Winter Cove

by Skye Knizley

  Three desks complete with new-looking computers, the latest in voice-over -internet phones and pinned duty rosters sat in front of the main display. All of the screens were broken, the computers had been smashed and someone had taken out their aggression on the phones, which were so badly damaged they were good for nothing but scrap.

  Rylee tapped some of the keys as if it would make the machines come back to life. “This is a strange little town, Riv. A Podunk hospital with state of the art facilities, a police station with more hardware than a battleship and men armed with weapons and gear that even Force Recon hasn’t been issued. What’s next, a UFO?”

  River moved closer to the main display. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  Without the computers she couldn’t access the map directly, but she could see where almost everything in town was located. Even the small local airport, which was no more than a single runway, was highlighted in red. Further north and west, however, was another airstrip that was in a valley high up in the mountains, barely visible even to the satellite. A label indicated it was Ravenstein USAAF Field, which meant it was a relic of the Second World War. It seemed strange there would be another, apparently larger, airfield on the island. What use could they have for two airports on an island smaller than Las Vegas?

  “Whatcha looking at?” Rylee asked.

  River pointed. “There is an airfield outside of town, maybe a mile from that crashed plane. My gut tells me it took off from there and had some kind of failure just after.”

  Rylee fished in her bag. “It doesn’t look big enough for that big transport.”

  “It is hard to tell, but it makes more sense than anything else. The Winter Cove airport is for small transports and the runway is on the wrong axis for how the plane crashed,” River replied.

  Rylee pulled out her tablet and started pressing keys.

  “What are you doing?” River asked.

  “Something illegal,” Rylee said. “The map isn’t live, but the local network still is.”

  She pressed another key and the high definition display suddenly changed and zoomed in on Ravenstein airfield. As soon as the view got close enough to discern any details, it suddenly changed to black squares that obscured everything.

  “That’s weird,” Rylee said. “I can get Area 51 on my laptop back home.”

  River pulled a map off the wall and circled the approximate area of Ravenstein. “Unless you have a better idea, I think we should check it out.”

  Rylee looked at the display. “I don’t really see any alternative.”

  She paused and looked at the tablet in her hand. The view on the big screen whirled out of focus and returned to the original view before zooming into another area of the island. The label was simply “Crater Lake,” and it showed a large lake, perhaps a mile in diameter.

  River frowned at the screen. “What did you find?”

  Rylee pointed at the lake. “That isn’t in Maine.”

  “What do you mean? It’s right there on the map,” River said.

  Rylee rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know. But among my many hobbies is an addiction to PinIt, a website where you can save random pictures. During a moment of weakness when you were deployed I created a whole collage of weird places in the United States. And I can promise you that Crater Lake isn’t in Maine and it certainly isn’t on an island.”

  “Can you get closer?” River asked.

  Rylee nodded and her fingers danced over the tablet. The view on the screen zoomed in until the surface of the lake was visible as were the buildings. Whoever had done the work was a master of Photoshop, but even so it was just possible to read, “Crater Lake Oregon” on a handful of barely legible signs.

  “So what is really there?”

  Rylee looked at her. “Maybe what we’re looking for. Should we check it out or head for the airstrip?”

  River leaned against the wall and rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted and needed rest, but the longer they waited, the more time the sec-men had to do whatever it was they were going to do. They had threatened to let Richie die and burn the bodies just a few hours ago.

  “I don’t know, Rylee,” she said. “Neither should be here, but both are. Which do you think?”

  Rylee looked back at the display. By the look on her face, the twist of her lips and forehead, River knew she was thinking.

  “The road to the lake looks clear and wider than the road to the airport…”

  She trailed off and pressed more keys on her tablet. “What does that Typhoon thing weigh?”

  River straightened and looked at the map. Rylee had zoomed in on a small bridge in the middle of the woods.

  “Forty-thousand pounds or more,” she said.

  “Does that look like it will support a vehicle that big? I mean, would you drive across it?”

  “Hell no,” River said. “They must have taken them to the lake.”

  She looked back at Rylee and smiled. “Nice work, babes.”

  Rylee beamed. “See? I’m more than just a pretty face in a nurse costume.”

  River laughed and hefted her gear. “Let’s go, naughty nurse. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can examine me.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  River stepped over the broken glass and shattered doors of the police station and looked out at the storm. The snow was no longer falling in sheets, but the wind had picked up and lightning danced across a sky that swirled and churned in the black night. Cloud funnels, small tornado-like wisps that capered and jumped above the water, crackled with energy and threatened to swamp the few boats still afloat.

  “I’ve never seen a storm like this,” Rylee said.

  River shook her head. “Me, either. I’m damn certain that lightning isn’t supposed to be green.”

  She crossed to where she’d parked the Raptor and threw her new duffel into the back seat. The armory had been almost empty, but she’d found a new M90 shotgun and a few boxes of ten-gauge shells. She and Rylee had also cobbled together an assortment of other gear they thought might be useful in their rescue attempt. Everything from rope to aerosol bandages was added to the bag, any of it might be useful in the coming days.

