The Exodus Is Over (6 page)

 
“What the fuck?” she whispered to herself, rubbing her eyes, trying to re-focus on her surroundings.

The house was full of flies. Rotten fruit sat on the counter. An unfinished rotting meal for two sat on the dining table. The fridge stood open with more rotting food inside. The smell was overwhelming.
 

 
Mark said, “There were skid marks in the driveway. They must have had another car. Bugged out in a hurry.”

 
In one corner there was a desk with a ham radio set, a computer, printer, and a small stereo. The printer had something freshly printed in its tray. It was a news article from Reuters. The headline stated:
New England overwhelmed. Cain’s Infection reaches Southern New Hampshire and Vermont.
 

 
Jon flipped the paper around and read, “It’s dated May 23rd, three days ago.”

 
Tom came out of the laundry room, “No keys in there.” He pushed past Jon and sat at the desk opening drawers.
 

 
Mark said, “Cozy place, huh? Too bad we can’t just crash here tonight.”

 
Jon said, “Enough talk. I’m surprised we haven’t been attacked already.”

 
The three of them started working the cabin over in earnest. The keys had to be somewhere.

Higher up the hill there was movement in the woods.
The One that the Others mostly followed crept forward toward the shelter that the Fresh Ones had gone into. The Fresh ones made lots of noise, which helped mask the Other’s approach. Another group of Others approached the Fresh One that kneeled down near the water. There were perhaps thirty Others in all. Some were full and tired from killing and eating the many Fresh Ones who had hid in a different shelter only just this morning. Their hands, hair, faces and tattered clothes were covered in gore.

 
The One that led them was perhaps forty-years old. It crawled to a stop at the edge of a rise, some part of Its mind acknowledging the pain in Its knees where the flesh was scraped off. Wearing what was left of a tattered skirt, It had skinned its knees bare as It skidded across gravel and tree roots in the early morning assault. The fat little Fresh One had been trying to crawl under the shelter that the other Fresh Ones were hiding in. While Its companions had attacked the small home from every angle, It stood back and watched as the pudgy little one climbed out a window and crawled for a gap under the foundation.
 
It had screamed with glee as It ran and dove on top of the squealing thing. Its triumphant howl was only dampened when Its mouth clamped itself on the Fresh One’s fat little neck. It had laughed through the bubbling hot blood and then tore at the young one’s windpipe, ending its screeches.

 
Watching the new prey in the house below, It signaled for the Others to stop crawling up from behind. It held Its infant close and watched the baby’s huge dark eyes zero in on the Fresh One by the water. Then It laid the baby down and sucked in a breath full of the damp leafy ground, feeling the baby send its signal of desire to the Others, the killing fever rising within the group. It was patient. It would wait for the perfect moment to make the assault.

 
The search was growing frustrating and Jon was getting even more anxious. He could feel the hair on his arms standing up and he started imagining someone watching his every move. It became so intense that his focus started falling to the windows, scanning outside.

 
Mark was digging in a closet full of games and said, “Hey look - Life. You remember this one? The little cars that go around the board and you do stuff like go to college, get married and add kids until you either retire to the mansion or end up in the poor house?”

 
Tom ignored this. “I’m beginning to think that whoever took off in the other car had the keys to this one in his pocket.”

 
Suddenly they were startled by the sound of gunfire. A quick glance out the window revealed Nikki on one knee aiming and then pulling the trigger repeatedly.

 
Jon looked out toward the woods. A couple dozen Fiends were running at the house. “Outside! Now!”

 
Instead, the two Marines turned toward the uphill windows with the intent to shoot.

Nikki kept up a steady and careful fire as she dropped a Fiend with every other bullet or so. The civilian model M16 was semi-auto, deadly accurate in the right hands. Unfortunately, the NATO 5.56 round didn’t provide enough punch to drop them all with certainty. Some were hit and kept running like nothing had happened at all. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw more running along the shore right at her. The men inside were going to be cut off. She adjusted her aim to the closer threat and fired until she was out of bullets, ejected the mag and flipped the other one taped to it into the receiver.

