“Go on,” he said calmly.
She jumped again, scurrying for Sam’s truck, and spilled its contents out onto the pavement. The other scavengers wasted no time gathering up the group’s hard-earned supplies.
“Keep an eye on her.” The burly man pointed at the girl. He grabbed his crotch and aimed a thumb at the convenience store. His closest companion shrugged and got back to the business of removing Sam’s battery, spark plugs, and any belts he could easily reach.
“Nobody move,” Marisol whispered as the man approached the front door.
The burly man tried the handle a few times, but the door wouldn’t open. He leaned in close to the glass. His hands up on the window and cupped against his face to shield his eyes from the sun, he kicked the door in apparent frustration.
Nisha jumped and squealed. Sam grabbed her and held her tight, covering her mouth with his free hand.
“Shh,” he whispered. “He’ll go away, darling. Just stay calm.” Sam tried to reassure the terrified woman. Tears streamed down her cheek and collected against Sam’s leathery hand.
The burly man kicked the door again. This time, Marisol slowly unsafetied her weapon. The others followed suit. She leaned into the crack for a better view, and a sigh of relief overcame her. She smiled wide as she motioned for Aiko to take another look. Aiko peered through the hole and shared Marisol’s relief. Both women slumped to the floor, breathing again. The large burly man was leaning against the front door, pissing all over it. The yellow stream pooled at his feet, eventually seeping beneath the door and into the store. He leaned his head back, stretching his neck, and seemed lost in thought as he stared at the clear blue sky through a hole in the porch’s overhang. A whistle from one of the other scavengers ended his brief downtime.
“Motherfuckers,” he uttered as he quickly shook himself off and rejoined the dregs.
The three men and the young girl loaded themselves into their van and sped off in the direction of their caravan. Marisol holstered her weapon and breathed a sigh of relief. Once again it was quiet and they were alone.
Sam released his grip on Nisha. “You okay, girl?” he asked while brushing hair from her wet cheeks.
“No,” she whispered, sobbing. “I’m not.”
Sam put his arm around her, gently this time. Nisha hid her face in Sam’s chest and cried. “It’s okay, Nisha. They’re gone. Just let it out, sweetheart.”
• • •
Soraya found the scorched corpses of Tobias and Tommy just inside the cellarway door; it looked as though they were on their way out. She prayed that they succumbed to the smoke and not the intense heat. The dog was nestled beside the boy, hairless and black. Tobias’s arms gripped his son’s lifeless body, both victims charred, hair and clothing mostly burnt away. The blaze was so intense near the center of the fire that both bodies had large portions of exposed bone where the soft tissue had been completely incinerated. No skin remained on their extremities. Bone poked through their feet, heads, knees, elbows, and hands. The fire’s heat fused the two corpses in an eternal embrace.
Jeremiah and Radzinski helped Soraya remove the bodies from the rubble. Seth and Bernie had just finished digging graves; they began the task soon after the surviving Burkes had been escorted away. Before Tobias and his son could be buried, one final decision fell on the group.
“We cannot bury them like this,” Soraya insisted.
“I’m not wasting ammo on that. What’s done is done.” Radzinski was adamant. “Let’s just put them in the ground and move the fuck on.”
“Soraya’s right,” Seth added, barely keeping it together. “I don’t want to think about them coming back like this.”
“If they come back,” Radzinski replied. “We’re not even sure how any of this works yet.”
“Sure we are,” Seth bit back. “You die, you come back. What’s so goddamn hard to figure out?”
“Whatever.” Radzinski walked away. He was well and truly over the discussion.
“I will do it myself.” For Soraya, the sight of half of a family burned alive, gone in an instant, resonated. The young Israeli didn’t let on if her stance was in response to family of her own a thousand miles away or something else entirely. She was going to see to it that Tobias and his son had a proper burial, damn anyone else’s thoughts on the matter.
