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

by Taylor Michaels

  "Reuse them in a non-food situation."

  "Sure."

  The next morning, John and Fred trudged back to the railroad with their booty after throwing around some more corn.

  "So, what are you thinking, John. Was this a success?"

  "Absolutely. Better than I expected. Not as good as it could have been. Not as bad as it could have been. Masako will live for at least another month." He smiled a one sided smile and punched Fred on the shoulder.

  "Yeah. Horrible, isn't it? Good and bad. Being tied to a medicine to keep you alive. Good that some medicine exists, bad that you'll die without it."

  "Back in the old days, last year actually, many were like that. But they had legions of people working in pharmaceutical plants to keep them alive. And take their money. Now, life is simpler. You do it yourself or you die. True of almost everything." John stopped talking, turned away from Fred and stared off into the distance.

  "Sorry, John. I don't mean to keep bringing this up. I really feel really bad about it all. Masako is a nice lady. Regardless of my personal feelings, she didn't deserve this."

  John turned back around. His eyes were glassy. "None of us deserved this. And I agree. She deserved it less than most. This is what our new world has become. We're lucky that Pierre knew of a natural product. Otherwise …," John stopped talking, made a hard swallow and turned back around to blankly stare off into the distance, again.

  "Are we going to be able to keep this up?"

  John again swallowed hard. "We'll do what we have to do. I won't give up. We might be lucky and find some young ones and start a herd, or whatever it's called. Or not."

  They lashed the animal parts to the flatcar, lit off the wood in the gasifier chamber and started the engine. They jumped into the lead car and chugged off back to North Carolina.

  Chapter 65 - A Visitor

  Two hours later, their small train was cruising the rails at thirty miles per hour. As usual, John was watching through the binoculars to make sure they didn't run into any stalled cars or fallen trees, since the train took so long to stop. Seeing an object far ahead, he lightly shook Fred "Hey, Fred. Wake up. Something ahead, beside the tracks. I think it's moving. Hard to tell." John shut the throttle and applied the brakes.

  Fred sat bolt upright, grabbing his rifle and peering through the windshield, his eyes only a few inches away. "Sorry. I didn't sleep much last night. Worried. Then, I tired myself out carrying and loading the pork. What is it?"

  "I don't know. Looks odd. Tall and thin. Don't know if it's a person or an object. Could be somebody walking." John pulled his rifle from between the seats and waited. As they slowed to a stop, he popped open the top of the car, jumped out and crawled over to a tree near the right of way to keep out of sight. Fred was still groggy and was still crawling when a man approached on a bicycle.

  "Morning gents. A little soused are we? You shouldn't drink and drive, you know. Interesting vehicle you have. Never saw one before. You Yanks are inventive. You won't mind if I take a quick look?"

  The man was forty to fifty years old, medium height and build, dark hair, looked fit and had a distinct British accent. John pulled his revolver and said, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

  "Easy does it, old man. No reason to be excited. Public right of way, you know. Touring the world. But, I may be a wee bit lost. This is North Carolina, isn't it?"

  "You just passed it. This is Tennessee. And I don't think railroads in this country were ever public right of way. Where did you come from?"

  "Damn maps. Never right. Not like British maps. Always spot on. Sailing schooner. I believe we landed in South Carolina. A week ago. That's somewhere south of here, isn't it?" he said, pulling a compass from his pocket and tapping it with a finger. "Bloody thing doesn't work half the time. American magnetism isn't as reliable as British magnetism. Always there. You can count on it."

  "You brought others? Where are they?" John began to worry that he had stumbled upon the scout for a large group. A group he and Fred wouldn't be able to handle. He quickly grabbed his binoculars and looked down the tracks.

  "A few miles behind, I suppose. Should be along soon. Anytime," he said, turning around and looking. "Probably lost them. Slow, they are. Never can keep up. Not as fit as I. Sad, isn't it, that people aren't as fit as they used to be?"

  "Where are you going?"

  "Like I said, old man. We're on vacation. Seeing the world. Going to North Carolina, first. Been looking forward to it for the longest time. Interesting place, I hear. Have a relative there."

