Human Extinction Level Loss (Book 1): Nicole's Odyssey (12 page)

Nicole lay on her back, staring up at the sky and held her rifle clutched to her chest.  She could not risk turning her head right or left to see the progress of the Dead.  Nicole cursed her lack of foresight that allowed her to lay on her back instead of her stomach, which would have allowed her to see the progress of the horde, or given her more of a warning should they try to climb the bus to their position.  As it was, all she could do was stare at the sky and listen. 

There was the smell of course, there was always the smell.  The slow rhythmical sound of feet shuffling on asphalt increased in intensity as the Dead approached. They did not look around or investigate.  The Dead just pushed forward, seeking whatever meal they literally ran into, or had the misfortune to run into them.  As they approached the bus, their numbers parted, like a trickle of water running down hill and hitting a pebble.  Soon the bus was an island in a sea of shufflers.  Intermingled with the sound of their shuffling feet were the groans.  Nicole squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the sound, but it echoed in her head. 

She wondered why the Dead moaned like they did.  Was there some vestige of memory or personality left in them?  Was their vocalization some attempt to call out to the living and tell them some part of their humanity remained? 

As the cacophony grew in volume, Nicole dismissed that thought.  The sound was nothing she had ever heard a human make.  It did not sound like reaching out, the dark song they sung sounded rooted in hunger.  Nicole decided that if the pure desire to rip and consume and never be satisfied had a sound, it was that sound.  To entertain thoughts that there was some humanity left in them might temper her resolve when it came down to destroying them and she dismissed the notion completely.

The bus was big and so did not rock or move under their onslaught, but she could hear them rub against it as they passed.  Had they been completely rotted they would not have been able to move, so the flesh they had, while being in an advanced stage of decay was still soft.  Soft in their case meant wet.  The Dead had no thoughts of preservation, so as they bumped and dragged themselves along, whatever they hit would rip and tear at them.  Their progress was marked by a viscous trail that was left behind on anything they touched.  It also meant that shuffling and moaning were not all Nicole heard. 

Squishing wet tissue, tearing and sliding off their bodies as they met sharp or unyielding edges joined the chorus.  Nicole lost track of time and minutes seemed like hours, yet still the sounds and smells of the Dead coursed below them.  At any minute Nicole expected them to smell her, to investigate this obstruction in their path that split their numbers.  If even one mounted the bus and climbed to where they were, its moans would signal to the others there was a meal to be had.  Nicole, Sam, and Walt would be pressed into action and  be forced to start shooting. 

Shooting!
Nicole thought.  Nicole and Sam had their guns, but she had not given one to Walt yet.  They had a hundred rounds between them, but the rest was in her car.  Even if they made every shot count, she doubted it would be enough to eliminate the threat that now encompassed them.  She assailed herself anew with recriminations.  Once again she was in a situation that was the result of failure to plan.  What good did it do to have the guns and ammunition if she was not in a position to use them.  She almost screamed in frustration, mentally punishing herself for taking actions rooted more in panic than forethought. 

Not again, Nicole.  You burned another of those nine lives you don’t have.  Get your shit together!
 Nicole pushed down her anger and tried to control her breathing.

After what seemed an eternity, the sound of shuffling and moaning began to fade.  When it was almost indiscernible in the distance, Nicole risked sitting up.  She turned and looked behind her and saw only the backs of the Dead disappearing down the highway.  Seeing her sit up, Sam and Walt did the same.  Nicole breathed in  relief. 

“Walt, you’re gonna start carrying more in the back of your bus than frozen fruit, understand?”  Nicole stood and bounded off the bus as Walt stared after her. 

“Okay… wait, like what do you mean, man?” Walt asked, but Nicole was already gone.

Seventeen

Nicole went to her car and retrieved one of the rifles and two of the magazines.  Walt and Sam approached.  Nicole turned to Walt and handed him the rifle.

“From now on, each one of us goes armed.  We keep half the ammo in the GTO and half in the bus there,” Nicole said. 

Walt took the rifle and two magazines.  He held them in front of him like they were going to bite him. 

“Hey, man… you know, like, I’m a pacifist, me and guns…” His words trailed off. 

Nicole fumed.  “Look Walt, I can appreciate your world view and all, but we’re not talking foreign policy here.  There are no Geneva conventions in play, you know… man.”

Nicole said “man” with more acid than she intended, but was satisfied that Walt was reading her. 

