The Raven Falconer Chronicles (Book 2): Rise of the Huskers

by Dennis F. Larsen

  On the roof Ziggy screamed, “Alamo – Alamo – Alamo,” the word previously established as the fallback and evade signal. Men and women ran from their positions near the raised berm, leaving two sentries, motionless and dead. The bodies did not go unnoticed by the officer, who understood the subtle head shake from Willie, as he passed him on the way to the basement and their escape. “No one get’s left behind. When everyone’s in the garage we’ll move out,” he continued to shout, above the sounds of the melee taking place all around them.

  “Hannah, get Mick and the kids,” Nowicki said, grabbing her arm, before he plunged down the steps. Echoing up the stairwell, muzzle blasts carried from the lower levels, telling a tale of death and loss on the floors below. Ziggy bounded from one step to the next, his carbine poised at his shoulder and ready to fire.

  “Yeah, Bobi, come on,” Hannah yelled, spinning to run down the hallway where she knew Mick would be. At the door, she banged the butt of the rifle against the barrier. “Mick, it’s Hannah . . . Alamo! We’re moving out!” The door suddenly opened and Mick stepped outside.

  “To the basement?” the teacher confirmed. A second later the young mother, holding the four-year-old, scurried from the hotel room and moved toward the stairs. The women continued the call for retreat, shouting ‘Alamo’ and banging on doors.

  “Ziggy just went down these. They should be clear,” Hannah shouted. A handful of town’s people responded to the fearful cry and left their rooms, joining the small band maneuvering the stairway. Yelps of pain and distress were everywhere. So many that it was unclear from whom or where they were originating. On the main floor Zygmunt knelt in the doorway, his rifle smoking and two dead bodies nearby on the carpet, a native and a Husker.

  “Where’s Rave, Ziggy? Where’s Raven?” Mick exclaimed, an unmistakable panic rising in her voice.

  “I’ll find her and meet you in the basement. Get the trucks running and be ready to roll out.”

  Mick leaned over the crouching officer, squeezed his muscular shoulder and said, “You’ve got to find Rave. I can’t leave here without her.” He glanced back at her for a second and responded with a quick nod, before he bolted away, running along the main hallway.

  “Alamo – Alamo,” he shouted, but the opening of a door to his left, 10 meters ahead, stopped him. The carbine was immediately brought to his shoulder and he fired a quick couple of rounds into a pair of Huskers. The ferocious duo had taken their rage out on a lone tribesman, who lay dead behind them. Ziggy rushed to pass them, picking his feet up, well above the corpses, to avoid touching their blood-covered bodies. “Raven,” he yelled, straining to hear above the chaos and confusion.

  At the end of the hallway the RCMP officer could see a skirmish being fought for control of the inn’s main entry point. Darwin’s men had managed to crash through the barricade and were exchanging gunfire with the half dozen defenders, including Raven Falconer, trying to hold them back. However, the few GAW attackers were fighting a two-front campaign, as Huskers pressed to gain access, striving to overwhelm and then consume their prey.

  Ziggy slammed a full clip into the underbelly of his A1 Carbine and unleashed a fury of hot lead into the flank of the attacking, native men. Realizing what was happening; Trevor, Ponyrider and the remaining GAW members hedged their chances with the poorly armed Huskers and fled the entrance, leaving a path of wounded and dying cannibals in their wake. “Alamo, get to the basement – now,” Nowicki screamed, joining the others in a mad dash for the stairs and the vehicles below. Within seconds the foyer and hallways were overrun with Huskers, chasing down the straggling survivors and tearing at their flesh. Raven and the officer held their ground for an instant, firing into a never ending mass of fiends, dropping the lead few but not stopping their pursuit.

  “Your turn, Rave. I’m right behind you,” he hollered, pulling a stun grenade from his belt and lobbing it toward the swarm. He quickly repeated the ploy, detonating the pair of devices, in hopes it would give them the seconds they needed to flee the inn. Moments later they emerged into the concrete underbelly of the hotel and scampered for a running police cruiser.

  “Where are the rest?” Bobi shouted, concerned only half of those who had begun the fight were with them.

  “This is it! The Huskers have overrun the inn. There won’t be anyone else. We need to move out.”

