Badlands Trilogy (Book 3): Out of the Badlands

by Brian J. Jarrett

  Night came, bringing with it the stirrings of the creatures that moved freely within its cloaking darkness. A second bottle followed the first, pulled from Rita’s stash, along with her repetitious explanation of its inferior quality compared to the first bottle. Lester didn’t give a fuck, but he lifted his glass when expected, mouth turned up into a smile while his eyes watched coldly.

  He glanced at Chloe, the soft and supple skin of her throat calling out to him, begging him to open it up. He could almost see the glorious crimson flow as it drenched her shirt, sticky and wet, hugging pert nipples as her eyes spoke to him.

  Lester’s eyes might not be able to speak, but Chloe’s could.

  And this, Lester discovered, made him whole.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Just before dusk, they arrived.

  Pale skinned and muscles rippling, the monsters accumulated outside the fence surrounding Enoch’s church, bathed in the dim light of the setting sun. Only the top of the blazing disk peeked out from behind the horizon, casting long shadows. Shadows perfect for creatures that hunted in the darkness.

  On his hands and knees, Jeremy crawled toward the edge of the platform, dragging the heavy chain behind him. The sound of the chain seemed to excite the creatures and they paused in their hunched approach, noses in the air, sniffing. They stared upward, toward the wooden platform built on the tree, grunts and whines escaping them.

  Gooseflesh puckered on Jeremy’s skin as a dagger of fear stabbed him in the stomach. A vivid memory flashed through his panicked mind, one of his family at the park, feeding the ducks from a low bridge above a pond. Jeremy’s father had brought a loaf of stale bread along and when the ducks saw this they gathered below the bridge, bills pointed skyward, waiting for their food. At the time Jeremy had never stopped to consider just how ravenous those ducks had been. Just like the monsters below him now.

  “They’re carriers,” a voice said from behind him.

  Startled, Jeremy jumped, finding himself dangerously close to the edge. He looked back toward the steps to see Enoch’s guard stepping onto the wooden platform. Jeremy recognized him as the man who’d snatched him from the prison cell earlier. The beasts below scurried about, growling as they vied for position, trained to wait on their evening feeding.

  “It’s hard to believe, but brother Enoch has confirmed it,” the guard continued. “God told him so. The carriers have changed. They’ve become something different, something unholy. They require feeding, satiation.” He paused. “Sacrifice.”

  “Don’t do this,” Jeremy muttered. He felt like he might pee his pants at any moment.

  “It’s God’s will,” the guard said. “He won’t be denied. I know you’re young, but the sooner you understand this, the more at peace you’ll be.”

  Jeremy looked around the platform. Everything he planned out so carefully in his mind now seemed impossible. The guard was so much bigger, the monsters below so frightening this close up.

  “I won’t throw you to them alive,” the guard said. His eyes took on a look of misplaced compassion that frightened Jeremy as much as the creatures below. “You won’t even feel the bullet. I promise.”

  The guard took two steps toward where Jeremy crouched, still on his hands and knees.

  Jeremy tensed.

  Retrieving a small handgun from within his long robe, the guard took another step. “Stand up,” he said.

  Jeremy shook his head.

  “Now. The Lord calls upon you.”

  The guard took another step, bringing himself to within a few feet from Jeremy.

  “No,” Jeremy said, backing away. He had only a foot or so before the deck ran out and the long drop to the pack of monstrosities below him began.

  The guard took another step.

  Jeremy scurried away on his hands and knees, moving to the side, dragging the chain with him.

  “Hey!” the guard cried out. “Stop that. You’ll only make things harder on yourself.” He lunged toward Jeremy, but Jeremy kept crawling, circling around behind the man, the chain trailing behind like a tail. Splinters plunged into his knees, but Jeremy barely felt the pain.

  “You little twerp,” the guard growled, his holy tone dissipating. “Get back here!”

  Jeremy crawled faster around the guard, feeling the chain pull heavily on his ankle. He made a circle around the man, but ran out of room as the edge of the platform approached quickly. With nowhere else left to go, he scurried back toward the platform’s outer edge, where the makeshift plank had been attached to the graying deck wood. Below them, the pale beasts snarled and whined, clambering to get their next easy meal.

