No Room In Hell (Book 3): Aftershocks

by Schlichter, William

“We’re secure here. How did you escape?”

  “Other survivors didn’t care for cannibals but refused to take on another member. Trust is an issue. I traveled toward Fort Wood when I encountered Kelsey.”

  “Could she walk?”

  “I nearly shot her, mistaking her for a biter,” Mike says.

  “By force of will. The burns and her beating should have killed her. Medically, we’d consider her a miracle.”

  “She and her companions were jumped for their supplies. They left her for dead.”

  “Must have been some gear. To torture her so.”

  “It’s all she told me,” Mike says.

  “And you have a dog. No one here has encountered a dog since the outbreak. Where were you heading?”

  Don’t take too long to answer. “Fort Wood. They take in refugees.”

  “You’re off track for your destination.”

  “I thought it was better not to follow a straight line. Better to remain off the main roads. Avoid the renegade types who burnt Kelsey,” Mike says.

  “I’ll spare you. The military base is gone.”

  I knew that. Got to protect Kelsey’s home. Anyone with this kind of facility is suspect. “Then where do we go?”

  “Not here. I’ve spent resources on you I shouldn’t have, but Captain Mayberry has a soft heart.”

  “Is that why he pays children in candy to clear rocks from the airfield?”

  “There are vagrants who mill around outside the wall,” the doctor says.

  “What’s this place?” Mike asks.

  “You rest. As soon as your friend wakes, I’m going to have to release you.”

  “In her current condition, that’s murder.” Mike’s protest quells when the guard’s hand cups the rifle handle. “Why operate to save her if you’re going to exile her, guaranteeing death?”

  “The longer she’s out, the longer you stay. Amputees require long-term care and therapy. None of which exist anymore. We function under Darwin rules now.”

  “WHICH ONE OF you is King Arthur?”

  None of the mounted knights answer or speak as they travel the road. Ethan speculates they’ve limited vison through the viewports or eyeholes of their armored helmets. I thought my duster coat was smart. But full-blown armor. Brilliant. I always wanted to be knighted.

  They travel along the interstate stretching through what was once West Memphis.

  Kind of how I expected a city to appear after a B2 bomber run. The quake decimated all structures. Likely they were picked over as most metropolitan areas were in the first days. Memphis was one of the cities dotted on the map from Dr. Ellsberg’s office.

  A low ground rumble rolls past them.

  Ethan pats the side of his mount’s neck to keep her calm. He lacks the skill to stay on while bareback if she bolts.

  I miss my shower. I hope it’s still there when I get back. Those quakes could destroy the dam. Becky said the baby was okay. Chad better cowboy the fuck up and get that kid back to Acheron. Poor Amanda, she might have been the future. He draws a finger along the case securing the syringe containing the cure hidden in his armored vest.

  Ground’s too unsteady to risk reloading, but I need to.

  An undead frozen in the road takes no notice of the approaching horses. One of the knights charges forward, lifting a hammer, much like the god of thunder’s, and shatters the skull of the creature.

  The quake messes with their internal biology. Like the fleeing animals. Earthquakes have sound waves. I wonder if the sound could be duplicated. If most freeze, a team could march up and smash heads. But like the one I shot on the bridge, they don’t all behave in the same manner.

  The knight races back, the clop of metal on the asphalt. He brings his mount close enough to Ethan to scrape paint, had they been cars. Ethan never flinches. Take a little more than a two hundred-pound man at a full charge to rattle me. Hell, I was about to take down every undead in the world.

  Ahead, two mounted knights pull a train of horses loaded down with packs onto the road.

  “Nachzehrer?” one of the new knights asks.

  The second time I’ve heard the term. And no Google to look it up.

  The leader raises a hand to quiet the two new men. He turns his mount to face Memphis.

  Ethan glances over his shoulder. Thick blooms of black smoke rise like pillars into the sky, forming a much darker cloud over what was once the Bluff City.

