Hell's Children: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller

by John L. Monk

  Mandy, only nine years old—so fun and full of life—had managed to run a short ways before being gunned down from behind.

  On closer inspection, Jack found a rolled-up piece of notebook paper sticking out of Pete’s shirt pocket.

  He opened it and read the words: EAT THIS RIPPER FAGS!!!

  24

  Jack read the note again, digesting the awful truth of the word Ripper and what it implied.

  All he wanted was to grab his rifle and go after Carter and his gang. Anything was better than enduring the dead, accusing stares of Pete and Mandy. Their eyes could see what the others had missed. That he was a failure. That his parents’ dream of raising some kind of leader or super boy or whatever was in their heads had been a misguided hobby.

  How could he be so arrogant to think he could lead these boys and girls through the biggest calamity in human history? Why the hell had they trusted him? He felt like a fraud.

  “Man, oh man,” Steve said looking back and forth between the bodies.

  Jack squeezed his temples and focused on breathing. He couldn’t get enough air.

  “What do we do, Jack?” Steve said, voice edging toward panic. “Do you think they’ll come back?”

  Jack looked around, but all he saw was empty road forward and back, and a pull-off ahead with a big metal gate wide enough for tractors, or perhaps to stage an ambush.

  None of this should have been surprising after he’d told Carter to stay away from Freida and Carla’s farm. He’d never felt so stupid or guilty in his life. He’d humiliated that guy. Caught him naked, held him at gunpoint, and forced him to work under threat of violence. Of course he’d want revenge. Probably spent the day near the farm scanning radio channels, obsessing over the opportunity to strike back.

  The farm.

  Jack ran to the car and snatched up the mic. “Lisa? Brad?” His voice emerged as a harsh croak. A moment later when nobody answered, he added, “Carter?”

  Still nobody answered. Either Carter was too close and didn’t want to give himself away, or he’d fled far enough that he was out of range.

  Jack tried again. “Lisa? Anyone?”

  “I’m here, Jack,” Lisa said sounding out of breath. “What’s wrong?”

  “Here, boss,” Brad said a second later.

  Now that he had them on, he couldn’t get the words out. He clicked the button and squeezed his eyes shut. Willing himself to say it. The truth. All of it.

  He held the mic close and spoke quietly. “We’ve been attacked. Red alert. Red alert.”

  Crosstalk rendered their frantic replies unintelligible, though the emotions carried clear: confusion and fear, and worry for Pete and Mandy.

  “Later,” he said, light headed, trying to breathe. “I think they might be listening. Watch what you say. Double the patrols. No driving.” He glanced at Mandy and Pete again and closed his eyes. It didn’t help—they were still there, waiting for him. “Just be safe.”

  Steve was standing over Pete, staring down at him, shaking his head. “I can’t believe it.”

  Jack turned off the radio and swore, wanting to cry, to kill … wanting for all the world to get out and throttle Steve, the former Dragster. How dare he stand there looking at his dead friends? How dare he?

  He approached the boy with clenched fists.

  Still shaking his head, Steve said, “I just can’t believe it. You should have let me kill Carter when I could of. He was right there. We had him.”

  “Shut up!” Jack yelled and punched him in the face as hard as he could.

  Steve screamed and went down. Jack followed, landing blow after blow while Steve scrabbled to get away.

  “Jack, I didn’t—”

  He hit him again and climbed on top. Then they were rolling around, Jack trying to pummel him and Steve trying not to get pummeled. With tears streaming down his face, the hate in his chest burst forth in a wordless roar of impotent sorrow as he struck the boy again and again. Then Jack’s whole being flashed in an eruption of pain, and he was suddenly staring up at the sky.

  Curiously, he noted his ears were ringing, as if someone had bashed him with a hastily grabbed rock from the side of the road. Also curiously, the right side of his neck felt colder than his left, as if said rock had cut his scalp.

