I side-stepped his rush and stuck out my right foot. He tripped over it and fell face-first into the dark water next to the pier. With a tremendous splash, he hit the water and immediately sank from view. The splash seemed to echo all around me, in every direction. It had to have alerted every zombie in the area. I could already hear the sound of movement in the brush beyond the end of the marina.
Reacting as fast as I could, I scanned the board that held everyone’s keys. I located the correct slip and grabbed a set of keys. They were on a float-chain to keep them from sinking if they were dropped in the water. Seconds later, I was running down the pier towards the waiting ski boat. Spec-4 was already at the edge of the pier and motioning for me to hurry.
Behind me in the darkness, I could hear a lot of movement. I knew it had to be a large number of the dead emerging from the trees and coming after us. I lowered my head and ran as hard as I could go. When I reached the boat, I leapt across the distance and landed in the middle of the deck. Spec-4 used a paddle to shove us off into deeper water.
I glanced back in time to see well over a dozen of the dead coming down the pier and heading right for us. The lead among them were moving rapidly and closing the distance faster than we were pulling away from the dock. If they jumped, they’d easily make it aboard the small boat.
“Aim for the Sprinters!” I bellowed and brought my weapon to my shoulder.
In lieu of a reply, Spec-4 opened fire. Her first round took down the lead Sprinter with a well placed headshot. All pretense to stealth was now completely out the window. The dead knew where we were and were coming for us. I flipped my switch from semi to full auto and opened fire on the crowd.
My fusillade cut into the front ranks of the dead and had devastating effect. The first four fell to the deck and began twitching. I hit one in the face and knocked it over into the water, never to be seen again. The last two Sprinters leapt across the space between us and landed in the back of the boat. I didn’t want to risk shooting a hole in an engine, so I reached for my splitting maul.
My fingers wrapped around the handle and I sprang forward, before Spec-4 could bring her weapon around to engage them. I lunged at the nearest one and drove the end of the maul into its face with a savage thrust. The creature flailed wildly and went over backwards into the dark water with a splash.
The second creature jumped on me, but I managed to stay on my feet and keep the handle of the maul between us. I brought the handle up and into the chin of the thing that had once been a woman in a paramedic’s uniform. I shoved back against her with all the strength I could I could muster. It lunged forward in an attempt to lock its teeth on my face, but I forced it back and away from me.
Letting go with my right hand, I kept the handle against its throat. Before it could try to bite me a second time I drew the old Army Colt and fired off one round. The roar of the weapon was like a cannon across the quiet lake, echoing off in both directions. The back of the creature’s head exploded in a shower of gore as it stumbled backwards towards the back of the boat. Spec-4 stepped forward and drove her fist into its mouth, knocking it completely out of the boat. It sank like a stone in the dark water.
The remaining zombies stood on the edge of the pier and frantically tried to reach us. We were too far away for them to reach and drifting farther away by the second. In their attempts, one of them would occasionally be pushed off into the water. It reminded me of a nature documentary I'd once seen on penguins. With a smile, I held the keys aloft and let them dangle before me like a trophy.
“Good,” said Spec-4. “Let’s get out of here.”
I fumbled with the key and finally got it into the ignition. I was worried that I had grabbed the wrong key, but it started easily. The battery still had enough charge to turn over the starter. It groaned and coughed before it caught and roared to life with a deep rumbling sound. The engine was definitely build for power and speed. I let it idle for a few moments to warm up before throttling up and heading back out into the deeper part of the lake.
I consulted the fuel gauge and discovered that we only had about half a tank of gas. I didn’t know what kind of range that would give us, but I knew I wasn’t in any hurry to try for a fuel run. The heavy roar of this engine would rule out any chance of a stealth run. The dead would hear us coming a mile off. Our best hope lay in finding a drifting boat or if we cut the engine and drifted in. Even then, it wouldn’t be easy.
I let the big engine idle as we slowly moved out into the main channel in the center of the lake. Once we were nearly in the middle, I throttled up and gave the big engine some fuel. Immediately, the front of the boat lifted up and we took off down the lake at a high rate of speed. Throttling back, I brought the prow of the boat back down lower in the water and proceeded at a much slower pace.
The moon was a good guide and it kept us clear to navigate as we shot around cove after cove, making good time as we continued down the lake. We passed by so many abandoned homes along the shore that we quickly lost count. Numerous docks and private piers slipped by in the darkness, giving mute testament to how much we'd lost to the dead. My memories of this lake were happy ones, filled with fishing trips, camp-outs and swimming. In fact, our last camp-out was near Linn Creek, Missouri. Not too far from where we were at the moment. I hated that those memories were clouded by the undead that now prowled every cove, port and pier at the lake.
I kept the boat moving mostly on autopilot, as I was lost in my thoughts of happier times. I could remember my wife and me coming here when we were still dating. I even remembered skinny dipping in a remote cove near Ha Ha Tonka State Park. I was so distracted by my memories that it took Spec-4 hitting me in the shoulder to bring me out of my reverie.
"Wylie!" she snapped. "You might want to take a look over to our left."
