The Haven Series (Book 2): Haven

by Brian M. Switzer

  “Jesus, Jody. A bit formal isn’t it? Are you going to swear us in?”

  The Judge gave a nervous chuckle and his cheeks reddened. “No. No, of course not.”

  “Good. We appreciate all this,” Will gestured at the setup in front of him, “but we will need to have regular conversations as we go forward. There will be much to discuss. If you need to talk, don’t bother setting up a meeting room. Just come over holler.”

  A smug look passed over Mark’s face for a second- no doubt he counseled The Judge against such an elaborate setup.

  Danny spoke up from Will’s left. “What’s with the recorder?”

  “It’s important that we have a record of our words and actions here,” The Judge said in a pompous tone of voice. “Future generations may one day see us as latter-day forefathers, the men who set this great country back on track. If that’s the case, I find it paramount that there exists a chronicle of what we did.”

  Will looked at a spot on the wall on the other side room- he didn’t trust himself to keep a straight face if he made eye-contact with the Judge. To his left, Danny suffered a paroxysm of coughing. To his right, Jiri grasped the table with both hands hard enough to make his fingertips go white and stared straight ahead.

  And then he made it worse. “That’s a very astute observation, Judge,” the Professor deadpanned.

  Danny’s coughing fit grew worse- he laid his head down and covered his face with his right arm, banging on the tabletop with his left. Will had to dip down and pretend to fiddle with the laces on his boots to hide his grin.

  “For God’s sake, Misty, get the boy some water,” The Judge said, sounding irritated. “He sounds like he’s choking.”

  Misty jumped from her chair and hurried to comply. She wore a white silk blouse cut low to reveal her ample cleavage, a tight black skirt that ended just above her knees and an expensive-looking pair of low-slung heels. As usual, she rounded out her look with too much makeup and a two-toned hairstyle that was equal parts blonde dye job and original black. She looked more suited for a crooked attorney’s office in the old days; he almost wished a mob of creepers would break through the glass walls, just to see her try to run and fight them off in her current attire.

  Misty poured water from the crystal carafe into one of the elegant glasses and handed it to Danny. He gave her a feeble thank you and she returned to her seat. She adjusted her waistline and her cleavage, picked up her pen, and held it over her pad, ready to take down The Great Man’s words for posterity. Danny poured two more glasses of water and passed them to Will and Jiri. Everyone turned to The Judge and waited for him to speak.

  He cleared his throat with a harrumph and beamed out at his audience.

  “I believe I know,” he gave a dramatic pause, “where sizable stores of food sit, just waiting for someone to pick them up.”

  The Judge

  * * *

  The Judge paused again and peered over his glasses with an expectant air. His brow wrinkled and he blinked his eyes with confusion when no one responded. Will guessed he was unaware Mark had already told them the meeting involved a food source. “You don’t seem too excited,” he half-mumbled. He sighed and continued. “Anyway. The Carthage square is two miles south of here and another half-mile to the east. At the center of the square sits the Jasper County Courthouse. Businesses line the streets around the courthouse on all four sides. Antique stores, second-hand shops, insurance agents, what have you. These businesses are in buildings that are over a hundred years old.

  “Let’s say you are a gunsmith back then, and you want to open your own business. You purchase an empty lot on the square and commence construction. It was commonplace, in that time, to put up a two-story structure. The ground floor housed your business, and you lived above it, on the second floor. So, almost all the buildings on the square have two stories.

  “As time went by, people came to want a home and a yard, not four or five rooms above their place of business. So they moved out into a neighborhood, but now their building has a vacant second floor. Some merchants rented the second story out as an apartment, and some used it for storage, but most were just left empty.

  “Now, fast forward a century. The town has outgrown the existing city hall and it’s time for a new one. There is a vacant lot on the east side of the square, the result of a fire twenty-years prior. Everyone agrees it’s the perfect place to build the new hall. All that remains is a decision about what the structure will look like. There are two opposing plans drawn up. Both have their supporters and their detractors. Everybody picks a side, and it’s a brand new civil war.

  “A local historian, Marvin Sullivan, led a sizable contingent that believed the new city hall should honor the town’s heritage and reflect its historic Victorian architecture- a grand building with multiple levels built of limestone, gables, arches, columns- the works. The town’s merchant class found that absurd. They wanted a simple affair with some offices and a flag out front, built on a small budget.

  “The battle raged for months in coffee shops, the country club, and the newspaper. Finally, the mayor and the presiding county commissioner appointed a committee made up of three representatives from each side. They put the committee in a room, placed two policemen outside, and ordered the policemen to shoot any member who tried to leave before they came to an agreement.

  “As is the case with any good compromise, the agreement they came up with left everyone unhappy. The committee determined the city should build a red brick city hall with an arched entryway and an intricate cornice across the top. They added decorative limestone exterior columns to contrast with the brick and — and this is the important part — decreed that the building be two stories tall, to conform with the rest of the structures around the square.”

  The Judge took a drink of water; Will almost took advantage of the pause to ask him the point of all this. While someone else might find the history lesson interesting, Danny fidgeted with boredom beside him, and there was work waiting elsewhere. After a brief interior struggled he stayed civil and waited and see where the old man went.