  "You just passed it. Do you know about the virus? The Chinese invented it. Killed nearly everybody and turned most of the remaining into some kind of horrible looking mutants. Bodies all covered with lumps and bumps."

  "Really. Been on the schooner for ages. I heard you Yanks had zombies, but I always thought that was just in the motion pictures. Never thought they were actually out and about."

  John winked at Fred, who produced his own revolver, then looked through his binoculars again. "I don't see anybody. Are you sure they're coming? Maybe they're more lost than you. Or maybe they aren't lost at all and you are."

  "Now see here, old boy. If I say they are coming, then they are coming. These are my friends you're talking about. Not a bunch of your mindless mutant zombies."

  John slowly walked around the man, looking for details which might reveal what John suspected. Finally, he noticed a bump on the man's head. "You've had an accident."

  "No, I haven't."

  "There is a bump on your head and your shorts and shirt are dirty in the back. Did you fall off your bike?" John went over to the bicycle, which the man had tossed onto the tracks in front of the Dark Dart train. The front wheel looked odd. He spun the wheel and it wobbled. "Your bicycle has been in an accident. Perhaps you were too."

  "Of course not. I would know about such a thing, wouldn't I? Of course, I would. And who are you? Bloody Sherlock Holmes?"

  "What's your name and when did you leave England?"

  "Careful, old man, that's personal information. Are you authorized to collect such data? Don't want any identity theft. Bad stuff, that. I hear you colonials are hip deep in it. I'll be wanting to see some identification before releasing that kind of information."

  John motioned to Fred and they both walked over to the forest and stood behind a tree to avoid being heard.

  "What's going on, John? Is he crazy or is it just a bang on the head?"

  "Yes. He's either crazy or he's a great actor. A bump on the head wouldn't do all of that. Especially the way he talks. Nobody talks like that. Not even actors, these days."

  "What do we do?"

  "We do what you always do when you find lost crazy people or great actors. We take him home. He said he wanted to go to North Carolina. We'll be helping him. If I clear out some of our camping gear and put it on the flatbed, he can ride in the second car. I'll pile his bicycle onto the flatbed too. Hand me that rope. While I'm doing this, how about gathering some wood and refilling the combustion chamber of the gasifier."

  "Sure. What about our new friend?"

  "We'll both keep an eye on him."

  Twenty minutes later, the Dark Dart train started again, this time a little more slowly, because of the additional weight.

  As the sun began to set, they arrived back at the warehouse where they kept the Dark Darts. They removed the meat and the boar's head and tried to put it all on the backseat of White Warrior Number One, but it wouldn't all fit. They even had enough to fill the front passenger seat and also the small trunk.

  "Not enough room for us all, John. What do we do?"

  "You take the car back to the lodge. Make sure the meat goes into the fridge, then send someone back to take us home."

  "Sure, you going to be alright?" He turned and looked at their visitor who was inspecting his bicycle.

  "I'll keep my rifle. Our guest doesn't seem dangerous. But, hurry, his friends may show up. I doubt they will have bumps on
their heads or be crazy. But, you never know. It's getting dark. You should probably send George back with the Dark Demon."

  "If you're sure." Fred looked at John strangely, but stepped into the car and closed the door. After Fred left, John walked back to his guest who was still looking at his bicycle. "Your front wheel is bent. How did that happen?"

  "Looks fine to me."

  John turned the bicycle upside down on its handlebars and seat and spun the wheel as the man watched.

  "You bent my wheel. Why did you do that? We just met. Now you've destroyed my bicycle. Do you know how long it will take to travel to California on foot? I must meet some people. The schooner can't wait forever. And how many shoes will I need? I've already used up two puncture kits. Can't buy any more. Stores are all closed."

  "I'll find you another wheel. And maybe a puncture kit. You can go to California tomorrow. You can eat a good meal tonight and afterward you can sleep in a nice warm bed."

  The stranger turned and craned his head, looking all around the warehouse. "No wheels here. Where do you keep them?"

  "At the lodge."

