A Shrouded World - Whistlers Page 2

  “Phrito?” John asked, shaking a bag under my nose.

  “Don’t move, John,” I told him.

  We could hear the wet smacks of many mouths chewing through two bodies. Occasionally, I would swear I could hear them raising up and sniffing at the air. It was a good twenty minutes before they had finished their early evening meal. We could hear them start to move on as the food began to diminish. I had to think of it as food and not as what had been two living, thinking, and breathing beings. That was how one held onto their sanity.

  “Are we still being quiet?” John asked, not more than an inch from my ear.

  I could smell the funk of Phrito breath as he did so. I couldn’t even begin to think how he had opened that obnoxious wrapper without me hearing it. I had to hope that, if I hadn’t heard it, then neither had whatever was out there.

  “Want one?” John asked as he shoved a Phrito into my mouth just when I was about to respond.

  I would have cussed him out and maybe given him a shove if I knew where those things outside were. You know how they depict ancient kings being hand-fed grapes? Well, personally, I find that fucking disgusting. I am not going to put anything into my body that someone has JUST touched with their germ-encrusted hands. Did they perhaps just pick a wedgie? Maybe they dug out a golden nose nugget. Maybe their crotch was itchy and they shoved that hand down the front of their pants and scratched away at their sweat-soaked genitalia. Or worse yet, they had just touched an elevator button. I wouldn’t have been surprised if a plague had started here in one of those germ breeding facilities, elevators, if I didn’t make myself abundantly clear.

  My wife used to get a kick out of how I would pull my sleeve over my hand before I would depress anything in one of those pulley-driven disease boxes. An untended gas station bathroom was less of a breeding ground. If you still had the internet, I’d tell you to look it up; facts are facts. Fuck, what do I know? Maybe waiters and waitresses are the type of people that don’t believe in washing after using the restroom. Now there’s a disgusting thought! Ever wonder what your food server has been up to as she hands you your water glass, her thumb strategically located inside the glass?

  Rest assured, any place you think that hand has been, it has. We’re humans and we’re gross. We all know what we do when we think no one is watching. Supermodel to fast food worker, doesn’t matter, we all have the same parts. So remember that the next time your boyfriend/girlfriend sticks a gross-ass strawberry in your mouth. Okay, that’s worded wrong, I love strawberries, it’s the bacteria-laced fingers I have a problem with.

  So when John the Tripper shoved that Phrito in my mouth I could barely concentrate on the deliciousness of the snack, rather, I was more fixated on what else was attached to its main ingredients. Corn didn’t quite sound as good if you added e. coli to the mix.

  “Don’t fucking do—” He shoved another one in my mouth.

  “Good huh?” he said as he spilled the rest of the bag into his mouth, some sticking in his beard and others falling to the floor. He flipped on the lighter and snatched them up, summarily eating those as well.

  I was horrified. I began to smash some of them under my foot. John gripped my leg and was trying to prevent me from coming down on any more of them. As I shifted, he would wet his fingers, placing them to the floor and have the Phrito dust stick to them.

  I almost gagged at the sight of it. Hands were already disgusting, but they had nothing over where feet had been. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I hissed.

  “I’m hungry,” he said, hurt clear in his tone.

  “There’s like ten thousand packs! Get another one!” I was on the verge of shouting.

  “You should be more quiet,” he told me as he turned. I saw his feet merrily lift up off the ground when he saw the boxes, like he had just discovered them for the first time. And with John, that probably was the case. “Want one?” John dug into a new box.

  “I’m good.”

  Our earlier scuffle was apparently all but forgotten—at least for him. Now I was left wondering how long it would take his germs to incubate in my stomach and make me ill. I could only hope I lived long enough to find out.

  Jack Walker – A Rabbit Hole

  I suppose I should start with a bit of an introduction. I’m Jack Walker and the last survivor of those who fled the planet Krypton. Although the tights are a little snug, I can still leap a mighty tall building. Well, if the wind is right.

  Okay, I can’t continue as the tears of laughter are interfering with my ability to see. So, the real story is almost as incredulous. The world changed in the blink of an eye, and I’m one of the few survivors struggling to stay alive in a world filled with night runners and marauders. For those of you who don’t know, night runners are the result of a genetic mutation stemming from a flu vaccine that was supposed to counteract a flu pandemic sweeping across the world. Needless to say, night runners are not on my Christmas card list, nor will they ever be the recipient of the other half of a ‘best friends forever’ bracelet.

  As for me, well, I’m just a normal guy trying to survive in a drastically altered world. Having a bit of a military background allows me to keep the pointy end of a carbine aimed in the right direction without sending those around me running for cover. However, with that said, each day brings about new dangers for the small group of survivors I’m with.

  Having built a sanctuary in a Cabela’s store, we are still a rung down on the food chain and barely able to keep one step ahead of the quickly adapting night runners. And now, there is this. The world I was in was surreal enough, but now I find myself in one even stranger.

  Keep in mind that things have happened in the other world, and some things about me may not make a lot of sense until you find out what went on before.

