Mick and Bobi rushed from the house and leapt down the steps. “What’s going on, Hannah?” Bobi asked. Her attention was immediately drawn away from her friend and to the boy slowly marching across the landscape. “Rave, what are you thinking? You can’t just shoot him.”
“Isn’t it the humane thing to do?” Raven shouted, without taking the rifle’s sights off the infected child.
“It might be, but are you prepared to be that boy’s executioner?” Mick asked.
Silence shrouded the scene briefly as Raven battled with her inner self, searching for a moral solution to their predicament. “Okay, okay, let’s get out of here. We’ll send help when we can.”
The roommates hastily moved to the Jeep and began to pile in when Rave called out, “Hurry, damn it, hurry – he’s running!”
“Oh no, Rave, come on, come on,” Bobi exclaimed, holding the door wide open with her foot as she laid on the backseat. Raven bolted for the opening and dived in, closing the door behind her, just as the boy’s face slammed against the window. Shrieks filled the Jeep’s interior, the women pushing themselves away from the windows as the blood-covered youth circled the vehicle and periodically smashed his knuckles against the hardened glass.
The vehicle finally roared to life with Hannah at the wheel; thick, knobby tires dug into the wet sod and shot a spray of mud high into the air, splattering the porch and Benny as they sped away.
“That was close,” Mick yelped, looking over her shoulder at the lurid scene they left behind.
“Too close,” Raven asserted. “I won’t let that happen again, not if I can help it. They’re too unpredictable and we can’t risk getting that close to them. I want to see my family again -- I have to. I will not hesitate the next time,” she said, more to herself than anyone in particular.
The friends were quiet for a moment, reflecting on what Raven had said. It was the lab tech who finally spoke up. “Can you teach us all how to do that?” Bobi asked, still shaking. “You know, shoot like that?”
“Yeah Rave, and who taught you?” Hannah questioned; her fingers and hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel.
“Smugs . . . ” Raven’s mind was unexpectedly taken away to a place of sadness and quandary. “He, ah . . . he taught me all kinds of stuff. I wish I knew if he was okay. I wish I knew if any of my family was all right.” Raven paused, a dozen thoughts vying for her attention. She briefly considered each before she continued, “Hannah, stop the Jeep when you feel it’s safe. Before we have another close encounter, I better teach you what little I know.”
The women crowded around Raven as she ran through the basics of sighting and firing a rifle with ‘iron’ sights. They took turns holding the 30-30 and practiced quickly swinging it to their shoulders and pretending to fire the gun. With only 38 shells remaining, they felt it best to conserve their ammo rather than spending it on trees and vultures. Bobi took a turn demonstrating her quick-load technique again; each roommate followed her lead by inserting a single cartridge until they’d filled the magazine to its six-shell capacity. The friends felt a bit more confident, however, dealing with the reality of a new, more violent world, would not be easy, and they each knew it.
Mick completed the instructional set with the shotgun. She snapped the double-barreled 12-gauge open, ejected the shells and showed how they could fire one or both barrels with the double-triggered device. Bobi looked odd trying to handle such a long, awkward gun but even she was able to load, unload and pretend to fire the weapon.
“Any questions?” Mick asked, taking the shotgun back from Bobi.
“Not really,” Hannah said. “I just hope we don’t ever have to use them. Once we get back into town, I’m sure the authorities will have everything under control.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing. Maybe we should run into Banff this afternoon and get an update. I think the snow’s melted enough that we should be able to get there and back without any trouble,” Raven suggested.
“I’m game, couldn’t do any harm and we could use gas and some other supplies. Maybe some of the stores are open again,” Bobi said, trying to play the optimist.
“Hannah, you good with being the driver and getting us back to town?” Mick asked. Her friend nodded in agreement and the four prepared to move out. The teacher rode shotgun, sitting in the passenger seat with the double barrel hugging her leg, the muzzle pressed into the floor mat. Bobi and Raven climbed into the back, the Winchester leaned up against the seat between them, the magazine full but nothing in the chamber.
