Revenence (Novella 2): Dead Tired

by M. E. Betts

  "No shit," Adrian said. "He managed to get it started?"

  Dean shook his head. "Never shut down."

  "Enough of the staff stayed and survived," Ragtop added. "Stayed on-site. They can't do much in the weapons department, but they keep the power going."

  "Pfeifer and his inner circle stay out near the plant," Dean explained as he navigated the truck past the eastern edge of the city. The residential district gave way to open desert, first on the driver's side and followed moments later on the right.

  Far down the road, Adrian could already make out on the horizon the sprawling form of what he guessed was the nuclear facility.

  "Over eight-hundred miles," he said, barely able to believe his own words as he spoke them. "Over eight-hundred miles I chased those animals." He paused, rubbing his chin. "Sometimes I didn't believe I'd ever make it here. I rode through fire and flood. But now--here I am." He nodded. "Now comes the real challenge."

  Dean slowed the truck as they approached a sprawling hobbie ranch on the right. There appeared to be two homes, in addition to numerous metal outbuildings. As far as Adrian could tell, it was the nearest residence to the nuclear facility, which was visible down and across the road. As Dean started down the long, dusty driveway, he rolled his window down in anticipation of the guards stationed about halfway down its length, their guns drawn.

  "Don't shoot, fellas," Dean called out the window.

  "Well, I'll be a dump on a stump!" one of the guards said. He appeared to be in his fifties, and he was quite weathered and quite unwashed. He ran a hand over his short, greasy curls and adjusted his glasses. Adrian guessed that his squalor was by choice, considering that the others around him appeared reasonably clean and well-groomed.

  "Yeah, we made it back," Ragtop said. "Much to your disappointment, huh, asshole?" Although he laughed heartily, the reflection of his face in the side view mirror let Adrian know that he was hardly joking.

  "You can go ahead on up," said another guard, a much younger man with whitish-blonde hair, brows and lashes. He gestured up the driveway and toward a large sheet metal building behind the home, where over a dozen vehicles were parked. "Pfeifer's waitin' for y'all."

  Dean nodded farewell to the group as he let off the brake and continued down the driveway.

  "Truck don't look like much," the dirty, curly-haired guard yelled after them. He tilted back a can of beer.

  "She'll clean up alright," Dean yelled back, turning to face the side window. "God damn inbred," he muttered as he turned back.

  They reached the end of the driveway, which dumped out into a large, ovular parking area filled with gravel. Dean parked the truck, and the three men exited into the bright, late-summer Texas morning, already hot and dry with any semblance of overnight moisture having been relinquished up to the unquenchable desert sky.

  The trio started toward the metal building. A stone paving path led to its front entrance, outside of which a group of armed individuals waited.

  I'm in the belly of the beast now, Adrian thought, consciously configuring his features and overall countenace in a way that hid his disdain, his disgust. He desperately wondered where Celia was. Was she back in town? For the time being, he had no way of knowing. He tried to appear as non-reflective and non-threatening as he could, forcing himself to take things one step at a time.

  Through the lenses of his wrap-arounds, Adrian studied the group gathered at the end of the path. There were roughly a dozen individuals, all male. Adrian noted that although most of them were armed, two of them were not. They stood in the center, flanked by guards bearing an array of firearms, mostly revolvers and shotguns. He also spotted two assault rifles and one hunting rifle. The two unarmed men in the center stood with their arms folded in front of their chests, scrutinizing Adrian and his two companions as they approached.

  Adrian determined that the one who was older in appearance must be Pfeifer. The first thing he noticed was Pfeifer's exaggerated air of confidence that manifested itself as arrogance. His posture was rigid, with his chest puffed out and his chin lifted. His graying hair was shaven at the sides and buzzed flat on the top. He wore desert camo fatigue pants and a matching, tight-fitting T-shirt, tucked neatly into his pants, that made visible what were apparently well-maintained biceps and pectorals. While he wasn't particularly small, his stature did run on the smaller side of average, standing several inches below six feet. He had sturdy, working hands and forearms, and although his waist appeared to be slightly rotund as a result of being overfed, he kept his gut tucked in with his firm, proud stance. His stern expression emphasized various frown lines, and his lips were curved with the corners dipping down toward his chiseled chin and jaw.

