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

by Carberry, Paul

  "He's awake." Sasha called out to Nick from the other room.

  Nick rushed back in to see Craig straining to sit upright, his battered face displayed his agony. Blood had dried and crusted in his beard, and his cheek had swollen tremendously on the right side of his face. His whole body struggled to stay in motion, every movement a monumental accomplishment and a testament to Craig's resolve.

  Sasha ran over to the window, the sounds of the battle raging on the lawn below echoed into the bedroom. "He's keeping them at a distance." Sasha looked back at Nick. "I think they might turn and run."

  Nick helped Craig out of the bed, his weakened legs barely managing to hold his meagre bodyweight upright. "Sasha, we have to go." Craig stumbled as Nick started to walk too fast for him. "I need help getting Craig down the ladder, Hank will meet us at the military base."

  Sasha jogged over to help support Craig, and together the three survivors scuffled towards the ladder at the back of the house. They would use Hank's distraction to escape to safety. If he were lucky, Hank would survive this whole ordeal as well, but he was going to need to do it on his own.

  Jarvik looked up at the night sky -- the snow had finally stopped falling and the moon had made its long awaited appearance. Gilley could only trot along at a slow pace as the slippery pavement beneath her hooves made it too risky to break out into a full gallop. Jarvik felt a cold wind blow through his furs as the horse made her way down the deserted highway.

  A few roaming dead had shuffled towards them, but the deep snow and frigid winds slowed their movements to a crawl, allowing Gilley to easily gallop away from the snarling, snapping jaws when she needed to. The ghastly moans of the undead made the otherwise dead silence unsettling, the demonic shrieks surrounding Jarvik from every unseen shadow in the forest. Most nights back at camp, drunken laughter and the crackling of wood fires had echoed through St. Anthony. Jarvik missed the security that his Viking brethren had provided, for they had vanquished the rotting corpses and forced them far from their homes.

  Jarvik guided Gilley through the outskirts of Deer Lake and headed back onto the old highway, the giant green sign on the side of the road making him chuckle as he passed by.

  Route 401

  Enjoy the scenic Viking Trail

  The Viking depicted on the sign was much friendlier than the group of marauding savages that they were: his brightly coloured helmet and groomed beard were comical in comparison to his gruff and grim appearance. Jarvik felt ashamed of himself in a way, acting like a group of barbaric killers when they were just ordinary human beings, like the ones back in Howley. In fact, Jarvik wasn't sure if he wanted to act like this anymore. There must be some way they could protect the survivors of that small community without dressing up like horrifying warriors.

  The long pine trees on either side of the highway cast long shadows across the snow as they plodded down the Viking trail, leaving society in complete darkness behind them. All remnants of society had vanished, the city lights had been darkened, and the dead wandered the streets. Jarvik wondered if the human race would ever rise up once more, or would they all be vanquished from existence by these diabolical abominations aimlessly wandering the earth. They were overtaking the earth by overwhelming numbers and relentless determination.

  Jarvik looked down and followed the horse prints on the road as they led down the Viking trail; his brothers had already passed by here. The tracks were half buried in the snow, so they must have already reached the gate. Jarvik shivered as he braced himself for the long, lonely journey ahead of him. Hopefully the guardhouse would have a fire roaring for when he finally arrived.

  The ambulance continued to slip and slide, the tires struggling to gain traction against the slick snow that had built up on the abandoned roads. Dana wrestled with the steering wheel, navigating through the wreckage of civilization that had been left behind since the first days of the outbreak. Officer Humber kept a careful watch over the shadows, the silhouette of cadavers awkwardly limping towards them.

  "I can't believe our plan never worked." Officer Humber's blonde hair fell from underneath her green knit toque.

  Dana didn't feel like talking to anybody. It was taking all her concentration to navigate the ambulance through the dead wasteland. "What plan?"

  Officer Humber twisted her neck to look out across the open park lawn. "We had set fires all across town, luring the zombies towards the old hockey rink." Phantom shadows shuffled across the park, the snow impeding their stiff movements. "We wanted to implode the building, killing those freaks in the blast."

