Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution (53 page)

He needed to make amends somehow and perhaps
saving William was what he was meant to do.

Carter gave the job of recalling the
rearguard to Earl, who was driving toward the tunnel. He was
listening to the same Garth Brooks CD he always had in his car for
his short drives to work. He figured this would be a short drive
too. The familiarity of the music went well with the utter routine
of his task. He was an errand boy. Nothing had changed from his
life before the apocalypse. He went through a series of jobs in
which he was little more than someone else’s lackey. He never had
any real responsibility and so never had any real opportunity. He
languished for a short while and then moved into an equally
miserable job.

In this new world, though, he thought that
perhaps he might find better opportunities. He could act without
hesitation or concern for anyone else. He didn’t mind the killing;
in fact, he kind of enjoyed it and it didn’t matter if it was a
skin or another person. He didn’t necessarily want to kill
indiscriminately; he wasn’t a monster after all. When it was his
duty and it was the right thing to do, killing seemed to come along
with a sense of liberation and even empowerment. The funny thing
about that was it was the first time in his entire life in which
doing something brought about those emotional responses.

When the next song began, he turned up the
stereo’s volume and sang along. His headlights lit the road ahead
of him enough for him to realize the pavement was slick with ice
and snow. The surface glistened like glass in his light’s beam.

On the curves, he slowed the truck
considerably but still felt the big vehicle start to slide. The
sliding didn’t cause any alarm with him. He rather liked getting
swirly on the roads, especially now that there weren’t other cars
and drivers and, of course, no insurance companies. That was his
favorite part of the apocalypse: no insurance companies, which
meant no insurance claims. With that sense of freedom in his mind,
he pressed his accelerator harder and sang a little louder.

The tunnel entrance was just ahead and
beyond the tunnel was the rearguard. Earl thought that maybe he
could take command of the men from the rearguard. He could have his
own men and have his own responsibilities, earning his own
rewards.

He was starting to lose himself in his
thoughts when he took the last, wide turn toward the tunnel
entrance. The snow was coming down a little more fervently,
restricting his vision to only a handful of yards in front of him,
however, he didn’t feel it necessary to slow his pace at all. There
shouldn’t be any traffic to concern him, so he pushed on into the
thickening darkness.

Earl was in full croon, belting out lyrics
at the top of his scratchy, twang-filled voice, when he
simultaneously pressed with all his might the brake pedal and
craned his shoulders and chest as far away from the steering wheel
as possible. He looked like a contorted piece of stretched taffy
spread over the seat.

Not prepared for the change, his wheels
tried desperately to grip the icy pavement but failed miserably.
Instead of stopping, the truck slid wildly into the amassed sea of
undead bodies. Earl, driving with his window down as he always did,
shrieked in terror when his truck came to a stop. His was awash in
bony, clawing, rending hands pulling at his flesh while Garth
Brooks provided a somber soundtrack.

Earl’s seatbelt prevented him from being
pulled from the truck...in one piece. He struggled futilely for
several seconds. He pushed away the first few faces to appear in
the still open window, but very quickly his left arm was grabbed
and pulled out of the truck. Fierce jaws latched onto Earl’s flesh,
biting him to the bone. Others were eager to feast as well, pulling
until his arm was first yanked out of its socket and then removed
entirely, showering the wretched crowd with a rush of red which
only ignited their hellish passions all the more. They were sharks
in a sea of blood, thrashing about excitedly, fighting with one
another for morsels shorn from Earl’s body.

In a matter of moments, Earl had disappeared
down to the waist, leaving only his legs and a nightmarish stew of
remains splattered across the seat, dash, and windshield. The
horde, several hundred strong, that had set upon the unsuspecting
Earl, sensed more activity and enticing smells coming from further
up the road. As a single, stagger-stepping amorphous mob, the
agitated throng of undead slithered down the road toward Whittier
and its lone point of light.

