“This little lady is working with you now,” Whipple said, pointing to Dave. “Put his ass to work.”
“Yes, sir,” Pratchett replied.
Whipple leaned in until he was only inches away from Dave’s face. “I’m watching you.”
* * *
Dave worked for three hours, moving boxes and crates from a temporary holding area into an empty first-floor dorm room. Pratchett, whose first name turned out to be Gary, worked alongside him. An armed guard monitored their effort from a distance, chastising them if they moved too slowly for his liking.
“Lunch,” the guard called out. “Get your asses over there before it’s gone.”
Dave followed Gary’s lead, taking a seat alongside him at a larger table. Another prisoner sat down across from them. Armed handlers herded more prisoners to adjacent tables. No one spoke. Metal plates and cups lined the table in front of them.
Once seated, a guard walked up to the table carrying a large mixing bowl filled with dingy-white mashed potatoes. Using a ladle, he scooped a heap of the potatoes out of the bowl, depositing the mess with a sloppy thump upon the plates. Another guard followed behind the potato-flinger, pouring equally dingy water into the cups.
“Don’t we get any spoons?” Dave asked.
The guard pouring the water scowled. “Ain’t that adorable. He wants a spoon.”
“Use your hands!” the potato-flinger shouted.
“You want an after dinner mint too, precious?” The water-pouring guard chuckled at himself.
Dave didn’t reply. The guards moved on.
“Five star accommodations, eh?” the man said from across the table. Taller than Gary, with salt and pepper hair and a scraggly beard, his eyes shone a deep blue. Dave felt tremendous depth in those eyes.
“I’m Johnny,” the man said. “Welcome to Hell.”
“They told me I was going to Fiji,” Dave said.
Johnny glanced at Gary and chuckled. “I like this one already. Where are you from, my friend?”
“St. Louis. Until the bombs went off.”
“We heard about that. Glenn’s outdone himself this time.”
“Who’s Glenn?” Dave asked.
“Calvin’s daddy. He runs this shithole.”
“I heard about him.”
“You know Calvin, do you?”
“We rode in together. Hell of a conversationalist.”
Johnny grinned. “You should meet his daddy. The apple don’t fall far from the tree.”
“I’ll bet.”
Johnny motioned toward Dave’s mashed potatoes. “You better eat before those guard get antsy,” he said, filling his own mouth. “Otherwise they get their feelings hurt thinking you don’t like their cooking.”
Dave glanced toward the guards serving lunch. They scowled in return. He dunked a filthy hand into the tepid mound of potatoes, cramming a handful into his mouth. To his surprise it tasted wonderful, until he remembered just how hungry he’d been.
Johnny took a drink of the cloudy water. “Glenn fancies himself as some sort of George Patton type. Truth is, he’s just some dumbshit prepper who got lucky enough to have survived the virus and the deadwalkers. He pulled that bombing trick here too; turned out to be just enough for him to get a foot in the door.”
Dave considered mentioning that Calvin and Glenn had provided the bombs in St. Louis as well, but decided against it. It turned out he didn’t have to.
“I’ll bet Glenn bombed St. Louis too,” Gary added.
“That’s a bet you’d win, my friend,” Johnny said.
“You think Glenn’s behind it?” Dave asked, playing dumb.
Johnny nodded.
“How do you know?”
“I got sources. Word is that Glenn’s got some connections out west. Helped him get the firepower to take out the guard.”
“What happened to them all?” Dave asked. “Were they killed?”
“Not right away,” Gary said.
“So there were survivors?”
“Take a look around this place,” Johnny said. “You won’t find a single member of the guard.”
“Maybe they’re just locked up?”
Johnny shook his head. “They ain’t coming back.”
They ate their mashed potatoes in silence until Whipple made his way over to the table. “Make some new friends over here?”
Everyone at the table remained silent.
“Lunch is over in five minutes, assholes. You better finish your grub and get your asses back on the line. You fuckers hear me?”
A round of ‘yes, sir’ chimed from those sitting at the table, almost in unison. Dave added his in for good measure.
“Good,” Whipple replied, giving the table another glare before walking away.
“I hate that asshole,” Johnny said, once Whipple was out of sight. “Nothing would make me happier than cutting that fucker’s throat.”
Dave glared at Whipple as he walked away. “That makes two of us.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Using the map from the corner store, Trish and the rest of the group set out the following morning, due west. For the rest of the day they traveled along the railroad as it cut through the Missouri countryside. Beside them grew lush forest, the trees full of leaves now that spring had arrived.
Short stretches of overgrown farmland broke up the forest, placing the group out into the open. Despite the farmland being void of both the infected and uninfected, Trish found that the seclusion of the forest calmed her nerves.
Much like they’d used the highway to guide them toward St. Louis, Trish and the group now used the railroad to guide them to Kansas City. Although she couldn’t predict what they’d find along the tracks, it at least made getting lost impossible.
Passing through Bonnots Mill, they stopped for lunch. They ate tepid vegetable soup with stale crackers, chasing it with stream water they’d boiled earlier.
