Rise of the Huskers (The Raven Falconer Chronicles) (13 page)

Raven and Pooch watched Officer Nowicki refill the large, gas-driven generators, which hummed along, providing the much needed heat and electricity to the inn overhead.  The dog carefully smelled and investigated every piece of equipment, her tail held high as she explored, but dropping and wagging enthusiastically when she returned to Rave’s side.  “Looks like the hound’s okay with what you’re doing,” she said.

“Who?  Oh, yeah.  I think it's wise if we keep these off d
uring the day, at least when it’s warmer, like today.  We'll need to conserve the gas, along with everything else.”

“I was a little surprised by the vote this afternoon.  You?” Raven asked, trying to keep her mind off the possibility of an unwanted and unwarranted attack.

“No, not really.  I think most everybody realizes it’s going to be a struggle, regardless of where we end up.  I'm hoping that big boy’s threat was just that . . . a threat.”

“He was like, gargantuan, eh?  Reminded me of that guy my Uncle Smugs used to watch on the wrestling channel.  Ah, Andy the Giant I believe.”  The Falconer woman had pulled her hair into a ponytail and topped her
head with a black ball cap she’d taken from one of the many shops lining Banff Ave.  A dark-green bomber jacket, appropriated from the same store, made her look somewhat bulky but it was warm and had large pockets, which she had filled with ammunition for the rifle she held in her hands.  It had been days since she’d bothered to apply makeup, and in fact, the natural beauty had not even thought about it from the time of her friend’s arrival, the event seeming so distant.

Ziggy finished the last of one five-gallon can and reached for another, taking a second
to answer his friend and smile at her pretty face.  As much as he felt compelled to keep their relationship strictly professional, he was finding it more and more difficult to restrain the attraction, pulling at his heartstrings. 
She is beautiful,
he thought, trying not to let the impression bleed to his face and give his feelings away.  It was too late; she had seen it and felt it.  “You mean Andre the Giant.  Yeah, that native guy, Lou, I think they called him, is massive.  I generally don’t get very uptight in confrontational situations but he was intimidating, to say the least,” the young officer replied.

“Zig, I’
ve not told the girls this, but I’m scared.  Not wet-my-pants scared, but scared for the people we’ve brought together.  What will happen to them if we’re attacked?  I mean; I’m feeling kind of responsible for them.  Is that crazy?”  She knelt, laid the rifle on the ground, rubbing both sides of Pooch’s face and kissing her black, wet nose.

“I know.  I’
m feeling it too, but there has to be strength in numbers.  That bull he tried to feed us about there being thousands of them is as bogus as the crap I was telling him.  This place isn’t a fortress, by any stretch, but we’ve got some good ol’ boys here, who know how to shoot.  I’m hoping if they do come at us they’ll suffer a few casualties and crawl away to lick their wounds.”

“Sounds pretty optimistic to me, Ziggy.  How many do we have to lose before we do the same thing . . . 5, 10, 20?”

“Hell, I don’t know, Rave.  Who’s to say if we do get some people hurt, or even killed, and we surrender that they wouldn’t just kill the rest of us, or worse?”

“Worse?  What do you mean?  What could be worse than getting killed?”

“Oh believe me, there’s a lot of things that could be worse than a quick death.  Torture, rape, slavery . . . there’s no law anymore, they could do as they pleased, for who knows how long, with virtually no repercussions.”

“Don’
t let that happen to me, okay?”

“You have my word.  You want it between th
e eyes or in the heart?” he asked, jokingly, reaching for his sidearm.

“Very funny.  I’
m not joking.  You have to promise me you won’t let them get their hands on me.”  As she spoke, she stood, grasped his arm and looked into his eyes, conveying her message with utmost sincerity.

