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

by William Schlichter

  “Did you just want to inquire about my spiritual wellness or did you have a pressing concern?”

  “You have two engineers. They live in your converted visiting center here by the dam. But you requested another engineer from Colonel Travis, why?”

  “They are civilian engineers. I wanted a military assessment of our camp. We’re far from secure in here,” Ethan admits.

  “The sally port gate where you strip everyone is a brilliant tactic. We should have employed something similar at Fort Leonard Wood. Prevents infection from getting inside. You keep your numbers manageable even if you ride above the limits of your resources. Was this your plan?”

  “The gate system and checking for bites was logical. It solves other issues. Black market smuggling for one. Fights over hidden amenities,” Ethan says.

  “I’ll reinforce areas of the fence where penetration points are likely by both living and the dead,” Ellsberg says.

  “You have your answer as to why I wanted you.”

  “Did you walk up here?”

  “It was only a few miles.”

  “I’ll drive you back.” Major Ellsberg notes the heavy sweating Ethan experiences on his trek.

  “I’ve got to heal. Get back out there.”

  “You need to prepare other scavenging teams. Tactically, a sound investment.”

  “I’ve considered it. I sent one team out on my last journey to Fort Wood,” Ethan says.

  “You brought out many civilians skilled in keeping this compound secure. I scanned the list for my engineer crew. You brought two counselors. One specialized in PTSD trauma.”

  “Is that who’s been leaning against your Jeep? I wondered.”

  “You brought them here to help people cope,” Ellsberg says.

  “Emily, Karley—both nearly assaulted before me. Other women in here were brutalized. Everyone has had to abandon or kill turned loved ones. They need a professional to talk to.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “Where I’m going, I’d just have to come right back for another session,” Ethan smiles.

  “I respect you, Ethan. These people would do everything you asked. Hell, you could have a harem if you desired. When you came back beaten nearly to death it broke many of them. They deserve a leader not afraid to deal with his own trauma.”

  “My trauma makes me who I am. It’s not for sharing,” Ethan says.

  “She’d like to thank you for saving her.”

  “I know that trick, Major. She thanks me, and she worms her head-shrinking fingers into my brain.”

  “You know a lot. How far did you reach in your education?” Ellsberg asks.

  “I’m over educated. I figure the student loan people search for me right now. The only group more determined to take a hunk of flesh from my ass than the biters.” A grunt rolls from his lips as he shifts his weight in the seat. “Send her down.”

  Ellsberg waves at her.

  The woman’s build strikes him as being off from other women he’s encountered. She has an air about her. One he places when he recalls Eastern European women don’t indulge in fast food the way girls do here. Her blonde hair bounces over her shoulders as she marches with purpose.

  “Let me guess, you’re not an American.”

  “I’m a US citizen, Ethan.”

  “I detect a hint of Russian accent. I thought you looked Eastern European.”

  “My name is Ulyana. We’ll forget the doctor part. I was born in the Soviet Union before my parents defected. Did you read my dossier before Coronel Travis sent me here?”

  “I worked a summer at an amusement park that imported foreign university students to work. I met several Ukrainian women. They just have a non-American look, like you.”

  “Not sure how I should receive your observations.”

  “Not in a negative connotation. They all were the most beautiful women I had ever met.”

  “Do you want to tell me about them?” Ulyana asks.

  “Wouldn’t I ruin the mystery if I tell?”

  Ulyana shifts the topic. “I understand your collection of skilled workers. Welders, medical staff, concrete pours, even the dentist. You wanted two psychiatrists and one needed to specialize in PTSD.”

  Ethan holds out a finger with each name. “Working backwards, Karley, Sarah, and Leah were all attacked to varying degrees. They need your time. I want everyone to carry guns. Can’t have them going postal on living members of the camp.”

  “You witnessed the same brutality as all three women and have seen much worse out there. We can’t have the glue that holds us together break.”

  “Nice metaphor. Help the others. I’ll deal with my pain,” Ethan assures her.

