Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 3): Mitigation Book 3) (10 page)

When he turned on the television, his day went from bad to worse. He was certain that his parents had gone to Anchorage, and it was there that some unknown tragedy was unfolding. His parents had unfortunately ended up right in the middle of an emergency that would likely delay them. When the television stopped broadcasting, he chose to watch some of the movies that were in the cabin. He’d seen most of them before, the good ones anyway, but he was willing to sit through them again. Of course, every sound outside solicited immediate but cautious glances out every window which made watching movies quite a challenge. Summer was just beginning its sprint into fall, and the Alaska wilderness all around the cabin was buzzing with wildlife trying to take full advantage of the waning days.

After several days and having eaten most of the food in the cabin, Alec made the terrifying realization that he might need to go find help. If something happened to his family or something happened that would simply delay their return, there was no one who knew that he was at the cabin. He was all alone out there...well, not entirely alone. That
thing
was still out there somewhere.

He hadn’t seen any evidence of the creature so his worry was starting to center on his belly. There was still some food left in the cabin, but he decided that maybe he needed to ration it. With his time, he started to dig through the cabin, looking for anything he could find that would be useful. Actually, he’d gone looking for more bullets for the rifle. He found a partial box of small twenty-two caliber shells in a locked drawer that the cabin front door key conveniently fit. It was several of those that he used to shoot the thing. He was left with a handful of little bronze bullets that he kept in his jacket pocket at all times. He also found a couple of flashlights, some matches and a lighter, and next to the dwindling woodpile in the cabin was a small hatchet. With the exception of the rifle, all of this was pretty standard for most cabins.

Alec had no idea that the rifle was something that typically would not be an item that was so easily accessible in a rented cabin. The owners would have been mortified and concerned about possible legal ramifications of having a weapon in a rental property. Vaughn Beckett, one of the owners, brought the rife with him to share shooting a gun with his two young grandchildren. He was doing this despite his wife Dottie’s objection, so he brought in the gun clandestinely and hid it on the china cabinet out of little hands’ reach. The opportunity never presented itself during their very short visit primarily because the weather had soured, becoming cool and very wet. He didn’t usually have that particular rifle with him and so, when it came time to depart, he simply forgot about it. The rifle sat where it was left for just shy of two weeks before Alec spied it.

As the days passed, the malaise of sleeplessness and hunger began to take its toll. He felt like a spectator in someone else’s dream, disconnected and powerless. His bad thoughts began to crowd the oversized cabin like unwelcome guests. He tried desperately to distract himself again and again, but there really was no point. The thoughts were borne of the lingering remnants of his juvenile imagination which hadn’t been corrupted and suppressed by his emerging adulthood. The imaginary specters and phantoms lurking in the dark corners of the cabin or just out of sight in the surrounding trees were enough to convince him that he needed to find help.

He didn’t remember making the decision to leave the cabin. He could only recall suddenly walking along a lonely stretch of highway heading back the way from which his family had come on the first day of their vacation. He didn’t have a full grasp of where he was heading; he only knew that he was on the move putting the cabin and the creature in the woods behind him. He had some essential supplies in his backpack and the rifle in his hand.

Outside and still alone, the quiet seemed so much more...absolute. He was walking north, at least that was the direction in which he thought he was walking, and not entirely certain what awaited him at the end of his journey. He only hoped that he would eventually be amongst people again, and he could let them worry about his safety. He complained to his parents about not being trusted to take care of himself and now he regretted ever having suggested it.

Walking along that highway was nothing like walking along a road back home. There was nothing for as far as he could see that would suggest people had ever been there other than the road itself. There were no billboards, no rest areas, no McDonald’s, and no gas stations. There were only trees and rocks, rocks and trees. The sky overhead, which had been threatening rain for a couple of days, finally made good on that threat and spilled a cool rain on him after he had been walking only a couple of hours. The weather never cleared, though there were occasional dry spells.

He was shivering, cold and miserable, his stomach was growling, and his legs were tired, but he forced himself to keep walking. His first night away from the cabin, he spent along the side of the highway at a vehicle turnoff. There was a wooden picnic table there under which he slept.

The next morning, he awoke to dry, but gray skies. If he were a tourist, he would have been awed by the scenery. The road and the vehicle turnoff sat on the precipice of an incline which gave way to a beautiful valley of gray slate and green grass. On the far side of the great opening in the earth, the mountain rose to an impressive height, the top of which was already white with snow. The dark stone appeared smooth, almost polished from this distance. It looked like a broad, steep slide that ended in a lush, soft bed of grass. Such an impressive sight which could be beheld on the side of a highway. Simply amazing. He wasn’t a tourist though, and the only thing the great space next to the road made him feel was claustrophobic. He couldn’t run down the steep slope if he were chased, so his options were seriously limited by the expanse. He had less room in which to run.

Early the next day, he came to a road sign that let him know should he turn he would reach a place called Soldotna in less than half the miles that he had to travel to get to Anchorage, and his bone weariness decided for him to change his course. He marched down the winding road, passing a long stretch of water on his left. He passed several road signs but none of them registered in his exhausted eyes. There were likely names for the waterway, littering warnings, speed limit changes, and all the other usual instructions found on a rural highway. To him they were all a blur. He hadn’t slept much the night before under his picnic table accommodations and his legs were already begging to him to stop. He wanted to stop but there just weren’t any reasonable options in which to do it. Weary and miserable, he pressed forward hoping to reach civilization.

