Threnody (Book 1) (19 page)

Sylvia was my whole world, and she was gone.  I had my pistol to my head sobbing uncontrollably so I didn't notice initially when the gurgling sound returned. When it finally got my attention, I realized they were not the same choked and drowning respirations I heard earlier but rather that of movement like mud squishing between your toes. My Sylvia was moving! Dumbfounded, I let the pistol fall away from my head.  I continued to watch in horror as she twitched and writhed, weakly at first.  I thought it might just be the last, fading neural impulses of a dying brain.  But rather than fading away, the movement slowly escalated!  I could not take my eyes off of her, as painful as it was to see her like that.  She began to move her extremities awkwardly and after a few minutes she rolled to her side before slowly getting to her feet!  More than a half hour after I was certain she had died, she stood up!  Her movement was not the natural, graceful, loving Sylvia movement but rather an uncoordinated, clumsy, sinister movement.

Even though this was the woman who meant more to me than anything else including my own life, I knew enough to back away. I guess my irrational, excessive paranoia paid off.  As the shell of my beloved wife lumbered toward me with clear malicious intent in her disturbingly vacant, frosted eyes, I knew that my Sylvia was no more. In an unthinking instant, I brought the pistol up to rest the barrel on her forehead before putting her to rest for good.

I shot her! Christ, I shot Sylvia! I have no idea what in the hell is going on! Regardless, I realized that despite all my planning and preparations, whatever was happening managed to kill me from the inside before I even had a chance. She was probably the only thing I truly needed to survive and the one thing I never fathomed I would be without.  I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m already gone.

Thank you for reading my letter, hopefully it will help you in some way. I have plenty of supplies here so please take what you need. May your path be more pleasant than mine.

Yours in death, Al Forrester"

John stood there in total silence for several minutes after finishing the letter. What he read, indeed what he now felt he had lived, was tearing him apart inside. Without realizing it, John was overtaken by violent sobs, his tears joining Al’s on the paper as they helped erase the horrible truths contained within the letter.  Not for the first time he wondered what the hell had become of this world, and he felt a tinge of jealousy toward Al.  Al’s race was run, as awful as it was, and he no longer had to endure any of this shit anymore.

Reams approached and laid a hand on John’s shoulder. The slight touch startled John and brought him back to the moment. With the renewed understanding that their world was irrevocably changed, the two survivors retrieved their few possessions and began settling into their new residence.

Chapter 19

October 6, 2015

After the discovery of the horrific fates of Al and Sylvia, John and Reams set about giving them a proper burial.  John thought they would have wanted to be buried together in a single grave.  Once the burial was complete, they began the grim task of cleaning the house to eliminate all reminders of what happened there.  With no other place to go, and with the realization that Al’s house was set up with catastrophe in mind, John and Reams made the decision to stay there for the time being.

John had two goals at this point, and Reams considered them both to be his goals as well.  First and foremost, they needed to find John’s daughter, Ava.  After that, they would try to locate Dr. Lin San and help facilitate her research on a potential cure for the abominable plague currently besieging the human race.

Their plan was to stay at Al’s house for approximately two weeks if conditions permitted, during which time they would spend their days searching for Ava, and their nights reading and learning from the treasure trove of useful survival information scattered throughout Al’s residence.  Depending on what, if any, evidence they found regarding Ava, they would then decide whether to stay and continue the search, or to move on to find Lin San.  They both agreed they should spend the next day regrouping, resting, and preparing for the weeks ahead.

A cursory search of Al’s residence revealed a mind-boggling amount of food, water, weapons, and equipment.  In addition to the crops and scattered livestock including cows, pigs, and chickens, there were also several pallets of MREs and freeze-dried foods.  Though they both recognized the importance of the sustainability offered by the crops and livestock, neither knew much about how to manage these resources, and they did not plan to stay at Al’s long term.  They decided they would take advantage of the food the animals and crops provided while they were there and planned to release any remaining livestock upon their departure.  With both of the large tanks nearly full, they did not think water would be an issue during their stay.  They found several additional water bladders, portable water filters, and bottles of purification tablets.  There was also more camping and survival equipment than they would ever be able to use.  Flashlights, batteries, cooking stoves, fuel tabs, tents, sleeping bags, and random camouflage gear occupied nearly every shelf in the small garage.  Upon seeing everything Al had stockpiled, Reams turned to John and said, “I know you said your friend was a survival nut, but damn!  This place is stocked better than a sporting goods store!”

