All Roads Lead To Terror: Coming of age in a post apocalyptic world (Dreadland Chronicles Book 1)

by Richard Schiver

  Billie-Bob was the best they had for long-range shots, which worked wonders out in the open, but would his special talent come in handy in a city. Meat had never seen Richmond. Not even a picture. Photo albums were one of those things the survivors didn’t worry too much about when they were fleeing the zombie hordes. He had an old roadmap to guide them, and there was a picture on one side, faded with age and use that showed a row of tall buildings gleaming in the sunlight.

  Of secondary concern was the question, would Einstein take this opportunity to flee into the wilderness? He doubted it. Bremo Bluff was the only safe haven any of them really knew. He’d just have to take that chance, burn that bridge when he came to it, as old man Sawyers was so fond of saying.

  “Okay, Billie-Bob, you’re coming to Richmond with us. Einstein you stay with Maria, keep a low profile, don’t draw any unnecessary attention to yourselves. We should be back through within a week. If we don’t make it, return to the Bluff and let them know what happened.”

  Thirteen

  Towering trees lined the road on either of them, the branches interlaced above their heads creating a living tunnel as Route Six passed into what had once been known as Tuckahoe. On both sides of the road empty houses sat behind overgrown lawns, silent sentinels that watched over the coming and goings of the ghosts of the past. Their windows like empty eyes that hid within their shadowy depths the memories of the terror the occupants must have felt when they realized the end was upon them.

  One house in particular stood out for Billie-Bob, and he was expecting his uncle to step out from behind the front door with a smile and a wave that hid his true nature behind a friendly façade. Memories stirred within his consciousness and he furrowed his brow as he focused on the comforting words of an old story his mother used to read to him every night.

  “They roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth, and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws.” His mother’s words comforted him and helped to keep the old memories at bay. With his minds eye he saw the small room he once shared with his mother. The warm glow of a candle on the small table offering enough illumination to keep the darkness at bay. An open window allowed a gentle breeze to stir lace curtains yellowed with age, carrying with it the scent of freshly turned earth and the biting chill of winters recent passing. He sat on her lap, his brother snuggled next to him, wrapped in a blanket, her arms around them as she held the book open on their lap and read the familiar story.

  “They roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth, and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws.” He whispered, as her voice recited the passage in his mind. He repeated the passage, the memory of her arms around him providing a measure of comfort as he followed Meat and Window through that living tunnel.

  “I know that passage,” Gregory said as he came up beside him.

  “It’s from a book my mom used to read to me any time I got scared,” Billie-Bob said as the memory faded. Safety lay in the memory of his mother’s loving arms, and he regretted losing her.

  “I read the same book to my daughter when she was little.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really, are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine, why do you ask?”

  Gregory shook his head, “no reason in particular. No, let me be honest, I’m worried about your well being you keep repeating that passage to yourself over and over again. Like a Tibetan monk chanting a prayer.”

  “I didn’t realize I was doing that. It’s the only part of the book I remember and it makes me feel better.”

  “Fair enough, are you sure there’s nothing else?”

  Billie-Bob’s gaze was drawn to the house that looked like his uncle’s, the door was about to swing open, and his uncle would step out, and it would start all over again. He shook his head, pushing away the memories that clamored for his attention, losing himself in the comforting words of his mother’s voice as the passage repeated itself in his mind.

  “You’re doing it again.” Gregory said.

  “What?”

  “You were mouthing the words.”

  “Was I?”

  “Yeah, it’s kind of spooky if you ask me.”

  “Did you ever wonder that maybe none of this really happened?” Billie-Bob said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if it’s just an experiment?”

  “Where did you get that idea?”

  “A guy I know at the Bluff, he works in the metal shop, he’s kind of weird and most everyone else leaves him alone, I think he’s pretty cool though, he has some crazy ideas about the government and all that.”

  “Like conspiracy theories?”

  “Yeah, he believes the awakening was caused by something he called Chemtrails.”

  Gregory smiled as he nodded his head. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “So it could be true?”

  “I guess anything’s possible,” Gregory said with a shrug.

  “He also believes the awakening was not as wide spread as it was reported, that it only happened in isolated areas that the government was keeping secured. Like we’re some big experiment and if we walked long enough in one direction we’d come to a wall watched over by armed guards.”

  “Sounds like a movie that came out when I was young, but if that was true, what would they tell the rest of the world to keep them out?”

  Billie-Bob shrugged, “Mark says they could use any excuse from a chemical leak to radiation, to keep people out.”

  “There’s too many holes in that theory, I mean what about satellites? The United States wasn’t the only country with satellites in space.”

  “What’s a satellite?”

  “No one ever told you about satellites?”

  “We only learned what we needed to know to survive. If it couldn’t feed us, clothe us, or provide shelter there was no sense learning about it.”

  “Aren’t you curious about how the world worked before?”

  “Sure, but what good would a satellite do me now?”

