He did all the work, loading and then tugging the blanket back to the truck. Jillybean hung near and tried to elicit answers to her many questions. He mostly grunted and only spoke to ask her to wait in the truck. She went in slow and shaking as if it was full of ghosts and in a way, it was.
She tried to pretend her mind wasn’t splitting into pieces. “I’m just going to wait in the truck,” she whispered. “Ernest is right there. He’s very close.”
What about the frequency? the voice asked.
“Who cares about any old frequency?” Jillybean said, trying to come across as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She had sweat beading on her lip. Still, trying to act natural, she sat Ipes on the seat next to her and buckled her seatbelt. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Ipes found the River King and that’s what is important. Right Ipes?”
Ipes didn’t answer, and neither did the voice, instead, Jillybean suddenly remembered how she had known about Ernest’s blanket. She had opened his pack. It sat right on top. She had picked it up and set it aside. Then she pulled out an extra shirt and a mess kit and a flash light and near the bottom of the pack she saw what she was looking for: Ernest’s bible. She had seen it once before when Neil had asked him to empty his pack when he had been first introduced to the group back in Fort Campbell.
The rubber bands were still on it. Why would someone put rubber bands on a book?
“All packed up,” Ernest said climbing into the truck. He started the engine and squealed the tires ripping out of there. “We got to eat up some time.” He drove as if his life depended on it, weaving in and out among the zombies that crossed their path. There weren’t a whole lot of them out due to the heat of the day. Jillybean could see them lurking along the edges of the forest or under the eaves of houses or in the depths of barns.
They weren’t even of passing interest to her. She was trying to recall what had been so special about the bible. The memory had been clipped cleanly off when Ernest got in the truck. She glanced back at his pack, sparking an intense moment of déjà vu—she could see herself opening the pack as if it had happened a second before; she could see the blanket being pulled out and the shirt and…
“What’s up?” Ernest asked. “What’re you looking at?”
“Uh…your pack, I guess.” There wasn’t anything else in the back seat. “I was, uh, just wondering if you had any food. I don’t remember the last time I ate anything.” She really couldn’t and yet she wasn’t hungry. “When did I eat last, Ipes?” she asked.
This morning. We had stew.
She had a sinking feeling that “we” meant she had eaten during one of those times Ipes had been in control of her body.
“What did he say?” Ernest asked.
“That I don’t remember,” she answered with a version of the truth. “Do you have anything I could eat?”
“No, sorry.”
Next to her on the seat, Ipes’ ears went rigid over what had been said. That’s a lie!
Again the déjà vu came, causing her eyes to go vacant. She saw herself lifting the bible from the pack. Underneath it were cans of tuna and a box of crackers. Her stomach had rumbled, but she had ignored it; her focus was on the bible. She slid one of the rubber bands off, and then the second one came off snapping her wrist like a stinging insect…
“You ok?” Ernest asked breaking in on the memory.
“Yeah,” she lied, coming to. “I was just thinking of something. A memory.” It sounded lame coming out of her mouth but it was the best she could do. Her mind was spinning; first the new memories and then the question of why he would hoard food from a starving child? Then she heard the voice: He’s going to kill you.
That made sense. Why waste food on someone you plan on killing? She started shaking. It didn’t come on slowly; it was just there. Suddenly her entire body was shivering. Ernest’s brows came down and he leaned slightly back away from her as though she was diseased.
“You have a lot of problems, don’t you, Jillybean?”
There was no use trying to lie. “Yes. It’s my head. It feels like an egg that’s cracked and now the yolk is mixing with the whites. You know what I mean?”
“I do,” Ernest said. “It’s probably post-traumatic stress disorder and it’s a wonder you haven’t suffered from it earlier, though I suppose you have. The fact that you talk to a toy zebra is an obvious symptom.”
The little zebra in his faded blue shirt shook his head. He acts as if that’s a bad thing.
