Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution

by Schubert, Sean

  The boat harbor portion of the port hosted the frenetic shark feeding frenzy. The fortunate few people from Whittier able to force themselves onto the many awaiting boats watched in stunned horror as atop the surface of the water a wretched red bubbling foam formed.

  Some aboard the boats had been assaulted by their pursuers but by some grace of God they had been able to extricate themselves from the murderous clutches. Others onboard the craft tended to the bleeding, seeping wounds, resisting every effort to staunch the flow. Terrified and not sure of where else to turn, the little boats and dinghies made their way to the towering cruise ship anchored in the Sound.

  Worried faces greeted the crying waves of people as they disembarked from the boats, many of which were abandoned and set adrift. The wounded were led up the gangway to an awaiting party of emergency medical personnel. Other terrified survivors sat in silent shock on decks of the ship and watched the city while the tragedy raged.

  A new series of screams aboard the cruise ship barely caught their attention, so focused on the shore they were. Neither the shell shocked survivors nor the hundreds of people already on the ship could have known that they were doomed to see the same events playing out on the shore begin to similarly spin out of control on their ship. It just didn’t seem possible and yet...

  A handful of explosions rocked Whittier, some intentional. A marine fueling station erupted into a billowing black cloud of smoke and fire when the scared attendant dropped his shotgun, which discharged into an active pump. The resulting explosion devoured the station, the attendant, and the group of five undead tearing his flesh from his bones as he screamed in agony. Near a small restaurant, which doubled as a souvenir shop, a propane tank used for emergency power and heat was hit by a fleeing motorist driving out of control. Pieces of the car and driver were sent skyward beneath a bright, expanding fireball that momentarily lit up the overcast skies.

  These fires and others burned out of control for want of anyone willing or able to fight them. Hundreds of pairs of eyes saw the largest structure in the city as their last hope. The Buckner Building, with its solid walls and six floors, looked down upon the rest of the city and invited hope for scores of unknowing people. Not a one of the people was a local. They knew better than to set foot into the Buckner’s crumbling, musty halls.

  The building persisted despite having been abandoned by the Army following the massive 1964 earthquake during which it suffered significant damage to parts of its structure. Most locals had never ventured into the dark, dank building. The building’s intimidating facade and the No Trespassing signs were very effective in discouraging interlopers. The walls inside like those outside, however, had seen their fair share of graffiti in the forms of genuine artwork, mindless profanity, and occult symbols, indicating that not everyone had been deterred over the years. Persistent puddles and dripping seams had grown mold and mildew until the cool, moist air was permeated with the dangerous spores. The bottom floors still had inches deep pools of water covering their surfaces. There was also the occasional wild animal that could be encountered in the shadows, including both wily black and towering brown bears.

  People ran to the building in groups. Some attempted to climb over the fence restricting access to the railroad tracks only to be pulled down and brutally assaulted. Those able to find the tunnel to downtown that Danielle and her group had used earlier found that the passage was now a charnel house of blood, gore, and danger. Many of the bodies in the passageway were not completely dead and posed a threat to anyone within reach. Once through, those lucky enough to have run the gauntlet successfully then were forced to make their way through the chaotic rampage still raging on the streets above them.

  Individually and in small groups, they picked their way through the bedlam and made it to the imposing structure of the Buckner Building. Their error was immediately apparent upon their arrival. There wasn’t a functional door or an intact window to be found on the edifice. There was virtually no way to close off the building, but their legs were tired and their minds were scrambled so they piled into the building and hoped for the best.

  Running blindly into the dark, they retreated into open rooms and found staircases but safety was illusory.

  Their hopes were dashed again and again as those who had fled with them and had been bitten succumbed to the infection and reanimated only to begin anew the terror. Still more of the ghouls followed the defenseless souls into the building as well, cornering the exhausted parties in the dank darkness. Their tortured screams echoed in the shadows as the rest of Whittier suffered the same fate as had befallen and was still engulfing Anchorage.

  Part II

  Chapter 9

  It would have been easier to accept what they beheld if Whittier had been an utter ruin, but it wasn’t. Aside from a couple of buildings, the little bit of the city they could see looked like it was merely sleeping or perhaps waiting.

  The closest building to them, a large arched structure once used by a cruise company to accommodate tourists, was a building in name only. Much of its roof was gone, having burned away many weeks earlier. Its mirrored glass facade was absent as well, lying in a storm of splintered prisms on the ground. The ground in front of the building looked like a shiny bed of diamonds. There was other debris as well, though Neil was unable to determine what it was. He could guess that it was likely clothing, bags, souvenirs and any other trinkets or mementos discarded when their owners were forced to run for their lives.

  On the opposite side of the street and running along the dormant railroad tracks, the weathered white tent-like structure which served as a debarkation point for rail passengers stood soundly, having weathered the apocalyptic storm better than its more solid neighbor. Neil suspected that with the coming of winter storms and the intense Whittier snow, the frames would bend and the canvas walls would collapse.

