The Undead World (Book 6): The Apocalypse Exile (War of The Undead)

by Meredith, Peter

  Brad saw their agitation and heard the anger in the voices and yet his grin was undimmed. “Now, now,” he said, playing the benevolent father. “Do not fret. My king offers fairly lenient credit terms and…” he paused when the whispering of the renegades increased, “…and is not the ‘great’ General Johnston of Colorado known for his generosity and kindness? You’ll get your water, don’t worry.”

  “That is not the point,” Grey said, when all eyes centered on him; he was the General’s man after all. “The point is that you are colluding to gouge innocent and destitute travelers. It’s neither ethical nor Christian.”

  Again the lift of the shoulders. “We never said we were Christian, so there goes that point. And yes, you are beggars and not choosers, which really makes things easier on everyone. You’ll pay whatever the king says you’ll pay. Now, since that’s settled, we should get going.”

  As everyone else started heading back to the trucks wearing hound-dog expressions, Grey stood glaring at Brad’s back. Next to him, as always, was Deanna. Hanging around him had become a habit, or a need, or a strong desire she couldn’t help…it was one of those and she didn’t think too hard on which, afraid to find out it might be something more.

  He grunted to her: “I should have listened to you. We should have gone around the long way.”

  “No duh, you should’ve listened to me. But who knows?” Deanna said, cheerily. “What if there really are cannibals in Texas? Or vampires in New Mexico?” She laughed a little too loud and then spun Grey around and took him by the arm as if they had just stepped out of some late-night club and onto the curb with a fine, three in the morning mist running on their faces. They started strolling and the conversation that should have been as simple as breathing stalled into a bit of loud clicks as Deanna grew tongue tied and she had trouble even swallowing.

  It was the arm, she knew. Taking his arm, in this odd new era where rapes were common place and gentlemen rare, had been extremely forward especially when the latter was involved. There would have been the same uncomfortable reaction if she had taken Neil by the arm or Michael Gates. Had it been the River King, he likely would have grabbed her ass, but Grey was very aware of her past and clearly it affected the way he viewed her and, thus, how he reacted to her.

  Because of his gallant nature, she knew he would be afraid to make any sexual move toward her, even if she really, really wanted him to. Ever since that awkward moment in the lake when they were both dripping wet and smiling under a beautifully warm sky, she had known that she was falling for him. Clearly, at least it was clear to Deanna, he was falling for her as well, but that same chivalrous attitude precluded him from making any move. He likely viewed her as damaged from her experience, both mentally and emotionally.

  An ugly thought slipped unwanted into her mind: what if he thought she was damaged physically? Maybe that was why he had kept his guard up around her.

  She gave him a quick look and saw the rugged, bristled jaw and the hard eyes. Unexpectedly, he turned and caught her staring. Their eyes locked and there was a moment in which everything in their hard lives fell away, the harsh land, the tired and sweat-smelling renegades, the distant but ever present moan of the zombies, and it was just the two of them, simply a boy and a girl and the wonderful bridge between them. It was a conduit, of expectation, of excitement, of destiny, of souls. It was a conduit of love, and her fear of what he thought of her fell away.

  He didn’t question it, either.

  It was too perfect, perhaps the most perfect moment in her life. There was no need to question the feeling and the thought of what had happened to Neil’s perfect love, or Sadie’s or Ram’s, or even of little Jillybean’s, never entered her mind.

  She smiled and then he flashed his white teeth and she was happy, so happy that the fact that they seemed unable to talk to each other didn’t matter.

  “Uh, here we are,” Grey said, a very quick moment later. He had, as any gentlemen would, escorted her to the passenger side of the truck where Neil was standing on the fender, looking at them with a raised eyebrow. Neil looked as though he was on the verge of saying something, perhaps a warning about the danger of love in this new undead world, or perhaps a joke to break the silence, or perhaps a word of congratulations. He held his tongue, so Deanna never knew. Higher up in the truck, perched in the middle of the bench, Jillybean was looking at them with an undisguised look of frank disgust.

