by SP Durnin
Looking around, O’Connor snorted. “I’d hardly call this the ‘badlands.’”
“Wait for it. Pecos is pretty nice generally, but some nights? You’d think you hitched a ride with the Doctor, fell out of the TARDIS, and ended up stranded back in the Wild West.” Ryan nodded at Jake’s pistol. “There’s a reason nearly everyone here stays armed all the time. Other than the obvious zombie apocalypse, I mean. Most in Pecos are just trying to survive. They’re good people. A few real peaches are still around though.”
Jake noticed Kat returning and kept his voice low. “Anybody in particular?”
“Fellow that calls himself Ted Jackson, for one. I’m almost positive that wasn’t his real name before the world went to hell, I mean. He runs what amounts to local law enforcement. Guess he was a gun nut before, but he’s one hell of a nice guy. Can seriously play a guitar too. Probably lucky for us he showed up about a week after it all happened, because he armed and trained almost a third of the security people here. Just don’t get into a discussion about pre-zombie politics with him.”
A small bell went off in Jake’s head for some reason hearing that. “Okay.”
Szimanski thought for a second. “The ranchers’ union can be a bunch of dicks. Kind of. What pigs and chickens they have belong to them, and they don’t let us forget it. They guard their stock night and day, but I can’t say I blame them. There were a few theft attempts by some hungry people, and a few subsequent hangings, until everybody got the, “Don’t Steal Shit” message. It’s been rough keeping everyone here fed, lemme tell you. Lots of rice and cans of beans. If we hadn’t discovered a few warehouses full of feed grain, and salvage from every Superstore we can find and clear that hasn’t been wrecked already, I don’t know if we could have made it.”
“Trust me, I understand. We’ve been living on MREs for so long I’ve nearly forgotten the taste of real food. And by real food, I mean anything that isn’t ‘fresh from the can’.” That earned him a grin as Kat bounced up and put an arm around Jake’s waist. “Ryan, this is Kat. Kat, Ryan Szimanski. He’s telling me about the folks here we don’t want to piss off. Please remember not to kill any of them without asking first.”
Cho slapped Jake on the right buttock. “No promises.”
“Oh, she’ll do well here.” Ryan was clearly amused.
“Don’t encourage her. Trust me. Just don’t.”
Laughing briefly, Szimanski continued. “There are a few who want to be King Turd on Shit Island, but they don’t have the manpower to cause much trouble. Not with the few marines and other troops we’ve accumulated from around. The occasional street fight maybe, for what some think is ‘theirs,’ or what they think they’re entitled to. But people usually deal with any shady shit themselves, so pretty much everyone manages to at least keep it polite. And by ‘polite,’ I mean they don’t shoot at bystanders. Much.”
“That’ll be a refreshing change from lunatics trying to hunt us down for our supplies. Or to convert us. Or for us to help ‘repopulate after this disaster.’ Had quite enough of those sort, thank you very much.” Kat sniffed.
Ryan tilted his head. “You guys have been through some weird stuff.”
“I know, right!” Cho went full on bubble-head.
Seeing the other man’s questioning look, Jake told him, “Ignore her. We do. Any other possible problems we need to watch for?”
“Nah. Just some odd folks. But then again, what do you consider odd in the apocalypse?” Ryan held up his fingers one by one as he spoke. “A group of stupid hipsters that are trying to preach ‘Zombie Rights,’ and compassion for the dead. They get slapped a lot. There’s a survivalist that lives just around the corner three streets down, who’s been working with a few people trying to build gardens on all the roofs. Not a bad idea I suppose. But they want to go vegan. I say good luck with that one. Oh, and the mechanic of course. Again: a nice guy, but goofy as hell.”
“How so?” Kat yawned.
“He’s been pushing for an expedition north.” Ryan shook his head. “Wants to go search for survivors and all that. Spends most of his time holed up in the vehicle shop, tricking out trucks and equipment to withstand the dead. Apparently, he knows what he’s doing too. We haven’t lost anyone on patrol since members of the town counsel standardized his modifications for any vehicles going outside the walls. He’s come up with some crazy things. But they work, so the council pretty much gives him free rein to produce all kinds of stuff.”
