Survial Kit Series (Book 1): Survival Kit's Apocalypse

by Williams, Beverly

  I stepped from the water onto the grass and spread an oversized towel down, and we sprawled out on it, with him naked on his back. I dotted his body with temporary claim markings, distracting him from the horrors of his evening. Finally, I went down on him, savoring the pleasure of it, enjoying knowing how to make his body feel good. I crawled back up over him afterward.

  “Let’s get you to bed,” I said, handing him dry pajama pants.

  We returned to the lean-to as the sun rose. I changed into dry clothes and tossed our wet ones over a line. Thom had already left to get his day’s chores out of the way. Eric got settled while I put some protein bars next to Matthew’s boots. Then I climbed into bed with my husband. Matthew headed out a few minutes later. He patted my foot when he saw the protein bars, and I heard him shove them into a pocket before he left for the vehicle yard.

  I stayed with Eric until he fell asleep. He was so tired it took longer than usual, counterintuitively. I had some work to do, but it could wait. I was content to lie with Eric until he was able to rest. I waited until he started snoring, then left to do my chores and some of his.

  Eric slept through the morning and early afternoon, then came to find me out by the lake. He guided me up the path to the small pond that had such good rock walls for climbing. He’d set up a picnic on the ledge.

  “Thought we could have a little getaway,” he said, pulling food from a basket. “Found some treats for it, even.”

  “Where’d you get cookies?” I asked, trying to rip into a bag of Oreos without waiting to see what was for lunch.

  Eric smirked and took the package away. I thought he might say something about eating the meal first, but he opened the cookies (the “proper” and easy way, via the “open here” flap) and we both had some.

  “Been stocking up,” he told me.

  “I think we could eat all of these ourselves, but we’d better save some for Thom and Matthew. And maybe Sam too?” Sam and I had been training and doing chores together. I’d become more and more fond of her as she allowed herself to become who she really was.

  “Yep.”

  I greedily grabbed a can of Easy Cheese out of his hands. “Where did you find this?!”

  “I have never seen anyone so excited about that shit,” Eric laughed.

  “It’s practically its own food group!” I squirted some into my mouth.

  “Would you like a cracker with your cheese?” he asked, opening a sleeve of Ritz crackers and handing it over. “Picnic gets a passing grade?”

  “Oh! Hold on.” I rooted around in my backpack for a small ribbon I’d picked up at the school and gave it to him. It was green satin with gold lettering: “PARTICIPANT.”

  “Is there a reward with this rank? I was hoping to get some.”

  “You thought you needed a picnic for that?”

  “Figured it wouldn’t hurt my cause.”

  I squirted more Easy Cheese onto my tongue, then gave him a cheesy kiss which quickly turned into something hotter.

  eff and Andrew had found a cluster of buildings about ten miles away, and I headed out with a small set of volunteers to explore them. My guys were staying back at camp, responsible for various other tasks for the day. The scouting group had taken a truck the first bumpy five miles or so, but the dirt road was impassable beyond that, and we had to leave the truck behind. We’d been on foot for two more miles before we heard a man shout in the distance.

  John put his hand up and we stopped. Another voice rang out, off to one side. Farther on ahead of us, yet another yell.

  “We’re going to be surrounded if we wait here,” I whispered to John, who was supposed to be acting as our leader.

  This felt very wrong.

  “I’m going there.” I indicated the trail where the second voice had come from. “Take them the other way and make a big arc to the truck, and get back to camp as fast as you can.”

  “And you?” he asked.

  “Will try to follow when the coast is clear.” This probably wouldn’t happen, but I wasn’t sure John knew that. I looked at each of the scouts. “We need to make sure they don’t get back to our camp. Tell Jeff. Go. Now,” I spoke urgently.

  John resentfully, grudgingly led our scouts in the direction I’d indicated and I made for the voice, the plan simply to be a diversion and let our people slip away.

  I crashed through the forest, ripping my overshirt on a thorny bush. I stepped out into a small clearing. There he was. The source of the second voice. The way he stood, the way he moved, the way he stank? I’d known a lot of people like him. The man turned my way.

