Barren Fields (31 page)

The group climbs into the truck and drives up the road, heading to The Oregon Vortex. At the same time a group of four SUVs from Katherine’s ranch approaches the Rogue River turnoff from Interstate 5 on their way to the ranch.

*

When the ranch refugees arrive at the entrance of their former home they are all in various stages of shock. They knew the siren would pull all of the infected to this spot, but there is a vast gulf between the scales of devastation which people are able to imagine as opposed to that which can actually occur. As with Keith and Frank earlier, Arthur and the other climbers of this human plateau are physically drained and mentally shattered by the tremendous scope of it all.

“It looks like someone was still here shooting at the end,” Timothy says to Arthur

Leaning into the opening, Arthur says, “The siren is still hooked up, and there aren’t any bodies or supplies inside. Whoever was up here might have survived.”

*

“He was here,” Hannah says excitedly walking around the houses by The Vortex. “That ladder wasn’t against the house yesterday.”

“The houses are all empty,” Mike calls out. “But there are some fresh open food containers inside.”

“There are two bicycles missing as well, so someone else survived,” Simone says. “We know we didn’t pass them. Let’s drive down the road and find your father, girls.”

They hop back in the truck to begin what they hope will be the final leg of this emotionally turbulent game of Hide-N-Seek.

*

Timothy and Arthur are walking slowly across the human cobblestone pavement to tell the others what they found.

“Do you hear that?” Timothy asks?

“It’s an engine,” Arthur says looking north in the direction of the sound. “Eddie had Donald stash a bunch of supplies at The Oregon Vortex. He said they also left a truck there!”

“There aren’t any abandoned vehicles left in the world that are running. It has to be some of our survivors.”

“We hear a vehicle,” Samantha yells to the men as they climb down from the bodies.

“We do too. Arthur thinks it will be at the Vortex where Eddie stashed some supplies.”

“What’s the quickest way there?”

“It depends on the direction they are travelling. We should send one vehicle north in case they are coming back here and the others south to find them if they are going to Medford.”

The group splits up and speed off to find out who survived the last battle in the end of the world.

“I hope it isn’t Jeremiah,” Samantha says to her husband Conner. “I don’t care how much death we just saw out there. If Jeremiah survived, I am killing him.”

*

Eddie and Isaac have reached the end of Sardine Creek Road and have parked their bikes on Highway 99. The Rogue River is flowing twenty yards in front of them and down a bank. The rain that fell on them was a relief while they were still on the storage container, but they still had a night of sleep and a walk across the valley of the dead to regain their filth when they escaped their potential metal tomb.

Eddie hands Isaac the notebook.

Eddie -
I need a bath.

Isaac -
We do have fresh clothes in the packs.

Eddie -
And shaving gear!

The men leave the bikes and carry their gear to the river. They will have a bitter cold yet refreshing bath over two weeks in the making.

*

Simone parks the truck next to the bicycles in the road and steps out, Olivia climbs over the seat to exit as well, unwilling to wait for Grandpa Keith to leave the truck. Hannah and the others climb or jump out of the truck bed, and Simone looks in every direction trying to see her husband.

“Where are they, Mom?” Olivia asks with frustration.

“I don’t know, girls. Maybe you should check by the river.”

A few quick thoughts flash through her mind, and she screams at the girls, “STOP!
”
It suddenly dawned on her that the survivors of the attack could have been anyone, including Jeremiah. That man would not hesitate to kill her and Eddie’s children if he had the chance.

Simone raises her rifle and begins to walk toward the river but stops with the sound of a new approaching danger.

“I hear a car up the road behind us,” Olivia calls.

“It sounds like it’s going fast. Everyone get ready to fight!” Simone yells.

“There’s another one coming from the west. We’re boxed in,” Keith says. “I can see it.”

Like the boats that approached them in the Ocean, Keith doesn’t wait to find out if the occupants are friend or foe. He starts shooting at the approaching truck, hitting it in the grill and tires before Simone can knock the gun out of his hands.

The reunion almost turned into a blood bath when the new arrivals to the scene drove up and were either shot at or witnessed the shooting. The people that fill the three vehicles pour onto the road and aim their guns at Keith, the man they don’t know who tried to kill them.

Simone stands in front of him with her arms out to the people she knows and yells at them not to shoot.