  “Jesus, Jack, what the hell?” Steve said from a million miles away.

  Jack’s view of the careening sky was crowded out by Steve, staring down at him, panting and wild-eyed.

  “Steve …?”

  “I didn’t do anything! Why’d you hit me for? They were my friends too!”

  He felt suddenly afraid. What would Steve do if he thought Jack wanted to hurt him? Would he stupidly show mercy, as Jack had done with Carter? Or would he follow his own advice from the previous night and finish him off?

  Laughter sounded from nearby, joyful and familiar. Desperate hope welled within him and he struggled to get up, but his body couldn’t do that anymore.

  “Steve … she’s all alone … have to find her …”

  “What, Jack? You’re mumbling.”

  After that, he must have blacked out, because the next thing he remembered was waking up in the car outside the cattle farm. Gentle hands pulled him from the back and brought him inside. Then came raised voices and accusations from another room as Steve related the events up to and including the fight.

  “Wake up!” Freida said loudly, snapping her fingers.

  “Just leave me,” Jack whispered.

  “You can’t sleep if you have a concussion,” she said patiently. “I heard that somewhere.”

  Do something, you stupid cabbage. You’re supposed to do something.

  “Where’s Brad?” he said tiredly.

  “Right here, dude.”

  Jack moved his head to see him, then yelped at the pain, prompting everyone in the room to shout advice all at the same time.

  “You need to finish the work,” Jack said. “We need that meat. Whatever you do, finish the work.”

  “Already done. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Both of them?” he said.

  “What? Oh. Uh … we only did the one. The wood ran out.”

  With an effort, Jack said, “You … we need to … everyone … I’m sorry.”

  Then, whether from stress or the blow to the head or a combination of both, he blacked out again.

  He woke with a splitting headache and a stiff neck. He didn’t recognize the bed, but the lack of exposed logs told him he was still at the farm. There was nobody in the room with him and the house was quiet. A quick glance out the window showed it was either dusk or dawn, depending on how long he’d been incapacitated. When he tried to get up, pain flared from the side of his head down along his neck, hurting so bad he felt nauseous.

  He pondered what was wrong with him. Then he remembered the struggle with Steve. The fight he’d started with Steve.

  You idiot. How was that supposed to help?

  Tentatively, he reached up to touch his head and found it wrapped in bandages. Beside him on the table next to a lamp was a full glass of water and a bottle of prescription medicine. He looked at the label and saw it was for pain. Hoping it still worked, he took two like the instructions said and swallowed it down with water. Then he lay back and considered the situation.

  The group—his Rippers, for lack of a better name—was spread out over two locations. One of them, the bad guys clearly knew about. The other was hidden back in the woods, accessible by an unremarkable dirt road. Short of someone following them home in secret, the place was safe.

  The farm, however, was definitely not safe. Freida and Carla’s herd was here—something that could grow to help the group for years. The Dragsters could use it like a leash around their necks, knowing they couldn’t abandon it, and thus knowing how to find them whenever they wanted to.

  A sudden flash of anger sent his head throbbing. He needed to relax. Steve had really walloped him good.

  Thirty minutes later, his pain had dipp
ed to the tolerable regions. When he felt ready, he sat up. The room seemed a little wobblier than he’d come to expect from most houses, but it settled down after he got a few breaths into him.

  He still had his clothing on and found his shoes beside the nightstand. To avoid leaning over, he twisted into them like slippers, not worrying about socks, then made his way to the door. A short flight down and he was in the living room.

  Tony sat staring intently out the window. His rifle leaned against the wall beside him.

  “What time is it?” Jack said.

  Tony turned in sudden fright, then sighed with relief. “Morning time. You feeling okay?”

  “Well enough,” he said, not wanting to get into it.

  “Everyone got real worried after Steve popped you. Lisa made him come back to the cabins. He’s afraid you’re gonna kick him out. She said you’d never do that.”

  His words hung in the air like a question.

