by Rod Little
The lodge, where those kids were headed. He wondered if they had ever made it here.
Stu knelt behind his bike, and aimed his rifle, but something stirred behind him in the high field grass. He turned to see two lizards ambling through the brush toward him. The cannon noise had attracted them, and Stu was to be their first meal.
Dammit, he thought. I don't have time for this.
If he shot the lizards, it would give away his position to Dexter's men, and he was counting on the element of surprise. He pulled out his Taser, hoping it would repel the beasts without too much noise. He didn't need it, though.
A huge spider spun down from a tree and sank its fangs into the first lizard. The poison instantly paralyzed its victim and started liquefying its organs from the inside. The lizard writhed and convulsed, then went limp. Seconds later, two more spiders descended on the other lizard. Almost soundlessly they dragged the two bodies back into the woods and out of sight. Only the crunching of leaves and reeds could be heard. They disappeared after the heavy bodies were hauled away.
Damn, Stu thought.
He turned back to the chaos at the lodge. He witnessed the front gate rupture under the force of the rocket. Now he was sure the kids were in there; he could see them in the towers, and Dexter's men were starting to drive toward the hole in the gates. Stu aimed and shot one of the men. Someone else shot the driver, and the truck crashed into the wall. More men were filing out of the trucks and climbing inside the wall. Stu picked them off one by one from behind. No one had realized yet that he was behind them.
He saw a couple of men who managed to avoid his bullets and now were clambering over rubble, going inside. Two others remained on his side of the wall. He shot one, and the other slunk away into the woods.
Stu ran for the gate, and climbed up over the broken stones. He got inside just in time to see a big bald man punch Sam to the ground. The burly man now aimed his gun down at Sam. Stu took out his handgun, his favorite Double Eagle Glock, and shot the man directly in the head. The man fell over with only half his brains intact.
“Sam?” Stu bent over to see if Sam was alright.
The boy uttered Stu's name and passed out.
Shane came running down the steps and the look on his face shifted from horror to confusion, and then to relief. He smiled widely at Stu, and looked like he might want to hug the man. Instead he settled for one strong pat on the shoulder and said, “It's about time the cops arrived.”
Tina shook herself out of her misery and jumped into action. She had been a student nurse, and so now was officially promoted to Castle Doctor. They had three serious patients laid out on tables in the lobby, and she was pressed for time to take care of them all.
In triage, Bohai was made first priority. He had been shot between his chest and right shoulder. The bullet needed to be removed – something she'd only seen done on video. She used Betadine and tweezers to pull it out, while Camila and Lucy assisted her with extra lighting and lots of alcohol, iodine and gauze. The bullet trembled in her hands. She dumped it in a bowl and then stitched him up. That much she could do – she was good at sewing wounds shut. Still, she had no idea if Bohai would live, if she had done it right, or if he'd ever wake up.
Meanwhile, Shane and Stu doused Jason's wounds with alcohol and iodine and got him bandaged up. The bullet had gone straight through his arm, and the neck wound had merely grazed the skin. Luck had been on his side, as it had missed the carotid artery by a centimeter. They gave him a shot of whiskey for the pain. Later Tina would complain they had wrapped the bandages wrong, but for now it seemed to be doing the job; he was able to rest and start recovering.
Sam wore only bruises and scratches on his face and body, nothing serious. He had passed out from the punch to the head. Mark put a cold wet towel on his forehead, and Lily held his hand. Snowball helped by purring.
After the patients were well under the control of Dr. Tina and her staff, Stu and Shane walked outside to survey the damage to the wall. Their front gate was wide open, now a giant hole that exposed them to the outside world. Dust still swirled in the air. One of the trucks had been driven off by one of Dexter's men, but the front truck was still smashed up against the wall. Stu reached in and turned off its headlights.
Large chunks of the stone gate were littered everywhere, making it hard to walk around without tripping. The rubble had stirred silt and dirt into the air. Everything stood quiet again. All this damage had been done in the shortest blink of time. It was a stark reminder of how razor thin was any protection or safety in this new world.
