No Room In Hell (Book 1): The Good, The Bad and The Undead

by William Schlichter

  “It’s getting cold. Can I cuddle next to you?”

  He never opens his eyes. “There’s a quilt. It will provide plenty of warmth.”

  “Do you not like me?”

  “Go to sleep, Em.”

  Emily’s toes touch the floor. “I’m there,” she whispers.

  He releases her hands. “Stay put. There could be a straggler or two still in the house.” He hands her the shotgun before sitting on the stair step he’d left intact. He eases himself off the ledge until he stretches out his full body, dangling just a few inches off the floor. He drops.

  He signals her to move. Emily avoids the blood stains as she steps into the kitchen.

  The acolytes left a small mess of empty tin cans on the table. He checks the high cabinets while Emily scrounges through the lower ones. They find expired food and no pots or pans worth lugging around.

  He heads through a laundry room clearly added on to the back of the cabin. Up on a top shelf, where only an NBA player could view without a step stool, rests a box of shotgun shells. He grabs them and loads the gun.

  “How did they miss those?” she asks.

  “Got to be tall.”

  He jerks the hand pump up and down until water belches out of the spout. Emily scoops water into her hands and drinks. He slides his canteen under the spout to fill it.

  The hand-cranked noise would barely scare small animals away, but the growing numbers of walking dead seem to come at the slightest twinge of sound.

  Nothing staggers from the tree line.

  “Where did they all go?” Emily keeps her voice low.

  “Not sure. Something else must have attracted their attention in the middle of the night.” He constantly scans the tree line, unconvinced the biters are all gone.

  “More interesting than us?” she asks.

  “You didn’t snore loud enough for them to hear.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.” He flashes her a grin before returning to glance at the ground. “I guess the woman drew the biters outside when she fired the gun and after they finished eating her they meandered away at some new sound or smell.”

  The blood-stained grass has the outline of what was once a person. He snags the .22 from the wet ground and wipes it as dry as possible before dropping it into his backpack.

  “Are you just going to leave all the food we gathered?” Emily bounds across the yard.

  “Easy, little girl. We don’t want to just run over there.”

  She stops short. “You don’t think these things are smart enough to hide in the trees and wait for us?”

  “If they develop a thought process we could be in real trouble.” He slings the bag he took from the distribution center over his shoulder. “We can reach this used car lot I know by noon and drive until we run out of gas.”

  “You said it was a hundred miles.”

  “So if we drive awhile, we can cut out twenty or thirty miles we’d have to walk and we’ll be much closer.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Your bag too heavy, Em?”

  “Being outside the fence. With no protection. I’ve never had to deal with—”

  “Life without a phone app?”

  “You’re such a dick,” she quips.

  “I’m going to keep you alive.”

  “You don’t have to be a douchebag about it.”

  “Pick your orifice.”

  “You’re trying to confuse me.”

  “What an easy job, confusing teenagers.”

  “I know sarcasm, just tell me which direction to walk.”

  He points. “Walk through there, keep your senses alert.”

  TRAVIS CRUSHES OUT his cigar.

  “Stay here!” he snaps at Hannah as he draws his pistol before leaping from the Humvee.

  “Hold your fire!”

  The soldiers remove their fingers from the trigger but keep their M4 carbines trained on the Infected as the undead stagger to their feet. The moan-howls send many people into a panic. They flee the area, looting whatever contraband they find. Two dead soldiers shamble toward Travis.

  “Stand your ground, and hold your fire.” He levels his gun.

  Bam. Bam.

  The two shots strike the exact center of each corpse’s forehead. He pops two Infected civilians. Travis marches up to each of the fallen and shoots the skulls of the dead who have not yet reanimated. “Get these bodies to the burn facility.” Two soldiers sling their rifles, pull on latex gloves, and remove the bodies.

  “Clear these tents.” He knows the civilians remaining are part of the criminal element of camp. His voice booms preventing any misinterpretations in the new law. “This gambling for supplies ends now. You want to trade your personal property I won’t stop, monitor, or discourage it. Criminal activities exploiting the weak will be harshly dealt with.” Travis keeps his orders as vague as possible, but truly dealing with this situation should have been addressed by a professional speech writer. “Get this cleaned up.” The soldiers move faster than before.

  “Take me back to the headquarters.” Travis climbs into the Humvee.

  “All you’re going to do is shut down the gambling and threaten?” Hannah screams at her father.

  “Hannah, this’s not the time or place.”

  “This’s the perfect time, Dad. You need to take Kade out.”

  “You should feel lucky you’re my daughter. I wouldn’t have a discussion with anyone else of lower rank about my decisions.”

  “I want to protect these people.”

  “And you think I don’t, but you lack a larger understanding. The people here are going to trade what they have for what they want. We can’t stop or police. We take out Kade and three more take his place. I’ve some control with the devil I know. Not as much as I’d like, but enough to protect most of the people here.”

  “You should protect them all.”

  “We can’t. The world has changed. We’re going to have to start to choose who’s worth protecting.”

