"But..." he tries to say, but she puts her hand up, palm out, stopping him mid-sentence.
"Tomorrow we test your body. At first light, we'll take a walk and test your stamina. If you don't fall out, we'll do it again in the afternoon...that time wearing your backpack. If you're still good, we'll leave at first light the next morning."
"Why wait?" he presses. "I can ride..."
Realizing where he's going with this, she looks away.
"What?" Chris asks, turning now to Zak.
"They killed the horse," Zak informs him. "They salted the meat and took it with them...there's no horse to ride so we'll be carrying everything ourselves."
Chris pauses for a minute. Pete was a good horse—his end shouldn't have been like this. "Then we'll travel light. Once we have Karen, she and I can be on our way north and can resupply. We'll want to put as much distance between us and the Highwaymen anyway...the more we carry, the slower we'll be."
"Yes," Zak says in agreement. Gesturing toward a chair, he asks Chris to have a seat as he takes a spot on the opposite end of the couch from Audrey. "I wasn't sure if I even have a right to ask this after the questions raised about the baby." He cocks his head toward the hallway. "I was wondering..." he says, stammering, then tries again after casting a quick glance at Audrey. "Actually, we were wondering if we could join you on your trip north?"
"What about her mom?"
Audrey answers with a tone that tells both men she doesn't appreciate them talking as if she's not there. "We have nothing to go back to. They destroyed everything." She nods toward Zak. "He told me your story and I think it would interest us to see where all this started."
Chris can't believe what he's hearing. It's not the content of what she's saying—it's the way she says it, with an intelligence far beyond her years. Her voice confuses him—it's the voice of a child but delivered with a wisdom beyond even his understanding.
For a man that likes to travel alone, he doubled the size of his party when he met Karen—now he's more than doubling it. Despite his trepidation, he shrugs and says, "Sure...the more the merrier.”
* * *
Chris survived the next day without fainting out or getting a headache. Still weak though, the doubts grow. Will he be able to make the trip and still have enough reserves left in the tank to either fight or flee? He must. Karen's life depends on it. The thoughts of what they are doing to her gives him a persistence he believes will overpower the weakness and help him carry out his part of the plan. He hopes it's enough.
The evening before departure, Zak spells out the plan. Chris objects a few times because Zak has left him out of most of the action. Zak is adamant though—he knows those people, knows how they operate, and will know how to blend in.
"Pretty ballsy," Audrey says.
"Nothing to worry about," Zak declares, knowing his plan is the only way.
"I guess I need to pack," Chris says. Standing, he grabs one of the candles and moves toward the hall where his backpack lies waiting in the storage room.
"No need for that," Audrey says, her voice making Chris pause and turn back. "I've got everything we need packed."
"My machetes?"
"Yes, even those."
Zak pushes past him. "Follow me," he says. "I found something for you."
Chris follows him to the storage room. Zak crosses to the far wall and pulls out a large black plastic container that's almost as long as he is tall. Chris's heart gave a little flutter.
Zak pops open the plastic locking clamps and throws the lid over. Lying inside is the most beautiful compound bow he's ever seen. Zak looks up at him. "You said you used to have a bow. Was it like this?"
Chris lost his bow when the river swept Homestead away. Since then, snaring small game became normal and he never missed the bow. Squatting, he shakes his head and states, "No, mine was much simpler." He runs a finger around the tension wheels at each end. "This one probably shoots four times as far as my old one. Maybe farther." Sliding his hand down the bowstring, he adds, "I'm surprised this is any good. I figured it would have dry-rotted after all these years."
"Oh, it was. I restrung it. I came across new bowstring some time ago. It was unlike any I'd seen before...they vacuum sealed it in foil packaging. When I opened one, the string was as fresh as if it'd just been made."
"May I?" Chris asks, sliding his fingers around the molded grip.
"Sure...it's yours."
"Wow!" he says, testing the weight. "It's so light."
Zak stands and retrieves a canvas tube. He pops the top and it dangles beside the canvas, held there by a length of leather. Tilting the tube toward him, Chris sees it's full of arrows—maybe twenty-five or thirty. "I'm sure you'll be able to find more along the trip, but if you get in a pickle, I'd suggest using these sparingly and retrieve whatever you shoot if possible."
Chris takes the tube, pulls an arrow out and examines it. Nodding, he says, "Yeah, that's what I had to do in the past. Being we were deep in the middle of nowhere, I couldn't run to the nearest store to get more."
He takes another minute to admire the new bow. The leafy printing will help keep him camouflaged. "Thank you, Zak."
Zak waves him off. "Don't mention it...not when I just found it lying around. Besides, you'll be covering my ass with that thing."
"I hope I remember how to shoot it," he says, teasing.
"Just as long as you don't put one in my ass, we'll be okay."
"No guarantees but I'll do my best."
"Have any new toys for me?"
Chris and Zak turn to the door where Audrey leans against the doorjamb, watching them with interest.
She straightens as their silence persists. "You didn't think I would sit on the sidelines, did you? I can handle my own, thank you very much."
