The Living Dead (Book 1): Contagion (17 page)

            “Of course you can play. We may have to stay indoors but we’ll find something to play, I’m sure.” The thought of seeing them again brought an overwhelming feeling of joy mixed with apprehension. They’ll be there, she told herself, and they’ll be just fine. She kissed the top of his head after tucking him in then went back to Charles.

            He appeared no better or worse. She carefully checked the growth under his arm. It might be slightly bigger, she wasn’t sure, but it was definitely harder, the skin stretched taut. Just then, he began to cough, spewing out more tarry phlegm. Gagging at the smell, she wiped it away. He lapsed deeper into unconsciousness and she sat back to wait. Anger and grief mixed with incredulity that she sat at the bedside of a friend, waiting to shoot him in the head so he wouldn’t come back to life and eat her. The room was cold. There wasn’t any firewood left.

            She dozed and dreamed that she was back in her attic. Anna and Greg were with her and they were both sick but she wasn’t worried. She had the antibiotics from the pharmacy and she knew they would be all right. Their beds were in the attic too and she tucked them in after they took their medicine. Anna began to cough. She held her and rubbed her back. Virginia looked out through the vent and saw the infected gathering in front of the house. A dead Yun Li looked up and staggered toward her, the others following gracelessly. Anna’s cough grew louder and deeper. She pressed her to her bosom to muffle the sound and- woke up.

            The bed was shaking. Charles alternately coughed and moaned. She felt along the floor for the gun, got up, and turned the lamp wick higher, dreading what she had to do.

            “Don’t shoot Virginia, not yet. Dear God it hurts.” His words were slurred and raspy and his eyes, bloodshot but still blue and full of intelligence, pleaded with her. She put the gun down, soaked the washcloth with fresh water and bathed his face. He was in agony. Not knowing what else to do she grabbed another cloth, soaked it in hot water and spread it like a poultice over the swelling under his arm. She heard a soft
pop
and black pus poured out of the now open sore. A foul smell filled the room as she stuffed towels under the area to try to keep the discharge off the sheets. The pus changed from black to yellow as it continued to ooze, almost spurting, from the abscess. Minutes passed and the flow changed to blood mixed with pus, still pouring out in alarming amounts. She grabbed a clean towel and applied pressure to the sore. Gradually, the discharge diminished. Running more hot water, she carefully cleaned the area and packed it with rolled, clean cloths. Charles was no longer conscious which was probably a mercy. His breath came in short, painful gasps.

            She gathered the soiled towels and cloths and threw them in the basement. There was a laundry area down there but it was useless without electricity. Feeling unclean herself she took a quick shower before going back to keep watch. Charles’ breathing was more even and he seemed to be in less pain. She settled down in the bedside chair, prepared for a long night. Outside, scudding clouds obscured the moon briefly but nothing other than a hooting owl disturbed the quiet night.

Chapter 18

At the sight of them, nations are in anguish; every face turns pale.

Joel 2:6

            “I had no idea. You should have told me you were into this kind of thing. It’s presumptuous of you to just spring it on me like this.”

            She heard the words but they made no sense. Her neck hurt and her face rested on something hard. The sun shone brightly against her eyelids. She opened her eyes and saw Charles looking at her from the bed, arms and legs still bound. She sat up in the chair, rubbing her neck and pushing her hair out of her face.

            “I’m not a judgmental person when it comes to someone’s private life but this really isn’t my idea of fun. So if you can just untie me, we’ll never speak of this again.” Charles’ voice was weak and he looked terrible but he was definitely laughing at her. Thank God.

            “Tell me this first. Do I look good to you? Good enough to eat maybe?”

            “You look good, except for the drool.” She swiped at her mouth. “But I don’t want to eat anything unless it’s been approved by the FDA and then cooked medium well.”

            She untied him, carefully easing his left arm down. Relief at the realization he was all right coursed through her and she smiled down at him. He took her hand and said solemnly, “Thanks. I don’t remember much about last night but I do remember you being there.”

            “De nada. Are you hungry? We managed to get some water into you yesterday but no food.”

            “Starving. I’ll take whatever you have.”

            Two hours later, they were ready to go. Using a bed sheet, she improvised a sling to hold Charles’ arm steady. The hole left by the ulceration still wept blood sporadically. His shoulder drooped oddly, as if the infection had eaten into the musculature.

