The Wanderers (29 page)

“
Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Aranda pleaded, interrupting again. “Let me recap for a second. We have a pathogenic agent, and we know that the agent needs to kill the individual to prosper; this forms a part of its cycle, because it doesn’t have control over the nervous system inside a live host, and if the subject does not attack, there’s no contagion. So the agent goes directly to the nervous system, like rabies, isn’t that so? But it needs the organism to be clinically dead to take over that control, and it manages to survive without oxygen or direct energy from nutrients and the like because of its extremophilic nature. So it infects the brain... is that why we haven’t seen any infected animals?”

“
That’s it,” Rodriguez said. “That’s one reason why our agent can just prosper in humans, because our cerebral cortex is developed enough for it. That also explains the aggressive behavior: it uses the cerebral cortex to induce it.”

“
Dear Mother of God,” Aranda exclaimed, still trying to take in everything he had just learned.

`
”Juan,” Rodriguez said, “if we could somehow reach my office at the hospital, we could isolate the agent, run a few tests, analyze them metabolically.
We could learn how to attack them
.”

Their eyes met while the ideas danced in their minds. They knew that the hospital had been a great focal point of infection in the first days of the contagion, but they also knew that the area had become deserted in the following weeks: the zombies had migrated to other sections of the city, to the north, to the east, to the south. It was not until later that the dead came back, like a wave that moves back to break. That allowed them to consider the possibility that maybe the hospital was not any more populated than the other buildings.

“
That could be done, Antonio. Dozer and his people have become very, very efficient in their incursions... and the hospital’s so close.”

“
Do we tell the others?”

“
Not yet. We should let the Committee do its job first, they have too much to think about. When they come back—with that priest or without him—we’ll plan on how to take you to your office.”

Doctor Rodriguez nodded. “But first let’s get this out of here,” he continued, pointing towards the body with the dissected abdomen, “or we’re going to have to burn down the building to get the stench out.”

Chapter 31

The Committee for the Search and Capture dedicated a few days to devising and perfecting a plan to trap the priest. Naturally, the main problem was that his whereabouts were unknown, so the first stage was attracting him to some spot. Afterwards they would have to concentrate on controlling the living dead while the priest fell into their ambush. The committee was not happy with the fact that Dozer, one of the most valuable men for that type of mission, was in the infirmary with a broken rib.

The decided to create a spectacle that would be visible from all of Malaga, a fire spectacular enough so that the smoke column could be seen at a distance. They would do it as soon as it became dark, to insure that the glare would attract a pair of attentive eyes, as they were sure their enemy’s were. The chosen place was a small house located to the north of the sports center. The buildings there had already been cleared and closed off by the death squad. This allowed them to position themselves inside them and watch the streets. Both the house’s ceiling and the furniture inside were made of wood, so they expected it to burn down to the foundation during the whole night.

They had obtained precision rifles with non-lethal munitions: stunning darts that the police used to take down animals in the wild; however, during the tests they made inside the sports center they discovered that they did not have much range: barely a hundred yards, after that the dart could end up stuck anywhere but where the scope indicated.

“
It will have to be enough,” Jose said, “that or we put a bullet in his knee. It won’t kill him, but it’ll keep him from running off to hide.”

“
He’s a risk taker,” said Moses, “you should have seen him. He is so thin and old that I don’ think he would survive a wound like that: he’ll be too affected by the blood loss. The very shock of it could be too much.”

“
Fuck.,” Jose muttered, “and couldn’t they analyze him post-mortem? I would not mind finishing him off.”

“
Believe me, I have many more reasons than you to want to see him dead,” he answered, “but Aranda’s right. There’s something in him that’s different, and if we can analyze it-”

“
I know,” Jose interrupted, “but I would not like to be among all of those zombies at the fence, with a rifle only loaded with paralyzing darts. I tried one on the zombies at the fence and it did not affect them at all. It didn’t surprise me, it doesn’t seem like they have blood running through their veins, or a nervous system to block.”

Moses nodded. “It’s strange, isn’t it? I ask myself how they can even stand up.”

“
It’s like the Terry Pratchett book, man. Death has gone on vacation, that’s what I think.”

They remained silent for a few seconds.

“
I always thought that the Boss had a plan for us all,” he said, pointing his index finger upwards, “that we were living on this planet for some reason. Now most of them are dead.”

“
I don’t think that there’s a meaning to life, Jose. Life is the meaning in itself. The human being’s ego has no comparison. We have always thought that we are the quintessence of creation, and that our existence, necessarily, has to lead somewhere. We like to think that we matter, that we have the right to
transcend
. Do you think that the termite that lives blindly in its nest and that dedicates its life to gathering food, has a meaning in life? No more than you do. Someday, the human being will have disappeared, and this whole planet will be no more than an insignificant and dry ball of dust in the middle of the vast extension of space. And do you think anyone cares?”

Jose stared at him for a while, but did not even try to answer. He gave him a pat on the back and retired for the night.

* * *

The Committee studied their plan for many hours over several days. They drew maps and sketches and made sure that everyone knew their own part. During the tests they made on the athletics track, they discovered with much regret that it was hard for them to carry two rifles; one with standard ammunition and the other with the paralyzing darts, so they decided that just one of them would carry that type of weapon, while the other two were going to provide coverage with their conventional weapons.

Moses, in an attempt to substitute for Dozer, made an effort to participate in what they came to call D-Day; in the end almost all of the coverage procedures that had given them such good results were based on four man group tactics. He tried to practice with the rifles, but his aim was far from satisfactory. Moreover, he discovered that he was not in as great shape as he had thought; his arms tired from running from one place to another carrying the rifle, which reduced his utility in a real combat situation with the living dead.

