Haven From Hell (Book 2): Warrior's Chronicle

by Won, Mark

  “Well, that still doesn’t help us any,” Adam said.

  Max was not to be outdone, “Yeah, it’s still a dead end.” How tragically defensive.

  I gave both young men my most withering glare, “Take a look over the river. What do you see?”

  They both peered out over the lapping waves into the distance before returning their attention to me. Max said, “Nothing,” but Adam did a little better, “A few little boats rowing away.”

  I told them, “I weep for your generation, I truly do. What you see is three rowboats, not fishing, but all rowing directly away from us as fast as they can. What you can no longer see is their lead vessel which pulled up to the opposite bank while we were speaking with Abella. Even at that distance,” I motioned across the river, “I could see the single occupant wearing a stupid top hat,” I asked them, “What does that suggest to you? And think before you answer, because if I get one more smart ass answer I going to smack you up side the head.”

  They looked at each other and I finally saw some light come on. Max said, “The weirdo must have crossed recently. The guys following are probably part of his crew.”

  Adam spoke up, “If that’s true then they probably know the cops and us are looking for the Voodoo guy.”

  Max interrupted, “Which means we can’t use this as an ambush spot. But I’m not to keen on following them across the river. At least, not here. We’d be sitting ducks.”

  I gave them a thumbs up, “Which is why we’re going to wait until just before sunrise and cross a bit upstream. From there we will cut south and wait until I have enough light to follow their tracks back to their camp. Clearly the zombie problem can’t be too bad on that side of the river or Mr. Top Hat wouldn’t live there.”

  On the way back to the bus I spoke with a number of locals, trying to spread the notion that we’d come to a total dead end and that the bokor had out ran us. It seemed like a long shot, but who knew? Maybe he still had an agent left on our side of the river who could take my lie back to his boss.

  As soon as we returned, Jake asked me, “So, how did it go?”

  “We found out where he crossed the river. I want everyone to get some sleep come late afternoon. We’re going to have an early morning tomorrow. Turns out Mr. Delacroix is an extortionist and murderer.”

  Quietly, Jake said, “When we catch up to him what is the plan? Are we really going to take him alive?”

  “I would have liked to, but the situation has advanced. If he surrenders without us asking, then fine, we take him alive. Otherwise he and his whole crew are going to die tomorrow. Remember to try and get some sleep.”

  I made a point of telling Police Chief Martin that we had gotten nowhere. I figured I would have to either apologize or make up a lie later, but that was okay by me. ‘What you want your enemies to know tomorrow, tell your friends today.’

  Most of the rest of the day we spent ‘renting’ (apples were a popular form of payment) small water craft, rowboats and such. I made a point of sending Jake to make the arrangements since he was less well known. We hauled them from the lake to nearby the riverside, to make sure that we’d be ready the next morning, without any messing around.

  I got to sleep in the late afternoon and slept like a baby. About 4:00 a.m. we got up and walked to a likely looking spot near our side of the river, hauling the boats the rest of the way. Once there we made a quick and silent crossing. On the other side we pulled the boats onto the river bank, midst the trees, and waited for dawn.

  Then a short trip south, and sure enough, I found a number of rowboats all jumbled together along the riverside, about fifteen feet from the bank and hidden in the treeline. The tracks were easy enough to follow, even the least observant of the guys could pick out an unmistakable path through the undergrowth. We made good time, traveling quietly and always under cover, until we broke through the other side of the woods. Just ahead there was a street running perpendicular to our course, paralleling the treeline. On the other side we saw a bunch of fairly large houses, each with a large yard. Clearly they had been the homes of the wealthy. It made sense, really. That Delacroix fellow had to sleep somewhere, so all things being equal, he might as well pick a nice place. But which place?

  I motioned the guys back, deeper into the woody area, before they could expose our position, and got out my binoculars. Before I even brought them up to my eyes I noticed one of the houses, directly in front of us, had a path of downtrodden grass running straight through the front yard, leading up to the door.