  “Hello, darlin’,” drawled the frowzy brute before me. His teeth were yellowed. One had a rotting black edge. I’d definitely, absolutely known men just like this.

  “Can you help me?” I asked in a timid voice, stopping at a tree a couple dozen feet from his position.

  “I sure can. Don’t be scared. I’ve got some food back at Headquarters.” He waved me his way. “Are ya hungry?”

  “Sure am!” Move your feet, I commanded. I walked toward him, smiling, knowing I was entering a trap. This is going to suck, I thought, but at least my people will be safe. For now. I knew if I tried to run away, the ensuing hunt would lead these men to discover our camp well before they could find me. Better to go along and see this through. I hoped John at least had the sense to warn Jeff.

  I worried over this. What if John didn’t say anything? What if our campers weren’t prepared to defend themselves on the day these men charged into our camp? There wasn’t anything I could do about it now, though, so I tried to push it from my mind.

  The man retrieved a whistle from his pocket. He blew on it and smirked. “Just picked this up today. What’s yer name, sweetheart?”

  “Susie,” I replied without a moment’s hesitation.

  We left the clearing, and I moved slowly, feigning fatigue. I wanted to draw this out as long as possible. The man kept tooting the whistle like it was his new toy. I’m supposed to fall for that? Really? Back to Headquarters we went, and the whistle kept sounding its shrill note into the air, calling his group back in.

  When we arrived at our destination, I saw something I hadn’t expected: undead fortifications. Outside the gates of the compound’s fence were rows of rotters, strung loosely together with fishing line secured to trees at either end. The rotters were like dogs on runs—they could move along the lines to get at any person passing through, but they couldn’t get away. These people were the ones who’d been working on a rotter army.

  A gate opened wide as we approached. Four men with cattle prods made a path for us, keeping the rotters at a safe distance. I forced myself to display a convincing trust for my host while simultaneously putting on an embarrassingly girlish act about how frightening their security measures were.

  “Don’t worry, darlin’,” Rotten Teeth said amiably. “We’ve got gen-u-ine protection here. Our own army, retained and restrained. They’re a big investment, but they work for nothing once they’re set up—no draw on resources. Pretty smart, don’t ya think?”

  He gave me an up-close look at one of the “sentries.” The rotter had a large fishhook through its upper spine. A good haul on the heavy-gauge fishing line would sever the top of its spinal cord. Every one of their rotters was equipped with a similar fail-safe.

  I thought it was disgusting. My hosts had no regard for the people these rotters used to be (especially since the people had likely been captives before they were turned). Even when I was experimenting on rotters, I appreciated that they’d been people once, with lives and loves and dreams and imperfections. I’d thanked them for what I’d taken from them, and I hadn’t forgotten who they were: people I’d never gotten the chance to understand. At any rate, using them as an army felt egregiously unkind. Wrong.

  I looked at the man and forced myself to convey how impressive their solution was. “This is amazing! They keep it safe?” I gushed.

  “Totally safe. C’mon!” The man shepherded me
through the gate, the cattle-prod-wielding four followed, and two other men closed and secured it behind us.

  The journey had been an easy three miles that, to my relief, took us farther from my camp. I looked around: we were in a fenced village. There were nine buildings, including Headquarters. I scanned the area quickly and forced myself to stick close to my host, pretending to be shy and skittish. There were no other women and there were no children.

  HQ was an old, run-down church. It was stark inside. Most of the pews were missing. A water-damaged piano rotted in the corner. A delaminated pulpit had been shoved behind it. Faded white wainscoting lined the walls.

  The man walked me up the nave, toward the head of the room, stopping at a bag on one of the pews. “Got something for ya right in here. D’ya like granola?” And as he spoke, he whipped out a pair of handcuffs and seized my bad wrist. He grabbed it in the worst spot he could’ve—or maybe the best. The most damaged part. My wrist shrieked with pain. It made me cringe, and that made me look scared of him. He aggressively pulled my backpack from me and threw it aside.

