Hellifax by Keith C. Blackmore

Author:Keith C. Blackmore
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Norsemen

20

The land became whiter as snow flurries struck with greater frequency, and the air grew colder still. Winter was upon them, and Fist wanted to be in Halifax before the storms started kicking in. They made good time along Highway 2 until it became Highway 104. Towns appeared on the edges of the Trans-Canada Highway, and Fist allowed the Norsemen a few days hunting and scavenging in each. They bypassed Moncton entirely, not wanting to get tangled up in the city. Fist’s orders were to strike east to Halifax, scout the surrounding areas, and return to the west with his report. Fist thought it prudent to stay with the smaller towns because the dead weren’t as populous as they were in urban areas. They would not avoid Halifax, however. The nuclear plant there had been mothballed years ago, and the city was regarded as a gem of possibilities.

The sky stayed a morgue grey, and light snow fell. Being on the road for so long was beginning to grate on Fist’s nerves—and his ass. A sign materialized in the distance, drawing his weary attention.

“Sackville.” Fist tasted the word and liked it. “Litterae, Religio, Scientia,” he muttered, making Pell glance at him.

“Drive into town,” Fist commanded. “Let’s see what… Sackville has to offer.”

Nodding, Pell did as told, as he’d better. Fist believed the man to be loyal, at least as loyal as any of the dogs at his beck and call, but he kept watch and had no reservations at all about killing him if needed. Behind him, the other warriors rustled and chortled at the thought of getting out of the van. Fresh meat was getting scarce, and they would soon start cutting into their dwindling stores of smoked flesh. They all hoped the hunting would be better in Sackville.

As the snow continued to fall, Pell drove through the inner roads of Sackville, going deeper, passing large red brick buildings that appeared to be dormitories.

“What is this?” the driver hissed, staring out his window.

“University of Mount A,” Fist rumbled. “A for… Allison.”

“A university?”

“Yes.”

Once carefully sculpted grounds were now littered with abandoned cars, fallen trees, and power lines, as well as scattered debris, all coated with a thin sheet of snow. Victorian-styled houses lined the road on the opposite side of the residences, their windows smashed out. Grey figures, almost incorporeal, paused on crests of low hills and watched the vans go by. Fist stared back at them. Zombies. They were truly everywhere.

The road became increasingly rough.

“Stop here,” Fist ordered and opened his door. “Everyone out ’cept Pell. Get hunting.”

Pell braked in the middle of an intersection of what appeared to be a small downtown area. Signs for banks, ATMs, coffee places, and once-quaint shopping stores hung off of storefronts. The van’s side door slid open with a rattle and a half-dozen Norsemen eagerly got out, readying clubs, axes, and bats. Fist went to the back of the van and grabbed his maul. His hockey helmet went on last.

The second van pulled up behind them.

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