The Good, The Dead & The Lawless (Book 2): The Hell That Follows

by Archer, Angelique

  Kennedy hated drama. Some women thrived off it, but she couldn’t stand it. Why prolong a bad situation by muddying up the waters when you could just deal with something head-on and not waste time?

  In the few relationships she’d had in her life, nearly every boyfriend had told her it was her best quality.

  A rap on the door interrupted her thoughts.

  “Hey,” Johnny B. said to her as he poked his head around the door. “It’s meeting time.”

  Standing up, she grabbed her firearm off the desk and met him. Locking the door behind her, the two started down the narrow corridor leading to the dining car.

  “That annoying bag of bones is at it again. Riling up everyone else.”

  Kennedy glanced at him then nodded. “You mean Lydia?”

  “Yeah,” he replied and cracked his knuckles. “It takes everything in me not to throw her out of the train myself. You know we’d be better off, right? Whenever she opens her mouth to talk, it’s like nails on a chalkboard. Even her own husband can’t stand her. I would rather take a bullet to the balls than be married to her.”

  Kennedy shrugged. “She’s just bored. It’s a power play. I kind of feel bad for her.”

  Johnny B. guffawed. “I feel bad for her husband. She must’ve tricked him into marrying her. What an idiot.”

  She smacked his arm. “Stop it.”

  When they got to the dining car, Kennedy straightened her shoulders and rested her hands on her belt. She had to look confident, as if everything was under control, and she was in charge.

  The room was packed with passengers, their faces staring at her expectantly. She noticed the newcomers, Houston and Cade, if she recalled their names correctly, were amongst them, each at opposite ends of the car.

  “Alright, first thing’s first,” she said in a clear, crisp voice. “We have some newcomers to welcome. They’re eager and able-bodied, and I believe they’ll make a strong addition to our team.” She paused, and hushed whispers like the hissing of snakes filled the room. “It’s my understanding that some of you are having an issue with how this train is run,” she continued, her tone steady. “I can’t guarantee that anything is going to change, but I’m willing to open the floor to hear suggestions.”

  Unsurprisingly, Lydia Glass leapt to her feet. “I have something to say.” She was a slight woman with curly dark hair that was frizzy and unkempt. Although she was in her early forties, her gaunt, constantly irritated expression and permanent frown lines made her appear much older than her actual age.

  Johnny B. made a noise from behind her, and several others rolled their eyes or exhaled loudly.

  “We didn’t have enough food or space as it was before they arrived, yet you keep bringing on new people, nearly ten in the last month. You save the few cabins that remain for total strangers. Those of us who don’t have a private cabin are forced to sleep in a makeshift car on cots with other families. Cots!” she emphasized dramatically. “Not to mention our portions at mealtime are pitiful, and they’re only going to get smaller now that there are more mouths to feed. It’s downright ridiculous to expect people to tolerate this for the long haul.” Her thin lips were pulled into a tight line. She crossed her arms defiantly when Johnny B. gave her a lethal stare. “We’re all getting sick of it.”

  “Speak for yourself, woman. Kennedy runs this train, and she runs it well. If you don’t fucking like it, the solution is simple.” He gestured to the windows leading outside. “I’ll help you out myself.”

  Kennedy turned and shot him a warning glance, but her eyes held a modicum of gratitude.

  Lydia glared at him furiously. “You probably eat enough rations for two people. Maybe even three.”

  Kennedy knew it was only a matter of time before Johnny B. exploded in rage.

  “And what do you do exactly, Lydia, besides be a thorn in everyone’s side?” another passenger inquired.

  Kennedy followed the source of the voice and saw Vetta Harrison push away from the wall she’d been leaning against. Vetta was the train’s sole medical professional. She was in her early fifties and had light blonde hair and blue eyes. She’d been a nurse before the outbreak, and as such, Kennedy counted her as one of the most valuable members of her team.

