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Badlands Trilogy (Book 2): Beyond the Badlands

Page 17

by Brian J. Jarrett


  “We gotta hurry now,” Dan yelled over the din of frenzied carriers. He punched the gas. The truck lurched and began rolling. He sped around the random carriers lying on the ground or still dragging themselves toward the crowd, a look of concentration painted on his face.

  Just after passing through the front gate, Dan slammed on the brakes and opened his door. “Stay inside,” he said. “Gotta shut this gate.”

  In the rearview, Ed watched Dan run to the gate and pull it toward him. As the carriers swarmed the meat deeper inside the arena, Dan yanked the gate closed. A latch clicked into place before he ran back to the truck and hopped inside, shutting the door behind him.

  “And that’s that,” he said, smiling. He stared at Ed and Jasper for a moment, noticing their shocked expressions. “I sometimes forget what this must look like to other people.”

  “Understatement of the year,” Ed said.

  Dan laughed. “You two drink whiskey?”

  “Especially now.”

  “Good, cause I got a whole bottle of Jack and I don’t like to drink alone.”

  * * *

  “What the hell was all that back there?” Jasper asked. He sat at a table arranged in the former teachers’ lounge of Pastor Dan’s school. On the table in front of them stood a fifth of Jack Daniel’s and three plastic cups still a quarter of the way full.

  Dan smiled in return. “The simple answer is God’s work, but I don’t think any of this is simple.”

  “You’re baiting them, attracting them…like the Pied Piper.”

  “I suppose that’s an apt analogy.”

  “What are you doing with them all?” Ed asked from across the table.

  “I used to try to take care of them, but mostly now I just try to keep them off the streets so they don’t hurt or kill anybody else.”

  “How many are in there?”

  “Maybe a thousand? Two thousand? Hard to say for sure. They don’t really speak up for roll call.”

  “But...why?” Jasper asked. “Why do you do it?”

  “A calling?”

  “For real?”

  “Well, my dad was a preacher going way back, but his dad before him was anything but. Petty criminal, mostly, and he seemed partial to beating the crap out of my grandma. As it turned out, one night in a drunken stupor my granddad took a nasty spill down the basement steps. Broke his neck and died.

  “Nobody openly accused my dear old grandma of wrong-doing. I figure most folks knew it was for the best and let sleeping dogs lie. Seeing all the awfulness that was my granddad apparently had a hell of an effect on my dad. Not wanting to follow in his footsteps, he took to the church and went on preaching all the way up to the end.

  “I suppose you could say that was his calling. In fact, carriers were breaking down the doors to the church while Dad was up there, fist in the air, preaching salvation and repentance. He stuck with it to the end.

  “Me, I wasn’t really all that active in the church, not like my dad was, but I knew my way around the Bible and I knew what logic holes and contradictions to avoid in mixed company. And yet somehow I lived through that massacre at the church.”

  “And you ended up here,” Ed said.

  “Kinda sorta. After my family died I just wandered around, cursing God and whatnot. A lot of survivor’s guilt in those days. I bounced around for a while, staying alive by wits, luck and the grace of God.

  “Eventually I landed here. Apparently this place had been used as a shelter of some kind, but by the time I got here everybody was gone. They left a lot of stuff behind, so I moved in.

  “Then one day I was out at that old football arena over there, pissed off at the world, when this idea came to me. I got that truck running, outfitted it and took to the streets, rounding up the infected and locking them in that pen.

  “Those deadwalkers out there, as a lot of folks like to call them, they’re still people. I figured if I could do something for them then maybe I could find some kind of solace. Come to terms with what happened to my family…and to the world. I figured maybe that was my purpose here, like some kind of divine challenge.”

  “So you’re not really…what do they call it…a licensed preacher?” Jasper asked.

  “Officially? Nah, but what does that really mean? You can’t prove religion anyway. It’s all based on faith. Just because some group rubber stamps an application doesn’t make you a good person. And having your Jesus license doesn’t mean that you’re doing the Lord’s work. You’re either doing it or you aren’t and that’s that.”

  “Well, you’re not like any preacher I ever knew,” Jasper said. “If so, maybe I’d have been more interested in church.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “So you round them up, but you don’t euthanize them?” Ed asked.

  “I’m no executioner. I let that course run naturally.”

  “But wouldn’t they be better off out of their misery?”

  “Not my place to decide, least the way I see it. But I know how you feel, because it sure is hard to watch them wither away. And I watch them a lot. Too much, I think. I’ve seen things.”

  “Like what kind of things?”

  “Well, the sick ones, the really sick ones that can’t move, they’re not dying off like I would’ve thought. They just lay there, day after day, month after month, clinging to life. Eventually they die, but it takes forever.”

  “So how the hell are they staying alive for so long?”

  “That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn’t it? I have a hunch though.”

  “What’s your hunch?”

  “I think something’s keeping them going, something unnatural.”

  “You’re not going to tell me it’s the devil?” Jasper asked.

  “What? No. What kind of fool do you take me for?”

  Jasper’s smile faltered after an admonishing look from Ed.

