Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 3): Mitigation Book 3)

by Sean Schubert

  Several cars had attempted to drive around the roadblock, but had become stuck in the soft, damp earth to either side of the road. There they sat in frozen mud up to and above in some instances the vehicles’ wheel wells, extending the obstruction for several feet and apparently ending any other attempts by motorists to skirt the blockage.

  The bus was like a great barrier wall separating one world from the next. Anything...absolutely anything could have been on the other side and there was only one painfully obvious way to find out what awaited them. And given the extraordinary times through which they were all living, the possibilities were simply frightening to all of them.

  The paralyzing fear stopped their progress dead in its tracks. No one was willing to commit to taking the plunge. There were no heroes standing on that seemingly deserted, cold highway in the middle of nowhere Alaska. They were just tired and hungry people flirting with helplessness and hopelessness.

  They looked each to the other, searching for willing eyes waiting for someone to propel them forward. There was no such will amongst them. This revelation to Neil elicited a weary and defeated smile. He muttered to no one in particular, “I guess I’ll go have a look. If anything...” He cut short his directive. It was unnecessary and understood. It was also just as likely to be ignored as followed, so there was little point.

  “Can...uh...someone help me up onto the side of the bus? The slant seems like it’s maybe climbable. Probably a little safer from there in case... Well, can someone give me a lift?”

  Jerry lowered Claire to the ground, using the side of a car against which to prop her. He and DB knelt with intertwined fingers each making a stirrup for Neil to step up, and they would lift him even further.

  From his perch, Neil took just a moment to survey the area immediately in front of them. He said after a few seconds, “Yeah. I think it’s safe.” And that was all he said, but he smiled, indicating that it was at least, as he said, safe.

  Cautiously, they rounded the bus and picked their way over the now frozen, deep, muddy ruts around the bus’ front end. Feeling like astronauts about to behold the dark side of the moon, they didn’t know entirely what to expect. One could almost hear their collective breath being held in anticipation.

  On the blind side there was...nothing. Well, nothing was a bit of an exaggeration. There were more empty parking spots than there were cars. There was garbage, some of which was stirring in the gathering breeze. There were also what appeared to be two empty buildings.

  Closer to where they were standing sat a small retail shop doing its best to resemble a residential home and not a business. There was an unlit and silent neon Open sign in the window next to the door and a bygone Daily Specials sign lying on its side.

  It was in front of the nearer building where most of the refuse was amassed: empty cardboard boxes, swirling plastic shopping bags, discarded Styrofoam coffee cups, and some odd and end scraps of cloth from blankets or clothing. There was ample evidence of people having been there, but no people currently. Nor were there any zekes or evidence of them; except, of course, the empty desolation left in their consuming wake.

  A little further away was the Begich Boggs building. It sat there with its modern, efficient design and looked out over the frigid Portage Lake. The building’s lines were rigid and straight, with no frivolous angles or superfluous shapes. The gray stone facade resisted all mirthful attempts by its silver metal trim, electing to instead drape the silver with a muted matte finish. The building was not ugly, but was instead a vision of engineered efficiency.

  The only zombie they could see in the entire area was near the larger building. It was a man in a former life. He was wearing casual clothes, a green Alaska sweatshirt and blue jeans. His skin, like the other undead they had encountered, was fast becoming a deathly gray pallor and blending into the dark hue of Portage Lake behind him. He wasn’t moving or exhibiting any other signs that there was a suggestion of life to his limbs. He appeared to be as animated as a stone monument dedicated to days gone by, just waiting outside the main entrance to the visitor center as if his party would join him in the parking lot at any moment. He seemed to be oblivious to the fact that he was being watched.

  To Neil, the creature was pitiful. He couldn’t imagine being any more alone. Like a dog waiting in vain at the door for its deceased master to return home from work, it merely stood and watched and waited. Neil found himself feeling conflicted.

