The night's blanket of blackness breaks only in spots by the moon’s feeble attempt to fight its way through the thick cloud cover. Not a good night to be on the road. I know I told Kingsley that hunters prefer to travel at night, but moonlight is still our most valuable asset. Although we move quickly in shadow, no moonlight at all makes it that much harder to see the things lying in wait for us. And there are always plenty of those.
St. Joseph's is located on the other side of the city, which is a good two days walk. One and a half if we really push it--no rest periods. Though I knew Luke would never let us do that. He believes no sleep makes us sloppy. So over the years, we had set up safe zones that were hidden all over the deserted city. One of those is our destination at the moment. A halfway point of where we need to be.
We move on silent feet in the dark, in and out of shadows like we’re part of the night. The six of us can probably do this with our eyes shut, but we slow it down some for Kingsley and his men. I try not to hold a grudge against their lagging behind. Just because this is our playing field doesn't mean they should be as sure footed. I shouldn't blame them. They’re no hunters, but they protect the Grand and its occupants every day from invasion. They do their part, so I try to keep my patience.
We would be a hell of a lot quicker if driving was an option any more, but it’s not. The invasion had occurred during rush hour traffic. The mist had rapidly obscured the city, bringing to a standstill the already congested streets. People had unwittingly stumbled from their vehicles, curious as to the glittering clouds. Those who hadn't been infected right away had soon become the prey. Bodies had littered the streets with their jugulars torn out and bloating in the summer heat. The stench had been overwhelming; the smell of death rampant in the air for at least two months or more. Like any dead thing, the bodies had eventually decomposed or been eaten away by scavengers. The occasional dried out skeleton littering the streets was the only evidence they had even existed. That and their piles of rusting metal.
We tried at one point over the years, to clear the streets to make it easier to transport our supplies back to the Grand, but it had been a futile effort.
Cleared streets simply scream cargo route to those waiting to ambush us, and the thrumming engine of a moving vehicle brings the leeches in droves, which would be okay if we could move at a decent speed. But having to crawl our way through the streets, the fucking leeches move faster than we do. So we walk.
Walking is a bit of an asset, really. Cutting through abandoned apartment buildings and shopping malls sometimes cut blocks off of our travels. And you never know when you might find a surprise nugget hidden in some undiscovered cache.
I should be exhausted and dragging my feet, but the spring in my step is unmistakable. Even though I’ve been awake for almost eighteen hours now, and I know it would be at least another ten before we stop, I don't feel the least bit tired. Being out in the field always does that to me. I feel invigorated. Renewed. Like this is the only time I truly feel alive. Living on the edge appeals to me, and adrenaline is my drug of choice. Some understand where I'm coming from--most don't. They don’t get why I enjoy being out here so much, and I really can't give them an answer. They chalk it up to craziness. I hear the whispers; people question my mental stability behind my back. It doesn't bother me. I question it all the time. Maybe I am crazy. But I believe to survive in this fucking world now, you have to be at least a little crazy. Hell, a whole lot crazy helps you cope even better. I look over at Gordon, and he grins at me, giving me thumbs up. He’s enjoying this as much as me. I take comfort in the fact that the kid’s probably just as mad as I am.
A slight thump and shuffle from the alley up ahead catches our attention. I bring up sharply as Luke raises a hand in the air. My heartbeat quickens as my eyes--now accustomed to the dark--search for the source of the noise. In normal times, a thump in the night could be accounted to a stray dog or a raccoon foraging for its nightly meal, but these aren't normal times. The majority of animals that inhabit this city now are of the two legged variety.
Luke motions us back, and we melt into the shadows of the building cornering the alley. If it is leeches, they'll stumble out eventually once they get a whiff of us. If it’s something else, then we'll have to be more careful. Noises in an alley that we have no choice but to go through screams nothing but trouble.
Dropping my backpack into the building's shadow, I pull my Bowie knives. They feel comforting in my hands, like old friends. I hold the left one blade up, but the right knife I twirl easily with a practiced flick of the wrist so it's facing blade down. Whether it is crazies or leeches, I have a system for dealing efficiently with both. The knives are my weapon of choice. With their 12-inch broad blades and the clip point at the top, they offer me perfect control for thrusting attacks. A quiet and lethal weapon.
The boys prefer their guns. Ironically enough in a world where food and medical supplies are running frighteningly short; there are plenty of guns to be found. Luke's preference is his .44 AutoMag. He tries all the time to talk me into carrying one, but guns and I just don’t get along. Every time I hold one, my father’s mutilated head is all I can see and I can't shoot it. Talk about fucked up.
