No Room In Hell (Book 3): Aftershocks

by Schlichter, William

  “How’s that an arrangement?”

  “The professor,” Corduroy says, as if it explains everything.

  “We were starving near the end of last winter. Slaughtering our livestock would mean we’d starve later. He offered a deal. Our council of three doesn’t have to be unanimous, just two votes,” Gentarra says.

  Ethan’s eyes fire a dagger at Corduroy before guessing, “And you lost.”

  “Chet could keep whatever he fit into his pack, required to turn over what he had in the duffle. If the duffle I selected for him to use was full each trip,” she says. “He yielded enough candy bars to feed everyone. He was given the building at the end of the row, and he keeps it locked. No one has ever tried to break in, but we know he has more food. Upon his return, he selects one of those women from the crowd.”

  “She gets her choice of goodies after she spends the night,” Ethan speculates.

  “You’re one smart man.” Gentarra smiles.

  “Correct, but I also live in a camp where women offer themselves to me for protection. I never traveled that path. It leads to the dark side.”

  “So, you’ve given up attachments like a proper Jedi.” She rolls her tongue along the bottom of her upper teeth as she smiles.

  “You’re not a fan of the prequels?” Ethan asks.

  “No, but I watched them. It took a few viewings to determine how bad they failed the franchise.”

  “I’ve made it my mission to destroy every copy I find,” Ethan says.

  “I bet you have. The undead walk the earth, and you make us safe from Jar Jar Binks.” She laughs.

  Ethan meets her blue-gray eyes. If Corduroy wasn’t present, he would embrace the energy she radiates. Never sure how women feel about him, his own chemistry pushes him to kiss her. “Someone has to. You’ve food now. Why do you let him continue?”

  “The women would riot. Those at least willing to spread for extra food—”

  “I get it. I don’t condone it,” Ethan says. “My camp. No prostitution. And no chance of starving.”

  “Even after the earthquake?” Corduroy asks.

  “It’s far enough north...any damage would be minimal. As soon as the herd thins enough, I’m getting back to them.” Or I’ll move west and then north.

  “You have little ammo and no supplies. I can’t give you any food for your journey,” Gentarra says.

  “I’m not asking. Chet has the supplies I need. I’ll bet he knows the location of a convenience store or a mom-and-pop grocery off the grid that wasn’t pilfered by your knights. They’ve shitty vision in those helmets. Once Chet runs out of supplies, he won’t be as popular.”

  “Right now, his extra food supplements feed us until our crops mature or would have. Even if you get the food you need, what about ammo? We haven’t had any in months,” Corduroy says.

  “If I convince people to go with you, it will take more than swords to protect them,” Gentarra says.

  “I’m considering my options. I do know where there’s a stash of guns.”

  “Crossing back into Memphis is suicide, without a tank,” Gentarra says. “And even we saw the smoke. Plumes that high mean the entire city has burnt.”

  “I left my tank back at my camp.”

  “For real?”

  “My camp’s well protected,” Ethan says.

  “At what price?”

  “We’re a community. Chet won’t have extra food to trade, anyway. All supply teams turn over what they recover, and we share. If I have my way, he’ll shovel cow shit.”

  “There’s a few of us who would go. But many are scared.”

  “Do you think I could find a boat with a motor strong enough to cross the river?” Ethan asks.

  “Maybe.”

  “With a boat, I’ll avoid Memphis to reach the military base. There are plenty of guns lying around there.”

  “How can you be sure the soldiers didn’t abscond with them?”

  “Because I was escaping across the bridge with the soldiers. They were abandoning the base in a hurry, due to the horde. They left all the gear. If the aftershocks draw the horde north, the base will be clear of all but a few stragglers. The only way there is boat.”

  “You’re so smart. Why are you not king of this world?” Corduroy asks.

  “I don’t need flattery.”

  “I won’t say I wasn’t interested in you for your big—brain. But not many smart people seem to be around. Most of these people are here by luck—dumb luck. They’re capable of learning, and it keeps them alive. But none of them are Mensa candidates.”

