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

by Carberry, Paul

  The giant cargo truck made its way out the highway slowly. It was sluggish even at its top speed and nearly came to a crawl whenever it had to maneuver around a wrecked vehicle. Three other soldiers sat in the back of the truck with Eric. A large green canopy hung overhead blocking out the approaching world. The soldiers periodically opened the canvas door at the back to check their surroundings. They all seemed agitated.

  "I can see the lake. We are nearly there." The young private had his head poked out the back.

  The cargo truck made a sharp right turn and Eric knew that they were on the gravel road that would lead down to the cabin. The sergeant would soon make his way back to get Eric so he could get proper directions.

  "So... how are we going to do this?" Private Wakeman spoke up.

  During the trip out he was the first to speak up, but the other two men quickly joined in the conversation. Private Wakeman was a gawky teen not much older than the private Eric had met in Warrant Smith’s quarters. His face was covered in acne and his thin blonde hair made him appear weak.

  "We need to think of something!" Corporal Blake looked around to make sure he wasn't being watched. He was a very paranoid man. Apparently he had gotten separated the first night of the outbreak and survived on his own for two weeks in the sewer before anyone found him. He was constantly scratching himself because he could still feel the insects crawling over him. No matter how many times he cleaned himself, he felt dirty. His skin was red from the constant scratching and scrubbing. His eyes were bloodshot from having to stay awake for days at a time.

  "I say we just shoot them first chance we get. Say the zombies got them." Private Rose had enough of the sergeant's constant berating and abuse.

  The group of soldiers had explained how Sergeant Mitchell had gone completely mad. Not only did he allow the abuse of the civilians in their care, he actually encouraged it. He had blamed the civilians for the deaths of the soldiers during the first weeks. He believed that if they didn't need their protection, they would all still be alive. Things were even worse than they appeared. Sergeant Mitchell actually ordered the execution of several of the civilian men so there would be no one to oppose them. When the commanding officer died, Mitchell tried to take control. Warrant Smith managed to keep command, but he was slowly losing control of the base. Corporal Blake suggested that with Mitchell out of the picture, Warrant Smith would have a better chance to get things back under control.

  "What about Corporal Hann?" Blake asked concerned.

  "We will see where his loyalties fall." Private Rose was examining his gun making sure everything was in working order. "Inspect your weapons, we don't want any surprises!"

  "Don't you give me orders, Private." Corporal Blake seemed irked by the youngster.

  The truck slowed to a stop, the gravel road crunching under the massive tires. Eric could hear the door to the cab open and the sergeant's footsteps as he walked towards the back of the truck. He threw open the back flap and he had a troubled look on his face.

  "Hey cowboy. You're riding shotgun with me." Sergeant Mitchell waved his gun at Eric.

  Eric looked at the soldiers sitting on the bench as he walked towards the back of the truck. Each man looked nervous and Private Rose was sweating profusely. As Eric jumped down from the back of the truck, he could see the suspicion on Mitchell's face.

  "Hey maggot." The sergeant pointed to Private Rose. "Why don't you step outside and cool off in the snow?"

  "I'll be fine." Private Rose's voice squeaked as he spoke.

  The sergeant stood at the back of the truck peering inside at the other soldiers. Eric felt the cold snowflakes fall on his face and the wind cut right through his jacket.

  "Hey man, it's freezing out here." Eric tried to break the tension. He was worried that the sergeant somehow knew what they were up to. Had he heard them speaking? Eric was almost sure the engine was too loud for him to hear them speaking. Eric started to tense up. Mitchell turned to look at Eric. His glare made Eric tense up even more. Every muscle in his body was ready to spring into action. A lump started to form in his throat.

  "Alright, let's roll out." The sergeant turned to walk towards the driver's side. "Guns ready, boys. We got a horde of those flesh-eating monsters swarming the cabin."

  "Wait. What?" Eric didn't understand.

  "I could see the helicopter from across the highway. The cabin was swarming with those freaks. There must be hundreds over there."