 
Inside the house, Tom racked his shotgun, smashed out a window and sprayed buckshot up the hill. Mark, seeing that they’d left the door wide open, fruitlessly slammed it shut just as a big Fiend, with lots of downhill momentum, smashed it to splinters. Mark was knocked flat to the floor and he screamed in terror and agony as the big one bit into him. Another Fiend was right behind the first – Jesus! It was carrying Jon’s shotgun, finger on the trigger –then it tripped, fell to the floor and blew the top of its own head off.

 
Tom and Jon ran to the lake door, wildly shooting behind themselves. Tom hesitated a moment for his friend, but Jon, while remembering to slam his visor down, shoved the Marine outside.

 
Jon’s Colt packed a wallop. He shot at everything that moved in front of them, but the beasts were everywhere. He could feel them bite and claw at his leathers. Tom, who had no helmet, was brought down by two of them biting into each side of his neck. Blood spurted in great gouts as they swarmed over his body.
 

 
Jon managed to get his hand on his baton and, using the long end along his forearm, beat a path to the boat, firing the gun until it ran out of bullets and then using it as a club. He remembered his high school football training and ran with his knees high, keeping the Fiends from being able to snag his ankles. He kicked them off his legs and finally burst through, only to be nearly shot by Nikki, who had stacked up the creatures like cordwood, calmly shooting them one by one.

 
With her M16 empty again, she yelled while pulling her Berretta 9mm, “Start the boat! I’ll keep them back!”
 

 
Jon ran past her without hesitation, jumped in the boat and fired it up. Nikki kept up a furious killing zone at the head of the dock and then turned and ran. Jon finished untying the bow as she jumped in, grabbed the steering wheel and slammed the engine into full throttle sending him tumbling to the deck. Fiends poured off the dock in their race to catch the boat and Nikki didn’t slow down until she put three hundred yards between them.

 
Jon pulled off his helmet and knelt retching on the floorboards. “Jesus Christ, that’s twice now that it’s been that close. Two times in two days.” He leaned over the side and threw up.

 
Nikki coasted a little further and put the boat into neutral. Her hands were uncontrollably shaking and she hugged herself to try to stop it. “They’re dead. Mark and Tom are dead. Everyone I know, is dead.”

 
Jon wiped his mouth and stood. He tried to reach out to Nikki but she slapped his arm away, saying, “Get the fuck away from me.”
 

 
He sat down and caught his breath. He could make out a pack of infected where Tom had fallen. Some used sharp rocks and a female had a big knife. They were all competing to get their mouths on some meat. He could see the monsters fight over slabs of red flapping chunks. He had to look away or risk vomiting again.

 
He said, “They waited. They laid quietly, by the tens, dozens. Waited until the perfect moment for us to be distracted. I’ve never seen it quite like that. The fucking things are adapting.”

 
They remained silent for what must have been five minutes, refusing to look back at the shore, letting the light breeze move the boat at a slow sideways drift.

 
Finally Nikki spoke, “So now what? Going ashore is a death trap. I agree that we’ve got to get to Canada. I just don’t see how.”

 
“First we go back to the island. We calm down and we think. I have to wash my leathers. I’m covered in infected saliva and blood.”

Jon and Nikki took inventory of their supplies. They had enough food for a month, five weeks if they rationed carefully. There were plenty of guns and ammo. There was a camp stove with several canisters of gas, a well fitted-out first-aid kit, several blankets, and much to Jon’s happiness, a water filtration device that doubled as a canteen. All he had to do was submerge it, even in muddy water, and it filtered out everything, even viruses. There was a compass as well as a hand-held GPS (though the battery was getting low and there was no way to recharge it). A hand crank radio received a weak signal from one AM station playing a looped emergency public service message. It was garbled and broken with static. Nikki shut it off.
 

