Hell's Encore: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (This Dark Age Book 2)

by John L. Monk

  40

  Jack learned of the attack after a day spent butchering and smoking steers. He was on his way to get more salt from the salt thing, as he thought of it, when he realized his CB was off. When he turned it on, a tired voice came over the radio: “… Jack? If you hear this, come home. We got attacked.” A little boy, or maybe a girl.

  Jack clicked the mic. “Who is this? What’s wrong?”

  “Jack?” the child said excitedly. “Oh, thank goodness! I’ve been calling all day!”

  “What happened?” he said.

  The child—a little girl, he decided—began rambling in a distraught river of words he could barely make out. Something about machine guns and fires and explosions, and then she started crying. Now he really couldn’t understand her.

  When she finally closed the mic, he jumped in: “Just stay put and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Jack continued past the salt thing, making for the exit to Big Timber. The sentry car at the end of the mile-long gravel drive, he noticed, had been shot full of holes. He didn’t get out to see if anyone was in it.

  When he pulled into Big Timber, he discovered a hellish scene of shattered windows and blown-up fuel cars. Most shocking was the massive Saskatchewan—reduced to a smoking husk of blackened timber and ash.

  A little girl named Judy was waiting for him in the gravel lot. He parked his car and got out.

  “Where is everyone?” Jack said to her.

  Judy was eight or nine years old. He remembered her because she frequently helped Molly with the smaller kids.

  She grabbed him around the middle and cried. “Lisa’s at Freida’s. That’s what I was supposed to tell you. They left on the bus!”

  He waited a minute, letting her cry, then gently pushed her back. “Can you stay here while I look around?”

  Judy nodded and wiped her eyes.

  Jack left her there and checked out the sales trailer, where they’d taken to storing their food. All of it was gone. The door hadn’t been pried or kicked in, so he figured it had been taken during the evacuation.

  He surveyed the cabins, damaged beyond salvation, and found fifteen forms behind the Abe Lincoln wrapped in red-stained blankets.

  Judy was sitting on the hood of the car when he returned.

  “Is Lisa okay?” he said.

  She nodded.

  “What about the other officers?”

  “It was just her and Molly. She’s ok too. My friend Laura died.”

  He hugged her again, then they got in the car.

  Sitting behind the wheel, Jack gazed stonily at the ruins of Big Timber. This was his home, dammit. He’d made it so. Leaving it like this felt like a retreat—like they’d won. Well, they hadn’t won … whoever they were. Not yet. In fact, they’d lost big time. They just didn’t know it yet.

  “Big time,” he said.

  Lisa, Freida, and her younger sister, Carla, came outside when Jack arrived with the little girl. Each carried a rifle—in their hands, and not slung over their shoulders. Behind them, eight or nine kids, big and little, crowded the front door to see. Their faces were frightened at first, then smiling with relief when they recognized him.

  “What happened?” he said after Judy had gone inside.

  Lisa told him all she knew: the shootings, the attack on the fuel cars, and the abrupt retreat after she’d picked off a few of them. She told him no officers had died, but that seven little kids, five older girls, and the three boys guarding the road were all dead. After emptying the sales trailer of food, she’d packed the survivors into the school bus and settled them in Front Royal.

  “Tell me more about the trucks,” Jack said.

  Bitterly, she said, “Army trucks with guns on the top. Bunch of cowards. Like to see them come back.”

  “I wouldn’t. Not until we can protect ourselves,” Jack said. He puzzled over her words. “You say they specifically targeted the fuel cars?”

  She nodded. “Seemed that way.”

  “But they’re a ways off from the cabins. Also, even if they shot them, they shouldn’t have exploded like that.”

  He knew this because he’d snuck off one time to try it, just to see.

  Lisa shook her head. “No, they had some kind of … I don’t know what you call it. The bullets were on fire or something. I think it’s so you can see where you’re shooting.”

  “Tracer rounds,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Someone could have told them about the gas. We haven’t seen Greg and the others yet. They should be home by now.”

  Lisa’s eyes flashed hotly. “That’s what I’ve been telling you for weeks! You told me I was overreacting. To calm down. Now you’re saying my brother ratted us out?”

  “I’m not saying that,” he said. “I’m just saying … I mean, it makes no sense. For all I know, it was one of the new groups, playing along and then backstabbing us.”

  Freida cleared her throat. “Why don’t you come in and eat something?”

  Jack started to say no, but Lisa was already heading in.

  Eggs, preserved beef, and onions helped level out the tension in the room, though Freida had to yell at the onlookers to stop onlooking. Once, Jack distinctly heard the word “gas” from the other room. The way she was looking at him over her meal, Lisa heard it too. He couldn’t tell if they were talking about the explosions or what he’d done to Cassie’s friends. He surprised himself when he realized he didn’t care.

  “So, uh … how’s everything else?” Carla said when the kitchen seemed like it couldn’t get any quieter. “Getting a lot done?”

  “Not enough,” Jack said. “We need more help. More people who can ride horses. More horses people can ride.”

  “We see horses sometimes,” she said. “Walking down the road.”

