“S1 go,” Papi states out loud.
Papi’s voice startled Roger. He looks to the front seat, noticing Papi is wearing an earpiece similar to what police officers wear.
“10-4. We’re in route. ETA 15. We have two new guests.” Papi turns to the back seat. “Sorry, boys. We need to detour back to the Atrium. Need to lead some walkers away from the ice cream shop. Take us home, Craig.”
“Stop the truck and let us out,” Roger demands. He stiffens and his hands clinch into fists.
“No can do, little dude. We need to head back. When the boss…” Craig is cut short.
“Stop the fucking truck and let us out. We’re not going with you. We have our own place.”
“Now look here, son.” Papi remains turned in his seat, thinking the skinny thirteen-year-old won’t attack.
Roger’s ever growing unease and sense of danger, doom, death and everything else bad, causes him to react swiftly. He shoots forward, striking Papi as hard as he can with the butt of his rifle. In one fluid movement he has a round chambered and the rifle pointed at Craig’s head. “Stop the truck!” Roger yells.
Craig does as he is told, bringing the truck to a stop in the middle of the street. He looks over at Papi, who’s pressing his hands against the throbbing knot developing over his left eye. Roger reaches for the door handle with his right hand while still holding the rifle level with Craig’s head.
“We don’t have to do this. We should see where they live in case…”
“In case what, Brett? Look around you. They’re adults and we know what happened the last time adults came around. Remember Shelly? We’re out of here.” Roger pushes the door open and steps out.
“Look out.” Sly says softly, watching the impressive command presence Roger is displaying.
Roger doesn’t see the fist.
Giant reaches down, picking up Roger’s unconscious body, and gently rests him in the seat from which he tried to escape. “You should cuff this one Sly. He’s a fighter.”
Brett stares wide-eyed as Giant lifts his friend back into the truck. Words escape him. His arms remain frozen. He watches as Roger’s seatbelt is fastened and his hands are cuffed. Roger’s head sways to one side, and a trickle of blood escapes his mouth.
“Will he be ok?” Brett asks.
“He’ll come around. Giant barely hit him. If he really hit him he’d be dead,” Sly states, climbing back over Brett. He doesn’t notice when her breasts press against him slightly.
“Papi, you good?” Sly asks.
“Bit of a headache. That kids’ quick. He’ll be handy on supply runs,” Papi answers, still holding the bump over his left eye.
“We’ll see. If they don’t want to stay we can’t force them,” Sly explains, smiling at Brett. He remains in a slight state of shock. Roger’s going to be pissed, this he knows, and trouble will follow.
Giant climbs back into the bed of the truck and taps the roof twice with his heavy hand, indicating they are good to go.
Craig looks around the cab of the truck. “Never a dull moment with you lot. I could use a dull moment right about now.” He turns right on the next street and heads away from the tree house.
Part 2
The Atrium
CHAPTER 13.
Adam McCaw breathes deeply, stares down at the paperwork sitting in front of him,. He strikes a pen mark through a name at the bottom of the operations team list. Cassie Thorton, a short robust woman in her late fifties, twisted her ankle severely that morning, while moving a case of water in the east end of the basement, where all the food supplies are kept. The area is cool and easily guarded, one way in, one way out. The west end of the basement is a lot warmer, now that Adam has repaired the boiler. Atrium residents now enjoy hot water when needed, just not for showers.
“They’re two minutes out. Rolling heavy with two boys along for the ride,” Anderson, last name only, tells Adam. Anderson holds a small city radio in one hand. Adam knows how to keep the city repeaters operational as long as the power holds out, and even then the repeaters have sophisticated back-up battery. Anderson’s slate grey eyes burn holes through Adam.
Staring back, Adam finally speaks, breaking the pregnant pause. “Really. Good to hear about the supplies. Two more survivors, hmm…. Well, we’ll find room for them somewhere.”
