Miasma (The Redivivus Trilogy Book 3) Page 8
“Anthony, I think I see a couple of cots set up over there. I’m going to check it out. Watch my six from here so you can keep an eye on the front door as well,” Garza said before moving into the darkness in a low crouch.
With his focus divided between the front door and his partner, Anthony didn’t immediately notice that Charon, too, had prowled off into the gloom. Even though Charon was no more than twenty feet away when he spotted him, Anthony could only just make out his outline slinking low to the ground. He considered quietly calling for the dog but worried Garza might interpret the sound as some kind of signal. Anthony glanced over his shoulder and saw Garza kneeling next to the bedrolls. Garza didn’t appear to be in any danger, so Anthony decided to go after the dog.
Anthony hurried off in Charon’s direction. When he reached the spot where he’d last seen the dog, he found only an empty, intersecting aisle. He wasn’t sure which direction Charon had gone. Anthony decided to go right, as the dog had seemed interested in the back corner of the store. The lack of skylights in that part of the building made it exceptionally dark. He had a flashlight, but Garza had warned him not to switch it on unless absolutely necessary.
A threatening hiss erupted from behind Anthony, and he turned in time to see a white rodent run through the light of one of the skylights. The sight of the filthy possum skittering in his direction caused him to step backward instinctively. He was surprised when the first thing that came to mind was the time his science teacher had told him that possums were particularly resistant to rabies. Even so, he thought the menacing little animal looked like one of the devil’s minions as it barreled toward him.
Although he recognized the beast that came on the little animal’s heels, it was no less disconcerting to see Charon bounding toward him out of the shadows. Backpedalling, his foot snagged on something and he stumbled, slamming into the ground with a loud thud. White hot flashes of pain shot across his field of vision as all the air was forced from his lungs. Charon’s deep growl made his blood run cold. That growl meant only one thing: he was in serious trouble.
Because he’d lost his sense of smell when he was a child, Anthony’s brain hadn’t received the clear warning signal portended by the infected horde’s odious stench. He’d been rendered virtually blind by the darkness that prevented him from seeing the infected until they were right on top of him. Even so, there was no mistaking the snarls and growls of the infected flooding into the store. Their terrible sounds echoed off the concrete floors and metal shelves, making it impossible to determine from which direction they came. The only thing Anthony knew with certainty was that they were growing steadily louder.
Struggling to regain his bearings, Anthony rolled onto his stomach and came up to his hands and knees. He saw Charon standing in front of him in the darkness, poised like a tiger ready to strike. Anthony’s mind still reeled from the shock of the fall, but he knew his dog would give his life to protect him from harm. His own survival instinct took over, and he climbed to his feet. While dizziness beckoned him back to the ground, he knew he had to move to live. Behind him, the sounds of Charon’s fierce battle were loud enough to mask the sounds of his heavy footfalls as he raced away. Every time Charon let out a pained yelp, Anthony felt like he was being attacked. Despite the dog’s obvious suffering, his savage attacks never faltered.
Anthony reached the intersection on unsteady legs. Looking to his left, he caught a hint of movement in the distance. More infected? No—too fast. Garza!
In his confusion, Anthony had forgotten about the soldier. He opened his mouth to call out to him but thought better of it at the last moment. I need to stay quiet in order to survive. Roughly 30 feet ahead, he saw Garza come to a screeching halt just as he passed under one of the store’s skylights. The horror-struck look on the man’s face told him everything he needed to know.
Anthony glanced over his shoulder just in time to see one of the infected’s reaching hands disappear into the gloom. A loud crash erupted beside him as Charon drove the rev into the shelves, knocking several boxes to the ground and sending a cloud of dust into the air. The dog shook his head viciously, slinging cold, sticky fluid onto Anthony’s skin as he tore the monster to shreds. Anthony’s heart sank when he saw several of the infected moving in Garza’s direction.
