No Room In Hell (Book 3): Aftershocks

by Schlichter, William

  “It’s heavy,” Emily mews.

  “No whining, white girl. You ask for training. You train with the best.” Jada wraps her hands and wrists in white tape.

  Emily pushes her legs straight.

  “Flex your toes. Push the extra inch.” Jada bounces on her toes before a heavy leather punching bag.

  Emily complies.

  “Hold,” Jada orders. Two seconds tick. “Release and lower back down. Under control. Do this nine more times.” Jada draws into a fighting stance. She works her arms in a jab-jab-punch combination as she dances around the bag, repeating it twice before switching arms.

  Emily completes her set. She holds the weight up with her toes. “Finished.”

  Jada flips, landing next to the leg press. She locks the bar, securing the machine. “Rest for one minute.” She drops and performs a rapid succession of one-armed pushups. “Minute’s up.”

  Emily doesn’t question how she knows the time, or how Jada could count such rapid firing of her body up and down. She pushes up the foot plate.

  Jada bounds to her feet, returning to the bag.

  Emily lowers her quivering legs.

  Jada drives her knees against the bag in a kickboxing attack.

  Emily holds the apparatus high as Jada locks it in place. She drops, completing fifty one-armed pushups with the other arm. She repeats this routine twice more.

  “Four sets. Now what?” Emily asks.

  Jada assists her to her feet and holds Emily as her legs fold underneath her like a newborn fawn. “What happened?”

  “You’re not used to such a workout. You return to bed and recover. We do more tomorrow. Maybe add five pounds.” Jada escorts her to the door, never releasing her grip from Emily.

  “Five pounds? Felt like I did a hundred.”

  “We get you strong. No man will ever touch you again,” Jada says.

  “Will you teach me to do what you were doing to the bag?” Emily asks.

  “You strengthen your legs and heal. I show you some techniques.”

  “Jada, where are you from?” Emily knows it’s a taboo question to dredge up life before, but Jada’s accent fascinates her.

  “Rest. We train more tomorrow. I’m on duty soon, with Zeke.”

  “That skinny kid. The one who won’t take his eyes off you?”

  “You know him. He might be handsome if we pack on some muscle. I’m afraid I’d crack him in two.”

  Emily laughs from the gut with the image. She grabs her temple in a swoon. “That hurt my head.”

  Wanikiya balls his right hand into a fist. It quivers for a second, his naturally tan skin whitening with rage. He fans out his fingers and collapses them back into a fist. The two twenty-somethings squirm in their seats as the seven-foot Sioux warrior draws his tomahawk from his holster.

  Trixie’s face swells on the right side, and her eye purples. Aiden’s face has nail marks where he was scratched.

  “I don’t even want to know. Or why. I don’t care. Our camp has rules.”

  They both hold in their protests as they eye the gleaming blade.

  Wanikiya points the polished silver hatchet at Aiden. Ethan’s gone. Does his absence mean… Aiden was on gate duty when Ethan disciplined Kyle for rape. “I consider this domestic abuse. But in this case, it seems equal. I’ll pass judgment. If you don’t like my sentencing, appeal to Ethan.”

  Quiet.

  They both know of Ethan’s harsh executioner style. And the stories of his shooting people to protect others outside the fence are too many for some not to be true.

  “Domestic abuse won’t be tolerated.” Like a father, Wanikiya rants, “You’ll move back to the barracks. And I end the relationship. Never again will you be assigned quarters together.”

  Trixie opens her mouth.

  “No. I end your right to choose. This brave new world has rules we must adhere to. You take Aiden back and he beats you again, then what?”

  “She hits me,” Aiden whines.

  “Even worse. I’m a bit old school. Being beat up by women removes your masculinity; hitting her back makes you less of a person. The alternative, and a better option for you, Aiden, is to be banished to Grayson’s camp guarding the east side of Acheron. He needs a new team. I’ll make those arrangements. Only breakfast for a week for both of you,” Wanikiya orders.

  “If we’re still free…”

  Wanikiya cuts off Trixie’s protest. “Assault is a crime. As the community leader, I’ll dispense with punishment. If you don’t wish to be subject to the community laws, you may leave.”