  “They finished city hall in 1991. A decade passes. Bin Laden attacks the Twin Towers. People everywhere are scared. The council decides if a major attack occurs in the Midwest the town’s food supply could be cut off. And the town has a city hall with a tremendous amount of vacant space, because it is two stories tall and one story is all they need.”

  Will had been doodling on the pad in front of him. He dropped his pen, sat up straight, and listened with new interest.

  “The city emptied two rooms on the second floor and filled it with barrels of dry goods. I understand they have rice, beans, flour, of course, pasta, oats, tuna, cheese, and more.

  “Now, it is important that you understand- I wasn’t involved in the decision-making process and I have never seen these rooms. But I heard tale of them many times, sometimes from people in the know. And there were odd items in the city budget in the fall of 2001 and winter of ‘02. Twenty-five hundred dollars one week, four thousand two weeks later- all out of the rainy day fund and all rather vague about what the money purchased. If the town had a watchdog press, I’m sure the council would have had some explaining to do, but no one pushed them too hard on it.

  “So, bottom line. I believe an enormous supply of foodstuffs is sitting on the second floor of city hall, waiting for someone to come and claim it.”

  A tiny smile curled the corners of The Judge’s mouth. He was finally getting the stunned silence and incredulous looks he had hoped for.

  Agreement

  * * *

  Three hours later Will and Mark stood side-by-side outside tunnel eight. They stood with their arms crossed over their chests, looking out across the quarry.

  Will wore a quizzical expression. “What was that shit at the beginning? The founding fathers nonsense.”

  Mark snorted. “Can you believe it? I get that every day now. He started right after you showed us that horrible scene at t
he underground lake. Right up to then, his mantra was the government will be here to save us any day. The next thing you know he’s Alexander Hamilton, busy giving birth to a nation.”

  “That has to be challenging.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. Some days the only thing that keeps me from packing my stuff and moving in with you guys is imagining the trouble he’d get into without me around to hold his hand.” He paused and kicked at a rock on the ground. “Well, that and the fact I’ve done a good job of alienating most of the folks in your group.”

  Will gave a hearty laugh and clapped him on the back. He’d had little use for Mark until a few hours ago, but his opinion shifted a little during the meeting.

  Later, as Will and his lieutenants walked to their tunnel in the quarry’s inky darkness, he relived the get-together. It took two loud and raucous hours, but in the end, there was a consensus. They would send three men on horseback to the city hall. If they found the stockpile of food the trio was to record what kind and how much, but bring nothing back. At that point they would meet again to determine whether to go back, and if so, how.

  Will had held out the longest, and he still had grave reservations about the trip. It violated one of the central tenants he lived by since fleeing his ranch- don’t go into towns, because towns are infested with the dead.

  He stood, red-faced red with anger and frustration. “What was the population of Carthage before the outbreak?”

  To his credit, The Judge was calm and collected. High-powered negotiations had been part of his day-to-day for most of his life. He leaned back in his seat, twirling an ink pen with his index fingers as they talked. “Around ten-thousand.”

  “Great. So at least nine-thousand creepers are wandering around town.”

  “We don’t know that with any certainty. We don’t know how many people got out, we don’t know how many were killed by other means or killed themselves, we don’t know how many were slaughtered to the point where they couldn’t turn. You can’t simply take the pre-outbreak population in an area, cut it in half, and say the extrapolation is the new number of walking dead.”

  Will gave a bitter laugh. “You’re making my point for me, Jody. You are advocating that we send people into a place about which we have zero knowledge. Maybe we can talk about going in a year. We’ll have had time to scout and get the lay of the land. Then, when we have an idea of what we’re up against, we re-examine sending a team to hunt for your rumored food stash.

  “And hell,” he pivoted, “it’s not just that we will be sending people in blind. We don’t need to send them at all. If we were starving, there might be an argument to for going. But we’re not starving. Hell, we don’t even know if the food is there.”

  The Judge’s spoke in a tranquil tone. “That’s why we’re just going to check and see.”

  And so they argued, back and forth.

  Jiri folded first. “I’m in charge of the food supply. If a huge cache of it is sitting two miles away, it’s my responsibility. I’ll go.”

  And then Danny spoke. “I’m not sure this is a good idea, but if we send people to a place where they will have to fight creepers, they’re gonna need me with them. And Jiri will need me to babysit him. So I’m in.”

  Mark surprised the rest of the group. “If we do this, and it looks like we are, I don’t think it’s either fair or a good visual for Will’s people to take all the risk. And it makes sense that someone from Carthage go. I know every street in town and every building on the square. So I’ll go with Jiri and Danny.”

  That decided it. Will was stubborn and headstrong but he knew when he was beat. As soon as it was obvious that the trip would take place he shifted to how best to ensure that the team returned. He suggested they go on horseback. A horse could go places a truck couldn’t, and do so much quieter. Also, an hour before they set off, a second team would create a diversion to pull any creepers in the area out of their path.

