Zombies on the Rock (Book 2): The Viking Trail Page 22

  Eric looked back at Dana. "You need to head back to the ambulance." Eric un-holstered his military Glock. "Jason, you make sure she gets back."

  "You could use me if something goes wrong." Jason didn't want to leave Eric in peril.

  Eric slid back the chamber to examine the weapon, then pulled out the clip to check how many bullets he had remaining. "If the Pelleys are around, I'll know. I've been following those scumbags for years." Eric jammed the clip back in.

  "All the more reason I should be there, you need backup." Jason wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, he knew what needed to be done to survive.

  "Eric, I can take care of myself, you need Jason's help." Dana was almost insulted by her husband’s overprotection.

  Eric studied the blue sky above them and watching him, Dana saw he was tired. She hadn't noticed the big black bags under his eyes until now. "You head straight back to the ambulance, don't try and take down one of those corpses yourself."

  Dana was glad that Eric wasn't in the mood to argue. She would feel safer knowing that Jason was with him. "Be careful." Dana ran over and embraced Eric -- she hated having to leave him out here in the wild. Dana looked at Jason: he seemed distant and bothered all at the same time. Dana wondered if he was bitter about everything that was happening. His wife has been missing for three weeks and everything that could interfere with his rescue attempts kept slowing him down. Murphy's law was cruel. "You bring him back to me."

  "I will, Dana." Jason was sincere. Even after everything that kept happening to him, Jason still remained true. Dana turned away from the path that would lead Eric and Jason towards Frank's cabin and headed back through the woods, making sure she followed their footprints.

  Nathaniel sat in the middle seat. He looked very uncomfortable, a look of disdain on his face. Having to leave the comfort and safety of the cabin was uncommon for the doctor, but Frank needed somebody he could trust, and this would be payback for taking away his pain medication. Louis sat on the outside -- Frank still didn't understand how the man was so pudgy this far into the zombie apocalypse. When Frank found him, he had barricaded himself inside his cabin and he was so weak from malnourishment he could barely stand on his own two feet. Frank and Nathaniel dragged him three kilometres through the rain back to the rest of the group. That was the day they decided to start using vehicles on the scavenging runs. His cheeks jiggled with every bump in the road, and acne formed around his double chin while popped pimples left tiny red pockmarks on his greasy face.

  Garrett and Chester sat in the back pan of the truck with Eddy; if Garrett was going to make his move, Eddy was Frank's pawn. Frank could afford to lose Eddy since he had turned out to be a bigger burden on the community than most of the others and was expendable to the cause. Eddy was never going to be a hero, he just didn't have that spark deep down inside. Eddie was just like Nathaniel -- a coward who turned to the bottle -- but unlike the doctor he had no useful skills. He whined for more food, but refused to help out when asked to go out on runs. His frail frame made him seem like he would be a fast, agile runner but to Frank's chagrin, his movements closely resembled those of a sloth.

  Chester could have passed for Garrett's brother: he had the same wavy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, but his skin was tanner than Garrett's. Chester had a large nose that had been broken recently, the bridge shifted far to the left side of his face leaving his eyes badly bruised and forming deep bags under his eyes. The sun was moving behind some white clouds, but Frank didn't think it was going to snow anytime soon. Frank pushed the truck down the bumpy dirt road, the passengers in the back groaning with every thump and growling at every pothole.

  "Are you sure about this, Frank?" Louis had a sharp French accent, and his thin moustache wiggled as he spoke.

  Frank wasn't sure about any of this, but he had to act like the brave leader or this wouldn't work. "We are going to check the place out; if it’s empty, we're going to move while we have the chance."

  "You really want to get mixed up with the Pelleys?" Nathaniel was pissed. He didn't want to get involved in anything dangerous unless it was absolutely necessary.

  "We aren't going to get mixed up with the Pelleys, we are just going set up camp and wait for them to get back." Frank had no idea what would happen if they came back to find Frank and company inside their compound.