"What's your weapon of choice?" Zak asks.
"I can use almost anything with a blade, but I prefer a heavy staff. It's good for walking and bashing," she says, locking eyes with Chris.
He gingerly touches the tender area at the back of his head. "I know how that feels."
Zak slips out of the room and Audrey leans out the doorway to watch. When he returns, she smiles.
"Will this work?" he asks, handing her a long, slender black stick. One end is blunt, the opposite pointed. "It's more like a lance, but it's the closest I've got." He holds up another, this one a little longer and thicker in diameter. "I'm like you. This is the one from the Highwaymen Karen killed in the back room." He nods toward the one in Audrey's hand. "That's the one I brought with me when I left them. I was smaller then, so it was about all I could handle. It should be just about right for you."
She tests its weight. "This should do fine. Thank you."
Chris places the bow back in the case and stands. "I guess we should get some rest then?"
"Yeah," Zak agrees. "We have a long walk ahead."
21
It takes two days to reach the massive complex of interchanges. They would have made better time, but had to avoid two herds of Tainted, and a third, smaller group, that had taken them by surprise as they rounded a sharp bend in the road. Chris made quick work of three while Audrey and Zak took out two apiece. Seeing them in action gave him some relief as he was unsure, until now, that they could hold their own in a fight.
However, the dead were a lot easier to dispatch than a living, thinking human. The real test was to come.
They'd diverted from the road several hours ago so any roaming guards wouldn't see them. They didn't call themselves Highwaymen for nothing—they almost never diverted from the roads so Chris felt at ease moving through the trees and underbrush, knowing the Highwaymen wouldn't see them. Even so, they remained careful and watchful with every step as they skirted the complex until they were due north of it.
When they reached the edge of the trees and looked out at the complex for the first time, Chris and Audrey were both speechless.
"This is the main hub," Zak says, removing his shirt and smearing stripes o
f dirt across his upper chest and neck. "Each of those highways leads to other smaller groups, but this is by far the largest of them all." Placing two horizontal lines under his eyes, he asks, "How do I look?"
"You look like one of their hunters," Audrey says.
"Good. That's exactly what I was going for." He rummages through his backpack, removing a small can and a leather bag with a long strap.
Chris picks up the can, reads the label, and turns his head upward to look at Zak. He holds it up toward him. "I didn't hear this mentioned in your plan."
Zak grins, takes the can, stuffs it into the bag, and then puts the strap over his shoulder. "I'm improvising."
"It might take me a day to find them so make sure you stay out of sight and make sure that bow is handy. When I head back this way, I'm sure I'll have a group of them right on my heels."
"I'll be ready," Chris states.
Zak takes a deep breath, grabs his spear, and before he can leave, Audrey reaches out and touches him lightly on the arm. "Be careful."
Smiling, he nods to them both, then steps out of hiding and begins making his way toward his old home.
* * *
Step one is finding Audrey’s mother, Helen. To his knowledge, the Highwaymen didn't have a doctor. And even if they did, there were enough people here to warrant two, maybe three of them. If anyone knew where Karen was, it would be Helen. He’d search for her on his own today, but if he didn’t find her before nightfall, he’d have to change tactics in the morning.
He had no friends here, but he only had to avoid a couple of people that would recognize him. In a place this large, it should be any problem—and he could sleep just about anywhere. He spends the day wondering the complex, listening to conversations and ducking in and out of rooms, searching for the doctor. So far, nothing.
No Karen either.
The morning would come, and he’d need to change tactics. Hopefully someone would be able to direct him to the new doctor and with her help, they can find Karen.
And that's when he'd implement the contents of the can in his bag.
Thinking about it makes him grin. He'll probably use it, anyway—just for the hell of it.
* * *
He’d slept away from the complex—away from suspicious eyes and questions he didn’t want to answer if someone recognized him as an outsider. So now that the sun was up, it was time to find the doctor.
Unlike yesterday, the closer he gets, the more fear tries to break him down. But he can't be afraid—at least, he can't allow it to show. Cresting a hill, he realizes the moment for turning back has come and gone—ahead of him is a single man on patrol. The man notices him and changes direction, coming straight for him. Taking on a fake limp, Zak doesn't change direction, but continues straight for the complex of buildings built beneath the overpasses.
"Stop," orders the man, almost slipping in the mud at the bottom of a channel as he tries to catch up to Zak.
Zak stops. Turning to face the Highwayman, he musters all the authority he can and projects it through his voice. "I hear we have a doctor now. I need to see her."
Taken aback by such a young person addressing him in such a way, the Highwayman stammers, looking back and forth from the complex to Zak.
"Cat got your fucking tongue?" Zak demands.
As if bit, he responds, "She's in Number One."
"Good," Zak says. Then, more cordial, he adds, "Thanks for your help." Leaning against his staff, he continues his false limp and moves toward the tallest of all the buildings—Number One. He wants to look back at the man but doing so would show unease and might draw suspicion. No, he can't look back—he's a man on a mission and he belongs here—that's what his posture, his attitude, and his whole being must emanate.
