Containment (49 page)

“What kind of classes?”

“Dance.”

“Dance?”

Gerald looked over at Neil with a playful protest and continued, “Yeah, dance. What’s wrong with dance?”

“I don’t know. Nothin’ I guess. It’s just that...well, what’s the attraction?”

“What do you think the pretty girl ratio is in a dance class as opposed to, let’s say, a political science class? It’s a chance for me to get out, get some exercise, and remember what it was to be a man.”

“What kind of dance?”

Gerald smiled. “All kinds.”

“Like what? Ballet?”

“No. Things like ballroom, tango, and the like. We’ve been doing a lot of the cultural dances of Western European countries. We even learned some interesting gypsy dances.”

“Please don’t take this as an insult. All I have to say is wow. That’s pretty cool. So are you retired?”

“Yeah. I worked for the Post Office and the retirement is pretty good.”

“I’ve heard.”

Jerry woke next, like clockwork. He huddled around the fire but didn’t say anything, trying to warm himself as he pulled on the shirt he was carrying.

Neil winked at Gerald and then turned to Jerry. “You know, Jerry, if you kept your stuff on at night like the rest of us you would probably stay warmer and then not have to dress by firelight in the morning.”

Shivering, Jerry was unable to give a response other than lifting his middle finger as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. Instead, he observed, “Looks like it’s goin’ to be a clear day. Probably colder though, too.”

“Yeah. Maybe the sun will melt some of the snow from the trail before we hit it. We’ll have more mud but at least we’ll be able to see where we’re steppin’.”

That day’s journey consisted not of climbing, but of sliding. For much of the trail, they leaned back and, rather than fighting and losing, allowed the path to lead them down. There were some tumbles and still some significant hiking to be done, but the going seemed to be much easier.

And then there was another river, full of angry energy, coursing near them. Its voice was loud and intimidating, which produced a flurry of questions. “Another crossing?” “Are we going into the water again?” “What if…?”

All of the questions and the dread came to an abrupt end when the first Tram Car sign came into sight. They stopped and considered the sign, smiling at one another. None of them were experienced enough hikers to have used a tram car in the past, however, the prospect of using one now was very appealing and exciting.

When they spied the heavily constructed tram car platform and the sturdy metal cage hanging, they stopped in their tracks.

“So that’s a tram car, huh?” Gerald asked.

Neil nodded. “Yeah, I guess that’s your run of the mill tram car.”

They hurried onto the platform and a couple of people at a time piled in and pulled themselves across. The effort was much more toil than it was fun. The rope was heavy and the car was heavier. Their muscles moaned and their hands screamed, but they pulled themselves and each other across the river.

When the last two to cross, Claire and Jerry, finally pulled up to the opposite side and climbed out of the still swinging car, there was a collective pause. It felt like they had somehow arrived. The water raging one hundred or more feet below them still taunted and teased but it sounded more like empty threats thrown in desperation after the fact. Neil looked down at the dark frothy current and thought about all that was behind them. He thought about the opportunities lost, the lives lost, the world lost. All the loss, but the river had been overcome, so maybe they could make it after all.

They soon found themselves on largely flat ground. The trees began to get bigger and thicker, as did the trail on which they were walking. It didn’t appear as if the snow had made its way to this elevation yet. The air, however, smelled, tasted, and felt like it was already inviting winter in for the season. The cool moistness was just this side of snowing. It felt like they were walking through the world’s largest refrigerator that had been set a notch too cold.

Neil looked back over his shoulder at the enormous mountain they had just overcome. The small bump on the topography was barely swollen enough to be a bruise. Then he looked at the mountains around them and wondered what it was like to climb one of them. His interest was fleeting and his attention returned to the muddy trail ahead and the tired ache in his muscles.

By and by, there appeared along the trail evidence of man. There were discarded backpacks filled with absolutely ridiculous items: laptops, DVDs, iPod docking stations, compact disc players, and portable DVD players. There were family scrapbooks and sports trophies. There were precious few supplies worth carrying in any of the many backpacks they examined. They all knew they were getting closer to the end of their trail and the beginning for a lot of others in the past.

Jerry said, “These were probably from people who were just starting out and probably got caught up in the mess. Probably trying to shed weight so they could outpace their pursuers. I wonder if any of them got away?”

“How do you know they were just starting out?” asked Meghan.

“Why would they carry all that junk all the way across the Pass only to drop it when they got to one potential destination? They were headed the other way. Had to have been.”

Emma said, looking back at the path behind them, “Kinda begs the question then: what are we heading into that they were trying to get away from?”

Neil agreed, “It does beg that question. Doesn’t it?”

From behind them, Gerald said, “Found one.”

All of the others spun. “One what?” Neil asked.

“One of the folks you’ve all been talkin’ ‘bout. Didn’t get too far. I’m guessing not many of them did. Probably wandered off the trail with those things hot on their tails. The foliage and undergrowth would have slowed them just enough to make them easy catches.”

Sure enough. Just off the main path was a broken skeleton picked clean of flesh and sinew. All four of its limbs had been separated from the main set of bones. One of the arm bones was still missing, perhaps carried off by one of them as a trophy or, more likely, a snack for the road. The man’s shoes had been peeled from his feet like a fruit’s skin, allowing access for gnashing teeth to the sweet flesh inside.

Meghan turned away. “I just saw another one,” she said. “Over that way. Just a pair of legs sticking out from behind a tree.”

Jerry said, “Well when those people were coming through here, there were a lot of them and they were being chased…the other direction…toward the trail. There’s no sign of either people or those things, so I’d say that we’re probably safe...for the moment at least.”

