Hell's Children: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller

by John L. Monk

  From the direction of the house, a large boy with flaming red hair pushed through in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Blaze said. “Who’s this asshole?”

  Blaze was big like Brad, easily fifteen or sixteen, and his red hair was cut flat on top and gelled in a spiky landing pad. His acne, coupled with the evil gleam in his eyes, made him look almost demonic. The effect was added to with every puff of his foul-smelling cigarette.

  The one Jack had been fighting shoved him from behind as they made their way to the front door. Boys and girls Jack’s age and some younger crowded around as they came in. There was a sense of excitement in the air. As if any moment something interesting or violent or both might happen.

  Everyone gathered in the large living room, which had a single fireplace in it and no stove. Despite that, the room was warm. Looking around, Jack couldn’t believe his eyes. There were space heaters in the corners of the room, as well as a king-size bed pushed up against a window-free wall. The windows had been packed with fiberglass insulation that looked ripped from an attic, and there was a big screen TV in the room showing some kind of monster movie.

  Jack couldn’t help but disapprove of all that gasoline wasting away for no good reason. Especially with everyone shivering outside in the RVs. If he were in charge, they’d be inside the house, where it was warm.

  “The new kid’s a tard! The new kid’s a tard!” shouted the boy he’d been fighting, trying to get the others to sing along.

  Nobody sang along with him. If anything, they looked like they didn’t think much of their obnoxious companion.

  Blaze flopped down onto a big black couch next to a scantily-clad girl. Her expression looked permanently bored, verging on annoyed.

  “You’re messing up the show,” she said.

  “Tom, right?” Blaze said, ignoring her.

  Tom nodded. “And he’s Joey. My cousin.”

  “Shut up a minute, Tom,” Blaze said absently, stroking his hairless chin. He took a puff from his cigarette and exhaled loudly. “You left your post to bring me this kid here—the tard. What for?”

  The boy who’d started the name-calling laughed overly loud at this, and one or two others joined in. If Blaze thought it was funny, they did too. The girl rolled her eyes and waited with suffering patience.

  “He’s got a lot of great stuff,” Tom said, swallowing nervously.

  “Blaze, seriously, you need to see this,” Joey said, turning to Jack. “Show him what you got. Show him.”

  With an indulgent smirk plastered across his pimply face, Blaze turned to Jack and said, “Well, tard? Show me.”

  Jack hoisted his pack toward Blaze and said, “Have a look for yourself.”

  Some of the others made woooah sounds, as if Jack had somehow challenged the big leader—insulted him, even. Which he hadn’t, of course, but that didn’t matter.

  Blaze rolled his eyes, refusing to bite. “Shut up while I look at this.” He opened the pack and rooted around, then dumped out the pills, cookies, cans, and candies onto the table in front of him. The pack was big, thanks to Jack’s Mom, who’d wanted something large enough to stuff the whole world into. Fully packed with junk, it weighed about thirty-five pounds.

  Blaze whistled appreciatively, then looked at him sideways. “Why haven’t you eaten it yet?”

  Jack shrugged nonchalantly. “Eh, you get tired of the sugar after a while. Too much gives me heartburn.” He’d never had heartburn in his life, at least he didn’t think so, but nobody knew that.

  “What about the pills? Those definitely don’t get old.”

  Jack shrugged. “I hurt my head the other day, see?” He showed them Freida’s stitches. “I’m better now, though. You can have the rest. Plenty more where those came from.”

  A look of greed stole over the pimply redhead. He gestured impatiently at the crowd. “Everyone, out. Except you, Eddie. We’re gonna talk with the tard, here.” When nobody moved right away, he raised his voice. “I said get out!”

  They jumped as one and scrambled out the front door. Tom and Joey, too. The girl seemed to know she could stay and didn’t get up. One other person stayed behind—a slender, mean-faced boy with a striped cap and a pistol on his side.

  The boy smirked, his expression full of contempt. “What you looking at, freak-tard?”

  Miguel had mentioned Eddie—one of the higher-ups in the gang, and not particularly friendly.

  Jack was considering how best to answer when Blaze said, “Leave him alone. Actually no, come here. Take a look at our new friend here. What’s your name, dude?”

