Nick and Jason sat upfront in the cab, and Eric climbed in and sat next to his wife. Dana looked completely exhausted and rested her head on his shoulder. His parents were seated directly across from them, with Calvin lying on the stretcher in between them. Ted had really worked Calvin over, his face looked like a bloody mess. Dried blood stained the neck of his jacket and red specks blotched the white mattress that Calvin rested on. Eric turned to speak to his wife only to find she had already fallen asleep. Her shallow breathing was soothing.
Nick and Jason chattered up front, the engine rumbling loudly as they slowly started to head down the highway. Craig had finally come to consciousness and he was doing his best to join in the conversation with Jason. The awkward angle that Craig put himself in caused him great pain -- Eric could see the anguish in his face. The plow scraped against the pavement, the snow roared as it piled up on the sides of the road, and the eighteen-wheeler slowly cleared the path towards Howley.
"You have to keep them safe while I'm gone with Jason," Eric said to his father, even though he didn't need to say it. Eric knew his father would protect Dana with his life.
"Eric... should you go? What if something goes wrong?" Jack surprised Eric.
"I have to go. If Dana was in trouble, Jason would help me." Eric knew he father didn't mean anything by his statement, but deep down inside Eric knew he had a point. If something happened to Dana while he wasn't around, it would be impossible to overcome.
"I know he would, but things are different now. You have to protect your own." Jack was challenging Eric's conviction.
Dana was still sound asleep even with Eric and Jack talking. "Tracy is one of our own, now more so than ever." If you didn't protect those around you, it would be extremely difficult to survive this wasteland.
Jack shook his head, he didn't agree with Eric. After everything that happened recently, Eric couldn't blame him for his wretched outlook. "You can't save everyone, son, and if you lose Dana, you'll never be able to recover."
Eric knew his father was right, but he needed to trust Frank to keep Dana safe. Jason needed help infiltrating the underground base where Tracy was being held captive, and Eric needed to make sure she was still alive. Eric was going to wait until they arrived at Howley to get the passes from Ted, which would allow them to gain access in the Buchans facility. Hopefully Frank would have some form of transportation that they could use to travel through the wintery conditions.
"Do you expect them to return?"
A concerned citizen spoke up from the crowd gathered at the front of Doctor Winston's cabin. Everyone was demanding answers about the intrusion.
"Are they dangerous?"
"What do they want?"
"Are they coming to kill us?"
Voices sprang up from the concerned crowd, and the commotion they caused muddled Frank's weary mind. The medication that Nathaniel had put Frank on made it hard to keep focused. This crowd was like a blaring trumpet roaring in his ear. Even worse, Frank didn't have any concrete answers, only speculation about what they were up to. Without answers, terror and panic spread through the mob quickly, putting everyone on edge. No one was prepared to deal with human threats -- Frank was the only survivor left who knew how to properly use a gun. Adding to the chaos were several new faces in the crowd Frank didn't recognize. Ruth had told him about a group of people who arrived at the gates while Frank had been recovering.
"Listen." Frank's lungs burned in the cold air. "We have to remain calm."
"What happened to Chris and Matthew?"
Their absence had not gone unnoticed. "They died in a car accident, I barely managed to survive." Frank didn't want them to know that he had let the old truck pick up too much speed and spin out of control.
"Did that Viking save you?"
"What caused the accident?"
"Was the Viking already with you?"
Frank had to swallow the truth. "He happened to come across me on the highway and pulled me from the wreckage"
"Was he alone?"
"No, there were two more Vikings." Frank wasn't sure if he should have divulged that information, but it would be hard enough keeping track of his story without changing every small detail.
"Are there more?"
"I don't know, they didn't tell me. I was too near death to worry about that." Frank really had no idea how many Vikings were marauding across the island, pillaging and plundering from the remains of the living. He didn't even know where they were located, but he was convinced it was nearby.
"The man's name was Jarvik. He left without telling me very much." Doctor Winston spoke up from behind Frank.
