by John L. Monk
“It’s cool meeting you too, Larry. All of you.”
Everyone came around and touched him on the shoulder or smiled or nodded at him or said hello. They didn’t call him Jack, but rather Jack Ferris. For the first time in his life, he felt like a celebrity.
Soon, he learned he wasn’t nearly the celebrity that Greg was. They kept asking about him. Who was he really? What was he like? Did he used to be on YouTube? Stuff like that.
Eventually, they told him what had happened.
Greg’s only job had been to go into town and broadcast about the “Rippers,” their delicious food, and their plans for the future. A long shot, and sort of a backup plan if Jack’s mission failed. It turned out Greg hadn’t just been successful—he’d pulled off a miracle. Most of the Dragsters had decided to ditch Carter and his cronies and had essentially run them out of town.
“Glad we ain’t at war no more,” Larry said. “It was starting to get messy, huh?”
Jack forced a smile he didn’t feel. He’d attacked these people the other night, and he worried someone here cared about one of the ones he’d shot.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “Messy.”
“We need a better leader, and Greg said you’re amazing. Everyone’s sick of grain. Whenever we get meat, it rots before we can finish it. Then we gotta drive even farther next time. There’s another group out west we used to trade stuff with, but they won’t let us come near anymore.” He spit. “That was all Carter.”
Great, more stupid gangs.
“Cool,” Jack said. “So where’s Greg? Is he still here?”
Larry pulled a sad, almost scared look, like he wanted to say something but needed special permission.
“What is it?” Jack said.
“The thing is, Carter’s pretty easy to piss off. And Greg—much as I like him—well, the thing is what he was saying about Carter … and Carter’s mom …”
“Ripped him and his whole stupid family a new one,” another finished for him. “Guess that’s why you guys are Rippers. Get it?”
Some of them laughed and Larry shushed them.
“I know he’s your friend and all,” Larry continued, “but someone from your gang came here and told Carter your plan to sick the Pyros on him. Cool plan, by the way.”
“What? Who?”
Larry filled him in.
Thanks to Paul’s distinctive motormouth, Larry didn’t have to say Miguel’s name for Jack to know who it was. He seethed over the betrayal. The slimy backstabber. He wanted to strangle the kid, but that’d have to wait.
Larry coughed. “Anyway, they found Greg and Steve earlier today. Someone said Carter shot Greg in the leg and took him prisoner.” He paused in thought. “Or maybe the arm. It’s hard to tell what’s true right now.”
Jack swore, chewing on the shame that came from putting his friends in danger. But he hadn’t seen a body yet. Until he did, he wouldn’t give up hope.
“Where’s Carter now?”
Larry nodded. “The traitor brought him and his friends back to your place. Not the farm—somewhere else. I know they’re your friends and all, but Carter’s pretty mean, and he still has like twenty people with him. You could just stay here. We can send someone up to talk to them. Like Will, over there. Everyone likes Will.”
Will smiled at Jack and waved a little howdy-do wave.
Jack considered the idea, weighing the pros and cons. If he sent a messenger up—an envoy—Carter would rightly feel he was in a position of power, and that Jack was scared of him. He had to assume the worst—that Carter might use the opportunity to further twist the screws by hurting his friends, regardless of whether they reached an agreement later.
He shook his head. “I can’t just sit here knowing they’re in trouble. And I’d really appreciate it if you guys would help me—help Greg. Carter’s not dumb. If we go up there armed to the teeth, all of us together, he’ll give in and let them go.”
“And if he doesn’t?” the girl from before said.
“Then I’ll have to make him.”
“We’ll make him,” she said, and everyone cheered when she shot her gun in the air.
Some of the others shot their guns in the air, too. He bit his lip and held off telling them how dangerous that was.
Before they set out, Richard—who’d been quiet the whole time, along with Kyle—spoke up. “What about us?”
Jack frowned in thought. “We’ll talk about that later. For now, you’re sticking with me.”
