It dropped with a splat not ten feet from where I stood.
“I think that’s all in there,” she called down. “Smells kinda funky, but that should clear with the fresh air. Hang loose for a minute.”
I gave her a thumb’s up. In my mind, I was wondering in which part of the apartment the man’s other arm and the other half of the lady’s face could be found. Getting rid of them might reduce the funk considerably.
She searched the unit beside it and must’ve found it empty, so she left that door open and trotted down the steps to the lower units.
Without the constraints of the elevated walkway and railing, Lulu just opened the first unlocked door and slapped on the wood repeatedly. It reminded me of a cat food commercial where they shake the box and the cat comes running.
I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Garland standing there.
“She’s somethin’, right?” he asked. “If she were just a bit nuttier, it would bring me back to the bad old days with Billie Jo.”
“The moral compass helps,” I said, watching as a rabid-eyed little girl staggered out of the house, her pajama-clad body still strong and intact from being inside a home, protected from the elements. She was even more aggressive than the two before her, raising her arms and snarling as she clawed at the air towards Lulu.
Standing sideways, Lulu held the gun out and put a bullet between the miniature zombie’s eyes. Lulu never blinked, she didn’t flinch, and she didn’t turn away until the child was in a heap on the ground at her feet.
Her facial expression never changed. She’d accepted that once the people changed into the walking dead, they were all the same – just different sizes.
Kinda like fish, I guess. But only if every fish was a goddamned piranha.
No matter. Lulu had the chops to take on the house alone, and the Nacogdoche kids had all gotten out of their respective vehicles and lined up with their .22 lever-action rifles, waiting to blow out a double whistle and pop some caps in some gray matter.
In other words, I felt safe and sound.
Ω
When Lulu had a total of seven bodies – including the dead little girl – piled up at the top of the driveway, Garland searched the garage and found a tarp. He spread it over the pile of stinking bodies and weighted the edges down with some bricks from a disintegrating planter box that ran along the front of the fourplex.
He wanted to join us afterward for the strategy meeting, and I was fine with that. Every vehicle in our caravan had heavy-duty push bars and skid plates welded to the front, thanks to his fabricating skills. He was a lot smarter dude than his hick accent indicated, and I, for one, was happy to have him along.
He still had a ways to go, but he’d matured a lot since the Billie Jo days. And when I thought about that fact, I realized those days weren’t all that long ago.
There was a nice-sized round table in the small dining area of the upper left duplex, so that’s where we decided to meet.
During our brief walk around the building, we discovered large underground propane storage tanks that were still three quarters full. They powered a common generator to power the building. Once I saw that, I hurried around to the other side and was relieved to find water softener equipment.
I knew what that meant. Most likely it meant this neighborhood was all well and septic systems.
Showers. Propane + Electricity + Well = Showers.
Before the meeting started, I ran inside, directly to the bathroom, and turned the shower knob.
I heard a low vibrating in the pipes before water started sputtering out, ice cold. We had only fired the gen up fifteen minutes earlier, so it would take some time.
Turning the water off, I almost skipped out of the hallway, but had the sense to slow to a walk before I came into view of everybody waiting at the table.
“Well?” asked Jimmy.
“Yes, well,” I said. “We have power and water. I suggest everyone take advantage of it while we’re here.”
“Every unit has its own water heater,” said Lilly. “I’d say between now and the morning, everyone should be able to get cleaned up. There’s even a washer and dryer, so if you want your stuff washed, pile it up and throw away your modesty.”
I started to pull off my shirt, and Lilly slapped my arm. “Jesus, CB,” she said. “It can wait fifteen minutes or so.”
Around the table were Carla, Jimmy, Garland, Micky, Georgie, Lilly, Danny and me. Some of us sat on ottomans, others on folding chairs from the basement. We’d found a leaf for the table in a closet beside the small dining room, so we had just enough space to rub elbows.
Georgie spread out the map on the table. “Okay, if this map scale is right,” she began, “we have roughly 700 miles to go.”
“What kind of terrain?” asked Carla.
“It’s a topographical map, so along here you can see quite a few mountains indicated, but the road runs mostly in the valleys.”
“What are our route choices?” asked Micky.
Georgina Lake ran her finger along Highway 84 that curved to the northwest before sloping back down to intersect with the 395. “This route takes us farther north by about 230 miles, and up into Idaho and Oregon.” She ran her finger along the map. “The southern route has us on I-80, and just crosses straight into Nevada, but it’s somewhat winding.”
“What’s the difference in miles?”
“Only about ten or so. The southern route is a tad shorter and looks to be more isolated.”
“I’m for southern,” I said. “Easy call.”
Everyone agreed.
“Okay, that’s that then,” said Georgie, marking the map.
The radio on Lilly’s hip crackled to life, and a piece of a word came through.
“ … tana,” was all they caught.
“That Lebanon?” asked Garland.
“Maybe,” said Lilly, removing the portable ham from her belt and putting it on the table. She turned up the volume first, then pushed the transmit button.
“This is Lilly Baxter,” she said. “Please repeat.”