  Dan took a sip of his whiskey, wiping his mouth on this sleeve. “No, I think it’s that virus. It’s keeping them alive somehow. Well beyond their expiration date. Think about it, shouldn’t all the infected be dead by now? It’s been four years, for crying out loud. How are they still alive if something isn’t keeping them that way?”

  “Good question,” Ed said, following Dan’s cue and sipping his own whiskey.

  Dan’s eyes narrowed. “But that’s not the part that scares me most. The healthy ones? They’re getting smarter.”

  “I told you!” Jasper exclaimed, pointing at Ed. “I told you they were starting fires on their own!”

  “Well, there’s definitely something odd going on with them,” Dan continued. “They’re gathering together in packs out there in that pen. Working together. They walk along the wall looking for a way out. I’ve even seen them trying to climb on each other, trying to scale it. And the dead ones? The strong ones eat ‘em up, lickety-split.”

  Ed’s eyes widened. “Feeding on them like livestock?”

  Dan finished his whiskey, smacking the cup on the table top. “Exactly.”

  Jasper drained his cup, wincing as the liquid hit his stomach. “If they’re thinking now-”

  “Not really thinking, per se,” Dan interrupted, “not like you and I do, but they’re definitely not as random and directionless as they were before.”

  Ed sat forward in his chair. “If this is all true and those things out there are getting smart enough to hunt us...”

  “We’ll be like gazelle to a pride of lions,” Dan said.

  He poured another round and they drank it in silence.

  “So what in the world would bring you two into my neck of the woods?” Dan said, changing the subject.

  Ed conveyed the story of the bombing of St. Louis, hopping the train and the subsequent crash that separated him from the rest of his family. Jasper told of how he’d found Ed on the train, injured, and how they now were on their way to Kansas City in search of Ed’s family.

  “Sounds like you two’ve been through a lot alre
ady. How far of a head start do Trish and the boys have on you?”

  “Maybe a couple weeks or so. Hard to say for sure,” Ed replied.

  “But your family knows you’re alive.”

  Ed shrugged. “They left a message behind, but I suspect they think I’m dead.”

  “Nah, they know. In their heart. Otherwise they wouldn’t have bothered with it at all.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Dan leaned back in his chair. “I go back and forth on this whole predestination thing, but I gotta think you’re still alive for a reason, my friend.”

  “I suppose that’s possible,” Ed said.

  “And you too,” Dan said to Jasper. “Must be something special about you two to have kept going as long as you have.”

  “I don’t know about everything happening for a reason,” Jasper replied, “but I do know you can’t be afraid to die. Once you figure out it’s when, not if, it’s easier to accept it. Knowing it’s coming sure lights a fire under your ass.”

  Dan smiled. “The Lord helps those who help themselves.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You sound like you do a lot of thinking.”

  “When you’ve been alone as long as I have there’s plenty of time to think.”

  Silence passed as the men sat.

  Ed changed the subject this time. “That bike we left behind there, that’s our ticket to finding my family. We have to get back to it.”

  Dan glanced at a watch wrapped around his wrist. “If the battery on this old thing isn’t dead then it looks to be near nightfall. Now, I’m perfectly willing and able to get you to back to that bike, but I’d advise against it after dark. Likely more than a few of the infected still stumbling around, looking for that venison I promised them.”

  “Would you take us back to Jasper’s bike tomorrow then?”

  “Absolutely,” Dan replied. “I can also send some more supplies with you, if you need them.”

  “That’d be much appreciated.”

  Dan grinned. “And I’d be happy to help.” He reached for the bottle of whiskey and poured more into the plastic cups sitting on the table. “But tonight, my friends, we drink.”

  * * *

  They finished the bottle of whiskey between them, sharing stories of the road and of their lost loved ones. Stories of determination and survival, all told with slurred words prompted by liquid honestly.

  Ed often wondered if alcohol was nothing more than a kind of truth serum, exposing and enhancing a person’s true nature.

  Any initial wariness he’d had of Pastor Dan melted away during their conversation. The man’s kind soul bled through with no hint of insincerity.

  Not as strong a proponent of moderation as his companions, Jasper put the whiskey down fast. The two older men sipped more slowly, but they caught up to him eventually. By the end of the evening the bottle sat empty and their tongues tired from talking.

  As Ed lay on a fold out couch, straddling the line between consciousness and sleep, he considered that maybe he shouldn’t have drank so much. He knew he should probably ask Jasper to stay up for guard duty; that would be the safest thing to do.

  Instead, he simply drifted off. As sleep took him, he dreamed of Zach and Jeremy, running and playing in the rain outside the RV they’d found along the way to St. Louis. Trish stood beside him, watching the boys play with a smile on her face.

  And in the dream he thought to himself, maybe all is not wrong with the world after all.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The following morning Ed awoke to a solid headache. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much to drink. He sat up and looked around the room, struck by how odd it looked devoid of teachers. A decrepit relic of a society that no longer existed.

  “How’d you sleep?” Dan asked from an armchair across the room.

  Ed sat up, placing his hand on his forehead. “Great.”

  “Right. Bouncing back ain’t what it used to be, eh?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Your buddy’s still out.”

  Ed glanced at Jasper. “So it appears.”

