by Jim LaVigne
“So long, Bowler,” she’d whispered. “Ya doopy fuckin’ greep. Rest in pieces.”
CJ, watching this, had been naturally curious.
“What’s up?” he’d asked. “Not somebody you know, I hope?”
Teresa had simply shrugged and moved on. “Nope,” she’d said. “Not no more.”
Now, padding down another, longer tunnel, she was starting to get a very healthy case of the creeps. The bodies, the stink, the darkness and the dripping water, it was all really getting on her nerves. What she wouldn’t give just to see the sun and breath some fresh air! Suddenly a very urgent sense that she wanted out of this place, at any cost, immediately, came over her and something like panic percolated in her chest. Run! it shrieked. Just run like hell till you’re out of this hell pit!
Grimly, she inhaled and exhaled carefully, letting the fear out with each breath. Get a grip, she told herself. It’s just like Clanky always said: Don’t let the scare get you. And besides, none of these poor dead greeps can hurt you, now can they? They’re dead! Finally, the panic waned a little and she went on. Still, it was damned creepy. She’d seen dead bodies, plenty of them, and in all kinds of states of decomposition, but this was way beyond anything she’d ever experienced. These things were just plain sick and wrong.
She was almost at the end of her rope, keeping the fear at bay-wise, when they finally hit pay dirt. Hardly believing her eyes, she stepped into a medium-sized chamber and shone her light around at the walls, where a very impressive array of weapons hung like displays in an old paper magazine. Rifles, shotguns, pistols, knives, axes, and all kinds of nasty-looking tools and implements lined the walls and cluttered the corners, and another wall was given over to box after box of unwrapped ammunition, for just about every gun she could think of.
With a happy little sigh not unlike any other woman her age in a high-tone shoe store, Teresa moved closer and, along with Seymour and CJ, surveyed the collection more closely. As hoped, there were plenty of brand new, still-in-the-packaging guns and knives and everything, but there were also used weapons in every state of usability, from slightly beat-up to rusted beyond repair. Apparently the monsters knew what weapons were, just not how to care for them. With a happy cry, she spotted her boomstick and, quick as could be, snatched it up, examined it for any wear or damage, gave it a little kiss, and then slid it into the holster at her back. Immediately, she felt a little better.
Next, like a discerning shopper, she went along and, after careful comparison and consideration, selected as many weapons as she could carry. Starting with the big guns, she grabbed an assault rifle equipped with a grenade launcher. Then a long rifle, what they called a sniper gun, complete with scope and tripod. Then a couple of pistols, one an enormous revolver and other a 12-shot auto, and finally, three hunting knives, a machete, and something CJ called a sword, a long, thin blade with a fancy grip.
Lastly, she went to the ammo pile and, after rooting around and finding an old cloth sack, stuffed as many boxes of various calibers into it as she could, thinking all the while that she was glad that good old Clanky had shown her how to pick the right bullets for the right gun. She also spotted her satchel lying in a pile of junk, grabbed it, and found that all of her things were still there. Very good. Then, staggering a little under the weight, she turned to CJ and the others and, seeing them all (except the small, dark lady, who skulked in the tunnel outside with the Kid) similarly gunned-up and ready, announced that she was ready to go.
CJ looked longingly at all of the weapons and gear and shook his head. “We should take all this shit,” he said. “I mean, this is some valuable commodities, you know? Hell, the ammo alone is worth a damn fortune!”
Seymour nodded. “We need a way to move it,” he said. “Cart or something.”
“Ain’t seen nothin’ like that around,” said CJ. “An’ it’d take a week to move it by hand.”
Teresa, the thrill of the unexpected bounty of weapons wearing off and the creeps returning, chafed at the delay and fidgeted. “We should jus’ go,” she said. “Alway come back, hey? Get the stuff later.”
“Yeah, guess yer right,” said CJ sadly. “Jus’ hope it’s all still here when we do.”
They were about to leave when she noticed that the Kid was gone. He’d been hanging around out in the tunnel with the unnamed small lady last she saw, but now there was no sign of him. She turned to the strange woman.
