The Reaper Virus (Novella): Sarcophagus (8 page)

An old
woman with wild silver hair stood by the front bumper of the gray sedan that
belonged to the sad egg man and his ailing son. The windshield transformed into
a nearly opaque mesh of broken glass. Two pock marked clusters were focused
over the glass of the passenger side. Then the egg man ran from behind the
vehicle. He was different than he was during their trade deal. Using a
previously unseen level of ire, he charged towards the frail-looking old woman.
She didn’t seem to notice him coming, like her being there had put her into a
daze.

The old
woman pivoted on her heel as if to check her surroundings. She had both hands
gripped onto something long and dark. It took a moment of squinting for Jessica
to put the pieces together. A split second before the man intended to tackle
her,
she raised the black shotgun and jerked the trigger.
Light bellowed from the barrel. For the third time a blast echoed around them
inciting even more panic. Jessica was so stunned that she hardly reacted. Instead
she watched in slow motion as the man’s sad face was torn to bits by the
devastating point blank spray of buckshot.

His face
taking the full brunt of the blast did nothing to slow his momentum. A crimson
splash went one direction while his body dove towards the woman who killed him.
The collision caused another jerk of the trigger which sent searing lead into
an adjacent abandoned minivan. Loud honking and sirens instantly cried out from
the alarmed van. Jessica watched it all unfold, helpless to look away. All the
while, panicked retreat members pushed her forward in line.

Jessica’s
focus shifted to farther down the bridge once the old woman dropped beneath the
weight of the lifeless man. More commotion was taking place now at the other
end. She froze, hoping it wasn’t what she feared. Then a nearby voice screamed,
“
THEY’RE COMING!
”

Jessica
saw them in that last second before entering the bus. They flocked to the first
rows of occupied cars like birds drawn to seed.
Twenty,
maybe even thirty, of the horrid creatures finally scampered their way onto the
bridge drawn by echoes of the breakfast execution. Screams rippled along the
roadway from motorists caught in a tidal wave of infectious hunger.

Their
hands lost grip in the commotion of boarding, pried apart by a rush of
frightened people. Ava looked back for her mother from the stairs, feeling like
she’d failed in her buddy responsibilities. Her glance coincided perfectly with
Jessica’s sighting of the coming undead. She saw the panic on Jessica’s face,
witnessed her mommy’s brave front vanish for a singular moment.

“Mommy!”
Ava didn’t know what else to say. She wanted her to know that she was there.
She wanted her mommy to not be afraid.

People
pushed from all directions through the small corridor. The line slowed as
people inside clamored to find their seats without any coordination or
organization. Retreat members outside gave little regard to the congestion
within and kept pushing. Jessica shot her eyes back to the bus entrance as her
body cleared the threshold. Ava was two steps ahead with a stocky man between
them. They locked eyes when the little darling turned towards her while still
being moved inside.

Simultaneously,
three more booms thundered from up the bridge as another desperate person
grabbed the shotgun that fell from the old woman’s hands. Screams, louder than
the rest of the uproar, and highlights of breaking glass answered the ballistic
roar. Car alarms randomly sang a melody of chaos. Despite the frightening
raucous, the mother and daughter kept their eyes locked for that second.

Jessica’s
voice was loud and firm, “
Even if you
can’t see me, I’m here. Go to our seat. Cover your ears. Close your eyes. Don’t
stop until I say so.
”

Chapter Fourteen

Those
first rows didn’t stand a chance. Travellers, stuck on the bridge just the same
as those in the church retreat, were geographically placed in the crosshairs.
They were just people - men, women, children, young and old. All they wanted
was to get away from a crumbling city, to get somewhere that they could
survive. Unlike the retreat members, they were trapped there without bathrooms
or the level of shelter offered by the bus. After nearly two days it’s amazing
they didn’t all abandon their cars. Hope that the world would be saved kept
them there, kept them waiting for salvation. These are the poor people who were
condemned by circumstance as the first to die.

“Is
everyone here?” Paul called from the front, breathless from panic. “Call up if
you don’t know where your buddy is!”

No one
called. No one even talked. Cries, gasps for breath and whimpers continued in
place of silence. Madness loudly carried on outside as occasional gunfire
joined screams of agony loud enough to be heard beyond the sound-dampening
coach walls. With the attack advancing from behind them, all direct view of the
threat was obscured.

