Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution

by Schubert, Sean

  Cody drove to their headquarters and found it abandoned. Everyone had already left him...just like he had left Josh. He was still sitting in his truck in the parking lot when another truck of armed men pulled up on the street near to him. One of the men in the other truck spotted him and waved him over. That was all Cody needed to see. He climbed out of his truck, grabbed his lunch and his coat and ran over to the other truck, which was already starting to roll before he had climbed into a back seat.

  He was told that The End had come and that they were getting out of town. They had a safe place where they could go. Whereas everyone else he had encountered had been scurrying fearfully, these men were calm and collected. They were on a mission and acted accordingly.

  They took him to some place called The Ranch where he was taken in and made to feel safe. His becoming a soldier was something that happened without his having been aware. Regardless, he still didn’t think he had signed on to be another man’s tool.

  Any lingering doubt he may have had was dispelled every time he looked over at Oscar. Cody tried to avoid looking at the swollen, discolored face of the corpse, but try as he might, he couldn’t keep his eyes from it.

  Night fell quickly, as was usual in Alaska in the autumn, and with it came a sour change in the weather. Like an unwanted visitor, the earlier winds had brought with them snow, which began to fall in heavy, full flakes. The ground was soon covered in a growing coat of white and the men found themselves cold and wet.

  Shortly before dark, the skies disgorged a belly full of snow and wintry winds. Standing guard suddenly seemed less important than staying out of the weather. The power shack, not much more than a thin walled shed on a concrete slab, was as appealing as a sanctuary as anything. They could have all fit into and stayed warm in the truck left behind for them, but none of them wanted to sit in Oscar’s shadow, whose deeper darkness persisted despite the absence of any light which could cast it.

  They retreated into the shack and started a fire in a metal trash can to try and stay warm, though the meager flame produced more smoke than heat. Finding themselves out of the cold winds was improvement enough. The four of them gathered around the fire and passed around a jug of cheap wine one of them had found some time ago. The alcohol content of the wine was just enough to make everyone’s cheeks rosy and their body temperatures rise.

  They didn’t speak much and when they did, it was only superficial talk about past professional sporting matches...the big games that all of them had seen. They weren’t really talking with one another; they were merely filling in the silence that would have been hanging around them otherwise. The strong winds hurling the snow against the shack’s thin metal walls did their part to vanquish the quiet, but it wasn’t a consistent white noise which might encourage calm. The winds came in violent gusts which rocked and shook the small structure and raised alarms in all of their heads.

  After they had finished the wine, the conversations largely came to a close and a profound silence shrouded all of them, interrupted occasionally by the buffeting winds outside. The air became more and more stale in their tight confines until the smell finally became overpowering.

  Luckily for Cody, the storm sounded like it was starting to fade somewhat. The time between gusts was lengthening, encouraging him to start considering options. Unable to hold his urine any longer, Cody stood and exited the shack.

  He stepped around the back of the shack and opened the fly on his pants. It felt good to be in the open air, despite the cold, and just as refreshing to be emptying his bladder, which steamed as it exited his body. It went on without end. If ever there were a time when he should have written his name in the snow, it would have been then. He had plenty of urine with which to write. He could have started writing his memoirs.

  Finally done and completely relieved, Cody wrapped himself tightly in his winter coat. He figured he would have a look around before going back into the shack to rejoin the others. He lifted his rifle and walked back around to the front of the building, surprised to see that someone else had emerged from the shack.

  Cody, his eye catching a bit of movement through the storm which he suspected was Oscar’s body swinging at the end of its rope, said to whomever it was, “I think the storm is starting to clear.”

  He saw that the man wasn’t wearing a coat, and when the person turned awkwardly on his stiff legs, Cody realized it wasn’t a man at all. It was a skin. He was momentarily too stunned to say or do anything. He staggered backward through the pool of yellow he had only moments before created.

  The creature, a Cyclops as a result of a grievous wound to its face and head, advanced toward Cody. It growled and hissed, raising its arms. It was then that Cody realized there was more of them, dozens more, swarming all around the tunnel entrance.

  “They’re herrrrre!” he shouted. “Everyonnnnnne! They’re herrrrre!”

  He heard someone from inside the shack shout something unintelligible, followed by a desperate volley of wild gunshots and more screams. Hearing the guns of his companions helped to shake the weights from his hands holding his own firearm. Cody raised the gun’s barrel and pulled the trigger. His bullet hit his target high in its chest, shattering its sternum in a shower of whitish bone fragments. Seemingly struck by a giant’s hammer, the creature was pitched backward and disappeared out of sight.

  Abruptly, the cold air was pregnant with gunshots and aggressive screaming and hooting. For a moment, aside from the shootings, the sounds resembled those of an epic battle from antiquity. War hoots and battle yawps filled the darkness.

  Cody inched along the back of the shack and peeked around the opposite side. Although the darkness prevented him from seeing very far, Cody could see one of his companions grabbed away from the other two by a dozen grayish hands while he reloaded his rifle. Cody could have shot but he didn’t want to accidently hit the man in the process...not that such an eventuality would not be in the man’s interest. The six remorseless mouths chomped onto his flailing arms and legs, biting into his skin through layers of clothing and down. Perhaps it was simply the fear of drawing attention back to himself that stayed his hand, but Cody did not shoot. He watched helplessly as the other man was shredded and devoured.

