The Undead World (Book 8): The Apocalypse Executioner

by Peter Meredith

  Blah, blah, blah. Frequently, there’d be thirty people sitting around a table for hours. Fred also liked his meetings to run long. And he always suggested having lunch sent up or dinner or a late snack. He had put on quite a bit of weight in the last three months.

  That morning’s meeting was the worst yet. Forty-five people crowded the room, making the air stale and warm. The heat, combined with the usual torpid pace of the meeting, had Neil fighting, both to stay awake and to pay attention to what was being said. He found himself gazing up at the wall-sized map of Colorado, tracing a black line as it snaked its way north from Estes Park. It was the road that Grey had said he was going to take on his expedition to bail Neil out of the jam he had found himself in.

  He still felt that the cost of freeing Gayle and finding out the whereabouts of Jillybean had been worth it. From a certain, abstract point of view, freeing any slave was worth it and he wished he’d had fifty thousand gallons of fuel to free the rest of them.

  But he didn’t live in the abstract world. He lived in the concrete world where each decision had repercussions—he had given up too much to free a woman who, it turned out, had no valuable information—in order to rectify that, he had sent his daughter and his most trusted advisor out into the wild in search of fuel and ammo—and now he had a weak-minded colonel running the army and Fred Trigg doing everything he could to undermine him.

  Next to Neil sat Deanna Russell. For half the morning, she’d had a vacant look in her blue eyes as the meeting droned on and on, but now she was sitting up. She gave Neil a sharp elbow in the side.

  “What do you think, Neil?” she asked, her smile pulled tight. “About winter fuel projections and winter training for the soldiers?”

  “I think exactly what I thought yesterday, Fred. We’ll wait until Captain Grey returns to make any decisions on winter training.”

  As if they had run suddenly amok, Fred patted down the few wisps of blonde hair on his head. He smiled one of his politician’s smile, this one the: this pains me to say this, but…

  “Yeah, about that. We may not be able to wait that long. With yesterday’s…”

  Neil interrupted him. “What do you mean, we can’t wait that long? He’s been gone for three days.”

  “Yeah, well, like I was saying, with yesterday’s blizzard we now have to change our projections concerning plowing and fuel usage. It’s something we haven’t really considered.”

  “That’s because there’s not much to consider,” Neil answered. He rubbed his eyes; they felt gritty and tired. “First off, that wasn’t a blizzard. Four inches of snow is not a blizzard. Second, we haven’t considered plowing because it’s a waste of resources. To keep the road to Denver open all winter long would use up every drop of gas we have.”

  “And how many drops do we have, exactly?” Fred knew. Everyone on the commission knew their dire fuel situation. He feigned ignorance, placing a hand to his chest. “I only ask because we have so many needs that have to be met. The military has to be able to train. The salvage teams have to be able to get down into Denver. We’re getting low on a number of different medicines as I’ve mentioned before on numerous occasions. And what about trade? If we don’t plow the roads, we’ll be cut off until spring. I don’t think anyone really wants to be trapped in the mountains until then.”

  Neil glared at Fred until one of the people from Human resources asked: “Is there a fuel problem? Are we short of fuel?”

  It was a planted question. The woman was a known confidant of Fred’s, but that didn’t mean Neil could simply ignore her. There were too many people in the room and there was no way Neil could order them all to keep the secret of their supply situation.

  “Yes and no,” Neil said, tempering his lie with a dash of truth. “We don’t have the fuel it would take to plow out to Denver after every snowstorm. I doubt even the Texans have that much. And as for the military, when Captain Grey returns from his mission we’ll discuss winter training.”

  “But how much fuel do we have?” the woman persisted. “You never answered the question.”

  “And what about ammo?” another of the Human Resource people asked. “I couldn’t help but notice that the military hasn’t been going out to practice with their guns like they used to before the war. Are we out of ammo, too?”

