Zombie Road | Book 8 | Crossroads of Chaos

by Simpson, David A.

  The Billy Goats Gruff had been a small working farm that had catered to a devoted internet following and tourists wanting all-natural products. Like many places he’d visited over the years, where the people went was a mystery. The house was closed but not locked. A car sat in the drive but a place like this must have had a truck and it was gone. The gates to the pens were open, the goats, miniature cattle, chickens and donkeys were free to come and go as they pleased but they hadn’t wandered far. They still sheltered in the barns every night.

  “All right.” Jessie said as they got out and stretched. “Let’s make sure the buildings are clear then we can grab some and go.”

  There were fifteen or twenty wandering around near the stream that bordered the property and he saw a few babies mixed in.

  “Here goat.” He called as he neared, walking slowly, trying not to spook them. “Come here, come to poppa.”

  A big one with horns stamped its foot and snorted at him. He ignored it and angled towards a female that was watching him with her big, square pupiled eyes. As he neared, she trotted off and Jessie leaped after her, lightning fast and dove for a leg when she bleated and took off. He wrestled her to the ground, got kicked in the head but hung on and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Watch out!” Natty yelled just as he saw the buck running at full bore with his head lowered. It did a little jump and the horns caught him in the side as he tried to deflect it and hold on to the doe.

  Jessie cursed, lost his grip on the madly writhing female and stumbled over backwards when he got kicked again. He sat in a pile of droppings as the buck ran off to catch up with the rest of the herd. They stopped about fifty yards away and some of them went back to grazing.

  He heard a giggle from Natty as he got to his feet and tried to brush the manure off his pants.

  “I thought you were going to catch the chickens.” He said, annoyed.

  “I’ll wait until dark. They’ll come back to roost. Easy to get when sleeping.”

  Jessie sighed and walked back up the hill to the barns. The goats watched, the cows kept their distance and the hens ignored him. Maybe she was right. Wait till dark, close the doors and then take his pick. Hopefully he hadn’t made them so skittish that they wouldn’t return when he was there. He tossed a few bales of straw down from the loft and spread it over the thick manure. He probably should have shoveled it out but it wouldn’t have made any difference. The barn would be back in the same condition in a few months. He found the grain boxes and dumped big scoops out in the feeder trays. That would motivate them to come back. After that they stayed quiet and hung out around the house, just an ordinary day doing ordinary things. A long, strung out horde hurried down the road about an hour later, followers from the last little town. It passed them by and kept on going. Jessie went back to washing his clothes and hanging them up to dry. It had been a while; he’d been wearing the least dirty of them for a week. They found canned goods and spices in the house and some wild potatoes in the overgrown garden. Jessie shot a chicken with the .22 and skinned it like Tobias had shown him with the quails then sliced it into thin strips. It browned quickly and was easy to cook over an open fire.

  “So, what happened with Jeremy?” Jessie asked as they lounged around the glowing embers of the campfire and night fell all around them.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” She said. “He was a jerk.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Jessie asked and sat up, anger in his voice. “Do I need to go bust his head?”

  “No. I did that already.” She said. “It’s okay.”

  After a long pause she lay down and stared at the stars coming out in the clear sky.

  “He kissed me.” She said.

  “That’s not so bad.” Jessie said. “It’s what people do when they like each other.”

  “Yes, that was nice.” She said. “I liked it. But he started putting his hands where they shouldn’t go.”

  “He was trying for second base?” Jessie asked. “Well, you’re a pretty girl. Nothing wrong with trying.”

  “What’s second base?” she asked.

  “You know, he tried to feel your, um, chest.”

  “And third base is my other private parts?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Jessie said and wished he hadn’t started this conversation.

  “And touch down is when he pulls out his thing?”

  Jessie groaned internally. Why did he open his stupid mouth?

  “Well, it’s called a home run but that’s only after he… you know, you two do it.”

  “He didn’t go to second base.” She said after a moment. “Or third. He a wanted home run.”

  “Wow. Nice guy.” Jessie said. “So you punched him?”

  “Yes.” She said and he heard the smile in her voice. “Many times. He cried.”

  “Did you make a home run with Sergeant Wallace?” she asked and Jessie almost choked.

  “That’s none of your business.” He said. “That’s none of anybody’s business.”

  “Everyone thinks you did.” Natalie said smugly. “I think you did. Everyone said she was in a good mood.”

  “Well, that’s nice.” Jessie said. “I’m pretty sure it was because we got the meds they needed and everybody didn’t get killed.”

  “No.” Natty said, sure of herself. “It wasn’t that. You should get home runs more often, maybe it puts you in a better mood and you won’t be Mr. Grumpy all the time.”

  “I’m not grumpy.” Jessie said defensively then changed the subject. “Look, the goats are going back in the barn. I’m going to go close the door, we’ll snag some tomorrow.”

  45

  Manhattan

  The goats were easy to get in the morning, Jessie would grab one while Natty duct taped its legs. They laid them out on the bed in the back of the Mercury and were able to squeeze five of them in. He made sure he grabbed two of the nursing does and their kids. He supposed one ram would be enough, the rest were females. It was only a couple hours’ drive back to the Hudson where he had the sailboat moored far up an inlet, they would be okay. The chickens were a little harder, they were inside the coop but they were fast and didn’t want to be caught. They put five each in burlap bags, placed them carefully in the trunk and were rolling by dawn.