“This is Eddie’s father! He thought you were attacking us.”

“Keith, these are survivors from the ranch. They were sent to Katherine’s place.”

Several apologies later, the group finally turns their collective attentions back to the bicycles on the road.

Samantha slowly walks to the top edge of the river bank, still unsure of what or who she will see. The rest of the group follow in similar fashion, ready to face the worst.

Down at the river’s edge are two men sitting across from each other, with traces of white foam on their faces. Isaac has just finished the last swipe of shaving Eddie’s beard and spots the group standing on the ridge. He waves up at them and motions to Eddie, urging him to turn and see who it is, with a huge grin on his face.

Simone puts her hand to her mouth and starts crying. Hannah and Olivia run down the bank to grab their father, and Keith stands next to Simone, unable to keep his tears from flowing over his cheeks.

Eddie just stands there smiling up at Simone as his girls try tackling him with their hugs.

*

The day ends with a celebration at Katherine’s retreat. Isaac was elated to find out most of the people he sent to the farm survived due to Hannah’s urging. All of the young people and children from his group survived.

The following week was filled with storytelling or story writing for the benefit of Eddie and Isaac. Mixed into the discussions of world adventures and calamities were ideas of rebuilding and exploration. Several of the people spoke about trying to preserve some of the former technologies and modern conveniences that would disappear without regular upkeep, and they all expressed a desire to prevent mankind from falling into a base Stone Age form of existence.

One evening, after a very good meal, Donald gets out his guitar and strums away. Eddie and Isaac enjoy the heartwarming show of the kids smiling and dancing to what must be a lively song. Isaac passes the black and white notebook over to Eddie.

Isaac -
More than one blade of grass I think.

Eddie -
It’s a whole field.

Chapter 27

Oregon Coast

The Last Blade of Grass

It has been seventeen years since the Zeus Plague, as it is now called, brought the human race to near extinction. Lines of communication have been established with various parts of the world. Originally relying on Ham radios, now they are using some other form of radio transmission that people have attempted to explain to me and I still can’t understand.

Erde Fleischer’s name is used as a warning for when people want to do something good but it ends horribly wrong. Just saying his name has replaced the phrase
“The road to Hell is paved with good intentions
.” He did manage to develop an injection to protect people from his Zeus parasite. The risk of infection is still out there since Zeus can still be found and contracted along with normal toxoplasmosis.

Dogs are beginning to make a comeback as pets popular for people to own. Cats have dominated that sphere ever since we were able to start rebuilding the world. If an alien race came to the planet today they would rightfully conclude the dominant species is the cat with their numbers and elevated level of pampered comfort.

Only one major outbreak of the Zeus Plague occurred after the large event we all survived, and that was in a town of anti-cat fanatics living in Asia somewhere. They refused to keep them as pets and also rejected Erde’s toxoplasmosis injection. It cost over three thousand lives before that second outbreak was wiped out.

My family has been living on the Oregon coast in the hills above a town once called Gold Beach, now we call it Christine. We renamed it after my mom when we moved down here. The population is close to four thousand people now, and it’s a beautiful place to live. It sits on the ocean with the mouth of the Rogue River just to our north emptying into the Pacific.

Little Benjamin isn’t so little anymore. He’s eighteen years old, six feet one inches and was the last of our children to get married. He married a wonderful girl named Julia, who reminds me of Simone at her age.

Hannah married Mike three years after they met. They have their own twelve year old daughter now, and they named her Evangeline. That girl is the spitting image of her mother, attitude and all.

Olivia started her own trade company and is usually travelling the coast between towns with her family.

All of my kids are grown, and the pride I feel having them around me right now is immeasurable. They didn’t just survive the end of the world, they thrived in it. Simone and I were able to be there with them every step of the way.

I wish Keith was able to live longer and watch them grow up, but I’m happy that we were at least able to see him again and spend a few more years in each other’s company. Keith died a month after Hannah was married. It was cancer, probably a result of his exposure at the oil rig outside of New Orleans. Frank died a year after him.

Arthur seems determined to outlive us all. He is here with the rest of the survivors from the ranch. Samantha, Conner, Timothy, Dianne, Daniel and all of the others came to send us off.

