The Haven Series (Book 2): Haven

by Brian M. Switzer

  Dedication

  * * *

  Haven is dedicated to the readers who fought their way through the formatting mistakes in Journey, book one of the Haven series. Thanks for sticking with me. I apologize for those errors and have strived to deliver a better reading experience this time. Salud.

  Title Page

  * * *

  Haven

  Volume two of the Haven series

  Brian M. Switzer

  Published by The Learned Pig Publishing Co., 2018.

  On the Ledge

  * * *

  “Fall! Fall, you brainless bastard!” Danny clapped his hands and pointed at a creeper near the edge of a cliff far above them and on the other side of the quarry. “Wait. Here it comes! It’s going to fall!”

  Coy shook his head. “Nope. See how it’s leaning back away from the edge? It has enough self-preservation to not walk off a two hundred foot ledge.”

  Danny snickered. “Self-preservation. It’s a creeper, Coy. A non-thinking organic matter operating on the faintest of brain impulses.”

  “Call it what you want, but it’s not going over the side, is it, asshole?”

  Will watched the creeper, shielding his eyes from the sun with the flat of his hand. “I’m kind of amazing the thing even got to the edge. It had to fight hard to get through all that scrub pine and those rocks.”

  Will took a closer look through a pair of binoculars. The creeper wore a torn and filthy housecoat and appeared to have turned a long time ago. The tissue on its face had decayed to where it was little more than a skull sporting a few strands of course, dirty hair. Its mouth was pulled back in a rictus. So much dried blood and gore covered the frayed housecoat that it looked as if someone had turned a hose of blood on it. Its broken left arm hung at its side and its elbow pointed frontward.

  Will let the binoculars hang on the strap around his neck. “It’s been around a while. I haven’t seen decay that advanced since Fort Leonard Wood.”

  Danny raised his eyebrows and pointed at Will, as if the older man had made his point for him. “That’s why it’s going over the edge- those things are mindless and implacable. If it wants down here it’s coming, by the shortest route possible,”

  Coy disagreed. “Nope. It has a pinch of self-interest. Just a pinch. But enough to keep it from falling.”

  “You’re out of your mind. We’ve seen creepers walk into rivers, off the top of buildings, into knives and spears and not get out of the way of moving vehicles. Their sense of self-preservation consists of walking in a straight line until they eat or get put down. Ten thousand dollars says it falls.”

  “Ten thousand dollars? Why not say a trip to Tahiti or a roll with Miranda Lambert’s creeper? What am I going to do with ten thousand dollars, make a down payment on a nice starter home? Besides, you don’t have that much money.”

  They watched in silence as the creeper teetered back and forth on the edge of the rim and then stepped over into the void as casually as a man stepping off a curb. It plunged to the quarry bottom, silent and without flailing. It did a slow half-flip in the air and landed headfirst on the hard limestone with a wet and meaty splat.

  “Dang it!” said Coy, kicking the ground in front of him. “I didn’t think it would do it.”

  Danny studied him, his face impassive, his eyes narrow.

  Coy crossed his arms over his chest and tried to meet Danny’s stare. “What?” His glare faltered; he glanced up at where the creeper had stood, and then back at Danny. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

  “You sick, twisted piece of shit. You nasty fuck.”

  Coy held his arms out to his sides, palms up. He gaped at his friend. “What? What’d I do? What are you talking about?”

  “You’d have sex with a creeper?” Danny’s mouth curled with disgust as he spat the word ‘creeper.’

  “No!” Coy yelped. “No, I never said that! No way would I ever…”

  “Oh yes you did, my disgusting young friend,” Danny interrupted. “You clearly said you would have sex with Miranda Lambert’s creeper.”

  Coy gave a nervous chuckle. “Oh, that. That was a joke, Danny. About how hot I think Miranda Lambert is, I would boink her even if she was a creeper. But I wouldn’t really do it!”

