Zombies on the Rock (Book 2): The Viking Trail

by Carberry, Paul

  Jarvik remained silent, ignoring Frank as he guided the horse past the gates and back up onto the road. Frank slid backwards into the herculean torso of his brawny captor, a rotten stench from his breath warm on Frank's neck. The horse resumed its usual trot as they reached level road; they were only five minutes away from everything Frank had built.

  "Please, I don't know what you want?" Frank's eyes welled up with tears, his lungs burned from the immense pain deep inside his chest. Frank's breaths suddenly became shallower, making it a struggle to fill his lungs with the cold air that only stung his lungs as he drew breath. The torture his body had endured was nearly unbearable, grappling with the strain to stay conscious. "Please."

  Jarvik let out a deep sigh. "Don't beg. If you want to be their leader, you have to act brave. You sound like a snivelling coward."

  Frank didn't care how he sounded. He just wanted everyone to be safe. He knew they would all be counting on him to keep them alive; they would rally around his presence once he was home. "Just tell me what you want!"

  The horse came to an abrupt halt as Jarvik yanked back the reins. Frank nearly slid off the horse -- the only thing that kept him in place was Jarvik's threatening grip around his stomach. "We just want to make sure things work out for everyone."

  "Work out?" Frank struggled to breathe, his lungs felt empty no matter how hard he tried to fill them with air. The icy cold air stung his chest as it entered his lungs, making it even more bothersome to draw each breath.

  "We're going to make sure we survive." Jarvik's voice was calm. "We're going to rebuild the Republic of Newfoundland, start over again from scratch."

  Frank opened his mouth, but nothing came out, no air was left in his lungs. The sharp, jagged bone from his broken ribs had punctured his lung and now Frank's lips were slowly turning blue. His chest was collapsing, his heart was beating wildly in his chest, and Frank felt like he was drowning.

  "Frank!" Jarvik shouted for help. "Help!"

  Jarvik’s voice sounded like a muddled, distant cry. Frank could barely hear the horse’s hooves digging into the frozen dirt as it galloped down the road. The noise and the world slowly faded to black as he lost consciousness.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

  THE DOCTOR

  The clamour of hooves disrupted the silence of the forest as they galloped into the centre of the newly formed survivors’ compound. Jarvik was met by blank expressions, shouts of dismay, and sheer panic as some of the timid survivors scurried into their respective cabins, seeking sanctuary from the barbaric warrior. A few of the more gutsy in the crowd managed to stand their ground, but no one dared make a move in fear of the unknown being who just swaggered into the middle of town, their leader slung over his saddle like the spoils of war.

  "Is there a doctor here?" Jarvik’s roar would have woken the dead if they hadn't already risen. The horse reared up on its hind legs, the muscles under its unkempt coat rippling. "Frank needs a doctor."

  "How... who are you?" one of the more heroic members of the flock stammered, stepping forward from the rest of the crowd. His tight black coat was too thin for the frigid temperature, and his entire body shivered from the cold and fright.

  "He needs a doctor now, he isn't breathing." Frank's lips were a cold shade of blue, and his face was turning purple. Jarvik sprang down from the horse and cradled Frank into his arms, looking for help from anyone. "Please."

  "Come this way." A tall man wearing a bright green winter jacket pointed towards a large, red cabin nestled just beyond the tree line. Frank's limp body flailed around, making it difficult for Jarvik to run across the field with the man in his arms. He wished that he had kept Frank on the horse. Jarvik nearly lost his footing in the snow that had made the grass slick, and the unexpected, abrupt movements of Frank's floppy limbs made the journey treacherous for the severely injured leader. Another abrupt blow could spell his demise in his fragile state.

  Eric reached out for the hammer. Dana still had the handle securely fastened in her grip, her eyes made it abundantly clear she was ready to strike down any threat that crossed her path. "Honey... It's going to be fine now, just let go." Eric gently touched her hand, trying to make her relinquish the weapon. Dana was in a trance -- her breathing was shallow and her eyes stared off far into the distance.

