by Brown, TW
“Nope. Just passing through.”
Chunk slipped out and very slowly approached his comrade. The two began to whisper back and forth for a moment. At last, Coveralls nodded and turned back to face my general direction. “If you’re looking for a place to settle, you might try the high school. Seems a small community is taking root there.”
That was interesting. Were they trying to send me to my death? Have they encountered Don Evans and his people? I had to believe they had. That would mean they were actively trying to get me hurt or killed…or worse. And yes, knowing Don Evans, there are worse things than death.
“Why aren’t you folks there if it is such a good idea?” I finally shouted back.
Either they had no idea I was watching them, or they were just plain stupid. They looked at each other, and even from here I could see the worry and confusion cross their faces. They leaned together and started whispering frantically and pointing in my general direction.
“We got a good thing going right where we are,” Coveralls finally replied.
Chunk was actually nodding his head. Slowly at first, then like a frantic bobblehead doll. The fact that these people were trying to actively get me killed was not sitting well. Truth be told, it was downright pissing me off.
I’d had enough of people and their crap. How had we devolved so quickly? How could anybody worth a damn make it a point to try and have somebody killed.
“How about you go see if they are okay with me maybe showing up at their door?” I asked, my voice tight as the anger turned to a cold ball in my gut.
Once more their reaction was visibly obvious and a giveaway. I swear I could see the sweat beading on Chunk’s forehead. They looked at each other, each one gesturing for the other to either say something or at least make a valid suggestion. When they did break the silence, I was admittedly caught off guard.
“You one of them, ain’t ya?” Coveralls shouted. I watched as he gave his rifle a quick once over. Meanwhile, Chunk was creeping of towards the hedge that ran down the left side of the house.
“One of who?” I watched Chunk as he vanished and felt the coldness in my belly spread through my body when the last thing I saw before he vanished from sight was him gesturing to Coveralls to keep talking.
“Th-th-them folks over at the school,” Coveralls stuttered. “You come here and killed those folks when they refused your demands. That fella with the big mouth and the school bus sporting that machine gun.”
That confirmed at least one part of my suspicion. They at least knew about Don and his people. It also seemed likely that, until they had jumped to the erroneous conclusion that I was one of his people, they were trying to send me that way to have me ended.
And then I heard the creak of a board. It was very slight. It came just as Coveralls ended his little accusatory rant. I turned sideways so I could see out the door of the bedroom as well as out the window and Coveralls.
“Why would you think I have anything to do with those people?” I asked as I drew my .45 and very carefully and quietly deactivated the safety.
I watched the stairs and was rewarded with a tuft of very curly hair bobbing into view. He paused for a moment.
“Them folks been trying to tell us that we got one week to start delivering a certain amount of goods to their front doors…” the man started hollering, but I stopped listening as I focused my attention on the mop of blondish hair.
When Chunk’s head cleared what was the floor of this level and turned my direction, I saw his eyes widen as he took in the pistol pointed at him. His eyebrows shot up and his mouth formed an almost perfect ‘O’ as he realized that I had him.
I gave only a slight shake of my head right before I squeezed the trigger. I saw his head rock back and gore sprayed from the back of his skull as the bullet exited. I heard his body tumble back down the stairs and I spun back to the window.
“Perry? You get him?” Coveralls shouted.
I closed one eye as I focused my aim on the man down in the street. Once I felt I had him, I stepped into the open window frame.
“Nope.” I squeezed the trigger.
The bullet caught the man in the chest. I watched a dark stain spread across the fabric. The man looked at me and his mouth opened and closed twice before blood began to trickle from the corners.
He sorta fell to his knees. The rifle in his hands slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground with a clatter.
I stood there for a few moments as I let it all sink in as I watched, a pair of zombies stumbled out of the brush. They made their way to Coveralls who was sprawled face down on the ground. They paused briefly, but then continued on. Apparently they only dined on fresh meat. I wasn’t sure if I knew that before this moment or not but made a point to remember it now.
I checked the safety on my weapon and holstered it. After one more walk through the residence and a pat down of Chunk—who was apparently named Perry—where I found little worth taking, I headed out.
I was now determined to go scout the Don Evans compound. I stepped outside and caught a whiff of the undead. I looked toward where the couple that had stumbled into view had headed. They were gone, and I also realized that the wind was blowing in the direction they had vanished. That meant it was likely I had company coming.
I knelt beside Coveralls and gave him a good pat down. His rifle looked good and worth taking. As an added bonus, he had a pocket full of shells that I also confiscated.
On his belt there was a really ornate looking knife handle. I drew the knife from the sheath and smiled at the razor-sharp blade. Unfortunately, he wasn’t carrying any sort of food or water, but I guess he didn’t really need to considering he was right by his home or whatever he called it.
The only other thing that caught my eye were his boots. They were in much better shape than mine. I gave a push and was even more excited to discover they were steel-toed. The best part was that they were my size.
