Apokalypsis Book Two

by Kate Morris

  “Yes, sir,” Abraham stated and left them.

  “Thanks, man,” Tristan said to his friend. “I’ve been trying to get him to do that all night. He’s too worried about his family.”

  “I’m not gonna lie, brother,” Spencer said. “I am, too. I hope the women don’t get a hair-brained idea like coming and looking for us.”

  He shook his head and explained, “They won’t. I already warned Avery never to do that. Especially if we’re together.”

  “Right, good,” he answered. “There’s probably not much we can’t get ourselves out of. Well, especially you.”

  Tristan shrugged. “I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share, man.”

  “Not as much as you. I’m familiar with your unit.”

  He just shook his head and peered out the window. “You can catch some sleep, too. I’ve got this for now. I see trouble, I’ll come and get you.”

  “’Kay. Probably smart. It’s almost midnight. I’ll sleep for a few hours. You come and get me. Then we’ll switch. Deal?”

  Tristan gave a curt nod. He was used to this. Sleeplessness, watching and waiting, patience. Those were all just another day on the job for him just six months ago and the previous seven years.

  He retrieved his thermos of cold instant coffee and poured some into the cup. When he finished his awful coffee, he did a tour of the facility to check doors, windows, and shadows. Outside, the sounds of disturbed former humans permeated the night from time to time, but as long as they were quiet, those things should move on and leave them alone. He was glad Abraham was asleep in the cab of the truck with the door closed. He didn’t need to listen to this shit. The kid had been through enough.

  Two a.m. came and went, but Tristan didn’t wake Spencer. In the morning, he needed his friend to be somewhat rested so they could find a vehicle to get home. He also had no intention of leaving their loot in this warehouse, so they were going to require a van, truck, or SUV to get it all home.

  Hours later, he was eating a bag of chips from the stolen groceries when he heard the tiniest snap of glass somewhere at the far end of the warehouse. Tristan dropped the bag of chips and moved quickly in that direction. One good thing about the night crawlers was that they weren’t usually very quiet. They had a tendency to pop up when you least expected them, but they hadn’t mastered their own stealth yet. If they ever did master it before the government found a cure for them, then the rest of civilization was in deep trouble.

  It was a former man, probably in his forties, stuck half in a broken window and his lower half still outside. It shrieked when it saw him coming. Tristan rushed quietly forward and disabled it with a stab wound to the side of its neck. Then he shoved it backward so that it wasn’t still half in the building but instead lying on the sidewalk outside. He didn’t want Abraham to see it in the morning. Of course, that kid had a whole lot of education and hardening up in the past month.

  He was able to use the sink in the bathroom to scrub the blood from his hands and dry them on paper towels. When he emerged, Tristan noticed a grayish tint coming over the building as dawn was just around the corner. After another hour, the sun was up, and the noise level of the crawlers outside had completely died down. It was time to move.

  “Man, you were supposed to wake me up,” Spencer complained as he climbed out of the back seat of the extended cab truck that was now useless to them and rubbed at what was probably a very stiff neck.

  “You need your beauty rest more than me. Clearly,” he joked as they left the warehouse with Abraham.

  Jogging through the more industrial area of the downtown district, they finally came to a residential part. It was obviously low income by the looks of the dilapidated houses, some with boarded up windows, and long rows of apartment buildings. Nobody was around. Not a single person or vehicle was moving. Some of the homes and apartments had their doors standing wide open as if the people who used to live in them just up and left without looking back. Or they were dead. Either way, the place was a ghost town, probably literally, too.

  “Keep your eyes peeled for a truck or van,” he said to them.

  It didn’t take long. They found an old, beat-up truck from probably the 1970s that was orange and rust, mostly rust. It was long, had an eight-foot bed, and was an eyesore. However, it was parked in the driveway of a home that actually had the yard mowed and the bushes neatly trimmed. Whoever that truck used to belong to, it probably still ran. Now they just needed the keys to it.

