(Alaskan Undead Apocalypse 05) Unwilling Read online

  “Can you open your eyes?”

  The sounds, barely intelligible through the clamorous din still echoing between her ears, sounded like they were rising up from the depths of a dark well. She could hear them but just barely.

  “I need you to open your eyes.” Words, the sounds were words. Yes, she was convinced they were words with meaning. Unfortunately, she was still finding it difficult to clearly separate the words from the background chatter. Was it a question? What did he want?

  “I…need…you…to open your goddamned eyes!” This time, the words were more pointed, demanding her attention. Complying with the command as best as she was able, her eyes blinked several times as they adjusted themselves to the aggressive light.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Huh?” she somehow managed, as still more came into focus for her.

  “What’s your name?” the voice sounded increasingly impatient and frustrated.

  “Specialist Miller, Cathlyn R, Sergeant.” Her voice, acting on its own accord apparently, answered for her while she continued to catch up to her circumstances.

  “What day is it?” The voice had relaxed somewhat though still retained its singular focus.

  Quicker this time, she answered, “Wednesday. I think.”

  “Date? What is the date?”

  “Zed plus…plus. I can’t remember the date. I can never remember the date. Isn’t it enough that I know it’s Wednesday?”

  Realizing the soft, fuzzy images she had been seeing had coalesced into sharp clarity, Cate was suddenly and painfully aware of her unfortunate but opportune position. Unable to contain it, Cate was barely able to unlatch her restraints before she violently emptied the contents of her stomach through her nose and mouth. She choked out several waves of acidic, burning foulness into the space at her feet before it dawned on her that there should have been a seat back in front of her. And beyond that, there should have been the rest of the plane, but it had been sheared off cleanly so that Cate now sat in the most forward point on the aircraft which also happened to be wide open.

  Swallowing hard and sitting up straight, she couldn’t help but vomit again, becoming a geyser of projectile granola chunks and yogurt. It took a few seconds, but she was finally able to get her dry heaves under control. Through all the unpleasantness, Cate searched her mind to try to remember who had been sitting in the seats in front of her. She struggled to remember faces but then dreaded her rising memories. It didn’t matter; not at the moment anyway.

  Staring at the empty space in front of her, Cate couldn’t deny that the overwhelming emotion she was feeling was…relief. Regardless of who had been seated there, she was remorselessly thankful that it hadn’t been her.

  Wiping the trails of slobber from her chin as she straightened her back, Cate’s mind struggled to keep pace. Her eyes finally able to focus clearly, she looked over her shoulder, fearing who she would and would not see.

  Chapter 5

  The Anchorage International Airport had, at one time, been surrounded to varying extent by fences and natural barriers. Primarily intended to ward off errant wildlife such as moose and bear, the fences also discouraged people from wandering aimlessly onto a busy tarmac.

  In most places, the fence had failed in the early hours when the infection first swept through the city. Terrified refugees, some using automobiles, wrecked the fences in their bids to escape.

  Now, the vast open spaces of the airport situated on the far western reaches of Anchorage stood open for passage by any visitors regardless of intent. The main terminals had been ravaged in the chaotic melee as people fought for their lives in and around the sizeable structures all those months ago.

  The buildings themselves were in partial ruins, having fallen victim to flame and destruction. Their window frames, blackened from fire and missing their glass, stared blankly out across the chaotic tangle of abandoned automobiles stretched across the lanes in front of the terminal entrances.

  Scattered amongst the tightly packed vehicles were the discarded remnants of people’s lives: suitcases and backpacks, miscellaneous articles of clothing, shoes and boots, toys, books, everything. When the only thing that mattered was getting away and staying alive, all the things that had seemed so important for so long were dropped and forgotten without a second thought. And now, those abandoned distractions were all that remained of the thousands who had died piteously in the buildings in which they hoped to find salvation.

  Many of those who perished during the early hours were granted neither peace nor rest upon their deaths. Instead, they were wrenched violently from their moment of cold slumber by a seething rage fueled by an insatiable and unnatural hunger. Over the months, they had wandered and then come to a fitful rest in parks, around Lake Hood, and along streets as a dreadful quiet settled over the city. And that was how they remained until the jet arrived followed by a resounding explosion that disturbed their tormented hibernation.

  Marching toward the fading memorial of man’s crumbling world, the wretched, decaying horde approached the airport. Their senses, heightened and alert, detected activity, movement, sound, man, prey. Their steps, at first inconstant and unsure, gained confidence and pace. They moved purposefully again.

  The infection hungered, driving them mad…driving them toward the promised feast. Smoke, rising languidly above the tree line, served as a beacon, attracting their focus and stoking their rage.

  Chapter 6

  “Can he be moved?” The voice was desperate and short of breath.

  Across a pile of debris that included seat cushions, backpacks, and blankets, a man with the bearing of a physician propped himself up on his arms and answered the question with a baleful shake of his head and then lowered his eyes.

  Beside and partially beneath him was another, younger man whose head was wrapped with bandages and whose face was rapidly fading of color. Consciousness eluded the young man who appeared to have suffered a grievous injury.

