Resurrection (16 page)

Chapter 40

“Mom, is that you?”

“Just lie still baby, you’re going to be alright, try not to move around too much.”

“Am I dying, am I dead?”

“There’s no such thing as death, not anymore.”

“The room door slowly opened, it squeaked on its hinges.

“Who’s there, who are you, Elizabeth, is that you?”    

“Shhh, lie still now sweetie, mommy has made you some soup, it’s your favorite, Road Kill Stew, it’ll make you feel all better.

“Elizabeth, where are the children, have you seen them?”

“They’re in the basement Charlie, you gave each one of them a bullet for their birthdays and then buried them down there, don’t you remember?”

“Help me, dear God help me! Is there still a God?”

“Yes, he said the dead would rise again.”

“But did he say they would eat the living?”

“Were we truly ever alive or have we always been the dead?”

“No, God no, help me!”

He bolted upright; his clothes were drenched in sweat. He vomited on himself and then fell out of the bed and landed hard on the floor. He crawled on his belly to the bathroom and hung his head over the tub and threw up until he had nothing else to give.

He went limp and fell onto his back on the floor. He heard voices in the dark and his mind raged inside his skull. He squeezed his head between his hands; he wished that he could pop it like a watermelon spewing his watermelon brains and end this nightmare.

He drifted in out of consciousness, for how long he could not say. When he finally awakened and was able to stay awake he was still on the bathroom floor. Slowly he sat up, his head was pounding but he did not feel quit as sick as he had been.

Carefully he rose to his feet; he was unsteady but able to stand. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, although he looked like shit he appeared to still be human.

“But how could that be, how is it that I have not turned?” he whispered.

He noticed something about his eyes that was odd to him. His vision was fuzzy so he moved closer to the mirror. The Irises of both of his eyes were completely black, with the pupil incorporating them entirely. It seemed too as if a soft, nearly imperceptible glow emanated from them.

He opened the bathroom door in order to let more light in which would afford a better view of his eyes. The light flooded the room immediately with a brightness he had not experienced before and he was blinded.

He screamed in pain and covered his eyes with his arm. He flailed around in panic with the other attempting to find the door knob. Once he was able to close it he sat on the edge of the tub and slowly opened his eyes; he could see nothing now but white.

His stomach sank as a sense of dread ran through his body. He backed away from the mirror in horror.

“I am turning!” He screamed

It was some time before his eyesight recovered and when it did he began to realize that even in the darkened bathroom he was able to see a great deal of detail. He had to be turning this was one of the first signs of disease, everyone he had ever known who had contracted the virus had at first become photophobic.

He remained within the confines of the bathroom for several hours, during that time he fell asleep and when he awakened he noticed the light coming from under the door was more muted than it had been earlier.

“It must be nighttime,” he whispered.

He stood and cautiously opened the door, even though the room was as dark as pitch he could see almost as well as he could in the daylight. His vision wasn’t like it would be in a well lit room but had a greenish tinge to it but otherwise he could see very well. He realized that unless he wished to stay confined to that tiny bathroom during the daylight hours he would have to find some way to shield his eyes.    

He made his way out the back door and out to his shop. The moon was full and even the light emanating from the orb caused his eyes to water. He managed to dig up a pair of cup shade welding goggles. He put the goggles on and secured them to his head and discovered that once his eyes adjusted he was able to see fairly well with them even in the darkness.

He went back into the house and sat down at the kitchen table, what had happened to him? Did he have some immunity to the virus? Clearly it had had some sort of an effect on him but he hadn’t turned, at least he didn’t think he had at any rate. No, he was certain he was still human, but was he entirely human?

He had never heard of anyone who had survived the infection, but just because he had not heard of such a thing did not make it impossible. After all he had not had contact with the outside world in months and had not heard any news of how the world was faring.

He went to a mirror and inspected the bandage on his shoulder, it was black but dry. He removed the bandage and examined the wound and saw that it was nearly fully healed. The redness surrounding it was gone and there was very little pain when he applied pressure.

He gazed at his goggled image in the mirror. Behind him in the mirror he saw the basement door; he sighed and whispered to himself.

“So the experts were finally right about something, this truly is the apocalypse, the end of all we have known and perhaps the end of everything.”

Chapter 41

His sleeping patterns were beginning to become extreme and he found himself needing less and less sleep as time went on. When he did sleep his dreams were disturbing and he would always awake with a start. He had nailed plywood over the windows of the house to keep out the sunlight and his night vision had now become so acute that he could spot a needle on the floor in a cave dark room.

His strength and agility were evolving as well. He felt power he had never felt before; he had accidentally broken several drinking glasses with his hand. He knew now that by surviving the initial infection his body had taken on some aspects of the Wasters that he feared, he had some their strength and their ability to see in the dark. He was not certain whether his physical abilities matched those of the Wasters but he had one advantage they did not possess; a fully functioning brain.

