Tales of Junction

by Davis IV, John L.

  Parked in the trees, Bill was less than a mile from the suburbs. He knew that packs of Runners, Funkers, and plain old zombie dead would start appearing with more frequency. He didn’t want to think about other types of virally mutated dead that may be wandering the city, undiscovered until one was munching on his face.

  Grabbing his pack, gauntlet still latched around his arm, Bill walked into the woods, angling for the nearest set of houses on the outskirts of the suburbs.

  “Well, here goes nothin’,” he muttered to the trees.

  The Deal

  Frito eased through the gate, his usual camo pack hanging from his left hand, a large canvas duffel bag on his back. He made his way around the back of Filler’s and went in through the kitchen area. On the way through he dropped the nearly full duffel by a door with the words “Filler only” scratched deeply into the wood face. One of the kitchen girls handed Frito a bowl of brown stew, the spoon sinking out of sight as he accepted it, before marking the meal on a tally sheet next to his name. All the scavs had a running tab with Filler. The girl didn’t bother to ask if Frito wanted a drink. She knew what would happen next.

  No sooner had he sat down at a wobbly table than Tool came through the door and joined him. The kitchen girl (Frito had decided to call her Whore One) brought over a pitcher of water and three glasses. Tool told her to put it on Corey’s bill. Returning scavs were usually treated to a free drink by the others in exchange for information about their “run.”

  “You were gone for a while. How’d you do?” Corey asked as he approached the table.

  Frito had produced a bag of corn chips from one of the many pockets on his camo coat and was emptying them into the stew with one hand as he fished for the sunken spoon with the other. “Not as good as I’d hoped. I’m going to owe Filler forever at this rate. Everything to the north is tapped out for at least sixty miles.”

  Tool and Corey had their doubts, but kept them quiet. It was every scavs right to mislead the competition, even if they were friends and comrades on some level.

  “What about the Sores? Did you see many?” Tool wasn’t bothered by zombies. To him the people who managed to survive outside the wall were far more dangerous. It was a matter of debate amongst the scavs of Junction.

  “None alive. Found some remains that must have been Sores. The zombies had torn them up pretty good.” Frito poured some water before digging in to the stew. Around a mouthful he added, “Didn’t stick around long enough to do any detective work. I’d guess the Sores were sleeping out in the open and their guard fell asleep.”

  A shadow fell across the table as Filler approached. He wasn’t known for pleasantries and greeted them with a gruff, “Who wants a job?”

  All three turned to look, but none said a word. They weren’t new to this game and nobody was going to agree to anything until they had all the details.

  Filler sensed that it was a stalemate and slowly expanded on the opportunity. “Two of my whores have turned up pregnant and that shit costs me bigtime. The scav that brings in 200 rubbers gets his bill wiped clean.”

  “You’ve lost your mind!” Tool nearly spat the words.

  Filler was big, too big for this world, but he was quick. A large flabby hand grabbed Tool by the label of his black leather biker jacket and pulled him up out of the chair. Just as he began to draw back his left hand in a clenched fist a look of dawning surprise crossed his sweaty face.

  Corey saw it first, as he had the better angle, the light coming through the plastic sheeted windows glinted on a razor-sharp blade just touching Filler’s double chin. Tool it seemed was pretty quick also. Just as Corey was about to get off one of his signature smart-ass remarks, Tool whispered, “Filler, move that fist one hair and my debt will be wiped clean anyway.”

  Filler opened his grip letting both hands relax and slowly fall to his sides. Tool lowered his blade and it disappeared into his clothing.

  “Look, those pilgrims that passed through a while ago said there was a small town with two gas stations about ten days south just off the big road. Those gas stations will have rubbers in the men’s rooms. Probably 400 or more.”

  “Filler, you don’t know that for sure. Those pilgrims probably made the whole thing up just to pay you for their room and meals,” Frito said, stating the obvious as he shoveled the stew and corn chip mixture into his mouth.

  “Seriously. You didn’t accept that bullshit as payment did you Filler?” Corey was cautious as he spoke, ready for the big man to make a grab at him, but all he got was a dirty look.

