Aftermath (Book 1): Only The Head Will Take Them Down (11 page)

Chapter 11: Telling Tales around the Campfire

The pair stared at the series of figures up ahead, mostly concentrated to the immediate vicinity of various tents or vehicles. John had stopped the truck as soon as he’d realised what they were looking at, but the most surprising factor was that the people themselves seemed uninterested, unfazed by the sudden arrival of the unidentified vehicle. John held the truck in position for a few seconds to make sure, waiting to see if anybody reacted, but for every pair of eyes he saw focus on the huge F150, another head simply turned away uncaringly.

“You sure they’re alive?”, Andrew asked, unconvinced.
“Looks like it”, John confirmed.
“But, they’re not coming over? Shouldn’t they be checking us out or something?”, Andrew asked again.
“Apparently not”, John said, as his foot slowly descended onto the accelerator once again, and the truck began a cautious approach to the campsite entrance.
“Whoa hold up!”, Andrew interrupted, “We’re here for a supply run, we’re obviously not gonna get much from a campsite full of people, we should head back, right?”, he asked, still fully believing the supply run cover that John had thrown over the journeys true purpose.
“Well, we’ve come all this way, we might as well find out what’s going on here, maybe they’ve got some stuff to spare”, John responded, as the truck made its way slowly through the open entrance gate. Cautiously he watched as more campers briefly inspected the truck, but each simply returned to their breakfasts.

Arriving at what appeared to be a makeshift car-park, John disembarked, closely followed – albeit begrudgingly – by Andrew. Locking the truck behind him, John couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of now effectively owning the huge Ford, with the keys to prove it, and the real owner probably roaming the streets with the rest of the undead. It had no doubt cost someone out there a pretty penny, especially given that it was decked out with a full leather interior, and more gadgets than he knew what to do with. But in this new world, it was little more than four wheels, and a place to sleep if required, not that that made John any less glad to have it.

As the pair approached the nearest campers – a family of four all sat around a log-fire outside their ragged old RV – they got their first serious attention, each member of the family slowly scanning the newcomers up and down, deciding whether or not to acknowledge their presence.
“Mornin’”, John interrupted with a smile, taking the decision out of their hands.
Nobody replied, each of them instead going back to their breakfasts.
“Forgive my intrusion, but we just got here and wondered if you could tell us anything about this place?”, he continued, as the father of the group slowly looked up, rearranging his spectacles as his long, thick black hair knocked them askew.
“You’re…new around here?”, he asked.
“Yeah, just got in this morning, only passing through don’t worry”, John answered, attempting to reassure the man.
“Kids”, he said to his family, who still remained silent, continuing to look only at the food in front of them. “Go with your Mother and finish your food inside okay?”, he asked of them.
Obeying, they each filed into the RV – a dirtied white monstrosity with a once orange and yellow stripe running around it, the colours now so faded it looked as if it had been left out in the desert for a few years. Upon them having closed the door behind them, the father continued.

“If you fellas are here to raid, the guards will have your heads you hear? Now we don’t have anything to give, so please, just move on, we don’t want no trouble”, he said firmly, but with a slight quiver hanging over the words he clearly didn’t feel able to back up.
“Whoa whoa, we’re not here for anything like that!”, Andrew cut in, sounding almost offended. “I swear, we thought this place was empty, just wanted to scavenge for supplies! We don’t want any trouble either!”, he insisted.
“He’s right”, John added after a pause, as he got over the annoyance of his companion taking away any fear of the pair the man had once had. “We’re just travellers, was only going to ask you about this place, see if I could head over and do some trading with some folks or something”, he said.
“Oh”, the man responded, before looking them up and down for what felt like the thousandth time. “Sorry, people just wander into here all the time, some are good folk, some aren’t, but you tend to just assume the worst these days”, he said.
“Yeah we get that”, John replied. “Tell you what, how’s about we start over? Name’s John”, he said, extending a hand, “And this here’s my friend Andrew”, he added with a point of the finger.
“Good to meet you both”, the man replied, now clearly more at ease, “I’m David, this here’s-“, he paused as he turned round and remembered he had sent his family inside. “Well… that
was
my wife Amy, and our kids Derrick and Lois. Maybe you’ll meet them another time, if you’re planning on sticking around?”, he asked.
“Maybe”, John responded, “Guess it depends on how the place is, mind if we ask you about it?”, he said.
“Not at all, here have a seat”, David responded, gesturing to the tree stumps laid out as seating around the crackling morning fire, “What do you want to know?”.

