The Reaper Virus (40 page)

Persistently violent tremors shook me awake.
The surrounding fenced-in yard was now dimly visible. Holy shit. It
must be morning. I was knocked out all night? On the opposite side
of the fence I could hear figures fidgeting around the un-raked
autumn leaves. Rigor-like stiffness fought my sitting up. I battled
through the objections of my broken body in order to survey the
area.

Light mist formed a blanket that separated
the browning grass and brisk November morning air. The yard was
barren of any activity beyond me. I looked intently at the slightly
frosted dew glaze on the ground for signs of disturbance. Trails in
the shimmer might indicate that my loved ones had been out to check
on me. The scene before me was one of untouched morning serenity,
and it terrified me.

“Why didn’t they come out?” I growled through
a scratchy throat.

I struggled to get up. It felt as if jagged
weights had been placed all over my body. Filth, everything from
dirt to gore, wetly splotched the black uniform jacket that had
kept me warm countless mornings. My struggle to stand was not a
silent one. The undead on the other side of the fence began
pounding their rotten fists against the wooden planks. Although I
was safe for the time being, I took their excitement as motivation
to move. Oddly enough, it was the numbness from cold that spared me
from much of the pain during my crawl. I inched along on my hands
and knees while bracing myself against the house. Minutes later, I
reached my target: the rusty garden hose stand beneath the window
leading to the bedroom I shared with Sarah. My damp, gloved hand
patted around the boarded window until I felt movement in the
wood.

Back when I secured the house, before things
went to hell, I had worried about getting locked out. And Sarah
said I was being paranoid… I eased my tingly fingertips under the
new gap in fortification. Pain screamed from every inch of me. I
ignored it all in order to hoist myself through the trap door. I
tumbled into the house, knocking a dead alarm clock off the
nightstand under the window and finally crashed to the floor.
Warmth of memories from this happy room felt soothing despite the
current darkened state of things.

Waves of aching throbbed throughout me from
the carpeted impact. In the past few days I’d had to rest on every
manner of horrendous surface. With the pain aside, this light
padding of carpet felt like a cloud in comparison. It took several
minutes of lying there to regain my sense of priority. Why hadn’t
they come to see what the crashing sound was? My heart palpitated
with worry while full body injury became a moot point.

“Sarah! Maddox! Calise!” The volume of my
voice likely sent the creatures outside deeper into fervor.

My body shook with every movement. I didn’t
know if the tremors were still a result of the core-chilling night
spent outside or from the sudden surge of adrenaline. The air
temperature was about ten degrees warmer in the house but still far
below comfort levels. Within seconds I reached the bedroom door. A
banging noise somewhere on the other side stopped my frantic
motions. It should have been second nature to reach for my Kukri by
then. The only reason it wasn’t was simply because the blade had
rarely left my hand since the dead came back. My gloved fingers
fumbled over my shoulder and found the wooden contours of the
weapon’s handle. Having to pull a weapon in your own home is a
heart-sinking affair that I never once thought I’d encounter.

I took a deep breath and gripped the familiar
killing tool tightly. It was pointless to try and calm myself. I
scoured my memory to recall if I’d seen the car in the driveway or
any breach in our fortifications. My brain was attempting to use
the persistent pain and vivid details as evidence that this
couldn’t be some illogical nightmare. However, the remaining logic
in my mind was pecking away at any acceptance that this could
actually be real. The questioning of reality was working me into a
further panic and it would be the death of me.

Sounds from before became difficult to
discern over the pulse pounding in my temples. Then a muffled
shriek leaked through the walls. My erratic mind took the sound as
evidence that my family was in immediate peril. I burst past the
door ready to hack evil to pieces. The house was so dark that I
practically had to feel my way around.

“Hello!” I hollered. “Sweetheart! Kids!
Daddy’s home now… please come out so I know you’re alright!”