“What’s so crazy about that?” Jake frowned.
A wry grin passed across Ryan’s face. “You’d have to meet him. He’s got a real hard-on for going north. Though I can’t imagine why, if what you tell me is the case. One of the women he showed up with does as well, come to think of it. She’s nuts too. Goes out nearly every day with the search teams looking for supplies. Personally, I think she just likes fighting zombies.”
“It’s no picnic most days, I’ll tell you that. And messy besides.” Kat seemed impressed. “Anyone willing to take them on all the time is pretty much a bad-ass. What’s she like?”
Ryan considered the question. “Big.”
“Mama Cass vs. Zombies?” Cho ignored the frown O’Connor’s sent her way.
“No. Just big,” he clarified. “She’s about six foot tall, blonde. Pretty I guess, in a barbarian woman kind of way. Truth be told, she’s built as all hell. But she’d have to be to use that big ass sledge the way she does… Got here maybe a month or so ago with that mechanic guy and some others. Set down to the west near Toyah on the highway and made it here on their own, killing those things on the way. I’m told one of their group hot-wired an abandoned Corvette, and I’ll give you three guess who it was. Came riding up to the gate with the top down, like they were on a drive to the Gulf Coast. Freaked the guys on morning watch duty right out, and—”
“Wait. Set down?” Jake took a step forward. “As in landed a plane, set down?”
Szimanski nodded. “Yeah. I saw it myself when my guys and I went along to salvage the fuel from Chevron in Kent. Corporate jet. Think they said it was—”
“A Beechcraft.”
“Yeah, that was it. How did you know?” Ryan asked.
Jake turned to Cho. The smile he enjoyed more every day grew large across her face, and she leapt at him happily. Catching her in midair, he spun them round and around laughing as Szimanski watched on, wondering if the pair had lost their minds.
Elle and Leo moved towards them after parking their Humvee, curious about their friends’ antics.
“What’s going on?” Elle inquired.
“They’re made it!!” Jake yelled in between kisses from Cho and continuing to twirl her around.
Kat kept laughing and nearly crushed Jake hanging onto him so tightly. “That means Gertrude is here! And that Jenner guy, and those kids from the airport! They’re alive!!!”
“Are you messing with us? They’re actually here?” Elle demanded.
Kisses from a smoking hot ninja-girl were a bit distracting, so Jake couldn’t reply to the blonde’s question just then.
Leo threw up a rock-hand like he was at a Slayer concert. “Oh hell yeah!”
When Foster exited the Mimi with his niece, they found Jake’s foursome capering about like madmen.
“What’s your problem?” George demanded, making damn sure to cycle the rear clamshell door of their transport shut once more. He typed his security code into the keypad on the hatch, insuring nobody was getting in without his say so.
“Maggie and Allan and Gertie! They made it!” Elle shouted.
At that, George Montgomery Foster: ex-Naval Intelligence operative, Cold War assassin, fixer, bad-ass killer of lowlifes and all around foul-mouthed curmudgeon, went to his knees in the dirt beside his transport and hung his head.
Jake never imagined he’d see that happen. Not if he lived for a thousand years. Foster shook like a child just awakened from some awful night terror. He struck at the earth before him, bloodying his fists, ho
wling at the top of his lungs. Then he straightened and, still kneeling, sent a double middle-fingered salute skyward.
“You hear that you fuckers?” He bellowed, laughing as he flipped off the heavens. “We did it, you worthless, winged pricks! No thanks to you! Fuck you! Every last one of you halo-humping shit-birds can kiss my ass!”
Bee stared at him. “Wow. I didn’t—”
George’s arms dropped suddenly, then the old soldier keeled over face-first into the dirt.
* * *
After Foster’s collapsed his friends managed to get him into the bed of their Hummer, and then race the aging man eight blocks to the fortified town’s med center. O’Connor had fireman-carried his ex-sup inside the facility as his niece Bee and Kat all but drew down on the staff, prompting them to move their collective keisters or quite possibly get shot, thereby requiring medical attention themselves. Doc Barker, who had barely been there half an hour himself, insisted on being in charge of their crass companion, citing that he was, after all, the man’s primary care physician. That sped things up greatly, and George was hurriedly wheeled into the nearest OR.
