by Allen Kuzara
“I got you, brother,” came Aaron’s voice beside him. Now they were in formation, Pete running point. He was their leader, the brains of this small unit. Much to Nick’s surprise, the group didn’t head toward the little boy but toward the shipping containers. Nick’s numb mind slowly processed the reasoning: the fire was light, and they needed to stay in the shadows, at least until they’d freed the other villagers.
Like the police training exercises Nick had watched on TV, figures seemed to pop up out of nowhere. Except, these weren’t cardboard figures; these were active targets with the ability to move and murder.
The first came, wheezing like a crazy. Pete didn’t fire on it but used the butt of his rifle as a battering ram against its forehead. The crazy fell to the ground, motionless.
The group continued toward the containers. To Nick’s right was a big Caterpillar bulldozer, from behind which came two more bogies. Nick raised his pistol, but Pete pushed his arm down. “No shots,” Pete said.
Nick was freaked. He didn’t want to fight hand-to-hand. But then he watched as the two other natives stepped forward, drawing from their sides long knives which looked like bayonets. Then, without hesitation, the men cast their blades forward in an underhand motion. The blades reached their targets with incredible accuracy: two knives in the abdomen, two cannibals down, gasping, unable to howl. The natives pounced on the kill and finished the job before replacing the knives in their scabbards.
The group had stopped for the killing, but Pete had moved forward on his own. Nick felt a rush of panic, sensing his leader was too exposed. Nick raced to catch up with Pete who now was at the first container, trying to unlock it.
Just then, Nick saw a cannibal rush toward Pete. It was in Pete’s blind spot. Nick raised his nine-millimeter but then remembered Pete’s admonishment not to fire.
“Pete! Behind you!” Nick yelled as he ran to assist him.
Pete turned back, hearing Nick’s warning, but it was too late. The female cannibal jumped onto Pete’s back and scratched and yanked at his face. Pete staggered around, top-heavy, trying to get his balance. Finally, just as Nick reached him, Pete backed forcefully against the cargo container. The impact made a conspicuous boom that rivaled the gunshots in the distance.
The woman lost her grip and fell to the ground. Pete pulled out a knife that Nick hadn’t noticed before and quickly dispatched his assailant. Nick didn’t know what shocked him more: the murderous cannibals or the natives’ efficient killing of them.
“Help me with this door,” Pete said, wasting no time. “Aaron,” Pete said, looking past Nick. Then he spoke in his native tongue, and Nick saw Aaron run left toward the center of the camp.
By the time Nick grabbed the long, rusty bar that kept the shipping container closed, the other two natives had reached their position and were already working on the last two containers.
“This one’s bound up somehow,” Pete muttered. Finally, the bar gave way, releasing a metal-on-metal screech.
Nick heard voices inside, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying. The heavy door swung open wide, creating more noise, and it seemed to Nick that Pete no longer cared what kind of sounds they made.
From inside the shipping container, Nick saw a little hand reach out, then pull back into the shadows. “It’s okay. We’ve come to rescue you,” Nick said. Then Pete spoke with a louder tone in his own language, and the levy broke, women and children flooding out of their iron prison.
Nick kept watching for Lusa but didn’t see her. The refugees cried and cheered, some hugging Nick and Pete, some simply running into the nearby grass. Pete gave them another command which must have been to keep it down, because the group fell silent.
Nick turned to the second and third containers as the men swung open their doors. He knew Lusa had to be in one of these, and he felt elated.
But then he saw something out the corner of his eye, motion near the central fire where Aaron stood over the tied boy, cutting him free. A big man with what looked like a shovel handle with a sharpened point rushed toward Aaron with deadly intent.
Aaron didn’t see him coming, and Nick wasn’t sure if he could hear a warning shout over the rumble of distant gunfire.
Instinctively, Nick stepped forward, raised his Springfield and aimed at the man. He knew how this worked. He had to lead his target, the bullet taking a split-second to reach him.
