by John L. Monk
“Right up here,” Sergeant Pearson said, pulling Dylan back from his thoughts. They’d arrived at a squat, utilitarian building. He pointed to the skids underneath it. “Mobile armory, see?”
Dylan nodded.
The armory was guarded by a dying private. The man challenged them outside the entrance, and even moved for his gun. Sergeant Pearson was faster and shot him with a pistol. No one was around to hear it, or if they were, they didn’t come to investigate.
Staring down at the body, the sergeant said, “He was dying anyway. And this ain’t the worst I’ve done.” He went quiet for a bit, and when next he spoke his voice was little more than a whisper. “You said my son’s gonna make it? You all friends now?”
That awful, cold feeling crept back into Dylan and curled around his spine. “Friends. Sure. He’s looking better.” Dylan nodded for effect. “H-he was eating.”
The man eyed him some more, then slowly nodded. “Well, all right, then.”
In the distance, a row of green military tents stretched from under the huge trees clear to the intersection. Beyond them, the road was blocked with metal rollaway barriers. In the other direction, a helicopter rested in the middle of the enormous lawn as if sunning itself. And no people anywhere.
The sergeant laughed suddenly. “Wouldn’t even be here if not for your dad. Got lucky, I guess.”
The sergeant’s words seemed to trigger something inside him. He squeezed his eyes shut in a fit of giggling hysteria that quickly turned to sobs.
Dylan had never seen a grown man cry before and didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent, stared at his shoes, and quietly wished he’d stop.
Moments later—as if hearing his plea—the sergeant wiped his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Don’t just stand there. Grab his feet.”
Together, they dragged the dead soldier into the armory. Then they looted the place.
16
Jack said to Greg, “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Course he knows,” Tony said, interrupting yet again. “He read all them books, didn’t he?”
Greg glanced sheepishly between them. “We’ll be fine, man. I keep telling you. We’ll wear life preservers, like you said to. I mean, once we find some.”
“And you’re not worried about your sister?” Jack said.
Greg shook his head. “You didn’t grow up with her. She’s probably eaten all your chickens, though. She’s a real pig that way.”
Jack smiled at his oldest friend’s bravery, then turned serious again. “This time of year, the water’s going to be freezing. What if you fall in?”
Greg shrugged. “We’ll bring towels and blankets. We’ll be fine, man, stop worrying so much.”
“That’s all he does,” Tony said scathingly. “Like an old woman, you ask me.”
As usual, Tony crept right to the edge of insubordination and stopped, knowing Jack would put up with it. The problem was, Lisa really liked Tony, and Tony felt safe in his position as an officer, even though he barely did anything. So Jack was overjoyed that Greg was taking him off his hands for a month. He was secretly tempted to send more troublemakers—lazy kids, or the ones always fighting. But he actually did want his friend to be successful, so he let him pick his crew according to his judgment.
Most of Jack’s time was spent organizing people—motivating them to do what had to be done. Everyone wanted to do the fun stuff and none of the so-called “boring” jobs like digging holes, carrying water, or chopping wood. Or reading books, for that matter. When Greg’s expedition came along, of course everyone wanted to go. Some had even threatened to follow along behind them, saying it was their “constitutional right.” Jack had to threaten them with permanent expulsion if they did any such thing.
Following Jack’s advice, Greg would take a small team of specially chosen people with him. Easier to outfit, less room for laziness.
“You have enough stuff?” Jack said, staring at the small convoy of cars. They’d been loaded with blankets, medicine, camp supplies, extra clothes, specially selected reading material, and what little food Big Timber could spare.
“Got enough to start a whole new outpost,” Tony said, chucking Greg in the arm. “Dude worries too much. We got this.”
“Totally,” Greg said.
The convoy of five cars and five people set off to hearty applause from the Dragsters and the children living in the Saskatchewan cabin. The cheering lasted suspiciously longer than necessary, as each group tried to outdo the other. Eventually, everyone was screaming at the top of their lungs.
Jack grinned through the noise. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he nodded at Larry, who shouted for them to calm down.
Later on, Jack said to him, “How are the studies going?”
“Mine or them?”
Jack had meant the Dragsters, but pivoted at the last second. “You.”
Larry said he’d read all the books on guns they’d picked up and thought he could do a lot of good taking care of and modifying their own weapons, provided he got the right tools. Reloading ammunition, he said, was a great way to push their ammo supply. But first they needed to stock up on powder, or learn how to make their own.
“Lisa’s researching that now,” Jack said. “Speaking of Lisa, you up for a drive today?”
“You think the roads are clear enough? Someone tried yesterday and got stuck.”
Greg’s expedition had snow shovels and cold weather gear to get them safely to the little town of Occoquan. But unlike the interstates, which were fairly clear for lack of tree cover, the side roads were still partially covered in places.
“Can’t hurt to try,” Jack said.
Larry nodded. “I’ll get my things. You want anyone else?”
“Maybe grab Olivia. Lisa’s probably dying for girl talk.”
“Girl talk? Lisa?”
Jack smiled. “There’s always a first time.”
