“Maybe.” Hot Rod said. “But there is something about him. Something different. He definitely takes after his old man.”
“I’ll give you that.” Phil said as they made their way to the gate and the mandatory bite check station.
“You gonna be able to make it to practice tonight? We got a bass player to fill in while you were gone but we need to work on those new songs. We got a show coming up next week.”
“Man, you crazy?” Hot Rod laughed “I ain’t seen Eliza in a month and you want me to spend my first night back with a bunch of dudes?”
“Yeah, guess you’re right.” Phil allowed. “Speaking of lovebirds, you hear Sheriff Collins’ husband showed up? Ol’ Griz ain’t too happy about it, either.”
“Really?” Hot Rod asked. “After nearly a year? What’s she gonna do? I don’t think marriage vows should count if everybody thinks you’re dead. Hell, I’d be pissed too if somebody showed up and laid claim to my woman.”
“Not my business.” Phil said, but everyone knew he made everyone’s business his business. He was as bad as the ladies at the hair salon when it came to sharing rumors and spreading gossip. “But Bobby is a good man, quick to help out. I promoted him to shift leader on the night watch and he helps the electrical crews when he can. If she doesn’t want him back, I’m sure he’ll find someone else. We’ve had quite a few of the boat women making their way here so the chances of finding a girl are a lot better than they used to be.”
A high-pitched whine could be heard in the distance and everyone turned to watch the jet powered Lamborghini rocket up the road, its afterburner spitting flames as he neared the town and shut it down.
“Those kids.” Phil shook his head. “He only does that to show off. One of these days, Collins is going to start a highway patrol. That’ll cool their jets.”
He paused for a minute then laughed at his own joke.
“Hope not.” Hot Rod said. “Next thing you know, she’ll want me running a log book again. I’m glad some of the old ways are gone.”
The Pony Express cars switched power to the gas engines, idled up to the gate and scissors doors slid skyward as the Asian crews got out and stretched. They lit cigarettes and disregarded the shouts from the top of the wall. With studied indifference, the epitome of cool, they checked over their machines and ignored the cameras as Takeo completed another delivery with a timestamp and signature from one of the guards. They were the latest superstars in world hungry for entertainment. The Hell Drivers who tore down the freeways at a blistering pace. The men and women who guaranteed the fastest delivery to anywhere in the territories, often picking up the goods fresh from a retriever who had just risked life and limb coming out of a city, his guns still smoking and his up armored car still dripping zombie blood.
The whole system was made possible by the radios, the internet and Lakota gold; a standard currency that was worth the same anywhere you went. The Tower had seen the need for an easy way to transfer funds and had opened a Tower Bank branch office in every settlement. With their own proprietary Ham radio channel, they could balance the books and allow withdrawals and deposits from anyone within the civilized territories. They only charged a small fee. Not many people other than the traders and retrievers used the service but the bankers were patient. They played the long game. Soon, people would need to buy things again. Soon everything wouldn’t be available for free to any one willing to scavenge. Soon people would want credit cards and home improvement loans or perhaps a shiny new electric golf cart. The Tower Bank would be there for them, ready to help. Low monthly payments, no money down and the interest rate in very fine print. The world was rebuilding. Soon there would be tax collectors. It was inevitable. The forward-thinking people knew this and were already laying the groundwork.
Some of the kids in town had hustled up the ladders to the top of the wall to stare down and snap pictures. They’d heard the scream of the turbines and wanted to see the machines for themselves. Sometimes the drivers would come inside for a meal and spend the night but other times they would drop their package, pick up another and leave. It was one of the few things the Lakota kids could brag about on Facebook that the rich kids in the Tower couldn’t. They got to see the machines up close and bragging rights, even at the end of the world, were still pretty important to teenagers.
Slippery Jim, Gage, Tony and Lizzie were at Pretty Boy Floyd’s that night and had quite a crowd of grownups and kids listening to them tell their story. He’d pulled the rest of his gang on stage as moral support, they’d all been in on the plan since the beginning, even if they didn’t get to stowaway on the trucks. Pam’s bar was more of a family gathering place like a pub in England or Germany than it was a typical American bar. The jukebox was never so loud you had to shout over it, dogs were welcome and people would spend hours over dinner and a board game with friends.
