“Thanks. This will stop a few of ‘em.” Chuck said.
Chuck turned and from a standing position fired at the first foamer the crosshairs of the scope settled on. The instant the foamer fell, dozens more pounced upon him or her—the physical deterioration made it impossible to tell—and a new frenzy had started. Chuck then fired the remainder of the magazine, spacing his targets out. With each foamer shot, another frenzy would begin.
“Let’s go while they occupied!” Chuck declared.
He slung the Weatherby over his shoulder, grabbed his M4 and covered the last of the group as they headed down to the beach and to the boat ramp.
And their last chance for survival.
Haida Gwaii consisted of two main islands, Graham Island to the North and Moresby to the South and a few smaller ones around the edges. Sandspit was in Moresby Island but at the very edge where that two islands were divided by the channel that ran between. Provided there wasn’t any low fog, Graham island was visible from the hill above Sandspit or the airport.
There was a small island in the middle of the channel and wasn’t far from the beach where the surviving members of the Sandspit crew fled.
If there was no boat at the ramp, even a canoe, their escape would come to a screeching halt. Swimming to the small island was out of the question. Though reachable in terms of distance, the temperatures of the water would have resulted in hypothermia, the muscles would weaken dramatically within minutes they’d drown.
Beyond them, the hills of Graham Island beckoned and a small runabout—a ten or twelve foot aluminum boat with an outboard motor—was tied to the ramp.
“Hope there some damn gas in that outboard.” Sam said to no one specifically.
“I’m not that concerned. We’ll use our damn hands or rifle butts if we have to.” Chuck retorted.
“Is it big enough for all of us?” Elliot asked. With ten of them—now that he and the others' in the Cessna had returned—and all their gear, there didn’t seem to be much room.
“It’ll do us Elliot,” Chuck said, “the water’s not too choppy and that helps. Let’s go.”
Chess jumped into the runabout and moved to the outboard at the rear, while one of the others' untied it, but held onto the rope.
“How’s it look?” Chuck called from the ramp.
“Half full. That should do us,” Chess answered, then pulled on the starter. “Damn, this thing hasn’t run for a while.”
“Give it some choke, son, some choke.” Sam yelled out to him.
A splutter or two later and the outboard rumbled—if not exactly burst—into life. “Okay, all aboard!” Chess yelled like an old time train station attendant.
A moment later and they pulled away from the ramp, each one thanking their own personal God’s, lucky stars, rabbits feet or favorite Playboy pin-up. No one had spoken about it, when inside the house or as they fled to reunite with the others' from the plane. But the end came close, very close and may not be all that far away yet. That each one of them came close to biting the end of a rifle barrel and swallowing the lead pill dispensed, was a sobering thought. This was the collective mind-set as they traversed the channel towards Graham Island. To a man, each felt strong emotions about re-connecting but an excited and joyous reunions would be for another time… perhaps, another world.
Chapter Thirty-One
Thirty-One
The twenty horsepower outboard pushed the small runabout through the water at a steady, if not fast rate. With ten men aboard, the boat was at its limit. Chuck was thankful for the weather, if it had been wet and windy, the sea would have proven treacherous and a capsize more than likely.
“What if we took refuge on the island there?” Tristan called from the bow.
“Won’t help us I’m afraid, Tristan, the bastards can swim.” Riley, answered him.
“What did you say?” Chuck grabbed Riley’s arm in shock.
“That’s how they got here, we spotted what we thought was debris on the water, but when it neared the beach it turned out to be the foamers,” Riley yelled. The wind, the outboard motor and the sound of the water as it splashed against the hull competing in the volume stakes. “One by one they stood and waded ashore, thousands of them.”
Chuck took note of every change the foamers had gone through, but was this news a change or perhaps a characteristic of the undead? He’d asked himself that before regarding the foamers and was yet to find a satisfactory answer.
“Look they’re coming!” Sam yelled from the stern.
The first group of foamers had found their way to the trail which led to the boat ramp below. It would only be a matter of time before others' would follow. The question of whether foamers could see had never been answered but they did know how to track their intended prey.
If they could make it to these islands, then what would prevent them from making it across the entire ocean? Chuck wondered. Would New Zealand or Australia would be far enough away.
“There are a few settlements on Graham Island. We can look for sanctuary there.” Riley added.
“Will that make any difference?” Elliot asked. He’d been quiet so far, in the back of the boat behind Riley and Chuck. “I mean, these damn things keep coming, no matter what.”
“I know what you mean Elliot, really I do, but we need to buy us some time—”
“For what?” Elliot retaliated. “Oh, that’s right the return of Captain Nemo and his magical mystery submarine, right?”
Elliot’s anger and frustration had returned and though Chuck understood, he wasn’t about to allow him—or anyone for that matter—speak to him like that or demoralize the others' with such talk.
“If you have a better plan, Mister Goodwin, we’d all love to hear it. If not, I’d suggest you keep a lid on your attitude.”
As far as rebukes went, it wasn’t the worst but Chuck said it loud enough for everyone to hear. The fact that Chuck didn’t hesitate to let Elliot know where he stood, was evidence enough of his displeasure.