  * * * * * *

  Sitting with Robert, Bri, and the rest of Red Team, I listen as they tell various war stories; both recent and past. Although the kitchen crew manages to make quite tasty meals, I barely notice as thoughts race through my head. They are very scattered, with none sticking around for very long before being replaced by another. I glance toward the front door and the daylight pouring in through the entrance windows.

  I notice, in an abstract manner, the periphery close in. The gray light filtering in seems to zoom into focus, and I feel myself rush forward into the light as if speeding through a tunnel. The light vanishes.

  * * * * * *

  Light returns in a flash. It’s not a slow emergence of shadows becoming slowly brighter, it’s instantaneous. One moment I’m eating with my kids and the others of Red Team, the next I’m standing here – wherever here is. The change of scenery is so vastly different; it’s shocking and takes me unawares.

  The smell of smoke is heavy in the air, carried on a light breeze blowing against my back. It’s not the friendly scent of wood smoke drifting from cheery fireplaces or wood stoves on a chilled day, it’s the cloying odor of something manufactured, and it permeates the air. The high cloud cover is almost obscured by the thin, dark smoke that is pushed along by the higher winds aloft.

  This has all of the essences of a dream. After all, I was just sitting at a table with food planted in front of me, but it feels different. For one, I don’t ever remember smells being in my dreams. I pat myself and feel solid enough. That’s another thing, being in total control was never something in any of my dreams either. I couldn’t tell myself to pat myself and have my dream-self actually do it. No, this seems real enough; although where I am or what this place is remains a mystery. It’s real to the point where I wonder if the last events weren’t the dream.

  What the fuck is going on? If that is a dream, where in the hell are my kids? Where’s Lynn? Where in the fuck am I?

  I look down to find that I have on the same black fatigues I was wearing, along with my tac vest. Checking the pouches, I have a full complement of mags. I look over the M-4 in my hands. It seems real enough and appears to be in good working order. If I didn’t know any
better, I would say it’s the exact same one I was using in the real world – down to the suppressor and mod package. I guess dreams can work this way, although this seems like the oddest one I’ve ever had. That’s the only way I can explain it even though I don’t remember falling asleep. I guess I must have just passed out at the table, and everyone is probably worried. I notice I have a Beretta in a leg holster with several mags attached. I also feel the straps of my knives around my lower legs. Letting the carbine dangle from the single-point sling it’s attached to, I pull each mag out one at a time. They’re full.

  That’s handy, I think, grabbing my M-4 again and checking over my surroundings.

  I’m standing in the middle of a tree-lined highway. Abandoned cars, some with their doors open and others sealed, stretch into the distance. It looks like a mass exodus occurred creating a massive traffic jam. There are vehicles of every description stalled in the lanes, off to the side of the pavement, and in the median as drivers apparently attempted to get around the congestion. The side of the highway is also clogged with cars heading in the same direction.

  Bringing my M-4 up, I switch on the SpectreDR optics and verify it’s working. I test the laser and light mounted to the top and side. Reaching up, I feel a raised set of NVGs perched securely on my head.

  What… in… the… fuck? I didn’t have these at the table. Not that I’m complaining.

  The breeze blows a piece of paper, its edges charred, past me and along the pavement. I look over the tops of cars and the seemingly endless stretch of vehicles. My view is blocked to an extent by several motor homes and campers wedged in amongst the other cars. A number of the vehicles have belongings tied to their roofs. Some of the ropes have been cut, the items once held spilled to the ground. In all, it’s a confused mess.

  To go with the absolute stillness, a quiet pervades the area. The shock of finding myself suddenly in a different place is wearing off and I feel fully conscious of being in this time and place. I mean, I still don’t know where the fuck I am, let alone the how.

  There is an avenue wide enough to walk through between the jam of cars along the stripe dividing the lanes of the highway. On both sides of the wide road, across strips of grass, a line of fir trees march along. The dim light making its way through the smoke and clouds isn’t reaching far inside the forest, making the woods seem dark and foreboding.

  Yeah, like the rest of this shit isn’t forbidding enough, I think, turning to look behind.

  The congestion of vehicles continues in that direction, but disappears as the road drops down a hill. The trees to the side thin after a distance, creating an opening. The widening of the trees and the road’s descent allows me to see what these people were apparently fleeing. In the far distance, a city burns.

  Large and small plumes of smoke rise from the vacated metropolis. At least I assume it’s vacated by the number of cars littering the freeway. It’s too far away to see any flames licking through the dark columns, but it’s apparent that it has been burning for some time. Most of the skyline is hidden behind the pillars of smoke billowing upward. The very tops of tall office buildings become visible for moments as the smoke eddies and swirls around the structures.

  I guess I’m not going that way, I think, staring at the ruin.

  As far as that goes, I’m not sure where to go. Being suddenly deposited in the middle of wherever this is, seeing the snarl of vehicles, and now a town going up in flames has pushed my anxiety meter into the red. I can usually tell myself ‘this is just a dream’ at times like this, but this certainly doesn’t feel like one. This seems all too real.

  The smoldering city worries me and I wonder what happened. It couldn’t have been anything nuclear or there would be a bigger hole, and the buildings wouldn’t be standing as they are. The only thing readily obvious is that something big occurred that grew rapidly out of control.

