Into the Badlands

by Brian J. Jarrett

  Eventually they began passing road signs for Saint Louis along the way, and both boys pointed and shouted when they saw them. It made Ed smile, but it was a cautious smile. His suspicions of a very real possibility of a city overrun with carriers returned. He ignored them as best he could.

  Their food supplies were holding out; they'd stocked up nicely back at Mitchell's and it was paying off. Of course it would run out, but they were still at least a couple weeks out from having to stop for more. The less often they had to stop for food the better, as far as Ed was concerned.

  Due to the Spring rains, finding fresh water was relatively easy. Streams and creeks ran about all over, ripe for filling canteens. The longer they walked, however, the rains tapered off and the streams subsided; larger streams were reduced significantly in size and many smaller streams disappeared altogether. It became more difficult to find water easily, and their canteens began to run dry more often than they were comfortable with.

  Twelve days from leaving Mitchell's warehouse the group's canteens ran dry. They walked for another day after that, sipping from whatever shallow puddles they could find, but there were no streams in sight. They were also between exits, so it was impossible to scavenge for bottled water at any stores. Their thirst grew as they expended energy, and eating dried supplies replenished virtually none of the water they were losing.

  After spending another dry night along the roadside they got up the following morning to a very warm day. Spring was nearing its end and summer would soon follow. The hot sun made day travel very difficult, so Ed wanted to make as much progress as possible while the weather was still mild.

  “We need water,” Trish told him, flatly.

  “I know, I know” he told her.

  A few hours later they ran across a farm house sitting in a field about a hundred yard or so from the highway. Ed signaled for the group to stop, then pointed at the house. They stopped, their gaze following his finger.

  “We need water,” Ed said to the group, “and we need it soon.”

  “Tell me about it,” Brenda replied.

  “This farmhouse might have some. It might even have a well, possibly a cistern.”

  “Like the last one did?” Zach asked. “With the pump around back?”

  “Yeah, buddy. Exactly.”

  “After the last time I'm a little leery,” Trish admitted. “It's giving me the creeps.”

  “But we're dying here,” Brenda argued.

  “I know, but it still gives me the creeps,” Trish insisted.

  Brenda continued. “I say we go check it out.”

  “What do you think, Ed?” Dave asked.

  Ed stared at the house in the distance. Something about it seemed...wrong. It gave him the creeps too. But he wrote his hesitation off to bad history; after all, they had almost died in the last farmhouse. Odds were though that this house was likely to be empty, and to pass it up would be foolish. They needed the water, after all, they all were becoming dehydrated and weak. Their heads pounded with thirst and their mouths felt like they were lined with sandpaper.

  He decided he was making a big deal out of nothing. “Sure,” he replied. It was only afterward, when he thought back on it, that he knew his instincts had been right all along.

  By then, however, it was too late.

  They approached the front of the house after crossing the overgrown property in front of it. A dirt and gravel road led to the modest house. The road was well on its way to become overgrown with vegetation, but was still clear enough for them to make their way on without too much effort. Ed looked around, nervously, his hand resting on the butt of his pistol. He did this without even noticing it, as was often the case.

  They stopped in front of the house, looking for movement. They saw none. A stone path led to the front steps, and a porch swing hung from the roof of the porch, its painted surface peeling along the edges.

  Brenda turned to Ed and the boys. “Zach, you said something about an outside pump around the back-”

  Suddenly the right side of Brenda's head exploded in a red mist as the crack of a shot rang out. She dropped hard to the ground, landing in a lifeless heap.

  “Get down!” Ed yelled, grabbing both boys and pulling them backward, toward the overgrown vegetation beside the road to the house. Trish ran with them, ducking behind the tall grass and weeds. Another shot rang out, echoing into the distance.

  Tammy turned to where Brenda had stood just moments before. “No!” she screamed in agony. “Brenda!”

  “Tammy, get down!” Dave yelled, running toward the high weeds. “Get the fuck down!” She continued to stand where she was, as if in a daze.

