“Nonsense.” Bobby said and started to leave.
“Everybody knows about the Munson massacre President Meadows found on his train trip.” Lizzie said, his handprint still visible on her face.
“Everybody knows there used to be a bunch of jihadi’s running around killing survivors.”
“Now you’re being racist.” Bobby said. “I thought we’d moved beyond that here in Lakota.”
“Ask him how he got that scar on his hand.” Tony said. “Ask him about the boy who got away from them and hid under the church.”
All eyes turned to look at Bobby’s hand and he tried to cover it and laugh it off.
“I told you, I got cut up by some barbed wire.” he said. “This is nonsense. These kids lack discipline and something needs to be done about it. I was attacked. I ought to press charges!”
Jimmy had stopped struggling and Collins loosened her grip.
“You be still, James.” she said under her breath and he nodded.
She saw Bobby try to hide the scar, listened to him shift the blame and play the victim. Saw him lose his temper and the real Bobby surfaced if only for a few seconds. Things were clicking into place, the niggling bits of his story that just seemed too perfect. Her eyes hardened as she stepped away from Jimmy, out into the street, and rested her hand on her Colt Python. Scratch and Stabby both slipped up behind him and they didn’t look friendly anymore. Scratch knew a little Farsi, he knew what he’d called Lizzie and they’d been on the train. They’d seen the carnage and now they saw the glad-handing new guy in a new light. Maybe Jim was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t him. But maybe he was right.
“Now.” she said. “Everyone involved. My office. Right now.”
Bobby sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes.
“Fine.” he said. “We’ll do it your way, Debbie. Lead the way.”
She extended an arm, indicating she’d follow.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.” she told him and Bobby started to get nervous. If they listened to the kids’ story, they would match the chunk of missing flesh to the size of the boy’s bite and it would be hard to explain away. If they searched his house, it would be impossible. He’d kept mementos. The beheadings of the Christians had been his first righteous act with his brothers in arms after they left their compounds. He’d wanted little keepsakes so he wouldn’t forget. He’d kept an infidel rosary from one of the nuns and it had the name of the orphanage engraved on the back of the cross. A gift from the diocese for twenty years of service. There were others, too. The embroidered scarf with the children’s names from a family they’d found on a farm in Mississippi. A stained yamaka from a small group they discovered hiding out in the swamps of Louisiana. They’d been on the hunt for weeks in the chaotic beginning when their army was strong. They had dispensed Mohammad’s justice, they had killed the infidels wherever they could find them before they’d been nearly wiped out.
He’d only survived the battle at Lakota by jumping in the river. After that, he and the other’s that fled had gone south, hiding from the truckers, the zombies and the retrievers. They avoided contact and remained hidden from the world, staying at a fishing camp deep in the bayou country of Louisiana. There weren’t any roads where they hid out, the only way in was by boat. He’d been found, though. He’d gotten careless and dozed off when he was on a supply run up to Houma, happy to be out of the swamps and away from the biting insects. A retriever had seen his boat tied up and poked around, looking for a fellow survivor. He woke up with a man standing over him, prodding him awake. The retriever was from up north somewhere, he hadn’t fought against the radicals and really didn’t know much about them. He had told him about Lakota and how they welcomed strangers. Bobby played ignorant, said he was all alone and it was the first he’d heard of it. He accepted a ride to the city; the man had found what he came for and was headed back anyway. When he was clean shaven, Bobby didn’t look anything like he had before and he was tired of swatting mosquitoes and using an outhouse. Lakota sounded like heaven after roughing it for months in the swamps. Besides, he told himself, he would gather information that could be used if they ever grew strong enough to attack again, Allah willing. They were halfway back to Lakota when the retriever mentioned Sheriff Collins and it was too late to back out. He’d stick to his story of being trapped for months on end in a mall ever since the beginning. It was feasible. He could fool them and get back to civilization again. He wasn’t accustomed to living rough without running water and electricity. He hated it.