  “I’ll work with Grayson,” Aiden says. “Maybe some time apart is what we need.”

  “I don’t like this. I’ve rights. You can’t dictate relationships,” Trixie says.

  “I can, and I will. I won’t allow domestic abuse to go unpunished or continue through inaction.”

  “You can’t control this aspect of our lives. Ethan asked us not to have kids. Fine. We work to eat. Fine. But I love Aiden, and you can’t tell me who I can fuck!”

  “Then you can both have a pack of supplies and are welcome to leave,” Wanikiya says.

  “I’ll work under Grayson. I don’t want to leave.” Aiden’s eyes water.

  “Pack me a bag. I won’t be dictated. Just like I won’t have him,” she snaps an accusing finger at Aiden, “not do as I say.”

  Wanikiya realizes even if Aiden did strike Trixie, it was likely in defense. “Aiden?”

  “I’ll work for Grayson.”

  Trixie throat punches Aiden. The young man wheezes into a coughing fit before dropping to a knee.

  Wanikiya slides between them. He pushes Aiden toward the door. Flinging it open, he shoves Aiden into the hall.

  The guards snap to.

  “Take him to Simon. He’s to be assigned to Grayson.” Wanikiya does nothing to sway the men from their belief he assaulted the choking Aiden. He’s never been violent toward anyone but the biters. Part of him enjoys the thought they believe he has the power to crush them. “You have options other than exile, Trixie.”

  “I wouldn’t listen to my father. I wouldn’t submit to my white husband; what the hell makes you think I’m going to obey you, redskin?”

  “Racial slurs mean little to me. I demand order in my camp. How do we achieve this?”

  Hannah collapses next to Nick. Sweat dribbles from her back. She huffs as she twists to cuddle next to him. “I have no words to describe…”

  Nick smiles.

  “I’m sore. But sore in such a good way. It was worth waiting.”

  “I’m glad I waited for you.”

  “Sorry it’s messy,” Hannah says.

  “I love you.” Nick slides his arm under her.

  “This hay is itchy.” She sits up.

  “I profess my love, and you itch.”

  Hannah rolls her eyes. “At least it’s my back. I just gave you my flower. How much profession of my heart do you need, Corporal?”

  “Addressing me by rank. My Spidey Sense tells me I’m not getting a text after this. And what girl says, ‘I gave you my flower’?”

  “‘Cashing in my V-card,’ is that batter?” She punches him in his stomach. “Don’t be a jerk.”

  He pulls her close, playfully biting her arm. “Never. Not to you.”

  “Dad always warned me about dating those dedicated to the uniform,” she says.

  “Not the uniform. The flag. No one ever died to protect a uniform.”

  “No one ever died to protect the flag. They died to protect their brothers-in-arms,” she says.

  “From this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered—We few, we happy few, we band of brothers… The world’s ended, and all we have left is this band of brothers,” Nick says.

  “Not quite what Shakespeare had in mind. But we’re family behind these walls.”

  “I hunger to be your family,” Nick says.

  “I don’t know what I want. I’m terrible.”

  �
��This was your idea.”

  “Not about what we did. I enjoyed it. I heard the first time was the most awful experience for a woman. If that was the worst…O-M-G, then bring on the next time.”

  “Give me a minute and it will happen.” Nick kisses up her arm to her shoulder.

  “Don’t be mad, but I agreed because of Emily.”

  Nick’s eyes bug out a bit as he moves to kissing her back to prevent her from seeing his confusion.

  “The attack on her got me thinking. Seeing her damaged face and broken body. I wanted to enjoy everything in life before we’re ruined the way she was.”

  “Nothing like that’s going to happen to you.” Nick halts his next kiss on her spine.

  “It shouldn’t have happened to her. But those men scaled the fence. So, it could happen. I desired this moment to be with you.”

  SANCHEZ CLAMPS HER hand on Dartagnan’s shoulder with a tenderness-force only a mother could perform right before her child steps into Toys “R” Us. “Behave.” As an afterthought, she adds, “Or it’s the chair.”

  “Yes, Miss Amie.”