  He heard a flurry of shots and then the pounding of feet as the other two men made a desperate dash for the truck. Hearing them running caused a sudden rush of anxiety upon Cody. If they made it to the truck and managed to get it going, would they think to get him before they drove away, or would they leave him behind?

  Cody found himself in a near panic and his worry rising. Looking over his shoulder at the expanding darkness behind him, he weighed his limited options. When he heard the doors open and then slam shut quickly, he knew he needed to act.

  The vehicle’s engine roared to life and its headlights spread out upon the hideous crowd encircling the little oasis. There were hundreds of the fiends filling the road like an expanding virus and still more coming at them from the road leading back to the Seward Highway over a mile away. The things had followed them. He’d never seen so many of them at one time.

  The vehicle’s tires screeched and produced a cloud of whitish smoke when his comrades made their play for safety. He had to decide. If he jumped out at them and they didn’t stop for him, he was doomed.

  Holding his breath, he started to run out when he heard another gunshot from within the SUV and then the sound of breaking glass. The headlight beams panned wildly from right to left as the truck careened out of control while Cody watched in horror. In the halo emitted by the vehicle’s interior dome light, Cody could see that there were more than three heads inside.

  Cody was awestruck with the unfolding struggle until another gunshot from within the truck shook his awareness again. To Cody’s surprise, the truck regained control and squealed its tires again, barreled into the tunnel and disappeared from sight, its echoing engine noise and bright headlights quickly fading into the gloom.

  Though he could no longer see it,
he could still hear the crude eating sounds by the pack of creatures still feasting on his fallen companion. They sounded like jackals scavenging meat from the festering bones of a kill on the savannah.

  Alone now, he was trying to decide what to do when he felt the unmistakable presence of another skin near to him. Cody took a step back and looked to his left but the darkness was too powerful and his eyes too weak to see more than a few feet in front of himself. There was nothing there. Then he looked to his right; nothing. Straining to detect the sounds of movement separate from those of eating coming from the road on the other side of the shack and his own galloping heartbeat, Cody stopped to listen. He thought that perhaps he heard something but was relieved to only hear his own heart and a persistent buzzing, which he attributed to his elevated pulse and respiration.

  He peeked around the shack again, thankful that he could see none of the ghouls advancing toward him. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, he stepped back to his safe location behind the small structure. His reprieve was short-lived, however.

  The creature, which had originally startled Cody, was standing next to him again. For a split second, the two locked eyes with one another; Cody’s filled with fear and doubt and the creature’s simmering with rage-filled hunger. Cody attempted to flee but was caught by the thing’s bony fingers closing around his jacket collar.

  Terrified, he screamed and tried to run away but his coat was zipped tightly up to his chest. He was spun around like an excited top. The only thing that would make a quick getaway possible was his rifle, which had been hurled away from him into the night. Cody stopped directly in front of and eye to eye with a feral, decaying predator.

  He felt like a moth staring into the many eyes of a hungry spider bearing down upon him. With its gaping mouth coming down at him, Cody did the only thing he could think to do, which was kick up and out with his right foot. His knee struck the creature squarely in the groin but did not produce the effect for which Cody had hoped.

  Other than the sheer force of the strike, the creature was unswayed. Fortunately, the force was enough to loosen its grip on Cody’s coat. With a solid tug, Cody freed himself from its clutches and turned to run. Unfortunately, he ran headlong into another of the ghouls, tripping both himself and the uncoordinated creature.

  The two fell to the frozen ground in a twisted, struggling heap. Cody was holding his breath and clenching his jaw as he fought. The thing was slow but persistent. When Cody felt like he had gotten the upper hand with a push or a repositioning of his body, his attacker readjusted and came at him from a different angle.

  When he felt another set of hands on his right leg, Cody found his panic rising to a feverish pitch. From beneath the beast, he felt a surge of adrenaline, which empowered his hands, feet, and voice.

  “Off of me you fuckerrrrrs!!!” he shouted.

  Using his shoulders and free left leg as levers, Cody exerted enough force to push the one from atop him and down a gentle slope leading away from where the three of them battled behind the shack. The other one, despite a good kick to the face, was not as easily dissuaded from his assault. Finding the right angle, the zombie finally bit into Cody’s calf.

  The pain was excruciating. The skin’s teeth ground together and pulled away, rending flesh from bone. He could feel the warm spray of fresh blood spurting from the wound onto his leg. He reached to his belt and removed his hunting knife from its scabbard. He drove the thick silver blade into the top of the creature’s skull and twisted it to remove it. The biting stopped and the zombie slumped over dead.

  Working quickly despite the steady surge of pain from his wound, Cody crawled back up to his feet. The fiend he had thrown aside was also back to its feet and coming at him.

  “Fuck you!” he screeched, and jabbed with the knife, plunging the sticky blade into his assailant’s eye. “How do you like that you bastard?”

