Haven From Hell (Book 3): A Young Man's Game

by Won, Mark

  Keisha still wasn’t feeling up to sitting at the table so I decided to visit her after supper. I brought a game to help pass the time. Her mom wasn’t too happy to see me but she let me sit by her bedside. Mr. Reese and Jason were there too. Both of Keisha’s parents looked unnaturally pale. At one glance I could tell things were way worse than I’d been led to believe. Keisha looked like she was on death’s door. Her body was shriveled and pale and she had no idea we were all standing around her. I put my hand on her forehead but she had no fever.

  If I didn’t know any better (and I didn’t) I would have guessed she was turning into a zombie in slow motion. It made me think that maybe she had been bitten while in the woods. The trouble with that idea was that bitten people usually either die or Change after only a few hours, not days. In neither case can one see any incipient transmogrification or looming mortality beforehand.

  I asked Miranda’s dad, “Mr. Reese, how long has she been like this?”

  “Ever since we brought her in,” he replied.

  “She’s been like this five days! I thought she was getting better!”

  Mr. Reese said, “She’s been getting better and then worse,” He looked at his wife before adding, “This is as bad as we’ve seen her.” Mrs. Reese started crying.

  I went stomping over to the doc’s room and knocked before entering. From the end of the hall Marjorie saw me and cried, “You stay out of there!” Inside, Doctor Saxon was there with tear stains streaking his face. Cyril was there with him, trying to be consoling, no doubt. Neither man looked too happy to see me.

  I said, “I hate to interrupt, but Keisha is dying. She looks like she might be Changing in slow motion. Is there anything you can do?”

  The doctor seemed to shake off a burden and quickly got to his feet. He grabbed a duffel bag and hurried past me and went into Keisha’s room. He clearly did not like what he saw.

  He looked at Keisha’s parents and said, “All we can try is another transfusion,” and began to arrange some tubing. I left and began telling people the bad news. Neil was the first one upstairs offering to give more blood, followed closely by every other acceptable donor.

  While the doctor worked, I asked him, “Was there anything unusual about the bullet wound?”

  Dr. Saxon answered, “All I can think of was that the bullet was particularly deformed, as if it had passed through a ‘zombie’ before lodging in Keisha. From what Cyril has told me that seems like a possibility.”

  I went to the line waiting to donate blood and picked Dan out of the crowd. “How’s that radio antenna idea coming along? Maybe we could call for help.”

  Dan said, “It’s not picking anything up. I think that we’re in a dead zone.” What he meant was that the shortwaves were skipping over us.

  I asked, “Have you tried sending a message anyway? Maybe they can hear us.”

  Dan looked hurt by the suggestion, “Of course I have.”

  “Oh, sorry.” It had been a stupid question. Dan was a bright guy, there was no way he’d overlook something like that. Which put us back at square one, with Keisha dying.

  I tried a different track, “Did you survive from an area where a lot of people didn’t Change, or were you just lucky?”

  Clearly not a subject he cared to dwell upon, but he answered, “It was just me and my mom. We were the only two that I knew of who survived the morning of the Change. She didn’t make it.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said (because I was). Then, “What about the Reeses? Did they come from an unaffected area?”

  “No,” Dan responded, “their whole town was affected. They were just lucky to get out together with Neil and Melissa.”

  That made me think that if Keisha did die in that room then maybe she wouldn’t Change, she’d just die. Which was a pretty grim thing to hope for.

  After the transfusion the doctor called us all together, outside. He said that he’d done all he could and that it was in the Lord’s hands now. That is never a good sign. Basically, it’s the same as saying the patient is as good as dead. Still, he got us together to pray. Like a lot of people after the Change his religion had suddenly become a lot more important to him.

  Neil wasn’t too happy about it. I think he would have killed everyone in that farmhouse if he thought it would have given Keisha a sure shot at life. As it was, he folded his hands like everybody else. Sheriff Slim was looking somber and Mrs. Slim was crying her eyes out. Dan was next to me while Doctor Saxon prayed on and on.

