The Creepers (Book 1)
Page 30
Bobby broke his hold on the Creepers. They began to feed, and the Pastor screamed until his last human breath let out.
* * * * *
Bobby stuffed kindling beneath the pyre as Ol’ Randy’s lifeless body greeted the morning sun. His army stayed vigilant off to the west, surrounding the safe house, but not a shot was fired. Somewhere nearby he heard the steady clicking of plastic keys as Pathos One recorded the grim history, diligently in his digital book of the dead.
The weight of regret far outweighed the heaviness of his rifle. It had to be done, he told himself. Flashes of Ecky and his brothers flickered through his mind. So much death . . . so much pain . . . so that he could live. He lit the pyre.
The flames licked at the last of his family, sending smoke into the pale blue sky. Bobby didn’t pray, he thought instead, choosing to remember his father’s life, his brothers’ and Yannek’s. He watched the fire consume Ol’ Randy’s body until nothing but ash remained, and longer, until the winds carried them onward.
“Where to now?” Pathos One asked solemnly.
“Away from here,” Bobby replied. He ordered the Creepers from the Settlement. Watching their slow march he said, “There’s a lake, not far. The Folks harvest fish from it in late summer.”
“What for?” Pathos One asked, adjusting his shoulder bag. “We need to think about supplies.”
“For him,” Bobby said, pointing at a one-legged Creeper just inside the fence. A black, leather-bound book clutched in one hand, the other hanging limply at its side. In undeath Pastor Craven dragged his broken body onto the Old Still Water Road. “He doesn’t deserve the gift of death. He can think about what he’s done until his mind rots away, until he becomes sediment in the dark water." Bobby directed his words into thoughts, into images, and he sent them into the Pastor’s mind.
“What was his full name?”
“It doesn’t matter . . . he no longer matters.”
Bobby didn’t look back as he left the Settlement for the last time. He looked forward. He looked at his army of Creepers and thought of the task ahead.
The rusted chain coiled like a snake around him. Bobby could hear his prayers, much like the pleas of the Creeper trapped in Baylor’s train, and he sent back thoughts relaying that he was the only one that could hear him. The Pastor’s blue-gray face hissed, thick mucus splashed the dry dirt.
Remember them, remember me, Bobby projected, sending the faces of his broken family into what remained of the Pastor’s Fection-riddled mind. The black water of the lake shone like the mouth of oblivion far below. From the cliff Bobby looked out to the beautiful mountains, his thoughts far beyond even them, a great sense of calm came over him, rushing through his long hair on sweet wind. He kicked the Pastor over.
He watched from the Pastor’s eyes, watched himself seem further and further away. The water sloshed over him, murky and brown. Bubbles drifted all around like jewels in the morning light, but the day did not last. The light began to fade, quickly growing darker, darker still, until all was black, save for the pinpoint of the sun, now, just as distant, if not more so, as every star in the sky. The weight of the chain sinking the Pastor into the silt, Bobby broke his contact.
He stared down into the lake. All that remained of the Pastor were ripples on the obsidian surface, and those too, would soon fade, until nothing was left but deep, dark contemplation.
EPILOGUE
Baylor stared at the bloodstain. Over a year had passed since he ended that man’s life to save the boy’s. The train rattled along the tracks, moving forward, pressing towards the west. Much had changed in that time. He’d seen the resistance in the east grow. Word had spread. Thinking people from all over had begun to band together in the hills of North Carolina. And with their efforts the train grew in size. More track, the elusive Pacific beckoned to him.
Dotsero was not far off now.
The steady hiss of steam, gray against green smears through the windows, did little to take his mind off of Bobby. He had hoped, and though he wasn’t a religious man, prayed that he’d see the boy again on the return trip, but it wasn’t in the cards. Not a single long winter night passed that he didn’t think of Bobby. All year he felt the loss, they all did, as they owed their lives to the boy. But none took it harder than Sophie.
“Nothing I hate more than watching men grieve,” Jamie said from beside him. “Always unnerves me. Can’t stand seeing men trying to figure out the proper emotional response.”
“I’m not grieving, Jamie,” Baylor replied with a wave of his hand.
“Nonsense, Baylor, we’re all in the dumps,” Jamie rapped her knuckle on the window, “we know what’s coming up. There’s still hope.”
Her cheeks were dry, but from their flushness he could tell she’d been crying. Why did he ever let the kid go? He had to stop, knowing full well where that line of questioning would lead. You just couldn’t go through life with baggage. You either dropped it, settled it, or regretted it later. The kid had to go, had to settle the past’s baggage, and that’s all there is to it, he thought.
“How’s Sophie,” he asked, quickly changing the subject.
“I told you I didn’t want her on this trip. She’s just months after having a baby. This is no place for her . . . or for her child." Jamie wrung her hands nervously.
