Operation Z-Day (The Raven Falconer Chronicles)

by Larsen, Dennis

  “I’ll need some tweezers to do this right. It’ll have to wait ‘til we get to the cabin. Close your eyes and be quiet for a minute,” Bobi ordered, using a fresh wipe to clear the blood from Hannah’s eyes and face.

  Until minutes ago, Mick had been quite sure leaving Calgary was the right move but now she second-guessed the decision. “You two okay? I just about got us killed,” she said sadly.

  “What do you mean?” Bobi called from the backseat, as she continued to wipe at Hannah’s face. “We agreed we’re in this together and we’d likely be dead if it weren’t for your Nascar skills.”

  The injured woman tried to nod her agreement but Bobi held her face firmly, causing her to speak. “We’re good, could have turned out a lot worse. Just get us to the cabin without another shoot out. Do you think you can manage that?” Hannah opened her left eye to make contact with Mick through the rearview mirror and winked when their eyes met.

  “I’ll try. Thanks guys, hell of a plan back there. What’s happening out here that has people so crazy? Killin’ a cop and trying to take us out – what’s gotten into them?” Mick questioned, again glancing at her friends in the backseat.

  Neither woman answered, as the question lingered between them, each unsure of a response that made sense. Seconds later, Bobi slid back over the seat and secured her safety belt. Hannah leaned between them and placed a hand on each of her companion’s shoulders. Nothing was said but the physical connection brought a degree of calm to the trio as their breathing returned to normal and the cold began to have an effect.

  The road was dry and clear but signs were everywhere of new moisture and snow the closer they got to the mountains. Just outside of Canmore a figure weaved an awkward pattern down the center of the road before them. He was dressed in a hospital gown, open at the back with his bare skin and buttocks exposed. In his right hand he clutched a large stuffed bear, while he dragged a blanket with his left. The pedestrian seemed untouched by the cold and when Mick honked to alert him to the danger of an oncoming car, he ignored it completely.

  “I don’t think he heard you,” Bobi said, watching the way the man had responded. “Looks like maybe an escapee from the hospital, probably a tertiary stage patient. I wonder if they know he’s gone?”

  From the highway, little could be seen of the picturesque vacation community but it didn’t take much imagination to see dozens of such people, poorly dressed for the weather, walking the streets and grassy areas of the community. “Why isn’t anybody helping them?” Mick asked.

  “Same reason we’re getting away from the city. They don’t want to run the risk of getting bitten or catching the infection from one of them,” Hannah asserted.

  “Do you guys remember when AIDS was first diagnosed and there was such a panic? The public didn’t even dare be in the same room with infected individuals and this is far worse. There’s not going to be anybody capable of dealing with all these brain damaged people. Not the government, not the health care system, not families – nobody,” Bobi surmised, her sense of hope vanishing, knowing what she had just said was true.

  Mick slowed and eased the Jeep alongside the escapee, careful not to startle or hit him. As the women rolled past, each swiveled their heads for a better look at the disheveled victim. The obviously dazed and bewildered man caught their stare and impulsively leapt at the passenger window, slamming his fist against the glass. Bobi screamed and jerked away as Mick gunned the engine and sped off.

  Bobi yelled at her friends, “What just happened? Why would he do that?”

  Hannah swung around in her seat and looked at the quickly shrinking figure. “Must be that aggressive behavior the CDC was talking about,” Hannah answered.

  “We'll need to avoid them like the plaque,” Mick interjected. She gripped the wheel tightly; her brow wrinkled and eyes squinting as she glanced between the road and mirror.

  “No pun intended?” Bobi asked, shifting back into her own seat.

  “What? Oh yeah, right, no pun intended,” Mick confirmed.

  Closer to Banff a light snow began to collect on the road, slowing their progress but certainly not stopping them. More people were out and about but no sign of the authorities. A herd of big horn sheep obstructed them briefly near the Tunnel Mountain exit but they were quick to squeeze around them and be on their way.

