Ragnarok Rising: Desolation: Book Five of the Ragnarok Rising Saga

by D. A. Roberts

  “I’m sorry for attacking you,” he said, softly. “I had no idea if you were a friend or an enemy. I was hungry and thought I could take your gear and your woman.”

  “You had no way of knowing if I was hostile or not,” I replied, frowning. “But taking her by force is wrong.”

  “Not much room left for the old niceties of society,” he said, shaking his head. “The dead don’t give a shit if we obey the rules or not.”

  “But the living still do,” I replied. “We can be men or we can be no better than the dead preying on each other.”

  He seemed to consider my words and had a perplexed frown on his face. I wasn't willing to just write him off as an enemy just because we had fought. Hel, Snake and I had tried to kill each other and now he was one of my best friends. Besides that, there is an old Viking proverb that says, “No man is so good as to be free from all evil, nor so bad as to be worth nothing.” I was going to try to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “How did you survive this long?” asked Spec-4.

  “I’ve been hiding in the attics of houses,” he answered. “I avoided the dead and scavenged for supplies. Originally, there were ten of us. We were survivors from the Forsaken Legion.”

  “The motorcycle gang?” asked Spec-4, surprised.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “One by one, the others fell. A few of them fell to other survivors.”

  “We’ve had the same problem,” I said, shaking my head. “In fact, I think we’ve lost more people to the living, than to the dead.”

  “That’s why I didn’t just pop in and introduce myself,” he said. “I was afraid you’d just shoot me.”

  “I nearly did,” I said, chuckling.

  “I almost did, too,” said Spec-4.

  “Frankly,” he said, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “If I cut you free, are we going to have any problems?” I asked.

  Spec-4 looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but I just nodded at her.

  “You could have killed me, but you didn’t,” he replied. “I’d be pretty ungrateful if I tried to stab you in the back.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Which one?” he asked, smiling. “The one on my ID or the one on my jacket?”

  “How about both?” said Spec-4, glancing at me.

  “Alright,” he said, “I can do that, too. I was born Eric Fulton. In the Legion, I was known as Eric the Red.”

  “I’m Wylie Grant and this is Chrissy Wilder,” I said, gesturing at Spec-4. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  With that, I walked over and untied the rope around his ankles and wrists. Spec-4 kept her M-4 in her hand, but didn’t point it directly at him. She kept it close enough that I’m sure he got the point, though. Just because I was going out on a limb to trust this guy, didn’t mean she was going with me.

  “Are you guys cops?” he asked, noticing the badge on Spec-4's shirt.

  “Not anymore,” I said. “We keep the badges to remindus of who we are and what we stand for. It shows our group which of us they can turn to when they need help.”

  “How many in your group?” he asked, looking surprised.

  “Quite a few,” I said. “I don’t want to tell you too much before I decide if we can take you with us or not.”

  “Hey, man,” he said, flexing his hands and massaging his wrists. “I’ll do whatever you ask, brother. Just don’t leave me out here to die alone. I’m about half starved to death and it’s been days since I’ve found anything to eat.”

  “We’ve had bad luck meeting other survivors,” I said. “We’re pretty cautious about who we let into our camp.”

  “Can’t blame you there,” he replied.

  “Tell me about your dog-tags,” I said. “Why do you still wear them?”

  “I wear them to remind me of when I was a good man,” he answered. “All of us in the Legion were ex-military. We just didn't fit in regular society and formed our own. I was in the Army, way back in the day. Used to be a Ranger, if you can believe it.”

  “What was the Ranger motto?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.

  “Rangers lead the way,” he said without hesitation.

  “What about your oath?” asked Spec-4.

  “I remember,” he replied. “But I'm not sure how that applies, now. That was a long time ago.”

  “We banded together to defend what's left of the people,” I replied. “We stand on our oath. The dead are our common enemy. We can either stand together, or die separately. We need strong people to help us defend those who can't defend themselves. We need men and women who will stand by that oath.”