  Jack was still straining to catch his breath. Jason helped him towards the bench resting against the shed. Snow continued to softly fall from the cold grey sky, the large flakes beginning to cover up the gory bloodstains left behind from the recent battle. Tiny droplets of the dark fluid dribbled from the hammer, falling next to Dana's feet as the snow twirled around her body.

  The gunfire had ceased, the heinous moans of the undead finally quieting, and an eerie silence fell over the woods. A scuffle underneath the shed ruptured the hushed peace; something was clawing its way from beneath the shed. Dana spun around, instinctively raising the hammer. She was ready to crush whatever vile creature arose from the crack. Suddenly Dana dropped the hammer, falling to her knees as Patch emerged from beneath the shed and scampered into her arms. Eric could hear tears of joy as Dana embraced her puppy, the dog whimpering as she tried to climb into her arms.

  Eric bent over to pick up the hammer, wiping the metal in the snow to remove the pieces of flesh from the surface. Eric walked towards his wife and knelt down to join her, putting his arm around her shoulder. "I thought you had died when I first got back." Eric was overcome with emotions. He felt guilty; if she had died, it would have been his fault. He had left her there. He had let the false sense of security make him believe they were safe.

  "I thought we were going to die in that cabin." Dana turned to look at Eric, her dark blues eyes filled with tears. "We barely made it out of there." The dog licked Eric's fingers as she tried to get his attention.

  "I love you." Eric hugged his wife; she squeezed him back.

  "Sorry to interrupt, but I don't think we have a whole lot of time." Warrant Smith stood before the couple, his army fatigues tarnished with gore and the carnage of the undead. "The area is secure for now, but their wailing moans will surely draw more of them upon us."

  Eric didn't want to let go of his wife, but the warrant was right. It would only be a matter of time before another herd of flesh-eating zombies descended upon their position. "So, what now?"

  "We need to get the helicopter aboard the trailer; is there a way to drive the eighteen-wheeler across the brook so we can get it aboard?" There were too many trees for the truck to drive through and the banks of the brook were too steep to drive down.

  "Yeah, about a half mile back down the road there's a left turn. It will bring you to some cabins down the beach. You should be able to drive the truck down the beach all the way to the cabin from there."

  Eric looked at the smashed-in back door of the cabin. Between him and it was a lawn littered with corpses.

  "Thanks. You should come back to the base with us. At least for now, until you can find a place for your family." The warrant pointed to the military truck that Sergeant Mitchell had used. "You can follow us back in that, we'll give you back the ambulance once we get back. We have a doctor, she can patch you up once you're back at the armouries."

  "Appreciate it." Eric knew that they couldn't stay here anymore; it was way too dangerous. The cabin had been rendered defenceless from the herd, showcasing its many weak points during the assault. "We should get moving, night will settle in soon."

  The snow clouds above were dark grey, the sunlight barely penetrating through. A cold, harsh wind started to blow, bringing with it a rotten stench of decay. Eric's nose twitched as the vile, sour smell sullied the whole area.

  "If you want to get on the road, my men and I will take care of business here." The warrant turned to march away. "We'll talk when I get back, I told my men to be expecting you."

  Eric couldn't argue with the warrant, as much as Eric didn't want to accept his charity, his group needed it. They only had a few guns, a limited amount of ammunit
ion, and no place to seek shelter for the night. The frigid air would mean they needed fire, and their lack of food would make surviving for very long almost unbearable.

  "Dana, go tell my parents that we're leaving as soon as the warrant moves the eighteen-wheeler." Eric looked across the lake at the barren highway. "We need to get out of here as soon as possible." Eric thought he could hear a faint, mournful moaning carrying on the wind.

  "What about everyone else?" Dana had picked Patch up in her arms, the dog nestling her head into Dana's neck.

  "If they want to come with us, they better be ready." Eric cursed the dead bodies strewed about the cabin, there was no way they would be able to get inside the cabin to fetch their belongings. It would be too dangerous stepping around all of those cadavers. If even one had managed to survive the military's onslaught, it could be a fatal attempt.

  Dana headed towards the bridge where Eric's parents and Calvin had gathered. "Do you want me to go and get Ted and Tina?"

