Before heading to the gas station I'd taken the terminal off the generator they could kick it all they wanted, but the bike wouldn't start. It was insurance in case someone tried to make off with my ride. I wanted a drink, something to eat, and a few extra cans to keep in reserve. God, how I wanted a smoke. I'd promised myself a few times I'd quit, but it never stuck. Viktor, for example, didn't smoke at all and kept himself healthy. I just needed something to calm my nerves, nothing more.
I stretched my stiff limbs and headed for the station. A few people were there, filling their cars; fear was written on their faces. They watched me warily. In times like these you couldn't trust anyone.
"Wait, wait," a woman shouted and ran up to me. "You're military, right? Can you help us where do we go?"
Her husband came up a little later, taking her hand and whispering in her ear. He looked more guarded and tried to pull her away.
"He doesn't look like a bandit," she said. "Forgive his distrust my husband doesn't believe you're military."
"A little caution never hurts," I replied. "There's no safe place at the moment, but there are temporary shelter points. They'll organize camps for uninfected people soon. Boston and Seattle are the closest. Pittsburgh is conducting clearances of infected and may set up a quarantine zone there."
Despite the bombardment, Pittsburgh still had significant military forces. They'd suppressed the bulk of the infected; now the troops just needed to regroup. They had to pull together and secure an area for a proper quarantine. The original plan hadn't called for an offensive, but nothing had gone according to plan.
"Why are you alone on the road? Where's your unit?" the man asked, not taking my words in.
"Dead, like the rest of my base," I answered shortly. I couldn't stay still for long; I needed water. In my hurry I'd forgotten about it and only had field rations. I walked past them and went inside the station.
"Excuse me, how do we get in there? We have kids," the woman said.
"Stay away from the cities for now that's my advice. Evacuation zones will be formed soon," I told them.
Inside people were stripping the shelves bare. They froze when they saw me. I ignored them and went to the drinks aisle, grabbed a few bottles, opened one and drank greedily. Then I headed for the canned goods, took a couple of cans and made for the exit.
Thump.
A hit on the door surprised me I stopped mid-step, my foot hanging in the air. The noise had come from the storeroom. A smear of blood trailed across the floor. Probably an infected. I didn't want to waste ammo, so I passed by. Still, something made me stop.
There was a bag near the bloodstain. Leather, with a few dog tags attached looked like a woman's. I moved closer, not sure why I was even doing it. I reached the door to the storeroom and slowly turned the handle. The door creaked open. The smell hit me blood, sweat, and stale rot. What I saw inside made my stomach clench; I nearly threw up.
In the middle of the room, among bodies, sat a gas station attendant maybe twenty-five, no older. There was nothing human in his eyes. I thought he was infected, but no you couldn't call him a person anymore. He held a folding knife, the blade coated in blood. From the wounds on the bodies nearby it was clear he'd killed them. I don't know if he'd gone mad or simply snapped.
"Wait! Wait, I can explain!" he gasped. "They were infected… I was defending myself!"
You couldn't tell from the bodies whether they'd been infected. Only one of them looked like a creature. I slowly raised my shotgun and aimed it at him.
"No, please" he shrank back and crawled into a corner, but a shot cut him off. His body flung against the wall and the room fell quiet again.
I went over to one of the slain bodies, leaned down and carefully pulled the eyelid back. The eye was clear, human. The infected's irises were usually clouded; the pupil vanished. He'd killed them for no reason.
"Bastard," I said. Viktor had always had a strong sense of justice and honor. Maybe before all this I would have walked on by, as if it wasn't my business. Most likely I would have. But I wasn't who I used to be anymore. Viktor was gone. And with him, it seemed, a piece of the man I'd been had vanished too.
Rules and laws no longer held. You had to accept that reality fast: it was either your life or someone else's.
I stood, wiped my hands, and closed the storeroom door. The station was too quiet now a dead silence, as if the building itself was holding its breath. Those still searching for food decided to leave quickly. Engines started outside; cars pulled away one after another, carrying their frightened owners. My shot had scared them off.