With a small, sad smile creasing his face, John replied, “Tip of the iceberg, my friend.  Let me show you something else.”  John turned and headed back into the house with Reams following close behind, eager to see what more there could be.  They moved through the house to a rear corner room containing a washer and dryer as well as all of the other typical items one would find in a laundry room.  On the wall opposite the entrance was a large three-foot by five-foot movie poster of
A Boy and his Dog
.  Reams looked at John, rolled his eyes, and shook his head.

John entered the room and walked over to a thermostat on the wall next to the poster.  He manipulated the cover on the thermostat until it popped off revealing a small keypad underneath.  After keying in a fairly lengthy string of numbers there was a low mechanical sound followed by a click.  The ‘poster’ seemed to hinge forward off the wall.  John motioned Reams forward with a wave of his hand.  Reams walked over and grasped the heavy door that had been concealed behind the poster.  As he opened it further, he could see it was at least six inches thick, and resembled a door on a bank vault.  Through the door was a small room with another door just inside, and to the left.  This one looked just as formidable as the first but had a lock that appeared to be opened by a simple key.  John crossed the small room and unplugged a small table lamp that had the base of a broken light bulb stuck in its socket.  He manipulated the cover plate on the electrical outlet and it popped open to reveal a small cavity containing a key.

John opened the door to a long, narrow room that ran the entire length of the house.  Reams’ jaw dropped as the two men stepped into the room that resembled a long, wide hallway.  The wall on the left was adorned with firearms of all types, while the wall on the right was covered with shelves containing boxes of ammunition, magazines, and weapon accessories.  At the far end of the room stood a reloading bench, as well as a workbench.  Cradled within the jaws of the vise on the bench was the lower receiver of a rifle.  John recognized the rest of his AR-15 lying in pieces on the benchtop.

The two men gazed at the arsenal decorating the wall with expressions that portrayed both the giddiness of a child in a candy store and the reverence of a devout believer at the altar.  Dumbfounded, speechless, and mouth still agape, Reams turned his head to regard John.  John did not look away from the impressive array of firepower, instead acknowledging him with a smile and a slight nod of his head.

The two men spent the next few hours looking over the weapons and discussing what they considered to be the merits of each as it related to their current situation.  Reliability and high ammo capacity were the two characteristics they seemed to come back to each time.  When they discovered several suppressors on one of the shelves, they added the ability to minimize the sound signature of the weapon to the list of favorable attributes.

After much deliberation, Reams opted to keep the Mossberg as a backup, and chose a La Rue Tactical OBR chambered in 7.62 NATO for his primary weapon.  In addition to the iron sights mounted on the picatinny rail, there was a holographic sight as well as a light secured in an offset mount.  Aside from the abundant ammunition and magazines, he found a Gemtech Sandstorm suppressor that he could attach to the rifle.  For his sidearm he chose a FN Five Seven MkII with a threaded barrel.  “I remember my brother talking about the Five Seven a few years back after the shooting at Fort Hood. Holds twenty rounds and with the right ammo, it can penetrate body armor. Should be perfect for the shit we’re in now,” said Reams.

Though John had seen and indeed fired nearly all of the weapons on display, including both Reams had chosen, he caught sight of a rifle that he had not seen before at the end of the wall.  It was a bullpup design with the words ‘IWI Tavor’ printed on the polymer stock and ‘5.56x45 NATO’ etched on the eighteen-inch barrel.  John picked up the rifle and was immediately impressed by how light and balanced it was.  It utilized standard AR-15 magazines and had a reflex optical sight mounted on the picatinny rail.  As clichéd as it was, when he shouldered the weapon, its ergonomic design truly made it feel like an extension of his arms.  John chose this as his primary weapon, and he kept his Glock 23 as his secondary weapon after installing a threaded barrel he found on the shelf.  Knowing the infected were drawn to sound, John procured a suppressor for each weapon as well—a Gemtech G5 for the Tavor and a Gemtech Blackside for the Glock.

“Al, you beautiful, gun-crazed bastard,” muttered John, as he checked the fit and function of the new weapons.

Both men spent a few more hours familiarizing themselves with the weapons and equipment they acquired from Al’s little armory.  They grabbed extra magazines and ammunition, loading at least five spares for each weapon.  By this time it was getting late in the day, and they decided it would be prudent to limit their excursions away from the house to the daylight hours whenever possible. They discussed the tactics they would use whenever they went out searching for Ava, as well as a general plan for where they would conduct the searches.  While they knew the information they didn’t know far exceeded that which they did, the two men agreed their best chance for survival was through knowledge, preparation, and discipline…that and, of course, an insane amount of luck.

