Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution (37 page)

“I think we—”

Mason’s eyes opened wide but his mouth
slammed shut. Only a few feet away stood a woman wearing a
convenience store uniform. It appeared as if maybe she had run away
from the gas station nearby. She must have been lying near the road
out of sight, because she was just suddenly standing there with her
back to them. Mason thought he saw something on her arm, below her
elbow.

The woman stood motionless for a few
seconds. Well,
she
stood mostly motionless.
Her head jerked violently a couple of times like she was having a
fit. When she started to shudder from head to toe, Frances said
tremulously, “Mason?”

Mason looked down at the little girl and
shook his head, a look of terror entering into his eyes. Before any
of them could move, however, the woman spun around and was rapidly
approaching them.

Mason raised the pistol, pulled the trigger,
and...nothing. By that time, Frances was screaming loud enough that
everyone and everything in the parking lot up the road heard her.
Mason, his hand trembling doubtfully, tried to process in his mind
how to make the gun fire. He found the safety and was pulling the
slide to chamber a round, but the woman was already upon them.

Her teeth bared like fangs, the fierce woman
fell upon Frances, screaming and wriggling beneath her. Frances
shrieked and then was quiet. Ethan, meanwhile, was kicking and
punching the woman. Tears filled his eyes as he fought this woman
to force her to release his sister.

From below her attacker, Frances cried,
“She’s biting meeeeee! Make her stop Ethannnnn!”

Ethan had kicked the woman in the side of
the head until she looked in the direction from which his foot was
coming. The final kick from his boot was delivered squarely and
forcefully. The woman’s head cocked back and she rolled away,
gurgling and choking with the rush of blood down her throat.

Ethan reached down and lifted his sister to
her feet. Turning about, Ethan led them blindly deeper into the
trees. Mason was now following the two kids. It felt like he was
walking in a haze. He didn’t notice it when Ethan and Frances
disappeared from view. They may have stopped to rest and he passed
them. Or perhaps they shifted right while he went left.

Either way, he found himself alone. When he
stopped, the only sound Mason could hear was his own breathing. He
was wracked with guilt. He was supposed to be protecting those
kids. He was supposed to have been the one leading them away from
danger. He was the one carrying the guns. He was the older one. He
was the responsible adult.

Driven by his shame, Mason retraced his
steps, hoping he would stumble upon the two kids. He’d find them
and never let them leave his sight. He would do better. He didn’t
like to let people down.

After walking for quite some time without
passing anything that looked familiar, Mason determined he was
lost. He could very well have gotten turned around during his
retreat into the forest. He had no idea where he was or in which
direction he should go.

The sun was still overhead, though some
ominous clouds were starting to press themselves into the sky like
an aggressive splash of dark dye spreading on a canvas. Soon, the
sun would disappear.

The
sun
. That was it. He had found the sun through the
thin, leafy ceiling of tree branches, leaves, and needles. He
figured it had to be afternoon, which helped him get his bearings.
If he kept the sun on his back, he should be able to find the
highway again.

And so in that direction he walked until he
found the road. It wasn’t the highway that he found. It was a side
street cutting through a neighborhood. He paused to look around and
to rest his shoulders, which were sore from having the added weight
of the bundle of rifles and shotguns clipped onto his backpack.

Looking around more closely than the last
time he had approached civilization, he was comfortable there was
no one lurking near to him. He sat down amidst the trees, which
bordered the houses, small professional buildings, and specialized
retailers and boutiques. He could smell smoke wafting on the breeze
and quickly determined it was from another burning building. He
wondered if those horrible people had perhaps preceded him there as
well.

When a group of four or five harried souls
emerged from one of the houses and ran across the street, he almost
shouted to them to wait for him. Before he could get a word out an
animated mob appeared in the street on both sides of the group.
Hemmed in, they lashed out with firearms. They used shotguns and
handguns, creating a roar of echoing cracks and pops. They weren’t
able to shoot fast enough though. In a matter of seconds, the group
of people had been overwhelmed and savagely attacked.

