The house looming before them was in shambles, although it was hard to determine if the mess had happened recently or not. There were construction leftovers in fairly organized piles of lumber, unused siding, and other odds and ends in the uncleared lot. The front door was standing open and sagging on its struggling hinges. Around the doorframe and one of the windows, blackened streaks, the remnants of a fire, adorned the building’s facade like out of place mascara.
As Neil picked his way across the crunchy leaves of the front yard, he saw a pair of legs lying partially in and partially out of the doorway. Neil pointed with his first two fingers at his eyes and then toward the doorway with his index finger, drawing everyone’s attention to the body. Something had happened here and may still be in process.
Emma and Jess joined Neil on his approach to the open door. They moved slowly, cautiously, never taking their eyes off of the door and the numerous broken windows.
Neil stopped abruptly and put his hand in the air. He lowered himself into a tighter stance and listened intently. There was something moving near to them. He couldn’t tell if it was inside or outside the house.
From the kitchen at the back of the house, something had stirred when the crackle and crunch of leaves underfoot rose from beneath the trees out front. Distracted from its recent feast which was still lying in a grisly tableau of blood and partially eaten organs on the kitchen floor, it rose with a hungry snarl and a tortured moan and started toward the front door. When the light from outside hit its eyes and the aroma of approaching prey tempted its nose, its legs propelled it forward with terrifying speed. The infection’s rage fueled its driving, sprinting legs.
When the creature appeared in the doorway, Jess screamed and fired her rifle, the bullet cleanly piercing a second story window. Pausing to emit a wet, chesty growl, spewing a storm of blood as it did, the abomination in the doorway didn’t notice guns were firing at it. Neil pulled the trigger but the gun jammed, refusing to fire.
“Fuck!”
Responding to Neil’s voice, the thing, which was at one time a woman, descended the front steps in two bounds. Barely slowing as it went barreling down the stairs and running across the front yard, the woman headed directly for Neil, standing between Emma and Jess. Neil dropped the gun and reached over his shoulder for his bat. He had both hands on it and was ready to pull it free when the predator’s head snapped from one shoulder to the other violently and then the woman tumbled harmlessly inches from Neil’s feet. He hadn’t heard her shoot, but Emma had dropped to her knees to steady her hands and then fired in virtually one move. She fired a single bullet, striking the demon’s head on the side just above its ear.
“I forgot how fast those things moved when they first turn,” Emma said quietly. “I almost missed.”
Looking down at the twisted corpse in front of him, Neil said, “Yeah, I don’t think I needed to hear that. I needed to know that you had it in your sights all along and were just waiting for the right moment to pull the trigger.”
Emma’s heart was racing and her were hands shaking. “Yeah. That’s what I meant to say.”
Neil picked up the assault rifle and slung it over his shoulder, electing to pull his pistol, a handy and reliable Smith and Wesson automatic, from its holster and use it instead. He was also carrying a Walther in his zippered coat pocket. He had found it in a gun safe some weeks ago and immediately thought of all the James Bond movies he’d seen. Bond always carried a PPK and had always managed to make it out of every adventure alive, and so he’d kept it.
They slowly climbed onto the unfinished front porch. Neil’s attacker had left a trail of bloody footprints on the porch and down the hall.
As they walked in the front door into the dark house, Neil asked William and Gordon, “Did you know her?”
They both shook their heads. Neil nodded that he understood and looked around. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the scant light. The window to the right of the front door was both smashed clear of glass and burned, allowing light primarily into a hallway, which led to another large room. The other windows in the living room of sorts all had their blinds drawn shut.
Jess slid over and pulled the cords to open them. She regretted allowing more light in the room almost immediately when the light revealed the gruesome remains of what once had been a man in a recliner. They could deduce he was a man by his hairy legs and big feet still in their white athletic socks, which was all that was left of him accept for some bones and a wide, wet, red stain.
There was a coat closet to which someone had obviously retreated hoping to survive the attack. With nowhere to run, the only thing the person found was a death trap. The person’s attacker had clawed its way through the thin door and fed on its prey where it hid.
Another person, a woman, was partially burned and still smoldering in the hallway below the opened window. They wondered if she was trying to escape or break in through the window. Her head was burned down to its skull, none of its features remaining for identification. Its arms too were nothing but bone. She had been burned with some kind of fuel, perhaps oil from a lantern, to have done that kind of intense damage.
In the kitchen, the gutted, partially eaten corpse of a small child was already attracting some late season insects. Emma’s stomach turned when she beheld the carnage. The boy’s head was still largely in one piece, though its eyes had been gouged and eaten. When Emma came to the end of the hallway and looked into the kitchen, she saw those empty eye sockets staring back at her. She thought it was just a shadow across the child’s face playing tricks on her, but as she grew closer she realized at what she was looking.
