The Good, The Dead & The Lawless (Book 2): The Hell That Follows

by Archer, Angelique

  You can do this.

  Something on the floor beneath her bed caught her eye. It was one of Mark’s comics, the one he’d been reading when they were attacked that night by Cade.

  At first, the only thing she could think of was Cade’s fists beating and breaking her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will the images to disappear.

  But then she remembered Mark, jumping in to defend her without any thought to his own safety, that a grown man, a seasoned fighter like Cade, could easily kill him.

  He didn’t let that hold him back when he chose to protect her.

  If he could risk his life for her, if he could somehow have hope in a future wrought with danger and madness, if he could still remember Christmas, then the least she could do was bring a little joy and cheer to him.

  Haven stood up, squared her shoulders, and took a deep, steadying breath.

  She pulled on her jacket and walked to the door, opening it and turning around to give the room one last look before she left.

  Slipping easily between the cars, moving as quickly and silently as a phantom, Haven reached the end of the train and slowly slid open the back doors. It was a steep drop, but she landed on the ground in a crouch and then scrambled under the train, listening for any sign that the sentries atop the train had noticed her.

  Morning mist swirled about, and she knew it would work to her advantage, shielding her from their watchful eyes.

  They would be leaving Georgia tomorrow, but she still had one last thing she needed to do first.

  Brett tapped on the dry erase board with his marker as the children squirmed on the floor. These days, he regularly assisted a few of the older passengers with lessons, mixing in basic survival tips he’d learned from his grandmother, as well as a broad array of subjects the children would normally have in school.

  He found it challenging at times with so many varying ages in the class. Choosing subject matter that wasn’t too advanced for the youngsters, but also not so juvenile that the older students were bored out of their minds had been something he spent most of his days working on when he wasn’t helping out with sentry duty.

  “So since we recently left Florida, what are the four types of venomous snakes found there again?” It was his way of tying in the geography they’d just crossed through with some helpful, interesting survival tips about the terrain.

  “Water moccasin, rattlesnake, copperhead, coral snake,” the chorus of children answered him.

  Brett nodded approvingly. “And how do we survive a snakebite?”

  “Stay still, and have a friend get help,” one of the students called out.

  “How do we avoid getting bitten by snakes?” he asked.

  “Watch where you put your hands and feet!”

  Brett clapped. “Good, awesome job!” He started to turn his back to them to write the homework assignment on the board when he whirled around quickly. “And what’s the capital of Florida?”

  “Tallahassee!” they shouted back enthusiastically.

  “You guys are all-stars.” Brett beamed at them.

  His gaze shifted to the entrance of the car where he noticed a welcome group of familiar faces. Jeremy Higby, Lana Thompson, and Derek Brighton waved to him. He gave them a small nod and smile and gestured for them to wait.

  Aside from his family, the three of them were his favorite people on the train. They were all close to the same age, Jeremy being the oldest, then Derek, himself, and Lana. Brett had missed the camaraderie of college, the dorm life, the parties… procrastinating on writing a paper because a late night in the woods with a bonfire and friends sounded much more appealing.

  Sure, life on the train wasn’t nearly as good as it had been in college, and as much as he wished he could go back to those days, he knew in his heart they were over.

  Brett was primarily on Team Bravo, as were his friends, so they often tried to get scheduled for the same timeslots for sentry duty. They’d come up with a points system for who speared the most zombies, and when no zombies were around, they’d sit on top of the train and pass around whatever bottle of liquor they could get their hands on.

  It was no bonfire or off-campus college party, but it was something he looked forward to, and he genuinely cared for them and hoped they’d all be together for the long haul.

  Lana’s sister, Ellie, was in his class, and Lana would frequently arrive a few minutes before the end to watch Brett teach and bring her sister back to their room.

  Ellie was the last surviving member of her family, and Lana was understandably protective of her, seldom letting her out of her sight. Brett’s class was one of the very few places she left her sister’s side.

  “Alright, guys,” he announced as he scribbled on the board. “For those of you who got assigned the words for the Spelling Bee tomorrow, there may be a mystery prize for the winner. For the rest of you, let’s work on these multiplication tables tonight.” He gave a few of the students high-fives as they exited the car, then he went over to his friends with Ellie.

  “How’s she doing?” Lana inquired. She tucked her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear and wrapped her arms around Ellie as the little girl rushed forward to hug her legs.

  He patted Ellie on the head. “She’s doing great. Was trying to help the other students older than her with their homework, and she definitely knows the venomous snakes to look out for in Florida.”

  Lana smirked. “Well, that’s more useful than multiplication nowadays.”

  “What are you guys up to?” Brett turned to the others.

  Jeremy shrugged. “I mean, I wish I could say something cooler than card games after lunch.” Everyone chuckled. “Want to join?”

  “I think Ms. Greer is teaching the kids this afternoon, so I’m down,” Brett answered.

  Mark suddenly burst through between them.

  “Hey, why weren’t you in class?” Brett scolded him.

  The boy handed him a note. “I’ve been looking everywhere for her.”