  When the praying was done Dan looked over to me, and with a curious expression, asked, “Are those bite marks?” Usually I keep those things covered up with my cloak sleeves. A long time ago (months) I got knocked down in a fight with a mixed group of the Changed, and they got a few bites in. After that I added some leather bracers underneath.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Dan called the doctor and said, “Edmund, Gideon’s been bit a lot,” he motioned to all my forearm scars. “Can we use his blood to make a cure?” Dan was pretty good with electronics and MMORPGs but obviously didn’t know too much about medicine. Then again he hadn’t spent as much time around doctors as I had.

  The doctor said, “I don’t see how, Dan. Vaccines don’t work that way. After Gideon’s display earlier today I don’t even understand how a vaccine could exist. It’s like he said, ‘they’re not sick, their dead’.”

  Dan wouldn’t let it go, “The situation’s pretty bad, isn’t it? How much worse could it be? Just let Gideon donate a transfusion and if Keisha dies, well, that was going to happen anyway. At this point, aren’t we looking for a miracle? Gideon’s been bitten a lot and never died. That’s a miracle.”

  Mr. Reese had overheard, so Doc Saxon looked over to him and said, “His blood type doesn’t match, so giving Keisha a transfusion with his blood would be injurious and only hasten the end.” He seemed thoughtful about it, though.

  Steven stepped up and offered the last of his illegal dope stash to ease Keisha’s suffering. That decided it for Mr. Reese. If Steven was willing to part with the last of his drugs then at least Keisha could have a little peace before passing.

  Mr. Reese said, “Edmund, can you give our girl the opiates and just a little of Gideon’s blood? If we’re looking for a miracle than it shouldn’t take much, should it?”

  The doctor consented. So did I, not that anyone asked. I knew there was no medical way for this experiment to work, but could you imagine how awkward things would be if I said ‘no’? So we all tromped up to Keisha’s room and the doctor did the deed with a tiny needle. Mrs. Reese had never left her daughter’s side and was too distraught to even notice what we were doing.

  While the doctor was still reaching for Steven’s heroin, Keisha sat straight upright, then clutched her chest where she’d been shot and said, “Ow.”

  I can tell you that was quite a turning point for everyone in our little group. I had no idea my blood was magic. Uncle had always told me that I was special (I think he called it ‘touched’), but I had no idea how special. I wondered if it would cure anything else. Healing someone who was dying from a bullet that had passed through a zombie seemed like a real rare application. I wondered how many other people I could have saved with my blood if I had only known. At least a couple. Live and learn, I guess.

  It took another week for Keisha to be up and about. During that time Doctor Saxon used a pitchfork to finish off all the zombies that he had in the zombie shed. We still had to bury them, which took forever. Steven didn’t take his drugs back, but gave them to the doctor instead. He decided that he was through with chemical dependency. I had heard that was a tough row to hoe, but he seemed committed. Neil seemed like a new man after Keisha’s recovery. No more lugubrious despondency, I even caught him smiling a couple of times. And, of course, Mr. and Mrs. Reese were overjoyed. The doctor asked me for some blood to do stuff with (I guess everybody needs a hobby), so I traded some for a little injector needle.

  All in all it was a pretty productive coup
le of weeks.

  Chapter 18

  “I think that’s the last load for now,” said Jack. He, Samantha, Gina, Andrea, Dan, Tracer and I had been working on taking everything from Lawville that wasn’t nailed down and we couldn’t pry loose. We had a pickup truck and a van full of food from the quick mart, and the last of the medicine from the drug store.

  Norm would have come but he was too busy pitching woo at Jan. Ever since he shot her husband in the head with an arrow he’d been real close to her, like he was trying to make it up to her or something. Jason was sweet on Keisha and using her convalescence as an excuse for staying by her side. And Rob was just about to the point of wanting to speak with Marjorie’s father. Even Samantha and Jack were hitting it off. It was like living in some horrible soap opera from one of those women’s networks.

