Winter Apocalypse: Zombie Crusade V

by J. W. Vohs

  Luke gently picked up Gracie’s hand, seeming to study it carefully as it rested in his own. “What are you looking at?” she finally asked.

  “I want to remember what your hand looks like in mine,” he answered. “I might not see it again for a while.”

  Gracie’s voice was a mixture of frustration and pain. “I don’t want to talk about that right now. We should live in the moment, until we can’t.” Ignoring her own advice, she began to sob, “Luke, by this time tomorrow, I’ll be lighting your funeral pyre.”

  He reached over and pulled her close. “Like Beowulf, huh? That’ll be really cool.”

  Gracie sat up straight and wiped away her tears, “Dammit, Luke,” she scolded, “there is nothing cool about losing you.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I guess it just hasn’t sunk in yet. It doesn’t feel real to me—it’s like some sort of bad dream that I expect to wake up from any minute. Besides, if I’m not dreaming, I can’t do anything to stop it now.”

  Gracie stroked his hair with her free hand and tried to sound brave. “Don’t be sorry about anything. We can talk about whatever you want; I suppose we should start making some plans for—”

  Lori burst through the door, with her husband, Blake, on her heels. “Did somebody say ‘plans?’ I have the dress, that nice commander of the Louisiana battalion says one of his sons here is a fine minister, and Blake has even managed to find a few bottles of champagne. I think we can get this show on the road in thirty minutes.”

  Gracie hopped up and embraced Lori. “You’re the best—I’m not even going to ask how you managed to pull this all together so quickly.”

  Blake grinned. “She’s more impressive than you think. She’s even got Maddy in a dress; Zach and I both lost a bet over that.”

  Gracie turned to David, “How do you feel about giving me away in marriage? I mean, you did promise my dad that you’d look out for me.”

  “I’d be honored,” he replied earnestly, “truly honored.”

  Twenty minutes later the minister arrived with his father, soon followed by Maddy and Zach. As promised, Maddy was in a dress, but it was layered over cammo pants that she said would keep her warm as well as stylish. Gracie had gone off with Lori to get ready while Blake had spent a few minutes quietly talking with Luke until the small cabin began to fill up with a few man-sized guests. Marcus, Bobby, and Gabe joined Carter and Jack, while David waited for Gracie by the door until Lori showed up and pulled him outside.

  Gracie was standing a few feet from the door. She was wearing a simple, full-length white dress with a fur-trimmed white cape around her shoulders. Her short dark hair was entwined with baby’s breath, and she was carrying a single red rose made of glass.

  “You look beautiful,” David whispered as he held out his arm.

  Lori held up her hand. “Hold on for just a second, we have to cue the music.”

  “Music?” Gracie wondered. “What music?”

  Carter’s sister, Charlotte, appeared with a small case in her hand. “Flute—‘Here Comes the Bride’ played slow and sincere. I thought it might sound cheesy, but it’s actually sort of ethereal. Come in after the first two measures.” She disappeared through the door and a minute later the airy opening notes of the song were lingering in the air.

  Lori entered first. It was a short walk to the minister, who was standing in the back of the cabin with Luke and Jack about a foot in front of him. Guests were lined up on both sides of the room, creating a makeshift aisle. When Lori reached the minister, she stepped to one side and turned to watch David escort Gracie up to Luke. She mentally noted that except for looking a little pale, Luke seemed pretty healthy.

  The ceremony was simple and vows were quickly exchanged. The “till death do you part” promise managed to be declared without the awkwardness the minister worried about only after the phrase was uttered. Luke had apparently been holding onto a ring he’d found some time earlier, because he produced a beautiful band that fit Gracie’s finger relatively well. He followed Jack’s advice and kissed her softly before wrapping her in his arms. With that, the deed was done.

  Champagne was quickly passed around as Jack offered a toast to the young couple. “I can’t express how proud I am to be your father, Luke, and now yours as well, Gracie. You are my family, and until the end of time, my heart is ever at your service.” He raised his glass, then let the cool bubbly wash over the lump that was once again rising in his throat. He coughed slightly and used his commander-voice to address the room, “I think we should let the newlyweds have some time alone.” He set his glass down, walked over to hug both Luke and Gracie, then strode purposefully out of the cabin. Once outside, Jack buried his head in his hands and wept for everything that had been lost.

  Everyone present for the ceremony knew how short the young couple’s time together was going to be, so the congratulations were hurriedly offered as the guests filed out of the room. The Louisiana patriarch was the last to leave, lingering for a moment until Luke asked, “You’re surprised things turned out this way?”

  The weary old fighter lifted one shoulder and slightly cocked his head. “I’m not sure how they’ve turned out yet.”

  Luke smiled sadly. “I was convinced I’d know when my time was up,” he held up his injured hand, “but I didn’t see this coming, and to be honest, I’m really shocked by that. Seems like I’ve spent the past five months living a vision or something, one foot in this world and the other in eternity. Except for Gracie, the only thing holding me here was my desire to destroy the infected, so I fought with an insane carelessness. I don’t even remember coming close to being bitten, or at least the thought never crossed my mind during combat. Now, being killed because I took my glove off during a clean-up operation—”

  The tall, solemn warrior grunted, “You ain’t dead yet.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone survive a bite?” Gracie asked with more than a touch of desperation in her voice.

