She nodded. She knew how it worked, what happened to spies. Snitches got stitches.
“It’s showtime. You ready?” he asked and she nodded again, gave him a small smile and undressed.
She gathered her clothes in her hands then stumbled out of the door with a small squeal of pain as he slapped her bare bottom.
“And find me some coffee!” Gunny yelled after her to the laughter of the men still gathered around the fire.
Gunny joined them a few minutes later, pretending like he was nursing a hangover.
“Looks like you got her trained up good.” One of the men said when she came hurrying up with a steaming cup of java.
“What’s your secret? Honestly man, I was afraid to close my eyes when I was around her, afraid she’d slice my throat. She seems a little psycho.”
“Aren’t all women?” someone said to more laughter.
“Sometimes the threat is more effective than actual violence.” Gunny said. “Learned that when I was riding with the Club. A few bikes show up at someone’s house that is supposed to testify and all of a sudden, they forget what they were going to say. We didn’t have to tell them anything, just seeing us scared them quiet.”
There were nods all around. It made sense and talk turned to the cliff top reservation and how to get up there. Griz joined them and slowly others came over with varying states of hangovers. The fire kept the desert chill away and obedient slaves brought coffee and started cooking breakfast. He was learning what they called themselves. The leader was Python. The rest had similar tough guy names.
Switchblade Jay.
Slick.
Billy Kill.
Stevie Slaughter.
He didn’t know if Casey was an evil mad genius or just some clown that got lucky by applying a few ideas from TV shows and movies. Everyone had lost everything and Casey was there to show them the way. Give them new names so they wouldn’t have reminders of who they once were. They had all probably been decent people on some level even if they were only faking civility to stay out of jail. He encouraged debauchery and bloodshed. Rewarded them for it and the thin veneer of civilization peeled away quickly. The insane craziness of the first six months seemed to have leveled out and they were actually creating a society. A violent and ruthless one on par with war tribes of the past but a society, nonetheless. Gunny had a pretty good working knowledge of the Army’s history. He knew the 7th infantry had worked with cannibal Indian tribes back in the 1800s, had used them as trackers to hunt other tribes. The Tonkawa’s were legendary for eating the Comanche but they didn’t discriminate. They’d throw anyone into a stew pot. Cannibalism had always been taboo in civilized societies but it occasionally became an accepted way in some cultures. It hadn’t been openly practiced for over a century before the fall but here it was again: revived and in full swing although the raiders only did it ritually now, not as an everyday entrée.
“Tastes like chicken.” Stevie Slaughter said when talk turned to the feast Casey had planned once all the tribes arrived.
“More like bear meat.” Billy Kill said. “Used to poach them all the time. Tastes better with barbeque sauce if you ask me. I hope they have some ‘cause I used up my last bottle.”
“I like it raw and still bleeding.” Slick said. “I just take a bite out of a living one whenever I get a little hungry.”
Gunny sipped at his coffee and kept his face plain, controlling his normal reaction to wrinkle his nose or roll his eyes at the conversation. Slick was one of the hardcore bikers that still rode a motorcycle and liked to let everyone know he was tougher than them. Everything they’d done, he’d done it too but twice as good. He was one of those guys that talked big and liked to have everyone paying attention to him. He tried to push Gunny’s buttons, tried to get a rise out of him but went on to insult someone else when the new guy just stared at him calmly over his coffee cup. Maybe he shouldn’t mess with him, he decided when the icy eyes didn’t flinch. He looked like he knew how to handle himself.
Gunny finally had enough and stood, tossing his empty breakfast plate on the ground like everyone else. The slaves would clean it up.
“Where you off to?” their leader said, pushing aside one of the girls touching up the four vertical red stripes on his face.
Gunny’s first reaction was to tell him to shove his nosey ass up his ass but that didn’t sound right, even in his head so he answered truthfully.
“Gonna take a look at the cliff top. See if I can come up with any ideas on how to crack it.”
“Let me know if you do.” Python said. “All the war chiefs have a meeting with Casey before the feast, it’d be great if I could give him some new ideas. That would look good for all of us.”
Gunny nodded. “Will do, Chief.”
Griz stood to join him and there was a yell and a scream from the workshop they were using as their club house. Everyone turned to look but weren’t too concerned. Just another fight. Three big men from another tribe were dragging one of the Human Hunters out towards the firepit. One of them had a half-naked girl and pulled her along, his grip firm on her arm. They weren’t dressed in the usual raider attire, they had on slacks and blazers, they were clean shaven, had swarthy skin and wore their black hair slicked back. The Mobsters. They tossed Bobby Rose on the ground in front of the Hunters war chief and one of them planted an Italian loafer across his skinny chest to hold him in place.
Python waited along with everyone else. It was too early for a brawl, most of them still had headaches and Bobby had probably brought this on himself. They’d defend him if they had to, he was one of their tribe, but for now they watched.
The man with the foot on his chest pulled out a deck of cards. They all recognized them as Bobby’s, he was always shuffling them and doing tricks and wanting to play poker. He started pointing out tiny little black marks nearly hidden in the designs on the backs.