  I checked out the windows, hoping to see if anyone were on guard. None of the windows had the blinds drawn or curtains covering them, and I saw no one keeping watch. I took a closer look at the flanking houses and saw that they looked unoccupied (not that someone couldn’t have been hiding).

  We had several attack options. 1) We could go away (endeavoring to conceal our tracks) and come back in the middle of the night, 2) We could spend an hour circling around to the other side of the house before beginning our assault, 3) Both options one and two, 4) We could wait right where we were and kill anyone who came for the boats (quietly if possible), 5) We could start shooting up the house from the cover of the trees, 6) I could send someone (myself) to sneak up to a window and throw an incendiary through (we had brought a few bottles of Molotov cocktail along), 7) Cross the road and try to arrange a sneak attack at (near) dawn.

  I motioned the guys to hang back while I dashed across the street at a full sprint. No one opened fire on me so I motioned for all the guys to follow. It was a quick jaunt to the front door. From there I had half the group go around back to kill anyone trying to escape. Then I threw a cocktail through the front window.

  Through the window I noticed that there was a man on a couch just getting to his feet. For about half a second he stared stupidly at the broken bottle spreading its flame all over the floor. Five of the guys took that as an opportunity to ventilate him. It was a nice grouping, especially for head shots. Their marksmanship was getting to be almost army standard.

  Then I backed off, trying to keep a watch on the second floor windows. We were so close to the house the only way for someone inside to get a clear shot would be for him to lean out a window.

  I heard more breaking glass around back and had to suppose that Jake had tossed another incendiary or two into the house. Simultaneously, a couple of guys poked their heads out the upstairs windows, trying to see who was doing all the shooting. I got one and Adam shot the other in the neck. That one was up in an instant, zombified as a ghast, and backed into the room he had been leaning out of.

  After that things got a bit hectic. A number of our enemies tried to make it downstairs, I think. They did a lot of screaming and burning and dying. The house caught like it was tinder waiting for the match. A bunch more tried shooting at us but we had them at a distinct disadvantage. The final few threw themselves through the windows and fell to the earth. They didn’t stand a chance, although we did have to kill some of them twice.

  In the glow of the burning building I poked around among the dead. Not finding what I was looking for I glance up as Jake came back around to us.

  He said, “There’s something around back you should see.” That’s never good.

  I asked, “Did you spot Delacroix?”

  “I didn’t look yet.”

  We all went into the back yard. Staked out at regular intervals were a number of zombies, all naked, all with big slices of flesh carved off of them. They were chained to posts that had been driven into the earth. In addition there were no shortage of heads lined up on sharpened sticks, like some psychotic’s idea of lawn ornaments. The heads clearly had not been pierced into the brain, they were all still gnashing their teeth.

  I looked around at the shocked expressions of my people, “Well, we already knew he was a bad person. What did you expect.” I admit the whole thing was disgusting, but except for the zombification part, I’d seen plenty worse in the Middle East and Africa. It is kind of surprising
how many human horrors think dead people look good dressing up a yard.

  We kicked around the place for a while looking for our primary target but had no luck. Maybe his face was blown off or maybe his body was burning in the house. But I doubted it. What I should have done was wait for him in the woods. I could have sniped him as soon as he came in sight. I hadn’t really needed to bring the guys at all, except to keep up morale by giving them a little satisfaction. Now we really were at a dead end.

  Adam asked me, “Do you think all these zombies were zombies before they got put here?”

  “No way. Would you try and undress a zombie? All that messing around would be a lot easier if the victims had been captured alive first. Also, all the zombies have had their throats cut.”

  “But why?”

  A number of the guys were listening. “Putting dead bodies on the lawn is a terror tactic. But in this case I suspect that the people doing the murdering also wanted the clothes. In case you haven’t noticed, the folks around here are extremely poor. Even back in Haven we’re having trouble keeping people clothed as well as we’d like. They took the shoes, too.”