  The room was whisper quiet now as everyone stared at Neil, waiting for an answer that he couldn’t give. A true answer would mean his governorship would be over. And it could also mean a new war. If their enemies found out how weak they were, coalitions would form and a new conflict would certainly spring up.

  “We have enough of both,” he said. “Since there is a question of security, I’m not at liberty to give exact amounts. Suffice to say, the commission is aware of our supply situation.”

  He hoped that this would be the end of the discussion but the woman from Human Resources turned to Deanna and asked: “And do you agree with Governor Martin? Do we have enough fuel and ammo reserves to fight another war?”

  “I believe the governor answered that already,” Deanna replied, icily. “And it’s hardly within the scope of the discussion before us.”

  “Actually, he dodged the question,” the woman shot back.

  Deanna stood, now. She was tall and beautiful with a great sweep of blonde hair. She was also hugely pregnant. “I did not realize that this meeting was going to get so far off point and my bladder is not prepared and neither is my patience. I don’t know who you think you are, Miss, but I am under no obligation to answer to you. Maybe you think you’re some sort of budding reporter, if so, I should warn you that the Valley does not have any right to a free press.”

  Neil watched, enviously as she left. It was true, there wasn’t a freedom of the press clause in any government document, but so far there hadn’t needed to be one. Either way, the woman was a citizen of the Valley and there were free speech rights. She could ask her questions and he would look as if he were hiding things if he didn’t answer—but she didn’t ask him a question, she asked Fred Trigg.

  “Commissioner Trigg, do you agree with Governor Martin? Do we have enough fuel and ammo reserves to fight another war?”

  I’ve been outmaneuvered, Neil realized. Fred had both a duty to the state and to the people of the state, and he would be well within his rights to answer the woman plainly.

  Fred knew this as well, Neil could see it on his smug face as he stood, slowly, pompously, drawing out the moment so he could denounce Neil with a theatrical air and perhaps with a theatrical finger pointed in stern accusation.

  He even cleared his throat as though what he was about to say was of such importance that it couldn’t possibly be said with a scratchy voice. Just as he was about to speak, however, Deanna burst into the room.

  “Neil, there’s someone here to see you. Someone important.” She held back the door and Neil fully expected Captain Grey to come striding through, his white teeth gleaming a confident smile, instead a tiny figure stepped into the doorway but didn’t go any further.

  It was Jillybean, looking wild and ragged. She was gaunt and pale, her hair was a thicket of tangles, her clothes were torn and stained with what could only be blood. In the nearly four months since he had seen her, she hadn’t grown an inch and yet she took over the room with her presence and she was still only on the threshold.

  She looked ready to bolt. “Hello Mister Neil, sir,” she said.

  “He’s governor now,” Deanna corrected. “You should call him by the proper title.”

  Jillybean’s blue eyes widened. “I’m sorry, Mister Governor Neil, sir, I didn’t know and that’s because you don’t look like a governor or nothing. I always thought governors put on blue suits and wore a sash or a ribbon or something.”

  Neil looked down at himself: green sweater vest over a white, button-up shirt and a pair of khakis. He supposed he looked more like a second-grade school teacher than a governor.

  “No need for apologies. And you know you can call me, Neil. Yo
u and I go way back. I’ve known you longer than I’ve known anyone, except for Sadie.”

  She smiled at this. “Yeah that’s true. So where is she? I have gifts for her and for you, too, Mister Neil and for Mister, Captain Grey. Though his are mostly just bombs and bullets and boring stuff like that. But that’s what army-mens like, I guess.”

  Deanna and Neil shared a quick look. The hope he was feeling was matched by the look in her eyes. Before he could ask about the bombs and the bullets, Fred Trigg asked: “What is she doing here? Have you forgotten that she murdered General Johnston?”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Neil stated. “What’s your point?”

  Fred ignored the question and turned to Deanna. He gestured with both hands at her extremely round belly as if it were exhibit A. “And have you forgotten that she killed that baby, Eve?”

