Karen signals for them to duck and back away from the edge of the tree line. Dog. A big dog. How long has it been since I’ve heard a dog? Even at Acheron, there are only two dogs I’ve seen.
“Someone has also taken the time to trim the trees. Those fresh cut tree stumps allow for a kill zone,” Alec says.
“Someone put in a lot of work on this place. I’d bet a group we don’t want to encounter,” Karen says.
Barking of several large dogs echoes.
“Doggy!” Grace jumps and claps with excitement.
“Doesn’t sound like a pet,” Alec says.
“Everyone stay out of sight. Alec, come with me.”
Kalvin notes Karen’s newfound attachment to the cowboy since last night and her speculations they’ve a mole. I’d place bets on Paola being the turncoat. Do anything not to go back to the jail.
Karen and Alec approach the far corner of the building. Ten dog runs separate well-fed pit bulls.
“Those are fighting dogs,” he whispers.
“We back out of here and go around,” Karen orders. “Scary. If they’re secure enough to train fighting mutts, we need—” The racking of a shotgun causes her to freeze.
“Don’t move!” orders the voice behind them. He clicks a radio mic clipped to a bandoleer strap flipped across his shoulder. “Bubba. I’ve got snoopers. I call dibs on—”
Alec stabs the scraggly kid in the gut with a Bowie knife, snagging the shotgun from the bleeding boy before he withdraws the blade. “Move.”
Karen resists the urge to punch him. She darts back to the group, running low. She grabs her pack. “Move.”
The group gathers their gear. None of them move with the urgency necessary to escape. Two days without enough sleep, and constant travel, has left them weak and Alec stupid.
Cadences of angry barking draw closer.
Karen knows they’ve unleashed a few of the dogs to pursue them. “Shotgun!” Kalvin tosses her the weapon. She racks the slide.
The group flees through the woods, away from the blacktop.
We won’t travel quick enough to outrun trained hunting dogs. The pit bulls will rip us apart. Karen allows the biggest of the four dogs to reach leaping distance of her and fires. The jerking action sends the spent shell from the ejection port. A second shot echoes.
A whimpering mass of pink meat tumbles to the grass, the dog’s momentum sending its bulk skidding across the grass.
Two blasts ring in Alec’s ears. Without protection, hearing issues will befall them all. If they live to escape the dogs. Alec lowers the smoking rifle he procured from the kid. Striking the second closet dog was not buckshot but beanbags. The high velocity, non-lethal ammo collapses the dog, but doesn’t kill it or deter the remaining two.
A final round explodes from Karen’s weapon. She grips her stock to swing it like a bat. The hot barrel bends against the skull of the fourth dog. Alec releases the last two beanbags and bolts after the rest of the group.
“We need to slow. Cover our tracks. We’re leaving a trail Stevie Wonder could follow.”
“Those dogs will catch us if we slow.” She draws her pistol.
“Noise. All the barking and booms will attract biters and our other pursuers. Even the dogs will have to deal with biters.”
“If they’ve time to raise fighting dogs, this group is more dangerous than those chasing us,” Karen says.
GENTARRA LEANS IN the passenger window of the truck to greet Ethan. “You let Serena drive. You’re braver than I thought.”
“She’s useful. Mouthy, but useful.” Ethan slips from the passenger side, fighting the urge to kiss Gentarra. Confirming rumors they shared affections might place her in danger. I knew caring about someone would lead to clouded thoughts.
She points to the truck bed. “Success?”
“Profitable. Stashed my boat.”
“This is how you want it.”
Ethan nods. “You’ve a semi outside. How many of your people are ready to travel?”
“None. The knights brought us the flatbed and fuel. The professor asked why, and Corduroy explained what we were planning, and Professor Plum forbade it. He told everyone everything’s fine. Leaving would be a death sentence.”
“And they believe him.” Ethan rolls his eyes.
“Wouldn’t you? And winter’s so far away. He says we’ll have plenty of food. People cling to hope, no matter how false it seems, over the horrid truth,” Gentarra says.
