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

by William Schlichter

  “You’ll never take it back, and with the way the world is you can’t even spend the rest of your life making up for it by graduating college. It’s all pointless now.”

  “Nothing pointless,” Tom scolds. “Darcy, honor your mother by living. She would want you to go on. You just have to find your purpose in this new world. You’ll make her proud.”

  “Don’t feed her such bullshit. Just admit there is no reason to go on. The world is over. You said so yourself: Mother Nature is reclaiming the planet and soon we’ll all be rotters.” She claps her pistol.

  Tom recognizes the glaze in Danielle’s eyes. He has but seconds and lacks the speed to reach her. As the barrel presses against Danielle’s temple, he reaches Darcy. He swings the girl, pulling her into a tight embrace, burying her face against her chest so she doesn’t witness Danielle pull the trigger.

  “YOU DO THAT in every house we sleep in?” Becky scoops a moleskin book from under the bed.

  The sun dips below the tree line.

  Ethan tips the dresser over, covering the bedroom door. “Consider it an early warning alarm. I still tend to sleep sound. If biters find us at three AM they’ll make lots of noise reaching us.” He kicks his boots off and lies back on the bed. His M&P inches from his right hand.

  Chad uses a beach towel as a pillow while Becky curls into ball in the frumpy chair they drug from another bedroom. She drops the journal into her pack.

  “Any reason you always get the bed?” Chad flips over, unable to get comfortable.

  “Besides I’m older, faster, tougher, and ruggedly handsome. Any day you’re froggy enough to take the bed you go right and try. Just remember to leave an address,” Ethan says.

  “Why an address?” Chad asks.

  Becky answers, “In order to mail you back your balls.” She pulls the blanket up to her neck.

  Becky’s attempt at being extra quiet makes more noise instinctually sending Ethan’s fingers for his M&P for a second night in a row. He knows instantly what he hears could be more dangerous than any biter—two horny teenagers.

  Ethan cracks an eye enough to find a room lit by some moonlight. At least they waited until the middle of night hoping I was in REM sleep.

  Whispers echo louds.

  “Damn it, Chad. You’re… Just, let me put it in.”

  “Your legs are like sandpaper.”

  Great way to keep a woman wet.

  “Just lie on your back,” she commands.

  Bodies shuffle.

  Ethan has to smile. He was young once.

  SHOVED FORWARD, TOM tugs against his duct taped wrist. His captors were kind enough not to bind his broken arm but they secured the free one extra tight.

  Tears stain Darcy’s face. Danielle’s death hangs on her. Dave is shoved against her.

  Tom’s not sure where these people came from but bets Dakota must have been far enough down the road they missed him. I guess we’ll discover what kind of team player he is.

  These survivors have taken residence in a church adorned in ten-foot-tall stained glass windows depicting various biblical scenes.

  Tom attempts to count the eyes glaring at them.

  Before the pulpit, they have cut a ten-foot-wide hole over the basement. Tom doesn’t have to peer over the edge to know the snarling below is trapped undead.

  The pastor, the only member in the conjugation to be clean down to his freshly pressed suit raises his arms in the air. “Praise be to God to return our brothers.”

  “Praise to Him,” all respond in unison.

  “We have so few worthy left. Are you worthy, my friends?”

  One of the men who captured them opens his mouth. “Pastor Isaac—”

  He waves a silencing hand. “Let them speak.”

  “We just seek someplace safe,” Tom says.

  “You’re safe. All those who are worthy of God’s love are safe.” Isaac waves his arm and two adults, body odor hanging around them like deflector screens, bring forth a young girl—maybe ten.

  One pulls the child’s arm tight while the other jerks back the sleeve covering bite marks.

  Tom recognizes the gashes immediately. Firemen responded to more than just fires. Many a domestic disturbance and even a few kittens in trees, but numerous first responding calls to animal bites—especially dog. Someone let a dog munch on the girl’s arm enough to scar. This man of God uses her to promote his trickery.

