The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side

by A. S. Thompson

  "Eddy, what's going on?" Nick asked, arriving late. "What happened? Who fired?"

  Lisa helped Jenny to her feet, though her legs were still shaking.

  Kelly groaned. She lifted her face from the mud and turned herself over. The front of her pink sweatshirt and jeans were almost completely covered in mud.

  "Ugh, I'm disgusting," she said, scanning her appearance.

  Lisa chucked. "Always the fashionista. Here, take my hand."

  Kelly grabbed on to it, but as she tried to get up, she fell back down. "I think something's wrong. I feel woozy.”

  "Nick!" Lisa yelped.

  Nick had laid Steve next to Eddy and was already rushing over. "What is it?"

  Kelly grabbed at her muddy midsection. "It-it hurts."

  Nick peeled back her sweatshirt. “Oh no.”

  The shooter's bullet had not missed. In fact, it had entered Kelly's stomach and exited out her backside. Both entrance and exit wounds were sizable and blood could now be seen mixing in with the mud.

  Kelly looked down, then at her friends. Her face was draining of color at the same pace her voice lessened in volume. "Wh-what's wrong?" she asked, not appearing to understand.

  "Nick d-do something," Jenny mumbled.

  But it was too late. There was nothing to be done.

  Kelly blinked. "Help...I feel," she tried to say. Then she licked her lips and blinked once more. This time, however, her eyes stayed open, staring into nothing.

  Kelly Hanks had bled to death.

  Commotion from up ahead caused the group to look away. The log gate opened and out ran the man with the wide-brimmed hat.

  He was armed with a rifle, but showed no signs of aggression; on the contrary his look was a combination of concern and confusion. "Hello?" he shouted.

  Nick grit his teeth, grabbed his handgun and pointed it at the man. Eddy was a second behind him.

  "Whoa," the man said, putting up his hands. He seemed more surprised by their reaction than the guns. "You're, you're human?"

  "Of course we're human!"

  "Why did you shoot at us?"

  "You killed our friend!"

  "That was an accident! I swear! Jason didn't mean to," he said, apologizing for the shooter. "He would have never shot had he known what you were."

  Eddy was furious and rightfully so. He kept his gun trained on the man's face. "What we were? We're people for crying out loud!"

  The man mumbled a string of incoherent words. Then, he snapped out of his trance and said, "Quick, come with me! It's not safe out here!"

  "And it's safer in there? You just killed our friend and now you wanna invite us in? You gotta be kidding me!"

  Lisa, Jenny, and Eddy looked to Nick for an answer, but Nick's eyes were upon Steve. Despite Kelly's tragic homicide, if he did not act and act quickly, their group would surely lose another.

  “Is there something wrong with your friend? Is he hurt?” asked the man, but the survivors ignored the questions.

  “Nick?”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “We can’t go with these people, right?”

  Initially, Nick did not answer as his ears picked up the moaning and shuffling of approaching infected.

  “I don’t think we have a choice.”

  ***

  Jenny, Nick, Steve, Eddy, and Lisa were ushered quickly into a one story cabin. A rustic kitchenette was built into the far left corner, a twin bed next to it, and positioned near the entrance was a couch and large potbelly furnace.

  Immediately, Nick rushed over to the fire and laid Steve as close to the radiating heat as possible. Eddy collapsed less-than-gracefully on the cloth couch, while Jenny and Lisa moved to help Nick with Steve.

  The man with the wide-brimmed hat peeked his head inside. "Now stay here. I'll be back shortly."

  "Wait!" Jenny said, standing up. "What about Kelly?"

  Nick dragged a blanket off the back of the couch and pulled it over Steve's body. "Our friend outside."

  "Ya, you know? The one your man killed," Eddy specified, emphasizing the injustice.

  The man pursed his lips. "That was an accident."

  "I'm not sure shooting defenseless women and children could ever be considered an accident," Eddy replied acidly.

  "You can't just leave her out there," Jenny said, sniffling. Behind the man, Jenny watched the large log gate be pulled shut. "That's just not right."