“Maybe it is,” Jillybean said to him. “Is it, Mister Ernest? Is it a bad thing?”
“You shouldn’t worry about it…ah, I-34.” He slowed only slightly as he took the road west. The first sign that came up proclaimed that Baker was fourteen miles away. Time seemed to be slipping under the tires faster than the road. What would happen in fourteen miles? Where were her friends? When would Ernest kill her?
She fully believed the voice. Ernest was lying to her, and worse, so was Ipes. She had to clasp her hands together they were shaking so badly.
I lied for a reason, Ipes said, dipping his big nose down to his chest in shame. I lied because of all of what’s been happening to you. I know your brain is not right and I was afraid for you to be alone.
“And this is better?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth.
Absolutely, yes. If I hadn’t done anything you would have ended up as monster chow.
He was right, she would have gone bonkers being alone. But that didn’t explain everything. “Tell me about the radio.”
The memory again: the rubber band snapped off, stinging her wrist and leaving a mark; she ignored it completely. There was only one reason to strap down a book like that and it was to keep something from falling out. Pages from the book was the obvious thing to keep from being lost, but Jillybean saw that the binding was practically new. There was something else inside the book.
“I forgot about the radio,” Ernest said. “Quick, turn on the scanner. I want to know what’s happening.” When she blinked at him, coming up from the memory, he mistook the look. “You can keep talking to the zebra, I don’t care, just turn on the scanner.”
She had put it in her pack, which sat between her knees. She pulled it out, switched it on and immediately heard the sounds of battle.
“Lead one, what are your casualties?”
“Maybe a dozen. It’s hard to tell. When are you guys going to get here? We got a bunch of stiffs on us, too.”
“We’re unhitching now. Keep them occupied for a bit longer. We’ll come up from the back and get them in a crossfire.”
Ernest exhaled, angrily and began to slow the truck. Jillybean wanted to ask why he was slowing instead of speeding up, but the last memory clicked into place: the bible fell open and where there should have been a thousand pages with tiny writing running in neat lines, there was instead a square hole in the middle of the book. In the hole was a radio. She clicked it on and heard someone talking, raising his voice, imperiously—it was the River King.
Who, and what, Ernest was became suddenly crystal clear. He was a bounty hunter. A sly one…one that was full of trickery and deceit. He had tricked Jillybean into being his friend so he could use her. He had talked everyone into leaving Fort Campbell, and it was he who had picked out the school. He had set up the ambush using the radio. He was nasty and greedy. He had already been instrumental in capturing fifty-seven prisoners, now he was after Jillybean and Neil and the rest.
And yet, in Ipes’ mind, Ernest’s evil presence was preferable to Jillybean going insane. That must mean she was very, very close to being insane. Not just a little bonkers like talking to a toy; it had to be worse.
However, she didn’t have time to think this through. The truck topped a hill and down below them the road to Baker stretched for just a few more miles. In between them and the town were the River King’s trucks and pontoons. One of the trucks had unhinged its flatbed and was belching smoke as it headed for the town as fast as it could.
&
nbsp; “Well there goes that,” Ernest said, disappointedly. “We were just a few minutes too slow.”
He kept coasting along, his speed dropping as he neared the trucks. There was a small river in front of them, little more than a creek but it was fast flowing and deep. He stopped the truck over it and looked out. It had a fine view of open farm land that was going green as nature took over the cultivation process.
“It’s pretty out there,” he said. “Let’s take a look at the river.”
“But my friends,” Jillybean said. She could hear the steady pop of rifle fire in the distance; it seemed like a terrific battle was being waged and here she was doing nothing. “My friends need me.”
Ernest looked at her with sadness. It was full of fakery. “It doesn’t sound like they’re going to make it, but you shouldn’t worry, you have Ipes.” He plucked the zebra off the seat and slipped out of the truck.
“What? Hey…wait,” Jillybean said. She climbed out after him, her shivering progressing to a point that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hold her bladder soon. Ernest went to the guard rail and leaned against it, resting on his elbows, dangling Ipes over the rushing water.
