They could all see footprints in the snow near the front door, the front of the lodge, and into the nearby woods. Someone had obviously been there recently. Seeing the footprints caused all of them to stop in their tracks. They looked around, concerned that perhaps they had just walked into an ambush of some sort.
About then, the Colonel and Greg came barreling down the road and into the driveway. Greg slammed the brakes and came to a sliding stop several feet from the steps leading up to the door, leapt from the monstrous black truck and ran up onto the porch. He was carrying his assault rifle, a common AK47 with a long banana clip, at the ready, aimed at the door.
The Colonel spilled out of the front passenger seat slowly, like a glob of tapioca pudding wrapped in clothing. He tried to take on the bearing of MacArthur cutting through the surf on his triumphant and much publicized return to the Philippines in World War II. He ascended the steps deliberately, nearing the door at his own pace.
In front of the door now, he looked over at Greg walking over and trying the doorknob. To their surprise, it turned. The Colonel finished the job of opening the door. It creaked open, revealing just what the Colonel had anticipated and feared. The lodge was empty. It did smell very nice however, but there was something more. He heard something coming from just inside the door. It was a faint, high pitched beeping tone. He stepped inside and took a quick look around but didn’t immediately see the source of the sound. It sounded similar to a watch alarm or some other electronic device.
Greg looked at his commanding officer and shrugged his shoulders. They assumed the beeping would stop eventually and so paid it little attention and peered into the dark building. It looked like a nice place, and had been used very recently.
Then the beeping stopped. Colonel Bear and Greg shared a quick grin, which was interrupted by a startling, blaring, repeating alarm tone. The aggressive sound echoed into and through the forest, bouncing off of and between trees. It disturbed the quiet of the forest and found its way deep into Shotgun Cove.
The metallic echo, most of its tone dissipating from the normal human audible range, crept around the buildings and across the newly paved streets and driveways. It vibrated the air all the way to the undulating, ravenous wave of undead even then making their way into the Cove. The echo was like a dinner bell to them, exciting, agitating, calling.
Their emaciated bodies found renewed energy, electric and sudden, in their limbs. Like an accompanying drumbeat or a marching song, the creatures growled and hissed a hellish chorus. The army of death found renewed collective energy that set their legs to a more brisk, determined pace. They could sense the presence of prey. Their cravings propelled them forward as if a whip was driving them. The infection fueling their brains demanded they hunt...demanded they kill...demanded they eat. It would not be denied and the anticipation of the feast only made them all the more insane.
All the roads in Shotgun Cove led to the same place. They were all tributaries to the same major artery, the Shotgun Cove Road. At present, Colonel Bear’s militia was marching in one direction on the road and the masses of undead were moving in the opposite. They were like two trains heading toward one another on the same track. Nothing would stop the collision and, just like with a pair of trains, this crash would be tragic and bloody.
Chapter 84
Jules looked up at Neil. “Where are we going now?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. William said that we’re going somewhere safe.”
Jules looked back out Serenity’s window at the gray but calm skies that hung all the way down to the water’s surface, a darker shade of gray. The water wasn’t boasting a smooth, glassy surface but it was largely calm.
Jules smiled widely. “I like Serenity,” she said.
Neil thought to himself that he did too. They were riding the surprisingly gentle currents of the Prince William Sound out away from Whittier. Neil leaned back into the comfortably padded seat and looked up toward the helm.
William stood stoically at the wheel, guiding them toward the destination he had in mind. There were remote cabins all over the Sound and William had one particular in mind which had a wood stove, an oil stove, plenty of room, and perhaps electricity. It would be tight, but it would also be warm and dry. They could conceivably stay there through the winter. Most importantly, they would be removed from any population centers and threats of encounters with any zombies; even outside chance possibilities were all but nil.
Rationing would be required, as would hunting and fishing, and likely planting in the spring. Neil was hopeful that things might work themselves out in the end. He thought that maybe they had finally found somewhere they could make a home. They could settle down and start to think about the bigger picture and not simple day-to-day survival.
While he pondered those possibilities, the newest member of their group, Mason, came in from the rear of the boat. He rubbed his hands together to get the blood flowing again. “The other boat is keeping up with us pretty well. William and I loaded it up with so much fuel I didn’t know how it would do, but she’s making good time.”
Mason had earned everyone’s respect for his care and ultimate rescue of William. Back at the Inn at Whittier, Mason had spirited out of the establishment William, who led them down to the harbor. They found William’s other boat, the Nostromo, still moored where it had been prepped all those months ago. William had wince when he saw her. To Nostromo’s sides clung darkening layers of barnacles, algae, and other growth There was no time to deal with it at that moment; they were focused on other tasks like escaping the harbor before they were trapped.
Once he climbed into the boat and looked around, William was surprised to see that the piers were all empty. When he turned the ignition and the boat’s engine grumbled to life, he expected them to be rushed by throngs of the undead but nothing happened. They pulled away from the moorage and slipped through the water without incident. In fact, William was so confident that he formulated a plan.