  Deanna suddenly didn’t like the little girl anymore, psychosis, or no psychosis. There simply wasn’t enough of the old, sweet Jillybean left. “I’m going to go see whether Sadie needs a break from taking care of Eve,” Deanna said, giving Grey’s arm a last squeeze and letting go. Again, she didn’t know why she had. The squeeze had just happened. It was strange, as though her body was giving hints to both of them that there was no need to be as shy as they were.

  Grey looked down at the squeezed arm before glancing again into her eyes. Again that connection was there. It was brief, not even a second, but it still conveyed everything the first had. He blinked the moment away and said: “Sure.”

  Sadie was in the front of the next truck in line. Eve was lolling back, her eyes blissfully closed, her little pink lips parted and a thin arm thrown out. “Are you ready for a break?” Deanna whispered. “I can take over if you want. I know how tiring a baby can be.”

  The young woman opened her mouth, but then shut it again before shaking her head, letting her short hair hang over her eyes. It was only then that Deanna realized that Sadie hadn’t spiked her hair that day or the last. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had. And gone, too, was the black eyeliner that she usually gooped on thick. She looked washed out and used up.

  “Are you sure? Neil would love for you to ride with him, He doesn’t say it, but I think the stress of being the leader is getting to him. He could use you.”

  “I think he’s doing fine,” Sadie said, showing some life by giving Deanna a sharp eye. “Neil is stronger than most people think. Didn’t you see the way he handled Brad? He didn’t take any of his…” she paused and glanced down at the baby, before spelling out: “S.h.i.t.”

  “Sure. I didn’t mean anything except I thought he could use a friend and that you could use a break.”

  The girl’s sharp look dimmed along with her anger, leaving only the same faded look on her face as if age were actively conspiring against her. “Thanks, but I’m good and Eve needs me and…I just don’t want to. Jillybean is…I just don’t want to.”

  Deanna told her she understood and, after a last grin that was all muscle and no emotion, she left to hurry back to the lead truck that was sitting, dribbling out a grey smoke from its exhaust. “No luck?” Grey asked, as she climbed up into the cab. He had a smile for her, Neil looked worried and slightly disappointed, and Jillybean gave her a snort that was impossible to read and then faced forward, ignoring her as if she didn’t exist.

  “The baby was sleeping on her arm,” Deanna said as answer, settling herself down close to Grey. So close that again their arms touched. “She didn’t want to disturb her.” Neil relaxed at this and Grey only shrugged before glancing once at the gas gauge that was on the wrong side of the halfway mark. He muttered a curse and hit the gas, chugging the truck forward. It was after noon and the sun was canted at an angle above them.

  For the next hour they drove through sixty miles of sameness. The land, once the breadbasket of the world, looked to have been struck by the same dread disease affecting the human population. Where once everything was lush and green, it was now patchy and ugly, mottled, dry and dying. In direct contradiction, above them was a vast sameness. The sky was a simmering steel blue, marked only by the disc of the sun as it, ever so slowly, moved across the sky.

  Brad took them on another convoluted trail where there was a curious lack of signage. They had no idea what roads they were on or what the names were of the dinky little towns they passed. Even Captain Grey grumbled about being “lost.”

 
; Two hours into the trip they had a repeat of the day before as trouble struck. The truck beneath them started to vibrate and buck. It shimmied to the right and Neil, master of the obvious, said: “Something’s wrong It’s another blowout, I bet.” He had his feet up on the dash. Once again they were snug in his purple crocs; knowing he would regret not having them, Deanna had fetched the crocs from the field he had thrown them in earlier that morning.

  “You think?” Grey snarled as he fought the wheel back to center and slowly hit the brake. He cut the engine and then glanced around at the unruly farmland. Far out among the fields, there were a few ugly beings standing like scarecrows here and there. As they watched, the zombies began heading toward them. Five went for the Camry, which was a few hundred yards ahead, another six, in a jagged line, came for the trucks.

  On the floor at Neil’s feet was an axe, its steel head was notched and had a case of rust, though it wasn’t serious enough to keep it from being used. “I’ll take care of them,” he said. “You fix the truck.”

