Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 4): Resolution (59 page)

Leaving Whittier, William was certain he
could see what looked like a parade of some sort starting to move
onto Shotgun Cove Road. This parade lacked everything but
coordinated movement. There was no color, no energy, no life.
William asked Mason to find the binoculars in one of the storage
seats.

When Mason used the binoculars, his gasp was
enough for William to know that his eyes had not deceived him.
William opened up Nostromo’s motors, increasing their speed. He
needed to get back to Shotgun Cove before both the Colonel’s
militia and those walking abominations reached the lodge.

Shotgun Cove appeared faster than William
had anticipated and, to his great relief,
Serenity
was resting where she should be and it looked
like there were people on it. He thought he could see Jerry
carrying something onto the boat. They were still some distance
out, but the binoculars helped somewhat.

William wondered what Jerry was doing and
decided to get the young man’s attention with a couple of quick
blasts with Nostromo’s powerful air horn. He thought that perhaps
Jerry had already detected them, but William hoped that by
announcing themselves Jerry and whoever else was with him wouldn’t
shoot first and ask questions later.

Mason asked, “Those your friends?”

“Yeah,” nodded William, “and they’re all
pretty good shots. We don’t want them shooting us before we get
over there.”

Mason lowered himself in his chair a
little.

When William pulled them alongside
Serenity
, he and Mason were greeted warmly.
William was welcomed back like a missing family member. He was
greatly relieved to learn that Neil was still alive and, in fact,
doing quite well. His wound was all in soft tissue and was already
healing. Jerry, Jess, and Danielle assured William that Neil would
be grateful to see him. They had feared the worst.

The latest words produced tears from each of
them, including Mason. He was taken with how much these people
appeared to care about one another. They treated each other better
than his own family had treated each other. Mason was finally happy
with one of his decisions and the more he heard them speak with one
another the more firmly he believed it was the right one.

Back at the lodge, William and Mason told
everyone what was coming their way. The Colonel was bent on
vengeance and was likely already making his way their direction
with his militia. That was the most immediate threat, and it was
also the threat with which they could likely contend. Following
behind them at a gradual but steady pace was likely an
insurmountable threat. The thousands of hungry zombies that would
infest all of Shotgun Cove would be more than they could handle.
They simply didn’t have enough ammunition.

It was William who suggested that they
should abandon his lodge for refuge elsewhere. Initially, there
were some voices of protest. The lodge was the best place any of
them had been in a very long time. It was hard to give up such
comfort and solid security, but common sense and survival
priorities prevailed. It was just a matter of considering the
possibilities realistically. When those
things
arrived— and they would— the lodge would fall
under siege. There was no telling how long the undead would be able
to maintain a siege, but they suspected that the zombies could and
would outlast all of the living humans inside the lodge. If they
were to be trapped in the lodge, it would seal their doom.

It was decided they would take to the boats
and move to their next sanctuary. William had some good ideas about
that as well, which he shared with all of them. Everyone was
excited for a chance to be on the move, especially Jules.

It was actually very fun to watch young
Jules prepare herself for their next move. It was like watching a
young girl getting ready for vacation. She had grown very adept at
packing her backpack tightly and in the right order to make the
most important things at the top and easy to pull out. Her
enthusiasm was infectious to all of them.

They packed out most of the food, all of the
firearms and ammunition, and just about everything else that any of
them could want or need in the coming months. The boats were loaded
heavier than William had ever seen either of them, but they handled
their weighty cargo well.

The seas were calm and dry when they
departed. They only had twenty miles to go to find the cabin
William had in mind, but there was no point in tarrying. They were
long gone by the time Colonel Bear tripped the lodge’s alarm and
never saw the less than epic confrontation between the militia and
the zombie horde.

Outnumbered and poorly led, the militia
broke almost immediately. Dozens of random shots were fired,
largely ineffectively, but no coordinated resistance materialized.
It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. There were too many of them for
the militia to ever be able to repel. The poor souls were driven
into the woods in every direction and hunted until they dropped
from sheer exhaustion. None of them survived.

The Colonel tried to reverse out of harm’s
way in his Hummer, but drifted too much onto the road’s shoulder.
The big vehicle struggled for a few tense moments, then the Colonel
coaxed it back onto the road. By then, he had been encircled by
such a thick mass of bodies he was unable to make the big Detroit
behemoth move at all. He was stuck and the creatures who had him
trapped weren’t going anywhere. They could be as patient as
death.

The Colonel cursed Neil, holding him
responsible for his current predicament. He also cursed Carter for
not being there to keep everyone together. If they had all stayed
together, maybe they could have had an orderly retreat to the
lodge, whose alarm was still blaring from not that far down the
road.

The Hummer’s side windows, stressed from the
enormous pressure exerted against them from the outside, started to
pop and crack, not that the Colonel could have heard it. The cabin
was filled with a reverberating, torturous cacophony caused by
fingernails scratching across the vehicle’s outer skin, raspy moans
and growls, and bodies pounding the Hummer’s sides and hood. The
Colonel couldn’t hear the windows when they shattered into
thousands of tiny shards in the back seat. He wasn’t able to even
hear his own thoughts.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t like
not knowing what to do. The lack of control was causing him the
greatest consternation, which fueled his growing fear. He may have
been crying. He couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t thinking clearly any
longer. If he had, he would have heard the hands and arms, which
fought with one another for space to enter the back of the vehicle.
None of them were reaching toward the Colonel yet, but because his
seat had to be adjusted so far back, he was in danger of being
grabbed at any moment.

