On the north side of the tracks, a residential apartment building dominated the entire city from its perch at the foot of the mountain. Locals called it the TBI and most of them also called it home. There were other buildings, as well as rows of boats in various states of disrepair. A short distance beyond, up a road that led out of town, sat the abandoned Buckner Building as well, with its sad gray facade and empty, staring windows. With the personality of a haunted house and its frequent visitations by bruins, the Buckner Building was the last place Abdul wanted go.
On the south side of the railway, the one to which Abdul was running, the buildings were much more sparse though there were scores of cars and hundreds of people walking to and from the small boat harbor. There were several trucks and sport utility vehicles towing boats waiting to deposit the watercraft into the boat launch. They had no idea what was following behind Abdul and the handful of others able to get away from the fracas. If they did, they would be getting back on their boats or hurrying them into the water and getting away from the terrible danger bearing down upon them. As it was, the throngs were lambs awaiting the slaughter. He wanted to shout warnings to them but the distance and his lungs struggling to retain any oxygen both precluded that course of action. He could only run and so run was what he did.
He took all of this in without slowing his pace for the slightest moment. Fear and adrenaline were fueling his legs. He found himself running away from the fence line and trying to get to a nice hotel, the nicest in town, a common destination for other fares in the past. As he ran, the growing activity to his right still within the fence caught his eye. He looked over and was stunned to stillness.
An old man with Einstein’s wild, white hair and a peach colored golf shirt ran around the front of an RV. Bent forward in an aggressive stance, the old man moved with much more agility than a man of his apparent years should. His right hand was missing, replaced by a stump from which cascaded a flood of red. He rounded the vehicle’s front end, surprising a younger woman caught unaware of his presence and caught unawares by his appearance. She screamed and retreated into the RV’s side door with the white-haired man in hot pursuit. When the man got himself into the doorframe however, he was met with a surprising and deadly blast from a gun still out of sight. The old man was tossed backward, his feet coming over his head and body as he slid across the wet pavement, leaving a dark streak of crimson.
A large young man sporting a dark handlebar mustache stepped into the RV’s doorway and authoritatively pumped another shell into his shotgun’s firing chamber. He spit and shouted some vulgar slur that Abdul couldn’t quite hear due to the bells ringing in his ears as a result of the gunshot.
The old white-haired man with the bloody hole in his chest and the missing hand got back to his feet with the dexterity of a wolverine. In disbelief, the man in the RV didn’t react at first. The toothpick between his lips went limp and fell as his mouth opened and his eyes widened. He couldn’t believe it and neither could Abdul.
The cab driver was having a hard time accepting what was playing out in front of him. Nothing he had ever experienced could have prepared him for this. Seeing a man shoot another was difficult enough, but watching the grievously wounded man get back up like the extra hole in his body didn’t really matter was a new category of disbelief.
Abdul found himself backing away from the fence reflexively, his brain on autopilot. He saw the old man force his way into the camper, despite suffering another point-blank blast to his chest in the process. The two men fell into the vehicle, one atop the other, locked in a deadly and ultimately futile wrestling match. The woman inside filled the air with her terrified screams as the men struggled with one another.
More gunshots startled Abdul, still backing away from the fray. He saw another man standing atop an RV. The scared man was screaming something and pulling the trigger on a scoped hunting rifle. Abdul couldn’t see the man’s targets, but he could guess that they were still more people.
Abdul’s head panned from right to left, his eyes widening like camera lenses taking in the panorama. There were people maneuvering between, over, and around the cars. A few here and there had made it to the fence and were starting to scale it. Abdul thought each looked normal enough to him but so had the dead man who walked out of his cab. He didn’t know what was happening and decided that it was time for him to hightail it out of there.
He was certain he heard more shooting and more screaming and another more starkly animalistic sound coming from the surging bedlam on the opposite side of the fence. Far enough away, Abdul finally turned and ran, his eyes focused firmly on the town of Whittier and the long road separating him from it. He stretched his legs and increased his pace, like a gazelle sprinting away from a threatening cheetah or other predatory cat.
A little more than half the way to Whittier, Abdul’s lungs were no longer able to draw in oxygen and his legs refused to run. He paused and lowered his head almost down to his knees. He spat several times and then vomited. When he raised his still heaving head, he could hear more footprints approaching.
A rushing mass of terrified travelers was quick on his heels. Men, women, and children, screaming and tripping into one another in a chaotic melee of desperate flight were fleeing the same terror that had sent Abdul into retreat.
Mixed in the stretched crowd, Abdul could detect hints and signs of things that simply were not right about some of the people. Some of their eyes were… different. They didn’t all seem scared. Some looked crazed, enraged, hungry. Some of those grabbed others or pounced on those tangling inextricably with one another. He also saw blood...lots of blood...buckets of it. It was a slaughter and it was heading right for him.
