Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution (11 page)

Some aboard the boats had been assaulted by
their pursuers but by some grace of God they had been able to
extricate themselves from the murderous clutches. Others onboard
the craft tended to the bleeding, seeping wounds, resisting every
effort to staunch the flow. Terrified and not sure of where else to
turn, the little boats and dinghies made their way to the towering
cruise ship anchored in the Sound.

Worried faces greeted the crying waves of
people as they disembarked from the boats, many of which were
abandoned and set adrift. The wounded were led up the gangway to an
awaiting party of emergency medical personnel. Other terrified
survivors sat in silent shock on decks of the ship and watched the
city while the tragedy raged.

A new series of screams aboard the cruise
ship barely caught their attention, so focused on the shore they
were. Neither the shell shocked survivors nor the hundreds of
people already on the ship could have known that they were doomed
to see the same events playing out on the shore begin to similarly
spin out of control on their ship. It just didn’t seem possible and
yet...

A handful of explosions rocked Whittier,
some intentional. A marine fueling station erupted into a billowing
black cloud of smoke and fire when the scared attendant dropped his
shotgun, which discharged into an active pump. The resulting
explosion devoured the station, the attendant, and the group of
five undead tearing his flesh from his bones as he screamed in
agony. Near a small restaurant, which doubled as a souvenir shop, a
propane tank used for emergency power and heat was hit by a fleeing
motorist driving out of control. Pieces of the car and driver were
sent skyward beneath a bright, expanding fireball that momentarily
lit up the overcast skies.

These fires and others burned out of control
for want of anyone willing or able to fight them. Hundreds of pairs
of eyes saw the largest structure in the city as their last hope.
The Buckner Building, with its solid walls and six floors, looked
down upon the rest of the city and invited hope for scores of
unknowing people. Not a one of the people was a local. They knew
better than to set foot into the Buckner’s crumbling, musty
halls.

The building persisted despite having been
abandoned by the Army following the massive 1964 earthquake during
which it suffered significant damage to parts of its structure.
Most locals had never ventured into the dark, dank building. The
building’s intimidating facade and the No Trespassing signs were
very effective in discouraging interlopers. The walls inside like
those outside, however, had seen their fair share of graffiti in
the forms of genuine artwork, mindless profanity, and occult
symbols, indicating that not everyone had been deterred over the
years. Persistent puddles and dripping seams had grown mold and
mildew until the cool, moist air was permeated with the dangerous
spores. The bottom floors still had inches deep pools of water
covering their surfaces. There was also the occasional wild animal
that could be encountered in the shadows, including both wily black
and towering brown bears.

People ran to the building in groups. Some
attempted to climb over the fence restricting access to the
railroad tracks only to be pulled down and brutally assaulted.
Those able to find the tunnel to downtown that Danielle and her
group had used earlier found that the passage was now a charnel
house of blood, gore, and danger. Many of the bodies in the
passageway were not completely dead and posed a threat to anyone
within reach. Once through, those lucky enough to have run the
gauntlet successfully then were forced to make their way through
the chaotic rampage still raging on the streets above them.

Individually and in small groups, they
picked their way through the bedlam and made it to the imposing
structure of the Buckner Building. Their error was immediately
apparent upon their arrival. There wasn’t a functional door or an
intact window to be found on the edifice. There was virtually no
way to close off the building, but their legs were tired and their
minds were scrambled so they piled into the building and hoped for
the best.

Running blindly into the dark, they
retreated into open rooms and found staircases but safety was
illusory.

Their hopes were dashed again and again as
those who had fled with them and had been bitten succumbed to the
infection and reanimated only to begin anew the terror. Still more
of the ghouls followed the defenseless souls into the building as
well, cornering the exhausted parties in the dank darkness. Their
tortured screams echoed in the shadows as the rest of Whittier
suffered the same fate as had befallen and was still engulfing
Anchorage.

It would have been easier to accept what
they beheld if Whittier had been an utter ruin, but it wasn’t.
Aside from a couple of buildings, the little bit of the city they
could see looked like it was merely sleeping or perhaps
waiting.

The closest building to them, a large arched
structure once used by a cruise company to accommodate tourists,
was a building in name only. Much of its roof was gone, having
burned away many weeks earlier. Its mirrored glass facade was
absent as well, lying in a storm of splintered prisms on the
ground. The ground in front of the building looked like a shiny bed
of diamonds. There was other debris as well, though Neil was unable
to determine what it was. He could guess that it was likely
clothing, bags, souvenirs and any other trinkets or mementos
discarded when their owners were forced to run for their lives.

On the opposite side of the street and
running along the dormant railroad tracks, the weathered white
tent-like structure which served as a debarkation point for rail
passengers stood soundly, having weathered the apocalyptic storm
better than its more solid neighbor. Neil suspected that with the
coming of winter storms and the intense Whittier snow, the frames
would bend and the canvas walls would collapse.

Both of those structures sat on the outer
edge of town closest to the tunnel and their group’s line of sight.
Further into town, there was a pocket of buildings that centered on
the Inn at Whittier, appearing large only in relation to the
buildings around it. There was one building, likely a marine
fueling station out near the water, which had burned down to its
foundation, devouring most of the dock as well. That appeared to be
the worst of it though.

Aside from those structural casualties, the
city was intact, if dramatically sad and lonely. Though still
standing, the buildings reminded them of relics from days gone by
whose use had long since passed.

There were cars too; most had been abandoned
where they sat when their occupants fled on foot. Facing in every
direction imaginable, the vehicles were knotted into a
bumper-to-bumper permanent traffic jam. It was a sea of metal and
glass that disappeared out of sight into the bent horizon. Many
likely had idled with engines running until the gasoline had been
spent. Neil was hopeful that perhaps a motorist or two had turned
the ignition off before fleeing. Maybe there was a car down there
that could be driven.