  Her boot squeaks a loose porch board.

  He nods, holding up his left arm. “The bad men broke my watch.”

  Whatever his issue, he wears five watches. One has a smashed crystal, and the hands are gone. “I’ll find you a new watch.”

  “Will you fix Emily? My watch…my model, not as important as Emily.”

  “Fixing her isn’t within my skillset. Dr. Baker will care for her.” Sanchez relaxes her grip. “I just need to know you’ll be okay while I’m on a mission.”

  “To find me more paint. That would be a crazy. I’ll give you a list of supplies.”

  The ransacked living room would cause an Oklahoma tornado to blush. No one has scrubbed the blood from the floors and wall or spackled the bullet holes. Priority cleanup at the main gate to prevent diseases focuses the camp.

  Dartagnan quivers.

  If Sanchez didn’t know of his condition, she would speculate he was in the first stage of a grand mal seizure. Violent muscle contractions flail his arms and jerk his neck. Before Sanchez reacts, Dartagnan marches to his chair. He plops.

  “We have to fix.”

  “You’ll rebuild this in no time.”

  “No, Amie. Bullets. We don’t have enough bullets to secure needed supplies.”

  Sanchez takes a knee near the chair. “Is this one of your calculations?” She has no idea what variable he would be utilizing.

  “Minimal number of bullets to stock the gate guards, fence patrol, building teams and scouting parties leaves no reserve.”

  She jerks back her hand before patting his knee. No touching while in his punishment chair. Even if he sentenced himself. “Simon’s reloading the rounds.”

  “Amie, I am…slow.”

  “No you’re not. You’re the smartest person in this camp. You might be the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

  Dartagnan cocks his head toward the floor, mouth open. “I don’t fit in. But I know what I know. Without bullets…”

  “We’ll survive.”

  “No. Bullets allow us to control. Too much evil outside the fence, and we need bullets to starve it.”

  “Then I’ll locate what we need. I will.” She knows Dartagnan would see through any empty promise. She would never lie. Not to him.

  “You be the new Ethan.”

  Sanchez doesn’t understand the statement. “Ethan will be Ethan.”

  “Mathematically. No more Ethan.”

  “He’ll return.”

  “No. Based on normal travel time and distance covered on past excursions. The population of five states and the distance of the earthquake will draw biters. He will face 3,782,619 undead. He packs eight hundred rounds. 3,781,819 are more biters than he will escape.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “We had a horde of undead at our gates.”

  “And you need to know what magnitude the earthquake was. We’ve got more important issues to deal with, Sanchez.” Combeth packs his gear.

  “Because the undead walk the earth doesn’t mean we forget about tornados, blizzards and polio.”

  “Polio?” Combeth counts his magazines and secures each in individual pouches on his vest.

  “Think about it. We eradicated childhood diseases, but now there’s no more vaccines for the children we will have. Future generations will face them again.” Sanchez cleans each piece of her disassembled rifle parts.

  “I thought we recovered some medical—”

  “We did. But even properly stored, what we received from Fort Wood will only be good for a few years. And there are no labs making more. Hell, we don’t even have penicillin.”

  “Something you need to tell me?” Combeth smiles.

  “Fuck you. You’ll get no itching or burning from me.” She half smiles as she rolls her brown eyes at him. Glad he doesn’t completely hate her for her lover’s fuck-up. “Limited ammo on this trip.”

  “We going after the tractors?”

  “No. They’ll finish baling hay after the undead settle. We’ve got a more important mission.”

  “Important enough to assign only military,” Combeth says.

  “We’ve been trained to conserve ammo. We sweep in, grab provisions and get back here to reinforce and restock the patrols, fence teams and increase the supply runs. We’ve pockets of undead stirred up from the quake. Quakes destroy buildings. I considered if we knew the magnitude, it might be useful,” she says.

  “My rule: if the building leans too much, I ain’t going in.”

  “All good, Private.” Wanikiya enters the library. “Emily won’t be happy you’re using her tables as a staging area.”

  “Nothing we can’t wipe up. Besides, they’re burning the undead, and it stinks outside,” Sanchez says.