  Jack nodded, glad for the distraction. “Probably all wild by now. But if we can corral them, pack them in tight, then separate a younger one or a mare … we could maybe bring them back. But like I said, we need more help.”

  Carla said she’d help. Freida told her no way was she getting on any horses, and the room quieted after that. When Jack finally pushed back his plate, Lisa left the room and came back with a stack of printer paper and a handful of pens.

  “What’s all that for?” Carla said.

  Jack grabbed a sheet and a pen and started writing.

  “Planning,” Lisa said and sat down next to him.

  The next week flitted by in a flurry of activity.

  Big Timber was ruined. Which was fine. Jack preferred a more distributed western presence anyway. With Larry’s help, he split up the Dragsters, placing an equal number at each base, with special attention paid to the personalities involved. No base could have all tough guys. Nor would any be loaded down with the most timid members. Younger kids already living in Front Royal, or who found themselves there after the attack, were taken out and placed with their older brothers and sisters. The idea being that the older kids—with more to protect than themselves—would work harder because they had more to lose.

  He drew up a list of edicts, which Freida printed on her computer for circulation:

  No longer would Jack put up with kids old enough to shoot who refused to carry their weapons. Boys and girls alike were required to carry a pistol, a rifle, and four loaded magazines for each weapon in a backpack at all times.

  All bases would perform daily scavenging runs, with an emphasis on finding diesel fuel and diesel trucks and cars. Additionally, anyone who left couldn’t return without guns, ammunition, medicine, or other supplies useful for survival. Coming back without provisions was automatically labeled as joyriding, which was now strictly prohibited.

  Each base was required to rotate a watch of two teenagers every four hours, which Jack deemed short enough to keep them from sleeping. Each guard would watch a different section of road, and they’d check-in with each other regularly over walkie-talkies. Vans with food, bedding, and sideband-enabled rad
ios were placed at intervals between the bases to quickly spread word of attack or any other important information.

  Farming, schooling, and regular practice with weapons would replace “goofing off,” as Jack labeled it. Everyone had jobs. The little kids—when they weren’t learning or helping out—were encouraged to report anyone who fell asleep at their posts or otherwise broke the rules.

  Lisa added an edict of her own:

  Daily calisthenics and jogging were also required—to strengthen the weak and build discipline. She said that’s how the world’s militaries did it. She also suggested putting the scariest, toughest people in charge, so as to better enforce the new rules. With a few exceptions (because some of the tough kids were morons), Jack agreed.

  The penalty for noncompliance to any edict was immediate exile. Those exiled could carry nothing with them except the clothes on their backs and a day’s supply of food. Anyone who tried to stay would be beaten. If they still wouldn’t leave, they’d be executed.

  Lisa had raised an eyebrow at that one.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Jack said. “This way it seems more official. Everyone’s excited to have something to do. And if they’re not, we don’t want them, and they don’t want to be here. No one’s going to die.”

  “Hit-lerrrr …” she sang, though it seemed more teasing than serious.

  A week into the new rules and Jack felt mostly pleased with the results. There had been a few infractions: sleeping on watch, not getting up to go jogging, carrying less than four magazines because someone’s pack was “too heavy.” There had even been a murder, when one of the base leaders got a little too tough with a new kid. It happened fast—the new kid turned his brand-new rifle on the leader and shot him dead. Then he’d hopped in a car and sped off.

  The occasion sparked the first widespread use of the new communication network. Word spread quickly, along with a description of the kid and the car he took, and nearby bases were mobilized to keep a look out for him. Jack would have liked to put the boy on trial and then exile him, but Priscilla from Winchester killed him first.

  “Did you at least try to get him to surrender?” Jack said.

  “No,” she said, sounding puzzled. “He did that on his own. Threw his gun down and everything.”

  That made no sense. “Well, then why the heck did you shoot him?”

  Priscilla smiled brightly. “He stole a car. Stealing’s wrong, Jack.”

  Of all his base leaders, she’d been the one he was most worried about because she hadn’t seemed that tough. Now he had a whole new reason to worry about her, if she felt she could gun down unarmed people. Her only saving grace was the others in her group lacked her enthusiasm.

  “No more shooting people,” he told her. “Not unless they’re shooting at you. Got it?”

  She didn’t like that much, but she nodded.

  Two days passed, and they finally had good news—this time from Lisa. She’d taken up solitary residence at Big Timber, sleeping in the sales trailer to await Greg’s return.

  “He’s back, he’s back!” she said by radio during a daily check-in. “I knew he’d come back! I told you!”

  She’d said no such thing, but he didn’t correct her. He shared her joy. But he was also worried. Greg had returned alone, without Tony or the others.

  Jack had a dozen questions when he pulled into Big Timber’s gravel lot. What happened out there? Why didn’t he come home sooner? Why hadn’t he sent word? The questions died on his lips when he saw Lisa hugging her brother while he sobbed into her shoulder.

  Lisa gazed at Jack with a flinty hardness in her eyes that spooked him. “Greg says he knows who attacked us.”

