by T. W. Brown
“Is it that bad?” Selina whispered as she moved to stand beside her husband after he had scooped the baby from her and cradled the infant in his own arms.
“Outriders,” Jody spat the word like a curse. “They killed the Griffiths and burned the bodies. Danny must have been the runner from Turret Nine to go check on them. They have him in a cage. He looked pretty messed up. It is likely that they were torturing him. I actually almost feel sorry for whoever is doing the torturing and questioning. You know how Danny can get.”
“So when do you leave?” Selina did not need to be told that her husband had volunteered. It went without saying; he was still friends with Danny despite the distance that had come between them over the years.
“We will head out at four. If we move fast, we can get there just before sunrise. That is usually when people are the most lax if they are posting a watch. For all we know, they could feel safe and think the turret is secure enough not to merit a watch. That would be the best case scenario for us.”
“Just be careful.”
Jody smiled as he watched Alana swing higher and higher. If not for the twenty foot high watch towers in the background and the ten foot barrier wall, he could almost be in a normal world. They had worked hard to create someplace where people could be safe, where children could grow up in a normal environment.
“I always am.”
“What’s the matter?” Selina asked, seeing as well as hearing something hesitant in Jody’s voice. He was always so sure of himself, and she did not like the vibe she was picking up.
“I almost didn’t volunteer,” Jody admitted.
“Why?”
“I like what I have. I love you and the girls. I just want to be a husband and a dad now. I am tired of being a leader.”
“Then don’t run for re-election this time,” Selina finally said after a long pause. “Lord knows that you have done enough to get things settled here. Step aside and let somebody else carry the ball for a while.”
Jody opened his mouth twice before actually saying anything. He wanted to agree, but, if he was being honest with himself, he was scared of the idea of somebody else running the show. He had become accustomed to being the one to have final say on things. If he stepped down, he would just be one of the regular citizens.
“Da-deee!” Alana squealed.
Jody returned his attention to his oldest daughter. And would that really be so bad? he thought as he watched her swing.
***
Entry Seventeen—Met a group of people yesterday. They have a camp set up beside the Yellowstone River. There are nine men and sixteen women (if you count the two sixteen-year-olds). It was so nice to hear the laughter of children.
That is the beautiful thing about children; they have an internal radar and can sense good and bad in people much like dogs. Back in the day, if I met somebody new and my dog didn’t like them, I usually let them slip out of my life. Dogs just know.
I could see the concern in a few of the women’s faces when the little ones all came to me. They were like moths to a flame. By the time it started getting dark, I could see them relaxing a bit. Today, I noticed that I was not being watched as closely.
To earn my keep, I split wood, helped put up a small hut for a couple that just got married, and bagged a few quail (or at least that is what I think they were; I don’t know birds very well). Nobody rides for free these days.
I also got my next job.
Entry Eighteen—He goes by the name of Darwin Goodkind. The story as I hear it is as follows. He and his little gang arrive with a small caravan of carts and wagons. They are armed to the teeth and use the excuse that it is dangerous out in the badlands.
What Darwin and his buddies don’t say is that it is dangerous for the living that are unfortunate enough to encounter these monsters. They arrive in communities such as this one and bait the people with all these amazing items. Some of the “luxury” goods included Old World whiskey in sealed bottles, tools like picks, shovels, and the like—all very useful out here considering they have the old fiberglass handles that last for years before you have to craft a replacement.
They also have some other items to offer. It is then that a community is put to the test. One of the wagons apparently had a number of women in it. These folks would not go so far as to say that they were slaves, but I don’t see any other way to put it. This is the post-apocalyptic version of the mail-order bride. The only thing is that these women do not have a say.
This community is one of the poorer ones that I have encountered. I guess they scraped together all they could and purchased one of the girls—the youngest of the bunch according to what I am being told—in order to set her free. The girl decided to stay on and live here.
That situation alone, while sad and vile, would probably not have been enough to put me on the trail of the Darwin Goodkind gang. However, the day after these bastards left, one of the local girls came up missing. Everybody searched, but all they found was a torn piece of her clothing and some blood.
They doubt she fell to a zombie. I guess there was not a lot of blood; also, there was an obvious scuffle according to these people.
The wagon caravan left heading east. That would be towards the direction of the Billings Ruins. If they follow the Yellowstone River, I know the route they are using.
Anybody who travels these days tends to stay close to streams and rivers. You can go a few days without food, but water is a different story altogether. Everybody still remembers the wars that broke out those first weeks in California when the water stopped coming from Colorado. Los Angeles burned to the ground less than two months in, and there was nothing that anybody could do to stop it.
I leave in the morning.
Entry Nineteen—This might be tougher than I thought. From what I have seen, there are nine of these guys. They have obviously been doing this for a while. They have four wagons of “regular” goods, and then another that they keep the women in.
Each night when they stop to make camp, they set up a perimeter with military precision and post roving guards. Part of their setup includes a series of fire barrels that they place in a ring around the camp. While not perfect, they manage to keep the area well lit. Also, they have obviously made this trip before since they seem to know exactly where to camp each night.
