Shaking his head clear, Dr. Caldwell hoisted himself up and peered out the open side door that was now facing up to the sky. The acrid smoke beginning to fill the cabin seeped out the door, allowing the air to clear enough to breathe without coughing. The doctor leaned forward into the stubby cockpit. Stan was quite obviously dead, his neck broken and twisted horribly. The pilot, whose name the doctor still did not know, was unconscious and slumped forward in his seat. Much of the nose of the craft had been crushed inward, concealing the crews’ legs. He heard the spark and fizzle of electrical fuses as, one by one, they burned out.
“Okay, we don’t have much time. We all know what we need to do. Let’s get out and keep moving.” He looked back at the others to register a response. He saw three faces looking back at him: the woman wearing the crew helmet, Officer Ivanoff, and another woman wearing blue nurse’s scrubs. A fourth person, another woman, was crying softly and holding her leg. There had been three others in the helicopter when they left the hospital.
He looked around and found a pair of legs protruding from beneath a pile of heavy equipment that had fallen. He touched an exposed ankle with his first and second fingers and felt no pulse. Where were the others he wondered?
Officer Ivanoff unlatched his harness and then set about helping the others with theirs. They each climbed out while Dr. Caldwell attended first to the woman with the injured leg, and then he tried to get an angle to help the pilot. The quarters were agonizingly cramped, making it almost impossible to do anything. The pilot’s pulse was strong, but he still evaded consciousness. Attempts by the police officer and the doctor to free the trapped man were to no avail.
“Well, what do you want to do, Doc?” asked the police officer as he reached back into the cabin from his straddled perch on the outside of the aircraft.
Dr. Caldwell wasn’t sure. He looked all around for anything that might be able to be used to get some leverage. He was still looking when he heard the first sound come from the cockpit. Assuming it was the pilot, he said over his shoulder, “I’ll be right there buddy. Hang in there.”
He finished rummaging through a compartment, looking for any remnants of supplies that he could forage.
“Hey, I was hoping that you might be able to help me with the radio. Maybe we could call...”
It was then, in mid-sentence, that he realized that it wasn’t the pilot that he was hearing. It was Stan who was still sitting in the co-pilot chair. He was still strapped in and aligned to be facing forward, but his neck was broken and twisted in such a way as to have his head hanging loosely on his right side and looking back at the doctor.
Spying the doctor with his hungry eyes, he began to gnash his teeth and reach forward trying to grab him. Luckily for the doctor, the direction that Stan’s eyes were looking and the direction that his hands were reaching were opposite from one another. The creature, however, was unable to make the connection. He became desperate, shaking his seat and creating a horrible sound that chilled the doctor to his very soul. He was immobilized, a virtual deer in the headlights. And his eyes...there wasn’t a shred of humanity in their depths. Behind the expanded black pupils lurked a preternatural hunger whose shadow was made all the more dark by the translucent hot rage glowing in the white corneas around it.
The absolute fear that gripped the doctor sickened him, weakened his knees, and made his head swoon. He had no will whatsoever. He could only remember feeling like this only once before, and it was when he had contracted malaria while in Madagascar. The fever damned near cooked his brain. He had lain on his cot, hearing the drips of sweat that ran down his arms and legs and fell to the floor. He could hear each individual drop as it splashed in the ant-sized swimming pools his sweat was forming on the floor under him. At night, when the sweating and fever really applied themselves, he could swear that it sounded like it was raining under him. Yet, he couldn’t hear anything anyone said to him and barely registered events as they unfolded around him. He had felt like he was floating and merely a spectator...counting the drops of water as they fell. It was the closest thing to an out of body experience he could claim to have had.
It took the sound of Officer Ivanoff reaching back inside to investigate the doctor’s delay to jar Dr. Caldwell from his trance. The police officer shook the doctor and then began to pull him from the craft. As he finally emerged, Dr. Caldwell started to struggle to go back inside.
“The pilot. The pilot is still alive. I’ve got to get back in there.”
It was at about that time that Stan, or that thing that used to be Stan, was finally able shake himself enough to readjust his head and neck. With still no bones to hold his head erect, he swung it around to enable himself to get at the warm flesh that the heightened olfactory nerves in his nose detected. His head dipped and bobbed until he found the right angle to be able to sink his teeth into his former partner’s shoulder. He bit through the pilot’s jumpsuit, undershirt, and the skin beneath. Thankfully, the pilot never regained consciousness as the geysers of blood from his torn arteries sprayed themselves across the inside of the large helicopter windshield.
From atop the side of the crashed helicopter, Dr. Caldwell could see two other lifeless bodies lying close to one another on the soccer field. He looked more closely, hoping to catch signs of life. When he looked at Officer Ivanoff though, the policeman shook his head. The doctor knew that could mean only one thing: two more bodies and two fewer survivors.
Falling onto his hands and knees beside the aircraft, the doctor was at a loss as to what to do. His head swirled with a confusing mix of anger, doubt, fear, and a host of other emotions, along with the most recent image of horror he had just witnessed in the helicopter. What was happening? Where could they go now? Would there be any end to this? He dug his fingers into the still dew-damp grass and soft, moist soil. The cool morning air kissed his neck and chilled the beads of sweat still standing there and brought the hair on his arms and back to full attention.