His eyes follow the rise of the closest overpass. He'd forgotten how large they were. The closer he gets, the more the air reverberates with activity. The buildings buzz with it even though there are very few people outside. His gaze follows the line of the nearest road as it rises into the air. At its apex, is a tiny figure—a lookout. Zak’s approach obviously wasn't alarming him, otherwise, a group of Highwaymen would have met him before he got halfway across the clearing.
Number One was close now—another hundred steps and he'd be at the easternmost door.
So far, so good.
* * *
"I've got to get some sleep," she tells her guard.
"Elgin said to keep you busy...to heal our people," said the big Highwayman, her guard, a man that called himself Bear. And for good reason, she thought, he's as big as one. Until now, he'd intimidated her by his size and overpowering presence. But now, she's too tired, too sore, and too mentally exhausted to care. If she could keep going, she would, but she can't—her body just doesn't have the ability.
"Yes, but at the expense of my own health, or of me making a mistake and killing someone? I'm telling you, you're taking his orders too serious. I need sleep."
Even before the dead took over the world, Helen had never worked this hard and nor this long. She's been going full speed for days and averaging four or five hours of sleep. She's never seen a group of people so ill, so rife with malnutrition.
Bear grunts, "I'm only following orders."
Helen walks up to him, standing inches away. She looks up and meets his eyes. "Get Elgin here right now and we'll get this sorted out in a way that you'll understand."
He looks away nervously and Helen lets out a breath. It's just what she thought, all bark and no bite. This is a man used to getting his way by intimidation. If she were to bet, she'd say he'd never been in a toe-to-toe fight. He's not the brightest star in the sky either.
"I think..." he stammers, eyes bouncing around, not focusing on anything in particular—especially not her. He tries again. "I don't think we need to involve him. We'll retire for a few hours and see how you feel."
Not able to turn off the doctor in her, she says, "That includes you too, Bear. You've been next to me the entire time. You need rest too."
He nods, then finally turns his head down to look at her. He nods again. "Okay," he says, and, as if to emphasize her points, he yawns and stretches out his arms.
My god, she thinks, he's huge—his arms almost span the width of the central hallway. When he's finished, he gives her a gentle nudge and she walks toward the small, two-room apartment that's her new home. Locked inside and too exhausted to wash, she lays down on a low cot and falls immediately to sleep.
* * *
Her sleep is deep but restless. Her dreams are about Audrey—how is she doing? Is that young boy treating her right? Even in her subconscious mind, within the dreams, she realizes that being away from here is best, even when it means she can't see her daughter.
Awake now, she lies in the darkness, her thoughts still on her Audrey. She reminds herself that Audrey is strong. If she sees the situation deteriorating, she'll find a way out. Her tender youth not-with-standing, she can take care of herself in the wild if it comes down to that. Helen doesn't think it will, though. She only glimpsed the boy with Elgin as they resupplied at Carson’s Crossing. From what she saw from a distance, he seemed nothing like the other Highwaymen. He was young, but he didn't carry himself in the same way as the others. In her experience, youth desired to mold themselves into the people they admired. This boy was nothing like the Highwaymen and that fact deepened her curiosity about him. She'd watched them attack her village and slaughter anyone that put up a fight against them. And those that didn't die in battle, they rounded up, questioned, and then slaughtered them all. They didn't do that with the boy.
Helen's breathe clenches in her throat, and she realizes that tears are leaking from her eyes. As a doctor, she tries to remain detached. In this world, the chances of living a long life are remote. In her experience, in almost eleven years, the birthrate was about one in ten children surviving. Of those remaining, half survived—killed and eaten because, to the dead, a crying child is like a dinner bell. The families that refused
to abandon the children became meals too.
It's a fucked-up world, she thinks, pushing herself off the cot.
"Good morning," says a voice, low and growling in the near darkness. A startled squeak escapes her throat before she could reel it in.
"Elgin!" she said, not bothering to hide the revulsion in her voice. This wasn't the first time he's visited her when she slept. Those late-night visits were part of the reason she lacked rest. "Can we please not do this today?"
She'd resisted that first night but try as she might, the Highwaymen were used to taking what they wanted, and this was no different. She'd kicked him so hard in the groin she thought she'd burst one of his testicles. He left her quarters like a wounded animal only to come back a short time later with help. She had two options, he'd told her. Either satisfy his needs, alone—or he'd bring in any and every man that wanted a piece of her—and she could forget about ever being a doctor again. "You'll be our train...our train whore. Toot-toot," he shouted to the laughter of the four men that had accompanied him. "All aboard!"
Reluctantly, she'd given in, but not before each of them had had their turn with her. "Just to show you I'm not fucking around," Elgin had said, closing the door on her as she cried and pressed against her bruised groin, knowing it wouldn’t help.
When he showed up on the second morning, she slowly removed her clothes, laid down on the cot, and said, "I have a few requests."
"Let me hear them and I'll decide if I want to comply," he returned, unbuttoning his shirt. His erection was already pressing against the inside of his pants.
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