“You’
re serious,” he said, being a bit taken back.  “I couldn’t do that, Rave.  I just . . . I just can’t see myself hurting you for any reason.”  Her request, and the mere thought, choked him up and the words came haltingly.  With her hand still holding him, she looked at his mouth and then back to his eyes, as he spoke.  Unconsciously, her tongue darted out and slid across her pink lips.  “Please don’t make me,” Ziggy started to say, but watching her lips glisten with a trace of moisture brought his mind and his speech to an abrupt stop.  He looked into her eyes, they pleaded for assurance and an answer.  Setting the gas can aside, he put his left hand on her waist and pulled her a few inches closer.  She did not resist.  “You can’t ask me to do that,” he said, cupping her jaw with his right palm.  Her skin, so smooth, sent a sensation of warmth through him that he’d not felt in years.

Raven Falconer tilted her head to accept his gentle touch, never taking her eyes from his.  She opened her mouth to protest his denial but he hushed her with an index finger placed softly against her lips.  She lowered her gaze over his stiff, angular nose, bringing her eyes to rest on his mouth . . . and then, almost unperceptively, she lightly kissed his finger.  A shiver, marginally less than being hit with a stun gun, bolted through his system and he smiled.  “You . . . ” he started to say, but then thought otherwise, and abandoned all pretense of bridling his desires.  He trailed his finger away from her mouth and down the zipper of her coat, resting it on her left hip.  He squeezed and pulled her close, chest t
o chest with their hungry mouths separated by a few centimeters.  The smitten officer took what information he needed from her eyes, and then, tipping his head, he kissed her very tenderly, withdrawing slightly to once again appreciate her delicate features.  Her eyes were closed, and he felt her weight sag against him, begging for his embrace.  Nowicki did not disappoint, wrapping his arms around her and enfolding her in his strength.  Their mouths eagerly explored the rush of emotion that was overwhelming them both.  He clutched and lifted her from the ground; not wanting to ever let her go, as he kissed her deeply.

Ultimately the need for air brought them back to earth, both gasping but anxious to begin where they’d left off.  Ziggy moved in for another passionate exchange but hesitated, opting to hug her instead.  He easily settled her feet back onto solid ground and gingerly brought his lips to hers for a parting kiss, before he stepped away.

“I know,” she said, having the same yearning need but understanding the place and the circumstances.  “Of all places to find somebody . . . the middle of a pandemic nightmare.”

“Complete with Huskers,”
he added.

“Precisely.  Okay, back to the question at hand.  Did you sweep me off my feet to change my mind or
to see if I’d just forget about it?”

“Neither, actually.”  He smiled over his shoulder, as anoth
er stream of gas poured from a can and into the tank.  “I did it because . . . ”

“Because, why?” she said, reaching out and rubbing his arm affectionately.

“Because it was the only way I could get you to shut up so I could finish my work.”

“Jerk!”  Raven doubled up her fist and struck him with gusto in th
e upper arm.  “Take that, but I’m counting on you,” she finally concluded, knowing he’d be keeping a special watch over her from this time forward.

They completed the task and began the walk back to the upper floors.  Shortly after the native convoy had roared out of town, the community had an informal council and vote.  However, the result was not unanimous but very close.  Three of the locals had opted to leave the inn, warning that being clustered together would only create a target for future problems.  They left, taking a small supply of food and returned to a home where they felt they could hide out and remain incognito.  The remainder of the survivors discussed options, strategies and possible avenues of retreat, should they need it.  Officer Nowicki had managed to arm most of those who did not bring their own guns, hav
ing high jacked the RCMP weapon’s locker.

Keeping the assailants out of the building was the priority.  They would not initiate offensive maneuvers but would try to keep the entrances secure and monitor the hallways.  So many windows
, and not enough people to cover every room, were a problem but they strategically made assignments, maximizing views to prevent anyone having access to stairwells and the upper floor.  They were grouped into units of two, in most cases an experienced hunter with someone less qualified.  This was not always the case, as some couples chose to stay together and not all had shooting experience.

In the hours following the vote, ma
ttresses had been thrown adjacent to windows, furniture secured against intrusion at the front and rear of the building and an escape route prepared, leading from the underground parkade, up the ramp and out the back of the garage.  Vehicles were lined up, fueled and guarded by two groups of roving sentries.  The route, north, away from Banff, was demarcated with plans to reunite with survivors near Lake Louise.  No one had a clue what would be waiting for them there but it couldn’t be worse than driving into the violent storm that would await them if they traveled east and into the reserve.

