by Bible, Jake
“What’s the pit?” Rafe asks.
“You’ll see,” Maury replies.
“Not even a hint?” Rafe asks. “It doesn’t sound good, and the way Short Bus here backed off Jace when you threatened him with it, I can only guess it’s probably the worst punishment you all have.”
“Who’s Jace?” Maury asks.
I raise my hand and try to speak, but Cole has done a job on my throat, and I only croak a couple of sounds before I stop trying. I glance at Rafe, and can tell he’s trying to be brave, but since he used my real name and not Short Pork, I know he’s scared shitless right now. So am I. So is Greta as she clings to my chest and weeps quietly.
Maury unhooks a canteen from his belt and throws it to me. “Drink some. You’re croaking worse than a retarded bullfrog.”
“Thanks,” I reply, but it comes out more like “thghs.”
“Care if I have some?” Rafe asks Maury, and the man nods.
“Keep it,” Maury says. “I don’t know what bugs you three have, so I don’t want it until it’s sterilized again.”
“Thanks,” Rafe responds.
Oh, sure, it sounds easy when he says it. Fucking kid and his working larynx.
Rafe and I pass the canteen back and forth until it’s empty. I try to give some to Greta, but she refuses to pull her face away from my chest. I set the empty canteen down, and we just sit there and watch our captors. I can tell Rafe is sizing them up just as I am. There’s five, not including the driver, and they all have their precious shotguns ready to blow our heads off. I’m almost afraid to fart, they all look so jumpy.
We drive for at least another hour before Maury turns and looks at us again.
“How many were in your party?” Maury asks. “Your girl here wouldn’t tell us a thing. But I know there were more of you because she waved us down, just like you did. She wasn’t surprised to see two RVs coming along that road at all.”
“Just us,” Rafe says.
“Really?” Maury smiles. “Just you three? So the babbling idiot here drove one RV while you drove the other?”
“Yeah,” Rafe says.
“Huh,” Maury nods. “Seems like a big waste of fuel to drive two RVs when there are only three of you.”
“You never know when you’ll need a spare,” Rafe says.
“That’s true,” Maury says. He pulls a radio from his belt and holds it up. “But the bullshit you’re telling me isn’t even close to true. Know how I know that? You folks like to chat. We heard you coming yesterday from miles down the road. Couldn’t quite tell how many of you there were, but we know it was at least three or four RVs. Only found the one all busted up over off 64. That’s when we picked up the girl.”
Rafe doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes locked on Maury. I’d really like to get in this conversation. I have a way of getting assholes to reveal all kinds of information. I like to think it’s my charm, but both Critter and Stuart have told me it’s more because people just want me to shut the fuck up so they start talking instead.
“What’s that?” Maury asks, and leans towards me. “What the hell are you gurgling about?”
Gurgling? I have to sound way cooler than gurgling. You get your windpipe crushed, and you have a deep rasp, right? That’s how it works. No way I sound like I’m gurgling.
“Man, that’s annoying,” one of the other men says.
Son of a bitch.
“Just tell me how many other RVs you have, will ya?” Maury asks Rafe. “Don’t even have to tell me how many people, just how many RVs.”
“I’m sure experienced guys like y’all could tell by the tire tracks,” Rafe replies.
“Snowstorm covered all the tracks,” Maury says.
“Did it? Bummer,” Rafe grins.
“Listen, kid, I’m going to find out what I need to find out,” Maury sighs. “Everyone talks. Information is all you have to bargain with.”
“So I better wait, and bargain with the guy in charge then,” Rafe says.
“What makes you think I’m not in charge?” Maury glares.
Ooh, that pissed him off! Way to go, Rafe!
“It’s obvious,” Rafe says. “You had to use that pit threat to get Short Bus to behave. If you were the man in charge, then all you’d have to do is bark, and he’d heel. You had to use a stick.”
“You train a lot of dogs, have ya?” Maury asks.
“In a way,” Rafe smiles.
“In a way?” Maury chuckles. “Kid, you’re more full of shit than your buddy here.”
