by Frank Martin
Even though the memories were just hours old, that moment was still a hazy blur in Travis’s mind, almost as if the adrenaline had repressed all evidence of the event. Remembering it only brought back painful dread.
And although the nightmare wasn’t over, he was still grateful when Nellie distracted him by breaking the silence from her driver’s seat. “When we get out, William, Travis and I will check the plane while you two watch our backs.”
Her speech was short and succinct, and Marshal Walker saw it as a perfect opportunity to familiarize the group with each other. “Oh! I forgot to introduce you guys. Bill and Nellie, this is Hunter Simpson and Molly Pullman. They’re both…”
But Mrs. Sheridan abruptly cut him off in the same cold tone she used to lay out her plan. “I don’t need to know their names. I just need to know if they can shoot.”
Already on edge from hours of fear and tragedy, Molly was the first to snap back. “I didn’t learn on the famous Sheridan ranch, but I’ll have no problem shooting you in the back of the head for being so bossy all the time.”
And Nellie responded with her patented dry sarcasm that always seemed odd coming from a woman her age. “From this close? Now that would be an impressive display of marksmanship.”
Molly wanted to go back and forth with her, but she looked to Hunter, who then opted for a more diplomatic approach. “Don’t worry about us. We’re still alive, aren’t we?”
For the first time since the tense conversation began, Nellie finally peeked over her shoulder at the three passengers in the back seat. “Congratulations. Now let’s keep it that way.”
Travis debated with himself on whether or not he should intervene. He was the marshal, after all. It was his job to lead in situations like this. But there was a finality to Nellie’s comment that he didn’t want to tamper with. What could he possibly say to make the situation any better? And so he sat back in his seat and watched through the windshield as they passed the outskirts of town.
It was amazing how Nellie could even stay on the road let alone drive through the snow. As far as he could tell, Travis saw nothing more than a sheet of white across the countryside. But as the truck tore through the deep snow in its path, it was obvious that the driver could’ve probably reached their destination blindfolded. That’s what spending your whole life traveling the same ten square miles would do to you.
Eventually, the truck approached the driveway leading up to the airport, which was located higher up against the valley wall. But instead of turning down it, Nellie kept going straight, hugging the edge of the road near the mountainside. It wasn’t long before the party came across the wreckage of a small plane nestled into the boulders at the base of the rock wall, and Nellie pulled the truck up as far as it could go without getting stuck in the jagged terrain.
As soon as she threw the vehicle in park, all four doors of the truck flew open, and Nellie immediately turned around to see what the two strangers she had taken along with her would do. Travis could see she half expected them to stand around moping while holding their guns like they were in some kind of action movie.
But she was pleasantly surprised when they hopped in the back of the pickup and started clearing out the snow in case they needed the extra room. That’s when the marshal gave her a quick glance that justified his faith in them. And Nellie was happy to have been proven wrong.
Turning their attention back towards their mission, Travis and Nellie quickly caught up to Bill, who was already trudging through the knee-high snow on his way towards the wreckage. The marshal was certainly telling his body to run, but the only way he could move forward was by lifting his legs up and over the dense sea of snow. All three of them moved forward at practically a snail’s pace and were completely exhausted by the time they reached the crash.
The plane wasn’t big. Definitely some form of private jet. But then again, large commercial airlines weren’t allowed to fly into TEX anyway. It was hard to tell what was what from the crumpled debris and twisted metal sprawled out across the area, but it appeared as if the plane crumpled in on itself upon hitting the ground. The most recognizable part of the ruins was the nose of the aircraft, where the broken windshield gave a clear view inside the fuselage.
After climbing over the rocks and carefully scaling the secure portions of the plane, Travis peered into the cockpit and found a mangled scene of bloody body parts interwoven between the destroyed avionics. Upon approaching the disaster, Marshal Walker knew the inside of the plane wouldn’t be pretty, but even after everything that had happened, the marshal still had to swallow down a rancid sickness creeping its way up into his throat.
Besides the broken bits of plane crisscrossing every which way, Travis immediately saw the battered faces of a man and woman, each covered in blood and bruises. Where the rest of their bodies were was a whole other question, but Travis could definitely tell who was the aggressor of the two. Contrary to the man’s fear riddled expression, the younger female had the same frozen stare of bloodthirsty horror that the marshal knew all too well.
It was a depressing scene that made the trip seem pointless, but Travis performed his duty anyway with a quick shout through the windshield. “Hello? Anybody alive?”
“Oh, fuck.”
The profane response caught Travis by surprise, but his face lit up at the prospect of survivors. “Hey! Where are you? We’re here to help.”
Movements started to take shape from within the darkness of the plane, and a man in a ripped suit covered in cuts and scrapes began climbing his way through the obstacle course of wreckage. “I figured as much. I was rather hoping no one showed up, though. Then I would actually have an excuse to just lay there and die.”
The bruised stranger started crawling his way through the gory cockpit, and Travis finally got a good look at him as the mountain sunlight lit up his face. “I know you. Brooks, right? You’re that rich asshole I keep getting drunk and disorderly complaints about.”
