Badlands Trilogy (Book 2): Beyond the Badlands

by Brian J. Jarrett

  When she made it to the scene she got her first good look at the mess that had been Ryder. His black uniform had been torn to pieces, tossed carelessly about. The woman who’d saved Trish received the same fate, what little remained of her scattered across the dirty warehouse floor.

  Inspecting the remains, Trish noticed something lying along with the bloody clothing. She recognized it immediately; the gold crucifix Ryder had been wearing. A trophy taken from another victim, one not lucky enough to have survived him. It glittered in the dim sunlight, mocking in its twinkle.

  She reached down into the mess and picked it up, examining the jewelry in the pale light. It felt foul in her hand. She drew her arm back, ready to toss the thing into the dusty recesses of the warehouse when a thought stopped her. If Ryder had kept the crucifix as a trophy then that meant that he might be carrying other trophies.

  The chances were slim, but maybe, just maybe…

  She dropped to her knees and began searching frantically through the bloody mess of clothing and bones. The smell worsened the closer she got. She had to fight the urge to vomit as she picked over the remains. She searched frantically, turning over scraps of bloody clothing, tossing them to the side.

  Then she found it.

  Tim’s ring.

  The ring he’d given her after the virus, when they’d been high school sweethearts. The ring Ryder and his band of monsters stole from her when they kidnapped and raped her.

  Ryder had threaded a gold chain through the band, wearing it around his neck as he had the crucifix. Grasping the chain, Trish held up the ring. It dangled freely in the murky light, staring back at her like a ghost from her past. Blood marred the ring’s surface, but otherwise it looked just as she remembered it. She’d never expected to ever see it again.

  Overcome, she looked away. Tears blurred her eyes; she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She noticed a backpack lying overturned on the floor. Trish recognized it as the woman’s pack, the woman who’d saved her life. I’m sorry, she thought to herself.

  Clutching Tim’s ring tightly in the palm of her hand, Trish picked up the dead woman’s pack and slung it over her shoulder before charging back through the door and out into the bright sunlight.

  * * *

  Despite searching for hours, Trish couldn’t find the house where Ryder had taken her and the boys. As she searched through various neighborhoods, all the houses seemed to blend together into a homogenous collection of multicolored, square structures. Whatever drug Ryder had given her had knocked her unconscious, so she had no memory of how she’d gotten from the house to the warehouse, making it next to impossible to find her way back again.

  Finally she stopped. She sat down on a curb amongst the vacant houses, overgrown grass tickling the back of her neck. Fighting a growing sense of despair, she decided to make a new plan. While she might not be able to find her way back to the house from where she now was, it might be possible to find it from the scene of the train wreck. And to find the tracks, she needed a map. Before the virus, any convenience store would have carried them.

  Trish stood again, energized with her new plan. She began walking, making her way through defunct subdivisions, filled with the kind of small and unassuming houses that typically sprung up next to a busy railway. Modest homes with modest prices, for people who could stand listening to train whistles and didn’t mind their houses rocking as the big engines passed.

  Grasses had sprung back to life again with the warmer temperatures, covering the once-tidy front yards. Trees grew unchecked, branches nuzzling up to bedroom windows. Cars sat dormant in driveways, tires flat while children’s toys littered front yards.

  A few small, black masses blotted the subdivision streets, like large spots of gum on a city sidewalk. Trish recognized these as old bodies. Not so long ago these desiccated mounds littered the countryside, but their numbers now dwindled. Nature was hard at working cleaning up her mess.

  Several blocks into her walk she spotted a couple of carriers wandering around in the distance. She quickly ducked between two houses. Peeking out from behind one of the houses, Trish watched as the infected limped along, their gait tight and restricted. Despite their decrepit stance, she gave them a wide berth. No carrier was a safe carrier, no matter how paralyzed. She waited patiently until the pair ambled out of sight before resuming her quest for a map.

  By the time she found the corner store the sun was high overhead. She stood in the street, gazing at the wrecked storefront. From the crooked signage above the door Trish surmised that the place had specialized mostly in beer and wine, while selling other essentials as a matter of convenience. She hoped one of those essentials would be the map she needed.

  Pushing back her apprehension, she took a deep breath and walked up to the front door, pistol in hand. She gazed inside. With the front glass of the door long gone, she had a clear view of the interior. Though dimly lit, she found it as she’d expected. Ransacked, the shelves empty. Trash and other debris littered the floor, along with some bodies slightly less decomposed than those outside.

  Looking left, she caught sight of the store’s front counter. A desiccated, skeletal corpse lay across it. Behind the body she saw faded magazines, empty cigarette racks, lottery tickets.

  And maps.

  She felt a sudden resurgence of hope. “Hello?” she called out, gripping the pistol tightly. She listened hard, the seconds passing like hours. The interior returned no sound. Sufficiently satisfied the store was empty, she pulled open the door as quietly as she could. Getting it open took some effort, but the rusted hinges eventually gave way with a noisy creak. It seemed no one had opened the door in quite some time.