  “Hannah take a look at the map and make sure we don’t lose our way,” Mick instructed the designated backseat driver. “Do you think we should stop and replenish the stuff we lost in the cooler?”

  “Where? Do you think anything will open up here?” Bobi asked.

  “Might be worth taking a look, and didn’t Rave ask us to steal a generator?” Hannah piped in.

  “Don’t think we’re going to find a Home Depot in Banff but we might find a mini-mart or something where we can get some more food,” Mick noted, swinging the Jeep toward the center of town.

  They drove the near-deserted streets for several minutes, looking for anything that appeared promising. Most of the shops were closed and many were boarded up. Signs hastily spray-painted across plywood fronts – Closed Until Further Notice – were everywhere. “It’s much worse than I would have thought,” Bobi said.

  Near the outskirts of town and without finding anything that would be helpful, the friends referred to the map and began the winding trip up the mountainside to the refuge of the cabin. Mick shifted the transaxle from two to four wheel drive, hoping the little Jeep could carry them up the rugged slope without any further delays.

  “You got cell service?” Mick asked. “See if you can raise Raven.”

  “No bars for me,” Bobi said, followed quickly by the same thing from Hannah. “She knows we’re coming though. I hope we’re not too early and get her out of bed.”

  There was little chance of that as Raven stared, transfixed on the back entrance of the cabin, the thought of shooting the bear still very fresh in her mind. If the friends only knew the state Raven was in and the way their lives were about to change forever, they perhaps would have done a better job of trying to steal a generator.

  Chapter 7

  By the time early morning sunlight was creeping through the narrow gaps in the window’s blinds, Raven had calmed her fears enough to dress in a baggy but warm pair of sweats, with a woven toque pulled low over her ears. The shotgun was never far away, as she prepared the cabin for the arrival of her friends. Brilliant flames danced in the fireplace, replacing the cold, crisp air with revitalizing warmth. A steady stream of pops and crackles sounded from the stone hearth as the searing fire found pockets of hidden sap and air trapped within the split logs. The thought of writing never entered the young author’s mind, where she relived the events of the night and the horror of shooting the bear. She’d still not summoned the courage to look out the back of the cabin, afraid the view would confirm what she’d imagined over and over again. There’d been no further word from her friends but she anticipated their arrival at any minute. They’d had plenty of time to drive the distance from Calgary and she was anxious to have some company to free her from the snowbound prison she’d been confined to since the snow had begun, days before.

  Things must be getting much worse, she thought, pulling the wrapper away from a breakfast bar and taking the first bite. She drank a room-temperature bottle of water, which helped to wash the sticky morsel down, a hint of maple satisfying her craving for sugar. She’d contemplated a can of soda to accompany her meal but couldn’t bring herself to open the backdoor and retrieve it from the snow. Raven sat on the couch, with the drapes tied back, allowing her to see through to the driveway and road beyond. The overnight snowfall had slowed, but tiny, reflective geometric shapes continued to cover the world before her, bringing a sparkle to everything they touched. The loaded double-barreled shotgun rested across her lap, the metal felt cold and harsh, even through the sweats. Last night had not been the first time she’d fired the ancient weapon. Smugs had taught her, years before, when the gun stood taller tha
n she did; how to hold, sight and fire the 12-gauge shotgun. However, the few hours before had been the first she’d fired both barrels at the same time and her shoulder was paying the price. She pulled the stretchy material of her top aside and looked for a bruise. “Ouch,” she said, getting a partial view of the red and purple welt that had formed in the hollow of her shoulder. Pressing it lightly sent pain into her back and head that made her wince and recoil the offending finger. “I won’t do that again.”

  Fatigue was rapidly overtaking the sleepless lass but she fought off the urge to lay her head on a pillow, knowing she’d be out in seconds. There would be time for that later when someone else could stand guard and she could slumber unhampered by her fears. The longer she sat and waited, the more she realized how uncomfortable and achy she felt. Every joint seemed to scream at her for relief, but none more than her jaw. It took a moment for her to understand the source of the pain, concluding she’d clenched her teeth while staring into the dark, waiting for the bear to return. Each slow, deliberate chew of the bar’s honey-glued grains sent a sharp pain below her ears and into her temples. Finally, unable to tolerate it any longer, she laid the gun aside and rummaged through her belongings for some aspirin. The longer she looked, the more her head throbbed, as pain receptors unleashed a steady stream of impulses to her brain. Finally, she found the pill bottle along with a narrow belt, which she also withdrew from her things.