  Perhaps it was Meghan’s death or Dr. Caldwell’s death or...there were just so many deaths for which he felt at least partially responsible and indelibly connected. His sadness ran very deep; so deep that he was barely able to sense it. With all the death that seemed to hover around him and his thoughts, he couldn’t help but succumb to the existential acceptance of his plight. And that acceptance only made him feel pity for the beast that stood so close to the building and yet so far from his stolen humanity. Neil wondered, as he looked at the pitiful creature who had once been a son, a husband, a father, and perhaps more, if there was any more hope for him to hold onto his fading humanity than there was for an infected victim. He was seriously beginning to doubt his fate.

  And up on the side of the bus still, Neil finally began to cry for Meghan. He realized that he was likely crying as much for himself as he was for her, but his silent tears felt refreshing...felt human. The salty drops filled his eyes as he thought back on the weeks he had spent with Meghan. He remembered that hectic first morning at the Fred Meyer and seeing her for the first time. He didn’t think about the reason for his being there or the terror from which he was running. He only thought about talking to her and remembered how glad he was that it was Meghan who had drawn the short straw and was working the early shift that morning. He envisioned the long nights of talking and sharing their lives with one another in the house in South Anchorage, but he couldn’t hear the moaning from the undead outside or their horrific smell anymore. Neil was tortured with the memory of their first kiss and how sweet and perfect it was despite its awkwardness.

  This last remembrance brought a smile to his face. He removed his glove and touched his chapped lips softly with his cold finger as if doing so might somehow help the memory to become more real. He exhaled a long, cleansing breath and wiped the tears from his eyes. He knew that the pain would not recede; not yet anyway. Like the tides, the waters of his grief would ebb when it was time to do so and not before. Anyone who claimed to have control over those powerful emotions was kidding himself and had never actually felt true sorrow.

  Neil whistled quietly to get Jerry’s attention. “There is one zeke over by the visitor center. I think he’s alone, but let’s keep sharp just in case.”

  Jerry was no fool. He could see Neil’s struggle. He asked, “You okay my friend?”

  Neil smiled and looked up at the morose sky but said nothing.

  29.

  The fading afternoon light yielded to the mixed advances of evening and a gathering drizzle. By morning, the rain had become a blowing and growing snowstorm. It was obvious to all of them that winter was set to pounce.

  Though the cold was pervasive, it was somewhat mitigated by the four walls and solid roof of the shop, in which they had elected to stay for the night. Those base comforts, unfortunately, were all that remained to be had. All of the food, including even condiments, had been eaten, the furniture had all been broken down and burned for heat, and the toilet, much to Emma’s disappointment, yielded no toilet paper and a mess so aggressive that none of them dared to go inside. They were, however, mostly dry and not nearly as cold as they would be if they had been forced to sleep outside.

  That first morning, as early as they dared, Emma and Jerry wandered out into the gusting white. They had decided the need to eliminate the ghoul stalking near them was enough of a priority to justify venturing out into the storm.

  As they were leaving, Neil, sitting silently and motionless in a dark corner, caught both of their eyes. He rasped from the shadows, “Make it quick. Ok
ay?”

  Emma smiled and Jerry nodded, but neither spoke.

  Once outside, Jerry said to Emma, “I’m real worried about Neil. He’s taking this awfully hard. I mean, I get it but...”

  Wincing against the blowing wind and snow, Emma said, “I think you should be worried. We all should be. We’ve all expected so much from Neil and he’s always delivered and been willing to step up for us when no one else was. But losing Meghan is gonna take a lot out of him. Believe me when I say that I know where he’s coming from.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Jerry was going to ask how Emma was doing considering Dr. Caldwell’s death was still only a handful of days in the past, but Emma spoke first.