Emerging onto the trailhead and its remote parking lot, it felt as if they had found a long lost civilization hidden by an all but impassable forest. The handful of designated parking spots was not enough to accommodate the more than a handful of vehicles abandoned all around. There were Fords and Chevys, Subarus and Hondas, cars and trucks, and SUVs and campers. Most were simply left where they had come to rest without any care given to propriety. Disaster and the apocalypse, after all, do not lend themselves to good parking etiquette.

Emma and Meghan saw the little outhouse building amid the car chaos and started to run toward it. Their enthusiasm melted away abruptly when they caught sight of the brown-tinted handprints splayed across the light-colored doors. They knew all too well that there was likely more than just water-filled toilet bowls awaiting them inside. Almost as an answer to their thoughts and suspicions, something on the opposite side of the door stirred and began to pound itself against its confining walls and door. The two women stopped dead in their tracks and backed themselves away slowly, their disappointment pale in comparison to the rising alarm in their chests.

They picked their way cautiously through the vehicle graveyard, careful not to move too close to open windows or doors left ajar. At times, Neil and Dr. Caldwell considered foraging for supplies from the automobiles, but both decided to just leave well enough alone.

Shortly after leaving the parking lot, the vehicles began to thin until the survivors found themselves once again marching along an empty road leading to the unknown. The trees to either side of them, though largely missing their full summer foliage, reached themselves overhead and formed a dense ceiling. The dulled light of the sun found it exceedingly difficult to weave its way through the seemingly interlaced fingers of the trees’ outstretched hands…organic claustrophobia at its best.

They moved along the road quietly, their crunchy footsteps upon the gravel the only noise around them. It was as if the world was holding its breath and awaiting the next act to play itself out.

Upon reaching the seam where the gravel gave way to pavement, they knew they were nearing whatever awaited them at the end of their journey. It was a short walk to the famous Double Musky Restaurant, which was only a few hundred yards from the main drag into and out of Girdwood.

The town was actually a part of Anchorage though, like its bigger sibling Eagle River, its residents generally tended to consider themselves anything but Anchorage citizens. The residents themselves were an eclectic mix of retirees, business people with a penchant for eco-enterprises or marketable experiences, many of the service workers for the Alyeska Resort at the end of the road, and young adults in their early twenties who were living out of parents’ bank accounts and typically referred to by most as Trustafarians. In addition to the world class Alyeska, there were some fantastic bed and breakfast establishments that always drew in affluent guests. And, of course, there was the Double Musky, one of Alaska’s greatest restaurants. The strong, rustic looking restaurant was sitting dormant and gutted. Without wasting their time, they already knew not to expect anything to remain in the building. With the numbers of people who had filed by it, there was no way that the Musky would have escaped pillaging.

Like a displaced tour guide, Neil announced, “Welcome to Girdwood.”

They stepped onto the open highway, looking both left and right. They didn’t see anything in either direction. Actually, they saw quite a bit, but most of it no longer even registered. There was an overturned school bus, which had been heading away from the town center toward the left. There were three other cars sitting off the road near where the bus had come to rest. Across the street and down a bit on the left were the charred remains of a business that had burned to the ground, leaving nothing but a blackened skeleton atop a scorched foundation.

A volunteer fire department vehicle was a short distance down the highway on their right, sitting on its side in a ditch. The door facing away from the pavement was still open.

Jerry said, “There’s probably no reason to go to the resort. I can’t imagine there’s anyone down that way.”

“What about that restaurant on the top,” Meghan said. “What’s it called again? It’s got glaciers in the name.”

Dr. Caldwell answered, “The Seven Glaciers. There could be people up there, but getting there would be a bit of a chore because it is on the top and I bet the tram isn’t running these days.”

Emma asked, “So we go out to the Seward Highway and head south then?”

“Yeah,” Neil confirmed. “I think that makes the most sense. Any other ideas?”

With a serious face, Emma suggested, “There’s always goin’ back to the doctor’s house.” She almost started laughing before she got it out. She couldn’t help it. She just loved to laugh; whether it was appropriate or not really didn’t matter to her.

Danny shushed them all with his hand and cupped the other over one of his ears. He’d heard something.

Neil asked, “What is it Danny? Is it them?”

“Unless they’re comin’ in on a different frequency,” Jerry said, “or he’s more sensitive than I am, then I don’t think so.”

“I can hear something,” Danny insisted. “It sounds like growling maybe.”

Jerry shook his head but peered through his scope in the same direction Danny was facing. “I’m not seeing anything. Oh wait. There they are.”

“Undead?”

“No. Dogs. And they’re heading this way.”

Meghan started to wring her hands. “What do we do?”

Dr. Caldwell said, “We can’t rely on bats. I don’t think we have any choice.” Out of habit, he checked the load on the M4's magazine and then readied the firearm for action.

Jerry, using his scope, sighted the first animal as it ran at them. He took a deep breath and as he exhaled he squeezed the trigger. The little black Labrador mix tumbled forward and then did several cartwheels until it came to rest, dead. He found his next target and brought that one down as well. He said to the others, “I don’t know that I can get all of them before they get too close, so get ready.”

Danny crouched next to Jerry and fired his rifle. The bullet skipped off the pavement, falling a few yards short of its target. Jerry fired again, missing this time. He quickly operated the bolt action, chambering another long bullet. Danny fired again as Jerry readied his rifle. He had more luck this time. He hit the dog, slowing but not killing it.

Jerry fired again and again, but by then the dogs were within distance of the other weapons in the group. A wall of fire erupted as they all began pulling their triggers. A grey-white cloud, filled with choking animosity and death, stormed and raged in front of the firing line. And from the opposite side of the hellish fog, the entire pack of dogs uttered a single, collective, pained yelp and was no more. The bullets shredded both air and dog flesh with equal ease.