The End Time Saga Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Greene, Daniel

  She dumped the slab of charred venison on his plate and put a tiny piece on hers. She looked at her cut of deer meat while he sawed into the meat and chewed noisily.

  “You have a man before here?” he said in between bites. The meat crunched as he chewed.

  “Yes.”

  “You never cook for him?”

  “No, I cooked for him.”

  “He dead?” Does he not even know that his people killed Mark?

  “Yes.” The words were bitter and didn’t feel right on her tongue.

  “I guess I know what killed him,” he said, cutting into his chunk of meat. They continued in silence as she picked at her food.

  “One of your friends shot him,” she said after a moment.

  He continued to eat, not looking up from his food.

  “To the victor, the spoils. He should have fought harder for his woman,” he said, smiling at her with gross intent.

  “I am no prize to be won. I choose my company.”

  “Strong words from a woman in chains.”

  “We are all caged by something.”

  He blinked at her, trying to digest her words. Food was caught in his beard like a black haired Christmas tree with crumbs as ornaments. She held his gaze momentarily and looked back at her food.

  “Eat. You’re lucky there’s food. Better than some coward could provide for ya,” he said.

  You don’t know anything about Mark.

  “Eat,” he said again. She put a fork into her food and sawed the tough meat.

  They ate the rest of their meal in an awkward silence. Gwen hoped she hadn’t overstepped herself and alienated her captor whose “generosity” and trust was paramount to her survival and escape. He eyed her with dark dim eyes. He rose to go outside for his nightly drinking.

  “Clean this up,” he ordered.

  “Puck, I was thinking that I could join you out there tonight. I get so scared when I am alone. Please.”

  He eyed her lustfully and nodded. “I have a half mind to take you right now,” he said and licked his lips.

  “Sweetie. Think about how much better it will be when I feel a bit more comfortable with my new surroundings,” she said softly. “I promise I will make it worth it.” She gave him a sexy smile, her insides roiling with each word. He growled a bit and walked outside. She swiped a piece of venison and stashed it under her clothes before accompanying him outside to the bonfire.

  Puck engulfed her hand and led her near a large fire that crackled and flared bright in the night. She could see through the firelight that her friends were still chained to the pole. Thank God, they survived the infected.

  The mountain folk quieted down as they approached, and after an awkward second, parted ways for them. Puck and her were like a hillbilly king and queen surrounded by their yokel court. Gwen felt their eyes upon her. Eyes that judged her. Hateful eyes that despised her. She was the outsider. The other.

  Puck picked her up with his massive paws and set her down on his lap like she was a ventriloquist dummy. Am I a dummy trying to befriend them?

  Prune-Face Old Barnum mumbled something to Casey and they burst out laughing. He produced a large mason jar and took a long swig. His puckered lips pursed a bit at the end and he handed it to Casey. He took his turn and they passed it around the campfire.

  Everyone started yapping again, conversing loudly about the day’s happenings. Gwen listened quietly, watching them and looking for weaknesses she could exploit.

  In any other world, it would have looked like some country folk enjoying a campfire in the hills. In this world, they had killed her love, raped her friend, beaten them and held them hostage. The most sickening part was that they didn’t even seem to care. Whatever system that had once been in place to hold these people accountable had disappeared.

  Fat Chuck pulled out a banjo. He ran his thumb all the way down the strings before he began to pick them in sequence while his thumb rested on the top string. His fingers formed a C-like position as he strummed and twanged the instrument in time.

  Mark’s badge glinted in the firelight, draped around Chuck’s neck like some sort of grisly trophy. Play the part or they will never trust you. Gwen nestled into Puck’s chest, feeling his warmth. It repulsed her but it took her eyes away from the glittering badge that flickered in the firelight.

  The flames raged in Ashley’s eyes from across the fire. Gwen tried to not make eye contact, knowing the woman was placing a hex on her. Instead, Gwen snuggled into Puck’s furry arm. His body does make a relatively comfortable pillow.

  “I feel safe with you,” she said up to him, the words tasting like a cigarette butt in her mouth.

