The Reaper Virus (21 page)

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 I rummaged
through my bag with the other. 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 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 painkillers 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’d have to make it over the footbridge. The thought of
crossing put another pit in my stomach. Every inch of the steel
grated, suspended pedestrian bridge redefined 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 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 lying 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 burning there and no one
stopped it… well I was pretty sure Richmond’s skyline would be
changing in the near future.

I wished there was some way to see the
pedestrian bridge leading to Belle Isle from there. Even though I
could see parts of the island and the river, the rest of my view
was 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 had been a railroad hub in the south
for easily two hundred years. Amtrak and CSX rail used the 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 was that they were completely vacant. I couldn’t
see anything, standing or otherwise, in either direction. Any
stretch not occupied by zombies was a welcomed one. I made my way
over the dirt path and to the gravel line. One step on the stones
made my stomach lurch. 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 steel 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 had been crossing the
river. I felt giddy at knowing my passageway out of this wretched
city was finally close. I didn’t even let my lack of a plan for
after Belle Isle deter my anticipation.

After two hundred playfully skipped feet down
the rails I stopped dead in my tracks. Grief overcame my balance as
I sat down hard on the cool steel 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 had
increased with the practice I’d 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.

It wasn’t the time to be depressed. At least
I had made it to a way across the river that didn’t involve
swimming. I 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 had
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 caught 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 someday. 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 made perfect sense
now and not thinking of it sooner made me feel like an
imbecile.

It wasn’t the most direct way to cross the
river, but under the current circumstances it was the safest. I was
also fairly certain that only freight trains traveled that 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 were a lot of unknown factors about this new route. I found
it odd that the unknown parts of this journey were almost as
terrifying as everything I
did
know.

The first few minutes of back tracking would
be my last familiar steps. Beyond them was an open expanse of
parallel tracks that stretched farther than I could see. Even with
the delightful absence of
anything
visible
that might act as a deterrent, I was shaken to my core by the
gravity of this unknown realm.

1515 hours:

The walk was pleasant compared to the layers of hell
I had already traversed. 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 comforting. As 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 brought me away from civilization. The only
reminder of humanity here was the rail beneath my feet.

A sigh of relief worked its way through my
chest. Even though it was brought on by a good feeling, it brought
about terrible pain. My battered body screamed out for a break. In
that 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/painkiller variety.

I plopped down on the rail closest to the
water. If anything tried to shamble its 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 held 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. I could see an assortment of debris breaching the waves at
random intervals. I had no desire to try and differentiate between
branches or trash. With everything going on I could only imagine
what had ended up in the 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. Since allowing 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.