  She heard a noise from somewhere nearby and she froze. Eyes, yellow and feral, peered out of the shadows between the buildings across the street. Dozens of the strange zombies lurked in the gloom across the street, almost as if they had been waiting for her and Rylee.

  She picked up the shotgun and stepped into the street. “Rye, get in the truck.”

  Rylee was still in the alcove outside the police station, holding her phone as if she was taking video of the sky. “What’s wrong?”

  “More of them. Get in the truck, hurry!” River said, her voice still pitched low.

  Rylee turned and saw the pack of creatures scuttling in the shadows. She pulled her own weapon and backed away, but River knew she wouldn’t be fast enough. River stepped forward and squeezed the trigger of the M90. The big close assault weapon kicked like a mule, but she held on and fired shot after shot into the mob. Blood, mucus and brains sprayed across the wall behind them as they fell in groups of two and three, helpless before the weapon’s fury.

  River’s attack gave Rylee the time to get to the truck. She slid behind the wheel and started the engine.

  “Let’s boogie, babes!” she yelled.

  River dove into the back seat and slammed the door behind her. “Go!”

  The truck accelerated away, fishtailing under power. One of the scurrying zombies jumped onto the running board and smashed his face into the window, leaving a smear of bloody slime. River resisted the urge to shoot him through the glass and instead opened the door. She then kicked it with both feet. The impact was enough to send him spilling to the pavement where the truck’s rear tire smashed his head like an overripe melon.

  River closed the door again and s
tarted reloading the shotgun. It was a devastating, but only held nine shots. She’d emptied it in a matter of seconds. “Head up Main Street past the hospital and take a left.”

  “That might be a little easier said than done,” Rylee said.

  River felt the truck decelerate and looked up to see that the road had been blocked by one of the Typhoon vehicles. Unlike the first, which had been outfitted as a troop transport, this one looked like it had been to hell and back. Its body was covered in thick armored plates and two flamethrowers mounted fore and aft spat napalm at the infected that surrounded them. Anything that came within their circle of hell was instantly turned into a few pounds of ash and super-heated blood. There were so many dead and burned that the snow had been turned black with their ash.

  “Good God,” River breathed.

  The attack stopped as suddenly as it had begun, leaving the Typhoon sitting in the middle of a circle of dry pavement. The two armored men operating the flamethrowers sat motionless, their blank facemasks staring at the Raptor. River felt as if their gaze was somehow looking straight into her soul and she shivered. Whoever these men were, they were pure evil.

  “Is there a way around?” Rylee asked.

  “No,” River said. “Beach Street dead-ends at the shore behind us.”

  She leaned over the seat and pointed at the narrow alley between two of the Beach Street businesses. “Go through there. It has to lead somewhere.”

  The alley was a tight fit, but Rylee managed to guide the truck through and into the lane that ran behind the buildings. The next block was a parking lot for beach-goers and those of a nautical bent looking to take their small boats out for the afternoon. In the summer it would have been choked with vehicles even this late. Now it was nothing but a snow-covered expanse broken only by the footprints of the wandering infected. The truck crashed through the half-height fence that surrounded the lot and accelerated toward the northern edge where it met Main Street. Halfway across, River saw they were surrounded by a snowbank almost six feet high. The city hadn’t bothered to plow the entrance to the parking lot. She pointed at the blocked exit.

  “No.”

  Rylee gave a lopsided smile. “Yes.”

  River put a hand on Rylee’s shoulder. “No−”

  The truck lurched under acceleration and Rylee punched through the gears.

  “Yes!”

  River’s voice was hard, authoritative. “No!”

  Rylee gripped the steering wheel. “I’m driving!”

  The truck hit the snowbank at something close to eighty miles an hour. Without slowing, the powerful four-wheel-drive vehicle climbed the snowbank and leapt over the top. River felt a sickening lurch of weightlessness then the jarring impact of the truck hitting the ground on the other side. A large brick building loomed ahead of them and she let out an uncharacteristic scream. Rylee spun the steering wheel like a rally driver and the truck slid away from the building. The tailgate clipped a car parked on the street and they spun back the other way before coming to a stop in the middle of the road.

  Rylee turned in her seat. “Are you okay?”

  River swallowed the bile in the back of her throat and croaked, “Fine. Peachy.”

  Rylee opened her mouth to say, River knew, something sarcastic, but was distracted by something outside. River turned to see the Typhoon rolling toward them. It was a slow vehicle, but it had a lumbering quality that said ‘I won’t stop for anything’.

  “Time to go!” Rylee said.

  River was thrown backward by the acceleration and struggled to sit back up. A gout of flame shot past the window and she ducked away again. The heat was so intense she could feel it through the window. Another fountain of flame caressed the back of the truck and the fiberglass lid began to smoke then burn with a bright orange flame.

  “We’re on fire,” River yelled.

  “You think? Keep your panties on!”

  River was dumped to the floor as the truck swerved and barreled down a side street heading east across town. She recovered and pulled the fire extinguisher out from beneath the seat.

  “Hold us steady for a few seconds!”

  She opened the rear window and crawled out onto the bed cover, which was now engulfed in flames. She rose onto her knees and started spraying the flames, hoping the small extinguisher would do the job.

