Operation Z-Day (The Raven Falconer Chronicles)

by Larsen, Dennis

  Night, impenetrably dark and cold, set in but not before Nathan was able to build a meager fire and construct their tent. He assured Rita that all would be well; it was a flu that would likely pass quickly. However, he withheld from her the tightness and swelling in his chest, warning signs of an ailment that would soon overtake him. Huddled together, they weathered the storm of cold, black and illness. In the morning, with the fire extinguished, neither of the hikers could muster the strength to push towards Banff. They held one another, shaking, even though they could feel their body temperatures rising. Nathan tried to remain upbeat, suspecting that someone would surely come upon them and provide assistance. It would not be. For three days they survived on the few retained rations, sharing everything and hoping they’d soon feel better.

  By the morning of the fourth day, they perceived the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. They had awakened to discover the sun shining, the fever breaking and their lungs clearing. Rita’s strength had returned to her limbs, somewhat faster than Nathan’s, and given another day’s rest they were sure they’d be able to hike out to safety. Ten hours later, Rita had lain comatose, as Nathan felt his own, vexing headache building. Believing her death to be only minutes or hours away, he finally ventured from the tent in search of help. The venture had proven hopeless, as he’d wandered from the camp, lost to the virus’ attack.

  Childhood memories had passed randomly in and out of his consciousness, sparking abstract ideas to ebb and flow through his mind in no coherent or logical order. Nathan felt the world closing in around him. His vision, although still clear, seemed restricted, as if wearing blinders on either side of his head and his hearing was all but gone except for the occasional guttural tone that found its way through. Rita, I’ve got to get back to Rita, he thought. He’d staggered, unsure of his footing and tried to make sense of his surroundings, given his new perception of the world. The pain in his head had been intense and unrelenting, making it almost impossible to focus or think of anything else. The highly toned athlete, in his weakened condition, ultimately crawled below a rock shelter and gave way to the savage beating inflicted by the viral invader. His last sane thought was of Rita and the love he knew existed. Exasperated, he had desperately tried to express himself, shouting in a garbled slur, “Dear God, what is happening to me?”

  A new, marginalized but otherwise healthy Nathan awoke a day later to find the headache gone, along with his personality and higher thought processes. His stomach ached to be filled and somewhere deep within his soul he sensed a battle being waged for control of his body. Innate, animalistic urges were boiling up from somewhere inside him, overpowering what little remnant of reason remained. Unsure of where he was or why he was there, yet something drove him in the direction of their camp and Rita. By now, the accumulated crystalline moisture was to his knees; dense packing snow that would have made a remarkable snowman had his world not changed so dramatically.

  His puffy, down-filled parka, though filthy, continued to provide adequate warmth as he marched up the trail, following the obscure impressions he’d left in the snow the day before. Ahead, the sun burst through the forest’s canopy creating a crosshatch of shadows, shapes and bright patches of white. Droplets of water dripped from overhead leaves and branches that created rivulets of fresh water, gliding over the earth’s contour and trickling to a stream somewhere below. He felt no panic or sense of dread or loss, just an overwhelming need to satiate his inner desire for survival.

  Rounding a bend he previously would have recognized as being near their camp, a series of low, barely audible, deep growls reached out to him and warned him of an impending danger. Not deterred, he moved on and encountered a tent in disarray and two wolves, one black and the other grey, tugging at and fighting over an apparent carcass. Not content to share the meal, the brutal creatures ripped and chewed as they competed for the remains in a grisly tug-of-war.

  Something deeply ingrained and visceral drove Nathan to act. What should have been paralyzing fear and disgust, brought about by the death of his fiancée and the desecration of her body, was overshadowed by a barbaric, all-consuming compulsion to kill and consume. He waded into the fray, a small hatchet retrieved from his belt held high over his head as he surprised the devouring wolves. The assault had been quick enough to give Nathan the upper hand, allowing him to strike the first blow. Like a hammer of death, the axe blade swept down, severing the grey’s spinal column just below its skull, not killing the beast but rendering it immobile.

