It had been nearly a half-hour since they had heard or see any sign of the dead, so they stopped a few hundred feet out onto the ice, all of them sharing smiles and laughter. The grouped together and briefly discussed the possible whereabouts of the toboggans laden with their supplies. Will, being fairly immobile still sitting astride the snowmobile, was the first to notice that the snow drifts scattered about on the ice showed the signs of heavy foot traffic. As he snapped his head to and fro, examining the crusty footprints for some indication of direction, the row of trees and shrubbery along the south shore, just west of where they had come upon the ice exploded with movement.
All heads snapped about at the disturbance. As far west as they could see, the dead poured from the shoreline. They seemed to all be slow, but none had seen them in numbers this great. Their hearts fell and they watched, paralyzed in horror as tens of thousands of the undead shambled onto the ice, moving in pursuit.
“Why?” Laura screamed at them, her voice strained and hoarse as she stood atop the machine. “Why? Just leave us the fuck alone!”
Tim goaded her to sit back down and held her for a moment before speaking.
“Head east, to where they said they made camp. And, Laur,” he said, drawing her to look away from the dead.
“Yeah?”
“Be quick, please,” he finished, smirking at her.
*
“Tyler know you’re here? You doing his bidding?” Tar asked, his eyes narrowing, curious as to the man’s intentions.
“No. I came on my own.” Sam replied, gulping past a frog in his throat.
“Well, spit it out then. There ain’t no time for beatin’ round the bush.”
“Tyler is calling on all the ranchers and hands, trying to band together. He is spittin’ mad about what you said in the meeting. I don’t know exactly what he’s fixin’ to do exactly, but there is a lot of hard talk going around.”
Tar sighed heavily. He knew there might be some repercussions for the promises he made in the meeting, but he also knew he was right to say what he said. He couldn’t think of any other way to impress on the men that all of their lives depend on one another, that neither would likely survive the winter without the other. He had hoped that cooler heads would prevail, which is why he had given it a few days. Now, it seemed, that the opposite was true, that Tyler was drawing up for a confrontation. He thought for another minute about it before he resigned himself to a course of action.
“Alright, Sam. I need you to go let Tyler know that I’m coming out to talk some sense with them. Tell them you ran into me at Elsie’s, that I approached you. Hopefully, Daltry will be up to making the trip; maybe he’ll be more convincing than I was.”
“Alright, Tar, I’ll tell him. Just make it soon okay? Seems like the more time goes on, the more the hornet’s nest gets riled.”
Tar nodded and stood to shake the man’s hand.
“Appreciate it, Sam.”
As he turned to leave, Tar turned back to Nala.
“Maybe you and Yen can figure out the solution to security outside the barricades, Nala. I haven’t the time or inclination at this point to address the needs of strangers.”
With that, Tar turned and strode toward the exit.
“Tell Daltry that I need him, if he is up for it,” he shouted back over his shoulder.
“He needs rest, Tar,” Linda called back as she finished stitching the cut on Darla’s hand.
“You and I will catch up later,” Tar called as he moved out into the daylight.
As he stepped clear of the clinic, Tar walked to the edge of the parking lot and looked down the steep slope to the grim work underway. A group of five volunteers worked behind the municipal building, taking the day’s haul of corpses for burning. The image disturbed Tar as it was reminiscent of a scene from the Middle Ages. Is that where we are headed? he asked himself as he watched.
They were now rationing the remaining fuel in town for emergency purposes, so a pair of horses dragged a twelve-foot flatbed trailer filled with human remains. The townsfolk with family largely took care of their own; these bodies were that of the undead that came out of the forest and mountains, the ones that were dispatched by the patrols. They had chosen the back of the municipal building as it was previously a dump area for brush and recycling, but it was doubly useful due to its proximity to the hospital, where those who died in town, without family, often found themselves.