The roof of the inn was their best bet
, not only for spotting an attack but also for defending against one.  There was a crown or berm that ran the circumference of the building, extending almost a meter high, that was dense and heavily constructed.  Ziggy estimated it would withstand a rifle’s round and provide adequate cover to fire from.  Five groups of two were assigned to monitor all avenues of access to the inn and to fire a shot if they spotted trouble.  Hannah and Bobi, along with the Daniel’s, were given the frontal area and Banff Ave.  They nervously walked the length of the facade, whispering periodically but mostly staying quiet and contemplating their inner fears.  The other guards appeared to be doing the same thing.

Inside, anyone not assigned to guard duty tried to sleep or help in other ways.  Mick had assumed the responsibility of caring for the children.  A mother of one of the adolescents helped, telling stories and making sure they were tucked in and ready
for bed.  The other adolescents were orphaned by the viral-enslaver, leaving them to fend for themselves, but were luckily taken in by neighbors before the Huskers found them.  The inner rooms of the third floor were the group’s dormitories, the least likely to receive direct fire and the most easily defended.  The outer rooms, as with all those in the inn, were barricaded with furniture or mattresses and a u-shaped hallway, legs running away from Banff Ave, connected all the rooms.  Walking units patrolled back and forth and fixed guards stood in the stairwells.

Raven stuck her head in the room where she knew Mick would be, and found her patiently rocking the smallest child to sleep.  The teacher brought a finger to her lips to hush her friend until she laid the four year old down and
joined Rave in the hall.  “How’s it going?” Raven inquired.

“Not bad, they were pretty worn out.  Big day for them but their stomachs are full and they should sleep okay.  Some of them are complaining about nightmares.”

“Do you blame them?  I’m having them too,” Rave confirmed.

“No doubt, eh?  I guess there’
s no sign of our native friends?”  Mick leaned her ear against the partially closed door and listened.  It was still.

Rave whispered her reply, “Nope, as quiet as that room full of
kids.”

“Good, hope it stays that way.”

“Me too.  You okay?  Worried?” Raven asked her best friend.

“Aren’t you?  I’
m scared to death for the children.  What kind of life can we have, waiting every minute for some group of zealots or Huskers to attack?”

“I know
but what else can we do?  There’s no help coming, Mick.  None!  There’s you and me, the girls, Ziggy and these townspeople.  That’s it, and I’d rather stay and fight for what we’ve got than get pushed out into circumstances beyond our control, or worse.”

“I totally agree but . . . you know, the youngsters, they always seem to be stuck in the middle of adults fighting over something.”  Mick stepped toward Rave and quickly h
ugged her.  “We’ve been through worse,” she said, smiling.

“Bull-crap,” Raven replied,
making them both laugh.  “Where’s your gun?”

“I’
ve got that old shotgun inside with the kids.  I gave the AK’s to Bobi and Hannah.  They’re on the roof for the next four hours.  How ‘bout you?  Where are you assigned?”

“Zig says I’
m assigned to his hip pocket.”

“
Ohhhh, is that right?  I thought I saw some sparks there.”

“Maybe a little,” Rave responded, her cheeks flushing with color.

“Leave it to you to find romance during the Zombie Apocalypse.  Where’s Pooch?  You better keep an eye on her.”

Rave pointed down the hall where a door led to the rooftop.  “Ziggy just took her to the roof to keep the girls company.  She prefers being outside with cooler weather and a plethora of smells.”

The friends spoke for another few minutes before Mick slipped back inside with the sleeping minors.  She sat in a cushioned rocker and placed the shotgun over her lap.  Hours before she’d checked the chambers for shells but to ease her anxiety she quietly released the action again and confirmed two brass ends were visible.  The chair pivoted back and forth for a few minutes until exhaustion closed the teacher’s eyes and she drifted off to sleep.