  "No beds either. This concrete isn't soft, you know. I've slept on concrete. Tried to. Didn't work. My face was flat for a week. Looked horrid. Don't want that to happen again."

  "What's your name, friend?"

  "Are we friends? I don't remember you. You do look like a man I met in Tennessee. Strange bird. Had a tiny train. Itty bitty little thing."

  "What's your name?"

  "My name, of course." The man extended his hand and said, "Binky Thompson. Third Duke of Wellingston, at your service."

  "The Third Duke."

  "My father was the second and his father was the first. I don't know about his grandfather. I don't think he had a duck."

  "Duke."

  "Yes, of what service can I be?"

  "Your last name is Thompson?"

  "Right, old boy. Binky Thompson. Born in merry old London." Binky straighten himself, saluted, then moved close to John and whispered. "My father was in MI-6. A spy, you know. Left England to go spy on you Yanks when I went off to University. They offered me a job when I concluded my studies, but I thought it was too provincial. Working for a living. Not quite cricket. Especially for a Duke. Right?"

  "Is your mother still alive?"

  "The Duchess? My word no. Snuffed it when I was born. If it weren't for Nana, I wouldn't be the man I am today, or the Duke."

  "And your father never remarried?"

  "I believe he did. An American. Never met her. From North Carolina. Thought I'd pop in and surprise her. You know, get to know her. Say hello and all that. Since I was in the neighborhood. That's where I was going when you stopped me."

  "I didn't stop you. You were lost. You had missed North Carolina and you were in Tennessee."

  Binky lifted his index finger and touched his temple. "Oh, yes. I met a man with a tiny train in Tennessee. What a coincidence. You know, Sir Arthur didn't believe in coincidences."

  "Conan Doyle?"

  "Yes, him too."

  John decided he didn't like the direction of the conversation and found two blankets and two sleeping bags in the camping gear and folded them to make two mattresses on the concrete floor, near the back corner. "I'm tired and I'm going to take a nap. Wake me when my friend returns. Or, you can take a nap too. This place looks safe."

  John awoke an hour later when George shook him. "Hey John. You alright? Why didn't you come back with Fred?"

  John was groggy and sat up. "Hey George. Not enough room. How was the meat? And the boar's head?"

  "When I first saw those eyes staring at me, I thought someone had sent us a horse's head and had kept you for ransom. Scared the hell out of me. Watched too many gangster movies when I was young."

  "Where's the Duke?"

  "John Wayne? Gone, I'm afraid. You alright? Didn't get a bump on the head, did you? Sleeping on concrete is not good. Too hard. Easy to bump your head."

  George put his hands on John's head and began to feel around for a bump.

  John swatted at George with his hand. "Get your hands off me. No, I didn't bump my head. Didn't Fred tell you about the Duke? The guy we picked up in Tennessee."

  "Fred didn't say anything but come and pick you up at the warehouse. I suppose he was tired. He went to sleep on the sofa in the living room as soon as he sat down. You need to learn something, John. We have enough guys. We need more ladies. I always thought you were good at finding ladies. Now that we need that talent, you've lost it. You need to work on getting it back."

  "I thought you and Iris were solid."

  "I thought so too, but I see others checking her out. I've seen her checking Fred out. You need to find him a friend, if you know what I mean."

  "I'll try to remember. But for now, we found a guy in Tennessee and we brought him back. His name is Binky. He was here when I went to sleep. We should go looking for him."

  "Was he dangerous?"

  John half-laughed. "No, possibly to himself, though. He's already fallen off his bicycle once -- that I know of. He has a bump on his head."

  "Then, let him go. We need more ladies. He'll just muddy up the water even more."

  John stood up and walked around the warehouse, shining his flashlight all around, but didn't find any sign of Binky. He did notice that the bicycle had disappeared. "Crap. He's gone. And I don't know where. Let's load the rest of the camping gear and cruise down the road toward town. He heard me talking to Fred. I wanted to make sure Fred knew where the shortcut was. Maybe Binky heard the directions."

