Judgement

by Eric A. Shelman

  “Okay,” he said. “I … I gotta go.”

  “Get someone else to cover the radio in case we think of anything else. Go.”

  I put the mic down. Silence permeated the interior of our vehicle, just the road noise from the wind and tires droning on.

  We didn’t need to talk about it. We all understood the situation.

  Ω

  Magi, Tommy and Tala had gotten on the road just a half-hour after sunup, having discovered a late-model Nissan Pathfinder with a full tank of gas tucked in the home’s garage. For some reason, the garage had been padlocked, so it took them searching three more garages before finding a pair of bolt cutters that clipped through the hasp easily.

  The Nissan’s battery was still surprisingly strong after the several months since the outbreak, and it spun to life with a crank-and-a-half of the starter motor.

  To Silver Bolt, the sound broke the silence like a five-piece rock band jamming in the cul-de-sac of a retirement community. He was certain Qaletaqa had heard it instantly and was mobilizing his people to chase them down.

  It was one more thing to worry about; when there was no noise from life and industry, all sounds carried farther. His only hope was that the direction the sounds came from might be easily confused.

  The thought then occurred to him; the ancient elder may not even realize they had survived, or that his daughter was missing.

  Without discussing it with Tala or Tommy, Silver Bolt had driven north, away from the Hintoka Res. He would turn east soon, he knew. West was not an option. The closer he got to the California coast, the more population they would encounter.

  After acting as though he knew exactly where he was going for about forty-five minutes, Magi finally spoke up, no doubt slicing through everyone’s deep thoughts. “So, where can we go? We’ve talked about everything else but a plan.”

  Tala smiled. “You came to the Hintoka to ask for help, correct?”

  “And look how that turned out,” said Tommy, from the back seat.

  Magi nodded. He might have been mad at Tommy’s wisecrack, but it just wasn’t in him. Ignoring it, he said, “The group searching for Chief Wattana must still be on their way. They were coming from somewhere in Kansas.”

  “What was your original plan?”

  “I was angry,” said Magi. “Wattana had killed Angeni. His actions, I believed at the time, had also killed my best friend, Atian. I intended to put together a large army of skinwalkers and our people to defeat the invaders.”

  “But why, if you hated Climbing Fox for what he had done? Why not let them have him?”

  Magi thought for a moment. “I felt having him with us would bolster our credibility with my people, convince them to follow me.”

  He glanced into the rear-view mirror and felt Tommy’s hand squeeze his shoulder. “I would have followed you anyway, Chief Magi Silver Bolt,” he said.

  Magi continued. “Wattana had essentially surrendered to me by then. He became less of a chief than just a tormented old man, and I believe he was burdened with guilt over what he’d let happen to Angeni.”

  Tala nodded. “How did you intend to use the skinwalkers? Were you not just as vulnerable to them as your fiancée?”

  Magi held up his right arm. “Tommy and I aren’t just filthy, though I’ll admit, a shower would be nice; what’s left of this paste on our skin is created from the dead.”

  “It smells like it,” said Tala, with a slight upturn of her lips.

  “It masks us,” Tommy said. “As long as it’s spread over our bodies, those things can’t see us.”

  “It makes you invisible?” She raised an eyebrow at Magi.

  He laughed, despite the situation. “Not literally, but yeah. They don’t attack us if we have it on.”

  “Well, then. I don’t know what properties are within me, but I hope I smell better than the two of you,” said Tala.

  “What do you mean?” asked Tommy, leaning over the seat back.

  She turned sideways in her seat. “I can walk among them,” she said. “They pay me no mind, either. I would not have known, but father showed me after the black rain fell. He knew already.”

  “Paying you mind and attacking and eating you are the same now?” asked Magi. He shook his head. “Do you know why? Did your father tell you?”

  She shook her head. “We have never discussed it. It is just a recently discovered facet of my strange life that I can only attribute to the ceremony in the cave.”

