Surviving the Dead (Book 7): The Killing Line

by James N. Cook

  “Have a seat.” Ross waved a hand at row of bar stools. His voice was deep and resonant with a southern drawl that could only have originated in the Mississippi Delta. I glanced out the front window to make sure no one was bothering Liz and Sabrina. They stood alone at the hitch rail with the livestock, people passing by indifferently on the street behind them. I took a seat.

  “Care for a drink?” Ross asked.

  “Sure. What do you have?”

  “Anything you want, long as it’s moonshine.”

  “Moonshine it is.”

  He poured me a drink. I took a sip. It wasn’t as good as Mike Stall’s, but it wouldn’t blind me either.

  “Not bad,” I said.

  He gave a slow nod and fixed the empty eyes on me. “What you need?”

  “Room, laundry, stables, and a safe place to store my trade.”

  “Doin’ business in town?”

  “Not presently, no.”

  He glanced out the window and looked meaningfully at Liz and Sabrina. “You sure about that? Some good lookin’ women with you.”

  The old familiar coldness rose in my chest and I felt myself go still. “They’re not merchandise.”

  Ross smiled with all the warmth of an ice cube. There were a couple of teeth missing on the left side of his face.

  “Don’t be too sure,” he said. “Every woman got a price.”

  “Anyone bothers them, it’s their fucking life. How’s that for a price?”

  Another slow nod. The grin faded. “Pretty steep.”

  “Can you help me or not?”

  He stood up and slowly wandered over to a cloth covered in wet, heavy-bottomed glasses, picked one up, and began drying it with a yellow towel. “Sure. What you got for trade?”

  A negotiation ensued. I bought the three of us a room for a week, laundry service, stables for the horses and oxen, and a spot on the floor of a nearby warehouse. The price was much less than I would have expected. Maybe Thornberg had been telling the truth about this being the off season for Dodge City.

  “I’ll need to check out the warehouse before I render payment,” I said. “Make sure the security is up to snuff.”

  “Sure. How ‘bout you pay for the first night now, the rest when you’re satisfied?”

  “Fair enough.”

  Ross took a keyring out of his pocket, unlocked a panel behind the bar, and removed a room key.

  “Number sixteen. Go upstairs and take your first left. Third door on your right.”

  I took the key. It was small, brass, and looked like the kind that opened a padlock. I dug four packets of instant coffee from a shirt pocket and dropped them on the bar.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  Ross continued drying glasses, holding each one up to the light through the window to assess its cleanliness. I stood up and walked toward the door.

  “Hey,” Ross called as I touched the door handle. I looked over my shoulder.

  “Yeah?”

  “You change your mind about them women, you let me know.”

  I stared at him for a long moment. Grown men had trembled under the weight of that stare, but Ross did not seem affected. I felt a strong urge to cross the room and back up the stare by putting a gun barrel under his chin, but didn’t. Ross did not strike me as the kind of man who would be impressed by threats.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I said, and went out the door.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Room sixteen at the Sky River Hotel had two single beds, a dresser topped with a plastic pitcher, a large stainless steel bowl that would have been great for applying Buffalo sauce to chicken wings, and a small bathroom. The toilet was a crudely made wooden box containing a bucket of very dry dirt to which a cushioned seat had been attached. A smaller bucket with more dirt sat nearby. Sabrina peeked over my shoulder.

  “I think we’d be better off shitting in a hole in the ground,” she said. “At least then we could get away from the stink.”

  I glanced around the small room. “Sabrina, your eloquence and delicate mastery of expression never ceases to humble and astonish me.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I supposed you and Liz will be taking the beds?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good thing I have a well-equipped bedroll.”

  Liz smiled at me from one of the beds. She sat on it with her legs crossed, leaning back on a pillow propped against the headboard, a paperback copy of A Farewell to Arms in her hands.

  “Just think what Allison would say if she knew you made one of us sleep on the floor,” she said.

  The mention of my wife sent a sharp jolt of pain through me. Her distance from me had been like a bone spur in the back of my mind, constantly grating, but until that moment I had kept it compartmentalized. Hearing her name, however, made the longing for her roar to life as sharp and merciless as a stomach cramp. I wanted to be close to my wife. I wanted to hold my son. It felt like a lifetime had passed since I had last kissed the little guy’s face. I had been trying not to think of him, but now his absence was a physical thing, a pressure in my chest threatening to choke me. My jaw clenched and I felt the muscles along my cheek working under the skin.

  “Hey,” Elizabeth said. “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me.”

  I cleared my throat so I could speak. “I know.”

  “That I’m stupid or that I’m sorry?”

  “You’re not stupid, Liz.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No worries. I’m headed out. Walk the perimeter, look for trouble.”

  Liz did not speak for a few seconds, then said, “Be careful.”

  “Stay here. Both of you. Don’t open the door for anyone but me.” I looked at Sabrina. “You armed?”

  She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Who the fuck are you talking to?”

  “I withdraw the question. Be back soon.”

