Bobi met him on the landing, thrust a duffle bag full of clothing into his arms and raced back inside. No words were exchanged but he somehow knew what was required of him. He dashed to his unit and tossed the bag inside, leaving the door open to expedite his next trip. Hannah and the officer crossed paths as she stormed toward the Jeep, her arms extended and wrapped tightly around a large, brown box of groceries. “Need help?” he asked. She shook her head indicating no and slipped past him. Within minutes the crew was loaded and ready to roll. Raven was the last to leave, taking a second to fumble with the keys to the old place, wanting to lock the door.
“That can wait!” Mick shouted.
“It’ll just take a . . . there, got it,” Raven said, more to herself than the others.
“Your guns . . . they loaded?” Officer Nowicki asked. “You may not need to even use them, but better safe than sorry.”
Each of the women nodded an affirmation, holding a weapon against their chests, which rapidly rose and fell, as they listened to his instructions.
“Check ‘em again but keep them on safety,” he urged, pulling his sidearm from its holster and checking the chamber. “Good. I’ll lead. Hannah, you driving?”
“Guess so. What do you want me to do?” she confirmed and asked.
“Keep it tight. I hope we’ll be able to just drive right through them without a fight but they’re so unpredictable. If you have to shoot, watch your lines. Don’t want you shooting at each other or me. Questions?” There were none. “Okay, mask up and get your gloves on . . . they’ve got to be close.” The parties separated and loaded into the two vehicles. Raven slid into the passenger seat of the RCMP cruiser with the Winchester held firmly in her hands. “You comfortable with that old thing?” Ziggy inquired, tapping the barrel with his index finger.
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” she retorted, staring through the windshield, her thoughts her own and resting on her father’s plight.
He backed his way from the muddy drive and began the descent down the mountain and into the unexpected. He looked over at Raven, her set jaw and knowing stare telling a story, all its own. “You’ll be okay,” he assured her, taking a second to confirm that the roommates were close behind. The grill of the Jeep filled the mirror, bringing a quick smile to the officer’s face. “Your friend, ah, Hannah, she takes things pretty literal,” he said, nodding toward the back of the car.
The Falconer woman spun to see what he was talking about. She too smiled and said, “Yup, she sure does, but I wouldn’t want to be in this mess without her.” Raven reached her hand into the backseat and scratched the retriever’s chin. “She’s like this mutt here, loyal and friendly ‘til you back her into a corner.” The statement hung in the air for a few seconds before Raven continued. “Thanks for coming back.”
“What else could I have done? I certainly couldn’t leave you up there to be swarmed by a pack of Huskers.” He paused for a moment, being somewhat reflective, then said, “Something’s different today. I’m not sure what it is but I’ve seen them attack and kill each other and now they’re coalescing, forming groups. If they figure out how to use guns we’re really going to be in trouble.”
“You think that’s a possibility?” Raven asked incredulously. “They can’t even open up a can of tuna. How will they ever figure out how to operate one of these?” she questioned, tapping her rifle.
“Think about it,” he said, carefully taking a sharp turn and wondering when his lights would pick up the motley band of killers. “When a portion of the brain is damaged or a sense is lost, the mind utilizes what’s left to make up the difference. Some of these guys can speak. Not like you and I but there’s still some function and who knows, maybe they’ll eventually be normal and can return to society.”
“Or . . . it just makes them smarter Huskers, scarier than they are now,” she suggested.
He sighed, taking in a big gulp of cool, mountain air, “That would suck, eh?”
“Yes it would,” she agreed.
Rounding another switchback, the cruiser’s lights finally illuminated a large mass of people in the middle of the narrow road. The glaring headlamps stopped the advancing mob and in the same instant, brought the small convoy to a standstill. Pooch went crazy, running from one side of the back seat to the other, barking and scratching at the windows. The Mexican standoff continued for what seemed like minutes before a lead Husker, carrying a lengthy, human thigh bone, took a cautious step, then another, towards the cars. He was followed by a few of the more adventurous hunters, and then, as if propelled by some unseen force, the entire gang bolted forward. Some heaved stones; their animalistic war cries filling the night sky with acoustic squalls and guttural vibrations.