  Going up the three steps to the covered deck, Tristan jumped back when an old, wrinkly black man with a hunched over spine opened the front door and jammed a shotgun- equally antique- right at his chest. Tristan wondered if it would even still fire with the amount of rust on the barrel, but he wasn’t stupid enough to assume it wouldn’t.

  “What do you want, punk?” the grizzly dude asked with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. “Come here to rob me?”

  “No, sir,” he lied. Of course, he was going to steal his truck, so that was definitely robbing. “I need your truck, sir. I’m willing to pay.”

  “Money ain’t good no more, kid,” he said, eyeing Tristan through coke bottle glasses. “Ain’t you been watchin’ the stock market crash? Ain’t got no use for money now. And you ain’t takin’ my truck.”

  “What would you take in trade?” Tristan asked.

  He pursed his thick, wrinkly lips and narrowed his cloudy, cataract-ridden brown eyes. “Whatcha’ got?”

  “I’ve got a whole truck full of supplies. Food, water, blankets. Lot of shit. I’ll trade some of the supplies for the use of your truck. How ‘bout half?”

  He raised his chin a notch and sniffed while considering Tristan’s offer.

  “Where ya’ headed?”

  “Where? We don’t live around here,” Tristan told him.

  The man snorted as if he already knew that. “Where ya’ headed?”

  “South. Carroll County, sir. I need to get back to my base.”

  “Hm,” he considered this a moment and worked his lips over his teeth, which seemed like he was adjusting his dentures around the cigar.

  “Our tires got shot out,” he explained, trying to keep this on friendly terms. Tristan didn’t want just to overpower the old guy and steal his shit. That didn’t sit right with him. “We’ve got women and kids to get home to. We were stuck in this neighborhood overnight with flat tires. They were shot out.”

  “Military, huh?” he asked, indicating Tristan’s dog tags.

  “Yes, sir. Army.”

  “Army, huh?”

  “Yes, sir,” he answered again. “Were you in?”

  “Navy seal in my day, punk,” the spirited old man jabbed. “Best damned job on earth.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ain’t much for killin’ Americans, though. Makes me real sick what’s happenin’ to this damned country.”

  “I agree, sir.”

  “People actin’ all crazy and shit. Don’t know what to make of it.”

  “Do you have family, sir?”

  “Nah, wife died about fourteen years ago now. Kids are assholes. Don’t see them much. Haven’t heard shit from them since this happened. Guess when they don’t need to borrow money off ya’ no more, they don’t come around.”

  “Nobody?”

  “I got a couple sisters. Live south of here in Waynesburg with my nephew. He’s a good boy. Farms a small plot.”

  “Hey, we could take you there.”

  He got eyed hard again by the old man.

  “No strings. I’ll even bring your truck back to you in Waynesburg if you want. I’ll drive us all to your nephew’s farm, drop you off, go home and unload the supplies and have my buddy follow me back to your nephew’s to return the truck. I don’t have a need for it. I’ve got another at our place.”

  “Yeah? And how am I supposed to trust you, ‘eh?”

  “I give you my word, sir.”

  “Your word, huh?” he asked as if he didn’t believe in people’s w
ord anymore.

  “It’s all I got. And I can pay you with some silver, too. Half the load. Three silver coins. And I’ll return the truck.”

  Tristan held out his hand to offer the man to shake it. He paused a long time through his hesitation before lowering the shotgun. Tristan took his hand in his, the knuckles arthritic and gnarly, the skin rough, even rougher than his own, and gave it a firm shake.

  They learned the man’s name was William “Willie” Johnson, and he was probably the feistiest old shit any of them had ever met. He sat up front with Tristan with a pistol he pulled from behind him trained on him the whole ride. Tristan didn’t mind. He didn’t trust most people, either. Spencer and Abraham had to ride in the bed on top of their loot after they transferred it. After that, Willie must’ve believed their story because he relaxed and put away his pistol.

