Hell's Children: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller

by John L. Monk

  Tony sighed, visibly relieved. “Sorry for hitting you, man. Real sorry.” He looked at Jack. “Can I have my gun back?”

  “No, you can’t. Tomorrow, you and Pete are going to get trained. Your gun safety sucks, and Pete needs to be able to defend himself from bullies. I would have liked to see about bagging a deer in the morning, but this is more important. Dismissed.” When the two boys just stood there staring at him, he added, “That means get the hell out.”

  Nodding as one, they beat a hasty exit.

  Jack went over to the door, locked it, then dropped down into a chair and exhaled loudly. He noted his heart was racing, and wondered if either of them had seen the tremor in his hands. Being a homeschooler didn’t give him many opportunities for tense confrontations, armed or not. He wondered if he could have handled it differently.

  Probably, he thought.

  Still, he didn’t think he’d done too badly. Nobody had died, and if it kept Tony from hitting people, and Pete from getting hit, that was a win.

  Probably, he thought again, and went out to inspect the results from the scavenging expedition.

  In addition to about ten different watches and rolls of toilet paper, the two boys had returned with an assortment of picks, shovels, and axes. They’d also brought back several buckets, which Olivia set in a row outside the Skyline’s front door. She told each child the rules: use the bucket and then leave it there for the next person. Every morning, a leader would take it and dispose of it.

  Because of the lateness of the hour, Jack and Brad held off on any digging.

  “I suppose we should think about building an outhouse,” Jack said to him. “Unless you feel like dragging kiddie poop back and forth every day.”

  Brad made a face. “Is there more to outhouses than just digging a hole and putting a little house on top?”

  “I’m sure there is. Just like everything else.”

  Before Jack had ever fired a handgun, his parents made him take a class on gun safety. They’d attended it with him, even though they were both trained already. That had been an early first lesson for him: “You’re never too smart to learn more about safety.”

  Jack told Pete and Tony to meet him in the field behind the cabins, then found Olivia and took her aside.

  “How you feeling these days?” he said cautiously.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Before we came here, you were sort of …”

  “Suicidal?” She shrugged, then smiled. “Maybe I was and maybe I wasn’t. I don’t know. I try not to think of my parents with people around because I get all leaky.” As if proving a point, she wiped her eyes and laughed. “I’m okay. Knowing the children need me helps.”

  He told her how he wanted everyone old enough to carry a gun armed and trained in their use.

  “That’d be cool, actually,” she said. “I used to love action movies. But I’m not going to kill myself, Jack. Like you said—if I wanted to, I could have done it a hundred ways.”

  He nodded, patted her uncomfortably on the shoulder, and said, “Well good. That’s just good.”

  He led her to where the others were waiting.

  Thinking back to his safety course, he tried for the same air of competency the instructor had filled the room with that day.

  “I’m going to be repeating myself a lot,” Jack said, “because when it comes to safety, everything bears repeating. You’ll be sick of it before we’re done, and then you’ll get to repeat it all back to me. If I’ve done my job properly, you’ll probably mumble it in your sleep, too.”

  The basic rules for handling weapons were simple, and he wrote them out with a dry-erase marker on a whiteboard snagged from the sales trailer:

  1) Finger off the trigger until ready to fire.

  2) Never hand someone a gun. Put it down and let them pick it up.

  3) Muzzle pointed in a safe direction at all times.

  4) Treat every firearm as loaded.

  5) Before handling a gun, understand how it works.

  6) The safety switch is NOT to be relied upon.

  7) Never goof off when handling weapons.

  8) Address unsafe behavior immediately.

  Jack turned to Tony. “Last night, I asked for your gun and you handed it to me, muzzle first. You also didn’t check the chamber to see if it was empty.” He turned to Pete. “I picked up the gun and chambered it, flicked the safety, and put it down. Then I told you to pick it up—someone untrained and obviously uncomfortable with guns, not to mention pissed off at the time. That was dumb of me. Can you think of the second thing I did wrong?”

