Zombies on the Rock (Book 2): The Viking Trail

by Carberry, Paul

  Calvin struggled to his knees. His back muscles spasmed sporadically. The two men were eyelevel with each other; the dead eyes that looked back at Calvin hungrily met his gaze. White, frothing foam seethed from its teeth as they snapped at him. Tina swung the rifle again and drove it into the same spot. Calvin watched as the zombie did a face plant into the ground. It never took its eyes off of him even as the driving force behind it left its body. The monster lay motionless on the ground in front of him.

  Tina held out her hand. "Get up, we have to get out of here." Calvin looked all around him. They were being hunted, surrounded by a pack of rabid monsters. Horrible moans and slimly drool were coming out of all of the approaching monsters’ snapping jaws.

  "Save yourself. I can't make it." Calvin slapped Tina's hand away.

  "I'm not leaving you to die." Tina stepped into Calvin and tried to help him to his feet. It was no use. He was far too heavy for her.

  "Get under the cabin!" Jack called out from the top of the window.

  "What?" Calvin was confused.

  "There is a latch at the bottom to get underneath the bathroom. You're right next to it!" Jack pointed below the bathroom window. It was hidden well, but Calvin could see it. It was the only chance they had.

  Tina saw it too and rushed over to open the latch. Calvin mustered everything he had left and lurched towards the opening. Tina was already on her hands and knees crawling under the cabin. The wet grass was slippery under Calvin's giant palms, which almost caused him to slip face first into the ground, but he managed to crawl into the opening with Tina. He reached behind him and grabbed hold of the door, slamming it shut behind him moments before any of the zombies could reach the opening. Zombies dropped to their stomachs and did everything they could to smash their hands into the wooden door that lead to where their dinner had just gone.

  It was nearly pitch black underneath the cabin. Calvin could hardly see a hand in front of him. He could hear Tina breathing heavily just ahead of him.

  "Now what?" Calvin asked. "That door isn't going to hold out much longer." He could already hear the wood beginning to splinter in between the grotesque moans of the relentless zombies outside the thin wooden door.

  CHAPTER NINE:

  VIKING

  The horse clip-clopped down the road, his iron shoes clanging off the pavement down the deserted trail while the wooden wheels creaked as they spun around. Jarvik watched his Viking brothers gallop past him, rushing forward to command the sentries to open the gate. This was the first time that Jarvik had seen the sprawling fence with his own eyes; he had heard stories about it from Ragnor, but seeing it in person was inspiring.

  They had converted the old moose fence into a zombie fence with some deadly modifications. Originally the fence had been constructed to keep moose from wandering onto the road, keeping both the drivers and the animals safe from each other. Now the fence was utilized to keep those shambling corpses away from the Northern Peninsula of Newfoundland. The fence spanned as far as the eye could see and the structure disappeared into the forest as it spun around the mountains.

  Barbed wire had been added to the top of the fence to keep unwanted guest from climbing over and surprising them. Also, the living dead had been exploited for the livings’ personal benefit. Their rotting bodies had been nailed to crosses all around the perimeter of the fence, strapped to the massive wooden crucifixes by leather straps and cold metal chains. The reanimated corpses were still hungry for flesh and flailed their limbs and moaned wildly, deterring intruders and more of the undead to wander near their location in St. Anthony.

  Jarvik knew once he got back from his journey he would be assigned guard duty, taking his turn walking the fence and checking for any problems or damage that would need to be repaired.

  The sentry released the lock on the fence, and the giant doors swung open, allowing them to travel into the dead lands ahead. Most of the creatures roaming around St. Anthony had already been taken out, making the first part of their journey effortless and peaceful.

  But now the rest of the adventure would be gruelling, dubious, and unpredictable. Jarvik hadn't seen a zombie in almost a full week; he had even forgotten how nerve-racking it was when the dead beckoned with their demonic moaning.

