Containment

By Sean Schubert

To escape the zombie apocalypse, a small band of survivors journeys into the deadly Alaskan wilderness in this thrilling horror series.

Anchorage, once Alaska’s largest city, has fallen to a merciless and growing zombie horde. The survivors led by Neil Jordan and Dr. Caldwell decide to join forces against the hellish undead maelstrom. And when their refuge is compromised, Dr. Caldwell and the others place their faith and their lives squarely in Neil’s hands.

With life and death hanging on every decision, Neil must face each new obstacle without breaking. And the group presses on in the hope that this nightmare has been contained, and there still exists a sane world free of infection. But to reach it, they must survive and escape . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Nov 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781618680495

Book preview

Prologue

He was a soldier. It wasn’t just his job or even something as distracting as a career. No, he was a soldier through and through. In other cultures and in other times he would have been called a warrior...a warlord. He would have been clad in clanging, war-beaten armor and carried a finely honed but often used sword. He would have been riding a stout steed through valleys in search of the good fight, and perhaps the good death.

As it was, his armor had been exchanged for camouflaged Kevlar, his steed was currently an unarmored Humvee, and his sword was a .45 caliber Colt 1911 semiautomatic pistol at his side. No matter. It wasn’t clothes, weapons, or transportation that made a warrior what he was.

His earliest memories were of watching Sunday morning war movies with his father and transforming the cornfields and backyard wildernesses of his youth into dangerous battlefields for his friends and him. With wooden, metal, and plastic guns and swords, they would range far and near, fighting sometimes amongst themselves and sometimes against invisible hordes of Germans or Rebels or some other attackers who threatened the realm or its people. It was all about fighting the good fight and usually dying the good death. Trying to outdo one another’s death scenes was always an engaging pastime.

His joining the Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps years before most of his peers were even introduced to the organization was no surprise to anyone. Also not surprising was his acceptance to West Point and his subsequent commission in the U.S. Army.

He progressed through the ranks, but by pure chance flavored with very bad luck, he missed his opportunity to command troops in the field of battle time and time again. Grenada, Panama, Kuwait, Kosovo, Iraq, and Afghanistan. He always seemed to arrive after most of the real meat of the event had already been chewed.

And then he was posted to Fort Richardson in Anchorage, Alaska. It was by no means a step down for him; in fact, it was actually a promotion, but it just seemed so far removed to him. It wasn’t quite the Arctic Circle posting threat used by many a Commanding Officer to get the attention of subordinate officers, but it was close. He couldn’t help but feel benched.

Sure, units from Forts Richardson and Wainwright were regularly deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, but those deployments would invariably involve others. He would and did visit those units in their temporary foreign homes and review their assignments and successes, but then he would board the big military commuter jet and come back to the frozen north. He could feel his destiny slipping further and further away from him every day and all he could do was watch the distance grow.

Weeks and then months and finally years passed with no change...no hope. He was wiling away his time in nearly complete inactivity.

And then early this morning he was roused from his slumber by a phone ringing at his bedside and then a not too distant siren outside his window.

The caller was a flabbergasted first lieutenant. He began to deliver random details about a violent disturbance in Anchorage that had all the trappings of a terrorist attack or a full invasion by hostile forces. The junior officer didn’t have much in the way of firm facts, only the disjointed reports from field security personnel and the media. The colonel found himself spending more time trying to calm the young man on the other end of the phone than getting information. And then the line went dead.

When his cell phone proved equally as worthless, the colonel went to his garage and got on the wireless radio set in his car. He, of course, was already driving himself to his command post by that point.

He never made it. The security checkpoint across Ship Creek into the Elmendorf side of Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson had been overwhelmed sometime earlier. By the time the colonel was leaving his house, the chaos was spreading like spilled paint across both sides of the combined military installations. The greatest disturbance seemed to be in the new housing developments just inside the Elmendorf main gate. Several teams of Military Police officers had responded and were engaging the attackers. The colonel listened as the battle unfolded.