I immediately throttled back and brought the boat down to a much slower speed. We settled forward in the water, casting a wake out to either side. The big engine idled like a jungle cat purring. We drifted forward on momentum only as the sound of our engine echoed off into the distance.
To my left I could see a man-made island. It consisted of boats of all sizes and shapes. Mostly pontoon boats, but there were big cabin cruisers, too. They were anchored in the deepest part of the channel, within view of Bagnell Dam. Connecting them together was a series of walkways constructed from pieces of floating docks. There had to be close to fifty pieces, all tied together.
I spun the wheel and angled the nose of the boat towards the floating island. I could already see lights in some of the portholes and movement along some of the decks. As we drifted closer, I spotted a Jon boat with an outboard motor attached to the back. It was tied up alongside one of the sections of walkway.
As we drifted closer, several people came out on the decks of the three pontoon boats that were the closest to us. I couldn’t help but notice that they were all armed. Although it was a hodge-podge assortment of weapons, ranging from deer rifles to civilian versions of the AR-15, I could clearly see that they didn’t appear friendly. No one pointed their weapons directly at us, but they didn’t go to any trouble to point them away from us, either.
We had drifted to within about twenty yards when one of them emerged from the crowd. He was much larger than the others, being well over six feet tall and over 250 lbs. He was mostly muscle and covered in tattoos. He was wearing combat-style boots that were unlaced, knee length yellow and red Bermuda shorts with no shirt. The tattoos covered his legs, arms and chest. I wasn’t close enough to make out the details, but at least they were good quality tats. His long brownish-red hair was pulled back in a pony tail and his matching beard was braided and gathered together right above his sternum.
“That’s close enough,” he bellowed. “Who the fuck are you?”
“The name is Wylie Grant,” I replied. “I’m looking for my son. He fell in the river and we think he was picked up by that boat over there.”
I pointed directly at the Jon Boat we’d been followin
g for two days.
“All we want is my son,” I said. “We don’t want any trouble.”
This seemed to confuse the crowd, and a murmur quickly ran through them. I noticed that they all seemed to be deferring to the big tattooed guy. After a few long moments of them conferring, the big guy seemed to make a decision.
“Yeah, we found him,” he replied. “So what?”
“I just want my son back,” I said, trying to keep my tone even. “We don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“Put your weapons down and come over to us slowly,” he said.
I noticed that they were now pointing their weapons directly at us. No more pretenses about it, we were being covered. I considered reaching for my own gun, but there were just too many of them. We were staring down the sights of at least twenty guns. I’ve always been lucky, but that just seemed like pushing it too far.
However, they do say that luck will save a man, if his courage holds. I didn’t doubt my courage or the courage of Spec-4. I did, however, doubt our ability to survive the attack with little or no cover to be had. In the end, I made the only decision I could make, under the circumstances.
“Alright,” I said, keeping my hands where they could see them, palms facing them. “We’ll keep our hands where you can see them, but I won’t put down our arms.”
“You’ll put them down or we’re done here,” he replied.
I noticed that he hadn’t bothered introducing himself to us. It gave me a fairly good indication that he wasn’t interested in being friends. When he brought up his own weapon, I knew this was not going to go well. He was holding Elliott’s M-4. I recognized it instantly, since I’d given it to him personally. I had also carried it through a number of runs into dead territory, myself.
“What do you think?” I whispered to Spec-4.
“I think it’s too late to turn back,” she replied, never taking her eyes off of the tattooed leader.
“We can start shooting,” I said, softly.
“They might just shoot Elliott if we do,” she answered, gently.
“If we lay down our guns and go in there,” I said, locking eyes with the leader, “we won’t get our gear back. We’ll be lucky to get out of there with our lives.”
“What choice do we have?” she said, turning towards me. “We’ve got to try to get Elliott back. He might be your son, but he’s still a kid. I won’t leave him to be killed or tortured.”
“Me either,” I said, closing my eyes and sighing.
“Have faith,” whispered Spec-4. “Don’t lose your courage.”
“Courage?” I said, softly, almost tasting the word. “Courage is simply having the strength to do the right thing, no matter what the cost. Going after Elliott is the right thing to do. What other choice do we have?”
“So, what’s it going to be?” shouted the leader.
“Alright,” I shouted back. “We’ll do it your way. What guarantee do we have that you’ll let us go when we’re done talking.”
“There are no guarantees in this world,” he said by way of answer. “It’s your call.”
“How about you just give us my son and keep his gear,” I suggested. “We’ll call it even.”
“I want to know more about you,” he replied. “How many in your group?”
“There’s just us,” shouted Spec-4. “No one else.”
“I doubt that,” he replied. “My scouts say they saw at least two Humvees and several armed men. Don’t lie to me, again.”
“Look,” I said, as soothingly as possible, “we don’t know you. We’re just trying to be cautious. I’m sure you understand.”
“If you want to talk anymore,” he said, raising the M-4 to his shoulder, “you’re going to have to put down your weapons and come over here. I’m done shouting.”
Slowly, I removed my M-4 and placed it on the fore-deck of the boat, right in front of me. My shotgun went next to it. Spec-4 reluctantly followed suit and lay her weapons beside mine. I didn’t bother to remove my pistols.
