GRUEBERFEST '07 Biohazard: Looking for Love on the River of Death (437 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.93 on 16 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by write-of-way (View user info) at 2007-10-18 02:41:23 EDT
McCain stood on the bank of the once great river and pissed into poison.
Funny that after all the invasions and troop surges and dirty bombs and oil it was finally the water that stopped the war. Oh, there was still fighting and killing and dying, but once the water turned, the Americans pulled out no and one had the energy for anything like the long predicted civil war. Mostly it was revenge and honor shit, now. Small potatoes, comparatively speaking. At least on this side of the water. The other side? Well, that was another story. There were, however, enough corpses to keep him in business.
There were rumors the Americans themselves had developed whatever agent had turned the river into one giant meandering biohazard, but they were, of course, denied. McCain didn't know and didn't care.
He zipped up and stared across the river at the blackened city with its ruined monuments, whose ghostly presence mocked his former life. He sighed and turned his attention to the dark water. It was hypnotic. It drew you in. Like someone who never stood too close to the edge of a precipice, not because they might fall but out of fear they would jump, McCain tried not to look directly into the water very often. It was a kind of perverse pleasure, as if tempting fate could somehow make things right again. Like before he'd lost control. Before he'd lost Nadia.
The boat edged up against the rocks behind him and the dull scraping sound brought him out of his reverie. He sighed and looked at the bloated corpse near his feet, rolling the gloves back up past his forearms. Shouldn't have gotten off the boat, he thought. Better to stay on the water and leave the weed-whacks to the burn squad. Still, he did get paid by the pound. He put a bullet in the dead guy's brain and dragged him toward the boat.
They told him it was unnecessary, that it was the water that made them turn a few days after death and not death itself, but he shot them anyway. He'd found a good sized cache of ammunition on one of his midnight runs and figured he'd keep putting one in the brain as long as it held out. They just laughed and allowed him his eccentricities. His job was hard to fill, and so what if the crazy ex-Marine still had a little cowboy in him?
McCain didn't care what they thought. It made him feel better. He just couldn't shake the yolk of old zombie flicks. American culture at its finest.
They fed them the floaters, and those on dry land were burned. Kinda like that old Cuban wet foot, dry foot policy, only neither foot got a leg up, if you catch that drift.
Hakim was still trying to re-start the motor of the aging craft as McCain winched the body above the pile of fetid corpses in the back of the boat. They used to bag out the most badly decomposed, but now they just filled up bottom to topside, and they were near the end of their run. This guy might be the cherry on today's flesh sundae. Thank fuck nothing dropped off him through the holes in the netting. McCain hated when that happened. He was expected to fish out the parts that did. No waste was their motto. McCain considered painting that on the side of the boat as a macabre joke, but he didn't care enough anymore. He only wanted to stay afloat until he found Nadia. He chuckled at the double entendre. At least he could still crack wise once in a while.
Hakim retched behind him. McCain shook his head. Poor asshole. Takes a while to get used to it. He'd only been on the job two weeks, and McCain doubted he'd last much longer.
The smell didn't bother McCain, anymore. Hell, the whole city stunk to high heaven, anyway. McCain rolled the body out of the net. He could probably french kiss this fucker without blanching.
He sneered at Hakim. His partner would probably do a lot more than that on a solo run, the cocksucker.
McCain's laugh caught Hakim between starts, and he paused and looked over with flat, incurious eyes. Those goddamn inscrutable eyes generations of war had imbedded in his people. They all had the same eyes, no matter the age or gender. McCain wished they'd fucking breed outside their sects already so his great-great grandchildren's great-great grandchildren wouldn't have to look into eyes like that. Fuck you eyes, McCain called them. Screw the gooks, try reading these motherfuckers across the flop and like as not you'll leave the casino wearing a burka. They really should learn to play poker, he thought, just as Hakim fired another crank and the engine sputtered to life. They all had the same eyes.
Except for Nadia. She had the most amazing eyes. Violet. How the fuck does that happen? He'd never seen anything so beautiful. Eyes that couldn't lie. Eyes you could fall into. He didn't know if the soul existed, but he could see her heart through those fucking eyes. Her eyes told you exactly how she felt. She'd be shit at poker, absolute shit.
