Badlands Trilogy (Book 2): Beyond the Badlands (7 page)

Jasper fired a single shot, blowing a hole in the thing’s chest. It fell in a heap, twitching. Holstering the pistol, Jasper quickly made his way through the debris and toward the deadhead’s object of interest. He stepped hesitantly over the reeking, filthy body, ready for it to lash out the moment he came near. Thankfully it remained still.

Once at the end of the passenger car Jasper dropped to his knees. There he found what the thing was after: a bearded man, trapped beneath the remains of a seat and behind some twisted metal. At first Jasper thought the man was dead, but then he moaned. Not dead, but definitely injured. For a moment he wondered if moving the man might kill him, but then he remembered that was old world thinking. There were no paramedics to wait on. You picked a guy up and you dragged him off. Then he either lived or died.

With the seconds ticking away in Jasper’s mind, he searched for a way to extricate the man. Removing some of the debris, he yanked hard on the broken seat that had protected the man from the deadheads. It gave way, but only a little.

He pulled again. This time the metal bent a little more. He locked hands with the man and heaved, but the man didn’t budge.

“Come on, goddammit!” Jasper yelled, tugging as hard as he could. Clothing ripped and the injured man moaned again before popping free. Jasper fell backward, landing hard on his backside. The man’s eyes opened, but they were cloudy and distant.

Standing, Jasper took hold of the man again. “Up on your feet,” he commanded, pulling him the rest of the way out and to his feet. Though confused and shaky, he stood, leaning hard on Jasper for balance. Jasper guided the man’s arm around his own shoulder, bearing most of his weight.

With time running out, they made their way through the overturned train car and out the door. Once outside, Jasper checked up on the pack of carriers headed toward them. Three of them had broken away from the pack and were now way too close.

With no time to make it to the bike, Jasper lowered the injured man to the ground. Retrieving the baseball bat like a sword, he ran toward the carrier in the lead. He drew the bat back and let it go with a major league swing, connecting with the deadhead’s mouth. Teeth broke and lips split as its head snapped back. It fell to the ground in a heap.

Then movement flashed in out of the corner of his eye. A moment later he lay on the ground, the bat knocked out of his grasp. The ambushing deadhead clawed at Jasper’s face. Shoving it away, Jasper pulled the pistol and fired, punching a hole in the thing’s gut. It crumpled where it lay, motionless.

The third deadhead came hard and fast, shrieking. Still on his knees, Jasper leveled the pistol and squeezed off a shot, missing entirely. Cursing, he aimed again before squeezing off another shot. The carrier’s throat exploded in a mist of red, its maniacal screaming instantly silenced.

With the closest threats down, the horde closed in. Jasper ran back to the man still lying on the ground and helped him back up to his feet again, half dragging him to the motorcycle. The man winced as Jasper helped him sit. His eyes fluttered, but he remained conscious. Jasper sat down in front of him. “Hold on to me and don’t let go,” he shouted, guiding the man’s hands around his waist.

Leaning forward, he folded up the kickstand and took off. The bike dipped for one frightening moment before balance returned. He heard the deadheads behind him, their chorus of screams like a million fingernails on a chalkboard. Cramming fuel to the engine, Jasper ratcheted up through the gears, goosing the speedometer ever higher.

The screaming died off behind him, now subdued by the engine’s hot buzz. It took a few moments before Jasper realized they weren’t going to die after all.

Another day, Mr. Death. Another day.

“No offense,” Jasper said, “but I was hoping you’d be a chick.”

The man returned only a moan.

Giving up on conversation, Jasper sped away feeling better about himself than he had in a very long time.

Dave came to, feeling as if he’d been run over by a truck. Dried blood from his busted nose coated his lips and chin. He opened his eyes, his vision doubling and blurring before finally coming into focus. He searched for Annette, but he could find no trace of her. Only a massive pool of her congealing blood remained.

“I’m sorry,” a woman said. Her eyes implored him.

Dave forced himself into a sitting position. He glared at Peterson. “Where is she?”

Peterson returned the stare. “She’s not your problem anymore.”