  Startled by the speed and accuracy of the attack, the black pack-leader released the carrion and circled his live prey. Fresh blood that covered his snout and fur, also dripped from his fangs. The wolf growled and snapped at the human, who snarled and roared in his own carnal way before leaping across Rita’s lifeless corpse and kicking the animal in the jaw. Dazed but unhurt the wolf snapped its head around and bit deeply into Nathan’s right calf, puncturing the skin and drawing a stream of blood. The Olympian stood his ground and when the wolf released his teeth to acquire a more lethal hold, Nathan swung the heavy-ended blade, sinking it three inches into the animal’s ribs. For the wild’s most efficient carnivore the fight was over. The large wolf yelped and backed away, then turned and ran from the scene, anxious to lick its wounds and survive the encounter.

  Nathan, with an abundance of adrenalin coursing through his veins, had been relieved to have won the battle but could sense something was missing. There was no euphoria for overcoming the challenge and no heartbreak for the loss of his friend. He had inspected his wound with little concern or pain, then, with what gut feelings he did have, he reached for a severed piece of raw flesh and lifted it to his lips. Instantly, bile and stomach acid had erupted from his mouth, spilling over his hand and driving him to his knees in the bloody snow. After a moment, he had been sure the convulsions were over and feeling hungrier than ever, he again tried to devour the morsel but could not. A small but evident sense of loss betrayed his need to survive and he had spoken, “Rita”. The name had been almost indistinguishable but nonetheless correct, making a limited connection.

  He had stepped away and turned his attention to the fallen wolf lying in the snow, whimpering and panting slightly. Standing over the animal, Nathan used the hatchet to silence the beast and carve away a portion of flesh from fur and bone, which he greedily thrust into his mouth and gobbled down. The act had repeated itself until he was gorged, pushing him to the base of the large tree where he now looked into the hollow of his soul, feeling nothing but full and content.

  Nathan Edwards, if that’s who he was, looked at his blood-smeared fists through unusually blue eyes. He slowly opened his knotted hands, which were large and calloused, not unaccustomed to hard work or reaching out to others. Strong arms led to broad, square shoulders that were capable of carrying any burden, but perhaps the one that challenged him now. Something told him to cry or breakdown and weep, but he could not. He hung his head and ran his fingers through his blond, matted hair that was streaked with blood and sweat. His fair skin, bloodstained lips and high, well-defined cheekbones gave the handsome young man a Dracula like appearance, so uncharacteristic of his former self.

  Unsure of what to do or where to go, the wet cold pushed him to his feet and back down the trail, leading to possible food and shelter. A tweak of emotion stopped him in his tracks some twenty feet from the destroyed campsite. He looked over his shoulder and sighed but moved no further. A struggle of wits raged inwardly, testing the limits of his, all but destroyed, sense of self. Ultimately, he slowly returned to Rita and methodically covered what was left of her body with large rocks and smaller stones, unsure why he had done it but the act freed him to depart the scene and seek his future.

  Chapter 9

  Raven tried in vain to sleep. Overhead the irregular shapes and grains of the knotted pine ceiling transformed themselves into grotesque faces, which jumped out at her and forbade her to rest. As a distraction, she counted each of the interspersed wooden
defects noting their unique size, shape and color. Normally these variations added a rustic charm to the cozy cabin but tonight they reveled in the macabre. Blue tainted moonlight streaked over a patchwork quilt she had tightly pulled around her neck, the illumination fading and growing as billowy clouds drifted across the moon’s face.

  Raven inhaled deeply, filling her starving lungs with cool mountain air, as the room was bathed in a resurgence of moonbeams. It didn’t take her long to realize that each time the moon’s reflective properties were obstructed, she held her breath; the darkened room somehow more ominous and frightening than before. The renewed glimmer cast the darkness aside and restored the room to an odd pattern of black and white. Minutes later, she sensed another cloud-driven eclipse and inhaled deeply, fear overtaking her ability to reason, she counted -- 25, 26, 27, 28. The seconds lumbered through her mind, helping her to focus, before oddly cut shadows danced across her closed lids, alerting her that she could once again breathe. A gush of warm air burst from her open mouth, being rapidly replaced with a sudden intake of oxygen, which tickled the back of her throat and made her cough lightly.

