Wormwood Dawn (Episode IX) (2 page)

Dan chopped, severing Cliff’s left arm at the elbow. As Cliff fell away screaming, Dan stomped the tentacle thing into the dirt, standing back to chop it to bits. When it was finally still, he ripped off his t-shirt, running to Cliff to stop the bleeding. Cliff gasped and growled as Dan wrapped the shirt tightly around his stump.

“Come on, man,” Dan said, tying one final knot in the fabric as tightly as he could. “Stay with me. We gotta get you to Travis.”

“T-Travis,” Cliff mumbled. “Travis.”

Dan pulled him up and dragged him into the pickup’s back seat, slamming the door behind him. He started the truck and peeled out in the gravel, spinning the truck around to head back home.

“Hold on, man,” he pleaded. “Just a few miles. Stay with me, brother.”

Dan’s vision narrowed as he drove, his mind focused on the road ahead. He had to get Cliff to Travis soon, or he would die, and it would be all his fault.

Dan couldn’t have that.

“Don’t fall,” Jake called up to Drew, who had climbed up the cell tower to install another wi-fi camera.

Drew gave him the finger, and then went back to work with the zip ties. “Is this even gonna reach?” he asked.

“Max put a repeater about twenty yards away, on that sign post. It should work.”

“I hope so,” Drew said. “I don’t wanna climb up here again.”

“Wassamattah?” Jake teased. “You afraid of heights?”

“No,” Drew replied. “Just afraid of falling.”

“Uhhhh,” Jake said. “Hold on a minute.”

Drew looked down at Jake. The big man had pulled out his hunting knife and was heading toward the road where a dead head was stumbling along. It was a fresh one, recently arisen and mostly intact. Jake stuck out his hand, pushing against its chest as it tried to attack. Then, he stabbed it in the head, and casually walked back as the thing collapsed to the ground.

“Where’d that asshole come from?” Drew wondered out loud.

“Probably Bloomington,” Jake said. “He had a man bun.”

“Douche,” Drew mumbled, finally strapping the last zip tie on.

He reached in his pocket for his radio, calling to Max. “All finished,” he said. “You getting anything?”

After a second, the radio crackled.
“Good signal. Tilt it downward and to the left a little.”

Drew moved the camera a little as Max requested. “How’s that?”

“Better. Make sure the antenna is pointing toward the sign post behind you.”

Off in the distance, there was a honking sound that caught Drew and Jake’s attention. Drew stuffed the radio in his pocket and climbed down, grabbing his rifle as the honking got closer. Over the hill, the pickup truck appeared, weaving back and forth and sliding on the gravel road.

“Jesus Christ,” Jake said. “He’s haulin’ ass.”

Drew fished out the radio again. “Max, I think there’s a problem. Get everyone outside.”

Dan swerved around the corner, kicking up rocks, and still honking frantically. Drew and Jake ran toward the camp when he passed, looking at each other in question. When Dan reached the gate, he skidded to stop, leaping out of the pickup immediately.

“Help me!” Dan said. “Cliff’s hurt!”

The two sprinted, seeing Dan pull open the back door. Travis and the others ran out through the gate, and Dan reached in to pull Cliff out.

“Holy fuck,” Travis said. “What happened?”

“I had to cut off his arm,” Dan said frantically. “Something weird came out of a scavenger’s mouth and bit him.”

The group gathered around, helping Dan extract the pale and bleeding Cliff from the back seat. Drew’s heart pounded as he saw Cliff’s face. He was ashen and delirious.

“Grace,” Travis said. “Get the table ready. I need morphine, a saline bag, and the IV kit.”

Grace nodded, tearing herself away and sprinting for the building. Drew looked at Jake, who stood shocked and terrified. Cliff looked bad. There was a chance they could lose him. Even Dan, who was usually cool as a cucumber, paced and bit his nails as the others carried the injured man inside. He put his hands over his face, taking deep breaths and stomping his feet.

“What the fuck happened?” Drew asked.

Dan shook his head in a daze. “I’m not sure,” he said. “We were watching a group of scavengers, and decided to destroy their little village. When we escaped, we were attacked, and Cliff was bit by… fuck… something. I have no clue what it was.”

“What did it look like?” Jake asked.

“Like a snake, or something,” Dan said. “It shot out of the thing’s mouth when I bashed it, and wrapped around Cliff’s arm.”

“You cut his arm off?” Drew asked. Dan nodded.