We didn’t have any real radio protocols, if you hadn’t figured that out yet. We pretty much just talked like we wanted and hoped the FCC was out of business.
“ … Climbing Fox Wattana is … .” The voice came again.
Everybody’s eyes went wide, and I think everyone at that table looked at everyone else sitting there in about two seconds. Then, without exception, we all looked back down at the radio.
Mouths open. Catching flies.
“Who is this?” asked Lilly.
Only static this time.
“Damn,” she said. She sat there looking frustrated for a second, then a light went on in her eyes and she pressed the button again. “Change frequency,” she said. “Move to 80. Change to 80 meters.”
She released the button, listened for a second, and switched the channel on the ham.
“ … Magi Silver Bolt,” the voice said. “Are you the group searching for Climbing Fox Wattana?”
I put my hand over Lilly’s as she moved to answer. “Hold on,” I said. “How do we know this isn’t some kind of trap?”
“It’s a damned ham radio, CB,” said Lilly. “They don’t have a tracker.”
“They can’t tell where the signals are bouncin’ from?” I asked.
Everybody just stared at me.
“Jeez, I’m not a damned communications expert,” I muttered. “Go ahead I guess.”
“This is Lilly Baxter. Yes, we are searching for the man who made the video. The one who said he caused the black rain.”
“He is dead,” said the voice.
“Who is this?” asked Lilly. “And before you lie to us again, we know Wattana is not dead. We saw the splice in the video.”
There was silence for almost fifteen seconds.
“You threw ‘em for a loop it seems like,” said Garland.
“I’m Magi Silver Bolt of the Henomawi Tribe,” he said. “Climbing Fox was our
chief. He did carry out the ceremony that resulted in the black rain, but it was all pre-destined. It was not his plan, but that of another. Climbing Fox Wattana did not realize the implications of his actions.”
I looked at everyone else around the table. “I feel like the dog who caught the car he was chasin’. What now, if the Indian’s dead?”
Danny said, “He just said it was someone else’s plan. What are they up to?”
“Good point,” said Lilly. She pressed the button again. “You said it was somebody else’s plan. Who are you talking about? Are they still alive?”
Now a female voice came on the radio. “This is Tala, of the Hintoka Tribe. When I was a child, I was with the Henomawi, as was my father. After he discovered something very important, he left the tribe to avoid anyone learning of his discovery. He became the shaman of the Hintoka, and eventually, the chief.”
“So you’re saying your father is responsible for this?”
“Yes,” the voice answered. “And I am, to some degree. If I had foreseen all he had planned, I might have stopped it.”
“Ask that chick if it can be stopped now,” asked Garland.
Lilly stared at Garland for a second or two, formulated her question, and said, “Do you have a proposal? Is there any way to stop this thing?”
“The Hintoka reservation has 4,200 people living there. Since the time Qaletaqa – my father – became chief, forty-one years ago, he has taught us to fight. All of us, men and women. I realize that just over 4,000 people does not sound like a great number, and not all are suited for it, but my conservative estimate is that three-quarters of them are true warriors. They are deadly fighters.”
Lilly mashed the button again. I could see the tension in her body, her muscles practically coiled up. The question she asked was identical to the question on all of our minds.
“What does he want?”
“He wants to return this land to his people. Those native to this continent. He did not count on the power of the bloodline. More people were immune than he anticipated.”
“How do you know this? Were you a co-conspirator?”
“Ooh, co-conspirator,” I said. “Good one, Lil.”
“Shut up,” she said. “Jesus, CB.”
“I was impressed,” muttered Danny. “Five syllables.” This was rewarded with a shoulder slap from his girlfriend.
“I will admit I was unwittingly, for a time,” said Tala. “Qaletaqa did not share with me the details of the ceremony he had indirectly coerced Climbing Fox into performing. My worries began before that, when he had the former chief of the Henomawi Tribe murdered. When Standing Rock was killed, Climbing Fox became chief.”
“He told you he killed the chief?” asked Lilly.
“No. But before that, he was in constant communication with a family he had inserted into their community many years before. You might call them spies, but I had no doubt he had arranged the chief’s murder. From that point on, my father became secretive, and my suspicions grew.”
“What we don’t get is why anyone would do this,” said Lilly.
She was dead right. I didn’t get it at all.
Dead right. Sometimes I crack myself up.
“I am about to tell you something. Before you form an opinion as to whether what I say is the truth or a lie, consider that there are millions of skinwalkers roaming the earth, seeking the human flesh of the living as sustenance.”
Lilly didn’t press the button right away. Instead, her eyes met all of ours, individually. “Skinwalkers,” she whispered. “It’s such a perfect name for them, I’m almost afraid to hear this,” she added.
She didn’t have a choice, as it turned out. Tala went on, her voice crackling through the portable ham.
“Qaletaqa is nearly 200 years old. I am sixty-three years old, but I have the physique of a young woman in her twenties. This is because of two ceremonies held long ago within a cavern several miles north of the Henomawi reservation. It is the origin of all of this, and I know where it is. If there is hope, it is there.”