Though they had some ideas about how the infected things were able to locate healthy humans, it was still largely speculation.  They knew sound was a big factor but also knew there was more involved than sound alone.  If one of the revs did something that resulted in noise, the others would undoubtedly take notice but quickly lost interest.  If, on the other hand, the sound originated from a healthy person it would typically capture their attention indefinitely.  Reams also learned early on that, while they could see, they tended not to notice slower, less contrasting movements especially from a distance or in low light settings.  Additionally, John’s experience submerged in the sewer ditch mere feet from a large number of revs made it seem probable that smell or body heat might be significant factors, as both were effectively masked by the foul sewage.  John even considered the possibility of pheromones and chemoreceptors, or electroreceptors similar to the ampullae of Lorenzini found on many sharks, when he and Reams discussed the topic one evening.

“Most animals communicate at least in part using chemical messengers called pheromones.  Humans possess an intranasal structure called the vomeronasal organ that is thought to be a vestigial sense organ for pheromones.  Maybe it retains some degree of function, and whatever neural derangements the infection causes essentially ‘unmask’ this sense,” John hypothesized.  “Structures such as the ampullae are electroreceptors that allow sharks and other ‘less evolved’ animals to sense electromagnetic fields as well as temperature gradients in the water.  I suppose it’s possible that the infection leads to cellular alteration that allows them to function somewhat like these electroreceptors.”

Reams stared at John as if the man had just lapsed into a religious trance and began speaking in tongues, before adding in his best Carlton Banks voice, “Only one problem Jacques Cousteau, the revs aren’t
in
water.” 

Without missing a beat, John replied, “Elementary, my good man.  Bees possess a similar ability to detect electromagnetic fields using mechanical receptors and they are also not
in water
.”  Having nothing to add to that, the big man just shook his head as John smiled.

Chapter 20

October 13, 2015

It had been a week since John and Reams arrived at Al’s house, and they spent the majority of the daylight hours searching for Ava.  This day was no different as they crept silently down an abandoned street in a half-crouch, moving from cover to cover in a bounding over-watch configuration.  ‘Cover’ in this situation was not so much a hard barrier they could hide behind but rather anything they could seek refuge behind that lacked a place where a rev could be hiding.

On their second day searching, the two men experienced a close call when they moved into a recessed doorway in an attempt to keep out of sight of a group of revs about thirty yards ahead of their position.  With all their attention focused on the group of eight ahead of them, neither noticed the formerly petite female advancing through the door at their six o’clock.  Reams decided to sling his rifle and switch to his sidearm just as the thing let out a low moan.  By sheer dumb luck, the rotating buttstock of his rifle struck the thing hard on the forehead, momentarily knocking it off balance.  It was long enough for Reams to sweep the thing’s legs, sending it to the ground. With a single, strong stomp, the thing’s skull collapsed like it was little more than an insect.  They promptly added this nearly catastrophic lesson learned to their burgeoning list of operational procedures.

Today, the two men managed to go completely unnoticed by the scattered revs occupying the street and adjacent storefronts as they advanced along the former thoroughfare of town.  Nearing a stalwart brick building, John’s attention shifted toward movement in an upstairs window.  The building was small with an ornate front door upon which hung a sign that read, ‘Wilson, Wilson, and Wentworth, Attorney at Law.’  As John motioned for Reams to get eyes on the upstairs window, they heard an intense banging coming from that direction.  To their surprise, they saw a man banging on the glass, frantically trying to signal them.  His exasperated and desperate movements left no doubt that the man was not one of the infected.

Reflexively, Reams made a loud ‘shushing’ sound despite the fact there was no way the man in the window could hear him.

John silently motioned for them to head to the building to silence the man’s frantic banging before he attracted every rev in a five-mile radius.  The two men quietly crossed the street to the sidewalk in front of the law firm.  As they passed the storefront next to the law firm, they were surprised when the banging stopped unexpectedly, and was followed by a brief trundling sound.