  “That test’s difficult,” Ethan says.

  “You’re a Mensa member?” Corduroy snaps, envious.

  “I said the test was hard. Now who here would be best to help me to a boat?” Ethan asks.

  “Me, most likely, but this place will fall apart if I go outside. The professor has lost it. And Corduroy is black. The knights aren’t too keen on following him.” Gentarra considers, “If she hasn’t achieved shacking up with Chet, the fiery redhead, Serena, with the tight ass, knows the area.”

  Ethan smirks.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Nothing.” His gut rolls from a chuckle. “The middle school boy in me always giggles when girls describe other girl’s bodies,” Ethan says.

  “We check out other girls, even when we like dick,” Gentarra says.

  “I know you check each other out. You hate on each other because she has nicer hair or perkier boobs.”

  “I assure you, Ethan, my boobs are nicer than hers. And if some girl had the time to fix her hair with proper shampoo, I’d hate on her a lot.”

  “Tell me about Serena?”

  “She’s a devil. I’ve personally pulled her off three people she’s tried to shank. I’d throw her out, but they were pretty much in self-defense. But she doesn’t know when to stop. I don’t know if I would give her a gun. She scavenges. She can handle herself out there.”

  “Even if she wasn’t messed up before the end of the world, the walking undead have fucked with all of us.”

  “She has blue eyes. Incredibly rare among redheads. I don’t know her age, but she’s too young to have the kind of fire in her that she does,” Gentarra says.

  “There’ll be no shrew taming. I need a boat with gas.”

  “Serena!” Gentarra calls to her.

  Reluctantly, the girl peels herself away from the crowd of women around Chet as he weeds out which one he wishes to bestow his manly gifts upon.

  “What do you want, Gentarra? I think I had a shot this time.”

  “Check out the kind of women he selects. The pickings are slim. But he likes a type, and half the time, it’s Harmony Williams. Ask yourself why that is. And if you’re willing to allow him to do to you whatever she allows done to her body,” Gentarra says.

  “Maybe. I tire of the gruel. Whatever he needs me to do, the chocolate bar reward will kill the taste of anything else.”

  “I’ve a better task for you,” Gentarra says.

  “I ain’t sucking this old dude.” She points at Ethan.

  “Why does everyone think I’m old?” Ethan rolls his eyes, choosing to consider the source of the remark has a golden hoop in her right nostril.

  Gentarra continues, “I need you to act as guide. He needs a boat.”

  “Smith’s Used Cars had some boats. Last time I was there, no one had pilfered any. What the fuck are you going to do with a boat, old man?”

  “Get you a chocolate bar for your help,” Ethan offers.

  “Gentarra, what’s with this creeper?”

  “Serena, I know you’re smart, or you wouldn’t have lasted this long.” Gentarra lowers her voice. “Have you seen the fields we planted?”

  “I turned lobster from all the time in the sun tossing seeds, and now I’m sure to have melanoma.” She darts her blue eyes between the two clear-faced adults. She opens her mouth.

  “Don’t say it,” Ethan warns.

  “How long before
we become the Donner Party?” Serena asks.

  “Ethan has made an offer to take us to his camp, but it’s a long way away.”

  “Might as well be on the money. The dragon slayers over there can’t hack and slash their way to Jonesboro.” The hamster wheel turns. “You’re going across the river to the Army base. We could travel anywhere with those guns.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Ethan says.

  “I don’t need people upset about the food. Not if we have a plan to fix it before we tell them,” Gentarra says.

  “The fucked-up professor will veto any plan you have, Gentarra. He doesn’t listen to anything with tits.”

  Ethan pats his Magnum. “He’ll listen.”

  FRANK HANDS KAREN a brown bottle.

  Her eyes widen. “Where did you get a beer?”

  “There are a couple of local breweries in Springfield. They finished off their stock before converting over to bottling water.” He pops the tab on his own beer.