Bee was frantic and wanted to go with him, but was finally convinced to wait outside the room with the others. Cho sat with her on one of the crippling hospital couches. While assuring the green-haired younger girl that her uncle was tough as nails, and there wasn’t really any reason to worry, Kat hoped she wouldn’t be made into a liar.
Two hours later, Barker emerged.
“From everything I’ve observed, George has suffered a mild stroke,” he informed them. “It’s something not uncommon for someone his age under excessive stress, even without those noxious cigars he’s so fond of smoking.”
Bee gave him a dirty look. “Do you want a titty-twister? I’m pretty sure I can rip your nipple right off your chest this time. No? Great. Now tell me what needs to be done without all the snarky commentary, or we’ll find out how much English I can into one.”
Barker swallowed audibly before reaching into his pocket to pull out a small pill bottle. Popping a pair, sans water, he shuddered. “And people ask me why I self-medicate. All right, all right! Just keep those pincers to yourself! God… Your uncle appears stable, so we’ve moved him to the second floor for observation. The episode wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but he requires rest and, in a day or two so long as he regains strength, we’ll evaluate him to determine if there will be any lasting effects.”
“Thanks, doc. We’ll head up to check with him now.” Jake put one hand on their slightly frazzle-brained doctor’s shoulder, half in thanks, half to steer him out of Beatrix’s reach as she strode angrily past.
“Take the stairs.” Barker told him. “I’m told the lift is a sometimes thing. They use it strictly to transport patients, since elevator repairmen are rare as unicorns now.”
When they found Foster’s room, the man was hooked up to machines to monitor his pulse and blood oxygen level. He also seemed to take the IV in his arm as a personal affront. The nurse assigned to observe him looked like she wanted to ask for a raise, but still labored mightily to take his blood pressure with a manual cuff. Once Bee, Jake, and Kat entered, the slim woman stated she’d come back in a while then left to give them some privacy.
“Yeah, ya’ better run, blondie!” George called after her. “Try ta’ stick that fucking tube down there again an’ I’ll turn your scrawny ass over my knee!”
Kat smiled. “He’s feeling better.”
“Well, he still looks like ten pounds of crap in a five-pound bag.” Bee pulled a chair close to his bed and scowled at her uncle. “What the hell, Uncle George? Can’t you be trusted to even take care of yourself?”
Foster belly-laughed and Jake noticed the left side of his face was slightly unresponsive. It wouldn’t be noticeable to many, but the writer had been around George nearly every day for few years. He saw the difference, minimal though it was.
“Ah, tryin’ ta’ say I popped a seal in my brain-holder. What the hell does Barker know? I wouldn’t trust that guy to know the difference between a stroke and constipation.” George reached for his breast pocket out of habit for a cigar. The fact he wore a hospital gown and not his customary BDUs and tactical vest somewhat ruined the gesture. “Well, shit. One a’ yous find my damn clothes, will ya’? Bunch a’ frikkin’ witchdoctors put me in this here dress an’ my ass is hangin’ out.”
Jake almost laughed. Almost. “The doc says you should rest for a day or two, so they can see what’s going on in that block of bone you keep on top of your neck, chief. It’s not a bad idea. Heck, we’re all planning to do the same. We’re safe here.”
“I got things ta’ do, boy.” Foster growled. “Need ta’ give the Mimi some TLC after rammin’ through that crowd, just in case. Doubt she needs it, but never hurts. Wanna take a look at the lines runnin’ to the number two section drive train, run a good filter on the main cabin hydraulics, make sure to—”
“Rae and I can handle most of that.” Bee piped.
Her attempt to mollify her uncle didn’t work. “Pfff. Last time I let that woman fiddle with the Mimi’s hydraulics, steering was sluggish as shit for a week. No way in hell she’s goin’ anywhere near it again.” George threw the hospital sheet off and by-god started getting up out of that bed.
“Your old ass needs to relax and stay put!” She firmly pushed him back down.