  Chloe (a woman on my crew, and one of our medical professionals) asked, “Why do they all got big slices taken out of them? Why do that? It’s horrible.”

  I said, “I don’t know. I think it was done after they’re throats were slit, though. Maybe they used some kind of dog catcher’s pole to help hold the zombies while they did the carving.” I was just guessing. For all I knew the victims were carved up while alive then had their throats cut after they became zombies. For some reason that didn’t seem to make as much sense. I was starting to get a queasy feeling about all of it.

  I gave orders for the zombies to be terminated. It was passed time to be leaving when Max called out a warning, and we all turned about. Coming toward us, across the back yard, was a fat looking man with two fat looking friends, all with sweat covered brows. One was dressed in overalls and had an old baseball cap on. The other two had tattered blue jeans and no shirts to cover their bulging bellies. Jake told Max to keep a look out behind us as the men approached. Sometime in the near past the men approaching us had applied face paint to themselves, but it was cracking and peeling. I couldn’t be sure if the designs were supposed to have meaning or were just a random residue. When they got about thirty feet away Jake told them to stop, they were close enough. Too close really, I could pick up their body odor from that distance. They smelled like death.

  I remembered a similar pungent aroma from my time in Shallow Ford, so I brought my shotgun up and took aim. Jake looked at me like he thought I should be the one to begin the conversation with the strange fat men covered in grey makeup. I didn’t want to spoil my aim.

  Looking a bit perplexed, Jake said, “We’re not looking for any trouble with you or yours. Take a look around. The people we killed made all these zombies, so they had this coming.”

  Baseball Cap said, “Delacroix will devour your souls. I embrace the Loa.”

  Still a bit confused but getting into the swing of things, Jake tried again, “Well, you deranged chuckle heads, go tell your boss to fuck off.” He brought his own firearm up as did everyone else (except Max, who was still keeping watch behind).

  Each of the men looked at us for a moment before turning and walking back the way they’d come. The others lowered their aim, but I did not. I wasn’t sure what the enemy’s battle plan was, but I knew we were in trouble. I had to suppose that we’d been cut off. Probably the enemy was in the treeline where we had hidden all of our rowboats, just waiting to ambush us. I expected them to drive us in that direction with sniper fire, momentarily. While I was working out some kind of desperate strategy the three men each took out a small something from a pocket and swallowed it. I opened fire.

  My first shot took Baseball Cap in the head and down he went. The other two fell to the earth and writhed about for a couple of seconds. All my guys opened fire, filling them with lead. Then each of the bodies was suddenly transformed into my worst nightmare: a ghast.

  The two remaining fat men were up and moving for us instantly, all their remaining clothes nothing but shreds flapping in the breeze. Fortunately, one of them had taken a couple of hits to the legs so he wasn’t so spry. The other I was as ready for as I could be. True to form, it jumped for us at about twenty feet away. I managed to hit it on the fly, but its dead form still crashed into Jake, who fell with the monster.

  The last one was only a step behind his buddy, but it was a big step. That extra instant was all it took for everyone to get an extra shot off. At that range everyone aimed at its legs and down it went, its lower members nothing but two bloody rags of flesh and bone. The ghast still managed to get to its feet, but that took another second, by which time Logan had stepped up and split its skull with his machete.

  “Follow me,” I ordered.

  We moved south into a neighbors yard and then had to hop a fence to get into the next neighbors yard. After that I led everyone back in the direction of the river. We crossed the road without anyone coming under fire and entered the wooded strip between between the street and the water. Then I ordered everyone to take a breather.

  I said, “We’re going to move north, along the river. I expect we’ll run into trouble. I don’t know why, but those guys reek to me. I can smell them a mile away. Stay behind me and try to offer support. But stay behind me. Max, you bring up the rear.”