  Hannah finds herself without a comeback. Shock overcomes her as she realizes the pressure her father has been placed under. “Dad, is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “You need to stay closer to headquarters. You want to help people, keep passing out foodstuffs to the refugees.”

  Hannah realizes something’s terribly wrong, and her father won’t say within earshot of his soldiers. She keeps the subject on the Bowlins. “Kade’s hurting people. You should’ve arrested him.”

  “No one’s reported him. If he’s raping women, none have come forward to report him. I need witnesses to do anything.”

  “You have to stop him. The next poor woman could be me.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll make sure you’re protected.”

  The Humvee pulls up to headquarters. A private rushes out to open the door.

  “Make sure my daughter’s escorted inside and she stays there until I get back.”

  “Dad,” she protests.

  “Don’t make me have you confined to quarters.”

  “So, I want to help people less fortunate and I’m being sent to my room.” Hannah moves her foot in order to crawl out.

  “You’re fifteen and as headstrong as your mother, but you’re still my daughter.”

  “I still want to protect these people, Dad. Someone has to.”

  “I’m protecting these people. You may not like how I have to do it, or my inability to share classified information with you to explain why I make some of the choices I do, but rest assured I want to save lives. As many as I can.”

  “When you let criminals walk free, I don’t think I’ll ever understand.” Hannah hops from the Humvee. A string of her blonde hair catches in the frame. She pulls the snag free and races inside the building.

  Travis steps out. Part of him wants to chase after his little girl and assure her everything will be all right, but he knows nothing will kill the mo
nsters under her bed. She will just have to become a good little soldier and live in the new world.

  “Corporal Jameson,” he calls to the young soldier at the gate.

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  “I’m reassigning you. If my daughter leaves this part of the compound I want you to escort her and keep her from the refugee side of the base. When I get back I’ll place some female guards on her as well.”

  “Sir.” He salutes.

  “Colonel Travis.”

  Travis turns at the voice of a PFC who is running toward him with a sealed folder. Like there’s another colonel on this base, he wants to scream at the man for stating the obvious. “Report, Private.”

  “I’ve been ordered to deliver this, sir.” He snaps to attention.

  Travis returns the salute. He breaks the seal on the envelope. He slides out the paper and reads the first few lines. “Who else has seen this?”

  “Lieutenant Haze handed me the sealed envelope personally.”

  “We have new orders from Washington. Assemble my command staff.”

  DANZIGER CUPS THE photo of Levin in the palm of his hand. He now knows the face of his daughter’s murderer and will find him. He leans into the window of the last truck on the caravan line. None of the men inside look like Levin. He moves on to the next vehicle, a van loaded heavy with supplies. As Danziger reaches the seventh vehicle in line, a man dressed like he’s traveling on an African Safari steps in his path.

  “You’re scaring people.”

  “I’ve got to find this man.” Danziger jams his arm at the man in a talk-to-the-hand gesture. “Seen him?” He displays the photograph cupped in his palm.

  “We’re all looking for lost relatives. I understand if you want to find him before we leave the city.”

  “I’ve got to find him before you move these people on.”

  “You’re not going to get through all these cars before we have the highway cleared and the caravan starts moving.”

  “Then hold the caravan.”

  “It’s a hundred miles to the military base, and the undead have been spilling out of the city. They’re running out of things to eat. We do this now or we won’t be able to save as many lives as we have leaving right now.”

  “Then get out of my way. I’m going to check as many of these vehicles before you move out. I have to find him.” Danziger wants to scream for the murderer of his daughter but he knows tipping his hand will only cause Levin to rabbit.

  “I’m going to insist you stop this irrational action.”

  “It’s not irrational.” Danziger figures it better to let these people think he’s crazed in his search for a lost relative instead of a serial killer.

  “I know it’s rough. We all want to know about our missing family members, but let’s get out of the city. The military’s cataloging everyone who enters their refugee center. After we arrive we’ll check the list and find whoever it is you’re searching for.”

  Danziger knows if Levin makes it to the military base he won’t give his real name, and without working computers there’s no way to confirm his true identity. Three men circle him. Danziger knows they mean to flank him. He changes his tactic, “I’m a police officer. I’ve got to find this man.”

  “Your badge doesn’t mean nothing now,” the burly black man with a gang tattoo spouts. He sucks in his gut to tower even more over Danziger than he already does.

  Danziger slides the photo into his back pocket, and then rubs the three-day growth of hairs on his chin with his right thumb and forefinger. He contemplates asking a question but decides the former rules for a cop have gone to the same place as his need for requiring a search warrant. He clips the butt of his pistol against the cheek of the black man.

  His lip begins to turn purple as it swells. “You gonna pay for that.”

  “We’re not going to inflict violence on one another.” The man ready for the African Safari draws a revolver. “We’ve seen enough death. We have to stick together to reach safety.”

  Danziger raises his arms in a non-threatening manner. “I’m not giving up my gun.”

  “Just back up away from the caravan. When we get rollin’ we’ll get you a spot on a truck, but you have to stop scaring these people.”