“As if any of us could’ve stopped her from coming.”
“She gets that from you,” Jamie said, stabbing Baylor in the chest with her finger.
“Uh-uh, woman, she gets it from you. The boy?”
“He’s angry as a wasp that one. He’ll be a fighter . . . like his father." Jamie blotted at her eyes with the edge of her apron. She dropped down on the bench across from Baylor. Her arms were ruddy from toiling in the kitchen all morning, but she reminded Baylor the extra work was necessary. She didn’t dare have Sophie up and about, scrubbing and cooking with the baby and all.
“Doc Collins says the kid is immune.”
“It is a miracle,” Jamie said.
“No, it’s a gift from people I’ll never meet, that were smarter than I’ll ever be. They dared to push the envelope. They may have saved us all." Baylor clasped his hand over Jamie’s, gave it a pat, and then stood.
“Two decades, and finally a little luck.”
“We need it now more than ever,” Baylor said, nodding towards the window.
The trees gave way to the brownish blur of the volcanic mountain that dominated Dotsero. Rows of dilapidated white trailers cut around the mountain’s base in the distance. Baylor headed for the crisp breeze and a better vantage point.
“He’ll be there this time,” Jamie called after him. With a grunting effort she lifted herself up and went to her cabin. She’d been tinkering with the CB radio the boy had used to barter for ammunition when he first arrived. Over the last few nights she’d been getting strange signals on it, but she’d kept silent about it. Now wasn’t the time to reveal it to Baylor.
* * * * *
His hair had grown long, past his chin, and that too, was now covered in patches of brown. He stood on the track, tapping it with the tip of his boot. Remnants of the battle were still scattered all around, though, most of the bodies had been dragged away by carrion feeders. However, there were still many sun-bleached bones strewn about, and empty fatigues worn thin by the elements. A ratty looking crow watched him from its ribcage perch. The nasty bird preened its oily feathers while sneaking glances at Bobby, as if it was offended by his presence. The steady chug-chug of the steam engine sent the crow screeching into the air.
The track trembled underfoot, vibrating within and alongside his nervous emotions. So much had changed over the long summer and winter months. He’d become different in his thinking. Pathos One called it getting old, but Bobby wasn’t so sure. He noticed things, the finer detail and workings in them, and he found that he now understood them on a whole new level. The crow wasn’t just an ugly bird, but a necessary cycle, a cog in the natural machinery of life.
&nb
sp; But over many cold and dark nights Bobby could think only of her. He remembered with a clarity unmatched, the subtle scent of her hair, the feel of her skin, and her timid, yet utterly serious voice. Every night she was with him. The thought of her kept him warm, but more than that, the idea of the familial life she represented soothed his sadness.
Bobby finally had a place to call home.
The train rounded the bend, belching clouds of steam from its dragon mouth, protruding sharp iron spikes, offering him a chance at a new life. He began to wave his arms, and his companion began to shout and holler. A little bit of the lost kid in him chipped away at his rough exterior. For the first time in a long time he laughed.
Her hair looked amazing in the clear light, blazing like a torch, and Baylor stood behind her like a proud parent greeting a child on his first day of school. Something Bobby had never experienced before.
The train’s crawl slowed further, until it stopped at last.
“No crane this time, Bobby,” Baylor said. His breath nearly taken away in astonishment.
“Got room for two tired and hungry travelers?” Bobby asked with a wry smile. He added, “We can carry our own weight.”
“We got room for you, but I don’t know about him,” Baylor chided, nodding at Pathos One. “Didn’t really do much last time he was aboard.”
Pathos One scoffed and slapped Baylor’s outstretched hand.
The purple-jacketed Mad Conductor helped his passengers aboard with a broad smile on his face. He hugged Bobby, lifting him off the ground. Glancing at Sophie he quickly escorted Pathos One inside.
“Next stop the Pacific Ocean! All aboard!” Baylor shouted as he and the traveling historian of the dead entered the belly of the beast.
A cloud of steam drifted between them as the train came to life. Bobby stared at her freckled face, looking into her eyes had him on the verge of collapse. But the little crying bundle in her arms had him steadying himself.
“Your son,” Sophie said in a whisper. She held the child out.
Bobby’s hands trembled. Emotions he didn’t even know existed rained down upon him. He reached out ever-so-carefully, flinched, then drew the warm bundle close to his chest. The boy had the freckled nose of his mother, but there was no mistaking the eyes. He spent many mornings studying those same eyes in puddles and ponds. Life had come full circle, and started to turn once more. Bobby drew Sophie close. She kissed him gently, brushing his long hair back off his face.
After many winters Bobby finally found a home, and a future. Suddenly the world didn’t seem so dark, but there was still a lot of work left to do.
Table of Contents
copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
BOOK II
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
BOOK III
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
EPILOGUE