No Room In Hell (Book 2): 400 Miles To Graceland

by William Schlichter

  “Peace of mind. No one says, what do we do if the fences fall? We know to head here.”

  Danziger nods.

  Instinct consumes him at the crackle of the gun. The wind of a bullet buzzed his ear. He drops, landing on a rock.

  Gurgling.

  Danziger slides back on his stomach, crawling on his elbows to the dying kid. He must keep a visual on the direction the bullet originated from. Even if the compound hospital has a surgeon, he’ll be among the walking undead before they reach it. Blood fountains from a hole just below the throat. Danziger presses his gun against Keanu’s temple and fires. He confiscates the rifle.

  “I’m just going to kill you, Levin!” If not for the girl he’d fire blindly into the trees. It might be a waste of valuable ammo but it would keep Levin from circling around and stealing a loaded rifle. Danziger doesn’t want to carry it. He needs to move fast.

  Two shots should bring the search parties if they head them over to the bulldozer. Danziger locks the bolt on the rifle. The well-trained Keanu carried it open for safety—a well-trained dead kid.

  Danziger keeps low in the bush. Levin would be foolish to wait for him unless he’s trapped or the girl’s dead.

  His preparation was interrupted and he has no way to dress and photograph her. All part of his ritual. If his obsession requires—

  Wait. He skipped the photos at the barn, but not the makeup. Or did he. I can’t remember. So busy trying to escape the bear trap. The deepest cut itches. It will heal; physical wounds do. Killing Levin will restore the mental ones driven into his brain when he witnessed firsthand the work of the Blonde Teen Slasher.

  He uses the rifle scope to scan the trees. Levin won’t be decked out in camo. He won’t have supplies. He should have a struggling girl with him. Even if she complies with his wishes he must move with her and she won’t be attempting to remain as hidden as he does. He’s bound her wrists so she won’t step smoothly. Unless Levin just kills her to escape.

  When he does, four people will have died because I didn’t just kill Levin in the barn. I’m just as much the reason they are dead as their murderer. These people have built a community, and even with some still dying on outside missions, those inside the fence were safe.

  “I’m going to kill you, Levin!” Somehow the useless and position revealing scream restores Danziger’s. He has to keep a cool head to succeed.

  He stays as low to the ground as possible and still run. The rocky outcropping provides cover enough for him to move higher and see more of the forest.

  Save the girl. You should attempt to save her.

  Didn’t I try and do so before? I thought about the girl in the barn. I should have broken into the captain’s office and gotten those suspects names and did my best to be Charles Bronson.

  Redeem all those dead girls by saving this one.

  The scope catches the glint of blonde hair. Danziger stretches his pointer finger as far from the trigger as possible without loosening his grip on the weapon.

  He follows the top of her head. Levin used her as a shield or a distraction.

  Danziger drops the scope, spotting Sam’s center mass bob through the branches.

  If you shoot her Levin won’t be able to use her.

  Fuck you.

  You’re still allowing her to suffer. You’re still using her even if to slow Levin down. End her pain.

  Gray-brown flashes over the scope.

  Danziger fires wild.

  Sam’s screams muffle through her gag.

  “Fuck.” He moves, having to vacate his position so Levin doesn’t know where he stalks from.

  A deer bounds away through the woods. She must have nearly stepped on the creature before it decided to flee.

  Sam’s muffled screams continue.

  Her panic has reached a point where she loses control of her body. He doubts no matter how much Levin threatens her, she has no control over her vocals.

  “Fuck it.” Danziger charges. Tree branches slap him but he doesn’t slow his bolt. He reaches Sam. Before he raises the rifle, Levin slits her throat.

  She doesn’t notice the blade inch over her vocal cords. The crimson dripping down to her chest. The open mouth but no sound.

  The rifle stock catches Levin across the scapula. He tumbles.

  Danziger smashes the rifle butt into Levin’s forearm, shattering the bone. He tosses the weapon out of reach in order to draw the Berretta.