Just like on Serenity, William had a secured locker holding an assortment of firearms and ammunition. Nostromo was carrying a pair of well cared for vintage AR15s, the original model for the United States Army’s M16 and a military issue semi-automatic combat shotgun with a folding stock. When William opened the locker, Mason’s eyes widened and his nostrils filled with the overpowering scent of oil, which overcame the surrounding aroma of the ocean.
The young man gushed, “Wow. Those are some nice guns.” Mason looked at the small submachine gun he had been given by Carter and knew that it would never compare to the ones William owned.
William asked while looking the young man in the eyes, “Which one do you want?”
“Really?” Mason asked incredulously. “I mean...really? Which one do you think I should take?” He set the MP5 down and moved closer to William.
William handed Mason one of the lightweight assault rifles and demonstrated how to load and then prepare the rifle for firing. He then told Mason that he wanted to go over to one of the refueling stations and see about loading some barrels of boat fuel onto the Nostromo. Mason nodded his head and agreed. When William asked for Mason’s help and expressed that he couldn’t possibly do all of what he wanted alone, Mason gladly stepped up and promised to do what needed to be done.
He didn’t know anything about William other than the man’s first name and that he had a fishing boat armed like a naval warship, but Mason trusted the big black man more so than any of the militia people with whom he had been living. He didn’t care about any of those people because none of them had ever shown any interest in his wellbeing.
The two men found a few fifty-five gallon drums which they filled and then used a power loader to move onto the back of the boat, which did sag slightly when the third barrel was lowered. They filled every other metal container they could find. It took a good long while, but eventually they had a full load.
While they did all of this, Mason told William about the Colonel’s rage and his plans for revenge
against William’s friends in Shotgun Cove. The information kept William focused on his task and helped to energize his tired and still not healed legs and arms. He needed to get back to Shotgun Cove to warn and protect his new friends.
Thinking about all of them hopefully back at Shotgun Cove, William wondered about Neil, who he had accidentally shot. William wondered if he would be welcomed back at all. If he had killed Neil, how would he be received? He couldn’t imagine that any of them could possibly think he had done so intentionally. Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging sense of doubt when they set out to return to Shotgun Cove.
Leaving Whittier, William was certain he could see what looked like a parade of some sort starting to move onto Shotgun Cove Road. This parade lacked everything but coordinated movement. There was no color, no energy, no life. William asked Mason to find the binoculars in one of the storage seats.
When Mason used the binoculars, his gasp was enough for William to know that his eyes had not deceived him. William opened up Nostromo’s motors, increasing their speed. He needed to get back to Shotgun Cove before both the Colonel’s militia and those walking abominations reached the lodge.
Chapter 85
Shotgun Cove appeared faster than William had anticipated and, to his great relief, Serenity was resting where she should be and it looked like there were people on it. He thought he could see Jerry carrying something onto the boat. They were still some distance out, but the binoculars helped somewhat.
William wondered what Jerry was doing and decided to get the young man’s attention with a couple of quick blasts with Nostromo’s powerful air horn. He thought that perhaps Jerry had already detected them, but William hoped that by announcing themselves Jerry and whoever else was with him wouldn’t shoot first and ask questions later.
Mason asked, “Those your friends?”
“Yeah,” nodded William, “and they’re all pretty good shots. We don’t want them shooting us before we get over there.”
Mason lowered himself in his chair a little.
When William pulled them alongside Serenity, he and Mason were greeted warmly. William was welcomed back like a missing family member. He was greatly relieved to learn that Neil was still alive and, in fact, doing quite well. His wound was all in soft tissue and was already healing. Jerry, Jess, and Danielle assured William that Neil would be grateful to see him. They had feared the worst.
The latest words produced tears from each of them, including Mason. He was taken with how much these people appeared to care about one another. They treated each other better than his own family had treated each other. Mason was finally happy with one of his decisions and the more he heard them speak with one another the more firmly he believed it was the right one.
Back at the lodge, William and Mason told everyone what was coming their way. The Colonel was bent on vengeance and was likely already making his way their direction with his militia. That was the most immediate threat, and it was also the threat with which they could likely contend. Following behind them at a gradual but steady pace was likely an insurmountable threat. The thousands of hungry zombies that would infest all of Shotgun Cove would be more than they could handle. They simply didn’t have enough ammunition.
It was William who suggested that they should abandon his lodge for refuge elsewhere. Initially, there were some voices of protest. The lodge was the best place any of them had been in a very long time. It was hard to give up such comfort and solid security, but common sense and survival priorities prevailed. It was just a matter of considering the possibilities realistically. When those things arrived— and they would— the lodge would fall under siege. There was no telling how long the undead would be able to maintain a siege, but they suspected that the zombies could and would outlast all of the living humans inside the lodge. If they were to be trapped in the lodge, it would seal their doom.
It was decided they would take to the boats and move to their next sanctuary. William had some good ideas about that as well, which he shared with all of them. Everyone was excited for a chance to be on the move, especially Jules.
