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

by Taylor Michaels

  "The question still remains."

  "Two questions," John whispered. "What do we do with Masako and what do we do with Little John, my half-brother. I don't know. All I'm sure of is that I need to make certain Masako and everyone else knows the decision quickly. I won't repeat that mistake."

  "What decision is that?" said George. "I've been watchin' and listenin'. Evesdroppin'."

  "Your opinion is always welcome, George, and you too, Fred. You're both older and wiser than I am. You tell me what to do. I'm tired of screwing up these interpersonal things. I want to start blaming someone else for all my mistakes."

  "What mistakes? I'm with Fred. It was self-defense. No penalty. Life goes on. And regardin' Little John, we can take turns. Spend a few nights with each couple. Maybe Fred and Hans can take him huntin' from time to time. Spread around the responsibility for raisin' him."

  "Another question needs an answer," said Fred. "The most important one."

  "Yeah."

  "Where are all those bullets?"

  "I'm glad I didn't say that, Fred. I'm tired of being accused of being heartless, even if I'm the one doing the accusing. But, it was in the back of my mind. No, that was a lie. It was in the front, but I didn't want to admit it, to you or to myself."

  "Who's accusin' you, good buddy? Nobody I know. You're doin' a great job runnin' this place. Our lives are in a good spot now. Plenty of food. We put away seeds for next year. We all have a chance of dyin' of old age. Couldn't say that three months ago. Nope. You're doin' great. You're a great leader and we're all happy to be here."

  "How about those dead government agents? Somebody will want to know about them."

  Fred glanced over at Hans. "We didn't kill them and we didn't see anybody do it. We can honestly say that. Other than Hans' crazy story, we know nothing."

  "What if they find the maps, Fred?"

  "A guy came here and gave them to us in exchange for a meal. And that is the truth."

  John walked over to Masako. Marceau was holding her, but backed off. Her eyes also said, "What do we do now?" Masako was still crying. John hugged Masako and then pulled back, holding her wet clammy hands. "Fred and George and I have discussed this."

  "Oh, John. I don't know what came over me. I am so sorry. I should not have pulled out that gun. But Carla pushed me too far, too many times. I thought the gun would make her shut up. Calm down. Stop being so mean. But, it didn't work. It made things worse. I wanted to stop being mousey. I wanted to be my own person. I wanted to stand up for what is right. I didn't mean to kill Carla."

  "I know." His gaze shifted from her hands to her dark eyes. "Don't think any more about it. Under the circumstances, this was an accident and self defense. Carla was becoming belligerent and grabbed for the gun. That caused the gun to go off. Carla had the ability to wind people up and she was pushing that button hard. I should have stopped it and I should have thrown her out. But, I didn't. Much of the blame is mine and I'm sorry. You aren't responsible for this. And we'll all share responsibility for raising Little John."

  "I feel so bad, John. I'll make sure I do more than my share. You can count on me. I really am sorry."

  He patted her hand. "I understand that, but try to not worry. Nobody blames you. You need to understand me, Masako. Nobody blames you. You do understand, don't you?" he said, taking her shoulders in his hands and staring intently into her dark brown eyes once again while nodding his head up and down. He felt like hugging her and kissing her, but resisted the temptation, maybe because of the group gathered around or maybe because of Cho or because of Fred. He wasn't sure.

  She nodded, but continued to sob.

  Carla was buried the next morning at the tiny, but growing, cemetery on the hilltop. Little was said. John said the kindest things he could think of, but that wasn't much. He was trying mainly to tell Masako that nobody bore her any responsibility. Masako shed the only tears. Marceau held her and guided her trembling body back to the lodge after the service was over.

  * * *

  After returning to the lodge, John took Little John outside and explained the situation. Little John understood and had no regrets that Isaac was not his real father. Apparently, they were never close. Perhaps because Isaac always saw Little John as a reminder of Carla's former lover. Little John was amazed that he was really John's half-brother.

