To make matters worse, the weather had soured. The misting rain was becoming more aggressive, manifesting itself in heavy, colder droplets threatening to freeze upon impact. Coats, gloves, pants, and boots were all starting to soak through. Their discomfort increased with each passing, miserable moment. With chattering teeth and shivering lips, they made their way across the road to the Visitor Center to take a short rest. The building and its contents had been gutted, but its walls were still standing and the roof provided some respite from the rain.
Thankfully, there were no surprises waiting for them in or around the building, so they got inside without incident. From the floor, Jerry gathered discarded brochures of activities that visitors to the state could enjoy ranging all up and down the Kenai Peninsula. Thinking the paper might make good kindling for a much needed fire, he began to twist some into tight rolls. Neil and DB, meanwhile, looked for ways to hang their blue tarpaulins in the gaping windows, trying anything to limit the cold’s entrance into the building.
Della and Meghan helped the four children out of their wet clothes, again trying to mitigate the effects of the cold on their little bodies. The two women wrung gloves and pants of as much water as possible while the children scrambled to put on drier clothes from their backpacks. Most of the adults did not have the luxury of putting on dry clothes and were forced to suffer into the chilling grips of the onset of hypothermia.
They worked quietly, trying to keep their presence a secret to all but themselves. Dealing with the cold alone was bad enough. To have to do so while fighting off the walking dead would have been a grim prospect at best.
The undead had been thankfully absent since the skirmish earlier in the day. The shooting from the battle would likely draw the horde back toward them, so the break in the storm was very welcome.
For Emma, the respite allowed her to retreat into the stormy domain of her thoughts. She was so desperately confused. Like a fresh scab eager to be picked, the pain of having lost Dr. Caldwell was ever present, surging on occasion and feeling like a punch to the stomach. Her loss and its accompanying agony manifested itself completely differently during the melee however.
Her typical anxiety was replaced with fiery rage, an anger so absolute and so raw she was barely able to contain it. She channeled her fury into the pistols in her hands and allowed them to speak for her. The sleek handguns’ voices were sharp and direct, slicing through reanimated tissue as easily as the air. She lacked composure and control, pulling the triggers wildly. It was through sheer volume alone that she managed to hit anything, but hit the targets she did. She gritted her teeth with each shot but reveled in each wounding. Her bullets punched holes and shattered bone. Through her clenched jaw, a smile full of venom and bleak satisfaction slithered to her lips and spread itself across her face.
She pulled the triggers until there were no more bullets left to fire. Her hands were pulsating with echoes of the shooting reverberating in her palms. In her chest, her heart tried desperately to keep pace with the throb in her hands. Emma would swear that there were rodents whose hearts didn’t beat as fast as hers was.
Since then, her heart may have slowed a little, but her hands still harbored hints of the violent kick of her pistols and the smile hadn’t retreated one step. It wasn’t a smile that held any warmth or joy. It was the smile of the jack-o-lantern. It was the smile of the madman. It was fiddling Nero’s smile as he watched Rome burn. If the others had stopped and paid attention, her smile would have left them unsettled and worried.
Standing there in the back doorway of the small building, Emma watched the others working so hard to scrape together an existence that, at present, barely seemed worth it. Even with the tarps hanging in the windows, dry clothes on their backs and a small, smoky fire burning in the trash can, they were still all going to be cold. The other thing that occurred to her that no one was talking about was that they were out of food. To her knowledge, they had finished whatever scraps each of them had been able to hide and hold. That last reserve ration was now gone, so the growling protests from their stomachs would simply continue.
She pivoted from one foot to the other and was starting out the door when Neil asked her from over his shoulder, “You goin’ somewhere?”
She wasn’t sure and her hesitation betrayed this fact to both Neil and herself. She shook her head and said with that same twisted smile splayed about her face, “Just gonna go look around is all. Maybe find some wood to burn or...”