On the way out of town, someone crashed into a ditch and had to be rescued. Thirty minutes later, Jack and the Dragsters got to the dirt road leading to Big Timber. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Lisa’s favorite car parked where the asphalt ended. He got out and looked inside, but she wasn’t there. He gazed all around and into the woods, but didn’t see her. She was supposed to be at the farm—with Tony, Freida, and Carla. But it looked like she’d come here for some reason, parked, and decided to walk up. The question was, why?
Larry looked out the window of a two-door with a huge stuffer on the hood and said, “What’s up, chief?”
“I don’t know yet,” Jack said, and got back in the Humvee.
They set out again. A few minutes later, they pulled into the little parking lot in front of the sales trailer. Though it was now after dark, the sky was lit by the fires of several burning cars out beyond the Skyline model. The electric lights were on in the cabin.
While Jack watched, the door to the Paul Bunyan opened up, and someone pointed a flashlight their way.
Jack jumped out of the Humvee and said, “Hey, wait!” but the figure was already running toward the Skyline. Whoever it was banged on the door frantically. When it opened, a long wedge of light speared down to the pond and disappeared when it closed.
Jack took a moment to look around the clearing, the little dock by the pond, and the two scavenging trucks. He didn’t see Lisa anywhere, and decided she was probably inside. If so, that meant Carter had her.
Or maybe he’s killed her already.
Before Jack could beat himself up over the hateful thought, Larry and the other Dragsters got out of their cars and ran over to join him at the edge of the lot.
“Pretty sure that was Dwayne running,” Larry said. “Look at those fires, would you? Holy shit burgers!” He whistled and shook his head. “Carter and his boys parked over there—you see that line of cars? That’s Cassie’s Corvette there at the end. Wonder what the hell happened.”
Jack wondered too, but not about the cars. “Who’s Dwayne?”
“One of Carter’s chumps. Seriously, don’t worry about him.”
Jack was worried about him. About everything, really, but it was never enough. Something always got missed, and then bad stuff like this happened. “Be right back.”
He went to one of the Dragster cars, reached through the window, and picked up the CB microphone. He tuned to the channel he and his friends used and said, “Anyone there?”
Quietly, he waited, trying to stay calm, wishing the Dragsters would shut up for a minute. They were yelling, laughing, wrestling, and generally acting like idiots.
“Anyone? Carter?”
He waited again, giving it a good ten seconds. The rule was, the radio in the cabin had to be on all the time. Either they weren’t answering or the unit was off.
With Brad’s help, Lisa had run the big antenna to the roof and connected multiple batteries together for more amperage. That was how they could reach the farm over the hills across however many miles. He knew the ones in the cars wouldn’t carry that far, but he was desperate. He needed people he could trust.
Jack clicked the mic and said, “Freida? Tony?”
Still nothing.
Resignedly, he returned to Larry and the others. “Where’s Will at?”
“Right here,” Will said from the back of the group, doing his little howdy-ho wave. The boy had scraggly black hair and a friendly, patient expression.
Jack called him forward. “La
rry said those people inside think you’re cool. Is that true?”
Will laughed modestly. “Man, I dunno. I guess, sure. Ain’t cool to say you’re cool.”
A couple of them laughed.
Before Jack could reply, the door to the Skyline opened again and two people came out. Then three people. Then four. They stared toward the parking lot, aiming flashlights.
Behind him, one of Jack’s friendly Dragsters reached through a window and honked a horn—then all of them ran to their cars and started honking horns. Not normal horns, either. They were big, loud Yankee Doodle horns or tunes from famous movies or pop songs. The effect, all at once under the fire-lit sky, was menacing and strange, and he felt suddenly insecure in his newfound friendship. The boys and girls of Front Royal were savage, in their way. And he knew if they ever turned on him he’d be dead as quick as they’d killed Eddie.
The horns’ effect on the group outside the Skyline was electric. In one boy’s haste to run inside, he collided with a girl coming out, and both of them went down. Another dropped a flashlight, scrabbled wildly for it, and jumped over his downed friends before dashing inside. His friends got up and ran in behind him, then slammed the door shut. In another time and place, Jack would have laughed.
