“He . . . he’s . . . ” Raven stopped and looked at her hands, clasped so tightly together the knuckles were white.
“We’re not sure where he is now,” Mick continued on her friend’s behalf.
“What do you mean, now?” Zygmunt asked.
“He was here a couple of nights ago. He’s infected but came to say goodbye. Shortly after he left we heard a gunshot. Rave and I drove down the road and found a dead Husker but no sign of her dad. You must have seen the body and the bumper on your way up here.”
“I’m afraid I did. Was the bumper his?”
“We’re pretty sure. The body was a neighbor boy, Benny, who we knew was infected,” Mick explained.
“Don’t know him but I think an older couple dragged his remains to their cabin and have been eating him. They weren’t all too thrilled to see me today.” The group sat speechless for a time, giving the man a chance to finish his soup and take in what had been said. Ziggy hated to broach the subject but knew it had to be done. “Miss Falconer, I . . . and stop me if you don’t want to know.”
“What? What is it?” she asked, rising to her knees before the officer.
“Your dad, was he driving a light colored Lexus?”
“Have you seen him? Where is he? Is he dead?” she blurted out, her hands mindlessly reaching and falling on his bent knees.
“I don’t know.” The response brought a look of disbelief from Raven, who cocked her head and wiped at her eyes with her shirtsleeve. “Really I don’t, but I have seen his SUV. I found it earlier today at the bottom of the mountain. It was still running but nobody was around. Looked to me like one hell of a fight took place in the cab but he was gone.” Something told him to hold back a further explanation and the conclusion he’d arrived at earlier, suspecting that Raven’s father had managed to walk to town.
“Oh no, no. Do you think he’s dead? Did it look like he was hurt?” she asked.
“I don’t know, there was an awful lot of blood but it may not have been his,” Ziggy suggested, unsure how he might smooth over the details and calm Raven’s anxious heart.
“If he’s left the Lexus, he’s either gone off somewhere to . . . I can’t even bring myself to say it,” Raven whispered.
“Rave, don’t do this to yourself,” Hannah calmly responded, kneeling at her friends side and smoothing her hair away from her face. “You can’t bring him back, not now. Remember what he said.”
“Thanks, Hannah. I know . . . it’s just so hard and not knowing is the worst part. What do you think, officer? What’s your best guess?”
He considered telling Raven about the handgun safely tucked away in his trunk, then thought better of it. Why cause her more doubt and anguish if he could prevent it? “If I had to bet, I’d say he took the pistol he used on the Husker and solved the problem himself. If he’s the kind of man I envision him to be, it’s the only logical explanation. I found tracks going into the trees and didn’t follow ‘em too far but I’m sure he’s in a better place.”
“You really think so?” Raven asked, squeezing his knees, desperate for a reply that would bring her some closure.
“I do.”
Raven sat back on her haunches, pulled her hands from his legs and wept openly. Hannah cradled her and offered words of comfort, as Mick and Bobi joined the grieving woman on the floor. The display of raw emotion affected the young veteran more than he’d thought possible. Tears burned their way down his dry, windblown cheeks and moistened his attire. He stood, looking for an escape but understood there would be no true liberation, not now, not ever. At least, not from the sadness and grief the world would continue to inflict on those who chose to survive.
Reaching deep, he pulled himself together and prepared to make his way back to the station. “Listen ladies, I appreciate the hot meal. Wish I could have been the bearer of brighter news but I’m glad to see you’re all safe and doing better than one might expect. I need to be getting back. Heaven only knows what’s happened today while I’ve been gone.”
“Do you have to go?” Bobi asked, coyly passing a knowing look at Hannah.
The suggestion was almost like a dream come true and perhaps under different circumstances he would have taken the brown, little beauty up on the implied invitation, but something more inbred and caring replied from his heart. “Wish I could but I’ve got an entire town relying on me. I need to get back.”
“What would you suggest we do? Any hint help is on the way?” Mick asked.
“None. Just stay here, keep your heads down and don’t go anywhere without each other and your guns. Beyond that, I don’t know what to tell you. Oh, there is one thing. You have Huskers all around you and probably good people too. I have no idea how many or how far but with the warmer weather they may venture out, especially when their food supplies diminish.”