  No words.

  No statements of judgments.

  No reconciliations for his soul.

  Danziger levels the gun at Levin’s face and pulls the trigger until the weapon dry fires a half dozen times.

  He lowers the weapons. The mushy mess that was once a human face couldn’t be identified even with dental records.

  Staggering back, Danziger legs are numb. Justice. Revenge. Satisfied. Nothing will bring back his daughter. No trial—triumph. His legs give out. He told himself he would be saving so many more. For a full second, he wishes he had saved one bullet.

  His kid wouldn’t want him to end his life. She was proud of Daddy being a cop and helping people. Plenty of people to help now.

  ETHAN WOBBLES FROM his bedroom. Two more days of rest has only stiffened his bad leg to where he’s unable to bend it. One bruise has disappeared from his arm. Most have transformed into a green-gray color. No shimmer purple anymore. Amie carries a bundle of bed sheets in her arms from the other bedroom, her bronze muscular legs emerging from underneath a lacy camisole.

  “When did you move in?” he asks as a joke.

  “Wanikiya felt you needed a woman to keep you and Dartagnan in line. Emily’s been keeping vigil over you. She begged for the empty room, but he didn’t think you found her age-appropriate for living next to you. I wanted out of the community sleeping quarters.”

  “I doubt you’d run around in that thing in the gym.”

  She lowers the blankets purposely revealing the low-cut top and the top of her well-rounded breasts. Ethan does little to avert his eyes considering the pain he would cause to crane his neck even if the polite thing to do would be to glance at her eyes. Then again, she displayed herself on purpose whether it be an intentional tease or just a reminder she was a real woman and not a fifteen-year-old girl. Sanchez could be trying to learn just what kind of man she has taken residence with.

  “I saved her from the Bowlin brothers.”

  “Explains her loyalty to you. You saved a lot of women when you killed Kade,” Sanchez says.

  “She feels she needs to repay her rescue.”

  “And you think you should keep her honor intact?”

  “Something like that.”

  Sanchez carries the bundle to the top of the stairs. “Would you like something to eat. I’ll bring it to you so you don’t have to traverse the stairs.”

  “I would appreciate it. I’m going to attempt to shower.”

  Ethan stumbles into the bathroom now filled with the collection of products only a woman would add. Shit. Now I remember why I didn’t want to share a bathroom. Men care nothing about, nor understand why a woman needs, five pairs of tweezers now on the back splash. He uses the sink counter as a brace and lowers himself onto the toilet. Most of his body has turned a sullen gray-green tint. The beating was unlike anything he’s ever gone through. Whatever doesn’t kill us makes us stronger—only they forget to mention it almost kills you.

  Even taking three bullets to a chest covered in Kevlar doesn’t compare to the pain of each fading purple whelp. Not a single bone broken or even cracked. Being in a cast in this new world would mean certain death. And despite some weight loss and being healthier now that McDonald’s doesn’t beckon, he figures some malnourishment in certain vitamins and minerals will plague everyone. It’s a long hike to Florida if he ever wants to have an orange again.

  What a girl to sit to pee. I’ve no choice. I can’t stand long and everything hurts. He glances at the brown liquid. No blood. That’s good. He flushes. The worst mistake a
person makes before getting in the shower. Now it will take a minute for the water temp to rebalance. At least the water will be warm by the time I crawl in. He adjusts the temperature. He must pick one leg up and set it in the tub. Alive and I can barely move and those rotten dead people move around like they’re in a marathon.

  He stays in the heated water until it chills. It loosens the stiffness, but not enough to make the arduous journey to his bed any less pain stricken.

  He falls on the bed unable to move without pain.

  Sanchez carries a tray with two water bottles and two brown MRE packages. She has put on jeans but left the camisole on.

  He hurts too bad to notice or care if she just hasn’t finished dressing yet or is purposefully displaying herself. Why was it before the end of the world so difficult to attract a date and now they line up at my door?

  She sets the tray down and grabs his legs to help him swing onto the bed.