After emotional family reunions, severe scolding’s for running off then hugs again for being such little heroes, they’d all agreed to tell everyone their story on Pam’s stage, usually used for Karaoke or Phil’s jazz band on Saturday nights. The boys were shy with all the eyes on them but Lizzie was a natural in front of the crowd. She’d watched Scratch and Stabby goofing around enough times, telling their outlandish stories that were completely unbelievable but you somehow believed them anyway. She told her tale and soon the boys were adding to it, reminding her about parts she forgot and they had the crowd mesmerized with the story of the refugees in the bus, the thousands of undead and the airplane diving out of the sky when they thought all was lost. Jim and Tony’s story about the Tower was nowhere near as exciting but everyone had questions about the mall and the ice cream parlor and the 3d movie theater.
Jimmy was debating on whether they should tell about breaking into the basement and the time machine but he knew grownups. They’d never believe it and then they would think everything else he’d told them might be a lie, too. He saw Scratch near the back of the crowd and decided to rub it in that Jessie had beat his high score on the Pacman machine when he froze, the microphone halfway to his mouth. He stared at the man standing beside him, a new guy he’d never seen before, and recognized his eyes. He was smiling, his bright, white teeth gleaming against his caramel skin, laughing at something someone said. He was clean shaven; his black hair was short and he was wearing a simple button-up shirt. A man laughed at some joke, clapped Scratch on the back and clinked beers with him as Jimmy stared. Frozen in place. The crowd hushed a little and watched the little kid on the stage as he locked up. A delayed case of stage fright? He just stood with the karaoke microphone in his hand, his eyes wide, his mouth half open and stared at the man who had raped and killed his sister. It was Bobby, Sheriff Collins husband.
Jim saw him as he’d seen him nearly a year ago. Angry and dragging him and his sister back to the killing grounds. He’d had a full beard, unkempt and scraggly and a blue checkered cloth wrapped around his head. Jimmy had bit his hand trying to get free. He’d bit it hard, ripping a chunk out of it. He remembered the gross feel of the flesh in his mouth, the hot blood running down his chin. He’d tried to pull Jenny loose but the man had his hand wrapped in her hair and started cursing and shooting at him. Jimmy ran, bullets zinging by him and kicking up dirt. He hid under the church, behind a stone foundation pillar. The man had shot at him a lot but nobody crawled in to find him, they thought he was dead. He’d had to listen to the killing and screaming all afternoon.
He stared at the man, at the deep scar on the hand holding his beer and he remembered. He remembered searching through a pile of heads to find hers. He remembered Jessie helping him bury her and they had to leave the rest of the bodies to rot, there were too many of them. He remembered what they’d done to the girls, how afraid he’d been. How he’d cowered and hid and buried his face in the dirt to hide his sobs so they wouldn’t hear him. He remembered feeling so helpless as he watched it happen. Everyone in the bar was looking at him now and Gage elbowed him, asked him what’s wrong.<
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“Cat got your tongue, Jimmy?” someone said and one of his teachers commented it was the first time she’d seen him without something to say.
The crowd laughed but the Bullet Brigade realized who he was staring at. They knew the story that the grownups didn’t. The kids had all seen things and done things and they didn’t talk to the adults about it, they talked to each other. They knew what happened to Jimmy. How all of his friends, his sister and the two nuns had been killed by the radicals. They all looked at the man with the scar on his hand and they knew the truth.
Jimmy howled an incoherent scream of pain and rage as he dropped the mic and jumped off the stage, his face a mask of anguish. He ran right at the monster who had destroyed everything he once loved. Gage, Tony and Lizzie were only a half-step behind him, plowing their way through the startled crowd with the rest of the gang right on their tails. They saw it in the man’s eyes when he recognized the skinny, little black boy. They saw the truth when everyone else only saw the children behaving strangely. Jimmy hit him hard around the middle, his fury and pain so terrible and complete he couldn’t speak words of accusation, only shrieks torn from deep within him. The tears poured down his face as his little fists hammered at the man who had taken everything. He screamed the pain in his heart as he heard the screams of his family from the home, the buried memories flooding back of Sister Mary and Sister Andrea nailed to the church doors.