  Danziger backs up, keeping an eye on the big black man. The man in the safari outfit waves the black man on. He marches with Danziger away from the caravan to where piles of trash and wrecked vehicles are being used to dam the interstate. A few men, mostly in deer hunting camo, keep vigil next to a fire.

  “Curtis,” the bearded one calls to the safari dressed man, “caravan not left yet?”

  “Interstates’ still clogged. They want to get more cars cleared before rolling out,” Curtis says.

  “Movin’ cars makes a lot of noise. These jelly-brained bastards love noise.” The bearded man eyes Danziger. He notes the man has no supplies other than extra gun clips in his front pocket.

  “You guys still want to remain?” Curtis asks. “We’ve got a few cars with empty seats.”

  “Some should direct any stragglers toward the fort,” the bearded man offers.

  “The US military will be kicking ass and taking names. They’ll take our country back.”

  Danziger almost laughs at Curtis’ statement, but he thinks better of it. He needs to get back to searching the caravan. Besides, if the military has taken no action in nine months, he doubts the good ‘ol USA will be flag waving by July fourth.

  “Someone needs to be here to clean up,” Curtis agrees.

  “You’ve got a lot of women and children with you. They need to be taken to safety and food.”

  “We’ll get them there. Watch this guy until we’re ready to move out. He’s pretty distraught looking for a family member. Scare’n a lot of people. When we roll out, let him rejoin us.”

  “We can’t afford to leave the living behind.”

  Danziger decides it’s better to just go along for now. With so much chaos, giving these guys the slip and moving back to the caravan wouldn’t be difficult for a man of his training.

  “I’m Tom,” says the burly man who hands Danziger a tin cup. “It’s hot, and it’s brown and it has been filtered through beans, but I’m not sure it can legally be called coffee anymore.”

  Danziger nods. “Thanks.”

  “I won’t pretend to understand how you feel. I know how I feel about losing my wife. If I thought there was a chance she was in the caravan, I’d tear apart every car looking, too.”

  “How do you know she’s not?” Danziger asks.

  “‘Cause after she got bit, I…Cherish means a lot of things.”

  Danziger knows this guy had to carry out her execution. Such information might work in his favor. He slips the picture from his hand. “I’m not looking for my family. My daughter was…” he employs a dramatic pause, “murdered before the world ended.” He passes the picture to Tom.

  “Terrible.” He glances at the picture in a counterfeit of a look.

  “She was kidnapped and tortured by this guy.”

  Tom takes a second harder look at the image. He soaks in the details of the man’s facial features. “Are you sure it was this guy?”

  “I was a cop. I was investigating his multiple killings until he took my daughter. Now there’re no rules about being too close to a case. I’ll finish finding him.”

  “There are no courts, either. You won’t see him go to prison.”

  “There’s only one kind of justice left for him.” Danziger pats the handle of his holstered gun.

  “I’d most likely do the same. Hey, James, c’mere.” The camo dressed but clean shaven man snags the picture Tom is holding up.

  “How do you know he survived this?” Tom asks.

  “My partner and I found a recent victim,” Danziger fudges. He has no idea how recently the last victim died. “And where he cut these poor teenagers up before he raped them.”

  “Sick fuck.” James stares at the photo as if to burn this guy’s face
into his brain.

  “Partner?”

  “Said I was a cop. He didn’t make it. We found where he was killing these young girls, but it was surrounded by DKs,” Danziger adds to inspire theses guy to help him.

  “And you’ll kill this guy if you find him?”

  “The world ended and I saw proof he’s still killing little girls. The way things have become, who will notice one more walking dead girl? He’ll never stop taking victims now.”

  James gives back the picture. “We’ve seen him. He was loading suitcases onto a bus with the caravan. Real nice feller.”

  “He would be. He instills trust. Trust traps his victims.” Danziger hops to his feet.

  Tom raises his arm in a stopping motion. “We can’t let you go yet.”

  James clarifies, “Yeah. They shot the last guy who was harassing people in the caravan.”

  “I have to find him.”

  “We’ll help you, but he ain’t going anywhere yet, so just relax. Have a cup of filtered shit.” He swills the liquid in the cup. “At least it’s wet.”

  Danziger’s mind wrestles with the reality that these two men are correct. He’ll never stop Levin if he’s shot by those protecting the caravan. Yet his brain screams about being so close to his daughter’s killer. He must do something now.

  “Do whatever you do to remain calm in high stress situations. They train you to be composed in cop school,” Tom reminds him.

  “You seem to know a lot about it.”

  “I was a fireman. You don’t rush into a burning building halfcocked. Not losing my head has kept me alive for the last nine months. Most people dying today no longer keep it on the level. James, take Howie and patrol down by the caravan. You see the guy, come back and tell us where he is. Don’t talk to him.”

  “Howie’s busy with those religious nuts. They’re talking about heading south to some church claiming God will protect the righteous from those afflicted by God’s wrath. If you’re free of sin and have been accepted into God’s book, the DKs can’t harm you.”

  “Going to get him killed for sure. I got to stay here with…?”

  “Marcus Danziger,” he responds.

  “Danziger here. I don’t trust he’ll stay put if I go look for this killer.”