“Where that kid go?” she asked. “Huh?”
The woman glared back, a crazy, angry sort of look in her eyes, but said nothing. Teresa went right up to her and asked again.
“Where the kid?” she demanded. “Din’t ya see ‘im? Where he go, huh?”
The woman still said nothing, but finally shook her head. Exasperated, Teresa turned away from the woman (who was obviously not quite all there or deaf or something), and peered down the nearby tunnels.
“Now where that little greep get to?” she wondered aloud. She cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted. “Hey, Kid!” she called, setting off all kinds of weird echoes. “Where you at, Kid?! Hey!”
But there were just the echoes and no sign of the Kid.
“Looks like he run off,” said CJ. “Is he, you know, is he your son?”
“What, me?” said Teresa. “Oh, Dog no! No way, no how. Naw, see, he just some doopy little rugger we come across. Been draggin’ along with us, hey?”
“Uh huh,” said CJ. “Well, looks like he took off, huh? I mean, you don’ wanna go lookin’ for him, do ya? Chances are, he jus’ went back the way we came, you know?”
Teresa frowned and peered down the stinking, dismal tunnels. She certainly hated to leave the little greep, and it pained her to think of him injured or captured by the muties, especially after how he’d saved everyone’s asses and all, but then, CJ made a good point; the Kid seemed to take care of himself just fine. Finally she nodded grimly and moved away and they started their long way back to the Birthday Chamber.
She was still wondering about the Kid, warily padding along in the rear of the group, when they were ambushed. One second they were walking along, no problems, and the next they were suddenly surrounded by at least a dozen freakish monsters. Later they would see that the things had been hiding in a couple of camouflaged niches in the tunnel walls. At the time, though, there was no time to wonder as the sodden air was abruptly filled with muzzle flashes, cordite smoke, and the weird screaming howls of the monsters.
Teresa, at the first sign of danger, had dropped all of her new toys but the assault rifle and now raised the weapon, snapped off the safety, and opened up on a great big tentacle-man bearing down on her. The gun had a nice kick, good and solid, and she let off a stream of six shots that tore into the big mutant like he was made of cheese, producing small, perfectly circular entry wounds and then punching out great gobs of meat and gore on exit. Within two seconds, the big thing was flat on its face and dying, joining two others who’d been similarly dispatched by CJ and Seymour. The remaining monsters, all flailing limbs and goggling eyes, sort of melted into the shadows, down the tunnels and cracks, and disappeared.
In the aftermath of this brief, violent event, Teresa caught her breath, checked her weapon and put it back on safety, then noticed that the little woman with no name was lying curled in a tight ball on the floor, her hands over her ears, shaking like a Sick victim. Obviously the poor thing just wasn’t very strong, mentally or otherwise. Teresa had seen this kind of thing all her life. Some people could deal with the violence and killing, the whole banger mentality, while others couldn’t and freaked out and went zane crazy over it, or spent all their time totally drunkled. Just the way things were. Feeling a little bad for the woman anyway, she went over to her and knelt nearby.
“Hey,” she said softly. “They gone now. We chased ‘em off, hey? All gone.”
The woman unclenched some and peeked at Teresa through her matted hair. The she looked around apprehensively and unclenched some more. Before long, she was
getting up.
“Huh,” said CJ, eyeing one of the dead monsters. “Now we know where your little amigo went, don’t we?”
Teresa nodded, joining him. She’d had the same thought. “Yeah,” she said. “Must be able to smell these freakos. Like real good, hey?”
“Yeah,” CJ said. “An’ he’s smart enough to make himself scarce when he does. Shifty little ratón, ain’t he?”
Teresa smiled. “Good thing, too!” she said. “Else, we all be chopped up by that zaned rasta greep in them funny clothes!”
“Don’t remind me!” said CJ, turning from the corpses and starting away. “An’ don’ forget, I was next! No, hermana, believe me, I love that little fucker!”
