Badlands Trilogy (Book 3): Out of the Badlands

by Brian J. Jarrett

  The two glanced at each other. This time Sam spoke. “Illinois.”

  “Really? I pegged you as a Kansas boy. You’re a long way from home, Sam.”

  “You could say that.”

  “How about you, Chloe?” Lester asked.

  “Kansas,” Chloe added.

  “Really? How’d you two end up in Colorado?”

  “Our parents moved us around a lot,” Sam said.

  Lester’s face assumed a mask of concern. “Your folks are gone?”

  Sam swallowed hard. “Yeah. We were staying at a place with some other people, but not anymore.”

  “What happened?” Lester asked.

  “A tree fell on the fence and…something got in and killed everybody.”

  “Something? You mean carriers? Or animals?”

  Sam shrugged. He lowered the pistol a foot or so. Lester doubted he even noticed he’d done it. “I don’t know. They weren’t carriers exactly, they were something else.”

  “I’ve seen them,” Lester said. “Pale, almost pure white. Sharp teeth and claws. Only come out at night. Sound about right?”

  Sam’s eyes lit up. He lowered the pistol all the way, pointing it at the ground. “That’s it!”

  Bingo, Lester thought. “I’ve seen them from a distance, at least. I don’t think many people who’ve been up close and personal with them live to tell the tale.”

  “We saw them up close,” Sam said, his eyes wide. “The light hurts their eyes. They attacked us as night and I used my camera’s flash to blind them. Gave us time to get away.” He paused. “Well, Chloe and me.”

  “What exactly are they?” Chloe asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” Lester replied. “But I think they have something to do with the virus.”

  Sam nearly came out his skin. “That’s the same thing I said! Maybe not a carrier, but some…mutant carrier!”

  “You might be on to something there. They’re bipedal, but clearly not human. They’re also not carriers, at least not the carriers we’ve seen over the past few years. It can’t be a new species of animal because a species can’t just crop up in a matter of months. It takes hundreds of thousands of years, sometimes millions of years, for a species to evolve.” He paused, raising his eyebrows. “So if a species can’t just spring up overnight, what’s the only thing in recent years that’s affected humans so drastically?”

  “The virus!” Sam exclaimed.

  “Exactly. If you ask me I think the carriers are changing. These new creatures might be mutants like you said, or possibly the next evolution of the carrier.”

  “They don’t come out in the daytime.”

  “Well, that’s when the other monsters come out,” Lester said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The human monsters. Lots of bad people out these days. Cutthroats and the like cruise these roads. I’ve seen them plenty. And believe me, I know a psycho when I see one.”

  Sam nodded. “Right. You’re a shrink.” He paused. “No offense.”

  Lester smiled wide. “No offense taken. I don’t even know if I’d call myself a doctor anymore. Doesn’t seem to be any such thing these days, at least not my kind of doctoring. Maybe I’m just a guy who knows a lot about how the mind works.”

  Sam chuckled. “I guess you’re right.”

  “Say, how about I walk with you two for a bit?” Lester said. He noticed some residual apprehension spread across their faces. “Hear me out. I know the dangerous stretches of this road. I’ve spent a lot of time on it. I keep moving these days. If you stay in one place, eventually they’ll find you. On the move you can avoid them. I’m not sure where you guys are headed exactly, but I can help you navigate the bad areas. Then we can part ways or keep going, totally up to you two. I won’t be offended either way. Besides, you two have the guns. What do you say?”

  The pair looked at each other and then back at Lester. He raised his eyebrows, making his eyes wider. A trick on their subconscious to reinforce that he was harmless.

  “Give us a minute,” Chloe said.

  “Take your time,” Lester said, still smiling.

  Chloe took Sam a few yards away. They huddled together like a two-person football team discussing their next play. Their mouths moved, but Lester couldn’t make out what they were saying. He could tell from their body language that the girl wasn’t sure. But the boy, he was on board.

