Life Among The Dead (39 page)

“
Do you know Sartori?” He asks.

“
I know of him. Why?” Mitchell replies guardedly.

“
I don’t know. I just heard the name mentioned out in the yard and was wondering.”

“
He’s insane. He’s a killer. He runs a gang of cons in here. Stay clear of that man, and never get on his bad side.”

Charlie already knew all of this. It’s Sartori’s bad side that he’s trying to avoid.

“
How do I stay off his bad side?”

“
Just don’t cross the man. Stay off of his radar.” Mitchell emphasizes.

Charlie is already a blip on the radar, and Sartori has him locked in. The man confronted him in person and gave him the object under his pillow. He told him to use it.

It would be like an initiation into the gang. It would mean safety. Nobody messes with Sartori’s crew, not even the guards. He’s as well connected on the outside of the prison as he is on the inside. He can erase your entire family without lifting a finger.

Mitchell walks over to the stainless steel toilet bolted to the wall. He urinates as he speaks to his cellmate. “I’m on his bad side.”

No shit,
Charlie thinks.

“
He thinks I snitched on him.”

“
You didn’t, right? Why would you?” Charlie asks.

“
No. It wasn’t me.” Mitchell says. “I guess he had some plot to escape. It got blown, and somehow my name got dragged into it.”

“
He thinks you told?”

“
Seems that way. I think it was one of his own men. He must have told the warden because that’s the only person who isn’t afraid of him. I’m just a scapegoat.”

Charlie fingers the object under his pillow. He has only looked at it twice since it was bestowed upon him. Once, when he received it, and once again when he slid it to where it resides now. It’s a long nail; the end is wrapped in electrical tape, making a thick handle.

The instructions on how to use the shiv were very clearly stated. “Stab him. Make it hurt.” Charlie wonders if he can plead Mitchell’s case with Sartori. The man is innocent. The thought makes Charlie laugh a little.
Who in here isn’t?

Maybe Sartori planned all of this?
Charlie wonders if the absence of the guards is the kingpin’s doing. It would be perfect timing. Mitchell stands at the bars again, resuming his vigil of the hallway of screaming criminals.

“
I’m getting hungry again.” He says holding his stomach trying to cease its rumbling. He hates being hungry.

Mitchell’s resumed hunger pains disappear quickly as a new sensation takes over. A sharp pain in his lower back takes center stage in his mind as he is stabbed repeatedly.

He screams into the hall of murderers and thieves, there is nobody to come to his aide. His cries for help just join the cacophony of voices and moans.

Charlie has an arm through the bars so he can pin the frail man against the steel as he perforates vital organs. Mitchell’s screams cease after receiving a dozen stabs to his rib cage. His chest cavity could no longer sustain enough air to breathe, let alone yell. Charlie continues his attack until the man’s body goes limp.

The assailant backs away, allowing his victim to slump to the floor. He can’t believe what he has just done. The bleeding man rolls over, his glazed eyes look up at the man he thought was his friend. Charlie can’t meet his gaze. Mitchell’s mouth quivers wordlessly, asking why.

The alleged rat is dying on the floor. Charlie feels weak as he stumbles to the bunk beds. He curls up on the bottom rack in a fetal position. He keeps his back turned to the man who bleeds out, dying on an empty stomach.

“
At least I’ll be safe now.”

6

Dan has a route planned that should keep him out of thickly populated areas while still allowing him to reach New Castle in about a day or so if he really pushes it and doesn’t sleep. The atlas gets folded up and stowed in the glove compartment again.

He looks around before adjourning his pit stop. He glances at the sign that indicates the prison is near. Having just left his own jail he can sympathize, but not too much.

“
Lucky bastards are in the safest place in the world.”

#

There is no traffic in his path, and no law to answer to. Dan has the cruise control set at ninety miles per hour. Johnny Cash sings to him along the way. The tape player has an auto flip function. He has heard each side three times.

Staring blankly at the road that unfolds ahead of him, his eyes are feeling heavy already. Highway hypnosis is pulling him out of reality as miles of tar pass beneath him. He knows he will be in trouble if he can’t snap out of the trance.

“
I need something to give me a jolt.” He slurs. He blinks his eyes though they wish to stay closed. Something shines on the road up ahead. Sunlight glitters off of something about a quarter mile away.

The curiosity breathes new life into the sleepy driver. He sits up straighter, trying to see what the object is. He wonders if it might be some sort of mirage.

The single spark of glare becomes several, moving in a line towards the red truck. It appears to be a convoy. Dan feels apprehension and decreases his speed in case he needs to act. The .38 is now on his lap.

