The Weak Shall Die: Complete Collection (Four Volume Set)

by Taylor Michaels

  John was beginning to be worried. What had happened? Tom looked terrible. Haggard. Frazzled. His hair was a mess.

  "Everything was going fine. Our mistake was that Cho and Masako overheard us talking after two trips to bring shoes back. They made us go back and they went on that last trip with us. They were upset that we didn't bring back that many women's shoes. Damn. I wasn't sure we'd ever get out of there."

  "Oh really." John's voice displayed a note of anxiousness. "You ran into some resistance? You had a fight. You're saying it was the girls' fault. That's terrible. Was anybody hurt?"

  Tom sat upright and wrinkled his brow. "Almost. It was crazy for a while. Imagine, going shoe shopping with two women and the shoes are all free. A thousand shoes scattered around in the dark and Masako says, 'Oh, this one is so cute. And it's just my size. Help me find the other one.' I thought we'd never get out. I would have pulled a gun on them and forced them to leave, but they were both armed. And you know Cho. She would shoot without thinking. They both looked dangerous. Like trying to pull a chunk of beef from a starving dog. I'm not going back. Definitely not with those two women. I'd rather go barefoot and grow calluses on my soles to use as shoes."

  "That reminds me. I went to Colonial Williamsburg once on a vacation, a few years ago. The shoemaker was talking about how comfortable his custom shoes were and everybody in the crowd became interested in buying a pair. But then, he said that they were only for the workers, for authenticity. They didn't make any to sell. Lots of people were ticked off they couldn't have a pair of such great shoes. I asked how long it took him to make a pair and he said two weeks for him and his helper. Plus, more for the tanner who made the leather. I figured that worked out to over two thousand dollars a pair."

  "Kinda pricy."

  "Sooner or later, we could learn to make shoes, but it will take time to learn and more time to make the shoes. And we'd have to find leather. We don't have any cows. Patching might be the best we could do. The longer we put that off, the better off we are. That was a good haul. Sorry about the ladies. Good thinking, though."

  "Thanks. And I picked up some saddle soap to keep the leather in good shape."

  "What's still on your list?"

  "The usual." He stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a notebook. He scanned the lists as he flipped the pages. "The biggest items are toilet paper, bleach, salt, sugar, batteries, how-to books, bullets." He snapped the small book shut and replaced it in his pocket. "Back before it all fell apart, we ordered a bunch of antibiotics from a tropical fish place on the internet. But, we always check any pharmacy we run across. They are almost always picked clean. We also check the homes we go through for medicines. We turn them all over to Pierre."

  "Sounds good. You know, from time to time, we talked about sustainability. So far, we've mainly been concerned with surviving, making it through the next few months. But, if we do make it that far, we're going to have to change our operations to something we can continue for years. One of the first things that will hit the fan is toilet paper."

  "An interesting way of saying it."

  "We'll have to find a substitute or figure out some way to reuse something which can substitute for toilet paper. As gross as that sounds, we have to deal with it." John remembered something that Cho had said to him. "And along those lines, and another point is the same for the ladies' sanitary napkins."

  "John you think about the weirdest things. I suppose I'm glad you do. You want us to start looking for old phone books and newspapers, too."

  "Wouldn't hurt. Maybe it would, but do it anyway."

  "Ouch."

  They both grinned.

  "Any kind of cloth. Old clothing you run across. Should be tons of it. Make sure you check for canning supplies. Jars, rings, lids. That sort of thing. When the garden comes in, we'll need those. Might have to raid a few vacant farms. One of those chest freezers would be good. The solar panels could support it. The kitchen will need more people then. There used to be a farm supply store about ten miles south. We could try that tomorrow night."

  "Sure."

  "Do you have a list of places you are checking?"

  Tom sat upright and massaged his lower back. "We found some old phone books and have made lists from the yellow pages. We put them in priority of what we need."

  "What about local houses? I'm not aware of any motorcycle stores nearby, but you might find one in a garage from time to time."