Then the child started to move. It tried to roll over onto its front, but there was not enough muscle tissue in its abdomen to get the job done. It struggled like a tortoise on its back, trying to turn itself over. Despite having no eyes, the little monster could detect Emma’s presence and reached out for her. She suddenly knew how Ichabod Crane felt when he came face to face with the jack- o’-lantern’s evil grin. Its pitiful, hungry mewl found a fading sense of sympathy buried deep inside of Emma. She almost felt sorry for its apparent suffering. She pulled her knife from her belt and jammed it deeply into the little thing’s empty eye socket. She verified the back door was locked then called out, “Clear back here.”
She then proceeded to look in the cabinets and the refrigerator, which was still on with the help of a generator; a habit she had developed. She opened her backpack and piled in dry and canned goods until the pack was full.
She wandered to the front room, which was empty. She was swept with a very haunting fear: isolation. They wouldn’t have gone on without her, she was sure of that. There were no discernible sounds in the house other than her pounding chest, which she hoped was only loud in her ears. She listened for any creaks or pops coming from the structure of the house.
Emma hated fear, especially her own. She felt so out of control when gripped by fear’s cold fingers. She tried to settle herself, starting with her breathing. Then she heard the movement immediately over her head. Trusting that she hadn’t been abandoned and the others were just doing a sweep of the house, she moved up the stairs slowly. Emma was still running through exercises in her mind to control her breathing but she wasn’t having any luck.
At the top of the stairs, she caught Jess’ blonde hair down the hallway. She was behind Neil, going through a closed door at one end of the hallway while William and Gordon were going into another at the opposite end.
Emma was starting to calm herself now that she knew where everyone had wandered when she was again startled. Jess screamed and then shouted to Neil, “Shoot ‘im! Shoot ‘im!”
Three loud pops and accompanying flashes of light bounced around the bedroom. There was a thud and then Jess and Neil reappeared. He looked at Emma and gave her a thumbs up. William and Gordon exited their room shaking their heads.
“Okay,” Neil said. “Let’s check the place for supplies. Whatever we find but can
’t fit in the back of the truck, we hide. We can come back later for it. No one— and I mean no one— works alone. We’ve all seen the horror movies. When someone wanders off for anything, that’s when bad shit happens.”
“And don’t forget about the sex part,” Emma added. “None of us are allowed to have sex. That’s a sure way to exit the movie before the end credits.”
William, Gordon, and Jess shot questioning looks in her direction.
She answered with a playful smirk, “It’s true. It always happens. Two young lovers wander off for a little hanky panky and then Jason or Michael or Freddie shows up, and we all know where that leads. No sex if you want to make it to the end.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” William quipped. “Thanks for the tip. I think we all want to make it to the end credits.”
“Ya just gotta follow the rules,” Emma said.
In their search, they found guns and ammunition as well as fishing gear, warm clothes, and some medicine. It was all priority, so they found more duffel bags, backpacks, coolers, and cardboard boxes, which they filled and loaded into the back of the truck. There was a surprising amount of space, leaving room for more supplies from other locations. The thought never occurred to any of them that they might need to make room for any passengers.
They didn’t talk about those they had put down, and neither did they discuss those others who would suffer the same fate. There was no need. Eventually, they would likely face a creature that had once been someone about whom they cared. Neil didn’t look forward to that day but knew that it was coming and fast.
They climbed into the vehicle and each one breathed a sigh mixed with relief and sorrow. Would every house in Shotgun Cove yield the same result? Was there anyone still alive? That was a discussion no one was terribly interested in having.
Chapter 43
Carter had been to Whittier before— several times in fact, but he was always surprised by its size. There simply wasn’t much Whittier to Whittier. It was a postage stamp city with a postage stamp population, or it had been in the not-too-distant past.
From where he stood in the bed of his gore-caked truck, he could only see the seaside portion of the city, which didn’t amount to much. There was a handful of small buildings and two larger ones within view and not much more out of view. The harbor was full, however, with gently rocking, bobbing crafts.
It was afternoon already and afternoons in Alaska during the waning months of the year could pass in a blink of an eye. If you weren’t careful, the afternoon could yield to evening without your even knowing it. The faint shadow of the mountain through which the tunnel had been carved was growing with each passing minute. Carter had chosen to park just beyond the shadow’s reach, but it was already starting to encroach upon their position. He would have liked to move forward but his options this close to the tunnel were limited.
There had been a parking lot created in the area usually used to stage automobiles waiting their turn to exit the city. All the vehicles were facing away from the tunnel, which was how he determined these were all automobiles that had come into Whittier and were parked quickly. Around the cars had been erected a temporary chain link fence, possibly to contain the drivers and passengers. The effort was makeshift at best and obviously had not worked.
The apparent boneyard of motor vehicles was close to where he was standing; close enough for him to see that the drivers and passengers of the various sized vehicles had fled suddenly, leaving doors and hatchbacks standing open to the elements. Many had not fared well, judging by the debris and extant carnage which clung to the vehicles’ surfaces and the paved ground beneath.
Carter was taken by the stillness all around him, but it was a stillness without peace. An edge clung to the air, slicing the calm with vicious memories of days gone by. Whittier was a ghost town whose specters still lurked in the shadows.