And then he heard it again. For what seemed to be the millionth time yet that day, someone said to him, “Doctor, I think we have another problem here.”
He let the defeated, weary laugh creep out of him softly as he remained in the same position. A few tears, those few he still had left in him, escaped to the corners of his eyes and fell harmlessly and silently to the ground in front of him.
He composed himself, putting on his Doctor’s Smile and leaned over the woman lying near. “What’s your name?”
Through clenched teeth, the dark complexioned islander answered, “Sulamai, but you can call me Vanessa.” She was still rubbing her leg and breathing in quick, controlled, labored breaths.
“Okay Vanessa. Where on your leg does it hurt the most?”
She touched her ample right thigh and said, “Right here. Ooooooooh. It hurt real bad.”
The doctor could tell that her leg just wasn’t right. Between the angle at which it sat and an alarming knot on the middle of her thigh, he was fairly certain that her femur was broken. He also knew that significant damage to that bone especially could lead to a number of other more serious concerns down the road. Of course, under different circumstances, he’d just order a leg X-ray and help steer her toward a speedy recovery. Unfortunately, these were anything but normal circumstances. In considering their options and needs, he also realized that if they didn’t get moving quickly, that damage to her femur would be the least of her concerns.
Dr. Caldwell stood up and, with the ruckus inside the helicopter still serving as his backdrop, he said, “Okay folks, we’ve made it this far together. We gotta keep pushing.” He pointed up toward the park entrance, which was clearly visible and a little less than a mile of gradual incline up and out. “There are houses and people who can help us up that road. We’ve got to keep moving. Officer, if you and I help Vanessa, I think we can make it. Vanessa, you up for this?”
Vanessa looked up at the doctor and her tears went from those of pain to those of resignation. She shook her head slowly
and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, Doctor. I don’t know if I can keep going.”
Dr. Caldwell, feeling his already diminished reserves of patience fading further, leaned over her and said, “If we leave you here you will die. Do you understand that? And if we wait and debate this any longer, then we’re going to die too. I need you to help us so that we can all get out of here alive. Alright?”
She continued to cry and looked back down at the ground. “How are you going to move me?”
“We’ll figure it out. We’ve gotten this far haven’t we? You ready?”
She took a deep breath and held it but made no move whatsoever.
“Vanessa?”
She thought about her younger sister who was still in school and about her mother who was at home with her younger cousins, wondering if they were all still safe. Her family lived in the Mountain View area on the northeastern side of Anchorage. Maybe the police would get all of this in hand before it got to her family. She found the small gold crucifix around her neck and went searching for the strength of her Pastor. He always seemed to be so well composed regardless of the situation. Nothing seemed to ever faze him.
“No, Doctor. I think I’m just gonna stay right here for a bit. If you get a car and want to come back and check on me, that’d be fine with me but I think I’ll stay.”
“Vanessa?”
“Doctor, we both know full well that I weigh more than both you and Mr. Police Officer Man there put together. There’s no point in denying that. You guys’d never be able to move me...not without help anyway. No, I think I’ll just stay here for a bit and wait.”
“Vanessa, we may not be able to get back down here.”
“That’s okay, Doctor. If you can, you know where I’ll be.”
“Vanessa, I can’t...”
She silenced him with her calm expression. If she harbored any fear at all, he couldn’t detect it. He was completely disarmed by her resolve. He leaned down and hugged her tightly and kissed her on the cheek.
She giggled playfully and said, “Doctor, please. People will talk. I got my reputation to think about.”
He smiled at her, touching her shoulder gently.
She asked, “If you got anything there in that bag to help with the pain, I would appreciate that.”
“Sure.”
Dr. Caldwell opened the large medical kit from the helicopter and found a syringe with painkiller in it. “Would you like me to do it?”
Never losing her smile she answered, “Yeah, if you could. How many of those things are in there?”
He handed her two and then one more syringe, suspecting what her intentions were but not wanting to confirm. Hippocrates just did a somersault in his grave.
“Yeah, I’ll sleep good with these won’t I?”
The doctor nodded his head as he injected the first tube into her leg.
She looked around at the group and said, “Good luck and don’t you all worry about me. I’ll be just fine.”
The four remaining survivors from Providence Hospital trudged up the paved road leading away from the soccer fields and toward the traffic light at the entrance to the park. The pavement was damp, as were the waist high plants and bushes to either side of the road. There were scores of geese on the open field and fenced baseball diamond to their right. Their honking, typically considered obnoxious by the doctor, was a welcome reminder of more normal times. The geese, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, were just enjoying a brief stopover in Anchorage as they made their way south for the winter. The doctor wondered what the geese would see when they got to their final destination. Was this happening elsewhere or just in Anchorage?
Chapter 22
Neil and his group were just getting themselves out of harm’s way when the storm of destruction started to reach them. Luckily, Meghan was able to cajole her car enough to get it off of the Old Seward Highway and onto a side street that opened into a neighborhood of houses and duplexes. It was just another typical Anchorage neighborhood. Most of the homes looked as if they had been constructed during the 80s, many showing the wear of the past decades.
