By then the fire had grown out of its place in the garage and was working its way up through the house. Mason already had a different plan to get out. He climbed through the broken window and onto the solid awning below. He crawled to its edge and dropped down to the ground.
He walked away from the house struggling to carry all the firearms and the bag of ammunition and pistols but he figured a way to make it happen. He plopped down on the front yard, the heat from the blaze warming his back and neck uncomfortably. Ethan and Frances remained in the middle of the street looking over at the house that they used to call home.
Mason led them out along the road, always careful and alert. They didn’t want to run into those same men out in the open with nowhere to hide. Mason wondered if perhaps it was men like these causing all the problems in Anchorage. He wished he knew what was going on.
Mason’s family lived along the Kenai Spur Highway, north of Kenai but south of Nikiski. It was a road hemmed in on both sides by thick trees and the occasional small business or church. Mason had always thought there were an awful lot of churches where he lived, not that he wouldn’t be interested in some old fashioned Christian charity, as his mother would say.
Truth be told, Mason would just have preferred not having to make any decisions at present. He hoped he was leading the three of them somewhere safe, but then again, he thought he should have been safe at home. Looking over his shoulder, he could still see trails of black smoke billowing above the tree line. It was a fairly bitter reminder that he couldn’t go home ever again.
As one, the three of them stopped dead in their tracks when they heard the unmistakable crack and pop of gunfire coming from not too far down the road from them. They shared a worried look and wondered what they should do. Mason finally suggested that they head toward the sound but stay out of sight. After all, it was people, and maybe they would find someone capable and willing to help.
A short way south on the highway, they spotted a gas station further down the road. In the parking lot and around the small island of gas pumps, a harried crowd of people buzzed to and fro like an angry swarm of agitated hornets. There was a white pickup truck parked awkwardly in one corner of the lot, as if it had been stopped there and abandoned by its driver who had neglected to close the door.
It looked to Mason like three or four of the people overwhelmed and piled atop another person who disappeared amidst a vicious storm of pounding arms and fists. A big Ford Crown Victoria spun out of control on the pavement. Mason could have sworn he saw another two crazed people holding tightly to the side of the blue car as it came to rest. Was that a scream he heard? It was, but it didn’t sound like a woman’s voice. That was a man he was hearing. That sound, more than any he had ever heard in his life, worried him to the core. It was that sound which forced him down and out of sight. He didn’t want to know what would make a man make such a pitiful noise.
Mason led them further off the road until he was fairly certain they couldn’t be seen but he still had a partial view of the pavement. He didn’t know what to do now. Things were going from bad to worse. What was making those people act so crazy?
On the road to their left, another vehicle, this one a bigger truck of some variety, screamed by wildly and was gone, heading north as fast as its engine could drive it. Behind it trailed a trio of snarling, crazed people sprinting tirelessly after the truck.
Mason quickly pulled one of his pistols from its holsters, his hands shaking with fear. Those three people looked anything but normal. They didn’t necessarily act like human beings in the few seconds he was able to see them. They were like wild animals tracking prey.
He and the two children shared a worried look with one another but no one moved. Frances chewed her lower lip frantically, her fear consuming her. Mason could see the scream starting to build deep inside the girl. They needed to get away because the same scream was slowly building within himself as well.
“I think we—”
Mason’s eyes opened wide but his mouth slammed shut. Only a few feet away stood a woman wearing a convenience store uniform. It appeared as if maybe she had run away from the gas station nearby. She must have been lying near the road out of sight, because she was just suddenly standing there with her back to them. Mason thought he saw something on her arm, below her elbow.
The woman stood motionless for a few seconds. Well, she stood mostly motionless. Her head jerked violently a couple of times like she was having a fit. When she started to shudder from head to toe, Frances said tremulously, “Mason?”
Mason looked down at the little girl and shook his head, a look of terror entering into his eyes. Before any of them could move, however, the woman spun around and was rapidly approaching them.