  Tom makes a private vow to God.

  “Those who follow his path and are worthy. Are shown his love.” Isaac smiles.

  I’m going to kill you.

  “These two are not worthy. They just stood by as another in their group took her own life.” Isaac steps to his pulpit. “Ezekiel 23:7—Keep far from false charge, and do not slay the innocent and the righteous, for I will not acquit the wicked. You’re wicked, sir, to allow your companion to end her life.”

  “I alone did so. These two did not know. But you stretch your faith for the Bible does not speak of suicide,” says Tom.

  Isaac raises his arm as if to be Zeus casting a lightning bolt. “Christ himself commanded: You have heard it said to men of old, ‘You shall not kill; and whoever kills shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother shall be liable to judgment. You are to be judged, sir!”

  “It’s not your place,” Tom rebuffs.

  “Certain of that I am. God has sent his judgment method to us and those unworthy of his love will be your judge.”

  “Cast him in,” chants the congregation.

  Darcy screams in protest.

  Dave struggles against his guards only to find a rifle butt bash the side of his face; as he loses consciousness on the way to the floor his eye photographs one single moment. Another eye peeking through a thin separated crack in the stain glass. He prays the pupil belongs to Dakota.

  “God will test your worthiness,” Pastor Isaac commands.

  Tom finds himself falling into the dark basement. Wrists still bound to his side, he lands on his broken arm. God, don’t let me pass out. Needles crawl up his arm like a thousand marching ants.

  The rotters seem to take no notice of him at first, remaining in their mindless milling state. He tugs at the duct tape. No way he has the ability to tear free. Pass out and you die. This will hurt. He twists his secured wrist as high to reach his arm sling.

  Not having casting supplies, he splinted the bone with the hard case of a hunting knife sheath. He selected this blade because it locks into place keeping the sheath even more rigid. His problem: The release must be spring to draw the blade.

  Tom contorts his body. He still has inches to reach the release on the hilt. He flips over to get a better angle and his flop on the floor alerts the rotters to his existence. They snarl and pounce.

  “WHAT DID YOU do?” Kelsey asks.

  “You never ask a convict what he did.” Danziger keeps in step to the triangle formation; the group moves forward as they keep to the center of the highway.

  Tony ignores her question, wanting the ex-cop’s take on his history.

  “Why not? He was incarcerated. He did something.”

  “You ask him what he’s accused of. All people in prison are innocent,” says Danziger.

  “Not me. I’m guilty, just not for what they put me in there for. I don’t do that.”

  “You’re serious.” Kelsey’s not sure she’s ever heard such twisted logic.

  “As an over fifty-five white man’s heart attack,” says Tony.

  “Then what did they accuse you of?”

  “I don’t remember,” Tony says.

  “At least you didn’t say it was because you were black.” Danziger halts, craning his neck to listen to a sound he thought he detected off in the distance.

  “Even I know, officer, there ain’t no black and white no more. I was no child rapist and Ethan promised us a do-over. He never even asked what we did.”

  “But he didn’t let you inside the fence,” Kelsey points
out. Ethan has brought in so many without question, but not Tony and his group. It gives her pause and a reminder to keep one open eye when she sleeps.

  “The camp was young and people were still scared of black folk. You whites get paranoid around us blacks from the city.”

  “Hey! I’ve black friends,” Kelsey chirps.

  “The mantra of the white trying not to sound racist. With the most racist comments possible.” Danziger steps from the triangle formation signing quiet.

  Kelsey flips her rifle to firing position her finger on the safety.

  “I didn’t mean it, white girl,” Tony whispers.

  Danziger shakes his head. “I thought it was a whimper.”

  “Do they whimper?”

  “Never heard one do much beyond those moan-howl groans. And we wrangled a lot of them,” Tony says.

  Before Kelsey asks why, Danziger races toward the clear barking.