Soraya jumped into the shallow grave before removing her dull-black kukri from its sheath on the back of her belt. She recited a short, solemn prayer in Hebrew before standing in silence and paying her final respects. Soraya’s blade fell multiple times across the necks of Tobias’s and his son’s burnt corpses. She knew that wouldn’t be enough to be sure that they stayed down, so one at a time, she sank her blade deep into their skulls. The crunching of burnt flesh could be heard as far away as the vehicles. Some of those who were within earshot vomited. Samantha covered her ears as best as she could and cried.
The deed done, Soraya placed the heads down by their feet. She gently moved Dusty over to the second grave, then made her way for the well pump to clean up. As she passed the largest portion of the group, she grabbed a blackened shovel and tossed it at Lancaster’s feet. “You bury.”
“Man, she hates that motherfucker,” Radzinski commented. He tried to cover his grin as he stole a glance at Soraya changing her grime-encrusted shirt over by the water source.
“If you saw what he did while we were escaping Pepperbush, you would, too,” Seth added. “It should be him in that fucking hole.” He snatched the shovel away while shoving Lancaster, who tripped and fell to the ground. “Get away from him, you piece of shit. You didn’t even like this man.” Seth loomed over the former mayor while gripping the shovel tightly with both hands, its blade dangerously close to Lancaster’s neck.
Lancaster scurried to his feet in silence and retreated to a large rock away from the rest of the group, frustration etched upon the man’s face. Two weeks ago, no one would have dared treat him like this. “Fuck these people,” he mumbled. The idea of stealing one of the trucks and setting off on his own dawned on him, though the thought of severe consequences should he fail to escape discouraged him from pursuing the scheme.
“Jeremiah, are you listening? Over,” the radio blared. Any interruption was welcome.
“Aiko, this is Miller. I was just going to call. We need you back here on the double. What’s your sitrep?”
“That’s a negative, sir,” she responded with a sigh. “We’re going to need a pickup. We lost Sam’s truck.”
“Say again,” Miller inquired.
“I’ll explain later. Just send someone for us. We should stay off the radio.”
Rachel was listening just beside Miller, her face contorted in a mixture of confusion and worry.
“Go get them,” ordered Miller.
“On it,” she replied, sprinting for Tobias’s SUV.
“Rachel’s en route. ETA seven minutes.”
“Roger that.”
Bernie and Elliot came into view from a trail on the north side of the burnt-out cabin. A scruffy old man in tattered rags walked ahead of them at gunpoint.
“Hey, Miller,” Bernie yelled. “You’re not going to believe this shit, but we found this old buzzard spying on you guys from the woods. Take a look at him. His hair, his clothes, they’re all singed up. I think we got our firebug right here,” he announced excitedly as he pushed the man toward the anxious group.
“He had a crate of these stuffed under a bush up the hill a way.” Elliot handed Miller a Molotov cocktail.
“More than that, he’s got all kinds of stuff up there. Axes, knives, baseball bats with nails in ’em.” Bernie paused. “And they’re all covered in blood, if you can believe that.”
The sight of a possible culprit stirred up emotion in all of them; the gamut ran from sympathy to outright rage.
Radzinski grabbed the accused by the back of his shirt. “You burn this house down, old man?” he said up close to the man’s ear as he shoved him along. “While I was in i
t?” he added.
The old man rambled behind a long gray beard, its ends curled and blackened. “Those things, those things are in my house. How do I get them out? There’s only one way to get them out.”
“What are you going on about?” Miller grabbed the man’s chin and forced him to look the soldier in the eye. “Did you start this fire or not?” he demanded. “Answer me!”
The man continued. “Fire, they don’t like fire. Fire keeps them away. If I burn down the house, they won’t be in the house.”
“Son of a bitch.” Seth drew his sidearm and walked with purpose toward the old man, intent on shooting him on the spot.
Miller interceded. “Not yet. Radzinski, secure the prisoner. Tie him to a tree or something. Just get him away from the crowd. Jeremiah, radio the others. Find out where Rachel’s at. I want them all back here on the double.”
