“What does that mean?” Chris asked.
“That they’re changing kid. They’re evolving to something smarter. It stopped when it was full.” Jerrid repeated.
Gregory and Jerrid chuckled.
“Well, we can take care of this later, let me take you to the other one. It’s more… normal.” Gregory started towards the car.
Chris quickly leaned in to snap a picture of the empty ribcage as his camera was focusing, that’s when he noticed a spotty, half-circle imprint on the bottom of the ribcage. A human bite mark, he thought. He snapped a picture of that just as Jerrid was calling after him.
When they got back into the cramped quarters of the truck, Chris mentioned the teeth marks and Jerrid explained to him that that’s normal; they’ve seen that a lot when the infected gets carried away while feeding.
They made it back out to the main path that Chris was familiar with and Gregory continued up towards the farm. He took a right through the trees again. Chris assumed they had already passed the farm at this point. Gregory drove the truck as smoothly as he could while dodging trees and bouncing over broken tree-limbs. Chris couldn't help but contemplate how often the truck’s suspension had to be tuned.
“We’re just about there, it’s just over—“
“Stop.” Jerrid yelled.
Gregory hit the brakes and the truck slid through some of the underbrush. Chris was thankful he had his lap belt on.
“What the hell?” Gregory put the truck in park and glared at jerrid.
Jerrid pointed to the trees in the distance. Chris followed his finger but couldn’t see anything. He skimmed the trees with his eyes, looking for another animal corpse. Then he saw it.
About thirty feet away, there was a man in his late twenties. He had long, dark, dirty hair; his jeans were worn out like an old potato sack and his navy t-shirt was barely being held together by the threads. He was standing, but his whole body--including his face were rested against the tree. Chris couldn’t tell if his eyes were closed or just heavy. His tongue was hanging out the side of his face, lapping something off the bark at the pace of a small child eating an ice cream cone. His hand was pressed against the tree at stomach height to keep him steady.
“Well, that’s new.” Jerrid commented.
Gregory grabbed the binoculars hanging from a hook behind him.
Chris knew that in any other city in the US, this would probably be just some kid high on methamphetamines, come to the forest to ‘connect with nature’. Here in Forest Hills, it was the infection coursing through his veins.
“He’s licking blood off the tree,” Gregory concluded. “That’s where the wolf is.
”Was,” Jerrid added.
“What?” Gregory asked
“Well, if this guy is licking the blood off a tree, he’s probably finished off the wolf.”
Chris found his voice: “How did blood get on the tree?”
“Could have been anything. He could have been violent with the animal, which got the blood there, or it could be his own.”
“What do we do?” Chris asked. Surprisingly, he wasn’t as nervous as he thought he would be around an infected. He assumed it was because he was in a truck with two rifles and two large men who knew how to use them.
“Just wait a minute.”
Jerrid slowly pulled his rifle up from between his legs. He had to swing it over Chris’ leg briefly to get it above the dash. Chris flinched a little. He rolled down the window and maneuvered the barrel of the truck and rested it on the side mirror. Just as he was taking aim, the infected jerked his body towards them, sniffing the air. He was alert and aware of their presence.
“Quick,” Gregory shouted from behind the binoculars “He smelled us when you rolled down the window.”
“I got it. I got it.” Jerrid yelled.
The infected started bounding towards them in large lengths and Chris was becoming more nervous with each leap until he was shaken by a thunderous bang and the infected didn’t get back up again.
“See kid, that’s how you do it.” Jerrid said proudly. He brought the gun back inside; Gregory put the truck in drive and continued on through the trees until they got to the newly deceased.
Once again they were out of the truck gaping at something dead on the ground. The infected’s head was mostly missing and only held together by the flesh on his left temple. like a dog, it’s tongue was hanging out of what was left of his face. Chris took out his camera and tried to take picture of anything but its missing face. He took pictures of the fingernails that hand been bent back; partially ripped off, along with shots of the skin that was so deteriorated and diseased; it looked like it was melting off of hiss hands and arms. While Jerrid and Gregory were talking about what to do with the body, Chris took some more pictures of the infected’s bare feet. They were cut up from running around in the forest. He remembered Katrina saying something about their amazing tolerance for pain.
“What do you normally do with the bodies?” Chris asked.
“Burn them, but that was when we had more than two per week.” Gregory leaned down by the dead man. “Look at this: his wallet.” He reached in his front pocket to pull it out and opened it up revealing a Kentucky driver’s license. “He’s from Winchester.”
“Where’s that?” Chris asked.
“Up by Lexington.”
“What’s he doing all the way over here?” Jerrid leaned down to join Gregory. Chris snapped pictures of Gregory holding the open wallet, with the ID showing through a plastic screen.
“That’s a good question, my friend. And how did he get down here?”
“Well, keep the wallet, but we gotta start looking for some dry brush to cover him with,” Jerrid got up and started looking around. “Is there any bus tickets or anything in it?”
“No, just forty bucks.” Gregory got to his feet and tucked the money into his front pocket. “Come on kid, start searching.”
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