Endworld #28 Dark Days

by rebel4477

  All eyes were on him as he rose from beside Jenny and Gabe. He had healed but he now had more scars than ever. He thanked the Elder who had proposed him and cleared his throat.

  “I must respectfully decline. We killed the thing that invaded our Home but as the creature made clear, the Lords of Kismet won’t rest until they’ve crushed us. It would be remiss of me to step down in the midst of a crisis. I’ll continue to serve as head Warrior until these Lords have been dealt with.

  ” No one saw fit to argue the point, and Blade went on.

  “You’ll be happy to hear that Alpha, Beta and Gamma Triads have recovered and are at full strength. Omega Triad is now made up of Ares, Lynx and Gremlin. Zulu Triad is short one Warrior and we need three more to fill Bravo Triad. To that end, we encourage any of you who might be interested in becoming Warriors to come see me.”

  Blade paused.

  “Restoring the Warriors, though, isn’t enough. We have to take the fight to our enemies. To that end, I propose forming a special strike team to hunt down the Lords of Kismet and eliminate them.

  “Go all the way to Asia?” someone asked.

  “Wherever and whatever it takes,” Blade said. “Otherwise, our Home and our Family may well cease to exist.” He gazed out over their anxious faces. “What do you say? Do I have your support? Are you with me? If so, let me hear it.” He raised a fist into the air and shouted,

  “Live free or die!”

  They looked at one another. First a few fists and then more were thrust at the sky and a great cry went up.

  “Live free or die!”

  FINI

  FOR NOW

  A SPECIAL TREAT FOR ENDWORLD FANS

  The following is one of the few short stories David Robbins has written involving the ENDWORLD universe. It is published here in book form for the first time.

  BOYS NIGHT OUT

  It was one hundred and twelve years after the end of all things but not all things had ended.

  In northern Minnesota an outpost of humanity was protected by high walls and an inner moat.

  Heavily armed Warriors patrolled the ramparts.

  On various occasions since the cataclysm, enemies had tried to stealthily enter the Home, as the compound was called, to take those who dwelled there unawares. Few succeeded.

  On this particular night, with wind whipping the trees and the promise of a storm in the moisture-laden air, three members of the Family , as they referred to themselves, were about to attempt the unthinkable. They were going to try to sneak out.

  Their plan was all the more remarkable because the world outside their high walls was rife with perils. Not even the Warriors ventured abroad at night without good reason. And these three weren’t Warriors. They were boys, not one of them in his teens.

  The three had agreed to meet at midnight at the rear of C Block, one of six enormous concrete structures that functioned as everything from an armory to a carpenter shop.

  “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” whispered one of the trio. His parents had named him Cochise in honor of a great leader who lived many centuries ago. He wore a green loincloth fashioned from canvas, and moccasins. Big for his age, he had black hair and dark eyes. The Mossberg 12-gauge pistol-grip shotgun he held seemed like a cannon in his young hands. Wedged under his brown leather belt was a tomahawk. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Stay here if you’re afraid, redskin,” teased the golden haired stripling next to him. Lean and lanky, he wore a black jacket and black pants and boots, and a white shirt in a style not seen since the 1800' s. Strapped to his right hip, in a black leather holster, was a pearl-handled, nickel-plated Colt .45.

  “Call me a wimp again, Ringo,” Cochise whispered, “and I’ll test how sharp my father’s tomahawk is on your toes.”

  Ringo patted the big Colt. “I’d like to see you try. I can shoot faster than you can blink.”

  “Listen to you, white bread. If you were any slower your nickname would be Turtle.”

  The third boy, who was a full head taller and a third again as wide at the shoulders as either of them, gestured sharply. “Pipe down. I swear, you two sound more like your dads every day. Keep this up and I’ll go alone.”

  “Shucks, pard,” Ringo said. “We’re just funnin’.”

  “And talk normal, for God’s sake,” the huge boy snapped. “None of that stupid stuff your dad does.”

  “I hear that,” Cochise said.