*
Tim could hear his wife cursing at him above the sound of the whine of the engine as they tore, full throttle, across the mottled surface of the lake. He knew she wasn’t really mad; her anger was just a vent for all the frustration, terror, and defeat they had been handed lately. Most of all, though, her anger was out of fear for Luna. The bond that mother and daughter shared was symbiotic, one where love and need were indistinguishable and inseparable. Since birth, Tim watched their bond with mixed gratitude and jealously from the outside. He had lost a bit of his relationship with his wife to that bond, but was eternally grateful for his daughter’s sake. It was only through that bond that they had survived so far, Tim was sure of it. Tim tucked his head into his wife’s back and tried to push away the dark thoughts that insinuated their way in. The ones where their luck runs out.
Five minutes into the breakneck dash across the south shore, the garish colors of their two tents came into view. They sat alongside their gear which was partially scattered in the haste to flee from the approaching undead. They all breathed a sigh of relief as Bjorn leapt off his machine and ran to the gas cans. The rest of the group hurriedly broke down and loaded their gear onto the toboggans. Within five minutes, everything they were taking with them was loaded and the fuel tanks were topped off. Their last remaining gas can was lashed down on a toboggan behind Bjorn. They left a good deal of their gear behind, on the ice, enough so that they could all ride in one trip.
They made haste across the ice, moving to the northeast as fast as the overburdened snowmobiles would carry them. They were all eager to be far from the dead cities of Windsor and Detroit. Two hours later, the sun dipped below the horizon and Bjorn slowed his sled to a stop, grouping up with the others.
“Stopping?” Tim asked, unsure of his friend’s motivations.
“I vote we keep moving. These things have headlights for a reason and the dead aren’t going to stop coming, not with the way sound travels on the lake,” Bjorn replied, staring into the distance behind them.
Reluctantly, Tim nodded agreement. He was extremely concerned that they would find open water and doubted that the headlights were bright enough to reveal it in time to warn them before taking an icy plunge. It was about two hours after sunset when the snowmobile that Jen, Will, and Chris rode on sputtered to a stop. Jen twisted the ignition over and over again. A loud, electric clacking noise came from the motor, but the engine wouldn’t crank. She flipped open the engine compartment and immediately could see the damage done to the motor. She knew just enough about motors from growing up around and hanging out with gear-heads to know that the snowmobile was done for. The back of the motor showed fresh metal, an obvious sign that it had thrown a rod.
“Fuck!” she screamed, slamming the compartment closed with finality. “Fuck!”
“What is it?” Bjorn asked as he came around on his snowmobile.
“The motor is shot. Done,” she replied.
“Now what do we do?” Will asked in a panicked voice to the others that had gathered around the broken down snowmobile.
“We either have to further cut down on gear or some will have to walk,” Bjorn stated coldly. “Probably both though.”
They aimed the headlights of the other two snowmobiles towards the broken down one to sift through the gear lashed behind.
“Who is walking?” Tim asked. “We need four to walk. We run it like we have since day one. Gear first then people.”
“Will, you ride one sled with Laura and Luna, Tim and Sophie on the other,” Bjorn called gruffly at them, hi
s tone instantly negated any argument.
“I can go,” Tim started to speak, when Laura grabbed him sharply by the arm.
“I’ve seen the way you’ve been limping since you used the last of those pain-killers. You’re going on the snowmobiles,” Bjorn snapped back.
Tim looked to his friend. He knew what the man was doing and he loved him for it, but Bjorn wouldn’t return his look.
“What we talked about, Tim,” he said, moving to kiss his daughter, still avoiding his friend’s gaze.
Since things first fell apart, Tim and Bjorn had talked about what would happen if either of them died. They had both vowed to take care of each other’s family if that were to happen. Tim immediately knew that’s what his friend was referring to, asking him to honor the agreement they had made.
“Be good, sweetie. Daddy loves you…you know that, right?” he said quietly into the little girl’s ear.
