by Bob Howard
When they told us, our reaction was that it was a fitting name because it was so remote. It was also so similar to our home, Mud Island. The exception was that the island was surrounded by ice for much of the year, and anything that tried to walk out to Last Island was likely to freeze before it got halfway.
We came in low over the city of International Falls. Straight streets were covered in snow, and it was obvious that no one was alive. There wasn’t a single trail of smoke from the hundreds of chimneys. The were no lights on in any buildings, and no roads showed signs of recent traffic.
Hampton said, “Georgetown of the North. The infection would have taken hold very slowly here. It was already cold when the epidemic started, so it must have been spread from within. Someone was bitten and didn’t tell anyone. Either that, or they thought it was just a bad sickness that would pass. This place must have been cut off from the outside world in a hurry.”
“There’s another reason you can tell this place died from within,” said Kathy. “There aren’t any wrecks in the streets that would block traffic. This place died slowly.”
“I don’t know why it surprises me, but there’s a Walmart down there,” I said.
I could have been pointing out the Great Pyramids judging by the reactions of my friends. Everyone tried to spot it out the windows before we passed it, as if they had never seen a Walmart before.
We banked east across Rainy Lake, and the Chief spotted our destination. There was a highway crossing the lake just north of the island, but otherwise it was extremely remote. There was a clearing to the right of the lodge, and the helicopters descended toward it.
We had to admit, while we were helping Anne, Garrett, Jon, and Susan get settled into their new home, we were a bit envious. The place was deserted, it was comfortably warm with a new fire roaring in a large fireplace, and it could be easily defended. Our whole group was just a little weary from fighting the infected dead for so long, and the idea of escaping from the fight was attractive. In the end, we agreed that we could always come visit when we were ready to take a break. I think we all took that offer seriously.
One of the Navy helicopters had circled the island, and the part that wasn’t wooded showed no signs of the infected or the living. There were more cabins, but once again, no smoking chimneys.
We stocked the storerooms in the lodge with enough nonperishables to last a couple of years. Captain Miller had his men make short work of replenishing the supply of firewood. The Chief insisted on helping, saying that it reminded him of the place where he did his cold weather training as a seal.
We also helped to set up a series of early warning signs along the edge of the forest, but there was little doubt that wild game would trip the wires.
With a long trip home ahead of us, we decided to spend the night at the lodge. It had been a long time since we had slept above ground without needing to worry, but we worried anyway. There was that inescapable feeling that we were forgetting something. Whether it was the infected or the living, not many places were completely safe, so Captain Miller did what any good commanding officer would do and posted a watch.
After a supper consisting of the military version of comfort food, we told the five remaining survivors of Executive One some of our stories. There was a lot to tell, but Garrett and Jon seemed to really enjoy hearing about the stunt the Chief had pulled when he tilted the Sikorsky forward and put the rotors into a horde of the infected.
“I didn’t think that could be done,” said Garrett.
“I was there,” said Kathy. “It can be done. I think it’s unbelievable because no one ever thought it would be a great way to kill zombies.”
The Chief knew he was being needled, so he just grinned.
The subject eventually got around to how Cassandra had joined us, and how the infection had gotten into the food chain.
Garrett was very concerned because he wanted to use fish as a big part of their diet. We just didn’t know what to tell him. The cold weather would undoubtedly suppress the virus, and the fish in Rainy Lake weren’t bottom feeders like the blue crabs and ghost crabs. Still, we told them they should boil their drinking water, and if they do eat the fish, always make it well-done.
The following morning wasn’t a tearful goodbye. If anything we were happy for the four who were staying behind. They would be able to settle into their life of isolation, while we would be going back to work trying to save our little corner of the world. We still had another stop to make on the way home. The people we had encountered in Guntersville would be wondering if we were going to come back by now, but we said we would, and we planned to keep our promises.
Sim hugged his old friends before climbing into the helicopter. He really hated the cold, and everyone was teasing him about his craving for iced tea when he couldn’t feel his fingers.
The helicopters all started warming up, and a few minutes later we lifted off. A part of me said I should ask Jean if we should bring our son up here to live, but when she saw me glance her way, I knew what she was going to say.
“It’s time to go home to Mud Island and Charleston. They need us there.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bob Howard (1951-) was born in New Jersey to an Army Sergeant from Ohio and a mother from Romania. He was moved from one Army base to the next, and before he began high school in Huntsville, Alabama he had lived most of his life overseas in Germany and Okinawa with brief stays in Maryland and North Carolina. He credits his imagination to his exposure to different cultures and environments at an early age. He began reading science fiction and fell in love with post apocalyptic novels. He still has an original copy of the first one he read in 1966, The Furies by Keith Edwards. He joined the Navy after high school and continued to move from one base to another, including a submarine base at Holy Loch, Scotland. He eventually stayed in one place when he got stationed in Charleston, South Carolina. He graduated with a BS in Psychology from the College of Charleston and married his wife of 32 years. His son still lives in Charleston, but his daughter has married and made a home in Ohio where the Howard family has its earliest known roots. Through the years he has had one burning passion that he has wanted to fulfill, and through The Infected Dead series he is getting to live that passion. Creating a book is something so many people want to do but never have the opportunity, and after writing these books he believes the sky is the limit. He plans to write for the rest of his life because it is enjoyable beyond his wildest dreams. As for the zombie genre, he saw Night of the Living Dead when it originally hit the theaters, and he believes until recently it didn't receive the attention it deserves.