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

Neil was right. The ground had frozen
sufficiently enough to allow them to skirt the wrecks and ad hoc
roadblocks. Along the highway in scattered groups, the frozen
carcasses of the recently dispatched undead littered the pavement.
The haggard remains didn’t resemble human beings in the slightest.
When Jess slowed the car to pass particularly bad patches of
snarled vehicles and the corpses could be better examined, the
sorrowful piles of bones reminded Neil of old black and white
photographs he’d seen in books of concentration camp victims
butchered and murdered by the Nazis during World War Two. They had
lacked any color. Neil and his group were responsible for most of
those bodies. There were quite a few, more than any of them could
remember having encountered.

Emma and Jerry, sitting in the backseat with
the three children, did their best to keep the kids distracted
during those stretches though there was little point. In those
areas where the bodies were especially heavy and there was little
option other than driving over the rapidly deteriorating carcasses,
Emma and Jerry told the children to look down. Not seeing the gory
results did not insulate them from the horrific crunching and
popping sounds coming from under the car as its tires drove over
heads, limbs, and torsos. It also couldn’t erase the horrifying
memories each harbored from just over a day earlier when the bodies
were still animated and threatening to kill and eat them.

When they came to a particularly tight
passage around a large group of stalled vehicles or the tail end of
the overturned tour bus, Neil and Jerry would climb out and help
Jess to maneuver the car. Amazingly, the two men didn’t hesitate to
leave the relative security and warmth of the automobile and walk
along the car’s sides for added navigation and protection. At one
point, both men discharged their firearms and unceremoniously
killed two of the creatures that were approaching with too much
enthusiasm. They didn’t like using their guns, but neither wanted a
close encounter with the monsters.

They drove slowly and deliberately along the
highway, the tunnel never seeming to draw any closer to them. The
road felt like it was stretching out indefinitely, teasing them
with fleeting promises of an end to their journey.

Eventually, they passed the Begich Boggs
Visitor Center and its recent memories of loss. Not long ago, Neil
and his party found themselves harbored there, relatively safe from
the horrors of the undead, only to fall prey to the evil intentions
of other men. The militia from Soldotna, having driven north on a
foraging trip, cornered everyone but Neil, Jerry, and Emma at the
rest area. The resulting confrontation ended with a couple of
deaths and the abduction of most of Neil’s group. The militia,
capable of subterfuge and plotting, posed a much more significant
threat than the zombies.

Seeing the large visitor center building,
Jerry’s tongue dried and his heart threatened to stop due to the
weight of his grief. Claire, the only girl to ever give him the
time of day and with whom he had fallen in love, was taken from him
that day…stolen away and tortured to death for sport. Jerry, like
Neil with Meghan, was not allowed to share an emotional farewell.
She had been abducted while Jerry, Neil, and Emma were scouting
ahead. In Jerry’s mind, Claire had fallen victim because he had not
been there to protect her. He had to live with his failure but she
had died because of it. Jerry would like to have blamed someone
else for Claire’s death, but he always came back to the fact that
it was his idea to leave the women and children in their group
undefended. How could they have suspected that such evil could lurk
in the hearts of men? What kind of people did such horrible
things?

There were, of course, no answers to any of
Jerry’s questions and no reprieve from his agonizing self-doubt or
guilt. With tears forcing themselves into the corners of his eyes
and onto his cheeks, Jerry looked away from the buildings and fixed
his gaze on the road ahead. There was no escape from his pain
though. Claire’s pale face and butchered hands and feet as she lay
lifeless on a work bench-turned-executioner’s table were waiting
just behind his lids every time he shut his eyes. No matter the
distraction, it wasn’t enough to help ease his heartache. He chewed
his lower lip and held his breath, hoping to curtail the tears to
no avail. The hot, salty mist filled his eyes, even as his heart
tried to empty itself of all feeling.

