by Frank Martin
Eric opened the door just in time for the two men to pile inside and flop down on the couch the captain had been sitting on. Despite two new arrivals, the commotion at the back of the building never missed a beat, but Captain Hitchens was almost disturbed by Charlie's appearance.
Beads of sweat completely drenched his face and he looked exhausted from an incredible amount of pain. He relaxed his body and sunk into the couch, completely drained from ill fatigue. Mr. Brooks then did the same, but he was probably just tired from having dragged the large man through several feet of snow.
The sound of the snowplow shifting into gear rung out before the machine backed down the mountain. But Captain Hitchens ignored it as he carefully surveyed the two men before him, both of whom appeared as if they had just escaped a warzone. "Are you all right?"
Mr. Brooks answered the pilot in between his heavy breaths. "Does it look like we're fucking all right?"
After years of working for him, Eric still felt uncomfortable by his boss' attitude but hid it well behind a face of concern. "What happened?"
Scott sat up in his seat and leaned forward, staring at Eric with a look of frustrated disbelief. "You don't know what's going on out there? I thought you heard me on the radio?"
"No. We don’t have one in the building."
Brooks jumped off the couch, throwing his hands in the air and stomping around the room in a frenzy. "Holy shit blizzard! It's like a wintery Vietnam down there. White Charlies jumping out of snow banks and everything."
The group in the back of the terminal stopped their conversation, all turning one by one to face the strange, loud man. Only one of them, a young female pilot with short black hair, recognized him. She let out a sigh before leaving the group to join her boss on the other side of the building.
Her movement grabbed Scott's attention, and he turned to see the young woman approaching him. "Good. The female you is ready. Now let's go. Cause' we gotta get the fuck outta here."
Janet answered her boss just as she reached the couch. "We can't leave."
"What're you talking about?"
Ms. Thorn opened her mouth to speak, but Eric quickly cut in to divert their boss' frustration onto him. "That's what I wanted to tell you. We can't take off in this storm?"
"You're shitting me, right? We've left in blizzards before."
The captain shook his head in response. "Not from this airport.”
Once again resuming his eccentric tantrum, Brooks threw his arms around and pointed out the window towards the runway covered in snow. "Bullshit. I own the fucking plane. If I want it to fly it better goddamn fly. So grab your wings and let's go!"
As a typical bully, Scott Brooks stomped passed his pilot and over to the runway door. But this was one time Captain Hitchens wouldn't give in to his cocky boss' demands. He stood his ground and shouted out to Mr. Brooks, who was already on the other side of the building. "We'll crash."
Scott stopped in his tracks and remained still for a moment before slowly turning around. He then silently stared back at the captain while everyone in the room curiously kept their eyes on him. Even Charlie Young, still weak and covered in sweat, had sat up and peeked over the back of the couch, eagerly awaiting his response.
But when the egotist failed to speak, Captain Hitchens continued on. "Not maybe. Not possibly. Not even most likely. If we try to take off from this airport in this storm: We. Will. Crash. Guaranteed. It's as simple as that."
The eyes in the room shifted back to Scott, waiting for him to blow up in a tantrum of rage. But after a few moments of silence, the renowned hothead simply took a deep breath and calmly said his response. "Well... fuck."
***
In a million years, Marshal Travis Walker never thought he'd be in a situation like this. Standing in the middle of a snow covered Telluride street, the marshal carefully aimed his service pistol at the voracious mob that continued to press deeper into town. He fired sparingly, making sure each shot hit its mark. It wasn't that ammunition was limited. In a Western mountain town like Telluride it wouldn't be hard to find more guns and ammo than there were people to use them. But reloading took time. A scarce commodity when a horde of crazed skiers was charging straight at you.
Most of the possessed attackers were resort guests coming from the direction of the mountain. Strangers Travis had no connection to. The majority of the residents that were causing trouble got locked up early on during the crime wave. But every once in a while the familiar face of a local stood out amidst the current firefight. When it did, pulling the trigger pained the marshal straight to his core. Of course, he didn't want to kill anybody. But the time for soft approaches to the violence was gone.
For hours, he watched the situation in town deteriorate to the point of chaos. When the nine-one-one calls first started rolling in, many simply attributed the spike in crime to the storm. But when his men and resources were rapidly being overwhelmed, Travis had to admit the craziness was caused by something else entirely.
He didn't know what plague of insanity had swept across the town to create such horrors, but it was a mess of mass hysteria unlike anything he'd ever seen. He tried reasoning with them. He tried arresting them. He even tried what little riot control equipment he had at his disposal. But nothing worked. They never stopped. Never rested. And it quickly became apparent that the violence wouldn't end until everyone was dead.
The only saving grace to Marshal Walker's decision was that he wasn't alone. Standing alongside him was a small battalion of men and women he currently commanded in what had basically become a warzone. A strange mixture of police and locals, each one held a firearm with reluctant conviction at the crazed crowd barreling towards them. Like the marshal, not one of them wanted to be there, aiming weapons at their fellow Man. But also like the marshal, they had come to the same unfortunate conclusion that taking up arms was their only option. This wasn't about keeping the peace anymore. They were fighting for survival.