  "We've checked all the houses within two miles and we check a few more each night on our way back. Some are pretty gruesome. The smell has gone from most now that several months have past. Just to be sure, we usually wear respirators."

  "How do you mark the houses you've checked?"

  "We burn them, if we're sure they have nothing we'll need. Some paint on the highway otherwise. That way, snipers have less places to hide to ambush us."

  "Be careful about the ones with basements. Snipers could hide in the basements."

  "Right. We'll mark 'em on the street."

  "One other thing I've been thinking about. Firewood. It'll be a few months before we need it, but once it is cut, it needs to sit out and season. Dry out. If a living tree is cut down, the wood is wet and it needs to be dry or it won't burn."

  "Right. We have a good stockpile now. Each day, we spend a few hours cutting wood, chopping it into pieces and stacking it. Then we put a tarp over it."

  "What do you say about day after tomorrow? I'll go with you to chop some wood and we'll take Isaac."

  "You think that'll work?"

  "It'll give me some first hand experience with him. So far I only have Cho's opinion."

  "I thought you had a high opinion of Cho's opinion."

  "I do, but if he needs some inspiration, I'll do what I can. A good survivor is supposed to be a good leader. I'll try to lead him to not be lazy."

  "John, you can lead a horse to water, but no matter what kind of leader you are, you can't make him drink."

  "Yeah, I've heard about that horse. He sounds kind of stubborn. If we can't make them work, the rest of the group may have to make a hard decision."

  Tom, agreeing with a nod of his head, rubbed the back of his neck. "Think I'll take a quick nap before lunch. It's been another hard day."

  * * *

  After dinner, John made the dreaded trek from the lodge to Carla's cabin. As usual, they were all sitting on the porch. The two boys were asleep.

  "Hello folks," he said, quietly.

  "John, how are you? What news do you bring? Are we still not performing up to your standards? Or has Hell frozen over again?" The tone in Carla's voice was hard and sarcastic.

  "Yes. You are still spending most of your time with your children. You are still not doing your assigned work." He glanced from Carla to Isaac. "That applies to both of you. Isaac, you especially, need to do more. This isn't high school football. You can't spend all daydreaming of the game where you threw the winning pass. All that's over."

  "You are really pissing me off, John. You aren't the captain of the team and I'm not some peasant you can order around."

  "You're right, Isaac. I'm not the captain of anything. But if you want the benefits of living here, you have to take on the responsibilities of living here. It's that simple. Tomorrow we're going to cut firewood. You'll go and you'll do your fair share of the work."

  "I don't know anything about cutting firewood. What do you expect me to do?"

  "I expect you to learn what you have to, damn it," John screamed. This is far more difficult than it needs to be, John thought. He took a deep breath and exhaled in frustration. "Look. It's not rocket science. My father used to tell people he was a pilot in the Army. Somebody would tell him to pile it here and he would pile it here. They would say, pile it there and he'd pile it there. Get it? That's what you'll do tomorrow. You'll learn what you have to and you'll do what you're told. You'll do it, you won't shirk, and you won't complain. OK?"

  * * *

  The next day was hard w
ith most of it spent chopping and transporting firewood. John hassled Isaac several times, but whenever he looked around Isaac was just standing, doing nothing. Finally, he gave up. After dinner and after the sun had set and John, Cho and the guys were sitting on the front porch watching the last bits of orange fade to black.

  "We go to the farm supply store tonight, John?"

  "Sure, George. Is the Dark Deacon all charged up?"

  "All full of electrons and raring to go."

  "Why go farm store? Same as tractor store? Yes?"

  "No, it's similar, but not the same. It's a little farther out of town, to the west. We can travel on back roads. I thought it might be safe. Now that we're farmers, we might find something interesting."

  "I go too. I no trust you. You get shot. Cho protect." She hit her upper chest like Tarzan.

  "If you go, you stay in the car and we'll go in and see what we can find."

  "I take guns. Pistol and shotgun."