John and Reams paused outside the adjacent storefront and considered the implications of this change. Almost immediately there was a squishing noise that sounded and smelled for all the world like someone just fart-gambled and lost. Suddenly, two revs burst out of the door at John’s nine o’clock.  The two decaying forms shambled out, taking him completely by surprise. The first had clearly been a 'gangster' in life based on his attire. It wore a baseball cap that somehow managed to remain crisp despite all it had been through. An oversized shirt hung low, covering the ass that surely hung out as its pants appeared to be belted at mid-thigh level. The typical uncoordinated, duck-like gait resulting from the need to focus more attention on keeping one’s pants perched in such a precarious position rather than on actual ambulation was even more exaggerated when combined with the effects of infection. How it managed to keep them up either before or after the infection remained one of life's great mysteries, thought John, as he quickly reacted to the revs. Thankfully, the cumbersome and nonfunctional fashion trend had the same negative impact on the rev’s mobility now as it had before the plague, allowing John to deftly sidestep the shambling form.  He swept its legs and brought it down with ease.  Reams finished the thing with a hard stomp to its head.

Its buddy stumbled toward them but had not been so successful in its attempts to maintain its pants in such a gravity-defying position, though its shirt nearly hung low enough to conceal this fact.  John could just make out the thing’s pants – still buckled – resting securely around its ankles. Its efforts to pursue its quarry were rewarded with a crash to the ground every few steps. Had the circumstances been different the sight might have been humorous, the kind of slapstick comedy you know you shouldn't laugh at, but lack the power not to do so. In the end, however, the ridiculous fashion statement merely served to shackle the rev as effectively as if it were wearing leg irons. After watching the pathetic thing rise following his second crash to the ground, John shoved it back into the store before closing the door and leaving it in the bonds of its own deplorable fashion sense.

Hoping to avoid any further surprises, they continued toward the law office where they positioned themselves on each side of the front door.  Reams stood with his sidearm at a low ready position on the opening side of the door, as John moved to the hinge side with his Tavor shouldered.  Reams checked the knob and found the door to be locked.  Silently, and as naturally as if they had been doing this sort of thing their whole lives, Reams signaled to John just before he kicked in the heavy door with minimal effort.  John’s light flooded the room ridding the nooks and crannies of the darkness that could hide their demise, as he entered the room to clear his side. He forced down the overwhelming nausea that accompanied the reek of the room. Instantly, Reams was behind him repeating this process on the other side of the well-appointed front room.  They were both relieved when they found no monsters lurking in the shadows.

The room was quite spacious and consisted primarily of an open area between the receptionist’s desk and the client’s sitting area.  There was a fancy leather couch and an ornate, antique coffee table that was still home to various back issues of ‘Yachting,’ ‘Golf Digest,’ and ‘Money’ strewn across its top.  Several coats and an old tablecloth made it apparent that someone had been using the couch as a bed recently.  The immense receptionist’s desk had been ransacked, scattered papers and office supplies littering the adjacent floor.  The seat of the overturned desk chair was crusted with old blood.  Additionally, a ruddy, crimson patch of pooled and crusted blood marred the otherwise gray carpet beneath the chair.

The most impressive feature of the room by far was the smell that bombarded them from the moment Reams splintered the doorframe.  It was an almost indescribable mix of ass, rot, and excrement that had been festering in the warm, dark room without air circulation.  John could not help looking at the floor continually, certain he was stepping in whatever caused the godforsaken odor.

As his adrenaline ebbed and the fear of being mauled by a lurking rev lunging out of a dark corner subsided, Reams too was pummeled by the gut-rending odor the room had been cultivating.  Reams, however, was less successful than John at controlling the protests of his stomach, as he turned and vomited in the corner.  He was certain he preferred the all-consuming fear of entering a dark, unknown room during a plague of biblical proportions to the otherworldly olfactory assault he was currently enduring.  Neither of the men could concentrate on anything except getting away from the smell until they heard a rasping moan followed by a clawing sound coming from the adjacent room.  Knowing all too well what was responsible for the noises emanating from around the corner, they moved quietly toward the door leading to the source of the sound. 

Again, they positioned themselves on opposite sides of the door and cleared their respective angles before synchronously passing through the doorway to clear the space beyond.  Reams found himself peering down a short hallway leading to a rear exterior door that was securely closed.  There were no side doors or windows, and he saw no sign of the monster responsible for the blood-curdling sounds they heard from the other room.

John peered up a flight of stairs that ended with a closed door at the top.  The proximity of the low, raspy moan made it seem as though it was coming from directly below him, nearly causing John’s heart to stop as he instinctively leapt back and swung his weapon light down toward the ground.  Two muffled pops erupted from the suppressed Tavor as the muzzle of the weapon found the twisted form of a rev lying at the bottom of the stairs.  The hallway immediately fell silent as the faint, acrid smell of gunfire wafted out of the suppressor, only to be completely overpowered by the road-kill smell of sun-dried raccoon on an Alabama highway in August, emanating from the now ventilated dead thing at the foot of the stairs.

