Mountain Sickness: A Zombie Novel

by Frank Martin

  “Can you go after your brother and make sure he doesn’t take off without us?”

  “Sure.”

  In better spirits, Stephanie jogged through the store after her brother while Cheryl approached her husband, who was still lost in his conversation. “Paul. They called us.”

  “Oh, Cheryl. This is Martin Wells. He runs the ski shop.”

  Trying her best to be both polite and curt, Cheryl nodded her head while tugging on her husband’s arm. “Nice to meet you. I wish we could chat, but we really should…”

  With a big jovial voice, Martin cut off Cheryl’s unnecessarily courteous gesture and ushered the couple out towards the door. “No. Of course. It’s going to be a hell of a powder day. Don’t waste a second on my account. Go. Have fun.”

  Half way out the door and into the snow, Paul gave the store owner a handshake and a friendly wink. “Don’t forget about that stock tip. We’ll talk more when I get back.”

  The two smiled as Martin gave them both a final wave goodbye and disappeared into the store. Cheryl then turned her attention towards the scene in front of her. The falling snow had rapidly picked up in the last hour and Cheryl was forced to drop her goggles onto her face just to see in front of her. She quickly realized the back door of the Cliff’s ski shop actually led out onto a run of the mountain. Well, it wasn’t really a run, but a carved out path to allow guests of the resort an easy ski in-ski out experience as they valeted their equipment at the shop.

  She was also pleased to note that her skis and poles had already been set up in the snow and were waiting for her to just jump in and go. Next to them were Stephanie and Joey, already strapped in and ready to head out. Steph played with the straps on her poles while Joey chatted with the young boy that had called their name to come outside. Cheryl walked over to them, curious about their conversation. She heard them talking about waxing Joey’s snowboard to make it faster, but as she got closer, Cheryl was almost horrified by the pale look of death engrained into the boy’s face.

  Despite wearing no hat or protection from the cold, beads of sweat poured down the boy’s face. His bloodshot eyes were squinted barely open to protect from the storm, yet the teenager was still oblivious to the gigantic snowflakes smashing into him. He stood leaning over ever so slightly into his hands that were buried in his coat pockets. But Cheryl had a sneaking suspicion that his stance was just to keep him from keeling over on the spot.

  There was definitely something wrong with him. That much was obvious. But Joey was so immersed in their discussion of snowboards that he didn’t even notice. Cheryl could also tell that the boy didn’t want to be bothered but was still kind enough to participate in the conversation rather than be rude. Besides, entertaining the resort’s guests was probably part of the job.

  Neither Paul nor Stephanie, both of whom were ready to leave, noticed the boy’s condition, but Cheryl couldn’t help but stare and wonder what ailed him. Could it be drugs? She assumed even remote mountain towns weren’t devoid of their addicts. Or maybe he was just sick. Either way, Cheryl quickly jumped into her skis and shepherded her family down the mountain, thinking the best thing to do was to get away from the child as quickly as possibly lest they caught what he had.

  4

  “Seven million dollars?! Goddamn! Did he put grease on your ass before he shoved it in?!”

  Several patrons in the small town French café turned disgusted at Scott Brooks sitting alone in the corner booth. In response to their stares, he removed the phone from his ear just long enough to mouth an insincere sorry to their judgmental eyes before putting it back and continuing his conversation. “The entire stock is worth at least twelve. He fucked you. You do realize that, right?”

  As he spoke, Scott shuffled what was left of the breakfast on the plate in front of him into his mouth. A combination of eggs, cheese and vegetables, the dish was exactly the gourmet meal he’d come to expect from such a quaint restaurant hidden in the quiet mountain town. He didn’t even know the place’s name, but it was small town secrets like this that made Scott consider Telluride his second home.

  Unfortunately, Telluride’s friendly neighborhood vibe only went one way and failed to rub off on Mr. Brook’s character. If it had, his loud mouth and foul language might not have offended his fellow restaurant goers enough for them to get up and leave mid-meal. He never understood that when you leave the city, you’re also supposed to leave the city way of life behind as well. Or maybe he understood and just didn’t care.