“Chuck’s right. We need time. Find some shelter, get some gasoline, bottles and make some firebombs and burn these bastards. We don’t have the ammo but fire will do the job.” Chess gave the Tall Man some moral support.
“That’s an idea that might work, Chess.” Riley sat up and took notice.
Fire. Chuck remembered the fires and the smoke from earlier, he remembered Tom telling him of the government plan to burn the foamers out. All it succeeded in doing was burning half of the North Western United States and the South West of Canada and the entire population within. When it came to a worse way to die—torn to bits by foamers or fire—Chuck couldn’t decide which was worse.
“Okay, slow it down Chess.” Chuck called.
“What?”
“We have to make sure they follow us if we’re going to set them alight,” Chuck explained, “we need to get all of them—not just a few.”
Chuck was right and the decisions came fast and everyone listened. It was good to have him back and in charge once again. Riley and Chess had managed well in his absence but it was Chuck and Elliot that everyone listened to, but right now Elliot was distressed over Jerry which was entirely a normal reaction.
“All right. About fifty yards to shore!” Tristan called, as the boat approached the southern end of Graham Island. Behind them, like floating logs, hundreds of foamers pushed through the ice cold water of the channel and behind them thousand’s more prepared to take the plunge as they pursued their target.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Thirty-Two
Tristan and Cleavon jumped from the runabout when they entered shallow water and each grabbed a side of the boat.
“Cut the engine.” Tristan called.
Chess did so and turned to look behind him. The hundreds of objects that floated in the water were now level with the small island in center of the channel. The foamers didn’t travel fast in the water but they continued nonetheless.
Chuck jumped out of the boat and helped push it up on the
beach, then cast his eyes to the foamers. “At the rate they’re moving we should have at least an hours head start. Let’s make the most of it.”
As the other heaved the boat up further the sand to avoid the tide, Chuck turned to Elliot and put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Are you going to be okay?”
Elliot looked from side to side for a moment then up at Chuck, a tear formed in the corner of his one good eye. “It’s hard, Chuck. I can’t stop thinking of Jerry, he’s all alone back there and—”
Chuck squeezed his companions shoulder before he offered his words of wisdom—or the best he could come up with. “We’ve all left people behind that we love and care for since this began. Cindy left her parents, Tom and Bob had left their families, you have left behind other members of your family and Riley left… well, I don’t know for sure. But I get the impression he left some people behind that were very near and dear to him.” Chuck looked over at the others' and gave a nod, before continuing. “If Jerry can hold on a bit longer, I guarantee you, we’ll get back there. For now, I need you to pull it together, Elliot. Can you do that?”
Elliot rubbed a hand through his shoulder length hair and nodded slowly several times. “Yeah, I can do it.”
“Good, now let’s get the fuck outa’ here!”
“What do we have?” Chuck said to Morris, when the combat trained medic who had scouted ahead.
“There’s a road right above that hill, just before the tree line,” Morris pointed, “and there’s a couple of abandoned cars and no sign of movement—living or otherwise.”
“All right, let’s get a move on people.”
Chuck ordered the team up the trail to the road. Once he got to the top, he looked back to the channel, the foamers were closer but were still a long way from the shoreline.
“Elliot, see if you can get that car started while I try this one.” Chuck pointed to an old pale blue Ford Bronco four door. The best way to get Elliot involved again, was precisely that—get him involved. Chuck checked on an equally old Impala that appeared to be the same size as the boat they’d left behind on the beach.
“Okay let’s hot-wire this thing and see how much juice there is,”
The car was already unlocked and Chuck soon had the hood up. Moments later after a few attempts and much cussing, the Impala sputtered to life. “How you doing, Elliot?” Chuck called.
Elliot didn’t answer but waved an arm out the window. A moment later, the Bronco too, started.
“All aboard!” Chess continued with his train station attendant and called the others' to the vehicles. Once all were in, he then jumped into the Bronco with Elliot at the wheel.
“Any idea where this road goes?” Chuck asked as he took pointed the Impala in an easterly direction and put his foot down on the gas pedal.
“Skidegate.” Riley answered. “I studied the maps we found in the store, in case we needed to know more about our surroundings—which it looks like we do.” Riley sat in the back seat directly behind Chuck but turned his head to look at Tristan and Tom next to him. Both looked haggard and worn. Riley was sure they each had a story to tell—if they wanted to relive it, that is.
“Skidegate has a larger population than Sandspit, well…” Riley paused for a moment, “used to have anyway.”
“So we could be heading into another confrontation with more foamers?” Chuck expressed concern.
“That’s possible but I think unlikely.”
“How’s that, Riley?” Tom asked.
I would imagine if there were foamers present, they would have made their way to Sandspit long before now.”
“Yeah, that’s a good point. They’re always eager to attack, once they pick up the odor of the living or however it is they’re able to sense our presence.” Chuck said. He kept his eyes on the road ahead, periodically looking up to the dusty rear view mirror.