“That’s alright, man,” Jake said. “You did the right thing. That’s what I woulda done.”

Dan punched the side of the pickup, gritting his teeth as he paced angrily. “Goddamnit,” he whispered over and over again. “Fucking shit.”

Drew put his hand on Dan’s shoulder. “Dude,” he said. “It’s not your fault. You can’t control everything that happens. Travis will take care of him. He’ll be alright.”

Dan turned, leaning back against the pickup, folding his arms across his chest. Drew fished around in his jacket, producing a just-cracked pint of good scotch. “Have a swig,” he said.

Dan stared at the bottle, his gaze narrowing. After a moment, he shook his head. “That’s why this happened in the first place,” he said. “My mind is always cloudy. All I ever think about is getting a buzz. I wasn’t thinking straight and Cliff got hurt.”

Drew lowered the bottle, looking to Jake for support. Jake shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.

“I gotta…” Dan stuttered, shaking his head and walking to the back of the pickup. “I gotta get some air or something.”

Drew started to follow, but Jake stopped him with a grunt.

“Let him go,” Jake said. “This shit’s tough, man. He just needs time to clear his head.”

Drew nodded, only partially agreeing. In the short time he had actually known Dan, he had never seen him freak out like this. He was carefree, had a fuck it attitude, and always seemed to let things roll right off of him. Now, here he was taking a tragedy badly, thinking it was his fault. This was a new thing; maybe good, maybe bad.

Either way, Dan was walking away, and Drew wondered if he would ever live the moment down.

“Come on,” Jake said. “Let’s go see if Cliff is okay.”

“IV in,” Grace said, securing the line with some tape.

“Good,” Travis said. “Open it all the way up. He’s lost a lot of blood. Let’s go with four milligrams of morphine.”

Grace prepared the injection, and Travis examined Cliff’s stump, looking up to watch Cliff’s face. The man was in shock, he realized, and if they didn’t ease the pain it would just get worse. The cut Dan had made was fairly clean; obviously done with one smooth chop just below the elbow. That was good. It could have been much worse.

And much more painful.

“Fluids going,” Grace said. “Morphine injected.”

Cliff seemed to relax somewhat, laying his head back on the table. Travis gathered some gauze and alcohol, keeping pressure above the cut as he cleaned it off. Cliff cringed with every swipe, but seemed to be taking it fairly well. Nevertheless, Travis’ heart was racing. It had been a long time since he had dealt with trauma this severe.

“For a field amputation, this was pretty good,” he said. “Quick and clean, battlefield style.”

He grinned when Cliff looked at him, trying to keep a positive expression. “It’s all good, buddy,” he said. “We’ll patch you up and you’ll be killing freaks again in no time.”

“Dan,” Cliff gasped. “Where’s Dan?”

“He’s still outside,” Gena said from the door. “He didn’t come in with the rest of us.”

“He saved my life,” Cliff said. “He needs to know that.”

“He knows,” Travis said. “He’s probably just trying to cool off. You just take it easy and be still. Grace, grab that vial of lidocaine and fill the syringe all the way up. I’ll have to close the end here. Gena, can you grab me the suture kit?”

As the two women rushed to their tasks, Travis heard Drew and Jake’s voices outside the door. He turned around to look, hoping Dan was with them. He wasn’t. “Where’s Dan?” he asked.

“He just needs some time to cool off,” Jake said. “He’ll be alright. How’s the big guy here?”

“He’ll be fine,” Travis said, taking the syringe from Grace. “I just need to stitch him up and he’ll be as good as new. Well, mostly. Maybe Max can make him a robot hand or something.”

“Where did Dan go?” Grace asked.

“I don’t know,” Drew said. “But I hope he didn’t go far. He forgot his rifle.”

Dan plodded along the gravel road heading into the deep woods. This road eventually led to where the group had confronted Robert and his small army of the dead. They had defeated him, rescued Toby, and made everything safe again. Well,
he
didn’t. Jake had killed Robert, not him. The others had destroyed the dead, not him.

He didn’t do shit.

And that was the problem. He had led his friends on a rescue mission, not knowing that they would face such a horrible and powerful monster. They had almost gotten killed because he had brought them here unprepared. Then, when all hope was lost, Jake had showed up with the right weapon and sent Robert to hell where he belonged.

Jake was the hero, not him.

He was worthless. He wasn’t the leader the others expected him to be. He was too focused on his own shit to be an effective leader. It was because of him that everyone had nearly died. It was because of him that Cliff had lost his arm. It was because of him…

“Fuck,” he said out loud.

