The Eliminators 1

by Jacqueline Druga

  “What about the others?”

  “Well, they’re sleeping so we can fill them in later, the less people the more focused a talk can be.”

  Jack nodded. “I agree.”

  “Here comes Rigs.”

  “You sharing?” Rigs asked as he pulled up a mini chair.

  “Absolutely.” Rachel handed him a cup.

  “Ah,” Rigs sniffed it. “Jack.”

  Rachel giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” Rigs asked.

  Rachel pointed. “That’s his name.”

  “Your name is Jack?” Rigs asked. “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  “I figured it out,” Rachel said, “I brought the bottle, offered him ... Jack and he said it was his name. Actually, it was very psychic of me.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” Rigs said. “It wasn’t psychic. Barry told me you had his file. So you knew his name the whole time. I knew you weren’t reading an article on controlling your pee.”

  Jack looked at her. “You knew?”

  Rachel nodded. “But I respected your privacy. But in all seriousness, I want to talk to you both. About something that has been on my mind all day, it started at The Center, then on the RV it really kicked into gear when Bill joined us.”

  “Keep in mind,” Rigs said. “He’s not joining us. We’re dropping him at a Center as soon as we can. We can’t be responsible for civilians.”

  Rachel let out a sarcastic airy, chuckle. “Why can’t we? Someone needs to be. And Bill won’t go to a Center. I can tell you that.”

  “Then a survivor city,” Rigs suggested. “The one north of Kansas.”

  Again, Rachel repeated her sarcasm via a laugh.

  “Rach, what?”

  “He won’t go there either. Let me … let me explain,” she held up her hand. “Remember when Bill went off on this long explanation on why he was out there alone? And I said it was because he was separated from his group?”

  Rigs and Jack nodded.

  “I lied.”

  Dramatically, the same way, both Rigs and Jack said, “No.”

  “Okay, all right. The truth was I didn’t want to alarm anyone, and I wanted to bring it to your attention, Rigs and of course, Jack because it kinda sort of pertains to his situation.”

  “Rachel, what the hell are you talking about?” Rigs asked.

  “Jack, you and your team went to a former Center because you thought it would be safe, right?” Rachel asked him. “It was full of dead. And I bet you wondered how they all got in there.”

  “It crossed my mind that someone pied pipered them in there,” Jack replied. “Just like they pull them in when they sweep.”

  “Did it occur to you that maybe they were already there?” Rachel asked.

  “What do you mean?” Jack asked.

  “What if they were there. Living, setting up a survivor center and they all turned there.”

  Rigs lifted his cup to his lips. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because Bill. Bill wasn’t separated from his group. He was at a Center and moved to a survivor city. He narrowly escaped. Because they dropped them off without any food, any water or any means of protection. It took one person to get ill and that was it. How they even got sick, he doesn’t know.”

  “Wait a second,” Rigs held up his hand. “That’s suggesting that they are moving people out to die. Why would they do that?”

  “Because they can’t feed them or care for them all, you said it yourself,” Rachel said. “Where are the farms? Where are they getting the resources? The fact is they aren’t. All the survivor cities are at the center of the country. Push the everyday survivor there and leave them to die. The plan was too ambitious, and they can’t admit they can’t rebuild like they wanted. I'm betting they focus the resources on Center City where the elite live.”

  Rigs shook his head. “Oh my God, this isn’t Hunger Games or one of those Chick Dystopian novels.”

  Rachel laughed.

  “Now, why is that funny?” Rigs asked.

  “No reason, go on,” Rachel said.

  “Rach, I get where your mind is going,” Rigs said. “We’re cleansing the country so the select chosen can live and survive. I have to disagree. I don’t believe that’s the case.”

  “I can respect that. I can,” Rachel replied.

  “Funny,” Jack said. “I had my suspicions as well. That’s why I didn’t quit The Eliminators, that’s why I joined another team. I suspected that they weren’t doing anything with the towns we cleared, that they bit off more than they could chew and it was all for show. But there was no way to know unless I got there and checked, but there is a way to find out.”