The first tunnel through which they drove
was short but very dark due to the bend at its middle. Once
through, the valley opened in front of them. The mountains seemed
to take several steps back and the water to their right
disappeared. There were still cars and bodies along the road, but
the sense of claustrophobia was absent. Perhaps the most forgiving
development was the Begich Boggs Visitor Center and its punishing
memories were no longer in view. Everything felt so different on
the opposite side of the short tunnel. Even the buffeting wind
subsided somewhat, apparently satisfied that it had done its part
to make a miserable day all the more intolerable.

In front of them and to their right, the
mountains were dominated by a pair of looming glaciers that pressed
themselves forcefully into the mountains, separating peaks and
eroding ancient rock with their raw power. The dirty white surface
of snow and ice gradually but inexorably surrendered itself to a
deeper and cooler hue of blue, which looked to be at the glaciers’
hearts. The valley was both breathtaking and intimidating and had
been for thousands of years.

Just ahead, the road opened into a much more
full and multilane affair with the tunnel entrance looming ahead.
The few service buildings in front of them, including two
tollbooths, were in ruins. Not a full pane of glass sat in a single
window and much of what should have been inside, such as paperwork,
furniture, and other office odds and ends, littered the ground in
front of and around the structures. Barely recognizable for what
they were, withered dismembered limbs wrenched violently from their
bodies were mixed in with the detritus. If not for the claw like
hands or the shoes and socks at their ends, Neil would have assumed
they were discarded tree branches used to smash the windows.

There wasn’t a single bird circling or
animal stirring for as far as the eye could see. Most of the trees
had shed their leaves too. Life itself had apparently eschewed this
cursed place. Was this the road to salvation or to damnation?

Either way, the road was barred. Before them
on the far side of an eclectic mix of vehicles including some
yellow construction trucks, an imposing looking iron door closed
the tunnel entrance. The barrier stood unmoved by time or the
efforts of those who preceded Neil and his small group of
survivors.

It looked like several drivers had tried to
ram their cars and trucks through the unyielding door. The veneer
of the enormous door was barely scratched but the cars sitting in
front were broken, burned heaps.

Jess slowed the car and shifted into park.
No one was eager to get out of the car, so she turned around and
faced the front of the car away from the tunnel. She hoped, as they
all did, that the preparation would be unnecessary. They yearned
for the promise and possibility Whittier had come to symbolize for
them. They had all had enough of running.

Neil was the first out of the car as usual.
He stepped out and stretched his sore back and aching knees. Having
been recently thrown from the back of a moving truck, his muscles
and bones protested his every step. Lucky for him, Jess found a
bottle of generic Ibuprofen in her glove box, but the ten or twelve
he’d taken were only able to do so much. Moving from sitting to
standing was a challenge at the moment.

The others followed Neil’s lead, climbing
out onto the pavement with all the enthusiasm of the condemned
marching the Green Mile. Each wrapped himself or herself in as many
layers as they could. Shirts were covered by more shirts, which
were covered by sweatshirts of cotton and fleece. Upon those were
light jackets that were in turn covered by parkas or heavier coats.
Their legs were similarly provisioned when possible. Most had
gloves and weatherproof boots as well.

When all was said and done, most of them
felt capable of facing the elements for a short while. Nikki and
Jess were the only two not well equipped, with Nikki in the worse
shape of the two. Jess wore a pair of flannel-lined pants, two
sweatshirts over a pair of long sleeve shirts, and had a very thick
brown Carhartt coat, compliments of her missing boyfriend Bob. She
was also able to find an extra pair of socks and a pair of gloves
in her trunk belonging to her daughter Syd. Seeing them and then
pulling them onto her feet and hands caused Jess to rediscover the
guilt she had successfully suppressed for the past few hours.

When all of the troubles had started, Syd
had been with Bob on a late season fishing run. Jess had been only
able to speak with Bob once since that terrible day so long ago but
the conversation had helped maintain Jess’ hope for her daughter’s
life. Bob knew what was happening and promised to keep Syd safe.
Jess knew she could count on Bob. He was a good man and had always
looked out for the two of them, despite not being Syd’s father. He
had never hesitated to willingly fill whatever role either Jess or
Syd needed of him. It was for that reason that Jess had been able
to nurse along her hope for Syd’s life and safety.