Wasters were beginning to become more numerous in Charlie’s neighborhood, they would gather on his lawn and on the street, they would beat upon the sides of the house and claw at the plywood over the windows. They knew he was there; they could smell him.

Each morning he would have to inspect the house and repair the damage done to it by the horde. He watched them at night through small gaps in the boards covering the window; he observed them as they wandered around the house. Their movements seemed to be aimless but he knew they were not, each of their movements had an aim and that was to find a way in and feed upon his flesh and organs.

Why if he had become one of them, did they make the nightly trek to his house? If they did not attack one another why should they want him? Was it merely happenstance or was there some other reason that they haunted him?

Perhaps it was the fact that he retained part of his humanity that brought them every night. The blood that coursed through his veins still carried oxygen to his brain, his heart continued to beat in his chest. He still maintained a normal body temperature. Perhaps they were drawn by the smell of his breath or the carbon dioxide that he exhaled, he didn’t know but he did know they would never leave him.

While he had taken on some of the strengths of the Wasters, he remained distinctly human. But he had become something else, a new species who was to be one of the first to take the next step in mankind’s evolution.

   He realized now that he could no longer remain in the house that he and Elizabeth and the children had made into a home. There was nothing here for him now; the disease had seen to that.

   Now he would have to find others, maybe others like himself. There had to be someplace in the world where mankind had found refuge, someplace from where the human race would spring forth from after the world became sane again, if indeed that day ever came.

  Charles Lynch of Anytown, U.S.A stood in the yard clutching an empty five gallon gas can that he used to keep gasoline in to run his mower. He used to look forward to that Saturday ritual waving to his neighbors as he motored around the yard.

But that was all but a memory now. He tossed the can into the front door and then stepped back and lit a trail of gasoline that led to his home. The flames raced to the forward and the fumes exploded with a mighty whoosh.

Now it was all gone, all of the overtime he had put in at his job, all of worry about the mortgage and the car payment and the utilities and the kids schoolwork; all gone now. The only reminder of his past life was this house made of wood and held together by nails and soon it would be nothing but smoldering ashes.

     As he walked away he turned to look one last time at his home as tongues of flame erupted from the windows. His entire life was now billowing into the sky as smoke, reduced to particulate matter and ash.

The smoke rose high into the sky blotting out the sun and casting a shadow on the street ahead of him. The houses on either side began to smolder and smoke. They too would soon enough join his house and perhaps they would in turn catch the one next to them ablaze.

Maybe the entire town would burn to the ground, he thought, what would it matter if it did? Is there any reason why it should remain standing? No, it was merely an empty, lifeless shell now.

Chapter 42

He was awakened by the sound of keys outside the door followed by a light tapping on the door. He sat silently for a moment before the knocking came again.

“Come in?” He said not certain what he should say.

The door opened and a tall man entered the room. He reached out his hand to Charlie and he reluctantly extended his. The two men shook hands and the tall man pulled a chair from under the desk and sat down facing Charlie.

“Good morning,” the man said. “Nigel Anderson is my name, how is your head?” He said in a thick English accent.

Charlie put his hand to the back of his head, “I’ve got quit a lump.”

“Well, sorry about that, you put up quit a fight and the boy killed one of our best men.”

“The boy, where is he?” Charlie inquired.

“He’s safe, he’s quit the little brawler and dangerous with that crossbow, but I assure you he is quite well. He has put away three trays of food already this morning.”

He looked down at Nigel’s hands and noticed that he was holding his goggles.

“Oh, I’m sorry I almost forgot, I thought you might need these,” Nigel said holding the goggles out to Charlie.

Charlie slowly reached out and took them and put them on. He sat silently looking at the floor; he knew that Nigel was fully aware of his eyes and possibly may have studied him while he was unconscious.

  “Is there anything wrong?” Nigel said interrupting Charlie’s thoughts.

  “No, nothing,” Charlie answered.

  “I do hope you will find your stay here pleasant, present conditions aside of course, we do have to take precautions for everyone’s protection, I’m certain you can appreciate that.”

  Just then the man who had delivered his food earlier appeared at the door.

  “Well, okay then, if there is nothing else I’ll be back first thing in the morning and we’ll take a little tour of the camp, after you’ve had your breakfast of course. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask, Philip here is under my orders to see to whatever you might need,” Nigel said standing.

  Nigel left the room and Philip entered, “Here ya go sir, piping hot just like dear old mama used to make,” he said cheerily. He lifted up the lid on the plate of food and steam curled upwards.

  “I do hope you enjoy it sir and like Mr. Nigel said, if you need anything, anything at all just you holler and I’ll come running. See that button on the wall there? Philip said pointing, “That’s all you have to do.”