Jack knew something had gone horribly wrong as soon as they reached the gate. Two severed human heads dangled upside down from cords looped through their jaws, making it look like they were screaming. Beneath them, on a piece of plywood, someone had painted: “ALL SHALL DIE WHO PASS BEYOND.”
“What the …?” Olivia said.
“That’s just creepy,” Larry said in a shocked whisper. “What the hell happened here?”
Jack didn’t reply. He had no words.
They got out of the car and approached the gate, which was bound with a rusty chain and secured with a padlock.
Olivia cupped her mouth as if holding back a scream. “Are any of them … Could she be …?”
Jack bent down for a look, analyzing them carefully. Then he said, “No. And I’ve never seen them before.”
Larry said, “I have. That one’s Derek. And she’s Carol. Or was. Is it me, or do they look fresh?”
“They do,” Jack said. “Guns ready.”
He passed his rifle through the gate and climbed over—careful not to touch the heads—then received Larry and Olivia’s weapons. He helped Olivia over, though she probably could have handled it. He still hadn’t shaken the image of the way they’d found her four months ago: near suicidal and emaciated from starvation. She was much stronger now and had put on weight. But she still dyed her hair green.
The coop with the chickens was closed. It shouldn’t have been, not during the day. What did that mean? Had Lisa eaten the birds?
“Doesn’t make sense,” Larry said, echoing his thoughts.
“She still have the same car?” Olivia said, staring at the line of fuel cars beyond the house. “I don’t see it.”
Jack shook his head slowly. “You two stay here and keep an eye out. I’ll check the house.”
“You sure?” Olivia said. “There could be a whole gang in there.”
“If that’s true, better they catch one of us than all of us.”
Larry stood watch by the coop, pistol-gripped shotgun clutched tightly to his chest. Olivia took positi
on behind the fuel cars, her face a mask of worry.
With a last look around, Jack approached the house cautiously, hands in the air, rifle looped over his shoulder. Unlike the last time he was here, planks had been hammered over the doors and windows. Here and there, he saw bullet holes in the boards and siding.
Jack checked the porch-side entrance. The path through the covered walkway was still a jumble of tools and equipment, though some of it had moved since last time. No severed heads, but he did find a handwritten note tacked to the door.
ALL HOPE ABANDON, YE WHO ENTER!!!
“What the …?”
Jack’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Dante? Since when?
Two years ago, Greg had gone through a phase, of sorts, and had made a big deal about Dante’s Inferno. That line had been his favorite, oft repeated in a menacing tone, eyes widened in horror. Jack had tried reading the book, then gave up two pages in. It was one big poem, and a pretty boring one at that.
Lisa hadn’t even tried reading the ancient poem.
“If I want poems,” she’d said, “I’ll read some that actually rhyme.”
But that one line had clearly taken hold.
Jack tried the door and found it locked. He rummaged through the various tools and came back with a chisel and a hammer, then broke in. The place looked normal … if completely bare of furniture. The only objects of note were some exercise mats, an inflatable mattress, pillows, folded covers, and Lisa’s stack of books near the stove in the living room. Lying on the pillow was a very familiar book—one Jack had given her to read if she got bored with all the science stuff: “The Harrowing Journey Of Sir Ernest Shackleton.” Jack’s dad had given it to him for his tenth birthday.
If he wasn’t so worried, he would have smiled. Early in life, he’d discovered how hard it was to get someone to read something he liked, no matter how much he hyped it.
Jack reached down and picked it up—and a folded piece of paper fell out and glided across the floor. It was a note:
If you’re reading this, I messed up bad and am probably dead. Jack, I shouldn’t have been such a jerk to you. Tell Greg I love him and I’m sorry I hit him so much growing up. Keep him safe.
On my first day here, that girl Cassie came with a bunch of kids and tried to kill me. After the snow melted, she did it again. I think one of those kids from the town told her where I was. She hates me and won’t give up, and I decided to go after her.
I didn’t want someone else coming here while I was away, so I did what I did at the gate to scare them. I’m not crazy. But it’s probably best if you don’t go in the barn. If you do and I see you again, I’ll explain it.
One of the heads on the gate is from a kid named Derek. He said his gang was somewhere off the first gas and food exit on 81 South. So that’s where I’m going.
A noise caused him to turn around.
“Hey, man,” Larry said, staring around the nearly empty room. “Everything okay? You see that freaky note on the door?”
“Where’s Olivia?”
“The barn,” he said. “The chickens are fine, but they’re almost out of water. Their food thing was empty so she went looking for more.”
Jack bolted outside. He heard the screaming as soon as he got to the cars. The barn door flew open and Olivia came out shaking in terror. She ran to Jack and sobbed into his chest.
“What?” he said.
“Something went wrong,” Olivia said, choking back tears and pointing into the barn.
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head and cried quietly.
Jack left her with Larry, then went to see. He wished he hadn’t. Hanging from the rafters were three bodies. One of them was barely a body at all, having been butchered down to bone and gristle. The other two were fresher—heads cut off, blood collected beneath them in buckets.
“Jesus,” he breathed.