  Tommy shook his head. “Why wouldn’t your dad just have the entire tribe go through it? Protect everyone.”

  Tala shook her head. “He is not one to share power or ability,” she said. “I am his only offspring. Whether fortunate or unfortunate, I am the only other person he has taken there.”

  “Do we need to make more of the paste if you’re with us?” asked Magi.

  “I am not Hermione Granger, nor am I Harry Potter,” she said, her smile now much bigger. “I don’t have an invisibility cloak.”

  “Damn,” said Tommy. “That would be cool.”

  “The paste is your cloak,” said Magi.

  “A stinky cloak,” said Tommy.

  “You don’t even smell it anymore,” said Magi.

  “That’s actually true,” said Tommy.

  “I don’t smell it anymore either,” said Tala. “So either I’ve gotten used to it or you need more. I would prefer to be at least a hundred miles away from father before we stop.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” said Magi.

  “Why don’t we just return to the res?” asked Tommy.

  “Henomawi Reservation?”

  “That is a place he will think of if he realizes you are not dead,” said Tala.

  The sign ahead read WELCOME TO BURNEY. With that, Tala began flipping through a map book she’d found in the second garage they’d searched. “That puts us about 90 miles from your reservation.”

  “You’re right. Going there would be stupid. Your father tried to kill us once already. I hate to think what he’d do if he thought we took you. Probably have his warriors torture us.”

  Tala laughed, and it was a very pretty, and very genuine sound. “I cannot be taken by anyone,” she said. “He knows that. And if he felt you needed to be tortured, it would not be for that reason and it would not be delegated to anyone else.”

  Magi looked at her, at the knowing expression on her face, and let the comment go. She was a woman, and as such, was not as strong as he. Not that he would ever force her into anything – that was not who he was.

  But he could if he were brutal like that. That much he knew.

  And the old, frail man torturing him? The thought almost made him laugh. Magi Silver Bolt’s arms were toned and muscular. The old chief’s looked like rickety sticks inside prune skins.

  Just as he knew he could overpower her, Magi also knew he could break Qaletaqa in half. He’d only followed the girl because the old chief had his entire tribe to do his bidding.

  Rather than voice his thoughts, he said, “We need to find a ham radio. And either a 12-volt power cord or an inverter for it. I think we should ally with those who are coming for Climbing Fox.”

  “Really, Chief?” asked Tommy, leaning forward again. “Why? Don’t they want to hurt him?”

  “No,” said Magi. “They wanted to force him to reverse the effects of the black rain.”

  “You’re serious?” asked Tala.

  Magi glanced at her as he skirted the vehicle around a wrecked Ford Flex, just off the pavement on its side. A ravaged half-zombie stuck out from underneath, its broken teeth gnashing, the tongue flitting out into the sand-strewn asphalt. He suddenly stopped the Pathfinder. “Can it be done?”

  “Until the black rain, I never cared whether it could be undone,” said Tala.

  “So it’s possible.”

  “For one reason only,” she said. “I mean, if it’s possible, it is possible for one reason only.”

  “Thank you for clearing tha
t up,” said Magi.

  “Sure.” She leaned forward and reached into her drawstring bag. When her hand emerged, Magi gasped.

  “Oh, my God! You have it! When did you –”

  “When father left the tent to go watch your people burn. I watched him and slipped in immediately upon his departure. Everything happened very quickly after that. But I got your chief’s book.”

  “I suppose it’s mine now,” Magi said. “But you know far more about how to use it.”

  She slid it back into her bag. “I do not know so much. But if I were to return to the cave, I believe I could recreate some of that magic. It seems my memory was enhanced as well.”

  Silver Bolt took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, his mind mulling over the dark mystery of what lay ahead. He said, “I remember on the drive down we passed a Ranger Station in a town called Adin, or something like that. We’re back on the same route. Let’s see if we can get a radio there.”

  “That group might have come and gone, seeing the res was deserted,” said Tommy.