  * * *

  Eli sat in the cab of the pickup, stunned at what he was seeing before him. The inn, where he suspected Raven and company to be, was under siege, but not by Huskers, rather by some heavily armed brigade. He hesitated to rush into the engagement; an axe would be useless against an opponent with an assault rifle. What can I do? Unexpectedly, in the very furthest reach of the truck’s headlights, a giant of a man was alerted to his presence and turned away from the hotel, charging into the lights. Eli panicked, seeing the behemoth raise his weapon, diminishing his chances of rescuing his daughter. The gunshot never came; instead a tidal wave of Huskers swept from a nearby alley and attacked Lou and his companions.

  Raven’s father was transfixed, unable to move or take his eyes from the spectacle. Men and women dispersed, some firing at the advancing gang of mindless beings, while others crashed through the inn’s windows as a possible place of safety. The large man stood his ground, shooting his rifle with one hand and tossing Huskers aside with the other, creating a fraction of time for his troops to get away. Eli watched the melee, feeling somewhat safe in the enclosed cab, but still overcome with need to reach out and help his daughter and her friends. The close combat, and in many cases hand-to-hand, life-and-death struggle, continued for minutes, both sides taking losses.

  Suddenly, a conical beam of focused light broke through the darkness, quickly followed by a huge truck barreling over fallen figures and knocking combatants out of its way. Several other vehicles emerged from the belly of the inn and sped up the ramp, dodging bodies in a desperate attempt to escape. They veered to the right, driving east, away from Eli’s position. The convoy’s departure prompted Falconer to action as he dropped the Ford into gear and rocked forward. It was then than he felt something, a vibration, like hitting a pothole. He looked into the rearview mirror but could see nothing behind him that would hamper his pursuit of the fleeing vehicles.

  * * *

  “Where’d they come from?” Chief Gladue yelled, when Trevor and a dozen weary, but alive, Braves trudged to a stop in front of him.

  “We had no choice – too many, couldn’t stop them,” Trevor said, panting to catch his breath.

  Darwin looked beyond the little band and questioned, “Where’s Lou?”

  Ponyrider and Arcand shifted uneasily before the chief. It was Ponyrider who finally answered. “He was at the back of the inn. We don’t know how many got out alive.” Gunshots still rang out from well down the street, but were diminishing, as Huskers settled in to ravage and consume their spoils.

  “Get to the trucks, we’ve got to find Lou,” Darwin ordered, whipping his pistol from its holster and flicking the safety off. Ponyrider, you drive. Trevor, take the rest and stop that RCMP officer, I want him alive, but dead would be almost as satisfying. Capture the rest, I will not leave Banff without some form of retribution!”

  Four vehicles scrambled from the roadside where they’d been parked, far from the conflict; two rushed to the inn with armed assailants firing indiscriminately at human targets. Huskers were hit and fell as Darwin, in the lead SUV, rushed to the rear of the structure, finding none of his people still standing. They punched it to the end of the street but the hulking native was nowhere to be found. “Turn around. He’s got to be alive. Follow this road until it merges with Banff Ave. There’s not a Husker alive that can take Lou down.”

  They drove on, looking for signs of Darwin’s friend, but could see none. For Darwin, a true sense of loss was abruptly replaced with shock, when a swiftly moving pickup roared up behind them and gently nudged their bumper. A man, riding on the rear window’s frame, nearly fell out
but caught himself and shouted to the others, “It’s Lou. He’s behind us. Looks like he’s stolen himself a new truck.” Darwin stuck his weapon out the window and fired a single shot into the air, waving for the other vehicles to follow him. His chances of ending the night’s score in his favor miraculously just got much better.

  A few kilometers away, Trevor sat in a black SUV in the burrow pit parallel to Highway 1. The other vehicle idled next to his, ready to deliver a decisive blow to the fleeing convoy as they endeavored to pass by. Arcand had carefully thought it through. The officer’s stream of trucks had left the inn, frantically making a dash for the eastern onramp to the freeway, taking them significantly longer to acquire the four-lane blacktop, but also avoiding the mass of Huskers, who blocked the access to the west. Now, with the battle at a lull, the two vehicles, loaded with GAW troops, had easily skirted the Huskers and were positioned to intercept the officer. It was perfect, really, and there was no chance Nowicki’s people would try to go east to Canmore or Calgary. Any foray in that direction would pit them against more GAW men and women, and the cop knew it.