“Very good, sir. I will make the necessary arrangements with Liz?” Anderson, who is Adam’s Deputy Director, possesses a strong military background, having been retired for well over twenty years after serving for thirty. Liz, whom he mentioned, is the Director of Logistics. She is responsible for laying out the floor space or footprint of the Atrium, designating sleeping areas, bathing times and essentials, watching over food and water supplies, and most importantly, medical supplies. Liz works closely with Edward Rebney, Director of Planning.
Edward, never Ed for short, always Edward, lost his parents and wife in the beginning of the event. Edward’s new responsibilities included developing food and medical supply runs. He maintains vehicle logs, including fuel levels and general conditions. He keeps continuous tabs on the men and women at his disposal. He keeps secret tabs on the two ten-year-old twin boys, Stephan and Curtis, but unfortunately they are always with their loud mother. The woman makes Edward cringe every time he has to talk to her. He fantasizes about leaving her outside to be eaten by the dead. The thought always brings a smile to his face. Edward spots Anderson by Adam’s office, instantly knowing more work is coming his way. He ducks away quickly.
Adam finally breaks free from Anderson’s stare. “Yes, make the arrangements. Are the boys healthy?”
“Yes, sir. Papi states both are very healthy, a little on the skinny side and they can both use baths and fresh clothes. He also states one is rather quick and very aggressive. I think one attacked Papi.”
“Very well. I’ll meet you by the west dock in a few minutes. Same drill. Make sure they lead the walkers away from the ice cream parlor. Have the alley swept before letting the squad back into the perimeter.” Adam smiles at the thought of Papi being attacked by a kid.
“Got it. See you in a few.” Anderson doesn’t snap off a salute though every fiber of his being tells him to.
Adam watches Anderson exit his office. Glad he’s on my side.
***
Craig Prudy drives the black Chevy 4x4 onto Placer St. He stops the truck short of Market St. facing west. All four windows are down in the crew cab. Papi sits in the passenger seat, scanning the immediate threats milling around the front of the Atrium and the ice cream parlor, a full block away. The parlor’s front window sits nearly five feet off the ground and the front door was up several steps tucked into a small alcove. Not necessarily friendly for folks with disabilities, but it is easily secured. The window on the other hand is a constant cause for worry. Too large to board up, not enough raw materials to stack in front of it, and it’s single pane glass. A guard sits just inside the parlor at all times, hidden away from plain view.
Roger rests slumped over, having yet to regain consciousness. Brett sits between Roger and Sly. Sly pats him on the knee. “We do this every time. Draw unwanted attention away from the entrance and especially that.” Sly points to the large window complete with fading letters and decorations from Halloween.
They sit quietly as the engine idles. Normal sounds of the city don’t exist anymore. The constant droning of traffic, people and life has been replaced by an eerie silence, often broken by the sounds of the dead.
“This always gives me the creeps,” Sly whispers to Brett.
“Really?” Brett asks.
“Shh. I hear one coming,” Papi says softly.
The runner emerges from behind an overturned van. The zombie, a former car salesman, still wearing his best brown tie, sprints towards the group, passing decaying corpses in the streets. Craig nods to Papi before stepping out of the truck. Papi slides over to the driver’s seat, placing his hand on the shifter, ready to move the truck immediately if necessary. Sly shift
s her weight back, placing her rear almost in Brett’s lap. “Hold still. I need a clear shot,” she says over her shoulder. Brett obliges, though he can’t keep from holding his breath. Sly rests her head softly across the rifle, and in one steady move shifts the weapon, finding the runner. She focuses the scope perfectly on the zombies’ head, and then leads it.
“Any time, Sly,” Craig says quietly with a hint of his growing impatience. He never liked being outside the walls of the Atrium for too long.
Sly slides her finger over the trigger but hesitates. Figures begin moving in blurred fashion behind the runner. Sly pops her head up, spotting the growing wall of dead at the same time Craig does.
“Fuck this, we’re out of here.” Craig walks around to the passenger side of the truck realizing the first group of zombies had finally noticed them.
“Heads up. We have company moving our way from the west as well.”
“Let’s lead them southwest towards the rail yard. Maybe this time we can lose them down that one hill,” Sly explains. Papi raises his window as the runner fast approaches.
