You never realize how much effort it takes just to walk; but after battling the diseased and an infection, it makes you understand just how much you really need.. My new – companions? – set a brisk pace. The young girl trotted ahead, keeping quite alert.
For
just a second I nearly let my guard down to relax and enjoy the closest thing
to a peaceful walk in months. But I mentally slapped myself. You can’t get soft,
even with painkillers coursing through your veins.
We traveled in silence for a couple hours, taking a short break around mid-day before
we moved on, leaving no proof of our existence except some disturbed leaves and
agitated birds.
After
another hour or so the wonderful high of the painkillers started to wear off. A
spider web of dull pain began to weave itself up my leg. I could almost imagine
the spider jumping from nerve to nerve flicking the tender area and attaching a
tendril of pain; slowly linking my healing wound into a knot of suffering, just
waiting to blast break through the blocked neurotransmitters.
Mid
daydream of the pain spider, I noticed something unusual about the woods. I
looked around, but I could not tell specifically what was different. My guide
stopped the little girl edging off to the side, staying ever vigilant. My guide
whistled low then high not sounding unnatural but not sounding out of place in
the woods.
That’s when I realized what was odd about the woods. A palisade, taken right out of Jamestown, was erected at the limit of my sight. At that distance the walls looked like a tightly packed clump of trees. I tried to pick out details that might give me a clue as to what was in store, but before I could discern much a man came swinging down from a high branch I had not noticed until then. He would have been the epitome of Tarzan had he not had a high-powered semi-automatic rifle on a single point sling hanging at his side. And I certainly wasn’t Jane he was coming to rescue.
The rifle immediately registered as a threat, but so close to what was clearly a stronghold of unknown firepower, I waited for him to make the first move.
The man let go of the rope. He slowed to a brisk walk, before stopping about 7 yards from me with a finger on the trigger and the gun half raised in my direction. From his walk, his stature, and his ease at handling his weapon let me know he was ex-military. Everything else just confirmed it. He was on the earlier side of fifty, but not by much. He had a strong upper body and a proportional lower body. In his stance he had the tension of a big spring, but made it look effortless and controlled.
My guide walked over and talked in low tones to the man who kept both eyes on me. Tarzan looked at my guide, nodded, and then began walking over to me. That’s when an unnatural dog-wolf came from my right. The young girl was sprinting full speed at our little huddle, frantically gesturing behind her.
Out of some thick brush several of the diseased came hobbling at a respectable pace towards us. Tarzan quickly grabbed me by the backpack strap and began half-dragging, half-pulling me towards the palisade. We were able to outpace the creatures and made it to the wide doors of the palisade.
At that moment a loud whistle shrieked from behind the walls. Suddenly eight men with rifles were on top of the wall looking over. Looking back, I saw that the few shambling beasts had turned into a nearly twenty. Where had they come from? Shots from the wall defenders pulsed out striking the dead in either the head or the torso. Pretty good shots. The creatures dropped in just a few seconds and all was quiet again.
A young man with long red hair poked his head out over the wall and looked down at us. “Well if it isn’t Renny, Bill and June” he said. “Bill I see you have brought us another wastrel. I’ll open the door for you. I’m sure Mr. Robertson would like to meet our new guest.”
The door to the palisade opened and two men with guns aimed at me beckoned me inside. So many new faces after not having seen any for months; too bad they are accompanied with loaded firearms. Tarzan, or I guess Renny, walked back towards his tree without a word. The guards searched my pack and removed my favored Colt .45 and two clips, before they pushed me on towards the center of the camp. This was an impressive place. About three fourths of a soccer field in size was enclosed in the palisade. Rough looking shacks and lean-tos covered the place with a large hunting cabin dominating the landscape. Bill whispered to June and she ran off and out of sight. “She is my daughter” he said. I made eye contact but I wasn’t sure how to respond to the man. After living and surviving alone for so many months the ability to interact socially was far from functionality. So I said nothing and looked around with a questioning look as we moved toward the hunting cabin. “We call this place Hidden Timber,” said Bill, “No doubt Mr. Robertson has already heard of your arrival and the defense at the gate. Better you go meet him and see if you can stay a few days. That leg needs some healing, if you ask me.”
