Badlands Trilogy (Book 2): Beyond the Badlands (15 page)

“Why?” Dave asked.

“Part of the plan. My dad traded those religious wingnuts the bombs in exchange for giving us control of the city. Can you believe they wanted MOABs? Pious my ass. Fucking Jesus freaks, blaming all their shit on a god instead of taking the heat themselves.”

“What’s a MOAB?”

“Massive Ordnance Air Blast. Or Mother Of All Bombs, unofficially. They’re big, just know that. Too big for taking down a few sections of fence.”

“Okay,” Dave continued, “but all this is part of what plan?”

“Don’t worry about the specifics. The important thing is that we control both St. Louis and Kansas City now.”

“You took Kansas City too?”

“All part of the same effort,” Calvin replied. “There is no guard, not anymore. Only us.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because there’s something about you. I can tell. I have that ability, to be able to identify people with potential. My father doesn’t have it, although he thinks he does. My brother wouldn’t know potential if it bit him on the ass.”

“What’s so special about me?”

“Peterson wasn’t exactly Rambo, but he could sure as hell handle himself. It wasn’t an accident you took him out as easily as you did.”

Dave shrugged.

Calvin continued. “The rest of those sheep back there, they just kept their mouths shut. They did as they were told. We need those people too, don’t get me wrong, but they’re grunts. Useful idiots who’ll work and do as they’re told.”

“If I’m not like the rest of those so-called sheep back there, then doesn’t that make me a threat?”

Calvin chuckled. “My father would think so, but he’s short-sighted. I see somebody like you and I see an asset.” He glanced at Dave. “You ever hear of Julian Rotter?”

“No.”

“Back in the fifties he came up with this idea called a ‘locus of control’. People with an internal locus of control believe they are in control of their lives. People with an external locus of control are the opposite. They’re living in a world where they have no control, at the mercy and whim of the universe. Like sheep, herded together and told where to go.”

“What does that have to do with me?”
 

“If there’s one thing you need to know about my father is that he loves his rules. And more than his rules, he loves enforcing them. He’s a sadist, a dictator. A small-minded man with a big attitude. Always has been. He’s Adolf Hitler for the new world.”

“But you don’t see things that way.”

 
Calvin grinned wide. “Bingo! You’re sharp, Porter.”

“Why again are you telling me all this?”

“Because I want control of things. Simple as that.”

“And you’re going to take it away from your father?”

“With your help.”

“And if I say no?” Dave asked. “What happens to me then?”

“Why would you say no? There’s nothing left for you. Your girl’s dead and the guard is gone. I’m all you have left.”

“So you’ll let me go if I say no?”

“C’mon, Porter. You know better than that.”

“That doesn’t leave me much choice.”

“Of course it does. You just don’t like the choices.”

Dave’s eyes narrowed. “So what are you going to do once you have control of your father’s new empire?”

Calvin looked at Dave and grinned. “Simple. Burn it to the ground.”

* * *

“We’re going to the college,” Calvin said. “Former UMKC. That’s where the St. Louis Guard had set up shop. Nice location, away from downtown and enclosed by five-story walls on all four sides. I’m going to put you up in a room there and contact you when I’m ready.”

Calvin drove on, navigating the truck around the husks of rusting cars, downed utility poles and piles of trash and other debris of varying size. Minutes later, they approached a small group of carriers dragging themselves along the road.

“Fucking walkers,” Calvin mumbled. His eyes squinted as he stared them down. “Filthy bastards.”

He slammed the pedal to the floor, the engine roaring. The carriers turned. Catching sight of the truck they ran toward it, their mouths open wide, the sound of their shrieks drowned out by the grinding engine.

The truck plowed into the first member of the group. It disappeared beneath the truck. Another slipped under the driver’s side tire, creating a carrier speed bump.

The final carrier narrowly escaped the truck’s grill. It fell to the ground as the truck passed it by. Then it stood and ran after them like a dog chasing a car.