*
      
*
      
*

The trio sat and talked for a while, running over the basics of the campsite. David was quick to explain that it was an ‘open’ camp, meaning that people would wander in and out all the time, some camping for a while and other times just stopping for the night. Nobody paid to enter or leave, which John liked immensely, but a group of men did stop by occasionally and demand supplies in exchange for protection, which he didn’t. The group in question matched the description of the three the pair had seen back on the outskirts of Ashton, though at full force their numbers apparently reached ten or eleven members. They were apparently reasonable men, never demanding what people couldn’t afford to give, but they were also known to supervise a series of other similar camps, and so were definitely taking more than
they
needed.

Eventually the men were joined by David’s concerned wife Amy, a once pretty blonde of around the same mid-30’s age as her husband, her face clearly worn by the troubles of the world they now lived in. She had come out worried that her partner had not re-joined his family in the RV, and was at first reluctant to speak to either John or Andrew, appearing to be vocally paralysed by a fear of the unknown pair. After introductions were made however, she was quick to change her tune. Before long she was speaking of her past as an English teacher at a high school, and her husband’s work at a lumberyard – presumably behind a desk as far as John and Andrew could tell, given his build – and she was keen to regale the pair with details of their family vacation, the same one that had led them to Apple River.

Soon it was time for John and Andrew to tell their tales, and after John finished sharing the same partially fabricated story he’d told earlier, the focus shifted to his companion.
“So Andrew, tell me about how you ended up at this motel we’ve heard about?”, Amy asked.
John’s head rose slightly, it was a question he’d been meaning to ask, but one he had avoided until now, assuming he’d no doubt have had to answer more about himself in return.

“Well it’s pretty simple really, kind of like you folk, me and the wife had taken our daughter away for the weekend, then when everything hit the fan we just holed up in our rooms till the news stopped broadcasting. Eventually we had to come out for food, and found the whole place full of people doing the same thing as us. Been there ever since”, he explained.
“And what about this fella here, how’d you end up partnering up with him?”, Amy asked.
“Well, he needed someone for a supply run, and I needed supplies, so I joined him for a trip… after some convincing”, he answered.
“Well alrighty, and what brings you both to Apple River?”, Amy continued.
“We’re just here to try and stock up on things m’am”, John answered. “We’re hoping to do some trading, and then we’ll head back out on the road. Either of you happen to know anybody it might be worth bartering with around here?”, he asked.
The pair looked at each other for a moment, apparently genuinely struggling to think of anybody worth bothering with, a sight that disappointed John immensely. Eventually though, David spoke once more.

“There’s Donald, he’s a couple plots up camped out in that one-man up there”, he said, pointing towards a small tent about sixty feet away. “He’s always heading in and out of camp getting stuff, I reckon he’d be a good one. But he isn’t the nicest of folk, wouldn’t be too surprised if he didn’t want to talk to a newcomer”, he continued.
“Oh and there’s a guy right up at the back who deals in drink”, his wife interrupted, keen to talk of cheerier subjects, “He’s normally got some-“
“No sweetheart”, David cut her short, “He got bit remember? He’s gone”, he said.
“Oh right…”, she recalled, drooping her head slightly. “Gosh it gets so hard to keep track”.
“Do you get a lot of attacks here?”, Andrew asked timidly.
“Not many, but we’re so exposed that when one does stumble across us it’s not uncommon to lose someone”, David answered.
“Normally just folk sleeping rough though, we’re pretty safe in our old Bounder here”, Amy answered, keen once again to talk of happier things, as she motioned towards the RV she was clearly proud of having. “Kept us safe both before
and
after everything went to hell!”, she chuckled to herself.

