Badlands Trilogy (Book 2): Beyond the Badlands (10 page)

Dave only stared out the windshield.

“This kind of stuff happens. There’s no way you’re a stranger to it, not this late in the game. You’ve seen your share. But you’ll get by. We all do. You’re gonna have to put it behind you.”

Without anything to say, Dave only nodded.

“Good." Calvin stared at Dave, a gleam in his eye. He grinned wide. “Let me tell you about Kansas City.”

The woman lunged from the shadows, slamming a brick against Ryder’s head. The impact made a sound like a hammer striking a ripe melon as they fell together, landing in a twisted heap. Ryder moaned as the flashlight struck the floor and rolled.

Yelling, the woman got to her knees and lifted the brick high, driving it into Ryder’s head again. He jerked as his body went limp. Lifting the brick again, she let it fall a third time.

Ryder lay motionless, eyes closed, a trickle of blood leaking from his hairline.

Panting, the woman turned toward Trish. Unkempt white hair sprouted above her liver-spotted face. “You okay?”

Trish nodded vigorously. “Please get me out of here.”

“Heard what he said,” the woman said, standing. “Couldn’t let that happen.”

“Hit him again,” Trish said, her tone urgent. “Make sure he’s dead.”

“Oh, he ain’t getting up. I brained him but good.”

“Hit him again! If he wakes up he’ll kill both of us!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have you out in a jiffy.” Placing the brick on the floor, Trish’s rescuer retrieved a small knife from her front pocket. She sawed at the ropes around Trish’s wrists. “Damned old knife is dull as shit. Hang in there, I’ll get it.”

Taut as a guitar string, Trish couldn’t relax. She glanced repeatedly at Ryder’s still form lying on the floor. “Hurry, please!”

“Hold your horses,” the old woman said, frustrated. “I’m working as fast as I can.”

The pocketknife carved its way through the rope around Trish’s wrists, the nylon fibers popping as the blade passed through. A few seconds later it had chewed its way through the first rope.

“Hold still,” the old woman said.

“I’m trying!” Barely able to sit, Trish watched as the blade made its slow progress. She glanced over again to where Ryder lay.

He was gone.

“Oh my god! He’s-”

Ryder drove his boot into the old woman’s head, knocking her to the floor. The knife flew from her hand, skidding into the darkness. “You old bitch!” he screamed. “YOU ARE SO FUCKING DEAD!”

Trish launched herself toward where she’d seen the knife go, landing on her belly, her elbows smacking the concrete floor hard. She barely noticed the pain. She glanced behind. Ryder stood above the moaning woman, his foot in the air. A moment later, he stomped. The woman jerked her head to the side as his boot heel crunched into the floor.

“Cunt!” he snarled.

Grasping the brick, the old woman swung, ramming it into Ryder’s shin. He howled in pain.

Turning back toward the shadows, Trish crawled. She reached out, feeling around in the darkness for the knife, but the rope around her wrists held. Pulling both hands apart with a jerk, she heard the partially severed rope snap. Her hands came free. She scoured the surface of the dirty floor while Ryder and the old woman struggled behind her.

Then she felt it. The knife, lying on the floor. As she reached out for it, she bumped it with her fingers, sending it deeper into the shadows. Crawling forward, she chased the knife, the sound of struggle still behind her. She could feel her time running out.

A moment later she found the knife again. Carefully grasping it, she rolled onto her back, drawing her knees toward her chest as she began to cut the ropes around her ankles.

She glanced again at the scuffle behind her. Now the gray-haired woman lay on the floor while Ryder stood above her, pistol drawn.
 

“No…” Trish muttered to herself.

Ryder pulled the trigger, the sound like that of a bomb exploding. The woman’s body jerked before slumping to the warehouse floor, motionless.

Then the knife blade broke through and the last rope around Trish’s ankles fell away.

She was free.

Seizing her opportunity, Trish scooted backward, melting into the shadows. Completely enveloped in darkness now, she had no idea where she was or what lay around her. Her finger brushed inadvertently against something hard and cold. Metal. She felt up and down, finding the edges of a steel I-beam. It was a support column, hopefully wide enough for her to hide behind.

Still scooting on her backside, Trish wriggled her way around the support beam, placing her back against the cold metal. Her breathing sounded like a foghorn in the silence.