Gage and Tony tackled the man to the ground while the adults watched in stunned amazement at the ferocity of the kids. They were like a pack of feral dogs attacking poor Bobby. A dozen angry fists and feet pummeled the man, tried to beat him to death as he tried to shove them off, to get away. The grownups recovered quickly and the nearest ones started dragging the boys and girls off the man. They fought like wildcats to get away, twisting and shouting, yelling as loud as Jimmy about the killer. About how he had to pay. Tables were knocked over. Drinks were spilled and everyone was shouting, pulling kids away from the fight and losing their grip as they tore loose and jumped back into the battle. They were trying to beat that man to death and no one knew why. They were like a school of piranhas, all of them raging and trying to squirm out of bearhugs or arms gripped so hard they left bruises. Bobby managed to get to his feet but was tripped up by Lizzie when he tried to run, her arms wrapped around his legs. The fight spilled out to the street and into the crowd already gathering to see what the shouting was all about. Mrs. Parsons pulled Tony off by his shirt collar as Sheriff Collins grabbed Jimmy and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight and trying to get him under control.
“Stop it!” she yelled at him when he kept fighting to get loose. “Stop it and tell me what’s going on!”
Jimmy was breathing in gasps, hitching and crying too hard to talk, the tears still streaming down his face. Bobby picked himself up off the sidewalk, his shirt torn and a small trickle of blood was coming from his lip.
“I don’t know why they came after me, Debbie. Damn kids just attacked for no reason!” he said “Ask anyone, I didn’t do anything. Isn’t that right, Phil.”
“LIAR!” Lizzie screamed so shrill it hurt her throat and kicked at him. Bobby backhanded her across the face in a fit of rage.
“Shut up, sharmoota!” he spat at her then realized what he’d done when he heard the startled gasps. He wasn’t among his own people, the Americans frowned on reprimanding their women or children like that.
“QUIET!” Collins yelled right back as Phil stepped between them, forcing Bobby back a step.
Lizzie held her stinging cheek and glared death at the man.
“All of you, in my office. Right now!” Collins said.
The kids were starting to calm down, stopped trying to wiggle away from the arms holding them back. The Sheriff would make sure he got what was coming to him.
Bobby wiped at his lip, started to dust himself off as he turned to go.
“You too, Bobby.” Collins said, still holding Jimmy tight so he couldn’t break away.
“They attacked me!” he said indignantly. “Why should I have to go anywhere?”
His eyes darted around and he realized the walls not only kept the undead out, they kept him in. He couldn’t make a run for it right now, he had to buy some time. He couldn’t get trapped inside her office answering a bunch of questions. If the little bastard quit crying long enough to tell her, she’d be sure to match the bite mark. His survival story would never hold up under any kind of scrutiny. If there were any reason to question it, they’d figure out pretty quick his tale of being all alone, of scavenging by himself all through the winter was a lie.
“Everybody involved. My office.” She said, steel in her voice.
“Um, okay.” he finally agreed. “But I need to go home and change out of this shirt. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“No.” she told him. “Right now. I need to get to the bottom of this.”
“I told you I’ll be there in a minute, Debbie.” he said a little more forcefully, letting her know her place. “I’m going to get cleaned up while you get these little hellions under control.”
“He’s going to run.” Tony said, firmly in Mrs. Parsons grasp. “He’s going to get away.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Bobby sneered at him. “Run from what? You crazy orphans? I ought to beat some respect into you. You can’t go around attacking people.”
He straightened his shirt again, making a big show of the missing buttons and trying to get his temper under control.
“You killed my sister.” Jimmy said, his crying was finished. His outburst was over. He only had a quiet, simmering anger in his eyes now. A dark and terrible hatred.
