Living Amongst The Dead (Book 3): On the Road Again

by J. N. Morgan

  “He’s always been a trouble-maker, unfortunately. Even before we had issues with ‘them’, he was always eager to ‘put someone down’ if they tried to mess with the group.” It was the woman speaking now, and the man shook his head as he looked down to the floor. He carried on.

  “When they had gotten the jump on us, took our guns, or at least most of them, they put on a big show. Saying they’d kill anyone who resisted, that there were others who ‘worked’ under them too, and that it never went well for those who tried to fight back… they laughed when he went up and begged them to let him join them.”

  “Enough of this…” the medical professional gave after giving a disappointed groan. “Just keep quiet about it for now. If anyone asks about a kid, tell them you don’t remember.” After a pause, upon receiving a nod of agreement from the three, she added; “My name is Kathleen. This is Grant.” The stout fellow gave a curt nod, and the three strangers then introduced themselves in turn.

  “Try to get some sleep, we’ll lock you in here for the night. We’ll decide what happens tomorrow once everything is checked out.” So the two left, and the prisoners were left to their own devices until morning.

  “Could have at least given us a toke…” Nicky muttered as she got ready to sleep, and a simple grunt of agreement was met from the man who now cuddled up to his woman.

  Finally let out in the morning, the three let their eyes adjust to the Sun as the air, cool from the night and moist from the dew of the early hours, kissed their skin. Facing east, the light was right in their faces, and off to the right was the highway. In this large parking area were several trailers and RVs, but besides said area and the road they were utterly surrounded by forest. A wall of green everywhere, save for the highway east and west, a dirt road across the road heading south, and another heading north. The sound of silverware clinking against glass dishes was heard from a particularly long and Industrial-looking trailer, various heads lowered to face their food as forks brought it to their faces. Some heads raised to look at them, some impartial, others with hard looks about them.

  Nicky, who had ironically complained the most about being hungry even though she ate less than the two of them, immediately started making her way to the lunch shack but was stopped by the man she’d nearly killed.

  “Easy. They said they’d feed us, so give them the chance to do so. Might be best for us not to mingle too quickly… remember, if they think something’s up…” the statement went unfinished, but it did its job. Reminding her that they may very well end up killing them, the three took seats around the burnt patch of ground. Wide benches encircled it, and so there they waited hungrily. One by one people left the largest of the structures, most giving passing glances at the strangers, and most going to smaller trailers and RVs in which they obviously must have lived. A Native fellow and a redheaded woman, armed with rifles, passed the three by with brief nods as they headed for the highway, soon to stand there to begin the typically boring task of standing watch. Perhaps once more people were properly awake they would send more guards to the road, heading down in both directions as a sort of buffer so that the people at home would have time to prepare if anything bad were to happen, like an encroaching horde or a group like those that had nearly killed those who now sat on their land.

  Next to leave the lunch shack were a couple who hugged tenderly before going separate ways, whispering things to one another, clear care and worry in the tone of the dirty-blonde white woman who spoke to her darker-complexioned man. Unheard was a joke told, and a quiet laugh followed by a mock insult went as the woman headed for home while the man headed their way. Respectable height, straight posture, broad shoulders, and features bright as he bid them a friendly good morning.

  “Mmmm-Markus, I assume?” Richard gave after a good morning was given in turn, to which the fellow got a funny look on his face as he slowed to a stop.

  “Uhhhh, oh! It’s Malcolm.” Standing not far from the fellow, the sitting man stood, topping the fellow by only an inch or two but feeling quite equal in terms of broadness. Both with fairly short hair, however besides a mustache that seemed to be growing in the slightly older-looking of the two was quite clean-shaven. A hand was provided, and the white man promptly shook it firmly with a grin.

  “Richard. You’re heading over to check the place out?” The smile that was being given in turn lowered to a more neutral look, finding the subject decidedly serious.

  “Yeah, so you guys claim to have killed them all?” Clear skepticism as the man, armed with what looked like a pump-action shotgun slung over shoulder, took a step back to give the two more of a casual distance from which to converse after the gap had been bridged with a handshake.