  After witnessing customer after customer walk away from him and towards the exit, a young waiter approached the obnoxious man as humbly as he could. “Excuse me, sir. Could you keep it down? You’re disrupting the other customers.”

  Scott gave him a look that barely qualified as a glance and continued on with his conversation. “No. Listen to me. You can still salvage this, but you have to do some serious damage control.”

  If the waiter was offended he didn’t show it as he continued his attempt at curbing the unruly patron. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  After dropping his fork, Scott finished chewing the food in his mouth, took a deep breath, and finally turned to the polite waiter with a large smile. He then spoke into his phone while staring intently into the waiter’s eyes. “Don’t make a move without hearing from me.”

  Scott dropped the phone on the table, continuing his obnoxious smile. “Of the customers who just walked out, how much do you think their combined bills were?”

  The waiter’s eyes followed Scott’s hand as it reached into his expensive jacket. “It’s not about money, sir, and honestly, I’m a little offended that you…”

  The boy stopped midsentence when Scott pulled out a rubber-banded wad of money the size of his fist. He then unraveled the bills while looking up at the waiter with a look of condescension. “You were saying?”

  The waiter opened his mouth to speak but was too focused on Scott’s actions to form any words. So instead of being scolded, Scott decided to fill the silence while standing from the booth. “I noticed they all put money on the table before leaving, too. Probably because everyone’s so fucking nice in this town. But you know what, I can be nice too.”

  Scott proceeded to drop several hundreds from his wad onto the table, way above any potential bill that a small town café could possibly generate. He then scooted out of the booth and past the waiter while giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Call it an asshole tax.”

  Satisfied with his meal, Scott cockily strutted towards the café’s exit. But just as he opened the door to leave, the waiter’s voice turned him back around. “We appreciate your business, sir, but would also appreciate if you didn’t come back.”

  With a wave, nod, and smile, Scott acknowledged the waiter’s request before exiting the restaurant. “Fair enough, mon ami. Ciao.”

  Once outside, Scott pulled his jacket up and over his neck to protect from the snow while scuttling over to the double-parked limo waiting for him. With the car already running, Scott quickly opened the door and slid inside the warm cabin. His body bounced up and down on the limo’s cushy leather seats, and Scott gave a violent shiver, shaking off all the loose snowflakes that accumulated on his jacket in the short time he’d been outside. “Brrrr! I’m out there two seconds and already my balls are frozen.”

  “I hear ya, Mr. B.”

  The response had come from Charlie Young, Scott’s driver and bodyguard, who sat patiently in the front seat of the car. “How was breakfast?”

  “Not worth what I paid for it. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  Charlie put the car in gear and slowly pulled out into the freshly plowed street. But with inches of snow quickly re-accumulating on the pavement, the limo slowly made its way through Telluride’s tight roads. Besides a series of well choreographed snowplows, only a few other vehicles wandered the streets, most of them with better four wheel drive capability than Charlie’s stylish limousine.

&nb
sp; During the ride, Scott focused his eyes out the window as he took in the old Western architecture that dominated the town’s buildings. “You ever get tired of coming here?”

  Through the open partition between the front of the car and the cab, Charlie answered his boss while keeping his eyes on the road. “No. It’s too beautiful. But I tell you what: after a week or so, I’m definitely ready to leave.”

  “Wouldn’t be because of them, would it?”

  Scott’s comment forced Charlie to quickly look over to his side and catch a glimpse of Telluride’s infamous free box. The charity spot was an outdoor cubby where people could donate their unwanted items in exchange for philanthropic gratification. The relic survived from the sixties when the hippie lifestyle of free love came to Telluride in droves.

  Today, a series of rich bohemians, self-proclaimed trustafarians, were busy scavenging the free box for blankets and jackets. Young women and long-haired men scampered around in the snow, quickly trying to shield themselves from the cold. It was a sight that made Charlie shamefully chuckle. “Why didn’t they get the clothes before it started snowing?”