McCain sighed and took a deep breath until the emotion passed.
Actually, the main thing that bothered him about Hakim was his refusal to learn the game. Even though the fucker would probably kick his ass once he got the hang of it, it'd be worth it for a little Texas Hold 'Em in the afternoons after they bagged their floata quota.
The return trip took about as long as the sweep even with the extra weight, but without all the stops that made card games impossible. They normally did about thirty a day, and couldn't safely carry more than forty-five. Their record was fifty-seven dead bodies retrieved from the river, and holy fuck was that a slow run back upstream. You'd think they'd start at the other end and travel back with the flow of the river at their heaviest, but everything about this place was backasswards since the Americans pulled out. Not that it was much better when they were here.
McCain guessed it had something to do with whatever remnants of routine remained hardwired in those lifeless little brains across the river. Those things on the other side all congregated at the same time and place every day, expecting to be fed. So the run went according to their needs, not the needs of some dumb ass American holdout stupid enough to stay behind after the war ended.
McCain stayed for Nadia, and he'd regretted it ever since. Not because she wasn't worth it. He just regretted he hadn't taken her out of this hellhole when he still had the chance.
Her parents reacted badly when they found out she was seeing an American. Nadia had managed to keep the relationship secret just long enough for him to fall in love with her, but not long enough to allow him to figure a way out before the whole place went to hell in a hand basket.
Once her family knew, they did everything they could to keep them apart. But nothing worked. They were too much in love. Then two weeks ago her family had gotten desperate and hidden her away, probably at some relative's house and definitely against her will. Despite McCain's most fervent pleas her father refused to give him any information whatsoever.
So every night since, he scoured the city looking for her or anyone who knew where she was being held. With her byzantine family tree and the war torn condition of the city, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. The only reason he didn't quit his job on the river and search full time was because his meager pay provided the bribes which he believed were his best bet to find her.
He'd always been a loner, raised in a dysfunctional family to say the least, and he'd joined the service in a last gasp effort to escape his miserable life. He'd never even had a girlfriend before. So when Nadia came into his life it was as if he'd been re-born. Everything changed for him. He kept the undershirt he was wearing the last time they made love in a sealed plastic bag, afraid to release her scent, but wanting more than anything to rip it open and smell her on him, to taste her on his clothing. The last words she spoke to him were, "One day we'll be as one, forever and ever." He'd laughed and thought her silly, but he'd give his left arm just to feel her breath in his ear one more time.
If he didn't find her soon, he didn't know what he'd do.
But he'd been looking at the water far too often, lately.
They made the trek back upstream in silence. McCain usually took the helm on the way back, but he didn't offer and Hakim didn't complain. It was near dark when they finally reached the barge at the widest part of the river and unloaded the cargo.
"You want?" Hakim asked.
"No. Take us home."
Hakim nodded and pulled away from the barge.
A short time later the motor died. Hakim tried to start it, but McCain could hear something was different.
Shit, McCain thought. Shouldn't have let the kid bring us home. Pushed the old engine a little too hard on the way back upstream, probably. McCain looked after the barge, but the old driver was chugging toward the opposite shore and he'd never come back, anyway.
"Fuck!"
Hakim just looked at him with those unreadable eyes.
McCain sighed and went for the tool box.
He stopped for a smoke before he started the repairs. Hakim fanned the air and moved to the other side of the boat. The fires across the river constantly poured smoke out across the water so their entire run was spent in the acrid haze of whatever the zombies were burning that day and this moron can't handle my one cigarette of the day? Fuck him. McCain would have to quit once his supply ran out anyway, so the kid could tough it out tonight. Too damn expensive and he needed all his money to find Nadia.
McCain watched the barge hook up to the lift at the sea wall on the other side of the river. He didn't think he'd ever actually watched the feeding. Usually he was back ashore long before now and off on his own nightly obsession.
The scene across the river was surreal. It was completely quiet except for the faint drone of hydraulics as the platform raised the catch to the feeding area at the top of the sea wall. The haze made the barge seem ghostly, and McCain was fascinated at what he saw next.