  “Do you go out on supply runs and stick your neck out for people you barely know, risking your life each time, not knowing if you’ll come back because you could randomly get bitten? Do you volunteer for Team Bravo to protect the train when it’s surrounded by rotters? What about Team Charlie, teaching the kids something useful? Helping out in the kitchen?” Vetta shook her head. “No, I don’t recall seeing you doing much of anything actually.” Lydia reddened under her stare and began to speak, but Vetta held up a hand to prevent her from interrupting. “Meanwhile, these ‘newcomers’ you talk about are the ones keeping your ass alive. Don’t tell people how to do their job when you don’t do squat. Part of the reason you’re even here is because Kennedy found you and brought you to this train. So take a seat, and shut your mouth.”

  Kennedy looked at her and nodded once, so discretely that no one else would have noticed. Vetta’s face was solemn, but she returned the nod and leaned against the wall once more.

  Lydia stood there with her hands balled at her sides, visibly shaking, her mouth wide open. “How dare you?” she sputtered. “How dare you talk to me like that, like you have any right—”

  “Stewart, control your wife,” someone muttered.

  “Oh, no, I’m not finished.” Lydia’s face was twisted with rage. “What happens when we don’t have any more space to house all of these new people? Then what? Will you just kick off the people who have been here the longest and wish them the best?” She turned in a circle, making eye contact with many of the passengers. “Come on, it’s not like you guys haven’t been thinking it. I’m just the only one with the balls to say it, apparently. We shouldn’t be helping anyone else. We should worry about ourselves! But if we keep her in power, we’re all screwed!” Her voice painfully shrill, she thrust a finger in Kennedy’s direction.

  Tucker stood up and cleared his throat. “We can’t survive on our own. We all need each other. We each play a crucial role in this mess, and when one goes, the whole thing collapses.” He took off his hat and held it in his hands. “Kennedy is the best darned thing to happen to us, if you ask me.” He turned to address Kennedy. “You’ve been a guiding light, and you’ve got the stuff real leaders are made of. You don’t just boss us around and treat us like garbage while you sit on a sofa eatin’ grapes, not lifting a pinky finger. You are out there, blood, sweat, and tears like the rest of us. I’ll follow you anywhere.” He nodded at her gratefully and sat back down.

  Kennedy felt tears welling up in her eyes, but she pushed them down, unwilling to show any weakness. “Thank you kindly, Tucker.”

  Lydia wagged her finger at him. “No, that’s just nonsense. I don’t understand why this is so hard for you people to comprehend. More mouths, less food. More people, less space. Do I need to spell it out for you? Because I don’t know how to make it any clearer than that.”

  Vetta started to move toward her, but Tucker put a hand on her arm. She looked over her shoulder at him. “What?”

  He shook his head. “I know what you’re going to do.”

  Vetta sighed. “Just one punch.”

  “Don’t. Kennedy will handle it.”

  “I say we nominate a new person to lead us. Who is with me?” Lydia asked. When no one answered her, she threw her arms up in exasperation.

  Vetta gritted her teeth. “You should be grateful you’re even on this train, especially those of you who don’t pull your weight, but expect Team Alpha to put their lives on the line whenever they go out to keep you fat, full, and happy. That was the problem with this country before the virus, people wanting stuff for free, but not being willing to do work to get it.” She put her hands on her hips and hung her head disappointedly. “You’d think tragedies like this would unite us and make us work to
gether. Like September eleventh. It’s been nearly twenty years since that day, but it’s clear things never changed for some of us.”

  Lydia was irate. “A lot of us want new leadership. We want to make it so that those of us who are here can survive. No more new faces. We protect the ones we have. I think we need to hold a vote!” Lydia’s meager frame was tense as she looked around for support.

  “Alright, that’s it,” Johnny B. called out and worked his way through the crowd to get to her. “You’re done. We don’t have time for your shit.” He grabbed her by the elbow and escorted her out of the dining car, ignoring her protests and futile attempts to wriggle out of his grasp.