He knew no one would hear him. He didn’t want anyone to hear him. He didn’t care. He just wanted to get away. Maybe not just to clear his head, but maybe, just maybe, to keep them safe. Someone else could do better as their leader. It would be someone like Jake, or Cliff, if he survived.

Someone who didn’t pop pills or get drunk every night. Someone who was capable of leading.

He thought back to all of the things he had let happen. Not only had the group faced an enemy with little more than a few guns and knives, but he had also let Toby wander off and get abducted. Granted he was returned safely, but still. The situation could have been much worse. Toby could have been mobbed by the infected, fallen down a hill and broken his neck. Or worse, Maynard might have been a child killer. In this case, he supposed it was Maynard who was the hero. Despite his weird nature, it was him who had found and rescued Toby.

Freak.

Yeah,
he thought.
They’re better off without me.

Where would he go? What would he do? Would he wander alone, or find some other group of survivors and put them in danger, too? Maybe he could just lie down somewhere in the woods and let himself be eaten. Maybe he could spend the rest of his existence as a shuffler, or maybe a shambler. Who knows?

“Goddamnit,” he whispered.

He wandered aimlessly for what seemed like hours. The road didn’t change much in that time. He passed by the battle site, barely even giving it a second look. He didn’t want to be reminded of his failure. He just walked by, never taking his eyes off of the monotonous gravel path, never even looking at the shadows that lengthened as the hours went by.

A chill began to settle over him, and he buttoned up his jacket and pulled his stocking cap down tighter over his head. It was then he realized that the only weapons he had were his machete, and hunting knife. He had forgotten his Blackout. He was mostly defenseless. Granted, he could take on some shufflers or dead heads with his blades. But, if he ran into any shamblers or mutants, he was fucked.

Fucked, fucked, and super fucked.

“Fuck.”

As he rounded a curve, he noticed a small cabin nestled back in the woods. It was a small structure, big enough for one person, and still structurally sound. He wondered if anyone still lived there. Maybe he could go in and warm up a bit. There was a chimney, meaning there was a fireplace and likely some wood inside.

He couldn’t go back. Not just yet. Maybe never.

The property was in shambles. Fallen trees and branches—likely broken off during the freeze—were scattered everywhere. They lay in a maze-like formation, making the cabin fairly unreachable to a mindless creature. That was good. There was a wooden porch with a single rocking chair, rotted and crumbling like some macabre reminder of its elderly occupant. Beside the rocking chair was a broken table, and the remains of large drinking glass.

Dan climbed up the three steps, peering into the window. Inside, the cabin was fairly well-furnished and littered with very little trash. He could see a couch facing away from the window, and the top of someone’s head—most of it, anyway. He avoided knocking, and reached out to open the rickety screen door.

There was very little smell inside, as the front door was open and the air circulated throughout. Only the slight dusty smell of neglect lingered, along with the faint odor of decay. As he rounded the couch, he saw the source. An elderly man sat there, dead and rotted, his face blown off and a large revolver in his right hand. Whoever it was had checked out recently by doing the smart thing. Dan briefly wondered why.

Who was this man? What had driven him to take his own life?

On the coffee table in front of him was a full bottle of whiskey. Dan eyed it longingly, weighing the choice in his head. Should he take it? Should he drink it?

“What do you think, sir?” he asked the corpse. “Should I just say fuck it and pop it open? Do you mind?”

He remembered this same situation on the first day of the plague; when he sat staring at that tiny bottle of cheap vodka, not knowing that the world had just fallen into chaos. He had given up his attempt at sobriety, and then everything went downhill from there. But that was then. This was now. What fucking difference would it make?

He snatched up the bottle, unscrewing the cap and sniffing the contents. It smelled good, and tasted even better. The warmth in his stomach was comforting and chased away a bit of the blahs. The revolver seemed to call to him. He sat down next to the corpse, reaching over to take the revolver.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” he asked. “Should I blow my brains out, too?”

The corpse said nothing.

He checked the cylinder, finding it full-except for one round, of course. It was a .357 Magnum, probably some cheaper brand; a Taurus maybe. Good enough. There were several boxes of rounds on the table beside the corpse, two of them full, two of them mostly empty. He stuffed them all in his pocket, saving one round to refill the revolver.