  Sleeping just a few feet away, Mick slumbered on, unencumbered and unafraid. For hours she’d dozed easily, a somewhat calming rhythm flowing from her side of their room, where they’d been quarantined for almost 33 hours. Bobi had issued the order when the traumatized pair had returned from the neighbor’s cabin, unhurt but deeply disturbed. Raven listened to her friend and prepared for the next wave of darkness. Another 15 hours, 15 times 60 . . . what is that? Two 15’s makes 30, so seven times . . . another cloud obscured the room, bouncing the numbers from her mind and replacing them with the sight of Mr. Necula, covered in his wife’s blood and a wild-hunger etched across his face.

  Once again, she exhaled warmly as a more direct beam of light filled the room, casting the shadows aside and easing her anxious heart. I need to sleep. If we were infected, there would be signs by now. I can’t let my paranoia run away with me. Come on Rave, what would Dad say? These and a host of other unending mediations beat back her brain’s alpha waves and kept her awake, looking at her watch and cussing the night. It had been days since she’d heard from her father or Nanna. She’d sent texts when she could manage a few bars of service but there was no certainty that they were getting through. The absence of a response weighed heavily on her mind but she was not alone, all of the cabin-bound roommates were desperate for any word from their families.

  Another few hours and they could venture out, seek some help and get an update on the world’s status. More than anything, the women longed to know how their loved ones were doing and what they could do to rescue those that needed help. Finally, so exhausted that she could no longer stream a coherent thought, Raven slipped from her conscious fears to the waiting arms of a freakish nightmare. For the night's remaining hours she battled the walking dead, releasing their entombed spirits with well-placed axe strikes or crushing, skull cracking blows. Just as the swelling horde was overtaking her and a decaying fiend was sinking its rotting teeth into her delicate neck, a recognizable, pleasant voice called from the shadows and vaporized the brain-crazed zombie.

  Bobi stood in the doorway of the small bedroom, a crackling fire bristled in the background, heating the cabin and welcoming the day. The petite green-eyed girl was dressed in oversized pajamas with small Tigger characters bouncing into mischief from her ankles to neck and wrists. A pair of safety goggles shrouded her beautiful eyes and a mask further obscured her facial features. In her gloved hands she held a tray carrying two bowls filled to the brim with cold cereal and a splash of milk. “Wake up. Wake up, you two. How you both feeling?”

  Raven struggled to pull herself from the dream’s grasp but Mick had no trouble rising to greet the day and her watchful friend. “I’m good, Bobi. Don’t feel a bit different. How ‘bout you Rave?” Mick asked, rubbing her eyes and pulling the hair away from her face.

  A much more lethargic Raven tried to push herself up onto an elbow but was unable to hold the position and dropped onto her back, her head being swallowed up in the softness of the down pillow. “I, ah . . . well, I feel okay . . . just super tired. Couldn’t get to sleep ‘til early this morning, but I think I’m fine. You guys hear from anybody?” she asked, directing her question to Bobi.

  “Yeah Bobi, any word?” Mick questioned.

  The safety clad Egyptian dropped to a knee and placed the tray on the floor while shaking her head from side-to-side. “Nope, not a word. I tried to check the Internet this morning on my phone but couldn’t get a decent connection. We’re still blind.” She stood and pushed a five-gallon bucket, half filled with snow, across the floor with her foot and left it just inside the room. She pitched a fresh roll of toilet paper through the doorframe and into the waiting hands of the school teacher. “Let me know when you’re done with the bucket and I’ll go empty it. If by this evening you’re still yourselves, I think you’ll be past the virus’ incubation period and we can let you out.”

  “Hallelujah!” Rave shouted, drawing laughter from behind Bobi.

  “Amen Rave,” Hannah yelled from where she sat in front of the fire, wrapped up in a blanket and eating an overly ripe banana. “Hang tough in there, you two. The worse is behind us, right Doc?” she asked, hoping to confirm her notion with the oddly attired intern.