  “No one’s getting kicked out. He didn’t start it.”

  Tony nodded. “I still can’t believe what happened. Killing them two like that. Why they do that for? It’s just … just stupid.”

  Not wanting to think about it right now, Jack said, “Any news from Lisa?”

  “She’s got everyone on alert. Nobody’s allowed to use the radio except for really basic stuff. Every hour, I gotta get on and say we’re fine and ask if they’re fine. Olivia’s over there right now watching outside, just like me.”

  Remembering how he’d snuck up on Carter and Trisha, Jack said, “We need to be outside. It sucks, but—”

  “We are going outside, just not my turn yet.” He looked at his watch. “Freida be along in a minute.”

  Sure enough, a minute later, Freida came through the back door in a puffy winter coat, pullover cap, and scarf. She blinked in surprise at Jack, then gave him hell for being out of bed.

  Minutes later, he could barely make it back upstairs before the narcotics took full effect.

  The next few days passed in a drug-induced haze, with watches Jack couldn’t participate in, chores he couldn’t help with and—thanks to Lisa—planning he was mostly left out of. His head hurt all the time, though luckily nothing was broken. Apparently there’d been a jagged edge on that rock. Freida had sewn up his scalp with some thread, after first boiling it and the needle.

  Christmas was a cheerless occasion with no gifts, punctuated by a double funeral service for Pete and Mandy, who were buried near the farmhouse under a grove of apple trees. Jack checked with Lisa for the best way to hook up a battery to one of the CBs. Pretty easy, it turned out. Brad, the tallest, held the mic open during the final respects so those at the cabins could hear and share.

  People had a lot to say about Mandy: her enthusiasm for exploring, her constant cheer, her fondness for profanity. When they got to Pete, it was Jack who spoke.

  “The day before Pete joined me, he’d taken a car for a ride, crashed into a tree, and then stumbled off.”

  Some of them laughed nervously at that.

  “But he was the first person to join me when I was chased from my house by the same types who killed him. We owe a lot to Pete and Mandy for what they brought us every day, and not just the stuff they found in houses and stores. We’ll miss Mandy’s energy and beautiful smile. We’ll miss Pete’s weird laugh and his willingness to say what he felt. They were with me from the beginning, and I’ll remember them both for the rest of my life.”

  A sob broke from Tony. “They killed my best friend! We need to kill them all!”

  Carla and Freida took him in their arms and hugged him.

  Brad’s eyes were shining with rage, and he nodded his agreement.

  Miguel watched everyone, his face devoid of any emotion. His brother, Paul, cried openly.

  “My first concern is keeping the rest of us safe,” Jack said carefully. “There are things we still need to do to survive. For now, let survival be your revenge.”

  “They’re gonna do it again as long as we’re out here,” Miguel said. “Look, I have a plan. The only reason they came after us is because we went after them first. If you think about it … look, I don’t wanna say we got what’s coming to us, but in a way we did. After what you stole.”

  Jack’s jaw clenched and unclenched in anger. “We didn’t kill their people. And if you have a problem with the grain we took, you don’t have to eat the meat we got for it.”

  Miguel held up his hands for calm. “I know, I know. I’m just saying. I told you, I got a plan. You might not want hear it right now, but still. We need to join the Dragsters. It’s the only way we’ll be safe.” At Jack’s glower, his tone turned placating. “I can go there if you don’t want to. They don’t know me. I can tell them I’m the new leader. Once we join them, this guy Carter will be the boss anyway, so it’s not like it matters.”

  The room fell quiet as everyone considered his words. Jack considered them too. He considered them incredibly stupid, and the white-hot anger he’d felt for Steve the other day came crashing over him. Just barely, he held it in check.

  Miguel took advantage of the silence. “We should have a vote—all those who want to join the Dragsters, raise your hands.” He immediately raised his hand, then nudged his brother, who half-heartedly raised his, too.

  Carla raised hers.