“Well”, John said, rising to his feet, “We can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve told us, we’ll go check in with this Donald fella, maybe pop by and say our goodbyes before we head out”, he finished.
“Oh you won’t stay for some food?”, Amy asked, apparently reverting back to the generous hostess stroke housewife she had once been, much to the dismay of her husband, whose face was unable to hide his disapproval at the thought of sharing out food to strangers.
“No no, thank you for the offer but we best be heading off, we’ve taken up enough of your time”, John replied, to the relief of David’s now more relaxed face.
“Thank you so much”, Andrew added as he too stood up, turning to David and Amy in turn to shake their hands, before following in his companions footsteps.

“Ready to make another new friend?”, John asked of Andrew as the pair walked towards the tradesman Donald’s small tent, his old and rusted red Toyota pickup truck parked next to it.
“I guess so”, Andrew replied, unsure whether to be happy at them having found the campsite, unhappy at it being filled with people, relieved to meet new friends, or scared at the thought of meeting yet another stranger. His head was swimming with emotions he’d not yet had time to process, and he desperately needed a break.

Although John was in at least a somewhat similar place, he was much keener to press on, rather than delay the true purpose of this mission any more than they already had. This was especially the case as he now needed to think of a way to be alone with David before they left, having been unable to ask if he had seen John’s family due to Andrew being in such close proximity. His hand clutched his wallet as he walked, checking to make sure that it was where he had left it – held firmly in his right jean pocket – the picture of his family encased in one of its many now empty card slots.

Arriving at the tent, John looked around for a moment, his hands confused as if looking for a doorbell or knocker, before eventually leaning toward the truck, and rapping his knuckles loudly three times.
“Anybody home?”, he asked, again confused about the etiquette that existed for summoning someone from a tent.
There was no response.
“We’re just a couple travellers, been told you might be worth talking to on the trading front”, John continued.
Still there was no response.
Keen to ensure that this introduction was made much more easily than the last, John spoke again. “We’re not here for anything but fair trade, the family down the way said you might be interested, we don’t want any trouble, my companion here’s called Andrew, he’s as nice as they come, and I’m Jo-“.

What happened next was seemingly instant. Before John could finish speaking his own name, a figure had emerged from behind the pair, a hand appearing over John’s left shoulder, another pulling him round so as to put his body right in-between Andrew and the unidentified person. The newcomer knew what he was doing, he’d positioned himself perfectly, now using John’s large build as a human shield against Andrew. Watching the events unfold, Andrew’s eyes widened in horror, as he saw the sharp, steel blade of a knife glimmer in the sunlight, the same knife John now felt against the front of his neck.
“Now what in the hell do you two want from old Donald?”.

Chapter 12: Playing Nice

“We…we don’t want anything from you, sir!”, quivered Andrew’s voice, his body visibly shaking at the situation. He knew that the best thing to do would be to draw his weapon, but he doubted he could even get it out of his pocket with the intense surge of adrenaline currently coursing through his body, let alone raise, aim and fire it with any kind of accuracy. Still, it was something he needed to at least pretend to be able to do, and so he slowly placed his hand onto the butt of his M1911, visible at current as nothing more than a silver sliver just barely protruding from its makeshift holster.

“Let’s not do anything stupid now buddy, or your friend here’s gonna’ meet an untimely demise”, said Donald with a sickening laugh, as he appeared to press the knife even harder against John’s throat, a harsh response to Andrew’s slightest of movements.
“I t…told you before, we’re just tr…travellers”, rasped John’s muffled voice, the knife making him incredibly conscious of speaking with any kind of volume, for fear of expanding his throat into the sharpened edge of the blade. “We don’t want anything more than fair trade”, he continued.
“Well let’s just see about that”, replied Donald, his free hand reaching down into each of John’s pockets, pulling out his wallet and a few loose shotgun shells.
John couldn’t believe it, he was being mugged, or at least that’s what he initially thought. That idea was quickly dispelled however, as his would-be mugger tossed the shells aside, as if deeming them worthless.