  He looked down on her, wide smile showing gapped teeth. She gave him a sweet smile, fluttering her eyelashes with half-open eyes. She gave a triumphant look over at Ashley, who scowled even more. Give me a few more days and Puck will be eating out of my hand. Another week and I might run this camp. But I don’t have that much time.

  Casey’s rat-like face leaned over to them. His mustache belonged on an adolescent.

  “You wanna drink?” he said, giving Puck a nervous glance. Puck grunted.

  Gwen took the mason jar in her hands. She smelled it tentatively. Bitterly strong alcohol wafted into her nostrils, more like rubbing alcohol than anything else.

  “Yuck,” she said, twisting her head away. “Smells like pure gasoline.”

  “Ha. They say Old Barnum’s hooch made his wife go blind.”

  “Told her not to be sneakin’ my stash,” the wrinkled man wheezed from across the fire.

  “Give it here,” Puck said. He snatched the mason jar from her hands. “You do it like this,” he said, tipping the jar back and guzzling the grain alcohol down his throat. Liquid trails dribbled down his beard. “Ahhh,” he said. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

  “Oh my, Puck,” she exclaimed. Jesus, I’m not sure I can fake such happiness at such primitive behavior. Does he think I am impressed by his ability to drink rocket fuel?

  “I’ve never seen anyone drink like you.”

  “I’m a good drinker. You have some too,” Puck said, handing her the jar.

  Gwen had never been a big drinker. She almost gagged as the jar neared her lips.

  She took a sip and the fiery fluid burned down her throat. She coughed, and they all laughed at her.

  “Drink more,” Puck said. He laughed, his big belly jiggling with mirth like an Appalachian Santa.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on. Drink up,” Casey called over.

  “Little Miss Perfect prob’ly never been drunk before,” Ashley called at her.

  “What? It ain’t good enough for your high falootin’ ways?” Chuck said.

  “Oh okay,” she gushed. She took another small sip. She coughed and coughed. The more sober I stay, the better. They laughed at her city ways, and she passed the jar on. Puck possessively wrapped a heavy arm around her.

  The moonshiners told stories. For most of them, Gwen couldn’t tell if they were pre-or post-outbreak. It was difficult to tell. These people seemed to have always lived on the fringe of society. They had never abided by normal laws, but in reality had been a much smaller unit. More like a tribe and Puck was their chieftain; a position that he held by brute force.

  “I’ve lived up here since the war. They worked us to death in those days. Then, when the war was done, the company went away. Left us with nothing,” Old Barnum said.

  “He’s talkin’ bout World War II. The one versus the British,” Chuck said to Gwen.

  “Never left this mountain. Don’t suspect I ever will. Lotta boys who left, never came back from the war, nor the ones after.” Barnum nodded, affirming his survival to playing it safe, and never leaving home, or was it because he knew he would now die on the mountain. Gwen couldn’t tell.

  “Join up, they’d say. Serve your country, they’d say. See the world, they’d say. Then, all that came back were little yellow Western Union telegram
s. A cave-in didn’t seem so bad compared to having a sneaky Jerry run you through with a bayonet in the snow.” They all nodded their heads as they listened to the old man.

  “After the war, I met your pa, Richard O’Neill. A real firebrand, that one. That war did him no service. Didn’t help Ma Betty either. Had to set him straight a few times.”

  “Quit reminiscing, you old fart. We all know about Pa. You don’t need to remind us,” Ashley called over.

  “I am just sayin’ war hurts a lot of people, up here.” He pointed to his head. “But nothing that a little hooch can’t fix,” he said with a laugh. He gripped the mason jar in both hands with a smile.

  As the night progressed, the stories flowed, complemented by rounds of alcohol, and Gwen had a hard time navigating their intertwined histories.

  Old Barnum, the oldest member and the patriarch in name only, was an uncle or grandpa to Casey and Henry, who in turn were cousins or friends with Fat Chuck. Owen was a brother to Ashley and was married to Virginia, who was sister to Hunchback Larry, who was cousins with Bobby and One-Eyed Sue. Puck Roberts was his own unit. She gave up trying to decipher everyone’s relation to one another but realized there was an intertwining of two major families: the Barnums and O’Neills, with a smattering of Connollys; they had always stuck together, fierce and proud. Distant relatives from the old country. All different branches of the same clan.