  Once inside, she glanced around again, her eyes wide and her heart racing. Mildew and rot hung in the thick and heavy air, attacking her senses. She walked straight to the counter, trying to ignore the shriveled body lying across it. Bits of broken glass and plastic crunched beneath her feet with each step.

  She slipped past the edge of the counter and thumbed through the maps, looking for something local. After a few moments of digging she found a map of Jefferson City, rich in detail, showing all the city streets and — most importantly — the railroad. She also picked up a map of the state of Missouri, just in case.

  She removed the backpack, placing it on the counter beside the sprawled out corpse. Even through the rot and excessive decay she could make out a massive exit wound in the back of the man’s head. Placing the pistol down on the counter she stuffed both maps into the backpack as quickly as she could. She reached down for the pistol as she turned to leave.

  A figure stood inside the store.

  She raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out inside the store, echoing through the broken windows and out into the street.

  A pair of coveralls swung lightly from an old clothing rack, a fresh bullet hold in the fabric. She sighed, relieved. Nervousness had gotten the better of her. Closing up the backpack, Trish slipped out from behind the counter and back out the door. By the time she hit the street she was running.

  * * *

  After locating a couple of street signs, it didn’t take Trish long to find the railroad on the map. A quick estimate told her the track lay no more than a half-mile away. It made sense that Ryder hadn’t carried her all that far after drugging her. She was thankful for that much, at least.

  With the midday sun now descending on its arc toward the western hillside, Trish knew the daylight would soon be waning. She got herself moving, navigating the streets by their existing road signs. She traced her path on the map with the tip of her finger as she walked.

  She passed many more houses, all empty and dilapidated, rotting away silently in the aftermath of the apocalypse. After jogging past a row of burnt-out structures she rounded a corner and the scene of the train wreck came into view. It sat a few hundred yards away from where she stood, terrible in its destruction.

  She stopped and stared, the memory of all that had
happened accosting her, threatening to shake her focus. She ignored it as best she could, keeping her attention on finding the boys. Ahead she saw no carriers around the train, nor did she see any survivors. Only a day had passed since the crash, but the remains appeared as if they’d been there for years, just another cataclysmic scene in the backdrop of a shattered world.

  She watched, waiting as the minutes stacked up, but nothing made an appearance. The carriers that had attacked the train after it crashed had all disappeared. Only silence persisted, broken occasionally by the breeze blowing through the trees and the tall grass.

  Breaking her gaze, Trish walked to the railroad track. Minutes later she found herself on the tracks, walking toward the wreck. As she walked, she thought about Ryder’s response when she’d asked him if he killed the children. I don’t kill kids, he’d said, as if she’d offended him by suggesting such a thing.

  She knew Ryder was a monster, yet she believed him. If he had killed the boys it made no sense to lie about it. Quite the opposite, actually. Maybe even a killer like Ryder had limits.

  In the end she had to believe that he’d left the boys in the house, unharmed. She couldn’t accept the alternative.

  Feeling a growing sense of urgency, she picked up speed, taking the railroad ties two at a time.

  * * *

  By the time she made it to the crash her breathing had grown heavy. She found the train car in which they’d been traveling, hoping desperately that it would trigger a memory that might help lead her back to Zach and Jeremy.

  She quickly found she didn’t need a memory trigger at all.

  As she approached the car a message stared back at her. An address had been spray-painted in large, block letters across the side of the overturned train car. Beneath it, five words caused a lump to form in her throat.

  Zach and Jeremy are here.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Zach and Jeremy sat in the house’s spare bedroom building card houses from a deck of playing cards they’d found in an old RV on their way to St. Louis. For Zach, the act helped him keep his mind off his dad and Trish, at least for a while.

  A knock sounded at the door. Max peeked inside. “Can I come in?”

  Zach and Jeremy both nodded.

  Max entered the room, taking a seat next to the bed. “How are you guys holding up?”

  “Okay, I guess,” Zach said.

  “I know it’s tough.” Max paused, taking a deep breath. “Rose and I…we weren’t always alone. We had a little boy once.”

  “You mean Ian,” Jeremy said.

  Max cocked his head to the side, a puzzled look on his face. “How’d you know about Ian?”

  “I heard you guys talking last night.”

  “You’re not supposed to do that,” Zach said.

  “It’s okay,” Max said. “You were smart to eavesdrop.”

  “What happened to him?” Jeremy asked.

  “Don’t ask that,” Zach interrupted. “You know what happened.”

  “He caught the virus,” Max replied. “He wasn’t immune.”

  “I’m sorry,” Zach said.

  “We loved Ian very much. When he passed it nearly killed us. Rose says that we were spared for a reason. She thinks that us finding you might be that reason.”

  Silence filled the room as Zach searched for something to say.

  Then, from outside the bedroom, Rose screamed.

  * * *

  “Where are they?” Trish yelled at the woman standing across the room. After finding the house she’d unlocked the door through the broken window pane. “What did you do with them?”

  Before the woman could respond Trish saw movement from the corner of the room. A man appeared from a hallway, running. She pointed the pistol at him. “Don’t move!”

  The man stopped quickly, holding up his hands.

  “Where are they?” Trish repeated. “If you don’t tell me, so help me I’ll blow both your brains out the back of your goddamn skulls.”