They resumed their walk back to the Birthday Room and, aside from getting lost a few times, had no trouble along the way. Even so, Teresa couldn’t shake the urge to bolt and run and never look back. This was the worst place she’d ever been and only the prospect of reuniting with Case and the Old Man and the others and getting out of here kept her going. That, and maybe trying out her new toys.
Chapter Fifty-Three
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When the adrenaline and shock finally started to wear off, Justin had some time to think and put things in perspective, but they seemed no better in retrospect. In fact, the more he thought about it, the worse he felt and the deeper he sank into a kind of numb, morose torpor, oblivious to both his surroundings and his companions.
For one thing, he deeply regretted that he would probably never have a chance to study these strange, misshapen beings. That they were human, at least originally, he had no doubt, and this meant a whole new vista, a field of scientific study so unprecedented as to be fantastic. It might very well be the kind of discovery that set any number of sciences on their ear. Anthropology, archaeology, natural science, medicine, genetics, even basic biology, all would be potentially changed forever. And he, Dr. Justin Kaes, should be the one at the forefront of the research. In the world Before, he would have been famous and distinguished in ways beyond belief. It was a professional jackpot.
Or would have been. But now, in the world of After, who would care? Even the few remaining scientists and professionals would be more concerned with the Plague than with some new race of humans, however fantastic and unprecedented, and the rest of humanity would care even less than that. Most likely, all most survivors would be interested in would be how to most effectively kill them. There was no more time for curiosity, let alone scientific method. The greatest find in human history would, when the Plague finally won, go unnoticed, lost even to the memory of the survivors. What a waste.
Another dark and deeply troubling issue also came swimming up in his consciousness and no matter how he tried to dismiss it as absolutely frivolous, given their situation, it kept nagging at his thoughts. Because the fact was that Teresa’s behavior through the whole ugly event had shown him a side of her that he wasn’t at all sure he liked, an essential callousness toward the sanctity of human life that, while not unexpected in a hardened survivor, appalled him to no end.
Back to the way she’d gunned down the man at St. Alferd’s and then glibly written off poor Greg the orderly, right up to when the poor captive woman had been slaughtered by Johnson, she seemed to regard brutal murder as a casual thing. At Baron Zero’s farm, she’d actually enjoyed it! When she’d been busily beating the stuffing out of a mutant, she’d had a grin on her face like a kid on a swingset.
And when it had been all over, each time, she’d shown no more concern for the wounded and dead than she would towards simple inanimate objects. They were broken, of no more use. In short, her brutal unconcern for things that would drive many people into shock or insanity had put a few dents in the smooth veneer of his admiration. Maybe she wasn’t so wonderful and perfect after all, like an appealing piece of fruit with a nasty green worm just under the skin.
Of course, she’d been raised in a world where this callousness would be not only necessary but an actual boon, a world he couldn’t begin to fully understand, where death was common, even casual, and kindness seen as weakness, but still, this part of her personality was nothing less than disgusting. Could he really love someone who could sit and watch someone be brutally murdered and not bat an eyelash? He would have expected it of someone like the Small Man, or even himself, after what he’d seen and experienced, but her? It was disappointing.
Well, maybe he’d just been kidding himself; maybe he was attracted to her for simple, obvious, even biological reasons, and had been ignoring her obvious faults and defects out of sheer need and infatuation. Not to mention the sex. He was like the Kid, tagging along at her heels like a puppy. And then there was the age difference.
He was deep in this pit of murky thoughts, sinking lower by the moment, when he heard the gunshots. Echoing down the tunnels with a strange clarity, there was a series of bangs and cracks, some quite close together, before silence quickly descended. The noise brought Justin to his feet, as well as Barb Cass, while Erin and the Old Man stopped talking and looked about.
