Radioactive and The Decay Dystopian Super Boxset- A Dirty Bomb and Nuclear Blast Prepper Tale of Survival (39 page)

“Sorry, don’t mean to sound vague. Those people you met the other night at the cookout. We’re going to visit their camp.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Paul asked.

“As good as any,” the Sheriff replied. “Now enough questions; get ready and meet me outside.”

The Sheriff disappeared leaving a flurry of thoughts rushing through Paul’s head. While he contemplated the purpose of visiting the outside group, he also began to wonder what kind of deal he had made with the Sheriff. Was he now on call? Paul wondered if he could trust the Sheriff. He felt that New Haven looked up to the man almost too much. He was a sheriff, but he was also a man that Paul knew virtually nothing about. He went to Julie’s room next door and lightly tapped.

“Yeah?” her voice said from inside.

“It’s Paul, can I come in?” Paul asked.

“Hold on,” she said.

He heard her move off the bed and walk to the door. She opened it, wearing her pajamas and holding a bath towel.

“Did you sleep well?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, I guess. I’m about to take a shower,” she said.

Paul tried to smile at her, but could see she wasn’t in the smiling mood.

“Look, I know that it’s hard right now, but we’ll be leaving soon.”

“It’s okay, it could be worse,” she said.

He was impressed and surprised with her attitude. “You’re right,” he said. “It could be much worse.”

They looked at each other for a brief moment, not saying anything. It was clear that Samantha’s absence wasn’t an easy thing to discuss.

“So listen, I have to make a run with the Sheriff and some of the others. Just take it easy around here and I’ll be back in no time.”

“Where are you guys going?” she asked. “I want to come.”

“That’s okay. Just stay back here and hold down the fort.”

“Oh please, like that makes any sense,” Julie snapped back.

“It’s an adult thing. The Sheriff doesn’t want any kids, I’m sorry.”

By shifting the blame to the Sheriff, he felt that Julie might cut him some slack.

“Whatever,” she said. “I’ve got to take a shower.”

She moved past him and down the hall to the bathroom. Paul thought to wake Jordan, but he heard the Sheriff shout for him from outside.

“Alright, Paul, let’s get moving!”

Paul changed his T-shirt, put on a pair of blue jeans, grabbed a jacket, and went out the door. Jordan didn’t take notice from his slumber. The townhouse was essentially three small rooms and a bathroom. The third room, a joint kitchen-living room ensemble was nicely furnished but stripped of character. Paul met the Sheriff in the front yard with a group of four others. There was the Sheriff, David, Rob, and two of the council members, Ryan and Shelly. The Sheriff had assembled a team of six, including himself, but Paul wondered of its purpose. David was holding a rifle and Rob was armed with a 9mm pistol. Paul could see the pistol in the Sheriff’s side holster as well.

“Better grab your shotgun,” the Sheriff said.

Paul looked around. “What kind of trip is this?” he asked.

David and Rob laughed.

“Relax,” the Sheriff said. “It’s just a precaution. We leave the weapons in the truck if necessary, once we get to the camp.”

“I have to admit, I’m not very comfortable with this,” Paul said. Maybe he could get out of it. As Paul searched the Sheriff’s face, he couldn’t see the eyes behind his dark aviator sunglasses.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Paul, I promise. This is a simple visit at the behest of their group. We have to establish good relationships with other communities out here, trust me on this.” Paul was left with little to say. He followed them to a large red pickup truck idling in the street.

He sat in the back of the truck with the outsider group from the camp, who said little. The truck, a Ford F-250, had enough room for the Sheriff and his people as they rode comfortably up front. During the short trip, Paul felt every bit an outsider as the visitors he was sitting with. Walter made a few comments in passing about the end of times, as Paul nodded politely. He wasn’t in the mood to engage them. They traveled a largely rural path to a nearby small town that appeared deserted. Down a dirt road they stopped at a church surrounded by tents of varying color and size. There were about twenty tents total. People, old and young, were moving about, conversing, eating from paper plates, and hanging articles on clotheslines. Faces looked up from their daily chores and watched the truck enter their camp. Their eyes watched with great interest and suspicion.

The church was a small single white building arched in the middle with a steeple centered at the top. The bottom of the church sat atop a brick foundation. The tents surrounding it resembled a shantytown. The surrounding area was fenced in with simple chicken wire. It hardly resembled the fortified gates of New Haven. Rob parked the truck to the side once they passed the entrance.

“Home sweet home,” Walter said.

His group hopped out of the bed of the truck and stood nearby as Walter climbed out. Paul got out last and walked to the front of the truck where the weapons were. He examined the camp and saw several children among the occupants of the camp. The presence of young ones caused Paul to second guess the need to be armed.

“Leave the weapons in the truck,” the Sheriff said, as he exited from the passenger’s side, though he still had his own pistol at his side.

Rob pointed out the pistol at his hip, and in response, the Sheriff told him that while one gun sends a message, too many would give the wrong impression. They were visiting the camp as neighbors, nothing more, nothing less. Walter walked around to the front of the truck as his own group dispersed back to the tents.