  As much as Eric would have liked to leave Ted behind, Tina and the twins didn't deserve such a cruel fate. Still, he wasn't about to let his wife wander off alone. "I'll go get them, you just get in the Jeep."

  Eric spotted Jason scouring the tree lines, making sure that all of the zombies had been dealt with. Eric jogged over to Jason's side. "Hey, we're leaving."

  "Where are we going?" Jason wouldn't take his eyes of the dark shadows of the woods.

  "The military base for now." Eric knew that Jason wanted to head to St. John's so that he could find his wife. Maybe Eric should tell Jason that Ted knew where the base was located in Buchans.

  "When are we heading to St. John's?" Eric knew that Jason was getting anxious. He wanted to start searching for his wife, and this disaster could interfere with his plan.

  Eric decided the best thing to do was to get to the military base as quickly as possible, so that they would all be safe. "Listen, it's just for a day. Maybe two, we just need to gather some supplies. We can head to Howley with Frank, at least that gets us that much closer to St. John's." Eric didn't want to be anywhere near the city of St. John's, but if Dana was missing, he would have done anything possible to save her. Jason deserved the same opportunity

  Jason turned away from the forest, a smile on his face. "Sounds like a plan, bud." He started to walk back towards the shed, looking over his shoulder at Eric. "I'm going to fill the wheelbarrow up with anything useful I can find laying around." Jason seemed to have a spring in his step, excited to finally be moving on from the cabin.

  Eric looked over towards the bridge: Calvin was sprawled out on his back while Jack and Dana tried to help him to his feet. Eric started to make his way over to help load everything into the back of the military Jeep. Once they got Calvin inside the vehicle, Eric would head over and retrieve Ted and Tina. Then they would all be able to leave this horrific theatre of war and destruction.

  "Eric, let me patch you up!" Jason called out to Eric.

  The adrenaline must have dulled the pain because Eric had nearly forgotten about the wound on his shoulder. "Alright, make it quick." Eric took off his jacket and found his undershirt was covered in fresh blood. The crisp air caused steam to rise from Eric's flesh.

  "Looks like you got lucky, the bullet came out clean on the other side!" Jason examined the bullet hole in Eric's shoulder. "Just need some gauze and supplies from the first aid kit.”

  Eric rested on the bumper of the ambulance, anxiously waiting to leave this hell on earth.

  Jarvik followed the man inside the doctor's cabin. The elderly man inside popped up out of his recliner at the commotion at his front door. His dark blue robe was undone, his red silk pyjamas underneath glistening as the flames from the wood fire shimmered in the fabric. "What the hell. Frank?" The man's speech was slurred, a bottle of half emptied whisky held tightly in his grasp.

  The man swept everything off the kitchen table making a coffee mug and two plates shatter as they smashed on the floor below. Jarvik lodged Frank down on the table as gently as he could, but his arms had fatigued carrying the man across the field. "He can't breathe."

  "Is he choking?" The doctor sprang into action, appearing next to Jarvik with surprising speed.

  "No, he was in a car accident nearly two hours ago. His breathing has been getting worse ever since then." Jarvik looked down at Frank -- his eyes were bloodshot and bulging out of their sockets. Frank's face was a deep purple, every vein on his forehead was raised, and now he was starting to spit up white, frothy spittle.

  "A collapsed lung." The doctor took no time in diagnosing the problem. "How long has he been unable to breathe?"

  "Almost three minutes now." Jarvik stammered as the doctor examined Frank's chest.

  "Ruth!" the doctor called out. "Grab my first aid kit from under the sink." He nudged Jarvik towards the kitchen, pressing his ear to Frank's chest. "And brew me some coffee, I need to settle my nerves."

  Jarvik opened the oak cupboard doors under the large stainless steel sink where a mess of bags littered the dark crevice. Knowing that time was rapidly depleting for the former Chief of Police, Jarvik yanked everything out from underneath the counter. The first two leather bags Jarvik tossed behind him, landing on the canvas floor at the doctor's feet. The next bag was full of cleaning supplies, which he laid beside him, then he retrieved a white bag with a big red cross on it. "Bingo!" Jarvik exclaimed with pride.