  “He seems like a good guy.”

  Ed nodded. “Yeah. He is.”

  “They’re still out there, you know? The good ones. I know how easy it is to get jaded.”

  “There are bad people out there too, though. Lots of them.”

  “True. But you gotta know when to trust.”

  “Sometimes that’s easier said than done.”

  “I trusted you two. One might even say I saved your lives.”

  Ed nodded. “You did, on both accounts. And we’re grateful. But how did you know you could trust us? How did you know we wouldn’t just kill you in your sleep?”

  “How did you know I wouldn’t do the same to you?”

  “Good question.”

  “Well, Ed, once you figure that out, you’ll understand how I knew I could trust you.”

  Ed smiled. “Jasper’s right. You’re an unusual preacher.”

  “These are unusual times.”

  Jasper stirred and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Holy shit, my head...”

  Dan chuckled. “A word from the wise, my young friend: slow and steady wins the race.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  “I’ll get you two some aspirin. How’s breakfast sound?”

  “Like the best idea you’ve had all day,” Jasper replied, grinning.

  * * *

  Breakfast consisted of canned fruits and vegetables, accentuated by Spam and some reconstituted powdered eggs. Ed found the eggs to be surprisingly delicious. Upon Dan’s insistence Ed and Jasper both had seconds, keenly aware that once they took to the road again they’d be rationing like usual.

  By the time breakfast ended the aspirin had done its work, knocking out the worst of their headaches. After tossing the dirty paper plates, the three men sat around the table puffing on cigars made by people long since infected and dead.

  As promised, Dan filled a pillowcase half-full of Vienna sausages, Spam and dried banana chips. “It’s not much, but it should keep you going for a while.”

  “It’s plenty,” Ed said. “We appreciate it.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Jasper added. “We owe you one.”

  “Nah, you don’t owe me. We’re all in this together.”

  “I wish more people thought like you,” Ed said.

  Dan smiled. “Me too.”

  The men exited the building. Moaning and shrieking drifted through the air, punctuated by the odor of rot and death.

  “How do you stand this smell?” Jasper asked.

  “You’d be surprised what you can get used to.”

  They hopped inside the truck. Dan shoved the key in the ignition. “Ready to go?”

  “Let’s do this thing,” Jasper said.

  Dan closed his eyes, pausing for a moment before turning the key. The engine shuddered to life. “I always say a little prayer before I turn the key. So far it’s always worked.”

  “The engine or the prayer?” Jasper asked.

  Dan smiled. “I suppose I’ll never really know.” He slammed the truck into gear and headed off.

  * * *

  Dan maneuvered the truck down decrepit streets, dodging stalled cars and other trash blown into the street by four years of no one cleaning it up. They passed gutted, small town store fronts, brick charred and blackened.

  “The world went to hell after the virus took hold,” Dan said, looking around. “People really went bonkers. I suppose it’s hard to blame them, but they turned bad quick. My old man taught that morality came from the Bible, but I had a hard time seeing it. Lot offering up his daughters for gang rape to protect a couple of strangers, killing folks who worked on Sunday…didn’t seem like good lessons to me.

  “You know, I don’t think we get our morality from a book. I think it’s in us when we’re born. But I also think we’re conditionally moral. Only when our needs are met are we then really able to l
ove thy neighbor.

  “But you take that security away and we revert to animals, stealing and killing and all sorts of terrible things. That’s when I think we need the book, or sections of it, to remind us of our God-given morality.”

  Dark stains spotted the street, remnants of the millions of rotting bodies left after the virus. Warm wind whistled through the truck’s open windows. Dark stoplights swung from dead power lines.

  “When the buildings filled up I watched folks, good people under normal circumstances, as they tossed their neighbors to the infected. They tossed them outside and locked the doors. I wonder sometimes, those folks on the inside, did they cover their ears so they couldn’t hear the screams? Or did they face up to what they did and listen until the sound just fell away?”

  A pause. Dan pointed ahead. “There it is.”

  Ed spied the bike ahead, lying where they left it. The backpacks had been kicked around, but remained closed, lying a few feet away from the bike.

  Dan pulled up next to the motorcycle and killed the engine. “Keep your eyes peeled. I don’t have to tell you that just because the infected aren’t here it doesn’t mean nobody else is.”

  The men exited the truck. Jasper picked up the gas can and swirled the fuel around. “We lost most of it.”

  “Can we make it on what’s left?” Ed asked.

  “Hell if I know. I guess we’ll see.”

  Ed picked up the backpacks while Jasper lifted the bike and emptied the rest of the fuel into the tank.

  “I’ll go siphon some gas from a couple of these cars,” Jasper said.

  “You got a hose?” Dan asked.

  Jasper held up a length thin hose and smiled.

  “Where’d that come from?” Ed asked.

  “I don’t leave home without it.”

  Ed laughed as Jasper headed off with the gas can and the hose.

  Dan packed all the supplies he’d given them into Ed’s backpack. A few minutes later Jasper returned. “Hope this shit’s still good,” he said, holding up a full gas can. “I managed to siphon out a full can.”

  Jasper placed the gas can in the bike’s basket.

 

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