  Gregory shrugged, “not much I guess.”

  “I’d rather learn about grocery stores or something like that, something I can use, man wouldn’t it be great to find a grocery store that hadn’t been looted yet?”

  “Now you are reaching, and even if you did, most of the food wouldn’t be any good.”

  “Yeah, but it would be full of canned goods that would still be edible.”

  “You’ve got a point there.”

  “Hey, did I ever tell you about the Zombie who visited a whorehouse?”

  “Yeah. He wanted his money back because he couldn’t get it up, he had DD, dead dick.”

  “Hey, that’s my line.”

  “You need some new material kid.” Gregory said and pushed ahead to catch up with Meat and Window.

  Billie-Bob watched him go, “they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth, and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws,” he whispered, drawing comfort from the words.

  He thought about Mark, and the stories he’d told him of the world before the awakening. The war on terrorists, the government and how it was using its power to keep people prisoner. He’d escaped from Richmond during the initial outbreak and would tell anyone who listened about how ruthless the military had been. In Billie-Bob he’d found a rapt audience and had filled his head with all manner of odd tales about power and the greed it bred.

  The same kind of power those who ran the compound at the Bluff held. He hadn’t been surprised when Meat told them the truth about Bremo Bluff. In fact the stories Mark had shared had led him to suspect that those in charge of the bluff really did not have their best interests at heart.

  It was becoming too much to dwell on so he returned to his comfort zone. “They roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth, and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws,” he whispered as his mother’s soothing
voice filled his mind.

  Fourteen

  As evening descended they set up camp on the roof of an apartment building that offered a view of downtown Richmond. Two days had passed since they left Einstein and Maria. Two days in which they had not crossed paths with any other survivors as they traveled through a seemingly dead world. There were signs of their passage all about, as was the fading sign of their quarry. On the first night they built a fire on the blackened spot where the group they followed had built one the night before. Meat knew it was them based on the footprints around the fire, the thread of small boots mingled with larger soft soled shoes.

  The city lay spread out before them, low buildings close, rising to towering buildings of glass that scraped the sky. The purple haze of night marched across the sky from the East, stars twinkling against a black backdrop, in sharp contrast to the fading hues of red and orange burning along the horizon to the west.

  In the center of Richmond several of the high rise buildings were alight with the flickering glow of nearby fires as the fading light cast long shadows. Other high rises remained dark and foreboding, dead monoliths shrouded in the shadows of the past. The James River was like a bejeweled serpent slithering through the heart of downtown Richmond, its surface reflecting the dancing lights of the fires that burned within that desolate place.

  Screams came from the streets buried in the deeper shadows, cries of anger and anguish mingling in a nightly ritual that spoke to them on a dark and primitive level. An oppressive air hung over the city, calling to that dark and primitive psyche as it beckoned for them to come on, even as it warned them away.

  “I’ll take first watch,” Meat said as they gazed at the city from their vantage point. The night was clear and warm enough for them to sleep beneath the stars. “Billie-Bob wake Window who will wake up Gregory when it’s time.” Gregory nodded as he swung his pack off his shoulders, resting his rifle on the pack as he wandered to the edge of the roof with a pair of binoculars.

  From the parking lot six stories below came the sound of running feet punctuated by shouts.

  “Leave me be!” An old man’s voice floated up to them as the running footsteps stopped.

  “Give it to me, old man,” someone said.

  Meat knelt down and looked over the top of the short wall that ran the circumference of the roof. Three teens had an older man cornered against the rusted fence that surrounded the parking area. He was clutching something in his hands, holding it close, and protecting it with his body.

  Billie-Bob lifted his rifle and sighted down the scope, settling the butt in his shoulder.

  “Don’t,” Meat said as he held his hand out.

  “But I can take all three of them.”

  “And bring how many more,” Meat whispered. Sometimes it didn’t pay to be a hero. As much as he hated to admit it the old man was unfortunately on his own. They could help, but there was no telling how many others the sounds of their shots would bring. They had to remain focused on the task at hand, to save the children, getting sidetracked by a running fight wouldn’t help.

  They watched and waited as the scene played out below them. They possessed the ability to save the old man but doing so might jeopardize their purpose for being here, forcing them to watch helplessly as the three teens struggled with the old man.

  “You can’t have it,” the old man yelled as he struggled to maintain his grip on the object in his hands.

  The old man kicked out, catching one of the teens squarely between the legs, doubling him over as the other two laughed at their friend’s misfortune. The teen slowly collapsed to the ground as they turned their attention from their victim.

  “He got ya good, Tyrone.”

  Carefully the old man sidestepped away from the teens and when he was a full ten feet away he turned and ran down the street, vanishing into the shadows.

  One of the teens looked up. “He’s getting away, get back here you old fuck.”

  Footsteps pounded across the pavement below them as the two teens that were able chased the old man down the street. They vanished into the thick shadows, pounding footsteps fading into the distance, their shouts becoming remote whispers in the night. The last teen slowly pushed himself to his feet and staggered after his friends.