  Brett’s heart sank as soon as he recognized the handwriting on the paper.

  “Haven’s gone.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The first thing Haven wanted to do when she got out of the forest was to find a car. Thus far, she’d been alone on her journey, but it was only a matter of time before they showed up.

  She shivered and ran her hands up and down her arms to warm them. Her boots crunched along the thin layer of snow on the gravel. They were loud, too loud. She constantly turned around, certain zombies would hear her and attack her at any moment.

  She could hear their moans in her mind, the raspy groans of hunger of which she’d grown too familiar. Haven hadn’t encountered them since before she got onto the train, and she felt out of fighting shape. Her limbs protested with each step, and with a twinge of apprehension, she knew Vetta was right about her not being ready to get back out there with the others.

  Hesitantly, she took in a deep breath and winced, her ribs tender. What would she do if she ran into two, three, four? What if she was feeble and weak and couldn’t fight them off? She imagined a tortuous death, one where she was overtaken, and they dug their teeth and nails into her skin, ripping it apart while she screamed in agony, completely alone. No one would ever find her body because there wouldn’t be anything left, and if there was, she would end up just like them, hungrily roaming the land for the next meal.

  Her palms began to sweat inside of her gloves, even in the near freezing temperatures, until the gloves themselves were damp.

  It was a stupid idea to try to bring Christmas to Mark and her family. She wasn’t her grandmother; she didn’t have a knack for this. Besides, it was a frivolous concern in times like these when a successful day was simply one where no one died.

  And what was she thinking doing it unaccompanied, not telling anyone where she was going? Her stupidity could easily cost her everything.

  Haven paused mid-step, looking over her shoulder once more.

  Maybe she
should go back. She was only a few miles from the train. Maybe they could have Christmas again someday when the dead no longer rose to eat the living.

  She turned around, heading back to the forest.

  Yes, that is what she would do. She would go back to the train, and Mark couldn’t be disappointed she returned empty-handed because he never knew of her plans.

  Life would continue as it had on the train, and no one would be the wiser that she’d even left.

  Haven nodded to herself, trying to be content with her decision.

  But then she thought about her grandmother and how she always looked forward to this time of the year with inextinguishable anticipation, no matter her age.

  Mark was still a child, and even in a world like this where Christmas shouldn’t exist, he had somehow managed to remember. Even though he’d lost everyone, he didn’t let it diminish those memories.

  It was a hard lesson he’d unknowingly been teaching her since they met. He represented everything good and right in the world, just like Faith, and she loved him even more for it.

  Besides, her grandmother would be disappointed with her if she went back. She smiled sadly and turned around again.

  After a mile or so, Haven noticed a strip mall up ahead. She felt a surge of relief when she saw some vehicles in the parking lot. If she could hotwire a car and drive instead of walk, she would feel much safer on her mission.

  Colin had taught her how to hotwire a vehicle back when they were at the lake house. She’d never tried it on her own without his supervision, but he had made it look so simple that she was confident she could do it without him.

  The first few cars were locked. Haven didn’t mind smashing a window to get in, but if one of the cars was already unlocked, she’d feel silly. The last thing she wanted was to draw more attention to herself.

  Her fingers lifted the handle of a beat-up Pontiac Sunfire, and her lips curved up when she heard a welcome click. She opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat, yanking out her knife.

  Pulling off the plastic cover on the steering column, she studied the bundle of colorful electrical wires. She remembered Colin telling her it was important to know which two to combine together, and when in doubt, to refer to the owner’s manual which was supposed to be in the glove box. Haven bit her lip as she fumbled with the wires. She was too impatient to read the manual, but electrocuting herself sounded even less favorable than thumbing through the pages of the book.

  Her knife trembled slightly in her hand, and she grumbled under her breath before acquiescing and punching the button on the glove compartment.

  The former owner of the Sunfire had been messy, fast food restaurant napkins, crumpled receipts, and coffee-stained paperwork shoved into the glove box. She shuffled the items around, tossing them onto the floor.

  While she strained to find the manual, her legs outside of the car, she failed to hear the scuffling of feet dragging along the gravel toward her.

  A zombie had spotted her while it ventured aimlessly along the road. It had a nasty shoulder wound visible through its torn shirt, and flesh from its nose down to its chin was gone, revealing decayed gums and long, dirty teeth.

  It wasn’t until the creature was a few cars away from her that she looked up and noticed it.

  Her heart raced. Her eyes darted from the zombie to the jumbled wires hanging from beneath the steering wheel and back to the zombie again.

  She could kill it and continue searching for the manual.

  A month before, she wouldn’t have hesitated.

  But now, as she willed her limbs to move, to at least close the door and be safer within the car, her body refused to budge. She was paralyzed.

  She could kill it.

  She could kill it.

  Shaking herself from her paralysis, Haven cursed and grabbed her pack from beside her feet. As it neared the hood of the Sunfire, she ran around it, and kept running until she was back on the main road. Every inch of her body ached, especially her ribs, as though they were cracking and splintering with each breath she took.