  "Someone will go out and get her. I promise." The man made a move to leave, but braced his foot back against the door. "Before I go, I'll need you to surrender your weapons."

  "No way!" Eddy declared, defiantly. He pulled his handgun in close to his chest.

  "Look, I'm trying to help you people, I really am, but we have rules here. You'll get 'em back, but I can't leave you in here armed. You'll have to trust me."

  Nick rose slowly. His boots caused the wooden floor boards to creak as he walked to the door. For a long moment, Nick stared at the man.

  “Please, I know it doesn’t look it, but I am trying to help.”

  Then Nick pulled out his handgun and turned around. "Come on everyone, hand them over."

  "What!” Eddy replied, shocked. “Come on, Nick, we can't! You saw what they did to Kelly! We can't trust him!"

  Nick dumped out one of their supply bags, and used it to collect the weapons from everyone. He stood in front of Eddy and calmly said, "I’m not asking you to trust him. I’m asking you to trust me."

  “Nick?” Eddy grumbled, shaking his head no. Then he looked down, sighed, and placed his handgun inside with the other pistols and long guns.

  Nick surrendered the bag to the man, but didn't let go. "What's your name?"

  "Binky," the man replied, face sincere. "I'm the law keeper here."

  "Okay, Binky. After what just happened, I shouldn’t be, but I’m trusting you," he said, letting go of the strap.

  The door closed in front of Nick, and on the other side, Binky was heard speaking to another man. "Stay here until I get back."

  Despite being welcomed in, the armed escort, compact room, and general tone felt very prisoner-esque.

  "I don't like this, Nick," Eddy whispered, carefully elevating his leg on the couch. "We shouldn't have given up our guns."

  "We don't have a choice. Between Steve and your leg, we need their help."

  Lisa observed the guard’s boots and the tip of a shotgun underneath the bottom of the doorframe. "I'm with Eddy. I have a bad feeling about this place."

  Nick pulled the sheets off the bed and piled them over Steve's body. He sat back up against the couch and sighed from exhaustion. He gazed into the bellowing flames and said, "I have the same feeling."

  ***

  Hours passed before Binky returned. Suddenly, the door swung open and the law keeper stepped inside. He removed his hat, revealing early onset balding.

  "I need you to come with me."

  "What?"

  "Why?"

  "What's happening?"

  "Where are we going?"

  Binky's reply was stern. "You'll see in a minute. I need you to stand up and come with me now. Let's go."

  "He's still unconscious," Nick said, hovering over Steve. "He has hypothermia. We can't move him. He needs to stay here. His body needs to continue to warm itself."

  "Fine. He can stay."

  “Eddy, you should stay behind too,” Nick said. “He sustained a compound fracture. He needs a doctor."

  "Geez Louise, you guys are killing me here," Binky said, running a hand over his slick head. "Alright, he can stay back too. Now please, let's go. We're already late."

  “Thanks, Nick, but I think I wanna meet the real person in charge; the dickhead who lets his people open fire on innocent women and children. Ya, I think I’ll join you.”

  “Eddy I really think you should stay.”

  “I know you do, but my leg can wait. Tell ya the truth my anger seems to be covering up the pain.” Unassisted, Eddy dragged his leg off the pillow suppo
rt. “What are we waitin’ for? Let’s go.”

  Reluctant and exhausted, the survivors were slow to get up, but one by one, they followed Binky into the main street.

  Outside, the sun was shining and the last packets of rain clouds were swept away by a trailing breeze.

  "Where the hell are we?" Eddy mumbled, limping along.

  Nick’s vision panned right to left. "That is a good question."

  The town shared the same aesthetic as a frontier settlement. A rectangular park with a soggy but well manicured lawn, gravel pathways and short bushes sat in the middle. On the right hand side, an ironsmith pounded away on hot steel, then dunked it into a steamy vat of water, only to pull it out and shove it back into a bed of orange coals. Next came a pen of livestock with goats, sheep, horses and cows. After that were a pair of women dressed in Amish-style garments who were busy churning butter and rolling out bread. Further down the road were numerous homes nearly identical in size and features.

  Lisa leaned over to Jenny and said, "I feel like I'm walking in medieval times."