  “Coy, buddy, I’m the horniest guy I know. I’ve slept with fat girls and skinny girls, pretty girls and ugly girls, MILFs and teenagers. In 2013 I had sex with Miss Rodeo Kansas, and God help me, one time I fucked a midget. But even I would never climb atop a creeper. You need help, buddy.”

  During the conversation, Will’s head swiveled from one to the other like a man watching a tennis match. One of the constants since he hired Danny four years ago to come work on his cattle ranch was the back and forth between his son and the young man who had come to be a second son. He waited for them to finish, but his patience wore thin.

  He spoke in a calm, almost bored, voice. “The next one of you that speaks is going to get shot in the face.”

  Both the younger men were silent for a few beats, then Danny spoke up. “You know Will, that’s why you will never be a great leader. A great leader wouldn’t settle a disagreement by threatening to shoot people for disagreeing.”

  “Danny. Look at my face.”

  Danny looked up at Will; he wore a ferocious frown, his eyes a pair of black embers that bore into Danny’s, transmitting a promise of horrible violence.

  “Come on Coy. Let’s go get some water.”

  The duo scurried away and Will smiled to himself. Danny verbally abusing and flustering Coy until Will threatened them both was a common occurrence back on the ranch. There had been little playful banter over the last eight months. It was a good sign that the boys were relaxed enough to return to their old routines.

  At least somebody’s relaxed, Will thought. It must be nice.

  Mark

  * * *

  Will watched for a moment as they headed for the tunnel and the bottled water stored inside. He wasn’t alone for a minute before he heard a pair of boots clocking on the quarry floor. He looked back and saw Mark Renner walking toward him.

  He’d met with Mark twice since Will’s group showed up at the quarry the day before. Both times, the man struck him as a self-aggrandizing bully. His words had been friendly enough, but he spoke them with a certain tone- one that said ‘I’m a much better man than you but I’m classy enough to hide that fact -almost.’ Mark kept his hair in a buzz-cut and his facial hair meticulous, almost a year into the zombie apocalypse. He either had a dry cleaner tucked away in one of the tunnels or an unlimited supply of new shirts that he only wore a few times- they were always fresh, stiff and clean. Today he was bare-headed; the other times they’d met, he’d worn a baseball cap with a pair of wrap-around sunglasses resting on the bill.

  Will had him pegged as the guy who, in the old world, would beat a man down outside a bar- but only after he’d observed the crowd and picked out a victim who didn’t look like he could handle himself.

  He approached Will the same way every time- hand extended, a big, fake grin plastered on his face. The world’s smarmiest used car salesman. “Will Crandall! How the hell are ya!”

  Will gave him a quick shake. “I’m doing well, Mark.”

  “Glad to hear it. Are you guys getting settled in?”

  “We’re in the tunnel you assigned us to- thanks again for that. It’s nice to have a place to rest and relax a bit, but we can’t get settled in when you folks are sending us down the road in a week.”

  Mark nodded his head in sympathy. “That’s why I wanted to talk with you. The Judge thought about it and he has some doubts.”

  Will’s heart jumped in his chest and he pretended t
he top of the bluff fascinated him; he didn’t want Mark to see his face in case it showed his excitement. “What doubts is he having?” he asked in a level voice.

  “What doubts- you old dog.” Mark played like he was throwing a hook to Will’s midsection. “Don’t shit a shitter, Will. You know what kind of doubts. He’s wondering if it would be a bad decision to not let your entire group stay.”

  Will nodded but didn’t trust his voice enough to reply.

  “Note I said The Judge is wondering if it would be a bad decision,” Mark continued. “I think letting you all stay would be a terrible decision. Your group is too big, Will. It could upset the balance of power we have down here. A group that big might think they should take over.”

  “Nobody with me wants to take over. We just want…”

  “A safe place for your families,” Mark spoke over him in a sardonic tone. “Yeah, yeah. So you keep saying. But I’m having a hard time buying it.”

