpful for his possible hypothermia and shock. What matters now is that we were safely beyond the reach of the churning deluge. If I have the strength to stress myself out with thinking, then I sure as hell better find the strength to keep Phil alive now. The sun had moved to the far end of the sky. Glancing at my watch I remembered the approaching darkness and sighed. Sunset was less than two hours away and I’m stuck without shelter, with a waterlogged stranger. I groaned like an old man and rolled over to check on my new companion. 1541 hours: It took two hard slaps on the face before Phil came to. He sat up in a fearful startle. Still worried about drawing any landlocked zombies to us, I stopped him from expressing his surprise out loud. Several minutes later though, he began to come back down to our harsh reality… “How did you get here?” Phil inquired in a shakily uncertain voice. “I walked in from the city. I got trapped on duty a few days ago.” I removed the crowbar from my back and returned it to the proper place in my pack, while I spoke. He watched me closely. In this new, violating world still being human still isn’t enough to earn trust. Phil had every right to be suspicious of me… I sure as hell was suspicious of him. “How is it that you ended up dangling from a tree limb in a corpse filled river?” His eyes drifted to the left then back towards me. “My girlfriend and I were canoeing and camping our way down the river. We started a week ago. Last night we camped on the outskirts of Powhatan State Park.” Phil stopped and coughed up what I hoped to be water. “Today we started seeing the bodies. Every minute we got closer to Richmond

more bodies were in the water. Then we started seeing some of them on the banks. My girlfriend would call out to them, but no one responded. We’d never been through Richmond… I assumed it was because they weren’t friendly. I mean I read about that virus and all, but we both camped a lot to stay away from people. I didn’t think these people we were seeing were sick.” I cut him off. “Those people aren’t people anymore. They are dead. The virus takes over them and turns them into something else. If you give them a chance they will tear you apart or infect you too.” Phil’s expression grew distant. I knew I’d been too cold in what I just said. He has no idea what I’ve been through and I’m just as clueless with him. Inside I kicked myself for being so matter of fact about this hell we now live in. “Yeah I had a feeling, but she wouldn’t listen. A little while later we saw the first ones in the water that still… moved.” A tear cleared a path through the muck on his cheek. “I told her to leave them be. I told her that they were sick, but she wouldn’t listen! She paddled over to this guy that looked mostly normal. The closer we got the more I noticed the black lines around his neck. Until we got right up on him… his neck was turned away from us.” He was tearing up and stuttering words now. Something wasn’t right. I tried to reassure him and prevent any more meltdowns. “Phil you don’t have to. I’m sure you did what you could and now we’ve got to move.” Every word was wasted breath. This man was in pain and now it was my responsibility to help him fight through it. “We rowed up next to him and she reached out an oar. He jerked his head around and I saw the black eyes, but it was too late. The motherfucker grabbed her oar and tipped the canoe! We both went in. I tried to get to her, but I couldn’t swim against the current. I shouted and shouted. She never called back. I swam around, but kept hitting logs and shit that

were floating by.” By now his cheeks were the cleanest part on him. The tears flowing from his puffy brown eyes took the grime with them. I put my hand on his shoulder and passed him a bottle of water. At this point, consoling him was all I could do. I wanted him to get it all out so we could get the hell out of here. Past us a cluster of five still bodies floated by as he took a swig of water. Phil’s bodily shaking calmed as his voice became more broken. He glanced behind us at the fading sun. Whether or not he realized the importance of being somewhere ‘safe’ at sundown didn’t matter. My anxiousness indicated that some urgency was required and he seemed to pick up on it. With considerable effort I forced myself to stand. As I rose, Phil went on. “When I got close to shore I saw all of these torn up looking people at the water’s edge. They saw me and started scrambling in after me… There wasn’t anything I could do. I just grabbed onto a log and floated with the river. The cold started to make me black out. I zoned out for… I don’t even know how long. Next thing I know I’m near the shore and there’s this branch there, so I grabbed it. My arms goin’ numb, so I started hollering. I have no idea how long I was there, but then you came along.” I found a dry shirt in my pack and tossed it to him. My initial intent was for Phil to use the shirt to dry off. Instead he removed his wet jacket the long sleeved thermal shirt underneath without hesitation to put the dry shirt on. He tried to stand, but fell back. “Did any of them get to you while you were in the water?” I asked this while making no attempt to hide my deadly serious tone. This seemed to catch him off guard. “Umm…no, I… I don’t think so.” His teeth were still chattering. Hypothermia was a concern second only to exposure to the Reaper Virus. “Phil, I’m not sure you understand me.” My palm drifted

over the Kukri’s handle. It occurred to me that this motion had become instinct. I had no intention of threatening him with this action, but I’m sure that’s how it came across. “If you were bitten you need to tell me so we can deal with it.” I realized that my new friend and I had entered a slippery slope. Phil doesn’t know me or what I have done in the last couple days and I don’t know him. For the time being we have to trust each other enough from the simple fact we both have a pulse, before I could defuse the conversation he rebutted. “Deal with it?” “I just want to make sure we’re both healthy enough to keep moving… that’s all.” My hands moved away from their defensive positions and became involved in the conversation. I have to turn this around now, otherwise I’ll have living enemies to contend with too. “The world is so ass-backwards that I’m just paranoid. I’m sorry if I came across as hostile.” In a last effort to repair this rift I extended an arm to help him up. “Don’t worry about it.” He took my outreached arm and soon returned to a wobbly bipedalism. “I’m just glad you came along when you did, so where we going?” My backpack was returned to its proper home and I took a tired breath. “Hope you like train tracks and are up for a walk.” I said, knowing that I had lost all ability to sensor my professional level of sarcasm. Phil had found a branch that he used to drape the wet clothing over. He then put it over his shoulder so that the clothes could drip and dry behind him. “Do I have a choice? Because I was really hoping you had a car nearby.” As he spoke I began to think the hostility that took place minutes ago would be the last between us. I had already started back on my previous path. A grin worked its way to my mouth as I peered over my shoulder to respond. “Nope, but you can always try the river again.” He let out a laugh. “Nathan, even though we just met I’m

starting to think you’re a bit of a smart ass.” Phil had fallen a few feet behind. I stopped long enough for him to hobble up and snickered, “With the long walk we’ve got, you’ll be pretty confident of that soon enough.” The dead continued to float past us. Having another living person in my presence should have made me feel more at ease. Instead I found myself more anxious than before. Internally, I’m bottling it all up under the guise of stress. After all, I did just pull a person out of a river from certain death. It’s understandable that I would be feeling uneasy afterwards. We walked for another twenty minutes with only light conversation punctuating the silence. Exhaustion has a way of keeping conversation to a minimum. I was also concerned about anything finding us though, but this seemed like less of an issue the more we traveled. Our current section of track was in the middle of nowhere. Wilderness flanked us on all sides. The land around the parallel train tracks began to thin. Water was now on both sides as the passage turned into a sort of land bridge. My tension eased knowing that the landscape would prevent anything from sneaking up on us. The tree line thinned as the rails started to bend with the curvature of the James River. Rounding the curve I saw something in the distance. Phil nearly tripped as I stopped abruptly. “What’s wrong?” His face was stricken with paranoia. I pointed dead ahead. With the thinning tree cover the towering trestle bridge revealed itself on the landscape. This bridge had been my goal. The rail line that goes over this bridge serves the CSX freight line and Amtrak. It runs all the way to the far end of town – exactly where I want to go. Of course this is all assuming we can even get up to it. But the bridge isn’t what drew my attention. A few hundred feet from where we stood, the southern track wasn’t

clear. A mammoth freight engine faced us. It was completely still and trailed by an endless parade of coal cars. The northern track, which bordered the far tree line, remained barren. Phil knelt down and fussed with his right ankle. I had been walking closer to the water on his other side and couldn’t tell what he was fiddling with. He obvious picked up on my hesitation. “So what, we’re on train tracks… what’s wrong with seeing a train?” “The President shut down all interstate travel when the virus started hitting major cities.” As I spoke he raised an eyebrow in curiosity. He stopped fiddling with his leg and rolled his pants back down. I went on, “I don’t think they would leave a perfectly good train filled with miles of coal just sitting here.” His expression went from curious to concern. “No. I guess that doesn’t make much sense.” “Not at all…. Something is very wrong here.” I said and slowly started closing the gap between us and the motionless metal monster.

Chapter 17 Desperate Times 1610 hours: We cautiously crept up to the blue and yellow marvel of machinery. The locomotive was daunting in its eerie stillness. Normally something like this is viewed from far away or while in a moving car. I had forgotten how awe-inspiring one can be up close. While we approached, I scrupulously examined the area around the engine. Something caught my eye and I halted my approach. This of course concerned my already jumpy companion. “What? What is it?” Phil asked in a painfully loud whisper. Rather than doing anything more to advertise our position I held a finger to my lips, requesting his silence. Embarrassment flushed over Phil’s face as he mouthed “sorry”. I returned my right hand to the scabbard comfortingly affixed to my side and pulled the blade free. Phil had yet to see this weapon removed in the short time we had known each other. Considering that it’s impossible for him to not know I’ve had the Kukri on my person; I’m sure he’s taken a look. We’ve been fortunate enough for it to remain on my

side until now. He took a respectful step backwards as I removed my beloved killing tool. Since his eyes were focused on the blade I decided to use it to motion to what drew my concern. I pointed it towards the lower left side of the engines front. That’s where we noticed the gore caked in multiple streaks along the base plates. All it took to convince Phil to stay put was a light point at the ground. I crept around the side expecting to see a pile of bodies. Much to my delight, as far as I could see there wasn’t anything but more gravel and the occasional branch. The streaks of horror that originally drew my attention looked more like impact marks than anything. I had no interest in examining them more closely though. Instead I cautiously knelt down to see under the giant metal serpent. My overactive imagination placed a legless zombie beneath the train ready to devour my flesh. Once again I was treated to the feeling of relief. It’s comforting that my imagination can still be proven wrong in this newly unimaginable world. I took a few cautionary steps away and waved over to Phil. “Come on over!” I said at a normal volume. “The train looks abando…” A loud slap cut my sentence short. It startled me so badly that I nearly fell down the gravel embankment. Phil looked as if he were going to turn and run. We both waited to see what had given us both minor heart attacks. Another slapping sound sounded, but it was quieter than the first. Then another… trailed by another. It hit me that the sound was being made by flesh on glass. I jogged over to where Phil stood paralyzed with fear. He pointed a shaky finger at the windows of where the conductor would have sat. A disfigured face was pressed against the spot that was formally the engineer’s privileged view. Smeared next to it was a hand. Then another hand flopped onto the opposite side. Fluids, which I cannot even

begin to identify, trailed from the dead flesh as rotting epidermal layers stuck to the spot. “What should we do?” Phil asked hesitantly. “Nothing.” I said shrugging. “He looks like he’s trapped in there. As long as we move on and he doesn’t make too much noise, then I want nothing to do with him.” This seemed like a moot point to me and I expected my companion to accept this without question. Instead he looked bothered by my cold tone. “What if he’s hurt? Shouldn’t we help him?” I attempted to truncate a laugh. “Help him?” Phil was visibly bothered by this. I should have just let it be, but frankly I was too damn tired. “How are you planning on doing that? Will you cure him? Will you somehow make them un-undead?” Phil stammered a rebuttal to no avail. I had gone way too far. It’s easy to forget that I’m not the only one suffering. After all, the man did lose his girlfriend and nearly died. Suffering is now the regular state of things. Not accepting that fact is an endorsement on your own death. Once again I find myself trying to repair a ‘friendship’ that just began. At the very least, I don’t have to pretend to be sorry. “Phil I’m sorry. In the last couple of days I’ve been attacked by these things, attacked these things, watched as they consumed friends, and ran helplessly as they consume this city. There is no helping what cannot be helped. My optimism died the moment the dead walked.” “No, no. Don’t be sorry, because you’re right. Things are different now and I need to get that through my thick skull. The train conductor is better off caged up in there anyways. At least he can’t hurt anyone.” I found Phil’s tone to be somewhat odd. It seemed like he was conceding, but didn’t believe a word I said. “Well he may be able to stay put, but we can’t. The bridge is up ahead.” I glanced back and noticed the cloudy sky

changing to reflect the waning light. The conductor tried to get our attention with his pathetic groans. “The train line we need to get to is on the bridge.” “All the way up there?” Phil said while hinting at the dread I shared. The bridge looked even more menacing with every inch we drew closer. I had no idea how we would get up to it, but knew it was probably the only safe place we could spend the night. “You better believe it. We’ll get up there one way or another. I’m sure there’s got to be a ladder or something. I doubt the rail lines were too worried about people climbing up with this entire area being fenced off. Hopefully there is a maintenance ladder.” He shrugged. “Only one way to find out.” I laughed and adjusted my grip on the Kukri. “That’s the spirit. Let’s go with ‘fuck it all’ and just wing it.” Phil and I shared a short, yet subdued laugh. We started walking once again. The safest course would be to remain in the center of the tracks, to the right of the never ending train. This gave us a few feet of cushioning from the train and provided for the most escape routes. When we reach the bridge we’ll have to find a way to cross under and get to the other side. That was the plan at least. After a few minutes more of cautious walking we noticed more gore marks on the train. This beast had quite a story behind it. I imagine it plowing through undead crowds until its conductor joined their ranks, but it’s a history that lay unrecorded now. Who knows what truly happened? During the second, which I spent lost in thought; I nearly tripped over a severed arm. Phil pushed me aside in the last second and it took extreme effort to stop from falling over all together. I looked down at the pile of flesh and was astonished more by my lack of reaction. The mangled arm was removed to include the part of the upper body. A ragged

scapula protruded from the discolored mass of human. I looked over and saw Phil looking the other way. It was relieving to know we both hadn’t become completely desensitized. Eastern clouds began to change colors indicating that night was approaching and unfortunately we were still on the ground. I suggested to my new friend that we pick up the pace. He had looked back and came to the same conclusion. We both jogged until only three coal cars were between us and the massive pillar. “We need to get on the other side of the train.” I panted. It took every bit of concentration I possessed to not focus on the pain that radiated throughout my body. Phil pointed to the break in the next pair of cars and led the way between them. We had to carefully pass a six foot long section where the tracks had no bottom. This strip’s reinforced tracks hovered over a drainage outlet for the water on the north side of the rails. Beneath it was a drop about man-size in height to the caliginous water below. The pseudo-bridge was wide enough to casually walk across, yet we still tiptoed over it like children. I’m sure we looked ridiculous. It’s too bad the undead don’t have a sense of humor, because they would have had the chance to point a rotting finger and laugh. Although our fear was not without warrant as up until now the railroad tracks have been a solid gravel-filled hike. Back on solid ground we had reached the entry point in the train. I looked farther down the tracks to see if an end to the coal train was visible. This lengthy beast appeared to have no end. It dizzyingly continued in an optical illusion-like eternity. The area where the two coal cars coupled together was filthy. I’m sure every connection in the miles of cars looks exactly like this one. It only took a minute for Phil to hobble over the greasy obstruction. He extended a hand and helped pull me over. I landed awkwardly on the other side;

immediately surprised by our proximity to the waters edge. Any time for familiarizing myself with this new side of the train was cut short once we realized we had company. Coming up on us from the area of the bridge was a pair of undead. They quickly saw us and excitedly advanced along the graveled trackside. There wasn’t time to plan. By the time we knew the zombies were there they had already closed to within a train cars length. Phil turned and looked at me in utter panic. He didn’t need to say anything as his face screamed for guidance. “There!” I shouted while pointing in the direction of the hobbling ghouls. Phil ripped his stare away from the enemy and followed my point to the metal ladder built into the frame of the railcar. Only problem is that the ladder was located only a few feet from the zombies. I glanced behind us and saw that the gravel dropped off at the drainage inlet we just crossed. The only way now is back over the coupling or up that ladder. I yanked the Kukri free and sprinted towards the two infected. “Phil, get up the ladder!” I shouted without even looking back. Phil already followed my lead and was jogging to keep up. The undead excitedly picked up their pace and started thrashing towards me. In seconds I was within their lunging radius. Simultaneously, Phil began to pull himself up the ladder. I knew that we needed to buy time to get up the metal rungs and beyond their reach. The first reaper threw its festering arms up and launched at me. I anticipated this and sliced through the air with my blade. Metal met the rabid man’s infected arm just above his elbow. Force from the blow pushed the Kukri into the bone. Time slowed further as I watched the arm recoil and hyperextend at the joint. Lacking any living elasticity, the tendons snapped and his flesh followed suit. His forearm tore and ripped free; transferred kinetic energy offered the severed limb to the bordering waters of the James.

My victim was thrown off balance by the attack and followed the direction of his lost limb. He fell to the gravel and tripped the other zombie that trailed a few steps behind. I’m growing disturbingly comfortable with having to attack something that could have shared a beer with me two weeks ago, all for the sake of giving myself some extra time. Phil shouted over the side of the coal car and eagerly beckoned for me to climb. I started up the shallow rebar ladder while the second zombie regained its footing. Needing both arms to climb, I sandwiched the bloodied weapon by my right armpit. Three quarters of the way up though, the fallen reaper had made it back to his feet and well within lunging range. He let out an unsettling screech and leapt towards my dangling body. I swung the Kukri in a wide left handed grip and twisted on the ladder to match my swing. The zombie’s temple caved at the strike and the blade became embedded within its skull. Suddenly I felt my body being pulled towards the ground as the creatures legs went limp. “Holy fuck!” I didn’t release my hold on the weapon fearing that if I did, the blade would fall into the river stuck inside its victim. Panic filled my brain. I shook my arm hoping to dislodge this vile anchor. The eye closest to the wound was missing and the other stared back at me with an unholy blackness. Another shake caused an unctuous crimson mix to bubble past the zombies jagged teeth and drip down its chin. The sight of this alone caused bile to begin traveling up my esophagus. The few seconds in which this all transpired felt eternal. My right hand started to lose its grip, so I looped my arm around the ladder. “Come on, you dead piece of shit!” I shouted at the fully dead man spewing tar from his gaping mouth. The weight was pulling my upper body down and contorting me in ways I was never meant to bend. This was it… I knew I had to let go of the Kukri or I’d end up in the

river. My hand relaxed and a tear mixed with the sweat beading my cheek. Although it’s nothing more than a piece of metal, the Kukri has acted as my only source of control. It has made me feel confident and empowered enough to remain amongst the living. With it I have felt safer than I have with any gun and strong enough to make it home. Even during the apocalypse it has not failed me. Now I’m overcome with the thought I’m about to fail it. Suddenly I felt another pressure on my arm. I followed my first instinct and looked before defending myself. For once not being a trained combatant came in handy, because if I had struck the situation would have become unthinkably worse. Phil dangled from the cusp of the coal car and grabbed hold of my upper arm with both hands. I became the rope in an unholy battle of tug-o-war. Most people would have exploited this relief to let go of the weight and climb to safety, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead I took the extra strength and contorted myself enough to bring my left boot to the place the Kukri was lodged. I let my foot follow the track of the blade and kicked. Tread met flesh and I pushed until the Kukri was freed. A trail of viscous fluid dripped from the weapon down to where to heap of infected man dropped. My arm was so numb I couldn’t feel it any longer. I swung it around and pushed on the ladder’s rung with my wrist. After a minute of shaky climbing I collapsed onto the pile of jagged coal. 1632 hours: My chest heaved. The coal was like lying on a bed of nails, but I’d never felt anything more comfortable. I stared up at the waning light and realized how close our deadline drew. Phil sat on the edge of the car, waiting for me to signal

that it was time to move on again. “Thanks.” I said between shallow breaths. “Don’t mention it. You almost got pulled off the ladder… why didn’t you just let go of your sword?” He said in a tone ripe with curious frustration. “It means a lot to me.” There was no point in going into detail about anything – even with someone whose life I saved and who probably just saved mine. “Also I don’t think it’s a good idea to let go of a weapon right now if you can help it.” Phil nodded lightly in agreement. “So, I guess this makes us even now doesn’t it?” He let out a chuckle. “Not even close Nathan. I’ll have to do a lot more than that to not feel like I’m in your debt.” “We can settle this later.” My body wanted to stay in this coal bed forever, but my mind took the hint from the growing shadows. “But right now we’ve got to get moving.” Phil had already gotten to his feet on the foot wide lip of the train car. He stared past me at the overhanging arched bridge. I looked at his expression, hoping that he was trying to find options for us to climb up. Frankly, I was so overcome with ache and exhaustion that anyone else taking charge would come as a relief. A smile cracked his lips. “Good thing I have an idea then, eh partner?” He pulled me to my feet and we started navigating our way across the few coal cars that separated us and the bridge. The vertigo that raced through my brain from looking to my left quickly stabilized my wobble. I had no desire to allow my tired legs to send me tumbling off the ledge to the gravel or river below. We had to navigate two breaks in the balance beam where another car coupled onto the metal serpent. More time was spent with paranoid checks of the area below than was spent climbing down and up again. I don’t know about Phil, but I felt like a child pretending the ground was hot lava whenever we got close to the gravel.

