This is the End 3: The Post-Apocalyptic Box Set (8 Book Collection)

by J. Thorn

  “Fuck that and fuck you,” the soldier said. “I say we take them out and tell command we did it in Pittsburgh. They’ll never know where we killed them.”

  Other soldiers milled about, most the same age as the young man challenging the sergeant. The old man looked around and smiled.

  “Disobey the command issued from the top brass of the Republic then lie about it to get our pay. That’s your plan?”

  The young man smirked. “Yeah, gramps. That’s my plan. You got something to say about that?”

  The sergeant reared back and looped a heavy fist that smacked the side of the soldier’s face with a bright pop. Before the young man could double over, the sergeant followed that with a swift roundhouse that dropped the soldier into the snow. The sergeant grabbed him by the collar and smashed his face into the bark of a nearby tree, bringing an audible gasp from the spectators.

  Internalizing the initial shock, the young soldier stiffened and drove a fist into the sergeant’s midsection. The old man gasped as the strike drove the air from his lungs. He stumbled backward, coughing and spitting while the young man stood and smeared a trail of blood across his face with the back of his hand.

  “I’m gonna break your old fucking bones.”

  The man rushed at the sergeant in the exact manner he expected. The young solider was fast and reckless. The sergeant spun into the charge, grabbed the young man by the back of the neck and tossed him over a leg. The soldier went headfirst into another tree and collapsed in front of it. The sergeant rolled him over and pulled him into a sitting position. He slapped the young man’s face several times until his eyes opened.

  “You seeing me?” the sergeant asked through labored breaths.

  The other soldiers stood by, bursts of their breath stark against the frozen background. The young man nodded.

  “Good. I wanted to make sure that my face was the last you saw before you died.”

  The sergeant’s blade whirred through the air, cutting a crimson line across the soldier’s neck. The dying man put his hands to his throat as if he could stop the blood from spurting. He collapsed sideways into the snow where blood shot from the severed artery for several more moments before it oozed into a dark, melting pool.

  The sergeant wiped the blade of his knife on the man’s shoulder and slid it back into the sheath on his left hip, sniffling through the cold and inhaling the coppery aroma of the man’s blood. A hush fell on the group as the other soldiers stood cemented to the ground.

  “Anyone else here want to question my interpretation of the orders?”

  One by one, the young soldiers turned and walked back toward their camp behind the second line of trees hiding them from those on the Turnpike. When the last man turned and left the sergeant nodded and winced.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  ***

  “There’s a call for you.”

  “Why is it so hard for you punks to show a little bit of respect?” the sergeant said.

  “There’s a call for you, sergeant,” the young man said while slathering the last word in rich sarcasm.

  “Hand it to me.”

  The young man put a battered piece of plastic in the sergeant’s hand. The sergeant looked at the cracked screen and dented case and laughed. In his youth, people took such things for granted. He remembered the days when everyone had one in their pocket and had the ability to instantly speak with anyone in the world.

  It was no surprise the soldiers did not respect it now, not realizing how powerful and ubiquitous it was in the old world. The sharp minds that survived the First Cleansing and eventually joined the Republic worked for years to solder and wire the devices in a way that would reanimate them. That thing known as the internet no longer existed and the practice of texting died with it. However, the rogue engineers managed to connect a handful of devices to permit communication over long distances. The sergeant laughed to himself that he was the one using the phone and the new generation was wary of it.

  “Yes?” he said, speaking into the handset.

  “Will they turn around?” the phantom voice asked.

  The young soldiers stood nearby pretending not to eavesdrop or show their curiosity toward the black magic in the sergeant’s hand.

  “Doubtful. The pres seems intent on getting back to Cleveland. They fought some bandits on the pike.”

  A crackling silence lengthened from the other end.

  “What do you want me to do?” the sergeant asked.

  “Stop killing your own men, for starters.”

  “So you’re getting reports on me?” the sergeant asked.

  “No, but you have to figure your communications man is going to talk.”

  The sergeant nodded in reluctant agreement. “There’s virtually no charge on this thing and it could be weeks before we can find a battery to recharge it.”

  “I understand,” the voice said. “You understand the importance of this call if I’m asking you to drain your battery?”

  “Yes,” the sergeant said.

  “If they move forward, continuing the march down the turnpike, they must make it to 271 or you don’t get paid. They’re clearly not turning back.”

  “I got it.”

  “I don’t think you do, sergeant. From what I’ve been told, you almost lost a few of the Keepers in that last melee.”

  “They’re fine. The president, his vice and his son.”

  “That’s how it’s going to stay,” the voice said. “Because you’re now their protection. Get out in front and give them an invisible escort to the perimeter at Route 271. That’s where we’re going to finalize the transaction. I don’t want that group of misfits getting anywhere near an officially incorporated Republic territory. We want them as confirmed kills by our own rifles. The Republic wants to put an end to this anarchist bullshit by the Keepers. Do you understand?”

  “They’ll see us. They probably know we’re following them,” the sergeant said.

