"It's a building where they keep old books...rooms full of them."
Zak's eyes widen in recognition. "Yeah, there is. It's attached to the big building on Main Street. It's not very big, though...maybe two or three rooms."
"That's fine...I'm sure they have what I'm looking for. Thanks."
"Welcome," Zak says and exits the house.
As the door shuts behind him, Chris can't help but think, this is where it begins. This is where they find out if they can really trust Zak. If the Gatherers come and go without incident, he'll know the truth.
* * *
The look in his eyes worried Zak. Chris didn't trust him yet. And rightly so—he was still a stranger. The question was, did Zak trust them?
He didn't know either—which made the feelings mutual.
Time would tell.
Zak wonders what Chris wants with the building of books—the library. Zak had never learned to read—didn't need to. There was no need for it in this world. Survival was the name of the game, and he could do that well. He knew his numbers, though. He had to know his numbers. Every house he'd ever seen has a number on it—and every number had a story to tell. Take this house, the one he's called home now for months. The front door was white, pristine at one time. Now, like splattered blood, was the number six, written in bright red. The number six—it's why he chose this house. There were six dead souls here—an entire family. Two were adults. Two more would have been roughly Zak's age. The last two were children—one still in diapers and the last still in the crib.
Zak led them away—all but the one in the crib.
He stops in the center of the road, eyes drawn to the house. Survival—it's the name of the game. To this day, he's done what he could without resorting to fighting. Do the dead—the Tainted—deserve a second death? Zak believes they never deserved the first one.
And the trip north from the graveyard...
Chris's father was to blame for all this? Zak shakes his head. The entire trip, he'd been quiet, taking in every word Chris said like poison. His childhood—his future—all of it taken from him because of the actions of one man.
But Chris is not that man.
He turns to look at the house from which he'd just come. By all accounts, Chris and Karen seemed like good, honest people. Whatever his father had been, Chris is not that man. At least, he hadn't presented himself to be that man. It's been only a week since the graveyard, so a lot could happen between now and the time the Gatherers come.
He moves toward his home, opens the door, and slips inside to prepare. But before he does, he makes his way slowly to a back bedroom.
Sliding a bolt aside, he unlocks the door, pushes it open, and stands at the threshold.
He still thinks about that family.
Every time he sees the number six on the front door, he thinks of them.
Every time he opens this doorway, he thinks of them.
Under the far window sits the crib. Cracked glass line the inside of each windowpane like broken teeth. Not every pane is broken, but enough to allow things in from the outside. On the rear of the house, vines cover the exterior wall. Their snaky, leafy tendrils encroach inside through the broken window and up the wall, to the floor, and around the crib. The vines appear to hold the crib, as if nature is yearning for the newborn cries of youth.
Every time he sees the crib, he thinks of them.
He closes the door and thinks of them.
He locks the door and thinks of them.
The crib.
What’s in that crib is the stuff of nightmares. Every time he looks into that crib, he’s afraid his nightmares will come true.
It's why he keeps the door locked.
* * *
"What are you doing?" It's Karen. She stands within the opening between the living area and the dining room where Chris now sits. She rubs her eyes and stretches, arms extended with fingers reaching toward the ceiling. Chris smiles and feel a sudden rush of desire.
"Looking though this stuff of my dad’s...what about you? How are you feeling?"
"Better," she admits, taking a seat next to him. "I think I was just tired."
"Zak came by."
"Oh?" She grabs a binder, flips through the pages. "What did he have to say?"
"He was warning us that the Gatherers are due any day now."
"Warning?"
"Yeah, he said he couldn't guarantee how they would react to us...thought it would be best to lie low until they leave." Chris, try as he might, can't hide the note of condescension in his voice.
Karen notices. "What are you thinking?" she asks.
He shrugs. "Aren't you curious about them?"
"Not if their plans are to eat us, no."
Silence permeates the room.
She closes the binder. "You're serious?"
His nod is almost imperceptible. "I want to know more about them if I'm going to be traveling through their territory."
There, he said it and opened the door for the conversation about traveling to the city.
He can feel her eyes burning into him. Looking up, he meets them and immediately looks away, thinking maybe this was the wrong time to bring it up.
Too late.
"Two questions," she says, holding up one finger—Chris can’t help but notice this is a patter with her. "One...Why would we travel through their territory." She lifts a second finger. "And two, why did you only refer to yourself?"
Chris takes a deep breath. "I don’t want you thinking I’m forcing you to do something that wasn't a part of the plan. We should be following the map by now, trying to catch up with Cowboy and Jack. Instead..."
"Instead, what?"
He opens the binder in front of him. Inside the front, cut into the plastic, is a pocket. Inside the pocket is his father's identification card. Removing it, he holds it up for Karen to see.
"...Instead, I'm really contemplating going north...to where he worked."
