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

by Sean Schubert

  The steel gray skies overhead were eagerly yielding to the forceful advances of evening. It would be dark soon which meant that nearly a day had passed since they had been taken. A lot had happened but Claire was more concerned about what was still to come. Darkness and the night had long been associated with misdeeds and evil. Perhaps it was the anonymity of darkness that encouraged the evil deeds of men. There was little to no accountability beneath a concealing shroud.

  If torment was one of Claire’s concerns, she needn’t bother with her worries. She stood in the back of the truck for a handful of moments before she was dragged out by a tangle of grabbing hands. She heard someone say gruffly, “She killed Slade?” and then, “Yeah. Shot him full o’holes.” And finally, “Sullivan’s gonna be pissed.” The last comment made by several different voices was met with a concerned hush.

  The kids were all pulled away from her and led somewhere out of her sight. She was being carried away by her outstretched arms and legs. Countless hands found their way under her loose shirt, pinching at her skin and roughly rubbing the feminine curves held beneath her cotton bra. Claire tried to ignore the gruffness of the touching. She was in a loading bay of some sort at the back of a building. In the area around the bay, the other cars of the convoy had joined still other cars and trucks all parked in a fenced parking lot. That was all she was able to see before she was carried through two sets of double doors.

  Claire was carried through a series of doors and hallways, lined with lockers and other doors, and came to the realization that she was in a school. She wondered to which school she had been taken but ultimately it didn’t matter. Her scared eyes scanned the walls and doorways for any recognizable banners or names which might give her a clue. Her wondering was cut short, however, when she was stopped and handcuffed to a hospital gurney in a room with a single panel of working overhead fluorescent lights illuminated faintly by a lone bulb. The scant light buzzed and flickered as the failing exposed bulb resisted burning itself out like all of the others which sat around it like lifeless glass skeletons. To her right, was a counter with a couple of sinks and to her left was a series of large, heavy workbench-like stations. It looked like a shop room or some other technical classroom.

  She felt alone and scared, but her sense of isolation was short-lived. She heard someone clearing his throat from over in a dark corner just out of her sight. She tried to angle her head so that she could see better, but it was for naught. He was in a blind spot intentionally.

  He spoke with a quiet menace. “I hear you killed my cousin. Damned shame really. He was always braver than he was smart. Me, I woulda’ sent in someone else to take the first bullets. I understand it was at least quick for him. I guess I could judge that as a kindness...but I won’t. You see, Slade was the only family I had left in the whole world. He wasn’t much, but he was mine. Sounds kinda like a bumper sticker. Doesn’t it? Well, I promised his mother that I’d take care of her boy. Aunt Lilly was always my favorite, so I meant it when I promised it to her. And it didn’t change my mind or my promise when I drove the business end of a ball-peen hammer into her skull and left her to gurgle and spit her last filthy breaths in the middle of her fucking kitchen either.”

  She heard him take a drag from a cigarette and then fill the small partitioned room with smoke. He said in the same, disturbingly calm voice, “Now you’re wondering if I killed her before or after the shit hit the fan. To me, it doesn’t really matter. Never really did.” He paused and took a drag from his cigarette. The smoke twisting in lazy circles above her head was the only evidence, other than the icy voice, that she wasn’t alone.

  His voice, playing in the shadows like the dark echoes of a cave, whispered, “People say that tragedy...war and such...can bring out the best and the worst in people. I like to think that maybe all that’s happened is that I can just be me finally.”

  Claire wanted to crane her neck around so that she could see better, but decided against it. She was afraid that such a position might look too compromised and might invite unwanted attention. A moment later, she realized the attention was coming her way whether she wanted it or not.

  She didn’t hear him approach and had no way to expect it when her cheek, just below her eye, began to sizzle and burn from a cigarette cherry pressed against it. Her surprise came close to suppressing the pain; but when the momentary adrenaline surge subsided, Claire’s skin screamed in pain. She tried to withhold her shriek, but it forced its way out anyway.

  Through the pain and her terror, Claire heard and glimpsed a flame sparking to life from a Zippo lighter. She heard a long pull from another cigarette and waited for his next move.

  42.

  On the far side of the fenced area at the back of the school, Danny shielded Jules, Nikki, and Paul from a voracious, growling, gray-skinned beast. The chain links separating the zekes from the four of them didn’t seem nearly strong enough as it sagged and bowed like a sheet of sail in the wind. But as they backed away from the one fence, they only drew closer to the one behind them, which had more of the hungry ghouls waiting on the other side.

  The children had been placed in the center kennel of a block of dog kennels atop a cold slab of wet concrete which had once been basketball courts. Sitting at the epicenter of the demons’ attention, Danny’s stomach was churning and turning as the undeads’ sonic buzz became unbearable.

  Just short of whimpering, Jules said softly, “I’m real scared, Danny.”

  “Me too.”

  “What are we gonna do?”

  Danny didn’t hesitate a second before he answered with as much reassurance as possible, “Neil will come for us. You just wait and see. Neil will get us outta here.”

