Survival_Book 1_And Tomorrow

by Ralph F. Halse

  His eyes slipped sideways for a moment and then returned to the pit. The Caitlin squatting by the half-constructed cinderblock wall did not resemble the fresh-faced, pert-nosed, blue-eyed young woman he had last observed at the mall.

  “I’m sorry, Caitlin. I don’t mean to be ignorant. I’ve developed a habit of withdrawing from the world when my Tourette’s plays up, which is pretty much all the time.”

  “I strongly suggest you get over yourself and out of here before nightfall.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked, resuming his digging.

  “You contradicted Junior in front of us breeders.” She sneered that last word with utter contempt. “I heard only snatches of what you two were saying. My best guess would be the only reason he didn’t kill you there and then is because you had something useful to say. Tonight, when they drink the alcohol the patrol brings back, Junior will start one of his sick games. You, buddy, you’re the new kid in the asylum. So, I’m figuring you’re up for whatever vile fantasy he’s got banging around in that bald head of his to ease the boredom around here.

  “Take my advice. Leave as soon as the light fades. I’ll distract those two over there. You jump the fence and run like you never ran before. At least with the infected, you’ve got a fighting chance. With Junior, you’ll have none. He thinks through every angle before he starts one of his twisted games. Ain’t no winners in here but Junior, ‘n that’s a fact.”

  Kitch was confident in his abilities in the kung-fu arena. While he held a healthy respect for Junior, no doubt existed in his mind he could best Junior in a square off.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Kitch McCall. I have since the day I met you. Correct me if I’m wrong. Slow down on the digging, will you? Take breaks and drink water. Otherwise, you’ll be finished way too soon. Trust me, there’s worse jobs around here.”

  Kitch did as he was told. He leaned on the shovel. “Go on then.”

  “You’re thinking you’ll face off against Junior and beat him to a standstill using that fancy kung-fu you’re so good at. How am I doing so far?” Caitlin asked.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Kitch thought Caitlin must be a mind reader. How did she know about his martial arts anyway? He kept that a secret from everyone, except Xavier.

  “You’re as deluded as Junior if you believe for a nanosecond he’ll provide you that opportunity. In your mind, I’ll bet you never went beyond knocking him out?”

  “So?”

  “Get real, Kitch, and look around you. It’s Junior running this madhouse of murder and torture you’re dealing with. If that sick son of a bitch gets into his crazy head to do violence or satisfy one of his weird perversions to you, nothing short of killing will stop him. Think about this statement. Nothing you, your parents, teachers, counselors, or the police did in the old world stopped Junior from coming after you or anyone else he got set on. This is a new world, one that lunatic is making in the image of his mad, perverted version of Vikings, and who’s around to stop him right here, right now? Not Connor and his bunch of gutless sycophants.” She snorted. “So long as they get alcohol and access to the females, they don’t care what he does. I hate to say this, Kitch, but you need to pull your head out of your butt and take a long, hard look at where you are. There are no authorities to preserve our rights. Shit, there ain’t no rights, nowhere. In the center of Junior’s insane world is where you stand right now and you’d best be prepared to deal with the approaching shit-storm, which you aren’t. But like I said, I’d rather take my chances with the infected than stay in this madhouse one more day. You have that choice. I don’t.”

  “Then why don’t you...” he asked resentfully, digging harder.

  “Don’t you dare judge me,” Caitlin snapped bitterly, cutting him off. “I’m not here because I want to be. Connor and his patrol of tame pack rats captured me and my little sister Marie five months back. We were trying to make it to the military outpost guarding the airport, been prisoners ever since. We tried to sneak out once.” She shuddered. “Know what Junior did to ensure I stay?”

  Kitch could feel a knot growing in his stomach. His racing heart told him that if this story went where he thought it was, a Tourette’s episode wasn’t far off. “Go on,” he prompted in a quavering voice.

  “Remember that smell, back at the shack? That’s where they keep the little ones, kids under twelve and females who can’t produce a child. Junior has them locked in there until he needs to send a patrol out the back way. The sick asshole uses kids to bait the infected.