“I don’t think you should be goin’ off anywhere by yourself.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of company,” and she patted the two pistols on her hips. She didn’t wait for him to formulate a reply, which likely would have been an objection. She bounced down the narrow wooden stairs and walked out on the dark cinder back parking lot. There was a big, heavily used Dodge truck parked across a few of the very limited parking spots.
Emma thought to herself as she considered the parking job, asshole. Crossing the lot to the truck, she was careful to look both ways. She didn’t want to be surprised. The truck’s doors were all shut, but she could see through the windows that there was no one inside. She walked over and pulled the truck handle. Locked. Her first thought was to just move on to some other distraction, but all at once she spun about and made one of her pistols into a hammer, shattering the window with a loud, cascading pop. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached into the cab and unlocked the door.
In another time and as a self that she had come close to completely forgetting, she would have been horrified by the dismaying tableau across the seat. The decaying remains of a man and a small child, a father and son perhaps, were lying next to one another across the long bench seat. Both bore head wounds, likely inflicted by the large silver revolver on the seat next to the man. Emma paused for a moment and decided on a course of action.
She went around to the opposite, now unlocked, door and opened it. She then simply pushed the man’s body out until it fell out the other side. The carcass didn’t have much weight, as most of his body mass had long since shriveled and withered. Just as the body started to slide out, she spied in his front pocket a nearly full pack of cigarettes. Her eyes widened and she got hold of the package as the body slid to the ground.
She was exhaling her first long drag when Neil appeared in the doorway of the Visitor Center. At first she felt anxiety akin to being caught smoking in the bathroom in high school. When the nicotine rush hit her senses however, she would have been able to ignore the Pope and possibly even her mother. She quit smoking years ago. It was a pain in her ass, but she’d done it. She was never a serious smoker anyway. She mostly smoked when she went out with her friends, so it could have been much worse. There was no denying the appeal of that first drag though. It was like a welcome visit from a long absent friend. It was damned near euphoric.
As he walked his way across the lot, Neil joked, “You know, those things will kill you.”
“According to my mother, they’re also very unladylike. It’s why I never found a husband.” Then she added, “Look what else I found.” She then held up the heavy, polished, silver pistol she took from the truck.
“Nice find. Any shells?”
She opened the pistol’s revolving chamber. “Four in here and I bet....” She leaned over and opened the glove compartment but didn’t find anything. She considered her options for a moment and then looked in the rear seat, seeing a light jacket. She hoisted it, noticing the large front pockets sagged with weight. Triumphantly, she pulled from one of the pockets two boxes of shells. The other pocket held another pack of cigarettes and a bunch of keys on an assortment of key rings.
She leaned forward again clutching the handful of keys. There was one set of keys sporting a Dodge key fob remote opener. She pressed one of the buttons on the fob and the doors confirmed they were unlocked. She met Neil’s curious eyes with her own. Her hands were almost shaking as she slowly inserted the key into the ignition. She held her breath when she turned the key and, to he
r own amazement, the truck’s engine started. It had approximately a half a tank of gasoline and a bunch of room for all of them. Of course, some of their group would have to ride in the back, but it was a far cry better than walking. They could cover themselves with a tarp to stay as warm and as dry as possible.
Meghan was the next to appear in the open door. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. Neil yelled to her, “Tell everyone to get out here. We’re putting some distance between us and them. When they come back this way, we’ll be someplace else.”
She enthusiastically nodded. “On it.”
Neil looked back at Emma and smiled. He said, “You may have just saved all our lives.”
She smiled back at him, but this smile was genuine and warm. She said coyly, “All in a day’s work.”
21.
Merely sitting in the warm air of the heated truck cab was almost enough for Neil. The goose bumps on his skin felt as if they were enjoying the peak moments of a dance competition. Every hair on his body was standing on end in pleasure. He couldn’t help the shiver from crawling down his spine. He breathed deeply into his lungs the deliciously warm air and that was when the smile appeared. He couldn’t contain it. And the smile produced a little chuckle that grew into a full laugh.