  “No darlin’, can’t say I have. But there’s been rumors goin’ around town that a few westerners have lived through it.” The old man hadn’t taken his gaze from Luke since the conversation had started. “Son, your story isn’t over. I’ll be prayin’ for both of you.”

  CHAPTER 2

  The residents of Lake Huron’s Manitoulin Island, the largest freshwater island in the world, were more fortunate than most people around the globe. Thanks to early proactive preparation, a cooperative population, and a swing bridge as the only land-based access to the mainland, the island remained a safe haven from the zombie pandemic. The few cases that popped up in the early days of the outbreak had been effectively dealt with, and after a terrifying battle with hundreds of creatures on the bridge, the structure had been swung to disconnect it from land on both ends. Wind and solar power had been well established on Manitoulin long before the current crisis, but citizens of the island had voted to strictly limit power usage in order to avoid drawing unwanted attention. There was some conflict between people who wanted to hide from the disintegrating world and others who felt a responsibility to help those in need, but, thanks to strong leadership, there was general agreement that their first priority was to ensure the health and security of everyone currently residing on the island.

  Michael Carboni had been a respected member of the town council, and he’d been appointed acting mayor before becoming the local hero who’d risked his life to swing the bridge when it was teeming with zombies. He was also the guy who’d received reliable intelligence regarding how to fight the creatures before most people believed there was a serious catastrophe brewing. Michael’s Uncle Jim, from Cleveland, had relayed information from a manual that he’d received from his son-in-law, David Smith. Even though Michael had experienced some difficulty believing everything his uncle had told him about the virus and how to fight the infected, he trusted Jim completely. If Jim Carboni said there was a guy who built a castle in Indiana because his experience fighting the zombie-creatures in Afghanista
n led him to prepare for a global pandemic, then Michael suspended disbelief and followed Jim’s instructions to the letter. Unfortunately, communication between Manitoulin Island and Cleveland had broken down soon after their first conversation, so Michael had no idea what had become of his Uncle Jim, Aunt Trudy, and cousin Christy.

  On a cold and windy November morning, Michael tried in vain to convince his wife that he should personally follow-up on recent radio communications with someone claiming to be a priest living with a small settlement on Lake Erie. While all Manitoulin residents had been prohibited from travelling to the mainland, and generally followed the restriction, the people on Middle Bass Island had been scavenging along the Ohio shoreline from the beginning. “I’ve talked with Father O’Brien a few times, and so have other people. Robbie and Carolyn both agree with me that we need to find out what’s going on out there, and we need to establish contact with other groups of survivors. In the future, we may need to trade for supplies or medicine. These people from Lake Erie claim to have more of just about everything than they’ll need for the next decade.”

  “That’s what they say,” Katie argued. “For all you know, they could be mutant cannibals or serial killers.”

  Michael sighed and tried again to reassure his suspicious spouse. “We’re all being careful, including O’Brien—that’s why we’re not giving away too much information over the radio. We’ll meet in the St. Claire River; that seemed to be a fair amount of travel for both parties. I’ll take Robbie with me.”

  “You have responsibilities here,” Katie reminded him. “You’re part of the island leadership, and our children need their father here.”

  Fourteen-year-old Grant Carboni poked his head around the corner from the kitchen. “I’ll go with you, Dad. So will Connor, and Alec too, if his mom will let him. We could be a lot of help, we would—“

  “No way in hell will any of you boys be going with me,” Michael snapped. “And you shouldn’t be eavesdropping on a private conversation.”

  “I suppose if the boys can’t go, I can’t go either,” thirteen-year-old Tracy Carboni grumbled as she marched out from behind her brother. “It’s not fair; we want to help.”

  “No one is going anywhere,” Katie declared, narrowing her eyes at her husband. “Right?” Michael studied the floor without replying.

  After a minute of awkward silence, Katie turned to her daughter. “If you want to be helpful, there is certainly plenty to do around here.”

  Tracy rolled her eyes, “You just don’t understand. Those things killed Connor’s mom—“

  “I was there,” Katie reminded her.

  “Well then, you should understand why we want to help save people from the flesh-eaters. We shouldn’t just sit here twiddling our thumbs while other people are fighting for their lives.”

  Michael cut in, “I understand how you feel, Tracy, but you’re not thinking things through. We need to plan long-term, and the best thing we can do is keep this island functioning and secure. Your mom is right about that. But you’re right, too. We need to find out what’s going on out in the rest of the world, and see what we can do to make things better.” He looked at his wife. “We’re so fortunate to have this place, to be safe for the moment. What about people who aren’t so lucky? What about people who are running out of resources? What is the highest possible good we could do right now, given what we know?” He saw tears welling up in Katie’s eyes, and he pulled her close. “I know what our limitations are, and I would never put this island at risk, but meeting up with Father O’Brien could help us find out what’s been happening out there.”