  “Missed my chance to visit Graceland.” With that much smoke, half the city had to be on fire. It’ll draw the undead, as will the aftershocks. If all this confuses them, it will give Chad a chance to get north with the baby. I’ll never see the Memphis Mafia, enjoy the bar-be-que. Hell, I should take my gear and travel to all the landmarks I’ve always wanted to visit. Bet there are no lines to get into the Arch.

  “Water rise!”

  Ethan spins his horse. The marsh area along the edge of the Mississippi disappears as the river changes course. Whatever system was in place to keep the city from flooding has been destroyed, with no one left to maintain repairs.

  Despite his massive frame, Ethan crouches and prepares to spur his mount. “Last time the earth shook, the river ran backwards for eight hours and the course permanently changed.” He digs his heels into the horse’s flanks. It bolts forward into a gallop.

  Brown murk crawls over the road.

  The ground quivers. Many of the knights dismount in the second before an aftershock brings down trees.

  Ethan jerks on the reins. His horse slides, metal shoes on asphalt, before halting. An oak splinters at the base and slams across the road before him. He flings himself from the mount. Never able to stick his landing, pain shoots through his left leg.

  A horse snorts.

  No other noise exists once the rumbles terminate.

  Once again in control of their steeds, the knights ride past Ethan. He strokes his horse’s nose, ensuring calm. Pressure on his left leg, when he mounts, waters his right eye. He trots to rejoin the group. “You guys aren’t much into talking. I guess I don’t have much to say besides a few elderberry jokes.”

  The wind shifts direction, and the smell of burning wood and rot surrounds them. Ethan strokes the side of his horse’s neck. “You guys must be from this part of the country, making you a little more used to all the tiny earthquakes.”

  They travel west past a gas station travel center or what had been a truck stop-restaurant-touristy goodies store before the fuel tanks ignited. The burns scorching the highway and parts of the concrete center divider have the marks of gasoline fire. Ethan’s not sure how he knows the difference, but flames fueled by leaves or grass leave different marks on structures.

  People ruined their own survival when they fought over meager supplies in those first few days. What made me so smart? I did all I could to get home. Home to my closet and gun cabinet. He cuts off the memory before…

  The knight shatters a biter with his hammer.

  It must be his job. We should get off this highway. The undead seem naturally attracted to it. I’ve discovered a field full of cattle left alone for the undead not wanting to leave the road.

  Ethan hangs in the center of the knights, forcing the undead to attack the armored men before they reach him.

  The highway off-ramp leads to a state-run welcome center. The hammer wielding knight leads the group toward the structure.

  I don’t think my map goes this far into Arkansas. But this location gives me a point of reference. Ethan notes the giant green mileage sign: “St Louis 278 miles.” Means Interstate 55 is somewhere past this rest stop.

  The chief knight passes the parking lot and picnic area, leading them into the woods.

  North’s a good direction. North to where? We must be some hundred miles below the epicenter. Too much north and we’ll stumble into a throng of undead. At least we’re off the highway. I’d rather do a hundred miles west before going north. I would use my jump-start on a car and drive. Add to the mystery of how I’
m able to travel so far so fast. Sure as hell isn’t on this bum leg.

  Occasionally, the caravan slows. A knight dismounts and urinates without a word, and the group moves on.

  After a few hours, the sun peeks over the eastern horizon.

  Dark, and I’ve no idea how many rounds are in my M&P. I should have one full clip. And if I didn’t lose those two to reload. My Magnum has five.

  Ethan ignores the rumble in his stomach as the sun rises. These horses need rest. We’ve been on them too long. Given the average speed and the lack of heavy forest density, I’d guess we’ve traveled at least twenty-five to thirty miles.

  The knights approach a defensible stockade created from telephone poles driven into the ground.

  “Someone’s seen all of John Ford’s movies,” Ethan says.

  Dried and black blood from the impacts of dozens of undead covers the walls about chest level. The ground is torn asunder from thousands of shuffling feet passing by.

  Whoever erected the structure knew how to create a wall able to withstand a herd. The earthquake noise might be more appealing than smelling a few dozen living souls inside.