“Serena popped her left ankle.” Ethan plants a hand on the open window of the truck.
“It’s not like we’ve ice to put on it.” Gentarra scolds the girl as if she were five. “Are you able to walk?”
“Yes.”
“Then get yourself to the infirmary and get it wrapped,” Gentarra orders. “Girl, you’re going to be the death of me.” She pets the top of Ethan’s hand.
“Let’s go. I’ve the guns. I’ll get anything else we need along the way.”
“I bet you’re good enough. But I won’t leave these people to die here. You said you need their numbers.”
“I do. But the aftershocks are damaging what’s left of the infrastructure and many bridges and roads will be impassable.”
“That might convince them to stay. Corduroy thinks we need another truck. You speak to the people, convince them to follow you while the knights procure a second, and we’ll go. Fuck Professor Plum. You circumvent the professor’s authority.” Gentarra nods her head toward the knights circled around their camp.
“You know I’m going to explain to them they’ve no crops,” Ethan says.
“Win over the knights, preferably without killing them, and the rest will follow. Anyone who wants to stay with the professor you don’t need,” Gentarra says.
“Any advice?”
“Don’t get killed.” She pats his rump. The loose jeans don’t do the tightness justice.
“All or one of them?” Ethan asks.
Gentarra connects with him, understanding his question. “The leader, Shayne. Don’t let the potbelly fool you.”
“Time to make new friends.” Ethan slips his M&P from its holster. “You stay with my cache.” He slips his gun into her hand, whispers, “You shoot anyone who touches our guns.”
Ethan unzips his tactical vest. His fingers brush over the cure for an undead bite. His shoulders tinge with pain. Last night’s workout left him with scratches. He glances at the group of men circled around a firepit.
A metal coffee pot steams on glowing embers. The center knight, and leader of the group, draws a wet stone down his sword blade. Ethan’s hand shifts to his Magnum handle as he witnesses one of the knights slap one of the young women on the ass.
“I know that look. Calm yourself. They’re the new boy’s club around here. They’ve the run of the place and none of those girls are being forced,” Gentarra says.
“As a woman, you’ve a strange definition of being forced.”
“We all pay for it. If they need to spread their legs for trinkets, then let them. I find it funny. I mean, some smelly guy brings back a shiny necklace that has no value anymore and you give yourself to him. I mean, if they were fucking for food, I’d have less condemnation for them,” she says.
“I thought you’d have a different view.” Ethan slips off his vest. “I don’t want anyone taken advantage of.”
“They’re not. Trust me, they want this. Don’t be so sensitive.” She slips the vest around her shoulders. “When was the last time you laundered this?”
“I’ve seen people at their worst in the last ten months. A lot of rapes since the end of the world. I don’t get why, as soon as the world ended, so many men turned into mad rapists.” Ethan fumbles with the leg straps on his gun belt.
“Men are naturally aggressive. This end of the world shit activates those animal urges. Besides, I’m not sure it’s not nature.”
“Even in my most mind-numbing, passionate moment, if a woman said no, I could stop. I had an ex-wife who liked
to test me.”
“She was stupid. After a major natural disaster, did you know women naturally get horny? More than normal. Nine months after the earthquake in Haiti, the birth rate soared. It’s nature’s way of species survival.” Gentarra smiles.
“I accept your theory as plausible, but why do men rape if women are so willing?” Ethan slips his gun belt from around his waist.
“Same reason, but on a grander scale. This plague’s so devastating we must perpetuate the species. Men are driven, uncontrollably, to spread their seed.”
“We’re not animals. We can control our urges. None of these men had impregnated anyone.”
“I don’t know.” Gentarra leans in to whisper in his ear. “Ever since the earthquake, I’ve been so horny.”
“I’m not ready to love again.” Maybe never.
“I said horny. Fuck the shit out of me. I don’t want love. Pull my hair and hump me until my legs don’t work, horny,” Gentarra says.
“I’m a little out of practice.”
“You mean you’ll have to keep doing it until you get it right, like last night?”
“I’ll manage to do that.” If I survive my next move. Ethan marches to the circle of knights.
