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

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No Room In Hell (Book 1): The Good, The Bad and The Undead Page 7

by William Schlichter


  “I’ll stay.”

  “I wouldn’t if I were in your spot. I want you to get him, but I know the man you punched, Tyrrell. He’s just looking for payback. Most of St. Louis gang members were a lot closer to wannabes than the hardcore bangers. Not him. He’s got prison tats. I’d say he’s killed a few people even if he hasn’t served time for it.”

  Danziger wants to kick himself. As a cop he should have seen all this but believing Levin was in the caravan put blinders on him. He killed Hyun Su with his blinders. His best friend tried to explain with his last words. The whale didn’t kill Ahab, the blinders he had for the whale did. If he had kept a more open mind and didn’t focus solely on the whale Ahab could have killed the whale, had his revenge and survived with his crew intact.

  “Hunting for this serial killer has made me a fool.”

  “God, man, he killed your little girl. I’d do nothing but hunt him, too.”

  “How long before this caravan ships out for the military base?”

  “They keep hitting snags. Every time they move a few miles forward they find a massive car pileup along the interstate. Takes days to clear.”

  “From what I saw, the crashes seem to have happened in clusters.” James wraps a nylon rope around a sports bottle. “So they clear away one cluster of cars and they hit another one.”

  “They’ve got to contend with a lot of undead in each car and a lot of undead stragglers surrounding the road.”

  “What should be about a three-hour drive could take days.”

  “And there’s no place to drag the damaged cars. People drove on the shoulders and then the medium and into the service road. In a few places I bet thirty cars wide block the path.”

  “It’s not safe.”

  “The caravan ain’t going anywhere soon.”

  “Understand why most of the people not wanting to head to Fort Leonard Wood stay to guard this location. We’re a group. There’s no organization hierarchy but we’ve protection in numbers, I guess. It’s a fall back point. The hotel has been secured if we need to evacuate, but all the supplies are now in the caravan.”

  Danziger recognizes, “You’re not protecting the rear. You just realize what a death trap the interstate is.”

  “I don’t know where I want to go,” Tom admits. “The city’s not safe with some two million of those dead things alone. I think some more have filtered from across the river, too.”

  “The Mississippi?”

  “Correct.”

  “May not be a problem for you much longer,” James adds. “The guy who sounds like Gambit from the X-Men said the military blew some bridges up in the south to stop the flow of the DKs from one side of the river to another.”

  Why would they cut off the ability for military ground forces from coming…? Danziger shuts the only answer out of his mind.

  “These people want to go to the military base at Fort Wood. Some got it into their heads the government has ordered a firebombing of major cities to eliminate vast numbers of undead, and then it’s just a matter of time and mopping up small pockets of undead.”

  “Seems drastic.”

  “It makes sense on some level, but everyone passing through here has a different story or theory on what has happened, what’s going on, or what will happen. Nobody knows and we don’t know if we even still have a government.”

  “Now, Tom, we’ve seen those helicopters heading in the direction of the fort. They’ve cargo supply crates attached. Somebody’s sending them supplies.”

  “You’re correct, there’s a lot of speculation from everyone.” Danziger turns the conversation back to the information he needs to know. “How long’s the caravan?”

  “About three miles of cars.”

  “The guy in the Safari jacket, he guard the convoy’s whole length?” Danziger asks.

  “I don’t think so,” James says.

  “So if I jogged around I could come out and restart my search at the front?”

  “I’d hike way around, because any movement in the tree line’s likely to invite a bullet.”

  “People are trigger happy,” James agrees.

  “Okay, so I walk way around.”

  “You take off in any direction other than the caravan and I’d have no cause to stop you,” Tom says.

  James offers, “We could escort him north, make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish.”

  “Take Howie with us. Before more religious talk gets him killed.”

  “I didn’t know you weren’t a believer,” James seems shocked.

  “I prayed every time I went into and out of a burning building, but those true believers are more dangerous than the DKs. Guys like him remind me of the late night TV evangelists who pilfer the life savings of little old ladies.”

  “He seems more like David Koresh who burnt up those kids in Texas.” James fumes.

  “You don’t like his snake oil?” Danziger says.

  “You’re passing around the Kool-Aid, too, Danziger, but I prefer your brand to his,” Tom clarifies.

  EMILY STARES OUT the truck window. Despite being April and trees budding with new leaves, the world seems crueler than it should be.

  “I haven’t seen an abandoned vehicle for a few miles.”

  “I’ve kept this part of the road clean.” Not entirely the truth. It wasn’t just him.

  “Why this truck? It rattles. Makes my butt hurt. I like the first one we had. And you already had it loaded with supplies. It still had gas. We didn’t need to switch.”

  “We’ve several of this model in the compound. They need one for parts. So I’ll let my mechanic decide which ones to use and which ones to scrap. The first truck we were in will remain in place for when I need it again.”

  Shocked, Emily asks, “You have a mechanic?”

  “I’ve rescued lots of people. Most I’ve taken back with me are necessary to keep the camp functioning.”

  “So you’ve tried to restore some of how it used to be.”

