Plague World (Ashley Parker Novel) (15 page)

Tony looked bewildered.

“But… the zombies did go away. There aren’t any down here so why didn’t they climb out?”

I looked at the way the boy clung to the ladder, even in death. The kid had probably held on as long as he could before either exhaustion or hypothermia got the best of him.

“The tide came in,” I said softly. “The zombies wouldn’t go away as long as the kids were alive, so they had a choice—go out and get torn to pieces, or hope the tide didn’t rise too high.”

I can hold my breath for a long, long time
, I thought, and then I shivered.

“By the time they figured out they were gonna drown, there had to have been zombies all over the top. They probably couldn’t have moved the cover back off even if they’d had the guts to try. They didn’t stand a chance.”

Tony stared at the bodies for a long moment.

“That really sucks,” he finally said.

I wondered if he was picturing the same grim scenario as me, the two huddled on the ladder, trying to keep their heads above water and resist the numbness brought on by the frigid water as it slowly rose around them. Did the girl finally give up, let go and slip under the water? Or had she fought until the last minute to stay alive, same as the boy?

Tony was right, though. Either way it sucked.

“Why didn’t they come back?” JT looked at the bodies with a clinical compassion.

“It doesn’t look like she’s been bit,” I replied. “But the kid over there definitely took one for the team.”

“The rate of infection varies,” Nathan added. “The bite doesn’t look too deep, so there’s a good chance he drowned before succumbing to the virus.”

“So at least she didn’t have to see her boyfriend turn,” I said, almost to myself as I thought about my own experience with Matt.

Just then the boy’s hand twitched, the fingers clutching the rung in a brief spasm before releasing it. JT drew in his breath with a sharp inhale, and then let it out again in a sigh.

“Ah,” he said.

Slowly the boy’s corpse lifted its head, swiveling it around until its dead eyes stared straight at us. Its mouth opened as it gave the inevitable moan. A hermit crab scuttled out of its lips and plopped to the ground. The newly minted zombie got to its feet, every movement yielding grotesque squishing noises from its waterlogged flesh and clothing. The ravens and gulls scattered as the figure staggered over to the girl’s still lifeless form. The crabs stayed where they were.

I wondered what it took to scare a crab.

After a cursory examination, the zombie moved away from the corpse. Guess the meat wasn’t fresh enough—too cold maybe. Instead it lurched over to the bars and reached toward us, moaning plaintively. For a brief instant I understood why someone would want to believe there was still a spar of humanity inside of these empty, rotting shells. It sounded so damn sad, and so lonely, and I suddenly couldn’t separate the poor kid from the soulless monster he had become.

I remembered a commercial where an old lamp had been put out on the curb in the cold night, with sad music playing. The one where the narrator said, “it’s just a lamp, people!” Anthropomorphizing was ingrained in human nature, be it with animals, insects, plants, or inanimate objects.

And yeah, I’d felt bad for the lamp too.

I unslung my squirrel rifle, sighted down the barrel, and pulled the trigger. There was a soft popping sound and a small hole appeared in the center of the kid’s forehead. It crumpled to the ground next to the girl, one arm landing improbably to drape over her waist.

“It’s just a lamp, people,” I said softly, and stepped back.

“What are we going to do?” Ana stood perfectly still, the smell of tar thick in her nostrils, afraid any movement would suck her down further in the viscous goo.

“I don’t know.” Jonathan Rivera, her boss and mentor at ConocoPhillips, stayed equally still at her side, both of them mired knee deep, unable to move any further. Moans filled the air along the shore, the sound both plaintive and terrifying. She and Jonathan were about ten feet out from the shore. Only fear had enabled them to get that far into the mire without being stuck.

“There has to be something we can do,” Ana said, trying desperately to keep her voice from breaking. “There’s got to be a way out of here, right?”

“Ana…” Jonathan stopped as the volume of the moaning increased, the sound chilling even in the harsh light of day.

Ana shuddered.