  “Alright,” he said, at last. “I'd be more than happy to join you. I mean, what choice do I have, really? I can starve to death out here alone or I can go with you and maybe make a difference.”

  “It’s a start,” I said, handing him back his knife.

  He took it cautiously, and then slipped it back into his belt. When he stood up, he watched both of us to see if we would react. I figured he was expecting us to shoot him if he made any sudden moves. I glanced at Spec-4 and gave her a slight nod. Reluctantly, she lowered her M-4 and took a couple steps back.

  “So,” I said, trying to break the tension, “when we were fighting, I stabbed you in the stomach. It felt like I hit armor. What the hell are you wearing under there?”

  “Newspaper,” he replied. “I did some time in Federal Prison a while back. I learned how to make body armor out of newspaper, water and toothpaste. I just kept layering it on until it was thick enough to stop about anything. Once it dried, it was almost as hard as a piece of wood.”

  “What were you in prison for?” asked Spec-4.

  “Does it matter?” he said. “It was a long time ago.”

  “It might,” I added. “Some things can’t be forgotten.”

  “Drugs and guns,” he said, after a pause. “I ain’t no Cho-Mo[2].”

  “What about now?” I said. “Are you clean?”

  “I wasn’t a user,” he replied, angrily. “We were into distribution, not use. Besides, even if I was dirty, where the fuck would I get meth now? It ain’t like I can pop down to Mega-mart and buy the supplies I need to make it.”

  “We’ve got no place for drugs in our camp,” I said, sternly. “I want nothing to do with them.”

  “Still a cop, then?” he asked, watching me warily.

  “Yes, I am,” I replied without hesitation. “I would die to protect them.”

  “I’ve got no need to make that shit anymore,” he said. “I’ll do my part to help out and protect the group. I know how to fight and I’m good with a gun. I lost my pistol quite a while back. Not that it matters, though. I didn’t have any ammo for it.”

  “We have guns, but not a lot of ammo,” I admitted. “We’re also pretty low on fuel. That’s why we’re on horses.”

  “It’s got to be better than being alone and scrounging for scraps to survive,” he replied, taking off his stocking cap.

  In the light of the rising sun, I could see the tattoos on his neck and face. His red-brown hair hung limply off of his head and I could now see his sunken eyes and gaunt expression. It looked like it had been quite a while since he’d had anything to eat, let alone a good meal.

  Digging into my pack, I took out an MRE and tossed it to him. He looked at it like I had just given him the Holy Grail. Pulling out his knife, he slit the package open and examined the contents. I could see the hunger in his eyes, but he restrained himself. He took out one packet and began examining it.

  “Go ahead and eat it all,” I said. “We have more. Besides, you’re going to need your strength. We’re going to be heading out in a little bit. I’m going to take a chance and take you with us. Don’t make me regret it.”

  He just nodded as he began to shove Chicken ala King into his mouth. Spec-4 and I both opened our own MRE’s and began eating. We all sat in silence as we ate content to just enjoy the meal. Well, as much as you can enjoy a
n MRE. When we finished eating, Eric was picking crumbs out of his beard and licking his fingers.

  “Thank you,” he said, with emotion in his voice. “I haven’t had that much food at one time in months.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “In a few hours, you can get a hot meal and a shower.”

  “Shower?” he said, incredulously. “You have running water.”

  “No,” said Spec-4, grinning. “We have hot running water.”

  “No way,” he said, excited. “I haven’t showered in months.”

  “I noticed,” said Spec-4, wrinkling her nose and smiling. “We all could use a shower and clean clothes. I smell like wet horse.”

  “Let’s load up the gear and get out of here,” I said. “Wilder can ride on Ebon with me and you can ride Willow.”

  A few minutes later, we were loaded and ready. The horses were stamping their hooves, eager to get underway. I couldn’t blame them. I wanted to get back home and be clean, warm and fed. I couldn’t wait to see my wife and kids. The thought made me smile.