“Where is she?” Dave repeated.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Dave sprang to his feet, launching himself toward Peterson, driving his shoulder into the gunman’s stomach. The two men collapsed in a pile, Peterson on the bottom. Dave scrambled to his knees and straddled the man’s chest, driving both fists into Peterson’s nose. Blood flew as cartilage snapped.

Peterson howled. Bleeding freely, he struggled to get to his rifle. Dave kneed Peterson’s crotch, smashing his testicles and forcing him to drop the weapon. With Peterson stunned, Dave brought both fists down on the man’s mouth. Peterson’s lips split as his front teeth disappeared in a bloody froth.

Using his bound hands like a vice, Dave picked up the rifle and jammed the barrel beneath Peterson’s jaw, clamping his mouth shut. Sitting on the butt of the rifle to keep it in place, he hooked a finger on the trigger and pulled.

Peterson’s brains exploded out the top of his head, the sound of the report deafening in the back of the truck. Prisoners screamed as blood and brains coated them. The truck lurched as the driver slammed on the brakes, sending Dave and the other prisoners tumbling.

Lying on his side now, Dave heard doors open, followed by footsteps on the concrete as both men approached. He eyed the rifle and considered picking it up, but stopped short. There seemed little point anymore. Just as well to get it over with.

He closed his eyes and waited for the end.

“I can’t reach it!” Jeremy said, struggling for the pocketknife.

“Yes, you can,” Zach said. “Just try really hard.”

Jeremy sighed. “Okay.” Taking another deep breath, he pushed down hard against the ropes tied around his chest, shoving his hand into his pocket. The tips of his fingers touched the knife. “Wait, I can feel it!”

“Keep trying.”

Jeremy pushed harder, squirming against the ropes. Another inch, then another, and then his thumb reached the knife. He eventually slid the pocketknife out of his front pocket. “Got it!”

“Okay, good. Now back up against me and hold onto it tight. Get it close to my hand and I’ll open the blade.”

Jeremy nodded, scooting himself so that his back touched his brother’s. Once in position, he held the knife tightly between his fingers, allowing Zach to pry open the blade.

“Now hand it to me,” he said, “and sit still while I cut these ropes.”

“Okay.”

Zach got a grip on the knife and began sawing at the ropes that bound them.

“Hurry up!” Jeremy exclaimed.

“Hold your horses,” Zach said, channeling one of his father’s phrases. Thinking about his dad threatened to make him cry, but he pushed the pain away. He had to be the strong one.

He worked the ropes with the knife, slicing through each band that held them. Within minutes, they were free.

“What now?” Jeremy asked.

“Now we look for Dad.”

“What about the carriers? We don’t have a gun or anything.”

Zach took a deep breath. Jeremy was right. They had no protection, no food, and no water.
One problem at a time
, he thought.
That’s what Dad would do.

“Our packs are probably still back at the train,” Zach said. “When we go look for Dad we’ll look for the packs too.”

“What if we don’t find them?”

“I don’t know!” Zach snapped. Jeremy stopped, his lower lip trembling. Instantly Zach regretted the outburst. “We’ll figure something out, okay? We always do.”

“But that was when Dad was here.”

“I know,” Zach said. “Remember what Dad always told us? He said he wouldn’t be around forever and that’s why he taught us the stuff he did.”

“Don’t say that, Zach. He’s not dead.”

“I know. But he’s not here right now, so we have to remember the stuff he taught us until we find him again, okay?”

Jeremy nodded.

“So here’s the plan. First, we go back to the train and look for Dad. Then we look for our stuff. Then we look for Trish. Got it?”

Jeremy nodded again.

“And if you see any carriers you stick with me and do what I say, okay?”

“Okay.”

Zach gripped his little brother’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Zach replied, though he didn’t feel like he could guarantee anything. “Let’s go.”

* * *

After a cursory glance outside the house, they exited through the front door. Cautious, they crossed the cracked, weed-strewn street running in front of the house and headed back to the railroad tracks.

Zach couldn’t remember a time since the outbreak that they’d been out on their own without their father. He also couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt more alone. As piercing shrieks echoed in the distance, turning Zach’s skin to gooseflesh, he was glad to have his little brother there with him.

