Zach looked at his brother with a puzzled expression. “You remember that?”
“Well…yeah…don’t you?”
Zach nodded. “Sure.” He didn’t remember the number, but he wished he had.
“Where did all the carriers go?” Jeremy asked. “There were a bunch of ‘em running around after we crashed.”
“Probably just walked away. Like that time we hid in the house when we got Trish her medicine.”
“But why are those two still here?”
Looking for live food, Zach thought. He touched the carrier bite scar on his neck. “Who knows?”
“You think they’ll go away?”
“Maybe, but I don’t want to wait and see. We need our stuff before it gets dark.”
“But they’ll see us.”
“Not if we’re fast enough.”
“Yeah, they look pretty slow.”
“No, I don’t mean outrun them. I mean we get past them without them seeing us at all.”
“You mean if we’re sneaky enough then. That’s what you meant.”
“Whatever. Same thing. We need to wait until those carriers up there by the engine get outta sight. Then we can make a run for it.”
“Zach?”
“Yeah?”
“What if we do find Dad down in that train car, but he’s dead?”
“That’s not going to happen.” Zach took a deep breath. “Let’s just think about those backpacks, okay?”
“Okay.”
The carriers wandered around the scene like rusted tin men, their clothes hanging in tatters. The boys watched carefully, lying on their bellies. It seemed as if they’d never get their break, but then one of the carriers disappeared behind the overturned train, the second disappearing quickly behind the first.
“Now!” Zach whispered.
Both boys scrambled to their feet and ran. It seemed as if they ran underwater, the train car hovering at an incredible distance, continually out of reach like a carrot dangling on a moving stick. As they ran both boys repeatedly glanced toward the engine, waiting for the carriers to emerge and catch sight of them, but the area remained clear.
After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the car and slipped inside, safely out of sight. As they stood catching their breath, Zach surveyed the inside of the car. Debris covered everything. A dead carrier lay prone on the floor, slowly rotting. Flies buzzed, lighting on the corpse and the blood-spattered walls.
Zach’s spirits dropped at the sight. What could have survived this? he thought
“Start looking.”
Both boys walked the length of the car, looking for their bags and their father. As the evening sun dipped outside, crickets chirped loudly from within the surrounding grass.
The minutes passed. Zach felt as if the walls were closing in on him as the rank air invaded his sinuses. Every step they took through the litter covering the floor sounded as loud as a firecracker. He was convinced it was only a matter of time before the carriers took notice and decided to investigate.
Eventually they found their packs, but they saw no sign at all of their father. Zach again fought to push down the overwhelming feeling of despair. No matter how much he told himself that his dad was alive, the evidence around him argued otherwise.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Jeremy asked, echoing Zach’s thoughts.
“We don’t know that.”
“But he’s not here.”
“So what?”
“Do you think he got away?”
Zach nodded. “Yeah. He’s probably out looking for us now. But we gotta get out of this train car before the carriers find us. Then we can look for him.”
They gathered up their packs and put them on. “Wait,” Jeremy said, eyeing a pack a few feet away. “That’s Dad’s backpack.”
The bottom dropped out of Zach’s stomach. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“But if Dad didn’t take his pack with him then-”
“Just pick it up.”
Jeremy walked up to the pack and tried to lift it. “It’s too heavy.”
“I’ll do it.” Zach stepped through the trash on the floor to where the pack lay and picked up the bag. It was heavy, but he managed to lift it. He wanted Jeremy to see that he could, to know that he was capable of being in charge. Realizing it would be easier to carry the heavier pack on his back, Zach swapped his father’s for his own while Jeremy located Trish’s backpack.
Meanwhile Jeremy struggled with Trish’s pack. “Here,” Zach said, stepping toward this brother, “I’ll help you.”
Then he stopped. He listened.
“What?” Jeremy asked.
“Shhh.”
Jeremy paused, eyes wide.
“The crickets,” Zach said. “They’re quiet now.”
A sound near the front of the train car.
Footsteps.
The boys turned their attention toward the front of the car. A moment later a dark shadow appeared as a hand reached in through the doorway.
Chapter Seventeen
As darkness fell, Trish sat silently on the warehouse floor. Still queasy, her head pounded and her legs began to go numb. Like a nightmare manifested in the flesh, the monster she thought would never find her would soon be back to finish her off. It seemed impossible that he could have gotten to her after she’d put so many miles between them, and yet after all this time he’d managed to do just that.
Now, tied up again by the same man in yet another warehouse, that threat was no longer impossible. If she’d only stayed behind and killed the bastard when she’d had the chance, she could have avoided all this. But it was too late for regrets or second chances.
She promised herself that no matter what happened she wouldn’t scream. She wouldn’t give him that.
Then, from the shadows, sudden movement caught her attention. Her heart skipped a beat. Ryder. He was back. She felt her mouth go dry. She’d been ready to die so many times before. After Tim was killed by the deadwalkers, leaving her alone in the world to fend for herself. And again after Ryder and his band of psychopaths kidnapped and violated her. She’d been ready to die on the bridge outside St. Louis as hundreds of carriers surrounded them.