  “Take Deanna as back up,” Grey said.

  Neil jumped down and held his hand out for Deanna. After her time on the Island where she had been treated like dirt, these little displays of manners had her smiling in spite of their situation. “Thank you, kindly,” she said with an exaggerated southern accent.

  With a flourish, Neil made a bow, also smiling. His smile didn’t last as he saw the blown tire. The back end of what looked like a five inch slag bolt was sticking out of the treads. “Son of a gun!” he swore. “Do you think that’s fixable?”

  Grey walked around to squat next to the truck, resting his forearms on his thighs. He gave the bolt a wiggle. “Probably not. We don’t have tools or anything to patch it with. I swear you’re jinxed, Neil. I’ve never had such a string of bad luck.”

  “That’s not luck, good or bad,” Jillybean stated. “That was human done.”

  “How do you know?” Deanna asked. “Tires pick up nails all the time.”

  The little girl squinted up, her face once again unpleasant. “I just know. That should be good enough for you.” The word ‘you’ came out in sneer.

  Deanna rounded on the little girl with her fists balled and planted on the points of her thin hips. She glared and thought seriously about telling the seven-year-old to ‘fuck off.’ Instead, she said: “You need to curb your tongue, young lady, or you’ll be riding in the back. Is that what you want?” Jillybean puffed up as if she had a thousand words worth of air in her lungs. Deanna only raised an imperious eyebrow, letting the little girl know that she was ready to back up her words with actions.

  Jillybean backed down, sulking.

  “Good,” Deanna said. Inside she felt an odd touch of motherly pride and she thought: That’s how you deal with a head-strong child. Without realizing it, she rubbed her belly which was no longer as flat as it had once been. “Now, what if this was an act of sabotage? What do we do?”

  “It was sabotage,” Jillybean told them, in a quieter voice. “She said so.”

  “She who?” Neil asked. “Did Jillybean say that?”

  The little girl nodded, her face suddenly vacant. “Yes, Jillybean said to expect this. She said that we shou…” In midsentence the girl just trailed off, her eyes staring at the tire.

  Neil took her by the shoulders and shook her so that her head jerked back and forth. “Jillybean! Hey, talk to me. What were we supposed to do?” He shook her roughly and none of the renegades said anything. They had come up in dribs and drabs until there were twenty of them watching Neil shout into her face. “Hey! Answer me. What did Jillybean say we…”

  She suddenly blinked and stared into Neil’s eyes. “Oh, hey, Mister Neil.” She gazed around at the others as if the cock had just crowed and she had awakened to find them gathered around her bed. “What’s going on?”

  “We, uh. We, uh, just wanted to ask you about this tire,” he said, gently prying his hands from her shoulders and bringing them to his chest where they opened and closed like a pair of dying spiders. She looked at the tire as if seeing it for the first time in her life. Just as Grey had, she gave the bolt a wiggle before looking back up at Neil.

  “It’s got a nail sticking out of it,” she said, after a moment of consideration. She then squinted up and asked: “What day is it? Is it still today?” This perplexed everyone in earshot. No one knew either the date or what she was talking about.

  More gently than he had before, Neil took her, once again, by the shoulders. “You said something about the tires?”

  “Oh them. Yeah, they are going to put nails in them just like they did the last one. We should check them before we leave. There’ll be more like this one. At least I think so. She was aposed to tell you that.”

  “Ok, thanks, Jilly,” Neil said. He stood and looked down the line of trucks. A tired sigh escaped him. He opened his mouth to say something but before he could a gunshot split the air. Brad was shooting the zombies as they came stumping up to the Camry. Neil cast a quick glance over at the ones he had been going to kill—the nearest was fifty yards away. “All right. I need Veronica and Joslyn to check all the remaining tires for more nails. Fred, Michael, William and Grey will change out this tire and I will kill those zombies. Marybeth, climb up on the second truck and take the first watch. We’ll switch every twenty minutes. Any questions?”

  “Just one,” Michael Gates said. “We don’t have any more spares and I’m scared to ask how much Brad will charge.”