The largest man, honing his sword, speaks. “We got a truck. Fully gassed. It costs twenty rifles and three crates of ammo.”
What did Corduroy promise in my absence? Ethan releases a derisive huff. “Even with a few hundred rounds, your group won’t last here. You’ve exhausted prepacked food, and your garden has been trampled.”
“Gentarra spoke of your camp. Too far. Not worth the risk. South provides better choices, and we won’t freeze to death.”
“You’ll starve to death here, and without my guns.”
“Thirty guns or no truck.”
“I don’t need it. No one wants to leave. They all think you’ll feed them and keep them safe.”
“And I will, with those guns.”
“I can see we’ve a failure to communicate.”
Shayne rises, puffing out his chest, sucking in the gut. Ethan towers over him, but the man’s mass would impose fear on most people. “You’re the one not understanding. The rifles or no truck. Doesn’t matter if you use it. You bought it. Payment due.”
“Before this turns into a useless waste of male bravado, know I’ll kick your ass.”
“You may be brave against the undead, but I fight back.” He waves his blade.
“Is that a challenge?”
“Shayne,” the man to his right protests.
Ethan detects the warning tone. I need him angry.
“I’ll challenge. This shit may be good with a gun, but no one bests me with a sword.”
“I’m the one being challenged. I thought I got choice of weapons.”
“Then I name the stakes.” Shayne’s smile drips confidence.
“You can choose the weapon,” Ethan says, “but my terms are your loyalty against half the guns.”
“Shayne!” the man to his right scolds.
“You want my loyalty, which means I follow you into hell against half your guns. All the guns when I win. Including your shiny hog leg.”
“Done,” Ethan says.
“Shayne. You can’t speak for all of us.”
“Shut up. I’m the leader, and I’ll be triumphant. Give the man your sword.”
The knight complies.
Ethan takes the blade. He fumbles the weapon, almost dropping it.
Gentarra cracks the chamber to check for a live round. It’s live. She won’t allow Shayne to kill Ethan. She expected her lover to have some knowledge of sword play. Now she wonders if he’ll be able to defend against Shayne.
Ethan holds the sword as if he doesn’t have the arm strength to raise it. She knows he perpetuates a ruse. The weight of the Magnum tugging at her shoulder proves his muscle tone, and the way he held her last night, she knows his muscles. He could pick up a small automobile, at least crush her with those arms. The dangling holster strung across her chest like a bandoleer weighs heavy on her, and he draws the weapon as if it were a feather pillow.
The knights rise. Others in the camp gather in a circle, forming a makeshift arena. Ethan rubs his chin whiskers with his left hand. Too bad the sun’s setting, I could use the advantage of light in his eyes.
Shayne raises his broadsword. Ethan matches his stance, copying it as if he has never held a sword before. With struggle, he matches the sword angle, only keeping it lower.
“I’ve never used a broadsword before,” Ethan admits. It’s a fact.
He blocks the first blow with a wild flail and jumps with a teen-girl squeal at the second impact.
The more Ethan behaves like a scared child, the more the crowd cheers. This instills bloated confidence in Shayne.
Ethan blocks each blow—badly.
After most of the camp has gathered to witness the trouncing of the outsider, Ethan ceases his rope-a-dope.
Shayne huffs, needing a breather.
Ethan blocks the next blow with an overexaggerated arm extension, opening his chest for a puncture wound. When Shayne steps in to end the combat, Ethan sidesteps, bringing his left hand down in his best John Wayne haymaker, busting Shayne in the mouth.
The man has the fortitude to take the punch. His anger boils forth when the crowd laughs at the insult.
Ethan shifts his footing, drawing into a defensive stance as if the broadsword was a foil, giving him more reach.
Shayne swings wild, not noticing his opponent’s body adjustment.
Ethan ducks the blow and drives his right fist in an uppercut. With the weight of the sword behind it, it’s like punching with a roll of quarters in his fist.
Blood splashes from Shayne’s mouth. Ethan slides in, planting his body against Shayne’s center mass, and heaves. He presses the 230-pound man in a dead lift above his head.
