The Haven Series (Book 2): Haven

by Brian M. Switzer

  They settled into a comfortable silence as they walked up the long hill. A dual set of train tracks ran parallel to the road on their right, and far to the side in both directions laid the detritus of a hundred years of mining. In the starlight he could see the silhouettes of huge limestone blocks, some the size of cars, all worked into perfect squares or rectangles by the stone cutters that used to walk this road. As the road curved toward the entrance, the hill became steeper and the quarry walls on each side grew closer and shorter. The night sky was a cowl pricked by a billion pins of starlight and a full moon sat low on the eastern horizon. The bluffs surrounding the basin acted as a windbreak, protecting the bottom from the bitter cold. They pulled their coats tighter and adjusted their gloves as the quarry walls receded.

  Jiri cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you one thing not on Will’s to-do list that needs attending to.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The food situation here.”

  Danny frowned and tilted his head. “What food situation? We’re setting up camp in warehouse central- food is everywhere. It’s the first time in seven months we don’t have to worry about where next week’s meals are coming from.”

  “That’s the point. There’s too much, and it’s all the wrong kind.”

  Danny blew out a breath. “As usual, professor, I’m not following you.”

  Jiri stopped walking and pointed around the quarry in a big circle. “What’s in the tunnel? And that one? How about that one?”

  Danny shrugged.

  “I don’t know either, and The Originals have been here for eight months and haven’t bothered to inventory what’s in the tunnels or the warehouses. Somewhere, the company that owned this place should have a schematic that tells me what items are in which tunnels. Otherwise, I’ll need to put a team together to get a definitive list of how much of what is where. Not just food, but how much bottled water is there? How many rolls of toilet paper and how many batteries?”

  “Why? Why not just get what you want when you want it? It’s not like we’re going to run out.”

  “Oh, but we are, buddy. It’ll run out much faster than you think.”

  Danny raised his eyebrows.

  “That’s just one reason we need an inventory. Once we know how much food is in all the tunnels and warehouses, we have to put it in a centralized place and control what goes out.”

  Danny laughed. “Come on, man. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Simple. Eight months ago Jody, Cyrus, and eight other people lived down there. Two days ago there were 106 people, and we make 123. In two months there will be two hundred. That many people can work their way through a truckload of applesauce quicker than you’d imagine.

  “And I’ll tell you something else; did you see the way Cyrus inhaled those cookies tonight?”

  Danny nodded he had.

  “What if Cyrus decides he wants all the cookies in the place for himself? What keeps him from gathering them all up and hiding them way back in one of the tunnels?”

  Danny stared at him, his eyes growing wide as he realized the weight of Juri’s words.

  Jiri nodded his head. “Things like that will get more common as the population increases. It’s human nature. A guy hides a supply of beef jerky so he doesn’t go hungry if the food supply runs low.

  “Lastly, in a few days, you will be itching to get out and do some scouting and foraging, right?”

  “Yeah, I can see getting bored fast here. If they won’t let us reinforce the place I might as well be out seeing what there is to see and grabbing what there is to grab.” He shivered as a wind gust bit at him with sharp, icy teeth. “Hey, let’s walk. I’m getting cold standing here.”

  “Do you want to go all the way to the entrance?”

  “Sure. Finish what you were talking about with the scouting.”

  “Okay. Let’s say you’re out there and you see something valuable. A rack of winter coats or a couple of cases of bourbon.”

  Danny chuckled at the thought of finding a case of Pappy Van Winkle tucked away in a corner of some garage.

  “Something you think we need so badly that you lose a team member going after it. For instance, say you see a display of nice, warm, Gortex coats in a sporting goods shop. There’s forty of them, and you know we can really use them. You break in and grab them, and a creeper bites a team member in the process. As bad as that would be, how are you going to feel if you get back here and find a warehouse half full of coats in tunnel six. So your guy got bit for no good reason at all.”