There were two sergeants commanding perhaps a dozen troops. They hadn’t been ordered to the scene; they’d heard pleas for help and responded. He heard crisp claps of sidearms as the officers stood their ground. The more energetic and desperate voice of an M4 assault rifle soon joined the conversation. There had been screams in the distance through all of this, but then there was a screech of terror and pain that originated from someone wearing one of the radio sets. One of the military police officers was down...and then another and still another fell. They were being forced back on their heels and away from their vehicles. And then the colonel heard one sergeant tell the other that he and his men were out of ammunition. The colonel yelled at the radio to get the men out, but it was already too late. Their voices were gone, replaced by choking, gurgling, dying.

Elsewhere, other security teams were standing up to the onslaught. Some were actual police units and others were merely scratched together battle groups of willing and available soldiers. Each group of soldiers, men and women, boys and girls, stood their ground only to be absorbed by the growing menace.

The colonel ordered any stragglers not actively engaged to evacuate off of base if they were able, or to gather at the Armory. From the airdrome training area, helicopters could ferry his troops to a safer staging area so that they could regroup, reorganize, and then hit back. More to the point, the colonel could get airborne and get a better look at what the hell was happening. All he knew at this point was that everything that stood in the path of the chaos, whatever it was, was destroyed.

As he climbed into the open door of the waiting Blackhawk helicopter, he could hear the staccato chatter of small arms fire down the road.

He’d wanted to be a soldier all his life. He’d wanted to take charge of men in combat. Right now, he was getting his wish and then some. Was this how it always was at the opening stages of a war? Was this how it was during the tense early moments on December 7, 1941 at Pearl Harbor or on June 25, 1950 at the Thirty-Eighth Parallel on the Korean Peninsula?

Anxiety mixed with adrenaline and was then stirred into testosterone to form a very potent elixir. He went to the cockpit and lifted one of the radio headsets, putting it on his bare, greying scalp.

He spoke into the microphone. You been in the air much today?

Both pilot and co-pilot nodded without looking back.

Have you seen what’s going on out there?

Again, his question was met with nods.

"Well, what is going on out there? What have you boys seen?"

His question was followed by first static popping over the headsets and then the pilot spoke for both of them. He said soberly, I’m not quite sure what I’ve seen today, sir. I’m not so certain that I trust even my own eyes anymore. I can say that I’ve seen enough now to convince me not to look down anymore. I’m just gonna sit here in this bird and stay in the air as much as I can.

They were in the air by then. The colonel, along with a lieutenant and a squad of combat-ready infantrymen, were all crowded into the rear of the aircraft. The colonel felt a twinge of guilt for commandeering one of the few vehicles that could actually transport people to safety, but he had to get an idea about what was happening. He wasn’t quite sure what purpose the young lieutenant or the other soldiers in the aircraft were to serve, but they were with him and could be used if necessary.

In no time at all—in fact the proximity of the uprising surprised him—they were over the expanding edges of the chaos. And almost at once, the colonel could understand the pilot’s unease. It wasn’t just bad on the ground below; it was horrific. Innocent fleeing people weren’t just being attacked or even killed; they were being ripped apart. With flailing arms and desperate shrieks muted by the helicopter’s turbine engine, the scurrying, terrified unfortunates below would be wrestled to the ground by packs of clawing, biting attackers. In just seconds, their hands’ and arms’ defensive gestures melted away, ebbing along with their lives. And then the attackers would move on to their next quarry.

They passed over a group of three Humvees parked bumper to bumper straddling a major thoroughfare. The twelve soldiers climbing out of the vehicles appeared well armed and ready for anything. The colonel instructed the pilot to position himself in such a manner that the helicopter could provide support. It was all for naught though.

When the human surge reached them, the intervention of automatic weapons had virtually no impact. The deluge spilled over and engulfed his soldiers despite their best efforts, and they met with the same grisly end as all of those caught by the flood. The colonel had seen enough.

Get us outta here pilot. Let’s get over to the staging area on the other side of the Knik.

Yessir.

The pilot nosed the graceful bird away from the burning and chaotic military base. They passed over the vehicle-choked Glenn Highway which was the only northern route out of the city. As if a switch had been thrown and an order given, people began to abandon their idling vehicles en masse. Many looked up at the helicopter overhead, imploring them for help with their outstretched hands and their pleading eyes. They ran and they screamed, but in the end, there was no escaping the murderous wave. Following the roadway north, the pilot ferried the colonel to the makeshift field headquarters near the Knik Bridge.

