Deserted Lands (Book 2): Straight Into Darkness

by Robert L. Slater

  LIZZIE JERKED AWAKE. ZACH LEANED against the fake wood of the RV’s paneled walls. The morning sunlight streaming through the blinds striped dark shadow lines across his face. “Shit. I fell asleep?”

  Zach’s eyes shot open and tightened at the brightness of the sun. “Yeah. But I woke up after a couple hours and kept an eye out until dawn, then I must have fallen asleep, too.”

  Lizzie groaned, rubbing her lower back. “Crappy couple of spies we turned out to be.”

  Zach scowled at her. “I assume you didn’t see anything before you fell asleep.”

  “No.” Lizzie yawned and stretched, stepping back down the ladder. “Pretty boring.”

  “It was quiet on my watch,” he said. “Not even a whisper of humanity inside those gates.”

  Lizzie’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Let’s see if we can get in then!”

  “Sure.”

  “Hungry?” Lizzie pulled a silvery pop-tart pack out of her backpack and tore it open. She handed him a few big chunks of the mutilated pseudo-food.

  “Thanks.” Zach shoved the smaller bits in his mouth and popped the RV door open.

  Outside, Lizzie took a deep breath of the frosty morning air. The promise of the sunlight streaming through the windows turned out to be a lie; the pale disc offered no perceptible warmth.

  Lizzie sucked pop-tart crumbs from her fingers as they made their way toward the gatehouse.

  A weird clacking sound came from the road.

  “Car,” Zach hissed, tugging Lizzie away from their path. The sound grew, and he broke into a run. He glanced back to make sure Lizzie was keeping up. A cement irrigation ditch angled toward their path, he pointed and changed direction toward it. He jumped in and went down to his butt.

  Lizzie plopped down beside him, her breath coming in quick bursts of steam. Zach glanced at his watch and showed it to Lizzie. 5:55 a.m.

  The sound of the vehicle sputtered out. Another engine chugged to life in the distance. Lizzie popped her head up over the edge.

  “Stay low,” Zach ordered.

  Lizzie shushed him with a finger to her lips.

  She leaned her head sideways so she could see over the edge with one eye. Black smoke floated in a cloud away from an old Plymouth station wagon. A balding, black man stood next to the gate as an armored Humvee drove up from inside the compound. The flashing light on top flickered a pulse of blood red across the snow. Two soldiers with full tactical gear and semi-automatic weapons stepped out of the gatehouse.

  Lizzie hit her forehead with the heel of her hand and mouthed the word ‘stupid.’ They had been watching all night, and assumed it was safe, but they hadn’t watched it during the day. Here they were, ready to saunter up to the gate—saved by the putter of a clunker, right before they made a stupid mistake.

  Lizzie pulled the white hoodie over her head and rolled to her knees to get a better view.

  Zach copied her. The chain link gate slid back and the two soldiers came out. They made a quick circuit of the car, using a mirror on a stick to look under it and flashlights to point inside as they opened each door and the hood.

  Two more soldiers waited by the Humvee, armed and alert.

  “Shit,” Lizzie whispered, “they were there the whole time. You think they saw us?”

  “I think we’d be prisoners if they had.”

  Lizzie glanced at the calculator watch on her wrist. “Maybe. Or they were taking bets on how far we’d come.”

  The man looked bored. He ignored the soldiers as they completed the inspection and waved him through. The big gate clanged shut and the soldiers returned to the gatehouse. The Humvee escorted the black-cloud-spewing station wagon into the compound.

  “They look different to you?” Zach asked.

  “From what?”

  “From the wanna-be soldiers. Only one I’ve seen move like that is Captain Foote, everybody else in Provo is just playing soldier. These guys are the real deal—US military. Not just squatters.”

  “Weird. Think of it. Most of everybody died, and yet they still managed to scrape together enough soldiers to guard this base? Unless somehow the soldiers were all vaccinated against the flu and the government…” Lizzie’s brain ticked away running through all the possible conspiracy scenarios.

  “I think you’re reaching—I saw plenty of the soldiers with FEMA crews dead of the virus.”