The flashlight’s beam penetrated the darkness, flicking back and forth like a searchlight during a prison break. The light cut through the blackness on either side of her as Ryder searched the shadows. Trish made herself as small and thin as she could, desperately hoping that the support column would be wide enough to conceal her.

“You can’t hide forever, little girl,” Ryder called out. “It’s only a matter of time before I find you.”

Trish focused on her breathing, keeping it regulated and as quiet as possible. The last thing she needed was for Ryder to hear her.

“Your little friend here is dead,” he continued. “She was lucky I did it quick. You’re not gonna be so lucky. I’m gonna find you, Trishy, and when I do I’m not just gonna cut out your tongue, I’m gonna pull your teeth out, one at a time. Oh, Trish, the things I’m gonna do to you.”

She waited silently, still quietly panting. Her mind raced as she frantically searched for a plan. Maybe she could wait it out. Maybe if he couldn’t find her he’d eventually give up

No, that would never work. He’d followed her halfway across the country; he wasn’t going to quit now. Men like Ryder didn’t give up. They didn’t let things go. Men like Ryder simply kept going until they either got what they wanted or they died trying.

Ryder walked about the warehouse, shining the light in various nooks and crannies, moving objects as he searched. They crashed to the floor as he turned the place upside down. “Come to daddy,” he cooed. “Where are you, little girl?”

She was running out of time. Eventually he’d find her. Without a plan, she was dead.

Then Ryder screamed a moment later and she knew the plan had already been made for her.

Beside an empty stretch of two lane road just outside Jefferson City, Missouri, the sound of voices traveled through the forest. The scent of burning wood permeated the air, the traces of a dwindling fire built by a killer, now himself deceased. Trees rustled and through the underbrush emerged three other killers; a woman and two men. On their backs they carried packs filled with supplies, a portion of which had been recently confiscated from the same murderer who’d built the fire.

“Where to now?” Danny asked as he stepped onto the highway. Thin and wiry, his stringy hair had already receded despite his young age. A patchy beard partially covered his face. Standing on the road, he kicked at a large weed growing from a crack in the concrete.

“I say we head west,” Beth replied. The corner of her lip curled upward in a smile that resembled a snarl. A strip club dancer in her former life, she still maintained the body that had paid the bills. Her dark hair shone blonde near the ends, four years past when she’d last cared to dye it.

“Oh, do you, baby?” Short, stocky and confident, Ryan quickly assumed his place as the group’s de facto leader, as well as Beth’s boyfriend. Smiling, he reached out and grabbed her by the waist, bringing her in closer for a kiss. “What’s out there that you wanna see so bad?”

“Dunno. Never been.”

“Maybe we should flip a coin?” Danny asked.

“Nah. If my girl says west than we go west.”

“That’s it? Just go where she says?”

The smile faded from Ryan’s face. “Yeah. That’s it? Got a problem with that?”

“Maybe I do.”

“Boys, boys, boys,” Beth interrupted, pulling away from Ryan’s grasp. Her voice softened. “Don’t go getting all upset now, especially over me.” She turned to Danny and smiled. “If you don’t wanna go west, then where do you wanna go?”

Danny shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. I just thought it would be a good idea to flip for it, that’s all.”

Beth batted her eyes, mimicking the expression of a child. “We could see the ocean. Don’t you want me to see the ocean?”

Danny’s eyes dropped. “Well, sure,” he said, kicking absentmindedly at the weed again.

“So we go to the ocean then?”

“Sure. That’d be good for you to see the ocean. Right, Ryan?”

Ryan glared at him. Eventually his expression broke and he smiled slightly. “Yeah. Right.”

Beth smiled and clapped as she hugged Ryan. “I’m so excited! I can’t wait!”
 

“Alright, alright. The ocean, I get it. You’re excited. We need to get moving if…” Ryan trailed off.

“What is it?” Beth asked.

He stared into the distance. “Well, what do we have here…”

Danny looked in the same direction, shielding his eyes from the midday sun. “Deadwalker?”

“Looks to be.”

“All by itself,” Beth said. “I’ll be damned.”

Ryan grinned. “Wanna have some fun?”

Without waiting for an answer, he retrieved a stout, police-issue nightstick from his hip and started toward the carrier. Jogging slowly at first, he picked up speed as he got closer. Danny and Beth followed, in tow.