The veins, tendons and muscles strain in Ethan’s neck. He releases a barbaric yelp, heaving Shayne into a stack of loose straw.
The man bounces.
I got to get back into the gym. Ethan grabs his blade. He has released a demon or ended this. “You done?”
Shayne uses his sword as a cane to push himself to shaky legs. The impact knocked out his wind. As the sun dips below the horizon, and twilight hides most faces, the knight knows their eyes lose respect for him.
Ethan recognizes the rage. Killing Shayne won’t give him the knights.
“No one said this was a fight to the death. Call it over. I’ll give you the guns you’ll need to lead these people to my camp, where they’ll be safe and grow crops not trampled into nothingness by the undead. They’ll have food for the winter.” Ethan doesn’t yell, but he projects loud enough for all the residents to know Shayne holds their fate.
Gentarra slices open the single box of MREs from the truck bed. She tosses a few of the packs to those people she knows don’t get as much to eat as the others. After all twenty-four packs are gone, she pitches the box on the coals. “What Ethan offers is a chance to survive. No one will pretend this trip isn’t dangerous, but we don’t have enough food stuffs to live through the winter.”
“It’s June. We can grow crops,” a voice in the crowd hollers.
“No. What the professor and I,” she stresses the I, “have hidden from all of you, is there’s no more corn seed to replace what was trodden, and the knights have not found any. We’ve cleaned out all supplies within a safe distance of our camp.”
Ethan admires how she doesn’t throw the knight under the bus, allowing Shayne to be the hero in this mess. He tosses the blade at the knight who loaned it to him.
Shayne joins Ethan in the circle. He drops to one knee as if in a King Arthur movie. “You’ve my loyalty.”
“If your men come with me, we’ve rules at my camp.” Ethan speaks so all those gathered hear. “You work, or you don’t eat.”
“We’ll scavenge, and we’ll kill the undead. You got that kind of work there?” Shayne asks.
&nbs
p; “I do.”
“Then we’ll get along fine. But I want guns for the truck.”
“I’ll arm everyone. Everyone will have to be on guard the entire trip. Everyone who works will be fed,” Ethan repeats.
“Leaves the professor out,” someone mumbles.
“We’re adaptable. And do you have electricity?” Corduroy asks from the back of the crowd.
“Yes. Power and hot water! We lack housing for individuals, but as we add more residents, we expand our walls and bring in more houses. If not at first, within a few months, everyone will have their own room in a house.”
“Better than starving here,” says another voice in the crowd.
“Any of your warriors have special skills?” Ethan asks.
“Hahn has a cock that would make a horse cry.”
The men chuckle.
“Not the skill I was looking for.”
“We all had jobs in the old world, but being a knight’s the only skill keeping us alive. It doesn’t matter what we did before. I’ll never drive a forklift again.”
“We assign people jobs based on skills. We still need welders,” Ethan says.
“Samuel was a banker.”
“Not much call for office workers.”
“I’m better with a sword, anyway,” Samuel says.
“I’m leaving,” Gentarra explains. “The knights are leaving. Pack your gear; we load trucks tomorrow.”
A new voice in the crowd, “We don’t have enough food for any journey.”
Ethan lifts his gun belt off Gentarra’s shoulder. As long as the crowd is with me. As he marches toward Chet’s real wood home, he locks the gun belt into place around his waist.
At a full-speed John Wayne swagger, he loses his limp during the momentum, his boot landing on the door below the knob. The force of impact splinters the wood, flinging it open.
Glad it worked. Creating a fucking effective display. Had it not moved, I’d have been the fool, Ethan thinks as he steps inside.
“What the fuck, Ethan!?” Serena, fully exposed in full-freckled glory, ceases in mid-hump of Chet, who now scrambles for the reason he brought the redhead into his bed.
Ethan kicks the bag of guns from Chet’s reach, placing the Magnum barrel against the tip of his nose. “Give me a reason.”
No Room In Hell (Book 3): Aftershocks Page 29
