The Lazarus Impact (12 page)

He hears the smash before he feels anything; a loud crunch of thin metal and the shattering of windows. Then he feels the air bag and the tight tugging of his seat belt.
This isn’t too bad
. The thought flashes through his mind as the car spins out, but it flees as soon as his body lurches around the inside of the car. With no control whatsoever he slams into the ceiling of the car, then the door frame, then the ceiling again. The sounds grow louder from every direction, like being in the bowels of a giant mechanical monster. He’s pelted with bits of glass over and over. After what feels like an eternity the thrashing finally stops, and he finds himself smothered in a claustrophobic panic.

CHAPTER 23

Wolf didn’t get very far before he had to pull off the road. The traffic was jammed up on both sides of the highway, despite being west of the quarantine. There were countless accidents, sick people wandering along the roadside, and bodies all over the place.
So much for the quarantine
. He parked the SUV along the edge of the woods, behind some brush that would keep it relatively hidden. There were so many abandoned cars on the road that he wasn’t concerned about anyone messing with it anyway. But he disconnected the CB radio and took the car battery with him. He grabbed a big bag of survival gear from the back, and headed deep into the woods.

My best chance at surviving this is to set up a home front that I can defend if necessary, just until the mess blows over
.
Once I hear some news of progress on the CB, I can emerge back into civilization
. He was far enough from the road to avoid trouble, but close enough to scavenge for supplies from abandoned vehicles if needed. He found a small stream for water, no deeper than a few inches. He spent some time finding a good, thick branched, sturdy tree for sleeping and using as a lookout. Then he began to set traps for squirrels and field mice. He hoped he’d see a deer, but he had no luck. He had a bow with him; one he made on an earlier episode of Extreme Naturalist about primitive hunter gatherer societies. But he would need to make arrows for it.

After catching a rabbit in one of his crude traps, he starts a small fire the old fashioned way with dry wood, fibrous tinder, constant friction, and patience. He skins and roasts the creature, slowly turning the spit stick that he skewered up its ass and all the way out its mouth. Soon the raw, purple, muscular flesh crisps into a savory brown meat, and he begins to pull his dinner off the bone.
Wish I had some salt
.

The day turns to dusk, and Wolf huddles by the fire to keep warm. He connects the CB radio to the car battery and rigs a makeshift antenna to his lookout tree. He tries all the channels, hoping to hear the twang of Spider’s voice or the gruff of Cough Drop’s, but there’s nothing. Not even on the crowded traffic and emergency channels. They’re all silent.

There’s always tomorrow
, he says to himself after he climbs his tree and straps himself into the thick branches. It’s what he always said in his shows before turning in for sleep. It told viewers that no matter how bad it gets, tomorrow is always hopeful. The new day offers new chances at survival, new ways to cope. But remembering the events at the motel makes him think there’s no hope.
Perhaps I’m the hope
.
I walked out of a crater unscathed by the poisonous air
.
Maybe I’m immune to the debris
.
But what if I’m bitten?

Leaves rustle and twigs break under the weight of someone or something traipsing through the woods. The fire fizzles out, and a silver wisp of smoke rises up from it, tickling his nose with the fresh scent of pine sap and bark. The shuffling becomes louder as it draws near.
Maybe it’s a bear, attracted to the campfire and the smell of blood on the rabbit skin that I buried
. He listens intently as the steps get closer.
No
.
Not a bear
.
Too light footed to be a bear
.
It sounds like a person
. Then he sees it. A bloodied walking corpse. Jawless, it is doomed for hell within hell. It’s tongue dangles in the air, shriveled, grey, dry and useless.
How can it eat without the ability to bite and gnaw?
Wolf watches as it passes beneath the tree, smelling the stench of piss and shit that hangs in the air with it. He nearly vomits from the putrid stench.
It’s a good thing I have a strong stomach
. As a survivalist he has to eat everything from slugs to spiders on the show, teaching viewers how to survive even when there seems to be no food available. Insects, he often says, are packed with protein. Protein is energy, and energy is life. Insects; nature’s most abundant fuel.

