Alaskan Undead Apocalypse (Book 3): Mitigation Book 3) (27 page)

With no compassion whatsoever, the man in black known as Carter said, “You get bitten you can expect the same. Let’s get the truck fixed. Someone needs to siphon the gas outta this piece of shit.”

The same militiaman asked, “We leaving Howard’s car here?”

Again with ice in his words, Carter answered, “Yeah. You wanna stay too?”

There was no answer needed to that rhetorical question. No one was willing to challenge Carter or his judgments. He was more than merely intimidating. There was a ruthless disregard burning behind his cold eyes that set everyone on edge. When it came to terror, zombies had nothing on this guy.

“Kyle, Will, get that damned truck fixed and back on the road. Pete, move that murderin’ bitch into the truck with those kids. The rest of you, this ain’t no leisure trip. We got a job to do. I want pickets to stand watch. Any more skins show up, I don’t want to be surprised again. Now, everyone’s got somethin’ to do, so let’s get to it.”

The group of onlookers were frozen in their steps and staring at Howard’s warm corpse, seemingly unable to tear themselves away. Of course, their lack of action solicited anger from Carter who shouted, “Get your fucking asses moving! Now!”

From the back seat of the car, Claire watched all of this unfold. The threat of the undead had been mitigated for the time being, but she was more worried now than she had been before. Carter was the scariest person she had ever seen and the authority he wielded had the effect of making everything he did or said okay.

When their truck came to the junction where the Seward Highway split between continuing south to Seward or becoming the Sterling Highway and heading toward the Kenai area, Neil took his foot from the gas and let them come to a rolling stop. He wasn’t certain what he was going to do at this point, but knew something needed to be done. He needed to know where to take them and the only one in the vehicle who had that information was their captive.

He said calmly, but his voice cracked slightly, “Well, we’ve got some decisions to be made about where we are headed.” He turned in his seat and spoke directly to the young man sitting next to Della. “Are you going to make this easy or hard on yourself? I’ve been thinking about this since we got in the truck and I’ll be honest, I have no interest in torturing you. I do need information though, and if you’re not willing to share it with me, then I don’t think I have a choice in the matter.”

Neil was quiet for a second or two, hoping that the answers to his questions would somehow materialize magically. Emma seized upon the delay to say, “Neil may not be willing to torture you, but I am. You see, I don’t really care. You may think that a woman wouldn’t be capable of.... Well, let’s just say you don’t know what I am capable of and neither do I.”

Della looked at both Neil and Emma and quieted them with her caramel-colored eyes. Her expression held something that approached contempt or possibly shame. She couldn’t believe these nice people could think that way. She had seen some pretty ugly things committed by some even uglier people in her days; abuse, beatings, and some killings. When she looked at Steve in the driver’s seat and at that nutty woman next to him, she didn’t see the kind of crazy that would drive someone to such extreme behavior. Although, to be fair, the woman seemed like she may be headed for the deep end. Pushed much farther and she might just be capable of...well, Della didn’t want to have to explore those possibilities.

Steve, the boy sitting next to the passenger door, he hadn’t said a word...not a peep. Della knew when them other fellas took that pretty young girl that Steve would be hurting, but his silent suffering had Della a little concerned. Was he gonna hold all that pain inside and let it build like in an old time pressure cooker? When that boy did finally blow his top, it was gonna be messy for everyone around him. She didn’t think he would do anything to this boy next to her, but she couldn’t be certain. When a person makes all their decisions from a hurting heart rather than his head, surprises were bound to ensue. So Della had been keeping a careful eye on him, lest Steve turn around and slit this boy’s throat as he sat there.

That would be a damned shame, especially given what she had learned. While Neil was lost in his thoughts and Jerry and Emma were drifting in Della’s resonant tune, Della had also been talking with the boy. They spoke with voices just short of a whisper. They exchanged Bible verses at first. Steve, their captive, knew his Bible, almost as well as she did. She was impressed with his knowledge of the book. She believed he had somehow forgotten its meaning and its messages throughout, but he knew the words. They talked about God and His Plan and that the suffering around them all fit into that grand scheme. She didn’t intimidate and she didn’t threaten, but she also neither placated nor absolved. She talked about the greater good and how she thought people should treat one another. She shared details of her life. With her words, she painted images of a rundown, poor existence. Della’s life had been full of deprivation and loss. She had seen death early in her days when her father died with his head in Della’s lap. She was a young girl then and his death triggered a cascade of hunger, displacement, neglect, and finally solitude. And despite all of that or, perhaps, because of it, she never lost her faith. She held onto it while everything else in her life faded and disappeared.

The boy listened to her intently. Her voice was so deep and so quiet, it was like listening to the echo of someone else’s thoughts. But listen he did. On more than one occasion, his chest tightened and he had to control his breathing to stifle a building sob. At first he tried to justify what he had done to others. He tried to suggest that, ultimately, the people they took were much better off after they came back to the camp. They had food and safety. They were given warm, dry housing.

To that, Della said, “That’s what they said to the slaves all them years ago. Do you think they better off? They come and go as they please? Do you make them do the work that none of you is willing to do? When the women say no, do you stop?”

Della’s last words created a pool of glistening water in the corners of his eyes. He nodded his head and let the tears fall and then he shook his head from side to side. He pleaded, “I didn’t want to. Them other fellas made me or they said they would do the same to me. I was scared...too scared to say anything. Too scared to do anything. That’s why I go out foraging all the time. I don’t want to be back at the camp. I can’t—”

“Steve, you know what you have to do,” Della said.

“How’d you know my name was Steve?”

“Because that’s what it is, Steve.”

