Rise of the Huskers (The Raven Falconer Chronicles) (6 page)

Minutes later, with the siren wailing and the lights flashing, he skidded to an abrupt stop in front of the cabin.  The girls rushed outside to see what had caused the unexpected, outlandish return.  Officer Zygmunt Nowicki rushed towards them, his face white and a tremor to his voice, “You can’t stay here!  Get your things.  They’re coming, dozens of them, they’re coming!  You’ve got to go.”

Nathan Edwards, one time Canadian Olympian and sharpshooter, stood under a steady stream of water that pelted his skin, turning it pink and warm.  He’d spent the day sleeping in a large comfortable bed on the third floor of the Banff Springs Hotel.  The night before, his ever-expanding following of Huskers had raided the historic building, sweeping from room to room and floor to floor in search of victims for food.  A hapless collection of European backpackers had been found hunkered down in the tower’s west wing.  They made easy prey for the ravenous cannibals who savaged those too scared or weak to run, leaving the fleeing few to be hunted and stalked by Nathan and his merciless companions.

The Huskers had gorged on fresh meat, satisfying one of their basic, driving urges, only to be
lost in the perpetual need to fulfill other wanton, baser obsessions.  Some, with their bellies full, wandered about the elegant hotel, as if making a lost connection, while others pawed and groped one another’s blood stained flesh, copulating like wild animals, their grunts and groans filling the air.  Those infected, too far-gone to be considered normal but with a vestige of active cerebrum, chose to congregate away from the others.  Communication was limited but possible, some speaking audible words and others drawing or miming their intent.

Edwards took it all in, feeling stronger each day and sensing a change, not only in himself but also within the dynamics of his wretched troop.  No true affection existed among any of the group but a
tolerance; an understanding prevailed, where previously only assaults and savagery had dominated the Husker collective.  Nathan still lacked memory or the ability to construct abstract thoughts or plans but connections were being made.  Things that he’d done hundreds, if not thousands of times, were coming back, not so much as memories but as instinct, engrained in his being over the years of repeated activities.  This growing, innate ability had pushed him into the shower, first fully clothed, then drawing on the islands of functioning brain matter, he shed his filthy garments and watched the cascading water rinse the stench and blood away.  A mixture of blackened plasma and water churned at his feet, almost beautiful to behold but lost on the Husker’s leader.

From where he stood in the glassed-in enclosure, an image of a woman lying on the bed could be seen in the bathroom mirror’s reflection.  She was blonde, with long, sleek legs and naked from the waist down.  Her face, though expressionless and lost to sleep, was covered in bruises and scratches, the signs of hard-fought battles, waged and won the night before.  Nathan grunted and yelled to be heard above the sound of the jetted shower nozzle.  “You!”  She stirred slightly but did not respond.  Again he vocalized the call, louder and shriller.  The woman slept on, ignoring his summons.

Agitated and dripping-wet, he lumbered from the bathroom, clutched her around the throat and lifted her from the bed.  Her feet dangled above the floor, his powerful arms suspending her weight while she sputtered for air.  He stared into her blue eyes, no memory of having brutally taken her just hours before.  Then, as on other mornings, exhaustion had shut his eyes, quieted his racing thoughts and she had stayed on with nowhere else to go.  Finally, he released his strangle hold on her neck and pushed her ahead of him, into the shower’s fresh spray.  She looked about, bewildered and unsure what was happening.  Nathan stepped in behind her and ripped her clothes away, rubbing his hands over her body, shearing the sweat, blood and stink away.  The blonde, no more than a pliable doll, gave into his manipulation and then his prodding, before he pushed her from the stall and lapped at the water splashing his face.

Tonight would be no different than the past few; the barbaric company of Huskers tramping from one location to the next, adding mindless recruits to their band, while overwhelming, then consuming any who opposed them.  What seemed like a random, hapless collection of lost souls was growing stronger every day, the laws of nature controlling behaviors, long since buried in the human
psyche.  As their strengths and abilities were growing, fueled by, what seemed to be an endless supply of fresh, human meat, the desperate survivors held out hope for a miracle, anything that would free them from the nightmare of being hunted by night and starving by day.