  The guard glared at Jeremy. “I don’t care if you walk the board or not. I just need the chain back before you take the plunge.” He raised the pistol. “Enoch won’t know the difference.”

  Jeremy glanced at the chain, lying on the platform floor, behind the guard’s feet. Seeing his opportunity, he gripped the chain and pulled as hard as he could. It moved with surprising speed, wrapping around the guard’s heels and sweeping his feet out from beneath him. The guard landed hard on his back as the pistol stuck the deck and clattered toward the edge. The carriers below screeched louder in anticipation.

  Jeremy eyed the pistol just as the man rose to his elbows.

  “You little shit,” the man growled, all traces of his pious demeanor now gone. “I’m gonna fuck you up.”

  Jeremy sprang forward, toward the pistol lying only a few yards away. The guard leapt to his feet at the same time.

  Ignoring his bleeding knees, Jeremy pulled against the heavy chain. He closed in on the gun, eating up the distance between quickly. With only a couple of feet to go, he leapt, reaching for the pistol. He landed hard on the rough surface of the platform, his fingers on the barrel. He gripped the gun, preparing to pick it up

  Pain raced through his fingers as the guard’s shoe smashed Jeremy’s hand, pinning it and the gun to the flooring. Jeremy uttered a short cry as the guard twisted his shoe sole on Jeremy’s hand. He felt something pop in one of his knuckles as the guard drove his foot down harder.

  Jeremy screamed. The guard emitted a quick, maniacal laugh, his eyes wide and his teeth bared. Seeing exposed leg beneath the robe, Jeremy lunged toward the man’s calf, sinking his teeth in and biting as hard as he could. The guard screamed as Jeremy felt warm blood fill his mouth and trickle down his chin.

  The bite forced the guard to lift his foot slightly, just enough for Jeremy to pull the pistol free. He fumbled with the hand gun, his injured finger no longer responding. He switched hands quickly, lifting the gun.

  A hard blow landed on Jeremy’s temple, knocking him to the floor. Blackness swarmed as pinpricks of light sparkled in his field of vision.

  “How’s that feel, you little prick?” the guard growled, shaking off the blow to his fist.

  Dizzy, Jeremy rolled onto his back, breathing hard and trying to find his balance again. The guard took a step forward. Lifting his foot, he prepared to stomp Jeremy’s face. Through the spottiness, Jeremy moved his head to the side, just as the guard’s foot came crashing down. It struck the wooden deck’s surface, plunging through the flimsy, rotting construction, the splintery planks biting into his already bleeding leg. He emitted a scream, sending the crowd below into another frenzy.

  “You little bastard!” the guard howled. He looked down at the bleeding mess of his leg. “You’re gonna fucking pay for this!” He took a deep breath and yanked his leg free of the biting hole, tearing a chunk of skin away. Blood poured, finding its way through the boards and to the ground below where the waiting beasts lapped it up.

  The guard took a step toward Jeremy, limping on his injured leg, his face a scowling mask of anger.

  Getting to his hands and knees, Jeremy’s world swam. Fighting for balance he raised the pistol in his left hand and fired.

  Eyes wide, the guard’s hands went to his throat. Bright red blood poured from between his fingers, dripping onto the surface of the
deck. He opened his mouth, but only bloody bubbles escaped. The anger left his eyes, followed by disbelief, followed by a look of fear. A moment later he collapsed, bright red blood seeping and spreading into the fibers of his white robe.

  The keys, Jeremy thought, fighting to regain his balance and shake off the blow to his head. He crawled through the puddle of blood and rifled through the dead man’s robe. Attached to the man’s belt he found a ring of perhaps a dozen keys. He unfastened the ring and sorted through the keys until he found the one that unlocked the manacle around his ankle.

  Shedding the metal ring, Jeremy stood, his balance returning. His head and his hand hurt and he was covered with blood, but he could walk. He took a step away from the body then turned back toward it. He felt hot anger build up inside him as he looked upon the body the man who would have killed him.