  * * *

  The instructions from Officer Nowicki had been clear, as Willie and his wife remembered them. “Go east until you hook up with Banff Ave, follow it until you reach the freeway. Don’t stop for anything or anybody. Take the freeway west and we’ll hook up near Lake Louise. You might be on your own if trouble arises, but keep going until you’re safely away.” Willie drove like a madman, pushing the big truck to the highway and a possible getaway. The lights reflecting off his mirror told him a string of friends was close behind.

  Ziggy was quiet, thinking deeply about the way his plan had gone sideways and the tremendous loss of life. Raven, sitting next to him in the police cruiser, held Pooch on her lap. She laid a knowing hand on the back of his neck but remained silent. Bobi wept quietly, her head leaning heavily against Hannah’s shoulder. The dental assistant stared through the car’s side window, rarely blinking, a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that they were not out of the woods – not yet.

  The convoy merged onto the westbound lane of Highway 1, and traveled unhampered, down the barren roadway. Their lights cut a swath through the dense blackness, creating an overwhelming feeling of tunnel vision for the vehicles and their passengers. To their right, they passed the small Banff airport, which lay hidden from the highway by rows of tall spruce trees. Another few kilometers and they’d be free of Banff, with only open highway between them and the lake.

  Eli had pulled within a few car lengths of the last vehicle; hopeful Raven was among the convoy’s occupants. He continued to monitor his rear mirror for lights but it appeared they were in the clear and were not being followed. “Maybe we’ve made it,” he said to the cat, which had ignored most of the excitement, turning its attention to the mouse.

  With each passing meter, the beleaguered survivors breathed a bit more easily, recognizing escape was all but imminent. From the darkness, hope was about to be shattered as Trevor and his cohorts prepared to act. Arcand would take the first vehicle, slowing the entire convoy and the second would target the last, boxing them in with no place to run.

  For those who were paying attention, in particular Willie and Ziggy, lights suddenly appeared at the side of the road, shooting into the treetops until they leveled out, revealing two large SUV’s, which darted into the convoy’s path. Willie swerved to avoid the first, narrowly missing the black Suburban, and sped away, but the RCMP cruiser, with Ziggy at the helm, was not as fortunate, slamming sideways into Trevor’s vehicle. The remainder of the procession weaved their way around the wreckage but did not stop, as per Nowicki’s orders. A second later, Trevor’s man targeted the Ford F-150 and drove his grill into the side of the red pickup. The impact shifted the truck sideways, bringing it to the edge of the asphalt where it lazily rolled once, twice, then came to rest on all four wheels. Though shaken, Eli remained alert and able to move. He slid over the seat and climbed out the passenger window, unsure where the cat had gone but more concerned about the police cruiser’s occupants. Before he started up the slick embankment he remembered, and then retrieved the double-edged axe from the trucks cab.

  Thankfully, the reinforced cockpit of the police cruiser was built to withstand impacts greater than the one it had just experienced, saving the lives of Ziggy and the girls, but not delivering them completely unscathed.

  “Everybody okay?” Nowicki groggily asked.

  The chocolate lab lay limp on Raven’s knees, the windshield broken above where the dog’s skull had cracked the hardened glass and killed her instantly. “Pooch . . . Pooch,” Raven whispered, shaking her lightly. “I . . . I think I’m okay, but we lost Pooch,” she said, unsnapping her safety belt and trying to push the door open. “Hannah, Bobi, you okay?”

  Groans emerged from the back seat as the friends regained a sense of composure and assessed their situation. “We’re . . . oh, crap. My arm is broken,” Bobi said, confirming the diagnosis by trying to lift the ill-fated limb for Hannah’s inspection.

  “Yup, we’ve got a broken arm back here but I think, otherwise, we’re fine. What happened to the rest of the group?”

  Ziggy slammed his shoulder against the driver’s door and on the third try it broke free, toppling him on his side in the road. The car’s engine hissed and sputtered, adding to the squealing noise coming from the burrow pit, where the Suburban had finally come to rest. “I think the others made it but they got our last truck. See if you can get out. Grab your guns . . . we’ve gotta leave, Darwin will be after us and he can’t be far away. I’ll check on the other pickup.”