Abdul forgot his fatigue and the pain in his overtaxed lungs. He forced his legs forward again, pushing himself beyond his limits. His fear, raw and powerful, blurred his eyes with tears but numbed the agony threatening to grip his heart and lungs. His fear helped to keep his legs moving and maintain the distance between him and the crowd threatening to overtake him.
There was no plan. There was no destination in mind any longer. He merely wanted to get away. And stay alive.
Chapter 5
People went to Whittier for a number of reasons: fishing, glacier cruises, hiking, hunting, and relaxing. That morning, all the people lined up in the vehicle staging area on the far side of the Anton Anderson Tunnel for the most part were seeking one or more of those activities. Tourists and locals alike were in search of recreation.
When the first scream violated the calm, most people looked up from whatever distraction was in front of them but few reacted more dramatically than that, likely assuming the scream had resulted from some horseplay or some other innocuous fun. The next shriek had many people turn off the smart phone, set down the book, or turn down the volume on the stereo to a lower decibel. A few folks stepped out of their parked vehicles to get a better look at what was happening.
The first gunshot prompted some to lock their doors and raise their windows. Some stout and foolhardy souls couldn’t resist the urge to seek out the source of the ruckus. The sage-like idiom Curiosity killed the cat was threatening to migrate from hypothetical to absolute.
One man, a middle-aged father of three, saw from his rental car’s side mirror an orange vested police officer attacked by an out of control young man possibly in a drug-related rage like those people you hear about on the news. The poor policeman was overwhelmed by the brute ferocity of his attacker and beaten to the ground.
The stunned father leapt from his car to come to the officer’s aid. He ran toward the scuffle. He saw another motionless body, perhaps an older woman, lying near a full-sized touring van. He shouted, hoping to interrupt the melee. It worked, but it worked to his detriment.
The crazed attacker, upon hearing the new voice and seeing the father approach, released the brutalized law enforcement officer and unleashed his wrath upon his new target. With the police officer’s arms no longer struggling beneath him,
the other man released his grip and flew at the father, caught completely off guard and off balance. The father fell over backward with the blood-smeared face of his attacker bearing down upon him. The battle was over almost as quickly as it began.
In the tussle, the father’s shirt and jacket were pulled up onto and over his head. His attacker took full advantage of his victim’s inability to defend himself adequately and lunged forward into the father’s undefended abdomen. He sank his grinding teeth into the soft, white flesh of the father’s side just above his waist. The man’s teeth didn’t bite just to hurt; he was on a mission to rend flesh from his victim. He bit and chewed until he ripped a dripping soft piece of tissue from the father’s body, struggling feebly like a salmon caught ruthlessly in a bear’s jaw.
The father’s fear and adrenaline were not enough to enable him to extricate himself from his attacker’s clutches. With each successive bite, the father felt his strength and his life drain from his limbs, no longer able to fight. His vision was fading, as was his sense of where he was. There was no more pain, despite the fact that his body was still under full assault. The teeth of his attacker had found their way beyond the surface of his skin and into his internal organs.
Tragically, the slain father had neglected to shut his car door behind him in his haste to intervene. His children, safely buckled in the back seat, would soon pay the price for his oversight. Moments after the father expired, the original attacker, the reanimated woman, police officer, and even the father, now as frighteningly bloodthirsty and remorseless as the others, all feasted upon the young, defenseless flesh.
Like a wildfire fanned by a generous wind, pockets of terror spread all across the parking lot. Whether resulting from Abdul’s Passenger Zero or from other infected people managing to find their way to Whittier, the infection was growing and devouring at a frighteningly alarming rate.
Chapter 6
Danielle looked over at her friend Kameron, sitting next to her on the Gray Line of Alaska tour bus. The scream followed by more screams worried the two of them and everyone else on the bus. A ripple of concern whistled through the passengers like a gale through the trees. If they had been a stand of birch, there likely wouldn’t have been a leaf still attached.
The bus driver, to his credit, tried to calm the souls in his charge. He felt disconnected and alone, his radio unable to reach anyone at his dispatch office. The last he’d heard over the radio from headquarters was something about a disturbance at Providence Hospital. Since then, the radio had only produced static.
His employer offered and he’d completed training that was intended to help him through emergency situations, but most of that theory had been lost on him. When doing it, he always felt he was doing so to place the proverbial checkmark in the box. Now, he doubted the value of the training. The thing to which he did cling was the desire to keep everyone safe and, if at all possible, calm.
Using his intercom several times after feigning receiving messages over the radio, he announced to the bus occupants that authorities had the situation in hand, a fact that he could neither confirm nor claim to reasonably believe himself. He hadn’t heard from anyone and didn’t expect word anytime soon.
He was careful to not let his eyes linger for too long in their numerous trips to the rearview mirror above his head. He didn’t want to betray the doubt and concern behind them.