“Shouldn’t we go?” Brett asks. He starts lifting out of the seat as fear washes over him. No answer. He looks to Roger and then towards the passenger side door.
Brett, in a hushed voice, leans over and speaks, “Wake up, Roger, we’re bailing.” Roger doesn’t stir.
Sly shaking her head, states, “We wait. We need to make sure they take the bait. Draw them away from the Atrium before we double back. There’s too many of them.”
The words comfort Brett for a brief moment. The runner slams into the side of the truck with a sharp snap, and crashing sound.
“Goddamn, Papi, let’s go! We don’t need to take this guy for a ride,” Craig yells.
Papi shifts into drive as the runner batters the side of the truck with its decaying hands, leaving small pieces of rotting flesh and dark brown smears across the windows. The runner looks up at Giant standing in the bed of the truck as the heavy softball bat caves in its head. Giant smiles. Papi maneuvers the truck towards the wall of dead, and then turns down a side street. The walking abominations take the bait and follow. Two more runners emerge from the wall, catching up with the slow moving truck. They grab at the tailgate of the truck, never obtaining full grasps. Papi moves the truck along, just fast enough to keep the dead from climbing onboard. Giant watches, waiting patiently, careful not to waste ammunition or energy.
“We’ll lead them several blocks from the Atrium, then slow a bit so they remain interested, and continue to the rail yard,” Sly says, pulling Brett in close hugging him. “Giant and I will keep you two safe, don’t worry.”
Brett can smell her sweat. He closes his eyes for a second, feeling his cares slip away. She smells so good and a loose hair from her ponytail tickles the side of his neck. I could die now… Brett thinks.
CHAPTER 14.
Feeding time…again
The man in white straddles Jack’s legs yet again. He stares at Jack, wondering if he is really asleep. No matter, he isn’t going anywhere. The man in white removes a small ball gag from his pocket, unravels the harness and slips it over Jack’s head.
Jack’s eyes pop open. “What the fuck are you doing, you sick son…mmph?” Jack is quickly silenced.
“You’re a bit noisy and very rude. You succeeded in drawing unwanted attention and it took a while for them to lose interest. So this time I need you to be silent. Besides, I need to harvest a bit more for my daughters.”
The grin on the face of the man in white was truly the creepiest thing Jack had seen to date, and he had seen a lot shit over the past few weeks. However he can’t help but notice the man’s breath smells good, almost refreshing with a tinge of mint. Al least he practices good hygiene, what the fuck is that? Jack watches the man in white remove what appears to be a large stainless steel branch cutter from the medical bag. The rounded bottom blade shines brightly as the man in white admires the instrument. Jack’s eyes are wide as he imagines what the man has in store for him. Without warning, his captor darts behind him and out of sight.
“Heff…wa…mphh…wha…” Jack nearly chokes on the ball gag. He moves his head rapidly from side to side, attempting to see what the deranged dick has in store for him. He continues breathing in and out heavily, causing vast amounts of saliva to build up. Spit runs down his chin. He pulls forward as hard as he can, but the awkward position makes it impossible to free his hands. Then he feels the man in white grab his left hand, stretching out his pinky.
“Noph,” Jack screams against the ball gag, suddenly feeling the urge to vomit. He closes his eyes, fighting back the contents, what there is, in his stomach. Total fear encompasses his body and batters any idea of continued survival. He is on the ropes taking a pounding, not only physically, but now mentally as his brain is beat to a pulp. He wishes for instant death. No luck.
As the large razor-sharp medical instrument cleanly removes his pinky finger, Jack finds the resolve to remain silent. The screaming is all in his mind now. He is locked in a dark room wailing, crying, punching, biting, anything to take him away from the here and now. He is begging Julia to come help him, hoping for death to come. He asks for his son. Where are you Ro?
The man in white places Jack’s pinky in a clean plastic bowl he’s retrieved from the medical bag. He doesn’t give much credence to the open wound, for he has more harvesting to complete. Next he grabs the ring finger and in one clean movement it is removed. “This tool is one of the best purchases I ever made. Less pain I suppose when the cut is that clean. Now to patch you up.” The man in white leans close to Jack’s ear. “You need to live.” The man tends to the open wounds as best he can, telling Jack if the bleeding persists he will have to cauterize the wounds. “Painful, but necessary to keep you around.”
