The Swamp (6 page)

*

              She stopped at this point of her narrative and broke down. “I tried to convince Mark to escape with me, but he insisted it would be too hard to get two people out.”

             
“He was probably right,” was all I could think of to say, “I’m sure you did what was right, what you had to do. I am sure Mark was overjoyed to hear that you had escaped”

             
She wept softly for a few minutes before she continued.

*

              The men in the field were always guarded while the older women in the house came and went as they performed their duties. They decided her opportunity for escape was her daily trip around the farm to deliver meals to the sentries in the makeshift towers that had been built at the corners of the farm. Mark gave her some wire cutters he stole from the tool room, and during the morning she secreted some food into her pockets, not much or it would be missed or show. At noon on the appointed day, she put a pot of stew into a wheelbarrow and begins her rounds. She did nothing unusual at the first two, but at the third, the one farthest from the farm house, it was time to make her move.

             
As usual she approached to within 30 yards and waited. These guys could be jumpy out here all alone, and it was best not to make any sudden moves. When the soldier, a hard eyed man the others had simply called Ace, beckoned to her she carried the cast-iron pot over and waited for him to climb down. He gruffly held out his mess plate. He never looked her in the eyes or spoke, and for that she was grateful, it made the next part easier. As he leaned down to smell the stew, she swung the heavy cast iron pot as hard as she could. His head snapped back as the stew sloshed over the side and burned her hands, but she didn’t let go. Now she was committed, there was no turning back. She leaped onto his prone form and brought the pot down again, and again, venting all her rage of the last few weeks into his head. He was dead long before she stopped.

             
She grabbed his rifle and bandolier, and struggled to get his pack off of him. She made short work of the inner fence, but had to take a lot more care with the razor wire. They had decided she would make as small a hole in the fence so as not to let anything in. She managed to cover almost all the distance to the trees before she was noticed. Shots rang out, but no one came after her. They had discussed this also, and knew there simply weren’t enough troops left for anything like that. She hoped no one inside would be punished for her escape but Mark had been right, something had to be done.

             
She had spent the rest of the day running as fast as she could, and resting only when she couldn’t run anymore. At her first break, she inventoried the soldiers back pack she had taken hoping for something to help her. Inside she found only a small med kit, a few bottles of water, and a lot of porn magazines. When she opened the med kit, she was dismayed to find only weed and rolling papers inside.

*

              Sam interrupted at this part to jokingly ask if she still had any of that stuff, but a severe glare that only a mother can give cut me off. She otherwise ignored my interruption and continued.

*

              Well after dark, she had found refuge in a broken down motor home and trailer on the side of the road. The driver’s seat was stained with blood, and the door was swinging open. She guessed that whoever was inside had wandered off, and for that she was thankful. She locked the door and helped herself to a can of cold green beans she found in one of the cupboards. In the morning she woke well after daylight, feeling refreshed for the first time in weeks. She resolved to search the Winnebago before moving on. She found some more food and lucked out when she found a hunting rifle and shot gun under the mattress in the back. There wasn’t much ammo, but anything is a start. The trailer was a ten foot long metal box, whose locked she opened with the keys she found in the ignition. Inside was a massive four wheeler complete with extra gas cans. She strapped down her supplies and made it the rest of the way to the tower that night. She approached with caution, and seeing no lights her heart sunk. She found Sam’s stocked supplies and knew that he had been there lately, but could think of no reason why he would not be there this late at night.

             
She decided to climb the tower and check there before deciding where to go from here. All she found there was rumpled bedding, and my empty can of peaches, it was full of flies and smelled of rot. Finally convinced I had abandoned this place she made up her mind to keep looking for help. That’s when she heard the shots in the distance, the ones I had fired at the coyotes

              She snatched up my binoculars and tried to make out anything in the distance. She could see nothing, until suddenly she says the head lights far away, but they weren’t moving. She rushed down the stairs and sped off in the direction of the lights, as she approached she could swear she heard a horn blaring. It took her almost 45 minutes to find me. She hadn’t seen the lights since she climbed down from the tower, but she followed the horn. The horn was barely a whining sound as she slung open the door and lifted my head off the steering wheel. Her horror grew as she saw my bloody gaunt body. She couldn’t find the truck keys, so she had to lay me across the cargo rack of the ATV, my legs and head dangling off each side and drove slowly back to the ranger’s house. She sewed up leg and arm as best she could, dressed my wounds and gave him antibiotics from my own stockpile. All she could do was wait and hope in the days that followed, she fixed the generator and fed me broth she made of beef jerky.

              By the end of her tale, both were emotionally exhausted. They sat together in silence for a while, her remembering the events, and him letting them sink in. He couldn’t believe the suffering she had experienced. More so he felt sick when he thought of the suffering Mark must be going through at that very moment.

             
“I should get some sleep,” he finally said, “It appears I have a lot to get ready for and I am going to need all the rest I can get.”

             
“Yes,” Mom said with the exhaustion evident in her voice, “I want to go to bed.”

             
She stood to leave, but as she reached the door Sam called out, “Wait, Mom…

             
She stopped and turned, hand on the door knob, “Yes Sam?”

             
“We will get him back.” He tried to sound hopeful, “I swear it.”