  “They had an old road map. I saw it myself. Tried to buy the map but they wouldn’t part with it. There’s a town there for sure. Who wants the deal?”

  Frito was in no hurry to go back out. He wanted to recuperate for a few days and possibly run up a tab over at Planet Janet’s. Corey was intrigued but felt it in his best interest to let Tool have first shot. Besides, Corey wasn’t that deep in debt with Filler and could probably be in the clear after a half dozen easy runs. No reason to risk it out there for twenty days straight.

  Tool spoke up with, “I’ll take the job, but the deal is 100 rubbers. Anything more goes to credit.”

  Filler’s face flushed. He wanted to smack the guy, but that knife was still hiding in there someplace. Anyway, it wasn’t Filler’s first negotiation. “How about we split the difference? Bring me 150 and your debt is gone. Credit for anything over.”

  Tool smiled and extended his hand, “Deal.”

  Filler walked away without another word. Tool motioned to Whore One to bring them something stronger than water. He figured on running up his tab a bit more before he left tomorrow evening.

  Life on the Road

  In the dead of the night, Tool slipped out the North Gate, seen only by the groggy gate guard. It was against the rules, but the gate guys knew Tool liked to leave at night and he could be counted on to make it worth their while. He circled around Junction, staying close to the wall to make sure he wasn’t being watched by any Sores. By his reckoning they were the worst thing walking, even worse than the undead. Sores may not be much smarter than zombies, but they were devious as hell. They couldn’t cooperate with each other long enough to mount an attack on Junction but tended to run in small packs of ten or fifteen and anyone was fair game once they ventured outside.

  Corey had offered to accompany him part way, but it was halfhearted and frankly, Tool couldn’t figure how the kid had lasted this long. Admittedly the boy must have some skills. Nobody with that smart a mouth could have made it otherwise. Still, Tool preferred to go alone, mostly because he didn’t want to share the profits. If he made it back with the rubbers he would be out of debt with Filler for the first time since his arrival at Junction. Besides, if Filler was right and there really were 400 or more condoms out there, Tool figured on trading some to Janet. Hell, maybe he’d have enough to buy a whore outright. Not that he wanted to be responsible for another person, but it made sense from an economic standpoint. He was only human, and a man had needs.

  By the time the sun started to peek over the horizon Junction was far behind him. He figured on sticking to the big four lane road. He could move faster that way, perhaps even keep going well into the night. It also made it harder for the Sores to ambush him. They’d have to come from the sides, but if he kept to the middle of the road and stayed alert, he’d have at least some warning. With a little luck he might find a car that he could sleep in. Barring that a culvert would suffice.

  Four days in and half his water was gone. A large green sign in the distance read Crooked Creek. When he got to the creek is was little more than six feet wide and a few feet deep but it was flowing and didn’t smell bad. He filled the two empty jugs and added a couple drops of bleach from a small bottle he kept in his bag. It was nearly dark and he wanted to get moving. There were footprints in the mud so there were probably Sores in the area. At the very least they had been there recently.

  A couple hours later he could smell wood smoke
carried on the wind. He moved to the far side of the road figuring the Sores had made camp to the west. If he walked all night and through the next day he could cover enough distance to feel safe. On the other hand, if they caught up to him, he’d be too tired to fight. Drawing on the story Frito had told about the remains he’d found, Tool decided on a new course of action.

  He’d hole up in the ditch on the east side of the road for a few hours. When it got late, he’d stow his pack and follow the smoke to the Sore’s camp, do a little recon. It was risky, but if nothing else, he’d find out how many there were, get an idea of which direction they were headed.

  He awoke in the ditch with the moon high overhead. The smoke smell was weak, that meant the Sores were probably asleep, their fire had burned low. Still, the smell was undeniable and not difficult to follow. After an hour of carefully picking his way through brush he found a dirt road that ran roughly parallel to the highway he’d been following. The moon was bright enough to cast shadows so he used them to stay hidden as he got closer to the camp. Suddenly he could see the embers erupt in flame. Someone had thrown more wood on the fire. A shadowy figure was moving around the camp. Tool was hoping to catch them all sleeping, but at least the flames would ruin the guard’s night vision, make it difficult to see him approaching in the dark. He closed to about fifty feet of the camp and hunkered down behind a bush to watch for movement. The guard was sitting near the fire now, probably be asleep any moment.