  41

  Jack called a meeting of the original officers, as well as the seven new base leaders. Their new capital was a big, brick house overlooking 66 from the vantage of a grassy hillside. He particularly liked the place because of the great view for a mile in each direction. It had an efficient wood stove with a cooktop, and a nearby well that worked after Lisa connected a generator to the house and turned on the pump. This meant he and any visitors could use an actual toilet if they wanted to, and not a smelly hole in the ground. A luxury, but a perk he thought his new nation could easily afford. In the summer, turning on the air conditioner would make the place seem that much more impressive, and help solidify his position as leader.

  None of this was for his ego or comfort. In fact, he worried he’d grow soft, and he felt guilty over the prospect of living it up while everyone else sweated in the heat and hauled around water. But he also knew that force alone couldn’t keep their tentative grasp on civilization from falling apart—that the hierarchy had to seem right to people. Permanent. Otherwise they might lose faith and stop trying. And yes, if some of the new leaders thought that by sticking with him they could have a temperature controlled house with a toilet and a great view someday, then they’d work that much harder to get it.

  Jack stood at the head of a dinner table that could seat about half of them while the others stood. Later, he’d get a bigger one to fill the room.

  “We were attacked,” he said into the quiet room. “We weren’t prepared and we paid a huge price. Now we know. So, in that sense, they died to make us stronger.”

  The attendees exchanged nervous glances. Everyone knew a bunch of children had been killed. Some of them were the brothers and sisters of older kids now stationed at the new bases.

  After the brief, built-in pause, Jack continued the rest of his short speech, which he’d written and rewritten over the course of the last three days.

  “One of the most important things a society does, in addition to educating and forcing everyone to take up jogging”—he paused again, and a few of the officers he’d asked to laugh laughed—“is protect its people from invaders, troublemakers, and law breakers. Right now, our laws are pretty simple: do your job, don’t steal, and don’t kill anyone except in self-defense. These aren’t the kinds of laws you write down. They’re obvious. We know them like we know how to walk and talk. And when those murderers came to our home and attacked us, they knew it too.”

  Nodding heads and “yep” and “yeah” and “totally” sounded around the room.

  “What we have to do,” Jack said, “is enforce the law. We need to protect our people. Because that’s what a nation does. And make no mistake: we are a nation. Not a bunch of kids playing pretend.”

  More nodding, and Larry said, “Damned right.”

  Jack took a deep breath before reading aloud from a copied fragment of Winston Churchill’s most famous speech, the words of which he’d changed a little to fit the occasion:

  “I have full confidence that if all do their duty, if nothing is neglected, and if the best arrangements are made, as they are being made, we shall prove ourselves able to defend our home, to ride out the storm of war, and to outlive the menace of tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone.” Jack felt a little foolish uttering the great man’s words, but after a quick glance around the table to see if people were laughing—they weren’t—he plowed on. “We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in the cities. We shall fight in the towns. We shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in our new citizens. We shall defend our nation, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight in the alleys. We shall fight on the rooftops. We shall fight in the fields and in the streets! We shall fight in the hills! We shall never surrender!”

  Jack raised his voice and pounded the table with each We shall fight while those assembled clapped and cheered. Still feeling like a fraud, he tried not to look at Greg or Lisa, who’d almost certainly heard the speech before.

  When the cheering died, Jack said, “A couple of things before Greg tells us what happened on his trip. Rippers isn’t a fitting name for our new country, or anyone in it. Neither is the Dragsters, the Pyros, or even the United States of America. We’re going to vote on a name Olivia came up with.”

  He looked at her and she stood up.r />
  Smiling nervously, Olivia said, “The way I see it, we’re the first nation after the Sickness. Everyone else has a gang or something, or maybe they don’t call themselves anything.”

  “So, what’s the new name?” a base leader named Stephen said impatiently.

  “I’m getting to it,” Olivia said, glaring at him until he looked away. “I thought we’d call ourselves Legion, like from the Bible.”

  Across the room, Freida gasped. Of them all, she and her sister were the only ones who didn’t technically belong to the group, and Jack had never pressed them to join. They were more like allies—a family of two, living on their own. They were also known to be very religious.

  Jack cleared his throat. “It’s just a metaphor—a comparison, sort of. Right, Olivia?”

  She nodded. “I’m not super Christian, but we prayed and stuff … my family … and we went to church. In the Bible, way back when, Jesus met a man possessed by demons. He asked their names and they said We are legion. Way I see it, God abandoned us.” She shrugged. “May as well make it official.”

  Several base leaders and even a few officers laughed at that.

  “Still not better than Lava Demons,” Greg said, “but it’ll do.”

  Larry said, “I think it sounds cool. ’Nuff said.”

  “Well I think it’s disgusting,” Freida said, arms crossed and scowling. “Why can’t you think of something else?”

  Beside her, Carla nodded.

  “It’s settled,” Jack said flatly. “If God doesn’t like it, he can give us back our parents. Another thing: this is the new capital, and I’ve named it Camp Phoenix. They burn us down, we come right back. Got it? Everyone, go ahead and clap now.”

  Laughter and clapping all around, followed by the spontaneous chorus: Phoenix! Phoenix! Phoenix! Soon the chorus changed: Legion! Legion! Legion! To Jack, it seemed like they were laying into it with extra enthusiasm in order to irritate Freida and her sister.