“We loaded up?” Hannah asked, as she slipped the Jeep into gear and swung back onto the path, dropping the tires into a pair of ruts that led to the main road. “Next stop civilization, unless you want to drop this stuff at the cabin before we head in.”
“Nah, let’s just go,” Rave said.
“I don't have the shopping list with me but I'm pretty sure I can remember most of it. All right, Banff it is,” Hannah said, turning her head slightly to pick up any objections. There were none.
“Great, I think we’re all anxious to catch up and see where we stand,” Raven said, speaking for each of the women. “Surely we’ll have cell phone service and can contact our families.” The writer subconsciously placed her hand on the rifle’s forend and caressed it slightly. Imagined images of the elder Necula gnawing on his wife, as well as their son pounding his fists against the Jeep, rolled through her mind. “I’m a little worried about what we might find. You guys?”
Three voices were in unison as they agreed with Raven’s assessment and confirmed their own apprehensions. The fledgling author looked at the rifle and wrapped her fist around the barrel, her mind made up that she would not shrink from a fight and nothing, no nothing, would stand in her way of protecting her loved ones or seeing her family again. Whatever may come, she would be the woman her parents had taught her to be, a fiercely independent survivor. “I hope we don’t run into hundreds of Benny’s when we get there,” Raven said, her anxiety building as she thought of what they might encounter in the small vacation spot below.
“Agreed,” Mick said.
“Me too,” Bobi concurred from the back seat. She swept her right leg underneath her behind, boosting her a few inches higher in the seat so she could see unrestricted from the side window. “Keep your masks and gloves close, ladies. Things might be great but just in case, we better be prepared.”
Chapter 11
Nathan leaned his left shoulder against the window’s frame, fatigue and a need for shelter had driven him into the Provincial Museum but he’d found neither rest nor safety. As he stood looking from the upper story, a whir of lights reflected off the glass, harsh red and blue spinning illuminants covered his face in a wash of color. The blood that ran from his mouth was his own, appearing dark, almost black against his fair skin. He swallowed, the distinct, salty mixture of blood and spit slid easily down his throat and cleared his mouth, but only briefly. A split lip dripped a fresh, crimson stream down his chin, coalescing with a trail of sweat and blood that traced the angle of his jaw, ultimately allowing gravity to suck the liquids into a small splash at his feet.
On the street below a single RCMP officer, dressed in full riot gear, was talking to a woman through the open window of her Jeep. The Olympian watched intently, trying to make sense of the meeting, his need for sleep dulling his remaining senses and confusing him further. The hatchet, painted with bits of blood, bone and gore, extended loosely from his right hand. Unconsciously, he spun the handle within his palm, the nasty lubricant making a morbid squish each time he squeezed the grip, before giving it another twirl. Nathan shifted his weight, pulling his shoulder away from the wall as he continued to eye the conversation below. Squaring himself, he suddenly realized the weighted object dangling from his right hand was heavy and awkward. A tangle of fire-red silken strands laced through his fingers, which he pulled tightly to his palm. Relaxing his hold, the hair tentatively clung to his flesh before the heftiness of the mass
dropped to the floor. A wet thud echoed around the space, the severed head bounced once then rolled to a stop, the nose acting as a wedge.
Minutes before, he’d battled the hell-bent wench, both drawn into the confrontation by urges that neither understood nor fostered. The lust for death, blood and meat, greater than any other need or compulsion, had driven them to act: fighting and tearing at one another until Nathan had ultimately prevailed. Chopping away at her neck until the head had swung free seemed only natural. The victor had casually looked into the lifeless green eyes, before the display of alternating lights drew him to the window where he now stood. Unable to think beyond the gnawing in his stomach, he wrenched himself away from the scene and knelt beside the still-warm corpse. Laying the small axe aside, he ripped at the sweater that covered the woman’s torso, stretching and yanking at the fabric until a smooth, white shoulder appeared. Grasping above and below the rounded joint, Nathan steadied the tissue before he lowered his mouth and bit into the thick muscle. He ground his teeth and shook his head like a ravenous dog until a portion of meat gave way and filled his mouth. Sitting back on his haunches, he chewed, not savoring the flavor or the deed but merely content that his overpowering need was being filled. Once gorged, he wandered about the structure until he found a soft chair where he sought sleep and escape from the wretchedness that was now his torment and his life.