  “I’m available when you’re ready.”

  “Have you spoken with Emily?”

  “I know you’ve told the doctors they can’t maintain the Hippocratic oath where infected bites are concerned, but do you expect me to share what I’m told in confidence during my session? I won’t,” Ulyana says.

  “To help people, you must build a trusting rapport. They won’t let go of feelings if they think you gossip about them or perceive you do. I get it. I only want to know if you feel someone is a danger to themselves or the camp. We can’t figure out a suicide risk after they have turned.”

  “Agreed. But no other personal information,” she says with the finality of a James Bond villain.

  “I want Emily to desire a more age-appropriate companion.” Ethan opens a door the headshrinker will attempt to enter.

  “You have no desires for women?” Ulyana asks.

  “No desires for a fifteen-year-old girl. And she’s developing obsessive tendencies. Nothing near rabbit burner level.”

  “She seeks your affection. It doesn’t have to be physical. She’s lost everyone she loved and she searches for new camaraderie. Intimacy doesn’t mean sex.”

  “She seeks both.” Ethan smiles. Being desired is flattering even if it must be prevented.

  “At your age, you’d think you’d be flattered by young girls desiring you,” she asks.

  “I’m not that old. And my urges are not in question. It’s the moral issue.”

  “Traditionally, she’s well beyond consenting age if she’s menstruating.” Ulyana continues, “In 1275, the moral age was twelve. 1885, many recognized age sixteen as appropriate to marry.”

  “Aren’t you defending the wrong angle?” Ethan asks.

  “No, I’m not encouraging you to ravage a teenager at least half your age. She’s attractive and desirable. You don’t want to exploit her. I commend you in your choice. You’re making the correct one. But it is okay to have these feelings. We have such desires. Not acting on them keeps your humanity.”

  “Compared to the number of people I’ve killed.”

  “Because you kill you should rape?” she asks.

  “Have you killed a fellow living human being?” Ethan asks. She’s pushing at the door he doesn’t want her to enter. “Protection…survival. Nothing short of survival.”

  “Kade Bowlin was a horrible man,” Ulyana says.

  “I never lost sleep over anyone I’ve killed. When I see their faces when I close my eyes, then you and I will chat.” He uses the walking stick as a crutch to stand. I’m going to hike back. I’ve rested my leg enough.”

  “You have two teams scavenging for supplies. Allow your body to recover before you travel back out there,” Ulyana suggests.

  “I won’t just sit here while others risk their lives.”

  “Take the fence team out. Sanchez failed to retrieve the necessary supplies,” she suggests.

  “I heard about the debacle. It happens sometimes. Biters herd.”

  “How many have you eliminated?”

  “Not enough. I don’t count. Wouldn’t notching my gun be signs of a psychopath?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “The only number I care about is the 224 people alive inside this fence.”

  “225. Don’t you count yo
urself?”

  “I don’t know if Danziger is staying.”

  “NOT ENOUGH FOOD. Not enough food. Not enough food,” Dartagnan rants.

  Ethan limps to the couch. “I don’t have the strength to order you to your chair. What’s wrong?”

  “Not enough hay to feed cattle this winter.” He taps three of the five watches on his left arm.

  Ethan’s never noticed him just tap three of them before. “According to your numbers—”

  “No,” Dartagnan snaps. “Old numbers. You brought back more from army camp. Numbers change. More people to feed. Need more cattle. Cattle need more feed. More hay for winter.”

  “Hay is easy. Plenty of fields to cut outside the fence. We send teams with cab covered tractors and sniper patrols to clean off biters. We harvest all the hay we need.” Ethan asks his real concern, “How many more cattle?”

  “Not enough grass. Requires more hay unless you expand.”

  “I get it. Give me the numbers. I’ll make it happen. We’ll get the cattle. We’ll cut hay. Then we expand. It’s nothing to get upset over. It’s May. Worst comes to worst, we could scavenge deep freezers and slaughter and store the meat.”