  “Jack.”

  “Have a look at Jack, Eddie. Is he … does he look familiar?”

  Eddie came over and made a big show of looking him up and down. Apparently he wasn’t impressed. “Looks like a wimpy freak-tard. All freak-tards look the same to me.”

  Blaze was shaking his head, staring at Jack with a weird look in his eye. “Something about you, man …”

  Jack smiled innocently and bided his time. They’d never met before, though Jack of course recognized him from the two occasions he’d seen him. The first time, before fleeing his house, and later that night when Blaze murdered one of his own gang members. He was obviously trying to psych him out—probably did it to everyone he met.

  A moment more and Blaze said, “Eh, it’ll come to me. Always does. So come on, where’d you get all this? What’s this about a stash? And don’t lie, ’cause I’ll know.”

  Jack had seen people like Eddie and Blaze before. Usually at the mall where his dad took him people watching, but sometimes when he made his rounds through neighborhoods leaving flyers on doors for his knife-sharpening business. He’d observed them with an analytical eye, sizing up their strengths and weaknesses automatically as his dad had trained him.

  Blaze said, “Well, Jack? You gonna say something? I’m starting to get pissed off.”

  He’d thought he could handle people like this when it finally came to it. In Carter’s case, he’d gotten the drop on him, and he’d had the backing of Greg and Lisa. On trips to the mall with his dad, he’d been safely protected by the customs of civilization, where nobody carried a gun except police or soldiers. Now here he was, no parents, no police officers, half-dressed girls smiling at him like they wanted him to smile back, and guns everywhere he looked. He’d never been so far out of his element before.

  Eddie said, “Answer him, dummy. He asked you a question! Don’t you got sense enough to answer a question?”

  But he trusted his parents. In all their field trips and all their lessons, everything came back to one thing: motivations. People always wanted something, even if it wasn’t real, like money or cupcakes. Greg and Lisa wanted his friendship, and all the benefits of that. Tony wanted a strong leader, and Steve wanted safety for himself, Molly, and her baby. And every day, people wanted food and a place to sleep and protection from the cold. The wild bunch outside wanted the security offered by brutes like Blaze more than the uncertainty of striking out on their own.

  “Dammit, kid,” Blaze said through clenched teeth, “speak up or Eddie’s gonna beat the shit out of you. That’s what Eddie does.”

  So it didn’t matter that he was a total fish out of water on this one, because everything was exactly the same. The rules of the game hadn’t changed, only the pieces. Eddie could look as tough and mean as he wanted and nothing would change that. Blaze could be huge and spiky-haired, smoking cigarettes and acting scary as all hell, and that girl could keep freaking him out staring at him like that. None of that mattered, because his compass had found true north at last, and it wasn’t moving.

  “That’s it,” Eddie said, smacking his fist. “I’ll make him talk.”

  The boy approached languidly from behind, not bothering at guile or speed, secure in his superiority, at home in his environment. Which is why it was easy to duck his slow, ponderous haymaker and jab him hard under the ribs, dropping him gasping to his knees. Jack�
�s old karate instructor would have been proud. He probably wouldn’t have approved of the follow-up kick to the ribs—bad sportsmanship—but some things couldn’t be helped.

  “Oh, wow!” Blaze said, laughing, clapping his hands. The girl’s eyes widened slightly, but that was it. “Eddie got the crap kicked outta’ him by the new guy.”

  Eddie struggled to his feet, gasping for breath and holding his side, eyes raging.

  Calmly, Jack indicated the contents of his pack, now strewn on the table. “There’s a whole room full of this kind of stuff, all the way to the ceiling, with almost nobody guarding it. Just a few kids with hunting rifles they can barely use. I’d hoped to enlist the world-famous Blaze and his so-called Pyros to score more food and drugs than they’ve ever seen. But if this guy’s the best you have”—he looked derisively at Eddie, throwing back the same scorn he’d received since showing up—“then maybe I made a mistake.”