The Knik Arm was a watery limb originating from the Cook Inlet. Its fingers splayed themselves across the flats that separated Anchorage from the Matanuska-Susitna Valley and the northern two thirds of the state. Across the waterways there was a single concrete bridge for motorized traffic and a single railroad trestle. He couldn’t ask for a better position to defend. The attackers would be funneled by the mountains on either side down the single road leading to the bridge. If they wanted to have a fight, he’d be willing to deliver. It seemed almost unfair to him. He would be able to concentrate all of his firepower onto a relatively small patch of land. It had the potential to be a very rich killing ground where his limited heavy weapons could have the biggest impact. Approaching the solution as a simple military problem helped him to remain clinical and unemotional.

Once on the ground, he ordered a contingent of soldiers forward to stall the attackers. He needed to make certain that he had the necessary time to implement his plans. As a precaution, he was having engineers wire the bridge with explosives. If they couldn’t stop the torrent with firepower, then they could take away their lone avenue for advance. The blocking force was rushed forward and told to hold at all costs. They needed to have enough time to organize the defense and prepare the bridge for demolition. If the uprising couldn’t be stopped at the bridge, then the colonel wasn’t quite sure where it would be able to be contained.

He was just getting over to the mobile command vehicle when a young junior officer appeared with a wireless headset. Sir. It’s the governor, sir.

The colonel nodded and took the headset. Sir, this is Colonel Frost.

The governor’s voice was strained and worried. How bad is it, Colonel? he asked bluntly,

A pregnant pause followed. The colonel scanned the control center that hopped and buzzed with the intensity of a beehive. The activity to the untrained eye would perhaps seem random and chaotic, but to the colonel it was purposeful and orderly. Multiple radios chirped and hummed as reports came in from all over the adjoining military installations. The details and the locations varied but the consistent message they all delivered was the need for help and evacuation. Most of the reports, the colonel surmised, were not good as control continually slipped further and further out of reach.

Well sir, I’m not entirely sure yet how bad it is, but I can say that it will take extreme measures to get things back under control. We are organizing a defensive line at Knik. At this point, we’re not entirely sure what is happening to be perfectly frank, sir. Richardson is a complete loss. I believe Elmendorf is too.

Are the dissidents targeting the military installations specifically? Could it be extremists trying to cripple our infrastructure?

Sir, the...disturbance moved into Elmendorf and Richardson because civilians from Anchorage ran there for protection. It appears that all of this started in Anchorage and just followed the people. I’m afraid that Anchorage may be in as bad a state as the military bases, sir.

What are you suggesting, Colonel?

I’m not suggesting anything, sir. I’m merely pointing out that I think that this all started in Anchorage and is just spreading.

Can you stop it, Colonel?

The colonel...the warrior, wanted to growl to the politician that he and his soldiers were capable of anything. He was on the verge of doing just that when he looked around at the nervous and scared faces that were running about all over the makeshift command post. Men and women, some young and others not so young, were doing their best to get a handle on the events that were unfolding just up the road. There were some sitting quietly being treated for seeping, horrible wounds to their arms, hands, and even faces. The sedatives to calm their fears and lessen their pain had stolen whatever fire had been in their eyes before.

The colonel took a deep breath and then began, Sir, I’m not even sure what ‘it’ is that needs to be stopped. There were things happening over there that I can’t even begin to describe to you. Atrocities, really, being committed by what appeared to be normal people driven to some state of insanity. I don’t know really what is going on. What I can say, though, is that we are going to stand strong here along the Knik and—

Colonel, use whatever means you deem necessary to hold your line. Do you understand?

Sir, I would like clarification on what exactly you mean by that if I may.

Colonel, before we lost contact with the civil authorities in Anchorage, the ranking officers communicating with my staff here in Juneau told us that there were mass atrocities being committed. We can’t allow this to spread. You have my full support in whatever decision you make to stop this but I want it stopped. Do you understand?

Sir, are you authorizing me to use—

You use what you feel you have to use to stop this. We have to regain control and if it requires bringing down the fires of hell, well you do it then.

I understand sir. I have limited resources at my disposal, but I think what I have will certainly discourage them.