  To change the subject, John asked if Little John knew how to return to where he had been living. He said he wasn't sure. He described what sounded like the town where Barry Ferris and his gang had been making alcohol. John had to shiver when he thought about the night they blew up the still and then attacked the warehouse. He could remember the sound of bullets whizzing past his head. John asked about the bullets which Carla had shown them and Little John said he had only seen the package that his mother had given George.

  "Is that why Momma died? Those bullets?"

  "Not really. She was using the bullets as money to buy food. Your mother was just confused about some things that happened many years ago. Before you were born. Then, we had an accident and she died. We will take care of you. You can live here with all of us. You'll have plenty of good food and space to play. Lots of people around. How does that sound?"

  "Momma is gone? Forever?" Little John said quietly, rubbing his eyes.

  "Yes. I'm afraid so. She didn't leave you. She died. There was nothing any of us could do. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing you could do. She did love you and she didn't want to leave you. It wasn't your fault. You can believe that."

  Little John again wiped the tears from his eyes. He looked up at John and said, "She's not coming back this time, is she?"

  John decided to try to divert Little John's attention from his mother. "You are now a man and we need for you to be strong. We need your help. Will you take us to your house? What did it look like? What color was it?" John kneeled down beside the boy and said, "Tell me about your house. What can you remember?"

  "It was white. It had a slide in the front."

  John took Little John to the barn where George and Fred were working on an engine. "How about a trip to that town up north guys? We could take one of the White Warriors."

  "Goin' to get Little John's things? Clothes? Toys?" George looked at Little John, put his big hand on the boy's head and winked.

  "Yes. We need to bring back his toys and clothes. What do you say, Fred? How many people do we need?"

  Fred thought for only a second. "If Carla was living there, nobody else was probably around. Two should be enough. Two plus Little John. I'll volunteer."

  "I'll talk to Marceau about a lunch."

  The three of them traveled in one of the White Warriors to the town where they thought Carla had lived. It was near the limit of the range of the car so John kept the speed down. They drove up and down several streets, hoping Little John would recognize something. Finally, Little John perked up, his face close to the window.

  "I play over there," he said, pointing to a small playground between two houses.

  "Is your house near here?"

  "Around the corner." He pointed to the right.

  As they came to the corner, John could see a white house with a slide in the front yard. "I'll stop here," he said, looking at Fred. "I'll go check it out. You stay with Little John. Maybe he'd like to go to the playground. Be as quiet as possible and keep your eyes open. Try to stay out of sight."

  John crept toward Carla's house, using the house on the corner as cover. He waited for a few minutes, listening. Hearing nothing, he crept across the street and stepped over the low fence. He walked to the back of the house, looking into the windows and continued walking around to the front. He returned to the back of the house and tried the door. It was unlocked. Inside, broken dishes covered the counters and the kitchen floor. He pulled his gun and proceeded to the living room. Furniture was overturned. Books and paper littered the floor. In the three bedrooms, the mattresses were torn up and clothing lay all around. The closets were empty. Wit
h Carla only gone for a day or two, whoever tore up the house must be close. He pulled his radio and clicked the transmit button twice, then once, then twice. He let himself out the back door and carefully made his way back to the car. Fred was waiting with Little John.

  "Somebody's been in the house. The place was ransacked. Since she left. They were looking for something. Probably food. I didn't see any in the kitchen. The living room and bedrooms were also turned over. Maybe they thought she kept a stash of food somewhere else. They didn't find it, because all the other rooms were torn up. They may still be around. You hear anything?"

  "No, but I talked to Little John and he said, Carla spent some time in another house a few blocks away. Want to check it out?"

  "You know what all this means?"

  "Somebody else is here and they've been living here for a while."

  "You think we need some backup?"

  "Let's check it out first. Find out how many. Little John said he didn't see anyone else."