  “Well, not the most pleasant way to put it. More like we defended ourselves against them.” Credit mostly went to Nicky, but considering they may very well have done in one of their own, it was probably not particularly complimentary to point her out as being the primary ‘killer’ as it were.

  “Well I hope it’s going to be worth the trip. If I even think they’re waiting over there to ambush me, I’ll come back here and shoot you myself.” Any semblance of smiles from early on in the conversation were long gone, and with a knowing nod, Rich accepted the conditions. The look on this ‘Malcolm’ fellow’s face betrayed no hint of jest; he really would take the duty of their executioner if this was a trap.

  “We did what we could. If there were more than perhaps 5 or 6, then the rest might have come back. There was one guy taking shots at us from across the field, over to the…” the man’s eyes narrowed, peering up as his body angled to the side for a brief moment as he tried to visualize where he had been at the time, “… the east? Yeah, on a ridge to the east, at an RV thing. Probably had a pretty good rifle on him; he was a damn good shot…” initially the compliment had been given with a small grin, a genuine compliment, though keeping in mind that the main reason he knew that is because he had killed Johnathan and nearly killed Tiff as well, it was hardly a deed worth compliments.

  It was merely met with a nod before he turned and left. Hopefully pointing out the potential location of a good rifle would help him feel a bit more trusting of the three. When he turned, the action of the shotgun had been spotted. Looked to be a semi-auto of sorts, and the ‘pump’ didn’t appear to be one that was meant to move. A straight bit of metal, a bolt handle, protruded from the action sort of like an M1 Rifle, M1 Carbine, or AK. Yup, definitely a semi-auto shotgun, and judging by the full-length mag tube under the barrel he figured it to hold a good 5+1 or 6+1 at least, though shotguns weren’t his strong suit.

  While they spoke, Kathleen had seen them through the window, and so Grant had been sent out with a couple plates of food in-hand. Malcolm was just finishing a short conversation with one of the two guards before heading down the road they came from when the meals were being brought their way. They were given to the women.

  “Not getting yourself into trouble, are you?...” he gave warningly, obviously meaning the fact he had been talking to the man who was to check out their claim.

  “Malcolm seems like a decent guy. Made it particularly clear that he’ll do us in if we were lying, but no, I didn’t bring up the issue of the kid. What was his name, anyways?”

  “Nevermind that, just don’t try getting friendly with the people around here, not until we know what the deal is.” There was no nonsense in his face as he went back to the trailer to hopefully get him his own meal. If it were anything like the women’s, it wouldn’t be much, but it’d be something. Some boiled vegetables, potatoes fried up into hashbrowns though not looking to be particularly seasoned, and some of what looked like jerky. Home-made, no doubt, and so in truth he was quite looking forward to trying it. Though then the grizzly memory of those butchered human corpses in that basement came to mind. He didn’t think that it was human meat, no, but thought it might have been best to warn that fellow beforehand. Soon enough his plate was brought, a short thanks was given that went unansw
ered, and so the three ate silently outside, unarmed, with eyes from various windows checking them out intermittently.

  As the inhabitants of the community began to properly awaken along with their ‘guests’ after enjoying the warm breakfast, they were observed going about their duties. More armed survivors, mostly men, went to the roads to stand guard for anyone who might come along. Well, as armed as they could presently manage. It would seem most of those with firearms were already out. Now it was mostly bows and quivers of arrows coming to sight. Richard worried about his rifle.

  The minutes ticked by slowly, and the hours more so. Feeling rather exposed, unable to shake of the feeling of being ‘guests’ of a particularly unwelcome variety, the three eventually returned their plates to the lunch shack and returned to their own quarters.