  The huge boy had red hair and more muscles than most men. He wore a black leather vest. Slung across his back was an M16. But the weapon he favored above all others, the weapon he never went anywhere without, was a solid steel battleaxe. “Why I agreed to bring you two idiots, I’ll never know.”

  “Because we’re your best friends, pard,” Ringo said with a grin. “You need us to watch your back.”

  “I need you like I need a hole in the head,” Gabe said, not without affection.

  “I’m the one with a hole in his head,” Cochise said.

  Ringo’s eyebrows arched. “This is a first. You admit it?”

  “Sure. I let you two talk me into an early grave, didn’t I?”

  “If all Indians were like you, Custer would have won at the Little Big Horn.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Cochise said in mock amazement. “You actually read the history assignment this week? Our Teacher will have a heart attack.”

  “When I said to pipe down, I meant it,” Gabe gruffly broke in. “If we’re caught on account of you and anything happens to any of the others because of it, I’ll be ticked.”

  “I found one of those tick critters on me last week,” Ringo said. “It was stuck to my armpit.”

  “You’re so weird,” Gabe said, and sighed. “Just like your old man.”

  “I don’t take after my father,” Cochise said.

  “That’s true,” Ringo said. “He wears clothes.”

  Cochise looked down at his loincloth. “I’ll have you know, white-eye, that a lot of warriors wore these at one time.”

  “I read about them in a book,” Ringo said. “They were called harem girls.”

  Cochise glanced at Gabe. “What did he mean by that?”

  “Are you asking me to explain how Ringo’s mind works?” Gabe snorted. “Even he doesn’t know.”

  Ringo put a finger to his lips . “Hush, you danged infant. Do you want one of the Warriors on guard duty to hear you?”

  “I’m older than you are. Where do you get off calling me an infant’?”

  “I heard my dad call Cochise’s dad that once, and Geronimo is really old.”

  “Up yours,” Cochise said. “My dad is no older than yours. And neither of us is an infant.”

  “Says the guy in a diaper.”

  Gabe wagged his battleaxe in their faces. “Enough. From here on out, not a peep or we won’t make it over the walls.”

  “We should let the Warriors take care of it,” Cochise suggested. “A zombie is nothing to sneeze at.”

  “It’s already dead,” Ringo said. “How tough can it be?”

  Gabe was growing exasperated . “We’ve been all through this. Susie says she saw one near the walls. The Warriors searched but couldn’t find it. No one believes her except me.”

  “I’m plumb amazed,” Ringo said.

  “Will you stop that Old West talk? And what has you amazed?”

  “That you want to sneak out and hunt a zombie in the middle of the night just to impress some gal.”

  “I’m not doing it just for Susie,” Gabe said.

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  Cochise shook his head. “Liar, liar? Where do you get this stuff?”

  Gabe’s voice became hard as flint. “Not-one-more word.” Crouching, he stalked to the corner of C Block and gazed across benighted open space at the raised drawbridge. To reach the top of the wall they had to climb wooden stairs supported by massive be
ams.

  “I don’t see any Warriors yonder,” Ringo whispered. “Do either of you?

  “What does it take to get you to shut up?” Gabe said. But he didn’t see any Warriors either, which was strange. The Warriors were divided into Triads, and each took a turn at wall duty. One Warrior was always supposed to be on guard on the west wall above the drawbridge while the other two ceaselessly prowled the north, east and south walls.

  “What are we waiting for?” Cochise whispered. “We’ve lucked out. We should do it before a Warrior comes.”

  “Which Triad is on duty tonight?” Ringo asked.

  “What difference does that make, doofus?” Gabe rose and hurried toward the stairs. “Come on. Move it.”

  “You sure are a bossy cuss,” Ringo whispered.

  The gurgle of the stream smothered the slight sounds they made.

  Gabe took the wooden stairs two at a time. At the top he crouched and scanned the west rampart from end to end. “No Warriors yet.”

  They peered over into the impenetrable darkness.

  “I hope you don’t expect us to jump,” Ringo said. “I’m not part jackrabbit.”