The friendly looks he usually got from the people were now questioning and some of the soldiers were already judging. They were remembering the wiliness of an enemy they thought they’d annihilated. He’d screwed up, he’d acted guilty. He should have laughed it off or acted concerned about the poor kids who had been through so much. He could have pulled it off, but he’d panicked. He’d lashed out. He’d lost his cool. He’d hit the girl and spoke in Farsi. Now he was about to lose everything else. His cold-hearted wife would be happy to put a noose around his neck.
121
Lakota
Takeo, Mizuki and the other Hell Drivers were gathered in the parking lot outside of Up Jumped the Devil with the other retrievers and convoy truckers. They were talking cars and routes, hordes on the move and storms that may have left debris on the roads. Sleek road burners, low to the ground and built for speed were parked next to jacked up muscle cars with roll bars and off-road suspension and both were dwarfed by the big rigs with their plows and machine gun turrets. Three different kinds of purpose-built machines for three different jobs. They poked fun at each other’s rides like all car people do but there was an underlying respect and honor among them. They all braved the wastelands beyond the walls where the simplest things, a flat tire or bad gas, could get you killed. They all lived on the edge, they all liked their adrenaline in large doses, they all took risks and they all reaped the rewards. Whether it was the money, the fame or just the thrill of the road that drove them, they were a different breed of men and women. The ribbing and talk died down and they all turned to watch as a crowd of people walked past them and they sensed the mood.
Tense.
Angry.
Something was happening and not something good, either.
There was a sudden flash of movement from a man in front, a kid was snatched and held close, a gun shoved against her head.
A dozen other guns came up instantly from the crowd and as one, the drivers grabbed their own hardware.
“Don’t anybody move!” Bobby shouted. “I don’t care how many bullets you put in me, she’s still dead!”
He had his little pocket .32 jammed in Lizzies ear, his finger putting pressure on the trigger.
“Stand down!” Collins yelled. “Everybody stand down!”
Guns slowly lowered and she holstered her Python and raised her hands to him. Bobby was staring around wildly, a cornered animal. She cursed herself for letting this happen. If it had been anyone else, she would have been more careful. She knew him so well though, or thought she did, she’d let her guard down. Hell, she was married to him, he’d never been so irrational but she’d seen his mask slip just a little. She should have searched him, trusted her gut instinct instead of letting him brow beat her. Make her feel small.
“I’m getting out of here.” Bobby said. “I didn’t do anything but I can see where this is going. You’re going to believe a bunch of lying kids. She’s going with me and if anyone tries anything, I’ll put a bullet in her head.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this.” Collins said. “If you didn’t do anything then you don’t have anything to worry about. This isn’t a banana republic, Bobby. We can get to the bottom of this.”
“Shut up!” he said and backed into the parking lot, jerking Lizzie with him, trying to see everywhere at once but the gun never left her ear. “I see how all of you are!”
“I’m taking one of these cars.” he said “and one of you is driving me. I’ll
let her go once we’re out of town. I won’t hurt her unless you try something funny. You got it?”
The Hell Drivers backed away as he came closer, all of them showing their hands and all of them looking for an opening. A chance to take him down. He kept the gun tight against her head.
Takeo stepped forward, thumbed the remote and the doors on his Lambo slip upward.
“I have the fastest car.” he said. “I can take you. No one can catch us.”
Bobby jerked around, painfully digging the gun into Lizzies ear and she cried out. His eyes were wide in panic, looking for a trap. A spikey haired Asian kid stood by his car, the one with the rocket engine. He was wearing leather with battered plastic armor; a pair of goggles was pushed up on his forehead. Knee high boots were laced tightly and he had a bulky belt with pouches draped over one shoulder but he wasn’t wearing a gun. He was skinny, half Bobby’s size and didn’t look threatening at all.