  “How did you get some?” She leans against a pillar on the porch, raising her bottle. Frank clinks his against hers.

  “They give those with medical training a few perks, at least while they last. I think they want to keep me happy. There’s a lot of chaos in the city, and they don’t want to lose any med staff. Or what’s left. They’ll come after Harley. Something happened to all the doctors.”

  “It’s why I haven’t slept.” She wrinkles her nose. After the first full-mouth gulp, she nurses the rest to make the luxury last.

  “I’ll keep watch. You get some rack time,” Frank says.

  “I’m not tired. I know I need to haul ass tomorrow. I say we jump-start a car and drive until the gas runs out. Increase our distance. Maybe do it a few times.”

  “There are eight of us. It’ll have to be a pickup,” Frank says.

  “Plenty around. It will keep Grace happy. All she did was complain about the hike.”

  “Paola has a hitch in her step.”

  “We know what they did. She fought back. They punished her for it.” Karen takes two sips.

  “How is it no one else has followed Ethan’s example?” Frank asks.

  “He was one man and was alone. Springfield could work, but it needs one leader. Those factions will tear the Queen City apart.”

  “You pushed for our trip here.” Frank doesn’t quite phrase his sentence as a question.

  Karen finishes off her beer. “Macho bullshit.”

  “To prove you were as good as any man?”

  “More or less. But not like you think. I grew up in a heavily Christian household where my father felt women had a place, and it was at the stove,” Karen says.

  Frank raises his beer, still half full, in salute. “You’re no Suzy Homemaker. You do a good job as leader.”

  “It’s easy. My mother was always pregnant. I had to wrangle my brothers and sisters.”

  “You do a good—”

  Karen flattens herself onto the porch deck and drags Frank down with her. She flashes a clenched fist to signal quiet before she points. In the sunset, the finger stabbing the air highlights a headlight.

  “No way they followed us,” he whispers.

  Karen nods in agreement. “Dragnet.”

  “Do we move?” he asks.

  The light is across a field on a blacktop running perpendicular to the road in front of the house. They travel roads, cut through fields, return to the road and cross a creek. They didn’t trail us. She crawls to the door.

  Once inside, she assumes a guard post at a window. “Get them up and out the back.”

  The truck lights pull into a field.

  Karen wishes she had a nightscope as the sun dips below the trees.

  Frank slides in beside her. “Everyone’s in the backyard.”

  “They’re running a cold camp. How long will they hunt for Harley?”

  “She was the only medical person. The city was spared most of the infection but not the medical personnel. That was the norm everywhere.”

  “We put some distance between us and them, and tomorrow, we find a truck. Maybe risk going as far north as 70. Doable in a day as long as the roads are clear.”

  “Even with full tanks of gas, sometimes the fuel pukes out.”

  “The alternative is to sneak across the field and murder an unknown number and steal their truck,” Karen says.

  “They find us, I’ll kill them. But I won’t kill them in their sleep.”

  “Then we better move.”

  Thump.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  THUMP. Goosh. Thump. Thump.

  Thump.

  Karen, forced from her sleep, crawls through the hay scattered in the barn loft. More thumps echo like tomatoes being thrown against a wooden wall.

  None of the others wake from the constant noise. Marching until we had nothing left was not sound, but we needed to cover ground, and we might leave a trail in the dark. High ground was the most secure to sleep.

  The sun is ten o’clock high.

  She peers out the open window oftentimes used to toss hay in and out. She crams her hand in her mouth and clamps down to stifle her screams of panic.

  Hundreds of undead surround the barn. They mill, confused.

  They must have been following the quake, and now the aftershocks are weaker.

  As if a conductor raised his arms, the cadence of moan-howls emanates in a low rumble.

  Grace wakes in a tantrum of screams. Karen dives across the loft and clamps her hands over the five-year-old’s mouth. “Shhhh, sweetheart.”

  Kalvin crawls to the opening.

  The undead bounce off the outer walls of the barn, so many at a time the building shakes.