“They’re marked.” he said in an accent right out of New Jersey and eyes got wide. No wonder Bobby always seemed to have all the luck when there was something in the pot that he really wanted to win.
“He won this girl last night from Frankie Four Fingers. She was one of his best. Frankie don’t like to be cheated.”
The raiders looked on at the little man squirming in the dirt, unsympathetic.
Nobody liked to get cheated.
The big man with the tight blazer pulled out a pair of wire cutters from his vest pocket and Bobby Rose started protesting in earnest. He swore he wasn’t cheating, he swore he was sorry, he swore he’d make it up. The man with the cutters ignored his pleas and nodded to the other men. More expensive shoes stomped down on his arm, held it firmly in place and they heard the snap of the bone over his yells when one of his fingers was cleanly snipped off. The man stood back up and carefully wrapped the index finger in a dirty handkerchief.
“Frankie Five Fingers thanks you for your patronage. Please come back to gamble anytime you want. Your debt has been paid.”
He slipped the grim little package into his pocket and turned to leave. “But don’t cheat anymore or he’ll be known as Frankie Six Fingers.”
Bobby Rose held his bleeding hand and nodded, trying to hold back the tears as he sat up.
He smiled at the grim-faced men around the fire, men who where thinking about every bottle of booze, every handful of pills and every thing else they’d lost to him over the months.
“Come on, fellas. You’re my tribe. I wouldn’t cheat you.”
“I need another finger to finish off my chest piece.” Switchblade Jay said and flicked out his blade.
“I could use a thumb to round out my necklace.” Billy Kill said and stood up.
“Can I have his pecker?” one of the girls said and unsheathed a wicked looking blade.
Others remembered their losses and stood, joining the chorus of voices. Some wanted toes, others wanted ears.
Bobby Rose back pedaled away in the dirt then ran as the men started laughing and sat back down.
The laughter erupted again.
Gunny climbed into his Chevelle and Griz hopped in the passenger seat. They had some scouting to do. Most of the camp was just waking up, groggy men and women gathered around fires while their slaves cooked for them. Most of the prisoners weren’t kept in cages and only a few had any kind of restraints at all. They were easy to spot, though. Ragged clothes without any of the grisly trophy adornments and unpainted faces. Tribeless. They were in the middle of the desert with no where to run. They could steal a car but they wouldn’t get far. The Raiders were probably hoping some would try just to give them something to do, a good chase to break up the monotony of waiting for the rest of the tribes to arrive.
They slowly idled by a half full parking lot near the headquarters where Casey’s top brass were staying. Mixed in with the motorcycles, Hummers and Raptors were the cars they’d abandoned in Mexico. Gunny’s ’55 Chevy, Scratch’s Skylark, Hollywood’s Cadillac and Griz’s old panel van were there. Shot up, dented, dirty and bloody but someone had fixed them. Someone had a status symbol, the captured cars of their enemies.
“Any ideas yet?” Griz asked as they eased out of town and started making the miles long circuit around the mountain plateau that jutted straight up from the desert floor.
“Thought about finding a horde to pull in but they’re so slow, it would take them a month of Sundays to get here. Casey will have the cliff top in another week or so, even if he follows the same plan. It’ll be a war of attrition and from what I can tell, he can afford to lose a lot more men than they can. Every time he makes a run at their defenses, he’s probably able to kill a handful of them. Pretty soon it’ll be old women and kids manning the wall.”
“Yep.” Griz agreed. “Wish we had some way to communicate with them. Some way to get a Ham Radio up there.”
Gunny cut off the dirt road he was following and wound his way through the desert, heading to the backside of the mountain.
“Yeah. That needs to be a priority for all the rest of the settlements.” he said. “I don’t know why I didn’t insist on every outpost having one installed.”
“Right.” Griz said. “We’ve been goofing off for the past six months.”
Gunny snorted. “Okay. Point taken. Still, if we had a way to let them know things…” Gunny trailed off. If wishes were horses…
“We know they listen to Radio Lakota.” Griz said. “The retrievers told us that much. Maybe we can call Bastille, have him give them a message.”
“Casey’s goons might hear it.” Gunny said. “I know he doesn’t like them listening to it but they still do.”
“Yeah.” Griz said “But they’re Indians and so are Dutch and Joey Tallstrider. They can be like the Windtalkers in World War two.”
“The Navajo code talkers?” Gunny asked “Do they even know the language?”
“Dunno.” Griz said. “But it’s easy enough to find out and even if they don’t, they’ve gotta speak some kind of Indian. They both have accents like English is their second language.”
Gunny laughed. “I don’t think it works like that but it’s worth a shot. Give HQ a call.”
106
Jessie + Scarlet
Their trip to Cascade was mostly uneventful. One of the RV’s broke down, probably a clogged filter or fuel line but everyone packed tight into the other one and they were rolling again before the mob stumbling after them caught up. The gate guard recognized the Mercury and sounded the bell, letting everyone know new people were arriving. They had a setup similar to what they had at the lodge; tall spiked logs sunk into the ground palisades style. Once they got though the check-in process and introductions were made, Jessie didn’t want to stay. There was still an hour of daylight left and Scarlets new wound in her shoulder was still blood spotting the bandages almost a day after she’d been stabbed. It should have stopped long ago, should have already been scabbed over. Colonel Norris wouldn’t hear of it, though. It wasn’t often they had visiting dignitaries bringing him dozens of new citizens and he insisted on a feast.