Some citizens had crossed the line of ‘decency’ and were shooting Huskers on sight, their sense of humanity dwindling and vaporizing in conjunction with their strength.  However, guns were rare in the resort town, there was no need, hunting was prohibited within the park and crime was almost non-existent.  Unlike many American cities where citizens were armed and ready to defend themselves, Canadians, for the most part, had not been raised in a culture of guns and violence.  For years liberal leadership had slowly stripped gun rights away from the average citizen and vested all powers in the military and police.  The same politicians, many now just bits of undigested tissue in some Husker’s belly, were only able to appreciate their ignorance for days before they fell prey to their own short-sightedness.

Nathan, dressed in clean attire with the hatchet fixed to his waistband, strode through the compromised hotel, urging his followers to join him.  Most, eagerly heeded his grunts and calls, pulling themselves away from acts of foolishness or depravity, anxious to fill their needs once again.  A small pair, Shlomo and his sister, Elina, quickly found their position close to his side: though ravaged by the virus, they held an unusual fondness for one another and their leader.  Somehow, through the days and nights of unrestrained brutality, they had remained ‘children’, unrepentant killers and cannibals, nonetheless, but the siblings exhibited an odd behavioral need to frolic and interact on a different level than those who were adults when infected.  Edwards acknowledged their presence with a deep, slow utterance, “Good”.

Standing in the lobby atop a beautifully upholstered divan, the adrenalin-filled leader barked out unidentifiable orders, pointing at some, while mimicking acts of violence.  The few in the group who had enough cerebral function to comprehend Nathan’s antics pulled clusters of Huskers to them, some speaking to the nearly deaf and moronic but encouraging and whipping them into a frenzy of bloodlust with savage intent.  The virally tuned army marched from the opulent hotel and north along Spray Avenue, a small cluster of lights from a nearby subdivision drawing them in like bees to a flower.  The horde, an awesome parade of misfits, bellowed and howled, as they surged forward, unable to contain their excitement and need.

Suddenly a tan pickup appeared from a narrow side street, parked sideways in the road and spun a large spotlight onto the riotous crowd.  Nathan ducked, reaching behind him to drag the siblings with him, only a second before flashes of light erupted from the back of the truck, sending a hail of lead into the Husker’s ranks.  Men and women dropped, a few hit by the deadly fire, as others scattered for the trees lining both sides of the street.  Nathan weaved a pattern through the dense cover, working his way to the truck and the enemy occupants, but he was too late.  The engine’s exhaust filled the night air with fumes, leaving behind a half-dozen dead and wounded Huskers.

For the self-proclaimed Banff Security Force the assault had been successful and they would be back, more organized and better armed but for tonight they would retreat to the safety of the tourist information center.  Over the past few days, the fed-up and daring young people had turned the structure into a fortified bunker.  Their agenda: by day they would seek out the Huskers and eliminate them, and during the long, dark nights they would lick their wounds, stand their ground and prepare for the next day.  A vision of the future was no longer measured in months, or years but in mere hours and days.  Hope stretched thin for the last of the survivors but they would not go down without a fight.

The night’s hunt for red, rich meat had been more successful than most of the Husker’s had bargained on.  Their comrades, both the dead and the dying, were dragged back to the warmth and relative safety of the Banff Springs Hotel and consumed at a leisurely pace.  The remains provided ample nourishment for the scores of Huskers left behind to continue their ghoulish mission.  They’d be at it again once pangs of hunger ripped at their insides and sent them into the night, scouring neighborhoods for victims and an easy meal.

Nathan leaned against a pillar at the front of the hotel, a strip of bicep draped strangely from his fist as he stared into the night.  Bits of information slowly built into an almost perceptible plan, ideas collecting then exploding into nonsense.  He battled with the notions for a time, walking back and forth, the act somehow helping to focus his thoughts.  Stopping, he thrust a bloody hand down to the heavy-ended blade at his side, cast an eerie glare at the hotel’s entrance, turned and ran into the darkness.