A man
sitting in a center right row yelled up, “Frank, what’s in the mirrors? You
have to see something from there!”

It got
quiet. Even crying hushed as they waited for word from their driver. This sort
of instance was normally when Paul jumped at the chance to assert his
authority; yet, even he turned to Frank anxiously awaiting an update.

“They’re
close. Three, maybe four car lengths back,” he answered in an eerie calm. The
quiet ended as quickly as it began. Fearful cries now loudly occupied the
cabin. Their leader stood stunned for several seconds before urging calm. Frank
rose from his chair, pushed Paul into his seat and yelled, “
SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!
” His
unexpected outburst brought the silence back like a switch had been flipped.

All
Jessica could hear was the thumping of her heart. She looked to Ava who sat
with her hands over her ears and her eyes closed as instructed. The wise little
angel looked content. No tears fell from her eyes. Jessica couldn’t say the
same for her face was slick with fright. She looked back to
Frank,
the old man now stood a row in front of them. Paul’s disconcerted mug peering
up from behind him in obvious defiance of the driver’s commands to sit.

“Ya’ll
are scared, hell, so am I,” Frank said just loud enough for all to hear. “And
I’m sorry for the foul language. Right now I need every one of you folks to
keep your cool. From what I heard, those…. things…. out there will be drawn to
us if we make ourselves known. If that’s true then I think at the moment our
best chance is staying in the bus.”

A couple
voices of protest replied. Various sobs continued throughout the conversation.
The old man allowed people to simmer before going on, “We’re higher up than the
other cars so that should work in our favor. I hate pointing it out, but I
think the only reason those sick creatures aren’t pounding on our door is
because they are too occupied with the poor people in the cars before us,”

“Who was
shooting a shotgun? Were they shooting at the infected ones coming up the
bridge?” A woman with a slight southern accent asked from the rear driver’s
side of the cabin.

Jessica
saw it all happen. She wished more than anything that she could forget it. Then
a man answered the question, “it was an old woman. I saw her shoot through the
windshield of the egg man’s car.”

“Maybe
his boy was sicker than he let on,” commented someone else.

The lady
with a New York accent added, “then the poor guy ran at her. She blew his
freakin
’ head off.” Volume in the cabin raised in response.

Frank
took control again, “quiet down ya’ll. It don’t matter who was shooting what.
We’re all safe. That’s more than I can say for most anyone else out there. If
you want to keep it that way, and I know
I
would like to, then keep your damn voices down. The windows are tinted so they
can’t see in here easy. Don’t press your face against the glass or turn lights
on. Keep a low profile so they look for dinner somewhere else. Who knows, maybe
someone ahead will try to plow through and we’ll get an opening. I’ve been
scoping out a possible way but there are too many cars to get far. The
situation can still change. If it does then I’ll use every bit of power we got
to get off this strip.”

Ava fidgeted.
Jessica tapped her on the knee to bring her out of isolation. She spoke softly
into the little one’s ear, “no looking out the windows. I mean it.”

Whispering
back she asked, “are the monsters coming?”

Jessica
hesitated. There was no point in lying to the girl because the truth would
likely become apparent within minutes. “Yeah, hon.
The
monsters are on the road behind us.”

“But
we’re safe in here, right?”

“Safest
people on the entire bridge,” Jess answered with a phony smile then turned to
hide the fresh tear welling up in her eye.

Remaining
incognito was a difficult tactic for all to embrace, at least for those first
twenty minutes after breakfast was interrupted. The retreat was a group of
worriers and gossip entrepreneurs. Talking at any volume was second nature to
the church crowd. This mentality was quickly abandoned once the horde’s first
wave made it alongside the bus. They came like an eager pack of hyena sniffing
out fresh carrion.

A sedan
in the farthest lane near where they’d looked over the bridge became an
immediate center of attention. Inside was a family of three that allowed their
fear to get the best of them. After a few of the undead noticed them the rest
quickly followed suit. Ten creatures surrounded the car in a flurry of fists.
More of them passed by the newly claimed bounty in search of other victims. A
steady percussion of hands hammering against glass grew loud enough to be
detected in the isolated coach. It served as a suitable companion to the
persistent sobbing inside.

