The Judge frowned and raised his fuzzy eyebrows. "Goodness, Becky, you certainly have a case of the giggles today."
She held up a placating hand and swallowed her laughter. "I'm sorry, Jody. Ladies, I apologize. I promise I wasn’t laughing at you. I thought of a joke Tara told earlier."
Cheryl sniffed. She was a matronly woman with neck wattles and gray and brown hair that she wore in a bob with her bangs brushed over to the side. "Can we get on with this?"
"Of course. Let's step over to your conference room. Jody, can you make sure we have privacy?"
"Your request is my demand, as always." He made swishing motions with his hands. "Come along, everyone. Let's leave these ladies to their business."
24
* * *
Becky led the little group to a conference room inside a cabinet factory in another anteroom farther down the tunnel. In fact, Tara realized as she gazed around, it was the same conference room where Will's group and The Originals first met.
While Becky introduced Willa and struggled to make small talk, Tara scrutinized the two women across from here. Cheryl Underwood, a short and strident woman with rimless glasses and wattles of fat under her chin, was the clear leader of the pair. Her partner, who introduced herself as Darena Little, was a winsome woman of medium height who Tara had never laid eyes on. Darena had pretty hair, honey-colored with flakes of red, smoky green eyes and a wide mouth that stretched into an easy smile.
Tara had been an entertainment lawyer in Los Angeles before the outbreak, a good one who charge top dollar and was in high demand. Her blonde hair, trim figure, and 36D breasts caught a potential client's attention; her legal skills turned them into repeat clients. In a negotiation involving several parties, she liked to remain silent for a time and listen to the other people around the table. She leaned back, crossed one leg over the other, and listened.
Becky was in the middle of an awkward story about how intimidating she found the size of the quarry during her first weeks in the tunnels when Cheryl interrupted her.
"Sugar, I'm sure this is a fascinating story, but how about you cut to the chase and tell us what you want. I have things to do."
Becky nodded, her features neutral. "Okay. I wanted to speak with you because we understand you and a few others don't agree with some of the council's decisions."
Cheryl gave a grim little smile. "You mean your husband, don't ya? When you say 'Council’s decisions’? Everybody knows that your husband controls everything and uses the Council for cover, so let's not play games."
"No, everybody doesn't know that, because it’s not the case. And I'm not playing games. I came down to hear you out and see if we can come to an understanding."
"Well, it's pretty simple, sugar. Some of us didn't just show up in town a few months ago. Some of us have known Kayla Wiegle going back a long time. And instead of getting into a shooting war with her and her people right off the bat, we think we can sit down with her and work this whole thing out."
Darena spoke for the first time. "It never hurts to talk, Becky. That was true before the biters and it's true now."
Tara eyed her, impressed. Her voice was honey and her features were open and trusting. It was clear the woman was all about understanding and love.
Becky ignored Darena and focused on Cheryl. "You want to negotiate with Kayla?"
"Instead of shooting at her on sight? Of course I do. Why not try, if it will save lives?"
Becky stared for a moment, mouth agape. She drew a deep breath, blew it out, and tried again. "Cheryl, were you at the meeting? Did you hear what the woman said? She kidnapped my son and sent him back with the message that we have two weeks to get out. At the end of two weeks, she is sending an army here to kill anybody still here."
Cheryl pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. "I know that's what your husband said."
Becky's expression was incredulous. "What would it gain him to lie? He's trying, we're trying to save you people for God's sake. And I don't understand why you keep bringing my husband into this. You're talking to me, not him. Believe me, you don't want to have this conversation with him."
"And why is that?" Cheryl said, leaning back in her chair with a smug look. "There's still a constitution in this country. I still have my first amendment rights."
Tara sat up and entered the fray. "What does the first amendment mean to you, ma'am?"
Cheryl sniffed. "Now the stripper speaks,†she said with an eye roll. “It means same the thing to me as it does to everyone else- it's my right to free speech."
Tara grinned and pushed the sleeves of her hoodie up near elbows. "Actually, the stripper attended the University of Oklahoma on an honors scholarship and graduated from UCLA law school summa cum laude and third in my class. But that's neither here nor there, that was a different life. Among other things, the First Amendment gives you the right to express yourself freely and prohibits the government from abridging that expression. That's the key thing here. Prohibits the government. It doesn't mean you can say any damn fool thing to anybody with no consequences."
Willa lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out her nose. “We’re kind of getting off the point here," she said in a bored voice.
Darena gaped at her with concern. "Oh, honey, smoking is so bad for you. You are so young and pretty- those things will ruin your future."
"I know, but the batteries in my vibrator died and they're not making any new ones. So my future looks pretty grim, anyway."
Tara hid a grin her palm. Darena looked as if she'd just been slapped, and Cheryl's face was pale except for a red spot in the middle of each cheek.
Becky leaned forward, resting her forearms on the tabletop and clasping her hands. "Alright, let's everybody get back to the purpose of this discussion."
Cheryl huffed. "I really don't see any reason for this to continue. We can do whatever we want, and there's nothing you can do about it. I will make it my mission to talk a majority of people here into agreeing that we negotiate with Kayla. There's plenty of room here for everybody."