  Sure enough, minutes later, Tool could just hear the deep rhythmic breathing. He crept closer, large knife in hand, as he crossed the twenty feet of open ground. Just ten feet behind the guard now, he could clearly see two figures sleeping near the fire. A woman and a child maybe ten or eleven years of age. These weren’t Sores, they were pilgrims! Dammit! Now what? Sneak away and leave them to fate?

  Tool opted to wake the guard… carefully. He circled the fire and approached the sleeping man from the front, keeping the fire between them. Tool stood in the open and cleared his throat several times until the sleeper startled and rose, machete in hand. Tool displaying empty hands, “Easy, I’m not armed.” Not entirely true, but if things went well the pilgrim would never know. The stranger quickly woke the woman and child who huddled behind him. Tool made every effort to reassure them that he was not a threat. No sudden moves, speaking softly.

  They were indeed pilgrims, searching for that pristine community “somewhere up north.” Part of a larger party, they had become separated when a pack of Sores attacked them two days past. Tool listened intently asking questions about the attackers, “How many were there? What weapons did they carry?” There had been a dozen pilgrims in the group, but only four of them were men. Their attackers numbered six, all armed with spears, clubs, or axe. Two of the men had been killed immediately in the ambush. The remaining pilgrims scattered.

  There was more that Tool wanted to know. Had they seen a town with two gas stations on the big road? “Yes, that’s where we were ambushed. While making our escape we got lost and have been looking for the highway ever since.”

  When Tool was satisfied that he had gotten as much information as possible he agreed to show the trio back to the big road. He told them to follow the road north for five days. Once they reached Junction, find Trina and offer work to cover their food and beds. “Most importantly”, he told them, “stay out of Filler’s debt unless you want to remain in Junction.”

  Before they parted ways, he took them to Crooked Creek, filled their water jugs and added a few drops of bleach.

  Tool didn’t bother to learn their names. He figured the odds of them making it to Junction at only fifty/fifty. Besides, even if they did make it, they would probably have moved on before he returned.

  He pushed hard that day and well into the night. The following morning he guessed he was getting close to the town. Maybe a half-day’s walk. Soon he saw a sign reading “Younton exit 256.” As he started into a sweeping bend in the road Tool could see a vehicle in the distance with six people moving around it. He dove into the ditch and watched as they circled the van. Nearly all the vehicles he ran across had been stripped of everything useful years ago, so why all the interest? Tool kept low in the ditch and moved slowly, hoping to get a better look but fearing what he might see.

  As he suspected, it was a group of Sores. They had converged on the turned over van and were arguing over who was going in. Finally, two were chosen. One approached the double doors at the rear of the van while the second climbed up top to the passenger door with a large rock in one hand, a spear in the other. The sound of the glass shattering was followed by screams from inside.

  Tool didn’t wait to see what happened to the unfortunate occupants. Most likely the remnants of the group that had been attacked a few days previous. He knew the fate of the hiding pilgrims. It was going to be ugly. The stuff nightmares were made of and frankly, Tool already had plenty of those. Better to use this unfortunate event to his advantage.

  As the screams continued, Tool picked his way through the trees on the inside of the curve. It was unlikely that any other Sores were in the immediate area and the ones at the van would be busy for a while. Once he got back to the road he kept to the deep ditch until he found the exit for Younton. The town was not on the highway but was clearly visible about a mile to the west. He sat down and watched the road for an hour to make sure there was nothing moving. Once satisfied, he walked along the edge of the road, ready to dive for cover at a first sign of trouble. A full half mile from Younton he could see the tall, unmistakable gas station sign. The numbers advertising the prices had long been blown away, the large orange 66 faded but otherwise unscathed.