Outside, at my bike, I reattached the terminal and started the engine without thinking. The roar of the motor finally brought me back.
I rolled back onto the road.
I'd killed a man almost without hesitation though it was more accurate to say he wasn't really a man anymore. Just another monster.
Riding past several small towns of under a thousand people, I saw armed locals. They were holding off the infected themselves some with hunting rifles, some with pistols, some with whatever was heavier. Many homes had weapons for self-defense. There were hunters, park rangers responsible for the forests. Most of them lived with a gun on hand. Suppressing an outbreak was easier in smaller settlements.
I made it to the village of Lakehaven without much trouble. Few people lived there, and the lake nearby shared the same name as the settlement. I'd been doing about a hundred kilometers an hour and got here in three hours if not for stops and cars abandoned on the road after accidents. I'd stuck to Highway 22 the whole time; it wasn't a main road, just an old route mostly used by locals who lived in the small towns along the way.
But Lakehaven met me with dead silence. No sound, no rustle. There were no more than a dozen houses. It looked like the residents had left long ago. I hoped they'd left and not turned.
I hadn't eaten in too long. My stomach felt like it was tightening in expectation of any kind of food. Seeing a house on a hill, I headed for it. It stood on the edge of town, a little apart from the others, and offered a good view of the surrounding area.
The two-storey building looked old but solid. The siding had once been painted blue; now it was peeling and sun-bleached. The white porch sighed with each gust of wind. A worn footpath led to the house, and at its side an old asphalt drive for a car.
I gave it some gas and easily rode up to the top. A pickup sat by the house probably the owners'. I hoped they'd let me rest. At the front door I knocked a few times. At first there was no answer; I stepped back, scanned the area, waited a few minutes, then knocked harder.
I heard footsteps on the second floor someone was in the house after all. I stepped off the porch and shaded my eyes with my hand: the sun was blinding, and a silhouette was visible in a window.
"Excuse me, would you let me rest, please?" I called. "I've got food. I can pay for it have extra rations, even some ammo."
At first it seemed like someone nodded, but then something slammed into the glass with force. The window couldn't take it and cracked, and then something fell out and hit the road. There was a sharp sound of breaking. The infected apparently not noticing anything started getting up and lunged toward me. I jerked the shotgun up, pulled the trigger; one shot sent the corpse flying back.
After checking the body and making sure it wasn't moving, I still went to the house. The simple lock looked like it wasn't secured. I turned the handle and pushed the door; it opened. I stepped inside carefully, walked over the creaking wooden floor and entered the living room empty. The kitchen further on was empty too. Slowly, I headed upstairs.
Creak.
The stair groaned under my feet and put me on edge. I heard some rustling above. I reached the first door and opened it cautiously; it was empty. The door opposite exactly the room the infected had fallen out of held a woman on the bed.
"Arghha…" a low, guttural sound came from her more of a snarl than words.
She twitched, trying to stand, but ropes binding her body kept her down. I brought my weapon up and fired. I stepped to the broken window and looked out; it seemed the other houses were empty too.
I left the room, shut the door, and went downstairs. I stopped in the kitchen where pancakes sat on a plate already stale. While looking for dishes I noticed a sack of flour.
"So that's what did it," I said, reading the brand name.
Tired, I sat in a chair and stared at nothing, thinking. The wife had decided to make pancakes; they ate well, went about their business, and soon they weren't who they'd been. The woman was the first to get infected; the husband could do nothing but tie her down and hold her. I can imagine his helplessness. Not long after, he'd turned too.
There were probably lots of stories like that: you can't predict that the food you eat every day will harbor a fungus that kills you.
Screw the sadness life, whatever shape it takes, goes on. You can't carry around problems you can't fix forever. I took out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and breathed deep; I exhaled more relaxed.
"All right." I finished my cigarette, headed to my bike, and threw a rag over it so it wouldn't stand out.
With a field ration in one hand and a can in the other I went back into the kitchen. I turned on the tap and found water still running guess the house had its own supply. I set a pot on the stove, emptied the ration into it, made some tea, warmed the can, and sat at the table to eat. Once your stomach's full, life doesn't feel quite as shitty.