  Eric ran to the other side of the cab and hopped up into the passenger seat. Fear and guilt gripped him like a tight vice. He had left Dana and his parents at the cabin virtually helpless. His only hope was that they managed to get out before the herd had arrived at the cabin.

  Frank had nothing left; his back felt like it had been broken during the accident and every muscle in his body ached, offering little resistance to mount any fight against the three Viking warriors. Frank looked down at the ground where drops of blood stained the freshly fallen snow. The snow kept falling, but the crimson fluid was too much for the white snow to absorb. A gory tear in the skin from his cracked collarbone protruding from the jagged slash soaked his shirt in a deep red shade.

  Frank watched helplessly as they dragged Chris's mangled body towards the truck, both of his legs dangling pitiably against the ground. He had no control left over his lower half; his back must have been broken. His wrist was contorted at a painful angle, several bones jutted out of his left arm, and his arm spewed dark vital fluid from several nasty gashes. Blood flowed from his broken nose down his face, saturating his winter coat. The other two Vikings dragged Chris in front of Frank and dumped him harshly to the earth.

  "Holy shit. He's still alive." Frank couldn't believe his eyes. Chris was trying to crawl away, his useless legs hindering his movement, but as he dug his wrist into the ground, the pain must have been unbearable. He shrieked out in agony and rolled onto his back, blood flowing from his nose like a faucet down his check.

  "Show him mercy," one of the Vikings managed to say.

  "Wait. I can save him. Let me bring him to the doctor." Frank squirmed in pain.

  "Doctor?" The giant blonde-haired Viking sounded remorseful. "There is no saving this man now."

  Frank had said too much: everything he had toiled to build in Howley was put into perilous jeopardy; all of the survivors were at risk of being pillaged and plundered by these Vikings.

  "This man would be a waste of precious resources, he's not going to make it." The two Vikings mounted their horses, and one man maneuvered his horse towards Frank and coaxed it forward. "They would be better served helping someone like you, someone who has a chance."

  The Viking raised the giant axe towards his face, a flicker of light radiating from the razor sharp blade. Snowflakes smashed harmlessly into the cold steel and swirled around the air between the two men, enclosing Frank in a treacherous pocket of lawlessness and pandemonium with this crazed soul. Frank tried to make a move for the axe handle, but the Viking anticipated Frank's reaction and before Frank knew what was happening, the wind was expelled from his body as his gut was rocked by a mighty thrust of his adversary's knee. Frank dropped to the ground, gasping for air in a frenzied panic. Frank looked fixedly at Chris's glare. A look of pure dread and failure bore back at Frank, but he was unable to look away.

  With ease, the edge of the axe cleaved through the soft flesh of Chris's neck. A sickening, wet sound as blood drenched the ground was quickly followed by a loud clang as the blade bit into the rocky earth. Chris's eyes remained opened as the axe sliced clean through the flesh and bone, a permanent scowl of regret and resentment fixated on Frank. It was an image Frank would have to live with for the rest of his life, which was in uncertain peril right now.

  "You're a monster!" Frank snarled.

  "No, I'm not. I am just doing what needs to be done." The Viking grabbed Frank by the shoulders and dragged him to his feet. "Now unless you want to wait here to bleed out, I suggest you trust me." A tear ran down his fa
ce and soaked into his beard, clearly shaken by what he had just down. "Now we don't need to be enemies. I'm sure we could work... something out. Maybe even become friends." The Viking wiped away another tear while trying his best to put a smile on his face.

  "Alright, Take me to Howley." Frank had no choice but to trust him now. If not, he would die out here in the middle of nowhere.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

  FATEFUL RESCUE

  The door rattled relentlessly as the zombies banged at the storm door at the top of the stairs. Their hungry, ghastly moans were enough to terrify anyone. It seemed that the door would yield to those flesh-eating monsters at any moment. The rope they had made for Calvin to climb down the side of the cabin had broken and he had nearly fallen to his death. Now he was trapped under the cabin with Tina. Ted had driven away. Stella was beside herself with terror. Father Jon cowered as he sat atop the door, fear and dismay in his eyes as the door shuddered underneath him. Jack was a little more composed than Father Jon, but the terror that he had been hiding was beginning to surface.

