Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution

by Schubert, Sean

  “No such luck though,” he said. “This other guy was quite a bit younger than the Colonel but still older’n me. He was driving. He didn’t say much until we got out onto the trail. Me and him got paired up that day and I don’t think he stopped talking long enough to even breathe. That guy was long winded...Sullivan I mean.

  “He called me out good and quick too. He said he could see through the bullshit game I was playin’ on everybody else. He told me he could tell that I was high on something right then too. Probably Vicodin or something...and I was. He said none of that mattered and he didn’t give a rat’s ass what I did. It was my business and not his. I respected him for that but wondered if it might not just be a trap, so I kept my guard up.

  “A little later he said something that caught my ear though. He said that if I cared about what I did or had the chance to do it, then he might be able to help. He kept saying that being able to make choices for yourself is the only way to be happy, that it wasn’t nobody’s business what anyone else did and that people who thought differently were enemies of the state. They were the true threat to liberty.

  “He went on and on ‘bout choices and power and liberty. Most of it sounded pretty damned good to me. At the end of the day, he shook my hand and gave me a phone number to call him. He said that as soon I turned eighteen, if I was willing to learn and work hard, I could come stay with him and the Colonel. They had a place for me where I could do whatever the hell I wanted. I could drink, smoke, and fuck anything I wanted, so long as that didn’t include doing guys, ya know. But really, anything was possible.

  “I stuck that number in my wallet and didn’t forget the conversation. I woke up remembering things he said and went to sleep wondering about others. It was a long two months until I turned eighteen, but as soon as I did I called. The next day, I moved out to The Ranch and started my apprenticeship, so to speak. I learned about firearms; how to care for them, how to fire them, and how to truly use them. I learned about explosives and got to blow shit up. I learned other shit, like growing crops and animal husbandry...ya know, kind of like being a shepherd. Colonel said that we needed to learn how to provide for ourselves when the shit hit the fan.

  “And in all of that, I stopped drinking and stopped doing drugs. I got real focused on being good at everything Sullivan was good at. That guy could shoot, so I wanted to learn to be that good too. He knew how to track animals on the hunt. He knew how to use a bow. He knew how to skin his kill and when the best time was to go out on the hunt. Ya know, when the animals would be out and at their most vulnerable. He knew about all that and I wanted to learn.

  “The Colonel was good too but even then he was a big guy, like I said. He didn’t go out on many hunts that he couldn’t get to in a truck. He was awful busy as a lawyer too. He was like the anti-ACLU, at least that’s what he used to say. He fought everything and usually won too. Because of that, he had lots of money and spent it on some real cool toys for us. Hell, you saw some of the equipment we have. It’s made all the difference, ya know.

  Oscar asked, “What about your parents? Did you tell them where you went?”

  Cody added as he closed another panel, “Did you go back for them when everything started to go down?”

  Carter spat a jet of tobacco from between his two front teeth. “No, I never told ‘em. I just disappeared. Left a note though. That was Colonel Bear’s idea. He was afraid that if I didn’t, they would go to the police. They mighta thunk I was abducted or something. Truth is, I felt more like some kidnapping victim living with them than I did out on The Ranch. We didn’t need the police or any other government stooges nosing around us. So, I let em know that I was leaving and would be traveling across country. I pawned everything I had of value and left. When everything started to go down, I didn’t care enough to go back for them. They may not have even been living in Kenai anymore. Hell, I don’t know and don’t care. They were a necessary evil that I had to endure before I was truly born out on The Ranch.

  “The Colonel, he helped me get my GED and then later on got me into some online technical classes. I never saw the point of either, but if the Colonel says to do something, well then, I do it.”

  Some commotion outside drew Carter’s attention. He leaned his head out the door and called out, “We got company. I guess I need to go say hello. Cody, Colonel Bear said that if you can’t get this son of a bitch running and get that goddamned door open soon, he’s gonna have me shoot you.”