Hannah gave Raven a final hug, then turned to face the RCMP officer. “What if we don’t have a choice? What if one of our neighbors decides we’re next on the menu? Do we have the right to . . . you know? Do we have the right to shoot them?”
“You do what you have to do,” he said, thinking back to the couple they’d been forced to kill earlier in the day. “As far as I see it, there are no laws governing our actions but those of good people trying to survive in unrealistic circumstances. Let your conscience be your guide and shoot straight.”
“We hear you and thanks for coming,” Mick concluded, extending her hand and warmly taking his in a strong embrace. “Will we see you again?”
“I sure as hell hope so!”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that. Will you be coming this way again anytime soon?”
“Likely. I don’t know when but if you get lonely for some male companionship you know where to find me.”
The three roommates followed Nowicki onto the front porch and said their goodbyes. Raven listened from her spot near the fire, summoning the courage to express her own thanks and farewell. From where she sat, the faintest of dialogue reached her ears, the young man offering his best and his parting thoughts for her. She leapt to her feet, wiped her face with the bottom of her shirt and bolted for the door. The sudden movement and rush startled everyone, including Ziggy, who turned and caught Raven as she embraced him and kissed his cheek.
She was never an impulsive woman nor was she forward, in any sense of the word, but times were changing and so must she. “Zygmunt, thank you.”
“For what?” he questioned, enjoying the softness of her curves, which she pressed against him.
“For helping to take the hurt away. It’ll take time but I appreciate you being there for us. I won’t forget it.”
The lie suddenly seemed much larger than it had a few minutes ago. He pushed it away: down into the recesses of his mind, hoping he’d never have to explain his actions further but only time would tell. “Glad I could be of help. Good night,” he said, as she pulled herself away and waved a gentle adieu.
The hug and softness of her lips clouded his thoughts. An overwhelming call of duty drove the cruiser back down the Norquay trail but his wants and desires longed to be encircled in the warmth and friendship he’d felt while surrounded by the beauties in the remote cabin. His mind propelled him back to long nights in Afghanistan where he yearned for the touch of a loving woman and the understanding call of her voice. He’d shared intimate moments and known love but it had been too long and too little, and now with the world disintegrating all around them, he wondered if he’d ever know it again. Perhaps, he thought, if I play my cards right and can manage to stay alive.
A smile slowly lifted the corners of his mouth as he rounded a steep, angular curve in the road, lifting his headlights away from the pavement for just a moment only to bring them back again, illuminating a horde of Huskers tramping steadily up the roadway. Without a second thought, he executed a panicked three-point turn and gunned the engine for the cabin. Huskers rushed to beat at the windows, some hurling stones and sticks but all falling short as the cruiser fishtailed ahead.
Minutes later, with the siren wailing and the lights flashing, he skidded to an abrupt stop in front of the cabin. The girls rushed outside to see what had caused the unexpected, outlandish return. Officer Zygmunt Nowicki rushed towards them, his face white and a tremor to his voice, “You can’t stay here! Get your things. They’re coming, dozens of them, they’re coming! You’ve got to go.”
Chapter 5
Nathan Edwards, one time Canadian Olympian and sharpshooter, stood under a steady stream of water that pelted his skin, turning it pink and warm. He’d spent the day sleeping in a large comfortable bed on the third floor of the Banff Springs Hotel. The night before, his ever-expanding following of Huskers had raided the historic building, sweeping from room to room and floor to floor in search of victims for food. A hapless collection of European backpackers had been found hunkered down in the tower’s west wing. They made easy prey for the ravenous cannibals who savaged those too scared or weak to run, leaving the fleeing few to be hunted and stalked by Nathan and his merciless companions.
The Huskers had gorged on fresh meat, satisfying one of their basic, driving urges, only to be lost in the perpetual need to fulfill other wanton, baser obsessions. Some, with their bellies full, wandered about the elegant hotel, as if making a lost connection, while others pawed and groped one another’s blood stained flesh, copulating like wild animals, their grunts and groans filling the air. Those infected, too far-gone to be considered normal but with a vestige of active cerebrum, chose to congregate away from the others. Communication was limited but possible, some speaking audible words and others drawing or miming their intent.