  She keeps her finger on the safety and jobs after him. Dogs are rare. Of the three at Acheron, one refuses to approach living people. Simon leaves a bowl of food for it and it eats, but never if it smells anyone around.

  Tony hangs back, drawing his pistol. Not sure of his new teammates or chasing after dogs in the woods.

  Danziger bounds through the underbrush.

  Kelsey considers his actions foolish.

  Tony keeps his distance, not trusting barking from a stationary position. He smells trap. So should the experienced cop he follows.

  Three undead reach clawed hands at the yapping beast who barks, leaps to one side of the creatures, barks and leaps to the other side. The constant changing sound confuses the three monsters while protecting a girl child. The golden-haired dog has done it so much its fur has developed a frothy foam. It won’t last much longer.

  Drawing a hunting knife, Danziger smashes the skull of a biter. Upon spotting this, the dog darts further to the left of the creatures causing them to stumble giving Danziger a clear path to the second biter. The blade drinks deep of the oily ink that was once blood.

  Kelsey smashes the butt of her rifle into the third one’s skull.

  The dog races back to the girl, no older than eight, collapsing at her feet. Still with enough fight to growl at the strangers approaching his owner.

  Kelsey steps toward the little girl. “Do you have a name, sweetheart?”

  The dog growls at her.

  Danziger cleans his blade. “The dog doesn’t think much of you.”

  “It’s tired and doesn’t know us.” Kelsey shoulders the rifle before kneeling to be eye level with the girl. “Where are you parents?”

  “Dead.” Not so much as a break in her emotions when she answers.

  “Children will handle this world better than us. They’ll never know any different than what there is now.”

  “Kids love me,” Kelsey says.

  “Not this kid,” barks the little girl.

  “We can’t just leave you here.” Kelsey steps forward, activating more dog growls.

  “You got some place we can escort you to?” Danziger speaks to an equal; even if she’s eight, she must deal with the world dangers the same as anyone else now. No more childhoods. Maybe at Acheron—one day. For now, the world has two kinds of people in it.

  “Not so much for me, but Butch is tired and I can’t carry him. Will you carry him, mister?”

  “I will. Do you have a name?” Danziger asks.

  “Lizbeth.”

  Danziger carries the retriever in his arms while Lizbeth holds tight to him riding piggyback.

  Kelsey keeps a watchful eye as part of her wonders how easy the lost little girl routine would be perfect bait. No wonder Ethan says to stay off the roads. Random traps in fields would be too complicated. She keeps her concerns to herself trusting Danziger will snap the child’s neck if she leads them into a snare. I never knew there were so many fields in this state. Cows butt up against skyscrapers.

  Tony keeps behind the two following stealthily from house to house covering them as they stroll down the center of street.

  Biter bodies lie scattered across several yards and two in the street. The door of every house Tony passes has been left open. He glances inside to find ransacked rooms. Someone has scavenged this neighborhood.

  “How far did you get, Lizbeth?”

  “Far. These houses have all been thieved. But it’s best way to get home to the Caverns.”

  “Danziger.” Kelsey cocks her head to point down an alley with a car. Two bodies are visible inside.

  Danziger places the dog on the grass.

  Lizbeth slides from his back. “Don’t hurt Butch.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Lizzy, step away from them,” orders a voice.

  Kelsey raises her arms, her finger still on the safety.

  “Nobody’s here to harm anyone.” Danziger holds his arms away from his body, palms up.

  “James. They protected me. Put away your gun. Auntie will be mad.”

  Both men step from the alley guns pointed at Danziger.

  “You know who else would be mad?” Tony levels his pistol at James’ skull. “Should have checked your flank. The dead make noise people have the ability to remain quiet.” Tony’s proud of his stealth. He waves his gun as an order for the two men to lower theirs.

  James and the other man toss their guns into the grass.

  Kelsey swings her rifle toward them, flicking the safety off.