The cougar had started dragging the dead bodies of Dexter's men out into the woods. They had no idea what for, but were glad to get rid of the dead. Stu's experience with dead bodies was that they're just not fun to have around, and start to smell bad after a few days.
“The cat? Dangerous?” Stu asked.
“No, I think he's okay,” Shane said. “He's okay. He's with Bohai.”
“That the Japanese kid in there on the table?”
“Chinese. And yeah. I hope he makes it.”
“I hope he makes it too,” Stu said. He noticed one of the kids missing from their first meeting, but didn't bring it up. He could guess what had happened.
“Look at this gate, Stu.”
“Yep. That's not gonna be easy to rebuild.”
“That was our best defense here.” Shane picked up a small stone and held it in his hand.
“You're still on high ground,” Stu remarked. “Still in a good spot. Just need to get this hole closed up.”
“Have you been out here alone all this time, Stu?”
“Yeah. Been following the Grinners.”
“You know them?
“Oh yeah. For years. Not the best company to keep.”
“You'll stay with us now, right?” Shane pleaded. “You shouldn't be out there alone.”
“Yeah. I'll stay a bit.” Stu lit a cigarette and walked out around the truck. “For now let's move this pickup sideways and block the entrance.”
“Right. Good idea.” Shane was glad to have Stu on board, someone else to help shoulder the burdens of leading this group. “Good thinking.”
✽✽✽
Sam woke up and found himself lying on a table. He lifted himself off it and stood on shaky legs. It wasn't fully light yet, but was trying to get there. He guessed it might be 6:00 am. Mark was sitting on the lobby couch, where Jason was teaching him how to clean a gun. Jason's arm and neck were wrapped up. Bohai slept on the next table, his chest completely wrapped with gauze.
“He okay?” Sam asked.
“Don't know yet,” Jason said. “I hope so. Time will tell, man. Are you alright?”
Sam had a headache and a black eye. “I'm fine. I need a drink of water.”
“There's water in the jug over there, and some hot water for instant coffee or hot chocolate in the kitchen. The whiskey has... uh, disappeared.” He gestured toward the back of the room, where Lucy and Lily were sleeping on sofas.
If Lucy took the booze, that wasn't going to be good for anyone, but especially not for her.
“Where's everyone else?”
“Sleeping, I guess. In their rooms. Stu is on watch.”
“The cop, Stu. That was really him?”
“He saved your ass, man. Maybe saved all of us. He took out five or six of those bastards.”
“Those bastards,” Mark repeated, as he polished his gun.
“Language, little man!” Jason scolded. “Be cool.”
Mark shrugged and eyed his gun, pretending to know more than he did about it.
“I'm going to make some coffee.” Sam rubbed his eyes and walked toward the kitchen.
Jason held up a bullet to the light, then slid it in a chamber. “This one – it's for Dexter. Damn if it ain't.”
“Dam if it ain't,” said Mark, and Jason pointed a warning finger at him. Mark just giggled.
Sam made a mixture of hot chocolate and coffee for himself, and a p
ure instant coffee for Stu. He carried the two mugs carefully up to the watchtower without spilling a drop. The morning air was fresh and cool up at the fifth floor. A spirited breeze played with Sam's hair.
“Sorry, no milk,” he apologized. “We need to look for instant powder packets on the next supply run.”
“Thank you, and black is fine, Sam. You feeling okay?”
“I'm fine. Anything out there yet?”
“It's quiet.”
Stu sipped his coffee, and looked out over the countryside. It was maybe the best coffee he'd ever tasted. That was perhaps because it was his first cup in over a week. He always said that coffee was the best of life's simple pleasures. It wasn't complicated or expensive, didn't cause a hangover, and wasn't acquired at the expense of drama, like women. Coffee was perfectly simple and good.
“They'll need to regroup,” Stu said. “I doubt they'll send anyone else after us for at least a few days. If they were smart, they'd attack again today, while we don't have a gate. But I know most of those guys. And they are not smart.”