  Lizzie shook her head, as if to get back to the point. “Well, you’d think the few soldiers left in the world would have better things to do. Glen’s not going to be happy about this.”

  “Oh, well.” Zach shrugged. “You did him his favor. Mission complete.”

  “Shit. You’re going to drag me back, aren’t you?”

  “Kicking and screaming if I have to,” Zach said, his lips tight. “I think we can continue down this drain until we’re out of sight.” He slid forward on his hands and knees.

  There he went, like she would just give up and follow him. She knew she had to go back. How could she have thought about leaving Saj? Or her father for that matter? Now she had to go back and be protected again.

  Going on the mission had been good, freeing. But then why did she feel like shit? “Zach?” Lizzie whispered, moving after him.

  He turned back to her.

  “Thanks for helping me. Not treating me like a helpless baby.”

  “You’re welcome.” He smiled at her, and for the first time in a while it seemed genuine, but still sad. “Let’s get out of here.”

  At least she and Zach were talking. That was something.

  Once they were in the RAV, he said, “I’ve got a surprise for you...from Glen.”

  The mention of the gift reminded Lizzie’s that she still didn’t completely trust him. But she was excited about Glen’s present. She held out her hands. “Should I close my eyes?”

  “Probably not. It doesn’t look like much.” He pulled a smartphone out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. “Turn it on.”

  Lizzie pushed the power button. The phone beeped and a Sprint logo with GlenPhone underneath it popped up.

  “First thing is, I think Glen’s more paranoid than you. This phone won’t show up on the network the city folks have set up.”

  “And?”

  “And… you’ll find out the rest. Some cool things on the phone.” Zach’s grin made Lizzie a little sad. He used to be so much more cheerful. The last time she had seen him this boyishly excited was the morning she’d accidentally slept with him.

  The phone finished powering on and the screen lit up the interior of the RAV with a soft blue glow. “What things?”

  “I think the coolest thing is this.” He showed her the screen and pressed an icon titled JumpStart. There was a spinning line like a sonar screen and then a beep. A series of numbers and letters appeared on the screen with three choices underneath: lock, unlock and start. He pressed the lock button and the RAV locked, then he pressed start and the engine started. “Glen says it doesn’t work on all cars, but most hybrids and ‘lectrics had a glitch, if they didn’t get the recall fix, it works. He’s gonna get me a phone like this, too.” He handed it to her.

  “Cool,” Lizzie said, “for you. So I can steal your car? Why is this one for me?”

  Zach beamed like he would burst. “I think Glen left you a voice mail.”

  Lizzie pressed the ‘message’ icon and then play when the first message came up. ‘Lizzie? Glen. Check out the voice mails after this. Whatever happens in terms of your mission, thanks. Even if it doesn’t work out. You still owe me Mountain Dew.’

  Lizzie pressed the ‘next’ button. ‘Lizzie, it’s Mama. Please call me and tell where you’re gonna be. I tried Chad and he said he didn’t see you at school today.’ Tears streamed down Lizzie’s cheeks. “Oh, my god, Zach. How’d he do it?”

  “He’s a fucking genius. Happy Birthday.” Zach leaned over and gave her a hug.

  “Thanks, Zach.” Maybe he was just trying his best to keep everyone safe. “I’m gonna call
Glen to thank him. Oh, and tell him the bad news.”

  “I’ll get us back home.” He shoved the RAV into drive and headed back toward Provo.

  Lizzie was still annoyed about going back, but hearing Mama’s voice gave her a resilience she hadn’t felt in months. She called Glen who apologized for not being able to get her the videos. He was pretty stoic, and not really surprised, that soldiers were in control of the data center.

  She ended the call when she saw how close they were to Provo. “Drop me off at the edge of the city. I need to walk.”

  “Can I trust to you to be safe?”

  “Hell if I know, Zach,” she blurted. “Sorry. Let me off where you know it’s safe. I’ll come home. The truth is, I’m not ready to leave—yet.”

  “Okay,” he sighed. “I appreciate your honesty.”

  Was he letting her have her way because he could so easily bully Glen into tracking her? She looked at the new phone—both a blessing and a curse.