  “Trish, wait!” Zach cried out. He appeared from the hallway behind the man, as if materializing out of a dream. He squeezed past the man and ran toward her, followed closely by Jeremy. They hugged her around the waist, nearly knocking her over.

  “Are you two okay?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the couple.

  The man spoke. “Look, miss, calm down. Let us explain.”

  “It’s okay,” Zach said. “Max and Rose helped us.”

  Trish remained skeptical. “Where did you find these boys?”

  “In one of the train cars,” Rose replied.

  “What were you doing there?”

  “We were on the train when it derailed,” Max said.

  “I don’t remember seeing you.”

  “Well, I don’t remember seeing you either. Doesn’t mean either of us weren’t on it.”

  “How do you know Ryder? Are you his friends?”

  “We don’t know any Ryder,” Max said.

  “Zach, how did you get back to the train from the house? Did Ryder let you go?”

  “Who’s Ryder?” Zach asked.

  “The man who dragged us to the house. He was dressed up like one of the guard.”

  “He tied us up,” Zach replied, “but we got loose. We came back to the train to get the backpacks.”

  “And that’s where they found you?”

  “I’m the one who painted that address on the train,” Max said.

  Trish considered the couple’s story. It did make sense and the boys appeared to be unharmed. She took a deep breath. “I’m lowering the gun,” she told them. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Good,” Max said. “Can we put our hands down now?”

  Trish nodded.

  “We thought you were dead,” Rose said.

  Trish looked down at Zach and Jeremy. “So did I.”

  * * *

  “You’re sure you’re both okay?” Trish asked the boys. They stood behind the house, in front of the garage. Max and Rose had remained inside at Trish’s request.

  “We’re okay,” Zach replied.

  Jeremy stood beside him, nodding.

  “They didn’t make you say that, did they?”

  Both Zach and Jeremy shook their heads.

  “Do you trust them?”

  “I think so,” Zach replied.

  Trish nodded. “Okay then.” She paused for a moment before smiling. “I’m so happy to see you two again. I missed you both so much.”

  “We missed you too,” Jeremy replied.

  “What did that man do to you?” Zach asked.

  “Nothing I couldn’t survive.”

  “Is he dead?” Jeremy asked.

  Trish nodded.

  “Did you kill him?” Zach asked.

  “No. The carriers got him.”

  “Good,” Jeremy said. “He deserved it.”

  “He was a very bad man. Now he’s gone.” She paused “What about your dad?”

  Zach’s face said it all.

  Trish placed a hand on the boy’s cheek. “You didn’t find anything? Nothing at all?”

  “No,” Zach said, his voice cracking. Trish could see tears welling in his eyes. “I don’t think he’s coming back, Trish.”

  “He’s coming back!” Jeremy said, incredulous.

  “Oh, honey,” Trish said.

  “He’s not dead,” Jeremy said, his voice rising.

  “It’s okay, honey,” Trish said, her voice soft and soothing. “Nobody said that.”

  “He’s not dead.”

  “I know, baby, I know.” She hugged him. He resisted at first, but moments later his body relaxed.

  “Let’s go back inside,” Trish said. “I need to talk to your new friends.”

  * * *

  “Zach and Jeremy are two good kids. We weren’t going to let anything happen to them,” Max said. He and Rose sat on the couch across from Trish while Zach and Jeremy played card games in one of the bedrooms.

  “You didn’t find anything when you
were there? Nothing at all?”

  “We didn’t find a body, if that’s what you’re asking. You know how the carriers are though. You don’t always find a body.”

  Trish sighed.

  “I know that’s not what you want to hear.”

  Trish remained silent, staring out a window.

  “We’re still going to Kansas City, Rose and me. We were going to take the boys if you or their dad didn’t show. Not sure what your plans are now, but we’d like to extend the invite.”

  “Only if you’re interested,” Rose added.

  Trish nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Sleep on it,” Rose said. “I know your little one in there is going to need some convincing.”

  Max and Rose stood. “We’re going to turn in for the evening,” Max said. “Come morning, you let us know what you decide.”

  “Thanks,” Trish replied. “For everything you’ve done.”

  Both Max and Rose smiled as they walked out of the room, leaving Trish to her thoughts.

  * * *

  Dressed in new clothes she found in one of the bedrooms, replacing those covered with blood from the carrier she shot in the warehouse, Trish climbed into bed. She tucked Ryder’s pistol beneath pillow.

  “Why do you need the gun?” Jeremy asked.

  “Just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  “In case we need it.”

  Jeremy furrowed his brow. “Do you not like Max and Rose? Do you think they’re gonna try to hurt us?”

  Trish placed a hand on the boy’s arm. “It’s not that, honey. We just need to be careful.”

  Jeremy nodded, suspicion still draped across his face. “I don’t want to leave without him.”

  Trish sighed. “I know. I don’t either. But we talked about this. We’re going to leave a message for your dad on the train car, just like Max did. I used it to find you, remember?”

  Jeremy lips pressed tightly together, forming a thin line.

  “When your dad finds that message he’ll follow us.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  “He will. You have to believe that.”