It was actually very fun to watch young Jules prepare herself for their next move. It was like watching a young girl getting ready for vacation. She had grown very adept at packing her backpack tightly and in the right order to make the most important things at the top and easy to pull out. Her enthusiasm was infectious to all of them.
They packed out most of the food, all of the firearms and ammunition, and just about everything else that any of them could want or need in the coming months. The boats were loaded heavier than William had ever seen either of them, but they handled their weighty cargo well.
The seas were calm and dry when they departed. They only had twenty miles to go to find the cabin William had in mind, but there was no point in tarrying. They were long gone by the time Colonel Bear tripped the lodge’s alarm and never saw the less than epic confrontation between the militia and the zombie horde.
Outnumbered and poorly led, the militia broke almost immediately. Dozens of random shots were fired, largely ineffectively, but no coordinated resistance materialized. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. There were too many of them for the militia to ever be able to repel. The poor souls were driven into the woods in every direction and hunted until they dropped from sheer exhaustion. None of them survived.
The Colonel tried to reverse out of harm’s way in his Hummer, but drifted too much onto the road’s shoulder. The big vehicle struggled for a few tense moments, then the Colonel coaxed it back onto the road. By then, he had been encircled by such a thick mass of bodies he was unable to make the big Detroit behemoth move at all. He was stuck and the creatures who had him trapped weren’t going anywhere. They could be as patient as death.
The Colonel cursed Neil, holding him responsible for his current predicament. He also cursed Carter for not being there to keep everyone together. If they had all stayed together, maybe they could have had an orderly retreat to the lodge, whose alarm was still blaring from not that far down the road.
The Hummer’s side windows, stressed from the enormous pressure exerted against them from the outside, started to pop and crack, not that the Colonel could have heard it. The cabin was filled with a reverberating, torturous cacophony caused by fingernails scratching across the vehicle’s outer skin, raspy moans and growls, and bodies pounding the Hummer’s sides and hood. The Colonel couldn’t hear the windows when they shattered into thousands of tiny shards in the back seat. He wasn’t able to even hear his own thoughts.
He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t like not knowing what to do. The lack of control was causing him the greatest consternation, which fueled his growing fear. He may have been crying. He couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t thinking clearly any longer. If he had, he would have heard the hands and arms, which fought with one another for space to enter the back of the vehicle. None of them were reaching toward the Colonel yet, but because his seat had to be adjusted so far back, he was in danger of being grabbed at any moment.
The Colonel looked into the scores of pairs of rage-filled eyes staring at him through his windshield. He removed his sidearm from its holster and weighed it in his hand. He pulled the slide and quickly readied the pistol for use. He had always liked this gun. It was one of his first.
After a short pause, the Colonel straightened in his seat and said to no one and everyone, “If you’re gonna eat me, at least I won’t be fresh.” He lifted the pistol to the side of his head, but when he fired the round went wild because he had been tugged by one of the hands reaching in from behind. Instead of entering his head, the bullet punched a hole through his driver side window. The next push brought the glass down atop the Colonel, startling him for a second.
A second was all the vicious hands needed. The Colonel continued to struggle, but the hands from behind were pulling one way and the ones to his left were pulling another. His skin was filleted from his arms and shoulders by bony, claw-like fingers. The Colonel’s a
gonized shrieks excited the crowd’s bloodlust to a horrifying pitch. Teeth found their way to the Colonel’s exposed flesh as he was harvested and feasted upon while he was still alive.
Consciousness eventually faded, but when his chest cavity was excavated, the Colonel’s heart was still pumping blood into his veins.
Chapter 86
Carter finally found the end of the long line of skins, which were going after the Colonel down the road in Shotgun Cove. Carter was slowly moving along the sloping shoulder of the road toward Whittier, hoping to either reach the city or the tail end of the death parade. Much of the ground he had crossed was perilously sloped, causing him to slip more than once, sending rocks tumbling down off the edge. He couldn’t see how far down the drop was but assumed it was lethal.
It had been a long time since his heart had beat as fast as it did while he crept along below the unknowing eyes, noses, and ears of the thousands of zombies on the road above. At one point, he almost laughed at the ridiculous situation in which he was finding himself. He’d had the craziest fucking life. He was forced to stop and collect himself or risk detection.
Now that the majority of the things were heading away from him, he could afford to move faster along the road. He climbed up and was relieved to see that his judgment had been correct. The undead appeared to be all behind him.
He trotted quickly toward Whittier. Moving in such a consistent manner, Carter found himself on the edge of Whittier in a few minutes. The snow, coming down so fast and furious when they left the city, was no longer in the air, though it had accumulated in thick layers along the city’s streets and on the dormant buildings and empty cars.
Out of breath but feeling better about his prospects, Carter thought it was about time for a drink. The lounge was there on the corner of the main drag and immediately in front of him. It was like it was a sign or something.
Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution Page 43