  “No choice. Too many to bury. I hope it doesn’t attract attention,” Wanikiya says.

  “Survivors would steer clear of a smoke plume that high,” Combeth adds.

  “I’m putting a great deal of faith in the Great Spirit and his wisdom to remove the biters and people from the area.”

  “What do we need, and where do we find it?” Sanchez asks.

  “Most of what we need could be gathered in bulk in the larger cities. With the quake enticing the undead south, it opens up Mexico.”

  “Tequila time.” Combeth grins.

  “The city. It was too populated with vectors to raid. You believe it’s clear?” Sanchez asks.

  “Scout it first. It’s straight south of our western frontier. I doubt the undead we dispatched were from the city itself, but the numbers of stragglers should be manageable,” Wanikiya says.

  “The undead are all heading southeast toward New Madrid. Now is the safest time to head to Columbia. MU has to have earthquake equipment and a medical lab,” Sanchez says.

  “Slow down, Corporal.” Wanikiya hands her a pocket-sized notebook. “I didn’t find a map of the city. Maybe a convenience store will have one. Gas. Pump cars for gas or find a station and refill your tanks, even if you don’t need it. You can travel straight there, but on your return trip, I want you to take a long route. These are the addresses of six stores where you should find guns and reloading equipment. No one goes as far as Columbia until we’re restocked with ammo. What’s in Columbia?”

  “Sanchez’s worried about polio.” Combeth flips through the area phone book.

  Wanikiya guesses at her worry for an extinct childhood disease. “You fit for duty, Corporal?”

  “I’m not pregnant. I was speaking long term. We must be thinking ahead, or we won’t survive. Ethan operated on this principle.”

  “Short term. Ammo. Without it, we have no long-term plan.” Wanikiya continues, “Other than your truck driver, the rest of your team will all be military. You’re under orders to expend as little ammo as possible and collect my list.”

  “Worst-case scenario?” she asks.

  “The town was twelve thousand peo
ple and, for a while, a refugee center, so expect some undead still locked in buildings. Remember, they can’t turn doorknobs,” Wanikiya says.

  “They can. I’ve seen a few. Fresh ones seem to retain some muscle memory,” Sanchez says.

  Combeth taps a page in the phone book. “There’s a Military Academy. Would it have weapons?”

  “Avoid it. It was the refugee center. Even if the military left behind weapons, their walls would hold in the undead when it was overrun. This trip focuses on the gun stores,” Wanikiya says.

  “How do you know it was overrun?” Sanchez asks, knowing she was fully protected at Fort Wood.

  “All refugee centers were overrun. And a few of Acheron’s earliest citizens were in the camp. Ethan wouldn’t go back.”

  “Any of those from the city willing? We could use a native guide,” Combeth asks.

  “If Ethan wouldn’t risk it, we stick to Wanikiya’s plan,” Sanchez says.

  Wanikiya slides around under the library checkout counter. Fishing underneath, he pulls out a leather case. “Add to the list. Take a camera and document the rails. Especially any trains.”

  “Kenneth, I want you to stay in the truck.” Sanchez pops the handle on the back of the procured furniture delivery truck. The rear door rolls up. “Demolitions Specialist Cromwell, Combeth and PFC Vockins, you get to ride back here.”

  “Punishment, Sanchez?” Combeth asks, half teasing.

  “No, Corporal Jameson and I will ride up front. Rank has its privilege.” She gives Combeth a flirty smile, even if she knows he’s still pissed.

  “Not much of a rank,” Vockins snips.

  Sanchez flings herself at the blonde girl’s face like a Drill Sergeant at boot camp, “We’re military on this mission. You got a problem, Private?”

  Vockins snaps to attention. “No, Sir.”

  “I work for a living. We will respect the chain of command.”

  “At ease, Corporal,” Simon orders.

  Sanchez gives the blonde her best “I’ll shiv you, bitch” stare.

  “Nick understands everything we need to reload the spent rounds. Defer to his judgement at the stores. I know you are gaining more experience outside the walls, but the vectors add newer variables every day. I know what Wanikiya ordered about minimal expending of ammo, but I tell you now, you do what you must to return.”