Virus Waste, Vermont
Archie's feet hurt. So did his back. Carrying that rucksack about on his emaciated frame was not easy. It also prevented Archie from moving quickly since his weakened body needed multiple rest breaks to prevent complete collapse from exhaustion. Which was the reason why he was sitting on a fallen log in the woods, observing the human drama unfolding in the distance.
A family of four was running blindly down the forest path, parents with their son and daughter. An older, bearded man, the father most likely raises his shotgun, scanning the surroundings with barely concealed desperation. Archie idly takes out a packet of biscuits from his rucksack and begins to chow down. If he could be spotted so easily, he would not have made it this far in the virus waste without incident. Thanks to the invisible hand, Archie could perform a dance number in front of the family and no one would be wiser.
As the family begins to make their way up a steep slope, a rustle from the woods draws the father's attention. Archie raises an eyebrow as the father tosses his backpack to his son, a teenage boy, before urging the family to run for their lives, leaving him behind with just the shotgun. Dark figures begin moving between the trees, just out of sight, growling and cursing as they approach. Took the Herd long enough, Archie remarks to himself, as he settles back to enjoy the show.
A darting silhouette blurs from the depths of the woods and the father brings the shotgun up in response, delivering a load of buckshot at the target. There's a massive crack as wood splinters fly and the silhouette sinks backward, deeper into the woods. As the father nods in satisfaction and racks the shotgun's pump action, the foliage behind him bursts into activity. A single Infected charges out of the woods, straight at the father's exposed back with a hatchet raised high. Before the father can turn to meet this new threat, the Infected swings the hatchet straight into its prey, eliciting an ear splitting scream.
The father sinks to the ground as the Infected goes to town with the hatchet, delivering blow after blow into the man. Well, less man and more like meat patty at this point, but the point stands. With a last gasp effort, the father tries to aim the shotgun at his attacker, but a savage blow from the Infected cleaves the man's arm off right at the elbow. Archie nods sagaciously, admiring the basic tactics employed by the Herd. Say what you like about them, the Herd were the epitome of how a free market should work.
The strong survive and thrive. And the weak get buried. That was the circle of life before the Great Collapse, and the irrevocable truth even now. As Archie bites into another biscuit, the father stops moving and the only noise is a series of wet chopping sounds coming from the hatchet. Other Infected begin to emerge from the woods and gather around the corpse of the man. There's a brief exchange of growling between the pack members before one of them picks up the shotgun. The pack then begins running up the slope, in hot pursuit of the rest of the family. Show's over.
Archie brushes the crumbs from his hands and puts the remainder of the biscuits back into the rucksack. He then takes out a canteen and takes a cautious sip of water. If there was one advantage of stealing Frank's immunity, it would be the ability to take water from sources that had been corrupted by the Infected. Archie did not need to fear falling sick to the virus as an ordinary wanderer would. But mere sustenance was not the only reason Archie wanted a drink. Taking a big gulp of the water, Archie shuts his eyes and focuses on the virus swimming throughout his body, vainly beating against the ramparts of his stolen immunity.
Archie then reaches out with his mind, and grabs.
The former financier feels his consciousness being pulled out of his body, causing his perspective to expand. No longer was he just a single individual. Now he could feel the presence of hundreds, no thousands of other people, roaming the virus waste of Vermont around him. It was as if Archie was lost in a constellation of stars, an insignificant speck against the larger collective. As he sinks deeper into this meditative trance, the noise of coofing and snarling Archie's ears, until it is the only thing that he can hear. Taking another sip of the corrupted water, Archie concentrates even further, focusing on the animal grunting. Slowly but surely, Archie narrows down on the frequency, drawing parallel with the wavelength.
- a complete disaster, we lost so many brothers and sisters.
Where is the bear, where did it go?
- don't approach the other towns yet, scout their defenses, how many militia do they have?
- idiots, either fighting each other or fighting over shoes, where are the pack leaders when you need them?
And just like that, Archie was swimming within the shared mind of the Herd, hearing and partaking in their thoughts. A mental image unfurls in his mind, capturing the location of every single member of the Herd around him. Where they intended to go. What they intended to do. Thanks to this profane communion, there were no secrets the Herd could hide from Archie.
- black man and half breed woman, track them, track them.
They smell of the bear. They reek of it. And the boy. Who can find the boy?
