Rise of the Huskers (The Raven Falconer Chronicles)

by Larsen, Dennis

  “Well, I wish I could think of something else to do with you but we’re at a crossroads and you’re the only roadblock in our way.” The statement had a tone of finality to it, which pushed Chief Gladue to the narrow drawer and the hidden pistol. Before he could draw it and bring it to bare on the smaller, defiant man, Jeremy slipped a black Ruger from the hollow of his back and swung it forward, leveling it at Darwin’s head. The first shot rocketed from the pistol’s muzzle, striking the dreamcatcher that hung from Gladue’s ear as he dived for cover. The second, and his last, ripped into the table, sending splinters into the air.

  Lou was on the much smaller Jeremy before a third shot could be fired, the giant man’s hands tearing the gun away from the shooter and breaking his wrist in the process. He held his captive firmly around the neck, his thick bicep and forearm creating a triangle of death, which the assailant was unable to escape.

  “You’ve got bigger balls than I would’ve given you credit for, Jeremy. And look at that,” Darwin said, pulling the remains of the special earring from his lobe and showing it to the bound, would-be assassin. “Do you have anything further to complain about or should I say, any last words?”

  “The good people of this tribe will see through your lies and will rise up to . . . ”

  A simple salute from Darwin to Louis silenced Jeremy Letend forever, the bones of his neck snapping like twigs under the security guards immense strength. The dissenter, courageous to the end, had proven himself and would be welcomed by loved ones in the heavens, beyond Gladue’s reach.

  Darwin’s message of expansion, regained pride and unity, would go unchallenged a few hours later. His vision was heralded as an inspired way forward and was greeted with cheers and robust shouts of joy, even by those who questioned but had not the fortitude to stand up, at least not yet. In a day or two, he assured them, they would need to strike out. They would be compelled to seek the first step in their journey and they would take it by force, if necessary, but Banff would soon be theirs with everything the small community had to offer. A war was starting and to the victor would go the spoils.

  Chapter 10

  The morning after Darwin had rallied his supporters in a quest for a broader scope of their future, Officer Nowicki rolled from his cot and ventured from his cell. It was obvious that three of the four women were still sleeping. Mick’s cell was empty, the narrow cot-like bed neatly made and the few remaining things she owned stowed beneath it. Ziggy found the teacher curled up in a blanket and looking out the front window.

  “Morning Mick, I see you found the coffee pot,” he said, noting the steaming cup of dark, pungent liquid the woman held tight in her palms.

  “Oh, hey Ziggy. There’s plenty, help yourself.”

  “You been up long?” he asked, while pouring himself a cup of the morning pick-me-up.

  “Long enough . . . couldn’t sleep.”

  “Mick, you’re all safe here. This station is built to withstand an assault. There’s no . . . ”

  She turned her eyes from the window and fixed Zygmunt with an emotion-filled stare. “That’s not it. I just . . . ” She paused, her lip quivering, making it difficult to complete her thought.

  “Then what?” the officer questioned, sliding a folding chair close to the window where Mick sat.

  “How do you feel about things this morning?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Ziggy, they’re not evil. I’ve done a lot of thinking the past 24 hours and . . . ” She stopped and turned her attention back to the view across the street but did not finish her thought.

  “I’ve done the same. I was tired, angry, and needed to feel we were . . . somehow in control. But what do we do? If we have nowhere to go and no help coming, what do we do?”

  “I wish I had the answer. I wish I could just snap my fingers and whisk us away to some island where everyone is friendly and normal and . . . ” Mick’s statement trailed off, the balance seeming self-evident.

  “And not eating each other.” The young man completed the sentence, bringing a smile to her face.

  “Exactly. I’ve tried to look at our situation from every possible angle and I keep coming back around to the same conclusion.”

  Officer Nowicki leaned a bit closer to his new friend and placed an assuring hand on her shoulder. “This conclusion, what is it?”

