"Maybe. If so, it could mean they found the bus and were told where to find us."
Danny's mood brightened. "I knew it!"
"So where's the bus? It could also be that they have something to do with that mess we found inside. We can't assume anything."
He took another look. The shop was across the street, past the light that the bus had knocked over onto the sidewalk last night. He shrugged off the pack and laid it onto the ground at Danny's feet. "Stay here with the stuff. Don't let them see you."
"Where are you going?"
"To get a closer look."
"But what about me?"
"Just trust me on this, Danny. I can get over there faster and stay hidden better than the two of us together. No offense."
"What do I do if they start to leave?"
Jonah pursed his lips. "If it looks like they're leaving town and I'm not back, then I guess we have no choice. Stop them. Just, please, don't get yourself shot." He saw the look of alarm on the older man's face and tried to reassure him. "Be smart, and it won't be a problem."
Before Danny could say anything else, he sprinted out into the street, keeping a low profile. He made it to the bank and slid to a stop around the corner of the building, then turned and gestured at Danny to sit tight. When Danny nodded that he understood, Jonah continued along the side and around the back.
The town had been built with most of the businesses lining the main road and a few more extending along the intersecting street. There was a lot of concrete, but thankfully little fencing separating the properties. Businesses immediately gave way to residential homes.
Many of the houses had low pickets or decorative wire fences in front, which we easy to step over, and the property lines separating neighbors appeared to have been marked with simple shrubs. The plants had since shriveled into lifeless skeletons from neglect.
He climbed over an elevated ramped between the bank and the next building over, which had once been some kind of office, then skirted that structure and hurried over to the next. A sign on the side advertised BAB'S BBQ & NOTARY PUBLIC. He wondered idly what had become of Bab. The memory of barbecued steaks and hamburgers reminded him of how empty his stomach was.
Each of the businesses had a small apron of concrete in back for parking. At the rear edge of the bank's lot was a cinderblock wall, and beyond that were either empty fields or more houses.
A large rusted barbecue grill sat near the restaurant's back door. Next to it was a dumpster, one of its two lids propped slightly open with what appeared to be an old plastic dairy crate.
The repair shop was the next building over, but to get to it, he'd have to climb over a six-foot wooden fence or go around it.
He hurried over to the dumpster and leaned down beside it. With the butt of the knife, he quietly rapped on the side. No sound came from within. Carefully, he pushed the lid open and set it against the side of the restaurant.
The plastic crate was wedged inside the nearly full dumpster, half buried beneath piles of dusty, faded black plastic trash bags. A foul odor of decay rose out, surprising him, and he gagged into his elbow. After three years, how could there still be anything left to rot?
Rain got in, he thought. That's all. Then an animal crawled in and drowned. Maybe lots of rats. Or a raccoon.
He tugged on the crate, grunting quietly, and whatever was keeping it in place finally began to yield. He gave it a stronger tug while twisting, and it broke free with a snap, throwing him backward to the ground. The crate flew out of his hand and clattered to the cement behind him.
"Shit!"
A moment later, the side door of the shop creaked open "—heard something outside," A man said, speaking with a slight accent. "I'm going to check, Wayne."
Jonah scrambled to a crouch. He was ready to run if necessary.
"Dammit, Vin, I keep telling you, there ain't nothing here. And if there was, it's gone now. Now, we've come and looked. It's time to go back."
"We just got here. The captain will know we barely looked anywhere."
"Cheever's going to be stuck for a while back there. Besides, he won't care if we come back empty-handed. I could see it on his face— he knows this is a waste of time. Ain't no one here."
"They said those two would be in the shop—"
"And they ain't. You know as well as I they're dead or infected, and I don't intend to stick around to verify it, neither. We done our duty. Besides, ain't you the one who always says this place gives you the creeps."
"It does."
"And now we know why Cheever picked you for this job. That's why he always picks you for the crap jobs, Vin, because you ain't got balls."
"Then why does he pick you?"
"Because he knows I'm smarter than he is."
