Zombie Road: The Second Omnibus | Books 4-6 | Jessie+Scarlet

by Simpson, David A.

  Debbie stared at herself in the mirror, searching her eyes, looking for an answer. Bobby had come by her apartment last night. He knew Griz was out of town and with a little bit of whiskey in him from Up Jumped the Devil, he’d come knocking bearing gifts, wanting his wife back. She hated herself for being weak with him. She could stand toe to toe with any man, stare them down or gun them down, whatever the situation called for. But Bobby was her husband. He spoke so sweet and didn’t try to push. He just wanted to talk. He just wanted his old life back. He’d been trying to find her for a year and didn’t understand why she hadn’t waited for him. Couldn’t they at least try? Hadn’t she loved him like he loved her?

  Yes, she had loved him but that was then. She’d loved him deeply and truly but too much had happened. They weren’t the same people. Things had changed. Time had passed.

  It took her an hour to get rid of him and she felt the guilt, just like he knew she would. She was torn between duty and honor and what she wanted for herself and he kept pushing. Kept making her feel small.

  She finished dressing, making sure her uniform was crisp, her badge was straight then buckled on her duty belt. Her stomach was in knots and she missed Griz. Missed his no nonsense way of speaking, the way he knew to bring her bullets and not a stupid stuffed animal with a pink bow. She knocked it off the table, sending the little bouquet of flowers it held flying across the floor. She glared at it and all it stood for. It was soft and cute. It was harmless and weak. It was how she felt around him, nearly powerless to make him stop. Make him shut up. Make him disappear again.

  Griz made her feel solid and sure about her decisions. Never made her second guess herself. Most of the time her job was easy but sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes she held someone’s future, their life or death in her hands. He never gave her back handed compliments that could also be insults and little jibes to make her feel small. He gave her guns or bullets or roses with prickly thorns. Things that were beautiful and strong but could hurt you, too. In just a short time, Bobby had made a lot of friends. He was already a shift watchman on the wall and worked with the electrical crew. He knew most of the townspeople and was always cheerful and grateful to be behind the walls. He always had a kind word or something nice to say to everyone and everyone liked him, felt sorry for him. The sheriff was being hard on the poor guy. She liked to hang out with the big hairy man who owned the gun shop but was never around. He was always out doing something beyond the wall and nobody was ever sure what it was.

  Griz didn’t have a lot of friends besides the military guys. He wasn’t unnecessarily mean to anyone but he wasn’t particularly nice, either. Even when he was trying to be friendly, sometimes it came across gruff. His big beard hid his smile and it looked like he was scowling most of the time. Most folks who didn’t know him tended to avoid him. He wasn’t their first choice of guests to invite for an ice cream social or a Will and Grace watch party. But they liked Bobby. He was the guy to call if you had a problem with your power and he always had jokes. He got invited to a lot of gatherings and parties.

  She slipped her chrome Colt Python into its holster. A gift from Griz. Pearl handled with the Lakota Sheriffs badge meticulously engraved on both sides.

  “Every time you touch it, you’ll think of me.” he’d said.

  She touched it a lot.

  “Just speak some injun, tell them to flash their lights three times at three o’clock or something.” Scratch said, pushing the microphone over to Joey Tallstrider.

  “Are you sure you didn’t lose your brain as well as your hand?” he asked, pushing it back. “You know there are a hundred different languages? Cherokee isn’t the same as Blackfoot. Sioux isn’t the same as Apache.”

  He rolled his eyes, shook his head in amusement and Dutch laughed out loud.

  “Just speak some injun.” he said, imitating Scratch.

  “Paleface heap big horses’ ass.” Dutch said, hardening his accent and both men grinned at him.

  “Yuk it up Tonto.” Scratch said in annoyance. “You guys really can’t help? It was Gunny’s idea.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Tallstrider said. “But I don’t speak Hopi. It’s a unique language, comes from the Aztecs.”

  “Me either.” Dutch said “But I know a little Navajo. There are probably some there since the Hopi res is in the middle of the Navajo nation.”