  Night fell completely as Meat settled in for the first watch and the others dropped off to sleep. It was amazing what a little walking could do to wear a person out and Meat was struggling against the call of sleep as he gazed out from his perch at the edge of the roof. Every so often he would look back at the door they had used to access the roof. They had blocked it to keep anyone from following them, but one could never be too careful when you ventured into the wilds of this new world.

  Fifteen

  Meat woke up with a start, looking around from his vantage point, half expecting to find himself surrounded by those who would do him harm. He’d drifted off the sleep and felt a bit disoriented by his sudden waking. He’d been dreaming of that shadowy hallway again and a chill whispered down his spine as he recalled the doorway at the end. A narrow strip of light had shown under the door and from behind its peeling face he’d heard the familiar sound of rats cavorting across a hardwood floor, tiny claws clicking against old wood. He shivered again as the thought of the rats, wrapping his arms about himself as the night flowed silently around him.

  A full moon cast the city into a contrasting patchwork of light and shadows. Nothing had changed, fires still burned in the distance and an occasional cry echoed across the dark face of the city. The others were sound asleep, huddled close to one another, wrapped in their sleeping bags that were showing the wear of continued use.

  Glancing at the watch he wore on his wrist, a cheap wind up affair that had lasted longer than he thought possible, he saw he’d only been on guard for an hour. He’d probably been asleep nearly the entire time. Taking a deep breath he focused his attention on the vacant street below as his mind wandered and his eyelids once more grew heavy.

  Faced with the task that stood before them, the reality of what they were about to do staring him in the face, doubts he had struggled so hard to keep suppressed rose to the surface.

  What if I’m wrong? He worried as he gazed sleepily at the street below. What if he got everybody killed? In Bremo Bluff when he’d first thought of going out after the kidnapped children the possibility of something bad happening to them as a result, though present, wasn’t that high among his concerns.

  He’d looked upon the expedition with an excitement only a child could muster, a blind anticipation that ignored the doubts whispering in the back of his mind. Standing upon the threshold of achieving their objective of finding the missing children and returning them to Bremo Bluffs, the doubts began to gnaw at him.

  He’d never before felt as alone as he did at that moment.

  Strip away the false bravado and all you were left with was a scared little kid. Yeah, he knew how to survive, he knew how to defend himself, and had done so on a number of occasions. But the fact remained, he along with Window and Billie-Bob, were just kids. Hell he hadn’t even started shaving yet and here he was leading a group on a quest that could get them all killed.

  He was so damned tired. His eyelids slid down over his eyes as his head slowly dropped towards his chest, so sleepy.

  A sound on the street below brought him fully awake and he peered into the thick shadows crouched along the buildings below. He strained to see what was hidden, his mind filling in the blanks for what he couldn’t see. Anyone who has ever had the misfortune of guarding a desolate place at night understands that when one is alone in the dark the mind has a tendency to play tricks on you. You begin to see things that aren’t really there.

  From the street below came the steady sound of footsteps, a hard heel ringing against the pavement with a clip clop sound that echoed from the shadowed faces of the buildings lining the street. Someone was walking down the street, alone, at a leisurely pace that begged for someone with less honest intentions
to come along. A lone figure moved in the black depths of the shadows as the footsteps became louder.

  A solitary figure stepped into the moonlight that painted the intersection with an effervescent white light, his long shadow cast along the ground at his feet, vanishing into the thick shadows crowded against the base of the buildings, connecting him to the shadowy depths that had birthed him.

  He stood in the intersection, tale and slender, staring up at Meat who could feel the stranger’s eyes on him, probing him, searching the dark nooks and crannies of his mind where all manner of self-doubt and fear resided.

  He’s just a kid. The thought blossomed in his mind. With it came a primitive fear of the unknown, of shadowy places shrouded in perpetual twilight. The image of a vast, desolate landscape filled his mind. Thick clouds swollen with the promise of rain passed over the face of that bleak expanse of nothing. A lonely figure moved across the blasted place, a shadowy wraith that flitted to and fro as it approached him, dancing across the landscape with a wild abandon.

  A hand fell on his shoulder and Meat jerked awake, one hand pulling the knife he carried from its scabbard at his waist as his head swiveled around in search of who had touched him.

  “It’s all right man, it’s only me,” Window said taking several steps back as Meat jumped to his feet and swung around with the knife in his hand.

  “Where did he go?” Meat said.

  “Where did who go?”

  “The man,” Meat said, still gathering his thoughts as he struggled to put together a coherent picture of the world around him. He spun back around and stepped over to the edge of the roof, his gaze fixed on the moonlit intersection below. Nothing moved in the moonlight, no sound save the stirring of a gentle breeze as it whispered across the edge of the roof and caressed his face with chilled fingers that still carried a hint of the winter that had just passed.