  “Find out what?” Rigs asked.

  “If our efforts are for naught,” Jack said.

  “Why would they do that?” Rigs asked. “Why would they feed us, arm us, send us out if it wasn’t to cleanse the country for rebuilding? That’s absurd.”

  “Because they want the country clean,” Jack answered. “But just not for everyone.”

  “How?” Rachel asked. “How can we find out?”

  “We go back,” Jack said. “We go to a place you know you cleaned and a survivor city we know they sent people to. We go and see what is happening.”

  “And …” Rigs lifted his hands. “Let’s say you two are right, then what?”

  Jack looked at Rachel then back to Rigs. “I, uh, I don’t know. I didn’t think that far ahead.”

  “Me either,” added Rachel.

  “Fine. We’ll go back. We’ll go back to some place we hit, hell, after Riverside, we’ll even go to the Survivor City north of Kansas. We’re close. We’ll go there, we’ll see. And if you two are correct in your conspiracy thinking, we’ll figure out something to do about it. But if what happened to Bill’s camp and Jack’s team ends up just being flukes, we move on and do our jobs. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Rachel said.

  “Deal,” Jack agreed.

  “Deal,” Rigs said, then reached for the bottle and refreshed his drink.

  THIRTEEN

  It didn’t take long for Kasper to drop the zombie. He saw her in his walk from one house to the next, he pulled out the honing rod and in his pace, took her down.

  He wiped the rod on a stained towel that hung off his belt. “What is up with all of them?”

  “Did we even see the sweep point?” Rachel asked him.

  Kasper paused. “I don’t … I don’t think we did. At least I didn’t.”

  “We have to ask Rigs.”

  “Back to what we were talking about.”

  “No,” Rachel whined.

  “Rock stars.”

  “No.” Rachel shook her head.

  “Firehouse five.”

  “No.”

  “Flaming Saffrons.”

  “What the hell is that?’

  Kasper shrugged.

  “How about this for a team name,” Rachel said. “The Eliminators.”

  “That’s what we are, Rach. Not very original.”

  “No, you’re an eliminator, I am an eliminator, but how about we are The Eliminators.”

  “You know, for a woman who came up with the winning potato chip recipe you are not creative at all.”

  The radios hissed and Rigs’ voice came through. “Kasper or Rach, where are you?”

  Kasper lifted the radio. “At wits end, there Rigs. Trying to come up with a team name, since we don’t have one and get this, Rachel says we should just be called The Eliminators.”

  Hiss.

  “That’s actually pretty good,” said Rigs.

  “Ha!” Rachel pointed at Kasper.

  “I’m partial to the Flaming Saffrons,” said Kasper.

  “That’s not bad either. But …” Rigs said. “I’m asking location. Are you still on East fourth?”

  “Roger that. We have about eight houses to go. There’s a quite a few over this way,” Kasper said.

  “Okay, well we finished St. Mary’s Stre
et, did you want us to come over and help you guys?”

  “You’re finished?” Kasper asked.

  “We are.”

  Rachel lifted her radio. “You have three people. So don’t brag.”

  “What?” Rigs asked. “There’s just me and Barry.”

  “Where is New Guy?” Kasper asked.

  “He’s on East Third with Bill,” Rigs answered.

  Rachel spoke. “Wait. You let New Guy go with another New Guy.”

  “Technically …” Kasper said in the radio. “Bill would be the New Guy and New Guy wouldn’t be New Guy anymore. But Bill, Aka New, New Guy has no eliminator experience.”

  Static.

  Rigs spoke. “He’s been surviving for two weeks on his own, I’d say he has experience and New Guy is with him.”

  “Which New Guy?” Kasper asked.

  Static.

  “Guys, my name is Jack,” Jack said,

  “Dude,” Kasper said. “You’re the one who didn’t want to be called by his name because you were all afraid you’d get to know us and we were red shirts to you.”

  “I’m sorry, please call me Jack,” he stated.