  "Then what? Doesn't sound like much of a plan." Louis was wearing a woodland camouflage jacket, and was fiddling with the zipper. His gut had grown too large to fasten the jacket. Frank could tell he was uneasy with the whole situation, as his hands had been nervously fidgeting since they left the gate back in Howley.

  "We pretend like we thought the place was abandoned, if they ever make it back," Frank exclaimed confidently.

  "If they make it back?" Nathaniel didn't agree with Frank. "You know those brothers. They are ruthless, cutthroat, cold-blooded animals. If anyone was built to survive this world, it was them."

  Frank knew Nathaniel was right, but he didn't want to admit it. "We'll just see what happens."

  The road was clear of the shambling monsters Frank had grown to loathe, and the giant water tower of the compound was poking above the tree tops. A sharp bend in the road hid the giant walls from view, which meant the gated fence would be just around the corner. To his surprise, the gate was left wide open and tire tracks could be seen in the entranceway, but Frank wasn't sure if they were coming or going.

  The walled barricade was only the first deterrent to intruders. The large, white-bricked wall stood nearly ten feet tall and was three feet thick. You wouldn't be able to drive through the heavy duty, black gate without anything short of a tank. The inside chain-link fence stood over twelve feet tall, with barbed wire running along the top. Four watchtowers had been built into the corners, making the compound look more like a prison than a place to live. Frank couldn't think of a better place to survive the apocalypse in than this former drug compound. "Home sweet home." His pain had almost completely vanished; instead the excitement Frank felt as they drove right up to the front door was overwhelming.

  Nick was startled out of sleep by a terrible nightmare -- flashes of zombies tearing apart his parents haunted him. Beads of cold sweat ran down his forehead and chilled him to the bone, the warm air blowing through the vents doing little to comfort him. It was hard not knowing what had happened to them, and now that he was so close to their cabin it was difficult to sit here and do nothing. All of his muscles tensed as he reached for the door handle, fighting the urge to leave the ambulance in search of his parents’ fate.

  "You okay?" Jack was keeping watch from the passenger’s seat.

  Nick's heart thrashed around inside his chest. "Just a dream." Nick tried to shake it off. "How long have I been asleep?"

  "They've been gone about an hour now, still no sign of them." Jack looked worried.

  Nick wasn't sure he could protect everyone, not in the same way that Eric and Jason had kept everyone safe. Craig and Calvin needed serious medical attention. He could take care of their wounds, but they needed hope, and Nick wasn't sure he could offer them that.

  "Any sign of them?" Stella joined them up front, an alarmed look on her face.

  "Not yet." Jack tried to sound brave, but Nick detected the worry in his voice. "How are Calvin and Craig doing?"

  "Still asleep." Stella looked back at them. "They should be fine with some rest."

  Nick looked into the pill bottle: it was running low and there was barely enough meds for one of them. Stretching them out over two people would be torture. If they didn't find more soon, they may have to choose who received the remaining supply.

  What was taking them so long? They should have been back already, and their disappearance made Nick anxious. He wanted to check out his parents’ cabin, but now he was worried about his friends. Nick didn't know what he should do -- he didn't want to leave these people here alone in the ambulance, but he felt like he needed to do something. Waiting out here like a sitting duck didn't
sit well with him. Nick also had a strange feeling, almost like he could feel eyes watching him. Nick couldn’t help but think of how perfectly situated this enclosure was for an ambush.

  The back doors to the ambulance swung open suddenly, and Nick's heart jumped in his chest. Fear paralyzed him, he couldn't bring himself to turn and confront the intruder.

  "Hello?" Stella's frightened voice piped up from the back.

  "Are you headed to Howley?" a deep, raspy voice asked.

  Nick was ashamed with himself; he froze in the face of danger like a coward. Nick could handle the dead, but he wasn't sure he could kill another member of the living, even if it meant saving his own life. Calvin was sat upright in the stretcher, his shirt drenched in sweat. Craig didn't budge, but remained asleep on the floor.

  "What's going on?" Nick called out to Jack.

  "I don't know," Jack answered.

  "Are you headed to Howley?" the man repeated himself.