The Colonel looked into the scores of pairs
of rage-filled eyes staring at him through his windshield. He
removed his sidearm from its holster and weighed it in his hand. He
pulled the slide and quickly readied the pistol for use. He had
always liked this gun. It was one of his first.

After a short pause, the Colonel
straightened in his seat and said to no one and everyone, “If
you’re gonna eat me, at least I won’t be fresh.” He lifted the
pistol to the side of his head, but when he fired the round went
wild because he had been tugged by one of the hands reaching in
from behind. Instead of entering his head, the bullet punched a
hole through his driver side window. The next push brought the
glass down atop the Colonel, startling him for a second.

A second was all the vicious hands needed.
The Colonel continued to struggle, but the hands from behind were
pulling one way and the ones to his left were pulling another. His
skin was filleted from his arms and shoulders by bony, claw-like
fingers. The Colonel’s agonized shrieks excited the crowd’s
bloodlust to a horrifying pitch. Teeth found their way to the
Colonel’s exposed flesh as he was harvested and feasted upon while
he was still alive.

Consciousness eventually faded, but when his
chest cavity was excavated, the Colonel’s heart was still pumping
blood into his veins.

Carter finally found the end of the long
line of skins, which were going after the Colonel down the road in
Shotgun Cove. Carter was slowly moving along the sloping shoulder
of the road toward Whittier, hoping to either reach the city or the
tail end of the death parade. Much of the ground he had crossed was
perilously sloped, causing him to slip more than once, sending
rocks tumbling down off the edge. He couldn’t see how far down the
drop was but assumed it was lethal.

It had been a long time since his heart had
beat as fast as it did while he crept along below the unknowing
eyes, noses, and ears of the thousands of zombies on the road
above. At one point, he almost laughed at the ridiculous situation
in which he was finding himself. He’d had the craziest fucking
life. He was forced to stop and collect himself or risk
detection.

Now that the majority of the things were
heading away from him, he could afford to move faster along the
road. He climbed up and was relieved to see that his judgment had
been correct. The undead appeared to be all behind him.

He trotted quickly toward Whittier. Moving
in such a consistent manner, Carter found himself on the edge of
Whittier in a few minutes. The snow, coming down so fast and
furious when they left the city, was no longer in the air, though
it had accumulated in thick layers along the city’s streets and on
the dormant buildings and empty cars.

Out of breath but feeling better about his
prospects, Carter thought it was about time for a drink. The lounge
was there on the corner of the main drag and immediately in front
of him. It was like it was a sign or something.

His legs aching and tired, he shuffled
across the snow making a fresh path through the snow to the
lounge’s main entrance. Carter walked into the bar and up the
stairs to the main floor. The limited light through the opaque and
curtained windows cast long shadows across the bar and its smashed
furniture. Carter hoped that the same could not be said about the
booze behind the bar. If all the bottles had already been emptied
or, God forbid, smashed, he was going to be exceptionally
disappointed.

He crossed the floor quietly, careful not to
further disrupt the delicate balance the furniture stacked in the
middle of the establishment had achieved. It looked like a piece of
modern art perhaps. Carter skirted around the edge of the room and
reached the bar, sitting on the lone stool still in front of
it.

Trying to draw the attention of a phantom
bartender, Carter coughed and said, “How ‘bout a shot
bartender?”

Imagine Carter’s surprise when a woman with
long blonde hair stood up behind the bar, her back to him. He
thought that the hair looked awfully familiar. He was still
thinking that when she turned around and leaped over the bar,
latching her teeth onto his throat.

As he fell backward, Carter uttered
“Kit...?” in surprise.

She had already crushed his trachea,
clogging his airways. His body started to quake as it fought for
air, which made the meal all the more pleasant. That was what the
infection craved. It thrived on living tissue.

The commotion had attracted another group
from the basement. These specimens had been undead for a much
longer stretch and moved accordingly. They slunk across the floor
and fell upon the still warm body. Their mouths were adorned with
much more jagged, yellowed teeth. Like grinding saws, their teeth
sank into the inviting flesh and easily separated chewable morsels,
enabling them to go back again and again. In very little time, the
body had been picked clean of soft tissue and many of the bones had
been pulled away from the skeletal remains in order that the marrow
inside could also be ingested.

Arriving at the cabin safely and without any
incident was a pleasant surprise to all of them. The weather
continued to smile on them, staying dry and fairly calm. They
offloaded some of the supplies and all the fuel except the barrels
that they would use to fill the boats’ tanks.

When the work was done, Neil sat down next
to the wood stove to enjoy the simple creature comfort of warmth.
He looked around at the oversized but still overstuffed cabin.
Danny and Jules were sitting out of the way, watching the chaos
with interest, despite the fact that they had seen similar activity
every time they were forced to move to yet another refuge. Neil was
thankful for the cabin and what it might provide to these two kids.
He didn’t want them to live their every day in fear for their
lives. Neil didn’t know if they would always be safe here or even
if they would choose to remain here long term, but for the time
being they could be safe and take time to be kids again. Neil was
not a fool, however. He understood that the world had changed and
that these two unfortunate kids would have to grow and live in a
much crueler and desperate era.

Jerry was sitting atop a sturdy stack of
boxes with Danielle, Mia, and Mason around him. They were all
sharing stories and laughs, which was profoundly good to see. Jerry
was a good man and a natural leader. Neil wasn’t at all surprised
to see Jerry at the center of the others’ attention. Neil was
nothing short of lucky to have had Jerry at his side through the
last several months. Jerry was, despite his own opinion of himself,
one of the most sturdy, reliable people Neil had ever encountered.
How many times had Jerry saved Neil’s or others’ lives? Neil
couldn’t begin to count the numbers of times that Jerry had made
the difference.