  “There’s no reason to believe otherwise, just a few more hours and we’ll know for sure,” Bobi assured them as she waved to the detainees and closed the door, locking Mick and Raven away for another day of captivity.

  “I’m going crazy, Bobi,” Hannah whispered, unwinding herself from the cocoon of blankets and adding another log to the fire.

  “You are? How do you think they feel? I’m worried about Rave, doesn’t look like she slept at all.”

  Hannah returned to the sanctuary of the blankets and watched the newly placed log ignite, sending a swirl of grey smoke up the chimney. She sat silent, mesmerized by the fire’s flames and lost in a flood of thoughts and emotions.

  “What you . . . ” Bobi started to say, but was stopped by the trail of tears she could see falling from Hannah’s chin. “Hannah, what’s the matter? Everything will be okay,” she said, moving to kneel on the couch next to her friend and pulling her close. The crying woman leaned into the loving embrace but kept her hands in her lap and under the blanket. Bobi cradled Hannah’s head gently against her bosom for a time, unsure of what she might say to ease the pain.

  It was Hannah that finally spoke, “I don’t have . . . anybody but . . . ”

  “Sure you do. You . . . ” She was cut off as Hannah pulled her head back and looked into her friend’s eyes.

  “I know, I have you guys and I love . . . ” She couldn’t finish, the thought causing a new wash of tears to spill over the dam and trickle down her face.

  “Oh Hannah, we’ll get through this. You have us and we love you so much and your family loves you too. They just don’t know how to show you.”

  “I’m sure you’re right but I . . . don’t know what I’d do if anything were to happen to you or Rave or Mick. You’re my family . . . ”

  “Come on, as long as we stick together, we’ll be fine. This will pass and things will get back to normal. You’ll see.”

  Hannah turned back to the fire and Bobi sat down next to her, accepting the offer to join her roommate in the warmth of the blankets. “Do you really believe that?” Hannah asked.

  “Yesterday – no, today – yes.”

  “Why the change?”

  “Yesterday, I was 50-50 on whether or not those two had the virus but today I’m convinced they don’t,” Bobi said, nodding her head at the closed door.

  “I certainly hope and pray you’re right. I just can’t even think about the consequences if you’re not.”

  “Tell me about it. Scares the crap out of me to think of . . . ” Bobi paused, suddenly overcome with emotion. “I can’t even go there.”

  The two friends sat on the couch, snug
gled together until they heard a knock on the inner door, signaling them that it was time to empty the bucket. “Your turn,” Hannah said, removing her arm and blanket from around Bobi’s shoulder.

  “This is one aspect of our little adventure that I will not be missing after tonight,” the pajama-clad woman said, as she adjusted her mask and reapplied the gloves. She opened the door and was greeted with a foul but unmistakable stench drifting upwards from the bucket near the entry.

  “Sorry Bobi,” Rave said. “Thanks for taking such good care of us.”

  “What are friends for . . . but remember, payback’s a bitch,” Bobi said, sliding the pungent bucket out of the room with her foot. As she reached to close the door and get on with the dirty deed, one of the women inside the room cleared her voice, as if to get Bobi’s attention.

  “Oh and Miss,” Mick said, with an uppity English accent. “I’ll be ready for that sponge bath just as soon as you’ve emptied our chamber pot.”

  Without uttering a word, Bobi turned to face away from the door, dropped Tigger and panties below her brown bottom and shook her bare fanny at the two quarantined roommates. For good measure, she slapped one cheek smartly, echoing a loud smack throughout the small space, before she pulled the clothing back into place and closed the door. The sound of laughter inside the bedroom made her smile, something she’d not done for a few days.

  Chapter 10

  The shotgun felt awkward in her hands, as Raven stood below the house’s steps and in front of the Necula’s pickup. Eighteen hours before, she and Mick had been released from their voluntary prison to enjoy a meal with their friends and a few minutes of privacy in the bathroom. Clean water cascading over her body had felt better than she could ever remember. The soap’s scent and the feel of the shampoo, building lather in her greasy hair, had brought the author back from a land of dread and scrubbed away the despair that was dominating her every thought.