  “Roger that,” said Kasper. “Okay, we’re headed into Fourteen Twenty-Six, I you want to shoot over here, Rigs, that’d be cool. Then we can head to Bashin Barry’s.”

  “Sounds good. See you soon. Out,” Rigs replied.

  Kasper hooked his radio into the holder. “So he is officially Jack now. People get so attached to us so fast.’

  “I know.”

  “Too bad he’s a red shirt.” Kasper sighed as they approached the short walkway to the small two story house. “Wow, bet this place was really nice outside before all this.”

  “I know. Look at the flower bed.”

  Kasper did. Everything was dead, they had just come out of winter. “And I bet old people lived here.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Kasper pointed to the statue in the garner. “Blessed Mother.”

  “I didn’t think there was all that big of a Catholic population in Iowa.”

  “You learn something new every day.” Kasper reached for the door. “You ready.”

  “Yep. There’s a nice picture window.” She pointed. “You want that or the door?”

  “Door.”

  Rachel cut through the dried dead grass, crunching her way to the window.

  “See anything?” Kasper asked.

  “Nothing. Knock.”

  Kasper pounded.

  Faintly they heard a growl.

  “Where’s that coming from?” Rachel asked. “Inside or out.”

  “I don’t know.” He pounded again. The grow repeated. “Outside,” he said. “Anything.”

  “Give it a minute.”

  “Why are you being so cautious?”

  “Um, after hearing Jack’s Team story, I’m not taking any chances. And it’s good.”

  Holding his honing rod, Kasper opened the door and stepped inside. He whistled twice them listened.

  Nothing.

  It was quiet.

  “Definitely an elderly couple,” Rachel said, stepping in, knowing right away from the décor.

  There was a sofa table behind the couch with photographs on it. Some were knocked over, Bloody handprints smeared against the wall.

  The furniture was in pristine condition, clearly purchased decades earlier and covered in plastic.

  Both Kasper and Rachel stood before a large framed portrait of a couple that hung on the wall by the staircase that was left of the door.

  It was one taken in a portrait studio, the couple looked happy. A man and woman, wearing their Sunday best and middle-aged.

  Kasper pointed to the year in the corner. “Oh, yeah, they were old. This was thirty-five years ago.” He peered up the steps. “We’ll hit that last.”

  “Sounds good.”

  The first floor was basic.

  A living room with a rounded arch exposing the dining room. It was a small house, not very deep. It was evident they tried to make a stand there. Lattice panels were placed in front of the dining room window. They failed. One of them was busted and bloody, it hung from the dislodged curtain rod that dangled from the holder. The window had a huge hole in it.

  “They fought. Where’d they go?” Kasper asked. “No doors are open.”

  “They lost. Why would they think garden lattice would work?”

  “I guess they were desperate.”

  “Look at all this blood.” Rachel walked into the dining room looking around. “They’re somewhere.” She stopped by the window and peered down. “Loads of blood. They probably went upstairs. Whatever got them got at least one of them through this window.”

  “Nope,” said Kasper. “I was wrong. Back door is open, they came in there or the couple left through here.”

  Rachel turned her head to him, he was staring into the kitchen. “Maybe they didn’t leave. Maybe they’re a buff,” Rachel said.

  “Maybe.”

  The radio crackled as Rigs called for them. “You guys okay. We’re on the street.”

  Rachel lifted the radio. “Yeah. Were inside. It’s quiet. Can’t find the couple, but I don’t think we will. We’re thinking they’re buffs. Most elderly and kids are.”

  “I hate when you use that term,” Rigs said.

  Jack’s voice came over the radio. “What’s a buff?”

  “It’s a term they use when a person is eaten so badly, they are too far gone to turn and rise. Buff for Buffet,” Rigs replied.

  Rachel lifted her radio to her mouth, just before she had a chance to press the button, she felt her head yank back.

  Something had her hair and they had it from the other side of the window.

  The radio dropped from her hand. “Kasper.” She called out, struggling to free herself, fighting against the strong pull of her hair that felt as if it were coming out of her scalp.