  Officer Nowicki advanced on the GAW SUV, which had stopped running but was blocking the highway, crashed perpendicular to the road’s surface. He held his pistol extended from his body, occasionally dipping and swaying, still feeling the results of the impact, but knowing they had no time to waste. A pair of dark figures suddenly appeared, with weapons drawn, ready to fire from behind the SUV. They shot quickly, their rounds kicking up sparks but sailing by, not striking the officer. One of the two sprinted for the side of the road and was lost from view, narrowly missing Eli, who knelt just below the highway’s edge. Being caught off guard, neither man knew quite what to do, so they simply ignored one another and allowed the other to live. Eli watched the dark-haired fellow scamper down the hill, eventually losing sight of him.

  A second later, more shots rang out, and then silence. Falconer listened and waited, wondering who had won the life and death struggle just a few meters away. “Zig, you okay?” a woman’s voice shouted from the location of the first collision. Again, she called out, nearly stopping his heart. “Ziggy, we’re good. We can move out,” Raven confirmed, following a wave from Nowicki.

  “Rave,” Eli said, quietly. Without thinking of his present appearance, he stood and walked toward the well-known tone, the axe dragging in the weeds. His head, then shoulders, cleared the bank as he struggled to climb up the steep roadside. Raven’s father looked for her, but suddenly came face to face with a husky man pointing a pistol directly at his head.

  Falconer’s image, swollen eye and bloody splotches covering his exposed skin, repulsed Ziggy. However, the officer was not surprised to see the character trailing an axe, obviously the same weapon he’d used to kill the woman at the gazebo and the blade that he’d wielded when he massacred the teenagers a few days ago.

  A seething anger rose quickly within the officer and he tightened his finger on the pistol’s trigger.

  “Don’t, I’m . . . ”

  A gunshot cracked through the cool mountain air, dropping Eli to his knees. Nowicki’s pistol was suddenly ripped from his hands, a 30-30 round catching the barrel and tossing it away. When the ‘Husker’ had appeared at the side of the road, Raven pulled her rifle up to provide support for Ziggy. She studied the figure, knowing there was something familiar: his hair, jawline, frame. I think I know this man. It wasn’t until she advanced a few steps that she recognized Eli
Falconer. Swinging her rifle to the right, she had fired without thinking, stopping Zig from killing her father.

  “What the hell?” Nowicki bellowed.

  Raven ran to his side and looked down at Eli, unsure if she dared get any closer. “Dad, how is this possible?”

  “Raven, my dear Rave,” he cried, dropping his chin to his chest. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “How did you survive? You’re still sick,” she assessed, noting the swelling and redness.

  “Dad?” Ziggy asked. “I love a good family reunion but we don’t have time. Mr. Falconer, are you infected and contagious?”

  “I wish I knew for sure but I don’t think so. I was sick but I’m getting better, and I can remember.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” Raven said enthusiastically, before running to her father, and taking him in a warm embrace.

  The three women, Ziggy and Eli slid down the embankment and headed away from the crash site. From a thatch of overgrown brush near where the truck had come to rest, Nathan was savoring the soft cheeks of the man who had practically run into his arms. Killing him had been swift and easy, and even now, the axe’s edge was stained with the GAW member’s blood. Edwards watched the troop of men and women hobble by; content to enjoy his fresh meal but then . . . a flash of metal caught his eye.

  Somewhere in the distant recesses of his mind, an action played out. He lifted the rifle and felt the smooth stock, rubbing it from trigger to butt, relishing the texture and the ‘memories’ it stirred. He knew this . . . he’d hefted it a thousand times. It was part of him and part of who he was. Glints of remote, forgotten images bounced in and out of his mind; they were never fully visible but spawned muscle memory, which pushed the stock into the hollow of his shoulder and leveled the sights with his eyes.

  “Now what?” Hannah asked, doing her best to support Bobi and carry the assault rifles.

  “Only thing around is the airport. If we can make it we might be able to hide out or prepare some sort of defense. I’d say Darwin’s plans have been set back and maybe he’ll leave us alone.”