The smirk growing into a full smile, Neil said, “Maybe we should…organize all this stuff. I gotta warn all of you though, I was never very good at putting the groceries away. I’m gonna need some help.”
Jerry said as he stood, “I’ll help with that. You did the shopping. I guess I can put it away.”
Neil suggested, “I think maybe we should leave some of the non-perishable food and a couple of pistols with ammo in the van. Just in case.”
Jerry repeated, “Yeah. Just in case. Hell, maybe we should put all of what we can in the van and then just work on eating whatever doesn’t fit.”
“Helluvan idea,” Neil heartily agreed.
In the garage, the others started unloading the remaining supplies from the minivan and stacking its already disgorged contents into semi-organized piles...guns and ammunition to one corner, food and water in another, and miscellaneous materials such as batteries, blankets, flashlights, matches and whatever else in still another pile.
They then proceeded to pack behind the last seat and between the two front seats bottled water, canned soups, bags of chips and crackers and boxes of dry cereal. Under the front passenger seat, Jerry tucked a pair of black, semi-automatic pistols and a case of shells. Jerry found the touch and feel of the pistols to be energizing in a dangerous way. He couldn’t believe he was slipping pistols under a seat. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, other than simply anxiousness. It didn’t matter the cause. It could have been the guns but it could have been any number of things. So much had happened already in the span of just a handful of hours and the gun in his hand convinced him that much more was still to come.
Shutting the driver’s side door, Neil looked around at the others and asked, “Who is willing to help me go out back and bring firewood inside?”
Meghan stood back up from the pile of firearms and, dumbfounded, asked, “Are you outta your fucking mind? You’re the one that told me what was going on and you wanna go back out into it?”
“It’s going to start getting cold at night and we’ve got no idea how long we will be on our own. I think we oughta get as much wood inside now before...”
“Before what?”
Neil looked at Jerry for confirmation of his fears. Jerry nodded and continued for Neil, “It’s just a matter of time before those things realize we’re in here. This is a good place...only a couple of windows down low, a fenced back yard, and a fireplace. That’s all good. But he’s right. We’ve gotta be ready to be in here for a bit so that all of this can settle down.” Jerry knew though that there really wasn’t any possibility of “this” just going away. None of the movies or games that he had seen involving zombies had ever ended well. He at least held some small comfort in the fact that he and Neil knew what was happening. In the movies and even in the games, the characters never seemed to have a clue. Maybe that fact alone would be enough to carry them all through this. He knew Neil was right though. They needed to do what they were able while there was still time.
Jerry, Tony, and Neil hurried into the backyard. The woodpile was just outside the door, which was good news. Neil started to toss logs into the garage while Jerry looked around the backyard. He headed toward a small storage shed without doors near the edge of the fenced yard. While his heart was threatening to crawl out his mouth, the six-foot wooden privacy fence lent a small degree of comfort. He looked over his shoulder as he crept forward. Tony stood watch with one of the shotguns at the ready in front of him. Neil too was armed with a handgun slung in one of the shoulder holsters he’d grabbed at Fred Meyer. He was grabbing and throwing pieces of split birch, but looking up every few seconds to scan the fence for any threats.
While they did that, Meghan and Kim went through the house to find any containers into which they could collect water from the faucet. Neil was concerned that they would soon lose electricity and then water service as no one would be left to operate those utilities. Rachel, Danny, and Jules turned on the television and radio to see if any news was forthcoming yet.
In the shed, Jerry found a small stash of lumber, scraps of two by fours, two by sixes, and some pieces of plywood. All of this was carted into the garage as quickly as possible. With some of the firewood and lumber having been moved inside, a fairly hysterical Rachel, who was still drinking from the bottle of vodka, suddenly summoned the three men upstairs.
“Oh my God. Get up here quick! Hurry!”
Jerry leapt up the stairs, barely touching foot to carpet. They could see, through a space between trees, the Old Seward Highway where it passed by the little neighborhood. There were still a couple of cars that were trying to make headway, but the vast majority of what they saw were people...hundreds of them, streaming like a chaotic parade down the road. They all heard the train-like sound that actually rumbled and shook the house with the same force as a small trembler. Interlaced in the deep roar, just below that rumbling surface of sound, were barely discernible screams and shouts.
Meghan ran down to the front door and was all set to open it. She yelled, “We gotta do somethin’!”
Neil and Jerry simultaneously shouted down at her not to open the door. Neil continued, “You’re right though. We do gotta do something. This house isn’t ready yet. We gotta cover those windows downstairs and reinforce that door. We gotta bunker ourselves in.”
Disbelieving, Meghan asked, “We’re not gonna do anything for all those people?”
“What do you propose we do? I’m assuming you saw what was happening on the overpass? There were hundreds of people there and they weren’t able to do anything. What can the six of us do? Besides, if we were to save someone from over there on the road, how do we decide which one or ones to save? We haven’t got room for everyone here. We haven’t got supplies to sustain the few of us for any length of time, how are we gonna feed more?”