  Brad was just coming up to the trucks, a shotgun slung on his shoulder, clothed as he was in his garish silks, the machismo of the long gun clashed. “Charge for what? You guys have another flat? That is some bad luck.”

  The renegades began muttering to themselves and again, just as earlier, he didn’t seem concerned. Casually, he put the gun across his back like a yoke and hung his hands off either end. He breathed out a loud sigh, as though he were filled with sadness over the loss of the tire. “A new tire is pricey, specially one this big. We have to haul it all the way from Topeka and that’s a drive both ways. I’d say it would run you over a thousand.”

  This caused the muttering to step up in tempo. Deanna was among the mutterers. She was so angry that if she had been a man, she likely would have taken a poke at Brad. That’s why she was surprised to see Grey was smirking.

  “Lucky for us, we don’t need a spare. We have six already.” He pointed at the undercarriage of the truck. It was ten-wheeled on three axles. “We aren’t carrying enough weight that we really need all the wheels. We could lose the middle two and the truck will run just fine.”

  At the realization, a few of the renegades laughed and all of them grinned. Brad wore a tight smile as he said: “Well that’s great, just great. In fact, that’s super. I didn’t want to go to Topeka anyway.”

  “No one in their right mind would,” Neil said. His was the largest smile of any of them. He clapped Brad on the back, leaving his hand there as if they were good friends. He then addressed the renegades: “Ok people, we all have work to do. Let’s get going.”

  The group broke up. Most of them hurrying to find shade against the trucks. Neil went out into the field and, with Deanna backing him, he struck down the zombies as they came straggling up. It was ugly work and hot. Sweat gathered in his hair and what was left of his baby face glowed red. None of the zombies were particularly large or fast, in fact two had ‘turned’ as children and were missing significant portions of their anatomy. Together they only had the sum of three arms, two hands, eight fingers and a single set of lips. Even as un-whole as they were, they were still dangerous because of the disease they carried.

  Neil muttered: “Just chopping wood, just chopping wood,” each time he swung the axe over his head to bring it around in a looping arc. Black blood flew. It was like sludge and Neil was speckled like a gecko when the last zombie came hobbling on one foot through the field. This one had been a woman. She wore a silver cross that glinted like white fire, and one sneaker on her rema
ining foot. She was otherwise naked and unappealing in every way.

  As her disfigured leg ended mid-tibia, she moved at a list of some thirty degrees which, combined with her bobbing up-down, caused Neil to misjudge his swing. The axe cleaved off an ear before burying itself in the side of her neck. She didn’t even blink.

  She kept coming with hands outstretched, managing to snag his sweater vest. He squawked in typical Neil fashion and leapt back causing the women, whose grip was like iron, to fall forward. She nearly dragged him down and, bent well over at the waist, he was forced to shimmy out of the vest to free himself.

  “Jeeze!” he exclaimed and then stomped around the woman to get at the handle of his axe. A tug freed it and then he planted his foot on her back to force her down. “If I live to a hundred, I’ll never get used to this,” he said before looping the axe around a final time. The strike made a wet sound, like a melon being split. It had Deanna’s stomach turning over and, when Neil had to work the axe back and forth in order to free it from the zombie’s head, she turned around to find Jillybean right there.

  “Hi,” the little girl said, brightly, as though there wasn’t a pile of bodies in front of her. “I missed you.”

  “You missed me?” Deanna asked. “What do you mean?”

  Jillybean’s little face scrunched in as if she was under the effects of a lemon. “I guess I don’t know, but it feels like we haven’t talked for a long time. Has it been a long time, do you think? Was it a long time since we blew up the bridge?”

  “Four or five days,” Deanna said, trying to remember. She had always been time conscious before the apocalypse. Ever since, she didn’t know one day from another, but at least she was aware of time passing. Jillybean’s mental disorder seemed to be causing hiccups in her memory.

  “Forget the bridge,” Neil whined. “Look at me! It’s on me! I think I’m about to puke.” He stood with his arms out and his face stricken and wrinkled in disgust. There was a constellation of bloody, diseased freckles across his cheeks and nose. “Is it in my eyes?”