Good. We’ve contacted Eielson and authorized them to scramble some support for you as well. Those jets should be arriving soon. Use your discretion as to how to use them. Keep me updated, colonel. I am getting on the phone with the President right now. I only hope that you are successful so that we can focus on sorting this mess out and putting things back to right again.

Yessir. We will do our best, sir.

"Colonel, I don’t want just your best. We need you to be successful. This isn’t about politics or careers here. This is about survival and you are our last best hope for that. Do you understand? You are all that remains between the people of this state and whatever is happening in Anchorage. We are all counting on you and your men to stop this."

The colonel was nodding and looking back at the soldiers around him. He took a deep breath and said simply, You can count on us, sir.

Thank you, Colonel. I hope to be able to sit down with you when this is all over and hear about how you solved this problem for all of us.

The connection was broken and the colonel took off the headset, handing it back to the young man still standing at his side. He looked again at the wounded people being treated. The young officer anticipated the question that was forming and said, Sir, our medical staff—what’s left of it that was able to be evac’d—are treating the walking wounded here, sir, and the more serious cases are further back.

How many so far?

Of the most serious cases, a couple of dozen, sir. The less severe injuries, I’d estimate double that number. The young man wanted to say more but stopped himself short.

What aren’t you telling me, son?

Several of the medical staff have pointed out that most of the injuries appear to be...well, bites, sir. And the bites appear to be extremely susceptible to infection.

Bites? Bites? Jesus, that’s right. Those...people, for whatever reason, attacked on sight, but they did so without the most basic of arms. He became keenly and suddenly aware that he hadn’t seen a single weapon in the crowds. There were no guns, no knives, not even any rocks. He shuddered involuntarily at the implications. It was unthinkable.

Bites? Are you sure?

Yes sir.

Okay son. Why don’t you try and raise the governor’s office again and pass that along. If they’re going to figure this mess out, they’ll need all the intel they can get.

Yes sir. And what are we going to do, sir?

We’re going to do what soldiers do best.

From off in the distance, the unmistakable chatter of small arms fire suddenly began to filter into the impromptu military camp. Those boys up there are going to need some help, the colonel said. Let’s get a couple of choppers up there with some firepower and see what we can do.

Almost at once, a pair of Blackhawk gunships roared overhead and made their way toward the fighting. Not able to sit back himself, the colonel found another helicopter and did his best to join his men, who were even then fighting for their lives on the ground.

The battle at the roadblock was virtually no different than those that had been fought all over Anchorage. The two hovering helicopters loosed a barrage of rockets and a shower of machine-gun bullets into the attacking horde, but even those measures had little to no impact. He watched helplessly as his men, disciplined and brave, fought and then, one by one, were overpowered and butchered where they stood by groups of the vile attackers.

A single armored Humvee with a small group of survivors sped away from the disaster before it was too late. Colonel Frost instructed his pilots to lay down whatever cover fire they were able to try and put some distance between his fleeing soldiers and their pursuers. He watched from his hovering perch as high caliber bullets tore into and through flesh to no avail. The people below didn’t seem to even register that bullets had just passed through them. This was more than just adrenaline or some external chemical or drug affecting this behavior. What was happening was unreal and unimaginable, and yet he was witnessing it. There was no denying it.

Seeing that these efforts were largely futile, he ordered his pilots to return to the Knik base. It didn’t appear that he had any options left other than to allow the incoming jets from Fairbanks to blanket the entire area in fire and death. To him, these people below were still Americans; the same people he had sworn to defend and protect from exactly the thing that he was ordering done to them.

Over the radio, he was connected with the pilots in the squadron of jets that were just beginning to appear on the distant horizon. He issued the order to use any and all ordinance on the crowd advancing through the valley.

And then from a safe distance, the colonel watched as the entire road and all that was on it was engulfed in a sea of seemingly liquid fire that spread out like a searing yellow and black flood. The flash was blinding and the delayed roar of the explosion was deafening even over the clamorous growl of the helicopter’s turbines.