Or a boat. There were dozens of boats
resting on their trailers high above the cars and trucks
surrounding them; almost as many boats as cars. The taller sea
craft added a depth to the vehicular press, making it resemble a
metropolitan skyline in miniature.

Further beyond, Neil could see the large
white frame of a cruise ship. Even from this distance, the boat
looked like a ghost ship. It rose and fell gently, effortlessly,
and lifelessly. The monstrous craft was listing a bit to its
starboard side.

The breeze blew, sending loose plastic bags
and other odds and ends off the ground in search of some other
place to rest. Atop a flagpole fluttered two flags, one with stars
and stripes and the other with a field of blue and a yellow
constellation of stars. From where Neil and the others watched,
that was the only movement any of them could see.

The stillness was unsettling. Nothing moved.
Not a bird in the sky or an animal in sight.

Neil spotted random piles of garbage or
perhaps discarded piles of laundry. He knew better though. If he
were to stand close enough, he suspected that he would confirm
otherwise, that he would see clothing ripped asunder and bones
picked clean of flesh. There would likely be crusty rust-colored
stains on the pavement and cloth as well.

It was obvious to him that the calamity had
preceded them once again.

Neil looked over his shoulder at Jules,
Nikki, and Danny, and wished there was some way to shield them from
all of that. Despite all that had happened and all they had already
seen, he still only wanted to protect them from the grim realities
this new world had to offer.

Standing next to him, Jerry said, “I see
some of them.” The younger man, peering through the scope of his
hunting rifle, pointed deeper into town.

Neil asked, “How many?”

“A few dozen maybe. Maybe more. I can’t tell
for sure.”

Neil removed his hat and scratched his
shaggy head in the same motion. Again, they needed a plan.

They were close to a parking lot filled with
buses, recreational vehicles, cars, trucks, and vans, parked in a
neat, orderly fashion off to one side of the Anton Anderson
Memorial Tunnel exit. Neil found that very curious.

The city was as silent as the grave; not
even a single gull was singing. The snow, thick and heavy on the
mountain and the Portage Highway beyond, had barely touched
Whittier yet, though the threat of winter hung heavily all around.
A light dusting of white was struggling to hold its ground in the
shadows, but the sun and the moist air coming from the Sound had
nearly banished this first taste of winter to another day.

Emma checked the magazine on her assault
rifle and pounded it back into the weapon. Stepping closer, she
asked, “So, what’s the plan then?”

“I guess we should get down there and take a
closer look,” Neil said hesitantly. “Jerry already spotted some of
our friends, so stay sharp. Try not to shoot unless you absolutely
have to. If we can take them down without drawing attention, I
think that will make our lives easier.”

Everyone’s quick nods of understanding were
followed by a familiar, echoing sound that could only be from a
gunshot. They shared a quick look with one another and then started
down the last slope into the nearest parking lot.

A gun could mean only one
thing...people.

The drive from Shotgun Cove back to Whittier
seemed unreasonably long to the passengers in the dirty Chevy
Blazer.

Danielle was with the group selected to
venture into Whittier from Shotgun Cove to forage for supplies. The
lodges from which they all came had been well stocked for the past
season, but certain, typically luxury items were in short supply.
They were also on a mission to determine what had happened in
Whittier and the rest of the world, which had gone silent.

The eight of them came each for a different
reason. Danielle needed to find more insulin or any alternatives
that might present themselves. She could only control her diabetes
with a proper diet for so long. She needed her medicine if for
nothing more than piece of mind.

The others each came with a list of items to
be gathered from shops, hotels, or other places. This was their
first incursion into Whittier since that first day. None of them
knew what to expect when they arrived back into town.

The trees were dense on both sides of the
road despite the retreat of autumn, creating a green walled tunnel,
restricting light and visibility. It felt like they were driving
into the waning day but the reality was anything but. They left the
Cove when it became apparent that the sky was as light as it was
going to get today with the heavy cloud cover. The road was not
much more than a logging road cut through the enveloping forest.
They breathed a sigh of relief when the gravel and mostly mud road
gave way to pavement. Up to that point, the noise the vehicle was
making was uncomfortably loud and the bouncing and jostling was
shaking all of their confidence.

All at once, the trees on the right side
dropped away, yielding themselves to the breathtaking expanse of
the Prince William Sound. The water, dark and threatening, swelled
with the gathering weather. White capped waves stretched themselves
into the distance and beyond.

Danielle watched the roiling sea, the wind
stirring it violently. She found herself worrying for her older
brother out of sheer habit. There was many a day that he was out on
his boat in sour skies with a similar look. Danielle learned to
worry from her mother, who spent long moments watching the water
and waiting for her son to return. And he always did.

Danielle imagined her brother’s face and his
nearly toothless smile, evoking a surprising rush of emotion. Her
cheeks flushed and her eyes watered. She prayed he had been out
away from Whittier when the troubles began but knew better. He was
going to take her and her friend Kameron out onto the Sound and was
likely trapped in the boat harbor along with everyone else. She
blamed herself for having dealt her brother such a sour hand. She
breathed a shallow sigh filled with guilt and sadness, drawing
attention from William behind the steering wheel.

He looked back at her, the bright white of
his eyes contrasting strongly against his smooth, dark skin. His
eyes were kind and strong yet soft. They were the eyes of angels.
They were the eyes of cozy Sundays and they made Danielle feel
safe. She could see the smile in his eyes even if she couldn’t see
his face in the reflection.