“C-careful, he…he doesn’t like to get wet.”
“Come stand over here with me,” Ernest beckoned. Something in his hand was shiny, it caught the sun and shot into her eyes. She blinked, bringing the knife into focus. He held it casually next to Ipes’ neck. “Come on, you can’t hear the guns as much over here.”
The water was loud, but not so loud that the voice in her head couldn’t be heard. He’s going to kill you, now. He’s going to stab you in the face. He’s going to put that knife in your guts and stir it around.
Jillybean took two wobbly steps closer; she was just out of arm’s reach. She couldn’t help but stare at the knife.
“Closer,” he said, smiling, easily. “You don’t want me to drop him, do you?”
He’s going to kill you now. He’s going to kill you now. He’s going to kill you now. He’s going to kill…
“Closer.”
“Don’t drop him,” Jillybean said, holding out a hand.
“Come closer.”
He’s going to kill you now. He’s going to kill you now. He’s going to kill you now. He’s going to kill you now. He’s going to kill you now.
But there was Ipes to worry about. Jillybean stepped closer.
Chapter 31
Jillybean
The knife, six inches of razor sharp metal, came slashing at Jillybean’s midsection where her belly was soft and pale, and oh, so tender. Her flesh might have all the toughness of tissue paper and her mind might be as unbalanced as a dozen stacked teacups, but she could be brave when her friends and family were in trouble, and there was no one more resourceful. Though in this case it didn’t take much—she had a gun and he had a knife.
“Huh,” he grunted, seeing the gun. His knife hand stopped inches from her as he grinned at the gun. “You won’t shoot. You can’t shoot. Look at Ipes. Look at what will happen if you shoot me. He’ll go in the river and be washed away forever. Come on, you don’t want that. You couldn’t handle that. Your brain, Jillybean. You’ll go crazy without him and I don’t want that to happen to you.”
He was back to his sweet self, but he didn’t realize that the sweeter he was the more she saw him as a liar and the more she wanted to kill him. The voice inside her wanted it very badly.
He deserves to die. He deserves to die very, very slowly. Shoot him in the knee, Jillian. Start there.
The very thin pane of glass separating this voice from her normal self was now more like a window screen. She could smell the person in her mind and it wasn’t her mother. Jillybean’s mom always smelled of perfume and pretty flowers. The voice smelled old, like someone had dug up a coffin and she was breathing in the bones of the dead.
She could feel the itch to kill in the palm of her hand. In order to scratch it, all she had to do was pull the trigger.
Jillybean couldn’t do it. She had killed a man before and that had sent her into a fugue for hours. What if that happened again? What would happen if the owner of the voice took her over? She was sure the voice wouldn’t be as cute and cuddly as Ipes…and what would happen to Ipes? He couldn’t swim; he could barely float and that was only until his round bottom filled with water.
For just a second she took her eyes off of Ernest and watched the river rush past. If he fell in, Ipes would be gone in seconds. There would be no time to search for him either. If she managed to hold onto her mind, she still had to find some way to help her friends.
“Yeah, you don’t want to shoot me,” Ernest said, following her eyes. “The water is so fast Ipes will be gone in a snap. Think about that. Think about putting down the gun. You aren’t a killer.”
A face splashed in her mind: the bounty hunter with his eye shot out and a hole that went deep into his head. You are a killer, the voice hissed in her ear. And you can kill again so easily. It sent a shiver up her spine. She lowered the gun; it was heavy and she was weak. Still she kept herself tense and ready to kill again if she needed to.
“Yes I am a killer,” she replied. “I killed a man before. He was bad. But bad or not I don’t like what it did to me. I don’t want to kill you Mister Ernest. I want you to go away.”
He thought it over for a spell and then asked, “What are you going to do if I leave? You can’t save your friends, not all by yourself.”