  The plan was laid. And no matter how he felt about it, from this point on Will’s job was clear. Do everything in his power to bring his men back.

  Readying

  * * *

  A mixture of people from both groups milled around the trio as final preparations for the trip into Carthage. The morning was raw and cold, and snow spit from a slate gray sky above the quarry. The Hendrickson sisters had selected the three horses they thought best, two mares and the gelding. They fussed over them and whispered goodbyes as the horses nuzzled the girls and nickered their affection. They adjusted the saddles repeatedly, secured the cinches and checked and rechecked the bridles and straps.

  The icy air burned the inside of Will’s nose. He examined the team’s weapons and ammunition and made sure they had a plenty of magazines. Each rider was carrying a rifle and a pair of handguns; he and Jiri had been up late the night before, cleaning and oiling the firearms. Their vests pockets held a dozen thirty-round magazines for the rifles and eighteen fifteen-round mags for the hand-held M9s.

  A short distance away Cassandro, Joe Ashton, and Tara geared up for a mission of their own. They were to drive a truck north almost a mile to 71 highway and follow it as it ran west half a mile and then curved south. A little over a mile to the south the highway crossed over Central Avenue on the western edge of Carthage. That overpass was their target. Their instructions were to cross the overpass back-and-forth, firing guns, honking the truck’s horn, and generally make as much of a ruckus as they could. They would keep that up for twenty minutes, or until the creepers threatened to overrun them. When it was time to leave they would take a long, circuitous route through the country to ensure they didn’t lead any of the dead back to the quarry.

  Will stood face-to-face with Danny, checking the contents of each pouch on Danny’s vest. “It’s colder than a polar bear’s nutsack out here,” Will said. “Maybe you guys should hold off until it’s warmer.”

  “If you keep feeling me up like that, you’re going to have to buy me dinner and take me to a movie. And it will be cold for three more months. Might as well get this done.”

  “There’s no reason to hurry. We can put this off.”

  “It’s decided, boss.”

  Will nodded; it was indeed decided. “Remember- avoid and evade the creepers for as long as you can, and if you need to put them down, use your knife. The longer you go without firing a weapon they better off you’ll be. Once you shoot, you’re gonna draw crowd.”

  “I know, Will,” Danny said with a gentle smile. “I’ll be fine. You taught me well; I’ll make it back.”

  He walked Danny to the horses; Jiri and Mark waited, reins in hand. Will gave them a solemn look. “Nothing is more important than all three of you making it back here. I’m serious- if it gets hairy you turn around and get back. You three are way more important than seeing what’s in that building.” He shook Mark’s hand and embraced Danny for a moment in a stiff and awkward man-hug, then did the same with Jiri.

  The small crowd gathered around to see them off. Nobody said goodbye or good luck; instead, they wished the three well, told them to be safe, or promised to see them later.

  Everyone had said their peace. The trio each gave a last wave, pulled their balaclavas (from the army base haul) down over their faces for warmth and walked their horses toward the road up and out of the quarry. To keep the horses fresh, the men would lead them to the outskirts of town, or as close to the outskirts as they could get before the dead took notice of them.

  They had made it to the base of the hill when The Judge appeared beside Will. He was wearing an absurd Russian Ushank with the fur flaps pulled down over his ears and tied tight under his chin. Since the weather had turned icy-cold ten days ago he hadn’t ventured out much, seeming to prefer the relative warmth of the sixty-two-degree tunnels.

  “They’ll be fine,” The Judge said in a confident tone of voice. “We’ll see them back before lunch.”

  “You’d better hope so. This place ain’t gonna make it without them.”

&n
bsp; Jax

  * * *

  It was a little past noon and in tunnel three Will’s team was putting the finishing touches on a cold lunch. There had been little activity that morning. Except for the guard teams on the towers, everyone stayed in their respective tunnels, and inside the tunnels, most people kept to their selves. Will had the arms of his Carhartts tied around his waist and sat with his back to the tunnel wall. He was cutting pieces of jerky off a bigger hunk of meat with his combat knife, which doubled as a fork. The spot where he sat had an unobstructed view of where the road met the quarry bottom. He chewed his jerky morosely and watched for Danny and Jiri to return. He rubbed his cheeks and felt the rough stubble of his three-day beard. Shaving it crossed his mind, but he decided there was probably no royalty dropping by that day and rejected the thought. He considered looking for his wife and son. They were avoiding him and a possible run-in with his temper, though, so he set that idea aside, too.

  He stared at the road with his arms crossed over his chest, thinking about nothing at all, when a single horse galloped down the hill. Will’s mouth hung open as it ran past the tunnel and out of his line of sight. A Ford Ranger that they kept at the guard tower next to the entrance careened by moments later. Will ran out to the bracing cold of the quarry floor. He looked to his left and saw the horse had pulled up at the corral three tunnels down. He ran in that direction.

  It was the mare that Jiri had led up the hill earlier. Will looked at the guard on duty who’d driven after it. The man spread his hands before him and raised his shoulders. “I don’t know, Sir. She came up the hill in a trot, alone and without a rider. When she got close to the gate she broke into a full run, jumped it, and ran all the way down the road.”