The train cars may be filthy, dangerous, and uncomfortable, but they are also elevated. There is a level of comfort associated with being lifted above the reach of the undead. All the while I was thinking about how Maddox would be so jealous of my super cool train car clubhouse… Soon we were immersed in the cold shadow of the high rising bridge. I plopped down and dangled my legs over the side of the car. There are only a few times in my life where I have felt this much debilitating pain. Flipping my pack around, I quickly found a snack bar, water, and ibuprofen. “So… what’s your idea for getting up there again?” “I thought you were trained to look for details like this man?” He said with a wry laugh. “Ha! Low blow my friend.” I quelled my embarrassment and followed his pointed finger. Then I saw it – a ladder. On the far side of bridge pylon was a metal rung ladder. It looked sort of like the rebar ladder we first used to climb on top of the train. The only problem is where the ladder actually was in relation to us. “Alright since I spotted it,” Phil said, “you get to figure out how we get to it.” I let out a disgusted chuckle and surveyed the situation. It felt like a twisted geometry problem. I flashed back to a high school memory of me being my typical smartass self and telling the geometry teacher that her class was pointless. She refuted this by saying ‘Geometry has a lot of real world application. Now, if you have one more outburst you’ll be getting a demerit.’ Zombie or not, I bet she’s laughing at me now… The ladder was positioned just past the water’s edge. If the James River were in less of a flood stage it might be above dry land. However the current high water level placed it a few feet past the shore’s mark. The water isn’t what troubled me though. Our real problem is reaching the ladder. From where I stood the bottom rung was a few feet above the

level of my head. That puts it almost two stories above the ground. Whoever designed this access ladder was either stupid or sadistic… maybe both. I furrowed my brow in frustration. This is at least the second time in the last few hours that a path has been made needlessly overcomplicated. Evidently my dampened spirit was visible to Phil. “Don’t look that way.” He said sternly while fiddling with his pant leg again, then rhetorically asked, “You’ve still got that rope don’t you?” It was almost like I hadn’t heard his question; I was curious about why he kept touching his leg. “Why do you keep messing with your leg Phil?” I said with a forceful wonder. He sounded irritated. “It’s fine… just a little itchy alright? Stop worrying about that and pass me the rope.” “I’m not sure you noticed this about me, but I’m not exactly Indian Jones.” He chuckled as I spoke. “I don’t think God ever intended me to do anything as heroic or athletic as swinging from a rope. I may have police training, but I was always very comfortable behind a desk and a radio. This whole ‘plunging a sword into things that look like people’ mess is not a natural action for me.” We both shared a laugh at my expense. I was alright with being a self-admitted pariah when it comes to physical ability. Embarrassment means nothing in this new world. As long as a person can stay alive it doesn’t really matter what they were seen as a month ago. A moment of shame pitted my stomach with that thought. No matter what is going on in the world, I still know the things I have done to lead me to where I now stand. In the end I wonder what will separate a newly odious person like me from the undead I’ve been battling. Phil took the rope from me and began to unravel it. I watched as he skillfully knotted strategic points along the length of the line. The sky continued to darken. It looked as if the realm of the bridge’s shadow began to blend with the rest

of the world. Our time was quickly running out. I felt the need to express the urgency and interrupt my new friend’s train of thought. “Looks like you’ve done this before.” He nodded like a child being recognized for being able to color within the lines. “My girlfriend…” With this he paused for a moment and stared blankly at the coal. Before I could say anything he continued, “she and I used to do long camping trips. We made sure a lot of them had some kind of climbing involved.” “Good so this should be easy. I don’t want to rush you, but we have ten, fifteen minutes max until the sun is down.” I said in as serious of a tone as I could muster. “I’m almost positive these things hunt better at night. I want to be where they absolutely cannot reach us by then.” “Alright I get the point. I’m just about done.” Phil said while again scratching at his leg. His motions were skillful and swift. It was comforting to watch him and feel that he actually knew what he was doing. He finished the last thick knot then dropped the tangled mess. “Help me look for a larger chunk of coal that might be good for throwing that far.” I didn’t need any more explanation to know where he was going with this. We both rifled through the black mound. Our movements began to reflect the fearful desperation that radiated from the fading light. I held up several of the dusty shards only to have Phil give them a disapproving frown. “How about this one?” I hoisted up a larger one and waited for my busy partner to reject it. It was jaggedly cylindrical, maybe six inches long and an uneven width. Ready for Phil to turn it down I was about to toss it when he shouted. “Perfect!” The volume of his excited outburst startled and irritated me. I should give up our stealthy ruse, because honestly, how stealthy can two guys walking on top of a train

be? “Give it here!” He said while grabbing it and busying himself at the rope. Thirty seconds later he proudly held up a botched rope rigging tied to a crumbly hunk of coal. “Uhh… Phil,” once again I was too tired to hide my real thoughts, “I don’t think that’s going to hold me.” Right now I was so defeated in my pain and exhaustion that I was ready to sleep there in the train car. He smirked, “Then it’s a good thing I’m going first.”

Chapter 18 Ascent 1655 hours: Phil’s confidence level impressed me. This was a good thing too, since I had become so completely drained. Normally, I would be anxiously watching as he secured a knot around the shard of coal turned grappling hook. Now I simply sat atop the painfully uneven pile of black rocks and attempted to muster up the strength to care again. “You going to be able to do this?” Phil asked. He had noticed my lack of enthusiasm. “Because I have no idea where to go once we get up that bridge. I’d also really; really like to get some sleep and the middle of that bridge looks as good as a Holiday Inn.” I smirked and chuckled. His open acknowledgement of my rapidly declining enthusiasm was refreshing in a way. “Is a Holiday Inn a good thing to you or a bad thing?” He let out a short, but dangerously audible laugh. “I’m more of a tent or back seat of my Saturn kind of guy so… it looks like a damn good thing.” After saying this he looked over his shoulder at the fading light. In my mental master planning I had visualized already being in a safe place by now.

“You drive a Saturn too?” I asked, whilst forcing myself to rise. The pain in my chest was severe. If several of my ribs aren’t cracked, then they’ve got one hell of a bruise. “I’ve been a Saturn man for years. I have a feeling you and I will get along just fine.” By now he had already turned to prep the rope and said, “Hey I stopped worrying the moment you pulled me out of the water.” This comment embarrassed me with the realization that Phil has far more trust in me than I do in him. Long ago I was an overly trusting person. Now, after years in the criminal justice field, I wait until trust is earned. Even while watching the man whose life I had saved, who has already saved me once, and who likely would be saving me again in the next few minutes… I know that any trust he thinks I have in him his false. For some reason, I cannot bring myself to trust my new companion. With this, Phil held the rope with a good foot and a half of slack between his hand and the anchor. He spun the rigging around in a clockwise circle to build momentum. My heart ceased while observing this display. The infernal pessimist inside my brain keeps poking at my thoughts with a visual of the coal flying off and the two of us being stuck on the train. After thirty seconds reality shot my thoughts down when Phil released the line. The coal flew out in an arc that took it inches from the ladder’s lowest rung. Fortunately for us, the rope stuck with the rock even when it splashed to the water below. Philip hastily pulled at the line back. We let off a simultaneous sigh of relief when we heard the chunky anchor bouncing along the side of the coal car a couple times, before it appeared at our feet. Our eyes began adjustment to the lower light as sunset shaded us with doom. I started to become aware of a flashing light that came from the other side of the rail bridge. Running parallel to our targeted river crossing is the main highway

bridge for the Powhite Parkway. Until just days ago I traveled this ten lane bridge twice a day for my commute to and from work. Knowing how the other main roadways turned into deathtraps I can only imagine what this one is like. My guess is that the flashing is coming from an array of hazard lights throughout the bridge. The whizzing of the rope spinning pulled my attention back to my partner. He released the line again. I heard a clink and was ecstatic. Then it fell downward with a splash and my short lived hopes were dashed. Thanks to the fading light I couldn’t see how close it came. I assume it was closer since he uttered, “Almost, God damn it!” a split second after I heard the clink above the rapids. Phil once again reeled in our lifeline. We held our breath until the coal anchor was within reach. He turned to me and said with an overconfidence seemingly aimed at convincing us both, “This time it will work.” I was too anxious to respond. It’s now officially dark out and my heartbeat overcame the babble of the river. My eyes had adjusted enough to see the immediate area and some distant shapes. The river has a way of reflecting ambient light to the point of an eerie self-luminescence. Thankfully, Philip didn’t need any feedback from me and went ahead with a third attempt. We both paused and awaited the splash of rope entering the murky James… only the splash didn’t ever come. The rope remained taught at an oblique angle that indicated being affixed to the bridges bricked tower. “Hell yes!” Phil shouted. He spun around and grabbed my aching hand to excitedly shake it. I knew we were being too loud, but couldn’t care less. This is the first good thing that has happened since he and I met. If all goes well we will be out of the reach of any infected that are drawn by our brief jubilation. “Is it stable enough to support our weight?” I cautiously asked, prying my hand from a handshake that had gone on

long enough to venture into the realm of uncomfortable. He gave the rope a little slack then pulled it taught again. It was like he had been fishing and knew a whopper was on the other end of the line, now he just needed to set the hook. “Yeah, I think so. Do you have a flashlight?” Phil asked in a voice that lacked its previous over-confidence. I pulled one of my flashlights from a snug corner of the survival pack. It had been there ever since I was with Lance and Brad on Franklin Street. I clicked it on while my left hand stifled the beam. A red glow showed through the translucent skin between my thumb and pointer finger. The brightness caught our dilated pupils off guard and we shared a wince. “Ok, if you hear me call out just spot the light where my voice comes from.” He said. “I’ll find a way to get the line back to you.” “What if the rope snaps or the coal gives?” I asked half rhetorically and half with concern. Inside, I tried to convince myself that this didn’t make me the poster child of assholes everywhere. The truth is that with the inevitable awkwardness of any ‘you are probably about to die’ situation; anything you say will come across as rhetorical. Phil chuckled, “Then you can get your wish and sleep on the train and I guess I’ll be right back where you found me.” I laughed in response. Perhaps my mistrust in this new found friend is just paranoia? He stepped to the lip of the coal car and pulled the rope tight. Both hands were tightly gripped a good two feet apart on the taught line. I watched Phil shift his footing for a moment then he was gone. For a split second I saw his body float into the blackness like he was flying. I was left breathless at how quickly it all happened. It may have been my imagination filling in the blanks as it has enjoyed doing recently, but I could have sworn that I could see his silhouette swoop over the rippling glow of the river. By the time I recognized the distinctive sound of creaking

rope I heard a slap followed by a muffled curse. My heart palpitated and stomach acid churned as I waited to hear him hit the water, but the splash never came. Right now, I didn’t care if I was telling all the zombies around that dinner’s ready; the tension was too much. “Phil!?!” I hollered in the loudest whisper I’ve ever uttered. Silence followed. “Come on man… tell me you’re still with me!” Still nothing… My heart ached at this point. After a minute I was positive that once again I’d been left to fight through this hell alone. Despair took the strength from my legs and I sat hard. Topping it all off was the pointed piece of coal that greeted my fat ass. My face became buried in both hands as I compressed my throbbing muscles to curl into a ball. With everything that has been going on I completely forgot about my bandaged forehead. This contact shot searing pain from the covered laceration above my eyes straight through my skull then bounced down the length of my person. I arched my back and winced at the sudden bombardment of razor sharp stinging. Every other woeful muscle screamed back at the sudden jostling. The advantage to having multiple injuries is that any specific pain is dulled into a generalized agony. At that moment something smacked into the car right next to me. I hadn’t been that startled since getting attacked in the parking deck. Throwing all caution to the wind I turned on my light to see what manner of death had landed at my side. I squinted to shield my tired eyes from the burning light. Right away I was greeted with the heavenly sight of nylon rope looped around a black mass. “Grab it and come on!” Phil shouted from the darkness. “Oh thank God!” I yelled in response. By now there has to be some nearby undead getting very excited by this loud, teasing meal. “But is it…” Apparently knowing what I’d say, he cut me off, “I tied it to the ladder. It’ll hold! Just watch out for the brick when you

swing in. It just about knocked me off the rope!” All of the sudden I felt like I had been transported back to getting pepper sprayed in the Police Academy. That’s the only other time in my life that came to mind where I had no choice in doing something that without a doubt would hurt a lot. “Alright just give me a second!” I shouted back. I pulled my ‘cleaning shirt’ from where it was looped on the outside of the survival pack. Even though I couldn’t fully see it I knew the Kukri would be coated from recent battle. After a few seconds of wiping I pulled out my belt enough to remove the scabbard. It felt completely and utterly wrong to disarm myself. As wrong as this may have felt, I’d rather have the weapon I just about died to keep safe in the bag. Seconds later I had everything packed tight. I knew that I was being overly cautious, but at the same time I was stalling from what was coming. It only took a moment to untie the rope from the coal anchor. Impulsively I took the end and tied it around both straps and the top handle of my pack. The way I see it was that if I fall, it would either stop me or slow my descent. Although it’s equally possible that it will just snap and I’ll die painfully. It’s always comforting to know that your immediate future will be comprised of painful, exhausting life or painful, terrifying death. Times like these prove I’m a natural optimist. I stepped to the steel cusp of the coal car. Reaching along the taught rope I tried to position my hands as Phil had just done. While stretching my body out over the edge I looked down upon indistinguishable peril. The simple act of extending along the rope filled my body with throbbing waves of pain. If just pulling on the damn line hurts this bad then I have no idea how my life will last longer than another few minutes. Over-thinking began to lead to uncertainty. If I don’t step over the edge now then I probably never will. Then suddenly I was flying. I stepped over the ledge and gripped with fervent effort. The pull of gravity attempted to

rip me from this lifeline almost as hard as I attempted to hold on. That’s when the wall came. It hurt more than anything I’d ever experienced. Force of the impact spun me around the other side of a brick column. I came to a momentary stop when my back slapped against the wall. If it hadn’t been for the cushioning of the survival pack I would have likely been knocked out the second that I bashed into the menacing column. Somewhere in the background I could hear Phil yelling out for me to respond. I wanted to yell back, but breath couldn’t find its way to my lungs. It could have been my imagination, but I could swear I actually heard one of my ribs fully snap. I scraped my right heal against the brick desperate to gain some leverage. This debilitating strain had pushed me over the limit two-fold. The will to fight that had brought me to this unthinkable place began to acquiesce with reality. That reality is that, I’m less than a second away from giving it all up to the James. Another scrape of my boot found an irregularity in the wall. It was enough to push up and lighten the strain on both arms. I used the slack to loop the rope around my wrist. This hurt like hell, but stabilized me enough to reach up to one of the knots Phil put in the line. Not even a minute ago I was ready to give up and join the corpses drifting downstream. Now ascent is possible. I worked out a smile knowing how luck can show itself in the oddest ways. At least I think I smiled… everything hurt too fucking much to be sure. Thanks to the slight reprieve I’d been given I was able to get a better hold on the line. I flipped to face the slatternly wall. Ambient cool from the brick felt alarmingly good on my battered knees. Some calculated flailing allowed me to clear the far side of the column and hang directly beneath the ladder. Phil must have heard my struggle. His cries for my attention turned into muffled shouts of encouragement. Darkness is obscenely insidious in nature. A stray moan

from another driftwood reaper worked through the babbling waves. It was impossible to tell just how high I was above the river. All I could think of is how much I did not want to get any closer. Above me I could see Phil’s outline against the dreary sky. The shadow gave the appearance of him being like a tumor attached to the wall’s silhouette. Even closer sat the ringed shape that must be the lowest rung of the ladder. I pulled and pulled until my left hand found the rope’s next knot. Both boots hit the wall and found a tiptoed tread. Before the world went and ended I always had interest in rappelling. The obligations of family and work never gave me enough of an opportunity to explore this interest. Now, here I am ‘rappelling’ like my life literally depends on it. With the improved stance I was able to unravel my right hand and gain a better hold on the ghetto rigging. Outside I fought and strained harder than ever, but inside I’m pretty sure I had lost it. Every thought laughed at me for being so out of shape. The lovely combination of vomit, fasting and forced exercise I’ve been subjected to over the last few days has already taken my belt in a notch. I see voluntary exercise and healthy eating in my future if I live past the next few minutes. “Fuck!” I cursed aloud as my lower foot slipped. My left knee smacked against an unusually rough patch of mortar. I winced knowing that my skin had just been pierced with lapidarian precision. The dirty Dickies brand pants, worn thin already, became snagged for a gut wrenching second. It didn’t occur to me at the time that yanking away from the pain would tear the pant leg, but I couldn’t care less. Any feeling of the fabric rip was lost to the cold and pain. Phil had heard my distress. “Are you alright?” He hollered down. Even though I hadn’t been able to say a word back to him since I swung over in kamikaze-fashion he still knew I was there. “Nathan man, come on!” “I’m…” The words choked their way out at last. “I’m

here! I just hate rope climbs!” “Jesus Christ man! You had me scared.” Phil shouted down. Not long ago we were implementing such caution in conversation. It’s funny how adrenaline and peril negate volume concerns. As precarious as our current place may be, we are safer from the infected here than we’ve been anywhere else. “Just keep climbing. The ladder is like four or five feet up.” My heart sank. Four or five feet of vertical rope are the fat mans equivalent to a mile. “Got it…” I doubt he could even hear my winded words over the waters. Hell, the pounding of my heart was so loud, I could barely hear them. “I think one of my ribs is broken… I can barely breathe.” Saying this alone made me suck in air that stung my chest like needles. In the darkness above I heard Phil stammer. “You’ll be ok. I’ll see if I can get lower to help pull you up when you get higher.” “Don’t do anything that will knock you off.” Neither pain nor exertion could conceal the seriousness of these words. I gulped at the cold air and finished, “If you hear me fall just keep going.” “Nathan just shut the fuck up and climb already!” His tone was ripe with implications of eye rolling. “Fine! Damn it!” I shouted back over what I swear was a chuckle from Phil. Then I pulled and strained. My feet kicked against the slippery brick and inched higher each time. Another knot found my grip. Then another knot in the rope filled my soul with relief. My old gym teachers would be so proud… I could see the ladder getting closer. My partner’s outline grew larger. The darkness still skewed perspective enough to prevent me from knowing if I’d live. After clearing another knot I was convinced it couldn’t be much farther. I released my right hand and started to feel up along the wall.

Desperately I patted around seeking the wondrous security of a rebar handle. Before I could return my grip to the rope a hand shot down and grabbed a hold of my wrist. The shadow above me was Phil reaching down from the ladder. Little did I know he had been patting his hand around for mine just as I had been searching for the bottom step. Night vision adapted enough for me to see his contorted reach downward. Soon we both matched a firm hold of the other. The last foot was quickly cleared with a burst of adrenaline and Phil’s help. He didn’t let go until I had both hands cemented to the ladder. “I’m good! Climb up!” I shouted. He let go and scaled up the wall. Every cell in my body seethed with anguish and lactic acid. I rose to each metal step anxiously. All I really wanted was to be on a horizontal surface. If there are somehow undead waiting on top of this bridge, I’ll still end up falling asleep right away. The edge grew closer by the second. Time skewed from anticipation of reaching the approaching summit. An eternal few seconds later and Phil disappeared over the edge. I hopped up the next three steps and collapsed over the top. In my haste, I had neglected to think about what I might land on above. A few feet separated the edge and first row of rail ties. My body dead weighted over just far enough for the steel rail to knock against already battered ribs. The last thing I remembered was the sight of Phil grabbing hold of my shoulders and pulling me past the beam. We both fell into the safely neighboring boxes of the train tracks. Now I felt absurdly comfortable lying atop a railroad bridge. Who would have ever imagined that this inch on the map of infinite parallel metal lines could feel like heaven? I slipped out of my back pack. Blindly, I rifled through it and found an opened bottle of Gatorade. My vision was blurred and the pain blended with exhaustion. The gloomy sky swirled above. Any background noise was drowned out

by the furious pounding of my heart. “Are you alright?” A voice panted somewhere next to me. My lips moved, but no words came out. The tracks felt soft and welcoming. None of this felt real. Phil repeated loud enough to penetrate my fog. “Are you alright?” I think I mumbled something. “NATHAN!” His volume was just short of shouting now. I closed my eyes and saw Sarah. She took me in her arms and gave me a tender kiss. The welcoming soft tickle of her wavy brown hair tickled my cheek as joy returned to my heart. I felt the kids tapping my side trying to get me to pay attention to them instead of to Mommy. “Do you hear me?” Maddox was saying. “Look at me!” Calise laughed. Reaching his arm over the railroad tie that separated us Phil wildly tapped my leg. “Come on Nathan! Do you hear me? Look at me!” He pleaded. Both eyes were closed. Beneath my eyelids a soothing brightness showed me the smiling faces of those I love… Then that light subsided and it was all black.

Chapter 19

Desperate Measures Day Ten. November 19th, 2015 – 0020 hours: The haze kept me from being sure about whether my eyes were opened or closed. My brain started to compile shapes out of the darkened nonsense that filled my view. Inside I debated the reality of my situation… that is until awareness of the pain returned. “Am I dead?” I groaned. The only thing I could be sure of right now is how uncomfortable this resting place is and how every bit of me throbbed with pain. A voice came from the hazy area to my left. “For a little while there… I think you were.” Phil said. His tone was alarming in its level of jubilance. I found this to be alarming, only because it acted as a testament to my level of injury. Not to mention it feels like I haven’t heard someone sound ‘happy’ in ages. Internally, I felt little relief that my life was intact. “Where are we? What time is it?” Even saying the words made my chest ache. While I said them I felt the bottle of Gatorade still at my side. I downed the remainder so fast you’d think I was

drinking directly from the Fountain of Youth. My throat and chest enjoyed immediate relief from the re-hydrating effects of the sugary sports drink, but it became apparent that any relief experienced in my current condition just paves the way for other areas of discomfort. At that moment I was keenly aware of how cold the air felt. Glints of yellow light were flashing at irregular intervals from somewhere upriver. This spontaneous illumination aided my returning vision. Memories of our situation began to pop back into my subconscious as Phil replied, “We’re safe at the moment on the train bridge and if your watch is correct; the last I checked it was just past midnight.” I noticed a hint of embarrassment clouding his concern during one of the light bursts. “Sorry… I had been checking on you pretty often. Nothing would wake you up! I seriously thought you were going to die. After a little while I couldn’t take it and passed out too. I woke up about forty-five minutes ago and checked on you. While I was looking for a pulse I saw your watch and didn’t think you would mind.” His embarrassment disappeared when I let out a small, agonizing chuckle. “Don’t worry,” My voice became less raspy with each word. “I would have done the same thing. What the hell is that flashing light?” An unmoving metal track rubbed up against my filthy hair. The toe of my boot hit the other rail bending my knees to put me in an odd fetal position. This coarse box made by wooden ties and steel rails had become like a cot to my battered person. I only moved my neck enough to see Phil. Above there was no moon, no stars. The only thing that looked down upon this world now is a bleak blanket of clouds deserving of hell. My partners face shifted again towards sorrow. “It’s from the highway bridge over there.” He pointed quickly away from where I faced. “But you don’t want to look over there,” His hand and eyes dropped to our gravel bedding. “I don’t

think you’ll like what you see…” This was the equivalent of someone teasing me with the claim of a secret, but not following the tease with anything further. The more pressing matter of my physical anguish overcame curiosity. “It doesn’t matter as long as it can’t get to us here.” I tried to sit up and failed. “Can you pass me my bag?” Instead of my bag he passed me a power bar. I didn’t question this action and eagerly grabbed the offering. The wrapper had thoughtfully been opened already and thus saved my aching hands. In another yellow flash I saw that Phil was eating one too. “Hope you don’t mind that I went into your stuff… I figured you’d want one if you woke up. I also thought you’d need these.” He set the travel-size bottle of gloriously pain killing liquid-gels on the wooden beam to my left. “You’d probably jack up your insides some more if you downed those with no food.” The words were muffled through chewing. I popped the cap and poured some into my hand without worrying about the count. Still chewing the power bar, I added the smooth capsules to the mix. They crunched and broke amongst my rapid bites. A bitter taste overcame the thickly fake peanut butter flavor of the meal bar. The awful combination didn’t deter my consumption. In seconds the mix descended my esophagus to whatever battered innards I have left. We sat in silence for a while. Thoughts of what the last day brought and anxiousness for what this new day will bring stopped any desire I felt to speak. Although I don’t have a clue what was going through my friends mind, it can’t be far from my own thought process. After a couple minutes Phil passed me a bottle of water, one of the last clean bottles in my pack, and encouraged me to sip. I felt some semblance of relief within minutes. The pain killers were doing their job. A moderate sense of humanity felt possible again thanks to the concentrated nutrients I had wolfed down.