“I can, I think. Those are the River King’s pontoons down there; I can threaten to blow them up.”
“You don’t have enough C4.”
“The River King doesn’t know that,” Jillybean replied. “Either way that’s none of your business. So…so why don’t you just leave? If you start walking I won’t shoot you. I think that’s a pretty good trade.”
He shook his head. “It is my business. If you damage the pontoons, I’ll be out a ton of money. And besides, I’m the one with the hostage.” He shook Ipes over the water. “I have a pretty good idea what this little guy means to you. And I can guess what will happen if you lose him. He’s holding you together, isn’t he? Without him you’ll unravel. You’ll go craaaazy.” He hung on the word.
She was sure he was right, but she was also certain he wouldn’t risk being shot. Not over some money. “It doesn’t matter. I have my friends to think about.”
“It doesn’t matter? Really? Then you’ll be ok if I do this?” Without warning he tossed the zebra in an arc eight feet into the air. Ipes floated like rainbow with nothing to catch him but the rushing waters below.
The move was so unexpected that Jillybean’s heart literally missed a beat and her breathing stopped. Ernest had a wicked look on his face as the zebra—as her friend, tumbled end over end.
He had done this on purpose and Jillybean’s mind screamed: WHY? The word was thunder inside her soul; an explosion that she couldn’t stop.
In the space of half a second, her brain fired an unprecedented number of neurons as she tried to simultaneously consider the ramifications of each and every action open to her. These considerations went beyond the simple: if I do this, then he’ll do that. She saw, on an escalating, multi-level, algorithmic scale, the options available to her not just at that moment, but to the Nth degree. Even for her mind, the challenge of calculating every single consideration of every single option represented an overload that was frightfully close to sending her into convulsions as a storm of mental electricity raged across her synapses.
The resultant pressure split her mind square in two.
Ipes had been an adaption, a coping mechanism that she had manufactured to deal with the fear, and the stress, and the loneliness of her post-apocalyptic life. What was happening now was completely different. What happened to her just then was straight up psychic damage.
She split down the middle, one side representing Maslow’s second level on his hierarchy of need: the basic need for protecting one’s physical self. The other side represented the remai
ning tiers: the need to be loved, the need for self-actualization and self-esteem, the need to belong.
In other words one side represented Jillybean as she saw herself, and the other represented a straight up sociopath who could steal without guilt, lie callously, hoard greedily, and kill without remorse.
The Jillybean side saw salvation in Ipes. He was her protector, the source of her wisdom and the only chance she had at healing the rupture in her mind. With one eye, she tracked Ipes as he flew gently over the railing. That part of her was so easily deceived because emotion distorted her thinking. She was literally more afraid for a stuffed toy than she was for her own skin.
The split in her mind was so acute that it carried over to the physical. Jillybean’s left eye watched Ipes and, like a chameleon, her right eye saw Ernest drop the knife at the same moment he had flung the zebra. With unbelievable quickness, he went for his gun. It appeared in a blink, a hard chunk of deadly metal, coming up to aim at her chest.
But the new side of her wasn’t caught unawares. She had fully expected exactly this. It had been a large part of her strategic evaluation of the situation. As cool and fearless as any gunfighter out of old west, she fired her pistol from the hip, a skill that took years to perfect…unless, of course, the target was three feet away. She couldn’t miss.
The bullet from her .38 tore through his chest. It wasn’t a neat little hole and there wasn’t a long teary good bye from the man as he slipped into death. A huge chunk of flesh and bone blasted out the back of his shirt. Rib shrapnel punctured his heart in three places and burst his lungs like two balloons. He was down on his back before he could comprehend what was happening.
The new person stood over him, smiling. “I bet you didn’t see that coming,” she said. He grunted and coughed up blood. She appreciated the way his face turned red and how his throat worked up and down as he struggled to find his last breath. She was utterly fascinated.
The Undead World (Book 5): The Apocalypse Renegades Page 34
