“Feel?” Jane said. “You don’t know for sure?”
“No, ma’am, I do not,” Gunner replied. “All I do know is that it’s safe behind our walls. To keep it that way, we need supplies and cooperation.”
This statement in particular reminded Logan of Devin Johnson and the way he had led the people of Ironlock.
Jane didn’t argue with him.
“When do we go?” Logan asked.
“As soon as possible. Today, even,” Gunner said.
“But what about the darkness?” Jane pleaded. Logan put his arm around her and pulled her close, kissed her on top of the head. Her hair smelled great, like vanilla.
“Ma’am, if we worked around the darkness’ schedule, we’d never get anything done,” Gunner said. “With all due respect.”
That was true. Logan knew that firsthand. How many hours had they traveled in the darkness? Too many, to be sure.
“We have to go as soon as we can. People are suffering in our infirmary, and we are running low on supplies. When I heard we would be adding to our modest population, I prayed to God that he would send me warriors. My prayers were answered,” Gunner said.
Logan stood up. He stuck out his hand, and Gunner took it. Warrior. He liked the sound of that.
Still, he could feel Jane’s eyes boring into his back.
Brad stood up, too. He shook Gunner’s hand after Logan. It seemed he had warmed up to the guy after all. For that, Logan was grateful. It had taken him a lot longer to warm up to Devin, back when they had first arrived at Ironlock.
“Rendezvous after lunch in the parking garage. We’ll discuss plans there. Until then,” Gunner looked at each of them square in the eyes, “it’s been a pleasure meeting you. We’re going to have a long and fruitful friendship, I believe.”
Logan led the others out of the hotel room. He gave a courteous nod to the woman who had showed them inside and then went down the hall to the stairs. On the stairs, they met three new faces. Each of them, despite the current circumstances, was smiling. One was a woman a little older than Jane. Her belly was swollen. If Logan had to guess, he would have said she was due any moment. She was one of the three pregnant women of the compound.
Jane’s sour demeanor changed upon meeting this woman, Ruth. Her husband was killed in downtown Akron, while stuck in traffic on his way home from work. She had been talking to him on the phone, their conversation about where they wanted to go out to dinner that Friday.
“Going out to dinner on Friday nights was a ritual. It was kind of like our date night. I remember craving Red Lobster, but couldn’t have it because Alan was allergic to fish. Just stepping into a seafood place made him break out in hives. We settled for Applebee’s. And we said we’d go a little later so we could get half-priced appetizers. The boneless buffalo wings, the chicken quesadilla—oh, my. It’s odd, what you remember during a tragedy. Then I heard the monsters roaring and the horns blaring and the clatter of his cell phone—you know what?” she said, tearing up. “Never mind. We all have our sob stories. I’m sorry.”
Jane said, “No, honey, it’s all right,” and hugged her.
Ruth walked down the steps with them until they hit the ground level. the whole time, Jane and Ruth talked about pregnancies and how wonderful it all was. Jane was beaming, and Logan was just happy to see her smiling again.
In the lobby, Ruth parted from their group and headed toward what was once a restaurant. There, at the tables, a bunch of people were playing cards—poker, Logan thought.
“You’re welcome to join,” Ruth said.
Jane looked at Logan, who shrugged. It would be nice to get to know some of the other people.
Grease said, “I’ll never turn down cards. Now that May ain’t here, maybe I got a chance at winning.” He rubbed his hands together greedily and went down the steps toward the tables.
Brad laughed and shook his head. He followed him.
“What the hell,” Logan said. He went, too, leaving Jane and Ruth to their bonding.
At the table sat half a dozen or so people, others crowding around. They weren’t playing poker. They were playing blackjack. The dealer wore one of those flimsy plastic visors, the kind that were almost translucent, and black slacks, a button-down white shirt, and a black vest. He looked like an honest-to-God dealer.