My other senses gradually started to regain functional acuity. I again recognized the never ending drone of the James River beneath us. Then I noticed another droning sound making its way through the water. At first I thought this banging sound was just my imagination. Before passing out all I could hear was the pounding of my heart through my temples. It reminded me of the noise complaints we routinely got about the step team practicing inside parking decks. I remembered all the irritated people claiming to be bothered by the erratic percussion of banging fists and unnecessary stomping. I tried to push myself up to a sitting position. Phil noticed my struggle and extended his arm to help. Evidently curiosity was visible in my expression. He looked at me dead on and said, “I’m serious Nathan, you don’t need to worry about what’s over there…” His cautionary words were ignored. Now that I was no longer completely horizontal I saw little reason not to further investigate our predicament. Every muscle was stiff. Each movement caused them to yell out in painful attentionseeking woes. I didn’t bother responding to Phil’s concern. In a few long seconds I was turned enough to look behind us. “What the fu…” my words trailed off. Phil looked the other way. “I told you so.” He said. Each word more depressed than the last. The Powhite Parkway Bridge was a sea of cars. Twinkling hazard lights were sprinkled around the wide girth of its concrete expanse. Such a large array of blinking lights explains the yellow strobe I’ve seen. My guess is that any cars that left headlights on lost their batteries by now; but all those just with flashers would last another day or two. A traffic jam didn’t horrify me though, since I fully expected it. Rather, it was the condensed area near the bridges center that churned my stomach. It took a moment to make out what was really going on. The rail road bridge is higher up than the highway. This gave

me a vantage point I’d rather have done without. I could see the Greyhound bus right away. It sat stationary in the middle lane flanked by smaller cars. Something wasn’t right though… something was moving. Then I saw the shapes lit in the yellowed glare. An infected group had amassed all around the bus. I could see a cilia-like wave of arms flapping against its side. They filtered past still bumpers and irrelevant debris to surround it completely. “Do you know why they are drawn to the bus?” I asked assuming Phil had answers. By now I felt more confident in speaking again. I was certain he had heard me yet he did not respond. “Come on man, what is going on?” He sighed and spoke like he was delivering a cancer diagnosis. “Just… just watch it closely for a little while.” I stared at the bus unblinking. All I saw were rotting hands slapping and pounding against metal. It all looked like an exercise in undead logic until I saw it… a flashlight. “Are there people in that fucking thing?!” I gasped. “Yeah…” The last time I heard him sound this way was when he spoke of his girlfriend. “A lot of them I think. Every once in a while I’ve seen that flashlight move around. The way it moves… it’s definitely someone that’s still alive.” I rubbed both eyes. This painfully reminded me that there is still a gash on my forehead. Seeing the condemned bus filled my heart with guilt. It’s all reminiscent of the people I left behind at Headquarters. Now it made sense why Phil was so hesitant in acknowledging the situation on the paralleling bridge – he knew the truth of the situation. “You know we can’t do anything for them… right?” I felt like a monster for even saying it out loud. Standing up he looked eastward towards the city. I could barely hear his response, “I know, but we get to think about that until we can get off this fucking bridge.” It took me a second to process what he had said. I hadn’t even considered this. Now that I was aware of what was

going on next to us I’d have to listen to it until sunrise. Moving off of the bridge would be suicide. Looking down the track in the direction of home, I’m shaken by not even being able to discern the end of the bridge through the unforgiving darkness. Maybe this is punishment for leaving all my coworkers behind. If I want to live through the night I’ll have to listen to doom falling on a group of people I don’t even know. This ordeal has shown on multiple occasions that karma is a sadistic bitch when it wants to be. Silence fell over us again. There wasn’t anything that could be said. Pain kept me from moving. Phil apparently fared better than I did as he paced around the area. The crunching that came from his nervous steps became a pleasant distraction from the pending horror to the west. It also gave me some solace in knowing that we would hear any reapers approaching us long before they’d be able to strike. “Hey Phil,” by now I was talking normally again, “we should rest man. I hurt like hell and need some sleep. We’re as safe here as we’re ever going to be. God only knows what is coming tomorrow. Why don’t you settle in and take a load off?” He sat down a few feet down the steel rail and again scratched at his ankle. He spoke in words that were hollow. I fear the situation may be close to cracking him. “You’re right. I’ll try to nap.” The only thing that could be heard was the flowing water and eager banging. It didn’t take more than a few minutes to enjoy the grip of sleep. 0145 hours: Something stirred me from an uncomfortable sleep. There was a rustling sound nearby. I thought for a second it was made by my own shaking in the frigid air, but that wasn’t it at all. My eyes remained closed. Effort shifted to my ears.

Hearing is probably the only thing about me not reduced at the moment. The cold numbed my body enough to put the ever-present pain to the back of my mind. I tried to hold still and listened intently. It’s gravel. Something is disturbing the gravel, but that wasn’t everything. I could hear a person going through an array of sounds. There were moans. Then there were… sobs? Panic set in. Immediately I assumed the undead were upon us. Adrenaline burst into my system and forced my shivering body into motion. I threw my arm out and located the survival pack nestled safely to the right. Within seconds the Kukri returned to its proper home in my fist. My left hand found one of the small LED flashlights in the front pocket. A full body flash of pain was ignored to put me back on my feet. Panic overcame logical caution as I turned the light on. The light was blinding. This weak beam of light was brighter than the sun. Our eyes had lived for darkness long enough to make this light painfully foreign. I tried to see through eyelids choked into a squint. Anticipating attack, I swung to the east. The white beam illuminated about a hundred feet of empty paralleling tracks. Relieved, but still panicking, I flipped around to check over Phil on the western side. Again there was nothing in sight. Then it dawned on me. There are only two things on this bridge… and I am one of them. I flipped the light downwards to where Phil had been resting. He threw up his arm to shield himself from the blinding beam. Panning the flashlight down I saw that he sat up with one knee tucked to his chest. Phil’s other leg was stretched out with the pant leg rolled up. I could see the ovalshaped wound on his inflamed ankle. Blackened septicemic veins radiated from the opening. His skin was discolored and moist looking. I should have known this is what he had been fussing with all this time. Inside I think I did know - I just

didn’t want to be forced to act on it. “It’s not what it looks like!” He shouted and jumped to unsteady feet. Even in the low light I could see the dilated pupils. Sweat ran down his brow. Phil wiped his face with the shirt I gave him. When his arm rose to do this I saw more black lines spider webbing around exposed skin. Everything about this made my heart sink. Even from safety, this evil can reach me. “What do you think it looks like Phil?” I rhetorically shouted at the ailing friend. “You were bitten. You were bitten and now you’re infected! What did you think was going to happen?! Did you think you were immune and I’d never know?” He stammered and rubbed his head. “You don’t know that I’ll become one of them… once we get back to your house, maybe I can get patched up!” “You will NEVER get back to my house!” I hollered back at him. South of us the noise on the bridge increased. Our presence had been noticed by both the living and dead. Phil’s face was ripe with betrayal. He opened his mouth to speak and I cut him off. “I’m sorry this has happened to you… really, I am. But you can’t stay with me.” Tears rolled down his face. “No! You don’t know that! We should…” Again I cut him off. “WE will do nothing. There is NO we. If you come with me then you WILL turn. I won’t let you stop me from getting to my family.” Rage bubbled through Phil’s panic. “What the fuck am I going to do then? I won’t become one of them, I know it!” He took a step towards me. I responded by stepping backward over the railroad beam. Now, I stood in the area between the parallel tracks, in the center of the bridge. One hand had the flashlight focused on this new threat. My right hand unconsciously moved the Kukri to be level with the bottom of my ribs. It pointed outward in a defensive stance. Phil noticed this and looked offended. “What are you going

to do Nathan?! Are you going to kill me or something?” Inside I stuttered and trembled. Outside I was remarkably stern. “No Phil. I’m not going to kill you. Those fucking things already did that.” He shook his head like a child denying wrongdoing. “You can’t come with me.” Both his hands went up in protest. The light revealed black veins going strait to the fingertips of his left hand. My next words were some of the most unflinching I’d ever spoken. Sternly I said, “Walk – the – other - way… NOW.” His disposition changed completely. I had seen this many times over the years in mentally unstable subjects. The man I pulled from the river, the man I traveled with for what seems like forever, the man who saved my life – this man was no longer. A deranged and broken human being now stood before me. Phil looked at the tracks and shook his head. In an odd calm he said, “You think I killed her… you’ve never trusted me because you think I KILLED HER.” I was completely thrown off guard. What in God’s name was he saying? “Phil… I don’t… I don’t know what the fuck you are saying man. Just walk away!” This is madness. I felt like I needed to pinch myself to wake up from this nightmare, but the next moment made it clear that I’ll never emerge from this bad dream. Phil jumped at me. He threw his body towards me with both arms out like a bear hug. I’ll never know what this man, still as a living man, was trying to accomplish. The lunging advance came to an abrupt halt at the end of my blade. Still extended from my midsection at a ninety degree angle, the Kukri pierced Phil. He let out a startled gasp and just stood there. We both just stood there in shock. This weapon had kept me alive by eliminating the walking dead. I realized that it wasn’t my destiny to become a police officer, because the thought of taking a human life was too much. Now, when I looked down and saw the worn metal inserted into the body of another person. The blade

protruded from a point of oozing life. Horror of my actions began to set in. I yanked the Kukri free and in the white light saw several inches of it coated thickly in blood. “Jesus Phil! Why did you do that?!” I yelled at him. He took a step back and placed his trembling hands upon the wound. Flipping them over, we both saw that they were imbued with unctuous red. An odd calm overtook his face. He wobbled and stepped back once again. I had to finish this. “I’m so sorry,” my words were heavy and dreadful, “but now you won’t be like them…” The dripping blade rose over my head. In a second I was going to murder a man. He opened both eyes wide and stared directly at me. My heart sank further when I noticed one eye was already black. A demon was being born right before me. He stepped back again. The railroad beam caught him at his Achilles tendon and flipped him backward. Phil fell hard on the side of the tracks. The impact was so loud I felt my own breath knocked out. There wasn’t enough of the bridge to fully catch his fall. His head and most of his shoulders fell over the edge. A loud crack could be heard has Phil’s neck snapped back. Force from the fall somersaulted him backwards over the edge… and then he was gone. In the last second of seeing my friends legs disappear into the abyss I screamed out to him. “PHIL!” My cries were pointless. This man was dead long before I stabbed him. I collapsed to the tracks. It didn’t matter that he was already infected – I had just killed a man. The pounding of my heart drowned out the sound of Phil impacting the water below. Behind me the Powhite Bridge became abuzz with activity. I felt like running to the west and away from this evil place. No matter what my brain screamed at them my legs would not move. Loud splashes turned my head around. I could barely make out the shapes flipping over the guard rail. From what I could tell, some of the more interested reapers around the

bus obeyed their unflappable hunger. The ghouls walked towards the ruckus of my crimes and didn’t stop at the bridges end. They flipped over and joined the River Styx. Past them the darkness became dotted with frantic lights. The people in the bus must have noticed the diverted attention of their executioners. Desperation can make you believe salvation it possible anywhere. They waved every light source around. The bus was still heavily guarded by the undead. Those that remained pounded against the side more incensed than ever at the strobing lights within. Tears stormed from my tired eyes. I collapsed. My face was buried into the gravel. Every stinging pain collected into the agony of body and soul. We passed the threshold of too much days ago. What have I become? I am still so far from home. The only will to fight remains deep within the form of the three faces I love so dear, but how will I face them after this? I am a murderer… a monster. Now every moment I breathe will be that of continued life as a monster among monsters.

Chapter 20 Hell’s Eulogy 0430 hours: I awoke from a sleep that I didn’t even remember entering. The increased sounds from the Powhite Bridge continued for over an hour. Eventually they simmered down to the boisterous level of before, which ended a little while ago. First I heard the bending shriek of metal. It was followed by the shattering of glass. Then the hoard became uproarious. A combined moan joined the hammering against the bus. More glass shattering joined the chaos. Then the screams started. First they were muffled and I could barely hear them over the clatter of the zombies. My mind painted a vivid picture. There wasn’t any need to look. In fact, I couldn’t bring myself to peer past the steel rail. I put my hands over my ears to try and stop the sounds from reaching me. Nothing I did would save me. Nothing I did would save them. These people I’d never met or seen were being ripped from their coffin. A woman punctuated the scurrilous chorus by releasing her last breaths in a scream. Without seeing I knew she was being pulled from the bus. My imaginative vigil

showed me the cemented horror on her face as she was dispersed amongst the writhing congregation. The time I was subjected to the nefarious dissonance was grueling. I nestled my face into the rail road bridge. Gravel met me with coarse acceptance. The nagging pain from my wounds and this jagged pillow gave me something to focus on other than my hate for all that is now. 0545 hours: I wasn’t fortunate enough to find sleep again. Sorrow has an odd way of controlling time. It numbs you to the true passage of events, even without focusing on a single horrific event; I was overwhelmed to a point of temporal ambiguity. The only thing that snapped me out of this state of suspended animation was a lightening in the sky. Daylight approached. Sounds from the Powhite Bridge disappeared beneath the babbling rapids beneath me. I was so thankful to only listen to the James River instead of the death floating downstream. It took constant self reminders to not glance in the direction of the bus, even though I didn’t see what had taken place a couple hours ago, I knew enough to not want visual confirmation. Today is destined to be completely foreign. The only thing I have to be sure of is that by the end of the day I will be in the arms of my loved ones. I’ll follow the tracks until I reach Hull Street. If the R33PR viral epidemic is any indication, prayer is now a futile exercise. However, right now praying is all I can think to do. I clasped both hands together over my chest. However, beneath the repenting grip, pain reminded me of the cracked bones within. None of it mattered. The ache was ignored and I pleaded to God. Regardless of the abominable things I have done I was desperate for a chance at salvation. “Just delivery me

home, Lord.” I prayed aloud. “Judge me for what I have done later. Let me save my family now. Bring me home. Bring me home and then hold me accountable for the sins I have committed and likely will commit.” Dehydration allotted a small trickle of tears down my filthy, stubble-covered face. My throat was dry and my stomach growled. In this current state I won’t make it far. I found the last bottle of clean water towards the bottom of the survival pack. There was one left, but it was filled a lifetime ago with Lance at the Cary Street Field. Drinking this was to be a last resort. It was probably just fine, but after all that has happened I’ll be damned if drinking tainted city water is what gets me infected. I sipped the clean bottle hoping to retain every drop. The November morning air is cruelly brisk. Other than the supplies, my pack was stuffed with a few changes of clothes. By now I was wearing all of them. Only the few that became contaminated one way or another were exempt from this layering. My stomach ached. A bubbling groan competed with the pain killer-battered stomach lining. Breakfast seemed like a good idea. I slowly ate a Nutrigrain bar and a little bag of pretzels. Sustenance can be wonderfully humanizing. The nook I had been resting in began to feel comfortable. Although I told myself this is only because my ass is so numb from the cold. I thought it would have been the undead that interrupted this peacefully twisted morning campout, but it was the call of nature that disrupted my rest… A day worth of sweating and occasional vomiting just about made me forget that there are other ways to get rid of fluids. It had taken me so long to get to a state of comfort that I didn’t want to get up. My hand explored the bottom of the pack and emerged with an empty Gatorade bottle. Necessity made all motions frantic after all, when you’ve got to go - you’ve got to go. I filled the bottle and capped it quickly. A smirk formed

over my chapped lips. All the time I drove on the Powhite Bridge and looked over at these tracks I never once thought about peeing on it. The truth is that I’m disappointed to not be going over the side into the water. My smirk turned into a smile. Good to know fun can still be had after the world ends. I moved the bottle on top of the railroad tie next to my nook. All fun aside the whole thing was still gross. Then the survival instinct kicked in again. I’m sleeping several stories above a raging river in mid-November and there is a heated object sitting beside me. I sighed and grabbed the cylinder of urine. Lifting up a few layers, I tucked it securely by my chest. Immediate heat soothed the aching area. This is not a proud moment, but desperate times call for desperate measures. 0715 hours: According to the time, the sun came up a little while ago. Looking at the sky one would think it just started to turn into day. For the second day in a row I have been thrown off by the tainted post-apocalyptic sunrise. There is so much crap in the air I wonder if I’ll ever see a normal sky again. I started the pre-battle routine I used in the secure house on Franklin Street. My muscles were sore and tense. Hopefully the last two pain killers I downed a few minutes before will start to limber me up. What I really needed to do was to stand up and move around. The thought of doing this frightened me to no end. I had been lying down since what happened with Phil. Standing up would tempt me with looking either way over the bridge. One direction I’d have to see the unspeakable horror of the bus. In the other direction I might look down and see some remnants of the man I killed. A wave of nausea passed over me. Remnants of my crime remain on the murder weapon. The precious life saver that has served me so well in battling the undead still remained

caked in Phil’s blood. I used the tainted bottle of water to loosen the dried coating. It took several minutes of scrubbing with the same shirt turned infected-blood-cleaning-rag to see the silver shimmer. The shirt was a soiled clump of evidence; I threw it to the river. Then I rinsed my beloved Kukri off once more, before propping it against the rail to dry. There was more to do before I could leave here. Daylight’s returning quickly and I should be moving in minutes. The ‘chest warmer’ lost any appeal after twenty minutes of use. It cooled and returned to being gross. I tossed it aside to the gravel surrounding my miniature campsite and repacked my bag. All the layers I wore made the pack much more manageable. While shifting, my pant leg caught on a wooden splinter. The fabric pulled up slightly and revealed the layer of duct tape underneath. I ran my fingernails along the smooth contours of the area. After a second, I felt comforted by the bump of the plastic wrapped memory card. That night I recorded goodbye messages to everyone seems like another life. My skin tingled to the touch. I doubt the tape on my forehead or shin will come off easily when all this is done. This trek through hell will leave me with deep scars – both inside and out. I’d been moving around like a disabled jackass for a while now… it was time to stand up. I slowly got to my feet. Internally I felt death would come from looking to the north or south. In reality all that would be seen in those directions was death. Every stiff joint made sure to remind me of their objection to traveling. I worked my arms through the straps and felt confident in their security. The Kukri stayed in its right gripped home. Its scabbard hung close enough for me to stow the weapon in an emergency. I painfully stretched back and confirmed the crowbar was at the ready. Following the tracks, my eyes looked behind me without glancing to the side. The landscape was illuminated well

enough to see the end of the vacated bridge. In front of me I happily observed the same. Around the equivalent of a half block up the land embraced the tracks again. Gazing beyond the tree line I can see haze, but little else. It’s so odd to look in a direction and know that safety lies somewhere beyond it. There are no words that can express how badly I want to be under a roof and in my own bed, but as I stare at the misty bridge’s end I feel only egregious fear. I can only compare it to standing on the crossroads between levels of hell. To my front is horror that could prevent me from reaching the ones I love. Behind is an urban wasteland that will harbor no peace. I began my trek along the bridge. Walking inside the gravel blanketed area between the parallel rails eliminated any temptation to look over the side. I’ve never had a problem with heights; I just don’t care to see what’s beneath me. My morbid imaginative side is curious to look down at the water. However, seeing the James River from the banks cascading with death is an experience I’d like to forget. I doubt the view would be much better from above. It’s hard to believe that only twenty-four hours ago I was venturing out into this pandemonium with Brad and Lance. Since then I’ve been through things no one ever should. The gravity of having to watch Lance kill Brad is still blocked behind a protective mental wall. I just hope that I am safe the moment I feel the full weight of what happened on Franklin Street. If I were to allow myself to feel it all now, I doubt I’d make it home. My eyes have witnessed so, so much death. Death walks everywhere now. Not just in those that succumb to the Reaper Virus, but in me. Each step I take carries a shadow of death. The black blood of the undead and Phil’s troubled life will never be washed from my hands. I refuse to forget the faces of those I have turned my blade on. Those remorseful memories are the only things that separate me now from the reapers.

Thirty feet from land something caught my attention. I don’t know what it was, but it caused me to glance left over my shoulder in the direction of the city. There was too much haze in the air to see any outlines of the buildings. All I could see was the billowing plumes of smoke rising from the landscape. Inside I thought it was good to be walking away from Richmond. If those fires continue, I doubt the city will last much longer. I looked at the smoky columns and felt like I was at a wake for a friend. In the movies these times of reverence always get the characters to say something meaningful. “This is pointless.” I said aloud to myself. “What’s the point of a eulogy in hell?” Then something made me look down at the water. That familiar pit in my stomach returned with a vengeance. It was an abominable sight. Bodies traveled with the current like fallen autumn leaves. Each discolored corpse moved at the will of the rapids. They hit rocks, logs, the stone landings rising from the waves and each other. Some moved and others remained still human-shaped rafts. There was no regular interval at which they came. The ultimate horror came from trying to imagine how they ended up in the James to begin with. I wondered if I happened to look at a point when an unusual flood passed or if this was the normal amount. Once I recognized the splashing of zombies toppling the guard rail of the westerly Powhite Bridge my wondering lessened. I stared for a few minutes completely transfixed by the once human driftwood. Transfixed as I was, I didn’t dare look down to the area where Phil fell. No level of curiosity could tempt me with a chance sight of the man I killed. Fortunately, the river is so wide I would have to intentionally look in the area he landed to see it. So many happy memories came from this body of water. Why is it that those memories will be sullied by this last view? Now I’ll never think of the