Sophie nodded her head vigorously before responding.
“I love you too, Dad. I’m hungry. Can I have one of those granola bars?”
“Sure thing, sweetie,” Bjorn said, turning his head away from the girl quickly so she wouldn’t see his tears.
Tim looked away at this point, leaving the man to dote on and spend time with his daughter. He was raw with emotion himself at the potential ramifications of his friend’s choice. Finally, once all the supplies were divided, Bjorn walked over to the sled that Will’s snowmobile pulled.
“Taking some ammo,” he said flatly, kneeling down by the two ammo cans.
When he opened one, he noticed something he hadn’t paid any mind to since they were in the Humvee. He thought about it briefly before he closed the lid and walked away with the can. In all, Nick, Chris, Jen, and Bjorn carried enough food and supplies to walk off the ice themselves, so it wasn’t a ‘goodbye’ goodbye, but somehow it felt like one. Jen and Will hugged and kissed and cried together atop the snowmobile they had shared, Will making Jen promise to come back, repeatedly. The rest said their goodbyes, keeping it as brief as possible so as not to set any unwanted emotions off. Tim gave his friend a big hug and whispered to the man.
“If things get bad, just run, man, just run.”
Bjorn nodded as Tim turned to move to the snowmobile.
“Oh, Tim…” Bjorn called back.
As Tim turned back to his friend, Bjorn slapped him in his crotch, dropping him to the ice like a stone. He looked up and Bjorn gave him a wide grin.
“You dick,” Tim called, looking up at his friend.
“That’s for dropping me on my head at my bachelor party,” Bjorn replied, smiling at him before he started walking northwards.
*
With heavy hearts, Jen, Tim, Laura and the children resumed their journey atop the two remaining snowmobiles. Will had left so much unsaid between he and Jen and was devastated at having to leave her. The two had grown so close to one another in the past few weeks their relationship was the most profound he had ever known. He loved her, respected her, and would die for her in a moment, but the one thing that he could not do was walk for her. He rode on through the night, long after his tears ran out and froze to his face, holding on to the hope that the morning’s light would bring his love back to him. Despite the hope that he clung to, the weight on his heart whispered dread thoughts into his ear.
Their movement was slow, the excess weight on the machines bogging them down, though even if it hadn’t, the anxiety of steering the snowmobiles across a frozen lake in the pitch black of night, would have. Even with the reduced speed, they nearly steered their snowmobiles into the flowing St. Claire River when they came to the north side of the lake. They quickly skirted around to the east when Tim’s snowmobile started pushing water up in front of its skis.
Once they were on the snow-covered north shore, they paused briefly in the darkness to decide on their best course. They chose, after a dispirited and short conversation, to continue northwards in search of a safe spot to drop both people and their diminished gear off before returning to search for the others. On, they rode, through the uninhabited, Canadian side of the river.
An hour and a half later, drained physically and emotionally, they stopped alongside Route 40 at a brightly lit petroleum storage facility. They sneaked under a concertina wire fence and set up camp on the other side. The yellow and blue lights scattered about the facility illuminated the entire area, allowing them to quickly set the tents up. The highway sign put them a couple miles south of Sarnia, on the other side of which lay Lake Huron. Tim refueled the snowmobiles from the last can as soon as the tents were set up and his family was inside with Sophie.
“You’re going back right now?” Laura asked, as he replaced the half-full gas can on a toboggan.
Tim nodded in response as Will twisted the ignition on the other snowmobile. The man waited impatiently as Laura and Tim spoke.
“You need some rest, hon; you’ve been going full steam ahead since yesterday morning.”
“I’ll rest when I get back,” Tim responded as he swung his leg over the seat of the snowmobile, settling atop it and turning the ignition.
“Tim…” Laura said coming over to him, settling her arm on his.
Will tore away on the other snowmobile, toboggans clattering about behind it. He could no longer wait while Jen was out there in the darkness.