Ballistic
pops rang out once again. One of the men in the bacon-frying group came to the
aid of the doomed family in the sedan. He held a long rifle with a wood grain
finish and an oversize scope painted in woodland camouflage. The first two
shots found their targets with the effect of a punching fist. First a dead man
in a lime green polo that had gore splotches rivaling a Rorschach inkblot took
a hit to the gut. Barely a step behind him a woman in a black cocktail dress
with her right hand severed at the wrist took a hard punch in the shoulder.
Rather than falling to the pavement, they spun towards him.

The
well-meaning shooter recalculated in seconds then another muzzle flash belched
fire. Mr. Rorschach jerked his head back as a spray of black muck misted the
area. As he fell the dead woman tripped over his lifeless corpse. Three more
shots found their mark in the skulls of other attacking creatures. Precision
took them down but it also occupied too much of the man’s attention. He was so
focused that there was no time for him to react when an infected boy lunged.
The boy, who couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven when the virus took
him, dove into the shooter from the side.

Impact of
the two caused an inadvertent trigger-pull sending a bullet careening into the
windshield of the very car he sought to save. Stunned by the source and
suddenness of the attack, seconds of defense were lost. Two more creatures
joined the undead boy. The man fought hard, wrestling the trio across the hood
of the sedan bringing one down with his bare hands. Their fight raged on past
the lanes and into the wall. It ended as quickly as it began with the shooter
taking any monster he could reach over the wall, plummeting into the rapids
beneath.

Falling
to his death kept the well-meaning man from knowing how much damage his efforts
ended up causing. The stray bullet weakened the glass, which gave way within
seconds. One by one, the family inside was pulled from the sedan into the
ravenous jaws of the horde. This fate became inevitability for so many stuck on
that stretch. The infected would not stop pounding on the glass as long as
something moved inside. The exterior of
their
cars was
no match to the never-ceasing predatory drive of the undead.

Jessica
tried to hide her tears. She tried to look strong for her daughter.
Self-doubting thoughts would not accomplish anything; that much was clear. Yet
she found herself wracked with more doubt than hope. This bus, their ‘salvation’,
could not deliver them to safety and she knew it. Pastor Doug referred to the
retreat as a chariot to keep them doing the Lord’s work. Now Jessica knew the
truth; this chariot was more of a sarcophagus. Without any outside intervention,
this would be their tomb.

Chapter Fifteen

Hours
passed. Tempers flared as lunchtime came. Foot traffic outside was steady. It
was almost as if the Reaper virus used the highway bridge as a conduit out of
the city limits. Surprisingly, the luxury coach was all but ignored. With the
exception of a portly ghoul mindlessly walking into their breakfast buffet,
loudly scattering it across the concrete, they hadn’t been noticed.

Repeats
of the sedan attack were heard or partially seen at an all-too-regular
interval. Occupants of a few courageous cars tried to make a run for it; most
failed in seconds. The frantic nature combined with undead swarming from every
direction made chances of escape very low. Jessica wondered if they would be
the last ones left alive by the time the day was up. “
Is this our curse? Listen to death all around us until it’s finally our
turn?
” she thought. Her hand found the revolver in the bag under her seat.
Running her fingers across the cool metal features she imagined a plan to fight
their way out. Reality quickly seeped into her mental plan, with the
possibility of failure too great to attempt.

Paul
stood at the front, ducking lightly to keep a low profile. He ushered those in
the back to come closer so volume stayed low. Softly he said, “We need a plan
for food. Other than a couple snacks I think we’re tapped out in here.
Everything we’ve got is in the cargo hold. Frank thinks if we go out with a
plan then we might be able to get what we need. If we can get some supplies
inside here then we can hunker down until there’s a chance to push through
traffic. For all we know, those things will lose interest and move on. I don’t
like it but I can’t think of any other way. If you have any ideas, speak up
now.”

Heads
turned. Everyone looked about hoping someone else had a better plan. With no
rebuttals he laid out his plan, “Six people. I think that’s what it’ll take to
pull this off. Frank and I make two, so I need four volunteers. Three will run
defense, two go for food and water,
then
the last will
directly cover them while their hands are full. We can pull it off if we’re
quick, quiet and mindful of what’s around us.” Paul let it sink in for a few
moments then asked the million-dollar question, “any volunteers?”