  Cody didn’t take his eyes away from his work but nodded. When Carter did finally leave, Oscar asked, “Do you think he means it?”

  Cody didn’t bother to answer because they both knew what kind of person the Colonel was and that Carter willingly did his bidding. The reality was that they had few options and the Colonel had kept them alive so far.

  He was worried though. The Colonel wanted him to use a portable generator to open the Whittier tunnel gate. Cody didn’t think he could get enough power out of the thing to lift the gate even an inch, but he would try. He thought if he couldn’t make this damned thing work, he might be deemed worthless and then... He didn’t want to contemplate that. He would just have to figure a way to get that damned gate open.

  Chapter 28

  There was a small group of the undead wandering up the Portage Highway toward the militia. Carter ordered the armed men and women in their group to hold their fire until they could get a better idea about the size of the oncoming mob. There were probably twenty of the shambling creatures, their bodies losing the battle to the elements and slowly freezing. Both their arms and their legs were much stiffer, sometimes popping as they moved when frozen flesh cracked and split to allow movement.

  Carter joked, “An unsightly bunch aren’t they?”

  Allison Crawford, a tough older gal with long, wiry gray hair, asked, “Should we take them?” Her fingers were dangerously close to pulling the trigger on her twenty-two caliber semiautomatic rifle, which she held at the ready. She was standing behind the front of a truck and leaning across its hood.

  “Remember to shoot for the head,” Carter reminded them. “Don’t waste your ammo shooting them anywhere else.” He figured there would be waste regardless, but he wanted to teach them all to be calm like Sullivan used to do with him.

  He missed Sullivan, who had died back at Skyview. Carter’s friend and mentor didn’t fall victim to the undead though. He’d been shot... gunned down in cold blood by the terrorists that attacked them. Colonel Bear told Carter that Sullivan had been interrogating one of the new prisoners and had been surprised, probably shot from behind. How else could someone get the jump on a guy like Sullivan? It just didn’t stand to reason.

  Their attackers might have been trained by the military. Hell, it could have been a raid instigated by the military. The boy that had been “liberated” with the girl Sullivan had been interrogating said that the group had come from Whittier. He wasn’t from Alaska originally, so some of his details were a bit hazy. All the boy’s sputtering and whimpering from the water boarding didn’t help Carter understand him either, but that was the price he had to pay to get information from an unwilling source. It seemed relatively reliable information.

  When Carter mentioned that to Colonel Bear, it seemed like lights suddenly lit behind the Colonel’s eyes. Whittier would make a hell of a place to go. Whittier had access to the ocean, rivers and forests; all full of bounty to keep the Colonel and his militia alive. It also had a mountain separating it from the mainland. It could be fortified and held indefinitely.

  Maybe that was what those other people had thought too. The Colonel reasoned that maybe those other folks had already done all the hard work for him, clearing the streets of the skins and maybe getting basic services back on line. With those possibilities circling his broiling mind, the Colonel formulated a plan. They would take Whittier and then start anew. If any of the other people already in Whittier wanted to join them, he would consider it. He wasn’t heartless or without reason. They might be a
ble to help him. The leader though, whoever the hell that was, would suffer. Colonel Bear would see to that himself. The man responsible for taking away Sullivan, his right-hand, would pay. Colonel Bear vowed nothing if not revenge. He wanted blood for blood.

  Seeing Colonel Bear seething with rage, Carter nodded to the shooters. They immediately commenced firing. Only about half of the people took their time and shot well. The others merely closed their eyes and pulled their triggers until their guns were empty. He chided himself for not doing a better job of training these dolts.

  Many of the skins moving toward them stumbled as the unleashed storm of lead hit them from three sides. The bullets tore through the desiccated flesh like a hot knife through butter, most exiting the undeads’ backs. Bits of clothing and rotting skin and tissue fluttered through the air like clouds from a nightmare. The little blood that emerged was dark and coagulated, spattering like jelly when it did happen to hit the pavement. Those shooting at specific targets and firing in controlled bursts did the job though. In no time at all, the herd of skins was brought down and ceased to move.

