Gravewalkers: Dying Time

by Richard T. Schrader

  “Yes, sir,” Critias agreed. “That’s what I meant.”

  Since they both wore work gloves, Fat Jack broke from contamination protocol to shake Critias’ hand in genuine happy welcome, “That’s enough sirs for one lifetime. You can call me Jack, or Fat Jack as you please; I answer to both. How is it that you two came to be out here all on your lonesome? It’s a rare thing these days for us to find unexpected guests.”

  Carmen quieted Critias with a touch on his arm. “We’re the last survivors of a government bunker in Chicago,” she lied. “We salvaged what valuable equipment we could then we drove down here hoping to join up with King Louie.”

  “Then you have succeeded,” Fat Jack smiled on her in welcome. “Tonight you’ll dine at the Captains’ Table. Tony Banjo and his crew shot some geese, so it will be a fine meal. I don’t suppose you have any cigarettes or real booze with you.”

  “If cigars will do I think we have a box or two,” Critias told Fat Jack. “We have a couple crates of packaged food too. We are happy to share everything, but some of the weapons and technical equipment needs to stay with us. Some of the gear is dangerous if mishandled. They’re not things you will have ever seen before.”

  Fat Jack nodded to show that he understood, “If your astronaut suit or that strange pistol you wear are examples, I can well imagine you have some other nice toys. We share our food, but what is yours is yours, as the King always says. That has always been our way.”

  Tony Banjo came forward to stand near Carmen; he was a dashing young man with a cocky smile. “Hey there, beautiful lady,” he gave Carmen a wink. “How about you and I go someplace private and get to know each other better. I’m something of a big hero in these parts, the best damn Forager Captain that ever snarfed a can of pork and beans.”

  “Down, boy!” said another man who was somewhat older and carried himself with a no-non-sense bearing. “You couldn’t out-forage my crew on your best day and my worst.”

  “Back off, George,” Tony Banjo told him. “This lady knows a good thing when she sees it.”

  Carmen turned about to grab Critias then plant such a passionate kiss on his lips that it left him with goose bumps. Everyone else had no doubts about who her romantic interest was.

  The crew howled and whistled in good-natured flippancy.

  Tony Banjo groaned, “That figures. I finally find the perfect woman and her boyfriend is a friggin spaceshuttle pilot.”

  “Don’t mind him, friend,” George told Critias about Tony. “He’s just as horny as a stray dog and don’t mean any offense.” He offered his gloved hand, “Name’s George.”

  “No offense taken,” Critias shook his hand. “You’ll come to find that Carmen is real good at taking care of herself. We consider ourselves damn lucky you came along when you did, risking your necks to help us out of that jam. We were sweating tungsten slugs trying to figure out what to do next.”

  “You’re more than welcome,” George replied. “It’s always good to see new faces around here. You have some nice armor there, makes you look like you know what you’re doing out in the boonies. Maybe you’ll be joining us the next time we’re out shopping for groceries.” He turned to Fat Jack then pulled a huge chrome pistol from his pack. “I found something for you, Jack.” He gave him the hefty handgun and an old sock full of ammunition. “This one is still just like new. I don’t think he ever fired it, which is too bad because he had a real nice crib.”

  One of the crew shouted across the ship, “Bridges coming up, Jack!” The paddleboat would soon pass under one of the enormous highway bridges that crossed high over the river.

  Fat Jack bellowed like a pirate captain, “Bridge stations! You all know the routine so get to your positions before I have to infect your asses with the toe of my boot!” He waved for his black skinned female pilot to put his paddleboat to maximum speed before they got directly under the bridge. The paddlewheel spun up froth as the men ran to get under cover as though they expected something to fall that might land on their heads.

  Infected did watch the smoke from a long way off and those on the bridge waited in ambush. The suicidally aggressive freaks timed their leaps as best they could before they dived off to plummet down toward the boat like bombs. The first three jumpers slammed into the water with bone breaking impacts that sent up tremendous splashes. A fourth hit the end of the hoist arm to snap its spine before it spun off into the river. The fifth skydiving ghoul crushed in the hood of Critias’ truck, which blew out the windshield and broke most the bones in its still furious body.