Once everything is done with setting up the camp, they let the women out of the wagon. It was sickening to see human beings treated worse than cattle. I did notice that they were well fed and given plenty of water. Still, they are human beings. I would never be able to live with myself if I allowed this to continue.
I realize that there may be more groups like this one…some perhaps even worse. Maybe I will cross paths with them someday, but for now, my focus is on Darwin Goodkind’s gang. I will eliminate each and every one of them…or die trying.
Entry Twenty—Two more days of travel. I am still trying to figure out a way to get these guys. Anything I do as far as a simple frontal assault would not end well for me. It’s not that I am scared, but I have no desire to simply throw my life away.
We stopped just outside of what is now called Oasis. It used to be the town of Columbia, Montana. The folks here did well for themselves when the zombies came. Most, if not all, were in possession of more than their fair share of guns and ammo. These were the folks the movies and books forgot about.
Rednecks.
6
Geek Interrogation
“I swear…I have never seen these two in my life,” Jerold Grimes, the mayor of whatever remained of Rock Ridge whimpered.
Kevin winced as Darlene twisted her wrist enough to make the man cry out. He never understood why women always had to go for the testicles when they attacked a man. Trey Piper stood just behind Darlene, arms folded across his chest as he watched with almost no expression. He had turned out to be the leader of this little band of post-apocalyptic terrorists.
Trey looked every bit the part of a hillbilly survivalist. He had str
aight, greasy, dirty blond hair that clung to his forehead with the help of the molding done by the cowboy hat that currently rested on the pommel of his saddle. His face was round and he was missing a few teeth. Those that remained were not long for this world. He was skinny, but managed to have a prominent potbelly that pushed the bottom of his ill-fitting flannel shirt up enough to reveal his “outie” bellybutton.
His jeans were faded and full of plenty of patched holes; so much so that they were more patch than jeans. He wore a wide belt with the stereotypical hubcap-sized buckle. From that belt hung a variety of knives and a sword that had a Confederate flag-adorned pommel.
To complete the look were a collection of crosses that hung around his neck of varying sizes. Some were large enough to look almost awkward and others were so dainty that they looked like the chains might break if you breathed on them wrong.
Scattered about were his mobile militia. Some still sat on the backs of their horses; others had dismounted and were allowing their horses to have a break. Now that he saw what he assumed to be all of them, Kevin counted three women and eight men; although, one of the “women” was borderline. He was not entirely sure she was an actual she.
They all had bows or crossbows as well as a variety of blades. One of the men had what Kevin thought of as an executioner’s axe. It was strapped to his back and had to weigh at least twenty pounds.
Standing across the open clearing where he and Catie had been taken was Clint and what was left of his group. Kevin could not be sure, but he thought there were at least three faces missing from Clint’s people.
The sun was pushing away the morning haze, but the smell of smoke was a bitter reminder that a fire raged nearby; one that had been apparently set with the intention of killing an entire community.
“You know we got your daughter,” Darlene hissed. “And you know what is gonna happen to her if you lie to us.”
Kevin’s eyes flitted briefly to the girl being held between two horses. She was manacled, and the chains from each wrist were secured to the saddles of those horses. Her head was down and a dark strand of bloody drool could be seen as it stretched and eventually broke, adding to the growing puddle at her feet.
“I am telling you the truth,” Mayor Jerold Grimes sputtered between busted lips and a few broken teeth. “I swear to God.”
Like a cobra, Darlene struck with her studded gloved fist. Jerold’s head rocked back and fragments of more broken teeth went flying.
“You don’t get to swear to God, you abomination!” she shrieked.
In Kevin’s mind, there were few things more reprehensible than a bigot. A bigot that doubled as a religious zealot was a nightmare. All the irrational ideology and fervent mania coupled with a specified intolerance made for a real piece of work.
“Okay, Darlene,” Trey said. He walked over to Kevin and stared into his eyes as if he expected the man to morph into something horrific before them. “That still does not clear you.”
“And what does exactly?” Kevin asked.
“Well, we are gonna have to examine you and the little lady there.” He tilted his head towards Catie.
“You mean strip us naked and run your filthy hands and eyes over our bodies?” Kevin scoffed. “Hope you brought me flowers…I don’t get naked for just anybody.”
He wasn’t surprised when the backhand came. It had been the third one he had received from this man so far. He didn’t care much for it, but if it kept the focus on him and not Catie, that was fine. She had already given him an indication that she had a plan. If the focus remained on him, it would make her job that much easier.
He brought his face back around and smiled, showing off blood-stained teeth and a trickle of bright red that started to leak from one nostril. Kevin fought the urge to wipe it away and simply let it run down his face. Trey moved up so that they were almost literally nose-to-nose. Kevin could feel his hot breath and he frowned.
“You need to work on your oral hygiene.” Kevin braced himself for another smack, but this time he got a fist to the gut.
