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Cold Walkers

Chapter 09: Zombies on Ice

At seven fifteen, the four hunters made their way into the Forum, flashing their fake IDs to get inside and to the back rooms. They arrived in the locker room as the coach, Guy Boucher, was giving the team a firm but encouraging speech about their future performance on the ice that evening. He had been notified of their coming and so did not blink when they arrived unannounced into the room, but once he was done speaking to the team he came up to their side. He surveyed each of them in turn with his rigid, ever-serious glance.

“Stamkos told me there might be a problem tonight,” he said finally. “We tried discussing it with the officials, but they think the Forum is well fortified and an attack won’t make it inside. They believe that even if something does come, it is a better idea to keep everyone inside these walls than put them out there.”

Kimberly sighed, exasperated. “Of course. Now they’re all sitting ducks and corralled into a cage.”

He nodded grimly. “I thank you four for being here tonight during this. If what I’ve seen lately comes to this arena, we’ll need all the help we can get.”

Quinn briefly remembered what Kimberly had told her about his wife and children. “How’s your family?”

The hard expression cracked briefly and a flash of worry showed in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Sam frowned. “They were with the group that escaped.” Boucher nodded in reply, then regained his composure.

“I have to go,” he said, moving past them brusquely. “We’ll be playing just like any other night unless something happens. Good luck.”

“Same to you,” Kimberly replied, and he left the room. She let out a breath she’d been holding back, shaking her head. “Damn he’s intimidating.”

“Quinn!” Said girl looked over and found Vincent Lecavalier walking up, smiling welcomingly. “We’re glad you’re here.” He glanced briefly at her companions. “All of you.”

Quinn tucked some her hair behind her ear and nodded. “Stammer told you what’s going down?” He nodded. “We think the guy behind all this is here in the crowd.”

“Behind all what, exactly?” Adam Hall spoke up. “I thought this was just a freaky zombie disease.”

“It’s not a disease, per se,” Sam replied. “It’s… well, difficult to describe.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Look, if you don’t want the sugarcoated, fake response: there’s basically a witch doctor sitting in the stands who’s controlling every single zombie out there including your teammates, and we’re trying to stop them.”

A silence followed, and then laughter erupted from the team. “A witch doctor?” Malone repeated, grinning.

“A vodou priest, actually,” Kimberly corrected, and those around her raised their eyebrows as their laughter ebbed. “Dean was being dramatic. But we’re not kidding.”

Disbelief met them from every angle, and Quinn sighed impatiently. “Look, we don’t have time to make you believe us. Just trust us. This is serious, and we’re trying to help.”

Steven strolled over, eyeing the weaponry strapped onto the four of them. “You guys aren’t really cops and Homeland Security.”

Kimberly smiled guiltily, shrugging. “No. We hunt monsters and demons and basically anything evil. For a living.”

“Consider it freelancing,” Dean added in, grinning.

“You hunt monsters,” Vincent stated, eyeing Quinn beside him. He tried to imagine the blonde girl taking on some large, vicious monster, and had severe difficulty doing so. Fiery as her personality seemed, she was very… well, small compared to him.

“Yes,” she replied, and indicated the gun at her hip. “These aren’t for show.”

Anyway,” Sam said, surveying the hockey players. “Be on your guard. We don’t know what might happen, but we’ll be here trying to find the guy behind this and stop him before anything gets worse.” The men all nodded and, after an attendant stuck his head in and told them it was time to go, they began to pile out of the room. Steven, Lecavalier, and Malone lingered behind a moment.

“I know we’ll be on the ice, but if we can help in any way…” Steven began, rubbing the back of his neck uncertainly.

“You believe us then?” Kimberly asked, raising an eyebrow.

He smiled, shrugging. “Maybe. It is a little out there. But hey, you’re here and you’ve all helped us so far. No reason to stop cooperating now.”

Vincent nodded, putting his hand briefly on Quinn’s shoulder. “If things get bad, tell us. We’ll stop the game no matter what the refs and officials say. Boucher doesn’t want to miss another game, but he also doesn’t want people hurt.”

“Thanks,” she replied, and he turned to leave. Malone clapped Dean on the back amiably.

“Whatever’s going on, I’ll help out too!” he said, nodding to the two brothers and the girls. “See you after we dominate, either way!”

The hunters followed the hockey players out and, after waving goodbye, they went their separate ways—hockey players out onto the ice, where a woman was preparing to sing the national anthem, and hunters into the stadium to begin scouring the hundreds of fans for a suspect.