  A second bridge crossed the river just a little further ahead. Eight ghouls leaped from its heights but Fat Jack’s change of speed and heading confused them such that they all struck the water with the same high-flying splashes.

  Once clear of the bridges and nearly at their destination, the crew used fire-hoses and fishing gaffs to remove any blood and cast the body over the side.

  Chapter 5: Foragers’ Castle

  Fat Jack’s destination was just beyond the bridges and dead center on the riverfront at the very heart of the metropolis’ downtown where all the city’s largest buildings stood nearby in clear view. He berthed his paddleboat against a much larger ship that they kept anchored just offshore from an astounding monument that stood in the form of a gleaming stainless-steel catenary arch the height of a skyscraper. That mighty island-ship had a construction crane that was much grander than the humble boom on the Thunder Child. The survivors had covered their floating crane in armor that could repel any ghouls who might ever manage to reach it out on the river, which seemed an impossible feat in its own right, isolated as it was upon the water.

  Some of Jack’s crew used the paddlewheeler’s boom to lift a portable bridge from the island crane then position it between the two vessels. That movable bridge allowed them to drive their Forager vehicles off onto the deck of the island ship. The larger crane moved an even bigger mobile bridge that allowed them to drive further from the artificial island onto the nearby shore.

  At some time in the not too distant past, the greater river crane had lifted rusty barge hulks then positioned them into two parallel barrier walls that sheltered a roadway going inland. The near ends of the barges descended the shore all the way to below the waterline where its roadway joined with the end of the larger bridge when it was in place. Welders had locked the steel barges together using massive lengths of chain and thousands of metal construction rods. Fixed together as they were, the river barges formed an insurmountable wall against ghoul intrusion. Those same welding crews had attached thousands of downward-angled kitchen knives, sharp spikes, and metal hooks along the top and outer-face of their barrier to make it especially difficult for the creatures to climb.

  The smoke from the paddleboat and the activity of its crew stirred up the local infected so that they howled and tried to climb over the walls of unsympathetic barges. The smooth steel plate with its tangle of spurs proved excellent as it prevented them from making any progress over it. Being unable to go over, the ghouls ran down along the walls to the shore where they leaped into the river only to have the brisk current sweep them away.

  “This is Foragers’ Castle,” Fat Jack told Critias and Carmen. “The secure portions are all underground where we stay out of sight as much as possible. As far as the infected are concerned, out of sight is out of mind, so we need to work quickly. The less time we are visible to them the better. If we take too long, they will start gathering in uncontrollable numbers and then keep hanging around after we have gone rather than wandering off as they normally do.”

  Critias asked, “What do you want us to do?” He stopped himself before he added a sir.

  Jack instructed, “You two need to get into your truck then follow the directions of the work teams. They all know what to do and without some training, you would only be in their way. We will get you offloaded first then catch up with you soon.”

  While Critias waited for the crews to move their bridges into place f
or the offloading, he studied the city buildings that loomed up in the near distance. None of the towers was as tall as the arching monument, but some of them were gigantic nonetheless. The nearest building was an antiquated cathedral and beyond that were lofty rectangular towers.

  Carmen pointed, “Look there, vegetable gardens.”

  She had the telescopic vision of an eagle not that he needed that to see what she indicated. The shadow of the monument nearly touched the foot of a U-shaped building with its open side facing them. All the visible windows were missing and in their place were steel bars filled with hanging gardens of lush green. Critias could not make out their plant species, but rightly assumed they were cultivated crops. Every former opening on the building’s bottom two floors had walls of brick that sealed them over. King Louie had transformed an old hotel into a vertical farm, which ostensibly worked efficiently to help feed his population.