Just then, the dog slammed against the shelves a second time, sending a bathtub display model that had been perched precariously on the edge crashing to the ground in front of Anthony. The noise was so loud that it sounded as though the heavens themselves were being torn open. Relief swept over Anthony when the revs advancing toward Garza stopped to investigate the sound. His sentiment was short-lived when he realized that all of their attention was now focused on him. The beasts were so close that Anthony scarcely had time to consider his next move.
Seeing no other option, Anthony dove behind the bathtub that had settled onto its side just as the first of the infected slammed into the bottom. He’d hoped to find cover before the monsters noticed him, but it was too late. Several others joined the first, pushing the tub over and trapping Anthony. The sound of the infected trying to claw their way to the prey they sensed inside was absolutely terrifying within the confines of the fiberglass enclosure. Despite being safely out of reach of the revs piling up above him, he felt as though he was being buried alive in the overturned bathtub. Ironically, the very thing currently keeping him alive felt like his tomb. Anthony was panic-stricken as he considered whether being buried alive was a worse fate than being mauled by the infected. He began to hyperventilate, and he wondered if he would be able to tell the difference between dying and losing consciousness.
* * *
The noise resounded in Garza’s ears like a gunshot. In an instant, the soldier was on his feet and sprinting toward the boy’s position. Garza’s thoughts raced as he considered all the possible implications of the sound. His concern deepened when Anthony wasn’t where he’d left him moments ago.
“Shit! Where is he?” Garza hissed as he continued moving in the direction of the sound he’d heard.
Charon’s throaty growls told him he was heading in the right direction and that he needed to move quickly. Anthony was in trouble. The swaths of light coming from above did little to illuminate the situation. Even above his own heavy breathing, Garza heard the sounds of an intense struggle ahead of him. He feared the worst until he saw a bewildered Anthony stumbling toward him out of the darkness.
A moment later, Garza felt his blood turn to ice when he saw the outline of a rev lunging for Anthony, hand outstretched. The revs moving past the boy and heading in his direction were of little concern to him by comparison; his own life was far less important than Anthony’s fate. A blur of movement behind the monster gave Garza a ray of hope, and he skidded to a stop. Anthony’s face never registered the imminent danger he was in before Charon intercepted the infected thing. The ensuing scuffle knocked a large object off the shelf above.
The clamor of the bathtub falling from the shelf drew the attention of every infected monster in the store, including the few that had been moving toward Garza. He watched with horror as the revs turned their attention toward Anthony, who stood just beyond the overturned tub. Garza immediately brought his rifle to his shoulder but hesitated upon realizing that Anthony was directly in his line of fire. Before Garza had a chance to act, the boy dove for cover just as the first of the infected reached him. The sound of the bathtub hitting the ground as it was flipped onto Anthony was like that of a coffin lid being slammed shut. Garza hoped to see Charon mauling the things on the other side so that he could start to work on them from his side. Instead, he watched as several more infected joined the fight against the dog, bogging him down and allowing the others to add to the group already piled atop the overturned tub. Soon the tub was no longer visible; Anthony was buried beneath the seething infected mass.
Feeling helpless, Garza stared in disbelief. He saw no course of action that didn’t result in all of them being killed. Leaving Antho
ny wasn’t an option, but he had serious doubts as to whether he could take out all the infected on his own. These doubts were reinforced when several revs that hadn’t seen the boy take cover under the tub headed in Garza’s direction. To his left, he saw others crowding in through the store’s front door.
Where the hell are they all coming from?
Panic engulfed Garza as he glanced around. Walls of infected were closing in around him, and he knew that Anthony’s survival was likely dependent on his own. Although he still heard the sounds of Charon battling the infected somewhere in the darkness, the balance seemed to be shifting in favor of the revs if the increase in the dog’s yelping was any indication. Either way, Charon’s efforts weren’t having much of an impact on the overall number of revs. Just when he felt as though he would drown in his burgeoning despair, a bird flew over the skylight, casting a shadow that drew his attention. Looking up, Garza had an idea.