  She returned to the warmth of the fire, took three of the tablets and washed them down with the bottled water. With the rifle now sitting across her lap, she wound the small belt around the toque and cinched it tight, applying a constant, firm pressure to her forehead and temples. An immediate relief and reduction in the throbbing took place, confirming another of her grandmother’s remedies. The old woman, now well in her 80’s, was raised on a farm during the Great Depression and had learned that everything had a use, not necessarily written on the label. Some worked but most did not, Raven would add this one to the list of suggestions that did, which was much smaller than the list of those that did not. The longer, more extensive list was comical but endearing. It included a host of home-remedies, the top of which was Raven’s favorite: ‘let a dog lick your wounds because they have healing tongues’. As she sat thinking about Nanna and her quirky notions, the thought of the bear infiltrated her reflections. Is he out there suffering or did I just imagine that I hit him? She leaned her head against the back edge of the couch, closed her eyes to dull her body’s ache and drifted off to sleep.

  A short time later, the sound of a car door slamming uprooted her from a troublesome dream filled with zombies, death and disease. Through the window she could see her friends stepping from a Jeep and stretching from their long journey. She sprang from the couch and wheeled across the hardwood floor, slid to a stop at the door and threw it open. In unison, all three women shouted, “Rave,” followed by a quick, “Raven?” from Mick. The roommates were accustom to seeing Raven groomed and beautified beyond their expectations but today the woman standing at the door looked like a homeless person, desperate for a warm meal and bed. The belt, which appeared to be holding the stocking cap on Raven’s head, dangled with the loose end almost reaching her shoulder. Her eyes were red orbs suspended in the sunken depths of her dark sockets, a telling sign of a horrific night. Startled by her appearance and even more by the gun that Raven held, the friends rushed to the porch and embraced her, each firing questions faster than she could respond.

  “What’s with the gun and the belt?” Bobi asked, looking up at Raven but cocking her head toward the weapon.

  “You guys won’t believe the night I’ve had,” the toque-attired woman responded.

  “Try us. Couldn’t possibly beat the night and drive that we just had,” Hannah said, rolling her eyes in the process and pointing at the Jeep with the missing mirror and blown out window.

  It was Rave’s turn to bombard her friends with questions, after noting the condition of Mick’s car and Hannah’s forehead. “Holy! Are you guys’ hurt? What happened? Hannah, your forehead?” She would have continued her version of 20 questions but was cut off by Mick.

  “We had a run-in with some crazy natives on the reserve. I hate to think it but we may have killed one of them.” She hung her head while wringing her hands, an expression of sadness and disbelief overtaking her countenance.

  “What? How?” Raven asked.

  “Let’s get our stuff taken care of, then we can fill you in on what’s been happening. You won’t believe the mess the world’s in,” Hannah suggested.

  The huddle of women broke up and headed for the Jeep, where they unloaded bags, food and supplies; less a cooler full of precious commodities. Once the task was completed, Mick and Hannah swept the glass from the cargo space and taped a sheet of clear plastic, taken from the cabin, over the gaping hole where the rear window had been. Bobi and Raven did the same indoors, cleaning up the glass from the living space and securing the hastily erected cardboard that Raven had put up in a panic, hours before. The two friends talked of the events that had transpired over the past week and Bobi spoke of the peril they imagined they were in when they decided to leave the city. The other two joined them a few minutes later and they sat around the stoked fire and discussed their situation and what they perceived as options.

  “A bear? No Way,” Bobi said incredulously. “Where is it? Have you tracked it down?”

  “No, I haven’t tracked it down. Are you crazy?” Raven replied, in mock disbelief. “Do you know how dangerous a wounded bear can be?”