Calvin slammed on the brakes and grabbed his pistol, waiting for the carrier to catch up. It ran alongside the truck, scratching at the driver’s side door. Rolling the window down, Calvin reached out and fired three shots, dropping the carrier in its tracks.

“Hot damn!” Calvin cheered, gunning the engine. “That shit never gets old.”

Dave produced a weak smile and said nothing.

Eventually they left downtown behind them as Calvin headed south through more of the ruined city. Finally he brought the truck to a halt in front of a large, imposing red brick and white siding building.

“This, my new friend,” Calvin said over the truck’s idling engine, “is where the fun begins.”

* * *

After having been escorted to his dorm room turned prison cell by Rand, Dave fell asleep, exhausted.

He dreamed as he slept. Dreams of Annette and their baby. Peterson’s brains exploding from the top of his head. Sandy, his long-dead wife, blood pouring from her neck after being shot by two thugs, her eyes wide with fear as she lay dying.

And he dreamed of fire. Fire burning everything in sight.

Then he was awake, dragged out of his bed and yanked to his feet. The dark room revealed nothing to him until a match flared. Two figures stood before him, the flickering light unable to chase away the shadows surrounding their faces.

“What the…?”
 

A fist smashed into Dave’s nose. White-hot pain flared throughout his entire face, already tender with the beating he’d taken in the truck. The searing pain brought Dave to his knees. He collapsed to the floor.

“Get him up,” said a man’s voice. Dave felt himself being lifted to his feet, his arms pinned behind his back. The man standing before him lit a candle, placing it on a desk in the room, illuminating the space with a flickering, dim glow.

 
“I ask the questions,” the man said. “You got that?”

Dave didn’t answer. He recognized the voice.

Rand.

“That was a question,” Rand said. “Now you answer.”

Dave nodded.

“Out loud.”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dave remained silent.

Rand drove a fist into Dave’s stomach, bringing him to his knees. Nausea swept over him, threatening to make him vomit.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you, Porter.”

“Yes, sir,” Dave croaked.

“Much better. I think we’re really getting somewhere now. You remember me, right?”

“Yeah- …yes, sir.” Blood trickled out of Dave’s nostrils, dripping off his chin and onto the floor.

“Now that we understand each other, let’s continue. First question: what did Calvin say to you in the truck?”

“He wanted to sell me some swampland in Florida.”

Lightning fast, Rand dropped Dave to the floor with another punch to the stomach. This time he did vomit. The room spun as the man holding his arms behind him struggled to keep Dave steady.

“You seem to be having some trouble understanding me, so I’ll repeat the question. What did Calvin say to you in the truck?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Answer the question.”

“This and that,” Dave replied. “Just chitchat.”

“Do you enjoy being punched in the stomach?” Rand asked.

“Not particularly.”

“Then answer my question.”

Dave figured he could tell the truth and be killed by Calvin or he could lie and be killed by his crony.

Something told him he should lie. “He told me I’d be put to work once I got here and if I refused I’d be killed.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“He bragged about his dad’s so-called new world order. Sounded like a pyramid scheme to me.”

“You’re not funny. Next time I hit you it’ll be your balls.”

“Seriously, that’s all we talked about. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Rand’s knee met Dave’s groin, hard. The pain coated him like a cold blanket, the nausea overwhelming. He doubled over, vomiting again.

“Stand him back up,” Rand commanded. The man holding Dave yanked him back to his feet again. Rand leaned in close. “The word’s out on Calvin, my friend. We’re on to him. We know he’s planning something.”

Dave remained silent.

“The way I look at it, there are two ways this will play out. Option one, you tell us what Calvin’s planning and we’ll let you live. Option two, Tommy back there cuts your throat.” Rand moved in close to Dave’s face, his breath hot and stale. “Choose wisely.”

Dave remembered what Calvin had said to him in the truck. He had choices, he just didn’t like them. In the end, it probably didn’t matter much anyway. Might as well get it over with.

“You do what you gotta do,” Dave said.

“Tommy, open him up.”

As the knife blade touched his throat, Dave closed his eyes and waited for the end.