  “I got you,” Kasper said.

  And he did.

  Rachel felt the release then heard the splat and crunch of Kasper putting it down. Exhaling with a ‘thank you,” she turned around.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “How stupid was I for not …” Rachel paused and looked down, she expected to see an arm on the ground, there was none. She lifted her eyes to the window where the body of the dead hung inward through the broken glass. Its head dripped blood and his arm dangled down. An intact arm and in its hand, he gripped tightly to a ponytail size clump of hair.

  Rachel screamed.

  “What?” Kasper said.

  She grabbed the back of her head and screamed again.

  “What?”

  “You cut my hair.”

  “Well, yeah, he had you.”

  “And you couldn’t just cut off his arm.”

  “Yeah, I …” he winced. “I didn’t think of that.”

  Rachel screamed.

  “Rach, calm down. You’re alive. He could have scratched you or bit you, he could have …”

  “You cut my hair.”

  “You can’t be mad.”

  After one more frustrated scream, Rachel spun and stormed out.

  <><><><>

  “Rachel, now, calm down,” Barry spoke soothingly. They had heard her screaming and raced toward the house thinking something horrible had happened.

  “He cut my hair. Did he cut off the arm of the stiff? No. He cut my hair.”

  “Calm down,” Barry said. “It can’t be that bad.” He turned her around and looked.

  “And?” Rachel asked.

  “Wow.” Barry cleared his throat.

  “You don’t have to say anything. I feel it.” Rachel said. “I feel the stump.”

  Rigs snorted while trying to stifle his laugh.

  “What?” Rachel asked, him

  “Honestly, haven’t I been telling you,” Rigs said. “I said your hair was getting too long. I knew this was going to happen.”

  “Yeah, that’s right your solution was to wear a
braid, like what’s her name from Hunger Games.”

  “The dead can’t grab that.” Rigs said. “It could be worse. You could be bit or scratched.”

  “What am I supposed to do?” Rachel asked.

  “Rach, who cares,” Rigs replied. “Wear a hat. Or … or maybe Sandy can fix it.”

  “Why? Because she’s a woman?” Rachel asked. “That’s so sexist.”

  “No, because she’s a doctor and can cut skin.” Rigs defended.

  Jack and Bill showed up at that moment.

  “What’s going on?” Jack asked. “Someone hurt?”

  “Worse,” Rachel said. “The dead grabbed my hair and Kasper cut it off.”

  “Instead of cutting off the hand of the dead?” Jack asked then looked at her hair. “That sucks.”

  “No shit. What am I supposed to do?”

  “I have hair clippers,” Jack said. “Just buzz it off.”

  “No!” Rachel barked. “Wait. Why do you have hair clippers? You have long hair.”

  “In case I get the urge to cut it off,” Jack replied.

  Bill stepped forward lifting a finger to get Rachel’s attention and then he said something. A few of his non recognizable sounds.

  “Yes, Bill, you may,” she said.

  Bill walked behind her and examined her. “Eh, Eh, ah, Uh, a, e, uh.”

  “Yeah, I figured as much. Short isn’t bad, a buzz cut is. He scalped me.”

  Bill rattled off some more.

  “Really? You aren’t lying?” Rachel asked.

  He held up his hands.

  “Ten years?” Rachel asked. “Don’t tell me the story. You can tell me while you fix this. Thank you.”

  “O, em, em.”

  They walked toward the RV.

  Kasper snapped his finger. “I got that. I understood that,” he said with some excitement. “Bill said no problem.”

  “I didn’t understand a word he said, but …” Rigs said. “Did he imply he was cutting her hair and fixing it.”

  Barry nodded. “I believe he did.”

  With a hmm, Rigs walked away.

  “Wait,” Barry called to him. ‘You’re not sticking around to see.”

  “Absolutely not, and more so,” Rigs replied, shaking his head, as he walked away. “I’m not sticking around for the wrath of Rachel after Bill … fixes her. Bill.” Another shake of his head and Rigs headed towards a house.