It looked like the larger crowd was eating
the others, but that couldn’t possibly be the case. It was likely
just Mason’s imagination getting the better of him.

Transfixed, he couldn’t take his eyes away
from the assault. The struggling was done apparently, because the
crowd was no longer fighting whoever was beneath them. It looked
like they were scavenging. Wait….no. Both his original assumption
and his worst fears were confirmed when one of them pulled back
from the group and retreated with what was undoubtedly a
blood-dripping arm that had been wrenched from a body. Like a
primitive beast relishing its fresh kill, the man gripped the limb
and proceeded to gnaw on it hungrily, tearing away chewy bits of
flesh with his grinding teeth. He barely chewed as he swallowed
down the gory mouthfuls.

From beneath the chomping and grunting
sounds, Mason thought he could hear a faint whisper of a voice
begging for the anguish to end. Mason slunk back into the forest
while the crazed people were still distracted with their ungodly
feast.

Confused and trembling with fear, Mason
wandered for a bit, not entirely certain he knew where to go. He
couldn’t imagine anywhere being safe. Everywhere he went, things
were getting worse.

He lost track of time and only became aware
of its passing when he realized in terror that it was getting dark.
He couldn’t imagine being alone, in the dark, lost in the woods. He
also noticed that he could see his breath.

Instinctively, he stopped dead in his
tracks. He could see movement to his right but he was afraid to
look more closely in that direction. He reasoned that if he didn’t
acknowledge it, then maybe whatever it was wouldn’t notice him.
Mason quickly dropped down, trying to hide amidst the lingering but
fading autumn foliage. He heard a loud crack and then a zipping pop
near his head. Mason heard a pair of people speaking:

“D’you hit it?”

”I don’t know. Looked like it.”

“What should we do?”

Mason waved his hands above his head and
pleaded, “Please stop shooting. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” His
voice was softened with the tears that were starting to fill his
eyes, “I just don’t want to be alone anymore.”

One of them said, “Well stand up. Let’s
getta’ look at ya.”

Mason thought about it for a moment, not
sure if he should stand up or just try and crawl away. He didn’t
know if he could trust these men or not but was afraid that he
didn’t have any choice. Full of trepidation, he stood slowly and
looked more closely through the failing light.

There was a bigger group than he had
thought. In his stupor, he hadn’t seen the group of people with
whom he nearly collided. They were wandering much the same as he
was and were no less afraid. He counted at least eight people, all
adults.

With hushed voices, the adults had a quick
but sharp debate. They weren’t certain if they wanted to allow
Mason to join them. Some obviously thought it was a bad idea
judging by their body language. Some of the others started to nod
their heads after one of those against it spoke. Mason felt his
agitation rise. He didn’t want to be alone again. Then he
remembered his bargaining chip.

“I’ve got these,” he said, and lifted the
bundle of rifles and shotguns.

Mason was allowed to join the group, which
hiked a little further into the woods until they came to a
clearing. Just as he had thought, having someone else decide things
for him and simply following along behind was much better. They set
up a makeshift camp in the clearing, lighting a fire and pitching
the handful of tents they had.

No one knew what was going on in the cities
with the suddenly crazed people wreaking such havoc. It was decided
they would wait for the authorities— the government, the Army— to
bring order and take control of the situation. It was just a matter
of time really.

With the addition of the fire and then a
quick meal, the tension that everyone harbored lessened somewhat.
The night was starting to feel like just another camping trip.
Mason didn’t stray too far away from the fire and kept the duffle
bag full of pistols and ammunition and his own backpack next to
him.

A few of the adults engaged him in
conversation but it was all superficial talk. Topics never ventured
too far away from the weather, the season, and what each did for an
occupation. A couple of the adults asked him about the guns and how
he had gotten away safely with such a heavy bundle. Mason didn’t
give many details and avoided mentioning anything about the
children he had abandoned in the forest.