Foster gave her the skink-eye. “Little girl, I changed yer’ nappies when you were still waitin’ ta’ grow yer’ first tooth. You don’t tell me what I need ta’ do, any more than some—”
“Chief, she’s right. We’ve got a little time, and you need to use it to recover. We’ll make for the Rockies eventually, but Hess is going to come here. You know that just as well as I do. We’ll either have to run, or figure out some way to make him back off, because there’s no way we can take him in a head-to-head fight. Not even with the forces here. That MATTOC of his could ram right through the city walls let alone the gates, just like the Mimi could, and then Pecos would be done for. If we aren’t ready we won’t have a hope in hell, because it’s going to get ugly.” Jake moved to stand next to the bed. “You’re the toughest, most dangerous son-of-a-bitch I know, but you’re not at one-hundred percent and you need to be. Okay, I got us this far, barely. But you have training for situations exactly like this. You’re sneaky, underhanded, and—more importantly—skilled at making war. You’re going to have to spend serious time with whoever’s in charge of Pecos to see if a defense is even feasible, and you can’t do it as is.”
What O’Connor said acted like a bucket of ice water on the old man. He didn’t look at all happy about it, but George pulled his feet back up on the bed and folded thick arms across his barrel chest. “Fine. But then I’m re-synching the Mimi’s rear differential. Have fun shootin’ the shit with the town big-wigs while I’ll sit here eatin’ Jello and shittin’ in a bedpan for a couple a’ days. And remember ta’ find out where the damn armory is in this dump.”
“We’ll come back later.” Cho shot him a wink.
“Don’t strain yerself on my account!” Foster’s nurse was waiting with a resigned expression in the hallway and she entered as they left.
“Woman, you better not be bringin’ that damn piss bag in here. I told you, ya’ ain’t shovin’ nothing up my—”
Jake shut the door to follow Bee and Kat to the stairs. Trooping back down to the ground floor, the fact they all viewed their companion as a crass-mouthed force of nature wasn’t lost on him. But George was only a man. A man made of tooled steel, grit, and unswerving purpose, but still only a man. He could be hurt. He could be killed. However sharp his intellect remained, his nearly eighty-year-old body—while still muscular in a battle-hardened gladiator kind of way—was still just as fragile as anyone else’s. The mental and physical hardships they’d all suffered over the prior months had taken a terrible toll on him, and they had further yet to bear.
They exited the medical center and nearly collide
d with a wild-eyed Rae. Her flight suit was soaked with sweat and her hair was plastered to her skull, giving her a truly frantic appearance. “Where is he?” She demanded.
Bee was a bit taken a-back and Cho seemed totally unimpressed, so it fell to Jake to deal with this. “He’s fine, Rae. He’s awake and aware and just as ornery as ever. They’ve got him under observation on the second floor. Barker’s with him and—”
“Get the fuck out of my way!” The buxom woman brushed by him rudely, causing Jake to take a step back to regain his balance as she raced inside and made a beeline for the stairs.
“That’s going to be an interesting conversation.” Kat’s eyes twinkled. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that one.”
Beatrix shuddered. “I’ll pass. Bound to be a lot of yelling involved. And maybe a little bit of throwing things. Heavy, blunt things. At other people’s heads.”
“I don’t know. George and Brainiac there have been verbally dancing around each other ever since we reached her junkyard cache, way back in Ohio. Maybe they’ll finally do something about it.” An evil expression grew on Cho’s face.
That brought the younger woman up short. “Don’t even joke about that.”
“Who knows? The words ‘Auntie Rachael’ might have to become part of your vocabulary.”
Bee gagged.
“It could happen.” Jake attempted to hide his smile. He really did.
“I should’ve let those zombies eat you back at the ambulance in Vanita.” Bee was actually sweating visibly at the thought of Aunt Rae. “Change the subject. Now. Talking about unpleasant things like that tend to make them happen, and I’d rather not think about the hell my life would turn into under those circumstances.”
Jake loosened one of the quick release buckles on his tactical vest. It was only ten in the morning and the Texas air was already beginning to feel like living in a sauna. “Alright. Let’s get back to the Mimi and let the others know George is all right. We’ll check in on Mooney after, and then we’ve got some people we need to find.”