"It's because everyone else has more seniority."
"No, he thinks we ain't shit. That, and he wants to save the best for himself."
"Best of what?"
"How many you count back there? How many women? How many girls?"
Vinnie didn't answer right away. When he finally did, he sounded uncertain. "You're wrong, Wayne."
"What? Don't tell me you ain't thought about it. We're all human? We all got needs."
"No."
"Hell, even Wainwright ain't a saint. You don't think he doesn't—"
"You're going to get us into trouble talking like that."
"And who's going to tell him? You?"
"It's not right."
"Here's what's going to happen, Vin. Cheever and his pals, first thing they plan to do when they get back to base is separate the newcomers, don't let them talk to one another."
"That's for quarantine. Colonel Wainwright—"
"It's so they can pick and choose who stays and who goes. And who gets to be whoever's private girl toy."
Jonah frowned. They hadn't come right out and said they'd found the bus, but it seemed obvious enough that they had. What was also obvious was that the others were in danger, especially the women.
Especially Bren and Hannah.
Wayne's next words were much more private, spoken in a conspiratorial tone of voice. Jonah missed half of it, but the part he did hear chilled his blood to ice.
"There's two girls on that bus, Vin. Pretty little girls with pretty little faces. One for you, one for me. Now, let's get the hell back."
The door slammed shut on his last words, leaving Jonah frozen with horror.
Danny wasn't waiting where Jonah had left him. The packs were still there on the ground, but Danny was nowhere to be seen.
"Dammit," Jonah muttered, and looked around at the ghost houses along the street with their blind windows and their dead, overgrown lawns. Everything lacked color. Everything was some variation on dirt. Even the business signs. "Where the hell did you go?"
He peeked around the corner to check on the bikes. They were still parked where the two men had left them. Despite their eagerness to leave, they seemed to be taking their time.
Get their bikes!
He couldn't be sure, but he guessed the keys would be in the ignition for a fast getaway. The men probably thought someone stealing them was about as likely as them sprouting wings and flying away.
Can't leave without Danny, he thought. And he didn't even know where to begin looking for the bus. Or this military base the two men talked about. "Danny!" he whispered, as loudly as he dared.
His eye caught the door to the bank across the street. Had it been open before? Is that where Danny had gone?
Why would he leave the packs here?
Checking that the street was empty, Jonah sprinted across and slipped inside. The floor was littered with debris. Leaves and old trash had blown in. Weeds grew in the cracks around the threshold. In the center of the large room, the business counter rose up like a barricade. The teller windows had been smashed. Large curtains of dusty cobwebs hung from the ceiling like moth-eaten tapestries. The place smelled of must and mold.
He stepped further inside, past a melami
ne coffee table whose laminate had been warped by dripping water. A glass bowl of lollipops sat in the middle of it, the partially gnawed candy shared space with petrified mouse droppings.
"Danny?"
Outside, the motorcycle engines roared to life. Jonah spun around, banging his shin on the table. He ran limping to the door in time to see the men pass, returning in the direction they had come.
Danny appeared out of the house on the opposite corner, running down the porch steps waving his arms. The bikers screeched to a stop thirty feet away and drew their guns, which they pointed at Danny.
Jonah was out the door and running before he realized it. "Wait! " he screamed. "Don't shoot!"
The guns shifted toward him. He stopped in the middle of the intersection, hands held out. "I'm not armed! Don't shoot!"
One of the rifles jerked, directing him to join Danny on the sidewalk. After he complied, the two men turned off their bikes and dismounted.
"You two with the people on the bus?" one of them asked, a hint of a southern accent.
That must be Wayne, Jonah thought. His eyes flicked to the other, who had caramel-colored skin. And that's Vinnie.
Wayne stared at Jonah for a long time. He seemed to be making some sort of calculation in his head, perhaps measuring the distance between the bank and the shop. He caught sight of the backpacks on the ground, and another calculation was made. The man's gray eyes were deeply etched with distrust.
He knows, Jonah thought. Or he suspects.
