The Raven Falconer Chronicles (Book 2): Rise of the Huskers
Page 4
He swung through town, avoiding the government building and the scene he’d left there. Near the train station he noted a couple of middle-aged Huskers rummaging through a dumpster in search of food. Flipping a toggle on the console spun the lights and sounded the siren for a moment; capturing one of the disheveled’s attention but not stopping their attempts at foraging. What the hell? I hope they find something to eat and stay out of trouble. The road that ascended the mountain and led to Norquay was fraught with switchbacks and avalanche sites, testing both driver and equipment. Normally his tires would have been swapped for the season but the sudden arrival of snow and the dreadful virus had put those mundane, but necessary events on hold, along with everything else but the need to survive. He passed under the Trans-Canada Highway, relaxed the pressure on the gas pedal, rolled to a stop and eyed the road ahead. At the mountain’s base a snow covered meadow meandered through sparse stands of pines, often the home to the regions plentiful deer and elk. Today the scene was still. An occasional track marred the blanket of white but for now, the offenders were in hiding, seeking warmth and safety elsewhere.
Zygmunt had often used the small gravel parking lot at the extreme edge of the picturesque expanse to enjoy his lunch and watch the wildlife. Just a month ago he’d seen a large black bear lazily chewing berries from a bush, not thirty feet from that exact spot. In his mind he contrasted the beauty, peace and calm that laid before him with the unexpected, chaotic charge of the Huskers earlier in the day. He closed his eyes and pushed the thought from his mind, imagining it to be a world away, on another continent more accustomed to killing and death, which he understood too well.
"Okay Ziggy, four wheel drive or not, I better give this a try," he said, smiling at the prospect of running into the four attractive young women again.
Slowly accelerating the patrol car, the sea of white undulated in his peripheral vision like gentle waves pitching on the ocean’s surface. His stomach matched the motion, forcing bile to the back of his throat and prompting him to race across the valley’s floor. Nearing the opposite side of the great expanse he spotted an SUV, not so much parked, but haphazardly slammed into the logs, which lined the parking area he’d often used. Scanning his memory he tried to put a name or face to the light colored Lexus, but could not. However, he was quite sure the vehicle had not been there a day or two ago. The young RCMP officer brought the cruiser to a standstill at the rear of the SUV. Out of habit he reached for the radio to call in the plate and keyed the mic before he realized what he was doing. "Idiot," he said, laughing and slamming the handheld transmitter back onto its perch. From his vantage point he couldn’t see anyone inside the vehicle but it was running, as a steady stream of exhaust belched from the rear pipe.
Ziggy placed the unit in park and reached again for the handset, toggling the switch to external speaker. "Driver, exit the vehicle with your hands up." Better safe than sorry, he thought. He repeated the attempt two more times before exiting the comfort of the car, smoothly sliding his pistol from its sheath and holding it ready at his side. Cautious and deliberate, far more than he’d ever been in his entire life, including his time overseas, he sidestepped wide of the open door, giving him a better view into the interior. It was indeed empty, void of life but covered in the remnants of a battle for survival. Blood, frozen in place, decorated the fine upholstery with what Ziggy knew to be pieces of bodily tissue, grotesquely ice-bound in islands of red plasma.
Finally assured all was safe, he returned to his cruiser and pulled on his heavy coat, gloves and mask. Standing at the open door of the running Lexus he surveyed the SUV’s contents without touching anything. Why risk contamination if I can help it, he thought. Small, shattered pieces of glass littered the interior, some streaked with blood, especially those still attached to the frame. The roof of the cab was particularly savaged with spattered blood and brain matter, a hole punched through the metal housing, just to the side of the sunroof, helped Ziggy mentally construct what he thought had happened. Satisfied with the inspection, Officer Nowicki walked around and opened the passenger door, ducking he pulled another piece of the puzzle from the floor mat: a Ruger .357 Magnum with a full compliment of shells in the cylinder, two of which had been fired.
He straightened his back and looked around, thinking to himself. Now why in the world would you go off and leave your only form of protection? “And where is the bumper?” He again inspected the front of the SUV, confirming a solid impact with the lot’s log enclosure but the bumper was definitely missing.
Ziggy walked a full 360 degrees around the Lexus, looking for anything he might have missed, before he reached in and spun the key in the ignition, silencing the engine. Picking up where the injured driver had walked away from the scene was not difficult. Footprints, highlighted with crimson droplets, painted a pathway, first across the meadow and towards the trees, then circling to the road, where the trail became significantly harder to follow. The somewhat baffled officer made his way back to the little parking lot, talking out loud as he did. “So this guy gets into a real knockdown, drag-out fight with a Husker. Yeah, has to be a Husker, but not here. Maybe in town and he drives, trying to get home and can’t make it or the battle takes place up the canyon and he’s headed for help. Anyway, this is as far as he gets, at least in the car, but why leave the Lexus? If he has the strength to walk, why not just drive the rest of the way home or help or . . .?”