They crossed overgrown lawns and subdivision streets, looking over their shoulders as they doubled back the way they’d come. Eventually they found themselves out of the residential area and near the scene of the crash.

Suddenly Zach gripped Jeremy’s arm, pulling his brother to the ground with him. “Get down!”

He pointed toward the front of the battered train lying a couple hundred yards away. Two carriers ambled about near the overturned engine, small figures in the distance. “There’s two of them up there. You see ‘em?”

“Yeah.”

“Stay down.”

“Okay.”

Zach looked up and down the train cars. Finally he pointed to an overturned passenger car near the rear of the train. “I think that’s the car we were in.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember the number.”

Zach looked at his brother with a puzzled expression. “You remember that?”

“Well…yeah…don’t you?”

Zach nodded. “Sure.” He didn’t remember the number, but he wished he had.

“Where did all the carriers go?” Jeremy asked. “There were a bunch of ‘em running around after we crashed.”

“Probably just walked away. Like that time we hid in the house when we got Trish her medicine.”

“But why are those two still here?”

Looking for live food
, Zach thought. He touched the carrier bite scar on his neck. “Who knows?”

“You think they’ll go away?”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to wait and see. We need our stuff before it gets dark.”

“But they’ll see us.”

“Not if we’re fast enough.”

“Yeah, they look pretty slow.”

“No, I don’t mean outrun them. I mean we get past them without them seeing us at all.”

“You mean if we’re
sneaky
enough then. That’s what you meant.”

“Whatever. Same thing. We need to wait until those carriers up there by the engine get outta sight. Then we can make a run for it.”

“Zach?”

“Yeah?”

“What if we do find Dad down in that train car, but he’s dead?”

“That’s not going to happen.” Zach took a deep breath. “Let’s just think about those backpacks, okay?”

“Okay.”

The carriers wandered around the scene like rusted tin men, their clothes hanging in tatters. The boys watched carefully, lying on their bellies. It seemed as if they’d never get their break, but then one of the carriers disappeared behind the overturned train, the second disappearing quickly behind the first.

“Now!” Zach whispered.

Both boys scrambled to their feet and ran. It seemed as if they ran underwater, the train car hovering at an incredible distance, continually out of reach like a carrot dangling on a moving stick. As they ran both boys repeatedly glanced toward the engine, waiting for the carriers to emerge and catch sight of them, but the area remained clear.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the car and slipped inside, safely out of sight. As they stood catching their breath, Zach surveyed the inside of the car. Debris covered everything. A dead carrier lay prone on the floor, slowly rotting. Flies buzzed, lighting on the corpse and the blood-spattered walls.

Zach’s spirits dropped at the sight.
What could have survived this?
he thought

“Start looking.”

Both boys walked the length of the car, looking for their bags and their father. As the evening sun dipped outside, crickets chirped loudly from within the surrounding grass.

The minutes passed. Zach felt as if the walls were closing in on him as the rank air invaded his sinuses. Every step they took through the litter covering the floor sounded as loud as a firecracker. He was convinced it was only a matter of time before the carriers took notice and decided to investigate.

Eventually they found their packs, but they saw no sign at all of their father. Zach again fought to push down the overwhelming feeling of despair. No matter how much he told himself that his dad was alive, the evidence around him argued otherwise.
 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Jeremy asked, echoing Zach’s thoughts.

“We don’t know that.”

“But he’s not here.”

“So what?”

“Do you think he got away?”

Zach nodded. “Yeah. He’s probably out looking for us now. But we gotta get out of this train car before the carriers find us. Then we can look for him.”

They gathered up their packs and put them on. “Wait,” Jeremy said, eyeing a pack a few feet away. “That’s Dad’s backpack.”

The bottom dropped out of Zach’s stomach. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“But if Dad didn’t take his pack with him then-”

“Just pick it up.”

Jeremy walked up to the pack and tried to lift it. “It’s too heavy.”

“I’ll do it.” Zach stepped through the trash on the floor to where the pack lay and picked up the bag. It was heavy, but he managed to lift it. He wanted Jeremy to see that he could, to know that he was capable of being in charge. Realizing it would be easier to carry the heavier pack on his back, Zach swapped his father’s for his own while Jeremy located Trish’s backpack.