"You let him go?"
"Why didn't you stop him?"
"What if they come back?"
Frank felt faint, the pain his chest was unbearable, and he could feel the fluid flooding back into his lungs. Frank was glad to let Nathaniel speak on his behalf. Stumbling backwards on the patio deck, Frank found his way into a lawn chair. The wood was still covered with snow, but he didn't care. Frank needed to rest, the world was starting to spin and he felt nauseous.
"I didn't feel the need to stop him. He did everything I asked of him, Jarvik saved Frank's life." Nathaniel was annoyed by the mob. "He's not our prisoner, he's a human being the same as you or me."
"We don't dress like barbaric warriors!"
Frank knew fear had taken deep roots in the community: they were afraid and wanted decisive action. Nathaniel wasn't going to solve this problem when the crowd wanted their leader. They wanted the former chief of police to save them from the villains. But honestly, Frank wasn't sure whose side he was even on. Maybe the Viking had been telling the truth about wanting to live in peace? Even so, it was hard to trust someone who ran around playing Viking.
"What difference does it make? We have no reason to fear them." Nathaniel was trying to calm the mob down but Frank knew only one thing would satisfy them. They wanted the Vikings to be dealt with. Frank would have to find a way to get back on his feet. The wounds suffered during the accident would need time to heal, but Frank was worried that time had already run out. Action needed to be taken now before something terrible happened to his community. Frank had already lost control over some of the members of the town. There were at least eight faces he didn't recognize. These days you didn't know who you could trust or what people were capable of.
Then, as if he didn’t have enough problems, Frank remembered the Pelley compound. If things kept getting worse, he would distract the angry mob with the task of moving into the safety of the walled area. It was much deeper in the woods, but it may be the best course of action. The unsettled people before him had no chance of confronting those Vikings. If the Vikings really were dangerous, those brute savages would rip his community to shreds without breaking a sweat. At least inside those walls, Frank could assemble some sort of defensive roster. He would only need a handful of men to guard the entire compound with a round the clock watch. Maybe some of the new residents would prove capable enough to pitch in.
The metal horseshoes clanked off the pavement as the herd galloped behind the military convoy. Hank struggled to keep the horses at a steady pace and found he was playing catch up with the more seasoned riders. The entire group had stopped in Pasadena to refuel, and the city was virtually deserted. No one bothered them, dead or alive.
Hank wished he had furs draped over him like the rest of the fearless riders. The wind cut through him like a sharp knife, and his bones ached from the extreme cold. Sasha was protected from the wind as Hank's body was shielding her. The warmth of her body was a welcome sensation, but it did little to dull the pain he was experiencing. Frostbite was creeping dangerously close, the tips of his fingers and toes were already numb.
The giant green sign on the side of the highway notified them that the Viking Trail was the next right, and it was only five hundred meters away. The eighteen-wheeler showed no signs of slowing down, the metal plow pushing the snow from the highway as it rumbled towar
ds Howley. They weren't going to stop, which made Hank glad he said his goodbyes earlier. Hank wasn't sure if he would ever see any of those people again. Eric said that they would head to St. Anthony soon, but anything could happen at any moment. Hank nodded his head towards the ambulance, Nick acknowledged the gesture and hit the horn to say goodbye.
The three riders made the turn off -- the city of Deer Lake was close now. Jeffrey warned Hank to be careful near Deer Lake; several thousands [maybe we should go with hundreds?] of zombies still roamed the vacated town. If you needed to pass by, Jeffrey told Hank to stay on the outer roads and avoid travelling on the city streets. The Viking Trail stretched deep into the vast, snow-covered forest, and the sun was poking out from behind the clouds, turning the snow on the road into slush. Hank was starting to wonder if St. Anthony could possibly be as safe as Jeffrey described it. Maybe he should have followed Deputy Jones to Howley? A trail had already been blazed through the snow, but the melted mush made it near impossible to determine what created the path. Guiding the stallion into the middle of the pack, Hank rode alongside Jeffrey. "Looks like somebody already passed through here."