She’d been ready then, but she wasn’t ready now. Not with so many things left undone. Not without knowing Ed and the boys were safe.
“Just get it over with,” she heard herself say. So much like a bad dream, she felt detached from herself, outside looking in.
“Where did he go?” a woman’s voice asked from the shadows.
It took Trish a moment to realize what she’d heard. “Who are you?”
“Where did he go?” the woman repeated.
“Please help me,” Trish pleaded. “He’s going to kill me!”
No reply.
“Please untie me. He’ll be back any minute.”
Seconds passed with no response. Then the sound of a closing door echoed throughout the warehouse. A dim light bobbed along in the darkness, headed toward her.
Frantic now, she pleaded with the woman. “Hurry! Please!”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said.
Trish’s spirits sank. “Please!” she begged.
No reply.
Ryder’s slow and steady footsteps echoed in the darkness like the ticking of a terrible clock. Moments later he stood before her, the flashlight beam shining in her eyes. “You miss me?”
Trish didn’t answer.
“It’s okay. You can admit it. I know you were more partial to me than you were to Darnell to my little brother. Trey wasn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch, but he had heart.” Ryder sat before her, placing the flashlight on the floor. He pointed it toward her. “Ah, but you took him away from me, didn’t you?”
Trish raised her head and looked her kidnapper in the eye. “I’d kill him again if I could.”
Ryder scowled. For a moment she thought he was going to kill her right away. Instead, a smile stretched across his face. “You would, wouldn’t you
? Maybe you’re a natural born killer too.” He dropped the smile. “Did you even care what happened to Darnell after you left him on the floor to die?”
“No,” Trish replied, her voice low and steady.
“Well, in that case, you’ll be happy to know that Darnell is no longer of this earth.” He picked up the light and shined it into Trish’s eyes. “Wanna know what happened after you walked out on us?”
Trish only stared at him.
“You see, I found our friend lying on the floor of that warehouse, his eye a total fuckin’ disaster. Maybe you don’t remember, but you sure put a hurtin’ on ol’ Darnell. Once I saw what a mess you’d made of Darnell’s squishy parts, I got worried. So I made my way right back into the little room where we were keeping you.”
Ryder hopped to his hands and knees so quickly Trish jumped. He leaned in slowly until his face was only inches away from hers.
“You know what I found there in that room?” Frowning, Ryder held up an index finger. “Wait! Don’t answer. I’ll tell you what I found in there. I found what was left of my little brother after you sliced him up like a GODDAMN CHRISTMAS HAM!”
Their noses touching, Ryder’s hot breath smothered her. He ground his teeth as his chest rose and fell. His breath smelled like rotten meat.
Whatever you do, don’t scream, she told herself. Don’t give him what he wants.
Regaining his composure, Ryder backed away, smiling again. His eyes were like black pits. “Do you even know how many times you stabbed him?”
Despite her fear, Trish kept her face straight and unflinching. “No.”
“Neither do I. There were too many holes in him for me to count.”
Trish felt the tears coming now, hot and strong. She fought them. “Why don’t you just get this over with?”
“Oh, Trishy, I’ll get it over with. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that. When I walk out of this warehouse you’ll be in pieces. But the one thing I won’t have you do is rush me. I waited too long and traveled too far. I earned this, don’t you see? You’ve been living on borrowed time, but that’s all about to change.”
Retrieving a large knife from a sheath attached to his belt, he held the blade against Trish’s throat. “I’d suggest that if you talk to some sort of god you’re gonna wanna get right with ‘em. Pronto.” He reached down, grasping the crucifix hanging around his neck. His mouth again twisted into that wicked grin. “The hoochie that wore this did. She babbled away to her ol’ buddy Jesus.” He pronounced Jesus as hay-zeus. “Maybe she thought he’d keep me from opening up her throat. Didn’t have the heart to tell her what a waste of time that was.” He chuckled. “She found that out soon enough though.”
Trish gritted her teeth as the tears blurred her vision.
Ryder scooted backward along the concrete and sat, staring at her. The light from his flashlight cast a pallid glow on his face. “You know what I’m gonna do first? I’m gonna get rid of that tongue of yours. That’s the same mouth that damn near bit my brother’s dick off, so I don’t want to hear another fucking word come out of it. After that, who knows? Maybe I’ll get rid of those fingers and toes. Cut your tits off. Get creative.”
For a moment Trish almost wished she’d let Ryder and his gang kill her. At least then she’d have spared herself this nightmare. But then she thought better of it. If she’d died in that warehouse then she would have never met Ed or his wonderful boys. She wouldn’t have known Dave’s levelheadedness or Mitchell’s kindness. And Darnell and Trey would probably have continued their rampaging along with Ryder, hurting more people than they already had.
She would pay the price. She accepted this. But at least she could die with a clear conscience and the knowledge that she’d done more good than harm in the world. And for that, at least, she felt thankful.
Ryder smiled again, his face a mask of cruelty. “You ready?” His eyes narrowed. “I know I am.”
Then, as he raised the knife, a figure leaped from the shadows.