  “Move!” Ed yelled to her. She wasn't listening. He drew his pistol and pointed it toward the house, firing a shot. He didn't even know where to shoot since he had no real idea where the shots were coming from. He hoped it would create a distraction and buy her some time to get her wits about her and take cover.

  Finally she began to move. She backed away from Brenda's body, shaking her head. Ed fired one more shot in an attempt to cover her escape. She stood there, shaking her head, eyes still locked on Brenda's motionless body.

  Ed looked up from the weeds toward the house and noticed movement in a downstairs window. A man with a rifle rose and took aim.

  “In the window!” he screamed, firing a shot toward the figure. The man ducked back inside.

  “No, no, no, no,” Tammy repeated, still shaking her head in disbelief. She then looked up, as if coming out of a daze.

  “Move your ass!” Dave yelled, remembering ironically that Brenda had once uttered the same phrase to him not so long ago. Tammy turned toward Dave and ran, jumping into the grass in which he hid.

  “She's dead,” she told him. She looked distant and stunned.

  “I know,” he replied. They were unable to move; pinned down by the sniper's gunfire. He wanted to call out to Ed, but he was afraid of giving away their location. They were on their own, for better or worse.

  “We're stuck,” he whispered. “That mother fucker has us pinned down.”

  Tammy nodded, still in a fog.

  “You gotta focus. We're not getting out of here until that guy is dead.”

  Tammy nodded again.

  “Do you understand me? Shoot that fucking guy, or give me the gun.”

  She seemed to be slowly coming back. “I'll do it,” she said.

  “Good. I'll get his attention; when he shows himself I want you to blow his fucking brains out. Can you do that?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she replied.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I'm sure.”

  Dave nodded in acknowledgment, then swallowed hard. He scoped out the window to see if the sniper was taking aim. He saw no one in the window. He took a deep breath, then raised up on his knees, yelling. “YOU MOTHERFUCKER! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!,” he screamed. He saw the sniper take position in the window, setting Dave in his sights.

  Tammy also saw the man come into view. She had the rifle trained on the window already, just waiting on him to come into view. She saw a scope on the man's rifle, a luxury she didn't have. She lined up the front sight with divot on the rear sight, then exhaled half the air in her lungs. She watched as the man took his position on the window sill, gun aimed. The world grew silent; her senses cleared and sharpened, and she and the target became the only things left in the world. She gently squeezed the trigger.

  The gun recoiled against her shoulder, quickly jolting her out of her focused trance. The shooter, less than a seconds placing his finger on the trigger, jerked as the bullet struck him in the chest, then slumped forward and lay motionless on the windowsill.

  Dave hunkered back down in the weeds. He couldn't be sure there was only one shooter, so he needed to tell Ed to stay put. “Stay there!” he called out to Ed, unable to see him in the thick weeds. Ed didn't reply, but stayed put. They waited this way for at least another five minutes. To Dave it seemed like an eternity. The onl
y sound was the wind blowing wind chimes behind the house. No other shooters appeared.

  Suddenly Tammy stood up, slung the rifle over her shoulder, then walked toward Brenda's lifeless body. Dave considered stopping her then decided against it; if Tammy wanted to draw the fire of any other shooters then that was her choice. She would do what she wanted to do.

  Tammy made it to Brenda's body; there were no additional shots fired. She knelt down beside it, placing her hand on her friend's back. Her feet made sloshing sounds as she stepped onto the blood-soaked ground. The exit wound on the right side of her head was vicious and severe, forcing Tammy to look away.

  Ed and Dave joined her while Trish kept the boys at a safe distance. The shooter was dead; if he had any accomplices they were nowhere to be seen. Tammy looked up at them; tears welling in the corners of her eyes, unable to speak. She opened her mouth and searched for the words, but none came. Ed and Dave could think of nothing appropriate to say. Eventually Ed placed a hand on Tammy's shoulder, then tapped Dave on the arm to get his attention. After motioning that he follow, Ed walked back to where Trish and the boys still hid.