Becky shook her head. "You are as blind as you are stupid. That woman murders anyone who disagrees with her, anyone who gets in her way, or anyone she doesn't care for on a particular day. They are coming kill anybody that is still here when they arrive. And don't think it will be an easy death, not for a woman. A guard over there told Coy the male to female ratio is 8 to 1. So should they win, anybody with a vagina is in for some good old-fashioned gang rape. That would be you, Darena. Anybody they find unattractive, like Cheryl here, they will kill outright, if she’s lucky. If she's unlucky, they'll put her on a crew and work her until she breaks down and dies, or starves."
Cheryl rose from her chair. "Well, I won’t sit around here and be insulted. Come on, Darena. It's time they learn we don't have to do what they say."
"Sit down," Tara said in a calm voice.
Cheryl pushed the chair up to the table and turned for the door.
Tara slapped the tabletop with her hand, producing a loud, flat bang that made the other women jump. "I said SIT DOWN, you old cow."
Darena gasped and Cheryl froze, then scurried back to her chair without looking at anyone. Darena followed in a slow and unsteady gait.
"Look at me," Tara demanded.
Cheryl met her gaze. Her chest heaved and hot anger burned in her eyes.
"Don't you know who we are?" Tara asked in a wondering tone. "We can make you do anything we want. I'll get Will and Danny down here and they'll make you do the funky chicken across the quarry bottom buck naked if I ask them to do it. Do you think we can't tie you up and throw you in a room, or put you in Terrence's jail until this is over?"
She eyed Willa. The younger woman sat bolt upright in her chair, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Give me one of those smokes," Tara told her.
Willa leaned over the table, pushing the pack of Marlboro Lights and a lighter across.
Tara lit up for the
first time since law school. The cigarette was stale, its taste harsh and bitter. She exhaled toward the ceiling, then surveyed Cheryl and gave her a hard grin. "To be honest, girlfriend, I could walk you to the top of the bluff and push you over, and nothing would happen to me. The sheriff likes my tits."
The anger was gone from Cheryl's face; she gaped at Tara with wide eyes, her face as white as parchment. Tara took another drag from the cigarette and tried to blow a smoke ring, but it'd been too long; all she did was exhale unconnected wisps of smoke.
"I’ve spent every day for over a year now with Coy and Will and Becky. They have saved my life many times, and I’ve saved theirs. They would no more lie to me than an elephant would dance ballet, and if they say the crazy woman will kill us all, then you can bank on it.
"So no more talk about negotiations or appeasement, okay girls? You just do what your captains tell you to do and leave the thinking to others."
Cheryl focused on Becky, who raised her eyebrows and motioned toward the door. She scurried toward it, Darena in tow.
Tara called out to them. "Oh, and one more thing- Darena?"
Both women froze, and Darena made a slow turn to face Tara with downcast eyes and slumped shoulders.
"I'm sorry for this. You seem like a nice woman, and I'd wager someone led you astray. What did you do in the world?"
"I was a drug and alcohol counselor."
Tara nodded. "I figured something like that. Not much of a call for therapy in the apocalypse. If you ever decide you want something better for yourself, or you’d like to learn some survival skills, you come on up to our tunnel. You'd be an asset."
Darena didn't reply. She followed Cheryl through the open door, but stopped and stepped back across the threshold. "Tara?"
Tara raised her eyebrows.
"Maybe therapy is just what we need in this situation we find ourselves in."
"You might be right."
Darena nodded and stepped out into the quarry.
25
* * *
There was a long silence after Cheryl and Darena left. Willa broke it.
"The sheriff of loves my tits," she quoted, laughing and slapping of the tabletop. "That is the greatest thing I've ever heard. You are my new hero."
Tara just smiled and ground out the cigarette.
Becky hadn’t moved from her spot with her forearms on the table. "Maybe harsher than need be," she chided.
"Shit on that," Tara said. "And fuck that woman. Who does she think she is?"
"I don't know who she thinks she is, but she damn sure knows who we are," Kayla snickered.
Tara pointed an index finger at Becky. "I'm not going to allow anyone to talk to you like that. And you shouldn't allow it, either."
"Why not? It's just words."
"Because you are the closest thing we have to a First Lady around here. Your position entitles you to respect.
The threesome rose and chattered about this and that as they headed for the door. Tara held it open for Becky and Willa as they passed. "By the way, Willa… "
"Yes?"
"Your cigarettes taste like shit."
Willa sighed. "Singing to the choir, sister. You're singing to the choir."
26
* * *
Coy had a new game he liked to play during his daily hunting trip. He called it ‘scaring the shit out of the pickets.’
The picket line stretched through the woods a half-mile south of the quarry. He would walk up the hill while it was still dark out and command Sally to sit and stay at the entrance. Then he padded through the woods in silence, avoiding the branches and leaves that would snap and crackle under his feet and weaving around fallen limbs and trees. He advanced in angles, walking diagonally so the lines of his body were just more vertical lines in a forest full of them.
If unseen, he would walk right up to the base of a tree that held a watchman and break the silence with a roar, shaking tree limbs and making as much noise as he could. If successful, his gambit earned him a frightened shout followed by a string of curses and, finally, laughter.