  The goats got quiet once they were moving and other than leaving big messes behind and stinking up the car, they could almost forget they were back there. Natty started braiding collars with paracord and they planned on leading them from the docks to central park and tying them up at the museum. The New Yorkers could pen them in or let them roam, it was up to them. There was plenty of grass for them to eat.

  He packed his bag while she led the animals to the boat then grabbed the burlap sacks with the chickens.

  They put all the animals below deck, cut the goats loose and let the chickens out. They were afraid of them dying if they kept them trussed up too long.

  Jessie had to reach the seventy-ninth street boat basin around two o’clock in the afternoon. The horde circling Central Park would be on the east side and that would give him a three-hour window to get the livestock unloaded, through the maze of cars and make it to the museum before they were stumbling down Broadway on the west side again.

  Natty was nervous. She kept going over the plan as Jessie killed time, tacked back and forth and slowly made his way down the river.

  “What if there is a stray zombie? What if he sees us and calls all the others?” she asked

  “There won’t be.” Jessie assured her. “The New Yorkers know the route I’m taking. They’ll keep it clear. They were supposed to meet me at the dock but it’s taken a lot longer than I thought. I thought I’d be back in a few days, a week at the most. It’s been almost two. They probably think I forgot about them. Regardless, I’ll make sure it’s clear before we unload the boat.”

  He let her take the wheel to give her something to do and instructed her on how to turn, set the sails and which lines did what.

  “Are there
any boys there?” she asked out of the blue. “I mean my age?”

  “Yeah, I talked to one.” He said, thinking of the young Hasidic Jewish man. “But there are hundreds I didn’t meet; I only saw maybe thirty or forty people.”

  “Was he nice?”

  “You mean was he cute?” Jessie asked and smiled his crooked smile. The girl was sixteen, she’d had her first kiss and was getting boy crazy.

  “No, that’s not what I asked. I just wanted to know if he was nice.”

  “He’s super cute. Downright gorgeous.” He teased. “He had dreamy eyes and long, curly brown hair.”

  “Oh, stop it.” She said but a small smile played on her lips.

  They slipped into the empty docks right on schedule and by the time he got tied up, a group of men were hurrying down the walkway to meet them.

  The party that night was bigger and a little livelier than the last. They’d had time to prepare and had never given up hope, they knew the Road Angel would do what he said. Nearly everyone in Manhattan had come to the lowest sublevel in the museum and mingled among the priceless artworks adorning the walls. Classical and Jazz gave way to world beats, disco and house music. They ate fine foods and Natty danced until she was sweating in the gas light glow of the underground ballroom. She’d been a little bit embarrassed of her clothes, she was still in leather, but the constant attention of dozens of young men kept her distracted. Jessie let his guard slip and felt safe with the guardians, the culture keepers as they called themselves.

  Near dawn and many bottles of wine later the party wound down and they were shown to a swanky apartment on the third floor across the street from the park. The plumbing was gravity fed from a tank on the roof and the water wasn’t hot but it felt great to wash off the sweat and grime. They found their bedrooms with the fine Egyptian cotton sheets and were sleeping deeply before the sun came up.

  When Natty awoke and strolled into the kitchen wearing a sumptuous bathrobe, Jessie was at the table cleaning his guns. He had coffee he’d heated up on a Coleman stove and was wearing his leather pants and an old black t-shirt that had seen better days.

  She sat, still sleepy and drank from his cup.

  “I love this place.” She said. “It’s amazing what they’ve done.”

  “It is.” He agreed. “I think it’s sustainable for a few years.”

  “Only a few years?” she asked. “Why not forever?”

  “Because the dead will keep dying off.” Jessie said. “The rats are eating them, you know and that’s going to be a big problem. Someday a retriever will figure out it’s easy to get in and the looting will start because people suck. Without the hordes as a deterrent, everybody in the Tower will be sending men to take everything that isn’t nailed down. These people are peaceful. I have yet to see a gun and they won’t be able to stop the men that have them.”

  “That’s not right.” She said. “There’s nothing we can do?”

  “If they had guns and knew how to use them, they could defend a museum or two but there are probably a hundred here on the island. All of them filled with treasures. Even the churches are almost like museums. I don’t know, Natty. I don’t have an answer but I can see what’s going to happen. Besides, in another five years when their food source dries up, they’re going to be battling starving rats with a taste for human flesh.”

  She shivered at the thought of it.

  “Are we leaving?” she asked when he started reassembling his guns.

  “I am. You can stay if you want. It’ll be safe for a few more years.”

  “I want to go with you.” She said. “We make a good team.”

  “We do.” He smiled at her. “You’ve come a long way, you’re not the same lost little girl I found in the woods.”

  “But” he continued. “All good things must come to an end. I told you I’d get you someplace safe. I was thinking of Lakota but to be honest, this is much nicer. For now, anyway.”