  The two men practiced what they should say, long forgotten words learned in their youth from grandparents slowly coming back to them. When they finally had it right, Scratch recorded the message then mixed it in at the beginning of the old Paul Revere and the Raiders Indian Reservation song. With a little tweaking and stretching the organ solo a little, it sounded like it belonged. He added their message to a few more songs with Indian themes: Indian Outlaw, Half-breed and Running Bear then put them in rotation. All they could do now was wait and see if the cliff top settlement got the message.

  “They’re sending the airplane down to blow up Casey.” Lexi said in a whisper, repeating the story she’d overheard from Cobb, the one he’d made sure she would hear.

  Dustin nodded and took the lunch she handed him, her pretense for climbing the wall during his guard shift.

  “Hey, I’m going to take ten.” he yelled over to his partner. “You good?”

  “Take twenty.” Arnie hollered back. “Nothing going on. I’ll cover for you if Phil shows up for a surprise inspection or something.”

  He waved and walked over to a bench that was set up a few containers over. It was sheltered from the sun and had a nice view of the lake. It also got him away from the smell of the five or six zeds that were clawing at the wall. They’d have to eliminate them at shift change. All part of the job. New ones stumbled in every day, chasing after the trucks although not so many anymore. It was more of an aggravation than a threat but they had to clean them up before end of watch or the next crew would complain about it and they’d get reamed out by Phil.

  “You going to let Casey know?” Lexi asked, drawing on her courage to confront him about something that had been on her mind for weeks now. She knew she had to say it in a public place, though. If things didn’t go well, she didn’t want to be alone with him.

  “Of course, I am.” he replied gruffly, rummaging through the bag for a sandwich. “That’s our job ain’t it?”

  “We don’t have to.” she said quietly. “It’s nice here, Dustin.”

  He turned to stare at her, a dark look on his face.

  “I thought we done talked about this. I thought you knew better.”

  There was menace in his voice and she knew it was useless. She could withhold information she learned or tell him flat out lies but he’d find out sooner or later. Even if he didn’t, he was still in a position to do a lot of damage to the town. He could still open the gates and let the Raiders in.

  She dropped her eyes and changed the subject.

  “You’re right. It’s been so long since we’ve been with the Tribe, it’s easy to forget. I’m going native.” she laughed, but it wasn’t funny.

  “They’re taking real good care of the baby at the daycare.” she added to fill the uneasy stillness. “She’s gained some weight and the doctors have fixed that cough.”

  “’bout time.” Dustin said, wishing she would have brought him a beer. “Brat was keeping me awake.”

  They ate in silence and she thought about choices: the ones she’d made to wind up where she was. She wasn’t a bad person, she just did what she had to do to survive she told herself. The months she’d spent in Lakota had changed her. It was the first time she’d ever lived a normal life. She’d grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, dropped out of school in the ninth grade and fell in with the wrong kind of people. Last year she’d been a gang bangers girl. After the fall, she joined a group of survivors in a warehouse district. The Raiders had attacked, killed most of the people but had taken her prisoner. She lived through it and became one of them. A few months ago, she was a hardcore Raider. She’d
paid her dues and had been jumped into the Triple Gunners tribe. She’d adapted to their way of life, had become one of them because she was a survivor. She didn’t want to be a slave or cooked on a spit. She’d done what she had to do to be accepted by them, to become one of Casey’s, and now she was filled with deep sorrow for those things. For the people she’d watched get hurt and turned her head. For allowing the men to use her like she was a piece of meat. She wasn’t the same woman she used to be and he saw her kindness as weakness.

  Life was full of hard choices and people can change. Dustin wasn’t going to change, though. Over the past week, she had hinted that maybe they could stop sending reports, stop helping the Raiders, maybe help Lakota win this war. She had never come right out and said it, not like she had today. He had told her to stop being naive. Casey was going to win. The strong always won in the end. Besides, if the do-gooders in Lakota ever found out who they really were, they’d be shot. He’d taught her a lesson just to make sure she got the message loud and clear. He knew how to do it with leaving bruises that showed.