  Carter wandered into the thick of the bodies, searching specific corpses until he found what he wanted. From the front pocket of a skin wearing the coveralls of an automobile mechanic, he removed a mostly full tin of chewing tobacco.

  He shook his find in the air like a trophy and announced, “Fuck yeah! It isn’t my brand but it’ll do. Why don’t some of you come on over here and see what else might be on these folks? Look for lighters, matches, cigarettes, food, anything really. Ya never know what you might turn up.”

  Carter looked down and saw a very nice watch on one of the thin, gray arms and thought to himself that he could use a new timepiece. When he lifted the arm though, the body to which it was attached moved. The man had been shot in the head but the bullet had only grazed him, removing his ear and a chunk of his cheekbone. His sternum as well as his abdomen was full of fresh holes.

  “You just don’t know when to quit do you?” Carter said to the creature when it reached up at him. “Look at you. You’re a fucking mess.” Carter pulled a long, serrated knife from his boot and eased it into the thing’s eye socket, then twisted it. With its brains now scrambled irreversibly, the ghoul’s mouth fell open and went slack. Carter took his knife from its head, wiping the blade on the creature’s sports coat, and then removed the watch.

  He’d never had a nice watch before, and now he finally did when time had really lost most of its meaning. No matter. He liked the look of it on his wrist. The other militia members had watched him in shocked awe while he went about his work. He was so cool and casual about killing. None of them wanted to be on the receiving end of his knife or his wrath. A few brave souls ushered forth and started to search the other bodies. There wasn’t much to be retrieved: some un-chewed but soggy gum, a couple of lighters, some cigarette packs with a handful of usable cigarettes still in them, and a bunch of worthless cell phones.

  They left the bodies were they had fallen. They didn’t plan on being there for much longer, so there was really no point in tidying up after their latest battle. This wasn’t the first group with whom the militia had to deal, though it was the biggest so far.

  They couldn’t see it, but coming down the Seward Highway, drawn to the sound of their guns, was a massive herd of thousands of the undead. They shuffled slowly but made steady progress and each time the militia discharged their guns, the herd’s attention was renewed. The infection propelled them forward in search of their next feeding.

  Chapter 29

  William throttled back on Serenity’s engine and brought the boat to a stop close to the shoreline. He looked out toward the overlooking bluff. His lodge was still there, and not far off to the left he could see the unfinished row of houses, which were little more than foundations with skeletons of upright studs. He went down the ladder to find everyone getting ready.

  “Jess and Danielle, keep the kids here,” Neil said. He could sense Danny’s frustration at having been excluded and banished to the metaphoric kids’ table again. Unfortunately, Neil didn’t have time to deal with that. “We can leave most of the gear out here with you. If there is any trouble...” He didn’t finish his thought out loud.

  He looked over the railing at the boats still tethered to the back of Serenity and following along like a pair of newly born ducklings following their mother. “We can use those to get to shore and check things out first.”

  “First though...” William leaned over a padlocked compartment just inside the main cabin. From his pocket, he produced a key. Smiling, William unlocked the compartment and opened it.

  Inside was a pair of very familiar looking assault rifles. William removed the one that looked like a Russian made AK 47. “I know it’s not American,” he said, “but I love this weapon.”

  Jerry asked, “What’s the other one in there?”

  “It’s an M14. Another beauty. And a classic. She’s special. A good friend of mine found her at a market overseas somewhere. She might be exactly your speed and just as accurate as that elephant gun you’re carrying. You get twenty shots from her before reloading and can fire as fast as you can pull the trigger. Interested?”