Later in the day the sound of running water caught their attention. Before long the Missouri River appeared through the spaces between the trees, its current strong and fast. As they walked, the track veered until they found themselves directly beside the river, separated by a thin line of trees.
Under different circumstances, Trish thought the sounds of the water lapping against the riverbank could have been soothing. Now it only reminded her of how open and exposed they were.
They camped without a fire that night, eating more soup, followed by a package of dried bananas found in the train wreck. Trish and the boys alternated guard duty, alongside Max and Rose.
They rose early the following morning, walking all day and making banal conversation to pass the time. Near the end of the evening they found themselves on the outskirts of Jefferson City.
They pushed on, despite the pain in their feet, until the forest opened up, revealing the state’s former capital. As the forest fell away, buildings and parking lots appeared, edged by subdivisions and houses.
Among these buildings sat an Amtrak station, red brick sitting atop a white stone base. Behind that the state capitol building loomed, its soot-stained façade staring back at them like a face with a giant bruise. Dead cars clung stubbornly to parking spaces, rusting skeletons of an extinct species.
They pulled back from the forest’s edge, retreating into the woods again in order to formulate their next move. The boys sat upon the track, keeping watch from both directions while Trish spread the map out upon the brown-stained gravel between the rails. Max and Rose took up positions alongside her, peering at the map.
Using her index finger to make an imaginary circle on the map, Trish highlighted the area where they now stood. “We’re going to be exposed while we’re walking through downtown.” She moved her finger along the track and toward the western edge of the city. “But once we get through it we’ll end up back in the woods again.”
“I don’t like being out in the open while we walk through the city,” Rose said.
“If we wait until dark we’ll
be harder to see,” Trish suggested.
“I don’t like that either. Isn’t there another way across?”
“Not really. Not without trying to cross the river or going out and around the city. That’d be miles out of the way.”
“But it would be safer.”
“Maybe, but there’s no guarantee of that. If we cut through the city, hard and fast, we’ll be back in the woods again in a matter of minutes, not hours.”
“I don’t know…”
“Honey,” Max said, “Trish is right. Going through is really our best option.”
“But we’re too exposed.”
“We’re exposed everywhere.”
“Not like this, not near a city. It could be full of those things. Or worse.”
“Rose, come on, be reasonable.”
Rose squinted her eyes and folded her arms. “I feel like I’m the only one here who is being reasonable.”
“How about we think about it over some food?” Trish suggested. “We could double back into the woods and find that steam we passed a half-mile or so. Boil some water and eat some hot food. Then we can decide what to do.”
Rose stood, arms still crossed. Eventually she nodded her head. “Okay. That sounds fair. I’m sure the boys could use some food too.”
Zach and Jeremy agreed.
“I just don’t want us to go out of our way for nothing,” Max continued, “or end up worse off. If we go through-”
“Let’s just pick this conversation up later,” Trish said. “We don’t need to decide now.”
Max’s eyes narrowed momentarily. He glanced back and forth between Trish and Rose. “Alright, fine.”
“Come on, guys,” Trish said to Zach and Jeremy. “Let’s get moving.”
The boys stood, falling in behind Trish.
Rose followed, leaving Max where he stood.
Max sighed, shaking his head. “I wish I had a cigarette,” he said before heading after them rest of the group.
* * *
Max heated tomato soup above an open campfire while Zach and Jeremy lit sticks and watched them burn. Trish stood away from the fire, looking into the darkened forest toward the railroad track. She glanced toward the fire, wishing she had some marshmallows for the kids to roast. Even more, she wanted to see Ed there, sitting between the boys, his arms around them as the fire warmed their faces.
“Those are two great boys,” Rose said.
Trish turned quickly, so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t heard Rose approach.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, it’s okay. I guess I was daydreaming.”
The fire crackled. Red-orange specks of burning wood drifted into the air, pushed upward by hot air currents. Crickets chirped in the distance as a gentle breeze rustled leaves in the darkness.
“Do you believe in Heaven?” Rose finally asked.
Trish took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I used to.”
“When the virus came I asked God how He could do such a thing to the world. How He could allow so many innocent people to die. I thought about the story of Noah, about how God had destroyed the world once before. So I thought maybe he’d done it again. I thought we were seeing Bible prophecy at work. At least then things made sense.
“We survived, you know? The three of us, including my son, Ian. We were believers. We went to church. We prayed. We followed the gospel. It took us so long to get pregnant; I was almost forty when he was born. Ian was our miracle. So when everybody else got sick I thought God had protected us.”
“But something changed.”
“Ian got sick. A few days later my little boy was dead. Then nothing made sense at all. I didn’t know what I believed anymore.”
“Do you still believe?”
“I have to. I can’t bear the thought of not seeing him again. That would destroy me.”
Moments passed, silent. Nocturnal birds chirped out their songs in the dark forest.
“Those boys, I know they’re not blood,” Rose continued, “but they’ve taken to you like they’re yours.”
“They’re very important to me. The most important thing.”
“They’re a gift. Whether you believe in God or life after death, nothing changes that. I’d give up the rest of my life if I could have my little boy back for just one more day.”
More silence passed.
“You think going through the city is best?” Rose asked.