  Wind whipped down the highway sending a cold shiver through Jarvik, the uncertainty of the task ahead creating great anxiety for him. The Vikings’ scouts had been keeping tabs on a newly formed community in Howley, lead by the former Chief of Police. Jarvik's task was to procure food and medical supplies by any means necessary. Ragnor had suggested demanding a trade route; they had an abundance of wild game, but very little in the way of medical supplies. Maybe they would be able to find a beneficial solution for both groups, but Ragnor was also not opposed to sheltering the whole community of Howley in St. Anthony.

  Some of the men had suggested that they needed to do whatever needed to be done to keep surviving. Rumours and much debated talk spread through the camp ever since the discovery of other survivors. Jarvik thought about the loss of humanity, not just the recently revived corpses shuffling around, but the cold hearted evil that walked amongst the living. What if these men couldn't be trusted?

  CHAPTER TEN:

  SNOW

  Jason stood at the security gate with Kevin: the streets were littered with debris. The gas station across the road had the windows busted out and the front door was a mangled wreck on the pavement. However, the old movie theatre next to it looked untouched. The parking lot was empty and the door was still intact. Maybe Jason would be able to find some food there?

  "Thanks for your help with the fence." Kevin seemed to struggle with the word ‘thanks’.

  "No worries, bud." Jason scanned the surrounding area for anything that could be useful.

  "You thinking of heading out there?" Kevin must have been able to read the look on Jason's face.

  "Have you searched many of the buildings around here?" Jason shivered as a frigid wind rushed down the street, blowing the dead leaves and trash around.

  Kevin scratched his head. "Uhmm... the gas station across the street is completely empty. Checked a few of the houses in the area. Not much to be found around here now, but you'll have more luck finding winter clothes if you check the houses. Looks like you could use a new coat."

  "It's hard to find one in my size," Jason quipped.

  A genuine chuckle left Kevin's stomach. "I'd say you're right, big man."

  "Do you think all of that gunfire was anything we need to worry about?" Jason couldn't help but worry about Eric.

  "Happens often. Those military men just letting off some steam." Kevin was still chuckling to himself.

  If there were ever going to be a time to check those buildings, it would be now. The sound of gunfire would draw those zombies away from the surrounding area. If he worked fast enough, he would be able to check most of the houses without having to worry about any zombies. The only problem was leaving Nick here alone. Jason didn't know if he could trust these people with Nick's life. They seemed like they were nice enough. Maybe he was just being foolish? He had watched too many movies and now Hollywood writers corrupted his brain. Now that he thought about it, all he could think about was curling up on the couch with Tracey to watch a movie. What he wouldn't do for another chance to hold her again. "You mind if I check out some of the buildings around here?" Jason turned to face Kevin.

  "Tell you what. I get half of what you bring back for watching your friend and you can borrow this." Kevin held out his old rifle. The old rusty barrel looked like it had seen its fair share of action.

  Jason reached out his hand to accept the offer. The barrel of the rifle was rough and cold. "Quarter of what I bring back?"

  "You drive a hard bargain, but you're not going to be able to bring much back with you in that tiny knapsack of yours." Kevin pointed to the old knapsack Jason had slung over one shoulder. It was not even big enough for Jason to get the second shoulder strap over his broad shoulders.


  "You got a better idea?" Sarcasm was heavy on Jason’s reply.

  Kevin pointed to an old flatbed pickup truck. "I've been meaning to take it out for a spin. You fill it up and we can half what we find. Deal?"

  Jason's eyes wandered up as snowflakes began to drift down from the clouds above. "Deal." The two men shook hands.

  The snow was falling heavier now. It had only started about twenty minutes ago as a light dusting of snowflakes, but had continued to grow heavier. Now Frank struggled to see more than fifteen feet ahead. The engine began to sputter as the gas gauge had dipped dangerously low. Frank had just managed to pass through the town of Deer Lake, but was afraid to stop. Something had the zombies worked up. They were much more active then they had been since the morning when they first passed through. The rumble of the engine must have awoken them.

