“Hey , Neil, I think we got a problem here.”
Neil thought to himself that of all the phrases in the English language, he perhaps dreaded that one the most. Every time he heard it, it seemed that things typically went from bad to worse all at once. He said unemotionally, “What’s going on Claire?”
Dr. Caldwell, meanwhile, raised the M4 assault rifle to his shoulder and assumed a very trained and professional firing stance in the middle of the road. He scanned left and right, careful to lower the gun’s muzzle if he was pointing it anywhere near the others in the group. He breathed slowly, trying to control his emotions, especially the fear that was starting to percolate in his stomach.
Neil could feel his own blood pressure begin to rise in anticipation of Claire’s revelation. He could surmise from Jerry’s posture, however, that it was something other than the approach of a ghoul or a group of the monsters. He tried to glean from Jerry’s eyes what it could possibly be but there was not the slightest hint because Jerry was looking down at the pavement.
Neil asked again, “What is it? The suspense is killing me.”
Neil was still nearing them when both Jerry and Claire pointed to the ground. Then Neil could see the unmistakably new patches of dark fluid that had pooled in long, slithering stretches along their path. It didn’t take much deduction to figure out that the fluid in question was blood and not much more to determine that it was coming from Art.
“Jerry, can you go up to the front and help keep an eye out? Claire, I need you to stay back here and do the same. Doc, can you come back here for a second or so?”
Everyone’s agitation quickly peaked. Emma, who was pulling the travois, looked at Neil’s concerned expression and then down at Art, whose face was absent of all color. He looked as pallid and lifeless as a sterile white hospital wall.
Dr. Caldwell pulled open the blankets that had been used to shroud Art into a warm cocoon. Even before the last layer had been peeled away, Dr. Caldwell could smell, hell he could almost taste, the briny aroma emanating and beckoning like Charon’s otherworldly beacon from Art’s seeping wounds.
He touched the other man’s neck but there really was no point in it. Dr. Caldwell had seen death before; entirely too much before. Art was dead. There was no denying it. Somewhere along their journey, Art had peacefully drawn his last breath, exhaled it in a long, quiet hush, and then left this world.
The doctor looked up silently, shaking his head as he did. “He’s gone.”
Out of habit from a life that seemed he lived so long ago, he shared, with his silent but expressive eyes, a moment of acknowledgment with everyone standing around him. Regardless of anyone’s opinion of Art, the realization that suddenly there was one fewer of them to continue forward was very sobering. They were now tops on the Endangered Species list, higher than even the African White Rhino. And as autumn started to look and feel more like winter, would there be a more appropriate season to contemplate the demise of one’s own species?
Despite Meghan’s and Gerald’s quiet protests, it was determined that they would merely wrap Art tightly in his blankets and leave him under a pile of crisp leaves and small sticks on the side of the road. They stood quietly over the lifeless body, nobody willing to break the reverent silence. After a brief moment standing thus, they got back on the road and continued their trek east.
As they walked, Emma wondered aloud to Meghan, “I wonder if he was conscious?”
Meghan answered flatly, “No. I think the Doc had him pretty doped up.”
“Damn. Died without even realizing it.”
“We couldn’t have him crying out and attracting the fucking zombies, now could we?”
“I wonder if it’s better or worse.”
“Dead is dead. It doesn’t really fucking matter.”
Emma asked seriously, “You still think dead is just...dead?”
A reluctant sigh escaped Meghan. “You’re right. Maybe we and even Art should be thankful that in his case dead is just dead. I guess there’s some peace in that at least.”
“Meghan, I’m really sorry.”
Her frustrations at the assumptions continuing to be made boiling over, Meghan bit as quietly as she was able, “For what? I wasn’t with Art. I didn’t want to be with Art. I don’t know how any of that came about. To my knowledge, I’m not in a committed relationship with anyone at the moment since my goddamned worthless fiancé joined the ranks of the undead.”
Emma, trying to quiet her, asked calmly, “And Neil?”
“I thought...maybe...I don’t know. It felt like it and I think I wanted it, but maybe I just wanted it more than he did.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I kind of thought that maybe he’d have put up some kind of a fight or something. But he just folded his tent and moved on down the road without even looking back. I thought maybe I’d been imagining it all along. Maybe it was just convenient for him to have me at his side in whatever capacity I was.”
“What about now?”
“I was having one of those emotional moments a couple of days ago and thinking that I was missing Brian—my ex. But I think I was actually missing Neil.”
“He’s a good man, Meghan.”
“I know, I know. But I’ve hurt him so badly. He barely even looks at me anymore, and I didn’t mean to do any of it. Hell, I didn’t even know that I was doing it. Seems like I should have been able to enjoy whatever it was that I did.”
“He’s probably just not sure what to do. You know how guys are. What’s the word? Oh yeah, clueless.”
Meghan smiled in appreciation of the levity and looked up at Neil, who had his back to her. She was glad, as they all were, to have him leading them again. He was good at it. She hoped that perhaps, since he was able to take up that role again, he might be able to find a way in his heart to see that she did care for him and wanted to be with him, despite how things might have appeared.