  “I wish it were profound, with some deep hidden meaning, but it’s just that they’re people. Husbands, mothers, children, trapped in the same circumstances we are and just trying to survive. I’m not sure we can even hold them accountable for their actions. It breaks my heart to think my family could be Huskers. Do you think they know and understand what they’re doing?”

  He sat back, removed the hand from her shoulder and ran it through his unruly, morning hair. “When this first started I’d have said no, but after the other night and that slaughter, I’m just not sure. I guess God will have to be the one to judge their actions . . . and ours. You having second thoughts about hunting them down?”

  “I’m afraid so,” she whispered, “and I’m not sure why. Something inside just tells me there’s got to be a better way.”

  “Me too,” he replied.

  “What? Are you trying to make me feel better or just pulling my chain?”

  “No, I tossed and turned all night battling the same feelings, but there’s one thing I know for sure.”

  She straightened up and turned to face him directly. “What’s that, Ziggy?”

  “You said you didn’t think they’re evil and for the most part I agree, but . . . ” His eyes suddenly misted over and a single tear formed, then ran down his cheek. He clenched his teeth, fighting back the rush of emotion that was overtaking him.

  Mick patiently waited for him to collect his feelings, slowly sipping from her cup but not taking her eyes from his tormented face. “Ziggy, you don’t need to go back there. Remembering what was done will only torture you further.”

  “How do I not go back there? If there’s anything that will get me through this, it’s the image burned into my mind of those kids and what was done to them. Listen Mick, I didn’t give you guys all the details.”

  “What do you mean? What more could there be?” she asked.

  “They weren’t killed for food, like the others. They were killed for the pure enjoyment of taking a life. It was sadistic; a rage-filled display of pure evil, plain and simple.”

  “But who? Are you sure it was a Husker?” the teacher inquired, as a cold shiver rippled up the length of her back, causing her to wrap the blanket a little tighter around her shoulders.

  “Crap, I hadn’t even thought about that. No, can’t be. It’s got to be a Husker. I can’t imagine anybody in their right mind doing something so brutal.” He suddenly stood and walked a circle around the station’s foyer. “Wait a minute. I’ve seen this guy’s work before. I wish I could remember what day it was but I found a body in the park with similar wounds. Whoever this Husker is, he’s smarter than the rest and has a weapon. My guess is an axe and he knows how to use it.”

  “So, what are you saying?”

  Zygmunt returned to his seat and took her free hand in his. “I’m saying there is a very real evil out there that’s growing and organizing these Huskers. He’s, for lack of a better word, infecting them and turning them into cannibalistic fiends. If we can stop him, maybe there’s a chance for the rest.”

  “But how will we know he’s the one. There are so many and how do we find just him?”

  “Oh, I think we’ll know which one he is. He’s got to be big, strong and most likely carrying a weapon. He’s learning, Mick. I feel it, there’s a change and it’s not for the better.”

  “Okay, but you didn’t answer me. How do we find him?”

  “We don’t. He finds us. We do what I should have been doing for the past week. We get the survivors together under one roof, pool our resources and hold out until help arrives. This Husker, whoever he is, will find us. He’ll have to and if
we’re prepared we can take the fight to him without having to go door to door in a ‘witch-hunt’.”

  “And if help doesn’t come?” she questioned, again turning her attention to the wet and cold, visible just on the other side of the plated glass.

  “Then we’ll have no choice. We kill every last one of them, burn their bodies and make a fresh start. I don’t see any other way,” the officer exclaimed, a sense of frustration spilling forth in the abhorrent statement.

  “Sounds pretty cold and harsh, but I’m in agreement. I certainly like the idea better than just seeking out and destroying them. Where do we start?” As Mick asked the question, her three roommates walked through the doorway leading to the cellblock. Each looked tired and somewhat disheveled, the cots obviously not designed for beauty sleep.

  “What’s going on?” Raven asked, rubbing ‘sand’ from her eyes. She hustled across the cold floor, and leapt onto a couch with her feet beneath her.