            Sunlight danced on the windows of the old house as they drove away. By daylight she could see the ivy vines, currently leafless, that covered the stone walls. It must be beautiful in season, all covered in green. Guiding the Explorer over the rutted drive was easier in daylight. Snow still lay on the shaded hillsides but melted and poured down in little rivulets anywhere the sun touched.

            “That’s a nice old house. I’d like to go back under different circumstances.”

            “It had a sinister reputation back in the day. The group of Brits that built it was supposed to have celebrated some sort of pagan rites a couple of times a year. Dancing around fires in the nude, sacrificing chickens, stuff like that. The springs up the hill behind it disappear underground then branch off when they reach the house and flow all the way to the original well the town was named for. The water is supposed to have healing properties.” Charles ate cold beans from a can while she drove.

            “Really? Where’s the well?”

            “No one knows for sure anymore. I think the water either changed course or dried up.”

            “Hmm, wonder if it would heal our little epidemic going on now. Wouldn’t it be great to find a cure? Or even better if we could find a time machine and just go back a little and quarantine Haiti immediately after the earthquake? We’ve lost so many-” She was crying. The trees grew blurry and she wiped her eyes hard. “I hate to cry like this, but I’m just so angry.” Charles reached for her hand then winced and drew his arm back to his chest. “Don’t move your arm, Charles, ignore me. I‘m just being stupid.”

            They reached the end of the drive and turned right onto 531. A few minutes’ drive brought them back to the barrier pole at the pass. A steel key from one of the key rings found in Lenny’s pocket unlocked the chain securing the pole and she dragged it out of the way.

            The road beyond glistened in the bright sunlight.

            “Sunglasses. Such a small thing but so useful. I wish I had a pair.”

Charles rummaged through the glove box with his good hand.

            “No luck. We’ll find another gas station and pick some up there.”

            They drove past the barrier. High in the mountains the cold held fast, keeping the snow from melting much on the hillsides or road. She kept her speed down and negotiated curves slowly.

            “So I wonder what I am now. Obviously I’m not a full fledged zombie or I’d have already eaten you.” She glanced back at Daniel then looked at Charles warningly. He backtracked.

            “Just a joke Daniel. Virginia’s too skinny to eat. Who’d want her?” He continued in a lower voice. “I know I’m lucky to be alive but I don’t understand why I am.”

            “I think you must have inhaled or otherwise absorbed some of the discharge from one of them. It could have happened to any of us. Think about how often we‘ve had to fight them off. You know that black stuff must be full of bacteria for them to decay so fast. Maybe it’s just an especially nasty bacterium that makes you really sick but can’t emit the virus.”

            “Or maybe the virus mutated? Thanks for not shooting me.”

            “I was ready to. Reluctant though.”

            “That bodes well for our future relationship.”

            “Our future relationship will be exactly like our current relationship.”

            “Traveling together constantly and staying at exclusive resorts?”

            “I like you better unconscious.”

            “See? I knew you liked me.”

            “Can you check the backpack and see if there are any sunglasses in there?”

            There weren’t. He pulled out Bill’s worn manila envelope and rifled through the contents.

            “This one looks like something involving the U.S. military. How did your neighbor find these documents and why did he never publish them? I would have.”

            “He meant to but was waiting to retire so he could devote more time to his writing. Then he was diagnosed with MS. A few days ago, he became one of the new dead and writing wasn’t on his agenda anymore. Is it interesting?”

            It was.

           
The following document is the first hand account of Burton Hayes, twenty one year old signal officer attached to the expeditionary force of the 13th Marine Division dispatched to Haiti in 1915. This copy of the document was obtained from a private collector who inherited it from a family member. The original is stamped classified.

            October 2, 1915 Arrived Port au Prince. Weather warm and sunny. Brief tour of the town revealed sanitation practically nonexistent with slops and pots emptied out the windows directly into streets and occasionally onto passersby. Locals uncommunicative and occasionally hostile.

             Settled in, making twice-weekly sorties into the countryside, patrolling out about 4 miles before turning back. Came under fire and skirmished with the “Cacos” (local mercenaries) but they broke ranks quick when faced with a company of military regulars. Any time we had one of these encounters we had to go through health inspections. Yaws afflicted the natives but the medics didn’t seem too concerned about that for us. They were especially looking for bites and scratches they said might get putrid.