Keeping my hands where they could see them, I nudged the throttle forward only a fraction of an inch and started creeping forward. Seconds later, I disengaged the throttle completely as we drifted right along the side of one of the walkways. Two of the locals took mooring lines and tied us securely. Reluctantly, I shut off the engine and listened as silence returned like a sudden wave.
“Welcome to Laketown,” said the big leader, smiling without warmth.
He leveled his weapon right at us and his people quickly moved in to take our weapons and gear. They even stripped us of our body armor and backpacks. As they moved us off towards one of the larger cabin cruisers, I silently prayed that we hadn’t just made a terrible mistake.
We were taken onto a large boat and into a well appointed stateroom. Elliott was laid out on the floor, unconscious. His hands were bound behind his back and he was stripped to his pants and boots. The rest of his gear was nowhere to be seen. I could see where he had a bruise beneath his right eye. It looked fresh to me. I immediately came to the conclusion that they had questioned him and he either refused to answer or didn’t answer enough. My anger began to boil.
Two women came down a short hallway and took a seat on one of the larger couches. They were both attractive and young, wearing nothing but a bikini top and cut-off jean shorts. They were both blonde and well-tanned, with large chests. The big tattooed leader walked over and took a seat between them, putting his big arms around them with a leering grin. Neither woman looked particularly comfortable, but they didn’t try to pull away from him, either.
“Welcome to the Kingdom of the Lake,” he said, gesturing around himself like this was some type of throne room instead of just a boat on a lake. “I’m the King, but you can call me Snake. I’ll answer to Your Highness, but you don’t have to call me that. Unless you just want to.”
I bit back a savage retort. I didn’t want to have to explain it to him, anyway. I kept my calm and started to say something far less inflammatory when I froze in place with my mouth open. I felt like electricity had just ran through my brain in a sudden jolt. Flashes of images shot through my mind at breakneck speed.
They weren’t flashes of events that I remembered or had experienced first-hand. It was images of the dreams that I’d been having since this all started. I flashed to the dream where we stood on a dock to defend the survivors from the oncoming horde of the dead. We were Vikings, standing shoulder to shoulder.
His face came into sharp focus. The King of the Lake was one of the men I’d dreamed of on the dock with me as we fought the dead. It was the face of Bjorgolf, the warrior who had stood next to me as the dead came for us. He had called me “little brother.” The King of the Lake was one of the chosen of Odin. He was like me. If only I could get him to understand. I just hoped he had the dreams, too.
Chapter Ten
The King of Laketown
“Some are born through sorrow, some are born through pain,
Some are born…through laughter and joy.
We were born to live again. And we will live again.”
- Soldier’s Lament
- By Steve McDonald
While I stood confounded and unable to speak, two of the King’s men came to me and started removing my uniform top and t-shirt. Once I was stripped to the waist, they roughly tied my hands behind my back with what felt like twine. They didn’t seem to care how tightly they were tying it and whatever it was, it dug painfully into my wrists. I flexed my hands and found them to be securely bound together. Breaking out wasn’t going to be easy.
Once I was secured, they proceeded to strip Spec-4 naked and then tied her hands behind her back. They were too distracted by her breasts to do as good of a job on her bindings as they had done on mine. With both of us bound, the King stood up and began to circle us. He leeringly inspected Spec-4 before turning to me. He froze when he saw the Thor’s Hammer around my neck and the tattoos that I had of different Viking imagery.
�
��Whoa,” he said softly, almost to himself.
He walked in a complete circle around me, looking intently at each of the tattoos that adorned my arms, chest and back.
“Do you know what those tattoos actually mean, boy?” he harshly demanded through gritted teeth.
“Yes, I do,” I replied, turning my head to look him in the eyes. “I know exactly what they mean.”
The big man didn’t know what to say to that. He looked at me with confusion on his face. He was now close enough that I could see many of his tattoos were of a similar theme as my own. Some were the expected artwork one would see, like skulls and even a large breasted naked woman on his left forearm.
There was also a tribal Volknut in the center of his chest and Viking runes surrounding his collar bone. I had three of the Volknuts, one on each bicep and one in the middle of my shoulder blades. They were the interlocking triangles that indicated the bearer was a follower of Odin.
He had excellent renderings of Odin’s two ravens on either shoulder. Their wings folded down and met at the tips, holding both the Volknut in the front and a Thor’s Hammer on his back. If I read the runes correctly, they had been properly done. They were not only tattoos, but each a representation of different aspects that he chose to live by. They were all warrior symbols.
“Alright,” he said, with a sneer, “what do they mean?”
I took a deep breath before speaking. I knew I could explain the textbook meanings of each symbol, reciting well-known definitions that could be found in any book on the subject. What I didn’t want to do was to give him an expected answer. I wanted to make him think. Furthermore, I wanted him to know I knew what they meant.
“Each of the Volknuts represent major events in my life,” I began, cautiously. “I reaffirmed my dedication to the Gods at the birth of each of my sons. Each Volknut not only represents my allegiance to the Gods, they also represent my sons.”
Ragnarok Rising: The Crossing (The Ragnarok Rising Saga) Page 14