"What are you doing in there?" Wayne asked suspiciously.
"We're not armed," he called out to them. "You can put those down."
Vinnie lowered his rifle. "You said they wouldn't be here."
"Shut up, Vin!" He turned to Danny. "Who are you? Are there more?"
"Just us two," Danny replied. "I'm Danny Delacroix. We were with others but got stranded when our bus was overrun by Wraiths."
Wayne lowered his rifle and sheathed it in the bike's saddlebag. Vinnie followed suit. "Well, Danny. Is that short for Daniel?"
Danny nodded.
"Your people are fine," he said. "They were stuck in the sand a few miles from here. Sent us to find you."
Danny laughed with relief. "God, are we glad to see you!"
"So glad that it took you nearly twenty minutes to find us? What've you been doing, spying on us?"
"We were inside a house," Jonah quickly answered. "Didn't hear the engines at first."
Wayne turned back to Jonah, once again studying his face. He glanced pointedly at the bank door, then at the auto shop a couple buildings away. He knew there was no way for Jonah to have missed the bikes parked there.
"Well, lucky thing you found us then, ain't it? We was just about to leave for good."
Danny stepped forward, smiling, extending his hand. The man took it into his own gloved hand and shook it. "Name's Wayne Ramsay. This here's Vinnie Singh. Or Vin, which is short for Vinay, which I'm told is short for Vinay-lama-dama-ding-dong or something like that." He snorted. "You two realize how damn lucky you are to even be alive?"
Jonah returned the man's unwelcoming smile as best as he could. He had to suppress an urge to take the man's gun and slam the stock into his face.
"Your people are on their way to our base about seventy miles south of here," Vinnie said.
"Why didn't they come back for us themselves?"
"That bus is in pretty bad shape," Ramsay said. "It's a deathtrap. And it needs repairs. That's why."
Danny frowned. "So how are we supposed to get back?"
Ramsay pointed at the bikes. "Well, Danny-boy, we ride double."
* * *
"Yo, Vin!" Wayne shouted over the roar of the bikes. "Let's stop at the truck and refuel."
Vinnie looked down at his gauge. "I'm good!"
"So am I, but I gotta take a piss anyway. And your guy's looking a little dehydrated."
Jonah glanced over at Danny on the back of Vinnie's bike. The wind had brought tears to his eyes, streaking the road dirt over his face. Danny looked over, smiled, and gave him a thumbs up.
They pulled off the road a few miles later and onto a dirt track that wound down into an arroyo. Jonah noticed that there were recent tire tracks in the dust.
After a mile or so, he spied a refueller tank truck parked in the shade beneath a cut, its shiny aluminum surface dulled beneath a thick coating of dirt. The tracks led up to it, but not beyond. It was clearly a common refueling stop for the bikers.
They pulled up beside the tank and shut off their engines. Everyone dismounted. Jonah noticed that Wayne removed the keys from his ignition and slipped them into his pocket.
"Hey, Vinnie, whyn't you take our guests over to the piss spot while I fill us up?" he said.
"I don't have to go," Vinnie said.
"Go anyway and make sure they stay safe. We don't wanna lose anyone."
When they returned, Wayne was just finishing up filling Vinnie's tank. He replaced the nozzle to the truck and secured the padlock holding it in place.
"Might as well fill up the old stomachs too, while we're at it." He dug out a metal canteen from his saddlebag and offered it to Jonah, who shook his head.
"Thanks. I got my own," he said.
"Suit yourself." He unscrewed the cap and took a big swig, sighed contentedly, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
Vinnie and Danny shared Vinnie's water. Jonah stepped out of the shade.
"Don't wander off now," Wayne warned.
"Wraiths?" Danny asked.
"Funny that you call them that. But, no. Rattlesnakes, coyotes. And mountain lions."
Jonah ignored him. His mind was going a mile a minute. He had hoped for a moment alone with Danny so he could tell him what he'd heard back in town, but it hadn't happened. And they had to be getting close to wherever this base was. He had a feeling that once they got inside, it wasn't going to be easy to get back out again.