Mourning, Trish walked along the railroad track. She mourned for her parents, for Tim, for the world. And now, for Ed. Losing him had always been a possibility, but now that it had almost certainly happened the reality of it was too much to bear.

His absence left a massive hole in their group. It now felt shattered, broken and incomplete, like a hand missing its thumb. As each hour passed and the reality of Ed’s disappearance solidified, the numbness and surreality of it all only increased.

She did her best to cope. So did the boys. She could feel their pain as keenly as she could feel her own, even if they didn’t mention it. She knew they’d have to talk about it eventually, but for now they walked. The talking would come soon enough.

The hours piled up, turning quickly into a day. As the evening approached, the conversation remained sparse, with Max presenting his theory of what had caused the train to derail days earlier. Trish listened with a healthy degree of skepticism. She hadn’t noticed the cars piled up near the train’s overturned engine, but she also hadn’t been looking. Although she might not have been convinced by Max, what she really didn’t want to admit was how much the idea of intelligent carriers frightened her.

As she walked, Trish became increasingly more puzzled by the lack of the infected. They’d swarmed the train after the crash and they’d most definitely taken up residence in the warehouse where Ryder had taken her. However, along the railroad tracks, as they cut across empty farmland and equally empty woods, the infected seemed not to exist at all.

“Seems odd that we’ve seen no carriers,” she said.

Max gave her a confused look before shrugging. “I noticed that too.”

“They used to be everywhere.”

“How long were you in St. Louis?”

“About a year.”

“Well, things have been changing while you were there. Rose and I weren’t there as long as you guys were, but even before we went behind the fence we noticed a decline in their numbers.”

“Between the big cities it seems to be mostly empty,” Rose added.

“Where are all the survivors then?” Trish asked. “Shouldn’t we be seeing them? We haven’t seen anybody.”

Max sighed. “Maybe there just aren’t that many survivors left.”

Trish didn’t reply.
 

They continued walking in silence for some time. Then Jeremy pointed toward something lying across the tracks. “What’s that?” he asked.

Trish cupped her hand above her eyes, peering ahead. “Is that a body?”

“I don’t know,” Max said. “Let me go check it-”

A scream pierced the air, followed by a gunshot.

* * *

Zach saw the body on the track just before his brother. He knew right away something wasn’t right. Alarms went off in his head as he recalled the conversation he’d had with Max about the train wreck.

Zach used to see bodies all the time when they were on the road with their dad, but with all the bodies rotted away now, this one seemed out of place. As if it’d been placed there. He quickly retrieved his father’s pistol from his pocket, just in case.

Smart carriers might be capable of anything.

The shrill and piercing screech of the carrier sent a shock through his body. At the edge of his vision he caught movement from the trees. The carrier charged, teeth bared, its face and body nearly black from years of accumulated filth.

Zach raised the pistol and pulled the trigger, just like his dad had taught him. He watched the runner drop to the ground, the shrieking abruptly ceased.

He stood, numb, as his brain struggled to catch up with his muscles. It took a few seconds for him to realize that he’d killed their attacker. Killed it with a single shot to the head; a shot he’d meant to place in the thing’s chest before aiming too high.

“Zach!” he heard Trish call out. She seemed far away, as if underwater. She repeated his name, louder this time. He glanced in her direction. “Come! Now!”

He followed.

* * *

They set up camp before nightfall, building a small fire inside the woods and away from the tracks. They boiled stream water and heated several cans of pork ’n beans over the flames.

Trish sat on the ground beside the boys, her pistol in her lap. “Just what the hell was that back there?”

Max took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “You already know what I think. You just don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that I don’t believe, I’m just not convinced.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“No.”

“Then what would you call that back there? You think that deer carcass just put itself on the tracks right before we walked up on it? Pretty coincidental, wouldn’t you say?”

“Could be. It’s still not proof.”

“Maybe not, but it sure smells fishy. Felt like a trap to me.”

Trish bit her lip. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Me neither, but if that’s what we’re dealing with now then we need to come to terms with it. If it wasn’t for Zach, we might not even be having this conversation.”