  “Don’t worry,” Cochise said. “Gabe brought a rope, I bet. He thinks of everything. Don’t you, Gabriel?”

  Gabe kept peering down and didn’t say anything.

  “You did think of a rope, right?”

  “To tell the truth, I sort of forgot.”

  “Unless you can sprout wings and carry us down, we’ll have to do it another night,” Ringo said.

  “The zombie might be gone by then.”

  “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

  Cochise came to Gabe’s defense. “You were the one who claimed killing it will be easy. My father says different. He says they die hard.”

  “Don’t you mean die hard the second time?”

  It was Gabe who answered. “They’re not really dead. Their hearts beat, their blood pumps, but slowly. Their brain works, but on an animal level. All they want is to eat. At least, that’s what my dad says.”

  Suddenly, out of the blackness near them, came a sound, a sharp thwack.

  All three boys spun. Gabe brought up his battleaxe. Cochise leveled his shotgun. Ringo drew the heavy Colt.

  Nothing was there. The three boys stared, frozen in place, until Ringo whispered, “This is blamed peculiar. I know I heard something.”

  “So did I,” Cochise said.

  “It had to be a Warrior on guard duty,” Gabe said. “But where did he get to?” Gabe moved north along the wall. He had only taken about ten steps when his boot bumped something. Glancing down, he said, “What’s this?”

  It was a coiled rope.

  “Hey, it’s just what we need.” Gabe picked it up. “The Spirit is smiling on us.”

  “If it was what we need, it’d be pants for Cochise,” Ringo said.

  Cochise glowered. “I could kick you.”

  “How did the rope get there?” Ringo wondered.

  “The Warriors always keep one handy in case they have to go over the wall in a hurry,” Gabe said.

  “I reckon we shouldn’t look a swift horse in the mouth, then,” Ringo remarked.

  “That’s a gift horse, you moron,” Cochise said.

  “I knew that. I was testing to see if you did.”

  “White boy speak with forked tongue.”

  “Says the guy in the diaper.”

  “Why do you keep bringing that up?”

  “Because you look so danged adorable.”

  “That was another dig, wasn’t it? If you—.” Cochise abruptly stopped.

  Gabe was staring at them as if he was keenly desirous of heaving them off the wall. “Are you two done? Or would you rather stand up here all night arguing?”

  “That would be fun but what about the zombie?” Ringo asked. “You can’t impress your girlfriend unless we kick zombie butt.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Let’s get kicking,” Cochise said. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can be back in our cabins with our parents none the wiser.”

  Gabe unwound the rope and tied one end to a metal hook imbedded in the wall for that very purpose. He tied the other end to the long handle on his battleaxe, then lowered the battleaxe to the ground. It came to rest edge-up. “I’ll go first.”

  “Be careful you don’t slip, pard, or Susie and you won’t be havin’ kids,” Ringo warned.

  “Want me to shoot him and put him out of our misery?” Cochise asked Gabe.

  “It’s tempting, but the Warriors would hear.”

  With the lithe agility of a cat, Gabe gripped the rope with both hands, turned so he could brace his feet against the outer wall, and started down.

  “You go next,” Cochise whispered.

  “Why not you?” Ringo asked.”

  “I call dibs.”

  “Hold on . You can call dibs on a slice of pie at a Family feed. You can call dibs on who gets the ball when we play basketball. You can’t call dibs on climbing down a rope.”

  “Who says?”

  “It’s a rule. I read it.”

  “You are so making that up,” Cochise said.

  “Ask the gal who runs the library tomorrow. She knows everything. She’ll vouch for me.”

  “Isn’t she your aunt?”

  “So?”

  “You must think I was born yesterday.”

  “With that diaper, you probably were.”

  “If we live through this night I’m feeding you to the first mutate that wanders by,” Cochise vowed, and turned to the metal hook. “Hey. Why is the rope jiggling?”

  They peered over the rampart and beheld Gabe angrily motioning for them to descend.

  “You know, when he grows up I bet he’ll be a grump like his pa,” Ringo said.