Shadow-like figures suddenly appeared on the wall, reaching out with pleading arms toward the pile of corpses being delivered to them. They almost seemed like baby birds, stretching their necks toward grubs brought back to the nest by their mother, until the platform got close enough to reach.
Dozens, maybe hundreds more shadows appeared and leapt atop the pile of bodies, literally ripping the corpses apart like overcooked chicken. The birds turned into sharks, and McCain stood mesmerized at the ghostly feeding frenzy. He idly wondered what would happen when the killing leveled off and there weren't enough bodies to go around. There were rumors about that scenario, too.
He turned to call Hakim over to look just as his partner brought the rock down on his head.
----------
When he woke up, McCain was bound to a chair in a small, shabby room with a bare wood floor and a single window, through which shone drab, smoky sunlight. It must have been late afternoon. His first instinct was to shout, but he thought better of it and decided to glean more information as to just exactly what the fuck happened. Over the course of the next hour, he managed to quietly maneuver his chair about a foot closer to the window. Just as he was straining his neck to see if he could look outside, the door opened and Nadia's father hobbled in, raised his cane, and the lights went out again.
----------
The next time McCain woke up, it was dark and the door to the room was wide open. Candlelight flickered across the threshold. He could hear voices in the next room. McCain kept his head down and deciphered as much of the Arabic as he could.
He heard the voice of Hakim, and then it all started to make sense. Hakim was Nadia's brother. And he was going to kill McCain tonight.
----------
When they came in, McCain was pretty sure how things needed to go if he was to live through this. He hoped they were old school, because that might be his only chance. Rituals meant time. Hakim and his father entered followed by another man, probably a cousin, carrying a candle and a large sword.
"Where's Nadia?" McCain asked quietly.
Hakim struck him hard across the face, hatred in his eyes. Those goddamn eyes didn't look so inscrutable now. Hakim stood there as if he was waiting for more, but McCain responded only with silence.
Those long nights he'd spent searching and her own brother was right under his nose. This enraged him, but he betrayed nothing. He'd accepted the fact her family held radically different beliefs, not realizing the way to find her had been right there all along. How could he have been so stupid? Love blurs reality; hate brings it into sharp focus. He hadn't felt hate until this moment, and it was purifying in its clarity.
He watched as Nadia's father prepared to pray. Hakim took a step back, obviously disappointed McCain had given him no reason to strike again.
He sized up the cousin. Big, probably stupid but you never know. Anyone with any training whatsoever knew better than to underestimate an unknown opponent.
McCain continued working the rope that bound his hands against the metal screw protruding from the chair. Thank god for the flickering candlelight, which forgave a multitude of sins.
Nadia's father rose from his knees and nodded to the cousin, who placed the candle on the floor and drew his sword.
Fuck. Looks like the rituals aren't what they used to be.
The cousin raised the blade.
McCain rubbed the rope more quickly against the metal, all pretense gone.
The sword came down.
McCain violently jerked his body, turning the chair and himself on its side.
The blade entered his leg mid-calf, slicing neatly through muscle and tendon and breaking his fibula.
Hakim lunged forward, knocking over the candle and plunging the room into darkness save for shards of smoky moonlight which danced off the eyes of the struggling men.
McCain pulled free and grabbed the blade, cutting his hands in the process. The cousin fell on him, and McCain lost his grip on the sword and went for the eyes. He got a thumb in and the man screamed, trying to roll off McCain.
McCain rolled with him, digging deeper and pushing his thumb past the eyeball.
Hakim scrambled for the sword, catching the glint of moonlight on the bloody blade.
McCain rolled himself and the cousin onto the sword, and hammered his forehead against his wrist, further embedding his thumb in the cousin's eye socket.
The man howled in pain, and McCain hooked his thumb and yanked.
The cousin's eyeball pulled loose, dangling by the optic nerve.
The big man passed out, and McCain felt the eyeball come to rest against his lips.
Hakim was on the floor now, using his leg as a brace against his cousin to pull the sword from beneath the two men.
McCain bit the man's eye off.
Hakim finally pulled the sword out just as Nadia's father lit a candle, bathing the gory room in flickering light.
Hakim raised the sword.
McCain hawked the eyeball at Hakim to distract him, copper spittle trailing after, and brought his knee up into the cousin's crotch with all his might just as the sword cleaved open the big man's skull and stopped a half inch from McCain's forehead.