  Nick leaned in to see a small, frail looking man wearing a red plaid jacket, a black beanie, and carrying an axe in his hands. "We are. Who are you?"

  "Name’s Victor. I was out cutting wood down by the clearing when I saw you drive by. Now I see you're waiting here, thinking you're either lost or can't find a way around that gate." Victor had splinters of wood caught in the fabric of his sleeves.

  "You have the keys, Victor?" Jack had navigated his way in between Victor and the rest of the group.

  Victor laughed hysterically. "The gate was never locked, old buddy." He slapped his pants, continuing to laugh like this was all some big joke.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:

  LANX AUX MEADOWS

  Jarvik and his horse trotted down the open highway where the trees along the side of the road were only a few feet tall. The constant harsh winds and cold weather had stunted their growth over the years, making them look more like bushes than trees. The surviving members of St. Anthony kept to themselves; they didn't care how the Vikings protected them, they were just appreciative of the safety they had been provided. No one had spoken to Jarvik when he passed through earlier; a few of the children had run behind the horse, but hadn’t dared to impede the stallion's journey. Freezing cold winds swept in from the ocean, and the sounds of distant waves crashing against the shore was a soothing, repetitive lull. Even though he couldn't see the water from here, Jarvik could smell the salty air and taste it on his tongue. A large fire burned ahead and the grass huts of the Viking village littered the landscape. Ragnor's hut was nestled in the back, hidden behind the giant blaze while plumes of white smoke rose into the sky.

  The smoke signals would have spelt certain doom in the city streets, but out here in the middle of nowhere they served as a beacon for the living. As long as that fire burned brightly, the residents of St. Anthony knew their saviours lived and protected them from the undead creatures roaming the Northern Shores.

  It had only taken Jarvik eight hours to make his way to the end of the Viking Trail. He had thought the snow would slow him down, but his trusty stead kept excellent pace. The mighty beast didn't tire, showing no signs of fatigue carrying its rider hundreds of kilometres without regret.

  Jarvik could see a pillar of white smoke bellowing from his hut -- somebody had lit a fire in the hearth to warm his domicile. He didn't know if he should head into his hut for a rest or find Ragnor first to explain what happened with Frank and Howley. Every muscle in his body throbbed, his joints were bruised and swollen, and his back ached from riding the horse. As he traveled through the village, considering his options, everyone he passed smiled and warmly greeted Jarvik. Despite his thoughts, he waved back to each of his barbarian brothers as he guided the stallion towards his hut. Jumping down from the saddle, the impact sending a shockwave of pain to his knees as he landed on the frost covered ground. Pulling back the cloth door, Jarvik was elated to find Ragnor sitting at his kitchen table with two large mugs of ale.

  "Hail, Brother Jarvik." Rangor took a large gulp of beer, the foam resting in his thick moustache.

  "Hail, my King." Jarvik saluted his leader and sat down at the table to join his old friend to discuss all that had happened on his journey.

  The sun was beginning to set as they reached the crest of the hill, the town of St. Anthony settled below them. Clouds of smoke danced from the chimneys attached to several of the homes; the streets remained vacant, but Hank could see several lit windows. Sasha had nuzzled close to Hank, making his heart skip a beat periodically. "So this is where you've been living?" Hank called out to Jeffrey.

  "No, we stay in Lanx Aux Meadows. We have been keeping these people safe since the outbreak." Jeffrey's stallion slowed its pace, allowing them to catch up. "They're mostly old and feeble -- not many young people would stay up in this barren hell hole before the outbreak. We are all that was left to protect them from those foul creatures."

  Hank wondered if that was a shot at him -- he had left the stage in St. Anthony years ago for the bright lights of Hollywood. He always said he would keep in touch, but becoming famous had a way of changing you. "Not much to keep you here, not since the fishery collapsed."

  Jeffrey grumbled his disgust at the contract the government had signed. "Those bastards up in Ottawa selling the rights to our fishery to those Korean pricks." That was the Newfoundland government’s last effort to stay afloat before completely selling out to Pharmakon Pharmaceuticals. The pain that Jeffrey's family suffered for the last twenty years still weighed heavily over him. Maybe protecting the citizens of St. Anthony from the dead roamers was his way of exacting revenge against Pharmakon, the sinister company responsible for the outbreak. Hank wondered if the rumours were true; could Pharmakon really be responsible for something so maniacal?