  The tears coming now, Jules asked, “But what if he doesn’t?”

  “He’ll come,” Danny promised her. “He always comes. You’ll see.”

  By that time, they had all started crying as they moved by inches forward and back, staying just out of reach of the snapping, snarling jaws only so many inches from their own faces. A particularly nasty wet, guttural groan that reeked of waste and decay oozed through the fence behind them, making them all jump nervously.

  In their terror, none of the children could hear the wicked laughter coming from a scattered few spectators enjoying the sport. They also couldn’t see the handful of people, mostly women and old, demoralized men, who walked aimlessly around the loading bay area. They didn’t appear to be prisoners, but they were anything but free. They appeared to be moving and stacking stores of supplies in cardboard boxes, wooden crates, and aluminum tins which were unloaded from a series of trucks. It wasn’t necessarily back breaking labor, but it was enough to keep them occupied and gave them purpose.

  If Danny and Jules had been able to see Alec, they might have been jealous, but there was really no need. Alec was at least inside and away from immediate harm, but he was far from safe from his own anguish.

  He was first tied down to a hard, wooden bench and was subjected to a form of water boarding by a man everyone called Carter, whom Alec had seen in charge of the operation in which he had been abducted. Carter would alternate between administering the torture himself and directing others in the proper method. Carter was a tall, dark man with black hair and eyes to match. He always wore a black tee shirt and snug, black Levi’s. His arms were thick and wiry, the many tendons and veins throughout showing through his skin in many places. The mint scented chewing tobacco forever tucked in his front lip preceded his presence. Alec began to dread the aroma because when it became stronger he knew that a new level of suffering was about to be introduced.

  This went on for hours, during which he was denied rest or even reprieve from his suffering. Later he was beaten with bamboo sticks while wildly loud music was played directly into his ears from ear buds which were held in place by tightly wrapped layers of duct tape. The water, the music, the pain, and the deprivation all took their toll on him until he was completely pliable.

  Alec was bruised a
nd bloodied, but Carter was always careful not to actually hurt the boy. They needed more loyal troops and someone like Alec was a very good potential recruit. It was all about applying the right amount of pressure and then offering a seemingly generous and protective hand.

  The time it took for Carter to turn Alec’s allegiance was amazingly short. The boy’s exhaustion and hunger contributed in no small part to the easy success in making him join with his new brothers. Of course, under the conditions in which Alec had been kept, time lost its distinction. It became soft and doubtful.

  Poor Alec’s already fragile soul was incapable of resisting such torture and so he did the only thing his broken mind could think to do. He became one of them in a matter of hours, but Alec Houser had actually fled, never to return again. Alec Houser ceased to exist.

  43.

  The place to which Claire and the children had been taken was indeed a school. It was once Skyview High School, although it would barely be recognized as that now. Once a place of learning and community, it was now a bunkered fortress...a redoubt in the wilderness.

  As a structure, it was as far removed from its original purpose as it possibly could be. The people, too, were different. At first, they were just frightened souls hiding from the gathering threats of doom.

  They hid behind locked doors and closed windows, hoping such simple measures would suffice. That’s how it was all over the area. No one knew what was happening or how to prepare for it.

  When people from Kenai and Soldotna began to flee from the undead uprising which seemed to be spreading from Anchorage like a swarm of locusts threatening to consume anything and everything in its path, some people flocked to the local schools and government agencies. That was just what people did. When trouble began to percolate and build, local police stations, firehouses, borough and city government offices, and schools saw their parking lots begin to fill with concerned, scared people who sought protection and answers.

  As the plague spread its evil fingers into Soldotna and then Kenai, those sites became ghoul magnets. All of the people seeking protection and all the public servants trying to find answers became fodder for the slaughter.

  Skyview High School, just south of Soldotna’s city center, saw a few desperate souls make their way there as well, though its location led to far fewer people congregating there. In fact, most people, once they were on the highway heading south, drove right past the high school and continued toward Homer, which sat at the far end of the road more than an hour away. What none of the people who sought refuge at the school could have known was that it was the sparse numbers of people hiding there which helped keep them largely off of the proverbial butcher’s block.

  The couple dozen people who did come to Skyview waited for a short while and watched the news from televisions or the numerous computers throughout the school. When the news feeds from Anchorage stopped broadcasting, they all rightly feared the worst. Some decided to venture south while others decided to weather the hard times in the sanctuary they had found.

  Some had barely survived encounters with the undead, escaping with just their lives while others close to them hadn’t been so lucky. They shared their stories and their sorrow. The talking and story-telling also motivated all of them. They knew their safety would require some work on their parts.

  Taking it upon themselves to protect their location, a few of the men and women at the school wandered out into the back parking lot where several full sized school buses were parked. Luckily, the keys had been left in the ignitions, so the buses were moved to make a horseshoe shaped enclosure around the front doors. Outward facing windows on the first floor were fortified with whatever materials could be found. They all did their best to prepare themselves and their new, temporary home for the storm that was headed their way. They had food and water for the time being and felt somewhat secure, though the weapons they had were minimal at best.