  A touch of a shiver crossed Deanna’s shoulders, but she squared them, resolutely. “She also saved us from the Azael, and the River King…twice! What have you ever done besides whine and point out people’s mistakes?”

  The two glared at each other until Jillybean said: “I did all of that, but I’m better now. I found Ipes and I killed a witch, only she wasn’t a real witch because that’s what means she didn’t have spells or X-ray eyes or nothing. She was just mean and ugly like one. And I killed some pirates who had stolded some ladies and a kid. I brought them here and told them that people are good here. Is that still true?”

  Jillybean’s hard blue eyes were on Fred Trigg as she asked this. He stared right back and was likely going to mention murder a second time, however Neil spoke before he could: “How about we go see these ladies that you rescued. You say there’s a kid? Is she your age?” He stood up ready to leave, but the little girl didn’t move.

  “We don’t have to go nowheres, they’re right here. And no, Aria is twelve, which is like a big kid, one that’s almost a teenager. You know like thirteen except they don’t have a twelveteen, which I think they should.”

  She stepped aside and waved in six women and a skinny girl. They were bedraggled and bruised, and as Jillybean introduced them they self-consciously tried to smooth out their clothing or they ran fingers through their hair, perhaps hoping to be seen as pleasing. The women had the haunted eyes of rape victims, while Aria had a dark fury in her eyes. There was so much hate in them that they made Neil uneasy.

  “Welcome to Estes Valley,” Neil said with a slight bow. “My name is Neil Martin. I’m the governor here. I think you will find that the valley is as safe as Jillybean told you it would be.” He wrinkled his scarred face into the closest thing to a smile that he could and added: “We try to be the good guys. Deanna, can you show them around? And get them settled in?”

  “Maybe we should have someone else do that,” Fred suggested. “We still have votes to take. I for one wish to have a vote of no confidence in your leadership.”

  The bluntness of the statement turned Neil’s gruesome smile into a worse frown. “You’re going to have to play your games another day. I’d like to catch up with my friend, Jillybean.” He was secretly eager to hear about the “gifts” she had spoken of. He was in desperate need of bullets and bombs.

  “Yeah, about her,” Fred said, lowering his voice. “I’m not sure she can stay in the Valley. She’s simply too dangerous.”

  Though he had lowered his voice, the room was deathly quiet and everyone heard. The politician in Neil wanted to gauge the people around the table before answering. The guilt-ridden man who had failed Jillybean time and again was quick to answer: “I’ll vouch for her.”

  “And what does that mean, exactly? Will you go to jail for her when she commits her next murder?” When Neil couldn’t answer, Fred added: “And what about the stipulations concerning her release after her last trial. She wasn’t supposed to come within five-hundred miles of the Valley.”

  Neil began to flounder, looking for an answer, however Jillybean spoke in her own defense: “That was for Eve. She wasn’t supposed to come out within five hundred miles.”

  “You are Eve!” Fred cried. “She’s one of your personalities.”

  “Eve is dead,” Jillybean shot back. “Mister Neil…I mean, Mister Governor Neil killed her by throwing her in a fire.”

  This statement had the entire room buzzing with whispers. “That’s not exactly what happened,” Neil tried to explain. But then Jillybean took a step back, her eyes widening, perhaps thinking that Eve was still alive. “I mean, yes I killed Eve…she was in a doll that I had given to Jillybean to help her get rid of the, uh, Eve inside of her, uh, head.”

  “So, she’s cured?” Fred asked with disdain in his voice. “Does Ipes think so, as well?”

  Jillybean glanced down at the stuffed zebra sitting in the crook of her arm. “He thinks I’m mostly cured.”

  Fred nodded with a smarmy look on his face. “I’m sure he does. He’s a very smart zebra. Maybe the two of you should wait outside while the grown-ups talk.”

  She looked to Neil, who gave her a little nod. “It’ll be for just a few minutes.” When she left, Neil turned on Fred. “She’s staying. That girl has done more to save this valley than anyone. And it’s not her fault that she has issues.”