  Tool moved away from the road to circle the town before making any attempt to scavenge for things of value. Like most towns he’d seen, this one consisted largely of burned homes, stores with shattered windows, and of course, zombies. The undead were predominately congregated in the center of town but stragglers wandered about the west end near the Campbell’s Gas and Grocery.

  Returning to his starting point, Tool took a few minutes to fashion a spear with one of his double-edged knives, a six-foot sapling, and cordage from his bag. He then made his way to the 66 station. The restrooms were located on opposite sides of the small block building. The door marked MEN was slightly ajar. When he didn’t hear any movement within, Tool carefully entered, switching the spear to his left hand, a large knife taking its place in the right hand. On the far wall was a metal box advertising a variety of condoms. Reaching into his bag, Tool retrieved a short, hardened steel pry-bar. It took about ten seconds to wedge the pry-bar in to the lock and bust it open. Hoping to find the mother lode of rubbers, he swung the cover open to find only ten “French ticklers,” fifteen “Jumbo Mudders,” and six “Glow Worms.” Thirty-one rubbers in all. Nowhere near the 150 needed to clear his debt with Filler.

  As long as he was there, might as well check the ladies. He cautiously rounded the back of the block building. The ladies room door was closed and locked. Tool rattled the handle several times and listened carefully for any movement from within. Nothing. Then he had a thought. Carefully he moved to the front of the abandoned station and stepped through the large broken window. Bare shelves lined the walls as expected. Tool searched the rubble until he found a piece of broom handle with a short length of chain, a key attached at the opposite end.

  Just as he had hoped, the key fit the lock of the ladies room door. Inside, there was a layer of dust covering everything. On the far wall was a metal box similar to the one in the men’s room. Tool closed and locked the door before crossing the small room to break into the metal box. Inside there was a gold mine of tampons and sanitary napkins that would fetch a premium at Junction.

  It was going to be dark soon and Tool decided to take advantage of this little cinder block room with heavy steel door. He rummaged through his pack and found a jar of stew that Filler had provided for the trip, at a price of course, and a small bag of corn chips, a gift from Frito.
He ate half the stew and finished the chips before laying his head on his pack and falling asleep. It was the first time he had felt safe since leaving Junction, but the resulting deep sleep came with a price. Nightmares fueled by the day’s events. Nightmares filled with the screams of pilgrims and the gleeful shouts of Sores on the hunt.

  He was up early, just as the sun rose, well rested and prepared to pick his way towards the Campbell’s store on the other end of town. Tool wasn’t about to take on the large gathering of undead that had been milling around in the remnants of downtown Younton. He decided to move north, skirt the town and come at the convenience store from the northwest. Hopefully that would keep the building between him and the rotting meat puppets.

  It was a good plan, but apparently the zombies hadn’t got the memo. There were three draggers in back, another four out front. Tool dispatched the slow shuffling undead out back with the spear, being careful to make as little noise as possible, before moving to the men’s room. The door was wide open, debris strewn across the floor. Tool immediately moved to the condom machine and started to work on the lock. It popped open to reveal two dozen assorted rubbers. He resolved to have a very serious discussion with Filler when he got back to Junction.

  The ladies room was next. The heavy door was connected only by one twisted hinge and hung at an odd angle as a result. Carefully he ducked under the door and looked around. The tampon machine was wide open. It looked like someone had blown the lock with explosives but was probably a point blank gunshot. Tool kicked at the trash on the floor and saw a small pad wrapped in pink cellophane. As he knelt to pick it up something moved in the stall to his left. His hand skillfully drew a knife from its hiding place within the worn leather jacket.

  Still kneeling, Tool pivoted to see a pair of frightened eyes watching him intently from under the stall door. In an effort to avoid the slow-moving zombies of Younton, a dog had taken refuge in the ladies room. It was a small, brown, rather sad looking animal in obvious need of food. Dogs were scarce these days. Being hunted by both the living and undead as a source of fresh meat had made them an endangered species. Tool recognized the value of this one and decided to take it back to junction. Doubting that the dog would willingly follow him, Tool planned to win it over with a bit of food. Not wanting to share the meager rations he carried, he decided to search the convenience store.