“This is a ‘JUST WAR’ if ever there was one, the living against the not living, so if you want to ride with me, you take the gun and you tell me you can use it.  I’ll teach you how if you don’t but those are the rules, got it?”  Nicole stared at Walt who stared at the gun. 

Sam remained silent, waiting for the outcome of the showdown.  Slowly, Walt pocketed one of the magazines and jammed the other in the rifle.  He chambered it, placed it to his shoulder and fired three rounds through the windshield of an over-turned HUMVEE.  Nicole looked at the windshield.  A fifty cent piece could cover the shot pattern.  She stared at Walt in surprise. 

“Wow,” said Sam.  

Walt stared at the holes in the windshield.  “I know how to use it, man,” he said as he slowly slung it over his shoulder. 

Nicole regained her composure.  “Good, lets get that ammo in your bus,” she said on her way to the trunk.

Twenty minutes later, half the load of ammo was stacked in the aisle in the back of Walt’s bus.  Walt emerged from the bus and handed each of them a bottled water.  They stood in the middle of the I-70 and drank in silence. 

“How are you on supplies, Walt?” Nicole asked. 

Walt bobbed his head.  “I’m pretty good.  Still got six cases of bottled water and my fruits and nuts,” he said.   

Nicole nodded then looked at the town of Little Bend.  “We could use some more provisions, but I don’t want to spend a lot of time in town.  If we see anything that looks promising, we can stop, but only if it looks worth the risk, agreed?” she said. 

Both Sam and Walt nodded their agreement. 

“Alright, keep your head on a swivel.  We can’t assume that crowd that passed us was all there was.  Walt, you will follow us.  If you see anything or there is any trouble just flash your lights,” Nicole said. 

Nicole and Sam went to the GTO and Walt climbed into his bus.  He cranked the ignition and fell in behind the GTO as they made their way into Little Bend.

☣

The town was a wash.  Every grocery and mini mart was ransacked and abandoned.  Before what was left of the citizens of Little Bend decided to make a run for it, they scavenged the town to the bone.  As Nicole, Sam, and Walt crept through town, Nicole could hardly believe it had only been six months.  Little Bend was a ghost town.  It had all the appearances of being abandoned for years.  Not a window was left unbroken.  Weeds had already begun to grow through the cracks in the pavement.  Trash and debris blew up and down the streets.  Nicole meandered up one street and down another looking for anything that would merit a stop.  Dark recesses of ravaged buildings like the empty sockets in a skull stared back at her. 

They merged onto Main from Fourth and turned down Fifth street.

“Contact right,” Nicole said. 

“Huh?” Sam said. 

Nicole pointed and Sam looked out his window.  Plodding along the sidewalk, its back to them, was a Shuffler.  Sam grabbed at his rifle, but Nicole stopped him. 

“Don’t waste the ammo,” she said as they crept by. 

Sam watched the Dead’s progress, slow and methodical.  As they passed, the Shuffler sensed them and let out a raspy hiss, but decay and damage prevented it from doing anything else.  Seconds after Walt’s bus passed, It seemed to forget them.  The shuffler lowered its head and pressed on to nowhere. 

They cruised the rest of the streets slowly, meandering up one, then down another in an effort to see if there was anything left to be scavenged, a living version of the Shuffler’s quest.  Deciding there wasn’t, Nicole wound down her window and was immediately struck by a blast of ill wind carrying the scent of rot and decay.  She stuck her hand out and made a circle in the air indicating she wanted to move on.  Behind her, Walt waved out his window.  Nicole hit the gas and accelerated back towards the highway.

☣

It had been an hour and Little Bend was far behind them.  Though never letting her guard down, Nicole felt like she could relax once they hit the open highway.  There was little in the way of anything that either was the Dead or that could harbor the Dead.  She felt safe at sixty MPH. 
Safe at Sixty,
she thought.  Another bumper sticker slogan but words to live by. 

Sam sat next to her gazing out the window.  No music played, but he hummed
Don’t Stop
low and soft to himself.  Nicole looked over at him and almost smiled, almost.  She was about to reach for her MP3 player and give Sam some more music lessons when she noticed Walt flashing his lights frantically. 

“Walt needs to stop,” she said. 

Sam looked over at her, then turned and look back at the bus. 

“He needs to do more than that, I think,” Sam said. 