  Lexi had become accustomed to their new home. Had grown to love it. Had made real friends, not just glad-handing fake friends like Dustin. Life was easy behind the walls and if Casey took over, it would be mayhem again. They would destroy this town, this perfect little slice of civilization, and within weeks it would be another wasteland encampment without running water or electricity. A bunch of wild men would be doing whatever they wanted to whoever they wanted. She’d smell the sickly-sweet aroma of roasting human flesh again. Casey didn’t have any builders, he only had destroyers.

  She couldn’t tell anyone what they were doing, or that she was different now. She couldn’t let anyone know who she had been. She could only imagine the disgust on her friends faces if she told them the truth. Dustin was right. She would be executed as a spy. One of their reports had already cost Lakota a convoy and a handful of men and there was no way to undo the damage. To take it back and tell them she was sorry. The Raiders had known just where to strike, thanks to them. People were dead because of her. The sheriff was hardnosed and she’d already hung a man, right there in her office. They would hang her too if she went to them, told them what she knew. At the very least, they would banish her. They would send her out into the wild on her own and take the baby away. They would put the mark of Cain on her. If there were some way to convince Dustin to abandon the Raiders, they could start being the people they were pretending to be. They could put the past behind them and become real citizens. The baby could grow up and be safe, she wouldn’t worry about anyone abusing her or eating her. Little Sara would have a normal life with school and dances and sleep overs. She’d have a chance at happiness, to be able to choose her future. Lakota could offer her all of that and more. All Casey could offer was a life of drudgery for a woman. She would have to cook and clean and be passed around from man to man when she was old enough. She would grow up hard and mean if she grew up at all.

  Lexi had tried to make him see how living in town was so much better. She made his favorite foods but he complained that he wanted some human flesh. She commented on how easy it was to turn the faucet and have a hot bath. He didn’t care and she had to remind him to take one. She had tiptoed around the subject of them joining Lakota and turning away from the old life but he had taught her a lesson in loyalty. Dustin was Casey’s man. He’d never switch sides. He had too much mean in him and he didn’t care about anybody but himself. He would rather be Dirty Dustin, the Triple Gunners Raider with a hair-trigger temper instead of Dustin Cross, the hard-working family man.

  He wolfed down his sandwich, ignored the sad woman beside him and was eager to for shift change so he could warn Casey. Warn him to have his guns pointing skyward when they heard the drone of the airplane coming for them.

  He stood and she picked up the empty wrappers he’d tossed down when he was finished. He looked at her with a malevolent little gleam in his eye and she knew what that meant. He’d want to have his way with her tonight and teach her a lesson. It was going to hurt.

  As they walked, she took his arm in hers and he barely covered his scowl. They were on display. The other guard could see them so he patted her hand and didn’t pull away.

  “There’s a school play this weekend.” she said cheerfully, the sound carrying in the still air.

  He smiled right back, playing his part.

  “That sounds nice. Do you want to go?”

  “Sure.” she said brightly. “Can we go to the barbeque at the Harrisons afterward?”

  Dustin just grinned, so forced it looked like it hurt his face and when Arnie looked away, he cruelly pinched her breast, making her pay for making him agree to go to a stupid school function.

  She grimaced in pain but didn’t cry out. She knew better. She guided him closer to the side while his mind was preoccupied with thinking of ways to hurt her that didn’t leave marks. None that couldn’t be covered up, anyway. When he realized she had led them to the edge of the container, right above the half dozen undead things, it was too late. Her hold on his arm became iron. He caught the look of fierce determination on her face, the mousey and meek look replaced with angry resolve. She said nothing, just smiled a bitter and satisfied smile then stepped off, pulling him over. His fingers clawed to get out of her grip but it was too late. He screamed all the way down.

  “It has begun, your eminence.” The commanding general of the Anubis Armies proudly reported at the banquet table that night.

  “Yes?” The Lord of the Jackals asked in a bored voice. “How many towns have you taken, Charles.”

  “We will have three by tomorrow.” he answered smugly, throwing a dismissive, sour glance at Ricketts. “My plan to use the undead will work spectacularly, if I do say so myself. Our brave warriors will scale the walls and eliminate the greatest threats to you, my Lord. After I have successfully decimated all of their fighters, all that are left will happily join us and your mighty army grows even faster.”