Nick squeezed the trigger, and the sonic blast ricocheting off the nearby cargo container wall caused instant ringing in his ears. He stepped forward again, unsure if he’d hit his target.
Aaron turned and, having seen the wild man, prepared to battle him with his knife. But the man lost his footing, like he’d stepped in a hole. With an unsteady gait, he creeped forward, still intent on finishing the kill.
No longer needing to lead his target, Nick fired twice, dropping the man. Aaron turned and locked eyes with Nick, visibly thankful for the help.
As the freed little boy ran toward Nick and the others, Nick’s heart sank. Behind Aaron, the mass of cannibals was returning, no longer fooled by the diversion. They charged forward like a league of demons, a killer horde enraged by those who had come to steal from them.
Aaron must has seen the fear in Nick’s face. He quickly turned, grabbed his rifle off the ground, and began firing pot shots toward the oncoming onslaught as he retreated toward Nick’s position.
Nick turned, looking for Pete and found him with Lusa in his arms. She was in tears, and much to Nick’s surprise, so was Pete. They spoke to each other in their own language, but the meaning was clear to Nick: love and fear.
Pete caught Nick’s gaze and shouted for him to come to them. The emotion in his voice was more startling than had been the blast of Nick’s pistol.
When Nick reached them, Pete spoke quickly. “Take Lusa to Deadhorse. Keep her safe. She’s all I have left.”
Before Nick could ask questions or argue, Pete kissed Lusa on the forehead and forced her free from their embrace. She fought him, not wanting to let go. But once her arms broke from around his waist, she gave up.
Pete pushed past Nick and stood between the villagers and the oncoming cannibal assault. He shouted orders to his people to retreat down the grassy hillside. Meanwhile, Nick saw Aaron get tackled by two closer-by cannibals.
He started to run toward him, but he saw Pete and the villagers continuing to retreat. This was bigger than one person, he realized. Pete was no coward; he wouldn’t leave someone behind unless it meant saving the lives of numerous others.
Nick turned and faced Lusa. They didn’t speak, and he didn’t know what to say. Pete turned back one last time before disappearing over the hillside. “Nick,” he shouted. “Run!”
CHAPTER 9
NICK AND LUSA darted into the woods to the right of the encampment. They raced, knowing their very lives depended on it. Nick didn’t know which direction they were headed, only that it wasn’t the way Pete and the villagers had gone. Being anywhere besides that camp was fine with him.
Once the intermittent gunfire sounded far enough away, Nick and Lusa stopped to get their bearings. She was better at it than he was, and he couldn’t help but think of more stupid stereotypes; she was his Indian guide, his Indian princess, Pocahontas. He hated this part of himself, especially at times like these when he ought to be completely focused on getting them to safety.
After examining the starry sky, Lusa told him they were northeast of the camp now. He looked back at the fiery glow behind them and shuddered at the thought of what and who had been back there. Without talking more, Nick grabbed her hand and began running west. He may not have known exactly where they were, but he knew where they needed to go.
Woods turned into fields, and after what felt like hours of running, the grasslands turned back into forest. They crossed another small mountain, which required considerable effort. The only consolation for the weary travelers was the fact that descending the last mountain meant they could no longer see the cannibals’ campfire i
n the distance.
When they finally came out of the woods a second time, the still-below-the-horizon sun threw curving orange rays onto the landscape before them. Nick spotted his goal beyond the grassy plains: the pipeline. It was the landmark, his Polaris that would take them home to safety and Jimmy.
They reached a little valley in the field some twenty yards before the pipeline. Down in the gulley, Lusa stopped him.
“Let’s rest,” she said.
Nick didn’t argue, and the two-sided earthen shelter felt comfortable and safe after where they’d been. They lay on their backs and gazed into the bluing sky while listening to the irregular gunfire that now sounded miles away.
After a few moments, Lusa said, “What are we doing here?”
Her tone surprised Nick. She didn’t sound grateful to be alive the way he was. It was more like she’d suddenly realized a mistake.