  “No. I don’t think you do. Meghan wasn’t just a girlfriend to Neil. I’m not sure what you would call her after all the changes to what we call a normal life. No. Neil had been kicked so hard by life in the past that all he knew was how to be down...how to be depressed and lower his expectations for what life had to offer. He had given up on himself and his world. Meghan changed all that. Meghan gave him a reason to care and to want to be alive when it probably would have been just as easy to not be. For Neil, Meghan was his renewed belief. And with her gone now, that belief has been rocked once again. I don’t know if Neil is going to be able to find a new reason to keep going and if we keep leaning on him the way we have, well...I just don’t know that we’ll still be able to, I guess.”

  Their discussion came to an abrupt end when they beheld the ghoul. It appeared as if he hadn’t even moved from where he stood the previous day. The weather didn’t seem to have the slightest effect on him. He was still waiting for whatever had stood him in that position in the first place.

  As opposed to Neil who saw sadness and loneliness when he looked at this particular creature, Jerry saw only a monster. He understood Neil’s current sentimentality given his recent loss, but Jerry was not equally affected. He didn’t hesitate. He hefted his trusted rifle to his shoulder, took aim through his scope at his target’s head, and fired.

  The echoing report surprised Neil. He reached over for the shotgun leaned in the corner next to him. He hadn’t expected Jerry and Emma to shoot the zeke, so the gunshot did raise an alarm in his head. When the first shot was not followed by a second, his concern retreated. Given the weather conditions outside, it may have just been a prudent decision by Emma and Jerry to not approach the monster and give it an opportunity to surprise them.

  Obviously, the gunshot caught others’ attention as well. DB hurried to the front door and looked out, confused, into the empty parking lot in front of the building. Duke was right there alongside him as usual. The dog’s hearing was weak enough that he likely did not hear the thunderclap from the rifle, but DB’s urgent movement had caught his attention. Duke stood at the door as ready as any senior citizen might be for whatever was on the other side which had caught his owner’s ear.

  Neil said softly, scarcely more than a whisper, “It’s Emma and Jerry doing some house cleaning near the lake.”

  Without looking back, DB asked, “They gettin’ that thing over by that big building then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Prob’ly a good idea. Can’t have it sneakin’ up on us. We seen any more of ‘em?”

  Neil was slow to respond, perhaps a product of DB’s meandering and unhurried speech pattern. Finally Neil said, “He’s the only one so far, but we all know how that goes. Kind of like finding a shrew running along the floorboards in your house. Where there’s one, there’s bound to be others.”

  DB asked, “So, what’s the plan now?”

  Confused, Neil said, “I’m not following you.”

  DB shifted his position so he could see out the window into other parts of the empty lot in front of him. He said, again without looking at Neil or increasing the speed of his diction, “We still goin’ to try for Whittier?”

  “I don’t see why not. What’s to stop us now? It’s just on the other side of the mountain.”

  DB, his eyes never looking away from the outside, said, “On the other sides of the snow too now. And what about all them folks on the road that you ran down with that big Ram? You think that’s gonna be all of them? Besides, why those people out on the road instead of the other side of the tunnel?”

  Curious about DB’s reasoning, Neil asked, “I still don’t think I’m following you. Doesn’t that mean the tunnel is probably closed? Isn’t that a good thing? Whittier could be clear. It may actually be what we hoped for. Something might finally work out for us. What could be wrong with that?”

  When DB answered, he finally turned to face Neil. “Don’t you see? If that tunnel is closed to them, it’s closed to us too.”

  To this, Neil rose to his feet. He grabbed his shotgun, checked his pockets for more shells, but then thought better of it and grabbed his still full and heavy backpack. He zipped his heavy coat tight, and donned his black, tight-fitting stocking cap. As he readied himself, he muttered with concern, “Jesus. You may be right. What the hell are we gonna...?”

  Neil started to exit the same back door through which Jerry and Emma had gone. “Danny!”

  They boy appeared from another room still yawning and stretching his arms above his head. Looking Danny firmly in the eyes, Neil said to him, “Keep an eye on things for me, will ya?”

  Danny smiled and nodded with his entire body, enthusiastically agreeing despite the sleep that still clung to his eyes. “You can count on me.”