  The blaring of a ram’s horn signals the gate to open.

  The four people swing the gate poles wide enough for the knights to parade through.

  Another blast on the ram’s horn. People inside line the path, prepared for a procession.

  A required procession. Ethan speculates they demand to be treated as heroes.

  Inside the walls, people rush the horses and secure the reins, allowing the knights to dismount. Smaller children approach the men and hold out their arms to accept discarded helmets and weapons.

  It’s good to be the king. Or close. Ethan dismounts. His boots sink three inches into a muck containing more than mud. Why do these people, who cosplayed knights at Renaissance festivals, think living in this manner is cool? Proper sanitation, if not the colony’s concern, should quickly become so. The world runs on working toilets. How long have they lived in this manner to not notice the stink of urine and horse shit?

  Supporting the wall at the gate are two flipped over tractor trailers to add support and give the guards a platform to entrench them behind the telephone poles to create the battlement.

  Not a bad set up. A herd couldn’t push down or climb over. A few fresh undead know, or remember how to climb, but not many. Too many like the bulky soldier and they’d be able to leap the wall. Fucking super biters. I’ve never seen anything like him. How did he move so fast? Fresh, I’ve see some still behave human, but he was hopped up on roids. Was he? Was he on something when he died and it stayed with him? Meth’d up biters is all we need.

  Metal siding forms the walls of simple dirt floor huts. They lack the thatched roofs, but the sheet metal adds to the water muddying the streets. With the number of undead flooding out of Memphis, I doubt I could have done much better under similar circumstances. It’s like the third world.

  I was lucky the hydroelectric dam was in a national forest. Less people. The person who built these walls is someone I want in my camp. The overwhelming stink of horse shit burns his nose. Once established, they should’ve focused on latrines. These people are one step from popping a squat in the street if the urge suits them.

  Blended with pre-apocalyptic tools and supplies, many residents craft items from hand. Can’t knock the skills these people have tried to recreate authentically. Quilters will be valued. That hut has an anvil. And the horses are shod. No electricity. These people are up with the sun.

  Ethan soaks in all the location’s amenities as they march him into the fort. One lady weaves grass into a floor matt. Another plucks chicken feathers from the broken-necked bird. A small child inspects the feathers for cleanliness before stuffing them into a bag.

  An older man with one leg polishes a metal cooking pot. Another weeds through trash, creating a pile of now reusable items.

  Nothing’s wasted any longer. Ethan keeps a mental note about the garbage. We’ve scavenged through some junkyards, but some landfills could yield useful products.

  They seem to be making products besides armor, but the only food I spot are the chickens, and I smell pig shit over the human shit.

  Biters like noise. And they smell blood. Does the shit smell mask the human one? I’ll stand guard without sleep while a team builds another wall before I live in a septic tank. I miss my shower. Fucked-up trip. Poor Becky.

  Two knights escort him toward the only pre-apocalyptic building inside the fort. The wrap-around porch and picture window give it a homey, American vibe.

  Either I’m getting used to it or the shit smell dissipates away from the wall.

  A boy with a spear guards the door. “You should disarm him before he meets Gentarra.”

  The man glances down at the boy as if offended he spoke to a knight.

  Good faith. Ethan slips the M&P from the holster, handing the butt end to the kid. Somehow, he doesn’t trust the arrogance in the knights. The kid accepts the weapon, placing it on the table next to him. He flips up his palm, requesting the Magnum.

  Ethan complies, knowing his Beretta has a full clip hidden under his duster coat. He calculates how many of them he can pop before the kid remembers how to use his spear. I need these people. I need them to find Chad and the baby. Sure as hell won’t allow Becky to die for nothing.

  In what remains of a Metallica t-shirt and a laced corset to keep her well-developed breasts stable, a woman steps from inside the building. Ethan’s mouth dries, and he tastes his own morning breath. Despite the lack of proper bathing, she remains quite beautiful and clean. She’s not a millennial but appears too young to be a grandmother. His heart picks up pace.

  “Are you the cause of the explosions on the bridge?” she demands.