  “Dave, I'm sorry about Brenda,” Ed said. “I could tell she was important to you.”

  Dave nodded.

  Ed continued. “I don't want to sound cold, but we need to keep our heads right now. Are you still with me?”

  “I'm with you, Ed,” Dave responded, nodding his head. Though shocked by Brenda's death, he was still engaged. “Water, right?” he asked.

  “Exactly. We still need to make that happen, despite all this.”

  “I understand. I'll go search for a pump.” With that Dave walked to where Tammy still knelt, picked up Brenda's gun, then placed a hand on Tammy's shoulder. She brushed it off, as he expected she would. He then left her side and walked toward the back of the house in search of water.

  Ed watched the interaction between Tammy and Dave. She was upset, he knew, but he would need to keep an eye on her all the same. He didn't need anyone checking out. They had to remain focused, otherwise they were apt to make mistakes, possibly mistakes that could get them all killed, and he couldn't allow that to happen. Dave seemed to be keeping it together though, so that was some relief.

  He hadn't had much time to get to know Brenda, aside from a few conversations along the road and some after dinner stories back at Mitchell's. She seemed to have been a straight-shooter. What happened was a damn shame. What a fucking world.

  Ed refocused: Trish and the boys were fine, Dave was searching for a well, and Tammy was seeing to her dead. There wasn't much else to do until Dave returned. He wasn't about to leave Trish and the boys alone, he didn't completely trust Tammy's mental state and the chance of attack always loomed.

  Dave returned shortly, placing Brenda's gun in his pocket. He glanced over at Tammy before addressing Ed. “I didn't see anything that looked like a well,” he stated succinctly.

  “Shit. All this for nothing,” Ed replied, exasperated. He thought; maybe there was still running water in the house. It was a possibility, especially if the house was using well water. There might not be a pump around back, but the house's water supply might be using one. Entering the house was dangerous, but they were already in danger of severe dehydration.

  “Maybe there's running water inside the house,” he said to Dave. “If we could-”

  Suddenly Ed's heard a scream from behind him. His stomach dropped as he realized it was the sound of his own child. He turned to see a carrier on top of Zach, clawing and biting at his throat. Trish screamed, taken off guard by the silently approaching deadwalker. Jeremy stood, wide-eyed in disbelief.

  Ed ran toward them, then kicked the carrier in the head as hard as possible. The thing rolled away, then slowly got to its feet. It readied itself to charge. Ed's pistol was still on his side; he hadn't had time to draw it before attacking the carrier. It leapt forward with surprising speed. Ed reached for his gun as quickly as he could, but the thing was fast. In his heart he knew he was too slow.

  Then suddenly sharp crack of a pistol rang out and the thing dropped to the ground in a heap. Ed looked around to see Mitchell running up the road toward the group, gun in hand.

  “Move your asses! They're swarming!” he yelled.

  Ed picked up Zach and slung him over his shoulder. He then grabbed Jeremy by the hand and they ran back toward the highway. Trish followed close behind. He didn't stop to see if the others followed.

  Dave watched the whole scene play out in front of him, all of it happening so fast he barely had time to react before hearing the sound of a carrier screaming from behind him. He turned quickly, pulling Brenda's gun, then froze. A female carrier, still wearing the filthy and paltry remains of a t-shirt and sweatpants, charged at him.

  He tried to move his hand to fire the gun, but the thought of the events in the 7-Eleven took hold. He finally raised the gun, but found he couldn't pull the trigger. In his head he heard the sound of the young carrier's voice again, calling out for her mommy. He stood there as the the thing charged, screaming, its arm hanging paralyzed. His mouth was dry, his head pounded from dehydration, and his thoughts were racing too fast to follow. He felt sickening panic building up within him, overtaking him as the the thing gained on him.

  Then a shot rang out from behind him, and the deadwalker dropped to the ground with a violent thud. He turned back to see Mitchell with his gun raised, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to catch his breath.