  "Alright boys. Once we get back to Howley, the next task is checking out the Pelley compound." Frank was making sure the two healthiest bodies were kept busy. Most everyone else back in Howley weren't able to keep up with the vigorous pace Frank wanted.

  "Are we going to make it?" Matthew asked from the back seat.

  "Frank knows what he’s doing, Matty," Chris answered before Frank had a chance to respond.

  "Listen, if we can move the group inside of those walls, we will be much safer. You've seen the amount of zombies in Corner Brook. Once they run out of food, they will start to search for another source. Eventually they will wander our way." Frank explained the reasoning behind his plan, even though he didn't feel like he owed them an explanation. Since the outbreak began, he had been giving orders and everyone was following them blindly without question. Everyone trusted Frank. They believed in his vision for a safe haven from the chaos of the apocalypse.

  The truck shuttered as it began to climb a hill. Frank pressed the petal to the floor. He wanted to make sure they were as far away from that town as possible before the gas gave out and the truck's engine cut out. It was only about another ten-minute drive to Howley, but it would be a two-hour walk. With the snow obscuring their vision that could spell disaster. Chris was young, but he was handy with a gun. Frank was not worried about Chris. Matthew worried him. Frank could sense the panic from Matthew as he worried about the gas situation. He would be more of a hindrance with a gun than help. Frank had tried to work with the kid on the shooting range, but quickly became frustrated with his lack of progress. The kid was too finicky to handle a weapon. Frank was hoping that showing him how the world could be survived would give him some confidence.

  "We are going to be just fine." Frank had to reassure the frightened kid. It was his fault Matthew was even here in the first place. Matthew was a whiz with technology, but without electricity he wasn't much use. Frank had to find him a purpose, a reason to keep getting up every morning.

  The engine continued to sputter as they reached the top of the hill and Frank jammed the gearshift into neutral to coast down the hill. He would be able to glide about five kilometres down this large hill before he would have to put the truck back into gear.

  "The snow has really picked up," Chris spoke up.

  Frank could feel the tires slipping underneath him as he let the truck rumble down the hill. His grip instinctively tightened around the steering wheel. "Maybe we should slow down?" Chris no longer sounded so confident.

  Frank pressed his foot on the brakes, but they didn't seem to be responding. The snow was still disrupting his vision and he leaned forward to try and get a better view.

  "Frank, we are going way too fast! At this speed we are in danger of serious injury!" Matthew sounded anxious.

  "We will be fine; the brakes are just acting up a little." Frank tried to break the tension. He turned his head to wink at Matthew and reassure the frightened teenager.

  "Look out!" Chris shrieked.

  Frank turned just in time to see the danger. A large horse drawn wooden carriage was in the road about ten feet in front of him. Frank slammed his foot on the brake, praying desperately for them to kick in, but only the right side brakes worked. Unexpectedly the truck rocked left and swerved uncontrollably in the direction of the carriage. Frank tried his best to counter the uncontrollable slide, but as he spun the wheel to the right it did nothing but make things worse. The truck slammed into the left wheel of the carriage, splinters of wood shattered into the air. Frank watched as the carriage smashed into the road sending the occupant tumbling onto the pavement just as the truck veered into the ditch and flipped onto the roof.

  Everything happened so fast. Glass shattered all around them. Metal groaned and whined as the truck rolled over twice before coming to rest on the tires. Frank could feel every muscle in his body scream out in pain. His head throbbed and blood ran down his forehead. He ran his fingers through his hair and pulled his hand back to look his blood. Frank looked to his right and expected to see Chris, but he was not in the passenger seat. The door on his side of the truck was missing and he had not been wearing his seatbelt. He must have gotten thrown from the cab of the truck.

  Frank strained to turn his head back to check on Matthew. His neck muscles were painfully stiff.

  "Jesus."