The really wonderful thing about an infectious, spontaneous laugh is its ability to sweep through a crowd and lift the collective mood of the group. Neil’s laugh, full and unexpected, lured smiles from all of his compatriots and laughs from a few.
In the open bed of the truck, they fashioned a bit of a canopy using a blue tarp. With the aid of zip ties and bungee cords, the tarp was anchored against the cab of the truck. The back window was open, allowing some of the heat to migrate into the makeshift camper mockup. It wasn’t as comfortable as inside the car, but it definitely was a better option than walking in the cold and the rain.
Neil lowered his hands to the steering wheel and felt the vibrating pulse of the large truck. To Neil, it felt as alive and as hopeful as anything that he had encountered in quite some time. That was what he was thinking when Meghan, sitting next to him, put her hand on his leg and squeezed very gently. He could see a message in her eyes and rightly surmised its meaning.
Meghan was ready to be on the move again. She didn’t like staying in one place for too long, but it wasn’t some primal nomadic nature bubbling to the surface. For her, it was simple practicality. Every time their group had gotten comfortable somewhere and had started to settle in, they had found them. It had been slightly more than an hour since their arrival at the visitor center, but she was already sensing that they were there on borrowed time. They needed to get moving again.
Emma, sitting on the far side of Meghan and nearest the passenger side door, was exactly the opposite. She was calm but vigilant. She watched her side of the truck, her eyes scanning the entire area, careful to look at everything without getting distracted by any one stimulus. She didn’t want to get caught missing the forest by staring at the trees, to reverse a familiar adage. It wasn’t that she was immune to the fear; she just found it to be adding fuel to a different kind of fire. If she hadn’t crossed the precarious rope bridge into the state of not caring, well then, she was at least staring at the precipice the bridge spanned.
Emma was aware of a change in her disposition. She was most curious in considering whether this was a permanent or temporary change and if she might slip further into this existential funk. The shift in her mood, despite its suddenness, did not worry her at all. In fact, she welcomed the change. She felt less like a victim. An impartial observer might also suggest that she felt less compassion for those around her as well, but this fact was merely background for her. Her sense of liberation simply felt, well, liberating. She felt like a completely new person. And why not? There was nothing of the world left in which she had become so comfortable and complacent. Never in her life had she even contemplated the rigors under which she now lived every day.
Behind them, on the narrow bench seat in the rear of the cab, sat Jules and Danny and next to them, as silent as always, sat Paul and Nikki, the other two children. While Paul and Nikki were not mute, it was quite clear that they restricted their words to quiet exchanges with Della and, on rare occasion, with DB. They had the thousand yard stare of shell-shocked combat veterans most of the time. Their little brains had blown several neural fuses which had yet to be repaired. Luckily, they didn’t seem to eat much more than they said and they seemed to be willing to walk themselves wherever they needed to go.
Everyone else was in the bed of the truck under the tarp trying to stay warm. It wasn’t a perfect setup but it was passable. Della and DB were sitting on one side and Claire and Jerry sat on the other. They sat atop camping pads and sleeping bags to make the Rhino lined truck bed a little more comfortable. And in the middle of them were huddled Alec and Duke, holding tight to one another to minimize their sliding back and forth. Duke was the picture of calm, trying to continue his afternoon nap despite all the activity and movement. Between his outstretched front paws was a thick stick DB had given to him as a distraction for later.
While adjusting the rearview mirror, Neil caught a glimpse of Jules entertaining the two younger children. She was showing off a string trick Jerry had shown her. Her movements were meticulous and slow, while she remembered each step in the right order. Concentrating intently, she worked her teeth with her tongue like it was a polishing cloth on a fine gem. In an instant, Neil’s breath caught behind the emotional knot building in his chest.
How could there be even a lingering remnant, a fading memory of innocence left in any of them? And yet, there was Jules in a seemingly suspended state just being a kid.