  The women soon sat together, talking amongst themselves, leaving the only remaining man in their small group to his thoughts. Vegetables, so they had crops in this settlement. Not many in view around the buildings, perhaps along the trail north, or maybe to the one south? Maybe both. That light on the road last night, that blinding light, how did they keep that running? He couldn’t remember hearing an engine, perhaps it had some heavy-duty Industrial-strength batteries on it, and they used solar panels somewhere to keep it charged. Very rare to see artificial light these days. If that Malcolm fellow comes back with nothing good to report, or if by some terrible accident he doesn’t end up returning at all, how would they kill him? Doubtful that they’d waste ammo, perhaps tied to a post and pelted with arrows? Seemingly no shortage of those, and who knows, maybe not all of them would break upon impact allowing them to be used again sometime.

  Thump… thump… thu-thump…

  Very quiet, very dull. The wounded fellow got up from where he lay on the simple mattress; rectangular, perhaps 6’/1.83cm long, only a few inches thick. Blue plastic stuffed with a rectangle of dense foam. A thin sheet on it, a thin sheet above it, and then a small blanket but big and warm enough to allow a decent night’s sleep. Heading to the window, finding it relatively easy to navigate on his own at this point thankfully, he looked out one of the windows. A few car seats were propped up, a target painted on them, and people were practicing with bows.

  Off to the left, towards the north, a woman with long and radiant hair, black and perfectly straight, headed to the trail with a large, dirty sheet. Prominent dark-brown eyebrows lowered curiously at this as he continued to watch people going about their business. Peering right, towards the road, he could see nobody on guard. Perhaps they’ve spread farther east and west to give a greater buffer zone. Just in view was that trail south, and a boy, couldn’t yet be in his 20s, had a container of water in each hand, several liters worth, and a pack on his back looked quite heavy and full. Likely 2L bottles of water if he had to guess, or perhaps liquor bottles filled with water like what he used, perhaps some 500ml water bottles as well.

  Up from the north again, a man carried a great rolled-up fur pelt beneath each arm, sweating from the effort of such weight. Not far behind him though going at her own pace, eventually the woman came back into view, that dirty sheet now carried over her shoulder as a sort of sack. A carrot fell out of a gap in the sheet, which she heard thump to the ground. Picking it up with her free hand in which she had a small potato as well, it was all brought to the lunch shack meanwhile those pelts had been brought to another structure. From the lack of blood, it was assumed that they were already tanned.

  “These guys really have their shit together…” he muttered, watching the boy with the water having offloaded himself and now went about building up a fire. Undoubtedly he was going to boil it for drinking.

  “You say something, Richie?”

  “This group, they seem very organized.” Speaking at a more audible volume, a casual indoor voice, he turned towards the females. “Food, water, security, a longterm plan for ranged weapons, I assume a longterm plan for clothing, they’re probably even preparing for the winter.” He spoke without looking at them, walking towards a plastic chair, sitting down with a grunt. Torso rested forward, left elbow on a knee, looking down to the floor dirtied by people wearing footwear inside. Necessitated by how chilly it got.

  “It’s a bit stereotypical perhaps, but I dare say they’re even working on constructing teepees or wigwams or whatever they’re called.” Veronica scoffed at him.

  “Right, and I guess I should get myself a leopard-skin skirt and let my tits hang out?”

  “No seriously. Do you find it warm in here?”

  “What?” The black woman asked incredulously, looking at him as though he were making absolutely no sense.

  “Where would you put a fire in here?” He had looked to her for a moment, then around the dim room lit only by what sunlight could get through the windows. There likely wasn’t a single solitary place you could put a fire without filling the place with smoke, burning the ceiling, and inevitably burning the floor. The place would be caught on fire, most definitely.

  “These shacks weren’t made for fires, so how would they keep warm when winter comes? There’s no juice in those lines anymore.” Gesturing vaguely towards the road, where the power lines went alongside it, he figured it was a sensible thought. “We can’t live like we did, with these artificial structures. After winter when the frost thaws, these walls will be full of moisture; it’ll rot away in no time, fill with mold. Hell, even if you brought in a wood stove with legs to keep the body off the ground, punch a chimney through the ceiling, I don’t think I’d trust whatever these rooms are made out of with that kind of intense heat.”

