As I walked back to the house to clean up, I made sure her dogs had water and started pumping well water for the outdoor solar shower. Not much more than a black fifty-five-gallon drum and a garden hose, but it actually worked quite well for the purpose. Finding a clean set of BDUs and fresh T-shirt, I soon had the grime and mule odor from the trail scrubbed off.
Then, I went to work at my beard with a straight razor and the homemade shaving cream Kara kept around for me. Out at the cabin, I just grew my beard long; however, when in the settlement I knew Kara liked me clean-shaven so I took the extra trouble and time. No sense risking my chances at getting lucky tonight. As I worked, I took stock of myself in the little shower mirror, and what I saw reminded me of how I looked when I first got back from the ’Stan, just ten years older. Hollow cheeks, distant eyes, and scars that no amount of time would fade.
Well, at least I still had my roguish good looks and rapier wit. Han Solo would be proud. Cracking a grin in spite of my ruined face, I worked a little aloe leaf into the nicks for good measure, replaced the dressings on my legs, then set about seeing to Donkey for the evening.
About the time I had Donkey brushed and chomping on some wild hay, Kara had returned from the bar. Unlike pre-Apocalypse times, all bars shut their doors about an hour before dusk, just like all the other businesses did these days. No barkeep would want to be responsible for letting a drunk walk home after dark, and not even the drunkest fool would be caught dead out after dark anyway, and certainly not drunk. So all bars kept banker’s hours, which worked out great based on the plans I’d made in my mind for the evening.
Apparently, Kara had made similar plans, as she’d brought home a bottle of good Kentucky sipping whiskey. “It’s been a long time since my lips have tasted that nectar,” I commented as she walked in the door.
“You ain’t been gone that long; I’m pretty sure you got a taste right before you left Monday morning.”
I smirked and shot her a bemused look. “Honestly, it seems like much longer than a few days; absence does make the heart grow fonder, or so they say.”
“I’d say it just makes it grow hornier, in my experience.” She laughed at her own joke and then turned to head for the kitchen, talking to me over her shoulder as she hip-swayed away. “That being said, I’ll take your sweet talk and raise you a home-cooked meal.”
“Done. Can I have my dessert first?”
“Your call, sugar. And, if you compliment my cooking, you might even get seconds after dinner.”
- - -
A few hours later we were sipping bourbon, cozied up together on the couch watching a log crackle and pop in Kara’s fireplace. She sure did know the path to a man’s heart, and I’d never complain about it, either. Dinner had been rabbit fried up and smothered in gravy with fry bread, one of my favorites. A local family raised wheat and ground it into flour using a hand grinder they’d purchased long before the bombs fell. Flour was hard to come by and expensive to get by barter, so we were thankful we could occasionally enjoy the baked goods and breads that came from their hard work. Since Kara owned the local watering hole, such luxuries were easy for her to get; bar tabs didn’t come cheap these days either.
“Did you get the information you were looking for from Sam?”
I paused for a moment, not sure how much I wanted to tell her about the trip I’d planned. She’d just get it out of Sam eventually anyway, so I decided to spill. “Sort of. He claims that the settlement at Canyon Lake is cleared out. He also says there’s a pack of lycanthropes stalking the Corridor.”
She sat up off my chest and turned to face me. “What do you mean, ‘cleared out’? Did the ’thropes get them?”
“I don’t think so, not from what Sam told me. He says there was no sign of struggle, and nothing amiss at the settlement except the fact that no one was there. In his words, it was like they just vanished into thin air.”
“That’s creepy, Scratch. People don’t just disappear. Sure, they get eaten, slaughtered, and so on, but they don’t just disappear without any trace. And is he sure about there being a pack of wolves in the Corridor?”
Her reluctance to believe Sam’s account wasn’t surprising; this was the first time I’d even heard of werewolves coming this far south. We knew they’d hit the colder northern states pretty hard after the War, but we figured it was too hot for their liking down here. I’d only ever seen nos-type vamps and undead up and down the towns and cities that dotted old IH-35, and was as shocked to hear about a lycanthrope pack this close as she was.