“Will,” he said, “how do you feel about going there and talking to them? See if they’ll come out?”
“W-what?”
“If they let my friends go unharmed, they can leave too. No one needs to get hurt.”
“You really mean that?”
Jack shrugged, staring at the burning cars, thinking of Pete and Mandy. “Carter’s dead if I see him. Don’t tell them that, though.”
Will swallowed. “Uh, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to—”
Larry clapped him on the back and said, “Jesus Christ, grow some balls. Don’t be a fraidy cat.” He laughed good-naturedly.
A girl in the crowd said, “Then why don’t you do it?”
“Because he’s a fraidy cat!” someone yelled and honked his Yankee Doodle horn again.
Everyone laughed at that—even Larry.
“Come on, man,” Larry said. “They all like you in there. You’ll be fine.” He crossed his heart. “I promise.”
Will smiled weakly. “Man, I don’t know why I’m doing this.”
Everyone watched with bated breath as Will walked cautiously over to the Skyline. Every once in a while he’d stop and look back, only to get jeered at and waved forward by his friends. When he got to the door, he raised his fist to knock and the door flew open. He screamed once, and two people pulled him inside, vanishing him as if he’d never been there.
“He’ll be fine,” Larry said, sounding a little less sure of himself.
The other Dragsters lost interest as soon as Will was out of sight. A minute later, the girl who’d first accosted Jack was standing next to the bus, waving for attention. “Everyone, hey, check it out. Someone’s in the bus! I hear yelling!”
Jack didn’t see anyone through the windows, but it was also pretty dark out. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he ran over and pushed inside, prepared for anything but what he saw.
“What the …?”
“Jack?” Olivia said fearfully, squinting at him from the floor of the bus. “Is that you?”
Lying or sitting in the aisle were Olivia, Brad, Molly, and Paul. Their hands were handcuffed to the bottoms of the seats. Clutched in Brad’s free arm was his baby brother Tyler, swaddled in blankets.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Jack said. “What are you doing here? What happened?”
Olivia opened her mouth to explain, and then Paul said, “Oh my God, Jack, you wouldn’t believe it! There was all kinds of shooting and then explosions—big, huge explosions like you wouldn’t believe! I thought the world was exploding. Where’s my brother? Carter made me stay in here and Miguel said he’d talk to him and get me out, but now I’m super worried about him because of the explosions. You wouldn’t believe it, they were so loud. The whole bus shook! I couldn’t believe—”
Brad, Olivia, and Molly yelled, “Would you please shut up?” at the same time, and the kid closed his mouth.
“Brad,” Jack said, “how’s little Tyler doing?”
Brad frowned. “He’s fine, but it’s too cold out, and I’m cramped as hell. If I get out of here, I swear I’ll …” He bit his lip. That was the funny thing about Brad—he never actually cursed around Tyler. “That son of a … man, he better hope I never get out.”
Jack didn’t have to ask who he meant. “Right. Where’s Greg?”
“Greg got shot,” Molly said. “In the leg. It looked like he might be okay with some kind of help. I mean … if it doesn’t get infected. Jesus, Jack, I’m sorry. Steve’s hurt, too. They beat him up pretty bad. Because of me.”
She covered her face and burst into tears.
As sad as he was to hear about Steve, a wave of relief flooded through him on hearing Greg wasn’t dead. Any hope was better than no hope. “What about the children?”
“Locked in your cabin,” she said in a hoarse voice, wiping her eyes. “But Jack—Carter killed Trisha. Made us all watch, too. I’m sorry.”
Red, enveloping rage rose up in him like a volcano, and he reached out to steady himself. It was all he could do to keep from pulling his recently recovered pistol and storming the place right now, but all that’d do was get him killed and leave his friends with one less person to help.
“Me too,” he said lamely, hating how it sounded. “For everything. Give me a minute. I’ll see if someone can help with those cuffs.”