Of all my friends that came today, I appreciate Isaac showing up above all others. He stayed with our family for ten years following our reunion at the river bank. He only left after he found a woman that he couldn’t live without. She was driving through with a travelling trade caravan, and it was love at first sight.

Neither Isaac nor I regained our hearing, and over the last two years, my eyesight has largely gone as well. Too many nights of writing notes and papers by lamplight.

Isaac hands me a familiar tattered black and white notebook.

Isaac -
Are you sure you have to go?

I look down at Simone. She is lying on my lap and the small waves are making the little boat we are in rock slightly. Years before the collapse Simone had her Thyroid taken out due to cancer. She had to take thyroid replacement hormones for the rest of her life after that. We had stockpiles of the medicine, but after seventeen years, everything ran out or lost its potency. We knew without the medicine she would eventually fall into a coma. She passed out of consciousness a few days ago.

The world of medical care is returning to some level that it was at before the collapse, but it will be years or decades before medicines are available beyond simple aspirins and creams. Even in the past, with full medical care, her current condition would be difficult to reverse.

I write a short while in the notebook and hand it back to my old friend before mouthing the words
goodbye
and picking up the oars to row out into the Pacific.

Eddie -
I have lived my life and it was a good one. I couldn’t ask for a better family or better friends. My children are grown and I have nothing left to teach them. My eyesight is fading, my hearing is gone. All I have left is the opportunity to be a burden to the people that have earned the right to live their lives for themselves and survive the best way they know how.

I know most of you would be willing to take me in and care for me until my dying day but what none of you can know is I am already dead. I used to say that all I needed in life was for one blade of grass to exist somewhere in the world. That was enough to sustain me. What I never told any of you was Simone was my one blade of grass. Without her the world is nothing but barren fields.

I love you all. Celebrate the experiences we had together and cherish your one blade of grass. 

The End

Read on for a free sample of Diaries Of The Damned

Chapter 1 – Boarding

Paul Larkin sat in his seat and fastened his seatbelt. His body was caked with sweat and dried blood. His ears rang from the gunshots, and his ankle was swollen again, remnants of an injury he acquired jumping from the first floor window of his suburban home. At least, it used to be suburbia before everything went to shit.

He sat back and let out a long, deep breath. Shock threatened to take hold of him, so he closed his eyes and waited. The plane filled up, and the cries of those refused admittance echoed down the walkway, swiftly followed by the sound of their execution.

Paul spared but the most fleeting of moments thinking about it. He found it strange how killing and death had become such a large part of his life.

“Excuse me.” A fragile sounding voice stirred Paul from the calm place he had just started to settle into. “I believe this is my seat.” An elderly woman, late seventies at best, stood before him, her face was smeared with blood while one eye had been covered by a filthy rag that had been hastily secured to her face with what looked like duct tape.

“I’m sorry…” Paul asked, confused.

“Seat 17b. This is my seat.” The woman waved the ticket in Paul’s face.

Paul said nothing, but gave the woman a look which screamed, ‘the world as we knew it has ended, are you seriously going to complain that I’m in your seat’? If she could read his expression, she showed no signs of it. So with another heavy sigh, this one of frustration, Paul undid his belt and scooted one seat over.

“Thank you. I don’t mean to be rude, but after all that has happened I feel the need to remain proper about some things,” she said as she sat down. There was an odor to her person that Paul found distinctly repelling, yet she had clearly gotten through the scanners at the gate.

“It’s fine,” he answered her, closing his eyes once more.

The seat he had taken was a window seat, just before the wings of the Boeing 737 which the military had been using as an emergency evacuation vehicle for the past two weeks. Looking out across the tarmac, Paul saw the troops standing guard at the perimeter of the small airfield. The sun had begun to disappear beneath the horizon, and in the dull afterglow of yet another survived day, Paul found himself staring at the firework like bursts of gunfire and wondering how it could have all gone so wrong so quickly.

He tried to stop himself, but before he knew it, his mind was cast back. He saw his wife, Julia, and their two children, Doug and Maddie. They were outside, Paul standing behind the barbeque as Julia busied herself by setting the table while their kids played in the garden, enjoying the summer weather. He blinked, trying to force the image away. It worked, but was replaced by the memory of his wife’s battered, bloody corpse lying on the floor in their living room; her face blackened and swollen by the sickness, her body broken from the repeated strikes he had delivered with his son’s baseball bat. Her blood was splattered over his clothes, his face, everything.