  Her husband, Stewart, quietly followed behind them. When both of them had exited the car, Johnny B. slammed the door shut and stood in front of it, his massive arms crossed over his chest.

  Frustrated discourse started up again amongst the passengers, but Kennedy raised a hand to quiet them. “This train has been a blessing. But the end goal isn’t just to go up and down the east coast. The goal is to find people with skillsets that will strengthen us as a group. To create a sustainable food source that we can rely on at each stop. The goal is to help one another, to work together. I want us to not only survive this outbreak, but thrive. I’m not going to bullshit anyone. You have a problem with any of that, and you can get off at the next stop. We’ll give you water and food and send you on your way.”

  Kennedy nodded to everyone, then turned to leave.

  “Gather up the new folks, and brief them,” she told Johnny B. “Once they’re rested and settled, they’ll need to be evaluated and trained for their assignments.” There were no exceptions. Everyone would contribute something to their survival and growth, and she was hopeful that the newest arrivals on the train would not disappoint.

  Johnny B. was almost to the door when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned around and saw the new guy, the one with close-cropped blond hair who was wearing military fatigues. He’d seen him standing in the back during the meeting, listening intently.

  Johnny B. knew a solider when he saw one, but something about the stranger rubbed him the wrong way. For whatever reason, it pissed him off that he wore fatigues.

  “Hey, man,” the newcomer started. “I noticed you have some problem passengers. If you guys need anything, just let me know. Like you, I’ve had some training, and I’m sure you could use a helping hand.

  Johnny B. was unable to hide his skepticism. “Pound sand, asshole,” he growled. “We’re doing just fine.”

  There was no way in hell that Houston was going to be without a gun as long as Cade Foster was on the train with them.

  Houston hadn’t taken his eyes off Cade during the entire meeting. After it concluded, he observed Cade make a bee-line for the big guy who was always with Kennedy, but judging by his surprised expression, it looked like the man hadn’t responded the way Cade had been expecting.

  Once Cade left, Houston waited a few seconds and then followed him. He kept his distance, making sure to stay close to the sides of the car and blend in with the other passengers as much as possible.

  By the time he reached the sleeper cars, there were no other passengers with them. He kept a full car-length from Cade, watching him from the platform between the two cars.

  Cade walked down the hallway, and Houston was about to pursue him until Cade paused, his back to Houston.

  Darting into the shadows, Houston cautiously peered around the corner.

  Cade just stood there, unmoving.

  Then he abruptly turned left and unlocked the door to his cabin.

  Houston stared at the cabin until a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

  He searched around, not seeing anyone. He heard footsteps clanging against the metal ladder just outside, then laughter trickled in from an open window.

  Two people turned into the car across from him, and one of them was Colin. The other was a smaller figure, a woman, her face obscured by a hoodie.

  He’d recognize that laugh anywhere though.

  Haven.

  With Colin.

  Just the two of them.

  He scowled.

  Hadn’t she said she wasn’t leaving her room?

  Houston tucked fresh clothes and towels for himself and Haven under one arm and handed Brett a t-shirt from the children’s plastic bin. “Think Mark will like this?”

  Brett took the t-shirt from him and held it up. Iron Man was splashed across the colorful red fabric. “Oh, yeah. I wish they had it in my size. He’ll love it.”

  “Mark making friends today?” Houston asked him.

  Brett nodded. “I’m still shocked they have a school here.” He grunted disbelievingly. “It isn’t much, but there are people who volunteer to spend a few hours every day teaching the kids reading, math… it’s incredible when you think about it.” He rolled up the shirt and placed it in a plastic bag with clothes of his own. “I think I’m going to help out.”

  “You’d be great at it,” Houston assured him.

  “You guys finding what you need?” An older woman holding a clipboard came up to them.

  Brett passed his bag to her, and Houston set his clothes and towels on a folding table. “Yes, thank you so much, ma’am,” Houston answered gratefully. His gaze darted to a gun on the table beside the woman.