James River as anything other than a flow of evil. Something closer pulled me away from my trance. There was a more distinct splashing sound that combined with a frustrated moan. I looked down and saw an infected male snagged on some debris. Unexpectedly, he saw me and started splashing around in frenzy. This one was fresher than the others. The creature was completely nude. Injury peppered his mottled skin. Its level of motion and awareness indicate that life left him recently. A rope was tangled around his arm. The current continued to carry him, but the rope would not release. This pushed him against the pile of debris and somehow secured him there permanently. He looked up and snarled a shattered smile. I knew I had to keep moving, but some part of this angered me. These infected creatures are so set in their desire to eat me that any details preventing the meal become a moot point. Even though he was a few stories down, naked, tangled and battered by the ungodly waves; this bastard is still trying to get to me. “Fuck off, you ugly shit!” I realized this was not my proudest moment, but I didn’t care. “You’re not going to eat me! You can’t even get out of there. Enjoy your Jacuzzi, you zombie asshole!” For whatever reason I had been carrying the Gatorade bottle mostly filled with my urine. I switched hands and impetuously threw the bottle as hard as I could. It careened off the ledge and splashed next to the anchored beast. If someone had asked me last Thursday what I’d be doing this Thursday, I doubt my answer would have been – ‘throwing a bottle of my pee off a train bridge at a naked zombie’. I nervously laughed aloud. This decaying life is no better than complete insanity. My feet kept crunching away past the reach of the river. I didn’t look behind at the distancing bridge. There’s no point in looking back any longer. The crimes and victims of Richmond are now part of

my past. Looking back will only be chancing my own fate. Sarah and the kids are the only fate I should be focusing on now. 0838 hours: The last hour or so of walking were the most frighteningly peaceful I’d experienced in a week. I did my best to ignore the sporadic sounds of chaos that made their way to me. Occasionally I’d hear gunshots. I would hear distant screams. Car alarms hinted at nearby paved deathtraps. But now I ignored them for the crunching sound of the gravel beneath my dirty black boots. In the post-apocalyptic world I’ve been shown that peace cannot last more than an hour. The ground suddenly shook. I froze and listened. My mind raced with possible causes for the tremor. There is only one time I felt anything like this and that was for an actual earthquake. Back in my aborted college years I made few attempts at studying. My final attempt was cut short when the ground shook from one of Richmond’s rare minor earthquakes. I saw this as an omen that my time would be better spent at the billiard table. Happy reminiscing aside, I stood petrified by what could be going on. Questions bombarded my confidence in a vain attempt to justify this development. Is it an undead horde so large that their stampede can shake the ground? Did God decide to wipe the Earth clean and start over? Did the Government activate some nuclear contingency plan attempting containment? Curse my imagination for making every attempt at unnerving me in this vulnerable place. Thirty seconds later I heard a shrieking, thunderous roar. It tremendously rang out from the northeast. My heart stopped at the unknown echoing sound. After a moment of frantic contemplation I realized what the roar came from… the city. The Dominion Building must have collapsed. It had

been burning for so long I can’t believe the tower still stood when I could see it. I’ve never heard a twenty-two story building come crashing down before, but I’m almost certain this caused the boom. Immediately I thought back to when the Twin Towers fell and how everything around them reaped the devastation. The Richmond I grew up in died a few days ago… what just happened only threw soil inside its open grave. I looked up on the tracks to try and get a bearing on where the hell I might be. Ahead I could make out a bridge going over the rails. If memory serves me correctly the overpass must be Forest Hill Avenue. Assuming this is correct, a little ways past it will be the crossing with Jahnke Road. On my commute to work I would pass this railroad crossing on the nights I had time to drive through the ghetto instead of taking the toll road. The crossing is very open and near some older ranch house neighborhoods. Being close to neighborhoods isn’t a big deal at all. In the hour I’ve been on the post-river tracks I’ve seen several houses peaking through the bordering tree line. Being close to them never worried me, because of the glorious fence line that has thus far made my walk a private one. I never looked closely at them. Part of me wanted to find other people that might be able to help me. Then the other side of me knows that I’m more likely to see suffering. This thought process gave the crippling depression inside me a boost. All my life I’ve sought to help people. Yesterday I did this and saved a life. That life is probably the main reason I’m alive to even contemplate this. By the end of the day I took the same life I had saved. I can try to rationalize this with the condemning evidence of his growing infection all I want… inside I still have to see the look in Phil’s eyes when I stabbed him. Thoughtful tangents have proven themselves to be a weakness I must eliminate. Focusing on the land ahead I tried to remember what

awaits me. The houses are not a concern. The true concern is the elementary school that is less than a block off the tracks. Schools are designed to be secure. Desperate people trying to escape ravenous undead jaws will go anywhere that appears secure. It is very likely that people in the area could have attempted to seek refuge there. I’ve witnessed first hand that barricaded people draw the attention of hungry infected. The railroad crossing is wide open. I won’t be able to enjoy the concealment the fenced in path has given me. If there is as much undead activity around the school as I suspect, then battle will be in my near future. My thinking break is all the rest I can afford. The walk has helped to limber up my traumatized body. An odd feeling of confidence washed over me. I furrowed my brow at the notion that I might actually be able to pull this off. Taking a much needed swig of water I released the Kukri from my grip. I flexed and wiggled my fingers around knowing that soon they would not be allowed to leave the weapon’s handle. I cautiously approached the cavernous overhang of the Forest Hill Bridge. It was pitch black inside. The only redeeming factor was seeing this darkness end past the four overhanging lanes. I removed my LED flashlight from my pack; the same place it had been since I killed Phil. Clicking it on, I crept up to the fringe. The unnatural white beam swept back and forth searching for hidden danger. I held my breath waiting to see if I’d have to engage in battle, before reaching the crossing. Confident the area was clear I exhaled and pressed on. It wasn’t until birthing back into the subdued daylight that my heart stopped palpitating. But it never fully returned to my typical hypertensive level. Anxiety rampantly wreaked havoc on my already battered person. After passing the bridge I could see a change up ahead. The rails continued, but the bordering trees gave way to a wider and wider berth. What is more trouble now is the

visible obstruction on the tracks. Every foot of progress I make paints a clearer picture. From here, all I can be certain of is that the tracks are blocked. It took only a few more minutes of hiking before I could make out the obstacle ahead. Not even a quarter mile up the area opens wide to the crossing with Jahnke Road. The small two lane road looks to be completely clogged. Cars are strewn in both directions. This wasn’t an unexpected development. Crossing a line of stalled vehicles is unnerving enough. What is more troublesome is that my view of the tracks beyond the crossing is totally obscured. I won’t know what is waiting for me until I’m actually there. Being a person who enjoys over preparation this is an ulcer invoking situation. The trees abandoned me as I approached the vehicular wall. I opted to abort my tactic of sticking to the center of the tracks and hug the fence. The last thing I wanted was to waltz up to the danger that is probably waiting in the open. My steps slowed. It reminded me of when I was walking through the alley at Headquarters to the parking deck. I hadn’t left the cover of the tree line when my stomach acid churned. Something was causing a ruckus on the other side of my cover. I peeked around the corner to the northeast. If memory serves me correctly I should be able to see the tiny traffic circle at the entrance to the elementary school. Under normal circumstances I would have seen it. Instead I saw a wall of undead crowded around the loop. I felt like a child being told Santa isn’t real. My heart sunk. “How am I going to get across without being seen?” I thought to myself while scratching at my bandaged head. It is impossible. I’ll have to make a run for it. There won’t be any room to use caution while crossing the traffic jam either. Whatever might be hiding on the other side will get to know my Kukri. After that I just have to run until they get me or I lose them. Nervous doesn’t quite cover the way I felt at this moment. I tried to steady my breath and prepare myself.

Running and I have never made good bedfellows. My body is already so battered that I don’t know how much exertion I’ll be capable of. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. Again I sought strength in seeing the ones I love. The Kukri moved in a circle as I loosened my wrist. “Now or never.” I grumbled through grinding teeth.

Chapter 21 Good Samaritans 1019 hours: I was seconds away from bolting out of my cover when something caught my eye. Amongst the outer layers of the eager horde was a figure moving in a noticeably human way. I stopped and stared in curious awe. A tall, lanky man in a navy hooded sweatshirt hobbled up to the crowd. He was carrying something big. I couldn’t tell what it was until he tripped slightly. This man was hauling a propane tank up to the zombies that surrounded the school. “What in God’s name is he doing?” I thought to myself. I wanted to run and help the man just as much as I wanted to run away. A flash of the blood oozing from Phil’s chest as I stabbed him washed over my thoughts. Good Samaritans be damned… I can’t risk dealing with other people in my current state. For now I’m stuck at this fence hugging the shadows knowing full well that the man near me is moments away from being torn to shreds. The dead noticed the meal approach. They collectively turned and began to converge on his position. He saw this and set the white barrel of explosive fuel down with a heavy

metallic thud. That was when I saw that it wasn’t any ordinary propane tank… Silver duct tape ran along the side of the metal cylinder to the top valve. Then I noticed that the duct tape was securing something to the tank to form an unknown contraption. I wondered if I was watching a bomber preparing for destruction. If the man doesn’t make a run for it soon then he’ll end up being a suicide bomber. I froze. My head quickly glanced around in search of something to shield myself if an explosion comes. The man took a knee. I could see his hands shaking from my hiding place. He was fiddling with the rigging that topped the device. Then I heard music. Not just music, but Metallica! There was a speaker dock with an Mp3 player taped to the highest point of the white canister. Music blared. Moans from the collected undead were now drowned out by the chords of electric guitar. He turned and ran. Some of the reapers had already begun to flank him. The man pulled out a pistol and fired at the lead attackers. Two were hit in the head and fell. Another in an outfit fit for a club took a round to the shoulder and was knocked off her feet. I watched the entire scene play out to the tune of ‘Master of Puppets’. “This can’t be real.” I whispered to myself. Nearby the sound of a stray round hitting the fence reminded me that this is very real. Then the method to this stranger’s madness became clear. The crowd surrounding the school flocked to the device. It didn’t matter to the creatures that this wasn’t a moving person they heard. All they knew was that something blared out the call of prey. In seconds the propane tank became covered by the agitated predators. “NOW!!” The suicide bomber screamed, still fending off the outer waves. A flicker of flame shot my eyes away from the musical diversion. Two other men ran from beyond my view. One

was holding an amber colored glass bottle with a flaming rag jutting from its top. He hurtled the flaming Molotov cocktail at the excited horde. I shielded my face at the burst of light. Beyond me the group of thirty was engulfed in flames. In such a horrid scene logic dictates that these human forms should be reacting to being set on fire, but they didn’t. Some seemed irritated at the distraction from their interest. The rest just kept moving excitedly about as they had before, only completely consumed by fire. Any of the diversion had already become inaudible above the ungodly chorus of the dead. The fire bomber ran right back to where he came from after unleashing his attack. Now the second man’s weapon of choice was visible – a twelve gauge shotgun. The shooter dove prone and began firing the weapon. Booming blasts echoed along the tree line and filled my ears with highpitched ringing. I covered my ears and realized what was going on. The man was clearly trying to pierce the propane tank! My eyes went wide knowing what was about to unfold. Some of the infected directly in the path of the blasts were cut down with lethal effectiveness. The searing munitions blew apart the weakened undead flesh and sent the front row to the ground. Everything was happening so fast I almost didn’t duck down. Then the man hit his target. A concussive wave knocked me from my feet and onto the gravel below. Sheer luck had me look down the moment of the blast. If I hadn’t then I question how well I’d be able to see right now. The explosive shriek of tearing metal was the last thing I heard. My already traumatized ears were drowned in a head throbbing ring. Fire was peppered everywhere. Some of the traffic jammed cars had caught on fire too. A few feet ahead there was a charred leg, tennis shoe still attached, which teetered against the rail from its meteoric impact. Standing up I was

awestruck at what surrounded the area. Fallout from this attack could be seen anywhere I looked. Now is the time I had to move. The area crossing was thrown into such disarray that I’d never get a better opportunity to slip through unnoticed. Adrenaline again fueled my trek towards survival. I didn’t have time to think or plan. Despite the deafness that still afflicted me I had to act and so once again I ran. Through the smoke of smoldering corpses I couldn’t see the men that wrought this hell upon the zombies. The cars were now feet away. I made the mistake then of looking over towards the devastation and that’s when I saw the sprawled figure of the shooter. Shrapnel from the tank had cleaved his head in two. Burns consumed his back and arms all the way to the shotgun still fused in his outstretched grip. The first car I came to had a torso jutting out of the windshield. It was a hunk of ravaged flesh that stuck out of the glass like a tree limb after an accident. I averted my gaze and focused on the matter at hand. It took some careful sidestepping, but within seconds I cleared the traffic jam of corpses and cars. A blazing figure lunged at me from behind a tree that faced the school and very much like the ghoul; this tree had become largely engulfed in the cleansing fire. The demon did not behave like it was minutes away from ash; all it wanted was to devour me. I gave the Kukri a roundhouse swing. No part of me wanted to get closer to a zombie, let alone a flaming zombie, so the blade hit the beast’s forehead and decimated all in its path. This attack was more devastating than others I had performed. I wondered if maybe the fire weakened the infected flesh to make it more susceptible. I jumped over a few more pieces of smoking debris. The fence welcomed me back into its protected borders. Trees sheltered me to the south and the school continued past the chain link wall to the north. Smoke and exertion burned my lungs. I slowed my pace and looked back at the crossing. A

considerable gap in the horde had formed. Suddenly this all began to make sense. Still catching my breath I shifted my glance to the school. Inside I saw the people staring back at me and the fires outside. This wasn’t just an attack – it was a rescue mission. Then elevated headlights cut through the smoke. I ducked to the tree line as the pickup truck ran over flaming obstacles and reached the school. Human figures raced in the wake of the truck. Every person I saw was armed with anything from rifles to a pickaxe. The men who made the kamikaze attack were clearing the way for rescue. Knowing this now, I hope the shooter was the only casualty. With so much evil in the new world it is refreshing to know that human compassion is still possible. Looking away from the mission being executed at the school I knew I should join them and help. It didn’t matter how many people were trapped in the building or who they were. All that mattered now was that they are still people. Ringing permeated my hearing. I moved a hand to massage my battered ears. It returned with a light amount of crimson red coating. “Wonderful,” I thought. “Now my damn eardrum is probably ruptured.” I wiped my hand across a filthy pant leg and noticed that up the tracks people were fighting off undead that had been drawn by the commotion. “I need to help them,” raced through my mind. The doors to the school were likely opened now. People began to pile into the truck bed and even more undead wobbled in and joined the battle to close the gap formed by the explosion. A stray bullet splintered into a tree a few feet from my hiding place. I looked at my hand. It was still stained with my own blood. Memories spurred by this sight flashed over my consciousness. Inside I saw myself on the bridge. I could feel the frigid air biting at the tears streaming down my cheeks. The blood wiped on my jacket belonged to the friend I had just murdered.

Hearing started to return to the equation. I returned to reality with gunshots clattering all around. A man screamed, “GO! GO! GO! Watch out for the one behind you!” I looked at the Kukri, unmoved from my grip. It was polluted with flecks of charred flesh and the muck of infected gore. Turning away I saw the barren railroad tracks that led to my family. Air properly inflated my lungs again. Adrenaline still ran so thick that my tortured body enjoyed a mild reprieve from the pain. I glanced back at the rescue mission. If the people didn’t abort their efforts soon all would be lost. Several of the defending gunmen were now using their weapons as clubs to stave off the eager ghouls. Shame filled my soul knowing what I must do… “I’m sorry.” I said under my breath. Once again my boot crunched against the gravel and carried me down the tracks. The school and the crossing grew distant. Soon they joined the featureless landscape of the infinite railway. The moment I was confident I’d put enough distance between myself and the battle, I sat to refuel. My hands clasped together and I prayed once again. “We had a deal, God.” My words were directed at the nothingness of the cloudy sky. “Judge me after I save the ones I’m meant to save.” 1211 hours: Hatred divides my body and brain right now. Brazen determination drives my mind. That is the only factor that has kept me standing. Every cell in my person supports surrender. I’m honestly afraid that if I were to stop I would be unable to start again. Preventing my thoughts from becoming preoccupied with injury takes more effort than the actual walk. It’s been a long hour since last seeing the school. I don’t know if the rescue party ever succeeded in their mission. Of

course I hope they did. I’ll never know if my turning back and helping would have helped anything. These people were risking everything to save other people. I suppose that has to mean they were ‘good.’ While I stood in the shadows watching their valiant efforts I felt tortured with mistrust. Visions of Phil’s desperate betrayal permeated my reasoning. This blended with my homebound aspirations and forced me to turn the other way. I’m growing concerned with how forcefully stoical I’ve become. In the last day I’ve done such deplorable things. My selfish actions are worthy of criminal acclaim. Yet inside I feel no remorse. This obsession with getting home has blocked everything else. Since leaving the crossing at Jahnke Road I haven’t had to deal with any undead. The fence along the tracks has been my saving grace. Many times I saw them standing at the wall. Each of the sickening figures just watched me pass while clattering against the chain link barrier. Most snapped their jaws at nothing. Whenever I would waltz past the closest ones would get invigorated with hunger. Each stupidly tried to walk through the fence letting out a frustrated array of sounds. My tolerance level for seeing the infected has worn dangerously thin. Forty-eight hours ago I crumbled being close to them. Before, I saw those who’d succumbed to the Reaper Virus as victims. Now I’m so tired I feel more hatred than fear. It should be that anything moving with a human shape conveys a certain level of respect. But after seeing so many deranged, deformed and ghoulish looking people I feel little for them. One point I was surrounded by a pleasantly wooded area of the tracks. Glancing at the scenic trackside I suspected calm might be achievable for the first time in hours. I took some of the tainted water and cleaned off my beloved weapon. This unpopulated area gave me some leeway with carrying it. The blade would rest in its scabbard until danger

became more prevalent. Suddenly having both hands free made me think of snacking. I found my last power bar and enjoyed some lunch. My provisions are running low. If I can’t find some supplies or a faster way to travel then I’ll be in worse shape. Consumed calories and a lack of infected enabled me to feel surprisingly good. That was until I saw a lone zombie wedged between thick holly bushes and the fence. It saw me and jostled around like he was being tickled. The bastard didn’t care that it was stuck – it only wanted to get me. I slowed my walk and shook my head in disgust. He tried to make the biting motion reapers had become so notorious for, but couldn’t close his jaw completely. Instead, it rubbed up against the wire netting so much that I could see bone where his chin would be. I stopped and pondered the beast. Something compelled me to take a few steps closer. He grew wild with my new proximity. The zombie’s hair was shaven into a sloppy Mohawk. Beady onyx eyes glared through frames of metal squares. While this creature had a pulse he’d had a ratty looking goatee. Thanks to the fence this has been worn to the bone along with the rest of his chin. Anything above the chin served as a sponge for untold types of gore. He didn’t wear a jacket, but instead sported a soiled long-sleeved white polo shirt. Embroidered on the shirt pocket in bold yellow lettering was the name - ‘MARCEL’ - and beneath it - ‘Cubit Mini Storage’ - in a smaller font beneath it. Days ago I would have pitied the poor man for getting trapped at work just as I had. Now I just imagined him in life and concluded I wouldn’t have liked the guy. I went to walk away when Marcel got offended by my disinterest. He let out a frustrated gurgle and spewed a slick of noxious tar from his mouth. It spurted through the chain and painted the gravel bordering the fence. This disgusting flood now made his sanded facial features indiscernible. I could barely see the

careful embroidering on the uniform someone once bestowed upon this pathetic employee. My knees creaked and I knelt down. I felt around the gravel and selected a few larger specimens. Marcel cocked his head and chomped wetly. One by one I threw the stones at the zombie. Most rocks hit the fence or his body. This accomplished nothing other than making me feel a slightly better. Almost like my pelting this undead man with rocks would scare off all of his brethren I’d inevitably encounter today. Marcel’s reaction to the stoning could barely be considered a reaction at all. He just kept writhing around; chomping at a meal that might as well be miles away. Logic returned to my thought process after the seventh piece of gravel. I knew I’d wasted time with this sadistic therapy. “I would tell you to rot in Hell if we weren’t already there, Marcel.” I said aloud to the beast. Hearing me make a sound, he thrashed about. The lubrication from his putrid vomit aided his range of movement. My fist clenched around the cool last stone. It reminded me of the piece of coal Phil used to catch the rope on the bridge column. A deep sigh filled my chest causing needles of pain. “Phil, you’re never going to leave my conscience alone, are you?” Several feet beyond me, the reaper acted like I was teasing him. In reality I was. He cocked his head to the other side and a moan gurgled through his jaws. “Fuck you Marcel! Who the fuck has a douche bag name like that anyway?” I threw the last rock much harder. It missed the chain and caught Marcel directly in his left eye. His head jerked backward from the impact. For a moment he was still and I wondered if I’d scored a one in a million kill shot. My wonder ceased once his neck flipped back and I saw the rock protruding from his eye socket. Gelatinous muck seeped from where his eye had been a second earlier. The sight disgusted me. Marcel only let this deter him for a second. After his composure was regained he went right back to

hunger. I’d had enough ‘therapy’. It was time to keep traveling down the tracks. The clattering of Marcel quickly faded behind the crunching beneath my boots. Distance is a hard thing to judge in landscape that is so similar. My pace quickened to make up for the time I had wasted on torture. Ever since I started on this railed passageway I’ve tried to keep my eyes on the goal ahead. The few times I deviated from this have had bad results. Of course, the most notable is when I rescued Phil. Aside from that I haven’t encountered many nice things. Marcel and his oozing repugnance is no exception to this trend. In my peripheral vision I’ll see houses breaking the tree line. I have to put effort in dashing my hopes for seeing pleasant households. Quarter of a mile down a tapping sound stopped my walk. I could barely hear it above the pattering of the grinding pebbles. My body froze and my breathing reduced to a pathetically battered wheeze. No tapping could be heard. “Am I losing it?” ran through my mind. The undead world has succeeded in battering my wits enough to make background noise poke holes in precious sanity. Then I heard it again: tap – tap – taptap – tap. Immediately my brain filled in the finalizing ‘tap tap’. This was the melody behind every lame ‘secret knock’ for kids’ clubhouses around the country. Now I was convinced I’d lost what remained of my mind. Searching for some kind of sane confirmation I looked around the fence on both sides. There was a house with a window protruding from the barren trees. Something in the window caught my eye… Malnutrition, exhaustion and suppressed pain have a way of distorting your vision at times. I squinted to compile the blurred fringes into something recognizable. The source of this secret knock quickly saved me the effort. In that top window there was a small shape of a person waving excitedly. After taking a few steps closer I saw a little girl hoisted up on

the opposite side of the glass. She brandished a tiny hand clad in the sleeve of a puffy pink coat. Her blond hair bounced wildly with each excited wave. Still not convinced this was real I stepped closer. The little girl knew she’d gotten my attention and smiled so wide I could clearly see it. She put her little hand in a fist to make the secret knock again. I smiled. Calise would have done something just like this. Even the mere thought of my daughter right now floods my thoughts with mixed sorrow. Tap – tap – taptap – tap… I shifted so that my hands would connect to a side not obscured by my person. Just moving in a way that was outside of the marching routine I’d developed creaked pain from places I’d almost forgot were injured. With a faked pseudo-clapping action I replied: Clap – clap. She bounced up and down with her little pink arms flailing around. I waved. My smile was now genuine. It is amazing to see innocence on this wretched journey. The little girl waved back until a larger figure yanked her out of view. This froze my wave and I stared fearing something horrible. An adult figure was now in the window. A woman with tied back hair stared down at me with a blank look. Hoping for the best I resumed my wave. The woman shook her head with scolding disapproval. She exaggerated a point in my direction. I pointed at my chest questioning her motives. Her head nodded even more like I’d finally gotten the message. She then pointed down the tracks very forcefully. A startled surge hit my gut. This woman had to be warning me that danger was coming! I drew my weapon and flipped around. The gash on my forehead stung when my makeshift bandage moistened with nervous sweat. That voice of doubt scolded me inside, “How could I let my guard down like that?” Then nothing was there. The tracks were just as empty as they’d been since the battle by the school. I looked back at the window and saw it

empty. “Did I imagine all that?” I thought again. After a few seconds of wonder I grew very sad at what actually transpired. There was no way I could have hallucinated the little girl and the knock. That woman, the girl’s mother perhaps, just wanted me to leave. To her I was just an outside threat. Honestly I don’t blame her, because I probably would have done the same. The tracks were clear ahead. I returned the Kukri to its scabbard and kept walking. "Maybe I should just let go of what's left." The words found their way out of my thoughts to the loneliness around me. "This would be easier if I was too far gone inside to care." I shook my head at the defeatist rambling. "I am ready to give up on myself and on this fucking place." This mindless walking turned into a self debate on suicide. "But I'll never be ready to give up on them..."