  After a few hours she stood up, stretching her legs.

  “I have to use the outhouse,” she whispered to Puck. He looked her in the eyes, deciding if he could trust her. She slapped him on the shoulder playfully.

  “Where would I go? You think I would run off into the mountains at night?” she said.

  Satisfied, he nodded. “Outhouse is over there.” He threw a thumb behind him.

  Gwen stepped slowly into the night, her first bit of freedom from Puck, scaring her. It was eerie leaving the people she hated, knowing that the night held endless dangers. Infected. Animals. Getting lost. Would I even make a run for it if I had the chance? Could I make it on my own in the unfamiliar mountains of West Virginia? No, I will not desert my friends. They need my help. I will not leave them to a fate worse than death. An opportunity will present itself.

  Chained forms materialized in the darkness. Will they see if I make contact? She furtively glanced behind her. Laughter roared at the campfire.

  She slowed down as she came alongside Mauser, Ahmed, and Eddie. Mauser looked up. His chained arms clinked above his head. He had grown a grizzled reddish beard and bruised darkness surrounded his swollen eyes. She couldn’t contain herself. She darted to him and knelt down near him.

  “Hey there, good looking,” Mauser started, a painful grin spreading over his face. She wanted to cry just looking at his broken face and body.

  She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’m fine, Ben. You don’t look so good.”

  “Nothing that a spa day won’t fix up,” he said. He coughed and it sounded painful.

  “Tomorrow night they are having some sort of party. I think they are going to do something horrible to you and Ahmed. We have to escape,” she rushed out. She gave another glance over her shoulder. Nobody watched from afar.

  Mauser’s face was downcast. “They watch us almost all the time, and Ahmed and I are banged up too. They’ve only fed us once.” His face does look gaunt where it’s not swollen.

  “Eat this,” she said and shoved venison in his mouth. He gulped down the food.

  “Christ, that was terrible. Even for a sorry son of a bitch like me.”

  “A small act of rebellion on my part. I’ll continue to work on Puck. Maybe I can get the key and unchain you.” She smiled sadly at her battered longtime friend.

  Mauser chewed more meat greedily. He stopped. “His name is actually Puck? Jesus. Where the hell are we?”

  “Far from home,” she responded, watching the trees.

  He nodded and looked her fiercely in the eyes. “Just tell me when to run and I’ll run. Or fight,” Mauser said.

  A crack of a twig behind her gave away the uninvited. Gwen stood up and spun around, her heart racing in her chest. A feminine form emerged from the shadows. As she got closer, a nasty sneer crossed her lips. Ashley.

  “I heard what you are planning, bitch,” she said.

  Gwen composed herself, smoothing her dress. “Whatever are you talking about? I was just talking to my friend, here,” she said.

  Ashley reached out to grab Gwen by the sleeve. Gwen brushed her hand aside.

  “Don’t you touch me, or I will tell Puck,” Gwen said. Ashley stayed her hand, outrage settling on her face.

  “Puck would never take your word over mine,” Ash said.

  “Are you sure?” Gwen used her haughtiest glance and pursed her lips.

  “You don’t know nothin’ about us,” Ashley stammered.

  Gwen turned her back to her, continuing on her way to the outhouses. Better not jump me, bitch. Gwen tried to appear calm, but she was tense, waiting for Ashley to fight her. Step after step she relaxed. Please don’t call my bluff.

  Ashley called after her, shrill and mean, sending a shiver down Gwen’s spine.

  “Tomorrow, it won’t even matter, bitch. They’ll be dead, and you’ll be alone.”

  STEELE

  Backbone Peak, WV

  In the dim light of a hanging lamp, they took stock of Kevin’s meager inventory of weapons.

  A pump-action camouflaged Benelli twelve-gauge hunting shotgun lay on Kevin’s kitchen table. Scattered nearby were three red-tubed brass-bottomed slugs. Steele’s knife lay out for sharpening along with one of Kevin’s deer knives. A rusted-out shovel leaned against the wall in the corner, almost as if they were planning on burying the bodies, or each other.