  An older, slender woman with light blonde hair had appeared next to the doctor. She handed him a stethoscope and quickly ripped Frank's shirt open so that the doctor could place the black rubber piece on his skin. "Damn it, I can't hear it!" The doctor put his hands underneath Frank's shoulder. "Big guy, get over here and help me roll Frank over."

  Jarvik raced over and helped the doctor move Frank onto his side, his ripped shirt falling to the table as they jostled him around. A large, dark purple bruise had already begun to swell two inches below Frank's left shoulder blade. The doctor examined the area with the stethoscope. After moving the scope around Frank's backside for a moment, the doctor started to fixate on one location.

  "Ruth, I need a twenty gauge needle and a syringe." The physician's voice was filled with urgency. "Make sure it’s long enough to penetrate the chest cavity."

  "How long does the needle need to be, Doctor Winston?" Ruth was rummaging through the first aid kit Jarvik had brought over with him.

  "An inch and a half, and grab a fifty cc syringe too." Doctor Winston looked up at Jarvik. "You're going to have to hold him steady, you think you can do that, Viking?"

  Jarvik's arms had been fatigued from the excursion just moments ago, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins gave him a surge of strength and stamina. “Just do whatever you need to do, I got this." Jarvik looked back at the man who had led him to the cabin, he was nervously pacing back and forth, too agitated to be of any use.

  As Doctor Winston started to probe his ribs, Frank's mouth opened wide, a look of agony washing over his face but no noise escaping. "You're hurting him!" the man wearing the green winter jacket steamed in a panic.

  "I need to find the top of a rib to make sure I don't rupture an artery that are found on the bottom side of the bone." Doctor Winston came across as being smug, as if what he was saying was common knowledge. The sour stench of vomit mixed with the whisky on his breath, making Jarvik doubt the physician's capabilities. Using deep pressure, the physician felt around Frank's ribs, making sure he knew exactly where to stick the needle. Ruth handed the doctor the needle and syringe and, with accurate precision, Doctor Winston stuck the needle deep in the bruised flesh and hauled back on the syringe as a rush of air could be heard.

  A gargled, muffled gasp left Frank's mouth as he sucked in a large gulp of air. Oxygen started to flood back into Frank's lungs in minuscule, narrow gasps, causing him to wheeze. The colour in Frank's face began to turn back to its usual flesh tone, the purple slowing fading away.

  "Just try and relax now." Doctor Winston patted Frank on th
e lower back. The stranger left the cabin without saying a word, but Jarvik could hear the man bellowing for help outside. Jarvik held Frank in place, the needle protruding from his back, and a trickle of blood running down from the puncture wound.

  "Ruth, can you grab the antibiotic ointment. We don't want this getting infected, Frank's immune system will struggle to fight off any serious infections right now." Doctor Winston looked back at Jarvik like this was the first time he had laid eyes on him. "Who... What are you?"

  For the first time in weeks, Jarvik didn't know who he was. Was he Andrew the actor? Or was he Jarvik the Viking warrior? Or was he something else entirely different from anything he had ever known?

  The nurse must have started to brew the coffee because a thick, burnt aroma that immediately reminded Jarvik of O’Brien’s Coffee shop slowly saturated the air.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:

  ARMY BASE

  Eric trudged down the driveway towards the neighbouring cabin. He was contemplating leaving Ted behind, but ultimately thought better of it. Ted could still be of use -- he knew how to find Jason's wife, and Eric had no desire to travel through the highly populated city of St. John's looking for clues. Eric pictured the city was overrun with thousands of those recently turned vile creatures searching for human flesh.

  The door to the cabin was open and Eric walked inside the porch; an old coatrack was the only thing occupying the empty space. The cabin was basically bare as most of the decorations had been stored away for the winter with only the plastic covered furniture was left behind. Eric could see the attic hatch was open, the stairs were pulled down, and footsteps echoed above him. Muffled voices could be heard from the hole in the ceiling as Eric approached the steps.

  "Tina!” Eric called out.

  There was a short murmuring upstairs that Eric couldn't quite pick out. "Eric?" He recognized Ted's voice.