  “Nothin’ personal, sweetheart,” he said while fastening the cuffs around my wrists. “We’ve been aching for some fresh entertainment.”

  About twenty men had entered the room by this point. I prepared myself for the unpleasantness about to visit me. They dragged a struggling Kit to the head of the room and pushed the handcuffs’ chain over a hook suspended from the ceiling.

  I took comfort in knowing my diversion had worked. John would at least have time to get back to camp and warn the others. If he bothered to. If he didn’t, surely one of the scouts would, right? I felt another twinge of worry for them.

  For my camp.

  And then for my guys. I finally let myself think of them, and I began to cry.

  “Curr!” a man shouted at my captor.

  “What, Tog?” Curr yelled back.

  Tog. Shit heaped on shit! I thought back to that crate, thought of the yelling man with his cigarette and his spilled drink, the man who wanted his lighter back from Tog. I shuddered.

  The (predictably slovenly) man who had shouted Curr’s name waded up through the others. “We have to save her for Jimbo.”

  Curr? Tog? Jimbo? Did anyone here have a real name?

  “We can tenderize her a bit,” Curr said defensively.

  They all argued over this for quite a while, and finally agreed it was acceptable.

  “I get to go first, ‘cause I found her!” Curr declared.

  He kicked me hard in the abdomen before I realized he was going to. Before I could brace myself for it.

  They took turns beating me until I slumped over, hanging from the cuffs. Well, I figured it was when I was expected to slump over. I basically just flopped my body down and hung there.

  “Let up!” Tog hollered, and the men stopped. I was confused, but then he added, “We don’t want to piss him off. We’ll just give her a little break, okay?” He reached into the back of the pulpit, pulled out two bottles of Wild Turkey, and waved them in the air. “Drinks on me!” The men jovially headed Tog’s way.

  I wondered how long this would last, and what they’d do next, and when, and when their leader would arrive, and just how bad it would be. And I thought of Eric, waiting back at home, not knowing. I worried about him.

  Quite some time ago, Thom told me that Eric needed me. I hadn’t completely believed this. I hadn’t understood. He’d gotten along fine without me before. All the time I’d spent with Eric taught me that Thom was right, though. He loved me as much as I loved him. The idea of losing him burned in my brain, and I knew this dreadful feeling is what he’d feel about losing me. I felt guilty for the pain he’d feel. I wanted to apologize to him. I wanted to apologize to them all. My beloveds. These thoughts are what kept me crying while I was suspended there.

  Eventually, there was another shout.

  “Looky what I have here!” Curr crowed.

  All the men looked his way. I still hung “limply” from my bonds, not interested in trying to see. I’d find out soon enough. He moved closer and waved something under my face.

  A bullwhip.

  The first lashes fell. Over my shirts, their sting was completely bearable. Curr became agitated because he didn’t like that I wasn’t responding differently for him.

  Then I heard a noise outside the church. Very slight. Subtle. It wasn’t enough that anyone else had even noticed, but I knew what it meant. Help had arrived. I hadn’t expected it to, and I should’ve.

  “Bitch!” Curr started cursing. His voice cracked as he yelled at me. He brought the bullwhip down again, in what I realized was the strongest swipe he could apply.

  I grabbed the first diversion I could think of. I lifted my head and fixed him with an icy glare, and Curr paused.

  “You hit like a pussy,” I spat at him, my voice loud and clear.

  The HQ doors slammed open, bouncing off the walls. Matthew and Thom barged in, guns out. They killed every one of those men, who were too stunned—and drunk—to take action in time to save themselves. Almost twenty lives were wiped out in a few short seconds.

  Matthew and Thom rushed to me. I tried to tell them about the lookouts, about Jimbo’s expected presence, but they were fussing over me. They were too smart to release me from the hook yet, knowing I wouldn’t stand still for a damage inspection if freed.

  “Hush now,” said Thom. “We got them already. Eric’s tracking their leader.” Of course they had. Of course he was.

  Matthew supported me while Thom checked me over.

  “John got back to camp,” Matthew said, “and the scout group told us about hearing those guys, about you sending the group back. John didn’t get it. Fucking idiot! All he did was complain about you ‘usurping the role of leader.’ Clueless ass!”

