by S. Ison
“That’s a good idea too. The less houses we have to guard, the better. We can concentrate on a smaller area. I’ll talk to him in the morning. Not sure he will go for it, but we can ask. Let’s head to bed, I’m beat. I forgot how active small children can be,” he laughed.
“Mr. Busy Boy. Okay, old man, let’s go to bed,” Pearl said.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Topsfield, Maine
Tim pulled up to Kelly’s truck, which was parked over to the side of the road. He got off the motorcycle – the bike from one of the three men they’d killed the year before. Sweat trickled down his back, between the heat of the sun and the fear that was curling around the base of his skull. His fingers tingled, numb. He wasn’t sure if it was from the fear or the ride on the motorcycle. He tried to get the fear under control. He needed to be clear-headed.
He walked toward the truck on shaky legs, afraid of what he might find in the cab. He had nearly wiped out on the ride: the motorcycle didn’t like slick, icy roads. But he’d had no choice; he couldn’t chance taking Butter out this far.
A vehicle headed his way. It was Kenny’s beat-up old Chevy. It was a rust bucket, but ran well. He stood by Kelly’s truck, waiting. The heavy Chevy came to a stop in front of Kelly’s vehicle.
Getting out of the truck, Kenny made his way carefully to Tim over the slick, uneven ground. His eyes were grim and worried.
“Take it she’nt here?” Kenny asked.
“I don’t see her around. I was about to check the cab,” Tim said. Holding his breath, he took a step forward and looked into the cab. It was empty but for a folded sheet of paper. He yanked the door open and grabbed the paper. Opening it, he read it through. As he read it, his face went red with rage.
Since you and your wife won’t cooperate, this government has taken actions to secure what it needs. Your wife will be held until you bring us what we request. Don’t worry, she won’t be hurt. We are finding that it is necessary to take extraordinary steps. We must all work together to bring this great state back together. You chose to be obstinate. We know how to deal with obstinate. Below is a list of what we need. Once you bring that to us, we will release your wife. Do not test our resolve. Whether you recognize this government or not, you will comply or you will not see your wife.
Sincerely, Governor Chum
“That fucking piece of dogshit,” Tim shouted. He bared his teeth, and a snarl emanated from his throat. He shoved the letter into Kenny’s large hands.
Kenny scanned the contents, then spat on the ground, his face growing red as well. “By the Jesus! Dubba bastahd,” Kenny shouted, indignant. “Say he wants a moose, your solar panels and inverter and batteries. Ten chickens. Fity pound of tatoes when they harvested, ’long wit’ twenny bushels of apples, and iffn you got flour an’ sugar, he wants twenny pounds of dem. Said he also wants all your handguns? God-dammah!”
“I’m going to kill that bastard. Kelly is pregnant, Kenny. That was why she was coming to see Patsy.”
Tim’s face fell, and the fear threatened to engulf him. He squeezed his eyes shut hard and tried to breath slow, tried to bring his heart rate down. He could hear his heart beating hard behind his eyes and in his ears. The blood rushed through him, carrying the rage to every cell in his body.
Kenny’s large hand fell on his stiff shoulder. “Son, don’t you worrit none. That bastart won’t lay a hand on her. People won’t stand forit. Huck that bike in the truck and folla me home and we’ll getton the shatwave.”
Tim expelled a breath. Kenny knew these people better than he did. They would get this resolved, and he would kill Chum and anyone who helped him.
They arrived at Kenny’s home a few mins later. Patsy came out on the porch, a worried look on her plump, weathered face. She was as broad as she was small, and the gray hair gathered in a haphazard bun on the top of her head was slipping off to the side. She reminded Tim of a gnome’s wife.
She held a red checkered dishtowel in her hands, and a dingy apron was tied around her waist. She wore beat-up men’s leather work shoes, scuffed but sturdy. She met her husband on the steps, a questioning look on her face. Kenny handed her the letter.
Tim watched as her face began to turn a mottled red, the colour rising up from her blouse to suffuse her face. She looked at Tim, and then at her husband. “Is he wicked stupid or what? Has he lost his ever-lovin’ mind?”