"Probably Jarvik, he was headed to Howley." Jeffrey kept the group moving down the road, the horses easily trudging through the snow. "He went to meet with the leader of a small community there."
"Frank." The Mayor of Howley as Chris had explained; Hank had a lot of respect for the former chief of police.
"You know him?" Jeffrey slowed the pace. The other two riders kept pushing forward, leaving them alone to discuss the revelation.
"I've met him briefly, Eric is headed there now." Hank was getting nervous, was Jeffrey going to warn him about some unknown danger lurking in Howley?
"Good, maybe your friend can help persuade Frank to help us." Jeffrey spurred the stallion on. Hank struggled to keep up the vigorous pace. He was not an accomplished rider like the others. Hank felt apprehensive travelling at such a rapid pace as every jolt threatened to toss him from the saddle. He gripped the reins tightly and gritted his teeth, every muscle in his body tensing with every jostling movement.
David scrutinized the lawn: snow covered what appeared to be hundreds of corpses. David had no way of knowing if the cold bodies littering the lawn were alive or dead, as all he could see were limbs protruding through the top layer. The lawn surrounding the cabin was decorated with morbid lawn ornaments, an extreme demonstration of the army’s efficiency and capability. The shed was tucked away, nearly surrounded by trees, on the far corner of the property. David wasn't sure it was a good idea to cross the open graveyard as any one of those decrepit corpses could still be alive. After searching through six other buildings and finding no reliable transportation, David weighed the risks and decided he would have to take a chance. It was at least twenty kilometres to Corner Brook and the chances of surviving such a long journey on foot would be slim; the highway was full of peril.
The sun was melting the snow. The balmy heat was a sharp contrast from the frigid temperatures David had grown accustomed to from working underground. David's boots sank into the softened crust, his footsteps sinking into the muck below. Each step was tricky, the frigid body parts impeding his progress. Every stride had to be carefully calculated; each exposed limb presented a remote danger. David didn't feel immortal like he once had, he no longer knew his limitations. Fear crept over his thoughts, obscuring his perception of safety.
David stepped on a rigid body part buried underneath the snow, the stiff flesh nearly sending him falling face first into the unknown as his boot slipped on the slick tissue rotting from the bone. David fell clumsily forward, his hands sinking into the snow and digging into thick slime. Pulling his hands out of the snow, he saw they were covered in blackened blood. His fingers had dug into the exposed chest cavity of one of those creatures. The thick liquid was as cold as the snow and barely resembled blood anymore. The zombie must have been fairly old. David recognized the blood had taken on the sludge-like consistency that was found exclusively in the advanced stages of the virus. He learned all the different stages of the virus during years of experimentation.
"Fuck!" David wiped his hands off in the white snow. Removing the greasy mess was a challenge. Fragments of flesh and gore were embedded underneath his fingernails. Normally the odd sensation would have made his skin crawl, but after years of experience cutting up the cadavers it was just annoying now.
Bothered by the strenuous scrubbing and still exhausted by the cold and long journey, David lost control of his emotions. "FUCK!" His booming voice echoed loudly through the woods.
Immediately regretting his impulsive reaction, David scoured his surroundings for any signs of movement. The macabre lawn decorations remained a gruesome vigilant to the military’s thorough annihilation of the dead. Every limb remained a rigid memoriam to the battle that had taken place just yesterday. With the gruesome peace still reigning, David felt more confident in his movements, crossing the war-torn lawn much quicker now that he was sure the cadavers concealed under the blanket of white had been put down for their final rest. The soldiers must have methodically taken care of the undead with their advanced training and calm precision.
The wooden ramp creaked as David made his way towards the door. His colossal frame strained the structural integrity of the worn slope. There was no lock on the door, allowing David to push his way inside the large opening, the massive doors swinging inwards.