  The gunshot. Enoch and the other had been expecting it, so they wouldn’t think anything of it. But if the guard didn’t come back soon…

  Jeremy knew he needed to get back his father quickly, before anyone figured out what had happened. But first, one more thing had to be done. He rolled the dead man’s body over once, toward the edge of the platform. Another roll, followed by another and another placed the body right at the edge.

  Jeremy looked down at the creatures below. They stared back at him, barely visible now in the fading daylight, their red eyes glinting with the last rays of the sun. Another roll sent the body tumbling toward the ground below. With their meal delivered, the carriers swarmed the body and began to eat.

  Jeremy clutched the guard’s pistol in his left hand and placed the ring of keys in his pocket before descending the platform steps.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lester stared out the kitchen window of the modest farmhouse Rita called home, absently watching the moonlit field. Wild and overgrown for years now, it stretched back as far as he could see, ending in a dark and shadowy abyss. Tall saplings that had taken root in the absence of humanity now stood above the waist-high grass like giants among men. The fledgling green grass grew interspersed between the wilted and brown grass from prior growing seasons, the way it had for thousands of years before man came along and mowed it down each year.

  Lester wondered what it must have been like for the pioneers. The settlers felling trees and clearing land, making camp among the savages. No law, no rules. No one asking questions. A man could be free in a place like that. Unfettered and unbound. Free to take whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted. But as good as Lester knew a life like that could be, he also knew that he had it better now than any pioneer could have. Nothing could be freer than the post-virus world.

  He opened one of the kitchen drawers, eyeing the contents: a few books of matches, a bottle opener and some toothpicks, surrounded by a half-dozen mouse turds. He closed the drawer softly before moving to the one beside it. It squeaked on its metal rails as it opened. Lester paused, listening for any sounds from the others sleeping in the living room next door. The sound of light snoring paused for only a moment before returning to its consistent rhythm.

  Inside the drawer, a long, stainless steel knife stared back at him. The sight of it made him pause. He picked up the knife, feeling the weight of the blade in his hand, realizing a few seconds later he’d been holding his breath. He exhaled, moonlight glinting from the blade as he flipped it over. He touched the blade with his index finger.

  Sharp.

  Razor sharp.

  He glanced around the spartan kitchen, eyeing plain-faced cabinetry, cheap drawers adorned with flimsy metal pulls and faded, stained linoleum. The kind of kitchen a farm wife would be proud to frequent, cooking meals consisting of beef, pork and cornbread. Maybe some chicken thrown in there from time to time, just to spice things up. The kind of person who boasted of their own plainness and criticized others for their complications, all the while wishing they could trade places. A self-styled American Gothic who bristled when criticized by what she’d no doubt call “city-folk” because, well…because what people from the city said about country twits was true.

  Hillbillies. Bumpkins. Rednecks. Whatever name you gave them, they were all the same: human scum. Rita was no different. Lester pondered what could be done about their host. She had the shotgun, but Lester doubted she’d use it. Under the current circumstances she was harmless. Less than harmless, actually, considering she’d passed out after putting down the lion’s share of the whiskey. If he wanted, he could simply walk into the living room with knife in hand and open the bitch up. He could see the dark, red liquid spilling down the chair in which she now slept, dripping onto the floor and pooling into dark, black puddles beneath.

  But not yet. He had to maintain control. Killing the redneck cunt would only tip off Chloe. No sense in prematurely blowing his load on an old cow. If he waited, he could have his prize. He had to resist the urge, fight the compulsion. Bide his time. He’d done it before, when the carrot at the end of the stick was particularly sweet. And young Chloe was sweet, indeed.

  A rustling came from the living room, followed by a groan. Lester replaced the knife in the drawer, slowly closing it, the squeaky rails crying out into the silent room. He went back to the window, just before Rita stepped into the kitchen. She stumbled in, gasping and clutching her chest when she caught sight of Lester.

  “Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit outta me,” she said, her words slurred. “What the hell are you still doing up?”