Chapter 22 Boundaries While marching another quarter mile up the tracks I felt fairly sure that I’d be coming up on Midlothian Turnpike soon. For the life of me I can’t remember if the tracks cross this road or go under them. A few minutes later I could see the dauntingly shaded overpass formed by the major road. My shoulders slumped down. “At least I don’t have to cross between any cars…” I thought aloud. Midlothian Turnpike is a big street. The tracks will be passing in between some heavily populated areas. Nearby there should be clusters of retail and housing. My anxiety level is on par with how I felt before crossing the river. All the overpasses thus far have been vacant. Going under them I haven’t even been able to tell what, if anything, waited on top, but even from a distance I can tell that this bridge isn’t empty. Its silhouette has the uneven contours of a city skyline. Poor lighting from the thickly polluted clouds aids the moderate haze still clinging to the landscape. Once again circumstance will prevent me from properly preparing for what ever is ahead. Not minutes later the dreaded realization of an unknown obstruction came to light. Something was on the tracks that

I’d be unable to avoid. After another minute of hesitant walking I saw the unmistakable shape of an overturned car set askew over the southern rail line. My blood pressure thumped higher when several prone human shapes became visible around the beached vehicle. This was bound to be another one of those ‘what now’ situations and if my experiences over the last few days have taught me anything it’s not to think that jinxing question. I tried to assess the scene as logically as possible on my approach. Logic doesn’t mean much these days, but it’s a habit I refuse to break. From what I can see there are three to four bodies around the car. It is too early to tell if they are fully dead. If not then I’ll have to take them out or run around them. There is plenty of room to maneuver around the mess, but having to run will make it so I can’t properly check the darkness beneath the bridge. After another minute I was able to see the disruption in the stone wall the car caused. I have no idea how a car could have plowed through something that solid, but it had to have been one hell of crash. Seeing the accordion front of the now smaller sport utility vehicle completed this thought. In the corner of my eye I thought I saw movement. I shot my glance to the damaged bridge above the wreck only to see nothing there. In my gut I could feel this was going to be bad. The self preserving voice inside me screamed to run the other way, but I had to push on because there was nothing left behind me. My grip had already found a home on the Kukri’s handle. The paranoid startle on the bridge had prompted me to yank it free with a comforting metallic clink. This personally soothing sound had a different reaction from the corpses on the ground. Two of them jerked awake like the ground had suddenly become electrified. The closest one moved its arms in push-up form, inching its ragged mass above the gravel. Just past it another was obscured slightly by the car. Its head

wasn’t visible, but its newly twitching legs were. Thank goodness the other two carcasses hadn’t changed. I slowed my approach to a heel-toe creep. Both eyes remained locked on the waking dead. As I got closer I saw how little of a threat they actually were. The push-up zombie’s back was oddly twisted, so I’m guessing it fell from the overpass and shattered its spine. No matter how strong its will to hunt may be it probably can’t do anything more than a burdened crawl. I doubt the plight of his female companion will be known until I pass them; although her lack of progress in doing anything more than convulsing gives me an idea of her threat level. Every muscle in my body is stiff with worthy hatred. I stretched my arms around anticipating rapid movement in the next few minutes. After a moment of consideration I decided to continue on the straight path down the middle of the tracks. This will take me right past the partial barrier. You can call it over-confidence in my zombie killing skills, but I’m pretty sure I’d be able to handle the crippled monsters. Inside my thoughts screamed for me to run past them. The only reason I didn’t heed to their desires was that I wanted to save energy, just in case. I moved at a moderate gait. Each horizontal creature heard the volume increase in my steps. Push-up zombie could do little but flop around like a suffocating fish. He shifted enough to get both hands on the middle rail of the northernmost track. Behind him trailed the deflated remains of what once made up legs. It was difficult not to focus on the spectacle he made. Not being mindful of all the bodies could be disastrous. There were so many things I had to see at once: the uncertain bridge above, the motionless dead, the twitching female infected, which was still partly hidden and the unknown horrors in the shadows past the wreck. But ignoring all of that, I could not break the tunnel vision I’d formed on this broken upwardly arched demon. He saw me

with widened black eyes. His unholy jaw snapped wildly in crooked fervor. Seeing a meal running up got him so excited that his load-bearing arm shot out towards me. The push-up zombie stumbled to the steel rail. I could hear some of his teeth crack apart even louder than my steps and anxious breath. I moved my blade to a perpendicular angle. Inside I saw myself speeding by and letting the Kukri hit with the pass. The reaper regained composure quickly and was lurching towards me when I came into range. Silver flashed and I executed my swing. The impact rocked through my arm with shared agony. His skull put up a good fight to no avail. A wince scrunched my determined grin. Push-up zombie was moved a few inches down by the force and I caught a short glimpse of his head drooped over, spilling its payload like a jar of jelly that had a hole chipped out of the base. There wasn’t any time to confirm my kill as this course brought me to the second reaper. I was going to run by, but decided to stop and see if she could pursue. My eyes followed her twitching legs alongside the overturned car. Just past the bumper I noticed why she could only convulse on the ground. One arm was missing at the elbow. The other arm looked to be twisted beneath her corpse. However, I could look into her face even though she lay stomach down. This departed soul’s chin was bent to touch her vertebrae and gravel embedded one side of her skin enough to give the appearance of scales. Nausea swept over me. These people had sustained so much body trauma and yet the virus kept them animated. Their heads remained mostly intact though. I assume this was the reason for their crippled un-death. Desiring some evidence of this I scanned over the other bodies. Both had enough damage done to their heads to make features unrecognizable. Something grabbed my attention to the southern tree line,

behind me. I painfully swiveled around. The tar painted branches directed my eyes and I noticed that above the fence, a torso was stuck like a S’more-readied marshmallow. Before this I had been so focused on the push-up zombie that I’d missed her completely. Studying the situation, I saw how a splintered branch formed a skewer that pierced the woman at the breastbone. Viscera dangled down from where her waist and legs should have been. The soiled white Gore-Tex jacket didn’t help sway my imagination from seeing her has a speared marshmallow. She faced away at an angle that suggested her flight began from the downed car at bridge level. S’more zombie’s face angled away enough to spare me the added horror, but the noise from me taking out her friend must have alerted her to my presence, because her arms and neck wiggled about excitedly. I’d past the range of ‘too much’ days ago. There was no need for me to spend another minute here. I turned to leave when an impact just about sent me into cardiac arrest. Another infected man had fallen down from the hole in the bridge. He didn’t move at first, so I assumed I’d be able to clear him, before the Reaper Virus brought him back to awareness. I gave the impact area some room and started to jog. That’s when another fell where I’d been standing not a moment before. My jog turned into a run. Another creature was drawn over the edge with enough speed to angle it right in front of me. The near miss filled me with equal parts rage and fright. I jumped backward and teetered on unstable footing. This new leaper had hit the gravel path face down. He immediately flipped on his back and started flailing about like a beheaded serpent. Again, I saw more of the gray gravel than skin. Dark mucilaginous fluid drooled from his shattered orifices as he lusted after me. This shining example of undead determination angered me so much that I returned to a run and introduced my rugged boot to his face. His already

broken face imploded like a papier-mâché piñata. Only my sprinting momentum prevented the boot from getting stuck in the leaper zombie’s skull. What little banked energy I had was used for flight. I didn’t want to be anywhere close to this awful place. As I ran I heard other infected toppling from the bridge. Some fell through the opening while others made it over the stone wall on the other side. Nothing could have turned me back there. To me it didn’t matter how many were on top of the bridge or how many decided to hit the tracks. My pulse pounded and my body throbbed. I ignored it all just to get as far away as possible. Echoing sounds like a makeshift bass drum thumped behind me from the bodies plummeting to the ground 1249 hours: I lost sight of everything, which was not directly in front of me. Every horror I was subjected to at the Midlothian Turnpike overpass blurred anything, but the steps ahead. The burning in my lungs suddenly became dwarfed by the stabbing pains in my ribs. I took a quick look to ensure that no infected were within lunging range, before my legs gave way and I came to a skid on both knees. Immediate pain from both the impact and the jagged stones just blended with whole-body misery. At this rate I’m not going to make it home. I saw this as God taking his vengeance early. My vision was clouded and any remaining strength was utilized to keep me from passing out. A shaky hand dropped the Kukri and opened my pack. I guzzled what little clean water was left a few precious seconds later. Pain leeching from my forehead duct tape bandage became unusually noticeable. Now the Reaper Virus has some competition in stopping me by means of infection. Minute by minute I tried to steady my breath and clear

my sight. I arched my neck upward vainly seeking the clarity of blue skies. Of course nothing but dreary clouds looked back at me. Since sprinting from the bridge all I could here was the pounding of my own heart. The thrumming sound of my pulse gradually began to subside. Then I heard something that couldn’t possibly be. I focused on a distant buzz that sounded like an airplane. “It can’t be...” I whispered to myself. Not factoring in the mitigating circumstances of the apocalypse; the President grounded all planes days ago. Both eyes jumped around the aerial landscape hoping for confirmation. Then I saw it! A single engine plane punched through a towering blackened cloud. It was only visible for a second before another cloud swallowed it greedily up. I shot to my feet. The sight of a human piloted craft made me not give a damn about the crippling pain that only desired attention from the ground. Knowing that someone, a pilot of all things, was still out there, above this hell gives me hope. Suddenly I felt revived. Spotting the plane took my mind off of the dwindling supplies and energy. Now I felt like Sarah and the kids were closer than ever. Behind me I could still see the shapes from Midlothian Turnpike. Some of those shapes were closer than others. I was being pursued by a handful of infected that survived the plunge from the overpass. They still had a ways to go before reaching me though, but no matter how badly I’d like to lie here forever, I plan to be long gone before they arrive. I turned my attention back up the tracks. In the intensity that followed the horrors of Midlothian Turnpike I hadn’t really looked beyond the steps ahead. Finally regaining some clarity and motivation from the skies I refocused my sight. My eyes grew wide with the sight of another overpass a quarter of a mile in front of me. It had to be the crossing with Hull Street! Finally my goal was in view. Now all I have to do is follow it and I’ll be home. But things were ever that easy I’d be home by now.

It has been years since I’ve been over this crossing. I come within a mile of this almost every day, but never venture past the western interstate. During my trek over the rails I’d imagined that the intersection with Hull Street would be open and accessible. However, the menacing bridge ahead tells me that my memory was flawed and that I somehow have to get off the tracks and onto the road. After everything I saw at the last crossing I don’t know whether or not climbing is an option. Back on my feet I progressed at a snails pace. Every step was heavy with contemplation. I felt so close, but at the same time infinitely far. This feeling didn’t get any better when I became aware of the shapes and movement on the bridge ahead. I looked around desperately for other options. Late fall gave the trees a desolate winter allure. It is all oddly suitable for the post-apocalyptic wasteland I now call home. Tactically this aids in being able to see danger through the boney trees. Similarly, though, it also makes it so that I can be seen. I just have to accept that safety is just as dead as everything else. This line of thinking can’t help me, but it is so hard to escape and it made me feel a sense of vulnerability that could be remedied by my stowed blade. The handle was still warm from my grip minutes ago. I tried to yank it free from the scabbard and it gave unusual resistance. The delay prompted me to look down at the hole it ripped through my jacket the last time when I frantically re-sheathed it. Strips of the nylon and polyester blend police jacket tethered my Kukri to the side. “Damned jacket!” I cursed under my breath. It took a light twist with the sharpened end and a yank to free the tool. Having the weapon free I tried to assess the damaged I’d done to my coat. The sideways leer gave way to a revelation to my right. Through the barren trees I saw the back of a house. I took a few steps towards the fence line and looked intently. Past the house was an obvious cul-de-sac. Where there is a

cul-de-sac there’s got to be a neighborhood. I can only hope that any neighborhoods bordering this closely to Hull Street would have an outlet to it. The fence is high, but I think I can manage it. It’s either I defy gravity and haul myself up another vertical obstacle or deal with the darkly demonic corridor ahead. My ribs radiated hatred for the climb as I scaled the fence. Fortunately this time the wall was chain link instead of coarse brick. The length of the fence rattled and rang as I toppled over. Leaves cushioned my way down just enough to silence the impact, thankfully, but internally there was nothing silent. My stomach growled and everything capable of feeling pain desired recognition. The wave of energy from hitting the ground reverberated through my injuries like a strobe light. Compared to the gravel I’d spent the last day on the leaves felt great. There weren’t any trees where I landed, but beyond it lay a wall of naked intertwined thicket. The Kukri treated each forested limb like that of the undead. Some branches sliced and some splintered, but not all gave way. I vaulted through with my vision locked on the grass, which was visible past the woods. This lack of caution brought scraping bark around previously tender areas and a thin pine branch grazed my forehead. Tears induced by throes of the infected gash clogged my nictitating eyes. An agonizing second later I breached the tree line. I stumbled to the ground and was greeted by dry grass. It was wonderful to not feel gravel beneath me. The clearing was a tiny peninsula shaped opening that I imagined looked like an arrowhead from above. My target was the structure nestled under a spindly maple tree, which was opposite to the maple where another bare maple standing guard over a larger building. Approaching an unfamiliar house makes me uneasy. I’ve been spared from blind corners and potential hiding spots for most of day. There was a sky-blue late Nineties Chevy sedan

sitting at the apex of the buildings’ angled position. I tiptoed around the car that only showed damage from years of abandonment. The structure looks like a garage or workshop. From my point of view it’s as appealing as a toy store. Something in there must be useful. Something else caught my eye then. Before I couldn’t see it because of the angle of my approach, but now a familiar headlight and bumper peaked past the house. The obscuring structure had to be the residence. I stepped up a little farther to confirm my suspicions. My dry lips quickly formed a smile thanks to the sight of a black unmarked Police cruiser.

Chapter 23 Cache 1317 hours: I forced myself to keep a cautious pace even though on the inside I wanted to prance up to the Crown Victoria like I’d won the lottery. I inched to the corner of the house and peaked around it. There weren’t any standing figures around, but other concerns were prevalent. The driver’s side door was wide open. My body hunched to a lower profile. Reaching the far bumper enabled me to look upon the side by the door. I saw five bodies total. Three were piled over one another by the gas cap. Number four had its face to the ground a foot further away. The last lay face down in the opposite direction, but still close to the others. All of the corpses had the stereotypically, ragged appearance of reapers. Patches of Richmond typical soil spotted the brittle grass. The clearing was like a calico mix of clay-filled dirt and color drained lawn. At the moment I happened to be standing on one of the orange tinged clay regions. I bent down and grabbed a few clumps. The ambient cooled globs crumbled slightly in my nervous grip. I’d imagined tossing the clay at the corpses. Each would startle from their prone dormancy

and attack me. It would all be another battle in my siege against the undead, but when I threw the disintegrating chunks at the bodies they did nothing. Just to be sure I threw a couple more. All corpses remained lifeless. My mind raced through hundreds of possible outcomes. If the dead did get a rise out of my pelting I’d be able to take them on without surprises. Approaching them in their current state gives me flashbacks to the killing field on Cherry Street. When I got around the other driver’s side of the bumper and towards the opened door things became clearer. There were shell casings all over the place. Crimson-black blood of the infected inked the ground, but it was the stain of human-shaded life that bothered me. It trailed from the open door, past the fallen zombies and toward the rear yard belonging to the neighboring property. I traced the drag marks as far as my eyes would allow and never saw a body of origin. One of the corpses was right in front of me now. I jabbed it with the Kukri. It was like poking a rock. These demons were slain days ago. Thanks to the opened door I got a look into the back seat. Barred windows of the cage car made it difficult to see everything, but I saw the treasure trove inside. I sidestepped over the pooled gore crushing spent shell casings into the soil. My knee found the felt-covered seat and I pressed against the glass divider. The excitement once again made me forget about my head injury. Pain surged from hitting the glass, but I paid it no attention. It couldn’t even dampen my spirits from seeing the dark duffle bags in the protected seats. Two large bags with the glorious white letters spelling in bold: POLICE. The officer that lived here must have tried to get to his car when he was attacked, because everything was packed and ready for him, but the dead took his chance away. My eyes darted around the front compartment hoping to find a way in. I’ll never get to those bags if I can’t find the keys. The

wide leather duty belt on the front seat was hard to miss. It shined back at me like a glossy ring from heaven. All its belt keepers were there: handcuffs, latex gloves, O.C. Pepper spray, a radio cradle, an empty gun holster and finally… KEYS! I eagerly grabbed the belt and removed the keys. The spare vehicle key stuck out from most of the rest. Jumping out of the front seat, I kicked a corpse to the side for better access. My hands shook with exhausted excitement. It took a few tries, but soon I had the key turned and the door open. I climbed into the cage compartment to tear through my prize. The first and most precious item I came across was an unopened bottle of spring water. Thirst prevented me from saving a single drop. The bag was stuffed with personal items and clothing. Every shirt looked too small. Their former owner was probably in much better shape than I, but at the bottom of the bag was the most wondrous find of all… a gun. It was silver with black grips and centered in the grip was the spherical logo of Taurus. The five inch barrel had ‘PT 1911’ etched into the seamlessly smooth finish and when I ejected the magazine and found it stocked fully with nine, nine millimeter rounds… well what a glorious find this was! My Kukri has become an extension of my own body, but it is limited. Having a weapon of last resort like this may be my ticket home. I went through the second bag a bit slower. It felt like I was a kid on Christmas morning that didn’t save the big present for last. Inside were two more bottles of water. I opened my survival pack and replaced the empty bottles with these. Under another layer of pants was a six pack of peanut butter sandwich crackers. One of the packs was devoured without a second thought. The rest went into my bag. Then as I thought things couldn’t get any better I found the hidden treasure. Beneath everything were three spare magazines for the Taurus. Each had been packed to the limit with nine

rounds. First the airplane and now a gun, maybe I will get home. The resurgence of my confidence level filled me with hope so strong I can almost feel the embrace of Sarah and the kids. Before long I emerged with my find and went back to the front seat. I sat with the utility belt and pondered what I should take. It would have been nice to just wear the damn thing, but its former owner was seriously thinner than me. The holster was the kind that could clip snuggly over the belt line. With gentle caution I placed the Taurus 1911 in the perfectly molded cradle. Both the handcuffs and the gloves would come with me too. Having gloves made sense; I’d be able to use them for minor warmth or to deal with the infected and although I have no plans for cuffing anyone I cannot rule out all possibilities for their use. The flashlight was missing from its holster and O.C. pepper spray won’t do a thing to zombies. Feeling pretty satisfied with my prizes I left the shelter of the car. I stood inside the cover of the door jam. All three extra magazines and the handcuff case were nestled securely, yet accessibly in the front pocket of my pack. I split the pair of latex gloves to have one in each pocket. This seemed smarter in the event one of my arms is indisposed. That left me with the keys. I fiddled through them taking a moment to examine each. Holding the vehicle key I dreamt of how nice it would be to drive home. In a car I could be home in twenty minutes. Then logic voiced over my exhaustion again. “What if there are more road blocks?” I grumbled aloud to myself. “Every undead around would hear me in a car.” I muttered with frustration after coming to grips with what remained of my journey home. I rubbed the base of the car key with my thumb. I’m so, so tired, yet I know I’ve got to walk. That’s the only way they won’t hear me coming. Aloud I said, “If only I had a bike…” My eyes went wide and excitement flooded over despair. On

the key ring I saw a smaller golden key forged with the words ‘MASTERLOCK’. My sight shot over to the adjacent shed. Hanging from the rusted latch was a padlock. Now I turned optimistic, “Jesus Christ almighty I hope this dude had a bike too.” Out of habit I went to slam the door closed. When it was inches from shutting and broadcasting my presence to the area I shot out a hand and caught it. The painful pinch given to my hand served as a reminder to not get too comfortable or excited. I shifted the keys to my left hand so that I could flex my throbbing fingertips. When I swapped their place some shifted on the loop. Then something else captured my interest. It was a tiny key. Only an inch long and shaped like the letter ‘L’ it had been hidden by the other full sized keys. An eyebrow rose curiously, but disturbing my permanent scowl sent a pinch out from the duct tape bandage. The revelation of my treasures trove’s worth nearly caused me to scream with joy. I set the holstered pistol on top of the cruiser and hopped over a corpse. Now, standing at the trunk, my hands shook anxiously. I fumbled getting the door key into the trunk’s lock. Then it opened and I smiled down at the long plastic ballistic lockbox. “How could I have forgotten about the shotgun?” I scolded myself giddily. A second later I had used the little key and threw open the box. The black brush-finished twelvegauge Remington was as glorious a sight as Excalibur itself. I carefully removed the short-barrel pistol-gripped shotgun from the safety of its foam padded case. The loading port revealed a full compliment of shells behind the pump action fore-end. Ensuring the safety was on, I nestled it along side the crowbar of comparable length in my pack. Lastly was the nylon Velcro pouch with some extra ammo that secured nicely to one of the shoulder straps. If this had been a full length twelve-gauge like the one I have at home, then the arrangement wouldn’t have worked.