Jack found Larry, brought him onto the bus, and explained the situation. Even though Jack introduced him as a friend, his friends looked at the Dragster nervously.
“Everyone carries tools,” Larry said. “Mostly to be cool. I’ll get someone started on it. I bet we can cut through where the seats bolt down, or maybe unscrew them.” He shook his head. “I totally forgot he had those handcuffs. Carter looted the police station way back when. Too bad we don’t have that tear gas he took—we could bust in like Call Of Duty. That’d be so boss.”
Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Yeah. You said it. Thanks, man.”
Maybe five minutes later, Will returned, troubled but unhurt.
“Well?” Jack said.
“Uh … man, I don’t know what, uh … how to say it.” He looked at Larry and the others as if seeking friendly faces. “First off, Greg’s still alive.” A few people cheered, but were quickly shushed to let him speak. “So anyway, there’s this girl named Lisa. That’s Greg’s sister. She damn near killed half of everyone who came here with Carter. Then get this—she went and killed Carter.”
Shocked gasps filled the air.
Larry said, “What do you mean killed him?”
“She killed Carter. That’s what they said, and I didn’t see him anywhere. They’re super pissed about it, too. They were about to kill her, but now they’re waiting. They got her locked up somewhere and—”
Whatever he said was lost in the jumble of shocked and excited conversation. Nobody seemed upset, really—just surprised, and possibly happy about the new development. For his part, Jack was torn between vicious joy and concern for his friends.
Cutting through the din, he said, “You know where they have her?”
“No idea,” Will said. “Think she’s with Greg and Steve, though, the way they talked. They ain’t giving them up, either. I told them what you said. They said they don’t trust you on account of what you did to Ray.” He stared at his shoes, not meeting his eye. “This one kid—Mexican or something—he said you promised to let Ray go and then shot him dead. Now they won’t come out unless you …” He moved closer to Larry as if seeking protection. “Unless you go in yourself. Unarmed.”
37
Would it have been so hard to get handcuffs of your own and just hold Ray a few days? Did you really have to kill him?
Jack had been so angry when he did it. Ray had been in on Mandy and Pet
e’s murders, he was sure of it. Justice had to be served—a message sent. He’d recognized the importance of meeting Carter’s aggression with the same level of force and then topping that with a crushing blow.
Minus the detour through weirdness and Hell with Blaze and the Pyros, everything had gone just fine. Better than fine, if Larry and his friends outside were any indication. And then Miguel happened.
Despite seeming calm to Larry and the others, Jack was furious.
Dammit, Miguel. You backstabber. Why did I trust you?
If only the stupid know-it-all had kept his mouth shut. Then his friends would be safe, and Carter gone or severely weakened.
While the crowd watched, Jack pulled his gun and handed it directly to Will. He didn’t care about safety anymore. The crowd voiced their collective good wishes. He didn’t care about that either. In fact, he felt empty. He didn’t even have Carter to hate now. He may as well have aged ninety-nine years, so little did the world around him seem to matter. All that was left was a desire to save his friends, get them somewhere safe, and then ride out the wave of violence and death that had plagued him since losing his parents.
Without looking back, he made his way to the Skyline. He almost tried the knob, but then knocked instead. The door opened, and rough hands dragged him inside.
Jack found himself in the great room surrounded by nine boys including Miguel, and a girl with a weak chin and a perpetual scowl. Most were as old as Jack, give or take, and all were armed except Miguel and the girl.
“So you’re the famous Jack Ferris,” the girl said, sneering through the name.
The rest glowered at him with hard eyes.
Jack detected another emotion living side-by-side with the hatred: fear. Fear was good. He could use that.
“Okay,” he said, “tell me where my friends are and everyone lives.”
“Why don’t we just kill him?” a fat kid said.
Jack blinked in amazement. The boy wasn’t just a little plump in the face, like Tony and some of the Pyros. He was the first honest-to-goodness fat kid Jack had seen since before the Sickness.