Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution

by Schubert, Sean

  He and two others had been tasked with staying at the Inn to watch over their prisoner while awaiting Earl’s return with the rearguard troops. Upon Earl’s arrival, all of them were to pile into Earl’s and the other vehicle left on the far side of the tunnel, and join the Colonel in Shotgun Cove. They were told it would likely be only an hour or so wait, so catching up with the others should not be much of a challenge.

  When Carter asked for volunteers, the man and woman, who Mason hadn’t bothered with getting to know back at Skyview, stepped forward. Carter eyed the two of them and thought rightly that they only made themselves available because they planned on having an extended romantic encounter while they waited. The Colonel’s lieutenant appeared unsure of what to do at first but then Mason too offered himself up to remain at the Inn with the prisoner. He had, after all, been the one caring for William up to that point. He might as well stay too.

  Surprised and pleased with Mason’s initiative, Carter had nodded his agreement and even flashed a smile at the younger man. Before leaving, Carter gave Mason one of their automatic weapons, an MP5 which had been recovered from an abandoned tactical police vehicle on the Kenai Peninsula. Mason was surprised too when Carter touched him on the shoulder and told him that he was proud of Mason for showing some testicular fortitude.

  Now, seeing the last of them depart, Mason’s mouth was dry and his heart was racing as his anxiety and fear mounting. He wasn’t distressed because the others were leaving him behind, although there was a certain, nagging fear coming from that as well. No, his real focus and worry was arising from a decision he had just made concerning their prisoner.

  The man was still tied to the bed though his fever had settled somewhat, thanks in large part to Mason’s care. The young man had gotten his hands on some tea bags and was able to heat some water for it. He forced the sick man to drink the hot liquid, despite the other man’s protest. William had no way of knowing what exactly Mason was giving him. For all he knew it could have been poison.

  Mason’s true moment of glory came when he searched through the establishment’s kitchen and found a container full of chicken bouillon cubes. William greedily drank the salty broth when Mason brought it to him. With a full, warm belly, sleep came much more peacefully for William, allowing him to rest and not spend the time shivering with fever.

  As the hours passed, William’s color gradually returned and the fever subsided. It was while Mason was caring for the man that he decided to take action. He needed to prove to himself that he was not a coward. Regardless of being in an extremely weakened state and tied to a bed, William was still a very imposing figure, so it was going to take all of Mason’s resolve to be able to pull off his plan.

  Now, sitting back in the little hotel room, his companions in the bar living out some very loud public sex fantasies in the vacant bar, Mason sat in the uncomfortable hotel chair and watched William as he slept. Mason was trying to screw his courage to the sticking place, as has been said by others before him. He thought maybe it was Shakespeare but it could have been Johnson too.

  Holding his breath, Mason pulled his knife from its sheath on his belt. The long silver blade had curves like a woman and, when the light hit it just right, glinted like jewelry. He had already locked the door, so it was only the big man lying tied to the bed and himself in the room. He exhaled a partially controlled sigh and stood. He’d get this done quickly and then leave the two losers behind somehow. He could find a good place to hide in Whittier. Things would probably work out; they always did.

  Mason told himself all of this and more as he walked across the room, the blade rising and falling on its flat side into his palm. The trick to this, he convinced himself, was to just do it and don’t think about it. That’s what Carter would do after all. Carter would act once he’d made up his mind. He wouldn’t hesitate. Mason hoped he could be that decisive. He’d find out in less than five seconds if he could do it.

  Chapter 74

  The convoy crossed over from the seaside portion of the city to what locals referred to as downtown. In the few moments since they had left the Inn at Whittier, they had already driven over or past close to ten skins heading in that direction. Luckily for Mason and the lovebirds back at the Inn, the creatures turned about and followed after the trucks.

  More than one of the drivers directed their vehicles into and over the staggering wraiths, their bones crunching and cracking beneath eager tires. Often, the crushed being, like a persistent cockroach, was still moving and trying to pursue them afterward.