Bobby wasn’t a brave man, he had only attacked strong holds and travelers when he was with his brothers and they had superior numbers and firepower. They’d set traps, ambushes and used snipers to kill half of the people before they even thought about getting close. That was the smart way, the jihadi way. Kill them before they even knew you were there. All he knew now was he had to get away, had to get back to the others. There was safety in numbers. He could go back a hero with all the inside knowledge of the town and they could figure out a way to defeat it.
“Yeah. You’ll do.” he said and pulled Lizzie around to the passenger side then realized there were only two seats. The girl would have to sit on his lap. That was okay. He might like that. He might like that a lot. He licked his lips. This might turn out just fine after all.
“You don’t need her.” Takeo said calmly, lighting a cigarette. “I can be your hostage. You have the gun, I’m unarmed. I won’t try anything.”
Bobby pulled her tighter, shot glances all around him at the hard-set faces.
“Shut up. I’m giving the orders here.” he said. “Get in. Let’s go.”
Takeo nodded, unruffled by the man with the gun. He slid easily into the cockpit and began his startup procedure. Bobby tried to shove her in first, his gun never leaving her head, but then he couldn’t get in so he jerked her back out.
“Stupid car.” he said and backed into the low-slung seat like the kid had done. He banged his head against the door and the instant the gun moved from her head, Takeo pushed a button on his remote. The door instantly shot downward, the force of the hydraulics slamming his hand and breaking his leg that was still halfway out of the car. Bobby screamed as men rushed forward and snatched Lizzie away, putting their bodies between her and any bullets that might come.
Takeo made himself small, tucked in so he wasn’t touching any metal and tapped another button. Bobby only grunted as the capacitors released their stored voltage and the whole car sizzled with blue arcs of electricity and the smell of burning hair filled the cockpit. One hundred thousand volts shot through the repurposed microwave transformers and Bobby’s whole body spasmed and jerked as the lethal charge fried anything touching metal. It only lasted a second but it was long enough.
When Takeo hit the door release, rough hands were there to drag the charred body out and throw it to the ground. Collins had her handcuffs ready but they weren’t needed. The blackened teeth and smoking eye sockets made it obvious that he was dead.
Mizuki pulled Takeo out of the drivers’ seat and shook him, yelled at him in Japanese that no one else understood but it sounded like she was telling him he was stupid. She hit him then hugged him then hit him again. He pulled her in tight and held her for a long time.
122
Gunny
The last of the tribes had arrived that afternoon, the one missing had been found burnt up and shot up in a bar a hundred miles away. No survivors. The locals who had done it were long gone his Lieutenant had reported.
“Probably a large group of survivors surprised our men and high tailed it to Lakota as soon as they won the fight.” Paco said, reading from his notes to make sure he wouldn’t forget anything.
Casey frowned. He didn’t know that group very well, they were relative new comers, but Pounder and his tribe was missing too. The rumors he’d heard said the Road Angel had wiped them out in Blackfoot. He and some mangy mutt had killed eight of his men in a bar, killed eight more at their garage then ran down the rest. He’d caught up with them in some hick town and finished the job. That sniveling little brat had taken out a whole expedition party and freed all the slaves. He still fumed about that but there was nothing he could do now. First things first. He needed his stronghold.
“Call the summit meeting for tonight.” he told his gathered war council. “Roast up some people, sacrifice a few virgins, whatever. I don’t care. Lucinda, you and the president make the plans. Make it huge. I want everyone fired up. I want a thousand kill-crazy warriors. I want to work them into a frenzy and then we’re going to drive everything we have up the mountain. We’re going to ram right through, I don’t care how many people we lose. Tonight, we’re taking that town. No more pussy footing around.”