Having ignored his bladder as long as he
could, Mason was finally forced to deal with it. He stood quietly,
hefted his baggage and walked to the edge of the trees. He was
careful to find a spot where he could still see the fire but was
also shielded from view by trees and bushes.

He stood there in the dark for a few seconds
before he unbuttoned and unzipped his blue jeans. He had begun to
relieve himself when he heard a wave of surprise followed by
terrified screams sweep through the camp. Still urinating, he knelt
down and tried to see what was happening.

They had been found by some of the crazed
people who washed into the encampment like a dark deluge. One of
the men squeezed off a couple of quick shots from his shotgun
before being pulled to the ground by hands emerging from the
night.

The uneven shadows created by the flickering
firelight cast the entire campsite into a hellish puppet theater.
The gruesome struggle shrouded in dancing darkness was how Mason
envisioned Hell: Blood. Tears. Growls. Biting. Tearing. Chewing.
All lit in uneven firelight which came and went with the gentle
breeze, causing the eye to only catch passing glimpses of horror
like the images of a whirling nightmare.

Using the loud mayhem behind him to mask the
sound of his own footsteps, Mason did what he had done throughout
the entire day; he fled. Despite their weight, he was still
carrying his bundle of weapons and now understood that he could use
them as currency. His arms ached as he switched from carrying with
his right to his left and back again. He didn’t dare entertain
thoughts of surrendering his cargo and so endured the discomfort to
the point of his arms burning themselves numb.

He finally came upon an abandoned
automobile, a sedan, which had likely been stuck in the mud for
years judging upon the amount of leaves, dirt, and debris that had
gathered on its windshields. Mason opened one of the doors and sat.
His legs were as tired as his arms but it was his poor mind which
was suffering the most.

Mason tried to process all he had seen on
this very long day but was finding himself unable. His grief and
guilt hitting him in inexorable waves, Mason began to cry. Ashamed
that a man of his age would be crying, he tried unsuccessfully to
restrain his tears, resulting in a few moments of uncontrolled
choking, which only served to make him feel more ridiculous and
less manly. Poor Mason was miserable and that was how he felt until
he drifted off to sleep.

His nose filled with the rank odor of
mildew, moisture, and rotting upholstery, Mason awoke the next
morning only slightly more rested. He was drawn out of his sleep by
a not-too-distant engine sound. He thought that maybe it sounded
like a bus or some other big vehicle. Maybe it was the military.
He’d never heard a tank before but thought it might sound
similar.

For a brief moment, his fear faded and a
tinge of hope returned. Stiffly, he crawled out of the car and
relieved himself despite his uncontrollable shaking. He could see
his breath and his stream of bright yellow urine created its own
steam.

With a sense of purpose and urgency in his
step, he stepped toward the engine sound. He was closer to the main
road than he had thought. As dark as it had been the night before,
he had figured that the streetlights and business neon signs must
not have been working, and that the electricity was off.

Before he had completely cleared the tree
line, he could see the activity. There were four men and at least
two of them wore what looked like military uniforms. Another of the
men was wearing all black— jeans, t-shirt, baseball cap, and boots.
The men all carried assault rifles too. That was enough for
Mason.

The men had started a mid-sized Shoreside
Petroleum tanker truck and were trying to clear the other vehicles
from around it. They also were loading supplies from some of the
trucks into the back of a big black pickup truck, which nicely
matched the man in black’s outfit.

Mason emerged from the trees and walked
purposefully toward them. He was about to shout to them when there
was some commotion nearer to the men. There were shouts, then men
running, followed by shooting. Mason regretted having shown himself
at all, afraid that maybe his luck was following him once again.
Would his presence cause more death?

Not this time. The men backed themselves
into a tight circle and began to shoot methodically at some other
people running at them...attacking them.