  Both of those structures sat on the outer edge of town closest to the tunnel and their group’s line of sight. Further into town, there was a pocket of buildings that centered on the Inn at Whittier, appearing large only in relation to the buildings around it. There was one building, likely a marine fueling station out near the water, which had burned down to its foundation, devouring most of the dock as well. That appeared to be the worst of it though.

  Aside from those structural casualties, the city was intact, if dramatically sad and lonely. Though still standing, the buildings reminded them of relics from days gone by whose use had long since passed.

  There were cars too; most had been abandoned where they sat when their occupants fled on foot. Facing in every direction imaginable, the vehicles were knotted into a bumper-to-bumper permanent traffic jam. It was a sea of metal and glass that disappeared out of sight into the bent horizon. Many likely had idled with engines running until the gasoline had been spent. Neil was hopeful that perhaps a motorist or two had turned the ignition off before fleeing. Maybe there was a car down there that could be driven.

  Or a boat. There were dozens of boats resting on their trailers high above the cars and trucks surrounding them; almost as many boats as cars. The taller sea craft added a depth to the vehicular press, making it resemble a metropolitan skyline in miniature.

  Further beyond, Neil could see the large white frame of a cruise ship. Even from this distance, the boat looked like a ghost ship. It rose and fell gently, effortlessly, and lifelessly. The monstrous craft was listing a bit to its starboard side.

  The breeze blew, sending loose plastic bags and other odds and ends off the ground in search of some other place to rest. Atop a flagpole fluttered two flags, one with stars and stripes and the other with a field of blue and a yellow constellation of stars. From where Neil and the others watched, that was the only movement any of them could see.

  The stillness was unsettling. Nothing moved. Not a bird in the sky or an animal in sight.

  Neil spotted random piles of garbage or perhaps discarded piles of laundry. He knew better though. If he were to stand close eno
ugh, he suspected that he would confirm otherwise, that he would see clothing ripped asunder and bones picked clean of flesh. There would likely be crusty rust-colored stains on the pavement and cloth as well.

  It was obvious to him that the calamity had preceded them once again.

  Neil looked over his shoulder at Jules, Nikki, and Danny, and wished there was some way to shield them from all of that. Despite all that had happened and all they had already seen, he still only wanted to protect them from the grim realities this new world had to offer.

  Standing next to him, Jerry said, “I see some of them.” The younger man, peering through the scope of his hunting rifle, pointed deeper into town.

  Neil asked, “How many?”

  “A few dozen maybe. Maybe more. I can’t tell for sure.”

  Neil removed his hat and scratched his shaggy head in the same motion. Again, they needed a plan.

  They were close to a parking lot filled with buses, recreational vehicles, cars, trucks, and vans, parked in a neat, orderly fashion off to one side of the Anton Anderson Memorial Tunnel exit. Neil found that very curious.

  The city was as silent as the grave; not even a single gull was singing. The snow, thick and heavy on the mountain and the Portage Highway beyond, had barely touched Whittier yet, though the threat of winter hung heavily all around. A light dusting of white was struggling to hold its ground in the shadows, but the sun and the moist air coming from the Sound had nearly banished this first taste of winter to another day.

  Emma checked the magazine on her assault rifle and pounded it back into the weapon. Stepping closer, she asked, “So, what’s the plan then?”

  “I guess we should get down there and take a closer look,” Neil said hesitantly. “Jerry already spotted some of our friends, so stay sharp. Try not to shoot unless you absolutely have to. If we can take them down without drawing attention, I think that will make our lives easier.”

  Everyone’s quick nods of understanding were followed by a familiar, echoing sound that could only be from a gunshot. They shared a quick look with one another and then started down the last slope into the nearest parking lot.

  A gun could mean only one thing...people.

  Chapter 10

  The drive from Shotgun Cove back to Whittier seemed unreasonably long to the passengers in the dirty Chevy Blazer.

  Danielle was with the group selected to venture into Whittier from Shotgun Cove to forage for supplies. The lodges from which they all came had been well stocked for the past season, but certain, typically luxury items were in short supply. They were also on a mission to determine what had happened in Whittier and the rest of the world, which had gone silent.

  The eight of them came each for a different reason. Danielle needed to find more insulin or any alternatives that might present themselves. She could only control her diabetes with a proper diet for so long. She needed her medicine if for nothing more than piece of mind.

  The others each came with a list of items to be gathered from shops, hotels, or other places. This was their first incursion into Whittier since that first day. None of them knew what to expect when they arrived back into town.

  The trees were dense on both sides of the road despite the retreat of autumn, creating a green walled tunnel, restricting light and visibility. It felt like they were driving into the waning day but the reality was anything but. They left the Cove when it became apparent that the sky was as light as it was going to get today with the heavy cloud cover. The road was not much more than a logging road cut through the enveloping forest. They breathed a sigh of relief when the gravel and mostly mud road gave way to pavement. Up to that point, the noise the vehicle was making was uncomfortably loud and the bouncing and jostling was shaking all of their confidence.