“Nonsense.” Bobby said and started to leave.
“Everybody knows about the Munson massacre President Meadows found on his train trip.” Lizzie said, his handprint still visible on her face.
“Everybody knows there used to be a bunch of jihadi’s running around killing survivors.”
“Now you’re being racist.” Bobby said. “I thought we’d moved beyond that here in Lakota.”
“Ask him how he got that scar on his hand.” Tony said. “Ask him about the boy who got away from them and hid under the church.”
All eyes turned to look at Bobby’s hand and he tried to cover it and laugh it off.
“I told you, I got cut up by some barbed wire.” he said. “This is nonsense. These kids lack discipline and something needs to be done about it. I was attacked. I ought to press charges!”
Jimmy had stopped struggling and Collins loosened her grip.
“You be still, James.” she said under her breath and he nodded.
She saw Bobby try to hide the scar, listened to him shift the blame and play the victim. Saw him lose his temper and the real Bobby surfaced if only for a few seconds. Things were clicking into place, the niggling bits of his story that just seemed too perfect. Her eyes hardened as she stepped away from Jimmy, out into the street, and rested her hand on her Colt Python. Scratch and Stabby both slipped up behind him and they didn’t look friendly anymore. Scratch knew a little Farsi, he knew what he’d called Lizzie and they’d been on the train. They’d seen the carnage and now they saw the glad-handing new guy in a new light. Maybe Jim was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t him. But maybe he was right.
“Now.” she said. “Everyone involved. My office. Right now.”
Bobby sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes.
“Fine.” he said. “We’ll do it your way, Debbie. Lead the way.”
She extended an arm, indicating she’d follow.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.” she told him and Bobby started to get nervous. If they listened to the kids’ story, they would match the chunk of missing flesh to the size of the boy’s bite and it would be hard to explain away. If they searched his house, it would be impossible. He’d kept mementos. The beheadings of the Christians had been his first righteous act with his brothers in arms after they left their compounds. He’d want
ed little keepsakes so he wouldn’t forget. He’d kept an infidel rosary from one of the nuns and it had the name of the orphanage engraved on the back of the cross. A gift from the diocese for twenty years of service. There were others, too. The embroidered scarf with the children’s names from a family they’d found on a farm in Mississippi. A stained yamaka from a small group they discovered hiding out in the swamps of Louisiana. They’d been on the hunt for weeks in the chaotic beginning when their army was strong. They had dispensed Mohammad’s justice, they had killed the infidels wherever they could find them before they’d been nearly wiped out.
He’d only survived the battle at Lakota by jumping in the river. After that, he and the other’s that fled had gone south, hiding from the truckers, the zombies and the retrievers. They avoided contact and remained hidden from the world, staying at a fishing camp deep in the bayou country of Louisiana. There weren’t any roads where they hid out, the only way in was by boat. He’d been found, though. He’d gotten careless and dozed off when he was on a supply run up to Houma, happy to be out of the swamps and away from the biting insects. A retriever had seen his boat tied up and poked around, looking for a fellow survivor. He woke up with a man standing over him, prodding him awake. The retriever was from up north somewhere, he hadn’t fought against the radicals and really didn’t know much about them. He had told him about Lakota and how they welcomed strangers. Bobby played ignorant, said he was all alone and it was the first he’d heard of it. He accepted a ride to the city; the man had found what he came for and was headed back anyway. When he was clean shaven, Bobby didn’t look anything like he had before and he was tired of swatting mosquitoes and using an outhouse. Lakota sounded like heaven after roughing it for months in the swamps. Besides, he told himself, he would gather information that could be used if they ever grew strong enough to attack again, Allah willing. They were halfway back to Lakota when the retriever mentioned Sheriff Collins and it was too late to back out. He’d stick to his story of being trapped for months on end in a mall ever since the beginning. It was feasible. He could fool them and get back to civilization again. He wasn’t accustomed to living rough without running water and electricity. He hated it.
Zombie Road VI: Highway to Heartache Page 19