  I picked up my Hoolie bar and headed over to open the bay door. Grabbing the chain, I started pulling it open. I heard Spec-4 gasp as the door slid upward. I looked out the door to see three Frostbiters coming right towards us. They must have been attracted by the sound of the door opening.

  “Oh shit,” I muttered.

  “Shoot them!” yelled Eric.

  “It won’t do any good,” shouted Spec-4. “Bullets don’t penetrate their frozen heads.”

  Slapping the Hoolie bar into my hand, I readied myself for the coming fight. Behind me, Eric grabbed a fire axe off of the truck and stood beside me. He looked worried, but resolved to stand and fight.

  “We leave together or we die together,” he said, nodding at me.

  “Good,” I said, smiling.

  “For a hot shower,” he said, nodding. “I’m fighting for a hot shower.”

  The Frostbiters were closing the distance much faster than I expected. The one in the front had to be seven feet tall. The two behind it weren’t much smaller. I could see thick layers of ice built up on them like armor. Their skin had turned a pale blue and tinged the ice with a hue like a glacier. They were terrifying to behold.

  “What the hell are those things,” said Eric. “Why aren't they frozen?”

  “I don't know,” I replied. “There's something going on here we don't understand.”

  I didn’t want to think about what that might be, but I could only think of one source. Somehow there had to be a connection with Loki. If they were just zombies, they should have been frozen solid. Not only were they moving, they were moving fast and were showing signs of intelligence.

  As they approached, they fanned out to flank us. Eric gave me a surprised look and shook his head. I shifted the Hoolie in my hands and turned the pick side out. I could see Eric raise his axe and nod at me. We were as ready as we were ever going to be.

  “I’ll take the big one,” I said. “You get the one on the left. Whoever finishes first can go after the other one.”

  Without a word, Eric turned and charged the one I had indicated. I couldn’t watch him attack because I had my own problems to deal with. The big one was almost on top of me. With a roar of challenge, I charged with the Hoolie raised above my head.

  Just as it reached for me, I leapt to the side to avoid its outstretched arms. With a powerful swing, I brought the bar crashing down on its left forearm. With a crunch of ice and bone, the arm shattered to the elbow and scattered into the snow. It turned to reach for me with its right arm as I drove the head of the Hoolie into its midsection.

  The blow had no effect, other than to crack some of the ice that had built up on its abdomen. It let out a low moan and swung an ice-clad fist at my shoulder. The force of the blow knocked me sprawling onto my back into the snow. As it bore down on me, I rolled to the left and smashed the Hoolie into its right knee.

  With a crunching of ice, the behemoth lost its balance and fell onto its knees. Before it could rise, I leapt to my feet and slammed the Hoolie into the back of its skull with all the force I could muster. Ice and bone gave way beneath the steel spike on the end of my weapon and it shuddered as it fell onto its face.

  “Wylie,” shouted Spec-4, “look out!”

  I turned to see the third Frostbiter charging up behind me. Just before it reached me, Eric appeared out of nowhere and drove his axe into the back of its knees. As it fell, I stepped towards it and swung the Hoolie like a baseball bat. I caught it full in the face as it fell, combining the forces into one massive blow. My hands were shook numb from the impact and the head shattered into blue, gray and red chunks.

  I glanced around to find that Eric had already dispatched the other one. I smiled at him and gave him an approving nod. He had just proved himself in battle, as far as I was concerned. He could have run or he could have let it kill me, but he stood and fought beside me. How could I ask for anything more than that?

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” said Eric, breathing heavily.

  “I’m with him,” agreed Spec-4. “Let’s move out before more of those things show up.”

  I nodded to Eric and he headed for Willow. He climbed awkwardly into the saddle, but adjusted quickly. I took the reins and climbed on Ebon. Spec-4 grabbed my arm and I pulled her up behind me. We settled into comfortable positions and I gave Ebon a gentle kick to the flanks.

  We trudged off into the snow, with Eric following close behind me. I could see dark clouds gathering to the north. From the cold wind on our faces, I could tell that another storm was coming our way. Now we had a deadline to meet. If we didn’t get back before the storm hit, we would have to wait until the snow melted to make it home.