Not a day had passed that Jess hadn’t
thought about her daughter, but the time and distance combined with
the desperate nature of her current existence had blunted the depth
of awareness she’d had for her daughter. When Jess saw the socks,
she was transported back to the day the socks had ended up in the
trunk in the first place. After an impromptu midnight venture to
Clam Gulch, Jess and Syd, feet wet and squishy, crawled back into
Jess’ waiting car. Jess had thought ahead enough to be wearing Tiva
sandals but Syd had waded into the cold, surging surf in her tennis
shoes. Back at the car, Syd took off both shoes and socks, throwing
the socks into the open trunk and her shoes into the backseat. The
socks fell victim to the curse of out of sight, out of mind, and
had remained in the trunk until that moment.

In her mind, Jess was seeing Syd’s smile and
smelling the scented shampoo she used daily. Jess could hear her
voice and full chested laugh. The memories, specific and full of
acute details, reawakened in Jess the pain of the protracted and
uncertain separation. As with Neil’s Ibuprofen, Jess had also been
lucky. She found a long forgotten pack of Marlboro cigarettes with
a handful of smokes still in it in her glove box. Borrowing a
lighter from Emma and giving her one of the precious cigarettes in
return, Jess stepped away to smoke and gather herself.

Meanwhile, little Nikki, only slightly more
alert and responsive than a catatonic, was outfitted with extra
odds and ends from Jules and Danny. She was the least prepared of
all of them and in the worst position to do anything about it. She
was so small and so frail, both of body and spirit. Vulnerability
was her most outward and apparent characteristic. Nothing they had
was capable of protecting her from the cold, and that was
distressing to all of them, but more so to Danny.

It was apparent to everyone that Danny had
taken on a bit of a guardian role with Nikki. When the militia had
abducted them, Danny was the oldest child of the four. They looked
to him for protection and strength. Although scared himself, Danny
accepted his new designation and did what he could to keep them
safe. Danny merely tried to do what he thought Neil would have done
for all of them. And when he felt like his fear was going to
staunch his efforts, Danny chided himself and searched his memory
for Neil’s voice to embolden his resolve. Nikki, like Jules, clung
to Danny both physically and metaphorically and Danny did what he
could to justify her faith in him. He felt a sense akin to his
idolization of Neil and what he had done for all of them and was
eager to emulate the hero in his life. He zipped up the sweatshirt,
which was a couple of sizes too large for Nikki and pulled socks
over her hands to act as gloves. He also wrapped a blanket they
found in Jess’ trunk around her shoulders to further fend off the
cold, though it came off looking like a princess’ ceremonial robe
more than ad hoc winter gear. Through all of it, Nikki hadn’t said
a word until she finally stated what all of them were feeling.

“I’m hungry.”

It had been a couple of days since they had
eaten anything and their stomachs were growling testament to that
fact.

Neil shared with more than a little hope in
his voice, “There will be food on the other side of the mountain.
There has to be.”

“And people? Will there be people too?”
Jules asked, her hushed voice as cautious as it was hopeful.

Neil looked at the others with the same
question in his eyes. He was as curious as all of them were about
that. He also wondered, if there were people to be encountered,
what kind of people they would be. Would they be as fanatical and
crazed as the militia and the Colonel of which Jess spoke?

He smiled at Jules. “I’m sure there will be,
sweetie.” Neil turned to the rest of the group. “We should get
going while it’s still early. Maybe we can get ahead of the weather
before it gets too bad.”

DB had been right. There was a trail that
started out wide and flat, but gradually inclined itself up the
mountain. As it climbed, the way became more narrow, rocky, and
difficult. Though it was marked with trail posts and dead lights,
the difficult path challenged them at every step. The higher they
climbed, the deeper the snow became and the stronger the winds
grew. At a certain elevation, the still falling snow blowing into
their faces.