The window behind the table offered a view of the river, which moved sluggishly, dusted with a scum of white ice. The window had been barricaded, and not by your run of the mill blockade of loose chairs and tables. For one, the window was too big for that; they would’ve needed a hell of a lot of tables. No, it was barricaded by iron bars stretching from floor to ceiling. The iron gleamed and winked from the low burning candlelight and the sconces on the walls. Logan was impressed.
“Get in here, big guy!” Grease shouted. “Empty seat!”
Brad was standing behind Grease, his hands on the back of the chair, as the dealer grinned at the newest additions to the table. He shuffled the cards like a pro.
Logan looked at the chair, motioned a hand toward it. “After you, my friend,” he said to Brad.
“Ah, he won’t do it. Too much of a sore loser,” Grease said.
“Screw you, Grease,” Brad said.
Grease looked at Logan, cocked an eyebrow. “See?”
So Brad grabbed the empty chair, pulled it out, and sat in it. “Bet I do better than you,” he said.
“How much?”
Last time they’d acted like this, like people without Death’s fingers tapping on their shoulders, going for their throats, was a long time ago. If all Logan had to do for their happiness, for their peace of mind, was a measly supply run, then so be it. He would’ve done so much more than that. Wouldn’t he?
The dealer’s name was Nick. He had worked in Cleveland at the Jack Casino.
“Good money,” he said. “Someone hits big and they get real generous with their tips. The booze helped, too. It always does. Of course, I didn’t make squat hourly, but that was okay, and if I dealt too many winners…well, that didn’t look too good for me, did it? Guess it doesn’t matter anymore. Cleveland is gone.”
A woman in a yellow blouse put a hand on his shoulder. “No matter. We gotta keep the tradition alive, don’t we? Let’s deal ‘em!”
He dealt the cards.
Logan only watched a few hands, but both Brad and Grease lost to Nick the dealer. He was content with just watching; it was good fun. In fact, it felt like he was back in normal society. He would’ve kept watching them, too, if Jane hadn’t motioned him over to the empty bar that she and Ruth were sitting at.
Like a good husband, he obeyed. Which was all right, of course. Being in Jane’s presence was something he’d never tire of.
“What’s up?” he asked, eyebrows riding high on his forehead.
They both had drinks in their hands, just water. No booze for Ruth especially, and Jane had told Logan the previous night, as she was dealing with her whiskey hangover, that she would never drink again.
He’d laughed at her and said, “That’s what they all say. You avoid booze for a couple of weeks, then next thing you know, you’re face-down in a ditch somewhere in Pittsburgh with no money in your pocket and a cracked cell phone screen.”
She shook her head. “That’s never happened to either of us.”
“I know, I just have a wild imagination,” he had replied, grinning.
Now, Jane sipped the water. “Honey-pie,” she said.
Oh, no, Logan thought. She wants something. Something big.
“Yes, dear?”
“I need a favor,” Jane said. “Well, we need a favor.” She motioned to both she and Ruth.
“Anything.”
“On that supply run you’re going on…Ruth needs something. Well…need is a strong word, but I guess when it comes to being pregnant, ‘want’ is just the same as ‘need’.”
Ruth chuckled. “Don’t listen to her.”
“Oh, stop it, Ruth,” Jane said.
Logan was surprised at how quickly they’d warmed up to one another. Then again, all of Jane’s former friends were dead and gone. She’d had to suffer with the likes of Logan and Grease and Tyler for the last two weeks. Regina was her friend, too, of course, but the age difference made their relationship different than that of a peer like Ruth.
“Okay, this is totally a joke,” Jane said. “But when you’re out, if you happen to see a Three Musketeers, or a bunch of them, please grab as many as you can.”
Then they started laughing.
He kissed Jane on the cheek and said, “Will do, sweetheart.”
He left them to their laughter and conversation and went back to the blackjack table, where Brad and Grease were arguing over whether Brad should’ve hit or stayed the previous round.
Logan shook a few hands, said it was nice to meet all of them, and went back to his room. He wanted to collect his thoughts before lunchtime. Maybe have another shower and a nap. He said his goodbyes, trying to think to himself that this wouldn’t be the last time he saw all these people, people he one day hoped to call his friends and family, and then he went upstairs.
