Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 3): Mitigation Book 3) (19 page)

DB countered, “The ground is frozen, Neil. It’s not even about what’s right. It’s about what’s possible.”

Neil considered this last point before speaking again. DB was probably right. Neil remembered in the past talking with a coworker one winter about a dying relative. He remembered her saying that they were going to have the service but would have to wait until the spring to bury the body. Regardless of the wisdom, he had to try.

“Please, someone bring me the shovel.”

Emma had heard enough. She stormed the handful of steps to the truck and retrieved the spade. She spun around and threw it toward Neil, the tool’s gravelly voice along the pavement causing all of them to cringe in surprise.

She shouted, “There! Take the damn thing! Go dig a goddamned hole for the both of you!”

Neil looked at her, confused and stung. Everyone else had been calm and rational, trying to help Neil see their way. He was taken slightly aback by Emma’s abrupt and loud reaction. Try as he might, he wasn’t able to build any steam for any emotions.

With a defeated demeanor and sad eyes, Neil protested, “It’s what’s right. She deserves...” He trailed off, realizing his argument was both already anticipated and pointless. He was trying to apply the morality of a world that no longer existed. He breathed deeply. “I don’t expect any of you to understand, but it’s just something that I gotta do.”

Della had heard about all she was going to be able. She stood and walked slowly over to the truck. Her voice was low, just a decibel above a whisper. “You folks. You act like there ain’t never been no sufferin’ before any of this. There’s some people, that’s all they know. Their mother gave them a life and the world been takin’ from them ever since.

“You think slaves used to sing them ol’ work songs ‘cause they like the melodies? They sang ‘cause it was all they could do to make this cruel ol’ world a little more livable. They never talked about what was right. All they talked about was what was real and what was now.

“Look at all you now. Bitchin’ and cryin’ ‘cause the truth about what this world gots to offer is finally bein’ shown to y’all. There ain’t been no surprises to me since all this started. Y’all are hurtin’ and that much is true. God decided he was gonna test us today is all. It’s up to us how we gonna face that test.”

Della fell into humming another deep, resonating tune from her chest. She flashed her luminous topaz eyes at her audience and then turned her back to them again to finish the short walk back to the truck.

Neil pleaded, “I can’t just leave her here. Not like this. Not in the middle of the road. I just can’t.”

Jerry offered, “C’mon, I’ll help you move her over there. Under that tree.”

Neil and Jerry moved Meghan’s body with as much care as possible. It wasn’t very sensible to allow the corpse to continue to wear its boots, coat, and any other usable item, but that was exactly what they did.

The two men stood there under the tree for a few minutes. There was no one near to them; therefore, there was no one near enough to hear the two of them speak. He asked quietly, “Do you think there is a chance that any of us are going to survive this?”

Jerry conjured up his best day time talk show host voice, “That’s just the grief talking.”

“Maybe, but it’s an honest question. Death has a way of cutting away all the layers that don’t matter so that we can talk about what does. We can wonder about things going back to the way they were or maybe even being better somehow. We can talk about the lessons that we could learn so that we can be better prepared for something like this in the future. But really, the only question that matters right now is whether or not we can survive. And by we, I’m talking about us...right here. The most important people to me in the whole world now are standing right here on this road and their survival and mine is really all that matters to me. So, what do you think? Can any of us make it through?”

Jerry glanced around at the sad looking trees and the gray sky. He looked over his shoulder at the rest of the group and at the devastation evident with all of the abandoned cars and trucks sitting idle on the road. Finally, he looked down at Meghan, who was in peaceful repose at his feet. After taking all of that in, Jerry said only, “Neil, I got nothing for ya. I can’t somehow give meaning to any of this and to think anyone can is just naive. It’s also something that you should know can’t be done. Neil, man, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry we all are and not just for you. We all lost Meghan. Have you thought how Jules feels? Meghan had become a bit of a mother to her. I wish I could make it all stop hurting, but we both know that just isn’t possible.

“What I can say with certainty is that we need you and your judgment so that we don’t all end up the same. Think about how much you needed Meghan and then multiply that by all of us and that’s how much we need you. I’m sorry that I have to say this to you, but you really don’t have the luxury of being selfish and feeling sorry for yourself. And after something like this happens, we’ll likely need you all the more.”

Neil allowed a defeated chuckle to creep from his chest. He said with a smile, “You might want to stay away from Hallmark my friend. They don’t typically like their cards to be so damned honest.”

“Just trying to do my part.”

As he turned to walk back up to the truck and the others still waiting, Neil said, “Getting past this will be a little easier with your help my friend. Thanks.”

Neil said it, but he didn’t feel it. Other than nauseous, Neil wasn’t quite certain what he was feeling. He was still reeling from Dr. Caldwell’s death and now this.

Standing alone now, Neil knelt next to Meghan. He pulled away the jacket he and Jerry had laid across her peaceful face. He lowered his forehead to her chin and let the tears, as powerful and sudden as a flash flood, spill onto her neck. The warm, salty droplets breathed steam as they coursed down her cold skin. He pressed his cheek to hers and whispered, “Good night, sweetheart. Pleasant dreams.”

Before he pulled away from her, he confessed, “I’m gonna miss you.”

