Badlands Trilogy (Book 2): Beyond the Badlands (16 page)

Trish reached over and tousled the boy’s hair. “Point taken. We’ll keep our eyes open, just in case.”

She smiled at Zach. “You did good.”

“Better than good,” Max added.

Zach smiled.

“Let’s get this water boiled,” Trish continued. “I’ll take first watch. This could turn out to be a long night.”

“Bravo,” a voice called out in the darkened room.

Dave recognized the voice immediately.

Calvin.

Light clapping followed. “Good show, Porter. Tommy, stand down.”

“Yes, sir,” Tommy replied, removing the blade from Dave’s throat.

“Now let him go.”

As Tommy released Dave’s arms, he fell to his knees. His head swam and his testicles throbbed.

“Congratulations,” Calvin said, a wide smile on his face. “You passed.”

“Passed what?” Dave asked.

“The test.”

“What test?”

“Look, Porter, I have to be sure about people. I can’t have you breaking under pressure and blabbing. I need to know you’re loyal. That you’re able to keep your fucking mouth shut when it’s supposed to stay shut.”

“So you kick the shit out of me and threaten to kill me?”

“In a word, yes.”

“Do you know how fucked up that is?”

“These are desperate times, Porter. The world is fucked beyond comprehension, if you haven’t been paying attention. Clearly our socialist government’s demise left us with a power vacuum. That vacuum needs to be filled, true enough, but it’s imperative that it be filled by the right person.” Calvin motioned toward the bed. “Please, sit.”

Dave sat, the pain from his groin still roiling in the depths of his gut. The room smelled of vomit, but if Calvin noticed he didn’t let it show.

Calvin turned to Rand. “Send the boys back to the barracks. You wait outside.”

“Yes, sir,” Rand replied. He followed the rest of the men outside, closing the door behind him.

Calvin took a seat on the desk, catty-corner to the bed. “Porter, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. You’re getting in on the ground floor of an entirely new world. Kansas City is only the beginning. Once the dust settles in St. Louis I’ll take it back next. Eventually I’ll take the rest of the country.”

“I thought your brother ran St. Louis.”

Calvin chuckled. “That fuckup? Maybe for now he does.”

“But he’s your brother.”

“So what?”

Dave paused, thinking. “What about the border towns? They’re not going to just go quietly.”

“I’m not worried about them. There aren’t enough left to matter.”

“Your army’s that big?”

“We’ll get there.”

“So you take Kansas City. Then St. Louis. Then the world. What then? What’s the point of it all? What are you trying to accomplish?”

“Porter, it’s not what I want to happen. It’s what I don’t want to happen.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry. You will. Eventually you’ll understand everything.”

* * *

Rand awakened Dave the following day, accompanied by men Dave didn’t recognize. Rand gave no indication that they’d met before. Dave thought it wise to play along.

Rand and the men escorted Dave at gunpoint out of the building and through a set of wide double doors, into the bright sunlight outside. Without a word they walked him across the residence hall’s trimmed courtyard. Dave caught the aroma of freshly cut grass, something he hadn’t smelled in years. It brought back bitter memories of his life with Sandy, before the virus destroyed everything.

The dormitories loomed over them, rising five stories into the blue sky. The ultimate fence to keep out the infected. He wondered if what happened inside these walls might be just as bad or worse than what happened outside. He had a feeling he’d have little trouble finding out.

Men in uniforms smoked cigarettes near the end of the courtyard, automatic rifles slung over their shoulders. A couple of them glanced his way before turning back toward their peers and whatever conversation he’d interrupted. A couple dozen yards away a small group of dingy and weary-looking men eyed him closely as he approached.

Slaves
, Dave thought.
Masters in uniforms and slaves in rags.

Rand lead Dave to the group of men in uniform. “Fresh meat. St. Louis stock.”

A short and stubby man with a black beard and a cruel face stepped forward. He crushed his cigarette on his boot heel before flicking the butt into the grass. “St. Louis, eh?”

Rand nodded. “Right off the truck. Calvin wants this one unloading.”

“That so?”

“That’s what he said, yeah.”

Short and Stubby regarded Dave with a smug look. “What’s your name, asshole?”