Mason raised the pistol, pulled the trigger, and...nothing. By that time, Frances was screaming loud enough that everyone and everything in the parking lot up the road heard her. Mason, his hand trembling doubtfully, tried to process in his mind how to make the gun fire. He found the safety and was pulling the slide to chamber a round, but the woman was already upon them.
Her teeth bared like fangs, the fierce woman fell upon Frances, screaming and wriggling beneath her. Frances shrieked and then was quiet. Ethan, meanwhile, was kicking and punching the woman. Tears filled his eyes as he fought this woman to force her to release his sister.
From below her attacker, Frances cried, “She’s biting meeeeee! Make her stop Ethannnnn!”
Ethan had kicked the woman in the side of the head until she looked in the direction from which his foot was coming. The final kick from his boot was delivered squarely and forcefully. The woman’s head cocked back and she rolled away, gurgling and choking with the rush of blood down her throat.
Ethan reached down and lifted his sister to her feet. Turning about, Ethan led them blindly deeper into the trees. Mason was now following the two kids. It felt like he was walking in a haze. He didn’t notice it when Ethan and Frances disappeared from view. They may have stopped to rest and he passed them. Or perhaps they shifted right while he went left.
Either way, he found himself alone. When he stopped, the only sound Mason could hear was his own breathing. He was wracked with guilt. He was supposed to be protecting those kids. He was supposed to have been the one leading them away from danger. He was the one carrying the guns. He was the older one. He was the responsible adult.
Driven by his shame, Mason retraced his steps, hoping he would stumble upon the two kids. He’d find them and never let them leave his sight. He would do better. He didn’t like to let people down.
After walking for quite some time without passing anything that looked familiar, Mason determined he was lost. He could very well have gotten turned around during his retreat into the forest. He had no idea where he was or in which direction he should go.
The sun was still overhead, though some ominous clouds were starting to press themselves into the sky like an aggressive splash of dark dye spreading on a canvas. Soon, the sun would disappear.
The sun. That was it. He had found the sun through the thin, leafy ceiling of tree branches, leaves, and needles. He figured it had to be afternoon, which helped him get his bearings. If he kept the sun on his back, he should be able to find the highway again.
And so in that direction he walked until he found the road. It wasn’t the highway that he found. It was a side street cutting through a neighborhood. He paused to look around and to rest his shoulders, which were sore from having the added weight of the bundle of rifles and shotguns clipped onto his backpack.
Looking around more closely than the last time he had approached civilization, he was comfortable there was no one lurking near to him. He sat down amidst the trees, which bordered the houses, small professional buildings, and specialized retailers and boutiques. He could smell smoke wafting on the breeze and quickly determined it was from another burning building. He wondered if those horrible people had perhaps preceded him there as well.
When a group of
four or five harried souls emerged from one of the houses and ran across the street, he almost shouted to them to wait for him. Before he could get a word out an animated mob appeared in the street on both sides of the group. Hemmed in, they lashed out with firearms. They used shotguns and handguns, creating a roar of echoing cracks and pops. They weren’t able to shoot fast enough though. In a matter of seconds, the group of people had been overwhelmed and savagely attacked.
It looked like the larger crowd was eating the others, but that couldn’t possibly be the case. It was likely just Mason’s imagination getting the better of him.
Transfixed, he couldn’t take his eyes away from the assault. The struggling was done apparently, because the crowd was no longer fighting whoever was beneath them. It looked like they were scavenging. Wait….no. Both his original assumption and his worst fears were confirmed when one of them pulled back from the group and retreated with what was undoubtedly a blood-dripping arm that had been wrenched from a body. Like a primitive beast relishing its fresh kill, the man gripped the limb and proceeded to gnaw on it hungrily, tearing away chewy bits of flesh with his grinding teeth. He barely chewed as he swallowed down the gory mouthfuls.