  We moved at a cautious walk, with the underbrush making plenty of cover for everyone, including any enemy we might encounter. I was shocked to have our way be unopposed. We made it back to the boats without conflict. Naturally, that just meant they were waiting to attack us once we were on the open water.

  We all got in the boats (taking all of them, including the enemy’s) and rowed south, hugging the bank. Since we had just come overland from that direction I had reason to hope it remained free of the enemy. Once we had reached a bend in the river I had us start to cross. That’s when I spotted the enemy taking up position.

  The would-be shooters must have followed us south, and only been able to see us once we began the crossing. We had managed a hundred yards before they began lining up their shots. I had made sure to be in the last boat in case they tried something like that.

  The river was fairly calm and the wind negligible. My first shot took a face painted cultist right through the aorta. My second wasn’t as neat as I would have liked, a gut shot, but I was rushing things. Then they began firing, but not at us.

  My first victim had Changed into a ghast and was busy ripping people up. One down and then another. Each one turned into another ghast. I got out my binoculars to try and keep an eye on the proceedings. The cultists began jumping into the water. I told Chloe to stop rowing (she was a good shot and a great runner, sprint or distance, but not so at good pulling an oar) and began picking off the swimmers. They turned into ghasts, too, and promptly sank to the bottom. The river was so shallow there that their heads were left out of the water more often than not.

  I heard a bunch of shots ring out behind me and glanced back. Everyone in the crew had taken it into their damn fool heads to mimic my actions. They had all pulled up oars and were intent on taking what shots they could. Looking back toward the bank, I saw a familiar face wearing a top hat jumping into the water, and I yelled out for everyone to hold their fire. I told Chloe to row us over so I could pick him up. All the guys followed us.

  Once I got closer to the bank, about seventy-five yards away, I saw a bunch of ghasts reaching over the water at us. A couple were trying to cross but were hampered by the mud and their own strange fear of the water (all the Changed fear the water to some extent). I tried for head shots with an uncommon amount of success. Mired in the mud they were much easier to hit. Furthermore, it seemed that at that range they lost all tactical sense. None of them ran. Even when their buddies took a bullet to the skull they all just kept yearning at us. I’m not saying we got them all, and there’s no way in
hell I’ll ever go back to that side of the Mississippi that close to New Orleans ever again. I’m just saying we killed a lot of them.

  I told Chloe to lay off the rowing and to keep a special eye on Delacroix. I wanted that man alive but I also wanted to keep killing the ghasts. I shouted for Max and Jake to focus on shooting the swimming humans in the head as best as they were able.

  Once we had eliminated all other targets and Delacroix was about four hundred yards into his swim Chloe and I managed to pick him up. He was pretty worn out. We still bound him hand and foot, using multiple handcuffs. I had Chloe row back so I could get his hat for him. I was afraid the superstitious rabble might not recognize him without it. I took over the oars for the rest of our journey to the safe bank, while Chloe kept close watch on our captive. She had him in a headlock with an ice pick held to his temple the whole way back.

  Chapter 7: Q and A, The Hanged Man, and One Bullet

  “Cut the crap, you loon,” I told Delacroix as I gave his knee a gentle tap with my hammer. I had him in the bus for questioning. He thought frothing at the mouth and rolling his eyes into the back of his head would, I don’t know, scare me or something.

  I held up a pocket knife, “Answer my questions or you’ll be singing soprano in about five seconds, understand?” I was trying to figure out how he planned to get rid of the three ghasts that he’d sent to kill us once they’d done the job.

  He believed me. Clearly he wasn’t used to dealing with people who knew he was full of shit. He said, “I got one of my coke whores to play along. I told her all she had to do was play like a zombie and she could have all the coke she wanted whenever she wanted. She said no at first, but once she started feeling the hurt she didn’t have a choice. I sweetened the deal by telling her that she’d live forever. Once everyone saw that I could turn people into zombies just by pointing at them I figured I could write my own ticket.”