“Probably,” Rafe nods. “But I’m right. You’re not in charge. So who is?”
“You’ll find out,” Maury says. “And you won’t be happy when you do.”
“Scary,” Rafe says.
“Yes, he is,” Maury nods, then turns away from us.
I glance about and see the reality reflected in the other guys’ eyes.
I have a really bad feeling that Rafe may have overplayed his hand. I should know, I overplay my hand all the time. But, hey, I’m still alive, so maybe things won’t be so bad when we get to the Tomb. Yeah, yeah, I heard it.
Chapter Five
Apparently there are coal mines in Southern Illinois. Who knew?
These guys do, since that’s where they are taking us. I have no idea of exactly where we are, but I do know we are still in Illinois. That has been made obvious by the way the shotgun guys start talking about “Illinois this” and “Illinois that”. I tune out most of it.
Mainly I tune it out because I am afraid that if I start listening to them, then my internal dialogue will become my external dialogue, and I really don’t want to piss them off by making some stupid joke about Illinois.
See? I know restraint when it comes to my mouth.
No, wait, that doesn’t sound right at all...
“I guess you don’t have to worry about fuel for power,” Rafe says after a huge gate is opened and the RVs are waved inside a compound that is easily as big as two football fields. At the end of the compound is the gaping maw of some mine. “You still pulling coal out of there?”
“They shut the mine down in ’97,” Maury replies. “But there is plenty of good coal in there for our needs. Also, plenty of good space. A small town’s worth of folk can live down there comfortably.”
“That how many you have here?” I ask as I look out the window at the buildings in the compound. Several single wide trailers are set up in clusters here and there with men (and shotguns) mingling about, their eyes watching the RVs with suspicious interest. “Did you move your old home town here when Z-Day hit?”
“Something like that,” Maury says. “You’ll see.”
“They said they had a use for me,” Greta whispers, her mouth close to my ear. “You don’t think they mean...?”
“No, sweetheart,” I say. “I’m sure they didn’t mean that.”
The looks on some of the shotgun mens’ faces tell me they mean exactly what my daughter and I think they mean. This is not going to be good.
“Well, thanks for the ride,” I say as I slowly get to my feet, making sure I make deliberate, non-threatening motions so there’s no misunderstanding. “I hate to ask it, but is there any chance we could get a backpack with some water and a little food? We’ve got a long walk ahead of us.”
As you may guess, there are a lot of confused stares.
Maury clears his throat and motions for me to sit back down. At least, I assume that’s what he’s trying to convey when he points his shotgun at my nuts then at the floor. Either way, I sit my ass down.
“You aren’t walking anywhere,” Maury says. “Except inside the Tomb.”
“Yeah, about that name,” I say. “Do you call it that because it’s a deep hole in the ground and resembles a tomb? Or is it because it holds a bunch of corpses?”
“Yes,” Maury says.
“Yes, what?” Rafe asks.
“Oh, he answered the question,” I say. “It’s pretty clear what’s up.”
&nb
sp; “It is?” Rafe asks.
“Sure,” I say as I watch a small group of shotgun-toting men wheel a supply laden cart into the huge mouth of the mine. Or Tomb. I should get used to calling it the Tomb. “Like our new friend said, the mine still has plenty of good coal for their needs. Except it takes plenty of good labor to extract that plenty of good coal. Hard to defend against Zs and the less than honest human contingent when you’re busy with a pickaxe down in the dark. So they are enlisting our help with the process of keeping the lamps lit and the heat on.”
“So we’re slaves,” Rafe says.
“Exactly,” I nod.
“Why didn’t you just say that?” Rafe growls.
“Because he likes to hear himself talk,” Maury smiles. “You must not know each other very well if you haven’t figured that out yet. I’ve known plenty of smart guys like him. They always like to hear themselves talk.”
“I like to hear him talk too,” Greta glares. “He sounds a lot more interesting than a moron like you.”