            By November, the novelty of the place was gone and we were ready for some real action. Admiral Caperton summed up the local situation in a telegram to the President.

            “Country’s instability largely due to existing professional soldiers called Cacos, organized in bands under lawless and irresponsible chiefs...Believe can control Congress. Can prevent any Cacos outbreak with recently arrived regiment of marines...Stable government not possible in Haiti until Cacos are disbanded...Such action now imperative...Majority population well disposed and submissive…”

             Orders subsequently came to set out for Fort Riviere, a stronghold established by the French in the 1700‘s. Over one hundred indigenous insurgents were holed up there and rumor was something unholy was going on. Villagers were going missing. Frightened families packed up and trekked all the way to Port au Prince asking for shelter and protection. They attributed their troubles to the Nzumbi, a band of mercenaries with which we were not familiar.

November 16
^th
1500 hours:
 Caught sight of the old French fort after half a day’s march. Built on the crest of Montaigne Noir out of massive stone blocks, Fort Riviere must have towered 4000 feet over the sea. Our platoon, accompanied by a small force of the Haitian Gendarmie, approached from the southeast and circled around the base of the mountain to get closer to the rampart. What little road remained was overgrown and the area around the base hadn’t been cleared in so long it was gone back to jungle. We had three field artillery guns with us ‘til one mule threw a shoe. We hid the gun in the scrub before proceeding to the rendezvous point where we met with 10
^th
Company. Two pickets stayed behind to guard the gun until we could send back for it.

            1900 hours: Four men dispatched to retrieve third artillery gun returned with gun but guarding pickets could not be found. Reported the mule dead and savaged with skeleton picked clean. Blood swathed the area and surrounding vegetation heavily trampled. Speculated the men were taken by surprise and held hostage.

 Assault scheduled for daylight.

            0700 hours: Day dawned clear. Fort quiet, not even cooking fire smoke observed. Shelling began 0745 hours and south wall breached by 0945 hours. Fire was not returned. Figures observed leaping from the breached area onto the plain below and slowly making for our position. No parley or surrender flags but they appeared to be unarmed. As they closed in exclamations of “Nzumbie” erupted from members of the gendarmie who began firing without authorization. The old man swore and cuffed their officers, telling them to stop their men. They ignored him. Some of the combatants went down but, incredibly, others walked on through what became a hail of bullets. The advancing Cacos sported dreadful injuries; some with missing limbs and stripped of skin and flesh on large portions of their bodies. Then something I have never seen before and hope to never see again occurred. Three hissing, growling Cacos reached our line and pulled down Wilson, tearing into his body with their hands and teeth; devouring his flesh on the spot. The gendarmie soldiers screamed, “Détruire la tête seulement la tete.” The old man looked blank for a moment then shouted, “That’s right; shoot the bastards in the head!” We needed little encouragement, fell to, and soon covered the ground with dead Cacos. The firing stopped. Amidst the smoke and confusion the Haitian soldiers moved onto the field, smashing the skulls of the fallen with rifle butts and large stones. We retrieved Wilson’s body and wrapped him in blankets. In a lapse of judgment, we failed to set a guard on the body and his head was destroyed by persons unknown.

            Orders were to fan out and take down any stragglers. We found over twenty and took them down with headshots. Our Haitian compatriots reduced those heads to greasy fragments. We later counted over one hundred forty dead. Upon entering Fort Riviere, we found nothing alive. Only more of the shambling Cacos of the type before described. Nineteen hundred pounds of dynamite were sent for from Grand Riviere du Nord and the engineers leveled the accursed fort. The rotting and mutilated bodies of the two pickets lost before the battle were brought in by patrols.  Found wandering with the Cacos not far from the base of the fort they were shot as part of the round up.

         It is believed a local Caco warlord effected the change in the men in Fort Riviere, unleashing them on the countryside to garner local allegiance through fear and intimidation. Locals who were otherwise uncooperative provided this information reluctantly. How this change was effected is still unclear and there are elements of this engagement that remain beyond my understanding. How does a man encounter a storm of bullets and not go down? How do the dead walk?