  “Oh, don’t worry. Junior doesn’t always kill them. He just terrifies the poor little things until they’re so scared they start screaming when they hear him coming. By that time, the kids who survived have told the others what he’s going to do to and that suits Junior just fine. They scream their heads off as Junior ties a rope around their shoulders. While Connor and his patrol wait at a rear exit, Junior dangles the poor little kid over the front wall to attract the infected. Trust me, a screaming kid has those brainless, dead-eyed assholes coming from all directions. My sister was the last one he used. I had to beg him on my knees in front these assholes to be his body slave, his servant, his cook, his anything to save my sister. She’s as good as a knife to my throat. Do you get it now, Kitch McCall? By the by, the bad smell you got stuck up your nose is a decapitated infected he tossed in there to remind those poor little kids who’s boss around here. Boss, like he knows something beyond violence.”

  Kitch leaned over and vomited. He heard laughter coming from the scaffold. Wiping his mouth and taking a drink from a filthy permaglaz bottle Caitlin handed him, he asked in a tremulous voice, “Why don’t the infected grab the kids?” Horrified at what he was hearing, his hands shook, spilling some of the water.

  “They’re braindead, best I can figure.” She shrugged, taking back the water bottle. “Well, that’s what the VOID-casts said before the iNet went down. They can’t get around that barrier. But if they fall and get up in front of it, the kid’s in all sorts of difficulty. Junior tells drunken stories how it’s like dipping a tea bag. Just to be vindictive, if some kid hasn’t cooperated, he cuts them free. Terrified little things run off, yelling and howling, taking the infected further away from the gates. No one knows what happened to the poor things. We girls hope they’ve survived. Chester and a couple of boys related to him, who still talk decently to us when Junior and Connor aren’t around, said they haven’t shown up with the other infected at the gate, so maybe they’re alive. My little sister is in that shack for one purpose—to keep me in line.”

  “God, that’s horrible.”

  “Gee whizz, do you think? Are you beginning to get it now, Kitch? He’s worse than a monster. He’s got Connor going on expeditions to the library where your dad used to work, looking for old permaglaz books on the Vikings. Guess what he’s most interested in?”

  “Longships, swords, a way of life...”

  “Methods of torture the Vikings used on their enemies,” Caitlin snapped. “Wake up. Kitch, this is Hell, and you’ve done a deal with the devil. Take my advice. Leave while you still can.”

  Chapter Five: The making of a warrior

  Leaving Kitch to his thoughts, Caitlin moved on to other duties. As Kitch dug, he reviewed his past. The more he puzzled over fleeting experiences with females, and in particular Caitlin, the more he found his emotions in turmoil. Straightening his back, he looked up at a clear blue sky. Caitlin was a lost opportunity, one he resolved to rectify. He hit the sand hard with the edge of the shovel. All teenagers craved normality and acceptance by their peers. A teenager lurking on the fringe of society through a debilitating affliction like Tourette’s, even more so.

  Ever since he’d turned thirteen and experienced his first pimple, a girlfriend featured prominently in Kitch’s hormone inspired dreams. Yet, faced with a female of his age under any circumstances back in the old world, all he could do was blush and twitch. That of course only served to worsen his situation, and his TS pl
ayed up even more. He could not figure out, no matter how many times he revisited Caitlin’s presence in his life, how he missed her signals. Taking another drink from the sand-coated water bottle, he felt his stomach rumble as the smell of roasting meat tickled his senses, but then it rebelled at what might be cooking. He spat the water out. It had left a sour taste in his mouth.

  Studying the construction site as he dug, he noted females crouched or squatting beside fires sawing off chunks of meat with small blades before placing the steaming offerings onto permaglaz sheets used to wrap supplies in. These they handed out to the ungrateful, surly males as eating plates. Other females washed clothes in buckets or swept out crude shelters. His two bored guards wandered off to obtain a meal.

  With everyone’s attention on food, now was as good as any to jump the fence. Kitch jammed the shovel into the soil. He collected his things and commenced a slow walk to a pile of bricks stacked below a scaffold running the length of the wall. As he placed his hand on the bricks, Junior’s bellow halted him.

  “Twitchy, patrol runner says they found your old man.”