  Dana sped past the lawn; the ambulance rocked violently as the bumper clipped a derelict metal wreck as they reached the bridge. "Shit." Dana's hair fell in her face as her body jolted forward. She was too afraid to stop in fear of getting stuck on that bridge. Dead corpses swarmed behind the ambulance while shadows lurked in the headlights ahead of them.

  "Dana." Eric poked his head into the cab. "Everything okay?"

  "Just fine." Dana brushed her hair back and kept the ambulance moving forward. Eric fell back into his seat; Officer Humber squinted as she tried to make sense of the obscurity in front of them. "So what went wrong?" Dana asked the medical officer next to her as the ambulance continued past the bridge and turned onto Country Road. She kept her eyes on the road, treacherous as it was with the build up of snow.

  "They wouldn't enter the building, they just gawked at the smoke from the outside. Once the fire burnt out, they just flooded down over the bank directly at us. We had no idea just how many of those bastards roamed the city. There must only be a handful of us left alive now." Officer Humber bowed her head, showing a sign of respect for the lost. "The army of the dead must be massive."

  "This is Warrant Smith. If anyone is alive, come in."

  The walkie-talkie startled Officer Humber as it went off, causing her to jump before she stared at it blankly, static coming from the speaker now waiting for a response.

  "Can anyone hear me; this is Warrant Smith. Come in."

  Officer Humber raised the receiver to her ear and pressed the button. A brief silence fell over the ambulance. "This is Officer Humber." Static broke the silence in the ambulance.

  "We've run out of gas and got stuck heading back into town, can you send someone out to get us?" Warrant Smith responded.

  Officer Humber looked over at Dana. "The base has been overrun. I managed to make it out in the ambulance with the cop."

  "Overrun? Did everyone make it out?" Warrant Smith sounded worried. He had taken on the responsibility of protecting the civilians, but it seemed he had failed.

  "Everyone is scattered, I don't know. It all happened so fast." Officer Humber's voice was overcome with emotion.

  A pause of silence and the crackle of the receiver rang through the cab. Eric poked his head up again, looking for answers. "Can you make your way to me?" Warrant Smith’s voice was heavy with burden.

  Dana looked back to Eric for support. She had no idea what to do. "Eric, what do we do?

  "I'm going there either way. You can let me out and I'll find my own way if you want." Officer Humber looked back at Eric.

  "We can't let you walk there." Eric sighed. "Dana, head back towards the highway. I'll explain what's going on to everyone in the back. We will head for Howley once it’s daylight."

  Dana tried slowing the ambulance down, but the tires stopped pushing the vehicle forward at all. The front end started to slide back down the hill. The ambulance brought up solid as the snow trapped them sideways across the road. "Shit." Dana pressed the gas, but the tires spun out, unable to gain any traction.

  "Eric!" Dana shouted out as shadowy figures emerged from between the houses, avoiding the headlights as they dragged their bodies towards the ambulance.

  The three Vikings started to close in on Hank from different angles, making him work harder to keep them at a distance. Hank's usual graceful footwork was hindered by the deep snow, which kept him at a disadvantage to the sluggish men advanc
ing towards him. They were closing in on him fast, working together to gain the advantage as they pressed the offensive. The only reason that they still hadn't overpowered Hank was the fact that those dead shambling corpses kept interfering, making one of the Vikings periodically turn around to take care of the wayward soul.

  The man on the right swung around as he heard the footsteps break through the crust of the snow as the dead creatures got dangerously close. His massive wooden club made quick work of the brittle skull bones, the club smashing through with almost no resistance. The creature's entire head exploded in a mess of dark red muck, as a mixture of fresh blood, skull fragments, and brain matter sprayed over the snow, leaving an almost black mark in the pristine white blanket covering the lawn. Turning to fall back into rank with his fellow brethren, the Viking’s beard was now smothered in the thick red liquid from the gory mess. He gazed at Hank with a blood lust in his eyes.