Hakim pulled at the sword, but his hands slipped and he fell backwards.
McCain grabbed the handle and gave a mighty pull, rolling over just as the sword came free.
He sat up and hacked into Hakim's foot.
As his son wailed in pain, Nadia's father kneeled to pray.
McCain righted the chair and managed to climb up and sit down.
He cut off the old man's head with three blows.
McCain grabbed the old man's cane and stood up painfully. Hakim was still writhing on the floor.
McCain smacked the flat part of the blade against his head
"Over there." He motioned to the body of his cousin.
Hakim was crying. "What?"
McCain hit him again.
"Crawl if you have to."
Hakim looked at him, not understanding.
"Crawl over to your cousin."
Hakim did as he was told.
McCain limped over to Hakim and forced his face into the man's cloven skull.
Hakim struggled but McCain held him down.
Finally, McCain lifted Hakim's head out of his cousin's brain. He vomited into the gaping wound and gasped for breath.
"Where's Nadia?"
Hakim shook his head.
McCain forced his head back down and held it there.
When he let him up, Hakim spit out reddish grey soup and puked again.
"Where's Nadia?"
Hakim, not yet able to speak, signaled with a nod he was ready to divulge his sister's location.
McCain shoved his face back down into the vomit and the brains anyway.
When he finally let him up, Hakim gestured toward the window.
McCain dragged him to his feet, and they both limped painfully to the far wall.
Hakim pointed outside.
Across the river.
Whatever blood was left in McCain quickly drained out of his face.
"You bastard! You killed her!"
McCain drew back the sword, and Hakim, still unable to get a breath, was shaking his head no when the blade entered his mouth.
----------
McCain hobbled through the streets all night until everything went black.
He awoke at dusk, lying in weeds near the sandy banks of the poison river. He sat up and looked across the water. He could just make out through the haze the ghostly figures of the undead gathering on the feeding wall, waiting for the day's pacifying carrion.
For the first time since he'd lost Nadia, he felt at peace.
The thick, lazy current lapped at the shore a foot away.
He crawled over and bent down, drinking deeply.
After his thirst was slaked, he sat watching the slivered sun slowly melt into the top of the hill on the other side of the Potomac.
The dark monuments no longer mocked him, but beckoned instead to their cold embrace.
----------
EPILOGUE
The lift dumped the load onto the feeding platform atop the sea wall. Dozens of ravenous beings leapt onto the pile, tearing at the rotting flesh with sharpened teeth and fingers.
McCain's body slipped off the side and tumbled down into the weeds at the base of the wall. A hungry thing in a faded burka descended upon the corpse and dragged it further under the platform to feast in private.
After having its fill, the thing crawled out and lifted its violet eyes to the hunter's moon.
User Reviews
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2007-10-24 07:26:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Now, see, this is really really good.
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-10-21 20:37:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2007-10-20 09:09:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by zwerg (user info) at 2007-10-19 12:49:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by BlazinBull (user info) at 2007-10-19 10:08:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2007-10-19 09:31:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Too short.
Very good, but I did have a hard time following the fight scene. It was kind of hard to work how everything was happening.
But that was minor. Most enjoyable overall.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2007-10-19 07:45:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2007-10-18 16:30:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
what thorns said
Submitted by HotWillie (user info) at 2007-10-18 14:37:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I usually hate zombie stories, but this wasn't really about them, was it?
More like horror-romance.
Pretty good.
Submitted by Void_Where_Prohibited (user info) at 2007-10-18 11:53:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Very good. Beautiful photo.
Submitted by DudeThatsBOSH (user info) at 2007-10-18 11:03:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by EatMeCompletely (user info) at 2007-10-18 10:39:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Awesome read.
Submitted by Zampano (user info) at 2007-10-18 10:34:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Nothing blisteringly original, but a pleasant read, just the same. The zombie-genre is damned near impossible to approach creatively anymore, though.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2007-10-18 10:30:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
What Mike said. Terrfic, just awesome writing.
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2007-10-18 09:00:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Even though I kinda saw the ending coming, this was a great read.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2007-10-18 03:28:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I thought this was brilliant.