  "More like a western movie,” Eddy suggested. “Look over there."

  Indeed, the left side was home to a stretch of wild-western-style businesses. A "closed" sign hung in the window of a bank. Sam's Saloon had the name crossed out and replaced by the letters "LT." The town’s burlesque house, Madame Lydia’s, had the doors and windows boarded up. Then came a Sheriff’s office, a general store and another half dozen businesses with apartments on top, all wood-constructed seamlessly together.

  Stranger still were the people. Dressed in plain clothes and for the most part clean, they appeared depressed. They meandered about quietly until discovering the newcomers. Then, they huddled together and pointed fingers.

  No one talked to Nick, Eddy, Jenny or Lisa; no one approached them; no one gave any indication of a warm welcome- except one man.

  Dressed in blue jeans and a "Popular Science" T-shirt, the man possessed a certain swagger to himself as he leaned against the support beam in front of LT’s Saloon. He sucked on a lollipop as he looked over the group, and when they passed by, he smiled and tipped his baseball cap.

  "Eddy," Jenny said, tugging on his jacket, "is that the kid? The one Nick saved?"

  Standing on the boardwalk to the right was a boy. He half-waved before being pulled forcibly into a single story home, presumably by the parent.

  "Ya, I think it is."

  "Here we are," Binky said, walking up the steps to a church. A small, iron cross rested on top of the steeple. "Make yourselves decent."

  The group shared a collective puzzlement. They had yet to change. Their clothes were covered with mud and still damp from the rain, but they respectfully patted down their tops and bottoms, swiping away excess dirt.

  Binky pushed opened the large wooden doors and with it, a burst of air funneled in behind him, extinguishing two large candles.

  High windows, stained glass and transparent, allowed some sunlight, but the interior was poorly lit by sparsely positioned candles.

  There were two people standing on the chancel in front of the altar. One, features difficult to discern but undoubtedly female, faced the door. She wore an oversized cloak with the hood covering her bowed head.

  The other, dressed in long black cassocks, gazed at the sacristy. His hands were raised to the ceiling as he praised the statue of Jesus nailed to the cross.

  Kneeling below him was a middle-aged woman.

  At the sounds of the heavy oak door creaking, the one dressed in priestly garb remained facing away, while the woman in the cloak held a finger to her lips.

  “Come on, let’s find you a seat," Binky whispered, leading the group down the aisle.

  Binky indicated the front, but Nick entered the second row pew, opting for a small buffer. "Let's sit here.”

  “Blessed be the one true Lord and Savior Jesus Christ,” the priest exclaimed, lowering one hand on the woman’s forehead.

  “A-am I better? Is the sickness gone?” the woman asked timidly.

  “Indeed you are, my child. In the coming days, you shall see as much. Now rise.”

  “Oh thank you so much, father, thank you so much!” she declared, ecstatic.

  “You are very welcome, but do not thank me. For it is your faith that has saved you.” The priest turned to his assistant and said, “Ms. Cromwell, would you mind showing Claudia out. Oh, and if you would be so kind as to get her a cup of tea. You must be parched, Ms. Pendergast.”

  Claudia Pendergast grabbed her throat as though she had not realized she was thirsty. “Oh, yes, yes I am. Thank you so much again. I am very much looking forward to the service, father.”

  The woman in the cloak offered Claudia a cup of tea, then ushered her down the center aisle and out of the church.

  The man in cassocks finished a praise by lowering his head and offering a silent prayer. Then, he spun around and smiled wide, displaying large teeth, stained a popcorn-yellow.

  "The name is Reverend Zachariah Thoreau, but the kind people of the Lord’s fair town refer to me as Preacher."

  Donner, Utah

  December 2, 2009

  0710 hours

  Waiting in front of the Donner Public Library, Alex and Travis rubbed their hands over a metal trash bin. Burning inside were newspapers and free sidewalk magazines, but the heat predominantly came from pieces of a wooden chair.

  "Look, I appreciate you being on my side with the vote," Alex said, not quite looking Travis in the eyes.

