Undead with Benefits (13 page)

“Ugh, I stand corrected,” I replied. “Either of you guys know the Bible?”

Both girls shook their heads. Cass looked pretty grim, focused on the road ahead.

“Bet it's something about the end of the world,” Amanda said.

“Oh, you mean the guy swinging from a tree didn't pick out a happy quote?”

The corpses started appearing more frequently after that. Grisly sun-cooked lumps on the side of the road—or in the middle of the road, or hanging out of cars, or once smeared gruesomely across a truck's windshield—usually so torn up and rotten that they didn't really register as human bodies. Or maybe I was just getting desensitized to the whole thing. So far Iowa looked a lot like the suburbs on the day after Halloween, except instead of pumpkins smashed open everywhere, it was human heads.

I watched a crow take flight from within the hollowed space of a body's rib cage. The birds were the only sign of life we'd seen so far.

A few miles farther into the middle of nowhere, Truncheon pulled off the road and into the dusty parking lot of an abandoned gas station and auto shop. In normal times, this place would be like an oasis if you popped a tire out in the country. Now, it seemed ominous. The building looked like it'd been ransacked once (gas pumps hung limp off their hooks, windows shattered and boarded up) and then reassembled by some enterprising Mad Max type (barbed wire everywhere, armed bear traps cluttering the parking lot).

“Does he live here?” I asked as Truncheon hopped off his motorcycle and picked his way carefully toward the garage.

“Let's find out,” Cass said, opening her door.

Truncheon heard the door open and spun toward us.

“Stay in the car!” he shouted, hands cupped around his mouth.

Chastened, Cass shut the door. We waited.

“Uh, can't we just drive away?” Amanda asked. “Do we still need this guy?”

“He knows the area,” Cass said. “He'll get us to Des Moines.”

From inside, Truncheon flung open one of the shop's garage doors. He parked his motorcycle inside and then drove out in a black conversion van.

“What's with the van?” I asked.

“Not sure,” Cass replied, and I detected a bit of apprehension in her voice. Maybe she hadn't discussed this part with our esteemed guide.

“Maybe his crotch just hurts,” I offered.

“Maybe,” Cass said.

Truncheon pulled up next to us, hopped out, and went into a stretch where he knuckled the small of his back and stuck out his belly.

“Gross,” Amanda observed.

“Worst thing we've seen yet,” Cass added.

Done curling his spine and thrusting his hips, Truncheon motioned for Cass to roll down her window. She complied reluctantly, letting a bunch of fresh odors into the car. In a place overrun with bad smells, Truncheon's BO conquered all. I'd never considered how badly action heroes must reek.

“Let me see that,” Truncheon grunted, gesturing to our road atlas lying open on the passenger seat.

As Cass handed over the map, Truncheon's gaze turned toward me and Amanda. I couldn't really see his eyes through the mirrored aviators, but I got the feeling they lingered on Amanda more than me.

“All right, here's us,” Truncheon began, turning back to Cass, and pointing to a spot on the map just west of Des Moines. Then he licked his thumb and pressed it onto the nearby city, creating a damp circle on the map. “Everything outside of this radius is anarchy. That's good. Anarchy ain't so bad in the country—lots of places for gals like you to run and hide. Inside the circle is where the zombies that haven't rotted out have organized, where the trouble is. Normally, I don't go poking around thereabouts unless absolutely necessary, but we got a mission, huh?”

I exchanged a look with Amanda. I thought we were the ones on a mission.

“So here's the lay of the land,” Truncheon continued. “We take back roads, in case the Lord's got his people patrolling. They don't usually scavenge out here anyway. There's more fresh meat to be had farther east in Cedar Rapids.”

“Why Cedar Rapids?” Cass asked.

“City only just got brought inside the wall a few weeks ago,” Truncheon replied, like this detail was inconsequential. “Still plenty of uninfected holdouts there, waiting for the government to come chopper them to safety. Idiots don't realize who put up the wall in the first place.”

“Dude,” I muttered in disbelief. “That's cold.”