  “And when you grow up, you’ll go around talking people to death.” Cochise smirked and snapped his fingers. “Oh. Wait. You already do that.”

  “Is it me or is steam coming out of Gabe’s ears?” Ringo said. “You’d better climb down. He’s too young to have a conniption.”

  “A what?”

  “I’m not rightly sure what it is,” Ringo admitted. “But my dad says Gabe’s dad had one every time they went on a run together.”

  Cochise slung the Mossberg over his shoulder, gripped the rope, and went over. “No dropping anything on me, you simpleton.”

  “Dang. Does that include spit?”

  Gabe and Cochise were back to back, warily scanning the cleared field that separated the compound from the forest, when Ringo slid down beside them. He palmed his Colt and held it in a two-handed grip. “Ready when you are, pards.”

  “I wish there was a moon,” Gabe said.

  Clouds scuttled like giant crabs, blotting out all but a few stars. The wind had picked up, warning them the storm would soon break.

  “Anyone else want to do this tomorrow night?” Ringo asked.

  Gabe moved toward the woods. He held his battleaxe ready to swing. “Time to prove we can be Warriors one day.”

  “There are other ways, to prove it” Ringo said. “We could stomp a rabid chipmunk.”

  The wind struck full in their faces and buffeted their bodies. Cochise’s loincloth flapped like a flag, and Ringo snickered.

  Suddenly Gabe stopped. “Do you smell that?” he whispered.

  The stink was awful. A reek that made them want to gag. A stench so vile, no other stench compared.

  “Only one thing smells that bad," Gabe said.

  “Ringo’s breath?” Cochise said.

  Ringo ignored the taunt and said, “Damn the Big Blast, anyhow.”

  The Big Blast was the Family’s term for World War Three. Bio bombs used by the other side had spewed chemical clouds that transformed those who were caught in them from the living to the living dead. And once a person changed , all they had to do was bite someo
ne else and have their saliva mix with the person’s blood to turn them into a zombie, too.

  “I’m surprised none of the Warriors smelled it,” Cochise whispered.

  “Maybe the wind wasn’t right until just now,” Gabe said. He assumed the lead, as he always did.

  They tried to move silently but the brittle grass crunched and crackled.

  The trees loomed higher, the undergrowth a seemingly solid tangle.

  Gabe probed the vegetation for a telltale hint of movement . He wondered if the zombie had heard them and was standing still so they would come within reach. Zombies did that, sometimes. They were dead and dumb but now and then there was a smart one.

  “I vote we stay put and make it come out of the woods to us,” Ringo whispered.

  “For once I agree with him,” Cochise said.

  Gabe was inclined to do as they wanted. But the longer they waited, the greater the risk. A chemical cloud might happen by. A mutate might catch their scent. The night swarmed with a legion of lethal menaces besides the lone zombie. “You two stay put. I’m going in after it.”

  “Where you go, pard, I go,” Ringo said.

  “Same here,” Cochise echoed.

  The trees whipped in the wind and entire thickets shook as if to invisible hands. Somewhere a small animal squealed.

  Gabe cautiously advanced. With all that wind, they wouldn’t be able to hear the zombie until it was right on top of them. One bite, and they’d become infected with necrosis, or whatever it was called. He suddenly halted, uncertain.

  “Why did you stop?” Ringo whispered. “Did you see somethin’?”

  Gabe started to turn and opened his mouth to say he’d changed his mind and Cochise was right and this was a bad idea . They were his best friends and he couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to them. But before he could get the words out, the undergrowth erupted with shambling figures.

  There was more than one zombie.

  Gabe had barely an instant in which to react before a ghastly scarecrow lurched at him, a hideous figure whose lips were festering sores and whose yellow teeth were bared to rip and rend. But it was its eyes, those inhuman eyes, that unnerved him, that tore a cry from his throat and caused him to swing the battleaxe with all his might. He was only a boy but he was as strong as men twice his age. He cleaved the zombie’s head from crown to chin.