  "It was nothing, hermano. You guys are like family to me, but to be honest this detour might be short lived," he said, looking back at the Suburban. "I think I spoke too soon."

  Walking over, West checked his watch. "We can't wait any longer."

  "Come on, West, just a couple minutes more."

  "I'm sorry, Alex, but we can't. We've already waited well past the allotted time frame. We've tried them on the radio multiple times, but there's been no answer."

  "Maybe they ran into some trouble? Maybe the radio died? Hell, they're hurt, maybe it's taking them longer than anticipated. Anything could have happened."

  "Exactly. For all we know, they might not be coming."

  Alex left the warmth of the fire and stood in front of West. "What are you saying? We just leave? What if they show up the minute we take off?"

  "I've already thought about that," West said, pulling out one of Jones' satellite phones from his back cargo pocket. "We'll call Charlie and the others. We tell them where the RV crashed and where we were supposed to meet. Once they get to the bunker, the government can send a search and rescue team."

  Alex frowned in disapproval.Not good enough, he thought.

  West pushed the preprogrammed number and held the phone to his ear. "It's ringing."

  A moment later, both Travis and Alex looked at one another.

  "Ya, we know.”

  “We can hear it ringing."

  Then West heard it too. Though muffled, there was distinct ringing that originated from the trunk of the SUV.

  "No he did not," West grumbled, keeping the phone on while he hustled over to the car.

  He swung open the vertical doors and immediately sifted through the half-dozen supply bags. He pinpointed the ringing, unzipped a blue duffel bag, and pulled out the other satellite phone.

  "Jones!"

  "Uh-oh," the billionaire gasped from the front passenger's seat.

  "Jones! Get out here right now!"

  Very slowly, and very nervously, Harry Jones exited the vehicle and sauntered to the trunk.

  "Why the hell is the other sat phone in your bag?"

  Jones was unwilling to look up at West. "I-I don't know."

  "Unacceptable! Why?"

  "I-I thought that you gave Agent Kim the phone from the Suburban."

  "Why would you think that?"

  "I saw the other one sitting next to the sink in the RV, so when you told me to come to the Suburban, I took it with me. It was an honest mistake," he admitted.
"You know what? No. It's your fault, you should have said something. Besides, I told you from the start that I was always going to have one phone with me, just in case we got in trouble and needed to be bailed out-"

  "And who's going to bail out Nick and the rest of our friends?" Travis said, poking Jones in the chest.

  Jones did not have an answer, mostly because he was bombarded from all sides.

  "You selfish prick," Clint spat, stepping outside. "We could have used that one to call for help!"

  Anger brewed in West's eyes. He stood next to Travis, and held the other phone uncomfortably close to Jones' nose. "This phone was supposed to be with Charlie! This was the exact reason why I wanted the phones separated in the first place! It was our way to get in touch with one another, and you royally fucked that up!"

  "What else do you got in here," Travis said, dumping out the remainder of Jones' bag.

  Wads of United States currency, gold, and other useless things from the safe in Jones' vacation property piled on the wet street.

  Pinned between Clint and West, Jones had no path to escape, but still he remained combative. "Hey, stop that! That's my personal property. It's private!"

  "You really don't get it, do you?" West said, shaking his head; the same creased forehead and stern look remained. "You were allowed into our group. No one 'owns' anything. Everything is for everyone, and what you have done very well might have cost lives."

  "Wait!" Alex interjected, momentarily silencing the argument. "You've had an extra pair of gloves this entire time?"

  "Alex, now is definitely not the time for jokes," West replied through clenched teeth.

  "Gloves?" Travis mouth, baffled. Then it hit him. "Oh Dumb and Dumber, right? I remember that line."

  Alex bumped knuckles with the Hispanic Second Lieutenant. "Knew I'd convert you to a movie buff. Seriously though, I'm with you guys. What Jones did was selfish and stupid. I'm just as pissed as you are, but I think I have an idea to make the best out of a bad situation."

  West’s eyes squinted. "What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying we leave one of the phones here. I know Steve. He'll make it here. When he does, he can call us, and after we take care of the truck, we can all hook back up."