Leaning back into the chair, she lets out her own sigh. He can't tell if she's angry, annoyed, or just plain confused by this revelation. After a couple of seconds, she leans toward him and places her hands over his, the one holding the badge. "Wherever you go, I'm with you, Chris. I don't want to be away from you. If you are feeling led to..." she waves at the scattered binders. "...to wherever, then I want to go too."
Chris smiles, unable to hide the gladness her words bring. He knew, deep down, that she would go. He just didn't want to feel as if he were forcing her—and he didn't want her to feel as if she didn't have a choice.
"When do we leave?"
He clamps his mouth shut. This is an answer she will not like—not at all.
"Chris?" she says, drawing out his name.
He takes a deep breath and says, "After the Highwaymen's Gatherers leave. I want to see them for myself. I also need to see if Zak will pinpoint their locations on our maps."
"Maps?"
"Yeah...before you came in, I was going to wake you and see if you wanted to come with me to the local library. I want to find some detailed maps of the city...street level maps."
Sensing adventure, she pops up from her chair and says, "Sure! Let's go."
* * *
Zak watches them leave the house. He has a good indication of where they are going. Chris had asked about the book building earlier, and that's probably where they are headed. He debates following them but decides it's not worth the effort. He really needs to finish gathering the supplies together for the inevitable meeting with the Highwaymen.
He's not sure what to expect with Chris and Karen. Chris especially. He's been very distant since their trip back from the gravesite a few days ago. Granted, every time Zak has seen him, he's sitting at the dining room table pouring over the binders he brought. Chris doesn't enjoy talking about his father much—he admitted a lot on the trip to Carson's Crossing, and Chris didn't say a single kind word about his father. This makes Zak feel better about him—if he'd had any other emotion toward his father, Zak would have found it ev
en harder to trust him. Much less, like him.
Zak must admit, he likes the couple. They are genuine in their feelings for one another and despite being new to them; they seem to like Zak too.
One thing worries him, though. The back room. The crib. He should have gotten rid of it a long time ago. Neither of them would understand—hell, Zak didn’t even understand why he kept it here. But if they see it…
13
"What are you looking for?"
"Books with maps. City maps that show streets and such. The map Cowboy gave us just shows major roads through and around the cities...I need something so I can pinpoint where my father worked."
They search in silence for a few minutes while Karen works up the courage to ask her next question. Since coming back from the graveyard, Chris has been a little distant. They'd only made love once, and she had to initiate that. Until now, he'd been all over her almost every night.
So, what changed? Two things: Meeting Zak and the binders he took from the graveyard. She doesn't think this has anything to do with Zak. He's just a curious boy. Besides, if Zak were the problem, Chris would have said something about it. There's no reason to keep something about Zak from her if it were bothering him.
No, whatever this is, it has everything to do with Chris's father—and that means the binders. What did he see in there that she didn't? Based on his observations, and hers too, there's nothing there either of them can even begin to understand. The things written in those binders are from a time that's long past. There's no bringing it back.
She's already committed to going with him—there was no doubting that—but the curiosity is eating at her.
She takes a deep breath. "What's so important that you want to risk everything to see where your father worked?"
Instead of answering the question, Chris says, "Found one!"
He brings the thick book to the table and sets it down. "Cities of the United States?"
"Yes, look." He thumbs through the first few pages and stops on one for a city called Abilene. The first map showed a view of the city, its borders outlined with a red line. Within the red lines, they mapmakers split the city into four sections, each overlaid with a different color. The north-east section was green, followed clockwise by yellow, blue, and gray. Each colored section referenced another page in the book. The page number for the green section directed them to the book's next page.
Chris turns the page and there, in detail, is a street-level rendering of the north-east portion of Abilene.
"The company was located in a town called Richardson, Texas."
Karen flips past the center of the book, locating the cities that begin with the letter 'R.'
The first page under Richardson shows what must be the entire continent. Richland, indicated by a tiny red dot and a yellow arrow, lies in the northern section of the state of Texas. The next page shows just the state, and the next details the upper east portion of the state.
Karen gasps. "Chris...look."
Richardson is there, outlined in red, but in the middle of a much larger city.
Richardson is a city within a city.
"Fuck," Chris says, slumping against the table.
"Yeah," Karen agrees. "Fuck."
* * *
Chris drops the heavy atlas onto the table next to the binders. Karen grabs one and takes it into the living area. Sitting on the couch, she opens it in an attempt to find some sort of clarification, some sort of understanding amidst all the squiggles, letters, and numbers.
"You know, even the handwritten paragraphs your father wrote are hard to read...I can only make out a few words here and there."
Chris plops down next to her, leans against her shoulder, and watches her finger trace the words across the yellowing pages.
"Are you going to tell me what you're looking for? Why are we going there?" And by there, she's not just referring to the place his father worked—she's referring to the city. The huge city. She can't imagine what they'll find there, what dangers could lurk around every corner. Her grandfather told her about the cities—he said there were buildings that scraped the sky and the people—he said there were more people there than she could imagine.