The apocalypse survivors, who escaped from mainland Canada, made it through another close call. There had been many. Too many to think of, even if they wanted to. Some had fallen, some had left to follow the hope of a promised land in the South Pacific, and others'—the ones that now traveled coastal road of Graham Island—continued to fight for their lives. Behind them was a legion of undead and more could be ahead, but there was no choice. Since the foamer outbreak, choice, like the dinosaurs, had become extinct.
“How’s the ammunition situation?” Chuck asked but kept his eyes on the road.
“I was just about to ask the same thing.” Riley replied.
“Put it like this,” Sam began, “if we was goin’ rabbit shootin’ we’d be fine.”
They weren’t and there were far more foamers about than rabbits, despite the feeding frenzy back near the Sandspit airport.
“Looks like our best shot is Chess’ firebomb idea.” Riley said out loud.
And if that don’t work…
Chapter Thirty-Three
Thirty-Three
The two islands of Graham and Moresby spread away from each other at their eastern most points. It was this distance which prevented the two townships of Skidegate and Sandspit from each others' view. They were almost aligned with one other on the map. Chuck noticed long wide beaches around Skidegate and were level enough to land a small plane on—not that you could on sand. Away from the beach, the thick green forest was no different than Moresby Island. Tall pine trees, lush green grass and hills. The immediate areas around the town had been cleared and the smell was one of a fresh mountain forest mixed with the salty sea water nearby.
There was another smell present, one that no one could quite put a finger on.
Death. It was the smell of death.
“When the foamers make it to shore they won’t know which way we went, but as experience has taught us they eventually will,” Chuck pulled over by a general store called the Haida Gwaii Consumer Cooperative. A single story building in the center of Skidegate on what was still called Yellowhead Highway. “We might be able to find some supplies in here. But stay alert.” He said as he waited for the others' from the Bronco to join them.
As Elliot pulled up behind, Chuck scrutinized the town for any evidence of foamer presence—previous or current.
“Okay, keep an eye out, Elliot. You two come with me.” He said to Riley and Chess.
The shelves were bare inside store, but it didn’t have the appearance of happening in haste.
“Looks like they cleaned this place out but good.” Riley commented as he looked up and down the four aisle’s inside.
“Yeah, doesn’t look like there’s much left for us.”
“Let’s not give up just yet, Chess.” Chuck moved toward the back near the counter, but kept alert for any movement. “Let’s see what the storeroom in the back has to offer.”
After the necessary precautions of two man cover—two man enter drill, all four stood in shock at the empty storeroom.
“Here we go,” Elliot shined his flashlight to one corner. “Bottles, boxes of empty bottles.”
“See I told ya!” Riley turned and said.
Chess questioned the last statement. “What? You didn’t say shit, it was—”
“All right, can it you two.” Chuck brought the light moment to a halt. “We got work to do. I think these boxes will all fit in the bed of the Bronco, let’s get to it.”
“Now all we need is to find enough gas and we can make a stand against them foamers.” Elliot said.
“I’m sure there’ll be enough gas in the two vehicles we drove in.” Chuck had thought ahead.
That went for the manufacture of the firebombs. He had no idea how many foamers they would be up against and he didn’t have any plans after that.
Rest was needed—he knew that—and soon. They’d be too fatigued to put up a fight against a group of angry Boy Scouts, let alone thousands of foamers.
Interlude 3: Steady As She Goes
Dark clouds had built up in the Pacific Ocean more than a day and a half travel time from Haida Gwaii. For Cindy Baker,
who’s only experience on water was a few pleasure boating trips on Murtaugh Lake or canoeing on Snake River, she handled the demands of submarine travel with stoic determination.
Bob, on the other hand had experienced travel on the open ocean aboard several Naval vessels over the years and though it was his first submarine journey, Cindy noted he handled it well.
Mitch, also was not a stranger to naval travel.
The Russian captain and crew made the journey as easy on the three Americans as possible. Sailing on top of the surface as much as possible while traveling below at night when they slept. But now, with the rain clouds approaching, it was time to dive.
“This looks to be strong storm, it might last for an entire day,” Captain Gretchko informed the three Americans, in the officers mess. “Hope you three can learn how to play Durak, quickly.” Gretchko said, then laughed before he tucked into his cup of Solyanka soup.
Cindy had no idea and turned to ask Bob, when he informed her. “It’s a Russian card game.”
“Precisely tovarish, you play?” Gretchko said.
“I’ve tried my hand at it, yes.”
“Then you can teach young lady. In the meantime we also have plenty of soup, coffee, tea and of course vodka.”
“Thank you, Boris your hospitality is appreciated.” Bob leaned forward and took the captains hand.
Once a politician always a politician. Cindy said to herself. She too appreciated the Russians warmth and the amenities afforded them, as Bob obviously did.
“I think I might try a bit of that soup, then take a nap.” Cindy said. Sleeping while the sub was under water became the best way to ignore the matter and she wanted to do that now. Also, the tight spaces, the sea journey and her pregnancy had taken its toll on her—she wasn’t as buoyant as earlier.
Back from the Brink_Toward the Brink V Page 13