"Yeah, a lot."
"Shit,” he sighed. “Me too."
"Backpacks, clothing, personal items," she continued.
"Mm."
She placed her hands on her waist, then turned and surveyed their immediate surroundings.
"What now?" she asked.
"Well, it's all gotta get burned," he said matter-of-factly.
"All of it?"
He nodded.
"But how? Won't this leave a huge burn mark on the ground? People will notice that."
"Of course people would notice that. Did you happen to see the giant fire pit on the way in this morning?"
Her eyes floated around as she tried to remember.
"I’m being facetious," he said sharply. "You really think we're dumb enough to burn an entire hut worth of camping and hiking gear on the ground? This place is a destination.” He waved his hands, gesturing to the entire hut. "We can’t just get rid of it.”
She stared at him blankly before asking, "Then how?"
"The lake," he grinned.
"You sink it in the lake?"
He shook his head. "We get a bunch of those huge wooden pallets they use for shipping stuff, then we stack the shit on top, float it out into the middle of the lake, throw some gas on it and light it up." He hooked a finger around the corner of a sleeping bag. "This kind of thing goes up in seconds. Clothes, hats, shoes, canvas packs... they go up too but it takes a while. Then when it's done burning, the ashes, if there are any left, either blow away or they sink into the lake.” He closed his fingers near his lips and then opened his hand in a tiny explosion. “Poof. No evidence."
She stared at him incredulously. "That's amazing."
"I know, right?"
"It's amazing how you can just erase any and all existence of someone's stay here and have no emotions about it."
He rolled his eyes. "Oh, Jesus Christ. Not this now." He turned and walked out of the room.
Shelly followed him into the hall.
"Yes,” she demanded. “This now.”
“These people are already dead,” he barked over his shoulder. “There’s no sense in keeping any of it.”
“Right, according to your father…” she provoked.
“According to centuries of people who came before me! Who am I to say it’s wrong?”
“Wrong? What sounds right about killing people? This isn't humane, Robert!"
He stopped and faced her.
“Now wait… we haven’t killed anyone yet.”
“Yet!” she laughed at the sheer absurdity of his justification. “This isn’t you, Robert! I know who you are, who you were!”
"I don't care what you think this is, Shel! I didn't ask for any of it!" He pointed a finger in her face. "But you did! You had every chance to get out and you chose to be with me!"
She felt fire in her face and her eyes burned. "That's not fair."
"Who gives a fuck if it's fair? It's life!"
"I was in love with you!"
Robert stepped back. He raised his brow and half-smiled the way someone does when they find out the truth to something they only previously suspected.
"Was?" he asked.
There was a moment of silence during which the air between them felt as cold and dead as the walking corpses that once roamed the halls of the hut. As lifeless as the love they once shared. And just as the people from the hut disappeared, so had their love, without notice or good-byes.
Shelly tried to keep her emotions from breaking through but her attempt was futile, and she stared at the floor through a wall of tears. There was nothing more for her to say. She and Robert both understood that their relationship was officially beyond repair. Luckily, she didn't have to say anything; Robert's two-way radio beeped.
"Hey, Chief, you there? Over."
Robert pulled the two-way off his belt and pressed the talk button. "This is Robert, over."
"Hey Chief, it’s Ryan. Looks like we've got Roy over by the lake, here. Want us to put him down? Over."
Robert massaged the back his head and sighed. "Aw, Christ man! I thought you guys took care of him already!"
Shelly watched as Robert walked away in frustration. It wasn't the first time he had stormed out after an argument, but for the first time, it felt like it might be the last.
Chapter 10
The two men stood on the trail. Their relaxed yet confident posture offered no sign of urgency or distress. Grace tried to listen to their conversation, but only heard bits and pieces.
“…just found her there…long time by herself…”
“…Rob sent her down…”
“…gonna be surprised when she sees us…”
It occurred to Grace that the men were referring to her. She deduced the ‘Rob’ they mentioned was the same Robert she met earlier at the hut. The girl seemed nice enough, if perhaps only artificially, but Robert had been unusually curious to know everything Grace could tell them. He insisted that she stay and tell them what happened.
‘Night hikers,’ my ass, Grace thought. He’s one of them.
Robert was a member of the clean-up party sent to remove any evidence of the outbreak. The girl, too. Had to be. Grace was sure of it. She recalled what Roy had said about how they used to ‘dispose’ of the remaining survivors in order to keep the secret quiet.
Oh my god.
She had to keep moving. But how would she move about the mountain if not via the trail? If she broke away and ventured into the woods, the armed men below would certainly hear her unsteady footfalls on the loose ground, sticks and dried leaves.
Maybe they wouldn’t hurt her though? Maybe they had food!
She watched one of the men put a canteen to his lips and take a long sip. Her body ached for something to drink and her stomach again groaned loudly.
A bit too loudly.
The two men turned at once, their weapons aimed in Grace’s direction.