  “No. The way it used to be doesn’t work as long as the dead keep coming back to life. There are necessary rule changes for society in order to survive in this brave new world.”

  “You think they might stop?”

  “Figuring out what causes the reanimation has not been my priority but someone might find a way to stop them. I wonder why they don’t rot faster. The winter cold and the heat should have deteriorated them more.”

  After pausing for a moment to think, she blurts out, “What has to change?”

  “I guess I should explain how it is if you live under my house, and I do give you the choice of wanting to live there.”

  “It’s not a choice.”

  “Well, it beats the alternative. And I do mean I have built a colony of survivors. I’ve rescued just about all of them myself and we work together to maintain a comfortable and safe lifestyle, but it’s not easy. We have rules and stiff penalties if they are not followed, because I’ll be damned if I’ll tolerate a jail and wasted food resources on someone while the rest of us work to feed ourselves.”

  “So you enforce capital punishment for crimes.”

  “We don’t have a lot of crime; people are too busy working to commit offences. First rule, the biters are no longer people. Second, after proper training and certification everyone must carry a sidearm.”

  “Even little kids?”

  “Everyone, once trained. We’re trying to keep to above age ten, but you must carry, too. No matter how safe the fence is, we do everything to keep the undead out. If you get hospitalized for a major injury, they’ll handcuff you to the bed because no telling when a biter could reanimate.”

  “Everyone with a gun, a little like Tombstone, but reasonable.”

  “Everyone works or they don’t eat.”

  “Explains why you don’t have need for a jail. You don’t have food to waste on someone to just sit in a cage. Why not just make them work?”

  “Takes six people, minimum, to guard one person in a jail for three sh
ifts. No way. Those six individuals guard the fence. Keep everyone safe from dozens of undead. Which is more important than running a jail.”

  “You don’t work, you don’t eat.” Emily wonders, “No school?”

  “We’re working on an education program. Actually, we do have a library. We hold town meetings and discuss a lot of instructive concerns. We’re leaning toward instituting an apprenticeship program. Pass on the skills necessary to survive. But I want the little children to be able to read. We won’t return to the dark ages and illiteracy.”

  “So, I’ll have to get a job.”

  “We’ll find you something you’re suited to.”

  “I’m fifteen.” Nine months ago fifteen meant being told to stay away from boys and dreaming of a princess prom dress. Work was not in her vocabulary.

  “You’re right, we’ve no need for someone who can text and paint her nails at the same time. Not a viable skill in the apocalypse.”

  Annoyed with his constant badgering of what he thought were her generation’s habits, she ignores him and asks, “What will I have to do?”

  “Most likely if you don’t have an aptitude for some specific skill we’ll start you out on the farms.”

  “You have farms?”

  “The goal’s to become self-sufficient behind the fence. We grow crops and raise livestock so people don’t have to go outside the fence. That’s what I do. I risk my life. I gather supplies, or in the case of when we met, I scouted a location for supplies. I’ll then take a team back to gather necessities from the distribution center, because we know it’s still stocked. I keep my people out of harm’s way.”

  “What happens if you don’t come back?”

  “Someone else will have to deal with supply runs if it happens.”

  The brakes squeak as he slows the truck.

  Emily questions his stop at the red sign. She wonders if it is out of habit until she realizes the road fails to continue across the highway. Impeded by cargo containers dropped from trailers to create a barrier along the road. They must be at the secure entrance to his colony. Sandbags, sheets of metal and cut up car parts make machine gun nests on top of the trailers. Men with high-powered rifles stand guard. Along the actual blacktop road runs chain length fence. Heavy metal gates have cattle panels over the chain link wrapped in barbed wire. Rebar poles ground into spikes set at levels to puncture tires if they try and crash the gate. Higher ones spear the undead as well as strings of razor wire to prevent encroachment by anyone unwanted. The cargo containers end where chain length fence creates a dog run in both directions along the road.

  Having lived in the military base Emily expected a small fenced in farm. “How big is your camp?”

  “We’ve fenced in a good chunk. About twenty miles north of this road to the river, including part of a national forest. Cattle won’t graze much and no corn grows in the trees, but it serves other purposes.”

  The entry post reminds Emily of some kind of Nazi Mad Max compound. Even the well-organized pattern of guards seems ridiculous with their hodgepodge of uniform attire. The truck draws their attention and they keep their weapons ready.

  “You don’t have any girls guarding.”

  “Not on this shift. We’ve a few. One girl shoots better than me.”

  Emily imagines witnessing better shooting than her time with him and doubts many are faster and more accurate than her savior.

  “Prove yourself a crack shot during your training and you’ll have guard duty instead of slopping hogs.”

  “Motivation to learn to shoot well.”

  He turns the engine off. “Stay in the truck.” He slides out, his hands held away from his guns.

  “That you, boss?” one of the guards asks.

  Emily eyes the man asking the question. He holds what looks to be a credit card long ways at the bottom. He releases the card and pinches his fingers before it slides all the way through, flips the card over and does this again and again.

  “Open the gate. I’ve got a house guest.”

  “An invited one, I hope.”

  “A new hog slopper.”

  The man nods at someone else who pulls a lever. The gate swings open. The men lower their rifles.