  “I think I’ll stop over at the bar for a drink,” was Gina’s plan. Dan was quick to volunteer to accompany her. Too quick. I really didn’t want to go with them but the whole town was still technically a danger zone. The last time we treated a town as safe it cost us our cozy place by the lake. I wasn’t the only one joining the couple because wherever Gina went, her little sister Andrea was sure to follow.

  But I wasn’t tagging along just because of Andrea.

  Everyone else took the vehicles back to the farm and we said that we’d cut across the woods later. The bar was a run down dilapidated dive (aren’t they all?) suitable for whatever specimen of human flotsam or jetsam washed up in need of either liquid courage or a free therapy session. I detest bars. All they offer is inebriation, and inebriation is weakness. Disgusting.

  Regardless, there we were. Andrea, Tracer and I were watching the ‘adults’ booze themselves into a state of mutual attraction (okay, maybe I’m being a little harsh here), when I heard a car pull up outside. I slipped around behind the bar and started cleaning a glass with a rag. I always like meeting new people and it’s important to make a good first impression. Gina and Dan both looked at me wonderingly until the newcomers walked in. Tracer wagged his tail in a friendly greeting.

  “What’ll it be, partners?” I offered in my best Old Western voice. I got it from some old black and white job made back before people knew better.

  There were three of them and they seemed momentarily surprised by our presence. Young men all, and all well armed with rifles as well as pistols. Each of their rifles had a bayonet attached. Right away I could see the advantage. Those things would be real good for stabbing a charging ghoul and wrestling it to the ground. Maybe not as good as a pitchfork but still pretty good, with the additional advantage of still having a gun ready to fire.

  I am an excellent judge of character, which you may have noticed, but I didn’t exactly need to be a master of micro expressions to know what those three men were thinking. Which was okay because all the romance in the air was giving me the itch to shoot somebody, anyway. So really, it was good timing.

  Right off I read an instant’s fear. That was before they sized us up. They saw Gina and Andrea and a certain malevolence blossomed behind their piggy little eyes. Then they saw Dan and I. I was dismissed immediately, while they came to the mutual conclusion that Dan wouldn’t have a chance to bring his rifle into play before one of them shot him dead. I could see that was how they saw it. A clearer example of three road agents one could never hope to find. Until I learned better I decided to name them Moe, Larry, and Curly.

  Tracer got the vibe I was sending and made himself scarce before one of them could reach down and pet him. The villain said, “You’re dog’s a bit of a chicken. What good is he? You gonna eat him?”

  I wondered why everyone thought Tracer was food. Ever since the zombie apocalypse we survivors have had all the food in the world. Why bother putting dog on the menu? But what I said was, “Yeah, once I put some meat on his bones. There’s a lot of good eating on a walking corpse, if your a dog.”

  That freaked them out a little, I could tell, but not enough for them to change their thinking. The three of them put on some really unpleasant looking smiles and sidled up to the bar, next to Dan and Gina. They looked like they were in the mood to have some fun. So was I.

  I poured three shot glasses to the brim. “First round’s on the house, but the second one you have to pay for.”

  The tallest of the three, Moe, asked, “Where are y’all from? I didn’t know there were any more survivors around here.”

  I lied, “We’re with a religious group west of here, across the highway. ‘The Heralds of the New Apocalypse’ is what we call ourselves. Our leader, The Great Gold Dragon Earl Tudor MacArthur, sent us looking for some consecrateable wine he could consecrate. We were just discussing whether or not beer would work in a pinch. What do you think?”

  I took great pride in the efficacy of my lie. While they were all trying to figure out what I’d said I got my hand on Zippy and slipped him on a little shelf just under the bar.

  “How many of you are there,” asked Larry.

  I decided to build on my previous lie (because it was so clever), “Oh, I dunno. Maybe a hundred including women and children. Of course, The Great Gold Dragon Earl Tudor MacArthur doesn’t want us to count ourselves at all, but especially not that way.”

  Curly, the bald one, decided to bite, “Why not?”

