As Jim prepared himself for the worst, another shot sounded. But this time it came from the front. Then another came. And another. In an instant the pursuit came to a dead stop. He could hear all of those behind him desperately shouting and ducking for cover.
“Thank you, Mark,” he breathed.
Just as he reached the tree line, the wranglers started returning fire. Bullets pinged and whizzed crazily around. His eyes were still stinging from the dirt thrown up, forcing him to blink hard to see where he was going. Then he heard Mark’s voice calling from a few yards ahead.
“This way!” he ordered.
Jim followed the sound until he was sure he'd gone well beyond where the traps were set.
By now, even Liam's modest weight was making him stagger every few paces. To his huge relief, Mark then jumped out from behind a tree and grabbed him by the shoulder.
“You almost went the wrong way,” he said.
“I can hardly see,” Jim explained.
Mark removed a rag from his pocket and wiped some of the dirt away from his eyes. “Better?”
Jim nodded sharply. Just as he did so, the first claymore went off. This was closely followed by a second explosion. Cries of pain and terror echoed throughout the woods as the wranglers scattered and fled. With a big grin on his face, Mark beckoned Jim to follow. Without the need to run, carrying Liam was no longer a serious problem for him. Not for a while, anyway.
Shortly after they passed the cattle herd, two more explosions sounded.
“That’s the last of them,” said Mark. “I can’t believe they set off all four. Morons.”
Jim couldn’t help but laugh. He wished dearly that he could have watched the carnage.
After another mile they stopped to examine Liam. He was barely conscious and moaning with pain. Jim’s heart sank. It was bad. Without proper medical treatment, injuries this serious were often fatal. Even if someone could heal, infection was all too common.
Mark examined him too. “We need to stop by my things,” he said. “I have medicine there that can probably help him.”
From there on they took turns in carrying Liam until reaching the spot where his gear was hidden. After digging around in this for a moment, he produced a small bottle of pills.
“Antibiotics,” he said. “These might keep him alive long enough to get better.”
Jim took the bottle and shoved it into his pocket.
When they finally arrived at the top of the hill looking down on the pier, Mark halted. “I’ll wait here for you until morning,” he said.
“You should come with me,” Jim told him. “No one will say anything. Especially now.”
Mark shook his head. “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you. Get some rest. We have a long way to go tomorrow.”
“Okay. Whatever you want to do.”
With a final parting nod, Jim set off down toward the wall. Red had obviously been waiting there the whole time and came running the moment he saw them. Three more men followed close behind. Very carefully, Jim laid Liam on the ground. He was still in and out of consciousness.
Red slid down beside him. “Is he…?”
“He’s alive,” said Jim. He handed Red the antibiotics. “Mark gave these to me. It should keep away infections.”
The sound of Red’s voice must have had a reviving effect on Liam because he opened his eyes as much as the swelling would allow. “Hey, you.”
Tears streamed down Red’s face. “Hey.”
“Sorry I wandered off.”
Red brushed Liam's hair away from his forehead. “Hush, now. It’s going to be all right. I’ll take care of you.”
Liam managed a weak smile. “Faggot.”
Red kissed him tenderly on the cheek. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
With the utmost care, almost as if handling a new born baby, he lifted Liam into his arms and carried him to the end of the pier. Jim helped him lower the injured man into the boat, but Red insisted on getting him home on his own.
“I’ll never forget this,” he told Jim before parting.
Jim smiled. “It was nothing, buddy. You’d have done the same for me.”
He went straight to his own boat to wash off. The cold water from the large bucket he kept in his bedroom felt nice. Refreshed from this, he changed into a pair of old sweat pants and a tee shirt, then searched around under the sink for some liquor. The fact that all he could find was some homemade wine brought a frown to his face. It would have to do.
The first thing he saw when he went back up on deck was Anne standing on the platform beside his boat, hands held behind her back. Jim forced a smile. He was in no mood for her tonight. It wasn’t that she was bad looking. In fact, she was exceptionally pretty. Her honey blond hair and blue eyes were a nice contrast to her olive skin. And her body was well proportioned. Not too thin or athletic, and with all the right curves in all the right places. No one but Red understood why he kept rejecting her. But as long as he was able to cling on to the hope that his wife was still alive, he would never touch another woman. And though that hope was miniscule…it was still there.
He sank down into his chair with an involuntary groan. “Hey, Anne.”
She smiled. “Hey there, hero.”
Glancing across, Jim could see everyone gathered closely around Liam and Red’s boat. He hoped they’d leave him alone tonight…but somehow he doubted it. “I just did the same as Red would have done,” he said. “Please don’t make a big deal out of it.”
Anne regarded him with a playful half frown. “It is a big deal, grumpy. And you deserve a reward.”
Here it comes, he thought. But rather than hop on board and offer herself in the way she usually did, she simply removed her hands from behind her back. He blinked in astonishment when he saw that she was holding out a bottle of Jack.
“Where did you get that?” he asked. At that very moment, he would almost fuck her if she asked him to.
“Mr. Baldwin’s been saving it,” she told him. “He said that you need it more than he does. Also, that you should keep the holster you borrowed.” She stepped nimbly aboard and handed him the bottle. “Is it true that you’re leaving with the man who helped you?”