  His second-in-command stood decidedly taller than his superior, and wider. His torso, clad in a black T-shirt, was over-sized and barrel-shaped, slightly wider in the middle than in the chest or hips. Although none of his visible muscles were well-defined, they were all massive. Although Adrian mentally compared the man's fingers to those of a gorilla, they appeared rather soft and undisciplined, as you would expect on someone who's done little to no manual labor. His face, and indeed his entire skull, were quite large, and his head was shaved from ear-level down. The dark brown hair above that point was gathered at the back of his head, and his bespectacled face wore a light smirk as he stared Adrian down.

  "Ragtop," Pfeifer barked as Adrian's group arrived at the end of the path. "Dean. Good to have the two of you back." He gestured to the truck in which they had arrived. "And I see you managed to successfully procure the vehicle."

  "Yessir," Dean said. "We hit the tire place before we left town, found the right ones, no problem. Got out west of town, found the truck waiting right where we saw it last. Changed those tires, got on our way. Left the shitty sedan, since it was outta gas, anyway."

  "Of course," Pfeifer said. Adrian realized that Pfeifer was one of those people who forced his voice to come out more gruff and gravelly than it rightfully should. "This world has no shortage of shitty sedans that are outta gas." He turned to regard Adrian. "I see you guys brought us a newcomer."

  "Yes sir," Adrian said, exaggerating his normally mild drawl. His stomach churned and his pulse raced as he forced himself to offer Pfeifer his hand. They shook briefly and Adrian continued. "They call me A.J." He wasn't sure why he withheld his name. After all, none of the sadists were remotely likely to know him. Still, A.J. wasn't far off, as his father had been Adrian Sr. Adrian's aunts and uncles on his father's side had referred to him as A.J., though it had been some years, as they had all passed, the most recent more than a half-decade previously.

  "What business you got here, A.J.?" Pfeifer asked. "Seeking asylum from the walking deceased?"

  "If you're offering," Adrian said, "I'd be much obliged. I can offer my skills as a mechanic, and also weapon repair and maintenance."

  Pfeifer nodded. "We're always willing to take mechanics. Where is it you came from?"

  "Colorado," Adrian lied. "Place called Silverthorne." It was a town in the mountains with which Adrian was fairly familiar, having spent the occasional weekend as a younger man with a high school friend who had moved to the area.

  "What was it like up that way?" Pfeifer asked.

  Adrian shrugged. "'Bout the same as anywhere else I seen, I s'pose. Dangerous and shitty."

  Pfeifer nodded. "Make sure you get him squared away, assign him quarters and a work station," he said to the taller man next to him. "This is Duncan," he said, turning to face Adrian again. "Around here, he's the next best thing to me."

  "How do you do," Adrian said with a nod.

  "We'll get along famously, I'm sure," Duncan said in a clear baritone.

  "You get that taken care of," Pfeifer instructed. "I need to get going. I expect work to begin on that truck A.S.A.P." He turned and departed, motioning to three of the assembled guards to follow him.

  "Let's get to it, then," Ragtop said to Dean. "See you around, A.J."

  "Later, guys," A
drian said. He turned to regard Duncan, who stood, arms still folded in front of his chest, scrutinizing Adrian as he looked him up and down. Adrian stared at him in return until he spoke.

  "What brought you here, 'rebel'?" he asked, eyeing Adrian's shirt. If he had any drawl, it wasn't strong enough for Adrian to detect it.

  Adrian shrugged, adjusting his 'do-rag. "Well, I mean, it's really the only town of any decent size in the whole Panhandle, right? Wasn't nothing else I saw along the way, far as cities. Not many alive out there. Where else was I s'posed to wind up?"

  Duncan merely stood studying him, his features and stance unchanged as he gazed down his nose and low, flat cheekbones.

  "What?" Adrian asked. "Anything else you got a burning need to know?"

  "If there's anything," Duncan said, "and I mean anything I have a need to know--you'd be wise to give up the ghost. In case you didn't hear Pfeifer, I answer to no one but him."