Chapter Eighteen
Richard Cole sat beside a blazing fire, staring into the black abyss of the sprawling forest. A hundred yards away Highway Sixty-Four ran beside him, its surface cracked and broken after four freeze/thaw cycles. Newly sprouted weeds protruded slightly through the cracked asphalt, beginning their push toward the sky.
To Richard, capitalists were like the weeds of the world; moving in and sucking up the resources, leaving everything else struggling to survive. They took what they wanted, living off the backs of the middle class. While others worked, these men talked. They smiled baring wolves’ teeth and cried crocodile tears with their palms outstretched, waiting to take the last dollar from the last pocket.
In any garden, weeds needed to be pulled and the virus had done just that. Money and power hadn’t bought any of these powerful men immunity. Not from the virus, nor from the complete and total transformation that came in its wake. The world these men had built, the world they once controlled, crumbled beneath their feet almost overnight, replaced by a wild and dangerous place that cared nothing for money, stock markets, shareholders or boardrooms. The robber barons might have ruled the old world, but the new world didn’t belong to them.
The new world belonged to people like Richard Cole.
Richard wouldn’t have called himself an anarchist before the outbreak though he’d been sympathetic to the idea. He’d never considered the old world’s governments as the optimal solution, but he did believe that some type of law and order had to be maintained. What was needed, he argued, was a system that wasn’t so concerned with money and the bullshit castes that came with it.
But now, after the fall of everything, he realized he’d been wrong. Only the virus had had the power to truly cleanse the world of the disease that called itself society. Once the old governments had been completely destroyed, the slate was clean. Tabula rasa.
Anarchy filled the void left behind. It was the perfect system. It was natural. In nature the strong survived and the weak were eaten. Power groups formed organically. Scarce resources had to be won through cunning and skill.
Richard Cole saw himself as an instrument, a vessel through which the power of nature operated. Richard eliminated the weak, the pitiful, the wretched. The stupid cows of this new world that had once been kept alive by the system. He thinned the herd.
He killed not for pleasure, but out of duty. As executioner he worked quickly, mitigating the offender’s suffering. It wasn’t his place to dole out torture. He’d leave that to the psychos of the world. Sometimes he’d hang them, other times a knife across the throat did the job just fine. In the beginning he’d used his pistol, before he’d gotten used to the idea of killing with his hands, but with so many of those damn deadwalkers still stumbling around out in the open, he learned to conserve his ammunition.
Once his target had been dispatched, Richard would help himself to their belongings and supplies. It was his reward, his bounty for the hard work. A paycheck. In this way nature provided. In a brave new world without artificial rules, Richard followed his path and pursued his interests unabated. No more police state. No more surveillance. No judges or prisons. No more politicians and their bullshit laws. The only law left now was the natural law of the land.
And Richard Cole was its appointed sheriff.
Footsteps sounded from the forest, louder than the crackling fire. Collecting himself and moving carefully, Richard crawled a few feet away from the campfire, disappearing into the shadows. There he waited, sitting with his back against a large tree, watching the campsite. He slowed his breathing and settled in.
Moments later a woman stepped out of the woods. Illuminated by the campfire, Richard studied her gait. No twitching or jerking, no paralyzed limbs.
“Hello?” the woman said as she stopped near the fire. She stood, looking around. “Hello? Is anybody here?”
The woman appeared timid. No sign of aggression or survival instinct. But he wouldn’t kill without proof, not without do
ing his due diligence. He’d size her up first, see if she was worthy of pardon. “Hands up!” he called from the woods. “Move and I empty your head of its brains.”
“Okay,” the woman responded, thrusting her hands to the sky.
“Are you alone?” Richard asked.
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m alone, I swear. My husband is dead. I haven’t eaten in a week.”
“I don’t have any food,” Richard lied.
“Please. Just a bite. Anything. I’ll take anything.” She paused. “I’ll do anything.”
Though not a proponent of rape (he’d also leave that to the psychos), he did like the idea of satisfying a need. If the woman was agreeable then all the better. In the end it was just another form of payment, nature making good on her deal. It wouldn’t sway his judgement, of course. Of that, he must be steadfast.
Though he couldn’t see her face in the glare from the campfire, he could see she had one hell of a body. A stripper’s body. He liked them young. Back in the old days, with the old bullshit laws in place, he had to avoid the young ones. Although not a pre-teen, this woman looked like one. He felt a stirring in his crotch.
Richard rose to his feet and took a step toward the campfire and the woman. She jumped as she caught sight of him approaching out of the shadows. He smiled to himself. Definitely weak. “You can put your hands down now,” he said. He gestured toward his backpack, lying near the fire. “Have a seat.”
The woman nodded and sat down. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” Richard took a seat beside her. “I’m Richard.”
“Beth.”
“You said your husband was killed?”
Beth nodded. “Carriers. He didn’t stand a chance.”
“I’ll bet,” Richard replied. Catching himself, he offered a more appropriate response. “Sorry for your loss.”
“He was a good man, you know?”
“You’re hungry, right?”
“I am.”
“I have some extra food here. I can’t afford much though.”
“Thank you. I’ve been lost without Ryan around.”
Badlands Trilogy (Book 2): Beyond the Badlands Page 6
