Wicked

by John M. Davis

  Why had Pam become so cold toward him? That's the one thought that Derick couldn't seem to shake. He could deal with the wicked and all of their bullshit, and even die if need be. He certainly wasn't afraid to die, plenty of others had done so. Why did he deserve to live? Why was he so damn special?

  As Derick scrawled his pencil across the paper and did his very best to sketch an impressive rendition of a wicked, he wondered why Pam had taken to everyone but him. He was the one she'd known prior to the infection, not them. Not the soldier who'd swooned her – the soldier Derick had chosen to leave behind for certain death, a decision that he didn't regret in the least. Pam had taken to the two newcomers in much the same way. A complete stranger and his half-infected brother. Even they had become more important in her eyes than Derick, the man who'd grown up admiring Pam and watching her from a distance. A man who, in high school, didn't stand a chance with her – she was the girl in school (every school has one) that every guy dreams of, but very few have her attention. Then, following high school, he'd taken on his decent-paying job (that he hated) and found her working a job of the same magnitude. From there, they'd slowly formed a friendship and deep inside, he felt like they'd formed more.

  And now, for whatever fucking reason, Derick had once again become that guy watching her from a distance, and he hated it. That was the biggest reason he no longer feared death – inside, Derick already felt dead.

  ** **

  “Should almost be there.” Carlos said.

  “Bout...damn...time.” Gordon bitched. His lungs were used to the anything-but-smooth smoke of a cigarette, not the fresh air of a very long hike through the mountains of North Carolina.

  “I'm hungry.” Brooke said.

  A.K. cast a look into her direction and smiled, understanding that the quick-witted young lady had only brought it up to torment Gordon.

  “I'm fucking starving,” he barked. “Man I can remember sitting down at this little steakhouse on West Trade Street, Little Village Grill.”

  “Never heard of it.” she replied.

  “Ah man,” Gordon continued. “They had these little tables outside with umbrellas. I think they were blue and white. Man, they had pressure fried chicken and fries – shit boy.”

  Then, as he drew a deep breath into his lungs like a marathoner calling it quits, Brooke understood the connection between the smoking, fried foods, and his horrible conditioning. She imagined that in a world filled with infected and a dwindling food supply, Gordon was about to find himself with a much slimmer waistline.

  Suddenly, Carlos turned to them and put a finger to his lips. It was still dark outside for the most part, but sunrise had startled to tickle its way to life. Enough so, that the group could see a small trailer up ahead, surrounded by trees.

  Carlos motioned them forward slowly. Each of the four eased their way along, being careful not to step on anything that would snap. They could see a faint candle flicker inside of the trailer, which made caution even more important.

  “Stop!” Lamar yelled.

  He held the group's only armed weapon, a Glock pistol, to the ready. They had another pistol, but without ammunition, he might as well of scooped up a handful of rocks to throw.

  “Lamar?” Carlos asked.

  “The fuck outta here!”

  The tech guy and quality comic book (er, graphic novel) subscriber smiled wide, immediately lowering his pistol.

  “Who is-” Pam began.

  She wasted no time after spotting Carlos and A.K. - Pam ran to them and hugged both of her friends tight. A move that would forever haunt this group of friends.

  “No...no...NO!” Derick yelled.

  He exited the trailer and in doing so, scooped the group's pistol out of Lamar's hand. Aiming down its sights at his old friends, Derick's hand neither shook nor faltered.

  “Glad to see you too.” A.K. remarked.

  “I will not have another person come between Pam and me!”

  Huh? Pam thought. As did the rest of the group.

  “Derick, what are you talking about?” she asked.

  “Pam, what happened to us?” he asked.

  Pam stayed quiet, but looked at him with conflict in her heart. She had certainly felt something for him, but had never dealt with her feelings.

  “Now boy, you want to put that pistol down.” Carlos warned.

  Without a thought, Derick fired his pistol and struck Carlos in the torso. The former convict immediately went to the ground and began rolling in pain. He wasn't dead, but he certainly was in no condition to take another shot.

  Sensing trouble behind him, Derick turned and shot Spook directly in the chest at point-blank range. His brother fell to the ground and did what he could, but the half-infected wicked was already dead.

  “Derick, what are you doing!” Pam cried out.

  “I'm leaving,” he said with complete truth. “I've loved you since the very first time I saw you on the playground, and it's only gotten harder with time. Harder to watch you from a distance and pretend like I didn't care. I'm sick of seeing you latch onto other people and here I am, just hoping that one day you'll see me. You know, for a moment, when all of this shit broke out, I was glad. I thought that finally, you'd see me for a change, but no. Now you're trusting people that we don't know over a guy who would have died for you.”

  “You shot two people, Derick!”

  “That one was already dead,” Derick fired back, pointing to Spook's lifeless body. “And that one was in prison. You don't know the first thing about him or what he's done, and the fact that you would take his side over mine – I don't deserve that. I'm better than that.”

  “There are no sides, Derick. Just the wicked and us.”

  “You're wrong, Pam,” he said with the kind of calm that brings gooseflesh up someone's neck. “This world isn't just about us vs. them, we also need to consider the living, breathing people that want to kill us, too.”