  I pushed the horses as hard as I dared, trying my best to outdistance the storm. We were lucky that we didn’t run into any more Frostbiters along the way. In less than an hour, the air temperature had dropped at least twenty degrees. By the time we reached the edge of the park a few hours later, it was snowing thick, heavy flakes.

  Visibility was down to less than a hundred yards when I saw the gates of our perimeter appear out of the white curtain. Reaching into my pack, I took out my small handset radio and turned it on. It took a few seconds for it to synch-up before I could transmit. When it locked onto the frequency, I nodded at Spec-4 and hit the key.

  “Homebase,” I called, “this is Papa Bear. Do you copy? Over.”

  “We read you loud and clear, Papa Bear,” said the voice of Cal Sanders. “It’s good to hear from you. We were starting to think we wouldn’t hear from you until the spring thaw.”

  “It was a near thing,” I replied. “We tried to beat the storm back, but we didn’t make it.”

  “Where are you now?” he asked.

  “Fifty yards south of the main gate,” I replied. “We’re cold and hungry. Have any of the other teams made it in?”

  “You're the last one to check in,” he replied. “We were starting to think they got you.”

  “Not me,” I said. “Just late to the party. We're glad to be home.”

  “Copy that,” said Sanders. “We’ll get someone down there to let you in.”

  “Clear,” I said. “We’ll be coming in one heavy. We found a new recruit.”

  “Bringing in strays, now?” he asked, chuckling.

  “Something like that,” I said. “I’ll explain when we’re inside. Out.”

  We cleared the outer gate and headed down the ramp into the Facility. At the vehicle entrance, a reinforced gate of steel and conex boxes had been erected to serve as a second line of defense. It was there in case the perimeter fence was breached. We learned that lesson the hard way when the Freemen hit us. The secondary gate could withstand just about anything that could be thrown at it. Well, unless they had a tank. That would probably do the trick.

  The temperature increased the moment we entered the Facility. When the gate clanged shut, the cold draft stopped. There was a small army of people the
re to greet us. My wife and the kids were there with both dogs. Everyone seemed excited that we had made it back.

  I helped Spec-4 down and then climbed off of Ebon. Behind me, Eric climbed off of Willow and glanced around nervously. I removed my gear from Ebon’s back and sat it on the ground beside me. The former security officer that I referred to as Lasagna came up and took the reins from us. It turned out that Lasagna was good at taking care of animals, so we put him in charge of the livestock and the horses. He led them off towards the area that we had set aside as a barn.

  Karen came up to me and knocked the snow off of my chest and shoulders. Then she unwrapped my shemagh from around my head, kissing me softly.

  “Welcome back,” she said, smiling. “It’s about time you decided to come wandering back in.”

  “If we hadn’t beaten this storm,” I said, “you might not have seen us until spring.”

  We all headed for the area we’d set up as the cafeteria. They had hot coffee and food sat out for us. Eric looked like he’d been offered his wildest dreams. We all dug in with a voracious appetite. I didn’t want to eat too much and make myself sick, but it was just so good to eat real food.

  By the time I’d downed my food and my third cup of coffee, I felt almost human again. Sanders and Bowman led Eric off to get him quarters, clean clothing and a hot bath. Spec-4 headed off to her own quarters while I returned to mine with my family. Karen joined me in the shower and helped me get the worst of the grime off.

  After taking the straight razor to my scalp and face, I felt renewed. The goatee was thick and long now, and as white as the snow. My head and the sides of my face I kept shaved smooth whenever I could. It was a small thing, but it made me feel better about my situation. In the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse, it was the little things you cherished the most.

  I slept, for the first time in over a week, in the arms of my wife. I had the Viking dreams again, but they were vague and hard to recall once I woke up. I’d long since accepted the dreams as a vision from the All-Father, showing me where this plague had come from. I wasn’t sure how it had disappeared for so long, but now it was back and the All-Father was sending me a message.