  "As long as you don't shoot me or George."

  "Yeah, that scattergun covers some territory. I don't want to lie there for an hour with Pierre picking shot from my backside. I'm sure he doesn't want to do it either. You'd have to threaten him with that scattergun just to get him to operate. I know you'd have to threaten me."

  Just before midnight, they boarded the Dark Deacon and George pushed the button to open the door of the garage. Cho sat in the back, her guns across her lap. Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of the farm supply store.

  "This it, John?"

  "Yeah, but go around back and park. We'll see if we can get in a back door. Be less noticeable. I brought the bolt cutter."

  John popped the lock as Cho stood outside the Dark Deacon with a pistol in one hand and a shotgun laying on the roof. George opened the door and shown in a flashlight while John followed. George scanned the store with the light bouncing off metallic parts.

  "Wow, look at this mess, pardner. Some idiot must have not known what was in all those little boxes of tractor parts. He opened and emptied every damn one. Out of a thousand boxes, we'd be lucky if ten fit our tractor. Talk about a needle in a haystack. Were they lookin' for food? Candy maybe. What do we do now?"

  "You have a party to go to? I'll tell Cho this will take some time," John said, as he walked back out the door. He returned within a few minutes.

  "What did Cho say?"

  "She said to take our time. She said she would patrol the perimeter."

  "Said that, did she?"

  "If you really want to know, she said, 'Cho keep John safe. Kill bad guys. John go.' "

  "Yeah. That I can believe."

  They scoured each aisle of the showroom carefully, sifting through thousands of items, but came up empty, except for some wrenches and two socket sets. John put those in the car.

  "Find good stuff, John?"

  "No, I'm not sure what I expected to find, but we'll keep looking. You see or hear anything out here."

  They both cast their eyes all around them.

  "Dog bark. Could be man. I keep down. Nobody see. Keep watch. You go back. I see dog, I shoot. Marceau prepare. Good dinner tomorrow."

  "Yeah, I may be busy tomorrow night."

  John went back into the building and headed into the back room in search of George. He told George of Cho's hopeful dinner tomorrow.

  "She would shoot a dog, wouldn't she?"

  "She'd shoot a rock, if she thought Marceau could soften it up by cooking it and she could eat it. Dog, cat, oak tree, whatever."

  "See anything, George?" John said, his flashlight moving randomly around the room.

  "Pile of boxes in the corner. Let's check 'em out."

  John's light landed on the box and stayed there. A smile spread across his face. "You struck gold, George. See what it says on the box. Seeds. Let's open a few boxes and see what we find. It they are all seeds, we'll take them all."

  George knelt on the floor and opened all five boxes. All were filled with seed packets. He picked up several and read the backs. "This year's seeds. Looks like the season for sellin' seeds was over and they packed 'em all up to send them back, John. Seeds are good for years. Marceau will be happy. Should make for a good garden next year."

  "While you were opening the boxes, I looked around. Nothing else."

  "What were you hopin' to find here?"

  "I don't know. Seeds, I suppose."

  "Well, we found 'em. You risked your life, your girl friend's life and the life of your second best friend to find seeds. You find the seeds, which will probably save our lives next year, and you're still not happy. John, you are one weird dude."

  "You're right, George. I'm really worried about our food supply this year, this month, this week. I'm afraid we're not going to make it. I'm afraid we'll run out and starve weeks before the garden starts producing. You know the numbers better than I do. They look bad. To come this far and still starve to death. That's just so terrible. We have to do something. I have to do something." John had felt his frustration growing ever since this survival mode had started and it was still growing. It helped to talk about it, but he was still worried.

  "If all else fails, we can eat these seeds. You know?"

  "I suppose they might keep us alive a few more days."

  "Come on John. It's not your fault. Nobody expected you to be a magician. If we hadn't joined up with you, we'd all be dead now. But we're still alive because of you and we still have a chance. That's all any of us asked for. A chance. It's as good as it gets these days."