No one
moved. Glances were traded. Each person waited for someone else to take the
plunge. Paul frustratingly rubbed his paw of a hand through his thinning hair.
Frank grumbled from behind him, “ya’ll
wanna
eat,
right? We
ain’t
lasting long
unless some of you grow some balls. That’s the problem with you folks - you
think it’s just you. Guess what… it’s not! There are women and children on this
trip. If you’re the righteous group that your Pastor told me about then I
suggest you man up.”

Jessica
tried to look for reactions without being overly obvious. She noticed the
female counterparts of several men prodding them to volunteer. Slowly Paul and
Frank got their four volunteers. Paul appeared pleased by the supposedly
courageous offering; Frank looked indifferent, still just a tired old man. Once
their number reached six, the large-statured leader spoke with a tad more gusto
than he had minutes before. “We’ve got the right number of people,” he said,
“now we need to find a way to defend ourselves.”

Frank
chimed in, “we need anything that can be used as a weapon. I know this is a
church group, but ya’ll
ain’t
blind so someone had to
have thought to bring a safety measure in case things went sour.”

“I have a
pocket knife,” offered the man by the toilet.

“That’s a
start. Anyone got something with some kick? Them sick ones don’t go down with a
little poke,” the driver asked.

The metal
of Jessica’s .38 special no longer felt cool to the touch. She’d run her hand
over it so many times that it actually warmed from her nervous fiddling.
Questions ran through her thoughts. ‘
How
will they react if they find out I have a gun? Can they make it out there
without one?’

Butterflies
churned in her stomach. Finally she licked her lips trying to form the words. A
raspy voice of one of the volunteers spoke up three rows behind her, “I brought
my Glock.” Several heads turned towards the man, Jessica’s included. He held a
black pistol in a ballistic nylon holster above the headrest. “What? The whole
damn world is falling apart. I bring this to the grocery store, do you think I
wouldn’t bring it with me on this trip?” The man asked rhetorically.

“No one
blames you for bringing it along. After all that has happened I wish I had done
something like it,” Paul reassured.

Then
Jessica stood holding her revolver up for all to see. “He’s not the only one,”
she said in shaky sounding words. The reaction to her weapon was a little
louder than it had been for the first man. She knew Ava was looking up at her
yet Jessica couldn’t bear looking back. Feeling bashful, she sat with the gun
holstered in her lap.

Frank
moved in the aisle next to her. His tone was genuine, “I’m not surprised.
You’ve done what you had to just to protect that little angel
sittin
’ next to you. Because of her, I’m not about to let
you join us out there. But if you’ll let me use it then I promise I’ll get some
food on here for both of you. Can you trust me to do that for you?”

She did
trust him. In fact, she trusted him more than anyone on this bus. Much like
Jessica and Ava, Frank didn’t belong with the church group. Their being here
was a necessity, a job. Relinquishing the weapon didn’t fill her with a sense
of vulnerability as she’d anticipated. Perhaps keeping it in the possession of
a trusted guardian made it feel no different from holding it herself.

Two more
weapons were fashioned from the handicapped rails in the bathroom. These
weren’t much compared to a firearm but they still added an advantage against
the infected. The four volunteers hugged their spouses then joined Paul and
Frank at the front. In an effort to keep tensions down in the others, they
tried to keep their voices quiet enough for only the chosen six to hear.
Despite all efforts, the close proximity of Jessica’s seat allowed her to hear
every bit of the planning.

After
some back and forth amongst the anxious group, they came up with a solid plan.
Frank was to guard the door with Jessica’s .38 special. Having a second firearm
protecting the supply runners was tempting, however they couldn’t risk leaving
the bus door vulnerable. The man armed with a Glock would run point on the
outer defense accompanied by one armed with the handicap rail club. Paul would
provide immediate coverage for the two carrying boxes of food and water.

One by
one they filed out of their haven into the apocalyptic wild. Frank picked up
the rear then forced the door mostly closed behind them, as there was no way to
completely close the bus door from the outside. This was an inadvertent safety
measure because if things went sour they would have to get inside without delay.
Inside the bus the tension was unbearable. Seconds later Paul’s squad made it
to the hatch. Fortunately, they’d avoided drawing any unwanted attention from
the new undead population as it weaved throughout the still cars on the bridge.
Survivors in the nearest cars had already fallen victim.
Thus,
much of
the horde had spread out.

It all
fell apart with a single misstep. While reaching for a plastic wrapped
twenty-four pack of bottled water, the first food runner nervously knocked a
box of metal spoons. The sound of spoons scattering across the street was loud
enough that they heard it inside the bus. “Move it!” Paul commanded, “Grab
whatever you can. They’re coming!”