Neil put the truck into gear and as it began to roll forward, he said to Meghan, “I think we’re gonna be okay. I know it sounds awfully optimistic...especially for me. But I think we may be getting this thing behind us.”
Meghan kissed him lightly on his unshaven cheek. “Let’s just get outta here and start with that.”
“I’m already on it.”
22.
The Portage Glacier Highway was a lazy, loopy road that, on a map, looked like someone had just discarded a length of string that happened to connect one terminus with the other. Seeing that both ends of the string were connected, the state of the central coil of the winding snake of a road didn’t seem to matter.
If asked, most Alaskans would admit that they eagerly anticipate the first snowfall of the season during the waning days and long nights of autumn. It really has little to do with recreational activities such as skiing, snowboarding, or enjoying the horsepower-fueled excitement of riding a snow machine. In fact, the coming of snow means something very different for most Alaskan residents.
Autumn in Alaska was more than shorter nights and cooler temperatures. Fall also was that period of time in which the land itself began to come to terms with the fact that the impending winter season was upon it. Animals ate heartily from the sparse, extant vegetation, preparing themselves in their different ways for the upcoming hunger days of the cold. Plants, and even the ground itself, seemed to retreat from the press of decay of the fall. Soil hardened with the cold, restraining water from roots, which in turn starved leaves and blooms. Trees and other flora wilted then sagged, and finally appeared to die, their leaves drying into twisted husks and falling to the ground. Water, left to fester in small pools on the surface, collected the detritus of the season into sucking, stinking puddles that provided neither sustenance nor comfort to anything. Fall was definitely the best way to describe the mood of the season.
With the coming of snow, however, the desolation of the season was buried beneath a clean carpet of white, as if the slate had been wiped clean leaving behind a pure white canvas on which nature was able to create a new reality. The white of snow also chased away the brooding darkness, even at night, as the tiny crystallized water droplets captured and reflected the remotest hints of light during all times of the day.
Looking
to either side of the road and seeing the wetlands in full retreat, desperately awaiting the deliverance promised by snow, Neil felt a similar longing for winter’s offering. To Neil, it was hard to imagine this place as anything other than a desolate, lifeless morass. More than landscape, it looked like the barren remains of a large animal left to rot, the bare trees and clinging brown moss appearing to be bones and withering sinew. It looked and smelled like death all around them. The absence of any wildlife for as far as the eye could see only helped to reinforce the foreboding. No amount of imagining on Neil’s part could ever encourage him to see this as a thriving ecosystem. He felt like looking over his shoulder to make certain they hadn’t passed a sign with Dante’s ominous warning to all visitors of his inferno. Should they abandon all hope? Had they crossed the River Styx into the Underworld?
He couldn’t allow himself to become overly distracted with his mood or his grim observations. They were starting to pass more abandoned vehicles, some on the shoulders of the road and others simply stopped in the middle of the lane. So far, they hadn’t seen any more of the undead. For that, Neil was thankful but was also painfully aware that there was little to no possibility of sustaining that fact.
They were driving intentionally slowly, giving as much of a berth as possible to the abandoned cars and trucks stalled here and there. It felt as if they were moving along a maze path toward some golden bull that awaited them at the end. Their truck’s engine purred, sending a gentle, tickling vibration through all of their bodies. The buzz raised their collective awareness and anxiety. None of them had been in a serviceable vehicle in some time.
When they did finally see the undead, it was a single, lanky-armed and confused former middle-aged man. He was wearing battered and torn Dockers and a once bright red golf shirt. His hair was silver gray but matted and greasy, looking like dirty mop strands hanging in his face. The exposed skin of his arms, neck, and face had the pallor and texture of modeling clay spread too thin over a plaster bust. His cheekbones were impossibly pronounced and his cheeks overly shallow. Above and through it all, his dark eyes burned with rage and hunger.
Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 3): Mitigation Book 3) Page 11