  Dartagnan shifts his head slightly to the right; simultaneously, his eyes dart left. As he nods, he darts his eyes left and right almost as if his brain is stuck in a processing loop.

  “Don’t overthink it, little buddy. You keep telling me what we need and I’ll get it.”

  “Not for four weeks three days,” Dartagnan says.

  Confused, Ethan asks, “Why so long?”

  “Time it takes your body to recover from trauma. 744 hours needed to heal.”

  “Based on what variables?”

  “Average time—”

  “I’m far from average.”

  “You can’t go. Heal first. Only healed 159 hours. Need 585 more hours to recover.”

  Ethan never saw fear in the boy before. He found the kid cooking scrambled eggs for his dead mother. Plates and plates of uneaten eggs and Dartagnan never batted an eye, but now Ethan spots fear. No matter how harsh he has been in order to help maintain a sociable conversation, this kid fears losing Ethan.

  “I won’t go until I’m healed—enough. I certainly won’t go until I can grip my gun properly.” I intend to live by that proclamation. His right-hand burns when he grips his M&P. I have to be comfortable to pull the trigger. I can’t shoot for shit with the left. Even when I pull. the super cool two-gun Matrix double draw I can’t shoot for shit with the left hand, never mind the impossibility of aiming two guns at the same time. When I do, the left gun simply forces people to keep their heads down and besides the cool movie action gun slinging scares the hell out of potential attackers giving me an edge.

  Amie plops into Dartagnan’s punishment chair. The kid nearly ceases with anxiety. Torn between knowing the seat is only for his punishment and dealing with a guest.

  Ethan snaps his fingers. “Remove yourself from the chair.”

  “I’m not one to be snapped at like a dog.”

  “I’m going to put you out like one if you don’t move—now,” Ethan commands.

  She hops to her feet. Never has such a tone been thrown at her, not even by a Drill Sergeant.

  Dartagnan’s red face loses its flush.

  “The chair serves a purpose. On the way to bring Dartagnan here, I had to go back. I carried the damn thing for a few miles, until I found a truck with gas in the tank.”

  “Why?”

  “Kids like Dartagnan required a structured environment. Even if I don’t know his diagnosis, I figured out fast his mother used the chair as a time out. When he misbehaved, he had to sit in this chair.”

  “My mother was heavy handed.” Amie glances at her boots.

  “Both achieved a desired effect. You both behave well in public.”

  “I was being polite,” Amie adds.

  “The world has no place for timeouts anymore. Children don’t need beatings, but swift and decisive punishment must be delivered.”

  “Like the kid accused of rape?” She sits on a chair on the far side of the room putting the model tables between them.

  “You heard about it?”

  “One of the first stories about your celebrity circulating the camp. After everyone wanting to know if I had any idea what you did before the apocalypse.”

  “I’m a favorite dinner topic.” Ethan shifts gears. “How am I in bed?”

  “You knew they’d assume we’d copulate since I moved in.”

  “Apparently, I’m popular among the damsels I rescued. Before the end of the world I couldn’t get a date, now my dance card is overflowing.” Ethan considers. “Actually selfish of me. Your presence might quell speculations about my personal life.”

  “I guess there are worst ways men have used me. It hurts Emily mostly. The child loves you. Beyond infatuation, she deeply loves you.”

  “Therapy should fix her. Or a boy her own age,” Ethan adds.

  “Those Bowlin brothers—even if half the camp rumors were true—were some bastards.”

  “Why didn’t Colonel Travis put a stop to them?” Ethan asks.

  “The government keep pulling out troops. Near the end, the Colonel was down to a few hundred soldiers. Bowlin ran a black market and a thousand civilians wanted what he had to offer. In the end, it was math.”

  “Even at the expense of a few dozen brutalized women?” Ethan draws his left leg up onto the coffee table. “Everything is a numbers game. I hate math.”