During all of those days, Isabel and Moses did not see each other much. They discovered, each on their own, that being apart helped them to overcome the sadness that buried them inside like a dark cancer. The new environment and people also helped them not to let themselves become absorbed by their memories, but Isabel had recurring dreams every night. A man dressed in black came down a mountain by a sinuous trail of ashes. Everything around him was full of stunted trees, burned and smoking. The man was carrying a Commandment Tablet with just one commandment sculpted with crude stick letters: THOU SHALT NOT LIVE. But she discovered that, each night, she had fewer tears to shed.

Finally, the appointed day arrived. There was a slight breeze that blew from the west, which assured them that the smoke column would be dragged over the city, in particular over the central area, which was where the two encounters with the priest had taken place.

It was doubtlessly the most important incursion of the encampment’s history, therefore everyone wanted to assist the squad’s departure. There were words of encouragement and well-wishing, and Andrea, a middle-school girl who had earned her living selling necklaces she made herself, hung an amulet on Susana’s assault jacket; it was some sort of a heart in a burgundy red color.

The plan developed with surprising ease. In barely half an hour, the small house was burning like a funeral pyre, but the dead were not burning in its center; they crowded around, disturbed. The assault team settled down in one of the nearby buildings as planned, and they attentively watched the streets through the apartment windows.

That night they did not talk much. Jose had brought one of his packs of
Benson & Hedges
, and they all smoked much more than usually, an unequivocal sign of the level of nervousness they felt deep down. The fire’s glow was majestic, and in a certain sense, beautiful and somber at the same time. The flames brought out nebulous, elongated shadows of the dead people that moved around them. It was obvious, judging by their unorganized and accelerated ways, that the fire kept them in a state of alert. They had not foreseen this; it was going to make things more difficult when they would have to go back outside.

At four twenty in the morning, one of the main pillars came down with a clamorous crash, provoking the collapse of a side of the house. The flames revived vigorously, and a specter that walked close to the flames was hit by an unexpected rain of incandescent ashes. Its clothing quickly caught fire, and instantly its whole body was in flames. Startled and fascinated at one time, they saw it walk through the street as if nothing had happened, its eyes and mouth two dark stains in the fiery hell that was its head. Almost half a minute later, the specter lifted its arms and fell to the ground on its knees, where it remained a good while, like a horrifying San Juan doll. From time to time, violent blue flames exploded from its stomach, or silently escaped through its side. Finally, the spectral figure came apart like a tower of children’s blocks, falling to the ground, turned into a mound of carbonized remains, still in flames.

“
Dear Jesus,” Uriguen said.

Dawn arrived at six o’clock in the morning and it revealed an overcast sky filled with dark storm clouds. The fire had practically extinguished itself, but there were still powerful embers that were still smoking.

Drowsy, Jose looked through the windows, immersed in memories of his past life. He had memories of that very street, full of cars driven by people with occupations, and memories of people who industriously dragged their shopping carts on the sidewalks, of mothers with their children that bought candy at the decrepit kiosk on the corner, or young people who came and went from their jobs, carrying those special backpack briefcases for laptops. He remembered the seven euro fifty cent menus at the restaurant Oña, and the delicious paella that came with it. And so, so many things.

Susana jolted him from his river of memories by softly shaking him.
“He hasn’t come,” she said.

“
No, the son of a bitch hasn’t come. This sucks.”

“
What do we do?”

“
I’d like to wait at least a couple of hours. It’s possible that he saw the smoke last night and decided to investigate in the morning.”

He looked over his shoulder and saw that Uriguen was asleep, leaning on a column, embracing his rifle loaded with stun darts.

“
Look at him,” protested Susana.

“
The bastard’s going to blow off his own nose,” said Jose, laughing quietly.

“
Do you think it would be prudent to wait a little?” Susana asked.

“
What do you mean?”

“
What happens if he appears now? Do you think we’ll be good for going out there to run from the zombies, cover Uriguen, hunt down that lunatic, and get back home with his body?”

Jose thought about it for a few seconds. His eyes stung from the lack of sleep, and if the truth were told, he did not even feel able to take off his boots.

“
Probably not,” he reluctantly admitted.

“
Well let’s wake sleeping beauty up and go back, it’s high time.”

Chapter 32

Sandra was twenty-five years old when she woke up that morning to see the daybreak from her small window. While she washed up with some moist towelettes, she whistled happily. She did not even suspect for a moment that she would never see a sunset again.

Sandra was one of the few people who were happy with their present situation. Life had not gone very well for her; she’d left school at the age of sixteen to dedicate herself to a life in which the search for a gram of cocaine captured ninety per cent of her attention span. A few months after she turned seventeen years old she became pregnant by a gypsy who lived badly in the La Palmilla neighborhood; it had been the first time she had made love and she did not even like it, and actually rather thought it was crude and painful. Her mother took care of her baby, who despite all predictions managed to grow healthy and strong. He was barely a hazy memory among the cobwebs of her addiction.

Shortly after coming of age, her friend Julia passed away from a generalized infection her body. Julia would inject everything that came into her hands, using a good part of her grandmother’s minimal pension to obtain her poison. One morning, Julia sat down in the kitchen to wait for her grandmother to finish cooking her potato stew. Julia did not even taste it, but she took the entire pot to sell and get something out of it for her dose that night. Her grandmother had not said a word.

When Julia died, having become a thin parody of her former self, Sandra was truly frightened. She tried to get clean, but she discovered that it was much harder than she had ever imagined. She did not turn to anyone for help; she wanted to do it on her own. She sweated and trembled with cold for a while, occasionally she screamed like one possessed or she would lay inert, barely able to wipe away the trickle of saliva that hung down the corner of her mouth. In the morning, feeling her arms tensed like cables, she looked in the mirror and felt the urge to break the glass; what was looking back at her was an abject and abhorrent version of what she had once been.