Realizing Anthony was safe for the time being and that there was little he could do to help him at the moment, Garza shifted his focus to his own safety. He told himself that doing so was in the boy’s best interest. Taking a cue from Anthony, Garza ducked into a large walk-in shower display to his right just before the first revs reached him. In a matter of seconds, the dusty glass enclosure was streaked with a thousand filthy handprints. The walls shook so violently that he didn’t think they’d be capable of holding out for long. Steeling his nerves, Garza slung his carbine over his shoulder and looked to the task above him.
Garza hopped up and grabbed the shelf’s support beam located just above his head. As he did, his body slammed into the shower’s side, causing a surge in the hungry moans all around him. Grunting, he hauled himself onto the sturdy metal shelf. The sea of reaching hands and ghoulish faces below made Garza feel like a rock star at a black metal concert in Hell. He shuddered at the thought of stage diving into the monstrous crowd.
“Anthony, stay put! I’m gonna get you out of there!” Garza yelled in hopes that the boy would hear him.
The shelves stretched nearly to the ceiling, and Garza repeated the process three more times until he was on the top shelf. He could no longer make out the individual shapes in the dim light below. Instead, the tangled mass of disfigured bodies made the floor seem like a living thing—squirming and screaming at him to come back down. From his elevated position, he knew he could likely take them all out even without being able to see them clearly. He wanted that so badly, but the thought of one of the bullets tearing a path through one of the infected’s brain before punching a hole out the other side, continuing through the fiberglass tub, and into Anthony’s helpless body underneath made him resist the urge. He snarled in frustration.
Turning, Garza slammed the butt of his rifle into the skylight repeatedly until it finally gave way. The fresh air that poured in through the opening in the ceiling would have been welcomed were it not for the fact that he was about to escape the horrors while Anthony was still trapped inside. There was nothing for it. Anthony’s only chance was for him to get out, regroup, and come up with a plan.
The skylight opening was just beyond Garza’s reach. He took a deep breath and immediately regretted it due to the horrific smell that filled his lungs. Without dwelling on the sanity of what he was about to do, he jumped up and caught hold of the skylight’s frame. His legs swung out wildly over the infected mob below, and he was thankful he didn’t have a clear view of the ground. Pulling on every last energy reserve in his body, he hoisted himself through the opening and onto the roof. As he collapsed, he had only one thought on his mind: Anthony.
9
Anthony wasn’t particularly scared of the dark, but this wasn’t just any dark. It was a dark more absolute than any he’d ever experienced. Even with his eyes closed at night, he still saw spots of light or at least a faint glow that reminded him of light’s existence. Not now. The darkness inside his would-be tomb blanketed him like a death shroud, making it hard to imagine that light still existed. If this is what being dead is going to be like, I’m going to get very stiff.
Suddenly, Anthony remembered the flashlight he’d clipped to his vest, and he hoped it was still there. Although it was a struggle in the tight space, his hand finally closed around the flashlight’s handle. He pulled it free and pushed the button on the tail cap. Intense light flooded the cramped space, blinding him temporarily and once again giving him the unsettling feeling that he’d died and was heading toward “the light.”
When his vision finally returned, he felt much calmer despite his circumstances. Most importantly, he didn’t feel dead. On the contrary, he felt very much alive, and every part of his body ached to remind him of his situation. He fidgeted in the hope of getting comfortable, but it was impossible while lying on his back on the concrete floor atop the items he’d fixed to the rear of his vest.
The individual sounds—each terrifying when heard alone—soon blended together to form an unrelenting, monotonous din. Were it not for the occasional snarl that rose above the rest, Anthony could almost convince himself that the noise was merely the droning of a very loud box fan. He tried not to think about the fact that Charon’s barks and yelps were growing steadily weaker and less frequent. Will he become one of them, or will they simply tear him to shreds while they wait for their chance to get at me? He tried to push the thought of Charon’s fate out of his mind, but every whimper dragged it back to the forefront. In frustration, Anthony pushed as hard as he could against the lid of his tomb. Being torn limb from limb would be better than this! The bathtub didn’t budge. The only positive in the whole situation was the fact that Anthony couldn’t smell the gut-wrenching redolence of death and decay that was his only companion inside the stifling confines.