  A few minutes later the pair returned to Lester. “So what’s the verdict?” he asked.

  “You can come for a while,” Chloe said. “No guarantees on how long.” Sam stood beside her, smiling. He might have the boy convinced, but the girl would take a little longer. No matter. He had time.

  “Perfect,” Lester said, grinning back. “We’re going to get along great, I’m sure of it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The rest of the men blocking the roadway stood two dozen wide. All dressed in flowing robes, they appeared well-fed and groomed. They carried no conspicuous weapons and made no threatening gestures. Their faces remained stoic, looking ahead as if waiting to be told what to do next.

  Still, Ed didn’t like it at all.

  “What’s going on, Dad?” Jeremy asked.

  “Not sure yet, buddy.”

  “Can you hear what they’re saying?” Trish asked.

  Ed shook his head.

  “Should we bolt?” Jasper asked. Around them murmuring began. Others were clearly becoming tense.

  Ed didn’t reply. Instead, he waited with tense anticipation while the tall and bearded leader of the group conferred with Alice. Seconds passed with no indication of whether or not this group was friend or enemy.

  A few moments later one of the men from Alice’s truck approached Ed’s truck. He made his way to the driver’s side door, hoisting himself up to talk to John through the open driver’s side window. Despite being closer, Ed couldn’t make out the particulars of the conversation between the two men.

  A few moments later John raised his voice loud enough for Ed to hear. “Are they sure?” he asked. Then, “I don’t care what Alice says...” He trailed off, his voice buried under the sound of the lead truck’s engine accelerating. It veered off the highway and onto the exit ramp, the rest of the group of strangers following behind on foot.

  “That bitch!” John exclaimed from the cab, audible over the sound of the engine. A moment later Ed’s truck lurched forward, forcing those in the back to catch their balance.

  “What the hell is going on now?” Jasper asked. “Why are we getting off the interstate?”

  Ed frowned. “I guess we know who’s really in charge now.”

  * * *

  The two large trucks exited the desolate highway, turning down a dilapidated two-lane road. The jeep carrying the group’s robed leader caught up and raced past, his bodyguards (Ed couldn’t think of them as anything else now) occupying the seats next to him. The others who’d blocked the highway earlier followed on foot behind.

  Ahead, the two-lane road leading away from the highway had at some point been cleared of derelict vehicles. Lining this side road, withering houses sat empty, their windows like gaping eye sockets in rotting skulls. Each house had a large, black X drawn on the front door. Downed power lines draped from faded utility poles like a snakes hanging from treetops. A murder of crows roosting upon the remaining suspended overhead lines took flight upon the arrival of the vehicles, cawing their annoyance at the intruders as they escaped into the sky.

  Nearly a mile away from the highway, their destination became obvious. A large stone church bearing a tall steeple loomed ahead. A tall, chain-link fence surrounded the structure, rising ten feet into the air. A second building stood behind the main church, its multi-colored exterior a patchwork quilt of repurposed building materials cobbled together after the virus, when materials, skilled labor and the luxury of time were all hard to come by.

  Ed didn’t like the look of the place. The fact that these people had set up shop in a church made him suspicious.
In his experience, when dogma reigned over reason very bad things tended to happen. The robes, the beards, long hair, the creepy church…too many red flags. But now Ed was at the mercy of others.

  As the trucks rumbled toward the church, people began filtering outside through the two main front doors. Women dominated the group’s numbers, flanked by a smaller group of bearded men. The women dressed in the same plain robes, their long hair pulled back into no-nonsense ponytails.

  Ed glanced around the back of the truck. They all stood, straining to get their own look at their unexpected destination. Ed noticed the Kevins standing side by side, exchanging worried glances while Terry Wilkinson looked on, his red beard almost glowing in the overhead sun. Ed even noticed the husky woman with the stringy hair, the one who’d shushed him earlier that morning, a concerned look on her face. He wondered how much bad attitude she had now. Still others simply sat, apparently accepting the detour as part of the trip.