From beneath the chomping and grunting sounds, Mason thought he could hear a faint whisper of a voice begging for the anguish to end. Mason slunk back into the forest while the crazed people were still distracted with their ungodly feast.
Confused and trembling with fear, Mason wandered for a bit, not entirely certain he knew where to go. He couldn’t imagine anywhere being safe. Everywhere he went, things were getting worse.
He lost track of time and only became aware of its passing when he realized in terror that it was getting dark. He couldn’t imagine being alone, in the dark, lost in the woods. He also noticed that he could see his breath.
Instinctively, he stopped dead in his tracks. He could see movement to his right but he was afraid to look more closely in that direction. He reasoned that if he didn’t acknowledge it, then maybe whatever it was wouldn’t notice him. Mason quickly dropped down, trying to hide amidst the lingering but fading autumn foliage. He heard a loud crack and then a zipping pop near his head. Mason heard a pair of people speaking:
“D’you hit it?”
”I don’t know. Looked like it.”
“What should we do?”
Mason waved his hands above his head and pleaded, “Please stop shooting. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” His voice was softened with the tears that were starting to fill his eyes, “I just don’t want to be alone anymore.”
One of them said, “Well stand up. Let’s getta’ look at ya.”
Mason thought about it for a moment, not sure if he should stand up or just try and crawl away. He didn’t know if he could trust these men or not but was afraid that he didn’t have any choice. Full of trepidation, he stood slowly and looked more closely through the failing light.
There was a bigger group than he had thought. In his stupor, he hadn’t seen the group of people with whom he nearly collided. They were wandering much the same as he was and were no less afraid. He counted at least eight people, all adults.
With hushed voices, the adults had a quick but sharp debate. They weren’t certain if they wanted to allow Mason to join them. Some obviously thought it was a bad idea judging by their body language. Some of the others started to nod their heads after one of those against it spoke. Mason felt his agitation rise. He didn’t want to be alone again. Then he remembered his bargaining chip.
“I’ve got these,” he said, and lifted the bundle of rifles and shotguns.
Chapter 47
Mason was allowed to join the group, which hiked a little further into the woods until they came to a clearing. Just as he had thought, having someone else decide things for him and simply following along behind was much better. They set up a makeshift camp in the clearing, lighting a fire and pitching the handful of tents they had.
No one knew what was going on in the cities with the suddenly crazed people wreaking such havoc. It was decided they would wait for the authorities— the government, the Army— to bring order and take control of the situation. It was just a matter of time really.
With the addition of the fire and then a quick meal, the tension that everyone harbored lessened somewhat. The night was starting to feel like just another camping trip. Mason didn’t stray too far away from the fire and kept the duffle bag full of pistols and ammunition and his own backpack next to him.
A few of the adults engaged him in conversation but it was all superficial talk. Topics never ventured too far away from the weather, the season, and what each did for an occupation. A couple of the adults asked him about the guns and how he had gotten away safely with such a heavy bundle. Mason didn’t give many details and avoided mentioning anything about the children he had abandoned in the forest.
Having ignored his bladder as long as he could, Mason was finally forced to deal with it. He stood quietly, hefted his baggage and walked to the edge of the trees. He was careful to find a spot where he could still see the fire but was also shielded from view by trees and bushes.
He stood there in the dark for a few seconds before he unbuttoned and unzipped his blue jeans. He had begun to relieve himself when he heard a wave of surprise followed by terrified screams sweep through the camp. Still urinating, he knelt down and tried to see what was happening.
They had been found by some of the crazed people who washed into the encampment like a dark deluge. One of the men squeezed off a couple of quick shots from his shotgun before being pulled to the ground by hands emerging from the night.
The uneven shadows created by the flickering firelight cast the entire campsite into a hellish puppet theater. The gruesome struggle shrouded in dancing darkness was how Mason envisioned Hell: Blood. Tears. Growls. Biting. Tearing. Chewing. All lit in uneven firelight which came and went with the gentle breeze, causing the eye to only catch passing glimpses of horror like the images of a whirling nightmare.