20
The Job
They were on the road now. Irving hooked them up with a Jeep, not the same yellow one that Tyler and May had looked at before heading east. This one was gray and Gunner’s favorite.
The Mexican man drove. Hector was in his forties, with slicked-back hair as black as onyx and a tattoo of a skull on his face. He usually worked in the garage, but jumped at the opportunity to go out in the field when Gunner offered it to him. Logan had never seen a face tattoo in person. It didn’t look too bad. Plus, Hector was a pretty chill guy. Even Brad had taken a liking to him.
As they drove past the train crash, the large tires of the Jeep crunching down on upturned concrete and asphalt, he played music low over the radio. It came from a cassette tape, an ancient relic of a time Logan was happy to forget. The singer sang in Spanish, while guitars and drums and maracas rang out a type of salsa music. It, like the face tattoo, wasn’t bad, either.
Each of the men were strapped with rifles, military-grade, a sidearm holstered at their waists, a blade in a holster on one calf, and more ammunition then they would hopefully need.
Logan had kissed Jane, and she just smiled and said, “See you soon.”
There was no what-ifs about not coming back, no tears. Logan was happy about that. Before he left her, she’d reminded him about the candy bars for her and Ruth. Logan had said he would try his best.
They drove on slowly for nearly an hour, navigating crashes and ruined roads.
Then Hector mumbled something in Spanish that sounded a lot like a curse. Logan had to lean forward to see why.
They slowed just before an intersection with six different streets going through it. There was a pretty bad pile-up in the middle of it, where a semi had collided with a pickup. The semi won.
Around them were the derelict buildings of a restaurant and a couple car service stations. Burned trees loomed above them, their limbs hanging dead toward the roads. A billboard advertising a local community college had fallen in the intersection and landed on the semi’s payload, crushing the metal.
“Shit,” Gunner said. “Now you see why we’ve left this place for last.”
The darkness pressed down all around them. All the light produced by the high beams wasn’t much against it. Logan felt claustrophobia settling around his throat, an invisible hand clamping tighter and tighter.
“Didn’t believe him when they radioed,” Hector said. “Just our luck.”
“They wouldn’t lie,” Gunner replied.
Logan didn’t know what the hell they were talking about. He assumed Hector and Gunner were talking about the men who’d been burned and poisoned by the radiation. But why wouldn’t the two men believe them if they radioed in that the intersection was blocked off? It didn’t make sense.
And then it did. Thanks to Brad.
“This wasn’t an accident,” he said. “Someone put that here, didn’t they?”
That was when Logan noticed a few things he hadn’t at first. Glass was sprinkled all around the intersection, the shards gleaming like diamonds. They looked as if they were put there deliberately, scattered among the roads like ashes. There were nails, too. And the bottom of the billboard’s pole didn’t look broken; it looked sawed, as if someone had taken a power cutter to it. It was really a poor man’s attempt at security, but it did the job, Logan guessed…it had slowed them down.
“You don’t miss much, kid,” Gunner said. “Carbuncles did it. Little bastards. That means they probably have the supplies, too.”
“Carbuncles?” Logan asked, confused.
“Yeah, like warts. It’s what we call the road bandits, homes,” Hector said.
“So there’s a horde of bandits in town and they have the supplies we need,” Logan said, assessing the situation. “Now what?”
“We take it from them,” Gunner said simply. “I was hoping my intel was wrong and this would be an easy in and out job, but…” He shrugged.
Hector began messing with the radio.
Logan felt like a brick had fallen to the pit of his stomach.
“Oh, don’t worry, it’ll still be easy,” Gunner said. “The carbuncles have attacked us before. They’re like gnats at a picnic. Plentiful, but more annoying than anything else.”
“You knew?” Brad asked. “Your intel or whatever.”
Gunner shrugged again. “We had a hunch. Why else did you think we’re strapped to the teeth?”
“For the monsters,” Brad answered.