  “I don’t care if they know or not. I want them delivered unharmed and in one piece or I’ll deny our deal ever existed and pocket the Republic’s deposit I’m holding on your behalf.”

  “Fine,” the sergeant said before snapping the clamshell shut. He decided finishing the conversation was not worth the battery power.

  ***

  Leena squeezed John’s leg to help staunch the flow of blood. The cold air and packed snow helped to slow the bleeding while she field dressed it. She knew someone other than her would have to stitch the wound or it would pop open again. Leena sighed, thinking John was lucky the blade did not cut into the calf muscle or he would have been in a world of trouble.

  “Ask the vice to take a look at this,” she said to one of the pledges assigned as the president’s personal guard until they reached Cleveland.

  “I can’t leave him,” he said.

  “I’ll stay. Go. Get Alex.”

  The boy turned, pushed through the flap of the tent and trotted down the turnpike toward the cluster of tents designed to keep a secure middle ground.

  “It fucking hurts,” John said as he rubbed a hand on his forehead. “Did you stitch it?”

  “No. It’s taped,” Leena said. “I’ve sent for Alex to do that. I think he’s checking Matthew right now, making sure he doesn’t have a cushion.”

  “Concussion,” John said. “It’s called a concussion.”

  “I don’t care what it’s called, pres. Alex wanted to make sure he could still walk.”

  John nodded, biting his lip as his smile turned into a grimace of pain. The slash to his leg drained enough blood to weaken him and felt like sharp teeth biting into his skin.

  The pledge came back through the tent. “He’s coming,” he said to Leena.

  Leena sat back and John closed his eyes. He felt Alex enter the tent. He knew his right hand’s movements better than any other living creature.

  “Leena says you need stitched.”

  “Damn it, Alex. You know how much I hate the fucking nee
dle. Give me a shot first?”

  The question made Alex laugh, a joke they shared for decades about the way medicine was practiced before the First Cleansing.

  “Sure, numb you right up,” Alex said. He tied a knot through a needle.

  “You’re not any better at lying now than you were then,” John said.

  “If the girls can give birth without pain meds, I think you can take a few stitches to the back of the leg.”

  John nodded, knowing his old friend was right.

  “You need to rest and let this heal. We should turn back, or at the very least stay here until winter breaks.”

  “You know we can’t do that, Alex,” John said. He looked at Leena.

  “I’m going to fetch some water,” she said, leaving the tent.

  Alex waited and then dropped his voice to a whisper. “You have no proof any other chapters remain in Cleveland. Hell, we couldn’t even determine that after the years we spent in old Shitsburgh.”

  “If we turn back, we die,” John said.

  “And if we get to Cleveland and find the Republic has set up there, we’re dead,” Alex said.

  “You gotta trust me on this, Alex. The Keepers are doomed if we go back. The chapter is already weak. Cleveland is our only shot, and if it don’t work out at least we’ll die there.”

  “Yeah,” Alex said while shoving the needle into John’s skin and pulling the thread through the hole, “at least there’s that.”

  ***

  John stood before the guardrail and faced the chapter. His leg throbbed with each heartbeat and he refused to consider the possibility of an infection settling into the stitches, which were sewn without antiseptic or clean needles. Those vulnerabilities were a reality in this raw world even with a handful of matches saved for crude sterilization. He glanced at Alex and Matthew, both standing to the side, their eyes fixed on his. The founders huddled in pockets using their proximity to keep the chill from blasting across the abandoned highway and into their bones.

  “We’re not going back,” John said leaning heavily on a dead tree branch functioning as a cane. “We’re moving out at dawn.”

  “But you can barely walk. We’re sitting ducks walking down the middle of the fucking turnpike.”

  “I understand, James. I can’t guarantee anyone’s safety, only that I will do everything possible to get us all there. It’s the best I can do,” John said.

  The founder pulled his hat down low and tipped it to his old friend and leader of the Keepers.

  “I’m with the president,” Alex said, speaking next.

  Matthew nodded in agreement but said nothing.

  “Gotta pull a good, old-fashioned roll call, like we used to do behind the handlebars.”

  The founders chuckled at John while the pledges remained silent.

  “I’m giving you full support as a Keeper and member of the Chapter of the Phoenix. You can return to Pittsburgh in good standing with your patch on your back.”

  A murmur meandered through the members of the chapter, men and women whispering to each other through cold, worried faces.

  “I’m with you,” Leena said.

  “The fuck you are,” Ron said. “We’re heading back, pres. No offense.”

  John shrugged, waiting.

  “I’m going with him, Ron. Sorry, but I am,” Leena said.

  Ron moved forward and grabbed Leena’s wrist. Before he could spin her around, Matthew’s fingers dug deep into the soft flesh between the peaks of Ron’s collarbone.

  “She ain’t your old lady,” he whispered into Ron’s ear.

  Ron released his grip on Leena and Matthew removed his hand from Ron’s shoulder. Ron turned to face Matthew with a snarl.

  “And she ain’t yours either,” he said.

  John looked out over the group now embroiled in their own feuds and disagreements over whether the chapter would remain as one or fracture into two. He kept his ears open to the conversations floating by while keeping an eye on Leena.