  “Because it’s unscriptural. Good ol’ King David, after murdering Uriah the Hittite and sleeping with his wife, took a census that really pissed god off. So, on account of the census, god sent a plague. Also, in scripture only the men get counted, anyway. The Great Gold Dragon Earl Tudor MacArthur says only men get counted because only men count. See, it all makes sense.”

  All three of them looked at me in utter disbelief. Which was funny because they all believed me. Usually I couldn’t keep people on the line that long, but I had the feeling the men I were lying to had accumulated plenty of bridges and swampland between them.

  During this whole attempt at a conversation Dan and Gina were looking more and more scared. I caught Dan slowly putting his hand on the butt of his pistol.

  Moe tore his lustful attention away from Gina and got his buddies back on track with, “Are any of your religious buddies near by? I’m thinking about converting.”

  “Absolutely. We never travel in groups of less than eleven. Eleven’s lucky. The rest of them are around here somewhere.”

  Curly, ever a glutton for punishment, asked me, “How is eleven lucky?” Although, he seemed far more interested in casting lascivious glances over at Andrea than in anything I had to say.

  “That’s the number of apostles after Judas hanged himself.” I poured each of them another drink.

  I went on, “The Great Gold Dragon Earl Tudor MacArthur would love to add three new converts into the fold. Fact is we don’t really have enough men to go around. You guys ain’t homosexual, are you? Because that would queer the deal. Every man has to marry at least three women. Don’t worry, you get a grace period to pick them out.”

  All three men suddenly had a new respect for The Great Gold Dragon Earl Tudor MacArthur blossom in his heart. It was rapturous to behold.

  Moe did some quick math, “So that means that you only got, maybe, thirty men in your group? And the rest women?” Darn! That’s what happens when I let my mouth do my talking for me. Now they were going to think the Heralds of the New Apocalypse were a bunch of undermanned pushovers. I could just about see them slavering at the thought of getting their hands on that many victims.

  “Not quite. Maybe only twenty-nine men. You know, on account of the high attrition rate, and all.

  “What attrition rate?” Curly was curious.

  I told them, “Well, you know how it goes. You find some survivors who won’t tithe to the lord’s cause, or who show disrespect to god, or whatever. Then, before you can say ‘convert or die’, all their men are dead and one or two of ours are down, too. Then they all get up again and we have to put down the machine guns and use chainsaws to bust them up. The worst part is all the extra wom
en we end up having to look after. It’s just not fair. But don’t tell The Great Gold Dragon Earl Tudor MacArthur I said that, okay?”

  Moe said, “Are you *$%^&* me?” I had a little trouble envisioning what defecating a full grown man of his size would be like. The mental image was unsettling.

  Enough was enough, I just couldn’t keep a straight face any longer, “As you mean it, yes,” was my answer.

  That really confused them, so I tried to help out, “I just made that whole story up to see how you’d react. Pretty funny, huh?”

  They were not amused. With various blasphemies, vulgarities, and threats of mutilation and rape they all began to reach for their rifles, but before any of them (or Dan) could bring their weapons to bear I had Zippy up and pointed right at Moe’s face, followed shortly by Bob. I had them dead to rights and they knew it. Well, most of them did.

  Moe looked me over and made a real bad decision (not that he had a lot of options). He said, “You ain’t gonna shoot me b-.” Then I shot him in the mouth. The other two carefully retracted their hands from their rifles before I got upset.

  I told Dan, “Get over by the window and keep watch.” He, Tracer and Gina went over to the front of the tavern and began looking out the windows. Andrea’s eyes had grown to the size of saucers but she remained still as a deer caught in the headlights.

  With my attention back on my new toys I said, “Let’s start over. I already know your names. My name is written on my wrists.” With an abrupt gesture I extended my hands beyond my cloak and showed them my bite marks, “But you can call me Gideon.” Sometimes it’s a good idea to act a little crazy during an interrogation, and after Keisha’s recovery my bite scars were on my mind a lot.

  That got their attention, I could tell. By the way Moe had been acting I was concerned that these goofs were with a group large enough to tackle a group of thirty men as if were no big deal. I needed answers, and I had no time to play.