  Ed’s own children peeked around the wooden side rails of the truck bed, in search of a better view. They were suspicious, he knew. He’d trained them himself, after all.

  “What the hell is this place?” Jasper asked.

  “Some kind of commune, maybe?” Trish said.

  “I don’t want to stop here, Dad,” Zach said.

  “Me neither,” Ed replied. He had two choices now. He could try to run, taking his family and whatever guns and supplies they had on them. But they’d be back on foot then, with sixteen hundred miles of wasteland left to cross. And if the people inside that church meant them no harm, he might very well be issuing a death sentence to his family. They’d barely survived the walk from the east coast to St. Louis; the likelihood that they’d cross double the distance and live to tell seemed very low.

  His other choice would be stay and see what happened. He and his fellow travelers numbered two dozen, all armed. The church people hadn’t brandished a single weapon as of yet. It was entirely possible that these people simply offered some food and shelter for the night, an offer that no armed convoy capable of protecting themselves should pass up.

  Then the truck carrying Ed and his family ground to a halt in front of the tall gate surrounding the church. A handful of men from inside the building opened the gate by sliding it back onto metal wheels, like a giant sliding glass door. It was now or never. Once they went inside that fence there would be no undoing that decision.

  Feeling the seconds scream by, Ed looked at Zach and Jeremy. There would be no way they could make a trip on foot. They needed the truck, they needed the supplies and they needed the guns. Making the trip on foot without these things was suicide.

  The sliding gate came to an abrupt stop, leaving the entrance open. One of the men dressed in robes waved them through. The truck lurched as the engine growled and then they were inside the church’s fence, the gate closing behind them.

  Chapter Twelve

  Steven Barnes—known by the members of his gang by last name only—sat behind the wheel of a van filled with swords, knives, guns and six motherfuckers that would kill him if he showed them any sign of weakness. Behind them in another van, five more of the same type followed, all equally ready and willing to run roughshod over him, should the chance present itself.

  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been challenged. A year prior a big motherfucker by the name of Tau started running with the group. The guy thought he was big shit. And he was big…fucker was seven feet if he was an inch, with arms the size of Barnes’s legs.

  One day they found a group of walking skeletons defending their last little stockpile of food. Barnes and his men took them with virtually no effort. Once he had their stash he’d planned to let the poor bastards go. But Tau started his shit again, questioning him in front of the men, calling him out as weak and unfit. Barnes had no choice then but to cut the throats of the survivors they’d found, just to disprove Tau’s claims.

  That should have been enough, but it wasn’t. Tau kept up with his shit. Wouldn’t drop it. Eventually Tau made his move; tried to sneak up on Barnes while he was taking a piss behind the van. By the time Barnes was through with that piece of shit, old Tau was lying in a pool of his own blood, his face carved up like a fucking jack-o-lantern and two knives jutting out of his chest like stacks on a steam ship.

  Nobody in the crew had challenged him since.

  But you never knew who was plotting against you. That was part of being a leader. You had to keep your guard up all the goddamn time unless you wanted a knife in your back. Food was scarce these days, scarcer if you were picky. Barnes and his men weren’t picky. They ate deer and other wild animals when they could get them and leftovers from civilization past when they couldn’t.

  And when both were scarce they took to eating people.

  It wasn’t that bad once you got used to it. Getting your head around it was the worst part, but that passed, faster than one might think, too. And he discovered that once you had enough of it you kinda wanted more. As it turned out, people tasted pretty damn good, especially on a very empty stomach. Humans were still animals, after all, and it was a dog eat dog kinda world. There weren’t a lot of people around these days, but if you looked hard—if you hunted for them—well, they could be found.

  “Stores are running low,” Womack said from the passenger seat.

  “Uh-huh,” Barnes grunted back, pulled from his thoughts.