  “I agree,” Mick said, “but I can’t tolerate the thought that it’s out there suffering either. We should really find out, don’t you think?”

  “Believe me, I’ve thought of nothing else. I didn’t mean to shoot. It just happened, like a reflex. It suddenly appeared at the window and I was already scared to death. I haven’t even dared look out since last night, but I’m sure I hit him. There looked to be a blood trail and I have no idea what of my food is still okay.”

  “Well, as much as I hate to say it, I think we better find him or at least make sure that he’s not very close. We can’t worry that a bear is going to pounce on us every time we step outside,” Mick suggested, before asking for volunteers.

  “It’s my fault, I’ll go with you, Mick.” A somewhat reluctant Raven said, slowly getting up from her spot on the couch and retrieving the shotgun from the corner where she’d left it.

  “You want me to pack that, Rave?” Mick asked. “I think I’m probably in a better frame of mind if we run into that bear.” Being raised on a ranch, the schoolteacher was no stranger to rifles and guns in general. Her father often packed a pistol on his belt as he fed the livestock and on more than one occasion she’d helped him track cougars that were mauling and killing their animals.

  “I guess you better. I’m pretty good at shooting cans but that may be about it,” Raven agreed.

  The pair bundled up against the colder temperatures and prepared to venture out the back and into the wooded area behind. Bobi peeled back the tape and cardboard that was doing a modest job of keeping the cold out and peered outside. “Looks like you shot something all right, Rave. Blood on the porch and through the snow but I can’t see the animal. Looks like he had quite a snack before you peppered his hide.”

  “I hope it’s either dead or not hurt so badly that it won’t survive,” Raven said, no longer sporting the belt but still wearing the cap and sweats. A coat covered her from mid-thigh and up, the sleeves making her look bulky and thick.

  Hannah joined Bobi at the window, then moved to the door and opened it, stepping out into the cold, she surveyed the damage. “Bunch of blood and black fur, you guys, but I don’t see anything else. Should we come with you?” she asked, motioning to Bobi.

  “No sense all of us going. Raven, fill your pockets with shells and let’s see what we can find.” Mick exuded confidence, even though inwardly she was battling to keep her emotions in check. Too many stories of
predators turning the tables on hunters had been shared around the campfire as a kid and they flooded her thoughts now. She held the shotgun at the ready and opened the chambers. The unfired rounds stared back at her, the brass imprinted with 12 GA. She wished for her father’s 30-06 high-powered rifle that she knew would more likely take down a charging bear, but they’d have to work with what they had. Mick took a handful of shells and filled her parka’s front pocket after closing the weapon’s chamber. “You ready?” she asked Raven.

  “As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

  The two passed through the door and around Hannah, who began cleaning up the mess the furry intruder had left behind. They’d walked ten feet through the snow when Raven turned and dashed to the side of the cabin. “Hold on a sec, I just thought of something.” She returned seconds later, toting a long-handled axe, the blade of which gleamed as the sun caught the beveled edge.

  “Good thinkin’,” Mick noted, smiling at Raven.

  “Good luck you two and be careful,” Bobi yelled from the safety of the cabin.

  A short distance from the porch the trail of blood led the reluctant hunters to a spot in the snow-covered brush where the animal had, at least for a time, laid down. The snow had melted somewhat and the ground was covered with long, coarse black hairs. A dense pool of blood had soaked the earth and stained the remaining snow. “That’s a lot of blood, but he didn’t bleed out, at least not here,” Mick assured her companion. “I don’t like the looks of this, Rave. The brush gets pretty thick up ahead and the blood trail goes right into the middle of it.” They stood motionless for a moment, listening intently for any signs of the wounded bear. Slowly they inched forward, Raven planting her feet in exactly the same deep impressions Mick was making with her heavy boots. Mick walked hunched over, the hammers on the shotgun pulled back and her index finger laid aside the dual triggers. She cupped the wooden forend with her left hand, keeping it out of the snow and angled as she’d seen her father carry his.