  “Lizbeth. Do you know these people?”

  “James is my brother. He doesn’t like it when I come here to play in my room.”

  “Mister, don’t hurt my sister,” James pleads.

  “I’m not hurting anyone. Unless they’re undead.”

  “We’re just passing through,” Kelsey says.

  “Not much to scavenge here, minter. These houses have been stripped, and the closer you get to the city, the larger the herds. Your friend here would fit in.”

  “What does that mean?” Tony demands.

  James defends his statement, “Nothing, just an army of black men. Well-armed, loud, and protecting supplies.”

  “We need to check it out for ourselves,” says Tony.

  “Your funeral, mister,” the other man says.

  “Lizbeth, do you want to go with your brother?” Danziger asks.

  “I love him.”

  “James, why don’t you take Lizbeth and Butch and we all go our separate ways?”

  “You all seem well fed and supplied,” James’ companion says.

  “The area north of the Missouri hasn’t been scavenged as much. Go to Herman and keep traveling. The undead are scarcer there,” Kelsey says.

  “They can’t swim so fewer dead’s believable. Why head south if supplies are so good?”

  Her glance at Danziger reveals she’s not sure how to answer.

  “You travel far enough you’ll find people. People who will welcome you. Tony, get their guns.”

  “What do you want me to do with them?”

  “You can’t leave us without our guns,” James yells.

  “I’m not.” Tony removes the clips and brings the pistols along. “We’ll leave them at the end of the street before we head into the woods. Kelsey, cover us,” Danziger commands. “You take care of Lizbeth, and if you want safety, you’ll do as I said.”

  CHAD FIDDLES UNDER the hood of the rusty pick-up.

  “If you can’t fix it, move on. We could be down the road and found another car already. This is one reason I don’t mess with cars.” Ethan piles his gear next to a shirtless Becky.

  She dangles her legs over the bridge.

  “Give me fifteen more minutes. All I need to do is get this hose clamp to stay on,” Chad calls out.

  “He does have issues with his hose.” Becky flips through the diary she found.

  “I respect what you did the first night after what happened to him at the gun store. Men, no matter what level of homophobia they suppress, have to do something extra masculine to recover from emasc
ulation,” says Ethan.

  “I thought he might do something stupid if he didn’t remember what it was to be a man,” Becky says.

  “Most people don’t handle control being stripped from them, but you don’t have to perform every night.”

  “You heard us?” Becky soaking the sun into her bare back explains, “The second night was because I wanted it.”

  “You think you’ve got a career with Chad there?” Ethan asks.

  She glances back before she answers to make sure Chad doesn’t hear her, “Fuck no. He’s a pretty boy. When we search houses, he pockets hair gel.”

  “He was pocketing something else last night.”

  Becky face grows wide with surprise at such a barb. “You’re not going to try and make this weird, turn us into a father-daughter moment, are you?”

  “No after school special between us. I just want you to be careful.”

  “We didn’t exactly go to the drug store beforehand, but don’t worry, I doubt I fuck him again.”

  “I know I’m going to regret this—why?”

  “It was awful. He had no idea what do,” she says. “

  “Did you tell him?”

  “No.”

  Ethan’s tone churns. “Look, little girl, you need to explain to him how to pleasure you.”

  “Men don’t want directions,” Becky says.

  “Men don’t want you telling every other girl in the camp he’s the worst fuck ever, either. I also don’t need him distracted by thinking about why you don’t want him to touch you anymore, so if you decide you want to try again, you explain to him what you want. Teach him. He doesn’t know what to do and won’t ask. You explain it to him. Guide him. Make him the kind of lover you want. Just saying, his future girlfriends will thank you.” Ethan smiles.

  “Are you for serious?” she asks.

  “Yes. And any woman who says, ‘for serious’, is too young for sex. Use that sexy voice and guide him to what you want. He’ll be receptive.”