  “I can take care of myself, assholes,” she said to Ron and Matthew. “I’m a woman, not a helpless idiot.” Leena shot an icy stare at both men before walking over and standing by John.

  James, Billy and Dino stood next to John with the “Founders” patch displayed proudly on the front of their vests. Alex, Matthew and Leena gathered on John’s opposite side. The rest of the chapter, including some founders, women, children and all of the pledges, remained standing on the remnants of the highway’s dividing line.

  “Three founders, my vice, my son and Leena.”

  A cold chill blew in from the west, pulling miniature cyclones of snow from the ground and spinning them against the people standing on the highway. None of the other founders moved.

  “Guess that’s it for roll call,” John said.

  “John, please,” another founder said. He was fully prepared to turn around and head back to the life they carved out of man’s ruin. “You can’t possibly make it with a handful of old-timers and a woman.”

  “Best of luck to you all and may the Keepers of the Wormwood ride on,” John said. He looked at his new band of brothers and nodded before turning his back to the turnpike and hobbling toward his tent.

  ***

  “We lost more than three quarters of our numbers.”

  “Makes us more mobile, faster and less of a target on the road. You remember those days of riding side by side and how easy it was for us to outrun trouble?”

  “I remember,” Alex said. “But that was a long time ago. Our bodies ain’t what they used to be. I wish you’d reconsider. Nobody in the chapter would think any less of you if you changed your mind and we all headed back in the morning.”

  John leaned back as the wind blew the smoke from the fire into his face. He tasted the charcoal on his lips and the smell brought him back to childhood. He remembered roasting marshmallows over a backyard fire pit.

  “If you don’t got my back, go with them.”

  “What are you saying, John? You stripping me of the vice patch after all these years?”

  “I’m doing nothing of the sort,” he said. “I’m going to Cleveland. You’re either coming with me or you’re not.”

  “You prepared to walk us into the hellfire you know is waiting? The founders had their time, but what about Matthew and Leena?”

  “I don’t think for them, vice. They’re both adults and can decide for themselves.”

  “Bullshit. And you know it. You’ll have their blood on your hands.”

  John whistled at Alex and shook his head. “You going back or not?”

  “Of course not, you old piece of shit. If I do that, who’s going to kick dirt on your cold corpse?”

  ***

  John listened to the crackling branches in the fire, the only thing keeping them from freezing during the long, cold night. The members of the chapter who decided to return to Pittsburgh set up a ring of tents beyond the highway on the opposite side of the guardrail from where the fight took place earlier. John chuckled as he realized they were willing to risk another attack from beyond the trees before they would setup camp next to him for one more night. When it came down to it, the Keepers of the Wormwood split and that would not change in the morning. He would not be surprised if they left before daybreak, trekking back toward western Pennsylvania and a grim life of bare survival. John could not contemplate what most likely awaited him in Cleveland, but he vowed to exit the world on his own terms and not like an animal cowering beneath the earth.

  “Want some company?”

  The question jarred him from his thoughts. He looked at Leena’s smile, one of the few to cross her face recently.

  “They’re right. This is pretty fucking hopeless. I can barely walk and the three musketeers are as slow as they look.”

  Leena shrugged and sat across the fire from the president.

  “I feel like a failure, Leena. Everything I’ve done my entire life. All of the running, and the deals and the violence. I did it all for the Kee
pers and now even that is breaking down to nothing.”

  “I believe in you,” she said. “And so do Alex and Matthew.”

  “Yeah,” John said.

  “We never finished our talk from the other night. I want to hear more about those early years, if you’re up for it.”

  John sighed and motioned toward a pack on the ground near his feet. “Light me a smoke?” he asked.

  She dug through his satchel and removed a wrinkled cigarette. Leena held it to the fire and inhaled pushing the drag out of her mouth and then handing it to John.

  “You never smoked,” he said.

  “Nicotine. Just another thing in this world over which I would have no control.”

  John thought about that and realized that once the existing tobacco plants died off, so would the habit. Until then, lung cancer held no fear for him compared to the life he lived since the First Cleansing.

  Leena smiled and waited. “If you’re not up for it—”

  “No,” John said. “Just gathering my thoughts. Memory goes first when you get old. Can’t remember what goes next.”

  Leena laughed. “Jana. She wasn’t Matthew’s mother?”

  “Not hardly. I never saw her again after that day in the basement.”

  “Do you know what happened to her?”

  “I lost track of most people in those first few years. Other than Alex, who I met during the First Cleansing, I lost track of everyone.”

  “Why would she join the Holy Covenant? That makes no sense to me. She survived the First Cleansing, was brutalized by those soldiers and then she just up and joins them? Fucking insane.”

  John took a long drag and nodded, blowing smoke into the blackness as the old scars opened from within. “She gave up, Leena. She was tired of running and realized she would have to do that for the rest of her life. I was angry at first, but I came to grips with that decision and now I realize she had the right to make it. I chose to fight and she chose to live. I try not to put any more of a judgment on it than that.”