  “I don’t need a nurse maid,” Ethan moans.

  “It will take you all day to get into bed otherwise.” She covers his legs with the blankets noting the scars on his left leg. They seem to be a mix of burnt tissue and lacerations. “Next time you get up, tell me and I’ll strip the sheets.”

  “You’re a Private in the military—not my nanny.”

  “I was a Private and I was everyone’s maid. That’s what Private means. Have a shit job, get a Private.”

  “I’m not a shit assignment,” Ethan snaps. He detests being helpless.

  “No, you’re a good man who needs some assistance until he heals. You’ve saved all these people. None of them will think less of you if you give yourself a few days to heal.”

  “It does my leg no good to lay in bed. It stiffens and hurts more. I need to move.”

  “Fine, walk.” She plops in a high-back chair, placing her own damaged foot on an ottoman before peeling open her MRE.

  Ethan lifts his legs and then drops them back to the bed. “Okay. It hurts too much.”

  “Sleep and rest. I’ll be around if you need me, and once you’re better I go back to guard duty, or I might drive for the fence building groups. Leading a team didn’t work out so well.”

  “Is that what you want to do?” Ethan asks. He stares at the MRE packet inches from his face as if it is the lost grail across a vast ocean. Pain outweighs his hunger.

  “I wanted a GI Bill to pay for me to be an elementary teacher. Not enough kids from my neighborhood had good Hispanic role models.”

  “You’re Hispanic?”

  “My last name’s Sanchez.”

  “My last name’s German. Doesn’t make me a Nazi. I just thought you had a nice tan. You’re bronzy colored; that’s sexy.”

  She smiles, content he noticed her.

  Ethan hobbles along the two-lane blacktop shoulder toward the overlook near the dam. Private Sanchez jogs along the opposite side.

  “You shouldn’t be out of bed yet,” she huffs, her own foot still painful.

  “Don’t nag. I can’t lie in that bed any longer.” Ethan does little to hide his admiration for her figure in a wife beater tee and military issued shorts. “Are you getting darker?”

  “In the summer, I get darker.”

  He counts three sports bra straps under her tee before shifting his eyes to the foot she favors back to her midriff. Despite his willingness to remain without a partner, his body still has urges and desires. Amie’s bouncing chest doesn’t curtail urges. “Find a handgun you like?” He points to the gun on her hip.

  “It’s Beretta M9, standard issue.” Jogging in place, she paces herself with short steps next to him. It may be the only time her five-two height matches his towering stature.

  “Finish your run. I don’t need an escort.”

  “You don’t want to talk about—”

  “Your raid on Orscheln’s, or you and Emily fighting over who gets to bed me?” He’s regained enough strength to discuss their actions.

  “You heard that?”

  “I faded in and out. You both got loud. I’m flattered to be fought over, but I think both of you need to find a more age-appropriate male interest.”

  “You’re not that old.”

  “I’m not interested in relationship.”

  “You’re gay,” she teases. “It explains everything.”

  “I’m not gay. I like boobs way too much.”

  “I noticed you couldn’t take your eyes off mine.” She flashes her bedroom eyes. “I’m of age and you’re not my commanding officer.”

  “I thought your cuddling stunt with me was a dream not a cock blocking stunt.”

  So, I’m your cock block—for Emily? Why would you even tell me this? “I was lonely. And so are you. Half the women in this camp want to be with you. You keep them at a distance. Do you get a sick thrill out of turning them down?” Amie asks.

  “I won’t be with anyone.”

  “It’s not from lack of working equipment.” Amie grins.

  “It happens when men sleep, don’t be too flattered.”

  “I’ve had sleepovers. You’re choosing to be emotionally unavailable. And not like men who can’t comment.” Amie considers. “She must have been one special woman.”

  “What woman?” he asks.

  “The one you had to kill.”

  Ethan hobbles away from her without a verbal response.

  Amie has not spent enough time to know Ethan, but she knows she deserves the spurn he gives her.