“Dexter is, and he's running the show over there.”
“Yeah, that could be a problem. But he isn't tactical smart. He's book smart, but I bet he doesn't know how to fight a battle or win a war. I'm guessing he needs a few days to make a new plan.”
“I hope so. And on that subject... what is our plan?”
“Well, I'm not in charge,” Stu clarified. “But I'd say rebuilding the wall is job one. Get everyone back to good health, and then reinforce these towers with extra weaponry. Then we need to go out and find better guns. You kids need some automatic weapons. Those revolvers aren't good enough. And we need some silencers. Right now your brother is the only one who can shoot a bow worth a damn, and so he's our only silent shooter. We need silencers for the guns.”
“Okay,” Sam agreed. “And it would also help to get some big guns. Ones like that rocket launcher that brought the gate down.”
“Smart thinking. You'd be able to remove any big threat before it gets up the road.”
“Any idea where we can find that kind of stuff? Big firepower?”
“Yeah.” Stu sipped. “I got a few ideas.”
For now, the smashed and dented pickup truck would be their gate. They would have to climb over it to get in and out. Not very convenient, but it would have to do as a temporary measure. Because it takes a few minutes to climb over and get in, the theory was that the watchtower guard would have time to shoot any trespassers – or so they hoped.
They explained to Stu about the spiders, not to shoot any, as they were their allies. He only partly believed their story, but he couldn't deny the eight-legged critters had saved him the night before. If it was true, it was good news, because now they could focus their attention on Dexter. And that was going to be a full-time job.
Stu told them about a friend of his who used to collect used military weapons. His house was about fifty miles away, and not easy to find, but the man would certainly have some heavy artillery, and maybe even some equipment they could take.
“He's a good man. If he's still alive, he'll help us out,” Stu said.
“And if he's not?” Shane asked.
“Then we help ourselves.”
Chapter 23
Late the next morning they set off to find Stu's friend. They took the dark van, this time with Stu driving. Sam and Shane went along, but everyone else stayed to guard the fort. Jason and Bohai needed to recover. Mark wanted to come, but Sam gave him a watchtower assignment to convince him to stay behind.
As they pulled away, Shane saw something in the rear-view mirror, which jumped onto the van roof. He noticed several long legs pull up and out of sight: an eighteen-inch wolf spider.
“Sam, there's a spider on our roof. On our frickin roof.” Unlike his brother, Shane wasn't comfortable around spiders, snakes, or even insects.
“Well... it's for our protection, I guess,” Sam said. He tried to sound reassuring, even with his own mixed feelings about the arachnids. “Just ignore it and help Stu navigate.”
Shane turned back to the front and muttered to himself. He unfolded the map and plotted their location, then realized the map was upside down.
“I don't need a map,” Stu said. “I know exactly where we're going. Never needed a map; don't need one now, mind you.”
Sam sat back and enjoyed the bumpy ride. He thought about Bohai's advice to practice his art more, so he relaxed and balanced a tiny spark on his fingertip.
The house was hidden at the end of a back road. This was more like a secluded road just off of a back road. You couldn't get more remote than this. The old shack barely passed for a house, dilapidated and unpainted since 1953. An M198 Howitzer sat rusting in the front yard, and an even more completely rusted 1967 El Camino with two flat tires was parked in a patch of grass on the side of the house.
“I haven't been here in almost a year,” Stu warned. “You two better stay in the van. I'll go in alone.”
Stu stepped out of the van and called his friend's name. “Frank, you there? Frank, it's me Stu.”
No answer. The woods were quiet, except for the rustling of leaves. Even the birds were gone, probably scared off by the spider.
The front door creaked open, and an old man appeared. He looked to be 100 if a day. His scruffy white beard ran up to sideburns and then faded into a bald head. He held a shotgun in his hands, surprisingly steady, but lowered it when he saw his friend.
“Stu, you old son of a bitch.” His voice was hoarse, but loud. Years of being half-deaf had given him a habit of yelling.