He doubled over in pain and immediately tried to get air back into his lungs. He hated the wheezing sounds that were coming from him. He knew that it would upset Catie. Also, he thought he heard a chuckle come from the direction of Clint and his people. He was not sure if it was at his expense or in support of his latest quip.
“I don’t understand people like you,” Trey growled as he grabbed Kevin by the hair and yanked him up. “You got no chip to bargain with, yet you want to try and play games.”
“Yeah?” Kevin managed with the little bit of air he could suck in. “That makes two of us…the not understanding part, I mean.” Trey looked at him with an arched eyebrow, so Kevin continued. “Humanity is on its final lap. The zombies have the numbers and it is just a matter of time. Yet people like you see fit to go around and kill others for no other reason than some misguided prejudice.”
“Misguided?” Trey laughed. “You mean our little war against the munies?”
“Your systematic attempt at killing off people who are immune to the bite, yes, that is to what I am referring.”
“You can use all the flowery words and phrases you like, but the munies are an abomination. God sent this plague down on us to cleanse the world.” Trey was building up a head of steam that reminded Kevin of a television evangelist. All this guy was missing was an ill-fitting suit, and a number to flash on the screen where the faithful could send their donations.
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe the munies, as you call them, might be the ones your God is trying to save?”
Kevin could actually see the blood rushing to Trey’s cheeks, turning them a bright red. Perhaps he had struck a nerve. It reminded him of the days when the Jehovah’s Witnesses came to his door. Having actually read the bible, Kevin was familiar with their favorite versus. Every single time he asked them how they thought they might be one of the one hundred and forty-four thousand supposedly saved out of all the people that had been born over the years, much less the fact that they had membership numbers over seven million, that was usually what prompted their hasty and awkward departure.
“Strip him right here,” Trey ordered as he stepped back from Kevin.
Two men climbed down from their horses and approached. Kevin gave one a salacious wink as the lackey tugged at his belt. The man scowled. Whatever Catie had planned, he sure hoped it came soon; the man with the giant axe was smiling.
As if in answer to his wish, there was a yelp. Kevin fought his urge to turn his head and instead lunged forward, slamming his forehead into the bridge of the nose of the man who had been undressing him.
One of the problems (and there were many) that Kevin had with the old horror flicks was the people who just stood there and awaited their death. You knew that the bad guys or axe-wielding maniac was not going to show mercy; so, if that was the case, why on earth would you not go out at least trying to take one or two of them with you?
He and Catie were about to die. That would be a certainty as soon as their scars were revealed. So why not at least make an attempt at either getting free or killing one or two of the bastards that were about to do them in?
Trey was drawing his blade as Kevin lowered his shoulder and charged. Unfortunately for Kevin, the man side-stepped him easily and even shot out a foot to trip him as he lumbered past. Kevin went to the ground face first and got a mouthful of dirt in the process. He knew that his time was done. The blade would come down and that would be the end of things.
He was a little disappointed when he did not get that mythical “life passing before his eyes” event that he had always heard people supposedly experienced when they were about to die. Maybe his mind knew something that he was not yet fully aware of at that precise moment. There was a meaty thud and then something heavy landed on him. Kevin rolled over to find the dead eyes of Trey staring blankly at him. A split second later, he noticed the machete handle sticking up from the back of Trey’s head.
&
nbsp; Clint’s face appeared. “Up you go,” the man said in his backwoods drawl.
Kevin accepted the offered hand and came to his feet. The fight had been rather anti-climactic. Clint’s men had obviously been paying attention. The moment Catie struck, they had leapt into action. Trey’s militia was either dead, dying, or—as in Darlene’s case—wounded, but being held captive at the end of a blade.
“Not so tough now, are ya?” Catie snarled at the woman. Kevin noticed that it was one of Darlene’s own blades that Catie held to the woman’s throat.
“Why?” Kevin asked Clint.
“While the folks at Rock Ridge might have been up to something dirty, that was really all just rumor. And how can we paint everybody with the same brush whether they are immune or not.” Clint glanced over his shoulder at the rest of his men and his eyes stopped on one man in particular. The man was shaking with rage and a few of the others were actually working to calm him down. “They killed Jess, Jeb’s boy, right in front of him for no other reason than he had a healed bite scar. He weren’t up in Rock Ridge or nothin’ of the sort. He was just a kid, dammit.”
“So then…” Kevin paused, torn between gratitude and caution.
“We could care less if you and your little lady are immune. That don’t mean spit to us,’ Clint answered the unasked question.
“Can I correctly assume that these people are nobody you know? They aren’t from your place or Red Hill?”
“Never seen any of ‘em before in my life.” Clint turned his head and spat. “And I don’t care if I never see any of their kind again.”
“So then, what sort of deal did they make with your mayor? Sounds to me like they had something arranged.” Kevin went over to the horse that his pack had been strapped to and patted the animal on the neck. “And, speaking of mayors, what are you gonna do with him?” Kevin pointed to the beaten and bloody man lying on the ground in the fetal position.