  Before I shut the door I stopped and leaned back into the room. “Hey Liz?”

  “Yes?”

  “The English nurse dies at the end.”

  She closed one of Hemingway’s most distinguished works and threw it to the floor. “Asshole.”

  “Now we’re even.”

  *****

  The part of town I walked through was, according to the signs, the central business district.

  Most of the place was a crumbling wreck, but some buildings had been repaired, others bulldozed and replaced with new construction. The streets were mostly clear of debris, and the most unstable areas had been cordoned off with signs and crude rope fences. By the inflow of people from the north and east, I surmised those directions harbored Dodge City’s residential areas.

  On the street I walked were two empty auction houses that had once been strip malls, the parking lots empty now, the gutted brick buildings uninhabited, the crudely-fenced livestock pens full of growing grass that would turn to shit-crusted mud when the caravan season started again. In the meantime, they looked disused and uncared for.

  I passed the warehouse where I had stowed our trade and, upon assessment, agreed with Ross that it was highly secure. The building had once been a mixed-use office complex, but now the windows were boarded over and all but one entrance had been sealed with bricks and mortar. The only way in or out was a single garage door in the back manned by heavily armed guards who all appeared to have been born without a sense of humor.

  The streets themselves were cracked and broken like all pavement was anymore. Plants pushed through here and there where feet and hooves had not trampled them to death. Scorch marks and rust-brown streaks abounded, a mute testament to the scores of infected that once populated the town. And beneath the scents of living beings—wood smoke, dung, urine, rotting vegetables, and sweat—lay the unmistakable cloying scent of death. I wondered how long it would take for human habitation and the elements to cleanse the place.

  A few filthy-looking restaurants served unappetizing food to grim faced customers, all of whom appeared to be local
s. Everyone I saw was armed. They all seemed to know each other. And they didn’t know me, a fact which became more acutely obvious the longer I walked the streets. The weight of the nine-millimeter pistol on my hip was comforting, as was the revolver against the small of my back, the fighting knife on my left leg, and the MK 9 ghoul-chopper strapped to my back. I kept my face blank and did my best to look like the kind of man one did not want to fuck with. I must have pulled it off, because no one did. But I got lots of looks.

  As I walked back toward my hotel, I spotted a group of three men watching me. They were rough looking, like everyone else on the street, but there was a quiet menace in them I had not seen in any others. They sat in one of the few crowded bars lining the business district with no one close to them, a ring of empty tables insulating them from the rest of the crowd. I scanned their side of the street, not letting my eyes rest on the men for more than a moment. Two were bearded white men, very young. The third was older and had the kind of dark brown skin and sharp features that could have originated anywhere from southern Texas to Patagonia. By their posture, I could tell the two young white guys deferred to the dark-skinned older man. One of them leaned over and whispered something. The older man nodded once, his eyes steady on me.

  One of the many talents I have developed since the Outbreak is the ability to tell the difference between casual distrust and outright hostility. There is a difference in the way a person looks at you when they mean you harm. It is a weight in the eyes, a stillness of the face, a tightness in the line of the jaw. And I saw it in the faces of the three thugs as they stared at me.

  “Just what I fucking need,” I muttered.

  It occurred to me to avoid the hotel, but I decided doing so in a place like this was pointless. A simple inquiry would tell the three hardcases where I was holed up. If they wanted to make a run at me, they would. All I could do was remain vigilant, which was exactly what I was going to do anyway.

  Back in my room, I informed Sabrina and Elizabeth of my findings. Liz looked worried. Sabrina looked angry.

  “I told you we shouldn’t have come here,” Sabrina said.

  “A few street toughs is nothing to get in a ruffle about,” I said.

  “What you saw is no indication of how many there actually are. Place like this, there’s probably a syndicate running things. And here we are, a bunch of jackasses with plenty of trade and no backup. Sitting fucking ducks.”

  “You’re making assumptions. Three guys in a bar gave me the mean mug. That doesn’t mean we’re about to be descended upon by an army of murderers.”

  Sabrina’s eyes flashed. She never looked more like her father than when she was angry. “It doesn’t mean they’re coming by with flowers and fucking smiles either. They marked you. They’re going to come for us. It’s how things work on the road.”

  I sat down cross-legged on my bedroll and drew my pistol. Checked the chamber. Dropped the mag and popped it against my hand a couple of times. The rounds were seated. The gun was clean. I drew my dagger and checked the edge. It was just as sharp as the last time I’d tested it. I looked out the window at the tops of shattered buildings stretching into the distance under a cloudy gray sky. If they caught us in our room, we were done for. The only way to win was to ambush the ambushers.

  “You’re right,” I said. “We need backup.”

  Elizabeth’s gaze became very sharp. “What are you thinking?”

  “Stay here.”

  I stood up, holstered my weapons, and headed downstairs.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Ross was still behind the bar, only now instead of polishing glasses he was thumbing through a faded copy of a pre-Outbreak men’s magazine. The passage of years had not made the young actress on the cover any less beautiful, or any less scantily clad. I walked up to the bar and stood across from its owner.