  Finally caving to her pain, Haven hunched over her knees, gasping in agony.

  She looked behind her.

  The zombie had wandered out of the parking lot and was now on the main road with her.

  And, even more worrisome, three had joined it, seemingly materializing out of nowhere. They all had their gazes locked on her, and they were staggering only slightly slower than her pathetic jog.

  Haven felt the knots of fear pitted in her stomach twist and tangle.

  She should have killed the one when it was alone. Maybe it wouldn’t have attracted the others.

  They were catching up to her quickly. Haven jogged again, stumbling as she tried to put distance between them.

  Holly Hills.

  A trailer park was up ahead, and she was instantly filled with a sense of hope at the thought of refuge to be found within one of the trailers. She would wait there until the group of zombies passed.

  Turning off the road, Haven went by the main office and into the residential area. The park had every color of home imaginable. Some were in better shape than others. She scurried between them in a zig-zag pattern, hoping that if the zombies had followed her from the road, they would have lost her by now.

  Haven steadied her breathing and gripped her knife tightly. She couldn’t let her guard down. The homes were closely packed together, and there was sufficient crawl space beneath most of them where a lurking zombie could easily dart out and grab her.

  She continued along until she reached a dilapidated children’s park. Toys were strewn about everywhere. Streaks of blood and dark red handprints covered the jungle gym and tube slide. Something rattled to her left, and Haven jumped, startled.

  A zombie was trapped in the swing behind the slide, snarled in the metal chains. It swiped at her in vain, and once she was satisfied that it was trapped, she kept going.

  A flash of movement caught her eye, and from between the trailers, she could see the same group that had tracked her from the road. Not paying attention, she collided with a cable dish sitting in a front yard.

  Haven hit the ground hard, landing on her shoulder. She yelped as pain rippled through her body.

  Realizing she’d made a mistake, she shoved aside the thin wood panel covering the space of the home beside her and scrambled beneath it.

  She held her breath and waited, straining to hear if the creatures had noticed her. After ten minutes passed with nothing, she crawled out.

  Looking up at her surroundings, she saw icicle Christmas lights hanging loosely from the roof of the trailer, the kind that were left there year-round.

  In spite of her fear, a smile appeared on her lips as an idea came to her.

  Perhaps if the homes were empty, she could find improvised gifts for her family and not need to go further and risk encountering more undead.

  The door to the trailer was locked, but she easily broke the cheap lock and entered the home. It was dark and dusty inside. Haven stayed near the door for a moment, listening for the tell-tale shuffling steps or throaty moans. She flared her nostrils and inhaled deeply, but the place seemed to be void of that signature rotting stench.

  Minimal light filtered in through the blinds, but it was enough to allow her to clearly see her surroundings.

  The first things she noticed were the wood paneled walls, a well-worn brown sofa, a matching recliner, and a china cabinet overflowing with trinkets and mismatched plates, bowls, cups, and pitchers.

  Haven continued into the kitchen and two bedrooms, and once she was satisfied that she was alone, she relaxed, her arm holding her gun falling to her side in relief.

  As quietly as she could, she shoved the recliner in front of the door since the lock was broken. The door was flimsy, but if anything wandered up to it and tried to get in, the recliner blocking the entrance would buy her a few extra seconds to find another escape route.

  The master bedroom was cluttered, laundry pi
led in every available open space. Knick-knacks and figurines covered the dresser and nightstands, and cheap canvas prints littered the walls. She combed through the contents in the drawers, tossing aside years’ worth of hunting magazines before settling on something on top of a nightstand for Houston.

  A few minutes later, she went back to the second bedroom. It had been a child’s room at one point. The wallpaper, although old and peeling, had basketballs, footballs, and baseballs all over it. Now it was a storage room of sorts, with cardboard boxes piled up to the ceiling in one corner and a treadmill that seemed to serve more as a rack for clothes than exercise equipment.

  Haven opened the drawers of the dresser and moved aside folded clothes and socks. After seeing nothing of interest, she went to the sole nightstand in the room and began sifting through its contents. There were some old books in it, children’s stories. She set them aside as they were a bit too juvenile for Mark.

  She looked around and saw the closet, which was full of men’s and women’s clothes. There were shoeboxes on the top rack, and she took them down one by one, placing them on the floor.

  “Yes!” she whispered in delight.

  Inside the first shoebox were old action figures, mostly Star Wars characters. There were too many to take with her, but she selected Darth Vader, Boba Fett, and Han Solo and packed them into the bag she brought with her.

  The next shoebox had some Pokémon cards and pogs. Haven vaguely remembered kids trading the cardboard or plastic disks with one another in elementary school. It was a fad that had come and gone, but seeing them made her nostalgic. She closed the lids on both shoeboxes and returned them to the closet.

  Hasty writing on the cardboard boxes caught her attention, and she ran her fingers over the letters. She removed several of the boxes from the top of the stack until she could unpack the one she wanted.

  Pulling out garland, strands of lights, colorful ornaments, and endless Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer figurines, she finally found exactly what she needed.