  Thom found where Curr had kicked me, on the right side of my abdomen. It didn’t look like much. Just a bit of a bruise. When Thom saw it, he frowned, pausing and pressing gingerly. His hand felt cold. I refused to respond. He looked… neutral. Thom moved on and checked the severity of the whip slashes on my back. I was lucky—Curr really did hit like an oversized, floppy vagina. My shirts were shredded, but the cuts weren’t deep. Thom finished his cursory inspection of my body’s damage and stood back.

  Matthew swore furiously at the absent John as he unhitched my cuffs’ chain from the hook. Then he continued swearing as he led me to a pew to sit and wait for Eric. More swearing as Matthew retrieved my backpack and plopped it at my feet. Thom found an old bobby pin on the floor. He bent it and deliberately jiggled it around in the handcuffs’ keyhole to unlock them. He had them off pretty quickly, too.

  I thanked Thom and Matthew, wishing they’d stop worrying over me. Matthew tried to get me to drink some water, and I got a couple of sips down to appease him. I hurt, but not as badly as I’d expected to. Nothing was even broken. Jimbo must be a pretty scary guy, if they only “tenderized” me this much.

  Then we heard an awful noise outside. A man keening, wailing. Begging. The source of the noise drew closer to the church, and then there was a gunshot. The vocalizations stopped.

  We waited in shocked silence, still as statues.

  Outside, leaves rustled as trees swayed in the wind.

  After a few seconds which felt like hours, Eric walked in.

  “Jimbo’s taking a dirt nap,” he announced, looking weary. A rectangular patch with “Jimbo” stitched on it dropped from his hand to the floor.

  My guys, I thought.

  Eric sat down and they all fussed over me for a few minutes more.

  When we left HQ, I picked up Jimbo’s patch and put it in my pocket. It signaled the end of a very specific set of missions Eric had been sent on. Those Dangerous People were history.

  We emerged from the church into the late afternoon sunlight. I was covered with cuts and bruises, but they were minor. What concerned me was the increasingly intense gnawing in my abdomen. I forgot about it for a moment, though, because I saw him
lying there on the ground, to the side of the church steps, and it took my breath away.

  A tall, lanky man in coveralls—his name patch had been ripped off. His eyes were set a little too close together in sockets that were too deep. He had the kind of arms that didn’t look substantial, but still would’ve been very strong. He was severely beaten. Bloodied. Broken. The yellow fat under the skin of his cheek had been pushed out by fractured bone. That side of his face was mostly bashed in. I could see a bullet hole in his temple. Inflicted by Eric. When Eric killed him.

  This was Jimbo.

  I took a few steps, then tumbled down from the second-to-last stair. I lay in a heap on the ground, the pain growing with every breath. I blessed the pain, because it shifted my focus from the horrible, brutally beaten man lying dead on the ground. I wasn’t thankful to it for long, though.

  Thom had paused beside me when I stopped, after we’d stepped out of the church, and he’d started to walk again when I moved. But his mind was somewhere else when I fell. He hadn’t even been able to try to catch me. Now he dropped my backpack and carried me to a red plastic Adirondack chair. Eric and Matthew called out and he automatically joined them. The guys huddled together by a large tree fifteen feet away.

  I rubbed my fingers over my stomach. I tried to push it from my mind. This situation was far worse than the bullwhip could ever be. A wave of nausea washed in. Please, not this. Not now.

  Following the car accident, when I was still in the hospital, I had appendicitis. The pain was a specific gnawing in my gut, accompanied by days of vomiting. After so much trauma, no one wanted to put me through yet another surgery. The doctors decided not to take my appendix out, opting for conservative treatment. That means Watch and Wait. And it worked. For whatever reason, my appendix resolved itself. It figured things out. But the doctors warned this incident made it more likely to happen again.

  That same pain rejoined me now. I began to throw up almost constantly. I threw up even though my body quickly ran out of things to forfeit to the little cup I’d found next to the chair. Dry heave after dry heave possessed me.