  The two boys looked at each other and shrugged.

  Jack grinned. “I was pissed off, too.”

  That brought tentative smiles all around.

  “Okay,” Jack said. “Shooting rules.”

  He told them what not to shoot at, glass bottles being high on that list, as well as rocks, buildings, and bushes.

  “And don’t shoot up in the air like they do on TV,” he said. “What goes up must come down.”

  After ensuring they were still listening—they were—he covered the proper care of weapons and ammunition, and demonstrated how to take apart his .40 caliber.

  “Later on,” Jack said, “I’ll show you my cleaning kit, and we’ll sit down together to clean and oil everything. We need more cleaner and gun oil. My kit isn’t big enough for the whole group.”

  As he went on, Olivia peppered him with an endless number of hypothetical questions. Soon Tony, and even Pete, joined in.

  Tony: “What if you have to run with a gun?”

  Jack: “Never run with a gun.”

  Tony: “But what if I’m being chased by a bunch of people?”

  Pete: “If I drop a gun, is it safe to pick up?”

  Jack: “Yes. Pick it up by the grip, finger off the trigger, careful where you point it.”

  Pete: “But don’t they sometimes go off when you drop them?”

  Olivia: “You said we need to sleep near our guns in case we’re attacked. What if someone sleepwalks?”

  Jack: “Do you sleepwalk?”

  She shook her head.

  Eventually they got around to target practice, which everyone was geared up for after talking so long about guns and not using them. Even Pete looked excited.

  Jack had brought a box from the trailer with him. When he asked Pete to set it up against a big rock in the middle of the field, he nodded in appreciation when Pete told him that was too dangerous.

  When Jack handed back Tony’s confiscated pistol, he felt warmed when the boy said, “Check to see if it’s ready to shoot, then put it down. Then I’ll take it.”

  When all the gotchas were out of the way, and after stuffing wads of toilet paper in their ears, they practiced with the various weapons in their arsenal, including Jack’s AR-15. He hated losing the ammunition, but knew there was nothing better than shooting to drive home the training.

  Two minutes into the shooting, Lisa rushed out to round up the children who’d come outside to watch. After thirty minutes of live firing, Jack called a halt.

  To Pete, he said, “You sure you’re a pacifist?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  Jack shook his head, openly impressed. “Because you’re a crack shot with a .40 caliber, that’s why.”

  Pete grinned happily, and everyone laughed. Even Tony.

  16

  In the days following the training, Pete and Tony gained a vigorous interest in shooting. It was pretty much the only thing to do for fun if they didn’t like fishing, which they didn’t. They returned from each outing with a wide assortment of shotguns, hunting rifles, pistols, and several more AR-15s, as well as ammunition. Lots of ammunition, clearly telegraphing their enthusiasm for more target practice.

  “Have you run into anyone yet?” Jack said before their next outing. That was their other mission besides scavenging: report on possible additions to the group, regardless of age.

  Tony said, “Sort of. We
see cars sometimes. They pass us, stare us down so we know they’re not scared. We detour around so they don’t know where we’re going or coming from. Other times, we see houses with smoke, but you said not to mess with those.”

  Jack nodded. He didn’t want them knocking on a door and getting shot through a window. If they found someone outside walking around unarmed, they could go talk to him or her, see how they were doing, ask if they wanted to join.

  “Well, keep looking. Meanwhile, I need you to shift gears a little. See if you can’t find a small pickup truck that doesn’t waste much gas. Nothing too big.”

  “We bring back gas every day,” Pete said.

  Because of their scavenging, the little community now had about fifty gallons of gasoline and thirty of diesel. Their biggest problem wasn’t getting the stuff, it was storing it—most people, even farmers, didn’t keep more than maybe one or two gas cans on hand, so they were always on the lookout for more.

  “I know,” Jack said, “and I appreciate that. But we still need to conserve. Get a truck with two tires up front, two in the back. If it has four in the back, just leave it.”