It had the feeling of a ghost town to all of them. There were open front doors and garage doors all up and down the street, there were clothes strewn across lawns, children’s toys laying on their sides in driveways, and, most strikingly, absolutely no people. News of the unfolding disaster must have reached the residents and encouraged them to get away, despite the broadcast’s simple message of get inside and stay inside.
Meghan’s car came to a rolling stop. She jammed the gearshift into park even before they were completely stopped. Tony and Kim could tell immediately that this was a frustration that wasn’t new to Meghan. She turned the key in the ignition and gently tapped the gas pedal the way that Landon, her boyfriend, had done in the past to try and convince the car to start. It hadn’t worked any better for him than it was for her right now. The engine sputtered and coughed, but there was no starting it. Not now anyway. If she were able to sit and wait, the car would start readily in about fifteen minutes. Judging by the rising din of noise coming up behind them, she didn’t think that she could spare even fifteen seconds. She knew that it was time to give up. She looked over at Neil’s minivan, which was reversing toward them.
Over the radio, Neil’s voice pleaded, “Get yourselves outta there. Leave the goddamned car!”
He was right and Meghan knew it. She grabbed the keys from the ignition, stuffed them in her pocket, and asked, “You two ready?”
Like panicked rodents scurrying from the light, Meghan, Tony, and Kim leapt from the stalled car and ran in search of safety and a place to hide. Neil slowed the reversing minivan and looked over his shoulder at his scared passengers already in the rear of the vehicle.
“Make some room. We’ve got company joining us.”
There wasn’t really any room to be made, though. The minivan was full. Jerry and the two kids pressed themselves as far to one side of the bench seat as they could. In the end, they just moved into the small space between the bench seat and the passenger side sliding door. Jerry was standing but was stooped at the waist. Jules and Danny cowered beneath the arch that Jerry’s leaning upper torso created. There was no getting in the backseat as it was filled very nearly to the ceiling with supplies.
Meghan, perhaps involuntarily but most certainly unbeknownst to her while she did it, let out a shrill scream as she ran to the other vehicle and didn’t stop until Tony pulled the driver side sliding door shut behind him. Looking around at the others, she laughed and cried at the same time. She nodded to Neil and then let the tears take her all at once. Tension, anxiety, and fear tickled all of her nerves and senses at the same time, and she quaked and shuddered all over at once.
Jules began to cry too. Already pressed against Danny, she laid her head on his chest looking for some comfort...any comfort. She was so confused and now with this lady crying, she just couldn’t control it anymore. And not knowing why she was crying made the tears come even easier.
Sorrow, bitter, heavy, and humid, filled the cabin as they made their way into the neighborhood. It was a fitting backdrop for their trek and the day that was still unfolding. It was still early enough in the morning that most people would just then be starting their day. Of course, for all of them in the car, the day had already been long and full.
The refuge they sought was there in that neighborhood. The house sat on a cul-de-sac at the terminus of a dead end residential street, which was just around the corner and still in sight of Meghan’s abandoned car. There were trees and large hedges in most of the yards. One house, the largest on the street, had a carefully laid pile of enormous stones on either side of its driveway. The house they finally settled on was chosen for the simple reason that its garage door was standing open. Apparently the owners had fled in a hurry, much like the majority of Anchorage’s residents. The front yard and driveway were littered with hastily packed suitcases, shirt sleeves and pant legs hanging lazily
out of partially opened seams. In the backyard barking was obviously the family dog, confused as to who all these people were and where its humans might be.
Neil pulled the minivan into the garage and got out to shut the door. Rachel, Jules, and Danny went inside to some upstairs windows that overlooked much of the immediate neighborhood. With the kids still looking out, Rachel went to the kitchen and started foraging through cabinets until she found what she sought. She pulled a big, more than half full one and three quarter liter bottle of Stolichnaya Vodka from a cabinet and took a long and full drink directly from the bottle. The liquor hit her empty stomach like a hammer and sent her to the floor partially gagging almost immediately. She had had enough and the vodka was the final straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. She started to cry and, in trying to fight back the tears, her crying became sobbing.
Neil, meanwhile, peeked his head into the van. Other than Rachel and the two kids, no one had moved. It didn’t look as if any of them could without causing an avalanche of plastic, cardboard, and aluminum packages to come crashing down around the others. In all of the starting and stopping, the stacks of supplies had shifted and shifted again until they all but engulfed the passengers in the two back seats.
Neil said with a slight smirk creeping onto his face, “I know just what to do. Nobody move.”
His weak attempt at humor brought only rolling eyes and perhaps a strained groan from one of them, but they did as instructed, patiently awaiting the details of Neil’s brilliant plan.
Neil ran around to the back of the van and opened the rear hatch. And sure enough, as he did, the mountain of pilfered retail goods teetered back, falling to the ground around Neil’s feet. He suddenly found himself standing knee-deep in an assortment of camping supplies, tools, ammunition and firearms, and boxes, bags, and cans of food.
Alaskan Undead Apocalypse | Books 1 & 2 | Infection & Containment Page 8