“We’re going to Deadhorse…” he said. Then he added, “where you’ll be safe.”
“We should be going to my people. There’s another village that—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “Didn’t you see Aaron?”
She shook her head with a confused look on her face. “But my dad must be heading there now,” she insisted. “Where else would he be taking them?”
Nick had been working out that problem as they’d travelled. He was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he didn’t think Lusa would like to hear it.
“You’re probably right,” Nick said.
She sat up and turned to him. “What is it?” She wasn’t buying it. Somehow, she knew Nick was leaving something out.
“I’m not sure, Lusa. You know your father better than I do, but I don’t think he would just run back to the other village. The cannibals would catch up with them, discover the second village, and take them out too.”
She sat quietly, processing his words. He could tell she understood, that she recognized he was right. Finally, she asked, “Then where would they go? They can’t outrun them, not with the little kids with them.”
Nick didn’t answer right away but listened to the gunfire which had become silent. “You want the truth?” he asked.
She nodded, though he wasn’t sure she was ready. “If I had to guess,” he said, “I’d say your dad sent them on to the second village while the men set up a last stand, a final defense to buy the women and children as much time to escape as possible.”
Before Lusa could question him, they both were startled by the eruption of gunfire in the distance. Lusa stood. “We’ve got to help them,” she said as she moved up the gulley.
Nick grabbed her hand, stopping her. “We can’t,” he said. And that was it, all it took for her to grasp the truth. They would never reach them in time, and their help would be a futile drop in the bucket. The thirty or so natives were hopelessly outnumbered and armed with mere hunting rifles.
Fresh tears streamed down Lusa’s cheeks as she realized she might never see her father again. Nick stood and tried to comfort her. He felt awkward, because Lusa wasn’t his girlfriend. Before this evening, he hadn’t even held her hand; and tonight, it had only been to lead her from danger, not to show his affection. Gently, he put his arms around her and let her cry on his shoulder.
Nick listened to Lusa’s sobs subside. And at the same time, the volley of gunfire diminished to only a few intermittent shots, like the last kernels of popcorn to pop. He knew that meant it was over, or at least that the men were out of ammo or time to reload. The end of the skirmish, he knew, would be fought hand-to-hand. As skillful as Pete’s men were, he knew they couldn’t take them all. It was an Alaskan Alamo, and he hoped and prayed that Pete took out as many of those wild people as he could, that he made his sacrifice count. But Nick knew Pete had already made it count; he’d gotten Lusa out of harm’s way. Little did Pete know that their vault in Deadhorse was one of the most defensible positions in North America with food, water, and power to last for years.
“Nick,” Lusa whispered. He thought she was saying his name sweetly, and he tightened his embrace in response. “Nick,” she said sternly as she pulled away from him. “There’s someone coming.”
Nick felt the alarm bells go off. He’d been caught with his pants down, asleep at the wheel. He twisted around and looked for danger. He couldn’t see it.
“There,” she said, pointing south toward the small mountain they’d traversed.
Nick squinted. Despite the comfortable morning light, he couldn’t make out details at that distance. Then he spotted movement, and after a couple seconds more he saw a single figure running toward them. He wished he had binoculars or a rifle’s scope to take a closer look.
“Is that one of ours?” he asked.
Lusa shook her head no. Apparently, like Jimmy, her eyes were better than his. “That’s a cannibal or a crazy,” Lusa said softly. “They followed us?” she said louder as if startled by the possibility.
“I don’t know,” Nick said. “I doubt it. We didn’t hear anyone behind us, and we’ve gone a really long way. And besides, the camp had followed…” He stopped himself from finishing that sentence.
Nick knew what to do. He was back in his element now, the world that he and Jimmy had inhabited for the last year, the world of us and them, unaffected and crazies. And dealing with crazies was simple; you just shot them. One at a time.
Nick climbed the rest of the gulley until he stood on level ground. He raised his Springfield, looking through its sights. He found the oncoming crazy and waited.