Seth holstered his weapon. He was shaking so badly he could barely secure it properly. Rage swelled. It took every ounce of his being not to tear this man apart. He walked away lest he take matters into his own hands, though he never took his gaze from the old man.
“You can’t be serious. You were just going to kill him?” Samantha asked. “Just like that?”
“Fucking right I was!” Seth shouted. “Or were you too busy doing whatever it is you do to see Tobias and his boy all burnt up in a goddamn hole?” He grabbed her by her arms, demanding a response. “Answer me! Did you see him burned up?”
“That’s not fair. Of course I did. It’s just—” Samantha wasn’t allowed to finish.
As Seth began to calm, he removed his hands from her body and lowered his head. “Tell that to Isabelle, how fair you think it is. If she doesn’t do it, I’ll shoot him myself.”
Miller interceded. “No one is doing anything until the others get back here. That’s Isabelle’s family in shallow graves, not yours, not mine. Whatever decision she makes, we’ll respect it. Am I clear?” He said with determination as he looked around at the gathering crowd. He tried his best to size them up, to gauge who could or couldn’t be left alone with the prisoner.
“We’ll see,” Seth remarked.
“So that’s it then. We’re animals now? We get to choose who lives and who dies, just like that?” Samantha asked.
Damon made his opinion on the matter known. “Oh, get over yourself, you self-righteous bitch,” He added. He never missed an opportunity to pile on. “These animals are the only reason you’re alive. Maybe if you contributed once in a while, your opinion would matter.”
“Coming from you? What the fuck do you do?” Samantha retorted.
“I don’t get in the way and I don’t ask stupid fucking questions. That’s what I do,” Damon replied.
“That doesn’t even make sense, and who the hell do you think you are, anyway?” Samantha was boiling over with anger and confusion. She was normally inclined to take a back seat to the decision-making and exclude herself from arguments altogether, but there was something about Damon that stirred up mistrust in her. Whatever it was, she knew she didn’t like the guy.
“That’s enough, both of you.” Miller wasn’t about to let the group self-destruct. “If you need to work off some steam, help Seth bury the bodies. I want those graves presentable before Isabelle and Lillian get back.”
• • •
Miller and Jeremiah watched from a distance as the old ragged man continued his incoherent ramblings. Bernie stood nearby. He had helped Radzinski bind the prisoner to a large oak. His legs and arms secure, his back to the tree, the old man was powerless to do anything save gaze upon his handiwork—the still-smoking remains of the cabin.
“He’s probably been watching us since we arrived,” Jeremiah suggested. “All he would have had to do was study our patterns, know when to move, and we’d never see him.”
“Makes you wonder.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think he’s crazy at all. It’s an act. As a matter of fact, I’m willing to bet he burned us out because there’s so many of us. Imagine a small group. I mean like two or three people tops. What would he do with them?”
“Jesus, so the cabin’s a trap?” Bernie asked.
Miller shrugged as Soraya appeared from behind the burnt-out husk. “You guys are going to want to see this. Over the ridge, just past the tree line, not half a klick away.”
Miller, Soraya, Bernie, and Seth stood at the rim of a large hole in the ground with at least a foot of water in it. The hole had a cement bottom and cinder-block walls. This was obviously the basement of new construction, now a makeshift death pit where the hermit disposed of his victims. The cavity was filled with dozens of bodies of various ages and sizes. There was no discernible rhyme or reason as to how he chose his victims or why. Luggage, coolers, bags of what looked to be clothes, and maybe even some groceries all melted together in a grotesque soup. A few carriers that obviously fell in the pit were feasting away on the remains of unlucky souls foolish enough to stop at the cabin, themselves forever trapped as well.
“My God,” Miller gasped. “There’re dozens of them down there.”
“Poor bastards,” Bernie muttered. “Wonder what he does with their cars.”
“There is another hole over there with cars in it.” Soraya pointed out another plot of land a little farther down the hill.
“That cuts it, man. We can’t let this guy go.” Seth was enraged.
