He needed to make amends somehow and perhaps saving William was what he was meant to do.
Chapter 70
Carter gave the job of recalling the rearguard to Earl, who was driving toward the tunnel. He was listening to the same Garth Brooks CD he always had in his car for his short drives to work. He figured this would be a short drive too. The familiarity of the music went well with the utter routine of his task. He was an errand boy. Nothing had changed from his life before the apocalypse. He went through a series of jobs in which he was little more than someone else’s lackey. He never had any real responsibility and so never had any real opportunity. He languished for a short while and then moved into an equally miserable job.
In this new world, though, he thought that perhaps he might find better opportunities. He could act without hesitation or concern for anyone else. He didn’t mind the killing; in fact, he kind of enjoyed it and it didn’t matter if it was a skin or another person. He didn’t necessarily want to kill indiscriminately; he wasn’t a monster after all. When it was his duty and it was the right thing to do, killing seemed to come along with a sense of liberation and even empowerment. The funny thing about that was it was the first time in his entire life in which doing something brought about those emotional responses.
When the next song began, he turned up the stereo’s volume and sang along. His headlights lit the road ahead of him enough for him to realize the pavement was slick with ice and snow. The surface glistened like glass in his light’s beam.
On the curves, he slowed the truck considerably but still felt the big vehicle start to slide. The sliding didn’t cause any alarm with him. He rather liked getting swirly on the roads, especially now that there weren’t other cars and drivers and, of course, no insurance companies. That was his favorite part of the apocalypse: no insurance companies, which meant no insurance claims. With that sense of freedom in his mind, he pressed his accelerator harder and sang a little louder.
The tunnel entrance was just ahead and beyond the tunnel was the rearguard. Earl thought that maybe he could take command of the men from the rearguard. He could have his own men and have his own responsibilities, earning his own rewards.
He was starting to lose himself in his thoughts when he took the last, wide turn toward the tunnel entrance. The snow was coming down a little more fervently, restricting his vision to only a handful of yards in front of him, however, he didn’t feel it necessary to slow his pace at all. There shouldn’t be any traffic to concern him, so he pushed on into the thickening darkness.
Earl was in full croon, belting out lyrics at the top of his scratchy, twang-filled voice, when he simultaneously pressed with all his might the brake pedal and craned his shoulders and chest as far away from the steering wheel as possible. He looked like a contorted piece of stretched taffy spread over the seat.
Not prepared for the change, his wheels tried desperately to grip the icy pavement but failed miserably. Instead of stopping, the truck slid wildly into the amassed sea of undead bodies. Earl, driving with his window down as he always did, shrieked in terror when his truck came to a stop. His was awash in bony, clawing, rending hands pulling at his flesh while Garth Brooks provided a somber soundtrack.
Earl’s seatbelt prevented him from being pulled from the truck...in one piece. He struggled futilely for several seconds. He pushed away the first few faces to appear in the still open window, but very quickly his left arm was grabbed and pulled out of the truck. Fierce jaws latched onto Earl’s flesh, biting him to the bone. Others were eager to feast as well, pulling until his arm was first yanked out of its socket and then removed entirely, showering the wretched crowd with a rush of red which only ignited their hellish passions all the more. They were sharks in a sea of blood, thrashing about excitedly, fighting with one another for morsels shorn from Earl’s body.
In a matter of moments, Earl had disappeared down to the waist, leaving only his legs and a nightmarish stew of remains splattered across the seat, dash, and windshield. The horde, several hundred strong, that had set upon the unsuspecting Earl, sensed more activity and enticing smells coming from further up the road. As a single, stagger-stepping amorphous mob, the agitated throng of undead slithered down the road toward Whittier and its lone point of light.
Meanwhile, Garth Brooks hollered his twangy tunes into the tunnel, attracting more and more of the undead gathering on the far side. Like a beacon, an irresistible siren’s song, the stereo echoed in the dark tunnel and drew the attention of a rising army of ghouls poised to infest the city on the far side. It was as if the gates of Hell had opened and disgorged a legion of demons upon the Earth.
Chapter 71
Jarred awake with a start, Neil swore that he heard a gunshot. When the next one echoed from the other side of his wall, Neil’s brain rang with alarms. He sat up too quickly and experienced both lightheadedness and pain at the same time. Jules was gone and the room had been invaded by hints of developing silver light. Disoriented and still recovering from his head rush, Neil blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked around.
Next to the couch and within arm’s reach, his assault rifle was leaned against a small table. His shoulder still ached terribly but it didn’t feel any worse than perhaps the soreness associated with a very strenuous workout. He pivoted his legs out onto the floor in front of himself and prepared to stand.
His rising was hastened by yet another gunshot. He slipped on his boots and stood. It only took a second or so and he was on his way, rifle in hand.