“Stupid be my firs’ guess,” Kenny said, and kissed the top of his wife’s head, dislodging the topknot even more.
“I think because we live so far out, and we aren’t locals, he thought he could do what he wanted and get away with it,” Tim speculated, putting his rage in that small box he kept under lock and chain, to be unleashed at a more appropriate time. He’d learned long ago to compartmentalize his emotions, but he was finding it unbelievably difficult where Kelly was concerned.
Patsy led him into the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee from a blue-speckled enamel camp coffee pot. She had a large old-fashioned wood stove; the thing had to be over a hundred years old. Tim took in the various doors – for baking, he guessed. That, or wood storage.
She gave him the sugar jar, old as well, with painted roosters, their festive colors now chipped and faded. He took a teaspoon and put sugar into his coffee and stirred. Kenny received a cup as well, then turned to the radio on a special ledge between cabinets.
After a few moments, he was in contact with someone named Crawford. “Ayah, been hearin’ ’bout people gone missin’. That bastad wannin’ somthan for nothan. Ova.”
“Rogah, good man’s wife got took too. You know wheah they got them people held? Ova,” Kenny asked
“Naw, but kin ask round and let ya know soon as may be. Wicked bastad. That’s some bad doin’. Ova,” Crawford acknowledged.
“Rogah, get back fast as ya can. Out,” Kenny said. He turned to Tim. “Crawford’s a good man. He’ll get the intel. Looks Chum gettin' desperate, taken folks. That wone do.”
Patsy came to stand behind Kenny, her small knotted hand on his broad shoulders. Tim wondered at them. He knew they were in their late seventies. Kenny had been in Vietnam for two tours, a sniper, and Patsy had raised the family here in Maine. They were amazing and wonderful people, and he counted himself lucky to know them. He stood and held out his hand to Kenny.
The older man stood and grasped his hand firmly. “Done worrit son, we’ll get yer woman back to you. An’ we’ll take care of Chum and his people. You can depend onnit.”
“Thanks, Kenny, I appreciate it,” Tim said. “I’ve got to get back to take care of the animals. I’ll bring Hope next time for your eldest son. He’d wanted the dog.”
“Done you worrit, we’ll get this straight out. I’ll let my boy knowed ’bout the pup, he’ll be honkin’ glad for it.”
Tim walked to the truck and got in. His mind was in a roil. He fought the urge to go door to door to hunt the bastard down and gut him. He knew he needed to get back home. It was getting late and the animals needed tending to. Kelly could take care of herself, but he didn’t trust Chum or his people, or his word not to harm Kelly.
Making his way back to the cabin, Tim’s mind couldn’t stay focused. He felt overwhelmed for the first time in his life. He’d never come across this kind of problem or feeling. He’d felt fear, but not this kind of gut-wrenching terror. He’d always lived simply, and now some bastard had come and carelessly torn his life in two. All he wanted to do was to go hunt the man down and kill him.
He had to calm himself and tamp the fear down. He couldn’t afford to do anything foolish or reckless. Kelly’s life depended on him being level-headed and planning her rescue carefully. His hands curled tightly over the steering wheel, as though around Chum’s fat neck. Chum’s day was coming. The killer in him would go at the son of a bitch.
⅏
Kelly was livid. She sat in the windowless room of an old house. She wasn’t sure where she was, as Chum’s son had put a dirty pillowcase over her head. After a drive that ha
d lasted some time, they had brought her to this room, where a dirty blanket lay on the dirty floor. She didn’t even want to know what had used the blanket before her. She could smell it from three feet away, and her gorge began to rise. She swallowed hard, fighting down the urge to vomit.
Chum had stopped her by blocking the road with his truck. When she’d stopped to yell obscenities at him, the thin man, Wolfe, had come up behind her and put a shotgun to her head. She’d been caught like a fly in a web.
As they drove to wherever it was they were going, Chum had bragged about monitoring the radio, and wasn’t it nice that they should meet out in the middle of nowhere.