“You can’t leave us, Tim. Not alone, you can’t.”
Tim set his head down on the steering bars of the snowmobile and cried, knowing that she was right. He hated having to make the choice to stay, but in the end, there was no choice at all. He would stay. Laura helped him off the snowmobile and over to the tent where he climbed in. Once inside the tent, he lay down with his wife and child and held them, both physically and emotionally drained. Their hearts were filled with dread of what fate held in store for the rest of their group.
*
No sooner than the sound of the snowmobiles faded into the distance to the north than the roars of the fast dead came rolling across the ice from the west. Nick panicked and flicked his flashlight on, afraid to be in the total darkness with the roars of the dead sounding nearby.
“Turn it the fuck off,” Bjorn hissed at him. “You want them to see us from across the lake?”
Nick did as he was told and the darkness enveloped them once again. The roars continued, although they could tell that they were still far off. Bjorn guessed they were coming from the western shore, where the suburbs of Detroit lay to the north of the city. He wasn’t sure how far from shore they were; a mile, maybe two. He wasn’t even sure if the dead could see, but if they could, he hedged his bets that the dead could see no better in the dark than the living could.
“We need to move quickly and quietly, that’s why it’s the four of us,” he said, suddenly feeling a need to explain to the others why he had doomed them to walk. “Will can’t walk, Sophie is too little, Laura is carrying Luna who could tantrum at any moment, and Tim is out of shape and still limping from when he got shot in the ass.”
He looked around expecting complaints, but the faces showed only fear and a need to be led.
“Let’s go. Be quick and be quiet,” he reiterated.
As they ran through the black night, on the black water, the roars echoed across the open ice continuously. They occasionally sounded closer than at other times, but they didn’t see any undead in those first few hours. When Bjorn’s wristwatch showed that it was just past midnight, he called for a rest. The sounds of the dead in the distance had them on edge and uneasy for the duration of the break. All of them, as tired as they were, were glad when the break was over and they were again jogging across the ice.
They were making good time, averaging a steady jog even with their heavy packs. Their crampons allowed them to move at a good clip without slipping and falling, but they made it much more strenuous to move at speed, having to yank their feet free of the ice beneath with nearly every footfall. Bjorn tried to keep the pace quick, but not exhausting. He wanted to make
sure they all had enough energy to run if the situation called for it.
Bjorn considered the possibilities at hand if they were set upon in great numbers, trying to view each of their potentials. He worried most about the teenagers; he knew they were in puppy-love. If they were attacked and one fell, the other might hesitate or even make a devastating choice out of grief. He wondered most about what Jen would do in that scenario. He wanted to believe that he would do whatever it took to see them all through to safety, but in his heart, he knew what he would do. He would leave them all without a moment’s pause. His daughter needed him, and given the choice of saving these strangers or making it back to his daughter, he would choose her without pause or hesitation. Sophie was the only thing that mattered now.
They broke again after another hour, when he saw the teens breathing a bit too heavily for his liking. They had just managed to catch their breath when Bjorn got them moving again. He didn’t want to give their bodies enough time to cool down. With the sub-zero temperatures and the exertion they were putting their bodies through, he wanted their energy focused on moving forwards rather than struggling to keep the blood pumping and bodies warm.
Heavy clouds moved across the sky overhead, changing their visibility from moment to moment. At times, they could see a hundred feet or more, at other times, the blackness of night surrounded them so that they couldn’t even see one another. Instead, they relied on hearing the swish of their pants and coats and their labored breathing to keep track of where each other was. They moved across the black ice marred in spots by the white of a crack or sporadic white drifts of crusty snow. They had been moving again for about fifteen minutes before a roar sounded from startlingly close, just to the west of them. Bjorn looked up at the North Star, and realizing their course hadn’t strayed, he knew the dead were in pursuit of them.
Harvest of Ruin (Book 2): Dead of Winter Page 31