Jim nodded. “Just for a couple of days. I’ll be back once he gets what he’s after.”
“So what is he after?”
Jim opened the bottle. The scent of charcoal filtered whiskey filled the air. For a moment he had forgotten what Anne had just asked. “What’s he after? Hell if I know. Doesn’t really matter, I guess. I made a deal.”
Anne touched his cheek lightly. “Just don’t forget to come back. We need you here.”
With that, she turned and jumped off the boat, flashing him a wink and a flirtatious smile over her shoulder as she walked away.
After a time, a few more people stopped by to thank him for his courage. To his surprise, none of them lingered for very long. Even Henry shot him an approving nod. He thought about the trip to Mobile. It was a long way from home.
“Is that what this place is?” he muttered to himself. “Home?”
He was just about to go to bed when Red showed up. He was looking far less upset now, even managing a slight smile as he climbed aboard.
“How’s Liam?” Jim asked, handing his friend the already half-empty bottle.
“Alive, thanks to you and Mark. He’ll heal in a few weeks.”
Without taking a drink, he sat the whiskey down beside him and regarded Jim seriously. “I want you to stay here. Let me go to Mobile. You’ve done enough.”
Jim could see the guilt written all over Red’s face. It was well known that the road across the bay was dangerous. “I know what you're saying, Red,” he began. “But I’m the one who made the deal. Anyhow, Liam needs you to be here.”
There was a long silence as tears welled in Red’s eyes. “I just felt so helpless while he was gone. Even after the world went to shit, I never felt like that.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean. When I los
t Laura and Meagan.”
Red wiped his face and sniffed. “How did you handle it?”
Jim leaned back in his chair and stared at his lap. “I didn’t. I still feel like that. I’m still sitting here hoping that one day they’ll come strolling up and everything will be all right again. Even though my head tells me it won’t happen, I can’t let it go.”
Red grabbed the bottle again, but instead of taking a drink, he handed it back to Jim. “I wish I could help you the same way you've helped me.”
“You already do. You. Liam. Mr. Baldwin. Even Henry. I have purpose here. It doesn’t take away the pain…but it does help.”
Red heard his name being called from his boat. He turned to leave. “Yes, you do have a purpose here, Jim. Don’t forget that. We need you. So don’t get yourself killed…deal or no deal.”
Jim watched Red as he made his way back home. He couldn’t help but envy him. To feel so deeply, and to have those feelings returned was by far the greatest gift anyone could receive. He thought about all those ignorant assholes who would have looked down on Red and Liam's relationship before.
“Well, at least one good thing has come from all this shit,” he said quietly before raising the bottle to his mouth. “Not a whole lot of prejudice around these days.”
* * *
He woke the next morning feeling as if some sadistic bastard had come along in the middle of the night and coated his mouth with particularly nasty tasting cardboard. Groaning, he rolled out of bed and swigged back a whole bottle of water in only a few seconds. It helped a little. Next, he pulled back the narrow curtain above the sink. Another loud groan slipped out as the bright sunlight hit his eyes. It was going to be a hot one.
It took him only a few minutes to pack his gear. He figured on being gone around a week, so most of what he needed to take was food and water. With his backpack full and his .45 securely holstered, he opened the cabin door and stepped up on deck.
The blast of heat that hit him had beads of sweat forming instantly on his brow. After adjusting to the glare, he saw that a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of tomato juice had been left there for him: probably by Mrs. Baldwin, who was in charge of the garden. Pushing all thoughts of his killer hangover to the back of his mind, he downed the meal as quickly as he could while going over a mental checklist one final time. That done, he was ready to go.
As he made his way to the boat, it appeared that nearly everyone had gathered to see him off. Anne was the last in line, and before Jim could stop her, she had kissed him full on the lips. Her parting gesture raised much hooting and shouts of approval, as well as a hearty laugh from Red.
As promised, Mark was waiting for him at the top of the hill. “Gave you a hero’s goodbye, did they?” He wrinkled his nose. “And from the smell of you, a hero’s welcome, too.”
Jim shrugged. “I still have half the bottle left…well, a bit less than half actually. But you’re welcome to it when we get back. You earned it as much as I did.”
“I won’t be coming back,” Mark told him. “As soon as I get my things, I’m headed straight to Atlanta.”
Jim struggled to smother a frown. He didn’t much like the idea of making the return trip alone.
After turning north, they passed by several abandoned cars and pick-up trucks, none of which were in working condition. This was quite normal. Vehicles had stopped running altogether shortly after the power went out. No one knew why for sure, but Jim had speculated that an EMP could have been responsible. It was the only logical explanation. Most vehicles had their windows broken, were stripped of anything useful, and had been abandoned either on the roadside or outside their former owner’s homes. Occasionally, someone on the platform would get it in their head to try and get one started. But this venture never lasted long, and always ended in frustration and failure
Mark saw Jim admiring a black 1967 Mustang. “Yeah. Too bad. That baby sure would make the trip faster.”
Jim shrugged. “It'd draw too much attention anyway. People would slit your throat for anything that runs.”