  One of Fat Jack’s men waved for Carmen to drive so she started the truck then moved out. After carefully negotiating the two bridges, she followed the roadway between the barge-walls. The uphill inland ground from their track was all forest with thick undergrowth comprised of tall grasses and wild shrubbery that made the interior impenetrable to the eye. From their viewpoint, they were almost directly beneath the stainless steel monument with its legs that rose up from its secret enclosure of woodland acreage. They could only marvel at the metallic arch’s stupefying height and fulgent majesty. Their roadway soon turned uphill toward that woodland as it followed a course that finally came to a dead end at a wide wall of vegetation.

  Critias closely examined the wall before them and saw that in places that there were metal bars behind the plants. It wasn’t so much a wall before them, but actually more like a giant birdcage made of securely welded piecemeal junk onto which a creeping vinery of bumblebee-infested honeysuckle had not only insinuated itself, but also vigorously flourished. Together they made the rugged scrap-metal vault opaque to the eye, buzzing to the ear, and stinging to the persistent.

  A few moments later, the wall before them parted like a great set of double doors that opened onto a downward driveway that passed through a roughhewn gap that the builders had blasted through a railway line’s reinforced concrete retaining wall. The train rails ahead of them crossed north to south and there was forested hillside beyond them that enclosed the back of that sheltered area beneath the honeysuckle vineyard cage. Each end of the train tracks delved into underground rail tunnel passages. The honeysuckle cage completely closed off all access from ghouls while it offered them a high flat face to the east that concealed any human activity that took place behind it.

  The hidden gate let Carmen drive down the railway’s riverside rampart to the level of the tracks. From the inside, they could finally appreciate the immense scale and magnificence of the engineering feat that was the Vineyard’s honeysuckle dome. The vine shrouded metal tube of cage encased the whole two-hundred meter long valley of rail track and anchored into the stout concrete tunnel mouths at either end.

  A pair of goggle-masked guards that waited inside the Vineyard directed Carmen to go left where she would pass through a sturdy defense gate to enter the subterranean tunnel beyond. Carmen could have turned right only with difficulty since parked on the track in that direction was a railcar that sported yet another construction crane in its lowered idle configuration. Its muscle had presumably raised the prefabricated sections of Vineyard barrier into place. She followed the southbound course as they had instructed.

  More guards were at that gated entrance to the rail tunnel that went beneath the monument grounds. Even if some ghouls managed to get into the Vineyard’s roadway, they would still have to battle their way past the tunnel gates that blocked access to the underground. After the guards inspected their vehicle for any ghouls that possibly clung to the underside, they opened the gate then waved Carmen inside.

  King Louie’s survivors had converted the whole interior of that rail tunnel into a garage for their vehicles and the equipment their mechanics needed to maintain them. The electric lights that illuminated the interior demonstrated that the Foragers had generators to provide them power. Six foraging vehicles in various states of development were along the east wall, as were another four that were complete though smaller than the greater capacity trucks currently in Fat Jack’s service. Another vehicle was a truck with the name ‘Milk Wagon’ on the side in white paint. It appeared to Critias to be an ideal Forager vehicle in prime condition if only judged by the impressively rugged off-road suspension underneath it. At the far southern end of the tunnel was a tractor-trailer truck of largest size only too distant for them to examine in detail.

  Much like how Carmen had reinforced their truck for the drive from the agricultural repair yard, the Forager trucks were the same only with superior and better-conceived armor whose protection was more durable and all encompassing.

  “You are safe in here,” a female Forager told them as they climbed down from their truck. Despite being dirty from her work, she was obviously one of the most attractive women still alive on Earth. “There is a whole lot of steel and concrete between you and the outside,” she said to make them feel safe. “The hunters can climb over and slink around out in the barge ramp pretty much anytime they get a mind to, but none of them has any chance of breaking into here.” She waved for them to follow her, “I’ll show you the way into the Castle and where you can get washed up. We’ve plenty of clean clothes for you to wear, but first I’ll need to see you both naked so I can be certain you are not hiding any bite marks, scratches, or have any other signs of infection.”