Archie pulls away from this line of thoughts. He was not keen on facing Xir, not now, not ever. The man's main concern was a safe passage out of the virus waste. Anything else could wait. Ignoring the babble resounding in his ears, Archie focuses on the constellations spiraling before his eyes, taking in the patrol routes used by the Herd. Thanks to his condition, Archie could not hope to outrun the Infected. He needed to slip through the gaps created by the hunting packs as they moved about. It was slow and dangerous, but with his knowledge of the pack locations, reasonably doable.
The hunter has the scent. Send him out to bring the bear down.
A coward, he will let us down again. The hunter does not have the courage of his fellows.
He is the only one that can do it. The hunter's mind is clear, unclouded by rage or hatred.
Only because he cares too much for his own safety. But so be it.
Archie feels a painful pull as if his mind was weighed down by an anchor. Steadying himself, he begins to survey the Herd's deployment, seeking out a weak spot. The voices were getting louder, clamoring for his attention. It takes all of Archie's willpower to ignore them. The stars within the constellation dash about as the Herd continues to run down the remaining survivors of the settlement. And there it is. The opening Archie had been looking for.
The Herd was most active on the outer reaches of the red zone, no doubt because that's where most of the survivors would be found. But deep within the red zone itself was a large number of Herd, sitting completely immobile. There were no patrols or even guards around this group of Infected, with the exception of the occasional procession of Herd joining the larger group. Was this a place where they would gather to rest after chasing down survivors? Its possible, especially if the Herd believed that the depths of the red zone would be too hazardous for regular humans to cross. But that wasn't an issue for Archie. This was the opening he needed to escape.
But as Archie gazes upon the constellation in his mind's eye, his consciousness expands again as it sinks into the hive mind of the Herd. The thousands of individuals Archie had been listening on now multiplies to millions as the Herd's mental network carries him away. The Herd just wasn't some gang of marauders, they were a continent spanning force, all sharing a single consciousness. Archie feels the tide pulling him along and he desperately tries to surface to little use. Compared to the strength of a million minds, Archie's power amounted to less than nothing.
Kill Kill Kill Kill
We have the Feds, we have found their sanctuary. They will not escape.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Won't someone get rid of that old cripple?
And Archie continues to be dragged along, beyond the continent, beyond the Americas.
Ehre sei der Herde!
Приєднуйтесь до нашої родини
跑不了的
Billions of minds, dreaming the same dream, thinking the same thoughts. One people, working toward a single, irrefutable future. Archie felt small, smaller than a speck of dust. He was standing in the presence of a god, a god that would inherit this world -
Then a girl's anguished scream breaks the trance and rouses Archie back to full awareness. He nearly crumples to the ground in sheer relief at this close escape. If the mind of the Herd had subsumed him, there would be no escape regardless of the stolen immunity. Panting for breath, Archie hurriedly picks up the rucksack and begins making his way through the woods. The Herd would be done having their fun with that family soon enough. There was no need to tempt fate again, even if Archie was confident in his skills.
Once was enough for today.
----
Keeping his head low, Archie skirts round the Herd encampment. Just as he had observed from the Herd's mental network, there were no guards or patrols in this area, giving Archie a clear line of escape to the other end of the red zone. But Archie still hears snatches of conversation from the ether, the connection between him and the Herd not fully severed yet.
Move, new blood.
There's a tramp of feet and Archie ducks behind a tree, outside of the sight of whomever is approaching. A line of people in single file marches toward the encampment, escorted by a force of Herd. A sad group, made out of a rabble of men, women and children, clearly survivors that had been captured. Each of the captives is weighed down by a collection of clothes, weapons and foodstuffs loaded mercilessly upon their backs. Spoils of war carried by prisoners of war. One of the women trips and falls, buried under a towering pile of old blankets and homemade shirts. An infected with bloodshot eyes walks up to the prone woman and begins kicking her in the ribs as if she was a misbehaving mule.
Archie clicks his tongue in annoyance. He recognized most of the items the Herd was making off with. It all came from his stock back at the settlement. As Archie stews in his impotence, one of the prisoners approaches the woman to help her up, but is rewarded with an open handed slap from the Infected kicking her. As the man bows his head in submission and hurries along toward the encampment, the woman finally manages to struggle back to her feet and trudges along her not so merry way. Archie lets the procession pass him by and falls in at a safe distance behind them, careful not to be spotted.