  “You take that hand down right now, Carla,” Freida said in a low growl, and the younger girl lowered it. “We ain’t joining them animals. Not ever.”

  Jack let his eyes sweep the rest of the group, taking their measure.

  “I won’t join them, especially under these conditions,” he said. “What the Dragsters did was designed to push us into acting dumb. Fortunately for us, I intend to do the smart thing. I’m asking you to trust me. One more time.”

  Miguel, looked around for more supporters. When he didn’t find them, he and his brother lowered their hands.

  25

  Jack asked Freida if they could slaughter five more cows, explaining that if they had to retreat from the farm under Carter’s larger force, it was better to have the meat in storage than doing without and feeding the enemy.

  “You really think he’d do that?” she said.

  “I didn’t think they’d come after us. I was dumb, and two people paid for my mistake. He knows you’re under our protection. But they’re your animals. If you don’t want to, we’ll be fine.” He shrugged. “Or we won’t. Guess we’ll find out, huh?”

  Laughing, she said, “Don’t be so negative. I like you being nice about it, but from now on, what’s mine is yours, so long as what’s yours is mine. Deal?”

  Hardly believing she was serious, he held out his hand and said, “Deal.”

  Freida shook it firmly. “But I’m the only one who gets to boss my sister around.”

  “Definitely,” he said, smiling.

  A few days after the murders, Lisa and Steve came to the farm in a truck filled with wood. Jack showed her the meat they’d smoked from the first and only cow slaughtered so far. They’d stored it in trash bags with as much air pressed out as possible.

  “What do you think?” he said, taking out a stringy piece and handing it to her.

  Lisa put it in her mouth and chewed slowly.

  “It’s good,” she said. “For now. But I’m worried it’s not dry enough, or that it’ll suck up moisture every time you open the bag. The books all say the best way to do this is a combination of salt and smoke. They say if you do that, you can keep it for years. Doing it this way”—she gestured at the bags—“I’m worried you’ll only get a few weeks.”

  Lisa was a stickler in the truest sense—a perfectionist who found fault in other perfectionists. In contrast, Jack was more likely to do the best he could and make adjustments on the fly. But not when it came to food safety.

  “If you want salt,” he said, “we’ll get salt.”

  Miguel and his brother joined Tony, replacing the two lost friends as the group’s newest scavengers. Not wanting to tangle with any more
gangs, Jack had them focus their hunt for salt in Warrenton.

  The first day out brought in boxes of salt from supermarkets. Lisa said some of it was okay to use, but the rest was iodized table salt. The books all said sea salt or rock salt was the best. She didn’t know if you could use table salt or whether it would mess up the meat, and she didn’t want to chance it.

  While that was going on, Brad constructed the biggest smoke rack yet—fifteen feet long and five feet high. When he was satisfied with it, he returned to Big Timber in the middle of the night, which they all agreed was the safest time to travel alone.

  It quickly became apparent the scavengers wouldn’t find enough salt in stores and houses to meet their needs. In the end, it was Steve who solved their problem.

  “My dad used to de-ice the roads every winter,” he said. “Had to use lots of salt to do it. They store them in those big cone things near the roads. If we can find one of those, maybe that’d work.”

  Jack knew what he was talking about, having seen the curious structures himself countless times. He’d always thought they had sand in them, or maybe gravel if he thought about them at all. “But where would we get it for this winter?”

  Steve smiled slyly. “When did the Sickness first start?”

  Jack looked at him blankly, then his eyes widened. “Last winter. And people stopped going to work around that time, too.”

  Carla, who was always there so long as Tony was around, said in a mock-complaining tone, “Last year’s fashions for the rest of my life. I’m cursed.”

  Jack forced a laugh, happy others were here to act as a buffer between him and Steve. Jack had been the first to apologize after the former Dragster returned, and Steve had graciously accepted it. Still, it felt weird hanging around the guy who’d nearly killed him.