  Having checked his patient, the doctor shifted himself back into a more comfortable position on his back. He too was injured and appeared to have been robbed of the use of his legs. Finally back at rest, the older man let out a long, pained sigh.

  Watching all of this, the man who had asked the question thought for a few moments, scanning the wreckage and then the buildings closest to them. He closed his eyes tightly and ran options through his head. To himself, the officer whispered, “And comms have gone down now.” He breathed heavily and said, “Cut off, damnit. On our own.”

  Finally, his eyes still closed, he said authoritatively, “Okay. Sergeant Daniels, gather any gear you can in the next five minutes. You’ve gotta move fast. We can’t have much time. Those things will be coming out of the woodwork at any moment.”

  “Yes, sir,” responded a serious-looking man with all the trappings and scars of a professional soldier.

  The man continued, “And then, Sergeant, you and the team will finish our mission.”

  Cracking his austere facade, the sergeant’s expression changed suddenly, as if he had been slapped by a cold, icy fist. “But, sir? Captain?”

  The captain, a solidly built man with more than forty years in his rearview mirror, leaned against the jet’s broken fuselage and winced in pain. His right shin was fractured and swollen, the darkening bruise running the length of his skin practically shining through his shredded pant leg. He was also pretty certain the pulsing ache in the lower right side of his abdomen was serious too, though he wasn’t sure what the actual injury was. Regardless, he was convinced that it was serious enough to believe it was likely fatal because he had never felt this degree of pain from an injury like this in the past. This wasn’t a simple bruise or soft tissue damage which were all too familiar to him. He could feel himself winding down, like a battery burning the last of its juice.

  He looked down at the unconscious young man lying on the grou
nd at his feet and couldn’t help but shake his head. With his eyes still down and filling with tears, he said, “Sergeant, that’s an order. Get the gear gathered and get your team back on mission. You’re the honcho from here on out. You need to finish our mission. Command is counting on us…”

  The captain had to pause to catch his breath. Wincing in pain and carefully massaging his side, he said, almost pleading, “Just try to get everyone, yourself included, out to safety. They’re counting on you. I’m counting on you.” Finishing, the captain fixed his glistening eyes on the sergeant for a long second.

  That was enough. Sergeant Tyler Daniels nodded his head and said to the others, “You heard the captain. Four minutes until we vacate. Let’s get to it. Bendtner, get us ready to go. Everyone is armed. Salvage what you can. Put ‘em to work.”

  Douglas Bendtner, a mountain of a man standing at a height closer to seven feet than six and with the frame of a linebacker, nodded and started into his task by sorting through backpacks and gear that was all still stowed beneath a cargo net. In his massive hands, the full-sized backpacks looked like children’s school book bags. He located name tags clipped to each bag, pulling those that matched their dwindling team. He also removed the captain’s bag and moved it to the front of the row.

  Using the commotion and activity around him as a screen, Sergeant Daniels moved in closer to the clearly struggling captain. “Sir. I never question orders but I’ve got to say that I think there’s time to move all of you still. You’re making a mistake, sir. You don’t have to do this.”

  The doctor lying next to the unconscious man had been attending the conversation all along. He finally said quietly, never taking his eyes off of the spot on the ceiling at which he was staring, “Sergeant, the captain is right. The boy can’t be moved. It would kill him. And the captain…his leg is broken in a couple of places. I managed to get the bone back into the skin and set a soft splint, but he can’t walk and you can’t carry him. Me…hmmm…my back is broken…I think…I’m havin’ a hard time keeping up…right now. The meds are starting to kick my ass.

  “There’s simmmplll…simmmm-ply…no…” The doctor’s words trailed off and his hands fell slack.

  Captain Knox, watching the older man slip into unconsciousness, sighed deeply and whispered to the wind, “Goodbye, Doc.” The captain then looked up at Sergeant Daniels imploringly and said, “Ty, I can’t leave him.”

  The officer looked down at the boy lying next to the now still and lifeless surgeon. He couldn’t contain his emotion and let the tears fall from his eyes. “I just can’t.”

  “But, sir?”

  “Sergeant, I know you can get our job done and get your team home. Reconnect comms with Central as soon as you are able. Proceed to the hospital and complete your mission if practical. You’re a good soldier and a good man, Ty. Take care of them and get all of you home safely. That’s an order, soldier.”

  Sergeant Daniels, his eyes filled with concern, answered only, “Sir.”

  Never once looking up from the young man on the ground, the captain shook his head and said with a painful shudder that swept Daniels in its wake, “He’s my son. He’s all I have left. He…he shouldn’t have come. Why did I let him?”

  Sergeant Daniels said nothing; there was nothing to be said. He stood at attention, respecting his officer’s space and his pain. He really didn’t know what else to do. That wasn’t his forte; managing emotions and feelings was not one of his strengths, which is precisely why he had become a soldier. He liked the structure and predictability of the military. Well, the former structure and predictability.

  Things had changed dramatically in recent days. Once upon a time, there would have been no way that a father and son would have been sent on such a mission together. It went back to some brothers who all died on the same ship in World War Two. The name always escaped him but the story left an impression. His father had been in the Army too and had not yet retired when Sergeant Daniels enlisted.