It wasn’t like Neil to speak that bluntly or to be that emphatic. He was typically that guy that nodded during office meetings and merely consented to and with the majority on any issues that arose about which he probably should care; so to say that he was uncomfortable speaking in such a manner was a gross understatement. The looks that he got from Meghan, Rachel, and the confused children only added to his discomfort.
“I’m sorry. I just...”
Before anyone else could speak or for the mood of the room to change, Rachel attacked the quiet, “You’re right. And we all damned well know it. Sorry kids.”
Jules asked, “Why do you always say sorry after you swear? Wouldn’t it just be easier not to swear?”
“You’re probably right kid. So what about it Neil? What do we do?” She took another quick swig from the bottle. Her face was as red as a tomato, but her mood had thankfully settled quite a bit.
The group set about deciding how to best use the limited lumber and plywood supply. They had enough pieces of plywood to cover the only two downstairs windows. They decided to put the plywood on the outside of the windows and then use interior doors from the house to cover the inside of the windows. If they could keep the windows intact, the cooler nights might not be so cool inside. Of course the doors would have to be hung later. Their time outside was running out and they all knew it. They worked with the desperation of dike builders along the banks of a swelling river in the midst of a storm. The job was quick and dirty but it was solid. Inside, they worked in pairs to nail two by fours across doorframes. The garage door was of heavy construction and insulated. It appeared strong and resilient.
Danny, perched in the upstairs window, kept a vigilant watch through binoculars on the passing horde on the highway. He stood there watching quietly, never taking the glasses from his eyes. In the background, he could hear the television, which had begun to broadcast again. It was hard for him to watch the television because all the grownups on it seemed so afraid and they kept talking about places he had never heard of: Knik, Eagle River, Seward, Fort somewhere and something Air Force Base. None of the news seemed good. It was just easier for him to try and ignore the speaki
ng and watch the road for any bad news coming their way.
Chapter 23
It had been only a handful of hours since Martin Houser had been admitted to the Providence Emergency Room. Already though, the city was ready to come apart at the seams. The main roads were filling up with cars that sat bumper to bumper, hopelessly trapped in clogged pavement arteries.
A precious few jets and large commercial aircraft were still able to depart Anchorage from the international airport. Merrill Field, the state-of-the art small plane airport on the northern side of the city and just east of downtown, was already in ruins. There were wrecked planes, smoldering fuel and equipment trucks, burning control and office buildings, and throngs of staggering, broken souls shuffling across the tarmac. Small Cessnas and Pipers and a number of other single-engine aircraft were still coming in irregular waves and trying to land, the pilots obviously unaware of the bedlam unfolding below.
One plane, a single engine Cessna, wobbled down a runway. Out of control and hampered by the added weight of several extra bodies clinging to the wings and sides of the aircraft, the pilot wheeled his plane through a fence opening just wide enough for his exit. Of course, the narrow opening would not accommodate the wings of his plane, so they smashed into and partially through the high stonewall and light poles to either side of the throughway. Emerging like a magician through a flash of smoke and dazzling electrical sparks, the fuselage of the small plane burst into view. The pilot emerged onto traffic-choked Fifth Avenue, a major thoroughfare through downtown and a natural artery out of town. He steered the plane capably at first, but the teetering imbalance of moving the extra bodies was too much. The plane drove into the side of a shiny new Humvee, which was pushed into another large sport utility vehicle that ended up on its side. The result was that both inbound and outbound lanes were blocked and all the cars waiting to get out of town were suddenly trapped.
At first, there was a chorus of horns from farther back down the line of cars. This was soon followed by desperate, screaming voices as those closest to Merrill Field tried to flee from the wave of death that was spilling out onto the road. Men, women, and children abandoned their vehicles and started running. Most fled without direction, just trying to get away. Many were trampled beneath panicked feet. Others were caught and set upon by their assailants.
Some drivers tried to maneuver their automobiles through the maze to make their escape. This only served to tighten the traffic knot even further. There was no control and no restraint from anyone. The police were being victimized at an alarming rate as those men and women tried to protect the civilian population and found themselves overwhelmed time and time again. More and more gunshots rang out as ordinary citizens tried to stand their ground. Many innocent people were wounded or even killed as most of the shooting became random.
People fleeing on foot made their way to the bridge spanning Ship Creek and connecting Anchorage to Elmendorf Air Force Base. Mothers carrying children wrapped in blankets, fathers tugging older children by the hand, and individuals all swarmed across the bridge looking for safety.
A pair of Military Police Humvees met the mob approximately halfway across the bridge. The soldiers, armed with M4 automatic rifles, fired their weapons in the air to absolutely no effect. The crowd didn’t hesitate for even a moment. They couldn’t. There was only the smallest of divides between them and their attackers. If they paused, they would have been caught. The soldiers, twelve in all, let the civilians pass, as if there was any possibility of doing otherwise.