  Cody pulled the knife from the ruined eye socket and limped away, making certain to stay off the road and in the shadows. He inched his way painfully toward the tunnel. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he knew he needed to get himself to the other side. He needed to find help...someone to help relieve some of his pain. Maybe someone still in Whittier had found a cure for the Biting Sickness.

  He could feel the warm wetness from his wound filling his boot. The pain with each step was approaching unbearable levels, and yet he found the will to keep moving.

  Finally getting to the edge of the mountain where the tunnel entrance was, Cody paused to catch his breath. His leg throbbed remorselessly. So much so that he removed his belt and wrapped it tightly just above the wound.

  He could hear the horde moving to and fro on the road but he couldn’t see any of them from where he stood; it was too dark. He wished he still had his rifle. Hell, he wished he would have been able to get into the truck and driven off with the other two men from the rearguard. Cody could still smell the vehicle’s exhaust lingering in the sheltered confines of the tunnel.

  Remembering that he was still carrying some items in the many pockets of his coat, Cody searched for anything that might help. He pulled out hand and feet warmers still in their plastic packages, a granola bar, a package of Bayer aspirin which he promptly opened and popped in his mouth, some ammunition for the gun that he no longer was carrying, and a road flare stuffed into his inside pocket.

  He held the flare in front of himself, hoping it would be all he needed to make his escape. He just needed a distraction and maybe it would work.

  Knowing that his time was limited, Cody sparked the flare to life and threw it as far as he could in the opposite direction from the tunnel. Looking up from his hiding spot, he could see in the flare’s red glow a large crowd forming around the flame.

  He had no time to wait. Cody walked up onto the road and then ran toward the tunnel, which was as dark as a starless night sky. He felt like he was stepping into a black hole where light and matter were devoured by the darkness.

  The air inside the tunnel was musty and still reeked of past vehicle exhaust. It was also cool and slightly moist against his skin. He thought he could hear other footsteps in addition to the sound of dripping water, but his eyes were useless. No matter how wide he tried to make them, he couldn’t attract any light at all. He was blind and, within a handful of steps into the darkness, he regretted his decision.

  His footsteps squeezed and squished as blood from the wound on his leg spilled down into his boot. Thankfully, the pain had subsided to a dull throb mixed with a numbing sensation that followed an unpleasant wave of pins and needles sensation. The squishing echoed uncomfortably off of the walls all around him.

  An unsettling thought struck him. What if he was not making any headway? What if he was staggering in circles? His worry was starting to grow beyond his control when he swore that he saw something ahead.

  After another handful of steps, he realized he was looking at what could only be headlights. They were facing away from him but the luminescence was grand. With a little more hope and possibility in his mind, Cody increased his pace.

  To his surprise and delight, the truck was still running, though it was empty. From the glow of the vehicle’s interior lights, Cody could see streaks of red on the inside and outside of the windows and along the individual panels of the SUV’s exterior.

  He stepped up to the open door tentatively and looked inside. There was more blood on the dash, the seat, the seatbelt, and the floor. Glancing back over his shoulder before he climbed into the seat, Cody was not at all surprised to see that he was being followed. Like the taunting wraiths of a nightmare, the undead shuffled through the murk toward him and the light.

  Cody became aware of how out of breath and lightheaded he had become, and sat down inside the truck. He wondered what had happened to the other men. Why would they have abandoned their vehicle?

  He didn’t have time to consider any of it. He could hear the creatures now. They were only a few steps away. He pulled the gearshift down and pr
essed the accelerator. As the truck veered away, Cody could see that there were others already in front of him. Crowds of the walking dead staggered forward toward the opening at the far end of the tunnel.

  He felt safer and more hopeful now, but a nagging wooziness wouldn’t let go of his mind. Keeping his eyes open was becoming more and more of a challenge. When his lids did finally close and refuse to reopen, he was completely unaware.

  The truck crashed into a concrete barrier at the end of the tunnel, spinning to a rest. The impact against the wall caused the horn to raise its claxon voice without end.

  The blaring car horn served as a beacon for the amassed horde on the far side of the mountain. It called to them like a dinner bell and drew them into and through the tunnel.

  Chapter 59

  Neil couldn’t believe he had been talked into it, but there he was riding back into Whittier in William’s Serenity. The whale road that they traveled was rough but not threatening to anything but Neil’s mood and confidence. The weather had cleared after the snowfall, though the skies were still somber and gray.

  They passed a few rocky promontories rising up from the cold, watery depths below. The mossy piles of rocks were like inhospitable islands populated only by hardy birds. Perched in the countless sheltered pits in the aquatic boulders, the birds were oblivious to the elements. Neil couldn’t take his eyes from the feathered critters as the boat passed them, a brave few rising up against the raging elements only to return again to their sanctuary.

  The beautiful boat skipped along the white-capped surface, rising and falling into some of the troughs created between waves. His familiarity with the personality of the local waters helped William to pick and choose the paths between Shotgun Cove and Whittier Harbor.

  When Neil decided to go out on the boat’s aft deck, he was surprised to find that ice had started to form on the railing and other exposed surfaces. Neil was afraid that if he stood in one place for too long, the ice might form on him too.