  Calm down, Number Two, Adrian thought. He nodded. "Not much more to tell. I took to the road, alone, and here I am."

  "That'll do for now," Duncan said. "But do yourself a favor, rebel...rebel in the way we like. The right way. I hope you didn't come here to make enemies."

  Adrian shook his head. "Nope," he said. "Not what I came here for."

  "Good," Duncan said. He stared Adrian down for another few moments before turning to one of the guards still gathered nearby. "Drive him over to Mesquite Creek," he said. "See what they have open for housing."

  "Will do," the guard said, digging a key fob from his pocket. He walked over toward a shiny pickup truck, hitting the button to unlock the doors.

  "Someone'll be over later to pick you up," Duncan told Adrian. "They'll take you to the job site where you'll be working." He turned to walk away, and Adrian saw that the hair gathered back from his crown formed a neat braid running down to his lower back. He looked over his shoulder at Adrian, sneering vaguely. "Be ready, rebel."

  After a quiet, awkward drive with the guard, who had declined to offer his name or interact at all with his passenger, Adrian found himself being driven toward the gates of what appeared to be a reinforced gated community. The main gate was ordinary wrought iron, but it was heavily guarded. Other than the gate, the neighborhood was enclosed by a freshly-built cement block wall standing around twelve feet from the ground.

  The nameless driver pulled up to the gate, where he stopped and conversed with the cluster of guards.

  "Pfeifer sent me," he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at Adrian. "I'm supposed to bring the new guy to see Shelby."

  "Well then, get the fuck on, little girls," one of the guards taunted, clinking his can of beer with those of two other guards. They all laughed, a bullying laugh of overgrown teenagers.

  "Eat shit," the driver muttered as the gate swung open. He stomped on the gas, reaching out the open window to flip the guards the bird as he peeled out through the gates and into the subdivision. Adrian gritted his teeth, wondering if the display would prove to be typical of everyday sadist culture.

  They made the first left, pulling into a long, paved driveway leading up to a large, rambling building that, according to the sign near the front entrance, had served as both a common area and a place to conduct administrative affairs. The yard appeared to be as lush and well-tended as one would expect in the old world, and a children's play area lay at the end nearest the building. There was an artful, intricate series of patios, broken up by various palms and fountains.

  As the truck neared the end of the driveway, a small group of people emerged from the front entrance, watching as the vehicle came to a stop. At the front of the group was a young woman standing around six feet tall with a thick, curvy body that bordered on plump. Her pale, reddish-blonde hair was pulled back into a bun, tight enough to force her matching brows slightly upward in their arch until they were visible above the rims of her mirrored sunglasses.

  The other three people surrounding her were all males. Adrian suspected two of them to be relatives of the young woman, based off of their characteristic hair and eyebrow color. He picked up his bag from the floor, then exited the car. He had barely closed the door before the driver hit the gas and tore back down the driveway in reverse, glaring vaguely until he reached the street and shifted into drive, speeding away.

  "Hey there, A.J.," the woman said as he approached. "Duncan called and said to expect you." Even with sunglasses obscuring her eyes, Adrian could tell that she was sizing him up. The younger of the two male redheads, standing to her right, seemed to sense her intention, scowling at Adrian as if he had done something to provoke her attraction.

  "Hello, folks," Adrian said as he reached the front porch. He decided to hasten the matter at hand. "Pfeifer said you'd get me set up with some place to stay?"

  "That's right," the woman said. "I'm Shelby."

  "Nice to meet you," Adrian heard himself saying. He nodded at the three men, none of whom returned the gesture.

  "You'll be staying at 315 Tumbleweed Circle," Shelby said. "I can take you, it's just a short walk--"

  "I'll do it," the older of the strawberry blonde males interjected.

  "Daddy!" Shelby protested. She sighed lightly. "Whatever." She turned to Adrian. "I'm more or less in charge of this neighborhood. You need anything, you come see me."

  "Will do," Adrian said. He and the older male departed on foot, delving deeper into the subdivision. He noted the size of the homes. "Aren't these houses a little big for one person?" he asked.