Excited
groans and gurgles emanated from all sides. Obeying their one track infected hunger;
the dead flocked toward the disturbance. The man armed with a Glock fired a
precision round through the skull of the first to arrive. Frank answered his
shot with his own from the snub nose revolver that knocked an advancing
creature into the path of one of his undead brethren. Eyes inside were planted
against the tinted glass watching their hope unravel.

“Only go
for their heads! That’s what keeps ‘
em
down.” Frank
yelled as he fired two more shots. This left him with only two bullets. Inside
the bus Jessica held onto another five rounds that she forgot to hand off with
the weapon.

Three
quick pops rang out from the cargo hold. “Ah shit!” Hollered the Glock man,
“she
fuckin
’ jammed!”

His
partner ran up with the rail club. Cracks to a pair of skulls in a wide swing
sent the two creatures to the ground. Unable to clear the jam, the Glock man
spun his beloved pistol around to use as a blunt weapon. The dead traipsed in
from all angles. For every monster they took down, three others replaced it.
The two men on outer defense duty fought valiantly then fell horrifically.
Swarming mouths tackled them simultaneously to a grisly demise.

Both
runners had carried full armloads. Paul scooped up a lone box that was dropped
then slammed the cargo hold door closed. His free arm gripped the metal rod in
a desperate attempt to keep the attackers at bay. “Go! Go! Go!” He yelled to the
remaining team as his big arm swung wide arcs with the handicap rail. Zombies
covered the fallen men like ants on a dropped candy bar. Preoccupation with
this new bounty is all that allowed Paul and the two runners to reach the door.

As Frank
pulled the door open for the runners to enter, a gangly specimen oozing crimson
tar from its impatient jaws set upon him from behind. It clamped down on his
shoulder in a spray of red. Frank cursed loudly then spun to use the butt of
the revolver to cave in the creature’s left temple. “Come on, you assholes!” He
shouted to the other remaining men while holding his right hand against the
hole in his neck seeping blood.

One
runner made it through then an infected woman lunged towards the second. Paul
shot his hand forward, grabbing hold of the woman’s hair. He yanked so hard
that her scalp tore off. This delay enabled the second runner to clear the threshold
of the bus. Meanwhile, all color drained from Paul’s face as he dropped the
bloody mess of hair, trying to process what had just occurred. The scalp-less
woman, however, wasn’t nearly as thrown off by the ordeal as Paul was. She
latched onto the arm that was used to stop her previous attack. Her bite caused
their large-statured leader to scream in agony until he drove the blunt end of
the makeshift club straight into the top of her exposed skull.

Paul and
Frank stood across from each other with the open bus door between them. A
chorus of the stimulated horde grew louder every second as they closed in.
Blood steadily dripped down Paul’s arm to the pavement. Frank’s front glistened
from the life that spilled from his wounded neck. The two men exchanged the
same glance, one of acceptance, one of peace.

The
driver felt woozy, weak from blood loss and the virus now running rampant
through his system. He shouted with as much volume as he could muster up the
stairs, “close the door!”

Inside
the second runner sat next to his dropped goods, stunned by the command. Simply
shouting made the old man so weak he had to lean against the front of his bus.
Paul moved closer to the opening and used every bit of physical presence he had
to stress the command, “do it now! They will be here in seconds. There’s no
time!” This motivated the dumbfounded runner to work the crank and secure the
door.

Both men
breathed a sigh of relief. Members of the infected horde surged closer. Frank
turned towards Paul and found barely enough volume to be heard, “I was right
about you being their leader.”

“I tried
my best,” Paul said with tears coating his cheeks.

“And that
was enough. Sometimes you
gotta
accept the cards
you’re dealt.” Frank checked the number of rounds in the revolver then asked,
“you ready?”

Paul
nodded once. Frank raised the gun and fired one of the two remaining bullets.
It caught the large man in his right eye, cratering with enough force to send
his bulk spinning to the ground in a swirl of red mist. Noise from the
execution tantalized the wave of undead that was barely a car length away.
Frank slumped against the bumper, taking a swig from a flask he’d hidden in his
sock. When the wave of death reached lunging distance, the old man put the
revolver to his temple and robbed the Reaper virus of one
more
soldier.