  Will worked to suppress a flash of anger at the interruption and its tone. Now wasn’t the to time take The Judge’s number two man and knock his dick in the dirt. Soon. But not now. He took a deep breath and rubbed the top of his head until he trusted himself to speak. He gave Mark a level look and held it for two beats before speaking. “You know, if there’s a fear that my seventeen have the ability to take control of this place over your hundred, you ought to tamp down a bit on the disrespect.”

  Mark’s grin never faltered during Will’s veiled threat. Now it got even bigger. “Perfect. That’s exactly how I’d react.”

  “Do you always talk in riddles?”

  “Mostly. So, back to what I was saying. The Judge wants you to come down tonight and bring your people with you. We’ll have our whole group together and we can have a little mingle, let everyone get to know one another. We’ve got cupcakes and Kool-Aid. It’ll be a blast. After that you and your idea man- what’s his name, the Hungarian guy?”

  “Jiri. Jiri Horsky. And he’s a Czech.”

  “My apologies. Anyway, you and your Czechoslovakian idea man can sit down with The Judge, me, and a couple of others. Make your case for keeping all of you on.”

  “That sounds great,” Will said, and he meant it. “My people would love the chance to get to know yours, and I appreciate the opportunity to convince you this can work.”

  “I knew you would. It’s a date. Come on down at seven.”

  He walked a few paces away, then spun back around and pointed at Will. “Oh, and bring chips if you’ve got them. It’s not a party without potato chips.” He flashed Will the peace sign and turned away before he could speak.

  Will’s lip curled into a sneer as he watched the man depart. When he was a good distance off, Coy and Danny returned.

  “Man, I didn’t think he would ever leave,” Danny said. “What did he want?”

  “Put on your go-to-town clothes, boys,” Will answered. “We’re going to a party.”

  The pair waited for more information, puzzled looks on their faces. “Don’t worry about it for now. In fact, go see if that creeper’s head needs spiked.” Danny looked at Coy and shrugged, and they headed off across the quarry basin.

  Never assuming the dead could no longer bite unless you gave them or saw them get a brain injury was a lesson hard learned. One time near Fort Scott he saw a man behead a creeper with a large broadsword. The guy had picked the head up by the hair and held it aloft in triumph. He held the sword in the air with his other hand and let his arms get too close together. Quick as a snake, the disembodied head clamped its teeth onto his forearm. He screamed and tried to pry the thing off his arm but it held on like a snapping turtle with a stick in its mouth. Someone from his group found the presence of mind to secure the dangling head and drive a knife through its ear. Its teeth unclenched and it splattered on the ground like an overripe melon; a chunk of the man’s arm landed beside it. The now-infected man walked in a circle, screaming and gaping at his arm with disbelief until another man walked up behind him and shot him in the back of the head. Ever since then, Will admonished his group to make sure to destroy a creeper’s brain even if it wasn’t attached to a body.

  Will stared at Mark’s back until he entered The Other’s tunnel, halfway down the side of the pit. He spoke in a soft voice, even though there was no one around to hear him. “Me and that guy are going to have a problem soon. Real soon.”

  The Quarry

  * * *

  Will sent Danny and Coy to spread the news about the meeting. Standing in the bowels of the limestone quarry reminded him of a trip to Kansas City back when things were normal. He’d sold a couple of Black Angus bulls to a man from the city who had a farm up north of the suburbs. The man, Ned Yotts was his name, owned an event planning company- the premier event planning firm in the city. Ned hit his sixties and decided it was time to slow down, to stop and smell the roses some. He hired a manager to run the event planning business and bought himself an eight-hundred-acre spread north of Kansas City on the Missouri side of the border. He selected a fine set of bulls, stocked his farm with heifers, and waited for the money to roll in.

  He lost money hand over fist.

  Will and Ned met one day at the Kansas City Stockyards when Will was selling a load of cattle and Ned looking to buy the same. Ned got to complaining about the beating he was taking in the cattle business. Will liked the man and gave him pointers over drinks at a local canteen; they exchanged phone numbers and said their goodbyes.

  Three days later Will answered a call from a Missouri number and his eyes widened when he heard Ned’s voice. The novice rancher asked good follow-up questions about their first discussion. It was clear he had given the conversation thought, done his research, and was eager to learn more.