The colonel bowed and shook his head. He was a warrior, but never in his career, or even in his lifetime would he have imagined that he would be calling down such horrible death on such a target. He wasn’t a praying man, but he found himself asking for forgiveness from above. He knew that there were bad guys in that crowd below but he also knew that there were women and children and who knew what else. Was his wife down there? His son? Had they just been incinerated along with everyone else? Maybe this would be enough to end it all so that they could begin sorting out the good from the bad and then figure out who was responsible for this insanity that had cost so much.

He was lingering in those thoughts when his radio headset began to squawk. It was the pilot of his helicopter. Sir, it doesn’t appear to have worked, sir. They’re still coming.

"What?!?"

He looked out then and saw that, even through the flames that were still melting the paved roads of the Glenn Highway, the rioters, the attackers, the terrorists or whatever they were to be called were still moving forward. It was as if the attack—the deadly fire that had swallowed hundreds of people in a single instant—had not even happened. They were showing no signs of stopping or even slowing. Through his binoculars, he watched as dozens of them appeared through the conflagration with flames still licking at their clothes and hair. They made not the slightest effort to extinguish the blaze that flickered and burned over their bodies. Smoldering and blackened, they continued their trek toward the bridge, swirling black contrails in their wake.

The bridge. He had to know if the bridge was ready for demolition. Connect me with the command post.

Yessir.

After a pause, with the colonel still watching the horrible parade as it advanced, the pilot was back on. Sir, I don’t seem to be able to raise command.

What do you mean?

Sir, just that. The line is open, but I’m not reaching anyone.

Get us back over there, son.

Yessir.

It took only a few brief moments in the fast moving aircraft for them to be over the newly formed command post on the north side of the Knik Arm Bridge. When the colonel looked down, his heart nearly skipped a beat. Below him, the scene resembled what he had left at Fort Richardson. People, soldiers, were running in every direction. Some appeared to be fleeing while others appeared to be pursuing. There were also bodies lying all over the area. There seemed to be a large concentration of them near the critical care unit that had been established to treat the worst cases. And then he saw it. A row of black, zippered bags lying side-by-side behind the unit. Body bags. But not all of them were still. There were several that had something inside that was struggling to get out. They writhed and squirmed like fetuses trying to be born from inside the black, rubbery wombs.

Oh dear God.

Sir, what do you want us to do?

Get me on the radio with those pilots.

You’re on, sir.

Pilot, do you have anything left to bring down that bridge?

That’s an affirmative, sir.

Then bring it down. We’ve got to do what we can to stop this.

Are you asking us to destroy that bridge, sir?

That’s affirmative.

Roger that. We are targeting the bridge.

The colonel and the pilots of his helicopter watched as the spans that constituted the Knik Arm Bridge were laid to rubble. There was less fire with this explosion but definitely more smoke than with the napalm bursts on the roadway. One of the jets targeted the more distant railroad trestle for good measure and brought it down in a flash of rising smoke and water. And from the south, getting closer and closer, there seemed to be no stop to the tide of maniacal humanity that pressed ever forward.

When they reached the concrete and steel ruins of the bridge, they merely continued. Those that could find easy footing crossed and those that couldn’t fell into spaces and gaps in the span until those spaces and gaps were filled full enough with still twisting and squirming bodies to allow others to cross atop them.

The pilot said flatly, It didn’t seem to work. There’s no containment. They’re still getting across.

Part I

Chapter 1

Several weeks later…

Neil Jordan, struggling a bit to catch his breath, asked, What was that, Doc?

I said that it didn’t work. It doesn’t appear as if they contained it, answered Dr. Caldwell.

Now finally on a rise high enough to see the bridge, or more accurately, to see where it had once stood, he saw that while the bridge had been downed, it was obvious by the destruction on the far side that the zombies had made it across. It looked very clearly like military vehicles on the far side in no better shape than those at the attempted roadblock back down the road closer to Anchorage. Curiously, there was a military Humvee beached and abandoned some distance down in the Knik below the bridge.

Looking at the destruction, he didn’t know what to do; how to react. He had actually been expecting that this is what they would find. He had assumed that the destruction would have worked in stopping the onslaught of undead, but it appeared that Dr. Caldwell was right. If it had worked, there would likely be several thousand ghouls gathered and milling about in front of the broken masonry.

Neil peered through his binoculars and shook his head. Damn.

What?

I don’t think that the bridge is passable as it is.

Why not?