  Well, let’s see what I’m dealing with, I think, turning back to the long line of strewn vehicles.

  I glance down at one of the cars. It’s not rusted and appears in fairly good shape, so whatever happened must have been relatively recent. The billowing of smoke rising above the beleaguered city gives evidence of the same. The car windows are covered with grime so there had to be some passage of time. The inside of the nearest vehicle is obscured but it doesn’t prevent me from seeing that it’s empty. Of people that is. Clutter lies on the front and rear seats, adding to the fact that everyone seemed in a rush to leave. I don’t blame them with the intensity of the fires behind me.

  But what started it?

  Wanting to see if anything inside of the car will give me a clue, I let my M-4 hang at my side on its sling, draw my 9mm, and open the door. It opens with a slight metallic squeal. Dust and soot slides off the door – another indication that things have been like this for a while. The silence of the area makes the opening of the door sound like I’m putting the car in an auto crusher. The air that seeps out of the vehicle smells old and carries a slight stench of rotting food. Several backpacks and small cases line the floorboards, along with filled plastic sacks scattered on the back seats. I turn a set of keys dangling from the ignition, expecting to hear the chime that indicates a door is open. Nothing. I rotate the key farther. No lights or anything else. The battery is dead.

  I try a couple of other cars nearby with the same result. It appears that whichever direction I’ll be heading, it will be on foot. It’s not like I could have driven anyway with the traffic congestion. I have plenty of ammo but am a bit shy of food and water. The floorboards of several cars yield a few unopened bottles of water and a box of Cheez-Ems.

  Cheez-Ems?

  With a shrug, I take them, thinking they’re a knock-off. There are a few other sundries. I take one of the smaller rearview mirrors so I’ll have the ability to see around obstacles should I need to. I even locate a compass stuck on the inside of a windshield. The indicators around its edge aren’t the usual N, S, E, or W, but a series of symbols. It is, however, easily identifiable as some form of compass. Turning in a circle, I note the needle steadily point one direction, tracking whatever serves as north here. I may not be able to use it as normally would, but I will be able to keep to a direction. Emptying a backpack containing some clothes, I fill it with my finds. I’m sure those departing in such a hurry packed some food and water, so finding those shouldn’t be a problem as long as I stay close to the road.

  But, shit, where am I going?

  I’m pretty sure this isn’t a dream anymore and it’s time to start thinking that a new reality has set in. The how and why is still unknown but, for now, it’s time to think of the here and now.

  “Okay, Jack…whatever started those fires chased these people out of the city. Fine, I get that. So, what made them leave their cars, and where did they go?” I say to myself. “Well, there’s nothing to it but to get to it. Let’s see where this leads.”

  The way toward the city is obviously not the way to go, so that only leaves one other direction. Adjusting the backpack over my shoulders, I rearrange my M-4 and start down the road. Of course, those fleeing went this way and didn’t make it far, so I’m a little cautious about continuing. I’m not a huge fan of open areas and eye the trees on either side of the road. Then, it hits me. The absolute quiet…the stillness. I should have picked up on that earlier, but the shock of my arrival shut me down a little. I should be hearing some wildlife. There should be a squirrel bitching at me, warning others, or chirping among the trees. There should be movement of birds flitting through the branches. I look up to see if there are any circling above or crossing the road. It’s completely still and silent.

  What the fuck have I found myself in?

  I cautiously walk in the avenue formed between the cars. Grime covers all of the vehicles. They sit as silent witnesses to what happened. I hear the swish of tree branches as a gust blows through. It brings debris swirling around my feet and continuing past, moving down the path I have chosen. There is something else the wind
brings. It sounds like a moan. I turn but see nothing

  It could have been the trees rubbing together. Thinking that’s all it is, I push on.

  Passing one of the cars, I notice a darker smudge along the driver’s window under the grime. I brush away some of the soot and see a hand print streaking downward at an angle. A closer look shows that it is definitely made in dried blood. I guess the panic that must have been prevalent caused all sorts of injuries.

  Although, again, where did everyone go? Well, they were heading this direction, so I guess I’ll find out at some point.

  It’s that ‘some point’ that worries me. Is this an isolated incident or has whatever happened been cast over a wider area? The fact that this mess hasn’t been cleaned up tells me that it’s not merely something local.

  The compass says I’m heading…well…whatever direction the symbol means that is ninety degrees of what serves as north. As far as I can see through the murk overhead, the sun is ahead of me. That means it’s early morning, so I have hours of daylight left. It’s not overly cold, but I have no idea where I am. The cars are familiar styles which gives me the impression that I could be in the good ol’ land of opportunity. How far north, south, east, or west I am remains to be seen. At some point, I’ll surely find a sign along the highway which will give me some indication. The one thing I am hoping is that this world isn’t full of night runners. I suppose I could be in the real world, but just in a different part of it. This situation and the fact that I’m in the open doesn’t give me warm fuzzies. I’ll have to find some form of shelter before dark. I suppose I could use one of the motor homes if I have to, but I don’t imagine any of them will hold off even the smallest of packs for long.