He counted the tick marks on his pocket-sized notepad and then looked through the binoculars again. He took his time, doing his level best to count everyone. Each time, he came up with the same number; five adults and at least five children. He was unable to see clearly into the tinted windows of the big silver truck, but he was fairly certain there could only be five kids. There was only so much room in the truck’s back seat. He was satisfied that his count was accurate. His keen eyes had never failed him

He returned the lightweight but powerful binoculars to the hard case attached to his belt. He was draped in a single piece camouflaged zippered hunting suit that resembled a woodland colored snowsuit. Across his waist, chest, and back, he wore military-style web gear holding a two-way radio, combat knife, sidearm, and other odds and ends needed to complete his mission. Over his shoulder hung his vintage but well maintained Armalite AR15 assault rifle which was the original design copied by the mass produced M16 for the United States military. The assault rifle, which he had obtained many years ago, was a source of pride for him. It was a well-maintained and perfectly functioning weapon from yesteryear and it was his.

He had watched from his hiding spot quite some distance down the road as the woman standing beside the truck had been attacked and killed by a pair of the skins, the name he had given to the undead. His first instinct was to use the scope on his rifle to site and then take down the two monsters before they struck, but he was under strict orders not to reveal himself.

A couple of months prior, he would probably have not thought twice about helping that girl. He had plenty of time. It wasn’t like the things were stealthy at all. Stupid skins weren’t even as smart as bugs or spiders. He’d seen cows that acted with more intelligence as they were being led to slaughter. They would have been a pair of easy kills but it wasn’t to be.

The two things must have been further off the road than the large group that formed on the pavement. Watching that big silver truck plow into and through the gathering crowd was great. He liked watching that a lot. It was like demolition derby or some other loud, destructive, and fun activity about which all the liberal sissies complained. But they had missed those two, who just walked down the road after those other folks decided to venture into the traffic jam. He couldn’t figure out for the life of him why they had done that. They should never split their forces in unknown territory. It was just common, military sense. It was sad that something so apparent to him and not by these other people could result in such a tragic result.

He couldn’t figure out how they were able get to the pretty redhead so easily. How is it that he could see them and she couldn’t? Did she not know to keep her guard up at all times? He kept waiting for her to turn around or for someone else in the truck to see them. They just got closer and closer until it was too late.

He watched her get pulled away from the truck and onto the ground. Watching through the binoculars made it almost feel like he was watching it all unfold on his television or on a computer screen. It wasn’t easy but it helped that it felt as if it was like he wasn’t really there or something. The sensory disconnect likely made it much easier for him to be a passive spectator and stick to his job and his orders.

His job was very simple. He was to seek out anything on the road, gather intelligence, and then report that information back to the Colonel or, in this case, the Colonel’s lieutenant Carter, who decided what to do about it. He wasn’t on a seek and destroy mission; nor was he on a mercy mission to help folks in trouble. That point was made very clearly to him before he left on any of his excursions. Their enclave had limited resources as it was, which was the primary reason for his current foray.

And so he watched as the woman was caught off guard and brought down by the beasts. He also watched the furious response by the large black woman. She was vicious if a little slow and not to be taken lightly. She kicked the hell out of the two skins in no time at all.

When the other folks started to show up, he used that as his opportunity to count everyone. Nothing like a little tragedy to bring everyone out and make them oblivious to his watching. He’d seen it all before and knew that such an event would have all of them letting their guard down a little. It was a dangerous time for groups like the one he was currently tracking, but that wasn’t his concern. No. He was primarily focused on watching, counting, and recording.

His name was Melton “Mel” Taranto. He was a corporal in the Alaska Freedom Militia formed and stationed on the Kenai Peninsula. He was chosen for this mission because he was good at it and could be trusted to follow the Colonel’s explicit orders. He was a hunter and a tracker, both of which he loved but he had always preferred the tracking part of it. It really had nothing to do with killing animals or anything else for that matter. He craved the challenge; immersing himself in the nominally foreign environment and outwitting thousands of years of survival instincts. He conceded to some that it was as much about ego as anything else. The admission to which did nothing to diminish his joy in the hunt.

He was finishing his reconnaissance when a sound behind him caught his attention. He thought it sounded like footsteps, uncoordinated and sloppy. As he spun around swinging his razor sharp hand-axe, he thought to himself,
fucking skins never learn not to fuck with me.
The axe’s silver tipped blade cut the air as easily as it did the hungry beast’s skull.

Mel barely took the time to register the creature’s features. He didn’t pause to see if it was once a man or a woman. He didn’t care that its frame was bone thin and that most of its clothes had been shredded and torn from its body. None of this mattered to him because it wasn’t part of his mission. He kept himself focused on the task at hand, which was, at present, to get himself and the information he had collected back to the base on the Kenai.

He needed to regroup with the rest of the long range patrol. Quickly scanning all around himself for any other flesh eaters, Mel ran down the slope and got onto his mountain bike. He rode away silently, leaving the grieving group behind without a clue that they had been watched in the first place. Their not knowing, Mel hoped, would be their undoing.

The grief was so overwhelming that Neil was finding it difficult to feel anything at all. He was surprisingly unemotional, although neither he nor anyone else felt his lack of expression was a good thing. The only thing Neil was missing was a burning fuse or a ticking timer counting down to the inevitable explosion.

He was scaring even himself. Search as he might, there was no remorse, no regret, and surprisingly no tears to be found. Just steps away from her still cooling body, he was already missing Meghan, but his longing did not produce the anticipated sorrow. He just continued to walk, putting more and more distance from the only person he had allowed himself to love in a very long time.

They had no choice but to abandon the truck temporarily as they picked their way through the tangle of automobiles. Emma and DB led them over the route they had scouted. There were fewer larger vehicles along the path and, having been checked and scouted already, everyone appeared to be a little calmer.