  The Foragers had used jackhammers and an excavator to carve a rough passage that went westward through the rail tunnel wall at about its midpoint. There was a guard who waited there to let them past his locked security gate. A few meters in there was yet another gate that an armed guard opened and closed for every passing.

  The room beyond the second gate served as a sort of mudroom where the Foragers undressed when they came in from the unclean wild places where infectious contamination was an ever-present threat. The walls and floor were all of finished concrete that gave the impression that the crude passage from the train tunnel had broken into an adjacent preexisting subterranean structure.

  Their guide stopped them from going further. “Get that suit off,” she instructed Critias. “Everyone goes through inspections here, so if you have some modesty you had best abandon it now.”

  Carmen aided him as Critias removed his mechsuit and then the woman checked him all over for any abnormalities that might indicate that Critias was an unturned infected.

  While she examined him, Critias asked her, “What is this King Louie like? Does he chop off people’s heads or what?”

  “Not usually,” her tone carried honesty rather than humor. “He has no mercy for traitors if that’s what you’re asking. I’d say he’s as honest as you could be hoping to find. You have nothing to worry about from him if you two managed to make it here across the wasteland. You’re brave and resourceful so that means you’re his kind of people. We don’t have very many laws so for now you only need to worry about the important ones. First, you must stay armed at all times so take something with you when you go shower and just don’t get it wet. Secondly, never sleep on guard duty. If someone catches you napping when you agreed to watch, we’ll probably feed you to the infected as an example to others. Besides those things, there is no stealing, no raping, and no doing the toilet anywhere inappropriate; everything else you can pick up as you go along.”

  He asked, “After this inspection, are you taking us to meet King Louie?”

  The woman laughed at his question while she poked at Critias’ healed scars he had collected from his dangerous life as a marshal. In particular, she noticed where a drunken rapist of a reclamation engineer had once tried to kill Critias with a teslaflux rifle and the encounter had left its permanent marks. “This is Foragers’ Castle,” she explained. “We are away fro
m the place where you’ll see King Louie.” That they had thought the Castle they were in was King Louie’s home is what had amused her. “This place is where we gather for runs out into the wastes to search for supplies. You won’t see King Louie until after we all return home to the city.”

  Critias thought he understood her meaning, “So the garage tunnel and this room is a reclamation team staging area.”

  The woman glanced around the mudroom in an effort to deduce what he thought; then she said, “We use this room for undressing from dirty clothes before hitting the showers. The Castle is a lot bigger than just this. Foraging is dangerous work that attracts the attention of the ghouls. We take special care not to draw that attention to where we live when not working. No one lives in the Castle on a permanent basis anymore. We used to live here in the time of the King’s father who first built all this. If we are here at the Castle, it’s only because we’re working. You will probably see the King tomorrow if Jack stays to his schedule. He usually does, but you need to ask him about that.” She turned to Carmen then demanded, “Take it all off, princess. I have to inspect you too.”

  Carmen removed her flight-suit then stood patiently with her arms out.

  The woman was not sure if she liked what she saw and she took her time to be thorough. “You have no scars,” the woman observed, “no birth marks of any kind, and you don’t even have a hint of tan lines. I guess we can write that off on you staying safe underground.” The woman frowned as she inspected Carmen further, “Your curtains match the drapes without a trace of natural root color anywhere in your punk-rocker hair. You’re as flawless as a regenerator, but obviously enough you’re not a turned ghoul to manage that, still pretty strange if you ask me.” The woman turned Carmen about to check everywhere, “You have no tattoos or piercings, not even in your ears.” She checked inside Carmen’s mouth then added, “To no surprise at this point, you have no cavities or fillings in your perfectly straight white teeth. Clearly, you both have been eating well enough, excellent muscle tone and no signs of scurvy.” The woman stroked her hand up Carmen’s leg, “You don’t even have razor stubble on your silky moisturized skin. Shaved this morning, did you?”