My keen ears pick up the unusual movements coming from the alley, and my body tingles in anticipation. There’s gonna be a fight. I smile into the darkness, flexing my fingers rhythmically on the titanium handles as I crouch into my attack position. Luke holds up three fingers to Kingsley, motioning with them to the hulking remains of a sideways transit bus in the overgrown street, which is partially blocking the alley. Kingsley gets the message. He and his guys sprint around the back of the bus, so they can come out behind of whatever is about to emerge.
We don't have long to wait. The shuffling picks up and wet gurgling sounds float through the air. Leeches alright. I never could figure out what that sound was. I'm not sure if it’s their form of communication or just the sound of the leech tearing from its host's throat. Whatever it is, it's a wet, thick sound and makes me want to gag every time I hear it.
Before the invasion I had been a huge zombie fan. I couldn't get enough of those stupid undead movies and comic books and shit. I lived and breathed it. Leeches kind of remind me of those zombies I used to adore. Torn flesh with strips of face meat hanging off. Exposed bone and teeth around the mouth from giving birth to the leech. No rotting or decomposing bodies, since technically the hosts were still very much alive, just torn and irrevocably damaged flesh. Clothing hanging in tattered shreds, whether it had been the finest of silk or pauper’s cloth.
But that's where the similarities end. In the movies, the zombies move with all the speed of a sloth but these leeches are fast. Very fucking fast. As soon as they get a scent, they morph into Kentucky Derby race horses, and if you’re not prepared you become fodder. Plain and simple. We think nighttime slows them down some; however, the horde emerging from the alley right at this exact moment doesn't appear to have gotten the memo. They have our scent all right, and they’re advancing like sailors on a whorehouse. I can hear Cal's softly muttered "Damn" from behind, and I can't help but throw over my shoulder, "Okay newb--let’s see you earn that nickname of Lucky."
There's no time for much else. The smell hits us then, and I can hear Cal gagging. Just because they aren't rotting corpses doesn't mean they don't stink to high heaven. The combined odors of old blood, decaying meat, unwashed bodies, and excrement hits us like a wall, and I can feel my own stomach churning. It’s a small mercy my adrenaline overcomes the urge to puke.
"Come on, mothafucka’s!" I hear Dom scream as I rush by him, and the shot he fires whizzes by my ear with a high-pitched whine. I duck on instinct.
Stupid sonofabitch. He nearly blew my head off.
He hits the leech barreling our way straight in the heart—a perfect shot. It falls at my feet, but another runs him over in a frenzy to get at me. In one swift motion, my left knife swoops upwards, sinking into the torn flesh of the creatures chin. It impales the snapping worm almost down to the hilt, preventing it from moving at my throat. Without losing stride, my right hand arcs down, driving that blade straight into the heart of the creature. The leech wiggles for a bit in distress before realizing its blood flow has diminished. It dies quickly. I yank my knives out, oblivious to the cacophony of shouts and shots, intent only on my next target.
The next to fall at my hands is a young blonde girl. Probably no older than me. I can't help but feel that familiar stab of guilt as I pierce her through the heart. The same thought enters my head like always. These things had been human once. Are they still human? They aren't undead or mutated creatures; they’ve simply been taken over by a vile parasite. Is the human still inside, trapped in a nightmarish world? Since they can't very well talk, I guess we’ll never know. It does nothing to ease my guilt.
I swerve at movement in my peripheral, raising my arm in defense. The sharp blades of the leech’s yawning mouth clamps down on the metal arm guards I always wear in the field. The attack causes me to stumble back, and I trip over the blonde chick I just took out. The damn creature is still attached to my arm though, and I pull it with me as I go down.
"Get off me, you fucker!" I scream as it falls on top of me. Pulling the knife up quickly between us, I let gravity take over as the knife pierces its chest, and I hope to God it hits the heart. The thing squirms on top of me, and the smell of it this close makes me puke in my mouth. The leech’s grip on my arm relaxes as I watch the human face above me go slack. Its life force drains away. A mixture of black blood and bile, and I'm not quite sure what, drips through the festering open wound that was once the dead thing’s cheek and plops dangerously close to my mouth.
"Ugh," I yell in disgust as I pull a knee up between us and push the thing off of me with the bottom of my boot, dislodging my knife. Rolling from underneath it, I bounce back to my feet. No time for my revulsion right now. A wasted second can be the difference between life and death.