  “This area,” Zach said as he pulled over, “has been tagged, but not collected. Do me a favor and stay out of the red ones?”

  Lizzie watched the taillights of the RAV as it pulled away, then trudged back towards home.

  This area was the edge of civilization now. The city proper, where everyone lived and the amenities and most of the new government offices were clustered, was still a few miles away. But the Collectors had been here, meaning that some semblance of order was being imposed on these streets again. The windows of the houses were marked with green plusses, orange check marks and red Xs. It was like a giant game. A first person shooter. No wonder Zach enjoyed his job so much.

  Most of the houses had orange checks. The one red X on this block jumped out from the rest. It drew her in, even as she shook her head. Don’t be Crazy Lizzie.

  The door knob was cold and turned easily. For a moment she paused. But after scanning the street in both directions and seeing nothing, Lizzie shoved the door open. The unmistakable smell of death lingered, not as strong as it must have been a month or two ago. Other than the smell, the house looked undisturbed. She stepped forward and flipped on the light. Her eyes caught movement, she spun to see herself reflected in the giant screen wall TV that dominated the living room.

  She stepped forward into the kitchen and stopped. Bodies. Not one, but several, slumped over the kitchen table. Bowls of cereal that had soaked up all the milk still sat in dried pools of blood. A rat the size of a cat sat on the kitchen table; it stared at her for a moment and then went back to its feast. Sounds of scurrying around her told her it wasn’t the only one.

  A man sprawled on the far side of the kitchen, the gun still near his hand. The perpetrator. There was a hole in the ceiling behind him and blood splayed out across the wall.

  A whole family. Gone. ‘Saved’ from dying of the flu—or the world that came after.

  Bile rose in Lizzie’s throat. She had stopped vomiting from pregnancy and now… She spun to the sink and threw up purple Pop Tart mush. It could have been her brains splattered on a wall—using her mother’s jerkwad boyfriend’s shotgun. Those first days alone in the house, she had considered her own options many times. If Jayce hadn’t already died, would she have considered his options for him, like this guy did for his kids? Was this what parenting was in the end—deciding when it was time to shoot them in the head?

  She stumbled back outside, slammed the door behind her, and froze.

  A cougar and her kittens padded softly down the street. As the mother saw Lizzie, her lips peeled back to display long fangs; the cubs crowded around her muscular legs. A low growl emanated from the cougar. Lizzie dared not move, pinned by the cougar’s fixed stare, but standing still did not seem to be convincing this giant cat that Lizzie wasn’t a threat to her young. Muscles rippled under sleek, golden fur as she padded toward Lizzie on massive paws.

  Lizzie jumped up on the edge of the faux-stone wall that enclosed the porch, and waved her arms. “Go on. Scat!” she yelled. The cougar stepped forward. Lizzie screamed, windmilling her arms.

  The cougar turned around, nudging her kittens along their path, clearly deciding there was easier prey. When the cougar was out of sight Lizzie stepped back off the wall, her pulse pounding and hands shaking.

  A sound of soft clapping spun her around. A woman stood on a rooftop with a crossbow held in the crook of her arm and a rifle over her shoulder. “Bravo,” she said in a stage whisper.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Lizzie growled.

  “Nice language.” She held her hand up to her lips and pointed past Lizzie. “Wouldn’t want to bring the mama cougar back.” A smirk teased across her face. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Lizzie. You know, you coulda done me a solid and shot that cougar before she ripped my throat out.”

  She nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Lizzie. I see no throats ripped out. Besides, this is her land again now, why would I shoot her just for hunting on it? We all have to eat.” The crossbow dropped down, hanging from an old leather guitar strap. “My name is Kylie, Utah Independents.”

  Lizzie tried to keep her face impassive. Goddamn Independents.

  “I didn’t realize you were so helpless, Lizzie. Want me to walk you home?” Kylie sneered.

  “You’re not going to kidnap me?” Lizzie gave back as much snark as she got.

  Kylie laughed out loud. “Jesus, what do people think we are?”

  “Rapists, kidnappers, killers…”

  Kylie’s shocked expression seemed genuine. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “Didn’t hear anything. Saw it with my own eyes. We had a gun battle with your boy, Travis—a friend died.”