  "George," said a voice from the door. "John act like baby. You no listen. Come. We go home."

  "Ha. Boy, has she got your number."

  They all climbed into the Dark Deacon and found space for the five boxes of seeds. Cho complained about holding one of the boxes and not being able to have her shotgun in her lap. The box of tools was squeezed into the trunk beside the extra batteries.

  "John. You feel bad again. George right. We could be dead. But no. We alive. Stop worry. You do good. Save us all. Stop act like baby."

  George slowly drove the car around the building and as they came around the back corner, George stopped abruptly as he saw the headlights from two motorcycles as they pulled into the parking lot and stopped about a hundred feet away. On the infrared displays, the lights were beacons. The headlights flipped off and the rumble from the cycles' engines ceased in the still air, telling the Dark Demon passengers that the bike riders were going to have a talk.

  "What do they want, John?" George tapped the palms of his hands on the steering wheel.

  "No idea. Did we miss something? I didn't see any motorcycle parts. Cho, give me the shotgun. George, let's go dark. I'll roll down the window. I think I can hear somebody." John could also hear his heart beat and hoped nobody else could.

  George rolled the car to within one hundred feet of the rendezvous. He was glad that all the building and parking lot security lights had long been extinguished.

  "You bring the drugs?" said a husky voice from the darkness.

  "Of course I got the drugs, dumbass. I wouldn't be here if I didn't. You got the booze?"

  "Not with me. I have a radio. I call and the truck comes here. That was the deal. You take the truck. Right?"

  "Right. Call the truck."

  "Sure, but show me the drugs first."

  One of the men stepped off his motorcycle and opened a bin on the back. He pulled out two small boxes and handed them to the first man, who opened the boxes.

  "Satisfied? Two more like that in the other bin. Make the call."

  "Sure." The second man pulled out a gun and fired.

  John looked at Cho and whispered, "Did you bring a rifle?"

  "No. Pistol and shotgun."

  John turned and looked at George, raising his eyebrows.

  "I didn't bring one either. Those looked like the boxes that hold vials of drugs. If we shoot with the shotgun, we could ruin them all."

  "Go close. Creep up. Slow. Quiet," Cho whis
pered and then punched George on the back.

  "Do it, George."

  George turned on the car and slowly crept forward. The electric car made only a low whir, but George could feel the perspiration build under his arms. If he drove too close, the man might hear. The man with the gun was too busy taking boxes from the other motorcycle's bins to notice. When the man looked up, George stopped the car. But soon the intruder shook his head and continued checking the bin. George tightened his grip on the wheel, sure that his knuckles had turned white. Cho gripped the driver's back seat. John felt for the trigger of his gun. About twenty-five feet away, George stopped. George and John leaned out their windows and fired. The man must have heard something, because he looked up just as the shots went off. With his adrenalin flowing, George jumped out of the driver's door and shot again, and again and again, knowing he couldn't give the man a chance. As the man hit the ground, George breathed a heavy sigh.

  "Well, pard. This should make you happy." George held up one of the boxes. "We didn't get no food, but dependin' on what these are, they will either save a life or make us happy while we starve to death. Along with those boxes of seeds, I'd call this a good night. What do you say, Cho?"

  "Damn good night," she said, hitting the corpse with the butt of her shotgun to make sure the man was dead.

  * * *

  As they drove back to the lodge, the road was quiet, deathly quiet, and at one point, John thought he heard loud screams. He glanced at George and then at Cho. No expressions on their faces showed those were not screams. He realized it was his imagination playing tricks on him. Hidden fears were surfacing. The ghosts were back. It was as if he could feel the agony of all the people who had been tortured and killed by the virus. If the virus didn't get him, would his sanity hold out? He felt the great burden of leading the band he put together. Regardless of what George had said about just being happy to be alive, George and the others depended on him for their lives and he couldn't let them down. Not after what they had been through. John suddenly felt a chill, which made him think that what was to come would be worse than everything they had been through.