“What do you mean, ‘they’re coming’?” Mick shouted at an overwrought Ziggy.  “Who could . . .
”

The officer quickly closed the distance between himself and the ladies, stirring Pooch’s protective nature and causing her to growl and bark uncontrollably. 
Zygmunt excitedly waved his hands, cutting off Mick’s next question as he yelled orders above the howling dog.  “There’s no time . . . Huskers, dozens of them, headed this way.  You’ll never be able to hold them off.  Get what you need, only the bare necessities, and come with me!”

“Good crap, I knew it would come to something like this,” Bobi yelled, before she spun back into the cabin and started throwing her things together. 
Her roommates followed, chaotically running into one another, until Mick grasped their attention with a high-pitched, shrill whistle.

“Hannah, lug those unrefrigera
ted boxes of food outside.  And you,” she said, pointing at Bobi, “Gather up your stuff and Hannah’s and get it out to Ziggy.  He’ll know what to do.  Raven, weapons . . . get all of ‘em and the ammo too.  Hannah will drive my Jeep; you take Pooch in the cruiser.  Bobi and I will ride shotgun for Hannah.  Come on, come on . . . move it.”  The teacher sounded more like a drill sergeant than a school teacher, but some days, even in elementary school, the job was the same.  Mick joined the orchestrated evacuation, sweeping through the small cabin, grabbing anything that looked important, while outside; Pooch finally gave the big man an approving sniff and let him mount the steps.

Bobi met him on the landing, thrust a duffle bag full of clothing into his arms and raced back inside.  No words were exchanged but he somehow knew what was required of him.  He dashed to his unit and tossed the bag inside, leaving the door open to expedite his next trip.  Hannah and the officer crossed paths as she stormed toward the Jeep, her arms extended and wrapped tightly around a large, brown box of groceries.  “Need help?” he asked.  She shook her head indicating no and slipped past him.  Within minutes the crew was loaded and ready to roll.  Raven was the last to leave, taking a second to fumble with the keys to the old place, wanting to lock the door.

“That can wait!” Mick shouted.

“It’ll just take a . . . there, got it,” Raven said, more to herself than the others.

“Your guns . . . they loaded?” Officer Nowicki asked.  “You may not need to even use them, but better safe than sorry.”

Each of the women nodded an affirmation, holding a weapon against their chests, which rapidly rose and fell, as they listened to his instructions.

“Check ‘em again but keep them on safety,” he urged, pulling his sidearm from its holster and checking the chamber.  “Good.  I’ll lead.  Hannah, you driving?”

“Guess so.  What do you want me to do?” she confirmed and asked.

“Keep it tight.  I hope we’ll be able to just drive right through them without a fight but they’re so unpredictable.  If you have to shoot, watch your lines.  Don’t want you shooting at each other or me.  Questions?”  There were none.  “Okay, mask up and get your gloves on . . . they’ve got to be close.”  The parties separated and loaded into the two vehicles.  Raven slid into the passenger seat of the RCMP cruiser with the Winchester held firmly in her hands.  “You comfortable with that old thing?” Ziggy inquired, tapping the barrel with his index finger.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” she retorted, staring through the windshield, her thoughts her own and resting on her father’s plight.

He backed his way from the muddy drive and began the descent down the mountain and into the unexpected.  He looked over at Raven, her set jaw and knowing stare telling a story, all its own.  “You’ll be okay,” he assured her, taking a second to confirm that the roommates were close behind.  The grill of the Jeep filled the mirror, bringing a quick smile to the officer’s face.  “Your friend, ah, Hannah, she takes things pretty literal,” he said, nodding toward the back of the car.

The Falconer woman spun to see what he was talking about.  She too smiled and said, “Yup, she sure does, but I wouldn’t want to be in this mess without her.”  Raven reached her hand into the backseat and scratched the retriever’s chin.  “She’s like this mutt here, loyal and friendly ‘til you back her into a corner.”  The statement hung in the air for a few seconds before Raven continued.  “Thanks for coming back.”