“Don’t worry. I left a note for your husband. He knows what he needs to do to get you back safely. I’m sure it won’t be a long wait,” he’d chortled with glee.
“You do know he will kill you?” Kelly had asked the fat man calmly.
“My dear, he doesn’t know where you are. If he’s smart, he will bring the items listed. This is for the government to move forward, my dear. We have to be able to function, and those solar panels will provide the power we need. Can’t run a government in the dark,” he had chuckled.
Kelly had stopped talking. The jackass had no idea who he was dealing with. She hoped Tim could indeed find her. She was sure Kenny would help him locate her; it was only a matter of time.
She walked around her small dark room, and her foot hit a large bucket. Then a few sheets of paper. Great, she thought, a toilet. She walked back to the door, and tried the knob once more. It was still locked tight, and she felt foolish for trying it over and over, as though it would magically unlock itself.
There was nothing for it, and she took a seat on the floor to wait and think. She tried not to let the fear and anger engulf her. She knew it wouldn’t be good for the baby. Taking a deep breath, and regretting it immediately, Kelly drew her knees up to her chest and locked her arms around them. She was only two and a half months along, and she should be okay. She just needed to stay calm. It was now a waiting game.
Bridgman, Michigan
Mike and Jada sat in the darkened house. They’d spent the last two days lying low. After killing the man by the fire barrel, they’d walked two hours away. Mike didn’t think the gang would look that far. They would, however, be on high alert.
He and Jada had found a vacant home with little damage. It had been looted of all food, but the beds were still in good shape; they even had sheets. The house was dusty and hadn’t been occupied for months, so it was unlikely they’d be disturbed.
It was early evening and they were eating another homemade granola bar each. They were getting low on water, and Jada had suggested they drink from the toilet tanks. Mike had looked at her, and begun to get a sense of what she’d done to survive.
“Jenna was a pediatric nurse. She loved working with the babies,” Jada said softly. She nibbled slowly, savoring the food.
“What did you do?” he asked, taking a tentative drink of the tank water. It was flat, but didn’t taste bad. Better than drinking out of the bowl, he decided. He could smell Jada from across the room. They were sitting in the living room by the window. She smelled sour and dank, a long time from fresh.
He’d gotten a good look at her when daylight came the previous day. Her hair was matted to her head, greasy, and he suspected it hadn’t been washed since the power went missing. Her top priority had been survival, not hygiene.
He was again struck by how fortunate he, Stephen, and Alisa had been to get out and away before the shit hit the fan. They’d had the resources and ability to feed and bath themselves. It had been a laborious task heating water, but at least they’d had soap and shampoo. They’d used them sparingly, but they’d had them all the same.
“I was a chef, believe it or not.” She laughed at the irony.
Mike joined her in laughter. It was funny, but it wasn’t.
“How about you?” she asked, drinking from a dusty glass she’d found in the kitchen cupboard.
For some reason, Mike felt ashamed of his life before. It had been a wasted life, a useless life.
“Not a whole lot, I’m sorry to say. I was like most people; doing as little as possible.” He shrugged, embarrassed. He fidgeted nervously with his jacket sleeve.
“Yet you survived, and from the looks of it, you did pretty good. I’d say that is something. Jenna and I did okay the first weeks after we lost power, but it was so hard to find anything to eat. All the stores had been ransacked. Then we went dumpster diving, which was horrible,” Jada said, making a face.
“But then it got worse. We ended up going back to dumpsters to eat greasy paper from discarded fast food, and we ate the bugs in the dumpsters. It was all there was,” she said, a violent shiver wracking her thin frame.
“Jesus Christ,” was all Mike could say. Once more he was profoundly thankful that they’d been better off.
“Did you always live here?” she asked.
“We lived in Chicago, and Alisa was pregnant. We thought it best we get out of town when the EVD1-0 virus hit. Didn’t know how long it would take to blow over, so we stocked up. My folks had a cottage on the lake.” He went still, sadness washing over him at the memory of the burned-out shell. He took in a long shaky breath, trying to get the pain under control, his fists knotting tightly.