“Porter,” Dave replied, quelling the urge to tear out the man’s tongue.

“You know how to lift a box?”

“I do.”

“Good. You report to me now. As long as you remember that I’m in charge we won’t have any problems, will we?”

“I suppose we won’t then.”

“He gives you any trouble you let me know,” Rand said.

Short and stubby scowled. “I can take care of this faggot.”

“This one’s under my direction, per Calvin.”

“Well, la-dee-dah. Ain’t that sweet.”

Rand straightened up to his full height. He peered down at Short and Stubby. “You’d do well to remember who’s in charge here yourself, Whipple.”

Whipple stared, his eyes narrowed to slits. Seconds passed with no exchange of words. Dave could feel the tension, thick and palpable.

“Yes, sir,” Whipple eventually replied through clenched teeth.

“Glad we understand each other,” Rand said. “Any problems you come get me.” He turned and walked away, leaving Dave and Whipple alone.

Whipple scowled, eyeing Dave up and down. “So you’re the teacher’s pet, eh? What makes you so fucking special?”

“My winning personality?”

“You better watch yourself, smartass,” he said, his breathing heavy. “I got my eye on you.”

Whipple continued to stare. Dave looked away, concerned that if he made eye contact he’d do something to get himself killed.

Satisfied that he’d sufficiently scolded Dave, Whipple turned toward the group of working men. He pointed to a man with a large nose and bushy eyebrows. “You!” he called out. “Pratchett! Get your ass over here!”

The man stopped what he was doing and jogged over to where Whipple stood. “You needed me, sir?”

“This little lady is working with you now,” Whipple said, pointing to Dave. “Put his ass to work.”

“Yes, sir,” Pratchett replied.

Whipple leaned in until he was only inches away from Dave’s face. “I’m watching you.”

* * *

Dave worked for three hours, moving boxes and crates from a temporary holding area into an empty first-floor dorm room. Pratchett, whose first name turned out to be Gary, worked alongside him. An armed guard monitored their effort from a distance, chastising them if they moved too slowly for his liking.

“Lunch,” the guard called out. “Get your asses over there before it’s gone.”

Dave followed Gary’s lead, taking a seat alongside him at a larger table. Another prisoner sat down across from them. Armed handlers herded more prisoners to adjacent tables. No one spoke. Metal plates and cups lined the table in front of them.

Once seated, a guard walked up to the table carrying a large mixing bowl filled with dingy-white mashed potatoes. Using a ladle, he scooped a heap of the potatoes out of the bowl, depositing the mess with a sloppy thump upon the plates. Another guard followed behind the potato-flinger, pouring equally dingy water into the cups.

“Don’t we get any spoons?” Dave asked.

The guard pouring the water scowled. “Ain’t that adorable. He wants a spoon.”

“Use your hands!” the potato-flinger shouted.

“You want an after dinner mint too, precious?” The water-pouring guard chuckled at himself.

Dave didn’t reply. The guards moved on.

“Five star accommodations, eh?” the man said from across the table. Taller than Gary, with salt and pepper hair and a scraggly beard, his eyes shone a deep blue. Dave felt tremendous depth in those eyes.

“I’m Johnny,” the man said. “Welcome to Hell.”

“They told me I was going to Fiji,” Dave said.

Johnny glanced at Gary and chuckled. “I like this one already. Where are you from, my friend?”

“St. Louis. Until the bombs went off.”

“We heard about that. Glenn’s outdone himself this time.”

“Who’s Glenn?” Dave asked.

“Calvin’s daddy. He runs this shithole.”

“I heard about him.”

“You know Calvin, do you?”

“We rode in together. Hell of a conversationalist.”

Johnny grinned. “You should meet his daddy. The apple don’t fall far from the tree.”

“I’ll bet.”

Johnny motioned toward Dave’s mashed potatoes. “You better eat before those guard get antsy,” he said, filling his own mouth. “Otherwise they get their feelings hurt thinking you don’t like their cooking.”

Dave glanced toward the guards serving lunch. They scowled in return. He dunked a filthy hand into the tepid mound of potatoes, cramming a handful into his mouth. To his surprise it tasted wonderful, until he remembered just how hungry he’d been.