Jerry and Danny were standing out on the veranda. Jerry was using the scope on his rifle to take a closer detailed scan of their surroundings. Morning was breaking, but the cloudy sky above restricted the light to an opaque dull glow, which hurt Neil’s squinting eyes.
Jerry lowered his rifle, a smile spreading onto his face when Neil appeared.
“Target practice?” Neil asked.
“No,” Danny replied. “We nailed a coupla’ skins.”
“We?”
Danny nodded.
“He’s not a bad shot,” Jerry confirmed. “Emma taught him some, but I think the kid’s a natural.”
“Kinda like you?”
Jerry didn’t acknowledge the compliment but instead said, “If he’s up here, he’s safe. I think we should have him figure into the watch. Maybe he could work a swing shift or something like that. He’s pretty good.”
Neil looked over at Danny. “No time like the present. Can you keep an eye on things for us for a bit?”
Danny nodded and dutifully returned to his post, stoking the fire as he added a piece of split birch. The two men walked back inside and down the stairs, joining the others sitting in the dining room drinking coffee and tea. When someone spoke, which didn’t happen that often, it was quiet and superficial.
Neil watched all of them for a second or two before asking, “So, what’s to eat?”
Emma smiled up at her friend and quickly responded, “Whatever you would like.”
“Whatever?”
She nodded and gestured to the kitchen. “We still have quite a few options left in the pantries, freezers, and refrigerators.”
“How about eggs?”
“How do you want them?”
While Jess and Mia put together a breakfast of eggs, sausage, toast, and even hash browns, Neil, Emma, and Jerry were able to talk.
They discussed the obvious topic of their current accommodations and all of its bounty. They had not had it this good since before the fall. The fact that Neil could suggest they have eggs for breakfast and it was an actual possibility was enough for all of them to pause and wonder at their good fortune. It was safe and possibly secure. They were no longer cold when they tried to sleep and now they were actually sleeping restfully. It really seemed too good to be true.
His pessimistic streak surfacing, Neil thought that they were living there on borrowed time. Every time they got comfortable and started to settle in, the world would catch up with them. Something a
bout what Jules had said to him about her perception of time was ringing true with him as well. The more he thought about it, the more he agreed with her that they had spent a lot of time at the lodge. More to the point, they had spent a lot of time idle, waiting, cowering.
It was the lack of movement, after all, which contributed to the ill planned excursion to the cruise ship. It was also, he suspected, the cause of Nikki’s and Betsy’s deaths. In the world in which they found themselves, there was no room for complacency of thought or action.
Neil said, “I think we should start planning our next move.”
Emma screwed up her face . “Move?” she asked incredulously. “What do you mean move? This place is great. Why the hell would we want to leave?”
“I’m not suggesting I want to leave here, but—”
“He’s right,” Jerry cut in. “We should at least have a plan...know where we’re all going and how to get there. It pays to be prepared, and the good news is we have a pretty good option waiting for us anchored out in the cove.”
Emma, still not buying into it, argued, “But the weather...this isn’t exactly boating season. Do either of you know how to navigate?”
“Yeah,” Neil said. “I think I could figure it out. I mean, how hard can it be?”
Danielle came into the room, having heard much of the conversation while she sat in the living room alone and in despair. “It’s different than driving a car. You have to know what you’re doing when you’re in shallow water. You can’t be playing sailor in a storm either. That’s life and death. The sea is unforgiving and not to be messed with.”
Neil asked her, “What do you recommend then?”
“Maybe you should have the people who know how to captain a boat in this conversation.”
“Okay. Let’s talk then.”
Mia and Jess carried in a couple of plates each piled with breakfast food. The aroma filled the room with its goodness. It was a smell of better times and warmer memories, a bouquet they each appreciated more than the most exquisite floral scent. They reveled in the savory fragrance almost as much as they enjoyed eating the delectable delights.
Abdul appeared in the door way and silently walked over to the coats. He picked up his rifle and said, “I’ll give da’ boy a break. He needs to eat.”
“What about you?” asked Emma.
“I can eat later.” Abdul smiled to all of them with his flashing white teeth. “It’s more important dat he eats now. He’s been outside in de cold for a long while and he’s a growing boy.” He grabbed a slice of toast and a fresh mug of strong, dark coffee, which he tipped to the ladies in thanks.
Neil nodded and thanked him. He liked Abdul. He was a serious but kind man. Neil hoped there would be time enough in the future to get to know him better. Through Neil’s mind raced a bucket full of lists of things he wanted to do if there was time enough.
Neil returned his attention to the people at the table and started, “Okay. Where do we begin? I figure we should stock the boat with non-perishables, some clothing and coats, a bunch of water, some weapons and some ammunition. Am I missing anything?”
Chapter 72
The snowstorm gradually gathered force and energy as the winds from the numerous glaciers in the area and those from the Prince William Sound conspired. Blowing at a generous forty-five degree angle to the ground, the snow was the season flexing its considerable muscle. In keeping with the general theme, air temperatures were also dropping, allowing the snow to pile upon the layers already present.