“I trust Sam’s word. You know he’s an experienced salvager and wouldn’t spook easily. Says he heard them up close and almost became a Scooby snack for two of them. If he says there’s a pack hunting the Corridor, I believe him.”
“Have you told the constable?”
I chuckled dismissively. “I doubt he’d believe it without proof. It’s hard to get folks who’ve never been into the Outlands to take any threat beyond a few zombies and ghouls seriously. Most have never even seen a revenant, much less a nos’ or a wolf. I doubt they’ll believe it without confirmation of some sort.”
“And I take it you intend to get this confirmation?”
“Yes. For the safety of the people who live here, I feel it’s my duty to warn them in any and every way possible if a threat of this magnitude exists. It’ll only be a matter of time before they start ranging out and hunting this way. Unprepared, these folks don’t stand a chance against even a small pack of wolves.”
“And you do? Honestly, I don’t know what got into your head to make you think you’re invincible, Sully. What makes you think you can take on a pack of ’thropes alone?”
“I never said anything about taking on the whole pack. I only need to bring back proof, and I certainly don’t want to bring the whole pack down on the territory. That means I just need to find one, isolate and end it, and bring a piece back here to prove the threat.”
Anger flashed behind Kara’s eyes as she balled her fists and gruffled at me. “Gruffling” was a term I gave to a Kara-ism that was unique to her alone, sort of a huff and a growl combined. And, when she did it, I knew I was in for it. Not like I didn’t expect it; I figured she’d be upset if I decided to go wolf hunting alone.
“You’re so stubborn! Why do you always have to take it on yourself to do hard and dangerous work that could be shouldered by other men? When are you going to figure out that you can’t save the world, Scratch?”
Well, this was going downhill fast. I shrugged. “Honestly, Kara, I’m not interested in saving the world, just my part of it. And, if there were other men stepping up to do this, I’d gladly take a vacation. And need I remind you that we have female hunters too?”
The look she gave me told me I might have pushed it a little too far. “Well, then maybe one of them will cook you dinner the next time you stop in on your way back from risking your neck in the Outlands—because I’m not going to look after you if you won’t look after yourself!”
“Kara—”
“Don’t you try to sweet talk me this time, Sully. I already lost one man, and I’m not about to sit around waiting on you to decide it’s time to settle down and watch out for your own people for a change.”
I sighed loudly, which might have been a mistake. “Look, by doing this I am watching my own people. What do you think will happen if that pack heads out this way? How organized a defense do you think these folks can mount without belief that the threat is real? How long do you think most of them would last in an all-out surprise assault by a full pack of ’thropes?”
I could see anger and resignation fighting a battle inside of her. Shortly, she sighed with what seemed to be more frustration and regret than resignation. “You’re right, and I hate you for it—but you’re right,” she said as she got up and walked to her bedroom.
“I promise, Kara, I’m coming back.”
Softly, I heard her reply just before she closed her bedroom door. “Don’t make promises you’re
not sure you can keep, Scratch Sullivan.”
- - -
Waking up on the couch is never a pleasant affair, but it beats sleeping in the bush. Still, I’d rather have spent the night sleeping next to Kara before I headed out again. But, I knew she needed her space, and I wasn’t one to push her after she had made that clear.
So I got up early and decided to get a head start on getting provisioned for the coming trip into the Corridor. I had a reloading rig set up in Kara’s garage, and after starting a small fire in the wood stove and brewing some not-coffee, I went out and began reloading rounds. It was monotonous work, but I personally found it relaxing.
First order of business was making some more of my “special” rounds for taking out vamps and other silver-sensitive occult species. So far, we’d found that the more powerful the species, the more susceptible they were to silver. And while I’d never actually killed a lycanthrope, I knew from the standard hunter lore being passed around that they were hurt by silver even more than nos-types and other vampiric humanoids. That meant I’d need a lot of silver-tipped ammo.