“Humans are the real monsters, son. You’ll learn that soon enough.”
Brad looked away, through the windshield at the blockade. Logan thought the boy would’ve already figured that out; Logan certainly had. First Cleveland, then the run-in with Worm, also known as Joe Millard. Yes, stranger things had happened, but running into that asshole was right up there.
The radio crackled with static. A ghost of a voice. Logan was brought back to their escape from Brad’s house. That too felt so long ago. He remembered the radio making almost the exact same noise then—the kchhuzzzz—then the recorded message of none other than Devin Johnson, so quiet, as if he were on another planet.
“Cleveland…Ironlock…We’re surviving up here…holding them…off…”
But Devin’s voice was not the one that came through the radio now. Devin was gone. So was Regina. So was Ironlock.
This voice was a stranger’s. It spoke intently, the signal coming through clearer and clearer by the second.
“Sector B clear, boss,” kchhuzzzz, “Over.”
Hector and Gunner exchanged a glance. Then Gunner looked back over his shoulder at Logan and Brad.
“Good equipment,” he whispered. “We’re picking up their radio signals.”
Another voice. “Sector C all clear, Worm.”
Brad’s eyes widened. He turned and faced Logan.
‘Worm?’ he mouthed.
So Logan hadn’t imagined hearing that name.
A fury of anger buzzed through him. With this anger came a flash of Regina bleeding out in the front seat of the Ford, of her open eyes that saw nothing, of the shallow grave they had all dug for her, of Brad standing over it with tears falling down his cheeks, straining to remember a passage from the Bible that Regina had given him.
This same anger radiated from Brad. Logan could feel it in the car, shrouding the inside like a heavy fog.
“Sector D all clear, Worm…Over.”
“They don’t see us yet,” Gunner said. “Good. See if you can get around this crap without blowing the tires, Hec. We got supplies to get.”
“Steal, cabrón,” Hector said.
“Who do you think stole them first, buddy?” Gunner said. “Don’t make me get into this debate with you again.”
Logan barely heard them. His heart was pumping fast, and his blood pressure spiked. He pictured Joe Millard standing over him
, all those years ago, kicking him in the ribs, pummeling him; he pictured the man, known as ‘Worm’ now, pulling the trigger and spraying bullets into the Ford, killing Regina; he pictured Worm running away, leaving his buddies behind. Every muscle on Logan’s body tensed as these images came and went, came and went.
“We have to kill them,” Brad said. “We have to kill them all.”
Gunner looked back, surprised. “Supplies first. If they die, well, that Russian dude from Rocky IV said it best, ‘they die’.”
Hector backed up the Jeep. Logan had only been in Redwick a few times. It wasn’t very close to Stone Park, so all he had to go off of for the town’s relative size was the map he’d glanced at back in Gunner’s suite. It was so dark, though, he imagined their headlights could be seen for miles.
“Turn the lights completely off,” Logan said suddenly, the words coming out shaky and terse. “Turn them off. Now.”
Kchhuzzzz. “Spotted something approaching the northwest entrance. Over.”
“Shit,” Gunner said.
Kchhuzzzz. “I’ll check it out. Over.”
“Time to move, Hec,” Gunner said. “Punch it.”
21
Ambush
Kchhuzzzz. “Switch channels, you idiots! They’re listening.”
Logan recognized that voice as Millard’s. He sounded crazier than he had sounded on the highway.
The radio chatter stopped.
Hector backed up.
Gunner hit him in the shoulder and said, “What are you doing?”
“Getting the hell out of here!” he responded. He flipped on the headlights. The ‘carbuncles’ had already seen them, so it didn’t matter.
“Uh-uh,” Gunner said. “We aren’t leaving empty-handed.” He pointed forward like an army general leading his troops to war—and to their deaths. In Logan’s head, he heard a bugle trumpeting away.
“Bad idea,” Hector started to say, but then a blast from somewhere above them and to the right crashed through the still air, and the windshield exploded in a rain of glass.
Decimated: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Taken World Book 3) Page 13