  “Because they enjoy the pity in it. Look at ‘em all. It’s almost a show. Trust fund babies picking scraps like cockroaches. Shit, I should’ve brought some popcorn.”

  Never one to let Mr. Brooks’s pessimistic attitude bring him down, Charlie just shrugged his shoulders, letting his boss’ comment roll off of him. “Maybe they just like free stuff. Doesn’t everybody?”

  Scott then turned, fell back onto the couch and stared up comfortably at the limo’s black ceiling. “But that’s the thing. Nothing’s free in this world, Charlie. Everything has a price. Sometimes it’s money. Other times it’s dignity. Maybe even a part of your soul. The key to success, though, is making sure that whatever you’re buying, you have enough of it in the bank to cover the cost.”

  ***

  Despite a steady snowfall outside, Bill Sheridan couldn't be happier. Sometimes the snow was good for business. Sometimes bad. Today happened to be the latter. After hearing the day's forecast (combined with their own intuitive predictions) the Sheridans cancelled all scheduled snowmobile tours and told their staff to stay home. Most of the guests understood why it needed to be done, however, a few argued the decision. Some people would always be destined to underestimate the danger of the mountain. But Bill would be damned if he were to facilitate their stupidity.

  So the Sheridans decided to take the day off and simply bask in the peace and quiet of each other's company. It was a rare and brief glimpse into what their life would have been like if they chose to retire when most couples should. But even well after their children grew up and moved away to start families of their own, Bill and Nellie kept their business going.

  As the morning puttered on, the couple sat comfortably in the living room of their ranch home. Furnished with a combination of modernity and Old West decor, the space emitted a surprisingly homey feel for being styled as a traditional hunting cabin. Stuffed game heads of boar and elk lined the walls alongside ancient firearms, pistols, and rifles that told a story of their nation's history better than any textbook. Despite the images of death all around them, the two old timers still managed to enjoy coffee and a light breakfast while the Denver news lightly muttered on a television in the background. Neither were really paying any attention to it, but the reporter's soft voice was soon overcome by the roar of a vehicle approaching the house.

  Bill stood from his seat and went over to the window. Through a whirl of fluffy whiteness he could make out the headlights of a truck piercing through the snowfall. The engine stopped and out stepped a tall male figure who then approached the house. His face was obscured by the storm, but Bill could still make out the pristine Marshal's hat atop the man's head.

  On his way to the front door, Bill called out to his wife, who continued on with her meal uninterrupted by the pending visitor. "It's Travis."

  Nellie remained quiet, even as Bill opened the door to stop their guest from knocking. A trail of several flurries flew into the house, and Bill quickly waved the Marshal inside. "Come on in before you turn into a snowman out there."

  A middle-aged man with a fully groomed mustache, Marshal Travis Walker entered the house and started stomping his feet on a horse-themed welcome mat. Bill swiftly shut the door behind him and extended his arms, offering to take his guest's coat. "Mornin', Marshal. Can I get that for ya?"

  "Thanks, Bill, but I don't plan on stayin' long." The Marshal then turned his attention to Bill's wife still sitting in the living room. "Nellie, how've you been?"

  She answered him with a cup of coffee held up to her mouth, eagerly waiting to finish her sentence so she could take a sip. "Just wonderin' what brings you all the way out here in such lovely weather?"

  A hint of sarcasm rang in her voice, but both Bill and Travis picked up that it wasn't the weather aspect of her comment which it applied to. From a legacy of pioneers and ranchers, Nellie's family never did take too kindly to the law in Telluride. And that relationship only grew worse after the untimely and controversial demise of her brother.

  So Travis took a deep breath and contemplated his words carefully before speaking again. "You know I would never bother you two unless it was important."

  From comfortably in her seat, Nellie rapidly nodded her head with anticipation. "Then get on with it already."

  "The lock on the gate to Tomboy was off this morning. I've had my suspicions someone's been headin' up there, but now I'm sure of it."