The once female rev appeared to have fallen down the stairs given the obviously broken legs twisted at unnatural angles and pinned under its torso.  One arm was also clearly broken and pinned under its shoulders so that the hand seemed to protrude from its armpit on the opposite side.  John nudged the thing with the end of his weapon to confirm it was no longer a threat before turning to regard Reams, who still looked a bit stunned.  After motioning to the door at the top, John turned and began slowly ascending the narrow flight of stairs.  John stayed to the left side, as Reams got into position to cover him along the right.  Upon reaching the top of the creaking stairs, John quietly called to the man he saw in the window.

“We’re friendly, anyone alive in there?”  He waited several tense seconds but got no response.  Taking a step closer, he was about to knock when the door flew open suddenly, nearly causing John to fall to the same fate as the rev at the foot of the stairs. 

“FINALLY! WHAT THE HELL TOOK YOU GUYS SO LON
G
?
” said the small statured man in a voice far too loud for his little body.  “Are you guys with the Army?  What the hell is going on?” continued the man as he glared at the well-armed man who was heavily covered in paramilitary clothing and riot gear pads.

The irate man, who they soon learned was Trenton Wentworth III, never realized how close he came to having a 180 grain projectile sent blazing through his skull at 2,600 feet per second, as Reams slowly eased the pressure off of the AR-10’s trigger.  He did, however, keep his muzzle trained on the little man advancing on John as he recovered at the top of the stairs.  A forceful sound from Reams, almost like a cough, caused the small man to stop in his tracks and regard the big man whom he clearly had not previously noticed.  Now back on stable footing, John spoke to the new survivor.

“No, we’re not with the Army.  My name is John, and that’s Reams.  We saw you in the window and thought we would see if you needed help.”

Reams wasn’t sure if it was what John said about seeing if the man needed help, or the fact that they were not with the Army, but he saw a distinct look of disgust flash across the little man’s face.

Trenton Wentworth III was the youngest partner in the small local law firm. At 5’ 2” tall and 135 pounds, he was a rather diminutive man.  Even at that weight he still seemed to be no more than a quarter of Reams’ size by comparison; the marked disparity was striking.  Trenton wore white pants with thin, vertical blue stripes, and a two-toned blue button up shirt with white collar and cuffs.  Completing his outfit were penny loafers that contrasted the rest of his attire in that they still appeared polished to perfection.  His shirt and pants, on the other hand, bore the telltale wrinkles of having been slept in for the last few days, as well as myriad stains representing everything from coffee to blood to feces. The man’s equally disheveled, thinning brown hair made him appear at least ten years older than his actual age.

“Where the hell is the Army or the police
?
  There are
seriously
only the two of you?  Pardon me if I don’t just fall down praising the heavens,” said Trenton in a smug, ungrateful, and sarcastic tone.  As neither John nor Reams particularly liked the dwarf of a man that barreled through the door moments ago, his words fairly justified their sentiments.

With a slight sense of relief that the irritating man did not seem keen on coming with them, John said, “Yeah, it sucks but it’s just us.  Looks like you’re all safe here.  We’ll be heading on now.”  Before John even managed to turn back toward the bottom of the stairs, Trenton underwent an amazing transformation that would have made a jury swoon. 

“Not at all, I meant no offense of course.  I was just venting about yet another failure of our government to use the resources at hand for the good of its people.  You two are the only other people I’ve seen who seem to have any idea about how to look after themselves.  People like us need to stick together if we’re going to make it through this,” said Trenton with a remarkably white, toothy smile and an insalutary sparkle in his eye.

John gazed blankly at Trenton and caught a glimpse of Reams rolling his eyes in his peripheral vision.  Before he or Reams could respond, Trenton stepped past them and started down the stairs, saying, “We better get going before more of them show up.” 

As Trenton reached the bottom step the crumpled body came into view in the dim light.  He froze instantly before stumbling backward on the stairs and puking all over his two-toned shirt.  “Oh God! Linda! What the hell did you guys do to Linda?” Trenton gasped between periods of gagging.  They reached the stair that Trenton was resting on just as he heaved the remainder of the meager contents of his stomach all over his previously impeccable shoes. 

“You haven’t been out of that room much have you, Trenton?” asked John, feeling a sense of sorrow for the man as he recalled how he felt when he first realized what was happening back on the roof of the airport.  “You haven’t seen many of them up close?  Who was Linda?”