  John quickly looked around the area checking for signs of other people. "Sure. But, we should avoid driving past that house. I'll drive around the block," John said, backing up the street. "We'll see if Little John recognizes the house and then we can decide if we should leave and come back tonight."

  A few minutes later Little John said, "Stop. On the corner. The red house. That's where Momma went."

  "What's in there? Did you go inside? Was there anything special? Or was it just a house?"

  "I don't know. Momma said I should stay outside and play."

  John looked at Fred and shook his head. He put the car in reverse, backed up the street and parked around the corner.

  "I'll go, this time," said Fred, checking his rifle.

  "Be careful. Don't take any chances. We can come back later with backup."

  Fred jumped the fence and made his way from backyard to backyard until he was in the yard adjacent to the red house. After a few minutes of hearing nothing, he jumped the fence and ran over to the house. He kept his back against the wall and crept to the corner. He heard voices from a window around the corner. Two men talking. He moved around the corner to just outside the open window where the voices were loud enough to understand.

  "You believe she was on the level? Did she know where she can find some food? We didn't find any in her house."

  "You keep asking me that. Every ten minutes. You know her as well as I do. What do you think?"

  "All I know is I'm hungry. She could cook real good, though."

  "That wasn't all she could do real good. If she don't come back, I'll miss those nights with her -- more than the food."

  "Yeah, we should've gone with her."

  "She said she'd be back tomorrow. Any more of those crackers left?"

  "No, let's go scrounging again. We'll keep the MRE's for dinner. Not many houses left in this town. If we don't find something, and she don't come back, we'll move on. I'm willing to wait one more day for her. Let's go see if we can find a snack. I'm hungry."

  Fred heard the front door open and waited. Footsteps on the front porch and then on the sidewalk. A gate squeaked open and closed. Footsteps on the street, where there was no cover. They were moving in Fred's direction and would see him in seconds. What to do? He raised his rifle, pointed it around the corner, found a target and fired. He found the second target and fired again. From down the street, he heard footsteps, running. Hopefully it was John. His radio clicked twice. "This is Fred. Two targets. Both down. In the street. Approach carefully." Fred maintained his aim on the downed men as John walked up and checked them, then looked at Fred and shook his head.

  "I thought I said to not take any chances, Fred. You hard of hearing? You could've been killed. Then, they would've come looking for me. We all could've been killed."

  "I heard voices and they walked out the front door. If I had waited two seconds, they would have seen me. My only choice was surprise. I'll check the house. You go back to Little John."

  Fred searched the house and found two rifles and two backpacks with ten boxes of rifle bullets and four MRIs. He brought them to John. "This is it. This is all they had. No more."

  "I'm surprised."

  "Those guys were talking. It sounded like Carla made regular visits with these guys and gave them more than dinner. She was going to bring us up here to an ambush. Either that or use us to kill these guys and save her from them. Either way, it would have been dangerous."

  "So, Masako did us a favor and maybe saved our lives. Carla was pulling another of her tricks. If she didn't tell them about us and didn't tell us about them, then …"

  "Carla really was a skank."

  "I'll be sure to explain that to Masako."

  Chapter 68 - Little Guy & The Poison

  The sunset was filled with a beautiful display of orange and the western sky was the red of every sailor's delight. It had been a nice day, warm with white puffy clouds in the sky. The evening was cool. Everyone lounged on the front porch after dinner, but not much was said. Their latest batch of homemade wine had been deemed drinkable by Marceau and everyone had consumed too much with and after dinner, if that was possible. Gazing at the sky was the most that most could manage. Such, beauty, serenity and quiet were rare.

  After the great disaster when they lost Harry, their other winery trips included around-the-clock guards. They were able to bring back ten loads of grapes. By using the first batch to seed the second batch and so on, they made hundreds of gallons from one package of wine yeast. They hoped to keep a small batch working continuously in a dedicated, small refrigerator to avoid needing to open another package next year. If they had to rely on natural yeasts, then the wine taste could suffer and the maximum alcohol content would drop to three to five percent, more like beer.