If I could settle in a quiet town, I'd stay for a while maybe a month, maybe less and then move to some quarantine zone. It wasn't ideal, but maybe because of my background and service they'd give me a real role. Or maybe they'd put me to work. One of the most lucrative things in an apocalypse is smuggling: getting what's scarce now or moving special goods. Not a bad line of work. Or maybe I wouldn't live that long maybe some creature would get me next time I was unlucky.
"This ain't right," I muttered. Even though the owners were dead, it felt wrong to just leave them.
Deciding not to abandon the bodies, I went upstairs. The shotgun blast had partially blown one head apart and, in the remains, you could see the fungus beginning to grow. I remembered the infected from The Last of Us looking different: their heads completely overrun by the fungus, blinded and forced to navigate by sound. There were also the big ones real bruisers. I don't know how they appeared, but those things could take a hell of a lot. So this wasn't the end just the start of something.
I picked up the body and carried it down. Coming off the hill, I headed for the lake. Burying someone by the shore seemed like a good idea. A pretty, quiet place green banks, straight trees, smooth water. A little peace in this shitty world.
*image*
I went back for her husband. I gathered dry branches, stacked them neatly, and laid their bodies on top. Then I returned to the house, grabbed some gasoline, and went back to the lakeshore. Kneeling, I poured the fuel and flicked my lighter. The fire caught quickly the branches crackled, the air shimmered with heat, and soon the couple's bodies were burning too.
"They were a good couple," came an old man's voice behind me.
I turned. An old man stood there, shoulders hunched, hands trembling, leaning on a cane.
"Saw you arrive," he said. "Mind helping me bury the rest? There are still people in the houses. I'm too old to handle it alone. You can take whatever you think you need."
"They were infected," I said, in case he thought I'd just killed them.
"I know," the old man replied quietly. "I'm the only one left here. So… will you help an old man out?"
"All right," I exhaled.
"Then I'll show you where the ammo's kept," he said, leaning heavily on his cane.
I decided to help him, even though I didn't have to. In this world, you alone bear the weight of your choices.
I nodded, and he led me to his house. As we approached the small one-story building, he opened the door. We passed through a narrow hallway into a small workshop. Wooden carvings and old carpentry tools lined the benches. The air smelled of resin and pine.
The old man opened an aged cabinet, took out a hunting rifle and a box of shells.
"I may be old, but I still shoot straight," he said with a weary smile.
"Are there many infected here?" I asked, checking the shells. The box had a familiar mark military grade, still usable.
"There used to be eight families here," he said. "All old folks, got along just fine. Except the Parkins family fourteen of them."
Together, we began the sweep. I opened doors and tossed bottles down hallways to draw them out. The infected, drawn by the noise, came snarling from the dark and we took them down one by one. Despite his age, the old man shot steady no tremor, no hesitation. We cleared every house. Not a single living soul was left.
"That's it," he said quietly, staring at the bodies we'd laid side by side.
"What's your name?" I finally asked.
"My name doesn't matter. There's one last thing to do. Come with me," he said.
From the way he moved, I already suspected what was coming. As we entered his house, his steps slowed; his hand trembled around the cane. The rifle in his left hand slipped from his fingers as he reached the door leading down to the basement.
"You do it," he said, his voice shaking. "I can't anymore." His eyes tightened, tears welling up.
I knew words were useless. I opened the door and went down slowly. On the floor, tied to a chair, was an infected woman. When she saw me, she thrashed and strained against the ropes. I pulled the trigger. A single shot. Then another shot rang out above me.
I rushed upstairs, thinking the old man was under attack. But he wasn't. He'd turned the gun on himself, a hole clean through his head.
All I could do was finish his last request. I brought the bodies to the lakeshore and watched as the fire consumed them. I smoked at least half a pack.
By the time I was done, night had fallen. I still had to reach my next stop but now I wasn't sure if anyone there was even alive. Returning to the house, I locked the door, went upstairs, found a clean room, lay down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling.
How do you stay sane in a world like this? I didn't know.