The anthem was over and the puck had been dropped. The uproar of yelling and cheering as the game went on was nerve-wracking as each hunter scanned their respective areas, looking for someone, anyone that seemed out of place or just devious and evil in general. Kimberly had snuck down to the doors of the Forum to check the progress of the advancing zombie army. To her dismay, she spotted them. All of them. Less than ten feet from the door. When they spotted her, a loud chorus of angry growls rose up from among them.

“Hey, you!” she called to a nearby security guard, pointing outside. “The… disease victims are here. They’re going to try and break in!”

Alarmed, he radioed in for support and ran behind a nearby desk, shutting off the electricity to the doors. Only forcing them open or breaking through the thick glass would gain them access, and, sadly, she knew that they were perfectly capable. Glancing briefly at the security guard and feeling a bit bad about leaving him behind, she pulled out her phone and dialed Dean’s number.

“Yeah?” Dean answered.

“They’re here,” she replied. “They’ll be inside soon. There’s no way the doors and security guards can hold them back like they think.”

“Of course,” he muttered. “Nobody’s had any luck locating the Houngan. We may not find him until all hell breaks loose.”

“I figured. See you.” Kimberly hung up, drawing her pistol, and made her way through the hallways and up to the bench where the team and Boucher resided during the game. She slid up beside the coach and informed him of the situation. He frowned deeply, as did the nearby players who heard her message, and nodded.

“I’ll speak to the officials,” he said, making his way over to their booth. “Guys, we’re in trouble…”

Kimberly slipped back out and into the back area, and was surprised to see Steven Stamkos following her. “Steven?”

“Come on,” he said, waving toward the locker room. “Let me get my skates off. I want to help.”

“But the game—”

“Is about to end, obviously,” he replied as she followed him and he quickly changed out of his skates and into tennis shoes. “How can I help?” He gestured to her pistol. “Any more of those?”

She eyed him, tempted to smile. “Do you know how to shoot?”

“Well,” he admitted, “No, but—”

She waved him to follow her, and they made their way to the back door. She checked around and saw only a few zombie stragglers, so they darted outside toward the Impala. Kimberly knew Dean would kill her for it later, but still she forced the trunk open, breaking the lock, and revealed the armory stored inside.

“Woah,” Steven said, surprised. “You guys really do hunt.”

“Most of this is just the Winchestnuts’ stuff,” Kimberly replied, sifting through the weaponry. “My car has mine and Quinn’s guns. Their stuff will have to make do.”

“…Is that a grenade launcher?” He asked, baffled, pointing to one small gun in the corner.

“Yes,” she said, locating a machete and nodding approvingly before handing it over to him. “Sometimes you don’t want to get close to the things we see, and bowing ‘em up from a distance is much, much safer. Anyway, look, this machete should do.”

He took it from her, blinking. “No gun?”

“You’re more likely to kill someone innocent than a zombie if you’ve never fired one before,” she admitted, opening the large duffle bag stored in the corner of the car and tossing more guns, bullets, and knives into it. She then slammed the trunk closed and turned toward the building. “Come on, we need to hurry.” The sound of shattering glass near the front entrance made her quicken her pace. “Now.”

Quinn looked down to the ice and watched officials call the game to a halt and confer. She noted Kimberly leave the Bolts’ bench, Stamkos following after her, and knew. They were coming. A referee skated to the middle of the ice and cleared his throat before announcing that the game was canceled due to dangerous circumstances, and that everyone should be prepared for an incoming attack of “diseased individuals.” He then emphasized they should stay calm.

Everything broke into chaos. Quinn was pushed against a wall as people began to rush from their seats, moving toward the exits and hoping to get out. Some stayed put, rooted to the spot with panic. Most began to yell and scream. The referee announced in a much louder voice that the zombies were already in the building and that trying to escape would only result in further injury. Naturally, nobody listened.

Quinn pushed her way to the edge of the middle stadium tier, looking around wildly for any indication of a Houngan within the crowd. She spotted Sam across the arena, doing the same thing. Then he looked up above her, at the top tier, and his expression changed drastically. He pointed, looking at her, before grabbing his cell phone and disappearing into the crowd. Quinn was about to turn away, to run upstairs and help the Winchesters, but paused when she glanced out onto the ice. The hockey players from both teams were making a mad dash for the center of the rink, and she could see why.

Zombies were pouring into the arena seats and some were making their way onto the ice.

Quinn knew the Winchesters could handle the Philippe. When she noticed Vincent Lecavalier glancing around, looking for help, she bolted toward the stairs.

“Dude,” Malone said, back-to-back with a Rangers player, “I don’t think hockey sticks do much damage to zombies.”

“You’re telling me,” Bergeron muttered from his side.

“Look, guys,” Lecavalier said, trying to remain calm as the vodou servants slipped and scrambled across the ice toward them, “We knew this was probably coming. Just stick together. All of us.”