  Danny grimaced “Oh man. I’d never thought about that. But you’re right. It’s kind of useless to scavenge if you don’t know what you already have.”

  They reached the top of the incline. A smattering of hedges and thick pines grew on both sides of the wide road. Up top, they were exposed to the hard north wind. It chilled their bones and created a steady whisper of shaking pine boughs and rustling leaves. The entrance gate and the guard shacks on either side of the road were ghostly outlines in the murky night air. Lantern light should have illuminated the shack windows. Instead, the interiors were dark and the windows couldn’t be seen.

  Jiri squinted at the shacks. “Is there anybody guarding the gate?”

  “Where else would the fuckers be?” Danny looked around. His nervous system was signaling to him that something was awry but he couldn’t place the danger.

  The rustle of footsteps in the trees to their right stopped them in their tracks. They turned toward the trees just as three creepers broke from the tree line. The trio shuffled toward them, snarling. Danny couldn’t make out their details by the moonlight, only that one towered over the others and another must have been a child of eight or nine when it turned.

  “Come on then.” Danny pulled a Bowie knife from a sheath on his side. He looked up at Jiri, who had six inches on him. “You take the tall one. I’ve got the other two.”

  Jiri peeled off to his left, drawing the tall creeper with him. Danny stood motionless until the other two were almost upon him, mewling and reaching for him with hungry eagerness.

  He learned early on that using its innate clumsiness against them was the best way to put the dead down. Just before the smaller creeper made contact, Danny darted around and came at it from the side. Before they could turn to face him, his leg lashed out and he planted the heel of his boot on the short one’s side. The creeper weighed fifty pounds, tops- it had no substance to it at all. It flew across the road, banging its head hard on the pavement and landing in a heap. Danny darted to the side again, putting himself behind the other one, who just now turned to where he had been a moment ago. He brought the knife around in a vicious arc, striking the still-turning creeper in the side of its head, near the top.

  Another lesson learned early was that driving a knife through a skull was no easy task. An uncertain or wavering strike would glance off the hard bone, as likely to end up in the knife owner’s thigh or stomach as anywhere else. And a strike without enough force behind it would penetrate the skull but not the brain. When that happened it was likely to lodge there, leaving the fighter unarmed and the creeper none the worse for wear. It was best when using a knife to go in through an ear or an eye, or up underneath the chin. But Danny had made that knife-strike hundreds, if not thousands, of times for real and tens of thousands more in practice. A fine red mist sprayed from the hole in the top of the creepers head and a gelatinous fluid, black in the moonlight, bubbled up after the blood. The creeper fell, motionless.

  Two quick steps put him atop the child-turned-creeper as it struggled to get back on its feet. In the early weeks of the outbreak, Danny felt terrible pangs of guilt when he put down creepers that turned when they were children. By now, though, the little ones were just more mindless monstrosities and reminders that he lived one slip-up away from the unimaginable horror of a bite.

  The creeper rolling back and forth on its stomach as it attempted to right itself. Danny pinned it to the ground with a f
oot between its shoulder blades. He grabbed a handful of hair and pulled its head back as far as it would go. The creeper snapped its jaws shut with enough force to shred its lips and break off pieces of teeth. It snarled at him in a pitiful imitation of its bigger cousins. This time Danny’s knife swung in a short, brutal strike that went through the creeper’s ear and pierced its brain. It stiffened for a millisecond, then laid still.

  He sensed a figure approaching from his rear and whirled to face it, relaxing when he saw Jiri.

  The professor inspected him. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure. You?”

  “Yeah, no problems.” They turned a full circle to make sure no more creepers approached.

  The adrenaline rush from the brief battle dissipated, replaced by bewildered anger. “Those simple mother-fuckers,” Danny said, his tone filled with wonder. “They left the gate unguarded so they could all go to the little jamboree.”

  Jiri took the high ground. “We don’t know what happened.” His tone of voice said he knew that’s exactly what happened.