  “Can’t sleep,” Lester said.

  “With all that booze? I figured that’d put you right out. Always does me.”

  “I suppose I’m not like everybody else.”

  Rita stared at him for a few seconds. Lester maintained eye contact, wondering just what wheels might be turning behind those drunkard’s eyes.

  “I suppose you ain’t,” Rita replied, swaying as she struggled to maintain her balance. “Something different about you, all right. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.”

  Lester smiled. “Is that so?”

  Rita nodded.

  “What is it that you think I am?” Lester asked, grinning wider.

  “What are you really doing with them kids? Or plannin’ on doing?”

  “What do you think I’m doing?”

  “Don’t answer a question with another question. Makes you look suspicious.”

  “I’m traveling with them. You wouldn’t be implying anything, would you?”

  Rita paused, her eyes locked on Lester’s. “Who are you, really?”

  “I’m just a guy who survived the end of the world, same as you.”

  Rita shook her head. “Nah. We ain’t the same, you and me. Not by a long shot.” She glared. “Who are you, really?”

  This time Lester returned the glare, dropping the smile. “I don’t think you want to find out.”

  They stood in the darkened kitchen, moonlight seeping in through the open window, their eyes locked on one another. Silence roared as the seconds ticked away. Rita inhaled, exhaled. Lester stood still, muscles tensed, waiting to see what happened next. The decision would be hers.

  It was these kinds of moments that Lester lived for.

  Another second passed, eyes still locked.

  Rita made her move.

  She turned, her reflexes slowed from the alcohol. That was all that Lester needed. Already cocked and loaded, Lester lunged forward, gripping Rita by the back of her shirt collar. She tried to cry out, but only got out a short croak before Lester’s arm wrapped around her throat, silencing her scream.

  “You cunt,” Lester said, his voice a gruff whisper. “Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”

  Maintaining the chokehold on Rita, Lester reached for the knife drawer. He found the knob and pulled. The drawer opened, announcing itself with that same squeaky squeal. He glanced toward the kitchen door to ensure neither of the teenagers had heard anything and decided to be heroes.

  Rita thrashed, both hands yanking hard on his arm in an attempt to break the hold.
Lester pulled tighter, focusing his attention on the contents of the drawer. He could make out the large knife in the moonlight, sitting where he’d left it. He reached for it. As his fingers closed around the handle, Rita delivered an elbow to Lester’s stomach, catching him off guard. Pain jolted his body, but he held tight. Another elbow caught him, this time harder than before. He felt his grip loosen. Seizing her opportunity, Rita lurched forward, breaking out of Lester’s grip.

  Free, she took a step forward. She made it one step and had just opened her mouth to yell when Lester caught a handful of her hair and yanked hard, arresting her escape. Drunk and off-balance, she fell backward, toward Lester and his waiting knife.

  Lester zipped the knife blade across her exposed throat. Blood poured, running down the front of Rita’s shirt and dripping onto the dirty linoleum. Struggling to control her thrashing, Lester dragged Rita to the sink, positioning her bleeding throat above the drain. She struggled for a few moments before eventually relaxing in his grip. He kept her body in that position until the gash stopped bleeding, after which he carefully lowered her lifeless body to the kitchen floor.

  He glanced toward the living room: no movement. Sam and Chloe were still asleep. He looked around the dimly lit kitchen at the puddles of blood on the floor. He’d have to get it cleaned up, pronto. He also needed to get rid of the body, all before his new traveling companions awoke.

  He glanced out the window. The moon sat high in the sky, casting its pale glow over the overgrown farmland behind the house. He figured it was maybe two or three o’clock in the morning. As long as Sam and Chloe remained asleep, he could pull it off.

  Lester scowled at the body on the floor. This was all her fault, all of it. Nosey fucking cunt. She couldn’t leave well enough alone. He hadn’t even planned on killing her. The following morning they’d have said their goodbyes and then would have been off together—Lester, Sam and Chloe—leaving Rita to her filthy farmhouse and all the booze she wanted to drink.