With the visibility from the storm continuing to deteriorate, their eyes could only see so far through the street before it vanished within a falling blanket of white snowflakes. They kept their eyes peered into the storm and waited for their attackers to suddenly burst into view from what seemed like nothingness. Only a few of their foes were in sight at a time, but the stream of crazed aggressors was endless, charging at them without fear or remorse. One after another, the gunmen fired at the immediate threats, always knowing that behind those charging at them was a whole crowd waiting for their turn.
The marshal continued to shoot, carefully putting down the savage fiends close enough that he could see the red strain in their eyes. He was locked into a steady rhythm. Aim. Fire. Breathe. Aim. Fire. Breathe.
Until he pulled the trigger back only to hear the click of an empty chamber.
For an instant, the marshal was disappointed in himself for not keeping track of the bullets in his clip. Then realized this was the first real situation of combat he'd ever seen and was just glad he wasn't throwing up in front of the stone cold locals who'd been firing alongside him without ever batting an eye.
Travis reached for a spare clip, but his sudden lapse in battle discipline grew, causing him to look around at his surroundings in a surreal state of awe. Besides the blizzard that had somehow transformed the area into an Arctic outpost, the entire scene held an eerie resemblance to a shootout of the old Wild West. With Telluride's stylized 1800's architecture looming on both sides, the neighborhood already embodied the feel of cowboy lawlessness.
But it seemed as if the marshal was the only one transfixed by the outlaw-like scenery. In a standoff against an incredibly driven enemy, the other brave shooters stood their ground firm in the middle of the street, while others took cover behind cars buried under mountains of powder. The plows had long abandoned their duties, leaving the roads and bodies scattered throughout to be overrun by falling snow. With the exception of the sporadic trails of bright, crimson blood sprayed randomly across the street, Travis felt
trapped in a deep sea of white.
And just as he could feel the overwhelming crush of panic start to settle into his chest, the marshal remembered the endless wave of psychotic tourists charging at him and snapped back to reality.
But as Travis lifted his pistol to aim, he saw a lot more of his enemy than he had only moments earlier. He immediately started firing but found that the time he waited in between shots was becoming less and less to the point where he was forced to pull the trigger as fast as he could. The fearless mob steadily increased their numbers, pushing closer and closer to their targets as evident by the trail of bodies marking their forward advance.
After a quick glance to his left and right, Travis could sense his fellow gunmen growing frustrated by the never-ending onslaught. They were stuck in a losing pace, and it was only a matter of time before their line was completely overrun.
As if his short moment of distress never happened, Marshal Walker assumed his role as leader and barked out orders over the storm’s roaring wind. “There’s too many! Fall back!”
Keeping their weapons aimed at the horde ahead, every shooter started backing away. Those few in the street moved in a straight line while the rest emerged from their cover to join them. Together in a tight-knit unit, the men and women moved back into an intersection towards the center of town, continuing to fire as the frenzied pack pressed on. The group was strong and cohesive, locked into a steady retreat while defending the threat ahead of them.
But their stoic concentration was shattered when a scream rang out from within their ranks. Travis, along with the others, turned to face the noise and found one of their own on the ground with a crazed old woman digging her nails into his face. The gruesome scene caught the makeshift militia by surprise, causing them all to stop in shock.
Their firm line in the intersection dissolved, and Travis couldn’t tell where the loud shot came from that blasted the old woman’s face into a hundred pieces. He looked up and realized the old woman had come from behind them, a local they missed during their roundup. The marshal opened his mouth to regroup his troops, but by then it was too late.
Distracted by the attack from behind, the stampede from the front overwhelmed the group, jumping on and tackling the unsuspecting men and women to the ground. Most of the gunmen still on their feet scattered throughout the intersection, screaming and shouting for help as they disappeared into the storm. Only a few remaining soldiers, the marshal included, stood their ground, randomly firing as the barrage of fiends continued from every direction. Spinning in circles alongside the other disoriented fighters, Travis frantically aimed his gun with both hands, instinctively pulling the trigger at almost anything that moved.
With every loud bang, another would-be attacker dropped into the bed of snow covering their feet. But Travis knew it was only a matter of seconds before he ran out of bullets again, and this time he wouldn’t have the chance to reload.
He continued to wave his gun back and forth when a loud roar of a truck struck through the cold air like thunder. Breaking from the mob around them, Travis’s eyes did a quick scan of the area and found nothing but snow down the unplowed street. The grumble of a large engine continued to grow louder until the others broke from firing to curiously look around as well. However, none of their attackers balked at the noise and continued their forward charge like nothing had changed. And if they didn’t stop, neither could Travis.
He lifted his gun to fire when a searing bright high beam pierced the thick veil of snowfall, shining light on the warzone like an angel from above. Only this savior came from Travis’s side, and revealed itself to be a large diesel pickup as it broke through the wall of snow.
Upon entering the intersection, the truck slammed on its brakes, sliding and skidding across the snow covered streets like a missile. Sensing the large metal object barreling towards them, Travis and his local warriors broke free from their combat long enough to dive out of the way just as the truck reached the battlefield, running over and sending a few of their crazed assailants flying through the air. As soon as the truck nailed its targets the vehicle came to a stop, almost as if it were aimed to precision. And not a second later, Nellie Sheridan emerged from the driver’s seat followed by her husband, Bill.