  "Dana, you need to find something to push on top of this door." Jack's voice was rattled.

  Dana looked around and immediately headed for the old wooden dresser. She raced over and put her weight into the stubborn object. It barely budged. The floor offered too much resistance against the legs of the dresser.

  "Stella, I need your help," Dana called out.

  Stella was startled. Her eyes darted around the room looking for the source of the distress call.

  "Stella, please." Dana continued to struggle with the dresser but was unable to budge it.

  Stella continued to look around the room, but she was ignoring Dana. Her eyes seemed to be glued to the window. Dana thrust her shoulder into the dresser and pressed with every ounce of strength she could find. Suddenly the dresser creaked and groaned as it started to skid across the wooden floor.

  Suddenly there was a loud crack and Father Jon lurched from the top of the stairs.

  "Stella!" Jack screamed out.

  Stella walked over to the window. "Look everyone, it's snowing."

  The door jolted Jack up into the air as if the undead army underneath could sense they were close to victory. Father Jon huddled down next to Dana and thrust his shoulder into the dresser. Now the dresser seemed to glide across the floor towards Jack. When the dresser reached the top of the stairs, Jack reached out to help guide the massive object. They slid it into place and instantly the door stopped jolting open. The first blow only sent shivers into the metal door. Now it barely moved, and for the first time in a long time Dana felt like they would make it through this.

  Below the floor, the moans of the zombies grew even louder as they struggled against the weight of the dresser. They were determined to feast on the flesh of the trapped meal that awaited them. Nothing would stop them. Dana watched in horror as the dresser began to bounce up and down. The creaking of the hinges grew dangerously loud and Dana soon realized that the door was soon going to break no matter how much weight was on it.

  "Look at the snow, Jack. Isn't it beautiful?" Stella had the window wide open as snowflakes danced into the cabin.

  Dana watched as Jack struggled to fasten the leftover bed sheets together to make another rope. Stella was still looking out the window fascinated by the snow as it blew into the cabin. A shiver ran down Dana's spine, not from the cold but from the realization that time was rapidly running out.

  Father Jon had been pacing back and forth muttering to himself: prayer no doubt, but no one was interested right now. Those things downstairs had everyone doubting the existence of a higher being. Now Father Jon had stopped to stare at the dresser as it bounced up and down. Hands and fingers could be seen as the door wretched upwards. Occasionally a finger would get cut off as the door came back down, crushing the flesh and bone and leaving behind a gruesome mess of blood and visceral fluids.

  "How's that rope coming along?" Dana asked her father-in-law.

  "Slow, but it won't break this time." Jack was tugging on the rope with all of his might. The end of the rope was already tied to the bedpost in a series of tangled knots. The rope might not break, but Dana doubted it would be put together in time. Even if it did, so what? What was their plan when they made it down? Calvin and Tina had drawn several zombies to the side of the cabin. They were completely surrounded without a weapon. Calvin's axe was on the ground, but someone would have to make it through a wall of those flesh-hungry savages.

  "Do you hear that?" Stella looked back into the room. She motioned for Dana to come stand beside her.

  Dana walked over to the open window. The cold air whipped across Dana's face as she got closer to Stella and snowflakes stung her eyes. The wind whistled through the open window making it hard to hear anything else, but Stella insisted.

  A low, loud rumble was approaching the cabin. Dana could hear the gravel crunching and flicking around as the vehicle pulled into the driveway just out of view.

  CRASH

  A terror-stricken scream erupted from the top of the stairs. The door had finally collapsed on one side and caved in on the left side. The only thing blocking the zombies from entering the upstairs was Father Jon. His painful screams and cries joined the ghastly moans below. The zombies were ripping him apart from the other side of the gap, ripping into the flesh on his backside and feasting on his organs. Wet, gnawing sounds could be heard as the zombies tore out his intestines and feasted upon them. Father Jon gurgled moans caught in his throat as he reached out for help.