Exhausted from the stress of the situation and from straining uselessly against the enclosure, Anthony let his body go limp. He’d had enough biology in school to know that it wouldn’t take long for all of the oxygen in the tiny space to be depleted. Maybe then he would simply drift off to sleep like his mother had told him his grandfather had done several summers back.
When he’d asked her about it, she’d said, “He didn’t feel a thing, Anthony. He went to sleep as peaceful as always and never woke up. Now Grandpa feels that wonderful peace all the time.”
Anthony thought that sounded nice and was a little jealous of what his grandfather had found. Feeling around on the floor next to him, he located the flashlight and switched it off. More out of habit than necessity, he closed his eyes. The last vestiges of the flashlight’s beam danced behind his shuttered eyelid before slowly fading into oblivion like a troop of parade performers marching off into the sunset. The last thing he heard was someone calling his name from impossibly far away. Lying in repose, he imagined it was his grandfather beckoning him to leave the cruel world.
I’m coming, Grandpa.
10
After being discharged from the military for having an affair with a slutty non-commissioned officer who incidentally got a promotion for her troubles, Connor Roan decided he was finished with letting people screw him over. That had been something that happened to the old Connor Roan; the new Connor Roan didn’t tolerate that shit. He devised a sinister plot as retribution for all the perceived wrongs he’d endured in his life—a plot that he expected would inflict mass casualties and cripple the nation with fear of additional attacks. As it always did, fate must have gotten wind of Connor’s plan, because it delivered a swift kick in the balls. Connor wondered if this time fate—that coldhearted bitch—might have bitten off more than she could chew. The plague seemed to be getting the best of everybody, fate included.
When Connor accepted that he couldn’t beat LNV, he decided to make it a central part of his plan. His initial fury at the idea that someone had beaten him to the punch was replaced by awe when he saw the virus’s capabilities. It was brutal and relentless, and by far the most diabolical weapon he’d ever seen. His admiration and respect quickly grew to outweigh his fear of the virus—which
was key in his mind to his continued survival. He’d witnessed countless people succumb to the infection simply because they’d been too paralyzed by their own fear to save themselves.
Connor’s new master plan truly began to take shape when he got his first real look at how the fear of the infected could control people’s behavior. Soon after the plague surfaced in the United States, he saw a man on the brink of starvation moving through the dying city. The famished survivor stumbled upon the grisly remains of a man who’d been carrying a pack loaded with canned goods when he’d been mauled by the infected. The formerly obese man had been eviscerated and gnawed on to the point that he was barely recognizable as human. His sinewy innards were smeared and stretched around him like a protective perimeter. The infected thing the man had become posed almost no threat, as it only barely moved its neck and one arm. Even so, the starving survivor couldn’t bring himself to get close enough to take even one can of the lifesaving food, seemingly preferring death by starvation to confronting his fear. In that instant, Connor understood the intense psychological control the infected wielded. They were the ultimate terror weapons, and he knew he would make them the backbone of his army. While the Puppet Master seemed to have been born with that realization, Connor knew he’d been lurking deep inside him all along.
Since the start of the outbreak, Connor had amassed a small group of roughly twenty loyal followers. They came from all walks of life and included former soldiers, criminals, and even civilians. The only thing he required of them was absolute loyalty and a willingness to follow his commands without question. His ambition and charisma left most people he encountered eager to join him. While the majority of survivors tried to pretend none of it was happening, Connor accepted the outbreak for what it was and conceived a plan to capitalize on it. Either no one noticed or no one cared that the goal of his plan was to give himself the power to do as he pleased. It was still a plan, and that was more than most had. Almost without exception, they practically begged to join him.