  The last truck across the tracks was a big black Ford F250. Sitting in the right rear seat was Kit, thankful for a little distance between her and Carter. She hoped that maybe he would forget about her. She was fairly lost in thought about days gone by, before the end of days or whatever it was that was currently unfolding, when she looked to her right back in the direction of where the tunnel would have been had it not been obscured by the storm. Kit looked away but then looked back quickly as the truck began to pick up speed.

  It took her a moment to process what she was seeing. It looked like an endless flood of skins coming at them from the heart of the storm. She gasped, “Oh my God.”

  Sitting next to her was Nils Martinson, a former warehouse worker with broad shoulders and a strong, square forehead and jaw, but a voice that ringed with a child’s higher pitches. Hearing Kit’s comment over the loud music blaring from the speakers, Nils looked over Kit’s shoulder and saw the same thing but had a problem believing what he was seeing.

  It was a gray wall of flesh. There were faces, arms, legs, and torsos, but he couldn’t pick out any individual bodies; they all blended into one amorphous blob of rotting tissue. He tried to get the driver’s attention but his voice could not find enough volume. As a result, the dark knowledge he and Kit had was kept from the rest of the militia.

  The horde on the road did not miss the moving vehicles. Further agitated by the close proximity of prey, the beasts produced a bloodcurdling bale that beckoned Hell and all of its wrath to the Earth. Unable to keep pace with the trucks, the procession of ghouls, with the patience of death itself, followed as best as they were able.

  Sitting at the wheel of the lead vehicle, Carter was surprised almost immediately by the sheer number of skins on this side of the city. The hideous creatures were everywhere, shuffling toward the engine sounds they were hearing.

  Carter turned left on the first cross street he found and then followed that in the general direction of the Shotgun Cove Road. Driving much more conservatively than he had been lately, Carter dodged in and out of groups of the fiends wandering onto the road aimlessly. Soon, he stopped trying to dodge them, and pressed his accelerator, deciding to drive through them, their bodies creating dull thuds with each dreadful impact.

  The trucks behind him followed his lead and swerved recklessly on the slick, icy pavement. It was just a matter of time before one of them lost control and ended up in a compromised situation. More of the undead were finding their way onto the road as well, making the drive all the more difficult.

  Dwight, driving the last vehicle in which Kit and Nils were sitting, did his best to match the swerving patterns of the vehicles preceding him, but the ground was slick and made slicker by the vehicles in front of them. As a result, the big Ford fishtailed, and when Dwight tried to regain control he overcorrected and sent the truck spinning.

  It came to rest at an awkward incline off the road, the tires spinning uselessly on the soft surface beneath them. It was stuck and was not going to be going anywhere without some assistance.

  Inside the truck, like after any traffic accident, all of the occupants were sitting in stunned silence, waiting for something else to happen.

  Nils was the first to act. He opened his door and nearly fell out due to the angle in which he found himself. Only his seatbelt restrained him, which he quickly unlatched. Before dropping out, he shook Kit’s arm to break her stupor.

  She sat motionless, but whe
n a wretched, rotting face pressed itself hungrily against her window, Kit found her motivation. She slid across the black leather bench seat and practically flew out Nils’ open door.

  Her rifle was still in the back of the truck’s covered bed but she had a pistol in her hip holster, which she immediately got into her hand and pulled the slide to ready the firearm for use.

  No sooner had she turned than a pair of skins confronted her. She fired two shots quickly, punching a hole through one of their foreheads and bringing it down. The other bullet hit her target’s shoulder, doing only superficial damage to the thin tissue stretched tautly across its bones, and changed trajectories after exiting, shattering the truck’s rear quarter window. The truck’s engine revved loudly, belching a white cloud of smoke. Kit realized Dwight was trying to drive himself out of an impossible situation, but he didn’t realize yet that it was never going to happen. The tires were unable to gain traction in either drive or reverse. The only thing that moved was partially frozen mud and mud, given to flight by the freely spinning wheels.