Truncheon didn't even glance at me. “On the outskirts of Des Moines, your entourage here will take my van. Get in there and do whatever they're supposed to do. You and me will head to a safe house I've got nearby and wait shit out. You know how to play gin rummy?”

In response, Cass rolled up her window.

Truncheon stood in the road for a moment, his expression at first dumbfounded and then offended. After glaring at Cass for an uncomfortable thirty seconds, he finally got back on the road, signaling for us to follow.

“You're not really going to, like, hang out with this guy, are you?” I asked.

“I don't really have a choice,” Cass replied, adding with quiet resolve, “I'm not playing any freaking cards, though.”

Amanda leaned forward to look at Cass. “So, I appreciate the chauffeur thing and all, but what exactly did he mean about your
mission
?”

Cass forced a nervous laugh. “Oh yeah. About that.”

Amanda glanced at me, like she wanted my diplomatic help. I could see the first sign of smoke from her temper flaring.

“Uh, is there something we need to talk about, Ca—?”

“Look out!” Amanda yelled.

Without warning, unless you count brake lights, Truncheon's van went into a skid. Startled, Cass slammed the brakes. We fishtailed for a second, but ended up on the shoulder, dust kicking up around us, inches from Truncheon's back bumper.

“The hell is he doing?” Amanda asked.

Cass shielded her eyes with one hand. “There's something up ahead.”

I hopped out to get a better look. Ahead of me, Truncheon had climbed into the front doorway of his van and set his sniper rifle up on the roof. He screwed a silencer into the barrel, but paused to glance at me.

“Want to see something cool?” he asked.

“Uh.”

Amanda and Cass had gotten out of the car too, but they hung back, probably repulsed by Truncheon. I stood next to the rear of the van, squinting down the road.

“You see him?” Truncheon asked me conversationally as he peered through the scope.

I did. The zombie was about a half mile down the road and ambling in our direction. His movements were herky-jerky—one foot dragged uselessly behind him, head lolling from side to side on his shoulders. One of his hands was outstretched toward us.

“Is he waving?” I asked.

“Heh.” Truncheon snorted, then blew the top of the zombie's head off with a silenced puff from his rifle.

“Whoa,” I said, taking a step back.

“Got it in one.” Truncheon shouldered his rifle and grinned proudly in my direction, but that look faded fast when Amanda started yelling at him.

“Asshole! You just
killed
that guy!” she shouted.

Truncheon hopped down from the van and pointed his rifle at Amanda.

“You need to stop yelling,” he commanded. “There could be more wandering around in the fields and we don't want to attract them. Me and your sweet little friend”—he glanced at Cass—“we aren't at the top of the food chain around here.”

Amanda lowered her voice, but at the same time stepped forward, toward the rifle, letting Truncheon know she wasn't impressed. Her shoulders were square, chin titled up, going into ice-queen mode. Cass took a couple discreet steps away, toward me.

“That was a person,” she seethed at Truncheon.

Truncheon barked a laugh, shaking his head incredulously. He looked at Cass. “What'd you bring with you? A couple peacenik zombie goody-goodies?” His gaze swung to me. “Don't you eat people?”

“We're trying to cut back,” I said, speaking the nonchalant language of badass dudes everywhere. “But we've made exceptions before.”

“Christ.” Truncheon lowered his rifle and pointed down the road toward his kill. “That was a ghoul. How you kids'll end up if you don't manage a balanced diet. No person left. Ain't no coming back once you're like that. I saw one of those things chew through a family of five and not come back to life even a little bit.”

“Uh”—I raised my hand—“why did you watch a family of five get eaten?”

“Beside the point,” Truncheon replied.

I looked at Cass, who'd been watching this whole exchange nervously. “Didn't you get, like, character references before hiring this guy?”

“You cherry Deadzone tourists don't know a goddamn thing,” Truncheon snapped, glaring at all of us. “Here's rule number one: see a ghoul, kill a ghoul. They're bad for the fucking ecosystem.”

“Oh, so you're a conservationist?” I asked.

Amanda yawned. “All right, whatever. We're in. I didn't sign up for any secret missions. What're we still following Pigpen and his molester van for?” She snapped off a mocking salute at Truncheon and started for the car. “Let's bail.”