  Eddie launched himself forward, arms outstretched. Jack sidestepped toward the table, hooked it with his foot, and tugged it in front of him. Eddie slammed into it shin-first and toppled over. Jack kicked him in the same side as last time, causing his breath to whoosh out in an involuntary scream.

  To Jack, Eddie’s motivations were clear: regain whatever reputation he’d lost after squirming around on the floor like that. It wouldn’t be long until he pulled that pistol on his side. To head that off, Jack kneeled on his back, popped the clasp on the holster, and pulled it free.

  Sure, he could have shot Blaze if he’d wanted to. He could have done that with his .40 caliber, still hidden under his shirt. But it wouldn’t serve any purpose. Also, he was tired of killing, even though he’d learned he could do it without throwing up. He felt guilty about what he’d done to Ray—and later, at the Dragsters’ headquarters. A little worried, too. That wasn’t who his parents had raised, or the person he wanted to be. For now, though, it was who he needed to be if he wanted to help his friends.

  Blaze’s eyes had gone very wide at the sight of the stranger he’d been pushing around brandishing a pistol and nobody there to protect him.

  Jack smiled innocently, placed the gun next to a package of peanut butter cookies, and said, “What do you say we stack this place high with canned food and happy pills?”

  29

  At first, Blaze seemed excited by the possibility of a house full of junk food and drugs. Then a strange girl showed up who could only be his sister, and everything got derailed.

  Jack wouldn’t call her ugly—or anyone ugly, really—but she was definitely odd to look at. She had wild eyes, tangled red hair, and a perpetual scowl. She stormed in howling at the top of her lungs because of some insult, real or imagined, from someone outside.

  At one point, she noticed Jack standing there and screamed, “Who the hell is he?” Not waiting for an answer, she ran at him with hands hooked into claws, slashing the air and spitting when her brother grabbed her around the middle and dumped her onto the couch. The girl sitting there leapt out of the way and cursed at her, further adding to the drama.

  “Dude, get out of here,” Blaze said to Jack, his face a mask of annoyance and embarrassment.

  When Jack started toward the front door, Blaze said something to the first girl. She nodded and stopped him just as he reached for the knob.

  “You’re sleeping upstairs tonight,” she said simply. “Stay here. I’ll get you a heater.”

  He nodded and tried to ignore the shouts from the living room. The girl left and stayed gone a few minutes. Just when he thought he’d been abandoned, she came back with a small space heater.

  “Come on,” she said and led him up a wide, sweeping staircase.

  Jack cleared his throat. “That’s his sister?”

  The girl laughed. “Alice, yeah. She’s out of her mind. They had her on schizo meds before the Sickness. Now there’s no meds, least not the kind she needs. Does the dirty with every boy around, too.” She looked back at him and smirked. “But I wouldn’t if I were you. She’ll freak on you and try to stab you or something. Killed one person already. I’m Amber, by the way.”

  Blinking in surprise, he held out his hand. “Jack. Nice to meet you.”

  Amber glanced at his hand, snorted, and escorted him down a hall to an open door.

  “This okay?” she said.

  Before he could reply, she walked in with the heater and plugged it in near a big bed covered thickly in blankets and comforters.

  “This used to by Ron’s room. Alice stabbed him in the throat. Right on this bed, as a matter of fact. Just snuck in and did it. Don’t worry, the blood’s all dried. I don’t think the lock works, but maybe you can block the door with something.”

  Jack just stared at her, desperately trying to process everything he’d seen and heard. “Should I get a different room?”

  Amber stepped in closer than he was used to anyone standing. Her head was tilted down, and the effect when their eyes met took his breath away. “I saw the way you handled Eddie. He’s a mean little dickhead. Likes to punch people. You need to watch out for him, now that you beat him up. He lives outside, but comes in when he wants to. Just so happens I have a lock on my door.” She leaned in and kissed him on the lips too quickly for him to react. “After Alice settles, Blaze’s gonna be on those pills you brought. So what do you say? I mean, unless you’re a fag or something.”

  Adrenaline-spiked blood rushed to his recently bashed-in head, causing him to wince in pain. When he rubbed his head, she shoved him away.