  Tristan dropped him at his nephew’s house, who looked like he was in his sixties and greeted them with a shotgun just like his uncle had. Willie’s sisters, Edda Mae and Bess, were funny and kind and insisted they eat a sweet roll each that they’d just made fresh this morning. Then they were on the road again in Willie’s truck after dropping way more than half the loot with them. It didn’t matter. They had a lot more at Avery’s than the four old people living in the tiny white farmhouse on the small plot of land. All he wanted was to see Avery and make sure she and the kids were safe.

  The second he pulled down the drive, she and Renee flew out the front door. He pulled her close as she also tugged her little brother against her. Tears were streaming unashamedly down her beautiful face, and it hurt Tristan to see her like that. He understood. He was just as worried all night about her and the kids.

  After they dropped the supplies in the garage, he returned the truck to Willie, told him he’d check in on them from time to time, and rode back with Avery, who’d insisted on following him instead of Spencer. He really hoped he’d be able to keep that promise to watch out for them. They were good people, not the kind who deserved to be overrun by looters or former humans.

  “Tristan,” she stated as she drove, “There were people on the property.”

  His heart skipped a beat. “When? Last night? Where?”

  “In the woods,” she explained. “I don’t know when. The tracks looked fresh. There are probably three different sets. I don’t know. That’s what it seemed like. I don’t think they were from you.”

  After she fully retold the story, Tristan felt even worse about not making it home last night. When they got back to the house, Tristan learned from Spencer that he’d already checked it out because Renee told him. Tristan went and had a look anyway with Avery by his side.

  “What do you think?” she asked as they walked back the road together toward her house. The way she was asking him made Tristan feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. She wanted reassurance that she was wrong, that people weren’t on the property, but he couldn’t give her that, not with a clear conscience.

  He covered her lower back with his palm. He’d missed her last night. It actually worried him how addicted he was becoming to Avery. She was like a drug. Her smell, her touch, the warmth of her pulled against him when they slept at night. Everything about this screamed in his brain a loud warning to be careful, to guard his heart because it might not last, but the more his brain pushed her out, the more his heart opened up to the possibility of what could be between them. And that scared the hell out of him.

  “Not sure,” he finally answered honestly. He had a few ideas but wasn’t sold on them just yet. “Tonight, I’ll set up a few booby traps. We need them anyway. Warning systems. The perimeter shouldn’t be able to be breached like that.”

  “So, you don’t think it was us?”

  He shook his head and watched her rub her arms as if she were suddenly cold. He took her hand in his. This was all new to him. Sharing feelings, being emotional and open and vulnerable. This was all new to her, as well. Not the emotions and feelings part, but the living in fear of being attacked, that anxiousness he was used to from years of being on missions.

  “It’s okay. I’ll deal with it. No matter what it is, I’ll handle it, okay?”

  She nodded unsurely but met his gaze with fortitude anyway. Avery was like that. He was coming to understand just how strong her fortitude was. She was a survivor.

  “I’m gonna hit the hay for a few hours,” he told her once he had the driveway gate closed again.

  He gave her a kiss just inside the foyer and went upstairs to sleep. He also needed time away from everyone to think. It was a busy house, lots of noise, lots of people coming and going. He did better when he was alone. He was used to being alone, not part of a big family or any family at all.

  After a quick shower, he rested on her bed, their bed. Tristan had never before felt such a burdensome weight as he did now, not even in the military when he was responsible for his fellow soldiers and making decisions on the fly for his unit. This was different. He didn’t grow up with a family. All she ever knew was family. He never felt anything more than a passing sexual spark for a woman before, and he found release with women in the most casual of ways possible- no attachments, no relationship, just one night. He realized now just how very empty his life was before Avery walked into it.