  Her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled at him. “You just drop them in the big baskets over there and exchange them for fresh ones each week.”

  They nodded, and when Houston picked up his items from the table, deftly scooped the gun up with them.

  As they walked back to their cabin, Brett glanced at him, noticing Houston seemed preoccupied.

  “You okay?”

  Houston blinked a couple of times then shifted to face him. “This Colin guy… what’s up with him?”

  Brett shrugged. “He’s cool. He helped us when we left Grandma’s.”

  “So I heard.” An awkward moment of silence passed between the two of them. “Does he have the hots for Haven?” he finally asked.

  Brett shifted, his shoes tracing lines in the dust and grime coating the floor. “You picked up on that, huh?”

  Houston’s expression was hard to read. “Yeah, I did. It wasn’t hard to figure out.”

  “Don’t worry though,” Brett interjected encouragingly. “Haven only sees him as a friend.”

  “I trust her,” Houston replied simply. “I don’t trust him. Then again,” he added, “I don’t know the guy. And I’m thankful he rescued her, all of you.” He sighed. “And I understand why he’d like her. He probably figured he’d won the lotto to find a girl like her in the middle of all this.”

  Brett gaped at him incredulously. “Are you kidding me? Haven? She’s a handful! The heart attack would’ve gotten him before the zombies did.”

  Houston chuckled. “True,” he agreed. “But he and Haven share a certain... camaraderie. I sensed it from the moment I saw them interact. I haven’t ever seen her that comfortable with someone.” He frowned. “Including me. Maybe I’m a little thrown off by it,” he admitted.

  Two passengers passed them, and Brett and Houston nodded politely as they walked by.

  “He was there at the right time, when she needed someone to help her cope with losing Grandma. Also, they’re both a pretty good team when it comes to scavenging for food and stuff. He admires her; she admires him. But I promise you, she only has eyes for you.”

  Houston couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

  “Great,” he muttered.

  Hero or not, he was already starting to dislike this Scottish guy.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Haven fluffed her pillow up against the wall and sat cross-legged on her cot.

  Mark was across from her, some comic books scattered in his lap. The last couple of nights, he’d been sleeping restlessly, with horrible nightmares that left him screaming so loud he woke up the neighboring passengers who were visibly frightened by his outbursts
.

  Haven remembered all too well what it was like to be tormented in her sleep, after her parents had died, before the outbreak had ever hit Green Acres. She wished there was something she could do to make his nightmares go away.

  She’d lost a lot, but Mark had lost everyone. And somehow, in spite of everything, he was able to do the unthinkable, something remarkable. He could laugh and smile and play and lose himself in the creative inspiration of books that spun tales from another place and time. He was still a good person, considerate, always trying to comfort others when they were sad.

  If Mark could do all of those things after losing everything, Haven could do her best to keep him safe, to be there for him, and to make him feel like he belonged, that her family was also his.

  Tonight, Brett and Houston were meeting with Kennedy to figure out what teams they’d be joining, and for the first time in a long time since the outbreak began, Haven had nothing she had to do.

  Normally this wouldn’t have suited her. She was the kind of person who needed to feel that she was being productive with her time.

  But tonight was different. The idea of curling up in her pajamas with the murder mystery that she’d found in the train’s small makeshift library thrilled her, and Mark’s presence brought her a measure of solace from the pain of losing Faith.

  Now if I only had a glass of wine, the night would be perfect.

  Haven was engrossed in the fourth chapter when she heard Mark sigh heavily. Looking up from her book, she raised an eyebrow.

  “What’s up, kiddo?”

  “I miss my mom,” he blurted suddenly.

  Closing her book, she pursed her lips and picked at the frayed edges of the bedspread. What could she possibly say to console him? Losing a parent at such a young age was devastating. There were so many times throughout her childhood when all she wanted to do was talk to her mom about boys or ask her dad to show her how to be better in soccer. Her grandmother had gone above and beyond to raise her and her siblings, but nothing would ever replace the presence of a parent.