  “I hope not, Tommy,” said Magi. “I have a feeling we may need some new allies. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re running low. We can’t risk going to the caves near our reservation without help.”

  He turned to Tala, who was already staring at the side of his face as he drove. “How do you feel about your father? How far are you willing to go if he is as bad as you say?”

  Taking a deep breath, “That is a good question,” she said. “I was operating on instinct at first. Getting to know you both a little, it seems my instincts are good. You are both good men. Now, I must grapple with what my father has become, and just how far I am willing to go to stop him.”

  “You’ve got 90 or so miles,” said Magi.

  “It will not take that long.”

  Ω

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Morgan, Utah

  As we drove along I-84 West, we saw snow-peaked mountains in the western distance, reminding us that we needed to equip ourselves for colder weather, particularly in the mountains.

  “Micky, you read?” said Danny.

  “Back atcha,” said Micky. “What’s up, Danny?”

  “Been checking the map,” he said. “Looks like a town called Morgan is the last medium-sized berg before we hit Ogden and other bigger cities.”

  “Sympatico, brother,” said Micky. “Been thinking along the same lines. Should have lots of ski shops there to get some warm gear.”

  “Hand warmers,” said Lilly. “You can take the girl out of Florida ….”

  “Check,” said Danny. “If you see something before Morgan, just go with it.”

  Along the way, through some of the windier sections of the drive, we’d seen guardrails torn away, skid and tire tracks leading down impossibly steep embankments.

  My only consolation there was that any zombies inside those damned cars or SUVs were probably far below us, buried under the new snow.

  The sign for Morgan, Utah came and ahead of us, Micky slowed, then pulled off on N600E, which was a little, two-lane road bordered by single-family ranch homes with wood and vinyl siding.

  “Hope nothin’s crashed up ahead,” said Danny. “Be hard to get by.”

  We drove until we saw a sign that read East Canyon. Micky, who was leading the caravan, put on his blinker.

  “I like a man who holds fast to his driver’s trainin’,” I said.

  Danny said, “Looks like this road leads into downtown.”

  We passed under I-84 and started to see activity.

  Not the good kind.

  “Oh, lovely,” said Georgie.

  “Ditto,” said Lilly.

  I followed their eyes and saw a small horde of maybe twenty dead people, walking together wearing brightly colored winter coats. It looked like a ski class.

  “Maybe we oughta think about electric cars,” said Danny. “We might as well be drivin’ ice cream trucks playin’ music.”

  I got on the radio. “Everyone, engage your offensive drivin’ skills. If you have to use your push bars, use ‘em, but for God’s sake, be careful. We need clothes, some food, fuel, and a place to bed down for the night.”

  “Why we stoppin’ so soon?”

  It was Garland Hunter, who’d been awfully quiet for most of the trip.

  “Got Ogden and Salt Lake City to deal with just ahead, and since we left Lebanon, it’s the largest population we’ve come across. If we can find alternate routes to avoid the cities, we need to do it, but that’ll take some time.”

  “Roger that,” he called out.

  Garland was riding in a vehicle with a girl named Lulu Townsend, who was a crack shot and just a bit of a crackpot. At least me and Georgie thought so. She wasn’t nearly as unstable as his dead ex-girlfriend, Billy Jo, and not the kind who I figured would pose a threat to anyone in our group, but she was on a hair-trigger when it came to the walking dead.

  There had been multiple occasions where the radio erupted, and we were all told to stop and wait for Lulu. On those occasions, she’d pulled over suddenly and jumped out to personally deliver brain shots to every undead member of some smaller hordes.

  When asked why she would risk her life, she said, “It’s no risk. We gotta live in this world. Under five, they ain’t alive. That’s my motto since this began.”

  So that was her criteria. If the horde was five or fewer, she’d handle them herself. If every survivor did that every time, we might actually stand a chance.

  As we drove south into downtown Morgan, I spotted a 7-Eleven and a Phillips 66 gas station on the left side, a Subway on the right, and a Family Dollar store off behind the sandwich shop.