  “I’ve never seen this many. They’re like an ocean.” He counts the undead as they bump against the building. All have blood-stained shirts, all with golden lions on them.

  “Shhhhh.” Karen releases her. “I don’t think they know we’re here. We remain quiet and they’ll leave.”

  Karen’s eyes cut to each person. Harley and Paola huddle together. Frank checks his ammo. The girl, the one Alec brought along, draws her knees to her breasts and hugs herself. The cowboy also inspects his gun.

  Even if we made every shot count, we wouldn’t put a dent in the monsters, and once they knew we’re here, their numbers would bring down the structure.

  Speaking as low as possible, Karen says, “Grace, you hug teddy and make no sound.”

  The little girl nods, allowing Karen to release her grip. She crawls to Kalvin.

  He mouths the word, “Idea?”

  She shakes her head no.

  The undead bounce off the building. They all detect the structure leaning as more and more corpses butt up against it.

  Kalvin mouths to her, “We are going to die!”

  “ISN’T THIS HOW most horror movies start?”

  “Only the good ones.” Ethan shifts the vehicle into park, leaving the engine running to charge the battery.

  “I haven’t been out of the compound in months.” Gentarra kicks her shoes off. “I don’t guess we’ll ever have graveyards again.”

  “We could still bury loved ones, but the bodies don’t decompose like before. Better to burn them.”

  “Could we chat about anything other than the end of the world?” she asks.

  “Ladies’ choice. What do you want to talk about?”

  She tugs at the cord keeping the front of her corset tied. “Will you find out if Serena is a natural redhead?”

  “I thought you wanted to discuss things before the apocalypse. And no, I like my women a little older.”

  “Okay. Maybe I thought we should have some small talk. I want to know how big your gun is.”

  “Nine inches.”

  Gentarra leans over and grabs Ethan’s crotch. “This gun.”

  He lifts her hand off him. “I don’t have attachments anymore.”

  “I don’t want to be attached. I need to be fucked by a man. A man who knows what to do w
ith a woman who likes her hair pulled.” A conjugal smile crosses her lips.

  “I never was much for rough riding.”

  “Then make it last until we lead the caravan north.” A playful moan rolls over her lips. “Fuck me.”

  Ethan steps from the SUV. He unclips his gun belt, stashing it in the front seat for an easy draw by a person sitting behind the driver.

  The sun dips below the treetops.

  The graveyard provides an eerie backdrop.

  He flips down the middle seats of the SUV before climbing in the back.

  Gentarra scampers over the central console. She straddles one of his legs. Ethan bites her neck.

  “I thought you didn’t do rough?” She tugs his shirt free from his pants.

  “I can pick you up with one hand. Even my gentle will be rough.” He kisses her neck.

  “Wait.”

  “I won’t leave a hickey. Not where it will show.”

  “No.” Her tongue stumbles over her thoughts. “I’ve desired you since you were brought in.”

  Ethan clamps a hand on her breast. “I’ve desired these melons.”

  “You will, but I need something.”

  Ethan drops his head back, exhaling. “Why do you women do this? Couldn’t you have brought this up before I climbed in the back?”

  “I lost two children to the infection. Please don’t finish inside me.”

  He draws his fingers along her cheek and holds her face, so her eyes lock with his. “I would never do that to you.” He smirks. “I prefer another place.” He kisses across her cheek, moving his lips toward her mouth.

  “What’s your real name? Ethan Edwards was the troubled antihero from The Searchers, John Wayne’s character who hunted his stolen niece.”

  “Lots of people are named after John Wayne.”

  “You’re not an Ethan. I see it in those eyes.” Her lips touch his, not with passion but comfort.

  “Who we were before doesn’t matter.” He mumbles, “I would never stop my search. I hunt every time I leave my group. The trail grew cold before winter.”

  “Make love to me. Make me—us—forget about all our losses.” Her pleading precludes passion with tears.

  “You’re crying.”