Half-way there, the carrier spotted him. It released a hoarse cry as it lurched toward them, limping on nearly useless legs. Impossibly thin, dingy jeans and a faded St. Louis Cardinals jersey hung from its bony frame. Its toes poked through rotted running shoes, overgrown toenails broken into jagged shards.

Picking up speed, Ryan entered a full-blown dash. He bore down upon the carrier. As they met, he whipped the nightstick, connecting with the carrier’s head. It snapped back, the force knocking the thing off its feet. It landed on its back, one legged pinned beneath, the tibia snapping with a sharp and brittle crack. Snarling, it lay on the ground, flailing its arms and legs, slashing with long, yellowing fingernails.

Ryan growled as he came to a quick stop. “Fuck yeah! Put that fucker on its ass!” He swung the night stick like a baseball bat through the air, placing his hand above his eyes and shielding them from the sun as his imaginary home run cleared the outfield wall.

Beth showed up a few moments later. “You better shut that thing up or it’ll have the whole lot of them on us.”

“I’m not scared of those fuckers. Let ‘em come. First, I’m gonna have a little fun…Indian style.”

Retrieving his knife, he stooped over the thrashing carrier. It hissed, gnashing its teeth as it reached out for him, grasping handfuls of air. Placing the blade against the carrier’s ear, he drove the blade through, as if sawing through a Thanksgiving turkey. A moment later he had it off.

“What’s the matter, can’t you hear me?” he mocked, tossing away the severed ear.

Danny watched from a safe distance. “Fucking gross, man.”

“You be careful, sweetie,” Beth said. “Don’t let that thing bite you.”

“You ain’t gonna bite, are you buddy?” Ryan stood, placing a foot on the carrier’s forehead, pinning it to the ground. Beneath his boot the carrier squirmed. “Danny, you remember learning about the Indians in school, don’tcha?”

“Dot on the forehead Indians or casino Indians?” Danny asked.

“American Indians, you idiot.”

“Sure.”

Ryan sighed, his foot still forcing the carrier’s head against the pavement. “I remember that old bag of a teacher telling us how the Indians used to scalp settlers. Sometimes they cut ‘em up while they were still alive. They’d collect ‘em like trophies, like the tunnel rats did back in Vietnam with gook ears.” He paused, watching the carrier thrash. “I always wondered what that’d be like.”

“Just kill it already,” Beth said. “You’re gonna stir up a nest of them.”

“Shut up, already.” Switching his foot from the carrier’s forehead to its throat, Ryan grabbed a handful of the thing’s matted hair and pulled. He sawed, separating the scalp’s connective tissue from the muscle. The mass of hair and skin peeled back as he sliced, like peeling an orange. Blood pooled beneath the carrier’s head as it thrashed and screeched.

Giving the hair a final tug, the scalp tore free from the thing’s head. Ryan held it up for the others to see. “Would you look at that? Easier than I thought it would be.”

“You finished?” Beth asked, her arms crossed. “We need to get moving.”

“Fine,” Ryan replied, tossing the scalp on the pavement beside the deadwalker. He looked at his hand. “Gross. Wash me off, Danny.”

On command, Danny dumped water from their canteen onto Ryan’s gory hands. The clear water ran pink as the blood washed away. He wiped his hands on his pants.

“Ain’t you gonna kill it?” Beth asked.

“Fuck it. It’ll die on its own.”

“Let’s go then.”

The three headed west, toward the ocean and whatever else might lay in their path. Behind them the carrier groaned as it bled onto the defunct highway.

An hour later the wolves arrived.

* * *

“Hey look over there,” Beth said. “Where do you think that goes?”

Danny stared in the direction of Beth’s finger. A few hundred yards ahead he saw railroad tracks.

Ryan turned to Danny. “Check the map.”

Grumbling to himself, Danny removed his backpack and rummaged around for their map. He made sure not to complain though; no sense setting Ryan off on another crazy tirade.

“Hurry up,” Ryan chided.

Fighting the growing urge to retort, Danny eventually found the map. He unfolded it, finding their location. “This rail line runs through Kansas City.”

Beth frowned. “Kansas City? That’s boring. I want to see the ocean.”

“I think we should stop off there.”

“Why?” Ryan asked.

“Food, supplies, stuff like that.”

“We can get that shit anywhere.”

“Not like we could there. Big distribution centers. Probably still stocked.”