Shit!
Even from a distance, they had heard the rumble from her stomach. Grace remained low to the ground and watched the men through a tangle of branches from the fallen tree. They couldn’t see her.
“You heard that, right?” one of them asked, his voice low.
“Yeah,” said the other. “Up there.” He gestured in Grace’s direction.
“Animal?”
“Could be.”
There was a protracted silence before one of them uttered, “Think it’s a moaner?”
The man who spoke first gave the other a look of fear and concern. “I fucking hope not, but we would be wise to be sure.”
Moaner? Grace thought, and she quickly became disgusted with the notion of yet another moniker for the dead.
“Let’s go,” said the other. “Eyes open.”
Grace watched as they readied their weapons and trained them on the trail not far from where she remained concealed.
“Who’s there?” one of them called out. “Come on out. We’re not going to hurt you. We’re just…” He paused a moment and Grace realized it was only a stalling mechanism while he tried to think of a reasonable explanation as to why they were there. And heavily armed. “We heard some people got hurt on the mountain and we’re here to help. So come on out.”
Grace rolled her eyes. Was this man serious? Did he truly think he could fool anyone by saying that while carrying such a huge gun?
Grace began to consider whether she could outrun them on the trail, or through the woods for that matter, in her weakened condition. They would be weighed down by their munitions, but they looked muscular and not starved like Grace. Aside from the two men, she would also have fatigue and hunger trying to bring her down. Her chances of escaping alive and unharmed would be minimal.
She remained quiet and watched as they slowly approached her position. If only she could create a diversion, she might have a greater chance of getting away from them.
Then, as if God in some twisted way answered her prayer, a diversion crawled up behind her, only not the kind she�
�d hoped for.
Chapter 11
Shelly sat on the mattress in one of the bedrooms of the Silver Lake Hut. The room was beautiful, the outbreak apparently not having spread into this particular space. The lone exterior wall was made of stone from floor to ceiling and the interior walls were made of stained wood slats. The room’s only window offered a majestic view of the surrounding mountains and part of the lake.
Shelly had taken a break to admire the scenery. The last argument with Robert had exhausted her emotionally, and she simply needed to decompress. She had known since they arrived that the relationship’s end was inevitable; she just didn’t know how or when it would be acknowledged. They had been together a long time, and although she knew it was over, it still hurt.
Shelly replayed events during her life as Robert’s girlfriend. One after the other, she recalled wonderful moments: the night after graduation at the hotel, their two week vacation to western Canada, the cross-country road trip they took when they were still adventurous and carefree. She wondered, after more than ten years of dating, why they never married. But she knew the answer. The best times she had with Robert were the ones when they were able to escape their normal lives and disappear into a fantasy, a life different from the one they had, a life where centuries-old secrets and lies couldn’t trouble them.
Then she would remember where she was and why she was there. Her mind went back and forth like this for a while until finally it drifted away, empty of thought. No zombies, no curses, no thoughts of a failed relationship. It was another wonderful escape, if only brief.
How did I end up here?
It was a question she had asked herself plenty of times since Robert told her his terrible secret on that doomed night. All those years she had fooled herself into believing that day would never come, that it was all a lie Robert’s father had told him.
Now she was here. And that day was today.
Why would his father have lied about this? Of course it was true.
It made her stomach turn with the realization she had chosen to stay with Robert. She thought about all the times after that night she could have left, all the doubts and fears… and then about all the excuses she had made for herself.
I should have left him. This is Robert’s problem, not mine. I have no business being here. I could have told someone…
But who would have believed me?
There were no excuses anymore, no reasons for what she was doing. There was only sadness, despair, and guilt.
She needed to refocus her efforts, her own agenda. How could she move forward with the day and still feel good about herself? It was too late for her to run. She couldn’t simply leave the hut and walk down the mountain. Robert was many things but he was not stupid. He would figure it out and send someone after her if she disappeared.
She shuddered when she considered what they might do to her if she tried to run away.
…at all costs…
James was the one she feared most. She didn’t truly believe Robert was capable of taking her life, but if James found out, he’d make sure she remained quiet.
She had enjoyed a good relationship with Robert’s father for a long time. He treated her like a daughter and would at times remind Robert of how lucky he was.
“Don’t let this one get away,” he would say. And he would be funny: “Isn’t she a little too good for you, Robert?”
After Robert told her about the secret, James’ demeanor toward her changed completely. It was almost as if she was a complete stranger to him.
She was never supposed to find out, only fathers and their first-born sons were to know. She was an outsider, someone who would otherwise have to be ‘contained,’ according to James, if she found out. But he had made an exception, and Shelly never understood why. Perhaps it was Robert’s influence that convinced James that Shelly was safe with the group, that she wouldn’t tell. Regardless, she no longer had any favor with James, nor did she want any. Right now she only wanted help. And there was none.
Except for her.
Shelly thought about the woman who wrote in the journal, the second author.