  “Excellent.” The man-god answered and sucked duck juices from his fingers then languidly stretched them out so one of his concubines could place more food in his hand. “Well done, my good and faithful servant. You will be rewarded greatly when we reach Lakota.”

  Ricketts burned with anger, wanted to lash out at the corpulent little man who planned on gunning down hundreds, shooting them all in the back. The movement wasn’t supposed to be about absolute control, it was supposed to be about helping people. He’d stopped taking his devil’s breath supplements and none of the food served at the Lords table had any extra chemicals added to it. His mind was clearer than it had been in months and he understood why Scarlet had rebelled. He wanted to join her, to help put an end to the wholesale slaughter and forced slavery religion they had become. They relied more and more on the scopolamine to keep the converts in line, not their belief in the Movement. He kept his head down so they wouldn’t see his smoldering hate and forked a stuffed olive into his mouth. The roasted duck was delicious and the sautéed mushrooms were to die for. He snapped his fingers for more wine and a topless serving girl hurried over to refill it and smiled when he ran his greasy hand over her bottom and squeezed. She was new to the table girls, Anubis was finished with her and she was now free for anyone to have. She was still a little shy and huddled off to one side with a perky Mexican girl, whispering and giggling but watching to see if their services were needed anywhere. She was pretty and at least sixteen, maybe even a little older. Her eyes had that faintly vacant look of complete subservience that was a result of the food sprinkled with devil’s breath. He drank deeply from his goblet, kept his face neutral and listened to the small talk.

  Charles, the butt kissing ass wipe, was bragging about his military dominance. Horace was bouncing entertainment ideas around for the victory ball. William plucked a slice of apple from the young girl stretched out on the lazy Susan that rotated slowly at the center of the table. Baily was going on about his plans to add the scopolamine to the drin
king water once they arrived in Lakota.

  Ricketts saw the decadence of it all and realized something.

  He couldn’t give it up.

  He wouldn’t try to stop the rapid expansion of the Movement. He could never go join Scarlet and be a rebel. He couldn’t live as a fugitive, eating scavenged food and being out there among the zombies. Who was he kidding? He had the world in the palm of his hand, all he had to do was shut up and follow the rules. He patted the young girls bottom as she refilled his glass, told her to come to his rooms tonight and bring her Hispanic friend. He needed to start taking his supplements again so he would stop thinking. He needed to take his scopolamine before he did something stupid to throw this all away.

  “Run it on the second page, below the fold.” Bastille said, handing her the print out about a group of feral children a retriever had come across. “It’s not real news, the drunker he got, the more outlandish the story became. I’m not even sure if I believe any of it.”

  “Applesauce does like his drink.” Darcy agreed and made a note.

  Bastille thumbed through a small stack of papers with possible stories. He should write something about one of the trains picking up General Carson and the others that had been under Cheyenne mountain but it really wasn’t much of a story yet. It could wait until he interviewed one of them. Besides, Cobb had told him not to print anything about it, he didn’t want anyone knowing they didn’t have satellite coverage anymore. Not that he’d do whatever Cobb told him to do. Freedom of the Press was a first amendment right but he could hold off. There wasn’t much of a story there anyway and there was no reason to get on the old man’s bad side again.

  They had more than enough to fill the six-page weekly and if they ever ran short, they’d reprint some comics. People seemed to like them more than the hard-hitting news stories that he splashed across the front page. Like the headline he’d ran when there’d been a mix up with the supply convoy. The headline had read: A TOWN IN CRISIS: TOILET PAPER SHORTAGE MAY LEAD TO PANDEMIC. He followed with an interview with Cobb demanding to know how it had happened. He’d had to edit most of the words out of the response and was lucky to walk away with his recorder intact but he’d gotten to the bottom of the emergency. Somebody was always to blame when there was a screw up and it was his job as journalist, the only one in town, to find out the truth. It seemed most people weren’t nearly as upset about the crisis as he had been. He didn’t want to be the butt of any more jokes so he wasn’t going to run with the wild children as a headline story. People liked animals though, so he’d make sure that part got mentioned.