The noise inside drew attention from the
ghouls shambling about in the yard. When I hobbled into the living
room I couldn’t even hear my heartbeat over the racket on our
porch. The pair of windows in our main living area looked out onto
a quaint front porch. A small mob of infected had made their way
onto the porch and were pounding furiously. Muffling from the walls
made their unholy moans sound like sorrowful weeping. That must
have been what I’d heard while inside the bedroom.

As the minutes passed it became clear that
the only thing in this house was me. Every window was blocked with
furniture. Blankets or linens had been tacked up to prevent any
light from going in or out. The family room windows shook from a
constant barrage of impacts on the other side. I was ready to give
up hope entirely. I’d begun pacing back and forth in the hallway
helplessly. The windowless hallway was the only place I could bear
to be. Everywhere else just showed me reminders of my loved ones
and desperation. The empty house, combined with the droning sound
of evil, brought me over the brink. My legs gave way and I fell
into myself.

I would have slumped over into the fetal
position if the burgundy painted walls hadn’t stopped me. My eyes
drifted to the side, consumed by the hollow ache of dehydrated
tears. Faint traces of crayon marks on the wall only deepened my
sorrow. This had to be a dream. They couldn’t be gone… they just
couldn’t. Anger bubbled up inside me.

“Why would You bring me so far only to crush
me completely? If You are punishing me for the sins I committed to
get here by taking it out on them… well then You are no better than
the virus that killed the world,” I whispered to the empty
hall.

The only response to my sacrilegious ramble
was pounding fists outside. I looked up as if some final
confirmation was needed from absent omnipotence. Then I saw the
frayed cord for our pull down attic ladder. Just as quickly I found
myself on my feet and pulling on it.

Of course they would hide in the attic! They
probably thought I was one of the infected that got inside! Hope
returned to me for the first time in seemingly forever. The ladder
creaked downward. I started calling into the dark opening above,
“Don’t be afraid, it’s just Daddy. I got home as soon as I
could.”

No voices came out of the concealed expanse.
I fumbled up the wooden ladder like the ground was on fire. The
last step caught my foot causing me to crash over onto the plywood
floor. The fractured ribs in my chest seethed with sharp pains from
the impact. Blurred areas plagued my vision. The acutely angled
wooden beams comprising our roof blended together. Every time my
pulse pounded the surroundings distorted like gasoline in rippling
water. Any grip I had on reality was leaking away from me. This
couldn’t be a nightmare because dreams would never be this
cruel.

I willed myself to sit up. There were two
ventilation windows located in the upper corner of each side. The
window overlooking the point of the fence I hopped over last night
was blocked by a mountain of boxes. However, the opening on the
other side was left unobstructed. Dim light filtered in from the
area, revealing signs that my loved ones had been here. There were
makeshift bedding areas, toys for the kids and the long box for our
artificial Christmas tree turned over as a table. They were up
there. Why weren’t they still?

A torn piece of cardboard had been placed on
the center of the substitute table, and it caught my eye. I
shuffled myself across the floor and around the rectangular hole
where the ladder should be, my hands shaking with anxiety. It felt
like I’d been lost in the desert and this scrap of paper was the
only glass of water for miles. The irregular corrugated shape
trembled in my grip. Something was written on it but I couldn’t
make it out through the blurriness of my vision. I furiously rubbed
both eyes to clear them.

Several frustrating seconds later I began to
decipher the note scribbled in blue crayon. The writing was
obviously done in a hurry. I knew immediately that it was written
by Maddox.

It read: “We can’t wait anymore. Love you,
Daddy. You are stronger than the monsters.”

After the note was the boy’s meticulously
printed signature all in capital letters but with the first letter
larger than the rest.

I clutched the cardboard scrap against my
chest as if it were a life preserver. Through all my frantic
thoughts I knew that I must leave this place. The note was all the
convincing I needed that they were alive somewhere. Hellacious
memories of the things I experienced to reach home bombarded my
mind. The burning obsession I formed with reaching Sarah, Maddox,
and Calise regained its urgency. An army of the dead couldn’t stop
me before and it sure as hell wouldn’t stop me now.