Not seven feet away were hideous parodies of humanity—men and women with chunks missing from their bodies, milky corneas framed by yellow, bloodied whites. They stunk, the reek of rotting flesh warring with the acrid odor of tar.

Greedy hands reached out toward them, fingers clutching for the prey that was beyond their reach. What made it worse was Ana recognized many of them as others from their team. People she’d worked with for the last few days.

Ana had always been fascinated by tar pits, going into the field of paleontology based on a visit to the La Brea museum as a child. They formed when natural asphalt seeped upward from cracks in the sediment above oil-bearing rocks. Rainwater collected on the surface, making the pits look like harmless waterholes, luring thirsty animals to their doom. If they weren’t engulfed immediately through their struggles, they would starve to death. Predators looking for an easy meal became stuck as well, adding to the rich collection of fossils first found in the La Brea pits, and more recently in the Menes in Inciarte, Venezuela.

Jonathan and Ana were working at the site where the fossilized remains of a saber-tooth tiger had been discovered in 2008, and many other fossils had since been extracted. It was a paleontologist’s wet dream, and the opportunity to be a part of the operation. It was the chance of a lifetime for Ana, especially with the added bonus of being at Jonathan’s side as his assistant.

Only now that dream had turned into a nightmare, as it seemed that Ana and Jonathan might become part of the fossil collection.

* * *

They’d arrived later than usual because Jonathan was feeling under the weather, having caught the bug that was going around the site—not to mention the small hotel where they were staying. A few of the local workers had been sick enough the day before that they should have gone home, but most of them elected to stay.

Ana had considered insisting that Jonathan stay back at the hotel, but he had seemed better after a cup of coffee and several packets of Thera-Flu, so they set off for the site. When they’d arrived, they’d found it strangely empty, the normal eager bustle and noise of the workers conspicuously absent. Hammers and chisels lay discarded on the ground along with buckets, dustpans, and broken plaster of paris molds vying for space with clipboards, pads of paper, pencils and measuring tapes.

It was only after she’d gotten out of the jeep that Ana had spotted a severed human leg, foot still shod in a work boot, lying on the ground near the large canvas tent that served as a makeshift cafeteria and break area. The calf—what was left of it—was muscular and hairy. The thing had been gnawed to the bone in some places.

Jonathan had gotten out of the vehicle.

Ana stared at the bite marks, but it wasn’t until the first of the creatures had staggered out from the tent’s interior that she realized those bites were human.

One of the workers—Ana thought his name was Pedro—had a chisel sticking out of his stomach. Black fluid, as viscous as the tar, oozed from the point of penetration. He reached for her, taking lumbering steps that brought him dangerously close. Ana grabbed the protruding end of the chisel, shoving with all of her weight behind it, sending the thing into another monstrosity that was coming up from behind.

Jonathan gave a yell as more of the creatures appeared.

“Get back in the car!” he hollered, breaking into a hacking cough as the words left his mouth. Ana turned to obey, but found her path blocked off by a half dozen of the things clustered around them. One of them, a former young intern, with shapely legs, looked as if she’d been wading with piranhas. She grabbed Ana’s arm, uncoordinated fingers scrabbling on her long-sleeved cotton shirt. Ana had shrieked, slapped the thing’s hand away, and run in the opposite direction, Jonathan close at her heels.

They had barreled right through the safety of the worksite with its wooden walkways and railing, tripping over the grids of twine. The creatures followed relentlessly, their numbers cutting off any escape, until she and Jonathan found themselves faced with the choice of stepping further into the unprotected pit itself, or being torn to pieces.

* * *

Now they stood, unable to go any further as the zombies slowly trudged after them, sinking into the tar beneath the water’s surface until they too were trapped.

One of them, intestines spilling out over its khaki shirt and pants, kept reaching, bending toward them until its upper half finally collapsed into the ooze, arms still outstretched, fingers clutching as it tried to pull itself forward. It kept moving long after it should have suffocated.

“What are they?” Ana whispered. She prayed desperately for someone
, anyone
to come and rescue them. She didn’t want to die like this.