The zombie lingers near the camp.
It smells something
.
The rabbit skin
. Within moments it finds the loose patch of dirt where Wolf buried it. After a few swipes at the ground the monster unearths it and immediately shoves it down into its throat. No chewing, no gnawing; it simply places the bloodied flesh into its stomach, reaching forearm-deep into what’s left of its mouth. Finally it meanders off.

#

In the morning Wolf climbs down and sets up a makeshift perimeter to alert himself of the wandering dead. Nothing complicated, just a set of strings and twine tied around trees in a wide circle with unnatural objects dangling from them that would make distinct noises if rattled. An empty soda can with a rock inside, car keys, some harness hooks, etc. He tries the CB radio again. Still nothing, so he starts to comb the ground for some good sturdy branches. He gathers a bunch and begins to sharpen the tips into crude spears. He lines them up along the perimeter of his camp, near the twine trip wires. He puts one up in the tree for easy access while he sleeps, and he keeps a few near the base of the tree for when he has a campfire burning.

Next he looks for two specific types of rock. A nipper and a chipper. The nipper is for banging away pieces and shards of the chipper. The chipper, once shaped properly, can be used as a cutting blade, a hand axe, or, if made smaller, an arrowhead. He makes good progress. But these tasks take up most of his day, and the sun begins to set before he realizes he hasn’t eaten. Without any traps set, he resorts to some grubs that he unearths under a moist and rotting log; a rare find in the winter months for sure. He washes them down with some cold, fresh stream water.
Maybe I’ll fashion a net for fishing and some arrows for hunting
.
Maybe I can catch a wild turkey or a pheasant
.
They’re slow enough, and the meat will be tasty in a stew
.
Their feathers will make good arrow flights as well
.

“There’s always tomorrow,” he says aloud with more hopeful thoughts. But just then he hears the unmistakable clatter of pebbles in a tin can. One of his alarms has been tripped. Then another, from behind; the jingle of car keys pierces the air like a knife. He placed the old soup can on the opposite end as the keys, so he’s about to be surrounded.
I set up camp too close to the road.
He grabs the nearest spear leaning against his lookout tree. No time to climb, or to think about the location of his camp. He can hear their tracks closing in. He tucks the spear under his right arm and steadies it in front of himself with his left hand. He sees one of them, shuffling its way toward him through the trees against the setting sunlight beyond; a grim silhouette. He circles around to get the fading sunlight out of his eyes. But the cannibal sees Wolf and starts to charge. With another spear nearby, Wolf launches the one in his hand at the creature, burying the tip into its chest and knocking it backward to the ground. Wolf grabs the other spear and runs up to the fallen zombie. With one big thrust he splits the demon’s head in two, jamming the spear down through the zombies’ skull and into the ground below. He quickly rips it out and holds it back at up the ready, listening with razored ears and watching with daggered eyes for the rustling of the other creature. He waits, hoping the shifting light of the woods and the dried crunching of fallen leaves will give up the beast’s location. But there’s no sound. There’s nothing but the quiet thumping in his chest and the shaky, whistling, foggy breaths that pass softly in and out his icy nostrils.

CHAPTER 24

With the burning body of the dead homeless zombie fading into the darkness behind them, Michael and Amy press on through the PATH tunnel. They nervously hold their flashlights as they walk, creating shaky circles of light with each rattle of their hands.

“I never thought we’d be so excited to see New Jersey,” Michael quietly jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Amy smiles but doesn’t allow a laugh. She’s worried that more cannibals may be lurking in the shadows.

“I guess this dust not only kills you, but it makes you come back as a zombie,” she says.

“Do you think it’s like airborne rabies or something?” Michael wonders. “Minxie and Madison had the same look in their eyes as the bum.”

“I don’t know. Whatever it is, I don’t want to catch it.”

Up ahead their flashlights reflect off the grey wall tiles of a station platform. They climb up. Yellow caution tape has been stretched across the entrances and exits, and signs are hung that read “station closed.”

“We’re locked in here from this side?” Michael asks with frustration.

“No. This station has transfers to other PATH lines, so they wouldn’t shut the entrances just because this one tunnel is closed. There.” Amy points. “There’s light up ahead.”

Sunlight pours down from a stairwell that leads up to street level. They shut their flashlights and jog towards it. They’ve made it through.