  They nodded.

  “We gonna bring back something big?” Tony said.

  Jack was concerned about the trench they’d been throwing their waste into. The buckets stank unless promptly washed, and you had to be careful not to slosh any foul water on your hands. Also, he’d caught Greg doing his business behind a tree rather than risk slipping and falling into the trench.

  “Yep,” Jack said. “Wood. Get as much lumber as you can. Two-by-fours, plywood, that kind of thing. Something that’ll work for posts, too. And nails. We have like ten hammers and no nails.”

  Pete’s eyes widened. He covered his mouth and made a series of weird, hiccupping sounds. “You’re building the outhouse!”

  It took Jack a moment, and then he realized: Pete’s laughing.

  He’d never heard the boy laugh before … and yeah, it was strange, him covering his mouth and heaving around like that. But it was a refreshing change from the negativity he’d been displaying since they first met.

  Mandy, who was listening quietly, covered her mouth and giggled.

  Jack winked at her. “Stinky work, but someone’s gotta do it. We’re also building some other things, so make sure you get a lot.”

  Pete did the laugh thing again and shook his head. “We’ll get plenty, don’t worry. I know just the place. Right Tony?”

  Tony glanced at him sideways and smirked. “No doubt.”

  The boys and Mandy got in the car and left, and Jack joined the rest of the group inside the Skyline cabin. Greg, Lisa, and Brad sat talking quietly just outside a ring of children lying down enjoying a rare event: television. Specifically, a DVD with friendly dinosaurs and kids getting along. Olivia sat with them, with a girl on her left named Pamela, a boy name Quinn on her right, and another boy named David next to him. Her little generals. Since taking the job, she’d augmented her power and influence by drafting the three most popular and passing instructions through them. Together, they were able to control even the most unruly behavior through a mix of peer pressure, positive reinforcement, and in the worst cases, the looming threat of being sent to Jack for punishment. For his part, Jack hoped it would never come to that, and didn’t know what he’d do if it did.

  “Hi, Jack,” Brad whispered. He held his little brother, Tyler, rocking him gently while feeding him formula from a bottle. During their first week, the scavengers had managed to secure several more cans of the precious stuff.

  “Heya,” Jack said, then turned to Greg. “You think you can hold the fort?”

  Greg’s tone was confident. “With those new rifles, we should be fine.”

  Brad nodded. “Yep. What I wanna know is, when are we going for a deer?”

  “Hopefully tomorrow,” Jack said. “Provided today goes all right.”

  With winter fast approaching, Jack didn’t want to waste any more time than he had to. They needed to bag as much game as they could, and possibly a cow. Then they needed to preserve the meat somehow. Neither Jack nor the twins, nor anyone else, knew exactly how to do that. They’d heard of smoking meat and salting it, and Jack knew how to turn it into jerky provided he had a gas stove, which he didn’t. But everything else about food preservation was a mystery. A critical gap in his parents’ lessons.

  Lisa said, “I know where two libraries are, but those are back home.”

  “There’s always downtown Front Royal,” Jack said. “Problem is, I’ve never been there, so we need a map. Easy enough.”

  Greg said, “What about GPS? Wouldn’t take long to find one. Then you don’t need a map.”

  Lisa shook her head. “I’m not sure. Doesn’t that need the Internet or something?”

  “To find shops and stuff, maybe,” Greg said. “But the coordinates and all that come from satellites. I bet that part still works.”

  Jack thought about it, but ultimately rejected the idea. “We can’t count on stuff like that. Not for the small amount of benefit we’d get. We’ll always have maps. We need to keep those skills alive, and that means using them. Every town has a library. Just like every town has a school and a fire station. We’ll just drive around until we find one. Honestly, I could use the time away.”

  Greg sighed. “Sort of wish I could go with you two. Guess I’m getting cabin fever. Get it?” He knocked on the exposed log wall. “Because of the cabins?”

  Lisa rolled her eyes. Jack just smiled.