A welcome sight was waiting for David in the middle of the shed: two snowmobiles were parked inside. David was instantly drawn towards the newer looking machine -- its red and yellow markings shimmered in the light. The older skidoo looked worn out, the dull hood scratched up and the windshield cracked and broken. The seat was ripped and torn, with duct tape was doing its best to keep the fabric together. David sat on the new machine and sank down into the plush leather. The keys had been left in the ignition; David turned the key and the engine sputtered to life. At first it purred with a slow rumble until David flicked the choke, kicking the motor into full gear. The machine must have been brand new -- the engine ran smoothly, the dashboard lit up, and the tracks looked immaculate.
David squeezed the gas and the skidoo crept forward, the front ski gliding down the incline and over the snow. Easing the snowmobile onto the sloppy snow, the machine sank down into the sludge. David could hear the sickening cracking of bones and splitting sounds as the frozen flesh tore off the rotting corpses. Loud, wet sounds turned his stomach as head and stomach cavities burst open underneath the pressure, brains and blood gushing out over the snow leaving a gory trail behind the skidoo. Cracking bones and rigid body parts made the ride towards the snow-covered beach a bumpy ride. Splintered fragments of the dead skeletons got caught up in the track. Smoke billowed out from underneath the machine as the treads groaned against the gears. David had to cross forty feet of scattered corpses before he was clear of the open graveyard, and the skidoo barely made it across the lawn. Once he was clear of the debris, David had to clear the track and gears of bones, frozen flesh, and grotesque hunks of gory matter.
Once David reached the beach, the ride became much smoother. The frozen sand underneath the snow was much more forgiving than the wasteland surrounding the cabin. Freezing cold water formed a rigid barrier of ice at the edge of the lake, acting like a barricade between the dry land and the ice-cold body of water. David reached the other side of Pinchgut Lake in just two minutes and headed towards the highway. Snow had been piled high along the sides of the road from the plow on the front of the eighteen-wheeler, making the trip towards Corner Brook a bumpy ride. Wrecked cars had been buried underneath the snow banks, making David drive much slower than he wanted to catch up to the military convoy.
"Give me the passes now, Ted, this union ends here. You'd better take care of Tina, you might have her under your thumb, but she's a smart girl. She'll figure you out soon enough." Eric was glad to be rid of Ted. He had never trusted him and the man did nothing but cause conflict between
the group.
Ted handed Eric the three passes to the Pharmakon base in Buchans, giving up the safety of those evil bastards in exchange for the protection of the military and his life. Eric would have killed him on the beach that day he got bitten if it wasn't for Jason's wife being locked in the underground facility. "Good luck." Ted snickered at Eric; he was convinced that Jason and Eric were committing suicide sneaking into Pharmakon.
"Good luck." Eric couldn't help but remember the look on Jessica and Katie's face when they seen how crazy their father behaved. It was only a matter of time before Ted completely lost it all. His mind was slowly slipping away. Every day you could see him losing his grip on reality.
Eric looked back at Jason, who hadn't noticed the exchange with Ted. Jason was too busy discussing strategy with Nick. Eric had to wait until the military was gone before he could tell his friend about the passes that would gain them access to the Pharmakon facility.
"Deputy Jones, I guess this is goodbye." Warrant Smith had snuck up on Eric.
"Keep an eye on Ted, he's losing it," Eric warned the warrant. He desperately wanted to ask for the warrant's help to raid the underground base, but Eric had to make sure that Tracy was safe first. Once Eric got his family to St. Anthony, maybe he would find a way to reach the military base in Argentia.
"I've already noticed that, I certainly will. You take care, if you need anything you know where to find me." Warrant Smith headed back to the large eighteen-wheeler and climbed up into the cab. "I could use a man like you in the Republic of Newfoundland." The thunderous engine roared as it sluggishly picked up speed heading down the highway. Eric scratched his head wondering what the warrant meant by that comment.
Zombies on the Rock (Book 2): The Viking Trail Page 20