“What else could I have done?  I certainly couldn’t leave you up there to be swarmed by a pack of Huskers.”  He paused for a moment, being somewhat reflective, then said, “Something’s different today.  I’m not sure what it is but I’ve seen them attack and kill each other and now they’re coalescing, forming groups.  If they figure out how to use guns we’re really going to be in trouble.”

“You think that’s a possibility?” Raven asked incredulously.  “They can’t even open up a can of tuna.  How will they ever figure out how to operate one of these?” she questioned, tapping her rifle.

“Think about it,” he said, carefully taking a sharp turn and wondering when his lights would pick up the motley band of killers.  “When a portion of the brain is damaged or a sense is lost, the mind utilizes what’s left to make up the difference.  Some of these guys can speak.  Not like you and I but there’s still some function and who knows, maybe they’ll eventually be normal and can return to society.”

“Or . . . it just makes them smarter Huskers, scarier than they are now,” she suggested.

He sighed, taking in a big gulp of cool, mountain air, “That would suck, eh?”

“Yes it would,” she agreed.

Rounding another switchback, the cruiser’s lights finally illuminated a large mass of people in the middle of the narrow road.  The glaring headlamps stopped the advancing mob and in the same instant, brought the small convoy to a standstill.  Pooch went crazy, running from one side of the back seat to the other, barking and scratching at the windows.  The Mexican standoff continued for what seemed like minutes before a lead Husker, carrying a lengthy, human thigh bone, took a cautious step, then another, towards the cars.  He was followed by a few of the more adventurous hunters, and then, as if propelled by some unseen force, the entire gang bolted forward.  Some heaved stones; their animalistic war cries filling the night sky with acoustic squalls and guttural vibrations.

“What’s he waiting for?” Bobi asked, half-hanging over the front seat, her head below the rearview
mirror and looking toward the lead car.  “Oh . . . oh . . . Huskers,” she said, pointing beyond the cruiser at the agitated crowd.  “Shouldn’t we be . . . like . . . moving or something?”

“I’m sure he’s just being careful, waiting to see what they’re going to do,” the
school teacher suggested vocally while offering a quick, silent prayer on their behalf.

“Bobi, please tell me you’ll be okay with that machine gun,” Hannah whispered though her thin, linen mask.

“You doubt me?” she asked, dropping back into the rear seat and clutching the AK-47 in her tiny hands.  “What’s going on up there?  Shouldn’t we just roll right through them?  Maybe they’ll just part and let us go.”

“Oh hell!” Hannah yelped.

“That’s not happening, Bobi.  They’re charging.  Get ready back there.  God, help us.” Mick screamed, as Hannah matched the police cruiser’s speed, roaring towards the mass of virally-crazed Albertans.

Most of the Huskers had enough sense to dodge the oncoming battering ram but there were those who stood their ground, taking the reinforced bumper and grill head on.  “Damn it, get out of the way!” Ziggy yelled, doing his best to avoid the bulk of the attacking horde.

Suddenly the ringleader appeared at the side of the car, swinging his carnal weapon and smashing the mirror on Raven’s side.  She jumped, the action taking her by surprise as most of her attention was glued to the front of the car where two women had just bounced over the hood and into the windshield, cracking, but not destroying the barrier.

“Get us out of here, Zig!” she cried.  Pandemonium reigned supreme for the few minutes they were trapped in the throng.

“How they doing back there?” he yelled, whipping the wheel right, then left, as bodies careened off the cruiser.

“They’re good . . . staying close,” she replied, after assessing the scene behind them.

Suddenly a sharp turn appeared in the road ahead.  “Not what we need right now,” the officer said, unsure if he’d spoken out loud or not.  He promptly applied the brakes, causing the rear end to spin sideways on the wet asphalt.  The action threw Raven against the dash and she fell to the floorboards, her side colliding with the console.  She scrambled to regain her position on the seat, the rifle’s barrel awkwardly prodding the cushion, then ceiling, as she tried to get her bearings.

“You okay?” an energized Ziggy shouted out.

“Fine.  I’ll be fine.”