“Sounds like some Stephen King book,” said Danny.
“Remember the zombie people and the zombiegators,” said Micky. “Skinwalkers, as she calls them. If they’re real – and they are – then how far-fetched is her story?”
Carla shrugged and said, “It is a multi-faceted world that holds many mysteries. Maybe this is just something we have to accept until we don’t.”
Lilly nodded, and appeared to decide. Pressing the radio button again, she said, “Okay. It sounds crazy, but so is everything else, so we’ll take you at your word for now. Are you suggesting an alliance? How many of you are there?”
“Only three. My father attempted to murder the remaining Henomawi people when they came to us for help. I managed to help two of them escape, who are with me now. The man you spoke with initially, Magi Silver Bolt, is now the chief. The other man with us is Tommy Rivers, also of the Henomawi Tribe.”
“Are you in Alturas? At the Henomawi Reservation?” asked Lilly.
“No,” said the woman. “We will be on our way there immediately now that you have agreed to ally with us. We could not risk going there alone. I ask that you continue on and meet us there.”
“Could this be a trap of some kind?” asked Georgie. “How do we know we can trust them?”
Lilly’s face grim, she pressed the button and raised the radio to her mouth. “I have people here that have family back where we started out from. I can tell you, they’d much rather just turn around, knowing Wattana is really dead. Do you think we can stop this? Stop your father?”
“He knows of your group,” warned Tala. “That means he will come for you. While his numbers do not seem formidable in the world before the black rain, it will likely be the largest army in existence today. And as I said, most are warriors. I believe they must be defeated at all costs.”
“I have one more question,” said Lilly. “Are you willing to kill your own father?”
I think we were all expecting a long delay, but the 63-year-old girl named Tala responded right away:
“I value goodness over blood. Family bonds do not erase evil.”
“Give us a minute,” said Lilly.
Jimmy said, “Do we really have a choice? We came all this way. Might as well see it through.”
“As much as I’d rather be back with Roxy, I feel this gives us more focus,” said Georgina. “Before, we were just going to find this Wattana without any other real plan. No offense, Micky.”
“None taken. It was a start, anyway,” he said.
“It was,” said Georgie. “Now we know more and this could be an alliance that helps us actually achieve something. As fantastic as her story sounds, she’s right. Look around us. It’s all unbelievable.”
“So, are we a yes?” I asked. “Show of hands?”
Without exception, everybody around the table raised their hand.
Lilly pressed the button again. “We’re settled in for the night. We’ve got about 700 miles to go. How far out are you?”
“We will be there long before you, but we will wait. Please, be safe. Thank you.”
Ω
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Near Morgan, Utah
We decided on the southern route, though that would take us alongside the airport, and I wasn’t really into that kind of population. I didn’t see as we had a choice. We were bound to hit some big population centers between Morgan and Alturas.
Ordinarily, we’d be there in ten to eleven hours of normal driving. That would be lovely, only we didn’t expect normal anything.
We’d driven about 17 miles by the time we transitioned to the 87 South. It would take us around Salt Lake City.
“Okay, from here, we’ve got about 35 miles of sketchy driving, then we should be back to more rural stuff,” said Lilly. “That’ll put us past the airport.”
I was driving, and she’d volunteered to navigate beside me. The GPS could be relied upon in more rural situatio
ns, but we didn’t need any mess-ups, directing us off the freeway and through some congested, downtown streets. We’d all been there with GPS technology, and for the moment, we were putting our trust in the Rand McNally map book.
“Well, I hate to call it lucky,” said Georgie, “but that black rain got people off the road and kept them in their homes. I think they were afraid to go out in it even after it stopped. All that residue everywhere was scary on its own.”
“Crashed cars I can deal with,” said Lilly. “It’s the hordes of moving dead people I’d rather not have to contend with.”
“Just pray our luck holds out,” I said.
“I might never stop prayin’,” said Danny. “Kinda second nature nowadays.”
As we continued south, I think we were all counting the miles. The mountains to the north fell away behind us, and the streets visible from the freeway became more and more developed. I could practically feel the tension inside the vehicle increase the farther we drove.
“Lots of those damned things movin’ down there,” said Danny, almost to himself. With his words, we all glanced left, as he was sitting behind my seat.
“Yes, there are a few,” I said. “Apparently they don’t hunker down in cold weather.”
Lilly leaned forward and checked the sky. “Speaking of weather, the sky’s getting dark, and with that temperature reading on your dash right now, I’m a little concerned.”
“Don’t worry about what you can’t control.”
We drove fourteen miles without a word, but with lots of heads jogging back and forth. We zigged and zagged to stay clear of the wrecked semi rigs and cars, and there were definitely more now. Rotters, too, pinned under overturned cars, clawing at the pavement. Some staggering around.
We only clipped two of them, and it was intentional.
The engine droned on for another four miles when the silence was broken by one tense word.
“Cole?” came the voice from behind and to my right. It was Georgie.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“What is that?” asked Lilly, pointing out the front window. “It looks like a wall.”
Judgement Page 17