Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution (6 page)

Lost in his thoughts and his tunes, Abdul
almost didn’t spot the State Trooper barreling toward him on the
highway. Abdul had just passed the sign warning him that he had
entered a Safety Corridor on the Seward Highway with a lower speed
limit and more intimidating penalties. He looked down at his
speedometer and felt his mouth go dry. He was going a mile or two
over seventy. He’d never gotten a ticket and was normally much more
careful and attentive. He looked into the rearview mirror and was
relieved to see his passenger drifting off to sleep.

He was trying to prepare himself for the
inevitable when the Trooper’s white sedan passed him traveling more
than a hundred miles an hour. The law enforcement vehicle was out
of sight in little more than a blink of an eye. Abdul thought to
himself that something must be brewing in the city, making him all
the more glad that he was away from it. Maybe it would be all
resolved before he had to return.

Moments later, they passed a bustling gas
station on the road to Girdwood. It seemed unusually crowded for
such an early hour. Abdul decided that if he couldn’t decide on
something to eat in Whittier then he would likely stop at the pizza
joint at the end of the strip by the gas station. He’d eaten there
before and remembered it to be reasonably good and reasonably
priced.

As he slowed his cab, he thought perhaps he
saw a person lying on the ground near a parked vehicle at the gas
station. There was a crowd around the body, which wasn’t moving. A
heart attack maybe. Some poor old tourist just got too excited in
his big visit to the Last Frontier, Abdul figured. Not having met
the person or even really knowing what was going on, Abdul still
felt bad for the poor guy. Maybe it wasn’t anything more than an
asthma attack. The scene quickly dropped out of sight, as did the
gas station oasis.

The man in the backseat had been oblivious
to all of it, though he’d been technically awake to see it all. At
one point after the two of them watched a half dozen cars pass
them, the man held up his right arm and Abdul could see a nasty
looking wound that was unmistakably a bite. Not only was it a bite,
but it looked like a human bite mark on the inside of his forearm
near the elbow.

The wound wasn’t bleeding badly, but it was
bleeding steadily enough for Abdul to open the divider and pass
through a roll of paper towels. Abdul didn’t want a mess. His
concern was as much for the man’s wellbeing as it was for the
appearance of his cab. He was technically responsible for the
cleanliness of his cab, which would also dramatically impact his
ability to collect good tips, but the reality was that Abdul was a
bit of a clean freak. He didn’t like messes, especially messes that
he had to spend any amount of time cleansing. And since his cab was
his office, he didn’t want some man bleeding all over it.

He shot the man a concerned look, to which
the man said, “Some crazy son of a bitch bit me. Feels like he bit
me clear to the bone but it doesn’t look that bad I guess. Probably
an escaped mental patient or somethin’. I guess I shoulda seen
someone before we left Providence, but I didn’t think it was that
bad and I just wanted to get away. Sounded like things were
starting to get crazy in there. I think I even heard gunshots
inside.” Abdul didn’t say anything and so the man promised, “I’ll
try and keep it off your seat. Sorry.”

“Do you want me to take you somewhere to
have that looked at?” Abdul asked.

“Nah. I can just go to the clinic in
Whittier. ‘Sides, it doesn’t look that bad. Hurts like hell
though,” the man said through gritted teeth.

Abdul returned his eyes to the road and
didn’t see the man lay his head down. That was the last interaction
the two of them had before arriving in Whittier. Abdul retreated
into his thoughts and Bob’s voice for the remainder of their
trip.

Arriving at the Anton Anderson Tunnel that
led to Whittier on the other side of the mountain, Abdul was
pleased to be able to climb onto the tail end of a line of cars
already queued to enter the tunnel. It didn’t appear that he was
going to have to pay the twelve-dollar toll in order to use the
tunnel. He peeked into his rearview mirror and was surprised not to
see the man’s head pop up. That eventuality unfortunately forced
him into a bit of a moral dilemma. He was forced into deciding
whether to tell his passenger or not about their luck with the toll
charge. He could not tell the man and pocket the extra twelve
dollars, or he could be honest and hope the man would consider that
when figuring his tip.