He looked beyond, up the road toward the town itself. On the far edge sat what had likely been a very modern building used by a cruise company to corral its passengers and hold them until the start of the next leg of their collective journey. Much of the structure’s glass facade was shattered and lay in prisms of light-bending shards on the ground. The arched building was not measurably different than a cave or some alcove aside from its floor and some of its interior walls. He wasn’t able to see any of that anymore than he could see into the building’s front lot, but there he guessed he’d see much of the same thing as what was in all around the parked vehicles to his left: discarded luggage, dropped maps and paper itineraries, and clothing in various states.
Beyond that building, the seaside was dominated by a rustic-looking building that Carter knew as the Inn at Whittier. The buildings around the inn were much smaller shops and other service-specific businesses catering to boats, fishermen, and scenic day cruises. The inn itself was impressive amidst its surroundings. It was the only multistory building in the immediate vicinity and stretched itself beyond a single or a couple of modest rooms.
Carter had never stayed at the hotel and decided that he would treat himself and the others to the most luxurious accommodations Whittier had to offer. He hoped that the bar would still be stocked and some beds would still be made. After the journey through the dark tunnel, he was ready for a little rest and relaxation.
He scanned the road ahead, and three of the staggering wretches responsible for the city’s undoing wandered into view. The trio emerged from inside the white weatherproof tent structure that had been used by the Alaska Railroad as a passenger debarkation site and sat across from the ruined cruise company building.
The demons lifted their noses to the air; predators catching the scent of prey on the slight breeze. Carter felt his waning aggression begging to build anew. He pointed toward the group and hissed, “Looks like we got more business comin’ our way. Don’t get too comfortable.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for the others to get through?” one of his passengers asked.
Carter climbed into the truck cab. “They’ll be along soon enough. It’s their own damned fault for showing up late for the party. I guess they’ll just miss out on all the fun.”
He shouted over to Devon, the driver of the large GMC, “You wait here for the Colonel! We’re gonna scout ahead a bit!” To the men still standing in the back of Devon’s truck, Carter yelled, trying to be heard over his truck’s bellowing engine, which sounded as a graceful and angry as a tank, “You two. You’re comin’ with us.”
While he waited for everyone to load themselves into the truck and ammunition into their firearms, Carter lit a cigarette and tried to get himself focused on the coming battle. It didn’t require much on his part. He had enjoyed the battles in which he had fought recently and was never shy about entering into them.
For a moment, he found himself thinking about his friend and mentor Sullivan, who lived for the fight much more so than Carter or anyone he knew. It had only been a couple of days since Sullivan had been murdered and already Carter was growing accustomed to his big friend’s absence. Carter was never one to suffer an excess of sentimentality, and Sullivan’s death had not changed that. Still, there were moments, like now, when Carter knew Sullivan would have been in his element, out on the road in the midst of constant fighting. Carter resented that his friend was missing out.
He thought to himself that maybe Colonel Bear was right to want to exact some revenge. Sullivan was family after all, and if you wouldn’t seek vengeance for a family member’s murder then there likely was no place for vengeance in the world. Maybe it was just about maintaining that order in a world so overrun with chaos.
With that thought still simmering in his head, Carter floored the gas pedal and angled them onto the road. The zombies ahead of him may not have been responsible for Sullivan’s death, but Carter was willing to ignore that fact for the moment.
His passengers held their breaths while they closed the short distance between themselves and the terrifying trio. Carter never took his foot from the accelerato
r. He sneered, flashing his teeth like they were fangs. His three targets were grouped tightly together, accommodating Carter very nicely. He would likely be able to take them all out in one swipe.
He steered the grille of his dark truck with the deer killer affixed to it into the path of the three monsters ambling on the road toward the tunnel.
When the truck hit them, striking all three at once, there was barely any indication at all that they had come into contact with anything. Carter reveled in the wet crunch of bodies being crushed against the truck’s hood and functional grille ornament. He smiled when they disappeared beneath the truck’s oversized tires.
Once over the still squirming bodies, Carter reversed the truck, which barely registered that there was something below it. When he brought the truck to a rolling stop, Carter looked at the wriggling mass still on the road. He couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt at the ghouls’ apparent suffering. One’s mouth opened and closed without apparent cause like the automated entrance to a carnival fun house. Its flaking, cracking gray skin was pulling away from its teeth and eyes, one of which was a vacant black socket.
Another of the creatures was motionless, its head pulverized into a jellied mass of necrotic blood, bone, hair, and skin. The third creature’s body, like the first, was shattered and not able to rise back to its feet due to the extent of damage it had sustained. Like fish out of water, the undead creatures wriggled and squirmed on the pavement as if searching for a final breath of life.
Carter considered for a moment making one more pass across the animated carcasses but decided against it. He had no interest in ending their suffering or whatever it could be called. He didn’t think it was pain that the things still felt but he didn’t know that they were devoid of all sensation. They weren’t doing too well on the road as they were, and he was perfectly content to leave them to wallow.
Someone asked from behind him, “Should we finish them off?”
Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution Page 24