Meanwhile, Garth Brooks hollered his twangy
tunes into the tunnel, attracting more and more of the undead
gathering on the far side. Like a beacon, an irresistible siren’s
song, the stereo echoed in the dark tunnel and drew the attention
of a rising army of ghouls poised to infest the city on the far
side. It was as if the gates of Hell had opened and disgorged a
legion of demons upon the Earth.

Jarred awake with a start, Neil swore that
he heard a gunshot. When the next one echoed from the other side of
his wall, Neil’s brain rang with alarms. He sat up too quickly and
experienced both lightheadedness and pain at the same time. Jules
was gone and the room had been invaded by hints of developing
silver light. Disoriented and still recovering from his head rush,
Neil blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked around.

Next to the couch and within arm’s reach,
his assault rifle was leaned against a small table. His shoulder
still ached terribly but it didn’t feel any worse than perhaps the
soreness associated with a very strenuous workout. He pivoted his
legs out onto the floor in front of himself and prepared to
stand.

His rising was hastened by yet another
gunshot. He slipped on his boots and stood. It only took a second
or so and he was on his way, rifle in hand.

Jerry and Danny were standing out on the
veranda. Jerry was using the scope on his rifle to take a closer
detailed scan of their surroundings. Morning was breaking, but the
cloudy sky above restricted the light to an opaque dull glow, which
hurt Neil’s squinting eyes.

Jerry lowered his rifle, a smile spreading
onto his face when Neil appeared.

“Target practice?” Neil asked.

“No,” Danny replied. “We nailed a coupla’
skins.”

“We?”

Danny nodded.

“He’s not a bad shot,” Jerry confirmed.
“Emma taught him some, but I think the kid’s a natural.”

“Kinda like you?”

Jerry didn’t acknowledge the compliment but
instead said, “If he’s up here, he’s safe. I think we should have
him figure into the watch. Maybe he could work a swing shift or
something like that. He’s pretty good.”

Neil looked over at Danny. “No time like the
present. Can you keep an eye on things for us for a bit?”

Danny nodded and dutifully returned to his
post, stoking the fire as he added a piece of split birch. The two
men walked back inside and down the stairs, joining the others
sitting in the dining room drinking coffee and tea. When someone
spoke, which didn’t happen that often, it was quiet and
superficial.

Neil watched all of them for a second or two
before asking, “So, what’s to eat?”

Emma smiled up at her friend and quickly
responded, “Whatever you would like.”

“Whatever?”

She nodded and gestured to the kitchen. “We
still have quite a few options left in the pantries, freezers, and
refrigerators.”

“How about eggs?”

“How do you want them?”

While Jess and Mia put together a breakfast
of eggs, sausage, toast, and even hash browns, Neil, Emma, and
Jerry were able to talk.

They discussed the obvious topic of their
current accommodations and all of its bounty. They had not had it
this good since before the fall. The fact that Neil could suggest
they have eggs for breakfast and it was an actual possibility was
enough for all of them to pause and wonder at their good fortune.
It was safe and possibly secure. They were no longer cold when they
tried to sleep and now they were actually sleeping restfully. It
really seemed too good to be true.

His pessimistic streak surfacing, Neil
thought that they were living there on borrowed time. Every time
they got comfortable and started to settle in, the world would
catch up with them. Something about what Jules had said to him
about her perception of time was ringing true with him as well. The
more he thought about it, the more he agreed with her that they had
spent a lot of time at the lodge. More to the point, they had spent
a lot of time idle, waiting, cowering.

It was the lack of movement, after all,
which contributed to the ill planned excursion to the cruise ship.
It was also, he suspected, the cause of Nikki’s and Betsy’s deaths.
In the world in which they found themselves, there was no room for
complacency of thought or action.

Neil said, “I think we should start planning
our next move.”

Emma screwed up her face . “Move?” she asked
incredulously. “What do you mean move? This place is great. Why the
hell would we want to leave?”