The encampment is located in a cozy clearing beneath a ridge line that offers shelter from the elements. Though encampment makes the site sound more impressive than it really was. There were no tents or cooking fires, just Herd and Infected lounging about on the ground and the prisoners kept in a lonely corner, too scared to move. The battle booty was piled up in a lazy pile in the middle of the clearing, with members of the Herd shoving at each other over choice pieces of loot.
Kill anyone who fights back, but bring back anyone who surrenders. We need to replenish our numbers.
As Archie cautiously begins to make his way up the path leading up the ridge, he notices the Infected bringing pails of fresh water into the camp. A burly looking hispanic woman then strides forward with a machete in her hand. Broad shouldered and chubby, the kind of person who ate too much food but also worked a physically demanding job. Archie bet there was plenty of muscle under that layer of fat. The Hispanic woman raises the machete to her arm and opens a vein, letting her blood flow into the pails of water.
Why are you claiming new pack members? We agreed to share! An angry voice snaps inside Archie's head.
Shut up. My pack did most of the fighting. If you have a problem with it, then get over here.
WE have a problem. Another voice objects through the ether.
Then do something about it. A confident taunt. Archie could swear that the Hispanic woman's lips curled into a smile the moment he heard that stray thought.
Silence reigns over the collective consciousness. As the Hispanic woman's blood turns the water muddy red, the prisoners are led forward by the Infected and one by one have their heads dunked into the pails, forcing them to drink. The prisoners are then tossed to the side, where they lie thrashing on the ground, their faces drawn in looks of agony. The Herd and Infected cackle at the sight, loping around the prisoners as the virus sinks its claws deep within its newest victims.
Archie suppresses a shudder, doubling his pace and not looking back. This place was damned. And if the collective consciousness he had tapped into was any indicator, the whole world was damned as well.
.....
The sun had begun to set and Archie lay collapsed on the ground, his fatigue overwhelming. By now he had reached the outer layer of the red zone and he was probably just a few hours away from safety. Using the direct route had certainly paid off. But now at the most critical stage, Archie's strength had failed him. He just could not go on without resting. Shutting his eyes for a bit would not do any harm, wouldn't it?
"Curse you Frank." Archie mutters as that blasted parasite leeches more precious vitality off him.
As Archie tiredly reaches for the half eaten pack of biscuits, recoiling at the thought of stuffing more dog shit in his mouth, a single gunshot rings out in the wilderness.
"Fuck. Fuck." Archie scrambles to his feet and grabs the rucksack, the biscuits lying scattered on the ground, "Got careless."
The only consolation was that whomever was firing that gun was not aiming at him. But Archie still needed to get out of here as quickly as possible. The noise would attract more Herd, more than he could handle. Although it might already be too late for that.
Archie's vision swims as an incredible presence crashes down upon his mind. The Herd was on the move, their fury roused. As Archie struggles to stay on his feet, the crushing pressure clamping down on his head tells him of three separate packs, moving quickly from all sides toward the location of the gunshot. Archie had no way of outrunning them. He would be trampled underfoot if he tried. Gritting his teeth, Archie reaches for his diminishing stash of cash and grabs a fat wad. He had hoped to avoid calling upon the Invisible Hand so quickly, but there was no choice. Safety came first, an imbalanced account be damned.
The cash burns up in Archie's hands, turning into a fine, powdered ash. Dumping the ash into the canteen of corrupted water, Archie then tips out the grey sludge and smears it liberally all over his face. As he takes on the skin of an Infected, Archie hears the voice of the Herd again.
- dead. Got himself killed by the stupid boy.
The bear, did he get the bear at least?
Just a hollow husk. Damn it!
The noise of stampeding feet catches up with Archie and he sees the Herd closing in but completely ignoring him. Good, the disguise is enough to pass muster. But the number of Herd around him also prevents Archie from sneaking off, and he is carried away with them, swept up by their momentum. And so Archie jogs, disregarding the protests of his palpitating heart. As Archie lets himself gradually fall behind the pack, someone kicks him hard in the butt, sending him stumbling.
No place for useless eaters. Move faster!
The Hispanic woman glowers at Archie, snarling savagely at him before pushing him hard on the shoulder. Archie gulps hard and picks up the pace. Thankfully this is enough for the pack leader and she rejoins the main body of the charging horde.
Where was the Herd going?
Archie had no idea. But he also knew that he had no other option other than to follow.