  That was, of course, many years ago, in a different time…in a different world. Remembering his father as he did…the old man’s face and its many lines, his teeth, yellowed from years of smoking and chewing on cigars, his big heavy hands and the powerful fists into which they could be made.… There were so many other images that came to mind in that flash of a second, but what truly mattered was that he understood the captain’s insistence.

  He also understood the regret and loss which had infested the captain’s eyes. After all, his son’s inclusion on the insertion team had been one of the captain’s demands. This was going to be a quick and relatively secure mission. It wasn’t without its risks but aerial reconnaissance flights had shown that most of Anchorage appeared inactive, as if the multitudes of undead had migrated out of the city. It seemed as if Anchorage was largely dormant.

  Now, facing the inevitable for both his only remaining child and himself, the captain was determined that his son would not be alone when he faced, even unconsciously, his final moments. He wouldn’t allow his child to slip into the dark by himself.

  Understanding that the captain was resolved to his fate, Sergeant Daniels nodded to the officer, knelt into a pile of wreckage, and fished out an M4 assault rifle. Digging into the debris again, he produced a belt with pouches containing several thirty-round magazines. Checking the rifle first and then slapping in one of the magazines, the silent sergeant handed the weapon to his commanding officer as if presenting his firearm for inspection. Full of parade ground formality and gravitas, the gesture was crisp and exaggerated. When done, the sergeant held the captain’s eyes for a few seconds as the scavenging started to come to its end.

  Sergeant Daniels returned his attention to the handful of crash survivors who were able to stand. There were four of them in total besides the sergeant. Cathlyn Miller, Alonzo Martinez, and Veronica Willets were all technicians comprising the balance of the medical research team. Bendtner was the only other member of the security detail still on his feet. They were moving about, some more enthusiastically than others, gathering equipment from the wreckage.

  Sergeant Daniels warned them, “Only grab what you can carry easily. We’ll be on foot unless we can find a vehicle to commandeer, so make it easy on yourselves. We’re outta here in thirty.”

  Martinez, slipping a small tablet computer back into his pack, stood up and protested, “You can’t just leave them behind. That’s…barbaric!”

  Without so much as even looking at the excited man, the sergeant said calmly, “It’s just the way it is.”

  “But…?”

  “Doc, I recommend you get to it. We’re about ready to evac and if you’re not ready, then you’re staying behind. Get your gear and anything else you need.”

  “But…?” Martinez was nearly sputtering in disbelief at the sergeant’s callousness.

  “That’s an order. Get me?” The sergeant’s eyes could well have burned a hole in Martinez’s forehead as he spoke.

  Utterly flabbergasted but unsure what else to do, Alonzo Martinez, who was a medical database administrator and not a doctor at all, shouldered his black, standard-issue pack and secured the straps around his waist. He was also carrying a smaller, dark purple pack that he slung casually over his right shoulder. The smaller bag sported a pair of silver lightning bolts on its side and across its face. In that bag he carried the non-standard issue Alienware laptop, his pride and joy. Under his breath, he muttered, “I’m not a doc.”

  Sergeant Daniels heard the comment but decided he could deal with it later when he had more time and was no longer afraid he would go too far and kill the other man. All good things in time.

  Chapter 7

  Wiping the dripping slobber from her chin as she was pulled from the chair next to Martinez, Cate’s mind struggled to keep pace. Her feet, acting strictly on instinct, helped propel her forward as much as the strong hands which kept her connected to the rest of the f
leeing herd.

  Running. She wasn’t sure to where. Just get away. Danger. Footprints in the dust. Panting breaths. Doors. Locked. Fear. Desperation. Hallways. Echoes. Quiet.

  When they finally came to a stop, Cate found herself utterly disoriented. Falling to the floor, she ducked her head between her knees and tried to find her breath, which continued to elude her best efforts. When she opened her eyes again, she nearly panicked.

  She was greeted with close to total darkness; a deep gloom that swallowed and hid everything within it. Even her nightmares contained more light than…wherever she was. Worse still, she suddenly feared that she might be alone. Thankfully, she heard breathing but then was stricken with the terror of what could be breathing so near to her.

  Hands on her and then a familiar voice, “Cate? Is that you?” It was Veronica, which helped Cate to control the fit that was threatening to break.

  Instead, Cate asked all within earshot, “Where…where are we?” Her voice was broken by a series of pants as she continued to control her breathing. Her voice echoed quietly into the darkness and bounced back reluctantly, suggesting the room in which they stood or sat was fairly immense.

  No one answered at first. She could still hear others breathing and could still sense someone standing near her, but she had no idea who was still with her. Veronica was near but, for all Cate knew, the two of them were alone.

  Another voice, with the distinctive cadence and rising rhythms of a Mexican accent, asked, “What happened?” It was unmistakably Alonzo Martinez asking this question, but it was a question that circled in Cate’s head as well.

  Cate was still having a hard time processing what had happened. She was having an equally difficult time accepting that she had survived a plane crash.

  Sergeant Daniels’ recognizable and intimidating voice, full of gravel and grit, hushed them all, “Keep it down. We may not be alone.”