He finally came to a small town. Cooper something, he thought he read. The buildings and few cars here and there were empty. There was no one around. The shops and restaurants were boarded shut, as were the handful of homes he passed. As the day began to wane toward evening, he luckily found an unlocked car in which he could rest for the night. But try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He rose from the car the next morning feeling no more rested or refreshed than he had the night before, and in front of him was more highway.

After a couple hazy days of walking, with little to no recollection of the journey, he came to the edge of another small community. There was no one to be found, as before. Again, business doors and windows were boarded, as were the few homes along the main stretch of road. He began to wonder if he was the last person alive on the earth. He thought about that movie with Will Smith and the Night Stalkers that hunted him. Could he be all that was left of the human race?

Alec wasn’t certain when the last time it was that he had spoken, but it had been days and perhaps weeks. He tried to invoke his voice a few times but found that he could not will any words from his mouth. Given that he was still alone, his becoming a mute was a problem that would have to be dealt with later. For the moment, all that he cared to remedy was the growling in his stomach.

He broke into a small convenience store for some food and found bags of chips, candy bars, and sports drinks. He ate until he couldn’t eat anymore, leaving a fluttering, plastic carpet under his feet when he’d finished. He was stuffing the last bag of stale Gummi Bears into his pack when he heard a noise outside.

He could feel the chill tighten his jaw and tease his arm hairs on end. Quietly, he picked his way through his Frito Lay floor covering and chanced a glance out the window. Coming up the driveway to the parking lot out front was a man. Well, he looked like he used to be a man. Alec wasn’t quite sure what he would call him at present.

He was wearing some kind of uniform. Alec thought he saw the logo 2Go on the chest of the man’s royal blue shirt. He was limping and not doing that very well. Alec could see that his leg was broken horribly below the knee and bent backward impossibly. The man’s skin appeared faded, with almost an opaque translucence to it. At first Alec thought the man must have fallen into something because the man’s left side from ear down to knee was stained darker than the rest of him. The man’s dangling, empty, swaying sleeve convinced Alec that the dark stains was the dried remnants of the man’s blood. Like his arm, part of it at least, the man’s ear had been gnawed from his body.

The man’s pace was stilted and slow due to his ruined leg, but determined. Looking out the window at him, Alec realized that the man was coming for him and looking at him just the way the eyeless creature back at the cabin had. He felt so much like cornered prey. Alec knew that he needed to act fast. He grabbed his backpack and headed toward the back of the store. He passed the bathrooms and came to another door with an exit sign above it. He pushed the door hard and almost fell into the store’s back parking lot. He stumbled to his feet and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. In his running, he saw more people, all of whom looked like the man at the shop. None of them looked right to him and none of them certainly acted right either. They all seemed to be coming at him...
for
him.

Luckily, none of them were able to move very fast so he managed to get down the highway and leave them well behind him. However, he was now more worried than he ever had been at the cabin. He thought he wanted to be around people again, but when he finally found some, all they wanted to do was eat him. Back at the cabin, there was one monster stalking him from the shadows. Out here, he was being chased by monsters at every corner. He had jumped from the proverbial frying pan straight into the fire.

A day or two later and after several similar close encounters with more of the monsters, Alec found himself hiding in a restaurant near a big grocery store called Fred Meyer. He found his hiding spot almost by accident. He saw five or six of those things walking around the grocery store parking lot. He went around the back of the building trying not to be detected. Once out back, he found the back door had been left slightly ajar. As quietly as possible, he opened the door and crawled inside.

He found that he was in a big kitchen. A restaurant kitchen. The stench of rotting food filled the air with its toxic foulness. Flies, as big and slow as Winnebagos, twisted and swirled as he inched inside. Other bugs and critters scurried into corners and out of sight, not appreciating Alec’s intrusion into their ongoing feast. The room, especially there at the floor where Alec was crawling, was dark, the meager light peeking in through the high windows barely reaching below the countertops. The floor below him, though dry, retained some of its slippery greasiness of its years of culinary activity.

Thankfully, there was no sound in the diner. He peeked over the counter and into the dining area. The chairs and tables were all neatly stacked and waiting for the next breakfast rush. The white and red checkered plastic table covers reminded him of every small town diner in which he’d had a meal with his family.

Then, despite the reeking odor and the disgusting image of the flies in the kitchen, he remembered his hunger. He turned back into the kitchen and found the storage area. There were buckets of pickles still in their aromatic brine. Some bread and some buns were still holding off the clutches of mold. There were also a number of cans of fruit and beans and chili and.... He realized he’d hit the food jackpot.

He was so pleased with his find that he completely forgot about the nightmare that awaited him outside across the street. He forgot about his missing family. He forgot about everything that didn’t involve opening the next can or swallowing the next salty, delicious bite. He went from one thing to the next and to the next over the course of more than an hour, never pausing or slowing his consumption. He ate so much that he made himself sick.

He vomited twice in the still clean toilet bowl of the men’s bathroom. The nausea likely resulted from his eating too quickly and possibly eating something that was no longer edible. He always hated throwing up. He cried afterward, and even a little during the act itself. The tears, of course, made him miss his mother and her comfort.

Quietly, mostly to himself, he cried in a dark corner of the restaurant’s dining room. He dozed off, still weeping, with his head on one of the plastic table covers. The flies and other bugs, sensing that the intruder had moved on, returned to their own feast on the moldy, rotting remnants of once fresh fruit and vegetables on the prep line.

Alec awoke the next day with a start. He didn’t immediately recognize his surroundings which sent him into a temporary panic. He jolted up, grabbing his rifle, and spun around. In so doing, he knocked a chair from its perch on a table which hit another and another. The resulting crash of furniture helped to remind him of where he was. He stopped circling and went to one of the restaurant’s dark tinted windows.