Edwards took it all in, feeling stronger each day and sensing a change, not only in himself but also within the dynamics of his wretched troop. No true affection existed among any of the group but a tolerance; an understanding prevailed, where previously only assaults and savagery had dominated the Husker collective. Nathan still lacked memory or the ability to construct abstract thoughts or plans but connections were being made. Things that he’d done hundreds, if not thousands of times, were coming back, not so much as memories but as instinct, engrained in his being over the years of repeated activities. This growing, innate ability had pushed him into the shower, first fully clothed, then drawing on the islands of functioning brain matter, he shed his filthy garments and watched the cascading water rinse the stench and blood away. A mixture of blackened plasma and water churned at his feet, almost beautiful to behold but lost on the Husker’s leader.
From where he stood in the glassed-in enclosure, an image of a woman lying on the bed could be seen in the bathroom mirror’s reflection. She was blonde, with long, sleek legs and naked from the waist down. Her face, though expressionless and lost to sleep, was covered in bruises and scratches, the signs of hard-fought battles, waged and won the night before. Nathan grunted and yelled to be heard above the sound of the jetted shower nozzle. “You!” She stirred slightly but did not respond. Again he vocalized the call, louder and shriller. The woman slept on, ignoring his summons.
Agitated and dripping-wet, he lumbered from the bathroom, clutched her around the throat and lifted her from the bed. Her feet dangled above the floor, his powerful arms suspending her weight while she sputtered for air. He stared into her blue eyes, no memory of having brutally taken her just hours before. Then, as on other mornings, exhaustion had shut his eyes, quieted his racing thoughts and she had stayed on with nowhere else to go. Finally, he released his strangle hold on her neck and pushed her ahead of him, into the shower’s fresh spray. She looked about, bewildered and unsure what was happening. Nathan stepped in behind her and ripped her clothes away, rubbing his hands over her body, shearing the sweat, blood and stink away. The blonde, no more than a pliable doll, gave into his manipulation and then his prodding, before he pushed her from the stall and lapped at the water splashing his face.
Tonight would be no different than the past few; the barbaric company of Huskers tramping from one location to the next, adding mindless recruits to their band, while overwhelming, then consuming any who opposed them. What seemed like a random, hapless collection of lost souls was growing stronger every day, the laws of nature controlling behaviors, long since buried in the human psyche. As their strengths and abilities were growing, fueled by, what seemed to be an endless supply of fresh, human meat, the desperate survivors held out hope for a miracle, anything that would free them from the nightmare of being hunted by night and starving by day.
Some citizens had crossed the line of ‘decency’ and were shooting Huskers on sight, their sense of humanity dwindling and vaporizing in conjunction with their strength. However, guns were rare in the resort town, there was no need, hunting was prohibited within the park and crime was almost non-existent. Unlike many American cities where citizens were armed and ready to defend themselves, Canadians, for the most part, had not been raised in a culture of guns and violence. For years liberal leadership had slowly stripped gun rights away from the average citizen and vested all powers in the military and police. The same politicians, many now just bits of undigested tissue in some Husker’s belly, were only able to appreciate their ignorance for days before they fell prey to their own short-sightedness.
Nathan, dressed in clean attire with the hatchet fixed to his waistband, strode through the compromised hotel, urging his followers to join him. Most, eagerly heeded his grunts and calls, pulling themselves away from acts of foolishness or depravity, anxious to fill their needs once again. A small pair, Shlomo and his sister, Elina, quickly found their position close to his side: though ravaged by the virus, they held an unusual fondness for one another and their leader. Somehow, through the days and nights of unrestrained brutality, they had remained ‘children’, unrepentant killers and cannibals, nonetheless, but the siblings exhibited an odd behavioral need to frolic and interact on a different level than those who were adults when infected. Edwards acknowledged their presence with a deep, slow utterance, “Good”.