  An angry flash of recognition flashed in Kylie’s face. “Travis wasn’t an Independent.” Her pleasant smile disappeared. “He was a Collector. And a killer.” There was venom in her comment.

  “He had friends in the Independents. I was there.”

  She spat in the snow and swallowed with a grimace. “He kills his friends. My son,” she said, staring at Lizzie, “was one of his friends. The men who helped him were wing nuts. Independents always draw a few, but then so do government factions, right? Most of us are just trying to survive. Like you.”

  Lizzie stared back at Kylie. Was she telling the truth? “How old was he?”

  “Sixteen. Small for his age. He wanted to go into the city, Provo. Be a man. I told him he was too young, but what could I do?” For a moment Kylie looked old and vulnerable, but anger washed it away. “The benevolent government of The City won't bring Travis to trial and convict him. They won't even banish him where I can get to him.”

  “I'm sorry,” Lizzie said. “What was your son’s name?”

  “Quentin. Quentin Blocker.” Kylie forced a smile. “My offer stands. I’ll walk you further into town. ”

  “I’ve got a friend. He’ll come pick me up.”

  “All right. I’ll skedaddle before he gets back.”

  “Maybe I'll pay Travis a visit. Ask him about Quentin. Let him know you're waiting for him.”

  “You do that, Lizzie.” Kylie’s perpetual smirk gave way to teeth. She did a mock salute and disappeared over the roof.

  Lizzie pulled out her phone and dialed Zach.

  “Change your mind, already?” Zach’s voice asked sarcastically.

  “Yeah.” Lizzie forced a slow breath out. “Cougar. Scared the shit out of me.”

  “Oh.” Now he sounded properly contrite. “How far are you from where I dropped you?”

  “About two blocks. One left and a right.”

  “You know this is going to make me late for work.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Yeah. I’ll turn on the Harley engine sound in the RAV. Find me. The cougar will avoid the noise.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You want to stay on the phone?”

  “No. I’m good.” She hit End Call and stepped tentatively off the porch, keeping an eye on the last spot she’d seen the cougar. She retraced her steps, s
hivering at the sight of her footprints partly obliterated by a series of paw prints. In the distance she heard the lup lup of Zach’s RAV sounding like a motorcycle, and jogged toward it. She’d done more running in the last two days than she’d done in months. Her pregnant body was starting to protest; all of her muscles were sore.

  Chapter Five

  AS ZACH CROSSED OVER INTO the collected streets, Lizzie stared out the window in silence. He punched the red button in the RAV, switching from motorcycle to landspeeder.

  Graffiti and posters plastered the empty storefronts: The end is at hand and BoNZ were repeated. What the hell was BoNZ? Boys of New Zealand? The latest pro-birth poster was old style, based on the Uncle Sam, I WANT YOU, recruiting call. Except they had replaced Uncle Sam with a lovely redhead, in patriotic garb, beckoning: DO IT FOR YOUR COUNTRY.

  He rather admired the art, but it was all unnecessary. His hormones did not need a poster to encourage him to start procreating. If they should be making posters for anyone, it should be for the women. Nev was still reluctant. Maybe it was her upbringing and she would come around once they were actually married.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lizzie holding a hand over her still flat belly.

  “Guess we were ahead of the curve,” he said, pointing at the poster and trying to get some sort of positive response from Lizzie.

  She rolled her eyes.

  He let the RAV glide to a stop and then turned off the engine. Lizzie sat, subdued beside him.

  “Sorry.” She tried to give him a smile.

  “Yeah. I know.” He was on duty in 20 minutes and he’d barely slept. He turned to her. “Lizzie?” She stared straight ahead. “I don’t want you to promise not to do anything this time, if you do you’ll be even more likely to do it. But, please think about letting us in on it. Think about the people who love you. None of us want to be your jailor—I know I don’t. Hell—I’m starting to feel like my dad and you know I sure as shit don’t want to turn into that bastard.”

  She shrugged.

  “Look, I’ve got 20 minutes to check in with Nev and get to work.”

  “Call in sick.”