  The aging, ruddy-haired man beside him laughed. "One person. I guess you're in for a rude awakening." He stopped as they reached the next block, pointing down across the street and to the right. "It'll be the third house, south side of the street. Good luck, rebel."

  "Thanks, man," Adrian muttered, starting across the street. He quickly reached 315, crossing the lawn to the front porch. He took a deep breath, then rang the doorbell. Even with the door firmly closed, he could smell the heavy odor of smoke from inside.

  At length, he heard approaching footsteps from the interior. The blinds beside the door rustled, and Adrian saw a large forefinger pull them down far enough to peer out at the porch before opening the door.

  "Don't tell me Pfeifer sent another one," moaned a bald, stocky man standing around half a foot taller than Adrian himself. "Congratulations. You're the seventh fart-knocker who'll be living in this three-bedroom house." He sighed, softening his features slightly as he moved aside, holding the screen door open. "Come on in, dude."

  Adrian entered into a small foyer. Ahead of him, a wide staircase ascended to the second level. To his left was a living room, and to his right was what appeared to have been intended as a dining area. The large table and its dismembered legs, however, leaned against a wall, making way for a mess of provisions strewn across the room. Adrian spotted LED flashlights, packs of peanuts and underwear as his eyes scanned the floor, among many more dozens of random items. There were also overturned ashtrays and rotting food.

  In the living room to the right, three men sat at a card table, each cleaning his gun. Of the three, only one acknowledged Adrian, nodding slightly as they locked eyes.

  "He's not staying in my room," said one of the others without looking up from his weapon.

  "Didn't we tell Pfeifer we were out of space after he sent Verner?"

  "He knows," replied the man sitting across from him. "He doesn't care. He said the whole place is getting full, and that this isn't a bed-and-breakfast."

  "Put him in with Mick," said the one standing beside Adrian, the one who had opened the door.

  "He's not here to argue," said one of the men at the table, "so I guess it's settled. Up the stairs, third door on your right...chump."

  Adrian bit his tongue, eyeing the sadist as he slowly turned back toward the foyer, where the staircase was located. He had reached the threshold of the room when one of the sadists spoke up again.

  "That's right, get the fuck out of here. And watch your ass. Oh, and we
lcome to Bomb City."

  Adrian spun around, advancing again toward the card table. "We got a problem, fellas?" he asked, shifting the weight of his duffelbag in his right arm. He noted that he was now staring down a .44, in addition to a Glock 26 and a Smith and Wesson 9mm flanking the large revolver. One sadist, the only one who had earlier acknowledged Adrian with a nod, declined to participate. He departed to the front door, holding his palms up as he passed Adrian as a show of non-aggression. The front door was heard being pulled open, then closed again just as quickly.

  Adrian stared down the three armed men with his right hand and lower arm slid inside his duffelbag. The sensitive pad of skin on the inner tip of his forefinger slid over the trigger of his shotgun nestled within the bag, sending signals to his brain that it was time to fight. As the middle sadist came closer, bringing his revolver well within Adrian's personal space around face level, Adrian responded in kind. He jammed the muzzle of his shotgun, duffelbag and all, into the other man's gut.

  Adrian parted his lips to utter some generic, vaguely demeaning comment, but before he could say a word, the confrontation was interrupted by a knock at the front door. The sadist nearest the window walked over, gun still drawn, to peek out at the intruder.

  "Fuckin' Ragtop," he muttered.

  "What the hell does he want?" snapped the revolver-wielding sadist, sneering at Adrian as he made his way to the door and threw it open. "Yeah? Can I fuckin' help you?"

  "A.J. here?" Ragtop asked.

  The sadist leaned back to glare at Adrian, who was advancing toward the exit. "I assume you mean this lucky chickenshit here," he said as Adrian brushed past him and out the front door.

  Adrian spun around to face the sadist in the threshold, who was joined by his two rommates.

  "We're not in high school, asshole," Adrian heard himself saying. He felt Ragtop's hand take his arm gently, urging him to walk away. He prodded further, however. "Ya'all got a problem with me, why not take it to the street for an old-fashioned duel? Man-to-man, huh? What say you, gentlemen?"