Winter Apocalypse: Zombie Crusade V (31 page)

As the skaters chased the fleeing hunters away from the traumatized refugees, the first of the snowmobilers reached Jack and took off his helmet. The man looked vaguely familiar, but Jack didn’t recognize the voice as the blood-drenched fighter scanned the carnage and commented, “My God, it’s a miracle anyone survived this.” He turned to Jack, smiled, and held out his hand. “No place for a nervous person, eh?”

Jack was too exhausted to do more than glance at Carter before taking the proffered hand in his own. The stranger shook Jack’s hand before attempting to explain his odd remark. “It’s a Canadian hockey saying—”

“Michael!” Trudy shouted as she pushed herself through the milling soldiers. “Michael!” She flung herself into his arms, then stepped back to get a good look at her nephew. “Jack, I’d like you to meet Michael Carboni.”

Jack cocked his head and raised one eyebrow. “You’re the engineer turned fishing guide?”

Michael smiled broadly. “Yeah, and I bet you’re the history professor who turned out to be the leader of the resistance. Aunt Trudy, is Christy here? Did she make it?”

Before Trudy had a chance to answer, Christy and David appeared on the scene. Christy burst into uncontrollable tears of joy, so David spoke for the both of them. “We didn’t think we had a chance; how did you know—”

“After what Father O’Brien told us, and what happened in Sarnia, we started paying closer attention to any communications we could possibly pick up. We got the message that you were evacuating under pressure, plus we’ve been able to monitor quite a few enemy transmissions.” Michael was joined by several Canadian comrades, and he pointed to a big guy caked in gore. “This is the man most responsible for us being here.” He waited patiently as the tall warrior carefully removed his helmet. “Robbie, we found my family and Jack Smith.”

Robbie grinned at the battered fighters before him. “Pleased to meet you all, but I think we should keep moving and save the pleasantries for later.”

“What did you have in mind? Do you have a way to transport our civilians?” Jack directed his questions to both Michael and Robbie. “I’m sure we have wounded . . .”

Michael nodded. “We pulled five sleds outfitted as small ambulances with us, along with two doctors and five nurses. We can start evacuating the injured right away. We’d like you all to come back to Manitoulin with us.”

Carter looked to Jack. “Any idea how many folks we got left?”

“You and Deb are in charge of figuring that out,” Jack murmured. “We’ve lost too many for me to keep track of.”

Michael sensed Jack’s despair. “Look, we wouldn’t be here, and our families wouldn’t be alive and waiting for us, if you hadn’t sent info on how to survive to your brother and my uncle Jim. Your foresight had a longer reach than you probably thought it did.”

“Glad to know that,” Jack replied with no hint of emotion in his voice, “but a lot of people here didn’t survive. Fort Wayne didn’t survive, Middle Bass Island didn’t survive, and my fiancé and my son didn’t survive . . .”

“Oh,” Michael almost smacked himself in the forehead until he remembered that his gloved hand was covered in blood. “I have a letter here for you, from Vicksburg. Carolyn, Robbie’s fiancé, wrote a message down from a man named Stephen Carlson.” He pulled off his glove and fumbled around under his gear until he found the slightly crumpled envelope. “Here,” he offered.

Jack took the letter with a mixture of hope and dread. He carefully read the short note twice silently before reading it aloud.

“Jack, I waited to contact you, hoping that sooner or later we’d be able to communicate with one another in a more discreet fashion. I am loath to share such important information with you through a third party, but I figured that you might need some good news about now.”

Jack took a deep breath and continued, his voice cracking slightly with emotion as he tried to read the next few sentences as loudly as possible so the people who’d gathered around could hear the news.

“Luke survived the bite wound with no significant ill effects. According to Gracie, he was on his feet within twenty-four hours. He experienced the terrible fever, but rather than falling into the near-death state and returning as one of the infected, he came back as himself. He is himself, Jack, though his eyes turned black like a hunter’s. He said to tell you that he’d had one of his feelings, and that he’s heading west. He said you’d understand. Gracie, Zach, and Maddie are with him.”

Jack slowly lowered the letter. He scanned the astonished faces of his friends and family, and for the first time in a long time, felt a genuine smile crease his weary face. “Why are you all still just standing around here?” he asked, sounding like the old Jack. “Manitoulin Island isn’t getting any closer. Let’s get a move on!” 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J.W. Vohs continues to spend most of his days writing zombie fiction, playing with his dog, and honing his lumberjack skills. He lives with his wife and children in northern Indiana.