“I think so.”
“Then let’s do it. Tonight. The sooner we get back on track again the sooner we get those boys to a safe place.”
“You’re sure?”
“Not really. But sometimes you have to have faith.”
* * *
After darkness fell they packed up, extinguishing the last remnants of their fire by smothering it with dirt. They walked back to the railroad tracks through the darkened forest, the forest’s canopy blocking out the feeble light provided by the half moon overhead.
Once at the tracks the forest opened up, allowing the moonlight to shine through. While they could see well enough to navigate the tracks, the light remained minimal, providing some degree of cover. Quietly they walked along the track toward the city, with only the sound of their feet upon the gravel broadcasting their presence.
Slowed by the darkness, the walk back took longer than it had before. Eventually they found themselves back at the forest’s edge, peering out into the darkened, ruined city.
Trish squatted, level with the boys. “Stick with me. Don’t get separated.”
“Okay,” both Zach and Jeremy said.
“What if you do?”
“We keep going until we make it to the woods,” Zach said.
“And what else?”
“If you don’t find us by mid-day tomorrow we go on without you.”
“Good. Promise me.”
“But-” Jeremy began.
“No buts,” Trish said. “Promise me.”
“We promise,” they said in unison.
“We’ll be okay. Just keep moving and stick together. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Trish retrieved Ryder’s pistol from her pocket, flipping off the safety. “Then let’s go.”
* * *
Using the feeble light cast by the moon hanging high in the sky above them, Trish navigated the track. Beside them the Missouri River gurgled while crickets sang in the overgrown fields. Gravel crunched under their feet. Dewy air covered them like a blanket.
Trish led the group, followed by Zach and Jeremy. Max and Rose brought up the rear. With each step she took something tugged at her gut, something ominous and dangerous, while at the same time amorphous and fleeting. Something impossible to pin down. It took all she had to resist the urge to run, to simply break out and sprint across the exposed section of track, diving into the protective forest beckoning them from afar.
She walked quickly, as quickly as she thought they could all manage without injuring themselves. Navigating railroad tracks proved tricky enough in the daytime, even more so in the anemic moonlight. A sprained or broken ankle would be devastating, possibly even deadly.
The seconds ticked by. Trish placed one foot in front of the other, targeting the railroad ties with her boots to avoid walking on the jagged gravel. Shapes took on frightening forms in the darkness, objects silhouetted by moonlight. Her mind had no problem imagining them all to be the dangerous creatures she feared.
Attempting to ignore the tricks her eyes were playing on her, Trish glanced down at the track again, diverting her eyes from the shadows. She placed her feet on the dark railroad ties, one by one, focused on making it to the other side.
She noticed debris on the track. A short stick, reflecting white moonlight back at her. Then another, further ahead, lying haphazardly upon the track. She kept moving, staring at it as she passed.
Another, glaring grizzly white back at her. She peered ahead, eyes following the track as far as she could in the dim light. Dozens
of similar objects lay strewn about, piled up on the tracks and spilling down the side. Curious, she slowed, inspecting the objects.
Then she saw it. A human skull lying amidst piles of bones, covering the tracks for as far as she could see.
A chill ran down her spine. She opened her mouth to tell them all to run, to run as fast as they could, but she never made it that far. A scream pierced the quiet night, followed by the sound of frenetic footfalls and the odor of rot as a figure rushed toward her out of the shadows.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The next day Ed felt a little better. The pain remained, but lessened in its intensity, exchanging sharp jabs for dull throbs. He slept most of the day, partially due to his injuries and stress, partially because he simply did not want to be awake. No dreams accosted him while he slept, allowing him to drift off into blissful nothingness.
He ate once in the morning and once in the evening. He urinated in a bottle throughout the day, getting up to dump it only on Jasper’s insistence.
The following day Jasper brought Ed some books from his personal collection. It seemed that Jasper had a macabre fascination with the “Zombie Apocalypse”, or at least how writers had envisioned it before it actually happened. Ed read through the books, some ridiculous in their errors and some chilling in their accuracy.
Ed had never fancied himself as much of a reader before the virus, but he quickly discovered how much power the medium possessed. Instead of dwelling on his missing family, he lost himself in different worlds, focused on the lives and problems of others, rather than his own.
He found himself particularly drawn to a character named Gus, star of Keith Blackmore’s aptly-titled Mountain Man. Though Gus drank heavily and cursed fluently, he also displayed compassion and kindness in the face of it all. Ed couldn’t help but wonder if Jasper, like Gus, had accumulated an equally impressive stockpile of toilet paper.
Jasper came and went, collecting supplies and recharging his stockpile. “I gotta get outta here for a bit,” he told Ed. “Gonna go ride and see what I can find. If I don’t come back, the place is yours.”
By the end of the third day Jasper returned before dark, bringing with him an entire case of Slim Jims. “Jackpot!” he exclaimed, barging into Ed’s room and tossing the box down upon the floor. “I burned through my last bunch of these things a couple months ago. They’re salty as shit, but they beat the hell outta creamed corn.”
Badlands Trilogy (Book 2): Beyond the Badlands Page 13