Bill knocked at the door of the cabin. After a few moments the door swung open and there stood an old man. Not so old I was concerned about a gust of wind blowing him away, but old enough that there was a noticeable hunch to his back and a thinness of the skin. “This young man I found near the Sandy Poplar junction in an ambulance” Bill told the man. “And this is Mr. Robertson” said Bill, gesturing to the old man.
I stuck out my hand and did my best to look polite. Mr. Robertson looked me up and down then reached for my hand. He had strength about him despite his age, but I guess everyone who has survived this long has more strength than it would have seemed before the end of the world. Mr. Robertson, gestured for me to enter the house and Bill walked away from the cabin, eventually getting lost in the lean-tos.
We walked into the cabin. The air was dusty and there was a vague scent of mold. The cabin was by no means large but had more space inside than the outside presented. Through the windows I could see a team of people working to repair a rather sad looking shack. Mr. Robertson looked over his shoulder following my gaze to the construction. “It may look like a bunch of homeless people live here but we do alright and are starting to build more permanent buildings. Bill is a good man, even if he does take his little girl beyond the walls.” His speech was slow and deliberate like my grandfather’s. He was part of a generation of men who saw hardship and lived through it. I wonder if he will survive this new world as he continued. “You are welcome to rest here but we cannot give you back your weapon. We have been too trusting in the past and I don’t wish to risk losing more people if I can help it.”
“That’s it?” I asked. “You are already willing to
accept me into your community here?”
“Is that
what I said? No, it wasn’t. I said you could rest here
for a few days until you are more healed. If you want to stay for longer after
that then we will cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“I’m sorry. I meant no
disrespect. And I appreciate your generosity.”
“No
offense taken. We have had more surely guests than you. In the mean time you
can stay with Bill. He lost his wife about a month ago so he has extra bed.”
I
stood up to go and Mr. Robertson followed me to the door. We shook hands, I
thanked him again, and I went in search of Bill.
Walking
through the city of shacks I was surprised at how clean it really was. There
was little or no trash around. There was a public bathroom complete with sewage
control and even showers fed by a hand pump. I finally found Bill outside a
larger, sturdier looking, shack. “I heard you are staying with
me for the next few days.” Word travels fast in this
camp, Robertson has tight control. Bill showed me inside and to the mat that I
would be sleeping on. This is the closest to a bed I had had in a long time. As
the sun began to set a man with a wheelbarrow came around handing out loafs of
bread and bottles of water. He handed Bill a larger ration than he was giving
to the others. The wheelbarrow man said “the extra is for the guest. Make
sure he gets some."
Bill nodded and returned. He broke off a piece and handed it to me and tossed me a bottle of water. We sat down on some decrepit looking lawn chairs outside of the shack and ate quietly. Off to our right June was playing with two young boys in the last bits of sunshine of the day. Because of her vigilance earlier that day, I had forgotten that she was a child. Yet, now she was running around playing with the boys as if there was nothing wrong in the world.
That is the strength of the human race. Despite our greatest troubles we can forget them for a short time and just enjoy life. If people couldn’t do this we would have died out long ago. Seeing June playing in a sunbeam shooting through a gap in the trees brought me just the smallest amount of hope for the future. “She is so much like her mother,” said Bill. “Too much like her mother.”
“Why does
that sound like a bad thing?” I asked.
“It isn’t for the most part, but she isn’t immune to the virus.”
“Oh…”
“Her mother
was bitten when one of our walls fell down a month ago.”
“I’m sorry. It must have been
tough on June.”
“She is
tougher than you think.”
“I’m sure she is.”
“So where
are you go-“ but Bill
didn’t get to
finish his sentence. At that moment, two men jumped down from the palisade.
They were wearing tattered clothing hatchet and a machete in hand. But the
infected don’t use
weapons. That’s when
one of them yelled “NOW! IT’S TIME!”
The dead definitely do not talk.