Cass, eyes wide and poorly focused, wheeled on Justin. “Oh God!” she said, terrified all over again. “They have guns! Those things have guns! We have to get out of here, Doctor! We have to get out of here right now, or those things will come in here and they’ll shoot us and then they’ll—”
“Barb, stop!” said Justin harshly, cutting her off. “OK? Just take it easy and get a grip, because all you’re doing now is making yourself hysterical. We’re all still in shock, alright? Just try to get a hold of yourself. And besides, we don’t know that these creatures use guns. I mean, have you seen one with a gun? Even one?”
Cass frowned and shook her head tensely. “No, I guess not,” she said, sobering a little. “But can’t we just leave? Please?”
“Not until Teresa comes back,” Justin said. “We just have to wait.” Cass whimpered a little but took a seat and went quiet.
The Old Man patted Erin gently on the hand and then, leaving her for the moment, came over to Justin and whispered, “So, uh, if that ain’t the monsters, who’s doin’ the shooting?”
Justin scowled at Lampert. “I don’t know,” he said stonily. “Presumably, Teresa or one of the others. At least I hope so.”
“Yeah,” said the Old Man. “That’s what I was thinkin’, too. Thing is, though, Teresa didn’t have a gun. Not the Mexican guy or the others, neither. And unless I miss my guess, those weren’t shotgun blasts, anyway. Those were some kinda rifle, maybe a machine gun.”
Justin had heard enough. He turned to the Old Man and shook his head. “Mr. Lampert, please,” he said. “I’m worried enough as it is, alright?”
The Old Man nodded contritely and went back to Erin. Justin, his guts churning anew, paced back and forth and chewed a cuticle, but there were no new noises and no sign of Teresa. He was getting very nervous, envisioning legions of armed freaks, when, startling him no end, the Small Man suddenly stirred, groaned, and sat up from his place on one of the long party tables. Hurriedly, Justin went over to him and was about to ease the man back onto the table by the shoulders when he saw the sharp, steely look in the man’s eyes and stopped short.
“You uh, you should stay still,” he said, more than a little wary despite the man’s abused condition; after all, he had murdered Cornell, kidnapped the Old Man, and stolen all their things. “You’re suffering from a number of injuries. Please, just lie back and try to rest.”
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The man stared stonily at Justin for a moment and then fell onto his back and gave a shuddering sigh. “What happened?” he croaked weakly. “What about the monsters?”
“Gone,” said Justin. “For the moment, at least.”
The man nodded gratefully. “Good,” he said. “But what I mean, why are we still here? With them things gone?”
“We’re waiting,” Justin said. “We, uh, didn’t know how to find our way out, so CJ and Teresa and a couple of others went to have a look around.”
The man nodded again and grunted. Slowly, he turned his head and regarded Justin sharply for a moment. “Why you doin’ this, Doc?” he asked. “Why you helpin’ me? After what I done, I mean.”
Justin sighed and shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. Some sort of anachronistic sense of duty, I suppose. By all rights, I should leave you to these creatures.”
“What I’d do,” said the man.
“Yes, well,” said Justin, “I guess I’m just not that callous. Not yet, anyway.”
The man smiled thinly and closed his eyes. “Lucky for me,” he said, his voice going faint. “Just lucky…”
In another minute, he’d fallen unconscious again. Justin checked his vital signs, found them all normal, and covered him with a few garish tablecloths. He was about to return to Lampert and the others when suddenly, from one of the wider tunnel mouths, a whole gang of people (not Teresa and the others, as he’d first thought and hoped) came running and dodging into the Birthday Chamber. Dazed, barely able to apprehend any new strangeness or even mild unexpectedness, thinking NOW what?, Justin blinked and cast about as they rushed in and took up strategic positions.
Strangers, dressed darkly but not in uniforms, they were of both sexes and apparently all ages and varied in size. All dozen or so of them were armed, but only some of them brandished conventional weapons. The others carried what looked like big flashlights, attached by cords and straps to hefty packs on their backs. With fast, nervous, coordinated movements, this heterogonous bunch swarmed into the chamber, one or two of them barking orders, and a majority surrounded Justin and the others. Grim faces of men and women glared at them through plexi-steel helmets and over the gunsights of a half-dozen rifles and shotguns.