  Christopher Womack was Barnes’s right hand man. Smart, loyal and ruthless, Womack was indispensable to the group. He’d been an accountant in his prior life before the virus and his physical build said as much. Thin and lanky, Womack wouldn’t stand much of a chance against most of the other guys in the crew—at least not in a fair fight.

  But Womack never fought fair and he never lost a fight.

  Truth was, Womack was a scary motherfucker. Barnes considered himself a hard ass—construction work before the virus, complimented with lots of bar fights—but deep down he knew himself to be reasonable. Hard, but reasonable.

  Womack was a fucking psychopath. Barnes would never admit it to the others, but Womack scared him more than just a little. Secretly he hoped that his right hand man never became an enemy. If so, Barnes wouldn’t hesitate to kill him (that was the practical thing to do).

  “What’s the plan?” Womack continued. “The jerky is going to run out in a day or two.”

  The jerky in question had been made from the remains of a couple they ran into a hundred miles back. Barnes killed the guy quickly, but Womack had other plans for the girl. He took her away screaming. A few hours later she came back in pieces, ready to be smoked. Barnes didn’t ask any questions. In the end, meat was meat.

  “Decent amount of wild game in this area,” Barnes replied. “Lots of deer and whatnot.”

  “Maybe,” Womack said, “but the boys are hankering for some PBs.”

  PBs. Womack’s own term. People Burgers.

  “Deer will do just fine too,” Barnes replied.

  Womack shrugged. “Be good for morale.”

  “Is it low?”

  Womack shrugged. “PBs would hit the spot.” He smiled, revealing three missing lower teeth.

  Barnes almost shivered. “Noted.”

  Womack went silent. Not uncommon—Womack was a man of few words—but Barnes always wondered what was banging around in that head of his. Most days, he was glad he didn’t know.

  A road sign appeared ahead. “Topeka,” Womack said. “Might get ourselves some PBs there.”

  Barnes nodded. “We might just yet.”

  As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he had to agree with Womack. He had a hankering for a PB himself.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The trucks parked and unloaded their human cargo. Their hosts led them through large, stained-glass double doors and into the large chapel area. Inside, more people sat in pews, watching the new arrivals with rapt attention. Ed wasn’t close enough to either Alice or John and could not overhear any more of the conversation. He could see t
hem, though, both engaged in an animated conversation with the man who’d flagged them down earlier.

  Now committed, Ed complied, keeping Zach and Jeremy close by as he exited the truck and fell into the line streaming into the building. Trish followed, as did Jasper. The others from the trucks filed in alongside them, herded together like cattle.

  He could only hope they weren’t being led to slaughter.

  As the church loomed, Ed began to have second thoughts. Should they have run? Sure, it would be dangerous, but who knew what lay on the other side of that door? If he’d only had more time to decide, to weigh the odds, maybe he would have felt better about his decision. Truth was, he didn’t have the time and never would.

  They stepped across the threshold and into the church. Robed men directed Ed and the others into pews, filling the sections evenly. It reminded Ed of his childhood days, when his father got a wild hair every year or so and hauled the family into church for the Sunday sermon. He didn’t like it then and he didn’t like it now.

  Low murmurs filled the chapel, bouncing off the walls and amplifying as they rose to the ceiling. John and Alice stood near the pulpit, heads together as they conversed with their bearded host. More bearded men lined the back wall of the chapel, their arms crossed, long robes draping onto the floor.

  “Is this a church?” Zach whispered.

  “Looks that way,” Ed replied.

  “Is it still a church?” Jeremy asked.

  “Guess we’re going to find out soon enough.”

  “I don’t like this,” Trish whispered. “Gives me the creeps.”

  “Amen, sister,” Jasper added. “Creep city.”

  A ringing bell from the pulpit caught their attention. All eyes turned toward the front of the room.

  “Our new friends,” the tall man from the highway said. Loud and confident, his voice carried throughout the open room. “I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce myself and my congregation. My name is Enoch. The brothers and sisters you see around you are members of the Immaculate House of Concordance. Our church is this humble building in which you are now seated.