When I went back to the side of the cruiser in order to retrieve the Taurus I caught a glimpse of my reflection. The figure that looked back at me looked everything, but confident. He was filthy, looked like he hadn’t slept in a year and was treated with field dressings worthy of a second-hand costume. Most absurdly was how the frazzled reflection looked like Rambo after being called back to combat after thirty years on a desk job. I chuckled at myself. If you can’t laugh at yourself after the end of days then you’re probably already undead. This lottery of goods provided a direly needed replenishment of confidence, but no level of self-confidence or weaponry can change the several hours of walking left. The Crown Victoria is the epitome of temptation. It would allow me theoretically quick passage through the county’s worth of undead between here and home. My brain played devil’s advocate with the possibilities. Recognition of this caused me to laugh and banter the thought process, “Funny how the real devil, in a walk through hell, is my damn brain.” The rambling of a mad man aside, I know that the car could create more problems than solutions. I’d become so caught up in excitement that I forgot to check the area. I instinctively pulled out the Kukri and swung around anticipating an attack. Nothing was around me, but there was movement nearby. Through the thicket of trees I could see silhouettes shambling on the train tracks. The overpass hopping group had caught up to where I’d stopped. Thankfully most are still following the rails. I have enough concealment here that I doubt they can see me. Guns have an odd way of making a person forget that safety is fleeting. I returned my attention to the more pressing issue of the padlocked shed. Using all necessary caution I stepped over the two bodies between me and the other structure. By now I’d become so accustomed to seeing infected corpses that the action of tiptoeing over them hardly affected me. However,

the sight of the gore trail leading away from the cruiser did bother me. It bothered me, because I know it belonged to a man who was a police officer. This man also made his dying act, that of preparation and ultimately perishing, the action that saves my ass. The shed door looked weathered with age. Solid double planks of wood composed the barn-styled doors. By design there should be two decorative planks crisscrossing each side. One of these planks was missing entirely, leaving a clear void where the paint was protected from the elements. The other was still in place, but shoddily secured with mismatched screws. Regardless of the dilapidated appearance I still found hope in the shiny new latch sporting the padlock. If there wasn’t anything of value inside, why would this man and his Constable level attention to insecurities put a new locking mechanism on it? For the third time in the last half hour I’m put in the ‘kid on Christmas’ position. Eagerness nearly overcame caution to throw open the door, but that little logical voice in the back of my maddened head kept me level headed. Using the key I retrieved from the utility belt I opened the padlock but didn’t allow it to leave the latch. I found the trusty LED flashlight and already had the Kukri out. Right before throwing open the door I imagined there being a dozen undead inside at the ready. I could see them, each with widened black eyes lunging from the darkness at the new meal standing in an illuminated daylight frame. These imaginative rants my mind keeps indulging in on this journey have become frustrating. However, imagination can be a nuisance during the zombie apocalypse as much as it can serve to breed caution. I used my elbow to nudge the door a few times. Age prevented the opening from perfect closure long ago. The entryway rattled from my prodding. I jumped back expecting the pounding of fists from the other side. My heart raced thinking I’d just awakened a sleeping gang of evil. I froze and

listened for anything coming from inside. In the distance I heard more sporadic gunfire. Honestly, I couldn’t tell if this was a new development or not. I’ve been so focused on what’s directly in front of me that background noises have been mostly ignored. “At least there are still people out there.” I thought. “Or the reapers have figured out how to use guns.” This prompted a short chuckle. Being able to joke with myself about the situation must mean I’d waited long enough. Carefully I pulled the padlock off its loop and dropped it to the grass. I gradually opened the door. The loud creaking of rusty hinges unsettled any localized silence. Using my beaming torch I swept the small space and confirmed it wasn’t occupied. The divine intervention I’d sought quickly showed itself in the form of two twenty-six inch wheels, a metal frame, padded seat and rubber gripped handlebars. Seeing the mountain bike filled me with so much joy I could have cried. The black Cannondale bicycle was identical to one many of our officers’ use when on bike duty. It’s a solid ride with a wire rack over the back tire for equipment. Aside from some signs of love in the form of mud on the frame, the bike was perfect. I’d be able to store my pack and save my aching vertebrae further stress. This was an absolute godsend. I stopped my drooling to check out what else was in here. There was a little lantern on the shelf behind a lawn mower. After checking to see if it worked, I clicked off my LED light and enjoyed the free arm. There was work to be done, before I could hit the road. Using a rusty nail on the back of the door I’d opened I pulled it to a close. I wasn’t safe here, but at least I was hidden. It should give me enough of a chance to prep for the uncertainty ahead. The shelter of this shed is warmer than the outside air. Aside from the second I sat in the Crown Victoria I’ve been exposed to the elements for over a day now. I enjoyed not

being outside for once. My new finds have left me feeling confident. Not just confident – but wonderful. Being closer to home while having both weapons and wheels can make any lone traveler battle ready. I’m willing to push aside the unending agony I’ve been experiencing. I smiled knowing in a few hours I should be with my reasons for still living. 1440 hours: I took my time getting things ready, which was in part due to both anxiety and caution. The road ahead is largely unfamiliar and although I’ve come through the area in a car many times before I’ve never made the journey on bike. Today I have been lucky to encounter the undead as little as I did. Granted any contact with a zombie is unlucky, but the land I’ve crossed has been mostly sheltered thanks to the already secure railroad tracks. I feel better facing whatever is next atop two wheels. There were five bungee cords in the shed. Two of them were frayed and unusable, so I used the three leftover to tightly tie my survival pack to the bike’s wire storage shelf. I felt a hundred pounds lighter once it was off. The Remington had to be included in the straps but there just wasn’t any way I’d be able to make it accessible. Hopefully the weapons I can have at arms reach will be enough to defend me. I’m strongly right handed, so whatever my primary weapon is will obviously be in my right hand. This caused an internal debate about where I’d place my weapons for travel. Having the Taurus is dangerously tempting. It would be so easy to ride along, guns blazing. Realistically speaking though, I probably wouldn’t hit a damn thing and I’d be ringing the dinner bell for every infected person around. The Kukri has earned my loving respect. I’ll keep that as my primary weapon. I foresaw a problem removing it from the scabbard while

on the bike. To combat this, I removed my jacket for the first time since Franklin Street. It was so incredibly dirty. Blood stains, both black and red in nature, spotted it throughout. I shuddered knowing that the blood donors could only be me, Phil and my undead victims. There was a larger one near the patch above my heart. This blood probably belonged to Phil. It was darker, but still quite human in origin. I’m guessing it got there hours after I stabbed him. I had tucked the blade under my left armpit while gathering my things. Now, a stain will be worn on my chest in honor of the man whose life I’d taken. After some duct taping and slapdash rigging I found my accessibility solution. I used what remained of the duct tape to secure the Kukri, scabbard and all, directly to my back. Once I had slipped the jacket back on I was successfully able to reach over my shoulder and grab the blade’s handle. Every tendon and muscle in my arm resisted the necessary movement. All discomfort aside the rigging allowed for better movement on the bike. I can’t even fathom what I look like to others right now. Considering my appearance made me laugh. I probably look like some kind of duct tape ninja or deranged and gun-toting homeless man. Lucky for me the zombies just see me as a meal. I clipped the pistol to my belt line. My left arm should be able to grab it with a painful stretch. In the event I need to use it I doubt I’ll be worried about the uncomfortable reaching. The shed also yielded another fortunate find. Beneath a corded circular saw was an old pair of cotton work gloves. Ever since fleeing Headquarters I’ve had my hands exposed. The only times they were covered was when I put them in my pockets so that they could regain feeling. With all that I have done since then I’m lucky I haven’t contracted the R33PR Virus through some secondary contact. Everything was set and I felt eager to go. I took a second to stretch my legs. This journey has crippled me with the

dexterity of an old man and although the bending exercises hurt, I knew that they are needed. I snacked on some of the salvaged peanut butter crackers and sipped water. If my suspicions are correct about the areas I’ll be going through then I won’t have a chance to take a break. In fact, after I disembark, the next time I rest will be either in my bed or in death. Frankly, my body loathes existence so strongly right now that I physically prefer the latter option. I poked my head out of the shed to check the area. There was one lone figure shuffling along by the end of the cul-desac. It faced away from me moving, in an aimless stumble. I kept my eye on it as I pulled out the bike. Out of respect for the former owner of the property I closed the padlock and secured the shed. After stealing the guy’s toys it just didn’t seem right to leave his storage area wide open. Before I knew it I was on the move again. Passing the house belonging to the bike’s owner, I imagined what goodies could be inside. It probably would have been smart to look for more supplies, but I was growing antsy from staying in the same place. I rode past and mentally acknowledged the house belonging to a man that saved my life. If safety ever returns to the world I’ll come back here and pay him some proper respect.

Chapter 24 Chariot 1505 hours: The street sign on the corner says I’m on Arizona Court and by taking a left on Arizona Drive I will hopefully end up on Hull Street, past the connection with the rail road tracks. The shambling sentry at the end of the cul-de-sac hovered near the street’s center, so I watched the distance between us stealthily lessen and knew it would be best to give him as much of a wide berth as possible. I was probably a car length from him when the tread ran over a flattened aluminum can. This thing had been run over so many times by God knows how many cars that it contoured to the road perfectly. My attention was split between the burning of my body rejecting this exercise and of course to the zombie standing in my way. A crinkle rang out and I cringed. The sentry heard it too and swung his stance around to face the teasing sound. My eyes went wide and I started to reach for the Kukri. He swiveled so eagerly that momentum carried him completely off an already unsteady balance. Pavement met his rotting visage launching the knit hat he wore across my path. The

dive towards me broadcasted a wet crackling sound. I almost fell off the bike just to avoid making contact. An undead arm flopped in front of me like a speed bump. There wasn’t any time to swerve so I charged over it. The arm’s owner made no sounds to indicate he even noticed injury. I looked down and saw three fingers on the hand wiggle excitedly while my tire crushed his attached arm. The thumb and pointer finger were missing entirely. I pedaled intensely to get away. Panic has again earned its place as a motivator. Sweat ran down my brow. I hadn’t exerted myself much yet, but nerves were getting the best of me. Somehow I thought the sentry zombie might be in pursuit, but when I turned on the seat just enough to look back, I noticed that he was right where I’d left him with his head looking up from the pavement. Tar drooled out of his shattered nose. The pool of infected muck already reached as far as the tire-shredded strip on his outstretched arm. “I’ll be long gone by the time he gets up.” I thought to myself. As I turned to focus on the street ahead I spotted another sign I’d missed. Posted cattycorner to the Arizona Court/Drive street sign was a diamond shaped cautionary ‘DEAD END’ warning. “Irony sucks ass.” I said dryly to myself. Trees bordered the street to the left of me. I tried to see what was on the other side of the trees, but couldn’t. They probably fill the area between the tracks and Hull Street. To the right were more quaint ranch houses. One yard had a hollowed out corpse strewn across a painted backdrop of burgundy. Another had all its windows broken and front door splintered open. The next house down was completely immaculate. Four yellow bagged copies of the Sunday Richmond Times Dispatch sat undisturbed at the driveways end. Under normal circumstances I may have taken time to observe the neighborhood and all its details, but instead my

eyes were locked ahead. I could see the road’s right angle a couple of houses up. The axis of this bend was formed by a grass embankment topped off with a traffic clogged street. This road angled down from the slope of a bridge. Cars covered the incline, but no movement could be seen. “That’s got to be Hull Street,” ran through my thoughts. All this time I assumed I’d feel elation at the sight of my target street. Now I’m troubled knowing it won’t be as simple as turning onto Hull. Hopefully the bend will lead to a better entrance to my path home. I scoured the traffic jam for threats. There was definitely something in the area making noise, but I couldn’t see it. Behind me though, I heard a bang. I swung around and saw an old woman emerging from a faded red car port. She had puffy gray hair that was matted at the front from blood. Her jaw hung open unnaturally wide. Inside the vile grin was a swollen black tongue lapping up and down like an excited geriatric dog. The woman saw me and flailed her droopy arms. When her right arm dropped it banged against the hood of the golden Buick that was mostly covered by the awning. My heart stopped. I knew what had to be coming now. The Buick’s lights flashed and its horn blared. “You bitch!” I yelled back at the old zombie. She had moved past the car and was snared on the mini white picket fence bordering her driveway. Her soiled green nightgown caught a fence post. She flailed towards me like the rabid animal she’d become. For a minute there I thought the gown was tearing off. I know the only thing worse than a zombie grandma is a naked zombie grandma. The nauseating ruckus behind me didn’t matter anyway. I’ve got a much larger problem brewing ahead. Dead were already flooding in from the bridge. I saw them pushing past the cars coming from the incline. To make matters worse was that they certainly saw me too. The beckoning car alarm and indecent grandma pulled the hungry

attention of every infected beast my way. My only chance would be to pedal like hell towards the horde. The leaders of the pack tumbled down the embankment. Loss of balance prevented them from immediately regaining their footing. The far corner had a concrete stairwell for pedestrians to reach the road. A boney looking woman in a fur coat and nothing else hit the drop of the stairs full speed. Her forehead clipped the metal railing and flipped her around to the steps. When I pulled my momentary focus away from the fur coat zombie her neck was snapped so far to the side that vertebrae protruded. The fur coat bunched around her shoulders as the rest of her bare mangled body twitched violently like fresh road kill. I couldn’t afford to dwell on individual horrors. My legs pumped with adrenaline and burned with lactic acid. I shifted my weight to the right and adjusted the handlebars. At full speed I took the turn expecting to be tossed off and offered to the reapers that were somersaulting down the hill. Fortune favored the desperate this time though. I forced out my held breath and pushed on. Ahead the paralleling turn kept going. I wanted nothing more than to turn onto Hull Street and just keep going, but it wasn’t an option. The embankment reduced enough that I could have skipped over to the road but a number of cars in the traffic jam prevented it. My only hope is to find a better inlet after the road levels. There are a few infected on the side street, but no cars. I would just have to speed up as much as possible and dodge them long enough to put some distance from the group. Over my shoulder I spotted many of the new horde that had gotten to their feet. They’d joined others that stayed on Hull Street, but pursued me none the less. Stopping to count would mean offering myself so I could only estimate that at least fifty were trotting after this new meal on wheels that I’d

become. Panic ensued and pushed me faster. I swerved around one in front of me that lunged. He missed and fell to the ground. Another mimicked his undead brother’s motion, but remained standing, albeit in a wobble. I flew past a couple others and came up on a line of small trees in the median between the streets. There had to be a way onto Hull Street soon that wouldn’t cause me to wreck. The incline has decreased and this side street is almost level with the car-filled neighbor. I looked past the tractor trailer length swath of trees and saw my path. After the trees there is a red brick column then a handful of metal posts joined by a single knee high chain. Where the chain ends there is an area worn to dirt from people passing over it. It was smooth and the bike won’t crash going over it. I knew this was my ticket to a straight line home. Riding through it would be easy if it wasn’t for the infected woman standing in my way. Action had to take place over caution and I knew it. I went at her full steam. Letting up on the pedals for a second to keep balance I released my right hand from its whiteknuckle grip. I stretched back and let the silicone dots on my glove find the handle of the Kukri. Holding it tightly I returned my arm to the handlebars pushing down from my wrist for stability. The woman wore a gray pea coat that buttoned around down to her thighs. It’s odd how clean the coat looked compared to the mangled thing that should be her face. By the time she knew living flesh was hurtling towards her she didn’t have time to act. I held on to the handlebars with my left hand so tight it felt like the metal would bend under my fingers. The Kukri raised and swung out to the front. It caught her ear level. Force from the impact practically threw me from the bike. The recoil I experience was nothing compared to the zombie though. My fateful blade entered by her left ear and decimated every cell in its

wake. Her head jerked towards the road and collapsed in on itself thanks to a jaw that no longer supported the skull. In mentally induced slow motion I could see every detail of her cheek shattering like clay. Dirty steel sliced through taking flesh, bone and teeth with it. Little more than skin and muscle separated my attack with a full on decapitation. The creature fell in the direction of my swing like a foul ball. I wheeled past equally affected by vindictive physics associated with the attack. Instead of rejoicing from being on Hull Street I fought to keep from flying off the bike. My course collided with a black Lincoln Navigator at a slight angle. I side swiped it scraping along until the side view mirror hit me in the chest. It hyper extended out and rained broken glass on the pavement. Of course the car alarm went off the moment I hit. My vision flashed white from the surge of pain. Sharp pangs radiated from within my chest, before the hit there wasn’t much breath to be found inside my lungs anyway, but now everything was forced out. The polished sport utility vehicle screeched its theft deterring siren. This wailing was acknowledged in my mind, but not fully heard thanks to the partial deafness I’d suffered. Even if I did have full hearing my pounding pulse consumed already every decibel. I couldn’t move or breathe. Everything around me was glowing white. My body screamed as I forced a look behind me. The dead were closing - so many thrashed towards me that I couldn’t count. Their eager masses flourished to over a hundred strong. If I didn’t move now I’d be on the receiving end of a hurricane. My ass returned to the bike seat. Numbness pulsed through every inch of me. I only knew I’d succeeded in sitting, because I didn’t fall down. While my left arm braced against the wailing car I hoisted my right boot to the pedal. A few of the zombies past the point I’d entered the road rushed in head-on. In my peripheral vision I saw the shapes coming,

arms out and eager fingers dancing. Death is cascading around me like a halo. A force, one I can only describe as being outside of myself, moved my other boot in place. I was still using the Navigator to hold me up when the first of them reached. He was a teenager in a windbreaker, shorts and no shoes. As he lunged towards me I extended a fist. I hit him with strength I somehow possessed and under my balled knuckles I felt the zombie’s noise driven into his sinus cavity. I’d already traveled several feet by the time he hit the ground. Full body numbness triggered some kind of auto pilot in me. The only thoughts running through my brain were to pedal and pedal fast. I’d swerve every other minute to avoid an attacker then go right back to pedaling. My surroundings didn’t matter so long as I kept going. I really have no idea who or what I passed. All I knew was that the congregation behind me grew more and more distant. The fierce pain that came from my hitting the car gradually faded into the generalized agony I’d already been feeling. I pushed it back inside where it waited to overcome me like a sleeping giant. Now all there was to do was ride this bike home. This two-wheeled chariot is delivering me where I need to be. If I can maintain a decent pace I should be home in an hour and a half.

Chapter 25 Helpful Hints 1520 hours: The world ended a couple days ago. When reality shatters and the dead rise, it is difficult to establish true timeframes. I’ve been awake fleeing for most of the time after hell and Earth joined. The unavoidable dread of the future is that there is none to speak of. Hope is all that distinguishes past, present, and future. The latter two temporal generalizations lack this luxury enjoyed only by the past. I drift in and out of my thoughts. One moment I’m lost in contemplation. The next I’m longing to be lost again, so that I don’t have to think about what is happening to my body. Pain and exhaustion are shared states of being. My legs can’t decide whether or not they hurt or are near muscle failure. All I can do is pedal. My determination in getting home goes beyond hope. I know it is something that I must do. What I have to stop myself from dwelling on is thinking about after I get home. Existing up until now has been only to see the ones I love, but if I make it that far what will I do then? This selfish drive has made me forget that after I get home I’ll need to keep my

family safe. I’ve spent two days traveling a distance that normally takes me twenty-five minutes. If things have gone to hell that much then, how am I going to get four people to a safe place across the damn state? Maybe the dead are the lucky ones after all… at least they don’t have to worry about what’s next. Shapes of cars and people pass. I keep my eyes on the immediate road ahead. Looking around could have some strategic use. It might allow me to spot a place to rest or a source of supplies. Hell, if I were to pay attention I might even spot someone who is still human that can help me. All this aside, I keep my vision fixed to the front, because I know that home is up the street and nothing will stop me from getting there. The zombies begin to look the same after a while as I’m passing by creatures that in life were young and old. Some of them look perfectly normal, but reveal their plight by choosing the company of other reapers. Every now and then one would stick out in my peripheral vision though. I came close to becoming fixated on this one woman by the pricing marquee for a gas station. The digital sign was dark with ‘NO GAS- DON’T BOTHER’ spray painted in white across it. Underneath the infected woman was knelt down gnawing on something. To her side was an undead child. I knew this sight wouldn’t benefit me at all and shot my glance back to the front. I wanted to stop so badly, but there isn’t a block of road around here that isn’t by something dangerous. If I stop then I’d have company in seconds. All these gas stations, repair shops, markets, and shoddy looking stores make the landscape quite different from the railroad tracks. Some places showed obvious signs of looting. Other locations shined brightly to all looking for supplies. I should have stopped and looked for anything to help me, but internally I know that any delay could keep me out past sunset. There are a few hours left of daylight and I’d like to be home long

before they expire. Frankly, if I stopped I wasn’t completely sure I’d be able to start again. Sound was my best indicator for what was around me. My hearing is still considerably dampened from the effects of being near the rail crossing explosion, but gunshots in the area would cut through the muted chorus belonging to the locals. Some things were noisy enough that even the deaf might hear. The racket that comes from a hundred pounding upon the store front of a Food Lion is unimaginable. If the dead are that motivated in getting inside a place it has to mean that there are living on the other side of those walls. When I pass a few members of the horde inevitably noticed me. They would turn from their writhing brethren to chase me. Any pursuit was futile since I’d be a block away, before they made it twenty feet though and the clatter of their friends always turned them back around. It’s discouraging to see so many zombies gathered around people. I’ll never know how many people were in these places. I pray whatever heavenly power above us won’t forsake them completely. However, thoughts like these make me think of the people I left behind. Given my recent actions it would be fitting if the hopeful prisoners in Police Headquarters make it through but I don’t. Finally ahead I saw something familiar. The overpass for Chippenham Parkway comes into view. On my normal commute home I come off of Chippenham onto Hull Street. At least the remainder of my journey will be in familiar territory once again. There is a shopping center right before the Parkway, which concerns me. It has a few larger stores that could mean more infected. I dodged a car sitting askew in the middle of the lane. It was kind of junkie and had one of those suspension lowering kits installed. The passenger side door was open and the driver side window had been rolled down. Passing around front I saw twitching legs protruding from the undercarriage

of the vehicular homage to Frankenstein. A red streak outlined where the right foot had been scraping repetitively. Friction cleaved the creature’s heal through shoe down to bone. It spent its entire trapped existence just vainly rubbing its foot up and down. The humane thing to do would have been to stop and put a bullet through its head, but I don’t have time to do humane things anymore… Already I could see a gathering of undead around the hardware store in the shopping center. I picked up the speed and zoomed towards the darkness of the overpass. The hardware store is probably like zombie-killing-toy central. If I had this thought then other people likely did as well. This would explain why so many infected are around the double glass doors leading into the tool store. I birthed through the other side of the overpass. Familiar ground surrounded me again and I remembered that this familiar ground also had lots of changes in elevation. Biking up hills sounds absolutely horrifying. At least I have down hills to look forward to as well. If there is anything fortunate about the circumstances behind this apocalypse, it would be the timing. Doing all these things in the November air is what makes them manageable. If this had happened in the summer I’d have already died from dehydration. More shopping centers pass. I saw these places every night before the end. My nightly drive to avoid the tolls of Powhite Parkway brought me through here. I paid them little mind then. Before I just wanted to make it through the lights and get to work. I’d try not to think about crimes I knew occurred in the area. Paranoia attempted to delay my making it to Chippenham nightly. Fortunately, the traffic light cycles were predictable. If I left the house in a certain window I had a better chance of not hitting every damn red light and not giving those paranoid fears a chance to surface. Life was routine and insignificant back then, but that was when I had no idea how lucky I actually was.

An Asian zombie was waiting for me next to an abandoned minivan. Half his face was covered in circular bite wounds. One eye was missing and his rib cage peaked from behind a torn pair of medical scrubs. The half of his outfit, which wasn’t stained in crimson, had teddy bears printed all over it. He lunged seconds after I passed. The attack missed by inches, but skimmed my back wheel. The scrub reaper’s putrid chest knocked the bike tread and then tumbled to the street. I fought to stabilize the handlebars after his impact rocked the frame and even before I was sure I’d succeeded in stabilizing I was frantically pedaling away. Scrub zombie’s failed attack made me extra paranoid. Both sides of the street were in competition for who could have the least inviting looking shopping center. I ignored them in the same way I’d done before the end. Inside I felt like I was back in my car at a red light. That naïve sense of ‘if you don’t look at the sketchy car or building then you’ll be just fine’ always hit me at those moments. Riding past the festering retail centers I embrace that former exercise and avert my eyes. I knew there were hungry creatures watching me. Scrutinizing every inch of these places won’t change the inaccessibility that undead can bring to even the most appealing of supply centers. A little ways up the street and the buildings thin out a bit. I coasted on a moderate downhill past a YMCA and an elementary school. Both of these places would be suitable for hiding out so I expected there to be more zombies. Much to my surprise the large structures had few trespassers roaming their grounds. This was good to see. “At least they can’t be everywhere at once.” I grumbled to myself. The thinning of attackers seemed like a good enough excuse for grabbing a drink. I reached back wincing to my secured pack and after a moment of cautious rifling I found a bottle of water. I kept every sip in my mouth as long as possible. Each one felt so wonderfully refreshing I didn’t

want to swallow. The road was much quieter than previous stretches, so I welcomed the breaks from noise, thirst and of course, infected obstacles. Half of the bottle had been consumed before I knew it was time to save the rest. “One last sip can’t hurt” I thought while tipping my head back for a final indulgence. A loud knock rang out from my left. It startled me enough to send the water down the wrong pipe and the bottle out of my grip. “Sh..i.t!” I cursed through choking words. The bottle and its precious clean water tumbled to the pavement. It bounced inward and was crushed beneath the Cannondale’s rear tire. I didn’t have time to mourn the loss of water, because three more loud knocks were heard. Fearing attack I glared searching for the source. Memories of running through the sniper’s killing field on Cherry Street came up. I was passing the outer fields of the school. The only nearby building was an old fire station. My attention was drawn to something moving in a second floor window. There was a human shape waving around. The figure was dressed in a navy tee shirt and long pants; just the way a fireman would while not suited up. I was about to dismiss it as another reaper when I realized something wasn’t right about his movement. This waving creature moved too normal to be a creature at all. I squinted and tried to force some clarity in my sight. The person had stopped, but still held up a hand. A moment later I realized what I was seeing – the man was giving me a ‘thumbs up.’ “What the hell?” I stuttered. The fireman noticed that he had gained my attention and followed his thumbs up with a more casual wave. All I could think to do was wave back. He showed his thumb once more so I did the same. The entire thing was so odd all I could do was smile. Then he held up a finger like he wanted me to wait. He ducked out of view and I passed over the median into the other lane. I wanted to go closer, but the few infected that wandered the school fields

had noticed me. I watched the roamers hobble excitedly towards me. Their current speed will have them on me in a few minutes. I looked back at the fireman and saw he’d placed some kind of poster against the glass. My head cocked to the side and I tried to figure out what this survivor was trying to tell me. The poster was a shape like a head and shoulders. Then it hit me… it’s an outline of an upper body. Across the head was painted a big red ‘X’. The poster dropped and the firefighter reappeared. He pointed at his head and gave me another thumb’s up. The man was trying to make sure I knew how to fight the undead! I waved and nodded my head eagerly in response. My window from attack had closed and four ghouls were coming up on me. I pedaled away watching the friend I didn’t even know waving in the distance. Knowing there is another kind civil servant out there gave me a much needed boost in morale. I’d also need to translate that boost into speed, because the largest hill yet is before me. I pedaled fast to try and build up some speed I’d need to topple this mound of road.