Awesome. Now she gets her spirit back. While we’re in an RV with shotguns pointed at us. In a compound surrounded by ten foot high fences with razor wire. And about to be shoved into a deep hole for forced manual labor. But, hey, at least she’s ready to rumble, right?
I check everyone’s faces, and I’m very pleased to say that all of that was inside my head. Good. I call that progress.
“That’s what Kelvin calls it too,” Maury says.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“Progress,” Maury says. “Kelvin considers our arrangement progress. He believes we lost a part of our foundation as a country when we decided that ditch diggers could dream of not being ditch diggers. The world needs ditch diggers.”
“You have no idea how many times I’ve expressed that very thought and been chastised for it,” I say. “I am a firm believer in the ditch digger principle. However, I also believe that there are those suited for digging ditches, and those suited for designing the ditches to be dug. I am in the latter category. You don’t want me anywhere near a shovel. I’m more than likely going to totally screw up and fill the ditch.”
“Kelvin believes that you can never know your true nature until you have tried all others,” Maury says. “That’s why you start in the Tomb.”
“Start?” I ask.
“You’ll see,” Maury says as he stands up and opens the side door. “Kelvin will fill you in on everything you need to know.”
“Looking forward to it,” I smile. “This Kelvin guy sounds like a dynamic personality. Can’t wait to share a beer and rap a while.”
“Daddy, don’t say rap,” Greta sighs. “This isn’t the sixties.”
“No, I meant I want to share a beer and work on some sick rhymes,” I reply. “I have some mad beatbox skills, and a way with words.”
“Not a good way,” Rafe says, and gets a couple chuckles out of the ever stoic shotgun gang. He brightens up a bit, and I get a sinking feeling in my gut that maybe we just lost Rafe to the other side. Cannies are known for being opportunistic bastards that way.
Maury leads us out of the RV, and the frigid air is a serious shock to my system. My leg hasn’t stopped hurting since we left the farmhouse, but that pain is nothing compared to the sheer agony that stabs me when the freezing wind hits me. It’s like my whole leg has been dipped in glass.
“Son of a fuck,” I grumble as I pull my coat around me.
“Told ya there was another storm coming,” Maury says as he glances up into the grey sky above. “Gonna be a lot worse than that last one.”
“Great,” I say as Greta huddles close to me.
I look about and scope the scene. It’s a fenced off compound that butts up against a huge hole in a hillside. There’s some old, rusted machinery around, but mainly the compound is full of a bunch of single wide trailers that are set up in about six or seven clusters. A few of our shotgun guards head to one cluster, while I watch as some less than healthy looking people push a loaded cart towards another cluster. Smoke and steam are coming from a third cluster, and I’m not surprised when one of the doors opens, and a woman steps out with a heavy apron on. She empties a bucket of something into the dirt, glances at us, sneers, then goes back inside.
I don’t have time to study the other clusters as a booming voice echoes across the compound, coming from the mouth of the Tomb.
“Visitors!” the voice cries. “How delightful! We always need fresh faces and strong backs to do the Lord’s work around here! Praise be!”
A couple of the shotgun guards reply with their own praise be’s, but mostly everyone just stops what they’re doing and watches with what can only be described as suppressed awe as the man comes bounding towards us. Yes, he bounds. His voice booms, and his legs bound. He’s a regular bounding boomer. Or booming bounder. I may call him BB.
“Daddy, quiet,” Greta whispers at me.
“Out loud?” I ask.
“Very,” Rafe says.
The bounding, booming man is around my age, maybe mid-forties, with shoulder length, light brown hair, and bright blue eyes. He’s average height and build with long fingers on his hands, which he holds out in front of him towards us in an exaggerated welcoming jester. As he gets closer and closer I realize he’s the likeness of someone we are all familiar with.
“Jesus...” I start.
“ ... Christ,” Rafe finishes.
So ... BB looks just like the Anglicized version of the Lord and Savior. He is the spitting image of every white washed Jesus Christ I have ever seen.
Uh-oh.