“Agreed,” Miller replied through gritted teeth. “I’ve seen enough. Double-time back to the cabin. We’re going to finish this and get the hell out of here.”
When Miller arrived back at camp, the mass of survivors was gathered around the prisoner. The bound man and Isabelle were surrounded like this was a schoolyard fight. Insults and cheers erupted while she pounded on him. Her fists were bloodied as her delicate skin gave way to his coarse features. A pair of her knuckles split open on contact with his teeth. The teeth didn’t fare as well, one chipping and the other breaking off completely. The crowd erupted as the man spat out a mouthful of blood and gurgled some nonsense no one understood.
Samantha came running up to Miller. Tears streaming fast becoming a trademark. “Do something, please. She’s killing him!” she cried.
“Good,” Seth answered, pushing past her and into the fray.
“You’re just going to let this happen?” she pleaded.
“This has to happen,” was Miller’s only response.
Seth forced his way through the crowd and up to the scene, where he eased Isabelle aside. “Take a break,” he said before getting in his turn. Seth sent a barrage of fists into the man’s ribs, ending with a pronounced crack the entire crowd couldn’t mistake for anything but a broken bone. He finished up his shot with a right cross that dislocated the man’s jaw.
Isabelle returned for a final brutal volley, one that didn’t end until long after the hermit’s nose was broken and his right eye socket smashed. By this point, the man’s jaw was so badly fractured that the right side of it flopped at a ninety-degree angle from the left. She leaned a forearm hard against the man’s chest, her head slumped against her arm as she caught her breath.
Soraya approached. She gave Isabelle one of her knives and backed off. One final deep breath and Isabelle proceeded to stab him repeatedly in the chest, neck, and stomach. Blood exploded from the wounds, pouring down his front and covering both of them in red. The cutting only lasted for the briefest of time, as she was spent from her earlier rage. Isabelle collapsed at the old man’s feet, panting. Seth reemerged with his sidearm drawn, prepared to shoot the old man in the head.
“No.” Isabelle winced, holding a bloodied hand up before pulling herself to her feet. “Don’t shoot him,” she gasped, fighting for breath.
“He’s right, Isabelle. If we leave him like this, he’ll just become one more of those things to bite someone else down the line,” Miller cautioned.
“He’s not coming off that tree until he rots off of it.” Isabelle smashed a fist-sized rock
into the dead man’s mouth, breaking most of his teeth in the process, and wedged it in deep, pushing it into the back of his throat. What remained of his jaw was forced open past the breaking point. She cut a sleeve off of the man’s shirt and tied it around his head to secure the rock in place. “Now,” she panted, blood dripping from her face and mouth, “he’s not biting anyone.”
For the most part, the group dispersed. Most remaining at the scene at least turned their heads. Samantha sat in the dirt with her head down, sobbing.
Radzinski eyed Isabelle from top to bottom as she passed. “Oh, I like this one.”
• • •
After the group was given ample time to decompress, most of them lingered around the vehicles. It went unspoken, but it was time to go.
Miller joined Seth at Tobias’s grave. Sam lingered nearby. Most of the others sat alone or in small groups and in quiet contemplation over the afternoon’s events. The camp was solemn and quiet after Isabelle’s display.
“What went down in Pepperbush. Shit, it all happened so fast it was almost like a dream. No real chance to take it all in, but now this?” Seth was pacing. “Man, it happened right in front of us. Everyone scrambling to escape, but it was just there, feet away, all around us, and there was nothing we could do to stop it.” He was barely making sense, but Miller got the gist of it.
“You can’t let yourself dwell on it, Seth. You have to pick yourself up and carry on. It’s the only way.”
“Harsh, man.” Seth stopped his pacing, leered at the ruined old man across the property, then returned his gaze to Tobias’s grave.
“Maybe, but it’s the truth. Nothing is going to get you dead faster out here than being trapped in your head. If you need it, take a minute to gather yourself or pay your respects, but I need your help with these people and they need a familiar face, now more than ever,” Miller replied.
The Roaming (Book 2): The Toll Page 11