  Tiffany’s upper lip pushed down the lower, corners of her mouth turning down in an understanding frown as her head bobbed, eyebrows raised though eyes themselves looking quite casual. Looking over to Nicky, who still looked at him weirdly for suggesting that this primarily Native community was going to make those stereotypical teepees, shrugged her shoulders while giving her look of agreement.

  “Seems to make sense…” her gentle voice gave lowly. “Yeah it’s kind of stereotypical, but it’s probably their best bet for surviving the winter with some degree of comfort. Um… how will we handle the winter though, if we’re still traveling? I don’t think we’ll make it to Newfoundland before snowfall.”

  “You’re actually taking his bullshit seriously? Fucking teepees and wigwams?! You can’t be serious!”

  “I suppose you think it’s racist, do you?...” the man gave, his tone flat and scruffy features unamused that this nonsense could continue. Probably remnants of her old Social Justice Warrior mind set. The thought that a white person would look at a Native community and assume they’ll make traditional habitats which have served them for centuries, no, millennia, is somehow being racist.

  “It’s not your fault, white boy. It’s just in your nature.” With a disgusting little condescending smile, her eyes narrowed from the upturned corners of her dark lips, her head cocked to the side a bit as she looked to him.

  “White boy…” brown eyes closed with pained disbelief, he laughed to himself and though it sounded forced he could not hold it back; he shook his head as he said the two racially charged words quietly. How many damn times was she going to call him that? How long will she continue to attack the colour of his skin? It was getting quite old. “Why don’t you suck my fucking dick you nigger dyke.” Tiff looked at him with nothing short of utter shock, which was nearly equaled by that coming from her friend. It only lasted a brief moment though, from where they sat on her on one of those simple mattresses on the floor across the room.

  “You mother FUCKER!”

  “Nicky, NO!” Pure rage replaced the shocked disbelief as she started to her feet. Tiffany just managing to wrap her arm around her midsection in time. Losing her balance she fell back onto the shorter but thicker woman’s lap with a thud, and the older woman gave a hefty ‘oof’.

  “LET ME, THE FUCK, GO! LEMME GO! Imma KILL this cracker FUCK!” She shrieked, clawing at the arms around her midsecti
on as she looked over at the man with hatred. He was sitting by now, so immediate that the chair he was sitting on clattered away behind him, and it even brought some light-headedness to his mind briefly before clearing.

  “What?! It’s in my fucking NATURE as a fucking CAUASIAN to be racist, right?! Isn’t that right?! Why are you so fucking surprised?!” He wanted to call her a nigger dyke again, wanted to shout it out, but still his mind was on those outside. She seen him as just a white man, likely a straight white man, and so by default a homophobic, racist, and sexist son of a bitch. He could feel it, sense it, almost every damn time she so much as looked at him, and so he wanted to fill her with the outrage she so craved. With that sense of victimization she so desired. Let her kick and scream!

  Arms and legs flailed, Tiffany kept her eyes firmly shut as she tried to hold her friend close. Richard rose to standing, watching her intensely. She’d kick his fucking ass, there was no way around it. He was seemingly just healthy enough to walk around casually on his own, without the aid of others. One of his arms were still thoroughly out of commission, and so he knew that if she got away and actually attacked him then he’d be screwed, but stood anyways in a vain attempt at preparing himself. Left hand instinctively felt at his hip, where he’d had his side-arm holstered lately with his right arm wounded but of course it had been stripped from him on the road when they’d been, in a way, kidnapped.

  Water bottles had been left alone, he’d seen little through the windows over at the trailer that the supposed murderers were being allowed to stay, however he heard far more. The water boy ran over to the lunch shack where Grant and Kathleen were helping to clean up, doing their part in spite of being a huge part of keeping the impressive group organized and united.

  The door to the ‘guest’s shack was still unlocked, had been since early that morning before breakfast had been ready while they all still slept, and in spite of potential danger, the broad man with the grey pony tail lead the three inside. The opening of the door further made audible the screaming, struggles, and rage. People looked, but the door was closed behind the three.