“It’s okay, Mike, you don’t have to talk about it. I know it’s still fresh and hard for you,” Jada said softly.
“No, it’s okay. It’s just every time I think about it, it makes the rage and sadness surface, and just overwhelms me,” Mike said, taking a deep breath and blowing it out hard. “I think we should get some shuteye. If you want, get some rest and I’ll wake you in a couple hours.”
“Sounds good. I’m beat,” Jada said, yawing widely, her jaw cracking. Mike yawned in response, his eyes tearing. He shook his head and got up to look out the window.
He turned and looked down at Jada, and saw that she was already asleep. He smiled softly down at her. He moved around the house quietly, checking windows, then went back to sit beside Jada.
He heard no vehicles or people. As the day progressed, he reached over and woke Jada. She got up and left the room. Mike laid his head down and let sleep take him.
⅏
Jada roamed around the house, looking into closets and wondering about the people who had lived, and more than likely died, here. It broke her heart to see the naked pain in Mike’s eyes. She knew that pain well, had felt it keenly every day since she lost her twin.
Jada nibbled on the granola bar. It was delicious, and made her empty stomach very happy. It had been so long since she’d eaten real food. Dirty chips, candy, and rotten food wasn’t really food, but it had kept her breathing. So had the rage, and the need to avenge her sister.
Jada found a few copies of People magazine and sat in a chair by the window and flipped the pages. It kept her mind busy and awake. From time to time, she got up and made the rounds of the house, checking on Mike. Then she went back to the chair and magazines.
They had taken turns sleeping the rest of the day, and now it was about time to head out once more into the cold chill of the night.
It was going to take them a couple hours to get back to the brownstone. Unsure as to what they would find, both agreed to take it slow and stealthy. Jada refilled the water bottles from the toilet tank, and they set off into the silent darkness.
Jada listened to the wind whisper through the trees, the soft susurrus calming her frayed nerves. There were crickets in the overgrown grass that serenaded their journey, though Jada thought it too cold for crickets to be out of their dens. The night air was crisp, but the scent of decay was in the air.
Jada knew she stank. How could she not? She’d seen Mike’s nose wrinkle when she was near him. She felt a twinge of shame, but knew it was ridiculous. She had been living a nightmare for the longest time. He never said anything, though, and was kind to her. Perhaps, soon, she could wash and clean herself. She let out a wistful
sigh at the thought of a hot bath.
Beside her, Mike’s long strides shortened to match her own. They walked in companionable silence. They had a purpose to their lives.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
San Gabriel Mountains, California
Taking their time, Charmain, Rubin, Harley, and Jack made their way to the camp of the Loco Locusts. They were spread across about ten yards, each blending into the trees and making very little noise.
Charmain was in the lead, and the others tracked off her. Holding up her hand, everyone stopped. She turned her head this way and that, listening. Then gave the signal to proceed.
Slowly, as they traveled farther, she began to smell death through the trees. Listening, she heard only the noises of the forest inhabitants. Again, she brought everyone to a halt. She held up her finger indicating one, Rubin, to go left. She shook her finger five times, indicating five hundred yards to the north. Then holding up two fingers, to Jack, she indicated five hundred yards to the south.
She and Harley split the difference and proceed forward. She could barely hear Harley as he moved farther away. She wished they could just kill them all now, but it would take longer, and someone in her group could get hurt or killed. Night was definitely better.
How the hell can they eat humans, let alone rotting humans? she thought. They had to be crazy, or so high on drugs it didn’t register. She remembered the first time she’d glassed them and saw two men with what looked like a pipe, passing it back and forth. Meth, she’d thought at the time.
They’d be doing these people a favor by ending their miserable lives. Between the drugs and disease, they were wreaking havoc in a world that had already gone to hell.
A small flutter of conscience went through her. She knew it was wrong to kill like this. But the alternative was to let these monsters kill and hurt others. They wouldn’t stop. They’d work their way through the mountains like locusts, killing and destroying everything with no regard for human life or suffering. It seemed to her that they’d cared little for either before.