I sat down and removed his and then unlaced my own. I figured I could stash my original pair back inside the house and grab them on my way back through.
I just finished putting on my new pair when I heard a voice from behind me.
“How could this be possible?”
8
Pain and Suffering
The sound of Natasha Petrov’s raspy voice made my stomach curdle. I turned around to face the woman and almost didn’t recognize her.
She was dressed in leather adorned with metal strips and studs. Her gloves had three-inch spikes across the knuckles. There were also large spikes at each elbow. Her face had changed. She had a still-healing, and obviously deep, gash that ran across it from just above her left eye and all the way down to her chin. She was wearing an eyepatch, so I had to imagine there would be nothing but an empty socket underneath. But that all paled compared to the ugly stump smashed into an ill-fitting prosthetic.
Her lips were twisted to a sneer, but it was made even more sinister due to how that gash on her face ran through the right side of her lips.
“Evan Berry,” the woman practically crooned as five men emerged from the bushes behind her, “had I known you were here, I might’ve come sooner.”
“After our last date, I didn’t think you’d be interested in hooking up again,” I retorted. Okay, so not super witty, but it was better than standing there like a mute idiot.
“Donnie is going to be so happy to see you,” she said, apparently ignoring my weak barb. “Do you know that he is simply one of those people who can’t let things go? He really felt slighted when you ran off. And when he found out about the company you keep…well, he was more than a little disappointed.”
The team travelling with Natasha fanned out. They were not going to give me a snowball’s chance in hell of escaping. As they did, her one good eye narrowed, and it took me a moment to realize that she was staring at something over my shoulder.
“That weapon…I’ve been seeing those around lately. You must tell me where you obtained it,” she sa
id, her voice flat as she seemed almost transfixed by the club that the Rag-and-Bone Man had given to me.
“Found it,” I replied with a shrug.
“Oh, Evan, you are such a terrible liar,” she almost purred in her rough voice. “But that will make our time together so much sweeter.”
I was caught. There was no way out. If I drew my pistol, chances were good that I would be dead before it cleared the holster. I’m no Ah-nold, or Sly, or Bruce Willis. Also, I was the only one that did not have a weapon drawn, and I was willing to bet that the safeties were off on everything pointed at me.
“But we can get to the fun stuff later,” Natasha said as she approached me with her awkward limp. “I’m curious when you became a raider. You seemed more like the hide-in-a-group-of-sheep-and-start-a-farm sort. Never pictured you as a raider…an actual survivor.”
“I guess you never really got to know me.” I shrugged my shoulders and allowed a kernel of hope to start growing. Maybe they would be foolish enough to offer me a place with them. If that happened, I would simply bide my time until I got close enough, and then I would kill Don Evans.
Okay, so it was unlikely that things would be quite so easy, but still, as it stood, my options were slim. I had to hold on to that tenuous hope that I would get a chance.
“Take his gear,” Natasha ordered.
I could now count ten men and women total besides her as half of them converged on me. The other five hung back, weapons still aimed at me. They were not going to make any stupid mistakes and give me a chance to go out in a blaze of glory.
I felt a strange anger when the weapons that the Rag-and-Bone Man made were confiscated. Somehow, those seemed more personal. The fact that Natasha seemed so interested in them only amplified my feelings. I noticed that she made a gesture to the person holding one to bring it to her.
“This baby has barely seen any action,” the woman observed as she examined the weapon. “You just got this, which means you either found his cart, or know where he is.”
I stared back at her, not willing to say a word. I had no idea how she knew about him, but her degree of interest seemed dangerous…for him.
With another nod, my hands were pulled behind my back and zip tied. One of my captors kicked me behind my knees and I fell to the ground hard enough to cause me to yelp.
In a flash, Natasha was in my face. “If your pain threshold is that low, you are in for a really bad day.”
I looked up at her with as little emotion on my face as I could muster and said, “Why not just kill me if you are so set against me for whatever reason.”
“Whatever reason?” she snarled as she backhanded me across the face. “Is your memory that poor?”
I felt the sting and then my mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. I made a point to return my gaze to her slowly. When she started to lean in again, I spat a mouthful of blood at her. The bright red splatter caught her square in the face, and I don’t think I was able to hide my smirk.
Of course, that earned me a serious beat down. In a flash I felt boots kicking me in the back. I landed on my stomach and could do nothing as I felt more blows to my legs and already aching ribs.
I could hear Natasha shouting something, but in the chaos, I couldn’t make out what was said. It was a mercy when somebody kicked me in the side of the head.
Everything went black.
***
When my eyes opened, it took me a few moments to realize it. Sound was actually what helped me deduce that I was conscious. The room itself was pitch-black. I couldn’t even see an outline of light where there might be a door.
Outside, I could hear what sounded like…cheering? Or was that screaming? Could it be both. Knowing Don Evans, the answer to that was most assuredly yes.