“What’s he waiting for?” Bobi asked, half-hanging over the front seat, her head below the rearview mirror and looking toward the lead car. “Oh . . . oh . . . Huskers,” she said, pointing beyond the cruiser at the agitated crowd. “Shouldn’t we be . . . like . . . moving or something?”
“I’m sure he’s just being careful, waiting to see what they’re going to do,” the school teacher suggested vocally while offering a quick, silent prayer on their behalf.
“Bobi, please tell me you’ll be okay with that machine gun,” Hannah whispered though her thin, linen mask.
“You doubt me?” she asked, dropping back into the rear seat and clutching the AK-47 in her tiny hands. “What’s going on up there? Shouldn’t we just roll right through them? Maybe they’ll just part and let us go.”
“Oh hell!” Hannah yelped.
“That’s not happening, Bobi. They’re charging. Get ready back there. God, help us.” Mick screamed, as Hannah matched the police cruiser’s speed, roaring towards the mass of virally-crazed Albertans.
Most of the Huskers had enough sense to dodge the oncoming battering ram but there were those who stood their ground, taking the reinforced bumper and grill head on. “Damn it, get out of the way!” Ziggy yelled, doing his best to avoid the bulk of the attacking horde.
Suddenly the ringleader appeared at the side of the car, swinging his carnal weapon and smashing the mirror on Raven’s side. She jumped, the action taking her by surprise as most of her attention was glued to the front of the car where two women had just bounced over the hood and into the windshield, cracking, but not destroying the barrier.
“Get us out of here, Zig!” she cried. Pandemonium reigned supreme for the few minutes they were trapped in the throng.
“How they doing back there?” he yelled, whipping the wheel right, then left, as bodies careened off the cruiser.
“They’re good . . . staying close,” she replied, after assessing the scene behind them.
Suddenly a sharp turn appeared in the road ahead. “Not what we need right now,” the officer said, unsure if he’d spoken out loud or not. He promptly applied the brakes, causing the rear end to spin sideways on the wet asphalt. The action threw Raven against the dash and she fell to the floorboards, her side colliding with the console. She scrambled to regain her position on the seat, the rifle’s barrel awkwardly prodding the cushion, then ceiling, as she tried to get her bearings.
“You okay?” an energized Ziggy shouted out.
“Fine. I’ll be fine.”
The officer hit the accelerator, righting the backend but not before Raven noted that her friends were in trouble. Positioned broadside in the street, the Jeep was stopped, an easy target for a bunch of angry Husker’s who had surrounded Mick’s SUV.
“Hannah, don’t hit ‘em!” Mick hollered.
“I’m trying. Believe me, I’m trying,” she shouted back. The dental assistant brought the Jeep to a standstill a few meters behind the police car. “Ziggy, get going!”
Before they could restore their momentum, a reinvigorated body of Huskers descended on the Jeep, hanging from and bashing at the body and windows. A toothless, middle-aged man smashed his face against the glass closest to Bobi, causing her to scream. He repeated the act, slamming
his forehead against the hardened glass until it fractured but did not give way. “Hannah, Mick!” she screamed.
Mick looked over the seat to see Bobi on her back, the AK-47 aimed at the window. “Don’t shoot unless they break through!” Her attention was immediately brought to her own window where a burly young man glared in at her, his brown eyes streaked with red and his mouth curled into a menacing grimace. Without warning, he leveraged his arm behind him, swinging it wildly and brought a large bone to bear on the passenger window. The human remain bounced but did not shatter the glass. He tried again, mustering greater force against the thin protective barrier.
In the driver’s seat, Hannah thrust the gear lever into reverse and gunned the engine. The unexpected motion threw a few of the Huskers from the Jeep, but not all. Ahead, she could see the car now moving around the sharp bend but then, just as quickly as it had started, it stopped. Hannah dropped the lever to ‘D’ and bolted forward, forcing the body of a lone Husker into a rear wheel well, bringing them to an abrupt halt.