The good news was that I had stockpiled a ton of hollow point reloads before the Great War. I kept most of that stuff hidden around my cabin, but truth be told I hadn’t even used all the supplies I had left there yet. That was mostly due to a judicious use of ammo in the field, scrounging rounds when I could, and trading for it whenever possible.
Silver bullets had horrible ballistics, so casting pure silver was out. Besides, although you could find silver and people traded for it almost everywhere, it’d still be a waste and awfully expensive to use it for an entire block of rounds. So, I improvised. The process for making the rounds was simple. Reload some regular hollow-point rounds, then, fill the tips with fine silver powder that I made by carefully grinding down old silverware and jewelry. Seal the tips with epoxy, and sand them flat. Presto, silver bullets.
Of course, there were other methods for getting silver in your bullets. A lot of hunters would cast silver shot, and then simply embed the shot into the tips of their bullets. Or they’d just use a shotgun shell filled with silver shot, or in a pinch, with scrap silver pieces. It all worked; I just like my method better. I knew from experience that silver powder and filings got into the creatures’ blood quicker, and it did a lot more damage that way.
After spending a few hours reloading, I went back in the house to see if Kara was up. From the looks of it, she’d already headed in to work. Not a good sign. I’d definitely have to stop in at the bar and butter her up later. Besides, I wanted to talk to Tucker again and see if I could get some additional information on the corridor. Sometimes scavengers kept maps of safe houses, and they’d often trade such information with other scavengers in order to increase their chances of survival in the Outlands. I was sure that Sam kept a map of safe house locations on him, and it wouldn’t hurt to copy some of those locations to my own map before leaving.
I’d be hoofing it out to the Corridor and back, since I didn’t want to take Donkey with me to an area infested with the undead, and especially not around ’thropes. She’d just be a liability, although I was going to miss riding saddle instead of walking. It was a good sixty-mile trip into the Corridor from here by foot, so I definitely needed to take stock of all my gear and make sure everything was in order before leaving.
Once I had Donkey grazing the yard and had my list of provisions, I headed into town proper. Kara’s place was just on the outskirts, so it was a short hike to get to the storehouse and bar. I walked into the store and was pleased to see that Janie Rivera was working today. She was a flirt and a half, and although I wasn’t the type to step out on Kara, it didn’t hurt my ego that Janie liked me and made no bones about it. Besides being a looker, she was also a real sweet lady; all that and the fact that I’d helped her out with some undead a while back meant she always cut me a good deal on supplies.
She had her back to me as I walked in, busy putting jars of canned goods on the shelves. “Mornin’, Janie,” I called out as I approached the counter.
She turned around and batted her doe eyes at me, tossing her curly black hair over her shoulder as she leaned on the counter in front of me to flash me a 1,000-watt smile. “Well, hello stranger! Haven’t seen you in a while. Where’ve you been keeping yourself these days?”
“Oh, you know, just staying busy. Had a job to do out on the edge of the safe zone this week, and I just turned it in to Donnie yesterday.” I tossed the chit on the counter. “Thought I’d come by and see if you still had any of those peaches left.”
“In fact, I do have some. Donnie told me to set some aside for you, since they usually go pretty fast. I have three jars, plus a half dozen fresh.”
“Fresh peaches? Man it’s been a while since I tasted one. Last time I think I had one was on a job out near Fredericksburg. I came across an old untended orchard and nearly got sick on them.” It wasn’t often that you got to eat fresh fruit these days. Most of the fruit and vegetables that were grown had to be preserved in some way, either canned or dehydrated for later reconstitution in soups and stews. Fresh fruit was a real treat.
I handed Janie my list of provisions, and waited while she scurried around the store and to the small warehouse in back to gather up the items on my list. As she came back to the counter, she reached underneath and pulled out three jars of peaches and a small basket of the fresh ones, transferring them into an old discarded plastic grocery bag that she likewise pulled out from under the counter.