  Hank tripped over something buried in the snow as he stepped backwards, nearly falling flat on his back, which allowed the Vikings to close the gap to a dangerous position. Hank thrust the pickaroon at the Viking on his left; the pointed end glanced off the wooden shield with a loud thunk. The vibrations from the impact rang up Hank's arm, making it hard to maintain his grip on his weapon. Swinging the blade in a violent arc at the next Viking, the hook dug into the leather strap on the backside of the shield. Hank managed to rustle the wooden shield from the savage with an unexpected yank, and when the man stumbled forward, Hank drove the butt end of the metal shaft into his jaw.

  "Cocksucker!" Blood mixed with spit flew from the barbarian's mouth. He wiped his face with the furs draped around his neck.

  Shadowy figures stumbled towards the roaring brawl, their emphatic moans drawing more zombies towards the deadly altercation. Hank couldn't last much longer, the deep snow was taxing his leg muscles, and every movement had become an arduous task. Maybe if Hank could outsmart the Viking, he would still have enough left in the tank to outrun the sluggish movements of the undead.

  "Stay back, there's more where that came from," Hank warned them, trying to sound heroic. Hank could feel his lungs burning from exhaustion. He looked back towards the window for a moment and was ecstatic to see that it was empty. Hopefully, Nick had managed to get everyone out of harm’s way, which meant now it was Hank's turn to run.

  Jolting to the left, Hank tripped over a corpse and stumbled backwards into the torch held by one of the Vikings. Flames licked his backside as his hoodie was engulfed in flames. His skin started to bubble and crack as the heat scarred his backside -- tremendous pain accompanied the searing phenomenon.

  Desperately wanting to run, Hank was forced to drop into the snow in a frenzied attempt to douse the flames. Multiple footsteps trudged through the snow towards Hank as he rolled wildly in the freezing cold snow. The vast change in temperature soothed the burning feeling on his back.

  One of the Vikings stretched his hand out for Hank. "We're not here to hurt you, calm down. We just want to help." The three savages hovered over Hank. "Holy shit." His thunderous voice boomed in amazement. "Look at who we have here, boy: Hank MacDonald."

  Hank looked up at the three men and laughed hysterically.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:

  BLIND LUCK

  Stumbling footsteps lumbered towards them, their awkward movements identifying them as the living dead. Two of the Vikings backed away to deal with the approaching threats. Sickening, disturbing wet sounds echoed in the silence as Hank heard the vicious blows landing against the zombies’ heads behind the man towering above him.

  The Viking’s face cracked with a huge smile. "How are you, my old friend?" A loud, thunderous laugh rocked the silence, overpowering the brutal, wet thuds behind them.

  "Ryan!" Hank exclaimed proudly. "Ryan Evans, you son of a bitch, you damn near killed me." They had worked together on a play for over a year just before Hank finally got his big break.

  Ryan extended his arm. "Get up, you damn fool." He nearly yanked Hank's arm off. "It was you swinging that damn tool around like a maniac."

  "Fool." Hank took the attire of his friend into consideration. "Have you seen a mirror lately?"

  "Can't say that I have, old friend." Ryan let out a hearty chuckle. "Now, before the dead converse upon us, let's flee this godforsaken city."

  Hank wanted to tuck his tail and run away with these men, but he wouldn't dream about leaving Sasha behind. "My friends, we have to get them."

  "Where did they head off to?" Ryan stopped laughing, his face buried under worry.

  "They’re headed to the military base." Hank watched as his old scene partner's jaw nearly dropped to the ground.

  "We don't have much time. A horde of those freaks is headed straight for that part of town." Ryan turned back to his companions. "Boys, get the horses. We must make haste."

  Hank hurried behind Ryan as they raced towards the neighbouring backyard, wondering why in the hell Ryan would still be in character. Maybe his friend had lost his mind and this was Ryan's way of coping with the stressful world. Hank hopped the picket fence with ease, as the snow piled on the ground made the jump a piece of cake.

  Five horses were tied to a tree in the middle of the backyard. They had their snouts buried in their feedbags, contentedly chomping on some hay.

  Craig's limp body made the trek through the deep snow a gruelling feat. Sasha wasn't much help; Nick had to bear the brunt of the burden on his shoulders. Nick actually thought it would be easier without Sasha's help. She had tripped and fallen several times, hindering Nick's efforts to keep Craig upright.