  He tossed and turned and finally fell asleep, a sleep that was plagued with nightmares. It was always the same one. He wasn’t able to save his buddies who were killed. And when he awoke from those night terrors, Tristan would grab his chest and bolt into a sitting position. Lenny and Two Shakes weren’t in his dreams this time, though, like they were when he had too many quiet moments to himself and his mind became restless and traveled back to that day. This time, it was Avery and her siblings he couldn’t save in the dream. It was the worst nightmare to date, and it jolted him to a sweaty, seated position in the middle of her bed. His mind was flooded with images from that dream. He remembered the helpless feeling he had watching them from afar being overrun and attacked by night crawlers and criminals breaking into their glass castle. He took gulping breaths and swiped a hand through his hair roughly to calm his heart.

  The sounds of her and her siblings playing their classical music on their instruments coming from the first floor did nothing to slow his erratically beating heart. Maybe it was better to put some distance between Avery Andersson and his heart. Tristan just didn’t know if he could do it.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  December

  Avery insisted on going with Tristan to the city to collect more medical supplies and foodstuff. She was cooped up too long and needed to get out, even though he had vehemently protested taking her. They went to the military site first where Tristan bribed a young soldier in Army clothing with a carton of cigarettes and two cases of beer. She didn’t know where he got those things, but she also didn’t ask.

  It snowed last night about four inches, which was making everything a wet, sloshy mess, especially the roads. They took his truck, which actually even in four-by-four had trouble on the slick, icy roads. She never realized how much the road crews did to make driving more convenient until now. She also knew it might be a long time before they ever tended roads again, if ever. The overcast sky was so gray it felt like dusk, not noon.

  “That’s scorched earth,” he remarked, pointing out his window toward a former shopping center.

  He was right. The fire that had swept through the area had destroyed everything.

  “Looting? Vandals?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, military. They’re burning the city at night, dropping fire from the sky. Found that out when you were in the hospital. They’re trying to push the crawlers into specific areas at night when they get violent and start going on their killing rampages. I don’t know if it’s going to work or not.”

  “I thought they were trying to save people, move the infected to prisons and whatnot.”

  He shook his head. “They’re full already, and they’ve gotta do something about the ones that ar
e roaming free. They’ll kill people. They already are killing people, a lot of people.”

  “Yes,” she said quietly, not wanting to dwell on that. “You said the other day that you and Spencer saw some out in the open, in the daylight?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, but it’s not too often. As long as we’re home by dusk, we’ll be okay. They get really active at night.”

  “Like vampires or something,” she remarked as a tremor passed through her. “There sure aren’t a lot of people out right now.”

  “No, we’ve noticed that, too. Less and less people moving around. I think a lot of people fled or are trying to stay holed up where it’s safe in their homes.”

  “I just want this to be over,” she commented with dwindling hope and stared out her window at the buildings with graffiti covering them and the ones that were charcoaled shells of their former selves. This used to be a nice area of the city to shop or catch a movie with a date or have a romantic dinner, not that she had a whole lot of those experiences.

  They hit another military camp but weren’t permitted entrance, which he found odd. He also didn’t know the guard on duty, which he also said was odd. He told her perhaps his friend he’d been paying off in the same manner to get supplies was dead from the virus. She hoped he was wrong. Then they drove to a few spots he and Spencer had already hit a couple times where they were able to pick up supplies, mostly items meant for camping and fishing. He explained that fishing might become important for them to procure food. Avery was worried that eventually, animals would become infected, despite what the CDC had already announced. They didn’t exactly seem to be on top of this situation, or even very trustworthy anymore.

  Tristan drove them to another city, Massillon, which wasn’t faring much better than Canton or any other city or town in America according to the news reports they watched each night on television, barring it stayed in tune and kept a signal, which it didn’t always. Tristan and Spencer were worried that America’s technology infrastructure was going to collapse completely soon. She prayed they were wrong. Not because she enjoyed the depressing news reports on t.v., but because she needed to be able to stay in touch with him by phone when he left the house without her and also because she wanted to know if things were going to get better elsewhere. It was like a nonsensical, illogical beacon of light that she clung to. Sometimes their cell phones or television signal or internet didn’t work at all for a few days at a time, and that scared her.