  Kitch spun around, heart thundering. His right shoulder jerked up against his ear. He dropped his belongings. A grinning Junior was standing by a fire. A small crowd watching him intently. One youth with a heaving chest slick with perspiration held a crude spear in his right hand. His face turned from Junior toward Kitch. His expression was somewhere between a leer and contempt.

  “Get a feed. They’ll be back before sundown. We’re preparing something special to celebrate your reunion,” he called.

  The sniggering, elbow digs and sly looks darting among Junior’s grinning followers caused a sinking feeling in his stomach, slowing Kitch’s eager footsteps. He paused, mouth open, brain working, processing all the information at a speed only an OCD sufferer can appreciate. Should he confront Junior now, or wait until his father was safe? Prudence set a nervous smile to Kitch’s face. He closed his mouth and nodded. “Thanks, Junior, I don’t know how to repay you.”

  A laughing Junior slapped his knee. “I’ve thought of a way.” Laughing harder, he added, “Just on dusk, you’ll see. It’s nothing too difficult, a small test of manhood to see if you’re worthy of becoming one of my Vikings.”

  A nudge at Kitch’s shoulder had him looking left. Caitlin held out a permaglaz sheet containing several hunks of warm, bloody meat. As he reached for it, she whispered discreetly, “Your dad was a teacher before he was a librarian, wasn’t he?”

  Chewing slowly, only because he required the nourishment, Kitch responded out the side of his mouth as he watched Junior lumber away surrounded by capering, grinning sycophants, “Yes.”

  “Do I have to remind you that Junior despises all authority, particularly teachers, doctors, and nurses? He viewed them as torturers because he couldn’t get his own back in the day. If a patrol finds any of those professions they recognize among the living or infected, they rope and bring them back. Junior makes a show of dismembering them, don’t matter if they’re one those dumb, slobbering assholes or alive and begging for their lives. I don’t know what he’ll do to your dad if he’s not infected. But if he ain’t, you and your dad’ve gotta be prepared for the worst experience of your lives.”

  Kitch’s blood ran icy cold as Caitlin moved away. Spots danced before his eyes, and he swayed on his feet. Kitch’s vision shrank to a pinpoint of yellow light surrounded by darkness, and he had to sit or risk collapsing. Without warning, his body went into a paroxysm of spasms. Only gales of the remaining male’s laughter and mocking imitations brought Kitch around to wrestling back control of his body.

  “A bit of shock, I know,” Junior said, who upon seeing Kitch twitch uncontrollably, turned to join the laughing crowd. Patting Kitch on the shoulder as he took a seat beside him on a pile of bricks, he said. “Fuck me but that twitchy shit’s hilarious. You do that so well maybe I’ll make you my court jester instead of an artisan. Do you always do that spastic shit when you get good or bad news?”

  “You know I can’t help it,” Kitch said with downcast eyes. “You’ve seen it before.” Though that was not entirely true, Kitch was not about to reveal to Junior that he could exercise minimal control. He wanted to maintain some advantage, no matter how slim.

  Junior’s next words had goose pimples prickling his skin despite the heat. “Well, it looks like we’re all in for a real night’s entertainment when your dad gets here.”

  “How do you know it’s him?” Kitch asked wondering about the entertainment that might involve his father.

  “The runner who returned a few minutes ago, slow kid, not real bright,” he said nodding back toward the gates. “Your dad used to give him library lessons, so it’s him all right.” Slapping Kitch on the shoulder in a comradely fashion, Junior added with a sly smirk as he stood, “Rest up, Twitchy. You’re gonna need all your strength. Stay away from the entertainment area over there until you’re called for.” He pointed beyond several hillocks of soil through which Kitch could not see.

  “Entertainment?”

  “Yeah.” Junior smirked. “A celebration, you know. For you’n dear old pa McCall.”

  Nodding his agreement, Kitch chewed thoughtfully at the sarcasm dripping over Junior’s words. As a chuckling Junior moved off, Caitlin appeared at his side. “Oh, Kitch, I am so sorry they found your dad.”

  “We’re in it, aren’t we?”