  “Our hunt begins today.” Ziggy responded, jumping from his chair and fetching a hot cup of coffee for each of his guests.

  “I was afraid you were going to say that,” Bobi said, dropping next to Rave and cuddling up against her.

  “Hannah, good morning,” he said, pressing a hot mug into her open palm.

  “Yeah, you too,” she replied.

  Mick looked at Officer Nowicki, waiting for him to fill them in, knowing he was playing a cruel little joke on her friends by withholding the changes they planned on implementing. “Go on, Ziggy, tell them.”

  “Tell us what?” Raven questioned, also taking a hot cup from the Mounty’s outstretched hand.

  “Okay, we start our hunt today, like we talked about, but with a twist. Instead of Huskers, we find every last survivor in this little community and bring them together. We combine our resources and find strength in numbers. If it comes down to a last stand, we plan, prepare and do what has to be done.”

  “And what do you mean by that?” Bobi asked.

  “Just what it sounds like. If it’s them or us, I vote for us and I hope you’ll do the same,” he replied.

  “I was afraid of that but I like the idea a hell of a lot better than the alternative,” the lab tech confirmed.

  “So, what do we do and how do we get started?” Mick inquired, motioning for the group to join her at a large desk.

  Officer Nowicki explained the discussion he and Mick had while the others were asleep, detailing his thoughts on the hell-bent Husker and how they might lure him out. The group debated locations for a home base that could house what remained of the population, as well as how they might minimize their exposure to threats while they rounded up survivors. After debating several possible locations, including the Banff Springs Hotel, they ultimately decided on a moderately sized inn on the main drag. The structure had a minimal number of ground-floor windows and a flat roof, from which defensive fire could rain down on the attacking Huskers. The facility would have beds, kitchen, bathrooms, and from a strategic point of view, it could be defended. Ziggy’s military background was appreciated and welcomed as the planners prepared for the fight of their lives.

  They would begin right away, first securing the inn, and then driving the streets of the town, shouting their message from bullhorns and loud speakers. The battle for Banff was beginning but a relentless storm was brewing just beyond their vision, a tidal wave of destruction they could not possibly have imagined. Mere survival would soon not be enough in their quest for a way out of the infernal prison they’d been thrust into. Faith, loyalty, and strength would all be tested, tearing at the very fabric of their souls, as disease and evil tempted to destroy them all.

  * * *

  A few blocks from where the tight-knit group was making survival plans, Tommy Cat was yawning and stretching his limber frame, having just finished another meal of human flesh. The large feline bounced back onto the bed where it had found comfort the past few days, curled up and enjoying the warmth of a bedtime companion. He purred and licked at himself until he grew tired and drifted off to sleep. The distended, swollen and unrecognizable face of a man, whose head rested on a soft pillow, grimaced, as if in tremendous pain. Dozens of red spots, which had begun a few days before, had expanded and coalesced into large, raised blood-filled blotches, stretching the skin and swelling his joints.

  His left cheek was completely consumed by the malady, pushing his eye shut and mouth askew. The ear on the opposite side of his head suffered the same fate, growing two times its normal size, the blood pooling so close to the surface, as to appear densely red. The slightest pinprick would surely have exploded each of the lesions and drained the suffering man’s precious liquid in seconds. Eli had slept for an untold number of hours, the virus sweeping through his vessels like piranha, destroying normal cell function as it went. Pain, unlike anything he could remember, radiated from his joints; an endless stream of neurotransmitters telling his brain his body was in trouble.

  The distressed, middle-aged father tried to fight through the soreness, and think . . . hungry. The lining of his stomach rubbed against itself, reminding the diseased man of his basic need to survive. He attempted to swing his legs from the bed, but only managed a slight pivot of his hips before the pain crushed his ability to move or think. “Ouch!” he shouted, the utterance sounding more like a grunt than a distinct word. Nearby, and occupying most of the wall parallel to the bed, two large sliding mirrors hid an extensive closet. A glint of reflected light caught Eli’s one functioning eye and drew his attention to the smooth surface. Rolling his head, ever so slightly to the right, he was able to make out the image of a monster in the mirror. Some horrific creature, swollen and grotesque had consumed him while he slept. Surely this was not his face, and then it suddenly occurred to him . . . purpura.