  “Got a minute?”

  He did not look up. “Got lots of minutes.”

  “I’d like to talk in private.”

  “What about?”

  “Like I said. In private.”

  He glanced up at me speculatively for a few seconds, then put down the magazine. “Let’s go.”

  He lifted the folding divider so I could step behind the bar and I followed him down a short hallway and turned right into an open office. The space was about the size of my hotel room but much more nicely appointed. There were lanterns mounted in wall sconces in all four corners of the room, the soft yellow light creating a pleasant ambience in the windowless space. Richly stained bookshelves lined the walls complete with leather-bound tomes boasting such titles as Robinson Crusoe, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, The Sound and the Fury, The Three Musketeers, War and Peace, and perhaps a hundred others I did not have time to scan. The desk was polished oak, the chairs were upholstered leather with little brass studs around the edges, and the floor was smooth and stained a dark walnut color. A dark brown leather couch lined one wall, supporting the considerable weight of a man whose skin tone nearly matched the flooring.

  “This Terrell,” Ross said, flicking a finger in the big man’s direction as he walked behind his desk. Terrell stood up. He was not quite the size of a rhinoceros, but it was a near thing.

  “Eric Riordan.”

  The big man nodded once. “Got to search you.”

  I glanced at Ross. His face remained impassive as he sat back in his chair. I looked back at Terrell.

  “Okay.”

  Terrell was quick and professional. The Berretta and knife were out in the open, and he lifted them as light and quick as a talented pickpocket. His hands skimmed my arms, shoulders, waist, chest, stomach, legs, and he paid special attention to the ankles. When he was finished, he added my little revolver and a clip-point folding knife to the pile of weapons on the table next to the couch and flipped an enormous hand in Ross’ direction.

  “He safe.”

  “Thank you, Terrell.” Ross motioned for me to sit down. I did.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  The couch creaked as Terrell sat down behind me. I did not need to look in his direction to know he was watching me.

  “I have a problem I need help with.”

  Ross spread his hands. “Everybody got problems. What yours got to do with me?”

  “I may have attracted the unwanted attention of a few unsavory types.”

  “This Dodge City, baby. Unsavory the only type there is.”

  “There were three of them. Two young white guys with beards and an older Hispanic man. Older guy seemed like the one in charge.”

  “Where they at when you saw ‘em?”

  I told him the name of the bar.

  “The old man be Lopez. You don’t want no trouble with him. He bad news.”

  “I may not have much choice in the matter.”

  “You still ain’t said what this got to do with me.”

  “I’m not a rookie when it comes to life on the road. I’m here with two women and some good trade. This Lopez guy thinks I’m an easy target and is looking to make a run at me. I would like to ensure he fails in this endeavor. With prejudice. You seem like a man who might know where I could enlist help in that area.”

  Ross grinned, once more exposing the two missing teeth. “I like the way you talk. Sound like you got some schoolin’.”

  “Princeton. Most people don’t hold it against me.”

  “Ain’t too many of you ivy leaguers around no more. Too spoiled. Too weak.”

  “There are outliers in any population.”

  The grin widened. “Say I help you. What you do for me?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I already told you what I want.”

  “No,” I said firmly. “Not an option. What else?”

  The grin went away. Ross’ eyes glittered black in the dim light. “I could just kill you. Take those women for myself.”

  It was my turn to smile. “Good luck with that.”

  “I want you dead, white man, you dead.”

>   “Isn’t me you have to worry about. Those women are no wilting violets. They won’t be taken alive, and even if you do, they’ll spend every second of every day making you regret it. And if you give them half a chance, they’ll kill you.”

  Ross crossed his legs and drummed his fingers on one knee. “They so tough, why you need me?”

  “You’re local. You know the score around here.”

  “You right about that.”

  I sighed. The conversation was starting to bore me. “So can we do business or what? If you can’t help me, there are other people I can ask.”

  Ross stared a few more seconds, then opened a drawer and took out a ledger. “Lopez be a problem for me too. You see, after the Army clean up this town, we the first ones here looking to do business.”

  “What kind of business?”

  Ross’ face registered amusement “Way you say it, you think I be engaged in some kind of illegal activity.”

  “I think the hotel and livery and warehouse operations make an excellent front for a smuggler. And I can’t help but notice the way the whores in this district never cross the street. I’m guessing you control one half of the vice trade around here and Lopez controls the other.”

  “And you only been in town one day. Maybe you smarter than you look, Ivy League.”

  “Maybe. Can we get to the part where you tell me what you want?”

  Ross spun the ledger around. Inside were sheets of paper with small photos clipped to the upper left corner. I pulled the top photo from the folder and looked at it closely. It had been printed on photographic paper from an inkjet printer. The materials for making photos like this were rare and extremely expensive, not to mention the fact they required electricity to produce. I put the photo back in the file and read the papers attached to it.