  * * *

  They drove back to town and, as they approached the first turnoff, the viewscreens showed a man on a bicycle, looking somewhat ghostly, illuminated by the infrared lights.

  John tapped George on the shoulder. "Drive past him. Give him a wide berth and stop a good distance in front of him. This won't be easy. We'll have to be patient."

  "Maybe we should just leave him. We could stop if we find some ladies."

  "One track mind. It's nearly dark out. You must be worried about losing Iris. I really don't believe you have anything to worry about, George. She's seriously into you. If this guy's telling the truth, then he's my half-brother."

  "Really? No wonder you're so good with women. It runs in your family. It's in your genes."

  "Right now, I'm wishing my father had kept it in his jeans."

  George stopped the car a few hundred feet in front of Binky. John jumped out while George took a shotgun from the back seat and waited. John walked to the back of the car and stood while the bicycle approached.

  When the bicycle was within twenty feet, John said, "Hey, Binky or Duke Binky. Where are you going?"

  Binky slid off the road into the gravel and fell off his bicycle, again. John helped him up and once up, the man stumbled on the edge of the berm. After regaining his balance, he stood up and then stood dead still in the darkness. As still as a statue.

  "Hey Binky. Remember me, the guy from Tennessee. The one with the tiny train. You want a lift? Back at the warehouse, I promised you a nice dinner and a warm bed to sleep in. Remember? We can still do that."

  Binky still stood as stiff as a statue. Only his eyes were moving, rapidly, back and forth.

  "Come on, Binky. I'm not a ghost and you aren't crazy. Talk to me, you crazy Brit."

  Binky turned to his left and to his right and then back toward John. "Then tell me this. If you aren't a ghost, where did you come from? You appeared from nowhere. One minute nobody was there and the next you were there. Poof."

  John walked to the car, Binky in tow and knocked his fist on the fender three times. "I came from this car," John said, proudly.

  Binky jumped into the air and then ran back twenty feet. "How did you do that? Make that noise? You are a ghost." Binky began waving his hands through the air, as if trying to find a specter his eyes couldn't detect. All the while, his eyes were searching around to see some sign that such a specter might exist. "I don't see any
thing or feel anything. Are there other ghosts? Or are you the only one?"

  "Only me," said George, thinking that the knock on the fender was a message from John to join him. "I've been called many things, but never a ghost."

  Binky jumped again and ran back six feet. John walked over to Binky, grabbed his hand, pulled him over to the car and put Binky's hand on the rear fender of the Dark Defender.

  "My word. You are telling the truth. An invisible car. You Yanks are doing some amazing things. Stealth airplanes. Zombies. A machine which chops vegetables to make a salad in only two minutes. Now a ghost car. What will you do next?"

  "We made that tiny train which brought you here from Tennessee. Why don't you ride back with us? You won't regret it."

  "Right," he said tossing his bicycle off the road and into the bushes. "Tell me, old man, if I am inside your invisible car, will people be able to see me?"

  "It's not actually invisible. George painted it flat black all over. Nobody will be able to see inside, but nobody is around to see you, so it doesn't matter."

  "Right, let's be off, then."

  George squeezed himself into the back seat along with the camping gear and John helped Binky into the passenger's seat. John sat in the driver's seat and turned on the five viewscreens. He put his finger on the left viewscreen in front of Binky and said, "This one shows what's in front and the other one shows what's behind. The screens in front of me show what's to the left, in front and to the right side."

  Binky turned his head left and right as if trying to see outside the car. As the windows were all painted black, he could see nothing. He put his head up to the side window, nose touching the glass. "Can't see a thing, old bean. Got dark really fast, didn't it? Thought we had a bit of a moon. Can't see it. Must be later than I thought. Did I pass out when I saw that ghost."

  "You didn't pass out and there was no ghost. It was me and George." John waved toward George in the back, who was chuckling.

  Binky turned around and, seeing George, again jumped. "Where did he come from? I've never seen him before. He wasn't on the train. That was someone else. I've never seen this man."

  George's chuckles became louder and louder and he began covering his mouth and coughing to disguise his laughter.