Using the loud mayhem behind him to mask the sound of his own footsteps, Mason did what he had done throughout the entire day; he fled. Despite their weight, he was still carrying his bundle of weapons and now understood that he could use them as currency. His arms ached as he switched from carrying with his right to his left and back again. He didn’t dare entertain thoughts of surrendering his cargo and so endured the discomfort to the point of his arms burning themselves numb.
He finally came upon an abandoned automobile, a sedan, which had likely been stuck in the mud for years judging upon the amount of leaves, dirt, and debris that had gathered on its windshields. Mason opened one of the doors and sat. His legs were as tired as his arms but it was his poor mind which was suffering the most.
Mason tried to process all he had seen on this very long day but was finding himself unable. His grief and guilt hitting him in inexorable waves, Mason began to cry. Ashamed that a man of his age would be crying, he tried unsuccessfully to restrain his tears, resulting in a few moments of uncontrolled choking, which only served to make him feel more ridiculous and less manly. Poor Mason was miserable and that was how he felt until he drifted off to sleep.
His nose filled with the rank odor of mildew, moisture, and rotting upholstery, Mason awoke the next morning only slightly more rested. He was drawn out of his sleep by a not-too-distant engine sound. He thought that maybe it sounded like a bus or some other big vehicle. Maybe it was the military. He’d never heard a tank before but thought it might sound similar.
For a brief moment, his fear faded and a tinge of hope returned. Stiffly, he crawled out of the car and relieved himself despite his uncontrollable shaking. He could see his breath and his stream of bright yellow urine created its own steam.
With a sense of purpose and urgency in his step, he stepped toward the engine sound. He was closer to the main road than he had thought. As dark as it had been the night before, he had figured that the streetlights and business neon signs must not have b
een working, and that the electricity was off.
Before he had completely cleared the tree line, he could see the activity. There were four men and at least two of them wore what looked like military uniforms. Another of the men was wearing all black— jeans, t-shirt, baseball cap, and boots. The men all carried assault rifles too. That was enough for Mason.
The men had started a mid-sized Shoreside Petroleum tanker truck and were trying to clear the other vehicles from around it. They also were loading supplies from some of the trucks into the back of a big black pickup truck, which nicely matched the man in black’s outfit.
Mason emerged from the trees and walked purposefully toward them. He was about to shout to them when there was some commotion nearer to the men. There were shouts, then men running, followed by shooting. Mason regretted having shown himself at all, afraid that maybe his luck was following him once again. Would his presence cause more death?
Not this time. The men backed themselves into a tight circle and began to shoot methodically at some other people running at them...attacking them.
Wellington’s Squares had never fended off a cavalry charge as efficiently. The men fired calmly and deliberately. While one reloaded, he would back himself into their circle and then reemerge to allow another to do the same. In a matter of seconds, their dozen or so attackers were all down in the open parking lot. Satisfied that the danger had passed, the men set about their work once again.
Mason, his resolve bolstered and afraid that they might get done and leave without him, shouted to them tentatively at first, “Heyyy! Heyyyyyyyy!”
He was running across the road before he realized what he was doing. One of the men heard his voice over the grumble of the diesel engine and thankfully waved him over. Arriving breathless but excited to be in the other men’s company, Mason stood for several wordless seconds while the man who spotted him spoke with the man in black. Mason was quick to show both of them the bundle of weapons he was carrying, hoping that perhaps it would be enough to buy him space in one of the vehicles they would be driving away from there, although the shotguns and hunting rifles paled in comparison to the hardware each of the men carried. Mason was also figuring out that these men weren’t necessarily military. The two men that appeared to be donning military garb were actually wearing hunting outfits with military belts and web gear atop them. If they were military, they weren’t government military. That didn’t matter to Mason at the moment.
Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution Page 27