  "So we still have another hour before we reach your camp?" Sasha sounded worried. "Shouldn't we stop and find someplace safe to hold up for the night?"

  "Harr! No need for that, shield-maiden." Jeffrey remained in character. Hank was growing tired of the act, but he didn't have the courage to say anything. "The roads are free from those monsters. We have vanquished them all the way to the great wall"

  "But how can you be sure? What if one of those creatures gets past the gate? Didn't you say the majority of residents left in St. Anthony are feeble?" Sasha was determined to argue her point with Jeffrey.

  "We have guards posted throughout the town, and we take swift action against the dead." Jeffrey had all the right answers. Before walking on the stage, Jeffrey had considered going into politics; he certainly had the confidence to do either.

  "If you’re sure it’s safe, we'll push forward to Lanx Aux Meadows." Hank was getting nervous. Normally he wouldn't go out at night unless absolutely necessary. Reaching the Vikings’ grass huts wasn't high on Hank's priority list, but he knew Jeffrey would push forward with or without them.

  Servants brought in roasted rabbit with fresh grown carrots and potato. Ragnor insisted that it wasn't forced upon the young girls, but it was by choice. They didn't have any other way to repay the Viking King's generosity and protection except by offering their services freely. Ragnor didn't use utensils; he just dug into the greasy meat with his bare hands. The wild game looked stringy and malnourished, so there was very little meat to tear from the bones. Ragnor ripped a leg from the rabbit, and hot grease sprayed over his face. He buttered a slice of homemade bread, soaking up the rabbit drippings with it. "I do not feel like filling up on bread this early in the season. Winter will be a harsh, unforgiving nightmare if this is the best we can do with one sprinkling of snow." A scowl remained on his face even as the juices flowed into his beard.

  A cold breeze from outside snuck in the hut and Jarvik shivered against the sudden chill. The fire in the hearth roared, the crackle of the dry wood as the flames engulfed the logs producing a tremendous wave of heat that only took seconds to remove the wintry draft. Jarvik was glad someone had taken the time to refill the wood storage next to his fireplace. When he had left for Deer Lake, the basket was nearly
bare. The nights had become increasingly cold, and he missed the convenience of electric heat. Luckily Ragnor had warmed his hut before Jarvik had returned from his fruitless voyage.

  The two men ate in silence. Luckily they had brought enough bread for both to fill up on. The measly portions of meat on their plates wouldn't suffice on their own after such a long journey. Jarvik was still waiting to be asked about what had happened on his first quest, but maybe the others had already filled Ragnor in on what had taken place already.

  "Tell me all about Howley," Ragnor suddenly ordered, catching Jarvik off guard.

  "What do you mean? Didn't the others tell you what happened on the road with Frank? They must as he passed through the village.

  "Dhaki and Floki already explained what happened with Frank, but I want to know about Howley!" Ragnor's beard glistened with grease from the meat.

  "Then what do you want to know about?" Jarvik was confused, he was under the impression the whole point of the outing was to make contact with the survivors of Howley.

  "Are they good people; can we trust them to move into Lanx Aux Meadows? Or are they lost to the dead, changed by the unholy God's of death?" Ragnor stuffed another piece of bread into his mouth and took a large gulp of ale.

  A frigid breeze ran up Jarvik's back -- someone had opened the door behind him letting the cold in. A strange look came over Ragnor's face, like he had seen a ghost. Turning around to look in the entrance, Jarvik's jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

  "Hank MacDonald?"

  "Keith?" Hank couldn't believe his eyes: the so-called King of the Vikings was his own brother.

  "I don't know this Keith you speak of? My name is Ragnor. King of the Vikings." Ragnor boomed, his voice full of pride and authority. Hank's estranged brother still held resentment towards him, jealous that his baby brother had made it big while he rotted away in Newfoundland.