 
They cleaned and disinfected themselves as best they could, ate a little food and mostly stared at nothing. In the afternoon, they placed everything back aboard the boat in a logical manner. As the evening wore on, they continued to have little discussion and ate a quiet dinner. When darkness fell, they climbed into bunks on opposite sides of the cabin and listened to each other toss and turn until they both nodded off.

 
Some hours later, Jon was startled awake as Nikki screamed in terror in her sleep. He stepped to her bunk and shook her shoulder until she woke. Her eyes flashed around in the darkness. A nearly full moon shining through a small window offering the only light. She focused on Jon for a brief moment and her breathing eased. Then she closed her eyes and rolled away from him without a word. Jon lay back down and couldn’t fall back to sleep. He desperately longed to kick back in his apartment in Atlanta and get lost in The History Channel.

 
At dawn the sun streamed through the window and woke them both at roughly the same time. Nikki stepped quietly outside first and washed her face at the water’s edge. Jon felt stiff as he got out of bed. He wanted coffee. Some of the MREs were breakfast oriented. They had little chemical heaters inside. One held an omelet with hash browns and a French vanilla cappuccino.

 
“You want breakfast?” he called out.

 
“In a minute. You should look at this.”

 
Jon stepped outside. The morning mist was just beginning to lift off the lake. On the far shore, the forest was teeming with Fiends. Several turned having noticed his and Nikki's movements. A few let out the screeching howl causing others to stop and look. Pretty soon, the entire shoreline was staring at them and screeching their horrific noise. The sound wave traveled across the water and pushed against their chests. It was like standing in a stadium full of madmen. Then both of their heads filled with a buzzing disorientation. Their senses were overwhelmed as the smells, tastes and sights of other beings flashed through their minds. Nikki gathered enough wits to grab Jon and pull him back out of sight among the trees.

 
Jon shook his head, suddenly free of the sensation. “What was that? What the hell was that?”

 
"Don’t know. It happened to me yesterday just before we got attacked.

 
Jon said, “Let’s see what the other side looks like.”

 
"Fine, but let's stay in the tree line. I think it's a line of sight thing."

 
"What's a line of sight thing?"

 
She pointed at her head. "That. It stopped when we stepped out of sight."

 
They moved through the trees to the far side of the island, but this time stopped short of stepping out of cover. The mansion side of the lake was the same. An army of Fiends were marching north.

 
“Well, now we’re really stuck,” said Nikki as she instinctively stepped further back into cover.

 
“Maybe it’s just a large group passing through. We can certainly wait it out.”

 
“Maybe. I’m hungry.” Nikki walked back toward the cabin. Jon watched the shore for a while and then turned back himself.

 
Inside the cabin Nikki ate in silence. Jon was loath to disturb her need for quiet, but he wanted to try the radio again. He grabbed it while looking at her for permission. She shrugged and he started cranking the handle. The static returned and the same message seemed to be playing. This time they could just make out the words:

 
“…Government. This is an alert to all citizens remaining within the New England area. The deadline for bombing has been shifted on the East coast due to a change in weather. Typical weather patterns should return in the next twelve to fifteen hours. Chemical bombing will commence at that time on cities and towns with populations greater than ten thousand. If you are incapable of reaching Eastern Canada above the Saint Lawrence River your only option is to stay inside and seal your home completely. Turn off all air conditioning. If you can, create an additional sealed room inside your home. Allied air forces will be dropping extremely lethal nerve and other chemical agents as well as bombing targets of opportunity. Again: Lethal chemical agents will be dropped across the Northeastern United States in twelve to fifteen hours. If you cannot make it to the Canadian safe zone, you must seal your house completely. Some of these agents can remain lethal to touch for as little as thirty-six hours and as long as several weeks depending on weather. Leaflets will be dropped giving instructions for proper protection from such agents… Six-thirty AM, six hundred and thirty hours. This is an emergency broadcast. This is the United States and Canadian Governments. This is an alert to all citizens remaining within the New England States and Canada south of the Saint Law -"