The old couple came ready and equipped, each holding a shotgun in hand and a rifle wrapped around their backs. Travis was shocked at how the senior citizens entered the battlefield. But besides the two large weapons easily noticeable on each of their persons, the marshal also happened to spot several smaller handguns secured in a series of holsters outfitting their thick winter clothing.
Without a welcome or introduction, Nellie and Bill aimed and fired at the mob, which had already run either around or over their parked pickup truck. And as the fighting commenced, Travis and his crew jumped back into the fray, shooting alongside the elderly couple.
Together, they all continued their organized retreat through the town, carefully backpedaling while keeping the enemy advance at bay. A few shots later and Travis’s pistol clip emptied as he predicted, only now the much-needed cavalry gave him time to reload. But while looking up through the riot before him, Travis knew they couldn’t keep up their current pace of attack.
He turned to Nellie and screamed over the wind and constant gunfire. “There’s too many!”
Travis could see Nellie think for a moment and then she spoke, fitting words in between rounds of fire. “Where…can we…hold up?”
Without a second thought, only one place popped into the marshal’s mind. “The Town Hall. Let’s go!”
He didn’t know if Mrs. Sheridan agreed with the choice but there wasn’t time for debate. Marshal Walker turned and started running down the street towards the large brick building at the edge of town. He never looked back but could hear the repeated thud of footsteps pounding in the snow directly behind him. Travis hoped and prayed that it wasn’t someone about to pounce onto his back but knew he would find out soon enough once he reached the heavy front door of the town’s government office.
After scaling the short, slippery steps, Travis pulled back on the door’s handle and was immediately swamped from behind by his fellow gunmen. He held the door open while the small group poured inside. As they did, Travis gave a quick look back and saw the ferocious mob had reached the bottom of the steps. Without delay, he spun around the door, quickly slamming it shut and flipping the lock down all in one motion.
12
Chris immediately found that the trees offered a considerable amount of shelter from the storm. The area wasn't technically out of bounds for guests, but the woods were too dense to act as a normal run. It was mainly skied by experts, locals mostly, who used it as a shortcut to get to the other face of the mountain. And now Chris reaped the benefit of the close quarters by not being harassed by a perpetual hive of snow.
Unfortunately, that blessing also made his ride all the more dangerous. Moving at speeds faster than he actually felt comfortable, Chris weaved in and out of the thick tree trunks, repeatedly ducking under a never-ending line of branches and leaves. Twigs and pinecones, as well as other debris from the foliage, littered the ground making the ride that much bumpier.
The snow in this area was packed and hard from days of sitting still under the mountain's freezing temperatures. But that didn't stop Chris from seamlessly speeding through the wooded obstacle course, guiding his large skis around the trees and rocks with uncanny precision. He didn't know if any of his barbaric pursuers happened to be chasing him, but he damn sure wasn't giving them the chance to catch up.
Ironically enough, Ryan had felt the change of scenery as a step toward safety and loosened his grip around Chris's neck. The patroller was a little shocked to glance back and see Ryan's eyes open, perfectly aware of the harrowing terrain passing them by. Responding to the boy's demeanor, Chris opted to slow his pace and began carefully navigating the trees with a bit more caution.
When it finally became apparent that nothing was following them, Chr
is stopped and leaned forward onto a tree to catch his breath. Thoughts of Sarah's dying face tried to creep their way into his mind, but he fought them off, choosing to focus on the rattled nerves still surging through his body.
Uneasiness forced Chris to look back through the forest just to be certain. Only a few flurries made their way down passed the canopy of trees, and without the heavy snowfall clouding the air, Chris could see all the way back through the path he had taken to the open run still being attacked by the storm. It only took a moment for Chris’s breathing to relax, but he remained still, waiting for his mind to catch up.
While they rested, Ryan’s comfort zone expanded and lifted his head from Chris’s back to look around at their surroundings. "Where are we going?"
"We need to get down somehow. Mountain Village is closer than town, and these trees open up to a glade near Chair six that will take us there."
Chris's head turned back around to scope out his route when he heard a strange noise up against his ear. It took a moment for him to figure out the sound was actually Ryan's teeth clattering together. Chris didn't know if the boy was cold or scared, but either way, he admitted to himself that he needed to show the boy a little more compassion.
Chris grabbed the baggy arm of the boy's jacket and swung him around, placing him down between two trees uphill from where he was standing. "How you doin', Ryan? You OK?"
Since leaving Joseph's, this was the first time they stopped to think, giving the boy's fears a chance to catch up with him. And despite all his bravery, Ryan's eyes started to fill with tears. Chris could see him trying to hold them back, but it was only a matter of time before the young child gave in to his sadness.
Chris reactively felt himself growing frustrated by his new role as babysitter. Besides the blizzard and mountain-wide epidemic, he was currently cut off from any kind of communication. The resort was in the middle of a crisis, and trying to wipe away some kid's tears was the last thing on his mind.