Chapter 26

Whispers from Home 1541 hours: I was completely out of breath not even half way up the hill. The road plateaus for a few car lengths then continues its incline. This torture ends at the top with a big intersection and then a gloriously long downhill. Thinking about flying down the other side has me salivating like a grilled cheese is waiting at the bottom on a platter. There is another shopping center on each side of the coming intersection. Fortunate for me they both are farther offset from the road. I’m confident that I should be able to speed through the area without any problems. Home is so close I’m getting giddy. A thought popped into my mind then… the walkie! I’ve got to be in range by now. The abrupt change in thinking caused me to squeeze the breaks. The tires skidded a few feet with the rear one coming inches off the ground. Luck alone kept me from getting thrown off. I hopped off and side-wheeled the bike towards a truck sitting on the shoulder. A few feet from it laid a corpse, which I desperately hoped was actually dead. I propped the Cannondale against the truck’s side. My eagerness has made

me reckless. The bike wasn’t stable and it shifted against the side of the vehicle. It made a sound equivalent to me just punching the damn thing. The face down corpse jerked her body into motion. “I don’t have time for this shit!” I yelled at the woman and her widening black eyes. She started to push herself up. Black tar drooled from the creature’s mouth as she attempted to stand. Abandoning my efforts to retrieve the two-way radio, I found where the crowbar poked out of my pack. It slid out of the horizontal resting place and into by my angry grip. I ran to the prone drooling beast as she angled her head to see me coming. Oily gore oozed from her snapping jaws and both soulless eyes went wide. Not only am I so close to home, but for the first time in days I was about to talk to Sarah. Rage dominated my motive. Anger seethed from the battered creature I had become. I swung the mini-crowbar like a golf club. The ‘L’ shaped curve became the face of my club and this former human’s head became the golf ball. She eagerly moved towards my flesh as the hook closed upon her head. It punched into her skull with the limited resistance of a stick poked into mud. The steel pierced right about her ear stopping at the perpendicular curve. I’m not sure what I had expected to happen then. Who’s to say what is normal when you’re impaling someone’s skull with a tool I bought at Home Depot? My ire-induced swing took hold of the woman’s skull and kept going. Before I could reconsider the severity of the attack I watched in horror as her neck angled and snapped all together. The firm grip I had held released half a second later when I realized what I’d done. Like a bowling pin tossed into the air my crowbar circled at an irregular arc. It didn’t get far thanks to the head that had been attached to one side, but dirty hair trailed behind until it cracked against the road’s shoulder. The woman’s decapitated body fell motionless while spilling

gelatinous muck from its neck. Normally I’d be scolding myself through fits of vomiting for committing such a monstrous act. Instead I left the crowbar where it fell and ran back to the propped up bike. Thanks to the new void left from where the steel rod had just been I was able to find the walkie talkie quickly. I held my breath and hoped it would still turn on. It has been in my pack since this all began, but that doesn’t mean much. The world has tossed me and the survival pack around so much it would make sense for the radio to be as broken as I am. Butterflies bombarded my gut while I steadied a shaky hand around the knob controlling both power and volume. I could have cried when it beeped and showed a red ‘on’ light. After ensuring Channel Four, the same channel I put the radio at home on, was selected I pressed the button and lifted it to my face. The red light boasted transmitting, but my words wouldn’t come. I found the last bottle of water and guzzled some clarifying drops. Again I went to press the button. This time it greeted me with an obnoxious ‘BEEP’ signifying someone else beat me to the punch. “Hello?” My heart fluttered with disbelief from hearing the voice of my beloved wife. “Sarah!” I tried to control my voice. The exercise in executioner-ism had drawn some attention. Two zombies rose from hidden spots in the opposite travel lane. “Baby, it’s me.” “Oh my God!” Her heavenly voice radiated from the tiny radio. I should have covered it or made some attempt at stealth but couldn’t have cared less. “Nathan I was so worried! We thought you were…” Audible tears cut her words short. Water streamed from my eyes. The new pair of attackers had begun to clear the grassy median and was getting closer. “I thought I was too, but I’m not far away and I’m coming home. Are you and the kids alright?”

She choked out her response. “We’re fine. Those things have been all around the neighborhood. A couple of times they came up to the house. Maddox helped me move a bunch of things into the attic and we’ve been spending most of the day up there. I know you told me to only wait but so long for you then go to your parents’ house, but I couldn’t…” I knew she was getting upset and let go of the button. Every word was like listening to music. It filled me with such a drive to be home I probably could have flapped my arms and flew. While listening to the walkie the undead duo cleared the grass and stepped onto the pavement. Only two traffic lanes now separated them from me. “Baby, listen…” I choked up my tears and conveyed the confidence I now fully believed in. “I’ll be there soon. When I’m at the top of the street I’ll radio ahead that I’m close. Watch for me on a black mountain bike. I’ll come to the gate for the fence in the back, since I don’t know if they will be following me, make sure either you or Maddox is there to open and close the gate quickly.” The first zombie was almost within lunging distance. It let out a moan that made me take my finger off the button to transmit. “O…k…. Sweetie, are you alright?” Sarah had probably heard the moan. She doesn’t know where I am or what I’ve been through. I can’t begin to imagine what is going through her mind after hearing a zombie interject into our conversation. I switched hands and thought about going for the Taurus. The anger I felt from being interrupted made me realize that a bullet was too good for these two. My gloved palm found its home on the Kukri. In my left hand I pressed the button on the radio again. “I’m fine baby.” The reaper moved to lunge. “Just watch for me. I love you.” I placed the walkie on the Cannondale’s seat. Any response from Sarah was inaudible over the commotion that ensued. The blows I unleashed on the two creatures were not

calculated in their lethality. I was so enraged by the continued interruptions these demons kept causing. While I was placing the radio on my bike the first one lunged. I lashed out delivering non-lethal blows. The attack lacked any of the intentional hits I’d become well versed in. By the time I was done with the two they littered the street in pieces. While the first ghoul was killed by my wild thrashing, the second was completely incapacitated. Its jaw snapped wildly while the remaining eye glared at me with hunger. I spared my gore covered blade and stomped its skull like an aluminum can. After pulling my boot heal from the undead man’s skull I went back to the bike. I used the rest of soiled water to clean off the blade then wiped it off on the pants of the decapitated woman. The Kukri was returned to its scabbard and the radio got clipped next to my pistol. My heart drummed excitedly beneath my battered ribs. Every injured inch of me was ready to push on and end this terrible day. 1558 hours: I winced while hopping back atop my ride. You never realize how bad it hurts to sit on a bike seat until you get off then back on again. I allowed my bottom to hover over the unforgiving seat and pumped my legs to top the hill. To my right was a turn lane into the intersection, which was most accessible from the road. If either of the two shopping centers were to be of concern it was this one. I looked down into the offset parking lot and its bordering shops expecting to see undead activity. Much to my delight there was none. I scanned my sight all the way from the Community College building at the corner to the far side at the little Italian restaurant. There were a few cars and some overturned trash cans, but that was it. It was a relief to be surprised by a lack of zombies. Unfortunately I knew this had to be vacated for a reason. That reason became all to clear

when I crested high enough to see the traffic light. Silhouettes of infected flooded the area. They clogged the intersection creating an unholy roadblock. I stopped the bike and racked my brain for options. “Do I fight my way through? How deep does the crowd go? Why the fuck are they all there? Why can’t they just leave me alone and let me get HOME?!” Every thought raced for ways to get past them. I reached back and found the pistol-grip of the Remington. “Am I really about to go guns blazing through a horde of zombies?” Even if the crowd wasn’t that wide I knew I’d never make it through intact. It was obvious that being so reckless after making it so far would be foolish and suicidal. I looked to my side and had an idea. The handlebars shifted and my dirty boots returned to their pedals. Slowly I coasted into the sunken parking lot at the right. Hopefully I had acted quickly enough that the rotting barricade didn’t take notice of me. I cautiously biked through the lot to the far side. A nod of satisfaction confirmed my hopes that there would be a far entrance to the shopping center. Now, I just needed some way to draw the horde away from the traffic light and towards the entrance I’d used before. Pedaling back the way I came I saw my bait. A free standing BP gas station was located at the lot entrance. It was made of the same style red brick used in the rest of the buildings there. The multitude of darkened neon signs and advertisements in the station windows gave clues to its past. Franchised stores also have more tacky ways to draw in more business. It’s just another way for the private owner to try and rake in more money and experience has taught me that wherever there is a dollarhungry private business person, there is a car that boasts their attempt at success. On the far side of the station previously hidden from my view by shrubs was a shiny gold Dodge Magnum. I smiled. It’s nice to be right every now and then, not to mention I

hate this model car with a passion. Everything about it is ugly, but most important was how it would react to what I was about to do… The short-barrel Remington came out of its storage place without a fight. Straddling the bike I kicked along until the car was angled about eight feet ahead. I held it tight and pumped a shell into the breach. Inside I was ready to throw up not fully knowing what was about to happen.

Chapter 27 Atonement Thunder boomed from the weapon and a spray of lead burst out of the barrel, which tore into the ugly car. Immediately the vehicle screamed its alarm. I had hoped it would be much louder than it was. For a second I wondered if the low volume was just because of the after effects of shooting a shotgun without ear protection, but then I knew it was just this piece of shit car getting the last laugh. I jumped into pedaling and went to the store front. Again lead exploded out shattering the window of the tacky storefront. Many of the neon signs crashed to the shelves below them now, the glass no longer offered support. The most surprising result of my vandalism was the commercial burglary alarm that wailed in response. I couldn’t believe it still had the backup power to completely deafen me. “That ought ‘a do it!” I shouted over the ruckus. It was all so loud that I couldn’t even be sure I actually said anything. The barrel of the shotgun still felt hot when I lightly tucked it back into the pack. I would have taken the time to do a better job, but knew that I’d have a lot of company very soon. I could see the first of them already coming around the corner where I’d entered.

My pedaling was so frantic that I lost balance. I wobbled into a parked mini-van. The bike side swiped it and set off the van’s alarm. I shrugged and thought, “Well, it certainly can’t hurt.” When I was almost at the side exit I turned to see if the plan was working. Much to my delight I saw dozens of the dead staggering into the lot. I biked as fast as I could through the turn and up towards the intersection. Hopefully enough of them have cleared out, but if not I’ll need to be ready. My left arm reached back and pulled the Taurus out of its holster. I carefully switched it to be in my right hand. After a second of shifting I was able to hold the handlebar and the gun at the same time. Much to my dismay the area wasn’t empty. I saw at least fifteen of them gathered around an RV stalled in the middle of the intersection. Something about it had their attention. I knew then that trapped survivors must be the true draw of the horde. There was enough of a clearing where I could have zipped by them. I’ve done so many deplorable things in the last day that redemption cannot come from selfishness, even if that selfishness was meant to save the ones I love. I changed course and went towards the motor home. A few of the outermost undead left mingling noticed food approaching quickly. I shouted towards the siege battered vehicle, “If anyone is alive in there…” The pistol rose and I tried to take aim while yelling. If I didn’t get a response I’ll have to veer off with no room to spare. My plea continued, “I need you to yell back! I’ll try to clear out enough for you to run for it!” If I didn’t hear a response in the next second I was going to turn away. I listened intently past the clamoring of the undead. My heart sunk from hearing nothing back. The wheel began to turn when I heard it, “We’re here!” I was so shaken by the response that I almost flew off the bike and into hungry arms. I took aim at the RV’s door. The first two shots missed to

an embarrassing degree. It’s not often that I get to fire a pistol, let alone from a moving bicycle. After wasting a couple rounds I hadn’t dropped a single zombie. My bullets missed, but the gunfire made me a prime target. Slowly, but surely the creatures vacated the entrance to the motor home and headed towards me. At least ten of them trotted in my direction. This current course would be my undoing. I screeched to a stop so that I could actually aim. The lead reaper was thrown off balance with a round to the hip. “Come on Nathan,” I mentally scolded myself, “if this were the climax of a movie I’d turn if off and read a book.” As the zombie with a newly shattered hip spun around, I gained some needed aiming perspective. In the time it took me to pull the trigger and adjust my aim I succeeded in dropping four of the bastards to the ground. The hungry flock had become so ravenous being close to me that they bunched together. My kill shots created a wall the rear zombies tripped on. For the first time I could see the door to the motor home past the writhing group. “GO NOW!” I hollered at the vehicle. The gore beaten door began to move from the inside out. A man jumped out with a baseball bat. He looked dirty and weathered. One of the infected came around the side of the bumper towards him. Without hesitation this bedraggled man swung at the beast. I couldn’t see the result of his attack due to my eyes being fixed on the door. Another person, a small, but fierce looking woman, jumped out wearing a camping style frame pack and holding a two-by-four embedded with nails. Now they both stood like deer in the headlights. The woman was shielding her eyes from the new birthing of late day light. God only knows how long they had been trapped inside that RV. Their gazes were fixed on me and the beasts between us. I can’t imagine what they were thinking. I’m sure they are wondering if this battle weary, well-armed man is a

threat. One of the undead rose from the barricade and lunged at me. The round I fired caught him at the hairline. His rotting forehead distorted as the bullet effectively scalped the ravenous reaper. Several zombies remained nearby. Soon we would have much more company after my car alarm bait loses its appeal. The frightened couple froze at the door. The three of us had precious seconds before the swarm returned. I wanted to guide these people to safety. After all the wrongs I have done, the two of them could be my redemption. However prominent this desire may be I knew what the last two days has brought me. Trust has been the source of salvation and near undoing. “I’m so close to being home. If I take them I might not make it home by dark.“ The debate raged inside me. “How are these people going to make it out of here if I don’t help? But if I keep riding at a good pace I’ll be with Sarah and the kids within the hour.” I looked down the street I’d come out of and saw seven eager creatures approach. Another one of the members of my fleshy blockade cleared enough to take a swipe at me. I sent the final nine millimeter round into her black eye socket. My finger tapped the magazine release button. I ejected it and wedged the empty clip in my belt line. The rectangular shape of a fully loaded magazine found my palm. I jammed it into the hungry Taurus and took aim again. The desperate couple was whispering to each other. I’m sure they were having a conversation similar to my thoughts about the prospects for future survival. One of the creatures between us turned back towards them. I fired a bullet into his neck. It was not a kill shot, but dropped him to the ground in a twitching pile of evil. This has gone on too long already. I pointed my left arm towards the far tree line. “GO GODDAMNIT!” Their eyes grew wide knowing now that I wouldn’t be offering sanctuary. “Run for the trees and just stay ahead of them. Aim for the head and DON’T let them surround you!” The

man nodded in acknowledgement. His female companion said nothing at all. A noise turned me around. One of the seven pursuers had gotten too close. I painfully twisted my back around to aim. Two shots later and the creature fell. Flipping back to my front I saw the couple running down the street towards the tree line. I remounted the bike and pedaled through a rapidly closing gap. The downhill immediately graced me with gravity’s assistance. I flew down the hill and away from the excited crowd around the motor home. Inside I wondered about the people I’d just saved. “Did I really save them?” I said to myself. “Or did I just get them killed?” The nameless couple would have to fight just as I have. My valiant efforts served only as a reminder that there is no such thing as survival anymore. In the end every one of us is just exploiting time borrowed from the dead. 1617 hours: The sky is growing dark again. This time yesterday I was desperately fighting to reach a safe overnight haven, but now I have no intention of spending another night exposed. I know I will be home by nightfall. If I happen to fall short by the time darkness consumes the land, then I still won’t stop. I’ll fight through anything now, even if it means experiencing the supposed enhanced hunting ability of the undead at night. Winds created by the coasting build-up in speed readily bit against my battered face. I actually found the numbness that washed over my exposed skin to be somewhat soothing. The generous slope gave me a chance to catch my breath and assess the landscape. Every now and then I would pass by some remnant of humanity; be it a suitcase, an abandoned car or the graphic remains of a person. I never traveled far between dreaded testimonials to this new order. Before the end, I went through here twice a day. It’s easy to let your

guard down in an area you frequent. There is a small stretch of level ground between inclines. First I’ll pass a public library set off a winding drive to the right. Then a Sheetz gas station is dug into the same side, but that’s after the start of the coming hill. I’ve spent many lunches there with the kids. The design of this particular fast food market has always amused me. Ever since the first time I saw it, I thought of it as a fort. Although, that’s not difficult to think thanks to the brick retaining wall and the way it juts out of the hillside. Maddox started commenting that the place looked like some of the Civil War sites we’d visited. It makes me proud to see the budding historical fanaticism I’ve instilled within him. My Grandfather would have been equally as proud knowing I had passed on the family love of everything that once was. The hill that contains Sheetz should be the last I have to climb. Afterwards, the road levels out to more shopping centers. Fortunately for me, my turn for home will be a few turns after that. I can avoid the shopping areas by turning off Hull Street and going a less direct way around. The excitement from being so close is overwhelming. Moreover, anticipation blinded me to a hidden danger. “Stop there or I’ll put a bullet through your head!” A voice shouted from my right. I panicked, skidding to a stop. Not a second later I felt confident momentum wouldn’t send me over the bars. My left hand unconsciously moved towards the holster nestled to my back. I kept my eyes forward despite the command to stop. Whatever was unfolding has reduced me to employ that juvenile sense of safety through a lack of acknowledgement. “If your hand moves another inch towards that gun I swear to God I’ll kill you!” The commands were unflinching. I couldn’t take the chance that this was a bluff. My hand moved back to its home on the handlebar. “Wise move there, Officer. Wheel that shiny bike on over here.”

Heeding the order, I kept my feet off the pedals. My gaze shifted towards the source of these threats. It came from the entrance drive to the library. At first I didn’t see anything. Then he appeared. A man stood up from kneeling behind a chest high sign advertising the, ‘La Prade Library’. The glint of a scope topping the large hunting rifle in his arms filled his threats with merit. I stepped over, my legs still straddling the Cannondale. “Sir,” I said to the stranger. My eyes sought his for contact. I hoped that he might be reasoned with if he looked into the eyes of someone still living. Thanks to the fading light and shadow formed by his hat, my efforts were in vain. “I don’t care who you are or what you’re doing here… I’m just passing through trying to get home before dark.” “You don’t have to care. I’m staking claim here! You can’t expect to ride through here with all those nice toys and have me not care.” He said back with an undeserving smirk. I was insulted that an unfathomable number of people have died, yet this piece of trash still lives. “You can stop whatever selfish thought you are thinking right now. I’ve come too far to play this game with you!” This tension is escalating at a lethal rate. I just wanted to pass and get home. After everything I’ve been through, it’s simply unfair to be stopped by some redneck with a despot complex. My response didn’t bode well with the stranger. “You threatenin’ me Officer? I don’t give two shits about your badge... If anyone asks I’ll just say you were a mother fuckin’ zombie with some sweet, sweet loot.” All this time I continued to step closer. Only six feet separated us. It’s amazing we hadn’t brought in any infected. Although, it’s possible that we have and just haven’t seen them yet. Something had to be done otherwise the coming gunshots would bring about the entire horde up the street. I still hoped reason could prevail, “I’m not a cop, alright?! Listen, I just worked for them. All I want to do is go home to

my family…” “You’re not a cop? Well that… that’s too bad. Killing some security guard isn’t any fun.” His voice was oddly shaky. This can’t be how it ends. Then another voice came from behind him. Our standoff had created such a tangible tension that we were both taken completely off guard. “Dad… Mom says we have to lock up before dark.” The few cars in the drive had concealed the girl’s approach. My eyes directed towards the new voice. The stranger’s eyes and gun pointed the same way. “Dad who…” I saw opportunity and took it. My right hand found the grip of the shotgun. After using it recently I knew there could only be a few shells left inside. Honestly, it didn’t matter what was loaded in the weapon; I had no intention of using it. The man swung his rifle back to me. I think only a nervously shaking hand spared everyone the horror that would have come from his jerking the trigger. He saw the barrel of the twelve-gauge Remington and froze. “I’d be cutting it close,” I said in the most feebly confident voice I could muster. “But I think we’re close enough where you’d catch most of the shot.” “I… I could shoot you just as easy.” He started to say but was cut off by the concerned words of the girl behind us. She crept closer, disregarding the sight of two pointed weapons. “Dad what is going on?! Who is this? Mom sent me to bring you inside…” His posture visibly dropped from a sigh. The gun remained pointed at my person. “Hon’ just go back in! I’ll be there in a minute.” “But Dad…” She persisted. I saw the chance to interject. “Is this your daughter? What is she, around eight?” He looked angered by this. “That’s none of your fucking concern Officer!” My arms ached. The short-barreled shotgun may as well

have weighed a hundred pounds. Both the fading light and my waning strength remind me that this cannot continue. “I didn’t mean anything by it man. I know she is your daughter. My son is probably about the same age... He is waiting a few miles in that direction.” I pointed west, up Hull Street. His rifle lowered a few inches. It took everything just to hold my weapon firmly enough to convey the point. “My son, daughter and wife are all waiting for me to get home. I’ve been fighting my way to get there for over two days now. I’m tired and injured. Not to mention – I’m really fucking tired of killing things. If I fire this gun, I’ll kill you and probably injure your girl. With all the undead bastards tearing this world apart I’d really hate to take out someone still capable of knowing I was the last thing they saw.” The rifle lowered and he took off his hat. His eyes told the story of a man who had fought just as I have. This stranger was willing to do anything to protect his family. I lowered the shotgun to the level of my handlebars. The second I dropped the gun his daughter ran up and grabbed the man’s hand. Everything happened to the backdrop of my belabored pulse. “Hon’ just go back in the library,” the stranger said down to his daughter. “Tell Mom I’ll be inside in a minute.” She said nothing back and jogged back to the building. “You guys hold up in the library? Any other people with you?” I asked both out of curiosity and to fill the silent void. He hesitated but answered. “Yeah we’re set up alright for now. It’s me, my wife, our three kids and another family of three.” I tucked the shotgun back in my secured pack. He moved the rifle for a second, unsure of my intentions. Once seeing that I had no intention to kill him, he set the rifle atop the Library’s sign. “Well, I don’t mean any of you harm and I think the infected get quicker at night; although I’ve never seen it up close. If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to keep

going west.” The stranger bent down to retrieve a bag hidden in the bushes. I scrutinized his actions carefully. He spoke up, “They are quick fuckers at night. Don’t get too close. I saw one of them get my neighbor that way before we left to come here.” He slung the rifle over his shoulder. “I ain’t gonna stop you. Sorry this happened. Sorry this whole fucking thing has happened. I just… I thought you might be comin’ for my people or somethin’.” “Don’t worry about it. I probably would have done the same thing. After everything that has happened… how can I judge?” My words accompanied the rattling sound of the bike changing gears. I began to pedal away. “Good luck getting home. Don’t tell any of your cop friends I’m squattin’ in La Prade!” He shouted past the quickly forming distance between us. I laughed and yelled back. “As long as you don’t tell them I stole this bike!” The sound of the stranger’s cackle faded with every gained foot.