  “I was there when it occurred. Most of the mess was a direct result of the earthquake.”

  The knight nods as if to confirm the statement.

  “It’s been playing havoc with our horses and has stirred the Nachzehrers into frenzy feeds,” she says.

  “Nachzehrer?”

  “Some undead mythical creature who devours its family when it first awakes.”

  “We call them biters where I’m from, but Nachzehrer is a bit more accurate.” Ethan asks, “How did you come up with it?”

  “We need to be asking you the questions,” she says.

  “You’re in charge?”

  “Women can’t be in charge?”

  “Not at all. I assumed it was the knights.”

  She glances at the knight, not quite seeking permission. “I operate with a trifecta. I’m one of the three. Before the war, I was a simple housewife. It was Professor Plum who knew about Nachzehrers.”

  “Professor Plum?” Ethan questions. Somehow, I doubt you were simple.

  “A running joke among those of us left when we first built this camp.”

  The kid hands her Ethan’s M&P. She racks the slide to inspect the chamber. Her eyes widen. “You still have bullets.”

  “Had. I put some fifty into the biters on the bridge.”

  “Well, John Wayne, we haven’t seen bullets in six months.” She flashes him an impressed smile.

  Ethan notes she has no poker face.

  “You’re not military, at least not anymore.” She pops the clip back into the gun and slips it behind her back. He would bet up the corset, allowing for quick draw. But he has no idea how she has any room as tight as the leather stretches.

  “Bum leg, but it doesn’t have any bearing on my shooting.”

  “Lack of bullets might.” She flips open the cylinder on the Magnum. “Eight shots. Nice.” She dumps the bullets into her pocket and places the weapon on the porch.

  “I’d like that one back,” Ethan says. “I’ll need it to locate more bullets.”

  “Not for fifty miles,” she says.

  “Your people have cleaned out everything north or in a radius?” Ethan asks.

  “Smart. Not enough smart people survived. I
thought you were cocky or lucky, but you know what you’re doing,” she says.

  “Even the intelligent succumbed to the inability to put a bullet in their loved ones.”

  “And you’re the lone wolf with no family?” she asks.

  “I wasn’t anywhere near my daughters when... By the time I was—”

  “I get the picture. You got a name?”

  “Ethan. Ethan Edwards.”

  “What a cowboy name. So you are John Wayne. We could use a few more cowboys around here.” She smiles. Not at him, but at the armored escorts with hands on the pommels of their swords.

  Before the end of the world, Ethan would’ve never claimed to believe in an instant connection between people, but this close to her, he detects an aura around her tugging at him. “I’ll take my guns and be on my way.”

  She marches from the porch with enough of her dress balled in her fist to keep the helm from dragging in the mud. The two knight escorts follow.

  Ethan glances down at the kid, who glares at him as if he’ll bite him in the knee.

  “There are two problems with you leaving. First, the quake has stirred the Nachzehrer and I suggest you wait. Second, my people risked their lives to pull you off the bridge. You owe us.”

  “Let me write you a check, Gentarra.” Ethan decides to use the name the kid mentioned.

  “Someone’s cocky.”

  “I’m confident.” Women like that.

  “You don’t have friends outside. There are two armed men next to you, a kid with a spear at your back, and I’ve your gun.”

  Ethan rubs his bewhiskered chin, the stubble still never growing in thick enough for him to sport a beard. He flashes her a smile. In three seconds and before any of the men unsheathe their swords, the two are on their backs in the mud, wondering how the sky came into their view. He jerks the spear from the kid, flinging it out of reach.

  The woman fumbles with his M&P, but as she gets her fingers around the handle and through the trigger guard, she’s met with a Berretta pointed at her left eye and no room to blink without brushing the barrel with her eyelash.

  “You’ve two of my guns. And these men wear armor to fend off biters they haven’t learned to fight people in it.” Ethan swings his left arm, holding his palm-sized nine shot Taurus .22 at the kid. Don’t make me show you how I can’t hit shit with my left hand. He grins. Got all my speed back after the beating.