             
“I know… now get some sleep, we have to get you up and moving around tomorrow.” She replied in a monotone voice, and left the room, closing the door behind her.

             
Sam lay there, staring at the ceiling fan, considering the situation. “Mark, we will get you back home with us.” His words hung in the air as he drifted off to sleep.

             
He dreamt that night of being there on the farm, enslaved beside the others. In his nightmare, he stood in the door of the barn and watched as the soldiers dragged the reanimated body of his brother to a tree and tied him there. The body looked straight into his eyes and said, “Why didn’t you save me?”

Sam woke up and coul
d still feel his brother in the room, blaming him for not coming in time. It took Sam a long time to get back to sleep as he listened as his mother cried in the next room.

There was never a question of if
Sam would go to save my brother but simply when. His leg healed quickly, and shortly after he came to, Mom decided it was safe to pull the brown embroidery thread stitches, not surprisingly, this hurt almost as bad as the cut had, but the skin held, and despite being stiff from disuse, was usable.

`
The arm was a different matter. It was healing much more slowly and his pinkie and ring finger didn’t seem to work right. There must be nerve or tendon damage, but it was far outside of their ability to fix. The hand worked well enough.

             
They discussed what do to at great length while he recovered. He wanted to leave in two days, based on what he learned from his mother, time was short for the people there. He would have to gather supplies to prepare for the journey, and procure a vehicle large enough to move anyone he was able to rescue all the way back here. He would have to find a bus he could get running, to drive close enough to the farm to continue on foot.  He decided to leave the Isuzu where in sat in the swamp, to many unfortunate memories involved in trekking back to the tree stand for the keys, so they rode the four wheeler into town. The best place to look would be the school, but this town had used its only school as a rescue station, and the hordes of infected massed to the tall fences as they approached. Needless to say they left quickly.

             
After that they drove to the outskirts of a slightly large town where they came across a lucky break. A recreational vehicle dealership stood beside the highway, and appeared to be abandoned. They settled on a gigantic 33 foot Fleetwood model set out near the road.

             
The office was dark despite the large windows, and of course locked up tight. Pressing their faces to the glass, they could see nothing moving inside, so they decided to make a try for it. Using a landscaping brick from a nearby flower bed, Sam smashed the window. The reek of rot wafted from the inside, something was dead in there. They moved in, Mom sweeping the flashlight attached to the barrel of her stolen rifle side to side, as Sam used his hand held to search behind furniture. They located the manager’s office, and Sam crept up and turned the knob, and at the same time he gently pushed it open, the smell was strongest here. Sam and his mother exchanged glances, and Sam shouted “hello!” His voice was rewarded when the scuffling of feet brought a very fat man dressed in a suit and cowboy hat out of the door. The creature locked eyes with Sam’s mother, raised its hands and rushed forward. It never sensed Sam hiding flat against the wall by the door, nor did it even react when he shot it point blank in the side of its head. It just fell over and splatted to the floor, the fall rupturing its massive stomach and spilling its putrid fluid into a slowly widening puddle. Sam stepped over its legs and looked about the room. Nothing else was moving, but behind the fat man’s desk was exactly what he wanted, a large cabinet with a single word stenciled on it, ‘KEYS’.

             
The doors broke easily and they quickly found the ones they wanted. The dealership had a diesel pump, so they decided to fill the tank. Ninety gallons with a hand pump takes a long time, and the sun was fading in the west by the time they finished. They connected a trailer they also found on the lot to the back and loaded the ATV in, and started back into the setting sun. It was almost thirty miles back to the swamp, and Sam was pleased to see that the GPS system was still getting a signal and found them a shorter route back. They made decent time, until about half way, when the spotted something that made them slow the large vehicle. Up ahead was a country church nestled into a bend in the road. A single minivan was parked in the front, and its lights were on.

             
This had to mean people, more than three months had passed since the end of the world and its battery would have long since run down. As they approached, an old man came running towards them waving his arms. Mom leaned forward and raised the rifle, aiming through the large front window as Sam came to a stop.

             
“Don’t shoot!” yelled the man holding his arms high into the air, “My brother needs help!”

             
“Don’t move, stay there!” yelled Sam and then softly to his mother “should we just keep going?”

             
“I raised you better than that”, she said with disappointment and moved to the door to step out.

             
They approached the frantic old man nervously, wary of a trap

             
“What’s going on?” Sam asked, his shotgun halfway up.

             
“My brother has been shot, he’s in the van and I think he is bleeding to death! Please help; we aren’t bad guys or anything.”

             
“We will see what we can do,” said mom as she started to the van. Sam stayed a few steps behind gun at the ready.

             
In the van was another man, both were very skinny. And the one in the back seat was a man with a long white beard, holding a bloody rag to his shoulder and looking warily at mom as she approached. An examination of the wound showed it was not very serious, just a small hole through the meat above the collar bone.

             
“Who shot him,” Sam asked as the man paced nervously just outside the vans open side door.

             
“Some little boy, he waved us down about twenty miles back and as soon as we opened the door to let him in he pulled out a pistol and fired! I couldn’t believe it!” the man threw up his arms in disgust. “I guess he was going to try to rob us, but he couldn’t have been more than 10!”

             
“You are lucky, he probably wasn’t alone. But don’t worry about your brother, mom will take good care of him, she was quite a nurse before all this.