On his hands and knees, Scott squirmed his way through the broken glass of the windshield before struggling to his feet. “That’s what you call it. I call it drunk and having a good time.”
Upon first hearing the commotion, Bill immediately stopped his own search of the debris field and joined the rescue. “Are there any other survivors?”
Finally able to stand straight up, Scott took the opportunity to brush himself off. “Fortunately, no. Otherwise, I think my body would be halfway digested by now.”
Without a second to pause, Mr. Sheridan continued his interrogation. “What happened?”
And without a second to think, Mr. Brooks dryly answered the man’s question. “The plane crashed.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“My one pilot bit my other pilot and then we no fly. Comprende?”
Travis knew better than to get between them. He’d seen first-hand what a roundabout conversation with Scott Brooks looked like. But the two men continued to stare, both obviously annoyed with each other.
Until Nellie, who’d been silently observing from the base of the rocks, called out for them to move. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s get him back to the truck and head into town.”
Travis and Bill started to move back down to her when Scott quickly sidestepped in front of them. “No-no-no. There’s other planes up there and pilots to fly them.”
Travis admitted to himself that it didn’t seem like an unreasonable request, but Bill didn’t look convinced. “You’re going to try again? Even after what happened?”
“Hell yeah. With nobody plowing the roads that runaway is our only chance of getting out of here alive.”
While he was talking, a faint scratching noise began grabbing Travis’s attention. He seemed to be the only one to notice and glanced up to see the spinning blade of a plane’s prop bearing down on top of them. “Look out!”
A quick kick of adrenaline surged through Travis’s body, causing his instinct to dive forward and tackle both men in front of him off the rocks. They q
uickly plummeted down into the bed of snow below just as a small four-seater plunged into the previous plane’s remains. In an instant, the aircraft crumpled and tore itself apart against the rocks and wreckage, creating a carnage of spinning debris.
Even with his head buried into the mound of snow, Travis could hear the deafening screech of twisted metal shearing itself to shreds. When the loud destruction finally ceased, the marshal, as well as the three others entombed in the snow next to him, looked up to take witness of the plane graveyard sprawled across the landscape.
They just sat there silently for a solid minute, taking in the scene for all its beautiful devastation, until Scott Brooks finally chimed in with his trademark words of wisdom. “God must fucking hate me.”
***
In the context of the current crisis, Peter's office was relatively the safest place in Mountain Village. The only way to access it was through a series of stairs and winding turns that a pack of wild, murderous savages wouldn't bother navigating. At least, the survivors planning to hide there hoped they wouldn't.
Inside the building they also found several of Peter's employees who waited to head home in the blizzard only to be met head on by a massacre. Needless to say, they went back inside and hid until Peter and his band of survivors discovered them upon his return. They were, of course, grateful to see him. But equally shocked (and somewhat appalled) when they saw him carrying his unconscious son in his arms.
With a bloody nose and pale white skin, it was obvious the boy had undergone the same transformation as the other raving lunatics. His legs and arms were bound together by a thin rope, but that didn't make the sight any less frightening. These things exhibited increased strength and a brutal ferociousness. Did they really think they could capture and hold a live one as a prisoner? Also, what was the point? Could they even be cured?
These were just some of the concerns raised between Peter's employees as well as the survivors he saved along the way. But the man had just been attacked by his son, and nobody was going to question his decision to hold onto some shred of hope that Ryan could somehow be saved. After all, he was just a boy. Homicidal creature or not, how hard could he be to restrain?
The patroller, who Peter quickly deduced as Sarah's boyfriend, kept Ryan sedated with meds he found at the village base camp. Whether or not they would work for an extended period of time was a different story.
Besides his status as Sarah's boyfriend, Peter also figured out the turn of events that led Ryan into Chris's care. He contemplated offering the young man his condolences but didn't see the point. People were telling him they were sorry about Rachel’s death, and their sympathies didn't make any difference. The danger that killed her was still very real, and the adrenaline inside him made it impossible to mourn.
That thought led Peter to his next concern: where the hell did the danger go? There were dozens of those things in the courtyard alone. Surely, no one stopped them. And Peter couldn't believe that they would be killed by the storm. So then what happened to them? It was a question that needed to be answered. But for now, he was content simply accepting the current calm for what it was, even though he knew it was most likely temporary.
Resuming his role as Village Manager, Peter's first order of business was getting back on the phone. His first call was to the mayor's office. No answer. Next he tried Marshal Walker. No answer there either. Finally, he called the medical center but was met by a generic out of service message on the other end of the line, which Peter didn't know how to respond to. The building was a twenty-four-hour health facility. How could their phones be out?
Peter remained speechless for a moment before trying one last number, which he wasn't even authorized to dial. The ringer sounded three times before being replaced by a man's curious "hello?" Peter gasped a sigh of relief upon hearing the man's voice and went on to introduce himself.
After giving a brief scolding for being called on his personal number, the governor informed Peter that troops were mobilizing but having transportation issues because of the storm. Peter was then instructed to stay put and wait for the cavalry. It was absolutely the right move to make, but Peter knew that he wouldn't be able to.