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Mitchell yelled. He looked around. “Where's Brenda and Tammy?” he asked. Dave pointed to the where Brenda lay dead on the ground. “Oh, man,” Mitchell replied. Tammy was standing now, halfway between the group and the body. She kept looking back and forth between the two.

  “Tammy!” Mitchell yelled. Her head snapped to attention, her focus now on Mitchell's voice. “We have to leave her.”

  “I can't. I won't,” she replied sharply.

  “There's no other choice,” he said, somberly.

  Tammy looked back toward her dead friend once more, hesitating. She paused for a moment, considering her options, then ran toward Mitchell and Dave.

  “Come on, girl,” Mitchell said to her once she reached he and Dave. She looked at him with overwhelming sadness exuding from her red and watery eyes. He touched her shoulder. “Let's go,” he said.

  More carriers approached from the overgrown field surrounding the house. Mitchell fired quickly and cleanly, taking each one down with a near-perfect shot to the head or the chest. The remainder of the group then ran back down the highway and away from the gruesome scene behind them.

  Ed ran, almost in a frenzy, with his oldest son over his shoulder and his youngest son's hand in his own. He heard five more shots ring out behind him, fired closely together, but they barely registered. Panic was taking hold of him. Jeremy kept up as best as he could, but Ed was nearly dragging him. He could only think of what he'd seen back there, the sight of the carrier on top of his oldest son. It happened so fast, Ed hadn't even heard the thing approach. He hadn't been paying attention; he was too busy dealing with the shit storm they'd gotten themselves into.

  They ran until they reached the road, then Ed heard more gunfire behind him. He ran, feeling the air flow in and out of his burning lungs, his head spinning. He had to get to safety, then he could check on Zach. He barely noticed the sound of Trish running behind them. Dave, Mitchell, and Tammy didn't even register in his overwhelmed mind.

  After what seemed like an eternal run they reached the road and stopped. He let go of Jeremy's hand, then slowly lowered Zach to the ground. A glance behind showed him Dave and Tammy were following, along with Mitchell. No carriers followed them. There would be more though, no doubt.

  Zach's hand was covering his neck. Beneath his son's small fingers he saw blood dripping slowly He lifted the boy's hand from his neck, and then Ed's entire mind and body went numb with white-hot, paralyzing shock.

  Zach had been bitten by t
he carrier.

  CHAPTER 17

  Ed carried Zach piggyback for miles, not allowing the boy to walk at all. Jeremy walked alongside them, his face red from crying. Ed was completely overcome with shock; his world spun madly around him as he struggled unsuccessfully to comprehend the reality of what had just happened to his son. No amount of preparation or forethought could prepare him for the nightmare in which he was trapped.

  Dave, however, was gripped with awareness and clarity. He knew they had to get somewhere safer, out of the open, and then figure out what to do next. Seeing Ed so completely overwhelmed and checked out he took over, directing the group and allowing Ed to focus on his children.

  They walked for several more miles, eventually setting up camp on Dave's direction inside a wooded area just off the highway. Ed ventured off with the boys another twenty yards away from the rest of the group and then set up his own camp. At the time he wasn't thinking about spreading the virus; he just needed to be alone with his boys.

  Dave immediately set out to find water. A fifteen minute search deeper into the woods proved out with the discovery of a small, trickling stream. It wasn't much, but it was at least moving. Dave was able to siphon off enough water to fill up the three canteens he carried.

  Upon his return he handed two of the canteens to Ed. Ed took them without saying anything. “There's one for Zach and one for you and Jeremy,” Dave told him. Ed looked at him slightly confused, then nodded as understanding took hold. Dave nodded in return.

  Dave felt it almost callous, but they couldn't chance spreading the virus. He walked way without saying anything. There was nothing left to say anyway.

  Ed handed Zach the canteen. The boy drank from it, then lay down on his side upon the forest floor. Ed cleaned his son's neck wound, then helped him into his sleeping bag. The wound wasn't deep, but it was deep enough. The skin had been penetrated by the carrier's teeth, the flesh torn off in one place. There could be little doubt that the virus had an unimpeded path into the boy's bloodstream.