  Danny glanced at DB wondering if he and Duke might be a part of the command but quickly deduced that the directive was strictly meant for him. DB and Duke wandered off, returning from where they had come without another word. Neil and Danny watched the two older “gentlemen” as they plodded out of sight.

  “I know, Danny. I just wanted to.... watch out for Jules. Okay?” Neil didn’t wait for an answer. He was out the door and into the weather without another word.

  Danny was confused by Neil’s display and his disposition. Regardless, he was going to do whatever Neil asked of him. Seeking a source to center his focus, he laid his hands across the small pistol in his zippered jacket pocket and gave his awareness a jolt of energy. And like the first swallow from a strong energy drink or even stronger cup of coffee, he felt his eyes open wide and his senses become alert.

  He looked at the closed door a bit longer for no reason other than savoring the moment. He broke his trance and floated into the room where Claire, Jules, Nikki, and Paul were all still sleeping. Della was there too, humming a quiet tune and working her hands rhythmically in front of her. If she had yarn and needles, she would have been knitting. As it was, she was simply turning and twisting her hands into a swirling vortex of fingers and palms.

  Danny surveyed the room itself, measuring any vulnerabilities the way he assumed Neil would do. In so doing, he realized Alec was absent, though he had been in the room the night before. He whispered to himself, “Where’s Alec?”

  Without looking up, Della answered, either unaware of or disinterested in the rhetorical nature of the query. “Steve? He like to sleep alone when he can. He probably found a closet or somethin’ to sleep in. I guess he just got used to bein’ alone ‘fore he found Steve out on the road. Some people get into those kinda’ habits and they just can’t shake ‘em. You know?”

  Della’s using the moniker Steve as a name for every male she encountered forced a level of confusion into every interaction with her. Having heard Alec’s story though, Danny figured Della meant that Alec probably got accustomed to sleeping alone in the tight spaces for security before he encountered DB and Duke. He acknowledged Della’s comment and then quietly sat next to her below the window that was providing a stark, dull glow in the room.

  Della, her eyes ever fixed on her twisting hands, asked calmly, “You worried ‘bout Steve goin’ out by hisself?”

  “Yeah,” was all Danny could manage. It suddenly felt like he was talking to his Sunday school teacher, who was a very proper and strict man at his ch
urch. Whether Danny had more to say or not was immaterial. His brain found itself unwilling to venture into multi-syllabic territory, let alone into multiple word responses. That’s not to say that either Della or his teacher were bad or angry or intimidating. Well, intimidating was perhaps a fair description, but it wasn’t rooted in fear. Danny simply, in both cases, inferred from their dispositions that short, directed responses were what was needed and expected.

  Della adjusted the phantom yarn and began to work her phantom needles into a new pattern. She said without the slightest rise in her inflection or emotion, “That Steve, he a smart one. If, that is, he don’t forget where or who he is.”

  Danny felt like he was talking to Yoda who spoke in riddles. He wanted to ask Della what she meant when she said that Neil needed to remember who he was. However, he didn’t sense there was an opportunity to seek clarification from her at the moment. He was finding himself being drawn into her twisting hands.

  Watching her dark flesh whirl and spin into and around itself was mesmerizing. Danny watched the undulating vortex and listened to her deep, chesty humming until that was all he could sense. The room was no longer cold, the harsh light was forgotten, and he felt oddly at ease.

  Her tune filled his head and then the room with its earthy presence. The gentle purr resonated in his chest in the same way that the idling engine of his father’s John Deere lawnmower did when he leaned against it. He felt the buzzing travel south until it was producing pleasant sensations for him in his genitals. He was awash in the pleasant malaise and didn’t notice when he fell back into sleep like the others in the room.

  Della’s song continued to fill the room, hoping to hold the uncertainty and questions of the day’s early light at arm’s length. She hummed a tune that tempted dawn’s early light out from its slumber, beckoning the day to begin.