He needed to know what was going on down in the town. Was everyone there dead? Or were they just busy handling the situation? Of course, Peter wanted to believe everyone in Telluride was safe but reserved his hope for a blessing. That maybe the survivors down there found a way to change people back. It was an unlikely possibility that he refused to dwell on for more than an instant. But he wasn't ignorant to the fact that his desire for a miracle was the driving force behind him wanting to go down there and find out for himself.
A short time later, Peter was entering the gondola's base along with Chris and the girl who punched his son. He needed someone to go with him and a ski patroller was the obvious choice. Unfortunately, the girl he arrived with was now attached at Chris's hip and wanted to come along. Not that Peter held a grudge against her. In fact, he was grateful. But what could a teenage girl possibly do but slow them down?
He would've preferred to have taken Mr. Cage, but someone needed to watch over Ryan. And in a sad, morbid kind of way, Peter got a little bit of an ironic joy out of knowing that his son got to spend time with one of his favorite movie stars, even under such depressing circumstances.
The first problem the group encountered was restarting the gondola. They didn't know when, but it obviously shut down at some point during the hysteria of the storm. As the only one even remotely familiar with the equipment, Chris walked off toward the control booth, and Peter could see Stephanie out the corner of his eye searching for a place to sit.
She finally found a bench back by the entrance but only took a single step towards it when Peter grabbed her attention. "It's Stephanie, right?”
The surprised girl looked up in shock that the man had spoken to her. Rather than speak, though, she answered by simply nodding her head.
Peter then went on. "Thank you for doing what you did with my son. It was a scary situation, and unfortunately...I was unable to..."
Peter searched for the words to finish his thought, but Stephanie, once again, silently responded with a quiet smile that fulfilled their exchange. When she didn't immediately speak, Peter turned back around to face forward.
That's when he finally heard Stephanie's soft, fragile voice. "Mr. Cage told me about your wife. I'm sorry."
Her words caused him to breathe deeply, but his eyes remained fixated ahead. Peter could feel the girl still looking at him, waiting for him to respond just as he had done to her. But instead of letting the subject die, Stephanie followed up. "He said you did stuff to keep her from changing. Brutal stuff. Like it was nothing. Didn't affect you at all."
Peter wanted to take another deep breath but forced himself to keep it in, which caused him to swallow hard instead. He still refused to look at her, but that didn't stop the girl from continuing on. "But then with Ryan you just stood there. I could see you were emotional. Who wouldn't be? And if..."
Finally fed up, Peter snapped back at the girl with a stern tone he usually used only as Village Manager. "I said thank you. Can we just..?"
But the girl's timid appearance, hardened by recent events, was unphased by the man's booming voice. She cut him off with a strong willed tone of her own. "I did the same thing."
Her confession caught Peter off guard. He didn't know how to respond. So after seeing that her words had fully been absorbed, Stephanie began her story. "I had a brother. Little older than Ryan, but a lot alike. Mainly in that they both annoyed me. He got sick, too. Right next to me, in fact. I didn't know what was happening with him so I couldn't do anything even if I wanted to."
"Look, I'm sorry that..."
"My dad was a different story, though. We were stuck together on the mountain. Mom and Joey were dead. It was just us. And I wanted him to be OK. I told myself he was. That Joey was different. That what happened to my brother couldn't happen to him. Until...it di
d."
Peter never spoke, but his eyes remained fixated on the young girl. And that was all she needed to sense his thoughts and respond. "You told everyone that we were going to check on the town, but I know why you really wanted to go."
Stuck half way between shame and desperation, Peter lowered his head and felt a caring hand placed on his shoulder accompanied by Stephanie's soft voice. "We're going to find a way to help him."
He looked back up and could feel his opinion of the girl shift in his mind. Their trip had only barely begun, and already she had proven her strength and usefulness.
They each shared a warm smile that was quickly interrupted by Chris's exclamation of joy from inside the control booth. "Found it!"
The giant gears and cables above their heads began spinning and clunking in motion. A second later, the nearest gondola car swiveled around with the doors open, and the two unlikely friends jumped inside.
18
Dr. Morris quickly realized she wasn’t cut out for winter pioneering.
After coming to the depressing realization that her makeshift clinic could at any moment turn into a bloodbath, Anna knew something had to be done. Any option she came up with was either impractical or impossible. She finally decided to treat her patients with a wide array of medicine and antibiotics in the hope that something combated the disease. Of course, loading up a sick person with a concoction of drugs was never a good idea. But then again, neither was letting them turn into murderers.
The worst part of the plan, though, was that Dr. Morris didn’t even know if it would work. Her futile attempts to delay the massacre waiting to happen could all be for nothing. To make matters worse, she didn’t even have those drugs available to her. And unfortunately, the only place that did was the pharmacy located at the center of town.
So that’s where Anna currently found herself: decked out in a winter coat, hat, and boots, trekking through the snow doused streets of Telluride like an explorer on an Arctic expedition. Every step she took required more effort than the last.