  “So, murder is only an ‘issue’ to you?” Fred asked, a sneer prominent on his thick lips. “Look, Neil, are you really going to hang your hat on this? First the supply debacle and now this?”

  “I won’t turn her away. I know what everyone thinks, but they’re wrong about her.” On top of all her actual crimes, Jillybean had been widely blamed for many things that had nothing to do with her: the attack of the Azael, the death of Marybeth Gates, and the death of an ex-prostitute from the Colonel’s Island named Melanie.

  What had been generally forgotten was her role in saving the valley. The people had congratulated themselves for their hard work and their amazing perseverance. The truth was, they would have all died if it hadn’t been for Jillybean.

  Fred shrugged and then smiled like a politician, all warmth except for the snake eyes that twinkled with malevolent glee. “Then I wish you luck.”

  Neil didn’t bother saying thanks or even goodbye. He left the room, almost running straight into Jillybean. “I’m not wanted here, am I?” she asked.

  Chapter 23

  Jillybean

  There had been pirates at the camp, which in truth hadn’t been much of a camp. It was another drab, sun-faded little house sitting in the middle of the emptiness that was southern Colorado. To Jillybean it had likely been the house of a clerk or possibly the manager of some little shop in a distant town that sold knickknacks or bike tires or lawn services.

  She drove up to the house, vowing to herself that she would remember everything that was about to happen, both the good and the bad. Not remembering stuff scared her, since it was a sure sign of craziness, and it made her wonder what else she had forgotten. Had she left a string of corpses…more corpses that is, running all the way back to Missouri?

  Had she killed people there, too when she had been living in a fantasy world? All that summer when she was supposed to have been healing—had she been murdering people, left and right? Is that why it was all such a blur in her mind?

  “But I only kill bad guys,” she had said with a touch of hope in her voice. She had no idea if that was true. Had all those men she had blown up been bad?

  Yes, of course they were, Ipes said. There’s no question of their badness. Just like there’s no question you should be turning around.

  With the thrumming of the explosions still ringing in her ears, she could barely hear him. And besides, she didn’t want to hear him. She knew all about pirates and slavers and bad men. She knew that they usually had captives and she knew what they did to them. She had seen first-hand how the Azael had treated their women and she had heard the stories of The Colonel and Gunner back in Alabama.

  She guessed that there would be women in the house. “And what if they’re all chained up and alone?” she asked herself. “
They’ll die of not drinkingness.”

  But that doesn’t mean you have to rescue them. And what if the bad guys left guards? Ipes wanted to know. It was his way of getting her to chicken out.

  Jillybean wasn’t all that worried about any stupid guards. She was too angry for worry. She followed the smoke in the sky until she found the little house, and pulled up in a cloud of dust.

  The fact that a curtain moved suggested that there were indeed guards, or at least one. “You better stay here,” she told Ipes as she slid out of the KIA with her hands lifted. “Hello? Is there anyone here?”

  A windowless van sat in the driveway but there were other tire-tracks in the lawn, tracks she recognized from the last house: the Camaro and the Mustang.

  Jillybean glanced in at the van and saw that it really wasn’t a people van, unless the people riding in it were slaves. From this fact, she deduced that there weren’t many guards in the house, if there were indeed more than one.

  “Hello?” she called again as she moved toward the house. Her voice was as small as she was and there was a warble of fear in it that was all acting on her part. She wasn’t feeling fear. If there was fear in her, it was buried deep.

  The front door came open and a man stood shadowed behind a screen door. She could see his silhouette turn from side to side as he looked from her to the KIA and back again. “You all alone?” he asked in a whispering voice. The smell of tequila carried through the screen and swept over her, making her blink and squinch her nose.

  Although Ipes was still in the KIA, she decided to let him remain secret. “Yes, I guess so. What about you?”

  “I have friends, but they’re really nice. You’ll like them. Wanna come in and meet them?”