  "Are we almost there?" Sasha panted. Her breaths were deep and laboured.

  It almost annoyed Nick; why was she so out of breath? Sasha was barely doing a damn thing. "Not even close," Nick snapped at the poor girl.

  "Maybe..." Sasha trailed off.

  "Maybe what?" Nick fumed with anger. Was Sasha actually suggesting they just leave Craig behind, to die in the snow alone surrounded by these monsters?

  Sasha didn't respond. A quick glance at her let Nick see the scolded look on her face. Craig's head bobbled from side to side as they trudged through the deep snow. The cold wind whipped against Nick's face as they turned into the alley between two homes, the road ahead swarming with flesh-eating ghouls.

  "Shit." Nick swore at the fence blocking their way. They didn't have time to double back, and there was no way they'd survive trying to run in between those demons. Maybe if Craig wasn't with them, they could hop the fence.

  "Let's head back." Sasha looked behind. "Aaahhhhhhh!"

  Nick turned to see three shambling cadavers had blocked the alleyway behind them. The zombie in the back grunted, almost as if he was ordering the rest of the creatures to attack. The creature's long greasy hair had ice hanging from the tips, with dirty strands frozen at different angles. The monster in front had been recently recruited judging by its heavy winter coat with fresh red blood staining the front. A gnarly gash on the man's neck looked like the cause of death, but why the creatures had not devoured the rest of the vital organs was a mystery to Nick.

  "What are we going to do?" Sasha started to collapse under the pressure. Nick could feel the added weight of Sasha leaning into Craig.

  Nick scoured the backyards; there was only one option available that he could see. "Head towards the house, we'll make our way through." Nick pointed to the door at the back of the house.

  They rushed towards the door, which meant they were getting dangerously close to the demonic flesh-eaters that lurched towards them. If that door was locked, it would end up being disastrous for them, possibly even life ending. The moans grew high pitched as they got closer, the overpowering stench of decaying flesh and dried blood became overwhelming.

  The brown door burst open as Nick turned the handle, and Sasha fell inside first. Nick nearly dropped Craig in his momentum. Sasha darted around the kitchen table and disappeared into the next room. Nick had to push Craig up onto the table, the white cl
oth shifting as Craig's limp body was thrust on top, nearly sliding off. Turning back around, Nick tried to slam the door shut, but a handful of fingers blocked the frame. Nick put all of his force into his shoulder and slammed the door with all of his might. The fingers made a loud squishing sound as they were severed, and wet thunks echoed through the house as they fell onto the floor. Blood gushed down the door as the zombies pounded against the wooden slab blocking their entry. Nick had no intention of making a stand in this house, but as he locked the door, he prayed it would hold long enough to figure out an escape plan.

  "What's happening?" Craig slurred as he sat up, unaware of his surroundings.

  Nick rushed over to help Craig get to his feet. "We have to find a way out of here."

  "Nick! In here!" Sasha called out from somewhere inside the house.

  The door shuddered as the zombies pounded their dead hands against the entryway. Nick could hear the wooden frame splintering against the relentless pressure. With Craig limping along, Nick shuffled as fast as he could through the archway into the family den. Dust coated the furniture in the room: the space had been unoccupied for weeks.

  "Nick," Sasha's voice sounded like it was coming from the next room.

  Craig stubbed his foot against the wooden leg of the coffee table, sending him sprawling flat on his face into the filthy brown carpet. Nick bent over to help Craig get to his feet, and a loud crack screamed through the house as the doorframe fractured. "Come on, we have to get moving." Nick dragged Craig to his feet and headed for the next room.

  The room was dimly light by the moonlight, with snow pressed halfway up the sliding glass door at the side of the house. A dining room table separated Sasha from Nick and Craig. The exit led into the side yard, and the fence bordering the house had a gate leading to the neighbour’s. "Come on, this way." Sasha urged them forward as she slid the door open, letting snow fall into the house. A metal baseball bat and a child's baseball glove rested next to the backyard door. Nick scooped up the metal bat.