Looking at her in bewilderment, he said that he would tell them where they needed to go. He couldn’t be a part of what they were doing any more. His conscience wouldn’t let him. He told her some of what she needed to know and would tell her the rest as they got closer.

And now, as they sat at the Sterling Highway turn off, Della smiled her flashing white teeth. “Steve here said we needed to turn off here and head toward Soldotna. He said he’d show us how to find that girl and them kids. He knows them other boys that was with him are up to no good and he don’t want no part of that no more. Ain’t that right, Steve?”

The boy militiaman who really was named Steve looked up and choked back the fading tears. He nodded. “I’ll show you where to go but I won’t help none of you kill no one. They may not be the best people, but until right now they was the only thing I thought well enough of to call family. I don’t think it’d be right if I was pullin’ the trigger. If you do it right, you may not have to kill anyone no how.”

Sensing the questions and the doubts, Della said finally, “You can trust Steve now. He found his way back to God. Didn’t you?”

Emma was about to explode about that last comment, as if that was supposed to make her trust the little snake sitting behind her. Emma’s disdain for all things religious carried a very short fuse and when it was lit, the explosion was typically immediate. Neil sensed her agitation, likely through her noticeably clenched jaw, and laid his hand upon hers. He threaded his fingers between hers and squeezed. Her jaw loosened slightly but she pulled her hand away.

She realized it was just a gesture of friendship, but she wasn’t interested. A friend could be lost just as easily as a lover and, again, she wasn’t interested. She cared about Neil and Jerry and Claire and all of them, but she refused to get so inextricably wrapped in her feelings for another person to ever again have to suffer the pain she felt when she lost Dr. Caldwell. She was surprised Neil didn’t have the same cautious, guarded instincts.

Putting both of his hands on the steering wheel, Neil said to all of them, “Soldotna it is then.” And into the mirror, he said to both Della and Steve, “Thank you.”

In a matter of minutes the truck was fixed and new fluids had been added to replace those already lost. To Claire, it was quite apparent this wasn’t the first time for this kind of repair. It was so commonplace as to have an exercised system in place to correct it.

During that time, another curious and hungry ghoul appeared. By then, their responses seemed rehearsed. They corralled the
skin
and then used a six foot pole with a lariat at the end to snare its neck. Partially subdued and constrained, the zombie was unable to turn and ward off the militiaman who approached from behind to plunge a combat knife into the base of its skull. It seemed almost methodical for them.

The truck fixed, two of the men came for Claire, who was still bound and in the back of the car. They opened the door and pulled her out by grabbing a combination of her hair and her shirt, which ended up around her head. The whistles and catcalls were enough to chill Claire’s blood. She thought to herself that it was already beginning and this was nothing. She loathed considering her fate and the ugliness that would likely accompany it. She tried to wiggle her shirt back down, but her movements only created more of a stir for the men. She decided to stop and let herself be dragged by her arms to the truck. She steeled herself to the comments and the pats on her backside as she passed some of the militiamen.

She was literally thrown into the back of the panel truck, her exposed back slapping hard against the cold metal floor. She once again found herself winded and struggling to find her breath. There were more hands on her but these were soft and warm. They weren’t grabbing and pinching her skin or tugging on her bra or pants. The hands eased her shirt back down to where it belonged.

When she was finally able to see again, her vision was filled with the familiar faces of four children. Seeing the relief in her eyes, Danny carefully hugged himself against Claire giving as well as receiving comfort. Jules then spilled herself across both of them in a warm wave of damp happiness. The three hugged and sniffled all over one another for several long, emotional moments.

“I didn’t know if I’d ever see any of you again,” Claire said. “Do you know where they are taking us?” They both shook their heads but said nothing.

“Have you heard them say anything? Maybe what they plan to do with us?” Again her question was met with apologetic stares and shaking heads.

The other two children joined them, huddling together to share their warmth and gather their strength. Danny produced a pocket knife he had hidden in his shoe and cut Claire’s bindings. Although her arms welcomed the freedom and comfort, Claire was concerned Danny may have to answer for the concealed weapon eventually. For the time being, however, she was too busy massaging her cramping arm muscles to place much concern for what might happen sometime in the future. She figured they had some time to come up with an explanation for her freedom, which might allow Danny to conceal the knife again.

Before they climbed back onto the road to finish the trip back to their base, one of the men hopped from the GMC truck in which he was riding. The other vehicles were merging onto the road, the lead Humvee already out of sight. The lanky man ran over to the squad car, reached onto the car’s dash, and turned on the red and blue flashing lights on the car’s top. Like the expanding ripples of waves from a stone dropped in a pool, the red and blue pulses spread out across the road and trees in mesmerizing strobes.

The man ran back to the opened passenger side door and climbed in saying, “Howard woulda’ liked that I think. The pain in the ass deserved better.”

His sentiment was answered with a quiet but approving nod from the truck’s driver. They kicked up a cloud of dust and gravel as their tires spun and they sped back onto the highway at the tail end of their caravan. Behind them, the dazzling lights continued to burn their enthusiastic funeral dirge for Howard and the other members of the militia recently lost.

The Sterling Highway was a winding, looping road that cut its track through a dense forest and along an often-roiling river. Its beauty was typically overlooked by its past commuters who were so preoccupied with getting to the fishing hole, the river, the campground, or any combination of leisure pursuits. Its charm was also systematically overwhelmed by the sheer volume of traffic and the large recreational vehicles which comprised the many long lines of slow moving vehicles.

Without the distractions, Neil would have been in a better position to appreciate the fading but resolute beauty along the highway. The trees were still holding on to a handful of their leaves in bold defiance to the season. The green, however slight, was a welcome sign of the persistence of life. The flowing river to their left seemed to cut its course without care or concern, another reminder of how things had once been.