Trash blusters all around the ghostly streets; loose papers and plastic bags circle up into miniature whirlwinds as the poisonous breeze blows through Jersey City. Unfamiliar with the area, Amy begins to walk away from the grey, lifeless New York City skyline across the river. Her plan is to head west into the setting sun. Amy’s parents live in a little town in Pennsylvania.
If we can make it to their house, maybe we’ll rest for a while before trying to cross the quarantine to safety
.

“We’ve got to find the interstate,” she says. “Once we’re on it I can get us to my parents’ house. I just don’t know how to get to it from here.”

“Won’t the roads be crowded with traffic?” Michael asks.

“Yeah but we’ll be walking.”

“Walking to Pennsylvania?” Michael asks with shock.

“It’s the best option we have right now. It’s not like we can rent a car, and we don’t know how to steal one.”

“Maybe we can find bicycles,” Michael suggests sarcastically.

Just then Amy hears a gurgled growl from behind them, around the street corner. She pulls Michael into a nearby storefront vestibule and motions for him to be quiet. She peeks around to see the beast shambling across the street, wandering around in search of flesh.

“Lots of people stayed inside when the winds came, but this place is so densely populated that the streets could be swarming with infected people,” she whispers. “This is not a good place to be.”

“It’s a good thing we got out of Manhattan then. I guess any place is better than there in terms of people per square foot,” Michael replies.

“We need to get to the highway, or find a map or something,” Amy urges.

Michael peeks out of the vestibule for a look. The street is clear. “Let’s keep heading the way we were going. We have to see a sign eventually. I know it’s close.”

But as soon as they step out onto the sidewalk more infected emerge from around the corner. Panicked, Michael and Amy begin to run. The monsters see them and start to chase. Three, seven, and soon dozens. A horde of death trails them as they blindly run through the streets, looking for an open building to hide in, looking for anything that could save them. They make random turns in an attempt to lose the undead mob, but the swarm still follows them. A morbid choir of grunts and growls sings a dissonant and horrific tune that hangs in the air behind them. They strain to breathe in their masks. The restricted air and feeling of confinement tires them out faster than they expect, but they keep pushing, running for their lives. They want so badly to rip them off and breathe full, lung-filling breaths, but they can't. They run for what feels like hours. The daylight turns to dusk, and death is on their heels. The horde begins to gain on them.

“They don’t get tired. They just keep coming!” Michael says between tired breaths.

They reach the outskirts of town, where old garages and warehouse buildings are seemingly left abandoned and in disrepair, but the windows and doors are all boarded up or locked to keep vagrants out. Amy runs up to an old garage and pounds her fists against the corrugated metal door, then does the same to the door of a nearby warehouse, trying to break in. But each attempt allows the swarm to draw closer.

“Help us! Somebody please help us!” Amy yells over and over, draining herself in the process.

“Look!” Michael yells, pointing ahead. “A sign for the highway!” He looks back over his shoulder at the mass of death that follows them. “We’ll never make it.”

Amy sees the sign ahead in the fading daylight; the icon for the interstate with an elbowed arrow pointing to the right. They can see the prize, but it’s just out of reach. They’re so close, but so far.
If we can’t find shelter from the zombies to catch our breath, we’ll be dead in moments, whether it’s on the highway or not
.
What good is being on the highway if there are dozens of cannibals just a few strides behind?

The zombies are a hundred feet away. Michael and Amy have already given up but they don’t even know it yet.

Fifty feet. Amy continues to kick and smash on doors. Tears fill her eyes for the first time since she was a little girl.

Forty feet. Michael stands with his hands on his knees, exhausted.

Thirty feet. “Somebody! Anybody! Help us! Please God!” Amy yells it over and over.

Twenty feet. Amy drops her bloodied hands. She doesn’t even raise the bat up to defend herself. What good is it? Michael holds her in his arms.

Ten feet. The beasts close in. An unrelenting hunger drives them against all other impulses.

“I love you,” they both say as they embrace one last time. The grunts of the undead are so loud that they don’t hear the door open behind them. They shut their eyes and hug each other tight, letting the chorus of grotesque horror fill their ears. A moment later they’re pulled down to the ground and dragged backward. They hear the swift flash of a blade, a few thuds and gurgles, and then the heavy slam of a metal door. The groans of the undead become muffled and distant. They open their eyes to see Death looming over them.