“But if someone gets bitten…” Henrik Lundqvist of the Ranger stated, frowning. “They’re done for.”

Vincent nodded grimly, and as a zombie drew close, he raised his hockey stick and smashed it against the zombie’s side, pushing it down to the ice. He kicked it away as the other players began to do the same. Tom Pyatt tried to grab hold of the Rangers captain, Ryan Callahan, and pull him out of harm’s way, but a trio of flesh eaters dragged him down and pounced upon him. The resulting screams were bone-chilling.

Then a gunshot rang out through the arena, and Vincent looked up to see Quinn, Kimberly, and Stamkos heading out onto the ice. The tip of Quinn’s Mossberg shotgun was smoking slightly, and a zombie near Lecavalier dropped to the ground like a dead weight. Kimberly’s pistol was holstered and she instead held a Coach shotgun of her own. They rushed toward the players, and Kimberly swung the large duffle bag around so she could unzip it.

“Who can shoot?” she asked, her expression clearly all business. “And I don’t mean on Call of Duty. I mean a real weapon that can stop someone’s heart.” A few players raised their hands, so she yanked out guns—mostly pistols and revolvers—and doled them out among the players. “The rest of you, grab a blade of some kind from in here. There’s even a few taser guns if you’re feeling creative. We need to hold them off while Dean and Sam find the Houngan.”

“The what?” Mark Staal said, staring at her as he took a hunting knife she offered.

“Don’t ask,” Steven replied, standing beside Kimberly and backing up around the rest of the players.

Up in the stadium seats, Philippe grinned wickedly and pushed his mind out to his servants, willing them to attack. On command they surged forth, lashing out at the hockey players. Despite the need to stay close, most of them were torn away from the group and separated quickly, some in small groups, some alone. An older woman wearing a nightgown reached out for Kimberly, grabbing her arm from behind, and leaned down to bite her. Kimberly tugged desperately, unable to shoot her with the large Coach gun because her arm was in the zombie’s grasp. A large machete blade came down, however, and sliced the woman’s arm off. Now severed from the body, the lifeless fingers loosened and the chunk of the arm fell to the ice. Kimberly was pulled back from the woman and pushed behind Steven, who promptly cut the woman’s head off with the machete.

“Thank you,” she said quickly, and he looked back to grin at her.

“Is now really the time to be making eyes at a girl, Stammer?” Malone said, raising the Smith and Wesson pistol and firing to put down a larger man who was dragging the Ranger’s Carl Hagelin away from the remaining group. “You just hacked a lady’s head off, dude.”

“Focus!” Quinn shouted, exasperated, as she aimed and put a bullet through the shoulder of a zombie trying to attack a group of Rangers players from behind. Just as she fired off the round, a zombie snatched her and threw her to the ground. Her Mossberg slid out of reach and she scrambled uselessly on the ice to escape the creep’s clutches.

“Quinn!” Lecavalier exclaimed, gunning down the zombie in his way and trying to move toward her.

“I got it!” Malone said, rushing to her aid. “I got your girl, Vinny, don’t—”

Quinn looked on with horror as a milky-eyed Cory Conacher appeared behind him and clamped his teeth down on Malone’s arm. Malone groaned in pain and turned to push him off, raising the pistol. He hesitated in the face of his teammate, and his hand shook. It cost him. Cory knocked him down, and before he could get away the rookie leapt upon him and bit into the flesh of his calf. Malone stared up at Lecavalier, who was still trying to make his way over, with wide eyes before another zombie pounced.

Bugsy!” The captain shouted, and picked up a hockey stick on the ground and shoved a zombie out of the way before running over to his aid.

“Don’t!” Quinn said, getting to her feet and pulling him back as best she could. He struggled against her, desperately seeking to aid his teammate and friend, but just then the zombies crawled away and moved on, and Malone got to his feet. He stared at Lecavalier, his gaze empty and soulless, before lurching forward toward them.

“Dammit!” Vincent shouted, and smashed the hockey stick in his head against Malone’s head roughly. The blow put him down, and he lay on the ice like a dead man.

Maybe he was.


@CanadaHockey Can't*

CatrinaMarie CatrinaMarie

I'm still so sad that this story is over, I was cleaning out my subscriptions and saw this and was like no I can unsubscribe I love it too much! :)

CatrinaMarie CatrinaMarie
haw kuul
drw25 drw25
Omg I am dying stop keeping me in suspense I'm literally crying and plus I leave for a trip tmrw so I can't read till like late friday, there are tears pouring from my eyes
CatrinaMarie CatrinaMarie
Just did! :D
Puck Butt Puck Butt