  “Don’t flatter yourself!” she snapped, then stalked from the room. Over her shoulder she added, “Oh, and you’re welcome, by the way. Didn’t have to get you that heater. Only did because he said to! Stupid fag!”

  Seconds later, stunned by what had happened … wondering what could have happened … he called after her. “Goodnight!”

  Down the hall, Amber slammed her door in answer.

  “Well, that was different,” he said, and turned to examine his suddenly very important door.

  He pushed the little brass button, gave the outside knob a twist, and it turned easily. Clearly broken, just like the strange, homophobic girl had said. He looked around for something to jam against it, like a chair, but all he found was a big dresser on the far side of the room. He considered dragging it over, but didn’t. Too big, too noisy. Also, it would send the wrong message.

  One thing he’d learned growing up camping and hiking was never show fear in front of a wild animal. It only encouraged them to attack. By blocking it so obviously, they’d know he was afraid. Instead, he took out the smaller top drawers and stacked them in the way. If anyone came in, the clatter would wake him up and scare the intruder, possibly sending him or her fleeing.

  “Awesome,” he said, admiring the ingenious little structure.

  The room was cold, though not freezing, thanks to the space heater. The thick mound of covers helped, too. Despite that, he couldn’t sleep. Occasional snatches of manic yelling from downstairs jolted him each time he started to nod off. Also, his mind kept turning back to the half-dressed girl, her kiss, and her taboo invitation. He wondered about that, what it meant. He thought about Lisa, and pondered how he felt about her. They’d had no real time together alone since their second kiss. What time they’d had, nothing much happened except a few lingering looks and secret smiles. Hardly the stuff of epic romance.

  Public schoolers seemed to mature earlier in these things. Not for the first time, he found himself envying these so-called cabbages. Maybe he’d been wrong to let his dad’s prejudices influence him.

  He must have fallen asleep because he suddenly found there was someone sitting next to him on the bed. He tensed and tried to get up.

  Blaze grabbed his shoulders and said, “Relax, man, I just came to talk.”

  Jack struggled briefly against him, then stopped when the message sank in. Blaze. In his room. Wanting to talk.

  “Sorry about Alice. She’s been sick for a long time. Way worse now than befor
e.”

  Alice? Oh …

  “Uh … yeah,” he said, voice raspy with sleep. “Sure, man. No biggie.” When he didn’t leave, Jack added, “Totally understand.”

  The older boy still didn’t leave, but he relaxed his grip and let go.

  “So what’s up?” Jack said.

  Blaze didn’t speak. He just sat there.

  Jack was content to wait him out. Maybe Blaze was doing the same thing, waiting him out, because a good five minutes went by in silence like that, just the two of them. And because he was still drowsy, Jack began to fade.

  “Dude, you asleep?” Blaze said quietly, shaking him. “I can come back later if you are.”

  “Huh?” Jack said, startled back awake. “Um. No, I’m fine. What’s up?”

  “I noticed you’re not with Amber,” he said. “Don’t worry, I told her she could. She’s cool like that.” He smiled suddenly. “Bet she didn’t like it when you said no, did she?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “She’s got a big heart, that’s why.” The silence between them grew again. “Alice … she killed someone last week. Everyone expects me to do something about it, but she’s my sister. They keep it up, I’m gonna shoot someone, and it won’t be her.” He went quiet a moment, then sighed. “Still, I can’t go shooting everyone. Eddie won’t lay off me about it. And after what you did today …” He shrugged. “Any other time, I’d have loved it. But it’s a real bad time for you to be here if you’re gonna beat up my best men.” He turned his head this way and that, peering intently at Jack’s face. “I swear there’s something about you. You sure we never met?”

  Jack nodded carefully, unsure where this was going. “I’ve never met you. Sorry about Eddie. I had a right to defend myself, didn’t I?”

  Blaze shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He reached down to Jack’s belt and tugged, causing him to tense up in a shock of understanding. Then he pulled the .40 caliber from Jack’s holster and held it up.

  “Would you calm down?” Blaze said, laughing and waving the gun. “I’ve been thinking about this really hard. I’ve changed my mind a few times, just so you know. I want you to keep it.” He handed him back the gun. “I’m trusting you, see?”