  The roof at the back of the cab had caved in. Matthew's head dangled on his chest. The chords of his neck held his head onto his body, but it had broken off from the vertebrae. Blood flowed down his body from where his head used to rest, jagged bone stuck out where his neck should have been. His upside-down stare was unnerving. His mouth was wide open, permanently frozen with a look of fear.

  "Fuck." Frank unfastened his seatbelt. He opened the door and fell out on the cold, hard ground.

  "Chris."

  No response.

  Frank struggled to get to his feet. He used the truck for leverage to help himself to his feet. As he stood up straight every bone in his back cracked. "Chris."

  "Keep your voice down."

  Frank turned to come face to face with the source of the voice.

  "Your friend is already dead and if you don't keep quiet, you'll bring more of the deceased upon us."

  Frank looked at the man in disbelief. He was draped in animal furs. His hair was long and dirty, and it blew wildly in the wind. Snow stuck to his unruly beard. Under his furs the man wore some kind of metallic armour that glimmered in the daylight and a giant axe rested in his right hand. Muscled arms were exposed to the elements and his legs were covered by leather armour. His face had black war paint and his steely blue eyes pierced into Frank with a menacing stare. A giant helmet rested on top of his head. Metal ran along the eyes and bridge of his nose, but the rest was wooden. Two horns made from animal bones stuck out from either side. The man’s intimidating figure was amplified by sitting atop of his horse.

  "What the... " Frank was horrified. The man in front of him was much more frightening than those undead freaks that roamed the earth. This savage lunatic had completely lost his mind, was he trying to be some sort of Viking warrior?

  On the left side of the road, tree branches cracked and two horses with riders appeared from the thick trees that surrounded the highway. They were dressed in similar gear but each man held a giant spear in their hands. Their backs were covered by giant wooden shields covered in blood, guts, and gore. Axes dangled from the saddle of their horses. They began to circle around Frank as the Viking on the horse closed the gap between the two men. There was nowhere for Frank to run. His hand raced for the holster, but when his hand reached bare leather Frank cringed; his gun must have fallen out during the accident. Frank raised his hands to surrender, left vulnerable to the newest threat to start roaming the earth.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN:

  WARRANT SMITH

  Eric followed the sergeant into the armouries. The gym floor was littered with large green tents. Women and children wandered around the makeshift town. It didn't take long to notice there were very few men amongst the crowd. The whole area smelled of body odour and waste. As Eric followed the sergeant up a set of stairs, he could feel the eye
s glued to him. Many people looked desperate, like they were searching for help.

  "Eric, you go on. I'm going to have a look around." Hank didn't wait for a response. He quickly disappeared behind one of the tents without saying another word.

  At the top of the stairs were several offices. Pictures of accomplished war veterans lined the walls. Most of the doors had the glass windows covered by old sheets so you could not see into the room. Eric looked over the balcony at the commotion below. A large gathering of women seemed to be in some kind of argument with one of the soldiers. He was pointing towards the kitchen and yelling at one of the women to do her duty. The women surrounding her begged the soldier to have mercy. He grabbed her by the arm and led her towards the kitchen, but no one dared to intervene physically. They just shouted hateful slurs at the soldiers.

  "The warrant is inside this door." The sergeant held open the door at the end of the hallway.

  The man sitting behind the large oak desk looked very out of place. His hair was well trimmed and his face clean-shaven. His green dress shirt was perfectly ironed and every medal on his uniform was in the perfect spot. It was like this man had not been a part of the chaos that existed outside of his office. His facial features appeared youthful, but his blonde hair was littered with silver, like tinsel hanging from a Christmas tree. Eric couldn't figure out the warrants’ age, his guess could be anywhere between late twenties to early forties.

  "State your business." The warrant had a deep, commanding tone.

  "Your men took something of mine and left my friend for dead." Eric waited for a response, but the warrant's eyes were glued to the map that rested on top of his desk, planning some defensive strategy no doubt. "I want it back." Eric seemed to be talking to himself.