  “I want one of you outside at all times,” he said to Greg and Brad. “You can’t just watch the entrance—you need to watch the perimeter as well. Everything up to the tree line. Anyone who shows up and isn’t alone or at most two people, keep cover and tell them to scram. They reach for a gun—and they will be armed, don’t doubt it—you shoot them and cry about it later. No warnings.”

  His voice had risen a little at the end of his speech, and a couple of the younger children looked back at him curiously.

  “Say it, don’t spray it, buddy,” Greg said. “We got it, man, relax.”

  Jack stood up, chucked Greg on the shoulder, and nodded at Brad. “I know that. Ready, Lisa?”

  Using an old road map plucked from one of the cars, Jack and Lisa left Big Timber, got on the highway, and found the exit for downtown Front Royal not ten miles away.

  Much like Centreville, sporadic roadblocks made traveling by car difficult. Many of the roadblocks had been nudged open, either by adults who’d tried to escape the Sickness, or by kids left behind. Wood smoke streamed from some of the houses they passed, and once or twice they ran into groups of little kids in the streets. Each time, he had to slow to a crawl and ease through because they just stood there staring at them. He wondered what would happen if he roared through without slowing. Would they scatter, or would they let themselves get hit?

  “Jack, do these children seem healthy to you?”

  He looked closely at a group of three throwing a ball. “They’re skinny, but not as bad off as the ones back our way. Someone’s been feeding them.”

  “Maybe we could live here instead of the cabins? Most of the houses have chimneys.”

  It was true—there were a lot of chimneys. The houses were packed close together with tiny yards in-between stretches of stores and other businesses. Everyone in the group could have his or her own house.

  At one point, they passed a group of teenagers in a fast-looking car. Tied to the antenna was a big strip of black and white checkered cloth, like a racing flag. As a precaution, Jack edged his speed up a bit and took a random turn, then another, then another, hoping to put as much distance as possible between them and the other car. There were other cars they passed, each with those little strips tied to the antennas or off the side mirrors if they didn’t have whip antennas. Each time, Jack took evasive measures while trying not to seem desperate or scared. Maybe they weren’t hostile, but he wasn’t willing to bet their lives on it.

  After an
hour of driving around in what seemed like circles, Lisa pointed at a little sign indicating a library somewhere ahead.

  The library was a sprawling red-bricked building with white trim. None of the windows looked broken, and for that Jack was thankful.

  “Samuels Public Library,” Lisa read.

  Jack found a spot out front and parked. When they got out, Lisa pulled her new AR-15 from the back seat and slung it over her shoulder. Jack grabbed his and did the same.

  “You sure you’re comfortable with that?” he said.

  “Yeah,” she said defensively. “You saw me shoot it, didn’t you?”

  He had seen her, during one of their popular target-practicing sessions. But target practicing and remembering how it operated during a tense situation were two different things. Particularly if it jammed.

  Rather than risk irritating her further, he nodded, and they proceeded to the front doors.

  By unsaid agreement, they went in with guns primed and ready to fire, aiming this way and that like a SWAT team. He felt safe and foolish, but it paid to be prepared.

  “Seems clear,” Lisa said.

  “Yeah. So how do you want to do this?”

  Lisa looked around. There was a desk laden with dead computer terminals. Beyond that were shelves of books on either side, stretching to the end of the building. “Hadn’t thought that far. Can’t really look anything up, can we?”

  Jack shook his head. “I think in the old days they used catalogs with index cards. I guess we just sort of walk around looking.”

  Lisa nodded. “I’ll do the stacks on the right. You do the left?”

  “Sure.”

  Jack quickly learned the stacks on the left were mostly biographies, leading into fiction. Lisa started up near the front, so he went to the opposite end. There, he found collections of encyclopedias and big reference books on various subjects. Some of them were medical, and he grabbed those down. Then, realizing he didn’t have anything to carry them in, he cursed quietly under his breath and grabbed a few more books on engineering and chemistry, and another medical book.