  They talked for two hours, while Danny bitched in the background the whole time- he and Will were working a corral of calves together when the phone rang and the farmhand was not pleased as he labored in the corral by himself. Will hung up the phone, packed a bag and gave Becky a kiss goodbye.

  “You’re in charge,” he told Danny, and then he climbed into his truck and drove off.

  He spent two weeks at Ned’s place. He taught his new student about herd management, artificial insemination, the future’s market, and more. Ned was the beneficiary of the knowledge Will’s Daddy and Grand Daddy passed on to him, plus what Will had learned on his own.

  By way of thanks, Ned pulled whatever event-planning-world strings it took to get Will a solo tour of Kansas City’s Arrowhead Stadium, home of the NFL’s Chiefs and an icon to anyone who lived in the Southern Plains States.

  Ned handed Will a lanyard with a trio of large, square, laminated passes hanging from it. “Now, you’re not getting the thirty dollar group tour. These get you a private, all-access pass to anywhere in the complex. Except for the executive offices and the medical staff offices. Even I don’t get to stomp around in the general manager’s office, or go where they keep the high-powered painkillers.”

  That’s how Will ended up spending several hours wandering through the stadium complex alone for the most part, with no company except an intern who stopped by to check on him from time to time. He made his way to the field and stood on the center of the fifty-yard line, the only soul in the entire stadium. He looked at the upper decks towering above him, and the broad expanse of the playing field from one end to another. The hairs on his arms stood straight and he felt as significant as a flea on an elephant’s ass as he marveled at what man had built.

  He had a similar feeling when he stood on the quarry floor- that he was an inconsequential speck who had better take care less he get walloped by the Gods who had removed the earth and created this pit.

  The quarry was a massive rectangle, about one hundred and fifty yards wide by four hundred yards long. The floor was littered with slabs of limestone. Most of the slabs measured three feet high by four feet long, but some were as big as mid-sized sedans. In places they laid side-by-side and acted as makeshift barriers; they ran a
long the railroad tracks on the far east side of the pit and framed the long road that ran down the hill to the quarry bottom. The bluffs that formed its walls were two hundred and fifty feet high on three sides; the far wall, the eastern one, was only fifty feet. Rows of fir and pine trees planted close together ran across the top of the three high walls, cutting off access to the edge of the bluff; the top of the shorter eastern bluff was bare.

  Semi-truck trailers littered the quarry bottom with no apparent rhyme or reason. Some were lined in even rows of ten or twelve. Others sat alone or in pairs. Their aimless arrangement and the vast size of the bottom combined to make them look like a careless boy’s playthings left indifferently out in the yard.

  A thick layer of fine white dust covered everything that didn’t move. The bluffs protected the bottom from the cold, hard, autumn winds that blew up top. Will imagined that the bottom would seem like an oven in the summer, with the bluffs blocking even a hint of a breeze.

  And then there were the tunnels. Openings twenty feet high and wide enough to allow two semi-trucks to pass side by side were dug into the west and north walls at regular intervals. The openings widened into broad tunnels that bored into the earth for miles. As the miners dug for limestone, they left behind twin rows of broad columns fifty feet around. The columns ran from floor to ceiling and provided support through the length of the shaft. The rows created two wide lanes for truck travel back when there was such a thing as over-the-road trucking. There was so much earth atop the tunnels that temperature inside them was a cool sixty degrees year-round, regardless of the weather outside.

  In the nineties, a logistics company purchased the abandoned quarry for a song and went to work. They removed even more limestone and created immense spaces that they leased out for warehouses and smaller spaces for manufacturing. Jiri showed Will an old brochure he found while exploring the vast tunnels. According to the brochure, the facility offered forty-three million square feet of warehouse space, seventy-nine truck bays, and eleven rail car spots; over seven hundred trucks passed through it each day. It also said the tunnels contained a four-court tennis club, a weight room, a hotel, and three underground lakes brimming with aquatic life.