  Kit then heard a scream coming from inside the truck, which was encircled with skins, all eager to get at the delicious flesh awaiting them on the opposite side of the glass. Their fingers scratched and clawed while their snapping teeth streaked and clicked upon the widows. It was Edith, who preferred to be called Eddie, screaming. She was still sitting in the front passenger seat and hoping that Dwight would somehow get them freed from their deadly and worsening predicament.

  Kit could see otherwise. Quicker than she would have thought possible, the truck was swarmed with the dead, rapidly closing any opportunity for escape from the two still trapped inside. It was starting to resemble a crumb of food beneath the gathering force of an entirely ant colony.

  Taking a step back, Kit fired her pistol again and killed the second ghoul still coming at her, though its pace was seriously hampered by its right ankle, which was twisted around backward and provided little support. She wondered where Nils had gone but found him with a quick scan of her surroundings. He was in the road trying to fight off a gathering pack of the creatures piling against him like jackals taking down a raging elephant. Poor Nils was unarmed but he swung his massive arms like mighty clubs, violently striking anything and everything within reach. Many of those he struck did not get back onto their feet, but there were so many of them. They just kept bearing down upon him until Kit could no longer see him. Nils disappeared into a growing pool of vicious, clawing hands and chomping jaws. Kit fired her pistol several more times into Nils’ attackers but nothing was going to change the man’s fate so she stopped.

  She didn’t have time to consider the guilt that she should have felt, but that was how it was with her all the time. The man had saved her by pulling her out of the truck, and she was unable to do the same for him. Most people would have felt something...anything, but the distance at which Kit held most people, whether knowingly or not, insulated her from anything but superficial feelings for anyone else. It was a lonely but very safe place.

  Kit’s shooting had drawn the attention of more fiends, so she was starting to feel it necessary to run. She was worried that if she did, she would find herself isolated and without a way to escape. She backed herself down the slope behind her but never took her eyes off the truck. She kept hoping that the convoy would turn about and come to their rescue, but as the seconds passed a rescue seemed less and less likely. They were on their own and it was starting to look like she was really on her own...again.

  That was how she got hooked up with Colonel Bear’s militia in the first place. She wasn’t a fanatic, or hadn’t been before the end of the world anyway.

  Back in the day, she liked to tell people that she worked at a bank but the reality was that she just cleaned it at night. She also cleaned some state offices too. She spent most of her adult life cleaning up after others. She’d never had any ambition to do anything else.

  She had no family and few friends, so when everything came crashing down for everyone else not much really changed for her. During the first couple of days, she just enjoyed sleeping in late and not going to work. When the electricity failed and she ran out of food and especially beer, that was when the crisis really began.

  Kit had ventured out into Kenai to see things for herself and had encountered a group of people gathering supplies for a place they called The Ranch. With no other plans or possibilities to consider, she elected to accompany them back to the armed encampment. She thought that maybe she could get a job as a barracks housekeeper or something. She went along because she didn’t know what else she should do.

  It was at The Ranch, under the guidance of men like Colonel Bear and Carter, where Kit discovered she could detach herself from the person she was before The Fall and become a ferocious fighter. Her flat demeanor helped her to remain calm when others had difficulty managing both their fear and their rage. Kit’s lack of connection to others also contributed a very effective means of dealing with both the living and the dead without any meddling emotions.

  As a result, Kit became an asset in ways she could never have known in her past world. She maintained a low profile, but found herself called upon to take active roles in supply runs and the aptly named search and destroy sweeps into Soldotna and Kenai. She had a reputation for being coolheaded in a fight. She had started to enjoy her status and her new life.

  Now, she regretted having left her trailer and placed her faith in the Colonel’s militia. She was no better off than she was in her previous life. She was alone again and without hope.