Chapter 54
As the day yielded to evening all at once, the now bone weary survivors were just happening upon a traffic gate that allowed access to the largely open and inviting Glenn Highway, the lone artery north out of Anchorage. This stretch of highway was far enough north of the clot of traffic that contributed so heavily to the demise of Anchorage and its residents that there were fewer and fewer vehicles the further one looked away from the city. The essentially eternal gridlock of cars and trucks was behind them, leaving clear pavement and an unknown future in front of them. Not having the claustrophobically tight confines of the city stalking their every step was refreshing and perhaps a little unnerving.
Without the constant traffic typically seen along the highway and the accompanying sounds, it was as if the road was auditioning for a supporting role in a special about America’s ghost towns.
Claire echoed everyone’s sentiments when, after only a brief handful of steps along the shoulder, she remarked, “Kinda creepy.”
With good humor at its root but a dash of snip for flavor, Emma responded, “D’ya think? Way to state the obvious.”
“Just sayin’.”
“I know, Emma said. “Sorry. I just can’t help myself sometimes even after all that’s happened. I guess old habits die the hardest.”
Neil chimed in, “Speaking of which, I think we probably missed rush hour and the next one won’t be comin’ through any time soon. Maybe we should move out onto the road and put a little more distance between ourselves and anything that might be in the trees.”
Without a word but perhaps a quick glance over the shoulder for each of them just to be certain, they fanned themselves across the road forming a moving line that bisected the northbound side of the highway. They didn’t necessarily need to be on that side of the road but, as Emma suggested, old habits do tend to take the longest to die.
Dr. Caldwell said, looking back at the dwindling setting sun, “It might be wise to find ourselves a good spot to stop for the night in just a little bit...before it gets dark I mean.”
Jerry thought for a second and then decided to ask, “Anybody ever go car camping?”
Claire responded, “Who hasn’t?”
“That was more of a suggestion than it was a question really.”
Dr. Caldwell, in a classic game show voice, said, “We have a winner. An all expense paid trip to sleeping in a van or SUV along Alaska’s great Highway One.” He followed his announcement with “Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!”
There wasn’t the multitude of cars on this stretch of road as opposed to closer to Anchorage, but there were still a couple here and there. Maybe they would find a streak of good luck and happen upon a vehicle with space, keys, and fuel. Of course, that was a maybe as slight as a Pixie kiss and as rare as an honest attorney; not really a maybe to even be counted upon, but a maybe that did exist nonetheless. These were the kind of maybes that career politicians promised during stump speeches but had no intention whatsoever of ever fulfilling.
The first car they encountered was a small white Mercury wagon sporting the dents and dings of a well-used family car. Unfortunately, in the driver seat sat the desiccated remains of a woman, most likely the mother of the household. As Neil looked in through the closed windows, the woman’s eyes cracked open and peered up at him. Her seatbelt restrained her movement and the locked car door held her in her roadside tomb. Weakly but hungrily, she began to move herself back and forth in her seat.
Neil jumped back from the car like he’d been hit with an electric current. “I’d say this one isn’t going to do.”
Emma asked, “What should we do with her?”
Dr. Caldwell asked her seriously, “What do you mean ‘do’?”
“Well, we can’t just leave her like this. She deserves peace as much as any of us.”
Neil said, “The doors are locked and I don’t think that it’s wise of us to use our guns unless we absolutely have to. We can’t afford to—”
Meghan interrupted him. “C’mon, Emma. Let’s keep moving.”
“But we can’t just—”
“C’mon. We need to find a car soon.”
Emma was starting to let her emotions get the better of her for the first time in a long while, but listened to Meghan and allowed herself to be grudgingly pulled away.
Neil said to Dr. Caldwell and Jerry, who were the only two still standing next to the car, “There’s a dog in the back seat too. D’you see it?”
Jerry answered, “I do now. Looks like he was infected too.”
Neil asked him, “How you figure?”
“He’s got blood on his snout and those footprints on the seat in back aren’t mud, I suspect. I wonder who infected who in there?”
“Does it really matter?”
“No. I guess not.”
The next few cars were each inadequate or unsuitable in their own ways; too small, broken windows, or more corpses. It was looking like Jerry’s idea, though borne of good intention and possibility, wasn’t going to pan out. But then they saw it with its tinted windows and burnt umber paint beckoning invitingly in the strained and diffuse light of the fading overcast day.
It was a Toyota minivan sitting on the shoulder of the road. It was facing the wrong way on the highway, though that didn’t seem to matter. Its fleeing former occupants had left its doors open. There was a child booster seat in one of the back seats and a backpack sporting a Star Wars The Clone Wars logo and Clone Trooper on it. Luckily, there were no corpses, but there were also no keys. The van would at least present a relatively safe place to stop for the night and one where they could get out of the elements and perhaps stay somewhat warm.
The air was already cool with the threat of moisture hanging in it. So far for today, the rain had somehow luckily been held at bay, but they knew that the somewhat dry weather would soon be chased away by its mischievous wet autumn sibling.
Jules, who had been quiet all day long, whined, “I’mmmm cooollldddd.”
Meghan suggested to her that perhaps it would be better if she got in the van to warm herself.