  “As long as you’re running this place no one will be taken advantage of the way the Bowlins did. Maybe you should stay and lead. You should settle. Show them it’s safe to start a family again,” Amie says.

  “We’re years from being able to have pregnant women in droves around here. Anyone going outside the fence should stay away from building romantic loves.”

  She bites her lip at the corner of her mouth.

  “Everything now is a risk of death.”

  He crushes her fantasy and doesn’t even realize.

  “You can’t do what you have to do out there if you are worried about a wife or child back here.”

  “Others can operate outside the fence,” she says.

  “Like you did?”

  “That stung.”

  “No one saw a herd coming. I lost one. I saved my team. But I am not leader material,” she admits, believing he wants to hear her say it.

  “Bruce certainly didn’t need to have children. Some survivors are an enigma. I don’t know how they lasted ten months. He was stupid and should have died first,” Ethan says.

  “Lucky. Like those of us at Fort Wood.”

  “Luck runs out. Time runs out.”

  “Becky wants to be put in charge of a scavenging team. She saved my bacon and she’s skilled with her machete. Maybe you should let her lead the supply recovery team,” Amie says.

  “What task should I have Wanikiya assign you?”

  “Having your babies, according to half the camp,” Amie snips.

  “Dartagnan says we need more hay. Cutting will last for weeks. We’ll need people operating the tractors and fire teams on the parameter of the fields to snipe any biters attracted by the noise. Perfect job for trained US soldiers.”

  “You’re going to run tractors outside the fence for hours at a time in one location. Even if you cut the grass you’ll face an army of infected before you bail.”

  “Use the Humvee to run patrols—small team, crack shots. The only danger is when the tractor drivers have to exit the cab for any reason. Which should be almost none.”

  “Do you know what fields? I want to scout them,” Amie says.

  “You’ll do fine handling this.”

  “Are you still moving me out of this house?”

  “No. I opened up the room for livability. According to our rules, I have to put someone in there. Might as well be you. And this mission puts you back into command.”

  “She doesn’t feel right.�
� Whatever miracle preventing anything from being broken extracted a toll with the rest of the damage done to his body. Pain stings as Ethan curls his fingers around the gun handle. He flexes, releases, flexes and releases his fingers until they no longer stiff around the weapon.

  “That’s your gun. Serial numbers match. Danziger brought it back with you.” Simon jams an orange foam plug into his ear.

  “She doesn’t feel the way she used to. Like a woman you’ve loved for years—you know her every curve.”

  “Your hands still retain some swelling,” Danziger says.

  “You took a beating no one should have lived through,” Simon adds.

  “Don’t become a doctor, Danziger; you have no bedside manner.” Ethan raises the M&P.

  The shot guts a biter. Chunks of dead flesh spry other undead.

  Simon lowers his binoculars. “Not bad.”

  “It was the worst shot I’ve ever made. I was aiming two biters over.”

  “You never miss.” Nick slides up from the Jeep. “Everyone in this camp speaks about how you never miss.”

  Frenzying biters grab and yank at the reinforced wire in an attempt to reach the wind chimes on spinning weathervanes. The dog run stretching from the main sally port ends here as if a second gate was to be built, but instead, the cargo containers secure a pit of steel fence posts driven to snag anything propelling itself into the compound. On the end closest to the firing station a third cargo container rests across the top of the two containers forming an H. It would only take the moving of one of the bottom containers by a few inches to send the top one crashing to the ground effectively blocking entrance into the camp.

  “It will be a long day of practice,” Simon says. “I need to qualify Danziger before you eliminate all the targets.”

  “At my current accuracy rate, there’s no danger in that happening,” Ethan sulks.

  “Not many people would be up moving about this soon after the beating you took. You’ll be a dead-eye again in a few days,” Simon says.

  Ethan places the M&P on the table. He pushes his left thumb into skin between the right thumb and forefinger, massaging it with as much pressure as possible, hoping the pain means he loosens the rigorous muscles. He winces as he steps aside. “Test your skill, Danziger.”