“Daddy, I don’t feel well,” his daughter had called. Paul had turned around just in time to see the blood flow from her mouth like vomit. She collapsed to the floor, the convulsions already upon her. His son followed suit within the hour. Their small bodies were an easy target for the virus.

“I love you,” Paul had whispered as he hugged them both tightly and then pushed their heads beneath the surface of the water. They struggled, of course, but their bodies were too weak from the disease to provide much resistance. His daughter fought the longest. “You’re with the angels now,” Paul whispered to them as he dried their faces, dressed them in clean clothes, and laid them in their beds.

The sound of an explosion within the terminal rocked the plane and pulled Paul from the nightmare. The sun had fallen behind the trees, yet the plane did not seem anywhere near full.

“Close those doors!” the lone flight attendant called out, running down the aisle, pushing passengers out of the way without a second thought. “Close them now!” she screamed again just as the roar of machine gun fire reached them.

The screams of those still in the walkway were cut off as the doors were closed, and the engines roared into life.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats. We are making an immediate departure,” the now out of breath young women spoke into the intercom. “God help us all,” she added.

The plane shuddered into life and rolled away from the gate. The coupling that connected it to the terminal was still filled with bodies. Paul watched them cascade to the floor like lemmings; a human waterfall. “Lucky bastards,” he whispered as he stared at their still, lifeless forms.

The plane rolled onto the runway and stopped. They sat there for ten minutes, and then just as people started to get nervous, three armored Jeeps came to a screeching halt either side of the aircraft, the machine guns mounted on the top of each firing into the unseen enemy.

“Oh God, they got past the perimeter fences!” a voice cried out. This was accompanied by a wave of panic that saw people leap from their seats. Paul however, sat still; shock and weariness had overcome him. As a result, he saw the guns cease firing, and the gunner of the car nearest his window waved his hands in a signal which even Paul understood meant, ‘Get going, NOW!’

Paul opened his mouth to warn the panicked mob, but he was too late. The engines roared, and the plane sped down the runway. People were thrown to the floor and into their seats as the plane gathered momentum. Through his window, Paul watched as the bodies of those that had caused the delay were mown down by the speeding jet. Even that wouldn’t be enough to kill them all, but what did it matter now? They were airborne, and the legions of the undead were behind them.

Looking back, Paul was just in time to see the main concourse explode in a ball of flame. The mushrooming ball of fire looked, for a few seconds at least, as though it would engulf the plane, too, but their ascent was steep; too steep to be safe. They avoided the blast, but the resultant concussive wave shook the aircraft enough to dislodge an extra round of screams from his fellow passengers.

Once they leveled out, and everybody had pulled themselves to their feet, an eerie hush fell over the cabin. Nobody moved; nobody spoke. They had all lost people to the disease. They had all killed as a result of it, and while they were alive, the world beneath them was locked in a bitter fight for survival. The city burned below them; the air dark with ash and soot. The military presence was immense: tanks, aircraft, and platoons of men armed to the nines with every weapon that could be issued. They had a lot to mourn and a lot to be thankful for.

Of course, Paul had seen firsthand how the creatures…infected - it was all too easy to forget that they had been human beings just two weeks ago - had eaten bullets and kept on walking, so what use the military presence would serve in the long run was beyond him.

Beside him, the old woman began to weep. Within a few seconds, the whole plane echoed with the sound of tears being shed; the conflict of emotions too overwhelming. As a collective they had stayed strong, but now, like a house of cards, when one fell, the rest would never be far behind. Apart from Paul that was. He didn’t cry, he felt nothing; his entire body was numb. He was not an emotional man. That is to say, he was a man that had learned to deal with the dark tide of his emotions internally. He didn’t keep it bottled up in an attempt to look tough. At five feet eight and seventy kilos, a tough guy he was not—not under the traditional definition. He did it because he didn’t know how to let it out. Instead, he watched and listened as those around him gave voice to their pain.