After several minutes of worried waiting, a few more brazen passengers decided they’d had enough. The volume and frequency of the tortured and terrified shrieks were increasing. They also were getting closer and closer to the bus; the last one reaching out from just a few car lengths away. A pair of men finally stood and started to walk themselves to the front of the bus. Each paused a short moment when he had gotten to the driver, who initially refused to budge. If he allowed his passengers off the bus, he would have failed. Keeping his passengers together and on the bus was the best method for him to maintain some sense of control and that, in his mind, was the only way for him to ensure their safety. With all that running through his mind as he eyed the adamant faces of the two obvious fishermen, the three men shared looks but no words before the driver finally consented to open the doors.
Once the door had been opened, others followed the lead set by the two men. One by one and group by group, everyone aboard the large tour bus exited. The bus driver was the last to leave his seat, much like the captain of a sinking ship.
The group of more than sixty people was waiting impatiently next to the bus. The driver took out his keys and opened the bus’ two side compartments holding the passengers’ luggage and personal effects.
At once, like the worst rushes on luggage carousels at busy airport baggage claim areas, the entire group pressed forward in the mad dash to lay hands on luggage. Kameron, a solidly built and determined young man, waded into the crowd in search of his and his friend’s backpacks.
Having trained and competed as a college wrestler in the not too distant past, he didn’t like to use his strength away from the mat, but he found it necessary under the present circumstances. Forcing his way steadily into the melee, he finally got close enough to spy his friend Danielle’s bright green backpack as it toppled from the compartment and was kicked under the bus. He wanted to find his red bag too, but Danielle’s was clearly more important than his. It wasn’t strictly a matter of chivalry or his desire to impress his beautiful traveling companion. Her needs were real and not rooted in materialism, which didn’t seem to be much of a concern for her at all.
He’d met her through an online chat room. He wasn’t necessarily looking for romance when he entered; at least that was what he tried to tell himself. He was bored and lonely and happened to see the commercial on the television at a particularly moment. He signed in and, after several unsuccessful openings for dialogue with others, he found Danielle through the chaos.
They chatted for hours and then connected on Facebook for more private conversations. That was several months ago. They’d exchanged pictures online and had begun to text not long after, but still they hadn’t met. If her pictures were real and not one of those online scams, he was very eager to meet her. He’d dated pretty girls in his life, but he had never been with an honest to goodness beauty like her. Her skin was a color that reminded him of warm, sunny beaches but appeared as soft as flower petals. Her eyes shone like emeralds and her hair was as dark and full as a summer night.
Finally working up the courage, he invited her to attend a concert with him in Vancouver. She had shared her fondness for Tom Petty and, as luck would have it, he was scheduled to play in Kameron’s hometown.
He shot her a friendly text asking if she would like to go. He acknowledged that he realized she lived in Anchorage and he lived in Washington, and he also owned the fact that they had never formally met one another face to face. He also offered compromises on both issues. He offered to use his frequent flyer miles to fly her down and then would split the cost of a hotel room for her if she felt that was more appropriate.
After a couple of tense days without a response, she finally replied that she would love to accompany him to the concert. She also declined the hotel room, much to his supreme delight. Danielle explained that she was not necessarily implying anything by that, but there was enough flirtation in her language that the possibility still existed.
Unfortunately, the concert was cancelled about a week in advance of the event. Danielle decided that perhaps they should meet at a different time. Kameron’s hopes and his fantasies all came crashing down around him. He was utterly despondent...for about a day.
He awoke to an early morning text from Danielle. She wanted to know if he would like to come to Alaska and visit her instead. She didn’t have a way to pay for his flight, but she could guarantee an Alaskan adventure that he wouldn’t forget. He didn’t even finish reading his message before he was replying. In all actuality, he was willing to go to Cleveland if that was where she was.
She unzipped the pack hastily a
fter he handed it to her. She found the hard plastic case inside and opened it to verify its contents were still safe. She found the syringes intact and breathed a sigh of relief.
Danielle was a diabetic, which was not unusual for Alaska Natives. There was a higher degree of diabetes amongst the Native peoples due to a host of reasons. Danielle was dependent upon daily injections of insulin to help her body stay healthy.
Zipping the pack and slinging it over her shoulders, Danielle said warmly, “Thank you so much,” and kissed Kameron on the cheek. “Sorry the fishing trip hasn’t started out so great,” she said coyly, knowing full well that any disappointment Kameron might have felt was surely mitigated by their last night’s activities at her apartment in Anchorage.
“Oh that’s right,” Kameron said playfully. “Fishing. I almost forgot.”
“My brother will still take us out once we get over to see him.”
Still smiling, Kameron said, “Do I look worried?”
While the two of them flirted and walked slowly, others around them were worried and rightly so. Most were quick to surmise that something unusually worrisome and deadly was to take shape around them. The threatening nature of their situation didn’t dawn on either of them until they saw a man, extremely aggressive and out of control, attack another man who was trying to protect his family. The two fighting men fell to the ground in their tussle and disappeared from view. The apparent wife of the victim screamed for help. When one of the men howled in pain and desperation, Kameron decided that he needed to act.
Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution Page 5