I have no idea how long I lay on the floor before I realized that my hands were no longer bound. Once I did realize, I climbed to my feet. Stumbling about, I managed to figure out that I was in a room not much bigger than a closet. Three of the walls felt like concrete, and the door felt like it was made of metal.
I considered banging on the door, but after careful thought, decided that letting them know I was conscious might not be the best course of action. There was still a chance that somebody might come here, open my door, and then I could take them down and possibly escape.
After what felt like an eternity, I heard somebody jangling keys on the other side of my door. I’d had plenty of time to consider all my options. The best plan seemed to be for me to play possum. I would likely only get one shot at this. My element of surprise was the best choice as far as I was concerned.
The door opened and my plan disintegrated in the bright beam of light that burned even through closed eyelids.
“On your feet,” a male voice barked.
It was not easy to stand as I struggled to open my eyes even the tiniest bit. It was even worse as, just that fast, all the various plans and contingencies I’d come up with as I sat in the dark had been foiled by something as simple as a high-powered flashlight. Hell, it could’ve been a normal flashlight for all I knew.
I was yanked forward, stumbling over my own feet as I remained blind. Rough hands shoved me face first into the wall and zip ties were applied once more.
After a few unsteady and staggering steps forward, I began to see blurry shapes. There were sounds all around me that I could not recognize at first. Eventually, I realized I was in some sort of kitchen. Since I knew Don Evans had taken up residence at Sandy High School, I had to figure this was the cafeteria kitchen.
As my vision returned, I could, in fact, see several people chopping, washing, and prepping veggies. Cans were being opened and the contents poured into large pots. In one corner, a trio of deer were hanging from pipes. They’d been field dressed and were now apparently curing.
I could also smell fish, and at one counter, I saw a group of women and children pulling fish from a plastic bin and gutting them. Everything here appeared to be running with an almost military efficiency.
Despite my thoughts and feelings, I was impressed with what Don seemed to have put together here. There was one big thing missing as I took in my surroundings.
I saw not one single smile.
I walked along, occasionally, my escort would jab or shove me. I think he was simply trying to set the tone that he was in control since I was actually walking along without putting up any resistance.
We emerged from the cafeteria and continued along a hallway. It was definitely the high school. I passed by classrooms—most of them empty, but a few of them converted into what appeared to be living quarters—as we wove through the complex. At last we came to a set of double doors and the gymnasium.
This was a huge dorm now. Only, from the looks of it, this was not a family zone. Everybody I saw was sporting a variety of weapons.
In an instant, I was hit with a chilling revelation. There had to easily be over a hundred people here. And these were just the ones I’d seen so far. As we had approached the gym, I could hear a lot of noise. Some of it just general conversation, but there were also moans and cries.
I was led through the gym and found it strange that my presence did not seem to garner more than a casual glance. Did that mean this sort of thing was the norm?
We exited the gym to outside. We crossed a parking lot and I could now observe that the fencing had been extended to seal off this area as well as the ball fields ahead. There was a large metal construct that acted as a gate, and a giant pulley system that would open it. This parking area had a dozen heavily armored school buses. Three of them had machine guns mounted on their tops.
Don Evans had certainly been busy. This was a bona fide post-apocalyptic compound. It was almost textbook from any zombie book or movie I’d ever seen. Whoever said that pop culture was useless would be eating their words if they were to observe this.
I couldn’t deny being impressed. And that feeling was dominant until I passed the first cage-like structure. That was when the rea
lity of what I was facing hit me full force.
Several Hispanic and African-American men, women, and children were huddled together inside. Their crying mixed with pleas for food and water tore at my heart. This was why I’d set out on my fool’s errand.
As I drew nearer to the softball and baseball fields, I could see a dozen or so individuals in small clusters. In the midst of those people was the object of my hatred: Don Evans.
“Look who we have here,” Don said as soon as he noticed me being led through the gate that granted access to the ball field area.
He had changed very little since I’d last seen him. The biggest being that he’d shaved his head completely, no longer sporting that ridiculous mohawk. I also noted that he’d done away with the outlandish clothing. He was now wearing black jeans, a black tee shirt with the sleeves cut off—probably to show off his very muscled and well-defined arms—and a leather vest.
A pair of wicked looking blades hung from his hips and he still had that massive sword jutting over his shoulder. His skin bore a few tattoos that were either new, or that I hadn’t noticed before. The most prominent was the iron cross that covered his right forearm.
A collection of rings adorned his fingers, and as I drew close, I saw that they were a variety of skulls. One had a pair of what I assumed were rubies in the eye sockets. But one of them stood out from the rest. It was an emerald swastika. Obviously he’d fully embraced his racism.
My eyes met his for an instant before they focused on the ground where several peculiar objects were being worked on by the groups. There were straps and some sort of harness that looked extremely intricate.
“I hear you might’ve turned over a new leaf.” Don stepped around one of the groups working on the odd contraptions. “Natasha says you hit those idiots that think they are hiding over in that new development. Killed a few even.”
I considered my options and decided to see if I could fit my toe in this possible door that seemed to be opening.