The man in white removes three syringes from the medical bag. He administers one shot in the left arm and two in the right shoulder. “I just gave you a strong antibiotic to help ward off infection and two vitamin boosters. I’ll be back down after the feeding with some water and food for you.”
Jack watches the zombie family writhe around attempting to gain freedom. He wishes they could free themselves and kill him, and the man in white. His desire to survive has vanished along with two of his fingers. The pain alone is enough to cause most people to pass out, but Jack remains alert, watching his keeper cautiously approach the bound zombies. Jack studies the man’s movements again, a habit he picked up while teaching. Something about body language and mannerisms always helps tell a person’s story. The man in white, he is a southpaw, and wears small bifocal glasses that typically rest near the tip of his nose. Through the pain and shock of losing two fingers, being held as a buffet for the dead, and realizing the deranged fuck on the other side of the crawl space, feeding his god damn fingers to fucking zombies, has his phone with all the pictures that remain of Ronan and Julia, Jack begins to plan.
The man in white rests on his knees in front of the smaller of the two girls. He removes Jack’s pinky from the plastic bowl, holding it above the zombie. “My little Darla. Eat this and I promise you a cure. You’ll be able to play in the backyard and go to school and be in all the plays. You will be a star.” Darla’s head follows her father’s hand. Jack can’t tell if it’s because of the fresh meat in his hand, or his hand itself. It makes no difference when the bloody pinky finger falls into her hungry dead mouth. Her teeth snap and crunch on the small bones in the finger. Jack can see a bulge on the side of the girls neck as one of the bones descended sideways.
The man in white moves to the next girl, “how’s my girl today? Just like I told your sister, soon a cure will be found and you can go back to school. Do you understand me, Darlene? Do you understand there will be a cure?” The man in white begins whimpering. Tears roll down his face as he removes Jack’s ring finger, holding it above his oldest daughter’s head. Again, the zombie follows the hand as though it was a trained dog. In fact, all four members of the family follow the
hand. The finger drops in Darlene’s mouth. “That’s my girl. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
Jack watches from the dark as a sinister grin spreads across his face, threatening to snap the ball gag harness.
CHAPTER 15.
Yonkey
Stanley Yonkey walks through the Atrium’s bottom floor, nervously cleaning a long crescent wrench, with an old stained shop towel, a trick he learned while serving as a Motor-pool Crewman in the Marines. The simple appearance of cleaning a tool while walking towards what appeared to be work was typically enough to keep from being bothered by higher ranks. The same can be said for the Atrium hierarchy. Yonkey learned early on that Edward and Liz should be avoided at all costs. Edward is a pompous arrogant pervert who took his position as Planning Director far too seriously, and Liz was just plain fucking annoying. Her stories went on and on, just as her jowls did while she spoke. They never stop moving, that’s incredible. Yonkey walks past Liz as she speaks with a woeful looking husband and wife, who had lost their only child in the event. Liz pauses momentarily as if to say something to Yonkey, but misses the chance as he quickly disappears.
Out of the corner of his eye Yonkey sees various residents sleeping on bare mattresses, tending to daily chores, or simply staring at nothing. One man sits against the cold concrete wall, reading one of the last Record Searchlight newspapers to go to print. The top of the paper is worn thin and most of the headline is gone, but Yonkey knows it’s the article about the inner city rivalry and upcoming high school football game. He’s read the same article a dozen times, and at times wonders who would’ve been victorious. Close to the west staircase, leading to the main floor, two young boys run by holding paper airplanes high. Their laughter is infectious and Yonkey feels he is in a good place for the time being. A smile creeps across his face, followed by a sudden shiver running up his spine. He remembers feeling comfortable at the Convention Center, feeling hopeful for the future, then the massacre at the hands of the United States Military, the same military he had served in before being dishonorably discharged. His right eye twitches slightly, remembering his escape from the cemetery.
Dust of the Devil's Land Page 7