  “The boy's right.” A.K. said.

  Pam looked to the former prison guard with betrayal.

  “All I'm saying is he's right, there are people out here who will kill us for what little we have. I also don't like the idea of taking on an infected, like you guys did.”

  “And Carlos?” she demanded to know.

  “I like him...but he is a convict. Derick has a point.”

  Pam stormed away from the trailer and dared Derick to shoot her in doing so. She knelt down to check on Carlos.

  “I'm going with him.” A.K. admitted.

  “You're what?” Pam asked. “He's insane!”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” A.K. said. “But he's where he needs to be mentally in order to survive, and that's what I plan on doing. Surviving.”

  “I'm going, too.” Brooke said.

  “Ain't nobody going nowhere.” a man shouted, aiming down the sights of a long-barrel shotgun.

  Derick had killer in his eyes, but even he knew that he'd lose a head-on gunfight with a shotgun.

  “Now boy up on my front porch, drop that weapon of yours. Anybody else has one they best confess to it now and toss it on the ground. Otherwise, when I find it, I'ma kill 'ya.”

  “I got one.” A.K. said.

  “Toss it.”

  Slowly, A.K. pulled his 9mm out with his fingertips and tossed it a few feet away, into the dirt and patch North Carolina grass.

  “That it?”

  Derick nodded and A.K. was quick to do the same.

  “Good, now I want everybody inside that trailer and sitting against the living room wall. Somebody is going to get to explaining why there's a group of people squatting in my home.” the man said loudly.

  ** **

  “So to recap,” the man said as he continued to hoist a shotgun indoors. “You love her,” he pointed out Derick and Pam. “But she doesn't love you back. You're a prison guard and he's a convict, but you guys are friends now.”

  “Were friends.” Carlos reminded.

  “Big man over here likes to eat-”
<
br />   “And smoke.” Gordon said quickly.

  “She's a college student and this guy's brother is laying out there in my front yard, deader than a motherfucker. And guy in love, you shot him?”

  “He was infected.” Derick replied, in his own defense.

  “Half-infected!” Ben yelled.

  “I'd have shot his ass, too.” the stranger replied.

  “Anyway, there are a lot of problems in this group and some of us were about to go our separate ways.” A.K. added.

  “Is that a fact?” the man said, holding them a shotgun.

  Brooke finally burst into tears, which caught the stranger's attention. He was shorter than average and wore a thick salt and pepper beard on his face.

  “Calm down, I don't plan on killing anybody,” he said. “Name's Larson Pratt and any of you who want to stay are welcome to. I know how to hunt, fish and I know this land well. You're also free to leave, but you're gonna take that dead son of a bitch outside off some way away and bury him first. That isn't optional.”

  “I'll do it, I shot him.” Derick replied.

  “The hell you are,” Ben stood up quickly. “You're not going to lay a hand on my brother.”

  “How about this,” Larson began. “You bury your brother and take someone with you to help. Someone you don't want to kill. The rest of you are going to sit here and tell me what in the fuck is going on out there in the world around us. When we're all squared-up, I'll leave you all to make your own decision on the staying and going.”

  “Lamar.” Ben said.

  Fuck! Lamar thought. He liked the guy and all, but he'd been the last one that wanted to hoist a dead body (infected, nonetheless) and carry it off a few hundred yards, then dig a grave for it. Hell, he had never cared much for Spook either.

  The two of them left out (along with a borrowed shovel) while the rest of us stayed behind and told Larson everything we knew about the infection and the fact that we were calling 'em wicked now. I told him my entire story – why not. What the hell did I have to lose at this point? I told him all about my feelings for Pam and the fact that she'd always smiled, but otherwise ignored me until after high school. Once her friends were gone and she found herself with no one else around, all of the sudden I was her go-to friend. More, I suspected, though she denied it. I told Larson all about how it felt to be ignored for so damn long that you no longer care. You're done – you reach a place inside of yourself that demands you throw in the towel. And then you look at the girl again, just a passing glance, and every fiber of faith and desperation is restored. Your emotions once again have their marching orders and quickly, you find that you can't think of anything else but being in that girl's arms.

  Even if she doesn't care about you.

  To my surprise, Larson understood. His advice to me was mighty powerful indeed.

  “This is a wicked world now, son, and your story is just beginning.”

  That night, as the others slept, Larson cut us loose. Brooke, A.K. and myself. Three survivors with the proper mindset – kill or be killed.

  Chapter 10

  Part Two

  “I say to hell with 'em,” Gordon said. “They've made their choice.”

  “Yea,” Carlos replied as he stuffed a backpack with what few supplies the group had. Glancing at Pam in the process. “But I don't think they can survive on their own.”

  “Who gives a big old fuck?”

  “I do,” Carlos replied and stared at the big man hard enough to get his point across. “And you should, too. A.K. has gone to bat for me more than once. Brooke's just a kid and Derick-”

  “Is a dead man when I catch up to him.” Ben warned.

  “We've already been over this.” Carlos warned.

  “No you've been over it and all do respect, the son of a bitch killed my brother – not yours.” Ben said.