  Dana rushed forward for his hand, but Jack put his arm around her and swung her around.

  "What are you doing? He needs our help!" Dana struggled against Jack's grip.

  "His body is the only thing keeping those things out! We have to get out the window now before they have him torn apart." Jack pushed Dana towards the window and slung about ten feet of rope out of the opening. "Get going!"

  Dana crawled out of the windowsill, the rope tightly gripped in her hands. She looked down at the outstretched hands reaching up for her. There was nowhere to go. The rope dangled about three feet over the zombies' heads, but she had no intention of falling into their arms. She eased down the side of the cabin, the shingles slippery from the build up of snow.

  "Help!" Dana screamed out in desperation.

  Jason had hoped that the motorcycle would allow him to easily catch up to Eric, but the snowflakes hurt his eyes as the wind howled and threw blinding icy white dust into his vision. The approaching blizzard made the sky dark, and clumps of wet flakes clung to his body and sent shivers down Jason's spine. The melting snow turned into a layer of crystalline water causing every turn on the bike to be a treacherous ordeal. Several times Jason nearly lost control as he navigated amongst the twisted metal wrecks left on the highway. Jason eased off the throttle and slowed down to make sure he wouldn't crash. Eric was in dire danger with the deranged sergeant and needed someone to watch his back. As Jason made a left turn, the trees cleared and he could see Pinchgut Lake just ahead of him.

  "Fuck," Jason cursed to himself as a swarm of bodies crowded the cabin on the other side of the water.

  Jason gripped the throttle and pushed down on the accelerator trying desperately to reach the cabin before it was too late. Maybe it was already too late? Jason hadn't seen a throng of the undead that large since the first night of the outbreak. The cabin had provided them with a false sense of security, the forest concealing the lurking threat of death just beyond their vision.

  Jason sped down the road into a valley, the wind shrieking in his ears and warning him to slow down. Hitting the brakes, the tires momentarily lost all traction underneath him, and for what seemed like an eternity, Jason drifted across the slick pavement towards the ditch. Miraculously, the front tire found its grip on the gravel near the side of the highway. The back tire continued to slide across the wet pavement, causing the bike to do a 180-degree turn. Jason's heart thrashed around inside of his chest as he narrowly avoided a
fatal crash.

  Jason drew in shallow, freezing cold breaths trying to calm his nerves as he looked across the water at the appalling scene taking place at the cabin. As a deadly horde of flesh-hungry monsters swarmed the building, Jason's fervent hope was that his friends had escaped before the monsters had overrun the place.

  Jason could feel the ground below him tremble, a thundering noise approaching from the city, and it was close. Jason looked to the top of the hill that he had just flew down, not sure what to expect. He had never heard anything so boisterous before: the powerful roar of a diesel engine, the crunching sound of metal crashing together, and the deafening ringing of gunfire. A large eighteen wheeler emerged at the crescent of the hill, a large metal plow attached to the front of the enormous vehicle sending the forgotten scraps of metal left behind careening into the ditch along the road. Soldiers were firing off their weapons at stragglers wandering around the tree line for practice along the way from the makeshift trailer at the back. As the vehicle started to rumble down the hill, Jason ran into the middle of the road, waving his arms franticly to garner the attention of the driver.

  The eighteen-wheeler began to slow down as the driver noticed Jason flailing his arms trying to flag him down. The brakes screeched and squeaked as it slowed down about ten feet away from Jason. A young man in a military uniform descended from the driver's seat, his jacket was decorated with medals. "Are you mad?" The authoritative voice demanded an answer. "I could have run you over thinking you were one of those freaks." Two men started to march towards Jason, their assault rifles raised towards Jason.

  Jason started to point towards the horde of zombies across the lake. "I need your help."

  "Head towards the military base in Corner Brook, we can keep you safe there."

  Jason assumed that this young man was the leader, his stature and authority was on full display as he dished out orders to the men who had started to advance towards Jason. "Aren't you supposed to protect us?" Jason tried to plead with anyone who was willing to listen.