  All at once, the trees on the right side dropped away, yielding themselves to the breathtaking expanse of the Prince William Sound. The water, dark and threatening, swelled with the gathering weather. White capped waves stretched themselves into the distance and beyond.

  Danielle watched the roiling sea, the wind stirring it violently. She found herself worrying for her older brother out of sheer habit. There was many a day that he was out on his boat in sour skies with a similar look. Danielle learned to worry from her mother, who spent long moments watching the water and waiting for her son to return. And he always did.

  Danielle imagined her brother’s face and his nearly toothless smile, evoking a surprising rush of emotion. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes watered. She prayed he had been out away from Whittier when the troubles began but knew better. He was going to take her and her friend Kameron out onto the Sound and was likely trapped in the boat harbor along with everyone else. She blamed herself for having dealt her brother such a sour hand. She breathed a shallow sigh filled with guilt and sadness, drawing attention from William behind the steering wheel.

  He looked back at her, the bright white of his eyes contrasting strongly against his smooth, dark skin. His eyes were kind and strong yet soft. They were the eyes of angels. They were the eyes of cozy Sundays and they made Danielle feel safe. She could see the smile in his eyes even if she couldn’t see his face in the reflection.

  He asked, “You okay little girl?”

  Danielle had long since stopped protesting that she wasn’t a little girl and accepted the epithet with good humor. She wiped away a tear. “Yeah. Just thinking about my brother, Wassillie.”

  William continued to look at her for a second longer. The road ahead was requiring more of his attention. He watched the Chevy Suburban in front of him fishtail on the cool, wet pavement. It was cold enough to freeze, and neither vehicle had tires for the weather. He slowed down a bit while his rig climbed the sloping road.

  As they drew closer to Whittier, Danielle noticed that the big Blazer’s speed reduced significantly but her heart rate increased steadily. Everywhere she looked she imagined she saw Kameron’s ghoulish face staring back at her. Danielle was terrified by what they might encounter; what she might encounter.

  When they reached a familiar turnoff from Shotgun Cove Road, the two trucks came to a rolling stop. William looked over his shoulder at his passengers and announced, “I think this is close enough. We don’t know what we’re driving into. Maybe we should park up here and walk into town.”

  From the Suburban, idling next to him with its passenger window open, a female voice barked, “Why the hell would we do that? I don’t want to walk down there.”

  “What if we get trapped?” William asked. “It might be easier to get out of tight corners on foot. If we leave the trucks up here, we’d still be able to get away.”

  The other driver, Nakissha, called back, “If we don’t let ourselves get into any tight corners then we won’t have to worry about it. Anything gets in front of me, I’ll run it down.”

  William protested, “But we don’t know for sure what—”

  “Then they better stay outta my way. I ain’t takin’ no chances.”

  William breathed deeply but said nothing. He looked through the windshield and pondered their next move. He didn’t like the idea of walking any more than Nakissha did but something told him that the road would not be easy.

  He could sense the tension in his car and the worried looks. No one wanted to walk. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll follow you. Don’t go too slow, but don’t stop...ever.”

  The Suburban, its wheels spinning on the gathering ice, drove off without an acknowledgment. William was quickly and tightly on the vehicle’s tail but not feeling entirely comfortable. It felt like someone was looking over his shoulder all the time. Maybe it was the mountains, still thick with trees appearing as if they had been piled atop one another all up the distant slopes. It could have been the Sound’s dark currents with its blanket of misty haze hovering close to the surface.

  When they came within sight of the enormous, vacant Buckner Building to their left, his discomfort approached a mild panic. He detested not knowing what to expect. It was like goi
ng over the first big hill of a rollercoaster; only he had no idea if there was even track still laid out in front of them. He was heading into unknown territory, which was anything but normal. He was a planner and rarely set out to accomplish anything without significant preparation.

  Regardless, he found himself following Nakissha into the unknown. They passed the Buckner Building, thankfully without incident, but when they came to one of the few intersections of roads through the diminutive downtown side of Whittier, things changed. At the intersection, a clog of vehicles had been formed around a former ambulance that had been turned into a taxi cab for the small community. The Funbulance, as it was called, was resting on its side with three other vehicles smashed into it from three different directions. Around this jam, other cars and trucks and even a four-wheeled ATV had formed a tight and immovable obstacle, forcing Nakissha and William to make hard right hand turns away from the mess.

  Unfortunately, turning that direction took them away from their objective. Moving dangerously fast on the untested road, Nakissha’s Suburban fishtailed again, but this time she wasn’t able to reign in the momentum of the vehicle. Feeling the tires lose traction, she tried to gain control but overcorrected. By the time she was able to deal with the problem, it was too late.

  The big, rusty Suburban crashed into first a car and then a pair of ovens that had been removed from the nearby Whittier Manor apartment complex, which was a stout rectangular building with the fading color of watered down mint mouthwash. Nakissha tried to reverse her truck out of its predicament, but the aging appliances grabbed hold of the truck and refused to let go. Nakissha was stuck.