  Bill scrunched his brow, trying to follow the Marshal's train of thought. "And you think we did it?"

  Travis humbly removed his hat before shaking his head. "Absolutely not. I know you two have enough connections in town to head up to the settlement any time you wanted. But I took a drive up there to check things out before the storm."

  A pause filled the conversation, and Nellie was once again forced to nudge the Marshal's story forward. "And?"

  "The boards were off the mine. Someone was down there, too."

  The sentence rung through Nellie like a shot to the heart, bringing back memories of Tomboy she would rather have forgotten. The old mining settlement, built high above the town upon a flat stretch of land nestled into the back wall of the canyon, was the reason Telluride existed in the first place as a means to house workers’ families.

  During the late nineteenth century, miners thrived exploiting the area's abundant deposits of gold, copper, silver, and tellurium, the element which would eventually become the town's namesake. But as the age of industrial mining slowed down across America, the crew working the Tomboy mines suddenly vanished overnight. It was a genuine Wild West mystery worthy enough to become the subject of lectures and books.

  Nellie’s reasons for being wary of the historical landmark, though, were a bit more personal than its apocryphal and legend, and that had nothing to do with the fact it was being used as a spot for late night hookups. "You think it was kids?"

  Travis lightly nodded his head in the affirmative. "Probably. I checked inside but couldn't figure out who it was. Guests at the resort don't care enough to head up there, and adults in town still remember what happened to your brother."

  The Marshal's words sent a shiver down Nellie’s spine, and she could instantly feel past frustrations coming back to her. "I told them to cave in that damn hole years ago.

  Travis shook his head in subtle agreement while at the same time trying to defend the town he was sworn to protect. "Tomboy’s status as a historical site depends on that mine staying accessible. We were able to board it up, but the council won't seal it completely."

  Echoing his wife's feelings on the matter, Bill stared at the Marshal intensely. "So, why are you telling us? We hate the place more than anyone."

  Travis slowly put the hat back on his lowered head. "I just thought you should know. Out of respect for your history an' all."

  Nellie nodded her head appreciatively, but with enough conviction that it sho
wed her desire to end the conversation. "That's kind of you, Marshal. Now you should get back before the storm really kicks in."

  Bill reached behind the Marshal and opened the door, once again allowing a snowy breeze to enter the house. Travis bundled up inside his coat and prepared to leave when he suddenly turned his head back inside. "I never knew your brother, nor do I know all the details about what happened. But if you really want that place shut down, trespassing kids is as good an opportunity as any."

  It was more advice than any person wearing a badge had given to Nellie in the past. And she silently responded to it with a slight curl of her cheek, the only gesture small enough that could still be considered a smile. Travis took the awkward action as a sign of gratitude and proceeded to walk back out into the snow.

  Bill moved back over to the window, watching the Marshal wade through the shin high snow back to his truck. "What do ya think?"

  Nellie reached over and grabbed the remote on the table, turning off the television as she stood. "I think he's incompetent. But that doesn't mean he's wrong."

  "Fine. But once you start fighting the town council there's no going back. You'll have to relive what happened to your brother all over again."

  She then joined her husband’s side, and together they watched the Marshal's truck back out through heavy snow before heading down the road into Telluride. "Well, let's hope whoever went inside that mine made it out all right. Otherwise, I don't think we'll have much of a choice."

  ***

  The only thing worse than waiting in a lift line is waiting in a lift line during a blizzard. It was a lesson Stephanie Fallon had learned on more than one occasion. Everything’s good and fun when you're zooming down the mountain, but once your body stops moving and you're forced to stand still, that's when the cold really starts to set in.

  After sharing a gondola ride with her family, Stephanie followed her parents down to a mid-mountain chairlift while her brother uncharacteristically trailed behind them. Now, she waited in line next to the little brat while her parents stood behind them. The chair was only a triple, so the family was forced to split into two groups. And mommy dearest thought it would be a good idea for Steph to spend some bonding time with her brother. Which wouldn't be half as bad if the wind chill wasn't into the single digits.