  “Ethan—”

  “I’ll move you back to the community center and get you other quarters,” he says.

  Might as well fill in the pit I dug. “Then you’re back in the same boat. Now those women will want to mend the broken heart they will think I gave you.”

  Silence hangs in the air as he hobbles further away.

  “I’m sorry you had to do it.” Amie’s apology pleads him not to send her away.

  “Don’t assume. Maybe I don’t want some future bride to deal with my death. Chances are, I’ll die on a supply run.”

  “Not as long as you have bullets in your gun. I watched you eliminate Bowlin’s men as if you were in a popcorn shooting gallery.”

  “And four meth-addicted vagrants beat me to near death. Love forces stupid choices upon you. The risks I must take to keep hot showers working mean I can’t afford to be blinded by love.”

  “How can you be so callous.”

  “I have to be, so this world you now live in remains safe for everyone else.”

  “You sacrifice your humanity—”

  “So the rest of you can keep yours,” Ethan says.

  “Why bother to save us if you can’t be a part of it?”

  “I believe in the greater good. Before the end everyone was worried about an individual’s feelings getting hurt. But changing the rules for one person makes a lot of others unhappy and no one seems to have cared about the masses. Hell, our planetary population was out of control. We were years away from Mad Max water wars. Maybe this plague was nature’s way of restoring balance to the planet. Limited science was out there on the undead before the internet went dark speculated on a virus. Maybe rabies finally mutated just enough to bring the dead back to life.”

  “It can’t be a disease. You can cure disease,” she assures herself.

  “Not all of them.”

  “I don’t think your theory belongs in the crazy old man category. Factory pollution has ceased.”

  “The planet will repair itself. Now we have to survive and outlast the undead long enough to build a better world.”

  “You don’t think there is a place for you in this new world?” she asks.

  “Someone has to make sacrifices to build the new world, and there is no place for what I have to do in it in order to create it.”

  Reflecting, Major Ellsberg displays vigilance before the Vietnam War Memorial. The oversized sundial stands as a testament to those from this section of the state who fell during the conflict. The Major remains at attention. His silent pra
yer ends and he raises his right hand in a salute.

  The triangular geometric black granite sundial remains untouched by any of the survivors. A piece of the old world still important to the living. Keeping with its prominence and reverence, the Acheron residences have places water worn smooth stones around the perimeter creating their own commemorative honor to love ones fallen to the undead.

  The sundial rests on the overlook behind the Clearwater Dam along with a visitor’s center, picnic area, and nature hiking trail. Across from what was the visitor’s center, now home for the dam operators, Ethan leans his back against the roof support pole of a half circular amphitheater. Using his pants as a handle, he picks his left leg up to prop it on the seat. As the trees green with summer foliage, the view of the lake is tranquil enough to cause memory loss at the evil consuming the planet.

  Ellsberg somberly marches for the pavilion. “You mind if I join you, Sir?”

  “You’ve earned your rank, Major. I was never accepted into the service. You don’t have to sir me.”

  “You’ve earned my respect with what you do for these people.”

  “I wasn’t so sure after those poor girls—”

  “We can’t undo all we’ve witnessed. What you’ve accomplished here—”

  “Doesn’t make up for what has to be done to keep it safe,” Ethan says.

  “Becoming Moses, are you? Lead your people across the desert—not allowing yourself into your promised paradise.”

  “You military types are always so spiritual.”

  “There are no atheists in foxholes,” Ellsberg says.

  “God’s not here. He split on us.”

  “When there’s no room in hell, the dead shall walk the Earth,” adds the Major.

  “Not in the Bible,” Ethan says.

  “You’ve read The Book.”

  “And, Shakespeare, Lovecraft, Bryon, Poe, and King. I couldn’t get off the first page of Meyers’ books. Sparkling vampires—no one could believe in that shit.”

  “You’ve read His words.”

  “I read a history greatly altered through translation. I’m not much up for theology today,” Ethan says.

  “Sometimes it helps.”