Still too far out to fire, he thought. He’d just be wasting bullets at this distance. But soon, very soon, he would put a couple rounds into this monster, turn around, and head home. That was a good idea, he realized. A great idea. And Nick felt a hopeful sensation, one he hadn’t felt in days. A subtle grin spread across his face. He could handle this.
Suddenly, the picture changed, and Nick’s smile vanished. The woods, the dark, wicked woods, came alive. First branches and bushes shook. Then Nick saw multiple figures spill out onto the clearing, following their vanguard.
“That’s impossible,” Nick said, dropping his aim.
Lusa came up beside him. “Those aren’t crazies?”
Nick watched as several more—dozens it seemed—flooded the grassland and raced toward them. They had been followed after all.
“No,” Nick said, dumbfounded. “They’re cannibals.”
CHAPTER 10
SITTING AT THE table, Jimmy stared out the bay windows at the hypnotic grasses in the morning light that blew like ocean waves. He wondered if he’d ever see the ocean again, a warm beach in particular. Like when his family had flown to California, gone to Disneyland, and finished out the rest of their vacation at the ocean. He couldn’t remember the name of that beach, which city it was near. Those were the kind of details that children never worried over, knowing their parents would do the worrying for them. He wished he knew now.
He looked down at the table. Though the knife was now in the kitchen sink with the other dirty dishes, he placed his hand between the fresh scars in the wood from his hours of playing mumblety-peg. It was the kind of thing Nick would kill him for, both because it was reckless—What if you get an infection or bleed out? he could hear Nick say—and because it ruined the table. These were the impulses that he needed his brother to help mitigate.
And where was Nick? That was the million-dollar question. Jimmy had made it back to the vault as quickly as he could from his scouting expedition. But it had been a hurry-up-and-wait proposition. The radio frequency—he had it memorized—had been silent. And he knew he hadn’t missed a transmission, because he’d had it piped through the intercom throughout the entire complex; going to the bathroom, sleeping, even stepping outside for fresh air—there was no place he’d been where a radio transmission from Nick couldn’t have been heard.
Jimmy had waited until dusk yesterday before trying to call Nick over the radio. He knew his big brother would scold him if he jumped the gun. Jimmy d
idn’t have much information, just that the village had been under attack. But that was enough for his nerves to turn into a big ball of knots.
It was possible Nick had broken down halfway there, that he was on foot and unable to call. That would be one of the best-case scenarios, Jimmy figured. Because if the natives weren’t answering and they had indeed been attacked, then that was bad news. That meant they might be injured or dead or for whatever other reason someone couldn’t use the radio. And if Nick had made it there—even if the village had been decimated somehow—he would have used the radio to call back home. Or if the radio was busted, he would have turned around and driven home.
But that window of time had come and gone now. The period for waiting, for merely doing what Nick had told him to do, was over.
Jimmy looked out the window a second or two more as if he was giving Nick one last chance to top that hill and come home. Finally, Jimmy stood from the table and turned back to the rear wall where the gun rack was. He’d waited this long, but he hadn’t spent it all idly. He’d prepared for this moment. Stacked in the corner of the room next to the vault door that led to the labyrinth of tunnels lay his coat, a bag with food, water, clothes, and couple of extra boxes of ammo. He put on the light coat—August nights could be chilly—threw the bag’s sling over his shoulder and stuffed the two boxes of .30-30 rounds in his coat pocket.
He turned to the gun rack and spotted the Stevens shotgun he’d brought from Fairbanks. He had a momentary impulse to grab it, to go with a faithful and reliable tool. But he knew he needed the lever-action rifle for long distance shots and repeatability. He took the Marlin and headed toward the door.
Along the way, he grabbed keys hanging on a nail on the wall. He exited the vault and turned back to lock the door. This was an odd sensation, because he was never the one to do this. The only time both the boys left the vault was together, and Nick was always the one thinking of these things. Somehow, locking the door just made Jimmy think more of Nick, that his brother was indeed in trouble.