Mark laughed. “Can’t say I blame them.”
To reach the Parkway, they first needed to pass through the towns of Delphi and Spanish Grove. Delphi was more or less a ghost town. A few small groups of people lived near the bay side, but they were paranoid and kept very much to themselves. Spanish Grove, on the other hand, was populated by more than two hundred people. Mostly locals and a few survivalists. Until a year ago they even did some trading with those living on Jim's platform. But one day there was a dispute and a fight broke out. No one was killed, but since then contact had ceased.
“I figure we can make it across the bay by sundown,” said Jim. “From there it’s about another twenty miles.”
They kept to the main highway, most of the time talking about life before the collapse. Up until then, Jim had assumed that Mark was former military, but then he said that he used to be a cell phone salesman.
“So how come you know so much about weapons?” Jim asked.
“You’d be amazed what you can learn from books,” he replied.
Every now and again they heard a shot go off in the distance. Not that this troubled Jim too much. He knew that it was just a warning. Stay away! We’re armed! The real danger would come when they crossed into Mobile.
By the time they reached the Spanish Grove city limits, he couldn't help but notice that Mark was becoming increasingly on edge. He was continually looking over his shoulder and stopping to scan the area whenever they heard the crack of a branch or any other sound that might possibly be manmade. Jim dismissed this as natural fear. He could feel it too, but was probably doing a better job of hiding it.
The road into Spanish Grove split off at the top of a steep hill. The left fork would take them to a causeway that used to pass over the bay. Unfortunately, the road had been destroyed and large sections of it were now under water. To the right was the town proper where most of the residents lived; in order to make their way to the bridge they would need to skirt this area on the west side. Jim hoped that they would be able to pass by unhindered, but there was no guarantee of safety. The people of Spanish Grove were not what he would consider hostile, but it had been some time since he'd been there. There was no telling what might have happened since then.
They left the road and made their way toward a small subdivision. Like everywhere else, the houses had been looted long ago for anything of value and were far too isolated to have anyone living in them. These days, the term 'safety in numbers' was taken as gospel.
After passing the last house, Jim stopped to cast his eyes carefully around.
“What’s wrong?” asked Mark.
“They should have seen us by now,” he replied. “I know the folks here always keep a good watch. We should have heard them signaling to the others that strangers are near.”
“What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know. But I’d like to check it out, if you don’t mind.”
Mark frowned. “Okay, but let’s make it quick.”
The main settlement was only a mile to their east. They hadn’t walked far before an all-too familiar odor assaulted Jim's nostrils. It was the stench of death.
Mark smelled it too. Reaching inside his coat, he pulled out his 9mm. “I say we get the hell out of here.”
Jim also drew his weapon. “Not yet.”
They exited the woods and crossed the highway. Here, a thirty-foot high watchtower had been erected to guard the approach to where the vast majority of people lived. Though a vital security measure, it was completely unmanned. And if this wasn't unsettling enough, the stench of decomposition was growing stronger with every step. A few feet beyond the tower, Jim spotted a man lying face down in a ditch next to the road. Cautiously, he approached and rolled the body over with his boot.
He nearly vomited as the foul odor hit him with renewed intensity. The face was utterly unrecognizable, just a mass of rotting flesh proving a home for a multitude of writhing
maggots and worms. The body was rather more intact, and Jim could see a blood stain surrounding a hole in the man’s shirt. He'd been shot.
“Why would they just leave him like this?” he wondered aloud. “Something’s very wrong here.”
He pressed on, not even bothering to look and see if Mark was following. He needed to find out what had happened. He had known these people. Some of them for a long time. They weren’t the type to just leave a body to rot. Nor would they leave the guard tower unmanned. Not even for an hour or two.
They passed six more bodies along the way before reaching the main residential area. All had been shot. And all had been dead for some considerable time. When Jim was last here, an eight-foot wooden fence had surrounded the entire township, but now large sections of this had been violently torn down. Also, the main entrance was hanging wide open. He was dreading what he would find inside.
“We don’t need to do this,” Mark said.
Jim shot him an angry look. “Yes we do. I knew these people. I have to find out what happened.”
His dread was more than justified. Only seconds after stepping through the gates, he found himself faced with the most gruesome scene imaginable. Dozens of bodies were strewn everywhere, scattered about like so much garbage. Men; women; children; even pets. All of them murdered. Every one of the small houses that the people had built for themselves had been burned to the ground. No structure of any kind remained intact. Jim searched the area for a time, but it was soon painfully clear that not a single soul remained alive.
“Who the hell would do this?” demanded Mark.
Jim swung around to look him directly in the eye. There was rage boiling in his chest. “My question is - who could do this? These people were well armed. It would need a massive amount of fire power to take out all two-hundred of them.”
“Then let’s just hope that whoever was responsible has moved on.”
Still simmering, Jim took a final lingering look at the ravaged town. The people here had worked so damn hard to rebuild something for themselves. They had started putting the pieces back together. Begun afresh. He remembered how he had once considered them to be nothing but a bunch of hillbillies. But looking at all they'd accomplished, he had clearly been wrong.
Tallos - Episode One (Season One) Page 4