“What’s wrong? Why aren’t we moving?” Bobi yelled, still ready to fire.
“I don’t know! There’s so many,” a near hysterical Hannah cried out.
Bobi’s eyes suddenly caught and fixed the toothless Husker’s crazed stare. For an instant, she was sure he saw or felt something beyond an insane urge but the image was fleeting as an explosion of brain and blood blasted him from her view. A rifle’s report sounded again and the Husker at Mick’s window met the same fate. Shell after shell sounded above the echo of the girl’s screams, as Raven and Ziggy unloaded on the swarm of merciless beings.
“Hannah, try it again. They’re giving us a chance,” Mick urged her friend.
Hannah alternated between the gears, rocking the obstacle from beneath them and ultimately spitting the corpse out from underneath the spinning tire. From their vantage point, Ziggy and Raven could see they were free and jumped into their car and rolled ahead. Finally demoralized like a pack of hyenas crushed by the brawn and superior savagery of a pride of lions, the Huskers retreated, harvesting their dead and dying for later consumption.
In the squad car, an exhilarated but stone-faced Raven tried to catch her breath. Her finger still shook on the trigger of the old rifle and a single tear ran down her face. When they were in the clear Ziggy reached over and squeezed her knee, “You did well back there. You going to be alright?”
She did not respond to the touch or question.
“Rave . . . Raven,” he said, more forcefully.
“Ah . . . I’ve never . . . ”
“I know. It’s hard. The first time is always the toughest, but you saved your friends and that’s what counts.”
“Still doesn’t make . . . ” She stopped and thought for a time, lost and unable to believe how her life had changed in just a few short weeks.
“I’ll make sure you’re protected tonight and then we can decide what to do with you. The jail is the safest place in town and you can even have your own cell. How does that sound?” he said, trying to lighten the mood and get her to open up.
“That’ll be fine. Ziggy, we owe you big time. Thanks.”
“Had to save somebody, might as well be the four of you.”
The remainder of the drive was quiet in both vehicles. The effects of the pandemic were truly more real and tangible than they had been before, and it tore at their hearts. Raven and friends weaved their way through the narrow streets of Banff, fearful but relieved to see they were abandoned. Once at the station, they unloaded and settled in for the night. The generator hummed and the lights brought a sense of humanity and civilization back to the shell-shocked women. Officer Nowicki did his best to calm and assure his guests but he could tell it was going to be a long night.
On a bench, in the middle of town and not far from the station, a lone man sat staring at a blaze of lights coming from a single structure. His plans – unsure, his needs – insatiable, and in his hand – the base of a hatchet, heavy and sharp: he bantered sketchy ideas to and fro, at last concluding to watch and wait. Time was not a factor, not to a killer with soft, feminine flesh on his mind.
Chapter 7
Narrow streets, generally crowded with bumper-to-bumper traffic, were bare. Sidewalks accustomed to dense, endless throngs of skiers, travelers and holiday shoppers were equally quiet and unencumbered. The city’s power, non-existent for days, pushed those still hanging on to search for homes with gas or propane heat. ‘Adapt and improvise’ were keywords repeated over and over again around kitchen tables and fireplaces throughout the small community. It had been some time since the last snowfall and temperatures had stabilized near zero. Puddles that were liquid by day froze overnight, creating mirror-like hazards to be avoided first thing in the morning. The locals knew the routine but visitors, too often, learned the hard way with resultant broken bones and bruised rumps. A thermometer, designed to look like a candy cane being held by a grizzly bear, hung on an exterior wall outside a souvenir shop kitty-corner from where Nathan sat, rubbing the scruff of beard that covered his face. It itched and irritated the self-proclaimed leader but he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it, other than to scratch when the urge hit.