He took another swig of the whiskey. It wasn’t bad, and it felt good. He could probably sit here on the couch and finish it off if he wanted to, but considering there was a corpse sitting beside him he decided to stand and explore.

The rest of the house was as expected. There were canned foods, bottled water, and even a half empty case of warm beer. Maybe the old guy had some pills, too. He looked around for the bathroom, finding it near the bedroom, and opened the medicine cabinet. It was full of old man pills; blood pressure meds, joint relief, etc. Nothing worth taking.

Then, he heard a thump from the bedroom. He stuffed the revolver in his belt, pulling out the machete, and went to investigate. He listened at the door, hearing a number of moans and groans inside. He peeked in, seeing the stumbling forms of a few shufflers inside. He backed away, pulling the door shut.

“Fuck this,” he said.

He went back to the kitchen, grabbing a few bottles of water, and went out the back door. He would wander around for a while and drink, maybe finding a place to crash for the night. Surely there were other cabins along the road.

He only had to find an empty one.

“It was a town or something,” Cliff said as the others gathered around him. “A whole city or something down in that quarry.”

“The limestone quarry?” Travis asked.

“Yeah. They had built some kind of shanty town out of sheet metal and used studs. There were dozens of them. Women, children, all of them cannibals.”

“Fuck,” Drew said. “Did you see them eat people?”

Cliff nodded, his face seeming stunned and disgusted. “They dragged a corpse outside and gutted it, and all the others came running to snatch it up. It was like feeding time at the pig farm.”

Gena made a strange face, and Max explained. “Pigs will eat anything, even a human corpse. They can strip a human clean in less than…”

“Yeah, I got it,” Gena said. “That’s freaky. And you destroyed it?”

“I think so,” Cliff said. “There were still others left, though. The ones that attacked us. I’m not sure where they came from.”

“Describe the thing that came out of the scavenger’s mouth,” Grace said.

“I didn’t really get a good look at it,” he said. “But it was long and thin like a snake. Maybe an eel. It wrapped around my arm and started chewing on me.”

“Wow, man,” Travis said. “You got lucky. I know you lost your arm and all, but if Dan hadn’t cut it off, you might have been infected.”

“I don’t think the scavengers are contagious,” Grace said. “But then they’ve obviously changed. We never saw anything inside them. No parasites or anything like that.”

“Man, I wish I could take a look at it,” Travis said. “We’re talking about some kind of alien parasite. Something totally different. Maybe it’s similar to the strange organ inside the shufflers. I don’t know.”

Jake came over and clapped Cliff on the shoulder. “The important thing is you’re still alive, and still black as the Ace of Spades.”

“Right,” Cliff chuckled. “Thank God for that.”

“We should go look for Dan,” Toni suggested. “He’s been gone for hours.”

“He’ll be back,” Drew said. “But if he’s not back by the morning, I think we should go then.”

Toni sighed, folding her arms across her chest. “I just worry about him,” she said. “I know what it’s like to feel like you failed somebody. I had the same feeling when my niece got infected.”

“He should have known I could save him,” Travis said. “I’m the best doctor in the world.”

He smiled down at Cliff. “You get some rest now, buddy. We’ll hold down the fort.”

“Alright,” Cliff said. “You can just leave the morphine.”

Dan wandered aimlessly through the shadowy woods. He could barely see, as the sun had gone down, and only the moonlight lit his path. To make it worse, he was getting tipsy. The whiskey was a welcome friend, though, and he was glad he decided to grab it. It was definitely improving his mood.

He knew the woods ended somewhere up ahead, and there was flat farmland in that area. If he could get there, he could likely find some farm houses. It was then he realized that, in reality, he was lost. He hadn’t really been paying attention to where he was going, and he probably couldn’t even find his way back to the cabin. The only thing he knew is that if he went east, he would find his way back to the highway.

Whichever way was east.

“Fuck,” he said, plopping down on the side of a hill.

He set down the whiskey bottle, putting his elbows on his knees and listening to the sounds of the forest. There was very little noise, other than the creaking and swaying of the trees, and the light scurrying of small animals in the underbrush.

It was peaceful, but it was starting to get cold.

He bundled himself up in his jacket, putting his hands in his pockets and sliding over to a pile of fallen timbers that offered some shelter. He leaned against it, wedging himself between it and the hillside, and sat in silence. He occasionally sipped the whiskey as he brooded, and stared off into the shadows. All he could think about was Cliff’s face when the creature had attacked. It horrified him to see a friend in such pain.