The questions hung in the air, twisting this way and that as he ruled out plausible answers and scenarios. He popped the cruiser’s trunk and placed the revolver into a Ziploc bag along with the gloves he was wearing. From a large blue bottle he liberally covered his hands with sanitizer and rubbed the lotion into the skin until it was gone. Removing a pen and paper form his vest pocket, he wrote down the plate from the Lexus, kicked the RX350’s door shut and returned to the steady stream of warm air pulsing through his car’s vents. “We’ll see . . . he’s either dead or . . . who knows?”
By the time Zygmunt concluded his preliminary investigation and turned his attention to the roommates, a good portion of the afternoon was gone. He mentally calculated the time it would take him to drive up to ol’ Smugs’ cabin and back to the station, wondering if he had enough daylight to make the run under safer circumstances. “You’re hooped, Nowicki. Maybe they’ll have to invite me to stay the night.” He smiled; lurid images of a grownup sleepover distracted him for a moment before he pushed them aside and retorted, “I should be so lucky.”
Tall timbers shadowed the road from the late afternoon sun, setting deep to the southwest. The cruiser navigated the slick blacktop cautiously, slowing at each sheltered cabin and housing structure, as Ziggy made his way along. None were using lights, which didn’t necessarily mean the edifice was abandoned but perhaps the residents were not advertising their existence. At some, he swung the spotlight away from the patrol car and illuminated the dwelling but found no evidence of movement or survivors. It had been days, if not weeks, since he’d traveled so close to Norquay. One of the missing officers had been responsible for the area and he’d gone missing shortly after the Huskers started roaming the streets.
Three and a half miles up the winding parkway he finally encountered something beyond the norm. A man and a woman sat on a front porch rocking rhythmically in a pair of large wooden chairs. The spot’s intense beam panned across the earth between the car and the couple, removing shadows and uncertainty. “Huskers!” he grunted, as the light displayed the grisly remains of a near-headless torso and the cannibalistic Huskers, covered in gore and carnage. He instinctively reached for the auto-lock button on the armrest, double-checking his security. The woman of the pair took exception to being dazzled by the extreme light and stood, covering her eyes and stepping from the elevated porch. The man quickly followed and advanced down the steps to join her. Ziggy immediately doused the light and punched the accelerator, not wanting to send another couple to meet their maker so soon after the events of the morning.
The last few miles up the canyon were black and eerily quiet. Bits of snow and ice crunched beneath the tire treads as the temperature dropped and the day’s slush formed crystalline ridges along the road’s uneven surface. An arcuate sliver of yellow moon-glow provided little, if any help, in illuminating the roadway ahead. Zygmunt held the wheel tightly at the ten and two o’clock positions, just as he’d been instructed as a young man of 14. He slowly maneuvered the cruiser up the mountainous terrain, squinting, until he finally saw the lights of a small cabin ahead. This better be the place, he thought, bringing the car to a stop behind the Jeep he recognized as the girl’s.
Before climbing from the cruiser he flicked on the interior light and looked at himself in the rearview mirror; ran a hand through his thick, brown hair and used his index finger to polish his front teeth. It’ll have to do, he thought, extinguishing the light and stepping from the vehicle.
“Hold it right there!” Came a trembling shout from the cabin’s porch. It was a little less friendly than the RCMP officer had anticipated but he smiled, knowing the young women were playing it safe.
Ziggy cautiously walked to where he could be seen by the sentry and introduced himself, his hands extended up and away from his weapon. “Ma’am, it’s me, Officer Nowicki. We met the other day, remember . . . I stopped you in Banff and I gave you the rifles.”
As he completed the last of his statement, Bobi’s roommates joined her on the porch, each toting a weapon, aimed directly at him. “Step up here a bit closer. You don’t sound the same. I want to make sure it’s you.”
“Oh, it’s me alright but without the gas mask and other accouterments. I can assure you it’s me,” he said, stepping ever closer and eventually being engulfed in the bright beam of at least one flashlight.
Mick lowered her weapon’s muzzle but continued to blast the officer with the light’s brilliance. “What brings you so far from town this late in the day? This a social call?” she further questioned.
“Well, ladies, I wish I was here to tell ya the threat is over and you can go home but I’m afraid that’s not the case.”
“So why are you here?” Raven questioned, in a more mellow tone than Mick had used.
Officer Nowicki lifted his arm to block the light searing his retinas and replied, “Take this for what it’s worth . . . I was worried and just wanted to check in on you.”
“Isn’t that sweet. We were just saying this afternoon how helpful and . . . ” Bobi’s further explanation was hastily curtailed by Raven, who’d been the most vocal during the day’s discussion.
“Yeah, we were certainly appreciative of your help with the guns and all,” Raven said, casting a quick glare at Bobi and bumping her with her behind.
“Do you mind? I mean, the lights, could you give me a break?” Ziggy asked, waving his hand to exaggerate the discomfort he was feeling. A second later the conical beams were lowered to his feet and then eliminated. “Thanks.”