  “I wonder what’ll happen to them when it gets really cold,” asked Georgie, projecting her thoughts aloud.

  We all looked through the windows at the living dead humanity shuffling along the street, turning toward the sound of our engines with their unique semblance of hope for fresh meat.

  Not today, my dead friends. Not today.

  “Got an outdoor temp gauge on this one, Danny?”

  He was driving for this leg, so I unrolled my window and stuck my hand out. “Shit, look at the sky. Feels cold enough.”

  “It’s 29 degrees now,” said Danny. “If that thing’s right.”

  “Feels right to me,” I said, rolling the window back up. “Maybe we’ll see how they fare in snow.”

  “We don’t need to be drivin’ in that crap,” said Danny. “Might not make it even with the snow tires.”

  “He’s not kidding,” said Lilly. “Our timing sucks. This would have been a much better trip to make in spring or summer.”

  “The apocalypse waits for no man, and it won’t wait for me …” I sang, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Keep going,” said Georgie, squeezing my leg.

  “They are movin’ slower,” said Danny. “Not sure what kind of coagulatin’ is going on inside those bodies of theirs, but they look about half as fast as others we’ve seen. Even when they see us and start hurryin’.”

  “See a motel or anything yet?” I asked.

  “Nada,” said Danny. “Guess nobody wants to stay in Morgan, Utah.”

  “AirBnB it is then,” said Lilly. She picked up the radio and pressed the button. “Everybody listen up. Looks like we’ll need to find a house to get buttoned up in for the night unless one of you spots a nice little Motel 6.”

  “I ain’t seen nothin’,” came back Garland.

  “Strikeout,” said Micky. “I’ll hang a left up there. Looks residential,” he added.

  We followed as he turned left on a charming street called N 250 E Street. With street names like that, it’s no wonder folks chose to hotel in Salt Lake City and not Morgan.

  “Looks like some fourplexes on the right here,” called out Micky. He pulled to a stop in front of the wide driveway, and we watched as Garland’s vehicle appeared to punch it into the driveway, and skid to a stop inches from the garage door.

  “What the he
ll –” Danny began, but we figured the hell out a second later.

  As I rolled down my window again, I saw Lulu jump out, her zombie hook – that’s what she called it – in her left hand. She didn’t always use it, but I knew why she had it now.

  “She’s got balls,” said Lilly. “More than me.”

  “And let me express my appreciation for that fact,” said Danny, eyeing Lilly sideways.

  She slapped him on the shoulder and shook her head. “Settle in.”

  “I’m stretchin’,” I said, opening my door and picking up my DP-12 from the floorboard at my feet. I’d reattached the 30-round drum mag so I had plenty of firepower if necessary. Looking around, I could’ve gotten by with six shells.

  “Stay in the car, CB,” said Lilly.

  “Nope,” I said, already outside. “Lulu backup.”

  Nobody else got out, so I slung the strap over my shoulder, closed the door and just walked around the driveway working out the kinks.

  Lulu trotted up the wood steps leading to the second-floor walkway, which provided access to the upstairs residences. Apparently the first door our resident huntress came to was unlocked, because within fifteen seconds of her disappearing, she came into view again, pulling a rotter behind her.

  It was a woman in a sweat suit, her gray face half torn away, most of her hair gone. She snapped her jaws behind Lulu, but she ignored it like it was a disobedient Chihuahua.

  As she stepped out onto the porch she leaned back and pulled on the hook, bringing that zombie around like she was swinging her partner in a square dance at a country fair. When she had it in a good position – so she wouldn’t shoot into any of our windshields – she pulled out her Glock 23 and fired a round into its forehead.

  Deftly pushing her hook forward and freeing it, she let the creature fall, as she jumped to the other side of the opening. Moments later, a lumbering, one-armed gray-faced male staggered out the door, and this time, she moved quickly behind it, fired into the back of its skull, and pushed it over the railing.