“It will be much better than the last one.” he promised.
Scarlet heard him declining dinner, saying they really should be hitting the road, and interrupted.
“Jessie is an uncultured beast.” she said as she looped an arm through his battered leather jacket and smiled graciously at the Colonel. “Of course, we will stay for dinner. We would be honored.”
It was settled. The men and women from the high rise hadn’t had a good meal in months and had to force themselves to eat slow. It didn’t the ladies long to cook up an extra fifty plates, the community was still small and everyone usually got together for the evening meal at the Inn. It was a rambling hotel with a dining hall big enough to seat everyone and plenty of empty rooms for the new comers until they had a chance to explore and pick out any of the hundreds of empty houses. The Colonel was right about the food. It was much better than the bland freeze dried that had been served the last time he’d been with this group. They had crappie and perch, beaver and caribou, peas and potatoes and plenty of spices for everything.
After the meal, the Colonel insisted on showing him around, proud of their defenses and greenhouses and fish farms. Scarlet declined, said she was tired and asked to be shown to their room. Nefertiti went with her and Bob trailed around after Jessie. The people had worked hard once they convinced Norris to leave the lodge compound and the town was growing rapidly. Bastille had started spreading the word on Radio Lakota about the new outpost and more survivors came down from the mountains to join the community. With logging equipment and utility company diggers, they had built a formidable wall in a matter of weeks. The food from houses, grocery stores and restaurants along with a few loads of live cattle from Tombstone had sustained them until they had their fish farms up and producing. Carl and Tina had ridden up with one of the convoy’s and spent a week at their hydroelectric plant and trained a few men on how to operate it. The electric lights and the promise of hot showers had probably done more to attract the mountain men and their wives than the security of the walls.
They rode around in an electric golf cart as the Colonel pointed out various cottage industries. Night had fallen but the town was well lit with street lights and there were plenty of other carts zipping around, waving hello as they passed.
“In that barn” he pointed down a side street “Pete has started breeding rabbits. I think he has about a hundred or more now. They make for good eating, the way the ladies at the Inn cook them up.”
“And the chickens.” he patted his belly. “My Lord, give a church lady a chicken and she’ll make you a feast.”
Jessie nodded and pretended interest. He complimented the Colonel on all they’d been able to achieve over the summer and tried to be a good emissary but his mind was on Scarlet. On how she’d been so easily captured by the pissheads, on how exhausted she was. She was the one who was full of life and usually singing before breakfast, the one poking fun at him because he was a grump before he had coffee. He needed to get her to the Tower.
Colonel Norris drove along the shoreline, pointing out their defenses in the water, updating him on what they had to trade and promising a working sawmill with finished lumber by spring. Over the quiet hum of the cart, Jessie heard a high-pitched whine coming down out of the mountains. Bob heard it too and cocked his head. It took another minute before the Colonel paused in his monologue to pick up on the noise and turned the cart back towards his headquarters.
“What is that?” Jessie asked. “It sounds like a jet.”
“You haven’t seen them yet, I take it.” Norris said, a little pleased that he knew something the Emissary didn’t. “It’s those Asian boys, they’ve rigged up some fast machines and do courier work. The Hell Drivers they call themselves and they deliver packages, for a price. Mostly the Tower use
s them when they don’t want to wait a few weeks for something.”
From his tone, Jessie understood that he didn’t entirely approve.
“I don’t know why the Tower has so much influence over things.” he complained. “It ain’t like we can’t get Chanel number 5 or what ever fancy schmancy stuff they have. Who needs perfume when a chainsaw is more practical?”
Jessie nodded and was curious. He’d heard talk about them but this would be his first chance to actually see them. His original job was supposed to be courier between settlements but he had quit doing that long ago. Once the convoy’s and trade routes had been set up, he assumed the trucks carried the mail on their runs every few weeks.
“Those cars they drive are downright dangerous. Nobody needs to be going two hundred miles an hour but if they want to risk it, who am I to complain?” he complained.
“I’m glad they’re here, though. We needed some kind of capacitor or something for the power plant, the manager said we needed it quick so we had to pay their price. Worth it, I guess, to keep the lights on. Nobody wants to go without hot water for a week waiting on the convoy or a retriever.”
They pulled up to the drivers and their machines a few minutes later and Jessie was surprised to see them gathered around his Mercury, some of them taking pictures. When he climbed out of the cart, they turned and gave a slight bow, a show of respect. Jessie nodded back and Bob went over with a wagging tail and lolling tongue.
“Nice ride.” A skinny young man with olive skin and spikey jet-black hair said. “This thing is legendary. I’m Takeo.”
He stuck out his hand and he introduced the other drivers. The Colonel got his package and excused himself, he had to get it over to the power plant ASAP.
Zombie Road: The Second Omnibus | Books 4-6 | Jessie+Scarlet Page 70