* * *
Officer Zygmunt Nowicki or Ziggy, as he was commonly known, squinted through the cumbersome goggles that masked and protected his familiar hazel eyes. A decal-emblazoned helmet covered his head; the portion of his face that may have been exposed was encapsulated behind an oxygen mask, which made him sound a bit like Darth Vader each time he inhaled or spoke. Black, military-style combat boots covered his feet, extending to mid-calf, with dark blue pants neatly tucked into the top of each. A matching down-filled coat covered his upper body, the zipper pulled down just enough to display the top of a police issued flak jacket.
“You ladies lost?” he asked, bending to see into the vehicle.
Hannah responded uneasily, somewhat intimidated by the man’s attire. “Um no, not really, I guess. We’re staying in a cabin . . . uh . . . Rave, where is it?”
Raven leaned over the seat and past Hannah’s shoulder. She smiled, as she always did when pulled over by the law; seemed to work on the men -- not so much on the women. “Yeah officer, we’re staying at my uncles place up toward Norquay. We’ve been without power and wanted to find out what’s going on.”
Zygmunt eased his grip and the offensive posture he’d taken with the C8A1 carbine he’d carried as a constant companion the past few days. The optical scope flashed a glint of light through the rear passenger window, temporarily dazzling Bobi who was nervously looking about for signs of trouble. “I take it you don’t have a travel permit?” he said, edging closer to the open window.
“Travel permit? No, we don’t. Do we need one?” Hannah asked, her tone expressing her surprise.
“Marshall law has been enacted, Miss. No one is to be on the street unless they are military personnel or have a travel permit. You’re technically breaking the curfew as we speak.” He spoke with no hint of accent as one might expect with a name like Zygmunt Nowicki but his voice was filled with understanding and compassion, something the young women had not expected. Over the past week he’d seen too many die not to feel for the plight of anyone concerned about loved ones.
“How are we supposed to get a permit if we need to get to a store for supplies or other essentials and when will the power be restored?” Raven asked, while still leaning over the seat.
Ziggy laughed, the sound somewhat irritating as it came through the filter. “Let me paint a picture for you. A few days ago there were ten of us that patrolled the park,” he said, gesturing with his hand to take in the expanse of the small city. “Do you have any idea how many square miles that is?”
Hannah and Raven shook their heads, admitting they had no idea, before Rave gave Mick a sideways glance as if to say, where’s he going with this? The teacher shrugged her shoulders and returned her gaze to the uniformed patrolman.
“Didn’t think so. Let me tell you, it’s pretty frickin’ big and we were stretched thin just keeping up with petty criminals and the occasional fistfight but we’ve been completely overwhelmed with this epidemic. Found my partner butchered by some natives in the reserve to the east, and the bands to the north and west have sealed their borders -- so are you getting the picture? There’s nowhere to go. As far as I know, our unit is down to three, unless something has happened to the others since this morning.”
“That’s terrible,” Bobi offered from the backseat.
Mick leaned forward, guilt pulling at her heartstrings. “We had a problem with some natives a couple of days ago. They had a barrier across the road and they tried to kill us when we ran it.”
“Well, you’re lucky to be alive,” the officer responded, dipping his head to see Mick’s face.
“Why? Why are they doing that? What do they stand to gain?” Mick continued.
“I guess only they know for sure but I’d hazard a guess and suspect they’re protecting their own, just like everyone else is doing but they’ve got more muscle. They may see it as an opportunity to turn the tables on the rest of us . . . take back what they see as rightfully theirs. In any case, they are heavily armed and not afraid to use it. You can do what you want but I’d stay away until some order is restored.”