“Maury, look what you have brought me,” the man grins, almost splitting his perfectly complected skinned face in two. “Two healthy men, and a beautiful young woman that looks to be close to child bearing age.”
“Hold on a fucking second,” I growl. “Child bearing are not words I want said when describing my daughter.”
“And why is that, sir?” the man asks, looking truly perplexed. “God’s work is to be fruitful and multiply. Heaven knows we can use more Christian soldiers in our war against Evil nowadays. The demons have killed too many of our Lord’s disciples, and we must do God’s work and replace them as quickly as possible.”
“Yeah, you do that,” I say. “Just leave my daughter out of it.”
“Show some respect,” Maury barks. “This is Kelvin, and he has saved us all. Without this man, the biters would rule the Earth, not man. He has brought us back from the brink of extinction, and you will thank him for it.”
There are a few things wrong with what Maury says, yet I decide not to argue with him. Not because I think I’ll get myself hurt, nor because I think they’ll hurt Greta, but because the way Maury talks about Kelvin, and the way everyone looks at him, puts it all into perspective really fucking fast.
We’ve got a cult on our hands.
Charismatic leader? Check.
Armed followers willing to use violence to carry out said charismatic leader’s orders? Check.
Compound that is eerily similar to a prison? Check.
Obvious misogynistic vibe? Check.
Class system with a promise of rising in the ranks if one were to perform whatever duties and obey whatever orders? Check.
I’m guessing food and water are rationed perfectly, so those that need to be controlled have just enough to survive and work, but never enough to gain any strength and rise up against the charismatic leader and his shotgun acolytes.
“Shotgun acolytes,” Kelvin laughs. “I like that.”
“Shit,” I mumble to Greta. “How much of that was out loud?”
“Just the shotgun acolytes part,” Greta replies.
“Oh, thank God,” I sigh.
“Yes, let us thank Him,” Kelvin says, and bows his head.
Everyone, and I do mean everyone, bows their heads as Kelvin starts to bellow out a prayer.
“Oh, Lord! We thank You for the wisdom to bring these fine folks onto our path,” Kelvin says. “A path that is righteous
and true, caring and kind, just and powerful! We thank You for Your gift of brotherhood and sisterhood! We thank You for showing me the way in the darkness! A way that was clouded by the demon hordes, blocked by the wicked men and women whose sins brought this plague of death upon us! But You Lord, You took me by the hand and led me from my own wickedness and into the light that only You can shine! We thank You for giving us the strength and vision needed to be the new Ark, one built around a flood of undead instead of a flood of water! Behold!”
And he whips about and points at the mine.
“It is the Tomb from which we will all rise in Your image! Praise be to You, Lord! PRAISE BE!”
“PRAISE BE!” the compound echoes.
“That was a nice one, Kelvin,” Maury says. “One of your best.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” Kelvin smiles, then walks right up to me and offers his hand. “I’m Kelvin and you are?”
“Jason Stanford,” I say as I offer him my left hand.
He seems to recoil from it, and I see a brief flash of disgust and anger flit across his face. He quickly composes himself and steps back to me, switching from his right hand to his left. We shake, and I instantly want to throw up. His grip is strong, but there’s a sliminess to it. Not a literal sliminess, but more the mythical snake sliminess where it felt like muscles rippling over bones under his skin.
He’s the Reptile Jesus!
I panic for a second, but can tell that I kept that one inside the noggin. Phew.
“They call him Short Pork,” Maury says.
“Long Pork,” I say. “But I prefer Jace.”
“Long Pork?” Kelvin asks, amused. “Is that what happened to your arm? Did one of the wicked sinners get hungry?”
“No, I had to cut it off after a Z bit my hand,” I reply.
Shotguns go up fast and all turn on me.
“Really?” I sigh. “Do I look like I’m a fucking Z? Chill, boys.”
“Jace, please refrain from cursing while a guest here,” Kelvin says. “It lowers you to the level of the wicked and the demons.”
“So the wicked are the bad folk, and the demons are the Zs?” Rafe asks.