Janie beamed at me. “Don’t go telling people that I saved these for you. You know how jealous people can get. Speaking of which, how’re you and Kara getting along?”
“Subtle much?”
She laughed at that. “Not too many good men around these days, Scratch. Subtlety is a luxury women like me can’t afford.”
Sadly, Janie was right. Many men had been killed during the Great War, with even more killed fighting Them in the years after as humanity sought to establish safe zones and settlements outside the cities where the undead tended to congregate. Even an attractive woman like Janie could have a hard time finding a decent man to settle with, if she were so inclined. Then again, lots of people learned independence the hard way after the war. Still, a little company tended to be a lot of comfort these days.
“I’m still taken, but thanks for asking.”
Janie smiled, and gave me a rueful wink. “Well, if things ever don’t work out for you two, you just let me know and I’ll be glad to help you ease your broken heart.”
I began loading up my stuff and smiled. “You’re a sweetheart, Janie. I’ll be sure to not tell Kara I saw you.”
“Eh, tell her. Maybe she’ll think twice and appreciate more what she’s got.” As I pushed my chit across the counter, she held a hand up at me. “Keep it. You still have credit from the last three jobs you did.”
“Well, can you take this one and add it to my account? I’d hate to lose it. Besides, if something happens to me then Kara can use my credit.”
“See what I mean? Not too many good men around like you these days. And ain’t it a shame...”
“I’ll be seeing you, Janie.”
“Hopefully soon. Be safe, Scratch.”
- - -
[5]
CARRION
I had kitted out with my favorite HK416, an M4 variant that was a lot more reliable in the field than the standard M4. Favored by DELTA before the Great War, I’d held on to mine and taken great pains to keep it running since. Chambered in 5.56, it had an effective range of 400 yards, plenty for taking head shots at a distance; but honestly I wouldn’t want to take a shot beyond 150 yards or so with the thing. I had plenty of standard and some silver ammo for it, although the silver stuff for the 5.56 was harder to come by since I didn’t have the gear to cast rounds out here. Hopefully I wouldn’t need it.
I also had my Glocks, and I’d decided to bring a suppressor along as well since working in the Corridor meant stealth over firepower. To save a
mmo I also brought along a high-velocity slingshot and some lead ball ammo that could serve to take out a few zombies quietly in a pinch. It was also good for filling the stew pot, although I wouldn’t be doing any cooking in the corridor. Since I was walking I had to travel light, but I’d also brought along a fighting tomahawk that I preferred over knives or bludgeons for close combat. Plus I had my short golok on my pack and my bowie knife on my harness for good measure.
Once I double-checked my kit, I headed to the bar to see Kara and to get a copy of Sam’s safe-house maps from him. As I walked in the front door, a quick scan told me I was the only customer; it was early yet, but the privacy wouldn’t last long. Best to just get it over with.
Kara had her back to me as I walked up to the bar. She looked busy, but that was also one of her talents.
“I didn’t hear you leave this morning. Are you still mad?”
She turned around to face me, one hand throwing a bar rag over her shoulder while the other reached out to lean on the bar. “I’m not mad, Scratch, just... frustrated, I guess. Maybe it’s wishful thinking what with the way everything has turned out, but I can’t help thinking that I want more than just getting by out of life. And I think that means having someone to wake up next to every day.”
“So you’re breaking up with me?” I’m sure I cocked an eyebrow when I said it, but I couldn’t help but think how stupid this all was. Not that Kara’s feelings didn’t matter, but wishing for a normal life was just so impractical.
“No, I’m not. And wipe that smart-ass grin off your face. No, what I’m saying is that I want you to consider that your job isn’t just hard on you, it’s hard on me too.”
“Kara, I realize that—”
“No, you don’t! It’s just like I told you before, you’re always so busy saving other people that you don’t think about the people closest to you.”
THEM (Season 1): Episode 1 Page 4