“What’s happened to the rest of your men and where is the military?” Bobi asked.
“Killed or missing, ma’am,” Ziggy said, directing his attention to the rear window that was now being lowered.
“Killed? So many -- how?” she asked.
“You ladies really have been out of the loop, haven’t you?” The Afghanistan war veteran straightened his back for a moment and peered around, once again assuming a more aggressive hold of his weapon. “As I said, the natives got my partner and maybe one more but most have been taken by the Huskers -- just too many of them on the loose. Once families started to run out of food they had no option but to turn them out.”
“Huskers? Is that what you’re calling the tertiary cases?” Bobi asked.
“I don’t know about tertiary but people that have had the virus and survive become Huskers. Some news guy back east came up with the name, refers to them just being an empty husk of the person they were before the infection -- really sad but fitting. You’ve not had any run-ins with them?” he asked, somewhat surprised.
Raven piped up, drawing the officer back to the front, side window. “Yeah, our neighbors. Two of them are end case or Huskers, I guess. They tried to get to us but we were able to get away.”
“You’ve been lucky then. Here in town, most have been able to care for their family members that have ‘turned’, or at least up until a day or two ago. Food is getting pretty scarce, and if you don’t keep the Huskers fed they turn ugly. I mean, real ugly! I’ve lost track of the number of people we’ve lost, both normal and infected.” He leaned his head closer to the window and inspected the firearm at Mick’s side. “I see you’re prepared? Don’t go anywhere without one of those. How many you got?”
“You mean guns?” Hannah asked, and he nodded. “Two, this shotgun and Rave’s got a rifle in the back.”
“Hold on a sec,” he said, again swinging his vision a full 360 before walking to the rear of his squad car. Officer Nowicki’s trunk looked like a show place for a well-armed weapons dealer. He’d picked up more guns from the dead and dying than he cared to remember and he knew there would be more. The women lost sight of him for a moment before he returned with an assault rifle in each hand and boxes of ammo under his arms. The AK-47’s looked out of place in the quaint vacation spot but were a welcomed sight to the women. Ziggy attempted to pass the weapons through the rear window but Bobi refused to accept them before he assured her the guns had been cleaned and disinfected. He handed one, then the other through the frame and into
Bobi’s waiting hands. She passed the first to Rave before accepting the second, along with the ammunition boxes. “It’s loaded, so be careful. Clip holds 30 rounds and it’ll take down a moose if you need it to. You think you can handle it?” he asked, looking at Bobi.
“Uh . . . guess so. How hard can it be?” she said, looking over the rifle like it was from outer space.
“Give it here,” the officer said. She handed it back through the opening and he ran the occupants through a quick drill on the use of the Russian made weapon. Seemed easy enough in his hands but the women were still a bit unsure. “Take a few minutes when you’re back home to get the feel of it. I hate to say it, but I’m thinkin’ you’re going to need it.” He paused for a moment, thinking of the circumstances surrounding the pair of guns and the sad scene he’d encountered at the local elementary school.
Brothers owned the assault rifles and had locked themselves away in the school, anticipating it to be safer than their home, which had been overrun by Huskers, mostly family. At least one of the local infected, with enough brainpower to break a window, had allowed others to storm the brother’s location, resulting in an urban battle with guns blazing. Sadly, the brothers had only been able to hold out a short time before they were overrun. They had died side-by-side, their bodies ravaged and consumed by the horde.
“Power, what about the electricity? Is anybody trying to restore power?” Raven asked.
Ziggy laughed. “What’re your names?” Each of the women responded with their given name, Raven being last. “Well, I’ll tell ya Raven, I’m most likely the only one working today. If you want power, steal a generator, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
Raven shot a knowing look at Bobi, “Told you so,” she said to her smaller friend.
Operation Z-Day (The Raven Falconer Chronicles) Page 10