Behind them, Walt continued to flash his lights, but was doing a poor job of keeping control of the big vehicle.  The bus careened off the guard rail and swerved across  lanes, tearing up dirt on the edge of the safety lane before screeching back to the middle. The serpentine course threatened to capsize the bus altogether. 

“Oh, Shit!” Nicole exclaimed. 

“Maybe he’s got a bee in there and he’s allergic,” Sam offered. 

Nicole slowed the GTO down as she watched Walt bring the bus to a screeching halt and come running out.  She stopped the GTO and grabbed her rifle.  Sam saw her and did the same.  Both jumped out and ran back to Walt. 

Walt stood staring at the open sliding door of his bus. 

“What?!  What is it?!” Nicole screamed as she came up next to him. 

Both she and Sam trained their rifles on the bus. 

“Was it a bee, Walt?”  Sam asked. 

Walt did not take his eyes off the bus.  “It wasn’t a bee, man.  Something is in there!” Walt cried. 

Nicole tightened the grip on her rifle and scanned the windows.  Nothing moved. 

“I don’t smell anything, are you sure?” she asked. 

Walt ran his fingers through his hair.  “Yeah, I’m sure.  I saw something move and heard it crunching on something in there,” Walt said. 

Nicole tensed.  “Alright, maybe a Stiff got in while we were trapped on top of the bus,” Nicole said. 

“Yeah but we were in there after that, loading the ammo.  Why would it not do anything till now, and what was it crunching on?” Sam asked. 

“I don’t know!” Nicole replied, louder than she wanted.  “We gotta draw it out and take care of it.  Sam, Walt, you keep your guns trained on the door and shoot the first thing that tries to come out,” Nicole said. 

“I left my gun in there, man,” Walt said. 

Nicole swallowed her frustration.  “Do better next time, Walt.” Nicole said as she approached the bus. 

“What are you gonna do?” Sam asked. 

“I’m gonna draw out whatever’s in there,” Nicole said. 

She shouldered her rifle and drew a pistol.  With one hand she pointed her pistol and extended her other hand out in front of her.  As she got to the bus she started banging on the side. 

“Hey you funeral home reject, We’re out here!  Come and get us!” she screamed. 

There was no response for several seconds then a noise could be heard inside, Walt’s coolers being shoved aside, something tripping over the stacked up ammo boxes.  Nicole backed up to where Sam stood, keeping their rifles trained on the open door of the bus. 

“Get ready, Sam.  Go for two to the head,” Nicole said. 

They let out their breath and took aim.  Two laser dots held steady on the bus’s driver’s seat. 

“Don’t shoot!  I’m coming out!” the voice inside said. 

Nicole and Sam looked at each other. 

“I didn’t know they could talk, man,” Walt said. 

Nicole did not have time to respond, as standing in the doorway of the bus, with his hands up, was a blond haired boy who did not look a day over fifteen. 

“My name’s Billy Watkins.  Please don’t kill me.”

Eighteen

William Watkins liked being called “Billy”.  It made him feel like he was just an ordinary kid.  “Billy” was the name of a person who had a group of close friends, went on fun adventures, and had a sweet girlfriend.  William had none of those things.  He didn’t even have the luxury of being called “Billy.” His parents, wealthy socialites from old money, preferred the more formal and stuffy  “William”.

Not only did this moniker do nothing to garner him a circle of close friends, fun adventures, or a sweet girlfriend, it facilitated the ridicule of his peers. 

He was addressed by neither “William” nor “Billy” by them, but rather “Willy”, and always in the most disdainful and mocking of tones.  “
Do you have any plans or are you Free Willy?
” “
Willy Wonka
” (almost always changed to Willy Wanker) and of course, “
When your dad plays with you, he’s playing with his little Willy.
”  The taunting crowd’s greatest hits.  William “Willy” Watkins just wanted to be “Billy”, but no one ever called him that. 

When the apocalypse hit, William’s parents thought their money would save them.  Certainly, provision would be made for the elite of society, as important as people such as they were to life and culture. The government and the “powers that be” would have some secret location for the rich and privileged to go, isolated and protected from the huddled masses, ready to emerge to rebuild society again in their image.  It came as a shocking reality, a reality for which they were not prepared in the least, when society crumbled around them and no fleet of black SUVs came, amid the shouts and protests of the less fortunate, to whisk their kind away.  Unprepared to face the harsh reality, and unwilling to use their wealth to help themselves or their neighbors, William’s parents huddled against a wall sized bookshelf of first editions and were torn apart.