  “What the hell are you doing? Get back in here!” Rylee called. “There’s a curve ahead!”

  The extinguisher gasped its last, leaving the bed cover a melted, smoking, but no longer flaming wreck. River tossed the canister aside and slithered back into the truck just as Rylee was forced to slow and drift the Raptor around a sharp corner. River again fell backwards into the footwell. Her head bounced off the steel door and her vision dimmed. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs and pulled herself onto the seat. Behind them the Typhoon was falling away, it didn’t have a prayer of keeping up with the lighter, more nimble pick-up.

  Once the Typhoon had vanished into the snow behind them, Rylee slowed down and turned onto a side road, out of sight of the pursuing Typhoon.

  “Did you break anything?” she asked.

  River rubbed the growing bump behind her ear and made a face. “I have a new lump, but I’m alive. Where are we?”

  “About a mile into town, pretty much on the edge of what passes for civilization out here. I’m heading back toward Main Street, that should take us to Mountain Road and out toward that lake,” Rylee said.

  River squirmed into the front seat then reached back to grab the shotgun, which she then held between her knees.

  “That’s what the map said. I just hope we can find Richie and Jody.”

  Rylee took her hand. “We’ll find them, I’m married to GI Jane.”

  “Hardly. I’m a glorified truck driv− Look out!”

  Ahead of them, a man dressed in a brown coat with the hood pulled over his head and a sword on his shoulder had stepped into the street. He held up a hand in the traditional ‘stop’ gesture and just stood there. Rylee pumped the brakes and the Ford slid sideways. It stopped so close to the man that River could have kissed him had the passenger window been down. She watched as the man lowered his hood. His skin was pale, not the ashen complexion of the infected, and his eyes were clear blue, like the ocean in summer.

  He smiled. “River and Rylee Hunter, we have much to discuss.”

  ***

  The man, whose name turned out to be Howard, lived in a large manor house at the edge of Main Street, almost directly across the street from where he’d stepped out in front of their truck. It had only taken River a few moments to agree to visit his home and listen to what he had to say. According to Howard (he’d said to call him Howie) he’d lived in Winter Cove most of his life. If anyone could give them insight into what was going on, River was willing to listen.

  Rylee hadn’t been quite so agreeable, but the promise of a warm drink and a chance to use a restroom was enough to convince her to follow Howie to his home. The house was bigger than many in town and harkened back to the days when the village had been more a haven for pirates and whalers than a tourist attraction. It was a three story “whaling Victorian” with a widow’s walk and balcony, painted white with black trim. All of the lower windows had been covered in wood as if for a storm and the door was barred with a heavy wooden beam locked in place. Howie unlocked the beam and set it aside without apparent effort, then opened the door. River entered first with Rylee close behind. Howie brought up the rear where he barred the door from the inside, but did not lock it.

  “You may leave at any time,” he said as he shrugged out of his coat.

  The foyer of the house was nestled between an old-fashioned parlor that didn’t look as if it had been used recently and an office so jammed with old books and papers one could barely move within. Howie hung his coat on a rack by the door and led the way down a wide
hallway to the kitchen. As they walked, River and Rylee looked at the pictures on the wall. Many were dated from the late 1800s and had been taken in various places in Massachusetts, including one taken beneath the gates of Miskatonic University. Something about that photo rang a bell in the back of River’s mind, but her train of thought was derailed by the smell of hot cocoa and fresh bread. She and Rylee followed the scent into the kitchen, where Howie was pouring mugs from a kettle.

  “The bread is a little burned,” he said over his shoulder. “I was off on my predictions and tried to keep it warm. It is still a treat with the cocoa, try some.”

  On the table was a fresh-cut loaf of bread beside a pot of honey-butter. Plates had been set for each of them complete with glasses of water.

  “How did you−?” River asked.

  Howie smiled and placed the mugs of cocoa beside two of the plates. “I saw you would come. I…know things.”

  Rylee did a sort of ‘I have to pee’ shuffle. “Do you know where the bathroom is?”

  “My apologies, Ms. Rylee. Down the corridor, first door on the left. There are fresh towels in the warmer, if you like,” Howie replied.

  Rylee kissed River’s cheek and whispered, “If I’m not back in five, call the rest of the Marines.”

  She left to use the restroom and River turned back to Howie, who was buttering a slice of bread for himself.

  “What’s going on?” River asked.

  Howie bit into the bread and chewed for a moment. “That is a difficult question. Many things have happened. The sun came up, birds tweeted, continents drifted closer together and the moon moves just a hair farther away than it was yesterday.”

  He pulled out a chair and offered it to River. “If you mean what is going on here, I am offering you a warm place to rest before you continue on the futile quest to save your friends from Sentynil.”

  River chose to remain standing. “Why do you say futile?”

  Howie smiled. It was a genuine, warm smile as a father to his child. “Because, my dear River, it is. By now your friends are within the belly of the beast, figuratively speaking. The odds of rescuing them are, well, not good. Your efforts would be better spent trying to stop Sentynil’s misguided efforts than saving your friends. But I know that will not dissuade you. Please, sit. Your cocoa is getting cold.”