Shortly on the heels of the first group was a second group of people. At least, from a distance they looked like people, but Lieutenant Van Dorffman wasn’t entirely sure about that as he looked down his binoculars at them. They looked somehow different. It wasn’t just the torn clothing, bloodstains, or odd walking that they did that caught his attention. It was something more about the expressions on their faces that caught him off guard. Even from this distance and through binoculars, he could make out their faded, vacant, and empty expressions. There was not a single indication that any of them were anything more than upright corpses, except for something that boiled around and in their eyes.
As soon as the refugees had cleared their field of fire, the soldiers started shooting. The staccato crack of their gunshots was, at first, reassuring to the survivors now behind their line. Some even slowed their pace and turned to watch the professionals do their jobs. The first rank of pursuers, riddled with crimson patches, fell to their knees but most were quickly up and moving forward again. Even with automatic weapons, body armor, and military training, the soldiers were overwhelmed as quickly as any other force that sought to stand up to the onslaught. Lieutenant Dorffman tried to radio command that their line had been breached, but as he turned away from the utter carnage that was being reaped upon his men, he too was attacked. From his headset com-link that was still open, he broadcast nightmarish bubbling and gurgling as his tongue was ripped violently from his mouth. Death did not come quickly enough for the unfortunate young soldier.
There just seemed to be no stopping the infection from spreading. There were fires burning, most out of control, all across the city by now, the smoke adding a constricting pall that laid itself as comfortably over buildings as it did over bodies lying in the middle of streets and roads.
Anchorage was envisioned and created in the second decade of the Twentieth Century and it took nearly a hundred years for the city to become a thriving metropolis replete with modern business and retailers and nearly three hundred thousand residents. Several hours were all it took for this center of population for the state of Alaska to be brought to its proverbial knees. There was no order, as most of the police force had been victimized early on trying to stand their ground. There were already ghouls wearing police uniforms amongst the horde of undead, testament to the ultimate sacrifice many of the officers paid.
Several fire stations were identified as safe sites by the radio and, just as Jerry predicted, those stations became beacons for the ghouls. They flocked to the sites like sharks responding to the faint scent of blood in the water.
The Bear Valley Fire Station was the lone holdout, but it was no longer functioning as it was intended. Dozens of people had sought refuge there as promised by the radio. The station head, having lost contact with every other station as well as all other emergency personnel in the city, knew that something had to be done. They could wait and hope for relief or they could flee. He decided to split the difference and do both. As many civilians as possible were loaded onto their biggest engines to make a run for safety. Those unable or unwilling to leave did their best to seal themselves inside the station in hopes that help was on its way.
Chapter 24
Dr. Caldwell knew that he was out of shape and not fit enough to really exert himself anymore. He hadn’t been athletically active in years and it showed. It was no great surprise then that he found himself out of breath before he had even cleared the first parking lot that was at the very end of a long and steep road leading out of the sports park. The thing that concerned the doctor even more than his own shabby performance was that no one else was even able to keep up with him.
He stood there, panting and out of breath, waiting for the others. He was glad that he had stopped smoking but wished he had done it long ago instead of just recently. He didn’t want to quit really, but he just got sick of hearing them complain and point out all of the obvious health threats. “I mean, really Dad, you’re a doctor. You above everyone else should know. And what about secondhand smoke?” And blah blah blah blah. It had worked though. He’d quit a little more than nine months ago and now the craving for a cigarette was the worst that it had been since having quit. It was no use though. He didn’t have any and couldn’t get any. He might as well just push on past the craving and deal with it.
His three companions, the only survivors to escape the massacre at Providence Hospital, were making their way as quickly as they were able across the parking lot. O
ne of the women, Emma, was still wearing the extra helicopter crew helmet she put on just before crashing. She was struggling to run primarily due to her choice of footwear. She finally stopped and kicked off her high heeled shoes, opting instead to run with hose covered feet. Her pace increased substantially until she was standing next to the waiting doctor. The other two joined them and they continued on. This time the doctor chose to move with the group rather than on his own, knowing that they needed to stay together if they hoped to get out of this situation alive.
They speed-walked up the inclined road toward the main road. Coming from out of sight, but nearby, they could hear a sound that resembled a train but was not industrial. The sound was full and constant like an engine but was absent any of the typical trappings of a mechanical source. Luckily, it sounded as if the noise was still some distance away. It was, however, approaching.
Officer Ivanoff opined, “It sounds like a stampede.” Dr. Caldwell couldn’t have summed it up better. It did sound like a stampede; frightened, horrified animals fleeing for their lives. “D’ya think it’s headin’ this way?”
Dr. Caldwell was wondering the same thing but also wondered if it wouldn’t be better if they were just able to avoid the stampede altogether; knowing full well that the stampede was more than likely Anchorage citizens dashing for safety. There just didn’t seem to be any benefit in moving in large groups right now. Sure, there was safety in numbers, but the numbers had to be manageable. He didn’t want to be a virtual lemming being run off the cliff.
The doctor told them that he thought they should just find some temporary but safe shelter and wait this out for a while. Directly across from the park was a small neighborhood with two rows of houses facing one another and a single road separating them. That seemed to be their best option, so they headed down the road.
Alaskan Undead Apocalypse | Books 1 & 2 | Infection & Containment Page 9