  “So you’re telling me you live in West Virginia and you don’t have any handguns or rifles? And only three slugs?” Steele asked, rubbing his eyes to alleviate the throbbing of his brain.

  Kevin scratched his head. “I am a teacher, not a prepper. I usually go hunting in November, but I have had to use some of my slugs since people started to go the way of the dodo.”

  Steele nodded, his head throbbing. “I know. I know, Kevin. I am more disappointed in myself for getting into this mess than with you.” Should’ve been more cautious. Shouldn’t have been so trusting. We knew it was an ambush. It was a clear set-up. The way the cars were angled. The way the road ran through the mountainside. The excellent vantage points. Damn it. My buddies, who were in Afghanistan, would have mocked me for my presumed safety. My spidey-senses should have been screaming danger. Instead I got a bullet in the head. And they got Gwen.

  “Pretty meager, huh?” Kevin said, crossing his arms across his chest.

  Steele grimaced. A little luck never hurt. “Three slugs ain’t going to get us too far against ten-plus guns pointed in our direction. We’re going to have to be silent. Use stealth, surprise, and chaos to our advantage.”

  Kevin appeared apprehensive.

  Don’t quit on me now.

  “Listen, Steele, and I mean this with all due respect. You seem like a good guy and a relative bad ass. But you are just one man. What good is one good man with good intentions against a gang of rotten men with bad blood running through their veins,” Kevin said. His eyes darted downward. His voice rose as he spoke. “I don’t want anything to do with Puck Roberts and that clan of misfits. They aren’t like me. They are backward, mean folk who provide nothing to society.”

  Steele’s brows creased. “Why are you upset? What did they do to you?”

  Kevin shook his head in frustration. “It’s just those people. They. They. I’m not like them. Do you know how hard it was to get where I am? I was the first person in my family to go to college. The first in a family of coal miners and hooch cookers.”

  “I understand, but this isn’t that world anymore. This isn’t a world that values degrees. Not unless you can make me some slugs out of nothing.”

  Kevin gave h
im a small grin before it turned to a frown. Steele knew what he was going to say, but let the man speak his piece. Kevin stuffed his hands in his navy sweatshirt front pocket.

  “Those things out there. On top of Puck, this is just too much.” Kevin shook his head, working up his denial.

  Abandoned in my time of real need. “Those are my people and my responsibility. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow,” Steele said.

  Kevin looked sorry and nodded, leaving Steele to his thoughts.

  “I’ve got to get some rest,” Steele said. He crashed on Kevin’s couch and closed his eyes. Sleep didn’t take him soon enough.

  His sleep was fitful and uncomfortable. The sun cracked through the blinds, and Steele awoke to the distinct greasy smell of frying bacon. He kicked his blanket off and sat up on the couch, knife flipping free of its handle.

  Kevin stood in the kitchen cooking food over the stove. “Don’t kill the cook.” He waved a spatula at Steele. “I promise it won’t be that bad.”

  Steele gingerly swept his hair to the side, covering his healing wound. Just touching his hair sent pain shooting through his hair follicles. He collapsed the blade and shoved it back in his pants.

  “What’s the special occasion?” Steele said. Kevin flipped bacon over.

  “It’s the last of bacon. Fridge is out.”

  “I love me some bacon. Can you make that extra crispy?”

  “Preaching to the choir.”

  Steele took a seat at the kitchen table, pushing some of their weaponry and gear out of the way.

  “I wouldn’t have someone saying that I sent you out into this shitty world on an empty stomach. Just wouldn’t be right. Some of us in these parts are rough around the edges, but we aren’t heartless.”

  Kevin scooped six reddish-brown, fat-streaked slices of bacon on his plate.

  They crunched crispy bacon in silence. Each man was lost in his thoughts. Steele on his task. Kevin on his own. Steele tossed the last piece of bacon in his mouth. He licked his fingers with a smack of his lips.

  “Best damn bacon I’ve ever had, but don’t tell Gwen that.”