He could hear Danny having a conversation with the two men, asking how much fuel the tanker held and how they had managed to get it down there.
Vinnie hadn't been able to answer, but Wayne was more than happy to share what he knew. "Eleven thousand gallons," he said. "Might be a thousand left. Have to hide it, else roamers'll come and steal it."
"Are there a lot of people still alive?"
"Not as much as there were before, that's for sure." He sat against the rear wheel of the truck, leaning on an elbow. He used his keys to draw shapes in the dirt. "Hey, cowboy! Whyn't you join us, instead of standing out there in the hot sun?"
Jonah remained where he was. "Tell me about this base camp," he said.
"Used to be an army supply depot or something. Colonel Wainwright can tell you more about it. He was in charge there when all hell broke loose. Captain Cheever's in charge of the scouts, of which you have the pleasure of knowing two."
"How many people?"
"Few hundred. Stragglers, mostly. They come in over time. Some stay, some don't. Most of the soldiers stationed there died in the first few days defending the place, so it's mostly civilians and volunteer soldiers nowadays."
Danny whistled appreciatively. "Women and children? Families?"
"Women? Yeah." He seemed to study Jonah's face as he said this. "A few children. Not enough in my opinion. Could always use more."
Jonah thought he felt his face redden, though he tried to remain as stoic as possible. "What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"Just saying," Wayne coolly replied. "The whole damn human race got knocked to the mat. Without children, how're we supposed to rebuild it?"
Vinnie seemed to be picking up on the tension between the two. He stood up and replaced the canteen into his pack. "Come on, Wayne." He glanced nervously at his partner. "Let's get back before dinnertime."
"You know, everyone's got a job to do on base," Wayne said, not moving. "The men scout and guard, build, repair. It's hard work, dangerous work. The women, well . . . ." He smiled at himself. "They take care of the men."
>
Something inside of Jonah was close to snapping. He could feel it.
He's testing you. Don't let him get to you. Don't lose your cool.
"Sounds positively feudal," he muttered. "I'm sure the women just love that arrangement."
Wayne chuckled humorlessly. "They're more than grateful to do their part. Ain't they, Vin? They know we might never return from a mission. Lots of men die out here in the wilderness. Lots. We could, too. All it takes is one screw up and BAM! You're dead meat."
An image of his father came to Jonah, standing over him in the middle of the night, waking him up. He'd been fourteen at the time.
John's not coming home anymore, Jonah. He screwed up and now he's gone away for good. So you need to grow up and do your part now.
That's all he'd said, before leaving again, and Jonah had lain awake the rest of the night, too afraid to sleep, wondering how his brother had died. Had it been in a shoot-out with police or the brutal people he worked for?
Wayne Ramsay stood up and brushed himself off. "Guess we better get going then, eh?"
"I thought you had to piss," Jonah said.
"Guess I don't after all." He pointed at Danny. "Why don't we switch for a while. You can ride with me."
Vinnie actually seemed to be relieved. But although the tension was thick, Danny hadn't seemed to clue in on it. He shrugged and climbed on behind Ramsay.
The bike sprayed dirt as Wayne tore off up the path. Vinnie cried out for his partner to wait, then he motioned for Jonah to get on.
By the time they rose up out of the ditch to the desert floor, Wayne's bike was a cloud of dust in the distance. Vinnie tried to catch up, but it was clear he wasn't as comfortable as his partner driving with a passenger over such questionable terrain.
"Don't worry about them," he tried to assure Jonah. "They'll wait for us when we hit the road."
But a half mile later the engine began to struggle. Jonah felt it hesitate and immediately knew something was wrong. A hundred feet later the bike stalled. Vinnie tried to restart it, but it just wouldn't run. "I don't understand," he told Jonah.
"I think I do." He asked for the keys and removed the gas cap. He expected to find it empty, perhaps as some kind of cruel prank. But there was gas in it.
Condemn (BUNKER 12 Book 2) Page 8