“It’s cold in there too. Can’t we have a fire? Whenever we used to go camping with my mom and dad we always had a fire.”
At first, no one said a word but then Neil said, “That’s not a half bad idea. We haven’t seen or heard those things since we got away from base housing. If we didn’t have a big fire, we might get away with it.”
Dr. Caldwell asked, “Might?”
“Jules is right, Doc. If we all get sick because we’re all cold, hungry, and tired, where will we be then? I think maybe we should get ourselves some wood and build a small fire. Those things are moving pretty slow now, so if we see any of them we can just get back on the road and stay ahead of them.”
In a quick discussion, it was decided that Neil, Dr. Caldwell, Meghan, and Emma would gather wood while the others would prepare a campsite of sorts around the minivan. Just to be safe, Jerry would position himself on top of the van to keep an eye on the surrounding area.
Everything seemed to be plotted and planned when Danny asked, “Can I go collect wood too?”
Emma said apologetically, “I don’t know if that is such a good idea. What happens if you get lost out there?”
To which Danny replied, “What happens if you get lost? I want to help too and picking up sticks to burn is something I can do. Let me help, please.”
Dr. Caldwell’s raised eyebrow was enough of a message to Neil for him to say to the young boy, “Danny. You’re right. You are perfectly capable of picking up and hauling sticks for us to burn. Thank you for your offer.”
“Then I can go?”
“Of course you can.”
Danny jumped up with delight, his smile curling delightfully onto his cheeks.
“Hold on there. We’ve got to lay out some ground rules first. You follow every one of my instructions to the letter. You are never out of my sight. And if I say run, you run fast and hard until I tell you to stop. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Okay, then let’s get going. Gerald, Claire, and Jules...you guys going to be alright with setting things up without Danny’s help?”
Gerald smiled. “It’s not going to be as easy without Danny’s help, but I think we can manage.”
“Good. Then let’s roll.”
Chapter 55
Danny, as were the adults with him, was surprised by how dark it was after a mere few steps into the trees, as if the light was too afraid to venture into the forest. The recent rains and damp air had done their jobs on the otherwise crisp, crunchy ground by making the leaves and fading foliage a silent carpet upon which to tread. The absence of any appreciable light or sound created the impression that they were walking into an enclosed room instead of the fringe of a national forest.
Following Neil’s guidance, Danny gathered small fallen twigs and dry leaves that had gotten caught beneath larger sections of trees, thus having been shielded from the weather and left dry and usable for a fire. There were countless sticks and twigs but most were still wet and green, making them virtually useless for their purposes.
Each of them, Danny included, was carrying a flashlight, but the darkness out of reach of the limited cones of light just seemed all the more ominous and threatening, somehow defying the cosmic and eternal will of light itself. It just didn’t seem possible. And yet, the darkness continued to press its case, confining their lighted area in a tighter and tighter ring. They never ventured farther than a few feet from one another as they set about their task. They worked silently, as if their voices too were intimidated by the gloom’s advances. Like nervous birds gathering twigs for a nest, they picked through the undergrowth but always kept one watchful eye on the trees and the shadows all around.
In short order, they had accumulated quite a stash of fuel for the fire, despite the challenges. They were each toting heavy armloads and were heading back when they were all startled by the unmistakable sound of a footstep falling upon and breaking a st
ick. The crack and pop sent a rush of fear and adrenaline through each of their veins. They stopped as one and listened.
Emma asked nervously, awkwardly panning her flashlight around as it was balanced precariously between her forearm and her side, “Are we not alone out here?”
Remembering his and Malachi’s encounter with the moose out at Kincaid Park those many days ago, Dr. Caldwell said confidently, “Probably just a moose. Why would one of those things be out here? There’s nothing around. Where would he have come from? There’s no reason that they would be out here.”
Meghan answered, “Except us...you know, food.”
There was another snapping, this time closer. The acoustics of the forest, however, made it virtually impossible to determine the direction from which the sound was coming.
They were frozen in their tracks, no one certain what to do. Dr. Caldwell finally said, “Okay, let’s just head back. Doesn’t matter what’s making the noise if it’s far enough behind us.”
Meghan said, her discomfort evident in her voice, “That’s as good an idea as I’ve heard in some time. Let’s get goin’.”
Forming themselves into a tight column, they started marching toward the edge of the trees, barely discernible from their current position. Due to their loads of timber, they only had three flashlights between all of them being used to illuminate their path. Meghan was reminded of her experience with Jerry in the basement of the small church on Elmendorf. There, the walls that delivered some sense of security contained the shadows; there were only so many places from which a predator could emerge. Here, death could come at them from every direction. She was barely able to swallow the putrid taste of fear as it churned and gurgled her stomach acids until they rose to the back of her throat.
Neil and Dr. Caldwell were carrying the largest stacks of wood, the more sizable pieces of dry timber piled across their chests. The two men were breathing in quick, harried breaths, the result of both their muscle strain as well as their anxiety. As it was, they sounded like a pair of steam locomotives struggling up a hill.
Containment (Alaskan Undead Apocalypse Book 2) Page 29