If I could reach her before they kill her, I could convince her to help me.
No, no…it wouldn’t never work. Robert’s friends would get to her first and kill her, if they had not done so already.
An idea started to form and Shelly felt a surge of energy.
She needed a reason to keep the woman alive. She needed to convince Robert that the woman was worth saving, that she was worth more to him alive than dead, at least for a little while longer.
Shelly just needed a little more time. Then she would have to figure out a way to get the woman alone, away from the men.
But how?
Then it came to her: the journal.
Robert hadn’t read it. He had no idea what was written inside, only what Shelly had told him.
Only what she wanted him to know.
He only thinks he knows what’s in it, she thought.
Shelly had found her advantage. Now she only needed to exploit it.
Chapter 12
The scratchy moan from behind Grace was a familiar one. She had heard this strange song many times now, only this time it belonged to a single voice rather than an entire chorus.
One dead, hungry voice.
The men below shouted words she could not discern and she pivoted in her seat to find a male corpse crawling toward her. As if a pair of booster cables had connected her heart to a car battery, the fatigue she felt all morning was finally chased away and her ability to think quickly and clearly returned.
Grace crawled nervously and erratically. She grabbed at roots and rocks embedded in the ground, anything that would assist her in getting away from the monster, but she found only loose stones and fallen leaves.
She kicked rapidly, hoping to find purchase on the ground behind her. Her panic increased when her feet found only the zombie’s head and face until finally her foot caught the trunk behind which she had hidden and was able to push herself away.
She stood up and froze when she saw the men had trained their weapons on her. She held her hands over her head.
“I’m not…” she began, but the zombie reached out a grey, moldy hand and gripped her ankle. “No!” she screamed, and kicked her leg wildly but the dead man’s hand held tightly.
The two men, who now realized Grace was not a zombie, shifted their aim from Grace to the thing on the ground… and then back to Grace. Then back to the dead man crawling through the dirt. They didn’t know who to aim at or shoot.
“Don’t fucking shoot me!” Grace shouted as she tried to shake off the zombie. “I’m still alive!”
The men watched with confusion as Grace seemingly had the situation under control and didn’t at the same time.
The dead man’s grip was surprisingly tight and Grace felt her boot slipping off as she tried to pull away from him. She reached out for a small tree, wrapped both hands around the trunk for leverage, and pulled her foot out of her boot.
“Son of a bitch!” she growled.
She then pulled her long hair away from her face and searched the ground for something with which to destroy the thing that crawled after her.
“Miss!” shouted one of the men. “Miss, I strongly urge you to--”
In an impressive show of speed and force, it was over.
Grace found a rock the size of a football and with one harried yet fluid motion, picked up the rock, lifted it above her, and brought it down on the dead man’s head multiple times. When she was done, she stared at the bloodied mess by her feet long enough to determine the zombie’s pursuit had ended. Her breathing quick and paced by adrenaline, she turned and stared at the men. She dropped the large rock to the ground and panted as they stared slackly at her.
Then she took off up the trail.
“Hey!” shouted one of the men. “Stop!
Grace flew up the trail with renewed strength. She knew it was only temporary
and that soon her borrowed energy would abandon her and once more she would be in dire need of nourishment, but she didn’t care. Instinct told her that her promise to Charlie was not to be fulfilled with assistance from the two men with guns. The cocksure way they had stood on the trail, joking and laughing, was in stark contrast to Roy’s caring and reverence, for as much as Roy had been part of the clean-up team, he never pulled a weapon on her.
These men were not there to help her; they were there to dispose of her.
Grace could hear the men breathing heavily. Their feet pounded the ground loudly and without patience as they chased her up the mountain. Grace knew that going back up was not ideal, but at the moment she had no choice.
Or maybe she did.
The men were bigger, stronger and faster, but only on the open trail. If Grace turned into the forest, her slender frame might allow her to pass through the trees more nimbly and easily than the men. They were much wider, and would have to hold their weapons closer and tuck in their elbows awkwardly. Surely she would be able to outrun them there.
Probably not while missing a boot, though.
Without further thought, she skipped on her exposed foot clumsily and lifted her boot to her thigh. She pulled off the second boot quickly and let it fall on the trail.
Then Grace turned into the forest.
“She’s off the trail!” she heard one of the men shout.
Grace dashed through the trees. She ran with speed that was both calculated and elegant, narrowly missing branches and skipping over small plants and undergrowth. She was surprised by how agile she could be running through the forest in only socks.
In the slightest of clearings she looked back and saw the men crashing through the forest and brush, slowed down—just as Grace had hoped—by their own girth and firepower. Grace’s heart burned with renewed hope and she felt her feet become faster and more confident.
She angled herself back down the mountain, toward another thick part of the forest. She tried not to think about how far she would make it before fatigue caught up with her once again; adrenaline would only sustain her for so long. She needed to keep moving, and fast.
Dead Summit: Containment Page 5