When the world started falling apart Sarah
and I planned on taking the kids to my parents’ farm in Carroll
County. It was separated from civilization enough to likely be
safe. In the original plan I was to get home from work and we were
to leave a day or so later. They may not have been able to wait for
me, but I was certain Sarah would have followed the original plan.
The real question was how was I going to get there with them?

I composed myself enough to stand. There was
a bottle of water with some peanut butter sandwich crackers near
the makeshift table. I devoured the snack like it was my last meal.
Soon my vision became less blurry and I felt more stable.
Dehydration and hunger contributed to my fragile state. That,
combined with the mental turmoil of this morning and events leading
up to it, nearly killed me. Pain radiated from every inch of my
body. Ignoring this agony became easier now that I had a clear
mission.

The wooden rungs of the ladder creaked as my
aching bulk eased down them. The incessant droning from the hungry
horde outside filled the house. Steadily I crept up to the window
in Maddox’s room. No banging was coming from that end of the
property so it would the best place to attempt surveillance. I
plucked out the corner staples that held up the light blocking
blanket. The boy’s sticker plastered toy box was only a few feet
from the window. I went to move it and winced as every loud
plaything imaginable rattled. Paranoia has a way of notoriously
amplifying any sounds, and this time was hardly an exception. It
was doubtful that any of the creatures could hear the racket but it
felt like I’d just sounded the dinner bell. In a panic I lifted the
entire toy chest in order to move it the remaining foot.
Immediately, I suffered the wrath of previous injuries and fell
over. The chest was barely above the carpet fringe so it didn’t
make a sound when I dropped it. I collapsed face down aside it and
blacked out.

When I came to there was a red stain where my
face had landed on the carpet. Everything throbbed in agony. I
pushed myself up and the pain reached a climax. For a moment I
thought consciousness would escape me once again. Instead, it was
like my brain had switched off physical feeling. Drops of crimson
escaped my dry lips, followed by the unmistakable taste of metal.
The reality shaking sense of living a nightmare was prevalent. Once
I managed to get to my feet I took a deep breath. It was then that
I felt a total separation from this place and even my own body. I’d
fought through Hell to reach this house but now it meant nothing.
All meaning left the property prior to my arrival. Personal
connection to this building and acknowledgement of my injuries
evaporated under the weight of this new purpose. Such a severed
connection to feeling couldn’t possibly occur in any logical
existence; this degree of catatonic removal was a far cry even for
dreams.

“This is madness…” I whispered to the empty
room.

There wasn’t time to question my personal
unraveling. I stepped atop the toy chest feeling as limber as a
teenager. Peering against the cold wall my pupils constricted
defensively under the surge of natural light. Distant movement
caught my attention. It reminded me of looking into a forest during
a winter’s dusk. Vertical shapes listed about like they were
battling a persistent breeze. A few seconds later I was able to
observe the true gravity of my predicament. Ghouls flocked to the
cul-de-sac. The creatures that originally pursued me had created
enough noise to ring the dinner bell for every rotting predator
around. Now there were dozens of them shambling towards the
driveway. Motionless corpses that fell under the wrath of my nine
millimeter pistol acted like speed bumps to the approaching horde.
Looking out the window also served as confirmation that my family
had indeed left. If they hadn’t, one car would be in the driveway
since the other now sat in forced abandonment on the second level
of a dead city’s parking deck. The only occupants of the gradual
sloped pavement parking were the undead. Most of them were
attracted to the porch area but I knew that even at my physical
best, I’d never be able to run past them. I moved away from the
window, sitting hard on the toy chest. How the fuck could I get
past them all?

I walked back into the living room. The wall
shook violently. Even though the door was completely impassible,
thanks to being obstructed by furniture, it rocked with the rest of
the foundation. There were dozens of fists clawing from the
outside. The zombies were acting like water behind a dam. I was
certain that when the house inevitably showed its first sign of
vulnerability that the festering waters would flow through. Then,
like an electric shock, the simplicity of a solution surged my
brain from desperate woe to murderously conniving.