Take a look for yourself. Pay special attention to the darker spots in the pavement.

The doctor took the binoculars from Neil and looked out. He adjusted the focus slightly and then scanned from one end of the first stretch to the other. He leaned forward, as if getting those few inches closer would help to bring the scene into sharper relief.

Are those bodies stacked atop one another?

Neil shook his head in disgust. No. If those were just bodies, they wouldn’t still be moving around.

The doctor looked closer still and could now see a reaching and flexing hand emerging from underneath the top layer of downward-facing bodies. And now he could see the general movement. He was reminded of fish still struggling to breathe and escape from the bottom of a barrel. They were packed so tightly, having been walked on by thousands of their undead brethren, that they were hopelessly tangled and knotted together.

Neil turned to face the rest of the group of survivors, still approaching up the slope. Their weary faces were drawn tight with exertion and deprivation, the only color from the streaks of dirt here and there, as well as the ruddy rose clouds blotching most of their cheeks. They all seemed so gaunt and frail to him. Perhaps it was just a product of his downcast mood, but these people didn’t seem to be robust Alaskans ready to face the challenges of the sometimes harsh environs of Alaska. Rather, they appeared to be a lonely group of desperate souls who had somehow managed to stay a single step ahead of the Reaper who had apparently harvested most if not all of the other thousands of souls who had once populated Anchorage, Alaska. When his eyes fell upon the two children, Danny and Jules, still tagging along with them, he managed to control the outburst that was threatening to explode from his mouth. These kids had seen and experienced more than should be asked from any adult, and they certainly didn’t need Neil to add to the misery. Instead, he took a deep breath and held it as he turned back to look at the dashed hope that the bridge had once signified.

It was with Jules’ brother Martin that the calamity had originally begun. He had been bitten by...something, down near Seward. The wound was very superficial, but it had bled well more than it should have and led to a very aggressive infection that within hours had claimed young Martin’s life. And for reasons that science could not answer and that religion dared not contemplate, young Martin had risen from his death slumber and began to kill everyone around him, setting off a chain of events that had escalated and multiplied with each victim also rising up to go on a homicidal spree, first at Providence Hospital and then spreading exponentially throughout all of Anchorage.

In a few hours, the city had been overrun with the walking dead. Those survivors fortunate enough were able to flee the city, but the vast majority of the population had fallen prey to the killing hordes. There were others like Neil and his group, still clawing for survival in the city, but he was afraid that all of them, his group included, might be fighting a losing battle against insurmountable odds. He kept his thoughts to himself for the most part, but there were times, like this one, that he felt the weight of that possibility hanging heavily on him. Like Sisyphus’ rock, his thoughts just kept rolling down over the top of him.

They had been on the run or in hiding for weeks now. They had seen as much or more destruction, mayhem, and death than even the saltiest of Genghis Khan’s Mongol warriors. And neither the running nor the chaos showed any signs of slackening in the slightest.

Fleeing the carnage of Providence Hospital and Midtown Anchorage, Neil and those with him found temporary sanctuary in South Anchorage in a small duplex, abandoned by its escaping owners. With supplies taken from the Fred Meyer where Meghan had been a manager, the group decided that waiting out the storm instead of running was the safer choice. They did their best to quietly entertain one another while avoiding detection by the ghouls that wandered the streets outside. Those were days of quiet, lonely isolation.

After several desolate days in their four-walled life raft, they were joined by another group of three survivors, Dr. Caldwell, Emma, and a police officer named Malachi Ivanoff. It wasn’t too long afterward that their refuge was discovered by the terrors outside, and they were forced to run once again.

Since leaving their sanctuary, their numbers had grown and dwindled. The van that had once transported them through the twisted wasteland that Anchorage had become was gone, abandoned by necessity, as it could not navigate the many impassable roads they had encountered. If Anchorage were a person and those roads were its windpipe, the patient would have been asphyxiated long ago. Early on in the catastrophe, the busiest of Anchorage’s roads and intersections had become impenetrable barriers that did nothing more than trap the souls whose vehicles created them. Those same people were virtually served up on glass and metal platters bearing the names of Chevrolet, Ford, and GMC.