  "John, how are you?" Iris said, sitting beside John on the sofa. Her voice showed she was inebriated and not feeling the chill of the evening or anything else. She was smiling, and from her gestures, and her voice, she was happy.

  John laughed and said, "I'm fine, Iris. How's everything with you?" His voice showed he, also, had consumed more wine than usual.

  "I'm really good, John. I'm especially good because you were able to find a pig. Pierre says that Masako's thyroid is still working partially. That one boar should be able to keep her going for several months. I'm really happy about that," she said, slapping John's knee.

  "Me too," said Masako, looking across the porch at Iris.

  John had to laugh at Masako's obvious self interest and, possibly, jealousy. But, he figured he would be saying the same thing in her place. "Me too, also. Yes, but it's not over. We plan to make trips to the local pig farms and to the hunting camp in Tennessee every week. As often as necessary. Now with the gasifier engine on the dart train, making the trip isn't difficult. Almost as good as the old days. Better in some ways. No traffic. We can't go fast, but there're no traffic police to worry about. A somewhat boring trip actually. Maybe, I'll take a book next time."

  "I still can't believe you guys are making such an effort for one person. Although," Iris said with a wink, "She may be more special to you two for other reasons."

  "I'm right here, Iris. You know that, don't you? You aren't so drunk you can't see me, are you?" Masako said, with obvious irritation in her voice. "If you're going to talk about me, best to do it when I'm not four feet away."

  "Take it easy, Masako," Iris said. "We're all friends here. And we're all adults," she said punching John on the shoulder. "Right, John?"

  "Oh come on, Iris. We'd do the same for you. You know that. All for one and one for all. That's the only good thing about the apocalypse. It has brought us together. We're not friends who just get together on Friday nights to go bowling, have a beer, a pizza and a laugh. We depend on each other, for our lives. We're not just friends, we're essential to each other's lives. We can't exist without each other."

  "And you don't blame me for almost killing you? Do you?" Iris's eyes had become glossy and a tear was slowly making it
s way down her cheek. She laid her head over on his shoulder and looked up at him. It was now obvious why she started the conversation. Excessive alcohol tended to make people look back at their past and question their choices.

  John reached over, wiped away the tear and hugged Iris. "We've all decided that Sarah was behind that. It wasn't your fault. Nobody believes otherwise. I certainly don't. You believe me, don't you? We know that Sarah's hand was on your bow. We know that she tried later to kill me with those poisonous plants."

  "I should have known what she was up to. She fooled me, but I still blame myself."

  "She took us all in. She was good at that. She lied from the beginning. I suppose she dealt with the apocalypse her own way. It just wasn't a way that allowed her to be part of a group."

  "John, the sun is going down, I'm drunk and my eyes aren't working right. I'm seeing things." She tried to stand up, but was wobbly and flopped back down with a thump, landing on John. "Oops. Sorry John," she said, wiggling back to where she had been sitting.

  "Not surprising. You're a little teary eyed. Probably, everything is blurry. No need to be concerned. Everything's fine. You're fine. We're all fine."

  "I don't know. I can see someone down by the gate. On a bicycle. Can't you?" She started laughing. After a few seconds of laughing, she said, "I'm so stoned I'm seeing things. Men on bicycles. That was good wine. Maybe I'll have another glass." She slapped John on the back, wiped her eyes and looked hard toward the road, then turned and looked around for a bottle that wasn't empty.

  "Good wine is only better for the first two glasses. After that, it's all good. And we've all had more than two. It's time to stop." John looked down toward the gate, straining to see. With the sun setting over the mountains, the gate was in the shadow of the mountains and hard to see against the orange globe of the sun, just above.

  After a minute, Fred said, "She's right. I see something. Somebody. And a bicycle. Like she said. You aren't too drunk, Iris."