Standing in the lobby atop a beautifully upholstered divan, the adrenalin-filled leader barked out unidentifiable orders, pointing at some, while mimicking acts of violence. The few in the group who had enough cerebral function to comprehend Nathan’s antics pulled clusters of Huskers to them, some speaking to the nearly deaf and moronic but encouraging and whipping them into a frenzy of bloodlust with savage intent. The virally tuned army marched from the opulent hotel and north along Spray Avenue, a small cluster of lights from a nearby subdivision drawing them in like bees to a flower. The horde, an awesome parade of misfits, bellowed and howled, as they surged forward, unable to contain their excitement and need.
Suddenly a tan pickup appeared from a narrow side street, parked sideways in the road and spun a large spotlight onto the riotous crowd. Nathan ducked, reaching behind him to drag the siblings with him, only a second before flashes of light erupted from the back of the truck, sending a hail of lead into the Husker’s ranks. Men and women dropped, a few hit by the deadly fire, as others scattered for the trees lining both sides of the street. Nathan weaved a pattern through the dense cover, working his way to the truck and the enemy occupants, but he was too late. The engine’s exhaust filled the night air with fumes, leaving behind a half-dozen dead and wounded Huskers.
For the self-proclaimed Banff Security Force the assault had been successful and they would be back, more organized and better armed but for tonight they would retreat to the safety of the tourist information center. Over the past few days, the fed-up and daring young people had turned the structure into a fortified bunker. Their agenda: by day they would seek out the Huskers and eliminate them, and during the long, dark nights they would lick their wounds, stand their ground and prepare for the next day. A vision of the future was no longer measured in months, or years but in mere hours and days. Hope stretched thin for the last of the survivors but they would not go down without a fight.
The night’s hunt for red, rich meat had been more successful than most of the
Husker’s had bargained on. Their comrades, both the dead and the dying, were dragged back to the warmth and relative safety of the Banff Springs Hotel and consumed at a leisurely pace. The remains provided ample nourishment for the scores of Huskers left behind to continue their ghoulish mission. They’d be at it again once pangs of hunger ripped at their insides and sent them into the night, scouring neighborhoods for victims and an easy meal.
Nathan leaned against a pillar at the front of the hotel, a strip of bicep draped strangely from his fist as he stared into the night. Bits of information slowly built into an almost perceptible plan, ideas collecting then exploding into nonsense. He battled with the notions for a time, walking back and forth, the act somehow helping to focus his thoughts. Stopping, he thrust a bloody hand down to the heavy-ended blade at his side, cast an eerie glare at the hotel’s entrance, turned and ran into the darkness.
Chapter 6
“What do you mean, ‘they’re coming’?” Mick shouted at an overwrought Ziggy. “Who could . . . ”
The officer quickly closed the distance between himself and the ladies, stirring Pooch’s protective nature and causing her to growl and bark uncontrollably. Zygmunt excitedly waved his hands, cutting off Mick’s next question as he yelled orders above the howling dog. “There’s no time . . . Huskers, dozens of them, headed this way. You’ll never be able to hold them off. Get what you need, only the bare necessities, and come with me!”
“Good crap, I knew it would come to something like this,” Bobi yelled, before she spun back into the cabin and started throwing her things together. Her roommates followed, chaotically running into one another, until Mick grasped their attention with a high-pitched, shrill whistle.
“Hannah, lug those unrefrigerated boxes of food outside. And you,” she said, pointing at Bobi, “Gather up your stuff and Hannah’s and get it out to Ziggy. He’ll know what to do. Raven, weapons . . . get all of ‘em and the ammo too. Hannah will drive my Jeep; you take Pooch in the cruiser. Bobi and I will ride shotgun for Hannah. Come on, come on . . . move it.” The teacher sounded more like a drill sergeant than a school teacher, but some days, even in elementary school, the job was the same. Mick joined the orchestrated evacuation, sweeping through the small cabin, grabbing anything that looked important, while outside; Pooch finally gave the big man an approving sniff and let him mount the steps.
The Raven Falconer Chronicles (Book 2): Rise of the Huskers Page 5