Jonathan coughed again, eyes jaundiced and bright red from his illness and the fumes from the tar. Suddenly his eyes rolled up in his head and he buckled over, folding in on himself. Ana cried out and grabbed him before his body could hit the tar. She nearly keeled over herself. Only the goo holding her legs in place stabilized her enough to take Jonathan’s weight and remain upright.

Maybe I should just let us both go down,
Ana thought.
Surely death by suffocation would be kinder than the slow torture of starvation.
And yet she couldn’t give up. Couldn’t believe it was inevitable that she and Jonathan would share the same as those unfortunate animals from so many centuries past.

Jonathan’s bulk grew heavier by the moment, until Ana realized she’d either have to release him, or they’d both go down. Her arms trembled with fatigue and she prepared herself to make the choice of letting him die, just so she could have a few more hours of life.

“Please wake up, Jon, please wake up, please don’t be dead,” Ana intoned the words over and over like a prayer.

Just as her muscles couldn’t take any more, Jonathan emitted a sudden groan, and stirred in her grasp.

“Oh, thank God!” Ana gave a laugh of relief, despite the hopelessness of their situation. At least she wouldn’t be alone.

Then Jonathan lifted his head and stared at her with dead eyes. He groaned again, wrapping his hands around her body and pulling her close. As his teeth sunk into her neck, Ana realized the choice had been made for her.

She only hoped she didn’t come back.

Our little group was quiet as we made our way south along the edge of the beach, sticking close to the water to hide our presence as much as possible from the zombies above. The hard-packed sand was easier to walk on, too, and we needed to keep our pace brisk.

Even JT was subdued after witnessing the sad little drama we’d left behind us in the storm drain. As for me, I wouldn’t want to talk even if it’d been safe to do so. Scream to the heavens, maybe, just to get some of the sorrow and horror out of my head.

The kid I’d killed had already been dead, but both he and his girlfriend had suffered a drawn-out, terrifying fate. And let’s face it—I would always empathize with the damn lamp. Moisture from the fog mingled with a slow but steady stream of tears trickling down my face. I didn’t bother trying to wipe them away. They’d dry up eventually, and none of my companions would judge me.

We passed a long stretch of sandy slope to our left. I could see some sort of structure up top, and yet more abandoned cars. The strident cries of peacocks mingled with the moans of the damned. JT nodded in that direction.

“The zoo is up there, across the Great Highway,” he said quietly. Which meant there were a bunch of zombies up there, as well. There were bound to be some that had found their way to the beach.

Nathan picked up his pace even more, motioning for the rest of us to do the same. I didn’t need to be told twice. Even as we hurried further south, I saw human silhouettes in the fog moving slowly in our direction. One missed its step on a steeper part of the sandy slope, tumbling down the rest of the way like a Raggedy Ann doll. It landed in a tangle of disjointed limbs about twenty feet behind us, getting slowly to its feet and emitting a low moan as it realized food was near.

Nathan quickly dispatched it with a round to the head, but it was too late. Others answered the moan and more forms emerged from the fog.

“Move it, people,” Nathan growled.

We started jogging down the beach—not my choice of exercise on a good day, let alone lugging however many pounds of gear I was carrying. My M4 and squirrel rifle slapped against my back and shoulders as I jogged. Luckily my thigh and groin seemed to have recovered, thanks to the wild card perk of accelerated healing.

I wondered how soldiers dealt with all their deadly accessories efficiently and without getting the shit beaten out of them by their own gear. Maybe it just took practice. Well, I wasn’t going to be finished with my on-the-job training any time soon, so I had plenty of time to get good at it.

And with that totally depressing thought I sucked it up. Even with the crappy visibility, I could see the beach narrowing, the coastline bulging out with an artificial stretch of boulders and slabs of concrete added to stave off erosion. Directly ahead of us it narrowed down to a few feet between the water’s edge on our right and a very steep rise to our left, made up of rocks topped by a lip of crumbling asphalt.

Waves crashed onto shore, curls of white foam rolling in to splash against the rocks before receding. I did not like the looks of it.