An awkward silence hung in the chilled air for a minute as Nowicki thought of his next sentence and the roommates whispered among themselves, debating their next move and who should act as their spokesperson. Raven won out, quickly descended the steps and greeted the young officer with a more friendly welcome. “Sorry for the guns and precautions but we’ve had our share of scares and well . . . you know what I mean, right?”
“Absolutely. Believe me I’m glad to see that you’re ready to shoot first and ask questions later. After the past couple of days, I’m afraid that’s the best policy,” he assured her, extending his hand to shake hers.
She looked down, then back at the girls, withholding her hand from the friendly gesture. “No offense, but how ‘bout you come in and wash up so we can get you a bite to eat. You hungry?”
“Uh, oh yeah, none taken. Something to eat would be awesome; haven’t had anything since this morning. I’ve been so busy I’ve not had time to even think about food.”
“We can’t offer you anything fancy but it’ll be hot,” Mick urged from the porch, swinging the door wide and inviting everyone back inside.
“Hot, now that’s an understatement,” Bobi whispered to Mick and Hannah, as she passed through the doorway.
Hannah swung the butt of her rifle, smacking the Egyptian in the behind and pushing her more quickly into the cabin. “Bobi, he can probably hear you.”
“So what, he’s gorgeous and I’m guessing, in need of some female companionship. You think he drove all this way for some mac and cheese?” Bobi yammered into her taller friend’s ear while pulling on her shoulder to make the connection.
“You may be right but give Raven a chance. She just lost her dad and could use a little ego boost.”
“I suppose you’re right but if he shows any interest, I’ll be all over him like jam on toast,” she half laughed, knowing what she’d said was somewhat true.
The girls welcomed the officer into the cozy cabin and directed him to the sink where he washed his hands and face. Raven stayed close by, appreciating having an authority figure in their home, and such a handsome one at that. Mick debated among the various soups piled neatly atop one another in the cupboard and finally chose two. “Chicken noodle or tomato?” she asked, holding the red-labeled cans for their guest to inspect.
“Let’s give the tomato a try,” he replied, after giving the option a second or two to resonate with his taste buds.
Rave tossed him a towel and opened the fridge. “Do you want me to cut up some cheese and put in the soup for you?”
The question swirled through his mind for a second and he lifted a brow. “I don’t know. Is it good?”
“I like it,” Raven replied. “My mom always did it for me when I was a kid. Kinda stuck with me. Can’t even think of having tomato soup now without it.”
“Then we better give it a try,” he said, winking at the young, would-be author. She smiled and turned her attention to the task of slicing the cheese into cubes. Bobi and Hannah invited the officer to join them in front of the fireplace, initiating small talk and grilling him with questions.
“Hey, you two give him a chance to breathe. I’m sure he’ll fill us in after he’s had a bite to eat and can warm up,” the teacher instructed from the stovetop.
The lab tech paused, but only briefly, before she continued her string of unanswered questions. “Nowicki?” she said, pointing to the stitching across his shirt. “Where you from?”
“Canada. How ‘bout you?”
“Same, but my parents immigrated from Egypt years ago. Nowicki is no way Canadian.”
“You’re right,” he said, pausing to take in the Falconer woman, busying herself in the kitchen. “My parents immigrated from overseas years ago but I was born and raised in Canada.”
“I thought as much,” Hannah offered. “Didn’t pick up much of an accent.”
“Oh, yeah . . . don’t really have one unless I’m around my folks for a couple of days, then it just naturally kicks in.” There was a moment of dense silence as the mention of family took the officer, and girls alike, to a place of thoughtfulness and remembrance. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but have
you been in touch with your families? I mean, all of you, have you gotten any word on how they’re doing?”
Bobi was the first to chime in, telling him about her family struggling to stay out of harms way further north in Alberta. Tall, slender Hannah simply shrugged and said she didn’t know what the story was with hers, even though she was holding out hope for their safety. Finally, Mick told him a little bit about herself as she presented him with a steaming bowl of soup with orange, melting blocks of cheese bobbing in the slurry mixture.
“And how about you?” Zygmunt asked, nodding at Raven. “Your folks okay?” The young man knew he’d struck a tender chord when each of the women lowered their eyes and Mick slowly shook her head. “Oh, Miss, I shouldn’t have intruded. Sometimes I overstep . . . ”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m a big girl . . . I’m . . . ” she hesitated, opting to return to the kitchen, pouring him a glass of cold, but nasty tasting powdered milk. She handed him the drink and plopped onto the floor near his feet and spoke. “My mom has been dead for years. She was a wonderful woman and in hindsight I’d have to say that I’m glad she went when, and how she did. I’d hate for her to have to see what the world has become. My dad raised me with a lot of help from friends and family. My uncle Smugs, the guy who owns this cabin, has been wonderful and I think he’s still doing okay. Last we heard he was in Lethbridge.”
“And your dad, where is he?” Nowicki inquired, listening intently and periodically blowing on a spoonful of smoldering soup.