  With the handful of hunting rifles and various caliber pistols they had, a few felt comfortable enough to venture out into the abandoned edges of Soldotna. They grabbed some lumber and other building materials from a home improvement store on the far side of the river. Some close encounters with the aggressive living dead had all of them second guessing the purpose and the efficacy of the excursions, though their needs seemed to be increasing by the day.

  Survivors traveling the treacherous roads found the oasis and hope in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness on the highway between Soldotna and Homer. The handful of lost souls grew to a sizeable group of more than two dozen and their secured compound continued to grow. They found generators to power refrigerators and electric heaters. A Community Health Aide established a clinic of sorts in the school nurse’s office and kept it stocked with supplies pillaged from a local clinic and nearby drug stores. While it would be a stretch to call it a thriving community, the little village was stable and relatively safe.

  Of course, their activity attracted the attention of a zombie or two on several occasions but those few threats were dealt with and disposed of immediately. The first couple stumbled down the long drive connecting Skyview with the highway and looked simply confused at first. The two horrific ghouls, watched by a group of survivors sitting on top of one of the buses, appeared less and less normal the closer they got. Some folks thought that perhaps the creatures would lose interest when they realized they couldn’t breach their defenses and then wander off. Others entertained ideas of possibly helping the poor souls. The debate continued for quite some time.

  After listening to the pair of fiends pound their fists and heads into bloody messes against one of the buses and showing no signs of slowing or realizing anything for a few hours, several men armed with baseball bats taken from a gymnasium equipment room ventured outside their wall. The men formed an arc around the still focused attackers and then waited for the creatures to turn. When the beasts did finally turn about, there was no hesitation on their part. The ghouls leapt at the men fearlessly. Their charge was unexpected and caused panic in a couple of the men. The rabid, thrashing devils fell upon one of the unfortunate men and immediately began to bite and claw at his arms, neck, and face.

  The other men started to pummel the two attackers with their bats, but nothing seemed to discourage them. Finally, one of the men hit one of the zombies atop his skull and all of its fighting and biting fury stopped. The other creature was dispatched similarly, but not before the man beneath him had stopped struggling. Upon closer inspection, it was discovered that the brutalized man had also expired.

  While the men discussed how to discard the bodies, their comrade who had fallen stood back on his feet. The other men took several steps back in surprise. At first, there was a pause during which no one knew what to do. When the recently dead man lifted his head and looked at the others, every shred of humanity had faded from his eyes, having been usurped by primal hunger. He lunged but was met with a flurry of aluminum and wood as the men swung their bats furiously, their arms fueled with adrenaline and fear. They swung and swung until every bone in the dead man’s body was broken, including his skull, which had been pounded nearly flat. Looking at him afterward, they realized they would need snow shovels or some other tool to scoop up the remains.

  Fear was still an issue for all of them, but they did their best to hold it outside of their walls, like a fairytale castle of good holding its ground in a dark forest of evil. Knowing how to deal with the monsters emboldened everyone, but when they ventured outside the relative safety of the walls, no one felt anything other than anxious, exposed, and vulnerable.

  When Colonel Braxton Edwin Arlen Ross, or Colonel Bear as he preferred, arrived with his organized militia in their military vehicles, with their military look, and, perhaps most strikingly, their military firearms, things began to change quickly. The little community became much more ordered and more secure. Their perimeter expanded with the adding of a fenced area around the loading bay and part of the basketball courts nearby and their numbers continued to gr
ow. Actual building projects, requiring raw building materials, began to emerge. Their growing needs meant additional trips into town, which meant more danger and a greater reliance upon the militiamen or, more to the point, their firearms and other military equipment.

  Other changes were taking place too. When the community first emerged, it was an organic group with each doing his or her part based upon the skills and experience that each brought to the collective. Everyone had an equal voice, because everyone had an equal share of the risk. Of course there was friction when personalities or opinions clashed, but compromise helped all of them to survive despite all the odds against it.

  The stratification that occurred after the militia’s arrival was fairly subtle at first but very steady. It didn’t take long before Colonel Bear was calling all the shots. Sometimes, decisions seemed to be made strictly on his whim, without an apparent care to the possible outcomes. For instance, when the Colonel decided that the civilians would be better protected if they were all moved from the individual classrooms they had claimed early during the crisis and into the library, he didn’t ask and no one put up much of a public objection. It wasn’t that the library was any more or less uncomfortable than the classrooms, but there didn’t seem to be any reasonable purpose other than to give the militiamen a greater range of options for their own accommodations. Put quite simply, there were those with guns and the willingness to use them and then there was everyone else.

  Still reeling from the dramatic and terrifying shifts in their world, the original residents of the bastion were hard pressed to find their voice of protest. For the most part, they simply nodded their heads and consented to the Colonel’s directives. Safety, after all, was foremost on their minds at the time.