  “Will is gonna lose his mind. You stay here and guard the gate. I’ll find him and tell him they left it unprotected and creepers got in. On the way down I’ll try to think of a way of telling him that doesn’t end with him killing somebody.”

  Will on the Warpath

  * * *

  The Judge lived inside tunnel number three. Number three burrowed into the limestone on the West side of the quarry, near the back. Eighteen people called it home, in a series of little apartments built alongside the wall. They’d collected cubicle panels from the offices in the factories and warehouses throughout the facility and built little living quarters with them. The five-foot-tall, fabric-lined, interlocking rectangles were flexible and easy to maneuver. The Originals placed the panels side-by-side to separate one living quarter from the next, like the walls of an apartment building. The living quarters were tiny, the size of efficiency apartments. The Panels also defined the space within the living areas, separating a bedroom from a tiny sitting room from an even tinier dining area. They did what they could for furniture, using office chairs as easy chairs, stacks of plastic soda cases as tables, and whatever soft material they could find for their beds. The Originals often commented how much the inside of their new homes resembled their college dorm room or first apartment. The Judge’s apartment was the largest, and the farthest from the entrance.

  That setup was why seventeen people either saw or heard Will storm down the center of the tunnel. His footfalls echoed in the enclosed space as he strode through. He carried his pistol, barrel pointed down, in one big hand. The legs of his jeans were tucked inside a pair of muck boots and he wore a thick flannel shirt under his camo jacket. His eyes blazed and his mouth was a short, angry gash under his thick mustache. Danny walked beside him, glancing about nervously. If things broke bad, the fewer the witnesses the better. And the noise they made as they walked, not to mention the gun in Will’s hand, drew a lot of attention.

  “Don’t think I’m missing the irony of this situation, Boss,” Danny said, speaking fast. Forced almost to trot to keep up with Will’s long strides, he took quick glances at the older man’s face. “I’m usually the one that goes off half-cocked and you advise me to slow down and think before I act.” His gaze darted to Will’s face; it remained unchanged.

  Danny swallowed, his throat making an audible click. The last apartment was coming up fast. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, stepped in front of Will and stood there. “Will. Stop!”

  Will bumped him but he held his ground, and they stood face to face. Will looked down at him. His eyes were sunken embers and his face black with fury. It scared the bejesus out of Danny.

  He swallowed again and met Will’s stare. “Come on, man. If you go Defcon One on our second night here, there will be no coming back from it. We’ll have to just take over. I know you’re mad. Shit, I’m mad. They fucked up. But coming down here with your guns drawn is not the way to address it. Talk to these folks. They haven’t been out there. They don’t understand.” A small group of Originals watched but kept their distance.

  “You done?” Will asked, still expressionless.

  “Yes sir.”

  Will pushed him aside with his non-gun hand and he stumbling backward. “Then get my back or get the hell out of here. Either way, shut up.”

  Danny stood himself straight and squared his shoulders. He stared hard at the Originals, who continued to keep a healthy distance away.

  “Why is he carrying a gun?” one of them asked.

  In a hurry to catch up with Will, Danny didn’t bother to answer.

  Confrontation

  * * *

  Will stood in front of a large strip of opaque vinyl sheeting that served as the door to The Judge’s apartment and rapped hard on the aluminum cubicle frame. He had existed in a murderous red fog since Danny told him about the unguarded gate. All the time and effort it took to get here, and the lives lost on the way, just to have his group and his family placed at risk by the stupidest of actions. He strode across the quarry with one intention- to inform the Originals that they had no idea how to keep people safe in this world, and he was taking over. They didn’t have to like it, but they had to accept it.

  He knocked on the frame again and waited, resisting the urge to rip the sheeting aside and wade right into the apartment. That The Judge was a heavy sleeper probably prevented violence that night. While Will waited after knocking the second time, a sliver of rational thought crept through the fog and he holstered his gun. He knocked again and took two steps back, then turned to Danny and nodded, letting the younger man know he was alright.

