Viral Apocalypse Story #2 – “The Dig”
The old man kept a slow but steady pace down the gravel road. It was getting on in the day and he needed to start thinking about shelter for the night. Bill, the dog trotted about 10 yards ahead as the vanguard. A small dust cloud rose behind them marking their progress. The old man thought about that.
He’d been keeping away from main roads to avoid interacting with what was left of humanity. These fire roads were easier on the feet anyhow and presented opportunities for hunting or gathering. He kept a good pace going with his easy dog-trot, walking and resting when needed.
Lean and hard, he was ‘that guy’. He had been that guy at his practice. The ultra-running doctor. Driven and driving. Who could have guessed that one of those was an actual survival skill? He had considered a bicycle or even a scooter of some sort, but at the end of the day the most effective way to navigate this dying and fragmented world was on foot.
The strap on his sandals was wearing thin. He’d have to craft another one. There were thick shiny callouses where the rubber straps ground against his feet day in and day out.
He smiled at them. “I’ll be long gone before we run out of tires to salvage for sandals”, he mused.
He ran in a sturdy pair of shorts fashioned just above the knees. A machete was holstered at one hip, a hunting knife at the other. A rough work shirt covered by a multipocketed vest rode on his torso. His crossbow was slung on top of the light pack. He carried a light but strong hickory staff in one hand and a water bottle in the other.
He had no need for guns.
That was his kit for the apocalypse and had gotten him this far. And where was here? And when? He figured it was 5-6 years since the virus reduced the world population by 90%+. The virus didn’t do all the work. The collapse of government and infrastructure and a certain laissez faire every man for himself bedlam did the rest.
He figured they were probably back to iron age population levels. A few vestiges of community popped up in the countryside. Humans, as they do, huddling together on fortified farms. Actually, quite a bit like iron age hill forts’, he thought to himself. Maybe all that reading of history would come in handy in this new world.
At some point community centers of gravity would begin to aggregate as they always did, and it would begin again. There was herd immunity now. Maybe it would be the representatives of a recently defunct government infrastructure clawing back into control.
More likely it would be a negotiation of local power centers. Tribes produced warlords. Warlords produced lords. Lords turned into kings. History repeats itself.
But, there might be a government somewhere. Squirreled away in a cave. Waiting for their chance to emerge and take back control of taxes and nuclear bombs.
…
As to where he was, somewhere west of Georgia most likely. His GPS stopped working. The solar charger had broken. He was pretty sure there was no longer an army of Chinese factory workers to make him a new one, or an internet company to deliver it if they did. Where were all those great container ships now? Washed up on derelict beaches like miserable old sea monsters?
He was making his way generally south west towards the Gulf of Mexico. He had no plan. He just kept moving. Stayed away from cities with their armies of black rats, corpses and miasmas.
…
A low ridge of rock cliffs and shelfs ran along one side of the gravel road. A slow summer stream ran along the other, sometime petering out into swampy ground, sometimes gouging away at the road itself from recent high-water events.
The old man kept a wary eye on the rock shelf as he ran along. If there was trouble it would come from that side. Bill the dog kept his nose in the air as well. Occasionally glancing back at the old man for guidance, tongue lolling out in the summer afternoon.
Bill, the dog, lifted his head and stopped.
A vehicle had come into view up ahead on the road. They stopped moving to assess. The old man signaled to Bill to hold and lowered into a thoughtful squat. He fished into a vest pocket and carefully unwrapped a pair of glasses.
What appeared to be a derelict pickup truck was pulled off to the side. Didn’t look like it hade moved recently. 100 yards or so back into the cliff face he could see snatches of the ubiquitous blue tarp. He scratched his scraggly beard and dust fell from his sun-browned face.
He looked at Bill. Held up one hand and said “Hold”. Bill laid down in the dirt and put his head on his paws, resigned, as if to nap.
Straightening up with effort, the old man began his cautious approach.
The truck was encased in mud and hadn’t moved in a long time. One door was canted open and the cabin floor was full of leaves. The ground had no sign of foot traffic. Probably another derelict campsite. There were lots of them in the woods.
The old man slowly moved towards the cliff, checking for signs of habitation or activity as he went. It looked like there was a significant rock ledge overhang or cave here. Something in his pattern matching brain recognized the set up. Next to a torn and crumpled pop-up cover was a standing screening table and a pile of dirt.
This was some sort of archeological dig. Not a big one. Probably a local university project. The rock shelter, the screening, it all made sense. And that fitting of all the pieces together into a narrative made the old man happy. Maybe it loosened his guard a bit. He dropped his pack and wandered deeper into the dig site.
…
Towards the cliff face, under the ledge was the dig pit. Plastic buckets, tarps and large, meticulously dug deep trench. He squatted at the edge peering down. The walls were tagged with little flags and the floor was marked off with a string grid. The floor of the pit was staring to fill up with leaves. Nature ever grinding away at the works of man.
Suddenly there was a flash out of the corner of his perception. Something hit him from the side with a sharp force. He was falling. The impact, a bright flash of pain and he lost consciousness.
…
When he came back to the light he sensed another’s presence. The old man rolled over onto his back, propped himself up against the pit wall and assessed his situation. He felt around, moved and flexed different parts of his body testingly. Nothing broken. Just had the wind knocked out of him.
The pit was maybe 8 feet deep with vertical walls. He could get out easily enough by digging hand and foot holds in the corner. There was probably a ladder when they were working down here. But that wasn’t the issue. The issue at hand was the woman crouched at the rim, silhouetted in the dying sunlight, watching him.
He squinted at her and said, “Hello, my Amazonian friend, do you have a name?”
“No.” She turned and spat.
The old man pushed to a sitting position, back against the far wall. “I’ll just call you Hippolyta. Do you know who that was? “
She didn’t answer.
“Queen of the Amazons.” He continued. For on further perusal she was Amazonian in nature and form. Fit, muscular and athletic under the grime that they all wore. Long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Her bare feet brown like leather except for one toe that didn’t look good.
“Now what?” He said.
“Are you alone?” she asked
“Yes and no.” he smiled. “I have a dog waiting patiently for me somewhere close by. He’s a very loyal dog, and, I don’t know why but he likes me and doesn’t like others. You’d probably win the fight in the end, but I think you’d lose some skin in the process.”
She raised her eyes and glanced around.
“Although, that probably isn’t your biggest problem right now.” He continued. “You see, I’m a doctor, a vascular surgeon as it tunes out.”
Her eyes widened a bit.
He smiled, nodded and kept speaking in that low, soothing, doctor voice of his. “That toe is infected. Looks like it might have a bit of gangrene going on.”
“Kicked a rock, running from some assholes.” She said.
“Do you know how it ends for you?” he asked. “Untreated it will spread to the foot, the leg and eventually you’ll die of sepsis. It’s not pretty.”
“So, I guess you have a choice. You can be attacked by a big dog and die a horrible death in a couple weeks.” He paused and smiled again. “Or I can come up there and fix that for you and I’ll make you a new pair of sandals in the bargain.”
“What’s it going to be?”
She looked at him hard and long, shook her head, unfolded from her crouch and reached for the ladder…