“I’m not suggesting I want to leave here,
but—”

“He’s right,” Jerry cut in. “We should at
least have a plan...know where we’re all going and how to get
there. It pays to be prepared, and the good news is we have a
pretty good option waiting for us anchored out in the cove.”

Emma, still not buying into it, argued, “But
the weather...this isn’t exactly boating season. Do either of you
know how to navigate?”

“Yeah,” Neil said. “I think I could figure
it out. I mean, how hard can it be?”

Danielle came into the room, having heard
much of the conversation while she sat in the living room alone and
in despair. “It’s different than driving a car. You have to know
what you’re doing when you’re in shallow water. You can’t be
playing sailor in a storm either. That’s life and death. The sea is
unforgiving and not to be messed with.”

Neil asked her, “What do you recommend
then?”

“Maybe you should have the people who know
how to captain a boat in this conversation.”

“Okay. Let’s talk then.”

Mia and Jess carried in a couple of plates
each piled with breakfast food. The aroma filled the room with its
goodness. It was a smell of better times and warmer memories, a
bouquet they each appreciated more than the most exquisite floral
scent. They reveled in the savory fragrance almost as much as they
enjoyed eating the delectable delights.

Abdul appeared in the door way and silently
walked over to the coats. He picked up his rifle and said, “I’ll
give da’ boy a break. He needs to eat.”

“What about you?” asked Emma.

“I can eat later.” Abdul smiled to all of
them with his flashing white teeth. “It’s more important dat he
eats now. He’s been outside in de cold for a long while and he’s a
growing boy.” He grabbed a slice of toast and a fresh mug of
strong, dark coffee, which he tipped to the ladies in thanks.

Neil nodded and thanked him. He liked Abdul.
He was a serious but kind man. Neil hoped there would be time
enough in the future to get to know him better. Through Neil’s mind
raced a bucket full of lists of things he wanted to do if there was
time enough.

Neil returned his attention to the people at
the table and started, “Okay. Where do we begin? I figure we should
stock the boat with non-perishables, some clothing and coats, a
bunch of water, some weapons and some ammunition. Am I missing
anything?”

The snowstorm gradually gathered force and
energy as the winds from the numerous glaciers in the area and
those from the Prince William Sound conspired. Blowing at a
generous forty-five degree angle to the ground, the snow was the
season flexing its considerable muscle. In keeping with the general
theme, air temperatures were also dropping, allowing the snow to
pile upon the layers already present.

The weather would have kept any living
thing, polar bears included, miserable. The throng easing itself
along the road into Whittier, however, was neither living nor dead,
but existed somewhere betwixt the two. The legions of undead were
oblivious to the weather.

Individually, the creatures would likely
have missed those enticements, but collectively their senses were
heightened, as was their energy. The electrostatic tics which
jolted and teased their bodies occasionally rippled through the
crowd as if contagious, a great, violent, undulating wave. They
staggered and limped along the highway like a single, nightmarish
millipede. More than just their feet were in sync, most of their
skin tones were the dull gray-green of decay. Their collective
shaggy, straggly mass of hair was like a great matted mane along
the massive bug’s back.

Unfortunately, Colonel Bear’s militia, many
of whom were readying themselves for the coming battle, was
completely unaware of the approaching horde. If they had been, all
of them would be hurrying through the mostly unnecessary
preparations. Many were trying to work themselves up for the
fight.

More than a few of them were questioning the
purpose of the battle; wondering what exactly they stood to gain by
killing those people. Any protests remained largely hidden.
Memories of Oscar dangling from the end of his noose snuffed out
any thoughts of opposing the Colonel or Carter or either of their
directives. No one wanted to suffer a similar fate.

Ironically, it was exactly that thought of
self-preservation that was actually working against the Colonel’s
intentions. The people upon which the Colonel had fixated his
vengeance had attacked the militia at their stronghold...had
successfully attacked their stronghold in fact, and razed it to the
ground. Many of the scared militia wondered if it was a wise
decision to attack people capable of such aggression.