The officer hit the accelerator, righting the backend but not before Raven noted that her friends were in trouble. Positioned broadside in the street, the Jeep was stopped, an easy target for a bunch of angry Husker’s who had surrounded Mick’s SUV.

“Hannah, don’t hit ‘em!” Mick hollered.

“I’m trying.  Believe me, I’m trying,” she shouted back.  The dental assistant brought the Jeep to a standstill a few meters behind the police car.  “Ziggy, get going!”

Before they could restore their momentum, a reinvigorated body of Huskers descended on the Jeep, hanging from and bashing at the body and windows.  A toothless, middle-aged man smashed his face against the glass closest to Bobi, causing her to scream.  He repeated the act, slamming his forehead against the hardened glass until it fractured but did not give way.  “Hannah, Mick!” she screamed.

Mick looked over the seat to see Bobi on her back, the AK-47 aimed at the window.  “Don’t shoot unless they break through!”  Her attention was immediately brought to her own window where a burly young man glared in at her, his brown eyes streaked with red and his mouth curled into a menacing grimace.  Without warning, he leveraged his arm behind him, swinging it wildly and brought a large bone to bear on the passenger window.  The human remain bounced but did not shatter the glass.  He tried again, mustering greater force against the thin protective barrier.

In the driver’s seat, Hannah thrust the gear lever into reverse and gunned the engine.  The unexpected motion threw a few of the Huskers from the Jeep, but not all.  Ahead, she could see the car now moving around the sharp bend but then, just as quickly as it had started, it stopped.  Hannah dropped the lever to ‘D’ and bolted forward, forcing the body of a lone Husker into a rear wheel well, bringing them to an abrupt halt.

“What’s wrong?  Why aren’t we moving?” Bobi yelled, still ready to fire.

“I don’t know!  There’s so many,” a near hysterical Hannah cried out.

Bobi’s
eyes suddenly caught and fixed the toothless Husker’s crazed stare.  For an instant, she was sure he saw or felt something beyond an insane urge but the image was fleeting as an explosion of brain and blood blasted him from her view.  A rifle’s report sounded again and the Husker at Mick’s window met the same fate.  Shell after shell sounded above the echo of the girl’s screams, as Raven and Ziggy unloaded on the swarm of merciless beings.

“Hannah, try it again.  They’re giving us a chance,” Mick urged her friend.

Hannah alternated between the gears, rocking the obstacle from beneath them and ultimately spitting the corpse out from underneath the spinning tire.  From their vantage point, Ziggy and Raven could see they were free and jumped into their car and rolled ahead.  Finally demoralized like a pack of hyenas crushed by the brawn and superior savagery of a pride of lions, the Huskers retreated, harvesting their dead and dying for later consumption.

In the squad car, an exhilarated but stone-faced Raven tried to catch her breath.  Her finger still shook on the trigger of the old rifle and a single tear ran down her face.  When they were in the clear Ziggy reached over and squeezed her knee, “You did well back there.  You going to be alright?”

She did not respond to the touch or question.

“Rave . . . Raven,” he said, more forcefully.

“Ah . . . I’ve never . . . ”

“I know.  It’s hard.  The first time is always the toughest, but you saved your friends and that’s what counts.”

“Still doesn’t make . . . ” She stopped and thought for a time, lost and unable to believe how her life had changed in just a few short weeks.

“I’ll make sure you’re protected tonight and then we can decide what to do with you.  The jail is the safest place in town and you can even have your own cell.  How does that sound?” he said, trying to lighten the mood and get her to open up.

“That’ll be fine.  Ziggy, we owe you big time.  Thanks.”

“Had to save somebody, might as well be the four of you.”

The remainder of the drive was quiet in both vehicles.  The effects of the pandemic were truly more real and tangible than they had been before, and it tore at their hearts.  Raven and friends weaved their way through the narrow streets of Banff, fearful but relieved to see they were abandoned.  Once at the station, they unloaded and settled in for the night.  The generator hummed and the lights brought a sense of humanity and civilization back to the shell-shocked women.  Officer Nowicki did his best to calm and assure his guests but he could tell it was going to be a long night.