  How do I know that? he thought, the word having some meaning from long ago. Wait a minute . . . I’m still me. I look like Quasimodo but I’m still in here. Eli rolled his head back, directing his gaze to the ceiling. For a time he could think of nothing but the relentless pain, which was eventually overcome by the need to prove to himself that he was ‘whole’. Two times six . . . ah, ten, no, twelve. Accountant, yeah, University of . . . Alberta . . . Calgary, no . . . no . . . where, where am I? The mental calisthenics continued, wearing him out but giving him purpose. Lilith, where is Lilith? His heart suddenly swelled, and the ache in his stomach returned with a vengeance, feeling like he’d just been punched with a lead fist. “No, Lilith,” he managed to squeak out through swollen lips. I’m coming, he thought, the words rushing his mind down a road that lifted his frame from the bed, folding him at the waist and sending the tabby clattering to the floor. “Banff . . . Raven!” he shouted.

  Chapter 11

  A young, blond-haired boy called out, “I’ve got it . . . I’ve got it!” He raced across the playground, his new ball glove outstretched and reaching to make the catch. The coach had sharply hit the baseball off the bat’s sweet spot, sending it sailing skyward into a deep blue sky. The hand-laced ball arced high over the diamond, hesitated for a split second at its azimuth before pitching downward, gravity accelerating its descent. Eye-hand coordination was the key and it was something the gifted child had been blessed with. The mad dash across the newly cut lawn was successful. The velocity and mass of the spinning sphere jerked the mitt down as he continued to look skyward, miraculously making the catch. The effort drew a loud ‘whoop’ from his friends, which suddenly ended when speed and momentum caught up to the fielder, sending him crashing into a high, chain link fence. As if rehearsed, he turned his face flush to the obstacle, which gave slightly, before rebounding and launching him onto his back. Dazed but knowing what was truly important, he lifted his glove to see the ball still tucked deep into the leather pocket, and he laughed. The happy scene flashed from view, leaving the same boy standing quietly alone. The friends were gone and his expression was no longer joyful. Blood slowly dripped from four small lacerations cut roughly into his face, creating a diamo
nd around his nose, which had slipped unscathed through a hole in the wired fencing. Although no mirror was present, it appeared as if the child were glued to his own image, lost in his thoughts and unable to speak.

  Nathan tossed and rolled on the king sized bed, the childhood memory surfacing as a dream, pleasant, and then menacing. Suddenly the injured child began to cry, spilling tears like a waterfall, clear and cleansing but quickly changing to a torrent of red. The facial lesions opened, exposing raw, meaty flesh below the surface of his face, adding to the cascade of blood. The Husker fought to pull himself from the horrific nightmare but could not . . . not until the distressed young boy opened his mouth to scream, and the memory was gone.

  Nathan Edwards opened his eyes but remembered nothing of the dream or his former life. The images were swept away as quickly as they came, but only at night, when the deep recesses of his brain gave way to flashes of hidden secrets. However, even these gems were less common now than they had been the week before. As his midbrain worked to recover from the traumatic onslaught, more and more of the precious memories were moved to areas of the brain that no longer functioned, dropping them into an abyss of sensory nothingness.

  A woman dozed quietly near the edge of the bed, a quilt pulled snuggly around her neck. She shuddered; the temperature in the room having dropped significantly overnight, as the hotel’s backup generators ran out of fuel. The half dozen gas-driven devices had kept the fans going and lights beaming much longer than the engineers had estimated, but none of them were still around to care. Sunlight illuminated portions of the old hotel, but many areas were cast into near blackness. Huskers tripped and fell over furniture and each other in an attempt to find warmth and light: both were difficult to acquire.