Chapter 28 Judgment 1628 hours: Adrenaline pushed me faster. Having a gun pointed at you isn’t a great experience, but can be a nice propellant up hills. I quietly passed the fortified Sheetz gas station. The offset foundation of the service station prevented getting a good look. From what I was able to see, its windows were shattered and the inside was disheveled. Orange bags covered all the gas nozzles I could spot and I assume the bags were meant to tell people that no gas would come out of them. There weren’t any undead that seen from my passing view. If I had more time before dark I would probably stop to find out if anything could be scavenged. Minutes later I noticed the ground leveling out. I looked back and saw the rolling landscape of the hills. All the times I came through here I’d never noticed the similarity to a valley. It makes you wonder what this place looked like without people. How long before someone gazes down there and wonders what it looked like without the walking dead? Swinging my view back to the road ahead, I surveyed the sky. There isn’t long before I’ll be finding out what the stranger

had said about the zombies after dark firsthand. A shopping center is coming up on the left. I know the layout from memory. First I’ll pass a pizza place and a traffic light. The left hand shopping center will stretch deep in the other direction. At the same point, a small shopping center will begin that is much less expansive. The smaller, right-hand shopping center still has the bakery where Sarah and I got our wedding cake. This brought a smile over my determined face. “So close. Just keep pedaling.” I said to myself. I’ll only be exposed to both shopping centers for a few minutes. The next light is my turn off of Hull Street. Reality quickly confirmed my mental map. Only there were corrections that had to be made courtesy of the apocalypse. The bank and Popeye’s Chicken that should have guarded the deep expansion of the left-hand shopping center were smoldering shells. Although the fire that gutted these places had been extinguished, I could still see where it attempted to jump past the parking lot and to the rest of the stores. The right-hand shopping center didn’t fare much better. Beyond the crumbling remains of a cheap motel I saw a strip mall with nearly all windows broken. The only shop that didn’t look violated was the Police Supply store in the far corner. It had broken windows, but benefited from thick metal gates. No doubt, a store that has ammo and guns would have been the first target for looters. I couldn’t help but wonder why these two shopping centers looked so much worse than others. Maybe I just stopped myself from fully looking at the many, many others I’d passed. Or maybe a combination of the coming intersection’s proximity to both housing areas and a nearby interstate made this area an unfortunate target. Whatever caused this mess saddened me. This is the world I know well, but it is also so very different. The ransacked area reinforces that any necessary scavenging I’ll have to do in the future could be complicated by things other than the reapers.

The bike weaved around cars. Several undead dotted the area. Thankfully their efforts to nab me always failed. Some came very close, but still missed. However, each aided a resurgence of the adrenaline I needed to survive. Regardless of how hard I tried to avoid thinking about the pain, it found ways to hinder me. I’d start to think about the ache in my ribs or the sting in my brow. Then one of them would lunge at me and the only prevalent thought became flight. This pattern continued until I found myself passing under the traffic light and finally off Hull Street. “I’ve always hated this fucking street.” I said through huffing breaths. I looked skyward. The twilight illumination was discouraging. No matter how hard I pedal now, I doubt I’ll make it home by sunset. The dead scattered over the street beyond me. After the intersection with Hull Street, the road drifts into a slight downhill. I used the advantageous terrain to soar. This is the fastest I’ve ever gone on a bicycle, even in my younger, more physically fit days I couldn’t have propelled myself to such a velocity if my life depended on it. It’s cruel to recognize potential, because your life actually does depend on it. Houses zipped by. The undead lunged towards me with increased ferocity. It felt like I was racing against a lit fuse. My brain told me that if I didn’t make it to the bomb before that fuse, my world would be torn to fiery shreds. Imaginative self-delusions should never be so close to reality. Distance skewed with the beat of my pounding pulse. If this area wasn’t so familiar I probably would have pedaled into some kind of obstacle. Through the fading light and torrent of feelings, I could see exactly where I was. Minutes later I felt the bike shifting into a right turn. I wasn’t the pilot here, but I sure as hell was being piloted. Lactic acid flowed so intensely that it burned through my pores. Both legs pumped up then down. More cars and hints of forced desolation passed me on both sides. To my left was

a neighborhood entrance. Only a couple more turns and I should be at the one that takes me to the top of my street. It is so close now that nothing around me could break the targeted stare I’d formed. A dead man jumped at me from behind a motionless sport utility vehicle. I saw him before his lunge began and threw a fist outward. My gloved hand caught his cheek and threw him the other way. Pain seared from the impact point. The pounding of my heart drowned out any cracking of my bones. Luck or divine intervention is all that kept me atop the rapidly spinning wheels. Darkness now consumed the land. Exposure to this gradual fade adapted my night vision enough to keep me functional. I hit the turn leading to my street so fast that I almost lost control. The bulk of my mass hovered over the ground close enough to think I’d meet it. Physics worked to my advantage once again. Centrifugal force is most likely the only thing stopping the pavement from giving my face a cheese grater treatment. After making the successful left I had a few hundred feet to pass, before reaching the top of my neighborhood. My aching hand flew back to where I stowed the walkie talkie. It was difficult to find any voice past my rapid breaths. The red transmit light glowed so bright it hurt my darkness- favoring eyes. My voice croaked out the words, “Sarah.” A response came immediately, “NATHAN! Oh thank goodness!” Hearing her voice made me feel like heaven. It enabled me to push the agonizing and all encompassing exhaustion to the wayside. “Sweetheart,” I was so winded that I couldn’t be sure she would even comprehend my raspy words. “I’m at the top of the street. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” The words were cut off from a dry swallow I could no longer suppress. “Nathan,” Sarah suddenly sounded more mothering than

panicked. “Be careful.” I found enough saliva to force my larynx into use. “Of course, just be ready for me at the gate.” “No, no you don’t understand. A car hit the neighbor’s extension at the corner. It was pretty loud and a bunch of them are gathered around it.” My sweet wife had only sounded like this in the past when she told me something she knew would upset me. It was reminiscent of years ago, when Sarah called to say that Calise had broken my Xbox. The wind whipping by tried to mute our conversation. Kamikazes would have approved of the reckless pace I’d maintained. Familiar houses flew past in a blur. I should have been paying more attention to everything passing, but couldn’t. Sarah’s caring words and the few visible feet in front of me is all the mattered. “Ok Baby… Just be ready for me and don’t be alarmed if you hear shooting. I have a gun.” I didn’t wait for her response. Instead, I clipped the radio to my belt without turning it off. It’s reckless to not have both hands on the handlebars now. Dying because of something ridiculous as a bike crash would be laughable. With everything I’ve done and the distance traveled, I must be allowed to reach home, or, at least… that’s what I’m telling myself. God may have forsaken this world; but what God could abandon me now? The Cannondale flew down my winding street. Fledgling nightfall masked any chances for adequate reconnaissance on the condition of our area. Even my reliance on hearing is dampened by the winds lashing against my exposed ears. Assuming I live to see daylight again, I’ll have to come back out to survey the true state of my neighborhood. As soon as home seemed reachable, a nagging voice developed in the back of my head. It repeated to me, ‘What about after?’ I could hear it behind every consuming worry. In the midst of every self-loathing, violent act, this voice tore

at my thoughts. It was unavoidable to think about what would come next. My hellish journey has been broken down into goals. I always had a goal to reach. Once accomplishing these milestones, I had to set my sights on another. Breaking the trip down into smaller increments was the only way I could keep myself from focusing on the truth. If I were truthful, I’d break down thinking of the monumentally expansive pestilence separating me and home. But all the while, that voice reminded me that if I reached home my problems would only just begin. Pumping past houses etched in memory, I knew that ‘what about after’ is a thought that must to wait. This collision course was set directly on my house at the bottom of the hill. The fact that my home is a mile out of view did not matter. My vision was limited to a car length. Such a short area is replenished every second from the rapid speed I’d gathered. Night vision transformed anything more distant into featureless shapes. Compared to many of the areas I traveled through the neighborhood was abandoned. However, the occasional ghoul jumping from the shadows kept my adrenaline-fueled readiness on high. I rounded another corner. Although night prevented me from seeing it, but I know what was ahead. This is the part in my street where the kids would always get excited on walks. We would enjoy sunny days by marching along this same stretch. Emerging from the shadow of a huge oak tree, either Calise or Maddox would happily say, “I see our house!” They would both giggle sweetly. “Yup! There it is!” I would jovially say back to my darling children. Back in the evil reality, I smiled. A muffled whisper escaped my cracked lips, “I see our house…” The joy gave way to despair. It only took another moment for my vision to register the blockade Sarah warned of. A car had taken out the stop sign at the corner, jumped the dip in my neighbor’s absurdly well-manicured lawn, and

crashed into the addition to his house. Through the pitch of night, a handful of creatures revealed themselves. It didn’t look like debris blocked the entrance to the cul-de-sac. The only obstacle I’ll have to contend with is that of the infected. Every foot brought about more clarity. I couldn’t slow down, not this close. Instead, I peddled harder. My lungs stopped pumping air and seethed with desire for this day to end. Every dilated, infected pupil focused on the two-wheeled buffet. They converged on where I had to ride. I knew I had to punch through them and make it to the yard. If I delay, I’d be bringing too many of them to the fence. That is… if I make it to the fence at all. My hand found the Taurus nestled in its holster. I racked my brain trying to remember if I had enough bullets in the loaded magazine. If memory serves me correctly, I have eight rounds to fire. There are at least nine zombies closing on me. Time slowed to a crawl. “Why do the shittiest moments pass the slowest?” I thought to myself. Muzzle flashes from my pistol bathed the area like lightning. I couldn’t even tell if the bullets hit their mark. Chances of them striking any re-killing shots are one in a million. My approaching velocity combined with every extenuating circumstance formed unfair odds. I think one of them dropped down for good. The tearing impacts of my munitions shook others. Seeing this, I focused my fire on one area. If I couldn’t make a hole large enough to fly through then my trek will end here. One of the reapers took some lead to his shoulder. He flipped around and dropped down to the ground. Two of his undead colleagues joined him in the fall. This created my gateway. I fired again, expecting the pistol to be empty. Fortunately for me, I was wrong. A final bullet burst forth and punched through the eye of a woman lunging for my tire. The collision course reached its end and I braced for impact. Creatures flanked me on both sides. This moment froze

in time. I was going to make it. By the grace of God, I cleared enough room to make it through. After all this time, the limited view ahead finally included my home. The gate for my backyard fence is to the left. Cemented into my right hand was the nine-millimeter. Panic kept the empty weapon in my hands. I pushed the gun-containing fist against the Cannondale’s grip in order to brace for punching past the dead. “I’m finally here,” ran through my mind in this eternal second. Then I was thrown off my steed. One of the monsters jumped towards me as I passed. If I had been going any slower he would have sacked me like a quarterback. He would have missed the bike entirely if I had been going any faster. Instead, his diving lunge sent a rotting arm into the spokes of my rear wheel. I heard the tearing sound of my rocketing momentum rip the zombie’s upper body apart. Consequences for the undead man were concealed by darkness. I saw the ground floating beneath me as a hurtled through the air. My body shifted. For a split second I knew my house approached at an unsafe rate. Then I saw the midnight expanse of the sky. Although it was probably the effects of shock or a blood vessel bursting in my eye; I could have sworn that through the rolling clouds I saw the glimmer of a few stars. Then the ground came. I hit the pavement hard. Pain blacked me out for a second. I opened my eyes attempting to determine where I was. Through the blur I knew I’d traveled over half the diameter of my cul-de-sac. My neck was arched backward. Commands screamed from my brain. “GET THE FUCK UP!” I ordered myself. “YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE HERE!” But nothing responded. The words ran through my overactive brain and were ignored by my crippled body. Pain had become irrelevant. I tried and tried to move, but could not. Then I heard them. Moans washed over from the area I had just left. Clapping from wet, snapping jaws echoed

around the pavement like audience applause. The dead were coming for me. In seconds I would be torn to shreds. My thoughts laughed at the situation, “at least I’m already tenderized for the fuckers…” Fate will always win. This coming conclusion is inevitable. In my broken state I can’t do anything to stop it. All I can do is sit here and pray to the cruel God above. I prayed to him that he might watch over my family. My prayers begged that God also keep my loved ones from watching what is about to happen to me. “Don’t let them watch.” I prayed. “Please Lord, don’t let them see me die. And don’t let me become one of them…” Movement entered my peripheral vision. “So this is how it ends…” I don’t know if my lips moved to say it but it was prominent in my mind. My eyelids began to close. I imagined the faces of those I love. The last thing I saw before closing my eyes was the ghoul excitedly hobbling over to me. Things went black. I could see Sarah’s smiling face. “It’s ok baby. I’ve got you” She said reassuringly. “Maddox is waiting to let you in.” Her voice filled me with joy. Heaven is before me, but something is wrong. “Where is Calise?” I said to her. If this is Heaven and I’m seeing my family, then where is my daughter? “I’VE GOT YOU BABY!” Now Sarah’s voice was louder. It wasn’t happy at all, it sounded frantic. Something isn’t right. A blinding burst of light followed a thunderous boom. The endless clouds of Heaven’s expanse lit with uncharacteristic lightning. “This isn’t Heaven.” My thoughts tried so hard to justify the death that was swallowing me. “This can’t be Heaven. I’m being sent down to Hell.” Then there was another boom. The fiery surge of light that came with it leaked through my closed eyelids. I continued my prayers. It had gone beyond praying now. In my final moments it turned into a reflective conversation with the holy being that judged me. “You let me get all this way just to have me die HERE?” I felt anger for being so cheated.

“Go ahead and send me to hell. I killed Phil. I deserve to burn, but couldn’t you let me see them again?” The sweet voice of my beloved entered the dream again. “Just hang on! Please Baby, hang on!” The time had come to say my final words to the cruel savior above. This was to be my end. “I’ll watch in Hell as this world resents you for abandoning us all.” Another flash of light came. The thunderous explosion was louder. Its proximity startled me now to crack open my eyes. “I’ve got you!” Sarah’s voice said again, but the heavenly dream of her voice competed with another sound. I heard the hiss and moan of death. Between my beloveds voice rang the clamoring of a demon. Teary eyes opened enough to focus toward the entrance to the street. I saw him come for me. The limited scope of my night vision portrayed death’s servant properly. Its flailing arms and twitching jaw yearned for my flesh. He fell to his knees. Momentum continued his lunge upon my left leg. Its grip was cold, robotic even. “I hope I taste terrible,” is all the effort my mind could commit to this end. His rabid mouth locked onto my shin. I felt pressure equal to that of slamming my leg in a car door. The hungry teeth pressed into his bite like a mechanical vice. Sarah’s voice entered this horrible dream again, “NO!!!” Her angelic tone disappeared behind one of anger. My defeated rationalizations picked at my acceptance of this purgatorial matinee. “Angels don’t get angry.” I thought. “Why isn’t Calise here?” Thoughts questioned my willingness for this to be the afterlife. Then I knew this wasn’t a dream at all. A final boom came. It was so close that I felt the heat radiate along my broken body. The demons’ head disintegrated. His teeth were ripped off my leg by the power of showering lead. My teary eyes darted over to the luminescent source of bursting fire. Smoke billowed from barrel of the shotgun held by my beautiful wife. Then I felt

her angelic hands. My shattered body caved inside her loving grip. Her gentle hands scooped under my arms and pulled me into the grass. Inside I screamed for her to run and leave me. “I’ve got you Baby… We’re almost there.” She reassured me between labored breaths. Back towards the street I heard frustrated sounding moans in pursuit. Every inch of me was numb. I only knew we were on the grass, because of the frictionless drag beneath my back. She shouted away from me. “Maddox! Get the gate!” The rusty creaking of the gate hinges followed. Then I heard my boy shout back, “Come on Mommy! They’re coming!” Sarah grumbled and strained. I don’t know how she was able to drag me so far. Inside, I never ceased my pleas for her to leave me. Whether in death, life, or un-death – I refuse to be the cause of my family’s destruction. We were feet away from the gate. Sounds of the pursuing reapers clattered along the yard. I could hear Maddox shouting his encouragement for us to hurry. Darkness consumed my view. Every sound became drowned into a muffle. I felt my soul pulling from my mangled body. “Nathan!” Sarah shouted down at me. “Just hang on! We’re almost…” Her words trailed off as the blackness enveloped me. The soothing voice of my true love blended into the noise of nothingness. I smiled knowing I had finally rejoined my reasons for surviving.

Epilogue

Heart Beats

Stubbornness is defined by the human heart. From five weeks after conception to the undetermined last moments of our days, this muscle pumps life within our chests. God crafted this marvel to relentlessly pump life throughout our bodies an unfathomable number of times. The heart has become an embodiment of everything meaningful. Never mind the reality of it being just another organ; people see it as a representation of love and soul. When you fall in love, it is said you give the person your heart. When that person breaks up with you, it is said that they have broken your heart. On Valentine’s Day, kids don’t pass over-priced cards with prints of the lungs or a brain. No - those sappy cards have pictures the almighty heart. Obviously, we talk about it a lot, because it has earned our praise. Since it means so much to us humans, you’d think we’d repay it by living our lives carefully. We should all tiptoe around like a nitroglycerine-filled Faberge egg is housed inside our chests. However, God also made us so that we may have the ability to torment this biomechanical wonder. It stays inside our chest in a never ending fight to keep us

living. Meanwhile, we make every attempt to push it to the limit. Humans exist to test our hearts using every emotional, physical and nutritionally reckless option available. Barring any unforeseen trauma; this muscle pumps away until it can do so no longer. As a child, your heart perfected the art of racing. Every intentional startle by an older sibling… Every eager Christmas morning… Every play date… Every lesson learned… The source of your pumping life grew along with you. In the tumultuous teenage years your heart prepared for adulthood. It drummed anxiously on your first date. It thumped about your ribs while the driving instructor barked instructions to parallel park. It pumped rapidly while you snuck around doing things that would hopefully get expunged from your record at eighteen. It eased when you sat thinking about how stupid your actions were after being parentally sentenced to grounding. Your heart was ready to go into the great yonder with you. As an adult, this precious muscle hates you for your continuous negligence and forced turmoil. It fluttered and surged during the wonderful day of your wedding. It strained to function after years of fast food bombardment. It palpitated while you watched the birth of you children. It audibly pounded during the job interview that could have led to better things. Throughout it all, your heart continued to fight so that you could do the same. Now, imagine the almighty heart has become the source of your undoing. It stubbornly works to pump precious life throughout your veins. Blood passing the wound you’ve received is treated no different. The crimson fluid reaches that circular bite mark. Some oozes out of the violated spot. What doesn’t seep out continues on its arterial mission to share the virus. That determined muscle in your chest keeps performing its life-long task. Each second of pulse carries the evil

through you. It’s inevitable to wonder if this is some kind of revenge for the heart. The newly nefarious organ continues working despite your impending doom. Perhaps it does this somehow knowing that when the virus takes you, its job will be over. Because when the heart stops beating… there is a different, ghoulish force will propel you around this postapocalyptic hell.

Special Thanks I could write a novel consisting entirely of special thanks. Over the time it took to get this out of my brain and into your hands I went on quite a journey. This story connected me to hundreds of great people in the horde of zombie lovers. It would be impossible to list them all so don’t be offended if I left you out. Here is the abridged version… This story would never have made it out of my head if it wasn’t for my beautiful wife. Thank you Sarah for being the most: supportive, creative, encouraging, persistent and twistedly imaginative muse that a sleepy husband could ever have. Also to my children, Maddox and Calise, thanks for embracing a childhood in a horror-loving household. You both showed my imagination the lengths I would go to just to see you two again. Oh, and I promise to pick up the tab for any therapy that might be a result of all the zombie talk! Thanks to my parents for raising me with a love of words and imagination. Because of that upbringing, writing a novel actually became a life long aspiration to me. My parents also showed me the true meaning of love. From the beginning, I was blessed with a proper example of how parents should treat their kids and how spouses should treat each other. I have cemented these attributes into my own family life. These are also the factors that served as the core for the novel preceeding these thanks. To my Brother, Josh and my Brother-in-law, Aarash – thank you both for being supportive from the moment I told you my crazy idea of writing a book. The continuous input and feedback you both provided throughout the process enabled me to quell every stubborn fit of writer’s block. Thanks to the fine men and women of my Police Agency. It’s an honor to share such a ‘thought-provoking’ setting with you all during many long nights. The random encouragement / pestering to write that I received every shift has served as

an excellent motivator. Special thanks go to Lance and Brad for allowing me to include their likenesses in my tale. Also thanks to these specific red-eyed civil servants who helped push me along: Doug Dawson, Jon McAchren, Randall Fish, and Jennifer Riemann. I’ll forever be in debt to Joy Killar at ZombieFiend.com. Joy fought for me so many times that I might actually owe her my first born! Her group of Fiends introduced me to people I now consider to be great friends like Kim Sofia, Jeremy Peterson and Robert Elrod. Thanks to Robert for bringing my vision to life on the cover of this book. I’m honored to be a member of the Moody’s Survivor group on Facebook: the best collection of twisted talent on Earth. The Survivors opened up doors in my writing career that I didn’t know existed. Thanks to Tim Long for bringing me into such a fun sideshow and of course to David Moody for giving us all a reason to join together. Thanks to David Naughton-Shires and KnightWatch Press for allowing this book to come to life. I should also write a long comma-filled sentence to make my editor roll her eyes! Instead I’ll just leave it to saying thank you, Monique. Your totalitarian attention to detail made this book what it needed to be! It’s the world wide readers of The Reaper Virus blog and their global support that has made this a dream come true. Posting this originally as a blog connected me to people and fans I’d fight the undead with any day. Special recognition goes to: Nicholas Teeters, Ethan Maas, Tie Tompkins, Sherry Jensen, Chris Philbrook, Lance Glisson, Sacha Aislabie and Rena Ingersoll.