  “Sure as deer freeze in headlights, y’all are. Trust me, he’s fixing to do something bad. If you’re lucky, he’ll just humiliate your dad. Maybe he needs to pick his brains, but I doubt it. Far as I can figure, your dad had no direct contact with Junior in the past, so he might be okay. On the other hand, he’s killed every adult the patrols have found out of spite. Only reason I reckon is because they survived the infection and they present a threat to his authority with the knowledge they possess. Maybe he’ll use your dad like he uses my sister, as a tool to keep you in line? I dunno for sure. Maybe he’ll study you for a while, find your weaknesses. Then the sick bastard will force you to do things he knows you despise. But as sure as sunrise, if’n he keeps your daddy alive, your dad will be his weapon of choice to control, humiliate, torture or otherwise drive you toward insanity.”

  Kitch grimaced. “Either way, I’m going to have to kill Junior to get dad out of here, aren’t I?”

  Kneeling to scrub her permaglaz plate clean with a handful of sand, Caitlin lifted her head up slowly to look up at Kitch through strands of greasy hair. Her eyes burned with the fire of vengeance and hatred. “That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said since you walked through those gates, Kitch McCall. Now you’re getting it. But don’t you go rushing head-on into anything. Junior maybe cunning and outright mean, but he ain’t entirely stupid. He’ll see through your next move in a heartbeat. Junior makes no bones about how he is, but his shadow Connor? That sly, sneaky son of a bitch’s far more perceptive than Junior’s ever likely to be. You watch him like you watch a rattler wrapped around your leg. Because if you deal with Junior, it don’t stop there.” Standing, she dusted fine sand off her tattered dress and added, “Go straight for Connor. Do not hesitate, not for a second, kill him too.”

  One part of Kitch was appalled at the words spilling out of Caitlin’s mouth. While he understood the world irrevocably altered with the pandemic, he couldn’t reconcile that human decency was reduced to the servitude of a teenage maniac and that killing on a daily basis was a way to stay alive. Left to his own devices, and under a shadowed escort, Kitch wandered the darkening site deep in his thoughts. As the sun set, he sat and let his eyes roam over the construction site as he contemplated his father’s fate.

  Before the pandemic swept the countryside, construction workers had stripped the site to bare earth, or in this case, sand. Infrastructure construction materials were scattered about all over. Long, black permaglaz pipes wrapped in permaglaz sheets lay beside bright yellow machines that would never return to life now the grid was down. Shovels, crowba
rs, picks and all manner of hand tools dropped by fleeing workers beside half-constructed trenches lay beside materials that would never be used, because the ability to power up machines was gone forever.

  As darkness descended, Kitch noticed flames rising beyond the hillocks he was warned not to approach. Gradually, all the teenagers except for Kitch’s guards set off toward the fires. Over the rhythmic sound of a metal drum beating, high-pitched laughter from both males and females along with shouts of glee and angry outbursts came to him on the cool, evening breeze. Kitch decided to risk watching what was going on. Creeping on all fours, he lay on his stomach, staring at a bonfire sending showers of sparks flying into the night sky.

  A ring of rowdy teenagers sat around the fire on logs and sand eating hot dog and cat meat, swapping bottles of alcohol. Junior walked in a sideways motion around the bonfire, arms raised in the air yelling. His head was tilted back, and foam dribbled from his fleshy lips as he shouted unintelligible words at a sky lit by streaking flames. Fresh tattoos on the back of his head resembling Viking runes ran with watery blood. Intoxicated, impressionable teenagers were fascinated by the drama.

  Suddenly it dawned on Kitch that Junior was re-enacting what a Viking Berserker would do before going into battle. Wriggling backward, heart hammering, Kitch took up his former position and waited nervously.

  As the moon rose, so did Junior’s huge bulk loom ominously atop the hillocks, causing Kitch’s heart to beat faster. Waving an arm, Junior shouted, “Bring him over, time to meet Daddy, old b-b-b-buddy.”

  His sniggering escorts, who had returned and were now obviously drunk, pointed makeshift spears first at Kitch and then toward the flames. Muttering among themselves with the occasional slurred giggle interrupting their whispered conversation, they followed Kitch over mounds of soil like dogs herding sheep.