The weather would have kept any living thing, polar bears included, miserable. The throng easing itself along the road into Whittier, however, was neither living nor dead, but existed somewhere betwixt the two. The legions of undead were oblivious to the weather.
Individually, the creatures would likely have missed those enticements, but collectively their senses were heightened, as was their energy. The electrostatic tics which jolted and teased their bodies occasionally rippled through the crowd as if contagious, a great, violent, undulating wave. They staggered and limped along the highway like a single, nightmarish millipede. More than just their feet were in sync, most of their skin tones were the dull gray-green of decay. Their collective shaggy, straggly mass of hair was like a great matted mane along the massive bug’s back.
Unfortunately, Colonel Bear’s militia, many of whom were readying themselves for the coming battle, was completely unaware of the approaching horde. If they had been, all of them would be hurrying through the mostly unnecessary preparations. Many were trying to work themselves up for the fight.
More than a few of them were questioning the purpose of the battle; wondering what exactly they stood to gain by killing those people. Any protests remained largely hidden. Memories of Oscar dangling from the end of his noose snuffed out any thoughts of opposing the Colonel or Carter or either of their directives. No one wanted to suffer a similar fate.
Ironically, it was exactly that thought of self-preservation that was actually working against the Colonel’s intentions. The people upon which the Colonel had fixated his vengeance had attacked the militia at their stronghold...had successfully attacked their stronghold in fact, and razed it to the ground. Many of the scared militia wondered if it was a wise decision to attack people capable of such aggression.
In short, they were scared. They were not a confident army marching off to war. They were an army of conscripts and thugs without a truly common purpose or focus. The only thing they shared was an intense fear of the Colonel and his wrath.
Colonel Bear, once again in the driver’s seat of his big black Hummer, shouted over to Carter, busy picking which militia would ride in which vehicle and then the order of the vehicles. “Carter! Carter!”
Carter could hear the Colonel’s voice, but it was reminding him of his father’s more and more lately, so he chose to ignore it, pretending that he couldn’t hear it for the engines running all around him. Defiantly, he took a fresh pinch of chewing tobacco from the tin in his inside jacket pocket and stuffed it between his lower lip and his teeth. He ground the minty wad into his lip, trying to reopen the sore on his gums, which was trying to heal. Forcing it down further, Carter was finally able to feel the surge of pain he was seeking. He relished the buzzing pain and finally turned around to acknowledge Colonel Bear, looking at Carter with annoyed eyes and an irritable expression.
“Carter, did you send someone back to get the rearguard?”
Walking toward the immobile man, Carter answered, “Yes, sir. I sent your boy Earl back to get them.”
“How long ago?”
“A while ago. He’s not too bright though, sir. It might take him a bit. I told him to follow up into Shotgun Cove after he picks up the couple we’re leaving here at the Inn with our prisoner.”
“Did you tell him to have the tunnel closed?”
“Yes sir. But—”
“But what, Carter? Did you send someone out to do a job for which he was obviously ill equipped? You’re not gonna fuck this up are you?”
Carter spat and let the bit of brown saliva that found its way onto his lips and chin rest there while he continued his discussion with the rotund man in the big sport utility vehicle. “Well, sir, I got the impression that you wanted Earl to be given more responsibility. I thought this was a reasonable test of his leadership capabilities. It shouldn’t be a hard assignment and is one that falls within his abilities, but if you think that maybe it’s beyond him...well, I guess I could head on back that way and—”
“Don’t be a fucking clown. Earl will get the job done. He might just surprise you. So long as you gave him clear orders, we should probably expect him to arrive a little after we head up to the Cove. He could be Blucher arriving on the fields of Waterloo when needed the most by Wellington to defeat Bonaparte. You’ll see.”
“Yes, sir. Chances are we won’t even need him, but it’ll be nice to have something to fall back on. And if he doesn’t get the tunnel closed, we can always go back th
ere afterward and do the job right.”
Satisfied that Carter seemed to be seeing things the way he wanted him to, the Colonel smiled. “Exactly. How else are we gonna find you some help? You can’t be expected to do everything. Besides, anything can happen these days. We need to make sure we have people trained as possible...replacements. It’s how any army would work.”
Carter, trying not to let the little bit of concern he was feeling find its way into his voice, commented, “If I’m not mistaken, it almost sounds like you’re lookin’ to replace me.”
With arced brows, the Colonel turned away from Carter and said to him and everyone in the Hummer with him, “Everybody’s replaceable. Remember that.”
Chapter 73
The rest of the militia pulled away in their motley collection of trucks and utility vehicles. The clouds of exhaust from the convoy resisted being absorbed by the weather, lingering as toxic pockets of gray air, which moved away reluctantly with the wind’s encouragement. Mason stood in the Inn’s doorway until all the trucks had disappeared into the storm, swallowed by a churning sea of white.
Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution Page 39