The long, dark drive through the two and a
half mile long tunnel was loud and malodorous, with foul diesel
fumes and car exhaust finding their way into his closed windows and
vents despite his best efforts. Finally seeing the literal light at
the end of the tunnel helped him tolerate the noises and smells for
the final several hundred feet.

Once out in the open again, Abdul relaxed
considerably and again allowed Marley’s warm lyrics to lift his
spirits. The sky was great and heavy with the threat of rain, but
then again, he was in Whittier, which had a reputation for having
predictably bad weather. People typically didn’t travel to Whittier
for the weather. Right away, Abdul recognized that something was
not right though.

A police or perhaps a security officer of
some sort was guiding cars and trucks to a fenced parking lot
immediately to their left. The Anton Anderson Tunnel was unique in
that it was constructed for both rail and road traffic. It was also
unique in that it was a narrow tunnel that allowed traffic for
either trains or cars in a single direction at a time. As a result,
there was a strict time schedule to allow for the changing of
traffic patterns into and out of Whittier. Both trains and cars had
to wait there for their scheduled turn to move based upon their
hourly schedule.

The area to which he was being directed was
typically used to stage cars, trucks, buses, and other highway
vehicles to make the trip out of Whittier. It had been converted
into an ad hoc parking area with a temporary chain link fence
wrapped around it. They were cordoned off for God only knew what
purpose and they had to comply.

The orange vested authority figure was not
saying anything to anyone despite the numerous questions from
drivers and passengers as he pointed them to their parking spots.
His face full of worry and doubt did betray quite a bit of concern
though.

With no options but to comply, Abdul
followed the directions given to him and parked his cab on the far
edge of the lot with the larger vehicle area immediately to his
left. He hoped to get in a spot where he could easily get back out
onto the road, not wanting to be forced to stay in Whittier any
longer than he chose to be there. Unfortunately, he was hemmed
tightly in on all sides by other vehicles. He wasn’t going anywhere
until a bunch of other people moved first. He was stuck.

Using a gentle voice so as not to startle
his passenger, Abdul announced, “Hey, we’re here but I t’ink
somet’ing must be going on.”

There was no response. The man didn’t stir a
bit.

Abdul said, louder this time, “Sir. We’re
here. Time to wake up.”

Still nothing, which was beginning to worry
Abdul.

“Sir? Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

His concern mounting, Abdul pivoted in his
seat to get a look from a better angle. The man was lying face down
on the back seat in a very awkward position, so Abdul was unable to
see the man’s expression. He couldn’t tell if the man was in
distress or was sleeping very deeply.

Finally, Abdul reached through the Plexiglas
window and touched the man’s back. He didn’t appear to be
breathing. Approaching a near panic, Abdul jumped from his seat and
threw open the cab’s rear door. Sure enough, after Abdul rolled him
onto his back, he found the man cold and lifeless. His face was
devoid of color except for some very dark crescent moons below his
eyes and some equally dark spidery veins on his cheeks and
forehead.

Abdul stepped back, not sure what he should
do. He rubbed the tight, dark curls on his head pensively but came
up with no options. He’d never had anyone die in his cab before. He
had a woman almost deliver a baby in his cab once, but thankfully
he’d gotten her to the emergency room in time to save his cab from
the mess. He looked around and finally saw the man in the orange
mesh vest. Leaving the door open, Abdul ran toward the man in hopes
that he would be able to get his passenger help, if such a thing
was still possible. Really, he just wanted the man out of his cab
so he could head back to Anchorage and put all this behind him.

Explaining the situation to the distracted
man in the vest who happened to be a police officer, Abdul was
barely able to contain his worry. He nearly dragged the man by his
collar back to his cab. They came to the car’s open door, but found
the back seat empty. Scattered across the seat and on the floor
were piles of blood soaked paper towels and the man’s jacket. The
rain soaked ground meant there were no tracks to follow and no way
to know for certain where the stricken man could have gone.

Not sure whether to believe the frantic cab
driver or not, the policeman looked around doubtfully. He tilted
his head and spoke into the radio attached to his uniform. There
was an exchange via radio, during which the officer glanced
repeatedly at Abdul and cocked a suspicious eyebrow.