  Jerry tilted his head and looked in at the beautiful firearm. Its wooden stock was a lighter tone than most of the rifles he typically saw and shone with a polished, heavily lacquered surface. Atop its frame was a powerful scope, which dwarfed the one affixed to his current rifle. For a change of pace, he felt his young age, fascinated with this new instrument of intimidating power like a child with a new toy at Christmas.

  William removed the second rifle and handed it to Jerry, then reached back into the compartment and came back out with a duffle bag. The blue vinyl bag was filled with bullets and extra magazines for each of the rifles. The two men divvied up the ammunition and clips, Jerry taking the short boxy magazines and William the longer, banana shaped ones.

  Nearly laughing aloud, Neil asked, “So, William? Worried about running into the pirates?”

  “Naw. Lot of my clients, once we got out into the middle of nowhere, liked to shoot the guns. We’d throw out some buoys or whatever and let ‘em go to town. We never shot at any animals. I wouldn’t have any of that. Just not sporting, ya know? Besides, there were crooks and other scumbags out there sometimes. Paid to be ready for anything.”

  Emma asked with a smile on her face now, “Even the end of the world?”

  William looked back toward the shore and his cabin. “Especially for the end of the world. Let’s get going.”

  Chapter 30

  Approaching the land slowly, the only sound Neil, Emma, Jerry, and William could hear was the water hitting the side of their rowboat. Serenity, bobbing gently on the tide, waited well behind them. They were out on their own and heading into the unknown. Only William was familiar with the land that lay ahead, but he didn’t know what to expect either. Jerry noticed that Neil was finding it hard to look away from the fishing boat and the faces that were watching them row away.

  With his hand on Neil’s shoulder, Jerry said, “They’ll be okay out there. Danielle and Jess both have more experience on boats than you and me.”

  Neil tried to smile but it eluded him. “I’m just tired I think. Maybe if we’re lucky, it’ll be quiet enough that we can get some rest.”

  “Finding quiet probably won’t be a problem. It’s almost too quiet. Is it supposed to be this quiet?

  The profound silence didn’t alarm William at all. The peace and tranquility of the location was what drew him to it. William guessed it was what also attracted the developer who plotted individual lots for a small patch of homes as well.

  William owned enough property with enough trees to have a nice screen to the six houses, which would be his closest neighbors when they were finished. He wasn’t necessarily a hermit. Still, some of his guests were expecting a wilderness experience. It might prove a little difficult to deliver on that experience with some million-dollar homes around t
he corner. He had made peace with the world catching up with him a long time ago. Now, he wondered if he wasn’t going to miss the company of families living near to him. Those houses would likely never be finished...would never be anything more than a series of six deep holes with cinder block walls.

  There was no one to meet them and no one walking the newly paved street. Again, William wasn’t surprised. He lived away from everyone else and these days people didn’t get out and about much. That wasn’t to say that they hadn’t gotten together since the happenings in Whittier. Most homes had taken in refugees from the city who babbled and cried nonsensically the first few days. It was hard to know what to believe and what to excuse as shock. They talked about friends and neighbors, people who had known one another for decades, becoming homicidal to one another. There was also talk of sudden cannibalism. The survivors also referred to their attackers as zombies, but that had been chalked up to hysterics. A few of the more creative souls in the community suggested that it was probably a chemical leak that caused mass psychosis in the population and the chaos that followed. There were too many holes and doubts in their theories but they made for good theater.

  The lodges and homes of Shotgun Cove became bunkers. Low windows were covered with lumber, doors were reinforced, firewood was stocked, and food was rationed. They hunkered down and waited, but nothing ever came. Apparently, whatever was hitting Whittier, some kind of sickness most people believed, wasn’t in a hurry to get to Shotgun Cove.

  Those first few days had people avoiding one another. If it was an illness, no one wanted to contract it or spread it unknowingly to others. The community’s Internet connections were fragile under the best of circumstances. When the calamity struck, the online service to Shotgun Cove was amongst the first of the casualties. They were utterly isolated.