Neil thought back on the past several days...weeks. How many had it been? He’d lost count. Or, more to the point, he’d stopped counting long ago when the sun rising and setting no longer held the same importance. It didn’t matter what day it was anymore because each was going to bring with it the same problems, the same struggles, the same agonizing realizations about their situation without the hope of a weekend to break up the monotony.

Chapter 2

Weeks ago, with the minivan loaded with both people and their dwindling supplies, Neil drove away from their south Anchorage hiding place. The vehicle could outrun the ghouls laying siege to the home that had become their bastion but they were traveling into the unknown, like jumping into a mysterious lake on a dark night. With the exception of young Jules and Danny, everyone in the van had lived in Anchorage for some time. The city, as its former self, was familiar, but as it appeared on that autumn day, they could just as well have been driving on Venus.

Every street, every corner, every building held new mysteries and new dark secrets. The roads, once bustling with cars and pedestrians, were deserted except for the random wandering dog or the occasional plastic shopping bag that fluttered and danced on the gentle breeze. There were abandoned cars here and there, but except for the main intersections, which Neil was careful to avoid, the roads in the city were largely empty. Anchorage had become a ghost town.

The mix of souls in the minivan made for an eclectic stew of ages, backgrounds, and personalities. At the helm both figuratively and literally, was Neil. Before the zombie apocalypse he’d worked in the mortgage industry, though that experience had obviously not hindered his ability to survive the zombie apocalypse. In point of fact, maybe such a ruthless business had prepared him to deal with soulless opportunists.

Next to him sat the more senior Dr. Caldwell who, along with Jerry, who was sitting behind him, had come from Providence Hospital which was the origin of the outbreak. Dr. Caldwell had served in the military and had worked trauma centers, none of which had prepared him to deal with the horrible circumstances that came part and parcel with current events.

Behind Neil was Meghan, who had been a manager at a Fred Meyer store. Neil had wandered in looking for supplies and had found Meghan. She had been at his side ever since.

That’s not to say that Neil’s trip to Fred Meyer had been otherwise fruitless. Many of the spoils of that visit were still crowding the vehicle. There were piles of canned foods, boxes of crackers and other dry foods, and cases of water and juice all stacked in the back of the vehicle behind the rearmost seats. They had grabbed more than just food that morning as well. The group had a large variety of hunting rifles, shotguns, and sidearms as well as a large stock of ammunition for each. At the very least, the guns provided them all with a sense of comfort, whether it was justified or not.

Beside Meghan on the middle bench sat the most troubled—and troubling—soul in the vehicle. He still wore the uniform of an Anchorage Police Department Officer, but his patrolling days were over. Officer Malachi Ivanoff was as distant from his companions in the van as he was from a firm grasp on reality. Old memories, lurking in the shadows of the past, were punishing him. And in his punishment, all that Malachi could truly feel was fear, but the terror produced only rage. But like a volcano concealing the wrath within its bowels, he contained the anger in silence.

On the floor next to him was Jerry, a young man not even old enough to buy a drink from a tavern but who was far from a clueless kid. He was squeezed into the space between the edge of the middle bench seat and the sliding side door. Jerry had been a Certified Nursing Assistant at Providence Hospital and was finally getting his act together enough to get out on his own. He had a car and was ready to move into his own apartment when.... well, his story from recent weeks wasn’t much different than everyone else’s in the van. Since that morning, he’d found stores of confidence in himself that, until then, had gone unnoticed and untapped. All of which was rather fortuitous because on that morning, when their world was forever changed, he had been entrusted with the safety of a pair of children, Jules and Danny. The young boy, Danny, had been the best friend and family guest of Jules’ brother Martin, who had invited Danny to vacation with them in Alaska.

The pair of youngsters was sitting on the laps of a couple of women situated in the rear bench seat. Emma, sitting behind Malachi, was once an administrative employee at Providence Hospital. She’d had the good fortune of finding Dr. Caldwell early in the emerging catastrophe at the hospital and was saved by his planning and direction. Their harrowing trek through the hospital was followed by a brief trip in a hospital airlift helicopter and a violent crash on the south side of Anchorage. The survivors from Providence were eventually whittled down to just the good

Reviews for Containment

[shanafesta · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Absolutely the best Z series I've read in months. I can't wait til book 3!