A lack of humidity and warmer temperatures had proven beneficial for the Huskers, hunting had been good and the pack was ‘learning’. Learning the way a wolf cub watches its parents track, surround, attack and consume prey. The assault on his group in the early hours of the night had caught Nathan off guard. They’d battled for supremacy before, losing some along the way, which neither mattered to him nor gave him pause, but there was something about the blatant attack that troubled him. He tried, without success, to comprehend the range of emotions that raged just below his consciousness. Fear, anger, excitement, lust and a consuming hunger to satisfy them all – right now, was boiling up inside him as he watched movement in the building across the way. Had he been restored to his full capacity after the infection he would have recognized the neurological and hormonal rush to be the result of a salacious desire for power and revenge. The carnal impulse placed him just above the animal order his followers so perfectly mimicked. Nathan, still more beast than human, thirsted for the next intoxicating release of endorphins to flood his system and make him ‘feel’. He’d felt it the night before, chasing and killing the hikers, then again when he’d taken the woman in the shower, and he would feel it again, soon.
Light suddenly jumped out at the Husker from across the street but did not envelope him. The distance protected Nathan from view and the moon’s gentle glow did little more than provide an amber haze to the surrounding darkness. A door had opened and a slender woman with dark hair, extending from under a stocking toque, had stepped out onto a landing. She was quickly followed by a larger, male figure carrying an assault rifle. He watched the two interact, their silhouettes easily outlined against the backdrop of the partially opened door and the indoor lights. Rich, oxygenated blood pulsed through his arteries, the plasma picking up speed as his breathing synchronized with his thumping heart. A landslide of heightened senses and arousal spurred him to action and he dropped to a knee. Seconds later the hatchet was freed from his side, the metallic end pressed to the ground, supporting his weight.
Lurking in the dark he looked like a monster, ready to pounce and destroy, every muscle taut and nerve raw. Hours passed as he watched and waited for just the right opportunity to sweep in and strike. The projected, rectangular beam of light abruptly narrowed and then disappeared, being sucked back into the building from whence it had come. Nathan lowered himself to the ground and began the long crawl over the slick, wet surface of the road until his belly felt crystalline blades of grass scratching and digging at the tender flesh. The stalker army-crawled another ten meters before he knelt on one knee to survey his surroundings. When he did, an intense white-hot spotlight cut through the night, saturating the area in front of the building as if it were noonday.
Startled, and with the element of surprise gone, he di
d what his crude instincts dictated and demanded . . . he charged. Jumping to his feet he raced across the few remaining meters and bolted up the front steps, launching his huge physique against the wooden door, which gave way in large splinters around the frame. Shots rang out, first stitching a pattern of small ice explosions in the grass, then slamming into the structure’s wooden-logs as Nathan burst into the room. The young man, who had been on the porch, wielded the rifle in a panicked arc of destruction, shooting the slender woman in the chest and shoulder. She went down, her head striking a table before she had time to feel pain or react. Another woman darted for a pistol left on a couch cushion but she never made it, the heavy ended axe violently penetrating her temple, ending her life in a single crushing blow.
The heinous act pushed Nathan Edwards into a frenzy, devolving and acting like a crazed, out of control animal. He rolled and dodged, swinging the blade in an adrenalin enhanced rage. Young people screamed and tried to flee, forgetting the need to protect themselves and use their weapons. The assault had come on so fast and so fiercely that they could not, and knew not how to respond. A few, willing to stand their ground, crumpled under the emotional weight of a powerful, unstoppable madman in their midst, cutting and killing. Such bloodshed and terror had never been seen in the quaint resort town and there would be none to tell the story, as the last survivor ran screaming for her life down the steps and across the frozen lawn. Nathan followed close behind, lust clouding his vision but not slowing his strides.
Near the street he lunged forward, leaving his footing and tackled the tiny brunette. His heart beat like a racehorse at the end of a triumphant race as he laid on top of her, pressing her face into the frozen sod. He smelled her hair and licked at the sweat forming on the back of her neck. The dark-skinned woman begged for her life, offering anything if he would just let her go. Few, if any of the words registered with the brute, who held her still while he ground himself against her. Cries, which began as loud, exuberant shouts, slowly melted into shallow sobs and pleadings. She was dead and she knew it.
The Raven Falconer Chronicles (Book 2): Rise of the Huskers Page 6