"Bix?" Luke cries out.
I answer back with, “Behind you!"
For such a big man, he dives without effort away from the two creatures about to have him as a Scooby snack. Both leech heads swivel in unison, following his descent. Before they can make a move on him, shots from behind take them both down. Kingsley doesn't wait for any accolades. He and his men disappear into the alley, and I hear more shots as they find the latecomers to the party.
I spin around quickly, blades ready for their next target, but nothing else seems to be standing other than us. Lowering my knives, I let my shoulders relax and even out my breathing. My eyes automatically search for Luke, checking if he’s okay. He leaps to his feet with catlike grace, sending a quick nod at my unspoken question. Mollified, I search for the rest of my crew. Badger and Cal are busy retrieving our backpacks from where we’d dropped them, but Gordon is running my way and grinning like an idiot. His classic double take when he sees me hits me right in the funny bone.
"Err, you’ve got a little something gross on your face there, Bix." He mutters in repugnance, pointing at his own cheek.
I laugh and wipe at my face with my sleeve.
"How many did you take down?" I question, knowing full well that’s the cause of his excitement.
"Six," he answers with a cocky smile, looking down at the ground. "And you had what? Three? Really, Bix? That's pitiful."
Cal and Badger join us. The new guy looks slightly shell-shocked, and I kind of feel sorry for him. Besides his training, this is probably his first real encounter with a horde. Not something he will easily forget.
"You did good," I say as I slap him on the shoulder and relieve him of my pack. My next comment is aimed at Gordon.
"You too, kid. But the night’s only young, so don't be cocky. Come on, let’s catch up with Kingsley. Can't let him have all the fun now, can we?"
Cal appears a little taken aback at our nonchalant attitude, but I don’t take offense. He’ll come to the realization soon enough. If you think about it too much, it’ll eat you alive. That’s if they don’t eat you first. So you don’t think about it--you just do it. We leave him staring after us, mouth agape as my fellow ginger and I hurry off giggling like two giddy school girls.
If I had any reservations left about Kingsley and his men joining us in the field, they're now laid to rest. We find them casually sitting on a crumbled stone wall, looking like they’ve nothing better to do than smoke Jonesy's crap ass cigs. Eight or more leech carcasses are piled up in the street.
"About time you showed up," Kingsley says, flicking the lit ember away and jumping down off the wall.
"Well, don't look like you needed our help," Luke drawls as we look over the carnage.
"No, didn't need your help, but do need your opinion on something. Take a look at those leeches ...what do you see?"
The moon has finally won its battle with the clouds. After walking in darkness all night, this glow is almost as bright as early morning.
"I see a bunch of dead fucks, is what I see," Dom says in his best bored voice, and I turn on him with an irritated glare. He best not think I've forgotten his almost shooting me back there.
Kingsley's response is a bit more civilized.
"Look again," he says calmly enough, but I pick up on the strain in his voice. It worries me. So I look closer as do the others. Luke is the first to notice.
"Their clothing. It's not ripped apart and filthy like they’ve been wearing it for the past eight years. It's still in decent condition like..."
"Like they've only recently been infected. Very recently. By the condition of their clothes, probably just days ago I'm guessing."
I stare at Kingsley like I didn't quite hear right.
"But... that's impossible. I mean, the infections all happened that very first day. I haven't seen or heard of anyone who survived the first day being taken over after. I figured—we all figured—if you weren't infected the first day, you were immune somehow."
"That was the general consensus, yes. But something’s changed. There's no way this bunch have been playing host to those parasites for the past eight years. They look too fresh."
Kingsley's words chill me deep in my bones. Is it true? Are the aliens somehow infecting us again? And how? There's been no report of that strange mist since the invasion years ago. Have they learned to pollinate or is it now conveyed through a different medium? The thought of the black drippings that had fallen on me earlier sends a shiver crackling up my spine, and I wipe my cheek roughly with the back of my hand.
A terrifying, echoing yell shatters the night’s silence. I jump in fright, my heart slamming into my ribs. That damn screaming never fails to unnerve me no matter how many times I hear it.
"Ravagers," Luke says, glancing back the way we had come. "And close. They must have heard our little gun fight. They're on the way. Probably hoping to find some carcasses to pick over. We better move out. We're not far off from a safe zone; I'm thinking we should lay low for the night."
Another yell follows the first, and we head out without another word. Our discovery has rattled us for sure because if what Kingsley says is true, then God help us. And He’d better be listening this time.