  “Your brother was a threat.”

  “Like hell he was!”

  “Either way,” Carlos stopped shoving canned food into the backpack to stare directly at the much thinner man. “If you head out with us, you'll play by our rules.”

  “I'm heading out by myself.” Ben replied.

  “To go after Derick?” Pam asked.

  “Wouldn't you?”

  This time, Carlos walked over to the young man and stood close enough to pass his stare and his warm breath.

  “I don't have anything against you personally, but I'm warning you to stay far away from Derick. You got that?”

  “Likewise,” Ben stood his ground. “Maybe this hate I feel will pass with time. I don't know. But I'm not guaranteeing anything if he and I happen to cross paths. If we do, there very well may be some killing.”

  “If you do this and I'm there, I guarantee you there will be.” Carlos said.

  “There's been enough killing!” Pam said loud enough to spook the old man on the opposite side of the large farmhouse. “Ben, just go. You head your way and we'll head ours.”

  He looked at her for a moment and thought of several things: his brother laying dead – killed at the hands of Derick, the large wooden bat in his hand as he tightened his grip, and the fact that Pam was one good looking woman.

  “Cheers.” Ben said, holding his dark wooden bat up for a moment. Both a salute and a warning to those who'd think of following him.

  Carlos, Pam, and Gordon all watched the man leave the farmhouse and begin his journey down the gravel road to God knows where. Carlos was the first to get back to business at hand – shoving as many supplies into their packs as he could.

  “Think he'll go after Derick?” Pam asked.

  She cared. Carlos had known that long ago and he respected it, which was his biggest reason for protecting Derick.

  “Na,” Carlos said. “If I know A.K. they're long gone, Derick included. I doubt Ben will ever find them, but I can't blame the guy. Derick killed his brother.”

  “I thought yous said-” Gordon began.

  “The guy's emotional right now. He's not thinking straight. I told him what I had to in order to get us away from him. We don't need a man traveling with us who isn't thinking straight.”

  “Hey, where's Ben going?” Lamar asked.

  He entered the room clueless to the entire conversation, but certainly not clueless as to why Ben wanted Derick's blood so badly.

  “He's got his own shit to work out.” Gordon said.

  “Oh.” Lamar pretended to understand Gordon's statement, though, like most of his statements, they were slathered with illiteracy.

  “If we're going to be heading back out there, all of us need to be in the right frame of mind,” Carlos said. “Ben isn't, so he's heading off on his own.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “I'm serious when I say this. We need to think clearly out there. We need to be smart. Understand that the wicked aren't the only threat now; people are going to be just as dangerous to us.”

  “We could just stay here,” Pam suggested. “It's far back enough to-”

  “No,” Carlos insisted. “Larson did us a huge favor by letting us stay here, but this house and its surrounding land aren't going to support us for very long. The first thing we need to do is find A.K., Derick, and Brooke. We need to talk some sense into them and with any luck find 'em before Ben does. After that, each of us should have a say in where the group goes next. I'd like to think that Washington D.C. has the most military presence, assuming there are any soldiers left. I'd consider heading that way.”

  “Man they gots to be some military left.” Gordon replied.

  “How about you, Lamar? You're the expert.” Pam said.

  Expert? He thought. Prior to the invasion all he'd done is watch programs about prepping on television and read comic books about zombies. Had he known it would become the new benchmark on the subject he would have read a hell of a lot more.

  “Well,” he replied slowly. “Washington is an option, but there's sure to be a lot of dead up there, too. Maybe there is either a huge umbrella of military force up ther
e or at the very least some bunkers to get ourselves into. I remember reading all kinds of shit on bunkers being in D.C. out of fear of a nuclear war. It might be worth looking into.”

  “I'm with him.” Gordon said.

  “Pam?” Carlos asked.

  “Of course.” she smiled.

  “Then it's settled, but the first-order of business is to try and find the rest of the group.” Carlos said. Doing his best to sound hopeful.

  “They couldn't have gotten very far. I mean they left a few hours ago under the cover of nightfall.” Lamar said.

  “Problem is,” Carlos began. “We don't know which way they headed out.”

  The group slowly made their way through the large (and rather drafty) farmhouse. Outside, Larson checked on several bushes of green beans. He'd constructed quite the garden and though it was large, the grow time was slow. Too slow to support a group of people, but just the right amount for one old man.

  “Thank you.” Carlos said as he approached Larson.

  The old man stood to his feet and smiled.

  “If you ever need anything, you come back.”

  “We owe you.” Carlos replied.

  Larson tipped his large-brimmed hat to the others and knelt back down to finish picking the slender beans from a bush. He'd eventually break the ends from them and cook them for canning, which was the worst part of the process.

  “What's wrong?” Pam asked as she approached Carlos. He stood quiet and had fallen into deep thought about something.

  “I'm trying to think like a cop. It's what A.K. would do.”

  She stood there quietly, too, pretending to do the same.

  “The gravel road is too obvious,” he began. “I don't think you sneak out in the middle of the night and then take the only road in front of us. No, I think they went the opposite way. Around back and past the treeline.”

  “It'll put us further away from Washington.” Pam replied.