They shook hands and spoke for a moment about nothing, idle talk. The boys couldn't understand much of the man's slang expressions, despite the yelling. Then the two men disappeared into the house.
“I guess his eyes are bad,” Shane noted. “Or he probably would have wondered why we have Cujo up there on the roof.”
“I doubt he even knows what's happening. Look at this place. It's in the middle of nowhere. Edge of the world, and then turn left.”
“Good for him. Better to die not knowing I think.”
“Maybe,” Sam murmured absently. He was still examining the house and yard. “How could anyone live alone like this? We should take him back with us.”
“Uh, you saw him. Any chance he would come back with us? Sam, if a guy like that wanted to be social, he'd live on the grid. He wouldn't have a Facebook page, but he'd at least be on the grid.”
“Good point.”
“I doubt he even has a radio or TV. Wonder if we can take that Howitzer.”
“It's rusted through,” Sam laughed. “Probably blow up in our faces if we tried to use it.”
“True that.”
The woods got quiet again. It was spooky.
“I feel like I'm in a horror movie,” said Sam. “This is like where every serial killer movie was ever filmed. Kids in a van parked in front of an old house...”
“Yeah. Look at that shovel over there, sticking in the ground. What do you think is buried there? Or who?”
“I'm sure there are some bodies buried here,” Sam mused. “Probably all the way back to the sixties.”
He peered out the tinted windows at the creaking weather vane on top of the shack. The wind had picked up, and the vane was now moving and squeaking. A shadow moved across the sky.
“What the hell? Did you see that?”
Shane had been looking at the ground, but he did see a shadow pass over it. “What was that? A bat?”
“No, it was like a plane,” said Sam.
“I didn't hear anything.”
“It was really high up, and didn't make any noise. Maybe a glider?”
“I don't think gliders can fly very high. Maybe a drone?” Shane suggested.
“Maybe Jason is right. Government conspiracy? Spy drones?”
“Or it could just be Walter.”
“Or Dexter!”
“Oh crap. He might be spying on us. I hadn't thought of that.”
“Hurry up, Stu,” Sam willed their friend to come out quickly. They looked up at the sky again, then back at the front door of the house. The flying object didn't return. Nothing moved on the ground either. Nothing happened for a long ten minutes.
At last, the door burst open, and it startled Sam. Stu walked out carrying a duffel bag, and was laughing. “That's a good one, Frank. Sorry I don't have time for more. See you soon. You take care of yourself.”
Frank didn't come out, but waved from behind the screen door. An eternal hermit, he wasn't climbing out of his shell just for the end of the world.
Stu got back in the van and dumped the bag in the back seat next to Sam. “This was all I could get. All of his big guns are too old and rusted through.”
Sam opened the bag and found a dozen hand grenades, two automatic pistols, a silencer and a small grenade launcher. There was also a box of shotgun shells and some matches.
“That's it?”
“That's a lot,” Stu countered. “The silencer alone is worth its weight in gold. To us anyway.”
Sam snapped his fingers. “Hey, I got an idea. Stu, we need to make a detour on the way back.”
The detour took them on a bumpy road, and the word “road” was being generous. This was the back way into the town of St. Marks.
“You sure about this?” Stu asked.
“I'm so stupid, I should have thought of this sooner,” Sam said. “I saw it in one of the windows last time. A shop sells remote camera drones to tourists, to take photos of the mountains from high up. If we can get one, and get it to work, we can spy on Dexter. And on Walter, for that matter.”
“I guess so.” Stu shook his head. He had never even owned a cell phone; only a ham radio. “I don't know anything about drones.”
“I've got it covered,” Sam assured him.
They entered St. Marks and eased up the main road. Sam half feared they would see Ken's skeleton, stripped to the bone. Thankfully there was nothing but an empty street. All the lizards were gone. The spiders were obviously doing their job.
“There!” Sam pointed to a camera shop, and they pulled up to its facade. As promised, a camera drone was displayed in the window.