with one another.
More gunshots startled Abdul, still backing
away from the fray. He saw another man standing atop an RV. The
scared man was screaming something and pulling the trigger on a
scoped hunting rifle. Abdul couldn’t see the man’s targets, but he
could guess that they were still more people.
Abdul’s head panned from right to left, his
eyes widening like camera lenses taking in the panorama. There were
people maneuvering between, over, and around the cars. A few here
and there had made it to the fence and were starting to scale it.
Abdul thought each looked normal enough to him but so had the dead
man who walked out of his cab. He didn’t know what was happening
and decided that it was time for him to hightail it out of
there.
He was certain he heard more shooting and
more screaming and another more starkly animalistic sound coming
from the surging bedlam on the opposite side of the fence. Far
enough away, Abdul finally turned and ran, his eyes focused firmly
on the town of Whittier and the long road separating him from it.
He stretched his legs and increased his pace, like a gazelle
sprinting away from a threatening cheetah or other predatory
cat.
A little more than half the way to Whittier,
Abdul’s lungs were no longer able to draw in oxygen and his legs
refused to run. He paused and lowered his head almost down to his
knees. He spat several times and then vomited. When he raised his
still heaving head, he could hear more footprints approaching.
A rushing mass of terrified travelers was
quick on his heels. Men, women, and children, screaming and
tripping into one another in a chaotic melee of desperate flight
were fleeing the same terror that had sent Abdul into retreat.
Mixed in the stretched crowd, Abdul could
detect hints and signs of things that simply were not right about
some of the people. Some of their eyes were… different. They didn’t
all seem scared. Some looked crazed, enraged, hungry. Some of those
grabbed others or pounced on those tangling inextricably with one
another. He also saw blood...lots of blood...buckets of it. It was
a slaughter and it was heading right for him.
Abdul forgot his fatigue and the pain in his
overtaxed lungs. He forced his legs forward again, pushing himself
beyond his limits. His fear, raw and powerful, blurred his eyes
with tears but numbed the agony threatening to grip his heart and
lungs. His fear helped to keep his legs moving and maintain the
distance between him and the crowd threatening to overtake him.
There was no plan. There was no destination
in mind any longer. He merely wanted to get away . And stay alive.
Chapter 5
People went to Whittier for a number of
reasons: fishing, glacier cruises, hiking, hunting, and relaxing.
That morning, all the people lined up in the vehicle staging area
on the far side of the Anton Anderson Tunnel for the most part were
seeking one or more of those activities. Tourists and locals alike
were in search of recreation.
When the first scream violated the calm,
most people looked up from whatever distraction was in front of
them but few reacted more dramatically than that, likely assuming
the scream had resulted from some horseplay or some other innocuous
fun. The next shriek had many people turn off the smart phone, set
down the book, or turn down the volume on the stereo to a lower
decibel. A few folks stepped out of their parked vehicles to get a
better look at what was happening.
The first gunshot prompted some to lock
their doors and raise their windows. Some stout and foolhardy souls
couldn’t resist the urge to seek out the source of the ruckus. The
sage-like idiom Curiosity killed the cat was threatening to migrate from hypothetical to
absolute.
One man, a middle-aged father of three, saw
from his rental car’s side mirror an orange vested police officer
attacked by an out of control young man possibly in a drug-related
rage like those people you hear about on the news. The poor
policeman was
More gunshots startled Abdul, still backing
away from the fray. He saw another man standing atop an RV. The
scared man was screaming something and pulling the trigger on a
scoped hunting rifle. Abdul couldn’t see the man’s targets, but he
could guess that they were still more people.
Abdul’s head panned from right to left, his
eyes widening like camera lenses taking in the panorama. There were
people maneuvering between, over, and around the cars. A few here
and there had made it to the fence and were starting to scale it.
Abdul thought each looked normal enough to him but so had the dead
man who walked out of his cab. He didn’t know what was happening
and decided that it was time for him to hightail it out of
there.
He was certain he heard more shooting and
more screaming and another more starkly animalistic sound coming
from the surging bedlam on the opposite side of the fence. Far
enough away, Abdul finally turned and ran, his eyes focused firmly
on the town of Whittier and the long road separating him from it.
He stretched his legs and increased his pace, like a gazelle
sprinting away from a threatening cheetah or other predatory
cat.
A little more than half the way to Whittier,
Abdul’s lungs were no longer able to draw in oxygen and his legs
refused to run. He paused and lowered his head almost down to his
knees. He spat several times and then vomited. When he raised his
still heaving head, he could hear more footprints approaching.
A rushing mass of terrified travelers was
quick on his heels. Men, women, and children, screaming and
tripping into one another in a chaotic melee of desperate flight
were fleeing the same terror that had sent Abdul into retreat.
Mixed in the stretched crowd, Abdul could
detect hints and signs of things that simply were not right about
some of the people. Some of their eyes were… different. They didn’t
all seem scared. Some looked crazed, enraged, hungry. Some of those
grabbed others or pounced on those tangling inextricably with one
another. He also saw blood...lots of blood...buckets of it. It was
a slaughter and it was heading right for him.
Abdul forgot his fatigue and the pain in his
overtaxed lungs. He forced his legs forward again, pushing himself
beyond his limits. His fear, raw and powerful, blurred his eyes
with tears but numbed the agony threatening to grip his heart and
lungs. His fear helped to keep his legs moving and maintain the
distance between him and the crowd threatening to overtake him.
There was no plan. There was no destination
in mind any longer. He merely wanted to get away . And stay alive.
Chapter 5
People went to Whittier for a number of
reasons: fishing, glacier cruises, hiking, hunting, and relaxing.
That morning, all the people lined up in the vehicle staging area
on the far side of the Anton Anderson Tunnel for the most part were
seeking one or more of those activities. Tourists and locals alike
were in search of recreation.
When the first scream violated the calm,
most people looked up from whatever distraction was in front of
them but few reacted more dramatically than that, likely assuming
the scream had resulted from some horseplay or some other innocuous
fun. The next shriek had many people turn off the smart phone, set
down the book, or turn down the volume on the stereo to a lower
decibel. A few folks stepped out of their parked vehicles to get a
better look at what was happening.
The first gunshot prompted some to lock
their doors and raise their windows. Some stout and foolhardy souls
couldn’t resist the urge to seek out the source of the ruckus. The
sage-like idiom Curiosity killed the cat was threatening to migrate from hypothetical to
absolute.
One man, a middle-aged father of three, saw
from his rental car’s side mirror an orange vested police officer
attacked by an out of control young man possibly in a drug-related
rage like those people you hear about on the news. The poor
policeman was
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