Johnny took a drink of the cloudy water. “Glenn fancies himself as some sort of George Patton type. Truth is, he’s just some dumbshit prepper who got lucky enough to have survived the virus and the deadwalkers. He pulled that bombing trick here too; turned out to be just enough for him to get a foot in the door.”

Dave considered mentioning that Calvin and Glenn had provided the bombs in St. Louis as well, but decided against it. It turned out he didn’t have to.

“I’ll bet Glenn bombed St. Louis too,” Gary added.

“That’s a bet you’d win, my friend,” Johnny said.

“You think Glenn’s behind it?” Dave asked, playing dumb.

Johnny nodded.

“How do you know?”

“I got sources. Word is that Glenn’s got some connections out west. Helped him get the firepower to take out the guard.”

“What happened to them all?” Dave asked. “Were they killed?”

“Not right away,” Gary said.

“So there were survivors?”

“Take a look around this place,” Johnny said. “You won’t find a single member of the guard.”

“Maybe they’re just locked up?”

Johnny shook his head. “They ain’t coming back.”

They ate their mashed potatoes in silence until Whipple made his way over to the table. “Make some new friends over here?”

Everyone at the table remained silent.

“Lunch is over in five minutes, assholes. You better finish your grub and get your asses back on the line. You fuckers hear me?”

A round of ‘yes, sir’ chimed from those sitting at the table, almost in unison. Dave added his in for good measure.

“Good,” Whipple replied, giving the table another glare before walking away.

“I hate that asshole,” Johnny said, once Whipple was out of sight. “Nothing would make me happier than cutting that fucker’s throat.”

Dave glared at Whipple as he walked away. “That makes two of us.”

Using the map from the corner store, Trish and the rest of the group set out the following morning, due west. For the rest of the day they traveled along the railroad as it cut through the Missouri countryside. Beside them grew lush forest, the trees full of leaves now that spring had arrived.

Short stretches of overgrown farmland broke up the forest, placing the group out into the open. Despite the farmland being void of both the infected and uninfected, Trish found that the seclusion of the forest calmed her nerves.

Much like they’d used the highway to guide them toward St. Louis, Trish and the group now used the railroad to guide them to Kansas City. Although she couldn’t predict what they’d find along the tracks, it at least made getting lost impossible.

Passing through Bonnots Mill, they stopped for lunch. They ate tepid vegetable soup with stale crackers, chasing it with stream water they’d boiled earlier.
 

Later in the day the sound of running water caught their attention. Before long the Missouri River appeared through the spaces between the trees, its current strong and fast. As they walked, the track veered until they found themselves directly beside the river, separated by a thin line of trees.

Under different circumstances, Trish thought the sounds of the water lapping against the riverbank could have been soothing. Now it only reminded her of how open and exposed they were.

They camped without a fire that night, eating more soup, followed by a package of dried bananas found in the train wreck. Trish and the boys alternated guard duty, alongside Max and Rose.

They rose early the following morning, walking all day and making banal conversation to pass the time. Near the end of the evening they found themselves on the outskirts of Jefferson City.

They pushed on, despite the pain in their feet, until the forest opened up, revealing the state’s former capital. As the forest fell away, buildings and parking lots appeared, edged by subdivisions and houses.

Among these buildings sat an Amtrak station, red brick sitting atop a white stone base. Behind that the state capitol building loomed, its soot-stained façade staring back at them like a face with a giant bruise. Dead cars clung stubbornly to parking spaces, rusting skeletons of an extinct species.

They pulled back from the forest’s edge, retreating into the woods again in order to formulate their next move. The boys sat upon the track, keeping watch from both directions while Trish spread the map out upon the brown-stained gravel between the rails. Max and Rose took up positions alongside her, peering at the map.

Using her index finger to make an imaginary circle on the map, Trish highlighted the area where they now stood. “We’re going to be exposed while we’re walking through downtown.” She moved her finger along the track and toward the western edge of the city. “But once we get through it we’ll end up back in the woods again.”

“I don’t like being out in the open while we walk through the city,” Rose said.

“If we wait until dark we’ll be harder to see,” Trish suggested.