  After the third knock, a tousled and gummy-eyed Judge pulled the vinyl aside. His eyebrows pulled together when he saw Will and Danny, and a small group of his Originals at a distance behind them. “What is it, William? Is everything all right?” Even when pulled out of a deep sleep in the small hours of the morning, he spoke in a rich, rolling baritone, as if addressing a wayward attorney is his courtroom.

  “No Jody, everything is not all right. We need to talk.”

  The Judge reached into the folds of his robe and pulled out a pocket watch. “What in the world is so important that we have to talk about it at nearly” — he squinted at the watch — “two in the morning? Unless someone died or has been mortally injured, this can wait until tomorrow.”

  “Nope. Your people left the entrance unguarded during the meeting and creepers got in.”

  The judge blanched and grasped the cubicle frame for support. “Good Lord. How many?” His eyes grew wide and his face paled. “Was anyone bitten?”

  “I don’t know how many made it in and no, I don’t think they attacked anyone. Two of my guys walked up to the gate and found inside the facility. My guys put those three down, but there may be others that got in, too. We have to search the entire quarry.”

  “Of course, of course,” The Judge nodded his head so hard Will thought he might fall over. It would be funny under different circumstances. He peered at the tight bunch of Originals, who’d grown in number and edged closer to the action since The Judge had appeared. “Misty, could you come here please, dear,” he called out.

  A blond woman emerged from the cluster of people and approached. Will’s eyes widened; Danny covered his mouth with one hand and elbowed him in the ribs. She was probably in her early forties and seemed determined not to let the end of the world affect her style. Short and stout, she wore a short skirt and a blouse two sizes too small. Black roots grew under her dye job, giving her hair a two-tone effect. It was the middle of the night, but she put on lipstick, bright red and much too thick, before venturing out to see about the commotion. How did I miss her at the meet and greet? Will marveled to himself.

  “What is it, Judge?” Misty asked in a deep and gravelly voice that belied twenty years of too much bourbon and too many Marlboro Menthol Lights.

  “Misty, would you be a great help? Mark is spending
the evening with Stephanie. Wake him and alert him to the fact that his presence is requested post haste. Make sure he knows it’s dire and that time is of the essence.”

  Misty hurried away without a word, and The Judge turned his attention back to Will and Danny. “Come in, fellows, come in. Let’s straighten out this mess.” He stepped aside and gestured them in.

  The fellows shared a look and stepped inside.

  Coy

  * * *

  “Good girl Sally. Loose!” Coy let his blond golden retriever off her leash and she bounded gleefully into the number seven tunnel.

  His Dad and The Judge had argued for an hour over the best way to search for any other creepers that snuck in after the boneheads left the gate unguarded. They settled on dividing the quarry into eight quadrants and using a different team to clear each one. Since Sally could cover ground faster and better than any four people, and because his Dad knew he preferred to work alone, he teamed the pair up and assigned them the northeast section.

  Coy found Sally and her pup in a barn somewhere east of Lebanon, Missouri during their harrowing journey from the Army base to The Underground. A torrential autumn thunderstorm drove his group to seek cover in an old abandoned barn. He discovered a dirty and flea-ridden momma dog and her sole surviving puppy inside. The bitch backed herself into a corner and stood over the pup with her legs splayed, growling and baring her teeth. Both dogs looked near starvation. Coy had a way with animals, and thirty minutes later mother and son would eat from his hand and had fallen asleep at his feet. He named the momma Sally and the puppy Stebbins and worked with both of them for hours every evening as the group trekked West.

  He was relaxed as he roamed through the tunnel with his rifle slung over his shoulder. Sally hated the dead more than humans did. ‘Loose’ was his dog-speak for ‘root those smelly fuckers out’; if she got even a whiff a creeper her volley of barks would be all the warning he needed.