Outside, Larry shouted, “What is it, man? She won’t tell me!”
Jack shook his head, unable to look away but wanting to desperately. Something had gone very wrong, indeed.
17
“She’s nuttier than a killer squirrel,” Larry said, staring at the grisly mess.
“Shut up!” Olivia yelled, shoving him. “She didn’t do this!”
Jack raised his hands for calm. “Guys, seriously, you’re not helping.” He exited the barn and they followed. “You’re both wrong. One, she’s not crazy. Two, yeah, she did it. And because she’s not crazy, that means she had a good reason. She’s our friend, right?”
They nodded—Olivia with enthusiasm, Larry after a brief hesitation.
“So we trust her,” he said.
Jack told them about the note he’d found in the book—about the attacks, and the reasoning behind the horror scene hanging from the gate.
“She didn’t have anyone here to protect the place,” he said, “so she left the only guards she had—something to scare people.”
Larry said, “Well it worked on me. But why did she go after them alone?”
“Because she’s a moron, Larry.”
Larry nodded as if that made perfect sense.
In a low voice, Jack said, “We need to keep that”—pointing at the barn—“a secret. Greg can’t find out. Got it?”
When they agreed, he thanked them like an adult would, shaking their hands and looking them steadily in the eyes. He hoped the extra formality would help them remember their promise.
Olivia offered to take the heads off the gate. Jack and Larry dug a shallow grave at the edge of the property and dumped the bodies in it, followed by the heads.
Later, he’d have to find new volunteers to stay here. Lisa, if she were still alive, wouldn’t be returning.
“You really think she fed them to the chickens?” Larry said.
“Only thing that makes sense,” Jack said, and wondered if he believed it himself.
“What if she … you know … so she wouldn’t starve?”
Jack leveled him a flat look.
“Just saying,” Larry said.
It was ten o’clock when they finally left.
After the turnoff to 81, Jack glanced at Larry. “We don’t go in and shoot everything that moves. Okay?”
Larry laughed. “I won’t if you don’t.”
“Let’s just find them,” Olivia said. “Then worry about who shoots who.”
They took the first exit with a gas station, like the note said. No sign of Lisa or anyone. Just a lot of gas stations, motels, and fast food places. The motels looked empty, but only a fool would stay in a motel in winter. How would you heat it?
They continued and came to a T intersection in a wooded area.
“Try right,” Olivia said.
“Left,” Larry said.
A cubby in the dashboard held loose change. Jack grabbed a quarter and said, “We’ll flip for it. Heads right, tails left.”
He flipped the quarter, caught it, then slapped it onto the back of his hand.
“Let’s see,” Larry said, watching intently.
Jack removed his hand. Tails.
“Hah! Nailed it.”
“I always lose,” Olivia said.
Jack marveled at how people his age could focus on the least important things. Their friend was in danger—possibly dead—and they were distracted by coin tosses.
He turned left and drove for perhaps a mile.
“Jack, look!” Olivia said, pointing between the seats.
“I see it.”
A second later, he swore. It was Lisa’s car, all right—but the windows were all broken, the doors shot up, and the tires slashed. There was nothing in the car but broken glass.
They got out with guns drawn and gazed down the road, but saw nothing.
Larry popped the hood. “Battery’s gone.”
By unspoken agreement, they ventured into the woods on either side of the road, calling for Lisa repeatedly on the off chance she was lying nearby hurt.
A few minutes later, Olivia shou
ted, “Jack, up here!” She pointed over a barbed wire fence to a spot on the ground. “Look!”
Jack climbed the fence, reached down and picked up a black 9mm pistol like the one Lisa carried. He checked the magazine and bit his lip in frustration. The shells were arranged in a familiar pattern he’d encouraged everyone to use: hollow-point, solid, hollow-point, solid. The solids were for targets behind targets. Whether it would actually matter in a firefight he could only guess.
Jack called Larry over.
“It’s hers,” Jack said. “You guys wait here. If you see someone, fire warning shots. If they keep coming, kill them. Nobody gets through.”
“What about you?” Olivia said.
He pointed into the woods. “She could be out there somewhere. I have to look.”
“We’ll hold the fort,” Larry said, raising his shotgun like a salute.
“If I’m not back in a few hours,” Jack said, “meet me at that place with the gas stations. If I’m still not back, go to the cabins and bring help. Cool?”
They both nodded, and Jack set out.
Jack knew some woodcraft from his family hikes. He could tell what tracks belonged to which animals. He could start a fire with flint, steel, and cotton. When he was nine, he’d even made snares. One had actually snagged something, only to fall apart under the animal’s struggles. A good thing, as far as Jack was concerned. If he’d found the creature alive, he would have had to kill it with his bare hands. So maybe he hadn’t secured it with a very good knot … His dad was satisfied, and that’s what mattered.
Focus. Find her.
Though the roads were mostly free of deep snow, it stacked ankle deep under the trees and turned slushy where it was clear. Bad for his now freezing toes, but easy to follow her frantic trail. Here and there, he saw dark brown spots along the outer left of some of the footprints, and worried it was blood.