  Kit wondered to where she should run. Behind her was the Inn at Whittier, but also getting back there through the growing congregation of dead behind her. She felt like an animal caught in a snare, contemplating chewing off her own foot to free herself from the trap.

  Above the mayhem of the unfolding tempest, Kit could still hear the Ford’s engine rising as more and more fuel was fed into it. The truck sounded as desperate as its occupants to free itself.

  Then it happened; one of the rear tires found a moment of contact with something firm enough to provide traction. The truck lurched forward unexpectedly to everyone both inside and out of the vehicle, then spun to the left just as quickly. The big black truck found itself on a sharper incline; too sharp to maintain its balance. Instead of freeing them, Dwight sent the truck into a slow motion tip and roll down the small hill, ending with the truck on its side with rear tires still spinning uselessly. Most of the contents of the covered truck bed, including three rifles, blankets, and some backpacks full of supplies spilled into the snowy grass.

  Kit was tempted to try to grab something, anything. She could almost hear the rifles calling to her. She’d likely need the rifles. She only had so many bullets for her pistol and the backpacks probably had more of those too. She started to move forward but stopped before she even began. The truck’s engine and then the crash had attracted dozens of the things from all around them. There was no time for anything more than just getting away.

  In the few seconds it took Kit to collect her thoughts and formulate a plan, she heard Eddie’s desperate, shrill plea: “Nooooo! Get away! Noooooo! Stopppppp! Nooooo! Please stopppppp! Oh my Godddddd! Nooooooo!” Eddie’s sad protests then degenerated into a garbled, grunting cry. Kit never heard Dwight and assumed that he was unconscious.

  Isolated and now on foot, Kit started to run. She ran toward the buildings in front of her, hoping that a closed door and some walls might be the key to her survival. Anything was better than being out in the open with all those skins around her. Keeping her eyes focused on the mustard colored building in front of her, she hustled through the knee high grass poking itself through the shallow layer of snow that had accumulated. Pushing herself through and even over a few individual skins thinking Kit looked like an appetizing snack, Kit finally got to the back of the building but couldn’t find an immediate opening.

  She crept along the back wall, hoping to find a window or a door but it was solid.
She moved steadily, trying to keep a watchful eye both in front of and behind her.

  She stumbled, tried to regain her footing, and then fell flat on her face. Knowing how vulnerable she was lying there, Kit got her legs under her and pushed back against the ground. A creature had gotten almost within arm’s length without Kit’s awareness.

  She removed her knife from its sheath and quickly forced it into the fiend’s right eye. It paused for a second considering the sharp blade lodged in its brain, and then collapsed without so much as a peep.

  Kit turned about and ran headlong into another one with its gaping maw at the ready. Its yellow teeth and fetid breath were against her cheek before she could react. The jagged incisors sunk into her ruddy skin and removed a mouthful of tissue before pulling away. Kit let loose a scream full of rage and pounded her still bloody knife repeatedly into its face. The walking corpse fell to the ground, and she maintained her grip, thrusting the blade deep into its shattered and mutilated face. There were no longer discernible features. It had become a swampy morass of crushed bone and dark, necrotic fluid, much of which splashed up onto her own face and neck.

  Kit finally stopped, crying she was so angry. Leaving her knife in its forehead, she staggered away and saw a sign for a lounge that was close enough for her to make it. As luck would have it, her path to the lounge was clear; Dwight’s wrecked truck down the road was drawing all of them in the area to it.

  Kit climbed the stairs and forced her way through a pile of chairs and other odds and ends blocking the door. Finally inside the tavern, Kit allowed herself to lower her vigil. She slumped over to the bar and, without checking first for any threats, stepped behind to look for a drink. Lying on a glistening bed of shattered bottles, the withered, gray, lifeless corpse of the former female bartender greeted her. To Kit’s relief, the corpse appeared to be dead and nothing more. She reached onto one of the shelves and pulled out a bottle of Jose Cuervo Tequila.