  She knew he meant it. He’d left her in Iona and if she hadn’t volunteered to ride patrol and chanced to meet him, she’d still be there.

  “I think I’ll stay here. Maybe I can help.”

  “I think you can.” Jessie said. “You’re good with a gun and you’re cool under pressure.”

  She smiled at the compliment; he didn’t give them often.

  Jessie shrugged into his battered leather jacket and she hugged him tight, her eyes starting to shimmer with unshed tears.

  “You remember where the car is parked?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She said into his chest, her arms wrapped around him.

  “It’s yours now. I’m taking the boat. Don’t forget about the booby traps when you’re big enough to drive it.”

  “You can come back sometimes.” She said. “You can come visit me.”

  “If I come back this way I will.” He said but they both knew he wouldn’t.

  He sat in front of the Mona Lisa for a long time and like millions of others, wondered what she’d been thinking. What was she hiding behind that smile? He touched the locket around his neck then reached around to unclasp the gold chain. He held if for a long time before he opened it and saw the wide smile that went all the way to her eyes. She was with her parents in one of the tiny photos standing in front of the pyramids. She was young, maybe twelve or fourteen. The other was one of her by herself, a school portrait with her blonde hair carefully combed and a big grin on her face. A Scarlet smile, huge and inviting. Nothing at all like the painting. Nothing at all like Maddy’s. He closed it and placed it at the base of the case.

  He stacked the pallets against the back door when he left then hurried to beat the horde before it wandered back down the west side. Jessie untied from the moorings, shoved off the dock with the push pole and guided the boat out into the current.

  He found the inlet where he’d parked the car and anchored the boat. Using the little inflatable, he paddled ashore and fired up the radio.

  The connection was scratchy and filled with static but he got Wire Bender who sent for his old man. While they waited for someone to track him down, he talked to a few of the other guys listening in. He spread the rumor about New York, how it was wall to wall undead, no way to get in and back out and live to tell the tale. His mom came on the radio, asked him when he was coming home. The interference was getting worse, they could barely hear each other.

  “Not for a while.” He said. “I’ve got a sailboat, I’m going to go south, maybe to the Caribbean.”

  He had to repeat himself a few times for her to understand and he thought he heard his dads voice before he finally gave up and turned it off. He set the booby traps and ran a hand along the fender. It had been a good car, it held a lot of memories but he was finished. He wanted to see what there was beyond the horizon. He wanted to see what there was to see.

  . He went downstream, unfurled the sails and picked up speed. He’d never been on the ocean in a sailboat but this one was rated as ocean worthy. He was about to find out if it was much different than sailing the big waters of the great lakes.

  46

  Madroleeka

  She knew down to the second how long it took for him to travel to the jump off point and then make his way back. Eighty-one years, seven months, three weeks, four days, seven hours, twelve minutes, thirty-one seconds.

  Twenty-nine thousand eight hundred days.

  A lifetime.

  The only variable was how long he stayed in the past. The first jump was forty-eight seconds.

  The next one a little longer. Others varied but she was always there waiting for him, ready to render first aid or an ear to listen.

  He was obsessed.

  Driven.

  Sometimes he blinked into existence, locked himself away and ran calculations, adjusting the known factors he’d just learned on the trip and jumped right back with barely a hello or goodbye. He’d been in a fury once when he couldn’t find notes he’d written a few hours ago. For her it had been a hundred and sixty years and she
had dusted and cleaned and tried to organize his ever-increasing collection of belongs. In a rage he’d forbidden her to ever enter his rooms again. He came back with souvenirs sometimes. Things from his future that hadn’t existed in his time. Broken machines from an alternate timeline he didn’t recognize. Once he found his old car, his Mercury, and he knew he was getting close. So close. It was at a farmhouse where they had stayed when they were both sick and injured. It had been a rusted hulk sitting on rotted tires. It had been machine gunned and he found the remains of many bodies strewn around the yard. The bones were scattered and picked clean, yellowed from decades of lying in the sun but inside the car was the remains of a battered leather jacket still on a skeleton. Bullet holes riddled it and a smaller skeleton was in the passenger seat. A faded belt with batons was still hanging around her waist. They had died together in a hail of bullets.

  She worried about his sanity and sometimes she could convince him to take a break, to take some time to visit a vacation planet and lie on a beach or hike through beautiful jungles. He never asked where they were getting the credits to afford the vacations. She assumed that he thought they were living off the profits from the coins. His holdings were substantial and grew every year as the tobacco plant became ever more popular among the freighter crews and with the people in every port they visited.

  Ages passed as she waited with infinite patience but if she didn’t shut herself down, she became lonely. It was a new emotion; one she hadn’t known in the ten thousand years she drifted aimlessly through space but she felt it now. Often, she left and went back to the planet of the Queen of the Outer Reaches. She and Sharaal had a friendship of sorts and he was as ageless as her and many of the others on the planet. Anyone could use the rejuvenation machines if they wished. Nearly everyone did once or twice but after a few resets, most lived their lives and when it was their time, they passed from this life to whatever else was beyond the veil. She still had the Queen’s transponder that ensured safe passage when she piloted through the wasteland of broken and stripped space ships that was the pirate’s playground.