  “That could help us stay safe here,” Katie sniffed, “and making friends with other survivors will make all of us stronger. I just don’t see why you have to be the one to go.”

  “Not just me, Robbie’s coming too. We’re the ones who’ve been talking to O’Brien. Well, us and Carolyn. He trusts us, and I don’t want to bail on him now.”

  “You’re leaving out the part about how you really want to go,” Katie replied. “I know you, and I know you feel you need answers. You just won’t trust anybody else to ask the right questions.”

  Michael knew she was right. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m itching to go, but if you really need me to stay behind—“

  “Don’t make me the bad guy,” Katie interrupted. “Fine, go, but promise me you’ll come back safe and sound.”

  “I promise; we’ll be on the water the whole time.”

  Father O’Brien was used to travelling solo, but he decided to appoint a small crew to accompany him on the trip to meet with the Canadians. He’d been feeling unsettled lately, and the usually easygoing old priest couldn’t quite put his finger on the source of his discomfort. He’d never been overly concerned about his health, but he knew that the combination of stress and advancing age could potentially knock him out of the game at any time. He believed that establishing friendly relations with settlements in the northern Great Lakes was absolutely necessary to the survival of the resistance against Barnes and his army of hunters. With that in mind, he made sure everyone in his entourage shared his knowledge and vision.

  On the eve of their departure, Father O’Brien sat in his favorite chair next to a crackling fire. He thought about recent events, and his conscience troubled him slightly. He’d been somewhat dishonest with Christy when she’d radioed from Indiana; he never wanted to discourage hope, so he’d bitten his tongue when she tried to prove that he’d likely been in contact with her cousin who lived on an island in Lake Huron. She’d been happy and excited, so he’d played along and agreed on the possibility, only marginally cautioning that they shouldn’t get ahead of themselves. Christy was several months pregnant, and her husband was off battling armies of the infected. He decided that sparing Christy’s feelings was more important than bubble-bursting honesty.

  The truth was, he’d only spoken with three people, and just two of them were male. He’d talked with a very charming young lady first, but she’d warned not to give their real names or locations over the airwaves. She said to call her Marilyn, “like Monroe,” and she’d laughed infectiously.

  He’d told her that his own name was more anonymous than a fake one. “I’m Father O’Brien. Feel free to call me Father.” She’d laughed again, and even over the radio the sound warmed the old man to the tip of his toes.

  “I probably have a few things I should confess, Father,” she’d replied, “but we should talk about the zombie pandemic first. I haven’t been to confession since I was about sixteen. That could take a while.”

  They’d talked for hours before she introduced him to “Mayor” and “Rocky.” After a few conversations, they’d all grown used to the pseudonyms, and it became a running joke among them. Humor was hard to come by under the circumstances, and Father O’Brien could add nothing lighthearted to their communications. The outbreak was bad enough, but Barnes and his plans for the future made it even worse. Mayor had shared that most people on his island had never battled the infected, and those who had could hardly be called experienced. These Canadians knew that the infected didn’t like water and could only be killed by destroying their brains, and they’d learned the importance of protective clothing when a goalie’s glove saved Marilyn’s son at a hockey rink on the mainland. This group of survivors didn’t focus on such things; they focused on isolation and self-sufficiency. The old priest’s warnings about black helicopters and zombie armies greatly alarmed his new friends, but Father O’Brien knew he could never adequately describe what many people in his settlement had experienced.

  Rocky had proposed sending a two man delegation to Middle Bass, but offering to rendezvous at some midway point, in neutral territory, seemed like a good way to alleviate some of the concerns of folks in each of their settlements. O’Brien had no regrets about the plans they’d made, but he still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something terrible, more terrible than anything he’d experienced since the pandemic began, was awaiting him in
the not-too-distant future.

  At the dock, Michael let out a low whistle. “Where did you come by this baby? It must have cost whoever bought it a fortune.” The thirty foot yacht was a hybrid; it ran on either diesel or electricity. The battery could be recharged conventionally or through the boat’s solar array. It could comfortably hold twenty people, and seemed a bit luxurious for two middle-aged men heading out to meet up with a priest.

  Robbie grinned. “You’ll have to ask Carolyn. She told me it was Al Gore’s, but I’m pretty sure she was kidding.”

  “I like the idea of being quiet while we travel; we won’t attract the infected if we can run off the battery.” Michael grunted as he tried to pick up a large plastic storage trunk packed with food. “Can you give me a hand with this? I know you like to show off your hockey-player muscles.”

  “Step aside, Mr. Engineer.” Robbie easily picked up the trunk and hoisted it into the boat. A smattering of applause caused both men to turn toward the parking lot. Carolyn smiled and waved.

  Michael lowered his voice. “I hope she’s just here to see us off.”

  Robbie sighed. “I wouldn’t bet on it. Take a look at the luggage she just unloaded.”

  “She’s your girlfriend, Rocky-boy, can’t you talk her out of it?”

  Robbie was watching Carolyn maneuver two large suitcases over a curb and down the incline to the boat dock. He smiled as the curvaceous brunette delicately sidestepped around a broken-down bike rack and jiggled the rest of the way down the hill. “Now why would I want to do that?”