"I'm batting .500," he said to Danny one evening after telling his friend about the game. "And one of the days I got discovered it was because of the noise I made putting down a creeper."
Danny stared at him, thunderstruck. "That is insane. And that means a lot, coming from me. Aren't you worried you'll get shot?"
Coy waved him off. "Nah. The pickets are under strict instructions not to fire unless they are warning about an attack. They are all too scared of Dad to break the rules, so there's no way they'd shoot me. "Besides, they all know by now I'm coming, so if they see a figure creeping around out there, they know odds are it's me."
Two mornings later, as he stalked his target in the picket line, three shots rang out in quick succession. He flung himself to the ground and scampered behind a tree.
"What the hell?" Todd Starnes, one of The Originals and Coy's intended victim, called out.
"Todd! Get down, but stay in your tree. Hunker down up there."
Coy peered out from behind an oak tree. He'd already surmised that he wasn't the shooter's target; no bullets snapped overhead or nearby, and none collided with any of the nearby trees or rocks. If the shooter out there aimed at him, he was a poor shot.
"Did those shots come from the east?" Todd called down.
"Yeah, but I don't think you or I were the intended target." Coy prepared to test his theory by coming out from behind the oak when two more shots sounded out, followed by the sound of a man screaming in terror.
"Todd, can you see me? See me good?"
"Yeah, Coy."
Another scream, a woman this time.
"I'm going to check it out. Clamber down out of your tree and follow me. But don't go shooting at any damned thing you see in the woods. Don't you shoot me, Todd." He whistled for Sally, got a running start toward the direction of the gunfire, then stopped and turned around. “Don’t shoot my dog, either!â€
27
* * *
Coy broke through the tree line and sprinted toward Civil War Road. His eyes took in the scene as if it was a series of still photographs. To the left, a man's lifeless body laid in the road, his throat torn open. Blood drenched his shirt and pooled on the asphalt next to him. Three creepers kneeled around his body, tearing off chunks of flesh and feeding on them.
Next- a dozen more creatures emerging from the far tree line.
Next- an old Buick parked sideways in the road. A boy of about eight and a girl around five stood on the roof of the car, crying. They wrapped their arms around each other as they dodged the grasping hands of the dead.
Next- a man and a woman fighting off creepers with hand-held weapons. The woman screamed over her shoulder to the children, shouting their names and pleading with them to not allow themselves to get grabbed. As she did, a bedraggled old creeper with half its face caved in grabbed ahold of the little girl’s ankle and tried to pull her off the top of the car. Her brother reached under her arms, locked his hands in front of her chest, and pulled.
Coy's mind processed the scene in a split second. He slid his rifle off his shoulder as he kneeled on one knee. The Buick was less than twenty-five yards away. From that distance he barely aimed, shouldering his rifle and firing it in one smooth motion. The creeper’s head crumbled and it fell, letting go of the girl’s leg. Unprepared for the sudden lack of resistance, the boy pulling on her fell backward onto his butt. A split second later, a creeper grabbed his shirt collar and tugged. He wailed and tried to resist but there was nothing on the smooth surface of the Buick's roof to grab hold of.
Though only a few feet further, his next shot was much more difficult. He had to miss the boy and hit the moving target before it chomped down on his shoulder. The bullet hit home a fraction of a second before the creeper struck, and he was pretty sure it nicked the boy’s neck before it took out the creature. But it didn't matter. It had pu
lled the child too near the edge of the roof before it fell, and now a half-dozen decaying hands could reach him, grabbing his arms and legs and hair. Coy turned his attention to the girl.
She watched her brother slide off the roof, her eyes wide and filled with terror. In her fear she forgot to keep moving and the creepers clutching at her legs missed her by only inches. Coy narrowed his focus to a small point- the creatures reaching for her. He was vaguely aware of the boy going over the edge of the roof and his mother screaming the cry of a parent witnessing the horrible death of her son. He paid that no mind and fired a succession of shots, shooting the dead like they were ducks in a carnival game. One by one, the creatures threatening the girl crumpled to the ground.
He pivoted to the couple. His immediate concern was firing a bullet that passed through a creeper and hit one of them. "Get down!" he shouted.
The man understood, grabbing his wife and dragging her to the asphalt. He fired first at the three creepers close enough to grab them. He dropped two and was lining up the third when it attacked, falling on top of them and snapping its jaws at their shoulders and faces. The woman scuttled away as her husband fought the creature. He laid on his back and pushed its jaws away from his body. Coy kept its rotting head in his sights and when the guy had pushed it a safe distance away, he fired. The creeper rained blood and gore on the man and crumpled on top of him.
Fast-moving feet pounded the ground behind Coy as Todd ran to join him. They hustled through the ditch and to the side of the road. Coy pointed at the dead that had emerged from the opposite tree line and now neared the road. "Keep those back." He didn't wait for an answer before taking off toward the girl. Firing as he ran, he dropped four creepers as they approached the couple. The man was up and ready to fight but his wife had given up and laid down with her arms over her head, sobbing.
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