More people meant more Tainted.
"Do you see all those hand-written symbols?"
"Mm-hm. She says. "It looks like math...but like nothing I've ever seen before."
Chris snaps his fingers. "That's it. I remember, and you're right...it's some sort of math. Before the world changed, when I was in school, our class was just being introduced to something like this. It involved using letters of the alphabet and I didn't understand a single bit of it."
"You learned more than I did, then. My grandfather only taught me how to add and subtract." Her thoughts take her far away. "I guess we didn't need much more than that."
She tilts her head up, kisses him. "Are you stalling or is this going somewhere?"
"No, I'm not stalling. This..." He says, tapping the page.
Karen didn't know what to expect, but this wasn’t it.
Chris says, "...I think it's a cure."
* * *
Zak forgets the dried meat. He grabbed a piece every day, so he'd have it in case the dog (Karen told him her name was Trixie) showed up again. But so far, he hadn't seen her at all. She may have been a little skittish that first time, but she hadn't been scared—just wary. Zak had established himself as a friend—a friend with food. Until today, he'd kept a piece of dried meat in his pocket, just in case Trixie came back—but today, he forgot.
It didn't matter, the day would end, and Trixie would still be a vacant mystery.
She’d just better remain hidden if she knows what’s good for her—if the Highwaymen were to find her, she'll be the next meal on their plates.
The Highwaymen. The Gatherers were late, and that worried Zak. He'd warned Chris and Karen two days ago about their impending arrival, and so far, nothing.
Now that the supplies were ready, all he could do is sit around and wait. Or, he can run across the street and meet with Chris. They'd asked him twice now if he would come over and mark their map, showing them the location of the Highwaymen. He had no reason to be reluctant, but something kept him from answering the call. Was it because he didn't want them to leave—that companionship was worth more than being alone?
Despite the mixed feelings he still felt, he didn't want to see them go.
He touches the knife on his hip. Small but deadly sharp, its steel has found the skulls of countless Tainted. Chris had asked him if that was all that he carried for protection. He couldn't help but wonder how long he could survive with just that knife. So far, he'd been lucky—his methods were to evade and avoid. This had its advantages when armed with something as small as a knife, but he had to ask himself the difficult question now—how long would that luck hold up? There would come a time, maybe soon, maybe later, when he'd find himself in a position that a little knife wouldn't be enough. That being alone would be help destroy him.
Instinctively, his eyes glance toward the back of the house. How would he explain that—that shrine—if they were to stumble across it? He shakes his head. He should have gotten rid of it a long time ago.
Forcing himself to turn away, he leaves the house and heads across the street. Maybe he should think about adding a new weapon to his repertoire. The Highwaymen use short spears made of fire-hardened wood. He’d learned the basics in using them before leaving them, but he’d never grown adept. Besides, his size limited him back then.
* * *
When Zak enters, he finds Chris and Karen on the couch. They were kissing and hugging each other with such passion; they didn't hear Zak enter.
"Hey, guys," he says, startling them.
"Jesus, Zak," Karen rasps. Embarrassed, she pushes away from Chris and tugs her shirt back in place.
Opposite to Karen's reaction, Chris laughs. "Zak...You probably need to knock next time."
"Knock?" Zak questions. "Why would I knock?"
Zak shakes his head. "We had free access to anywhere."
"Well," Karen says, clearing her throat. "If you don't mind, next time, give us a little heads up before you come inside."
Zak shrugs. "Okay," he says, still not understanding why. He'd seen worse playing chase through the complex as a child. The Highwaymen, especially couples, were uninhibited. They didn't care what other members of the community thought and they certainly didn't care what outsiders thought.
Zak reminds himself, he's no longer a Highwayman. He's like Chris and Karen—he's an outsider. The practices of the Highwaymen are not the same as everywhere else and just because he's acclimated to their ways doesn't mean anyone else should have to accept them too. That's not the way life works in the real world—even this world. Maybe he does understand why—he just never thought it mattered.
"Sorry," he says, averting his eyes. "I'll knock next time."
"So..." Chris says, changing the subject. "What brings you over?"
"You mentioned something about maps?"
"Oh, yeah. I forgot."
"I can see why," Zak says, cutting a quick look over at Karen, who blushes immediately.
Zak turns away. He didn't know where that comment came from or why he said it out loud. Karen was a beautiful young woman, but Zak never had any interest in women. Being alone and no longer part of a community, it's no wonder thoughts such as this had never crossed his mind before.
Chris stands at the table and unfolds a large map. "Here's where we are," he says, pointing at a spot on the map. "And here's where we are going." His finger slides up, up, and up...finally stopping.
"Is that a city?"
Chris nods.
"Looks pretty big."
"Yeah...It's huge," says Karen, stepping up beside them.
"How big?" Zak asks, still not understanding the scope the other two are talking about.
Tainted Souls Page 7