“Good point,” I agreed, and moved to follow her. “Smell ya later.”

“Time for the hard touch?” I heard Truncheon grumble to Cass.

“Hey, wait—” Cass reached out to stop me. “We need to talk about something. I need a favor.”

Amanda was already back at the car. “Hey,” she yelled to Cass, “let's talk after we ditch the murderous smelly guy, all right?”

I shot a sidelong glance at Truncheon. He was watching this whole exchange with detached interest. It didn't seem like he was going to shoot us if we tried to leave, at least not right this second, so I turned to Cass.

“Favor, sure, whatever. But let's go first. You don't want to hang out with this dude, do you?”

“No, but—”

A loud metallic thud rang out and we all flinched and went silent. I glanced toward the cornfields, worried ghouls or hatchet-wielding Des Moines zombies or pissed-off NCD agents eager to revoke our day pass were going to come charging out at us. But then the noise hit again—like someone stomping a piece of sheet metal—and I realized it was coming from the back of Truncheon's van.

We all turned in that direction. Something was trying to get out through the back doors. I inched closer to our car, and Cass followed me. Amanda and I exchanged a look.

Truncheon grunted, annoyed, and wrenched the door open.

Immediately, a guy's body came flying out from the van, like he'd been in the process of lining up another kick. He crashed right into Truncheon, which was pretty much like hitting a brick wall. Somehow, the guy managed to land on his feet in the road. He did a little shuffle-dance as he tried to figure out which direction to run. It was probably a tough call on account of his head being tied up under a burlap sack and his hands being cuffed in front of him.

Truncheon struck him hard in the face area with the butt of his rifle and the guy collapsed, knocked out.

“Uh, what is going on right now?” I asked Cass.

“This—” Cass hesitated. “I didn't know about this part.”

With a put-upon sigh, Truncheon picked up the body and dumped it back into the van. There were others back there too—three of them, not counting the escape artist—all sacked and handcuffed, and apparently more tightly secured to the van's metal benches.

Truncheon slammed the van closed and turned to us. We were all staring at him.

“What?” he asked.

Amanda pointed at the van. “Who are your friends?”

“Oh, them.” Truncheon grinned at us. “They're for you guys. You want to get into Des Moines, right? Well, that psycho Lord in there is gonna be expecting tribute.”

“Are they . . . ?” I trailed off, itching my mohawk. “You've got
people
back there?”

“Oh no,” Cass said quietly, bracing herself against the car, like her knees had just gotten weak again. “I did not—”

Truncheon laughed at us. “What did you kids think? That you'd come to the Deadzone—where the undead outnumber the living, for shit's sake—and nobody'd get eaten? You like the taste of eggshell in your omelets or what?”

“Where did they come from?” Amanda asked suddenly. “Who are they?”

Truncheon shrugged, acting bored, but I could tell he was one of those dudes who liked to deliver speeches.

“The living are like currency around here,” he answered. “You wonder about every penny you see lying on the sidewalk?”

Amanda and I exchanged a look. I guess we could've tolerated Truncheon's general skeeviness if it meant getting closer to the cure, but in the last five minutes he'd straight-up executed a fellow zombie and then revealed himself as an unapologetic human trafficker. I thought about Grace and Summer, the zombie couple we'd met back in Pennsylvania, and how they tried only to eat bad people. That was a slippery slope to get on, but Truncheon seemed like a pretty clear-cut case.

“I'd eat him,” I said quietly.

“Unanimous,” Amanda replied.

CASS

AT SOME POINT DURING OUR DRIVE THE SUN HAD GOTTEN low, causing long, bent shadows to peel off from the cornfield, dividing the road into alternating slats of shade and dusky gold. The crickets were loud—I guess the local undead hadn't gotten around to eating the bugs—their chirping an incessant chorus that I only really noticed when it suddenly stopped.

They knew there was a showdown brewing.

Or maybe I was just projecting my own rising sense of dread onto the crickets, because they started right back up again a heartbeat later, not the least bit interested in the life-threatening altercation going down on our little stretch of country road. Or who knows, maybe they were rapt and rubbing their little spiny cricket legs together in anticipation.