It wasn’t until a terrified woman’s shriek
pierced the wet air that Abdul was taken seriously. The police
officer told Abdul to stay where he was, but there was no need.
Abdul had no intention of following to watch whatever was happening
unfold. He had no curiosity about it whatsoever. He closed the
cab’s back door and sat himself down in his seat, shutting and
locking his door in the process. Still smelling his passenger’s
cologne and leather jacket, Abdul closed the divider again, hoping
to close himself off from the morning’s events. Through all of it,
Bob Marley belted out heavenly melodies that had gone unheard,
ignored, and unappreciated.

Moments later, there were more screams and
then gunshots. Abdul checked the back seat again to ensure that it
was still empty. He felt anything but alone, like he was being
watched. From the corner of his eye, he spied the man’s wallet on
the seat this time. He thought to himself that maybe he would get
paid after all. What did a dead man need with a wallet full of
cash? He’d turn it in back at headquarters but take out his fare
first. He wouldn’t rob the man, but he would take what he was
owed.

Thinking about headquarters, Abdul decided
it was probably a good time to check in. He hadn’t been in contact
with his dispatcher since he departed Providence on his way to
Whittier and the routine would help ground and calm him. He braced
himself to deliver his bad news about his passenger. He hadn’t done
anything wrong but he knew he’d be put through a bracing
investigation by the authorities and his employer for the death. He
wasn’t looking forward to it at all and feared that it could
threaten his continued employment. He slowly keyed in on his radio
and waited. There was nothing other than static. He tried again and
still received no response. He picked up his cell phone and dialed
the number for the office. Immediately, a soothing female voice
answered and told him that the network was down and to try his call
again later.

With his hopes of getting away quickly gone,
Abdul tried to get himself comfortable with the fact that he was
stuck in Whittier for a bit. The commotion to his left was leaving
him anything but comfortable. It was getting louder by the moment,
causing his anxiety to build and grow like a kettle on a hot
stove.

Rubbing his forehead with his sweaty palms,
Abdul wondered what he should do. He didn’t know anyone in Whittier
and, perhaps more importantly, no one in Whittier knew him. He felt
like he was on his own, but knew enough to go somewhere else.
Another bloodcurdling scream shook him from his seat and into
action.

Running while stooped like he was dodging
bullets, Abdul got away from his car. His retreat had him pass many
other cars, some with scared drivers locking the doors and closing
their windows at the sight of the very black man running near their
cars. They didn’t know it, but the locked door would spell doom for
many of those motorists.

Abdul cleared the fence separating the car
lot from the rest of Whittier. He found himself well away from
Whittier proper, which sat on the opposite side of the Whittier
Creek and connected by a pair of short bridges and a fairly long
stretch of the highway. Whittier was actually divided into two
large sections lying on opposite sides of a bank of railroad tracks
that bisected the town into the residential and commercial seaside
sectors of the city. Lined on both sides by barrier walls topped
with chain link fence, the wide swath of railroad tracks was like a
moat cutting its track through the center of the castle.

On the north side of the tracks, a
residential apartment building dominated the entire city from its
perch at the foot of the mountain. Locals called it the TBI and
most of them also called it home. There were other buildings, as
well as rows of boats in various states of disrepair. A short
distance beyond, up a road that led out of town, sat the abandoned
Buckner Building as well, with its sad gray facade and empty,
staring windows. With the personality of a haunted house and its
frequent visitations by bruins, the Buckner Building was the last
place Abdul wanted go.

On the south side of the railway, the one to
which Abdul was running, the buildings were much more sparse though
there were scores of cars and hundreds of people walking to and
from the small boat harbor. There were several trucks and sport
utility vehicles towing boats waiting to deposit the watercraft
into the boat launch. They had no idea what was following behind
Abdul and the handful of others able to get away from the fracas.
If they did, they would be getting back on their boats or hurrying
them into the water and getting away from the terrible danger
bearing down upon them. As it was, the throngs were lambs awaiting
the slaughter. He wanted to shout warnings to them but the distance
and his lungs struggling to retain any oxygen both precluded that
course of action. He could only run and so run was what he did.