  He drives the truck inside.

  “Why does he play with that card like that?”

  “The morning of the end of the world he put one hundred dollars on a prepaid card to use and never got a chance to spend it.”

  “Oh,” Emily says.

  “Some people just can’t let go of the old world.”

  Metal spikes decorate the gate in the center of the entrance sally port.

  He jams the truck into park removing the keys. “You’re not going to like this next part, but trust me. I find it the best way to stay safe inside the fence.”

  He reaches across her and pulls the gun from her holster before exiting. Emily slides out her side. She keeps her eyes on what he does next.

  A hatch cut into the cargo container opens. A hand reaches out and unlocks a chain length window cut into the cage they are now in. He slides the shotgun, box of shells and Emily’s pistol through the portal into the cargo container. “Those should all be good. Wasn’t hunting for weapons, but we’ll take all we can find.”

  “All good, boss,” a voice praises from inside.

  He takes the pistol he recovered from the grass and sets it on the shelf. “This one was left in the dew and blood.”

  “We’ll make sure it’s disposed of.” The arms inside open a plastic baggie marked repair. “Looks good enough for parts.”

  Extreme recycling will become the new way of life for a while. Broken items will have to be sorted for parts. The way his grandfather grew up in The Great Depression. Everything was recycled and reused until it crumbled into dust. And even then he figures they would find a use for the dust. The age of the disposable society has passed since nothing new will be manufactured for a long time. No longer can society afford living in a disposable culture. Clothes will be worn to rags, the rags used until they become squares on a patchwork quilt.

  He’s glad his grandmother never lived to see this brave new world. He wishes he had learned her skill with a needle before she passed. She made beautiful quilts. One still exists in his home. If he ever gets a chance to return, he will retrieve it. Spring may be approaching but the next winter will require quilts to survive.

  “I’m going to do this first.” He steps into the next cage and closes the door separating them. A metal rod about four inches in diameter shoots across the gate preventing him from returning through or Emily from entering the cage to join him.

  “This is rule four, and we make no exceptions.” He unclasps his gun belt first before shedding his garments. He tosses his clothes and items through another window in the cargo trailer. One of guards folds them up for him. Once bare skinned he holds his arms up level with his shoulders, turns around with his palms facing up. Although curious she averts her eyes from his groin. Easier than she thought possible since the scar running down his left leg draws her attention. It must be the reason he limps.

  “All clear, boss.” He steps through to the next cage where he’s allowed to redress.

  “The bar slides back into the cargo container.

  “Your turn, missy,” the guard calls to her.

  Reluctantly, Emily steps into the next cage. The sliding bar zings, sealing her fate. Her heart beats in her chest. Stripping before these strange men causes a bead of sweat to form on her forehead. She understands they are just looking for bites and their glances will be quick since she has none, but after the attack she’s not sure she wants anyone other than her savior to gaze at her nakedness. He saw past her most vulnerable moments. She trusts him more than she’ll ever trust anyone else.

  He snaps his pants button. “They’re looking for bites. We can’t have anyone sneak in who might be bitten, die, and kill us in our sleep. It’s happened at a few home-grown refugee camps. No one gets in who is bit.”

 
She slides out of her coat.

  “I guess try and think about it like changing in the locker room.”

  “They only let girls in the girl’s locker room.”

  “You ain’t got nothing we haven’t already seen.”

  He admonishes the guard, “You’re not helping.”

  “Sorry, boss.”

  “Get out of here.” He scolds the man on the other side of the bars.

  “But the rules state we have to make sure she has no bites.”

  “I know the rules. I made them.” He exits the cage pushing the guard out of Emily’s view.

  “Go ahead, Emily, pass your clothes through here and when you’re nude spin like I did. Austin up there will visually examine you, but only him and me.” He points up.

  She strips quickly, embarrassed the way she was in middle school gym when she was the only girl in a training bra, stuffing her clothes through the porthole. She holds her palms up and twirls.

  Austin keeps his eyes on her. Purple skin marks her face and legs. “What’s on her leg?”

  “It’s bruised from a human attacker. No bites. I cleaned it myself.”

  “I give her the clear.” Austin’s words cause the gates to be opened. Emily rushes in and grabs her coat. She hides in it as she dresses.

  He pulls his boots on. He snaps his eyes away from watching Emily dress. He has seen her exposed and completely vulnerable already, having rescued her from an attempted rape. Austin, at least, is smart enough to understand what he meant by her thigh bruises without having to spell it out to him adding additional embarrassment to Emily. She must feel even further traumatized by being forced to strip naked before strangers and have her body inspected. He has no understanding of how Emily must feel right now. Despite the lack of physical penetration, the man still brutalized her and the feeling of being powerless to stop this guy from ripping off her pants and tearing open her legs had to be just as bad, if not worse, than actual penetration.

  Knowing a low percentage of women reported rape before the end of the world he understands why. They have to go through the original forced event, and then have to be gawked at by evidence collectors and forced to relive the experience again and again with cops, lawyers and the judge. Having it happen once and forcing it from their minds after the body heals must be what those women attempt to do and has to be a part of the reason why. The women who did take it to court have an unparalleled courage.

 

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