The visitors in their truck appeared to be family men as they were met by wives and children. However, one question remained, what had happened to their homes? The camp looked like a refuge from a hurricane or earthquake. Its set-up and design seemed temporary and hastily built. As far as Paul knew, there hadn’t been an attack anywhere near Missouri. Who were these people, and where did they come from?

“I think this camp is a little farther than seven miles,” Rob told Walter.

“Is it?” Walter asked. “My pace count is generally always spot-on.”

“I clocked it at about ten,” Rob said.

“Can’t argue with a speedometer, I guess,” Walter said.

The Sheriff observed the camp ahead of them with great interest. He felt a sense of sadness, maybe even pity for the conditions the people were living in.

“Just breaks my heart,” he said to Rob.

Walter overheard and stepped in.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Just sad to see these people living like this,” the Sheriff replied.

Paul figured it was his chance to get some answers.

“Where did they all come from?” he asked. “Don’t they have homes?”

Walter took a step back and raised his hand in the air.

“Let me clear this up. Everyone here comes from different backgrounds and circumstances. Some were homeless prior to the end, others had lavish and beautiful homes. Together we all live the same. Personal possessions and extravagances are of no importance to the Seventh Order. Things like that simply don’t matter anymore. We live very frugally. We adopt an extreme minimalist lifestyle, taking only what we need. Then we wait.”

“Wait for what?” Paul asked.

“We wait for what’s coming,” Walter answered.

Paul could see where the conversation was going and chose not to press him any further.

“So who lives in the church then? Must be pretty nice in there,” David pointed out.

The Sheriff gave him a look that suggested he back off.

“The church is our learning center, not a home,” Walter said.

The people in the camp were quiet and behaving in a careful manner. Several of them went into their tents upon the New Haven’s arrival. The bolder ones stood outside and watched them with careful eyes. Already Paul felt weary of their presence.

“They’re looking at us like we’re a different species,” he said.

“Don’t worry about them, they’re good people. They haven’t seen any new people in over a month,” Walter said.

“A month?” Paul asked. “But the attacks started only a week ago.”

“Oh we’ve been prepared far before that,” Walter said. “Now please, enough chit-chat, Sister Bonnie waits. Follow me.”

Walter led the group past rows of tents and piled clutter. The air smelled poignant and strong. Piles of compost and trash lined up along the tree line engulfed the camp in its smell. A small fire burned in front of one of the tents, roasting a skewered squirrel above the flames.

“Are you kidding me?” David whispered to Rob after pointing out the squirrel.

Rob didn’t respond but gave David a knowing glance. They climbed up the steps into the church to the red double doors. Walter pulled on one of the large circular-shaped handles as the door creaked opened. The dank air rushed their senses. They were met by an empty foyer, which led to two rows of church pews on the opposite side of each other. At the end of the room was a podium. Interestingly enough, the walls had been stripped bare. Not a picture or cross hung on the wall. In the place of decorating were lit candles placed in every conceivable location. They sat along the red-carpeted floor, on the windowsill, the pews, the podium, and several small tables that filled the room. To the right of the foyer was a closed door with a sign that read: “office.”

“Please wait here; I will get Sister Bonnie,” Walter said.

He went to the door and lightly knocked on it.

“How much you want to bet she lives in here while everyone else roughs it out there,” David said.

“Those candles are about the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Shelly whispered.

“Looks like someone forgot to pay the power bill,” Ryan cut in.

His comment elicited laughter from Rob, Shelly, and David. The Sheriff turned to them.

“Keep it down; you’re acting like a bunch of children.”

“Sorry, Sheriff,” Rob said. “I’m just getting sort of a cult vibe from this place, that’s all.”

“We’re the furthest thing from a cult, I assure you,” a woman’s voice said from the corner of the foyer.

The group froze and looked around. Walter turned away from the door and looked to the other side of the room. Out from the shadows stepped a woman holding a thin, long stick used for lighting candles. She shook the stick’s small flame out and examined the group with narrowed eyes. Her large figure was covered by a brown dress that covered her from head to toe. Her matching dark brown hair was pinned back to form a single bun. She wore glasses with thick frames. She looked like an aging librarian, but her expression was intense and impossible to read. Her mouth was a fixed straight line along her lips. She stared at them wide-eyed with wonder like they were animals in a zoo.

“Sister Bonnie,” Walter said. “These are our guests from the town of New Haven.”

“Nice to meet all of you,” she said with a monotone voice. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Allow me to introduce everyone,” Walter said, walking over from the office door. Sister Bonnie stopped him.

“All in due time, Walter. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like our guests to wait outside so I can have a word with you.”

The room went silent. Walter stumbled over his words, looking confused, but tried to play along. “Um, yeah, sure.”

Sister Bonnie looked to the group. “I apologize; we have some urgent business to discuss. I want to give you all my full attention, but I must really speak to Walter first.”

“Not a problem, ma’am,” the Sheriff replied.

“Yes, I’m terribly sorry, if your group could just wait outside for a moment, we’ll be right out,” Walter said.

He walked over to the double doors and opened them. “It should only take a moment.”

Led by the Sheriff, the group walked out and stood on the steps as Walter closed the doors.

“What do you think that’s all about?” Paul asked the Sheriff.

“Not sure just yet, but let’s not jump to any conclusions,” he responded.