Gunny and Griz sat with the rest of the Human Hunters on old tires and torn up sofas they’d drug near the firepit. All around them, most of the other tribes had done the same. Men and women relaxing, taking afternoon naps or working on their machines. Casey had set up in the middle of the little town and the tribes had encircled him, taking over workshops, garages and stores. Word was out. Big Pow wow tonight. The first time the entire Raider Army had gathered together and they could already smell the aroma of roasting flesh. They were a massive army with hundreds of war machines and thousands of people. Casey wasn’t tiptoeing around anymore with probing actions: tonight they were going to hit the walls with everything they had. By tomorrow, they were going to be relaxing in the injun village and having their way with the injun women.
Gunny looked up from sharpening his knife and caught Cherry Pie’s eye. She gave him the slightest nod, the slightest smile then hurried to the next vehicle with her bicycle pump. She’d been ordered to air up all the tires, make sure they were all at the proper pressure. It had been Gunny’s idea when he’d noticed one of his nearly flat. He made sure he yelled at her loud and clear so everyone could hear.
“A half flat tire can pop right off the rim if I turn a corner too hard, especially in this desert!” He’d tossed her the pump then offered her services to anyone else. Of course, they took him up on his offer. None of them even had a pump.
“Some of you other lazy bitches help her.” Python hollered over at the women gathered around the cook fires and they hurried over to take their turn with the tire gauge and hand pump.
“Might be a nice gesture to the other tribes if we had them fill theirs, too.” Gunny said. “They’ve got too much free time on their hands anyway, all they do is sit around and gossip.”
“You heard him.” Python yelled at them. “Move your asses.”
The girls glared at Johnny Killjoy to hide their laughter inside. These raiders were so easy to manipulate. At every car they came to, all afternoon in the blazing sun while others found shade, they added air where it was needed. They blocked the view of the gas tank as they worked, their serapes or ponchos hiding them dumping handfuls of sand in each one. The war rigs wouldn’t make it far before the filters clogged up. With luck, they wouldn’t make it halfway up the mountain.
Gunny sat back and rolled a smoke. The first part of his plan was working out. The easy part. The radio messages had been received last night and he’d seen the flash of lights at exactly three am. They heard, they understood, they awaited further instruction.
A quick message to Wire Bender about the attack tonight and Joey Tallstrider singing it in a fake interview with Bastille about Native American Culture and the trap was set. A few hundred against a few thousand. It was going to get bloody. Gunny started sharpening his other knife.
The party that night was epic. A party to
end all parties. The wasteland raiders had the generators powering the amplifiers and lights and a band of sorts had been hastily thrown together. The drummers pounded out a hard driving beat on dozens of homemade drums. The lead guitarist made up in volume and speed what he lacked in talent and anyone that had an instrument joined in. The singer wasn’t bad. He had been the Friday night hero at a local karaoke bar and his vocals covered up a multitude of missed notes and slightly out of tune players. A dozen bodies had been slow roasted over coals, basted with a hallucinogenic concoction cooked up by the tribe’s best bathtub chemists and drugstore cowboys.
“I want something to make them loose all fear and inhibitions.” Casey had said. “Something that will make them kill crazy.”
The chemist showed him his special recipe, a concoction he’d come up with to do everything Casey wanted and more. A little bit of angel dust, a kilo or two of uncut cocaine and some home-made meth mixed in a washtub then liberally injected into the meat should do the trick. A basting paste of bath salts should give them unwavering courage. After they took the clifftop, they could have an orgy.
“Sounds good.” Casey said. “Better crush some Viagra and add it to the recipe.”
He’d wanted to end the whole eating people rituals but not tonight. Tonight, it was expected and needed to get everyone in the right frame of mind. His last disastrous run at the town had revealed something to one of his lieutenants observing with the binoculars. The Indians were almost out of ammo. By the end of the battle, they had been using black powder rifles. One more hard push and he’d get that gate open and get inside. Things could change then, he told himself. Once I have my stronghold, then I’ll put an end to some of this extreme stuff. We’ll be a real society with real plans.
Zombie Road: The Second Omnibus | Books 4-6 | Jessie+Scarlet Page 83