The sobs died down, and the gentle thrum of the engines seemed to ease the entire group into a semi doze. Even Paul found himself struggling to hold his eyes open. Climbing over the snoring elderly woman beside him, Paul made his way to the back of the plane. The bathroom stall was unlocked, but when he opened the door, he let out a cry of alarm when he saw the young air hostess who had run down the plane and closed the door when things got too heavy, sitting slumped over the toilet seat. She was covered in blood which spilled from the two slashes she had made in her wrists. The mirror above the sink had been smashed, and in her left hand she held a bloodied shard. She clutched it like a knife. Even as Paul reached over the spreading pool of blood on the floor to check her pulse, she managed to lash out feebly.

“Get away from me,” she whispered her words, sluggish from the loss of blood.

Paul froze for a moment; even considered just closing the bathroom door and leaving her to die, but at the last moment he raised his voice, and called out, “I need some help here.” As he stepped into the small cubicle, his foot slipped on the slick floor, and he almost fell, catching his balance at the last second.

“No,” the young woman protested, but Paul took hold of her and pulled her into his arms.  She was unable to hold herself upright, her legs dragging uselessly behind her, drawing a white line on the scarlet floor.

“Oh my God!” a few voices screamed, and a general clamor of interest sprang up as Paul laid her down on the row of chairs he had singled out as a good place to have a nap. He held her arms in the air, elevating them to stem the blood flow. Paul looked around and noticed how unfazed people were by the scene; how little they reacted to the shedding of blood or the taking of one’s own life. After all, they had all witnessed much worse, and the act of suicide, of opting out, was an option they had all considered at various points in time.

“Is anybody a doctor?” he called to the small group of passengers. There were only a handful, maybe thirty at most, but it was a legitimate question to ask.

“I’m a paramedic,” a voice spoke up, and a tall black man with a shaved head strode toward them. Behind him, his daughter sat crying, afraid that he had strayed too far from her side. “It’s okay, I’m only going over there to help the young lady who gave you that blanket.” He soothed her, pointing to the airline blanket the stewardess had taken the time to retrieve for the young girl.

“We need to stop the bleeding,” Paul called as he held his hand over the two gashes. Blood seeped through his fingers making his grip precarious on her slick wrists. He could feel the stewardess losing consciousness; her body grew weaker and weaker.

“You, grab the first aid kit from the galley,” the paramedic instructed the nearest bystander the moment he saw the scene. “Here, let me take a look,” he spoke, reaching out toward Paul who carefully slid the young girl’s arms into more capable hands.

The man inspected the wound, tilting his head to the side as he examined it as though it were some rare find. “If we can stop the bleeding and get these things covered up, she should be just fine. The cuts aren’t too deep, and this one, I guess it was the second, doesn’t even span the whole wrist,” he spoke in a serious tone as he took the offered first aid kit. “Hand me the gauze, will you?” He passed the kit on to Paul, the appointed nurse for the flight.

It took a little while, but the paramedic who, when it was all said and done, had introduced himself as Leon Melcher, stopped the bleeding long enough to crudely stitch the wounds and bandage them both. “It won’t heal all too pretty, but she’ll live.” He wiped the sweat from his brow and replaced it with a bloody smear. “Somebody will have to watch her. We need to get her talking as soon as possible, keep her awake.” His look at Paul made it clear he had been elected to watch over the girl.

“Ok,” he agreed. His head was pounding, but at least it would give him something to do to keep his mind occupied and hold the nightmares at bay.

The sun set, and the cabin fell into darkness. With the stewardess out of action, the passengers had taken to helping themselves to drinks from galley, and thanks to the decently stocked supply of beer, wine, and spirits, soon began to relax. Paul refused the drinks when they were offered. It wasn’t that he didn’t drink, but he had consumed enough after the outbreak to keep him turned away from booze for a good time yet.

Sitting beside the woman he had rescued, Paul found himself drifting off into sleep. She stirred intermittently but had yet to regain full consciousness. Paul knew the only thing he could do was wait. He tried to fight it, but there comes a point when exhaustion cannot be held off any longer. To his relief, it was not so much sleep that consumed him, but more an inability to stay awake. He fell into the darkness, a period of seemingly endless silence, and welcomed it.

A shooting cramp in his left leg jolted Paul from sleep. He jumped to his feet and tried to stretch it out, gritting his teeth to stop from causing a scene. The cramp passed, and Paul looked around. It was dark in the plane, the sun not even beginning to tease the horizon. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than half an hour, but he felt better than he had in weeks.