The lead car is a blue sedan that is setting an extremely slow pace for the vehicles that follow it. It almost comes to a standstill as it meets the red truck traveling at an equal crawl.

Dan waves at the driver of the sedan. Two people inhabit the front seats. The passenger is aiming a rifle in the soldier’s direction. They look just as leery of Dan’s intentions as he is of theirs. The hoods and sides of the cars are peppered with bullet holes.

The driver returns Dan’s wave when they meet eye to eye. Relief seems to wash through the woman behind the wheel. She is pretty with shoulder length blonde hair, wearing a white tank top. Dan wonders if it’s his uniform that puts her at ease.

Dan and the drivers of the other vehicles wave at one another as they pass. Just a palm held in the air acknowledging the kindred spirit the survivors share. It is a phenomenon Dan always found fascinating. Truckers wave to other truckers, bikers wave to fellow bikers. It’s a salutation to their unknown brothers and sisters of the open road.

Dan knew there had to be others out there.
The world isn’t a lost cause after all. It isn’t completely fucked. Groups are out and about, seeking safe harbor. But, is there safe harbor to be found?

His mind once again starts to reel with worry.
What if Heather and Vincent haven’t found New Castle?
He ponders.
What if something awful has happened?
He needs to get to them as fast as he can. Dan presses his foot on the accelerator until it hits the floorboard. The speedometer climbs over one hundred miles per hour.

7

Hours have passed. Johnny Cash has long since abandoned the soldier. The tape unwound itself in the player resulting in a tangled mess of black cellulose that now hangs from the console.

Dan’s stomach rumbles. He regrets not stopping the convoy.
They probably had food. I could have traded for some. Traded what?
He asks himself.

The truck is also getting hungry. Dan is running on fumes. He is in the middle of nowhere, all around he sees only trees and fields. The desolation depresses him. His only comfort is in knowing he is on the right track, every so often he is able to catch a glimpse of the Charles River to his right.

According to the map Dan has a turn coming up ahead that will enable him to avoid Worchester and skirt around some place called Poland Creek. It looks like a small enough town that he could blow right through, but he doesn’t want to chance it.

Dan pulls to the side of the road. He laughs at the fact he actually uses his turn signal.
Who is that for?
He jokes with himself. Back at T-Rex’s junkyard Dan had noticed a gas can in his bed. He will gas up here since there doesn’t seem to be any zombies on the loose. Just in case, he tucks the .38 into his waistband.

The soldier’s stomach is growling fiercely. He once heard a trick to stop that, but it always seemed too weird. He resolves to live with it. He is almost halfway to New Castle anyway. Dan tightens his belt to alleviate the hunger.

He is happy when he lifts the plastic jug of gasoline and finds it to be full. As he fills the tank he sees a vehicle in his periphery. An air horn bellows loudly as it approaches. He carefully stops his task, not wanting to spill a single drop of the precious fluid.

“
That’s the way to do it.” Dan appraises the enormous Winnebago that halts ten feet from his truck bed. He places his hand on the butt of his pistol. A balding middle-aged man disembarks from the tan camper and approaches with his hands in the air. Dan relaxes his gun hand.

“
Nice day.” The older gentleman states. Dan looks up at the cloudless sky. It’s a lot warmer now than it had been that morning.

“
Nope. Not bad at all.” He replies.

“
The wife and I saw you, thought you might need a hand.”

“
Just gassing up.” Dan shakes his head. He notices the man has a pistol in his pants as well. “Where are you heading?”

“
Poland Creek. Actually, a little passed it. We have a cottage out there. We figure we can hold up and wait for this to blow over.”

“
I’m on my way to New Castle. Same reason. I have family out there.”

“
It’s funny.” The man says. “We haven’t seen anyone alive for a day or so, and in just a short span we see you and that heard of cars.”

“
I was just thinking the same thing. Just you and the convoy.” Dan resumes adding fuel to his truck.

“
We live all the way out in Conway.” The man makes small talk.

“
Nice place. I’m from Waterloo.”

“
I bet that was a mess.” The man whistles.

“
Yeah, it was pretty bad.” Dan nods. The man is backing away towards his Winnie.

“
We should get moving again.” He offers Dan a parting wave good bye before climbing the short series of rungs that lead up into the cabin. His knee pops as he puts his weight on it.

“
Wait a sec!” Dan calls to him, holding a hand up. He quickly tilts the gas can back to stop the flow while being as careful as before. The man is waiting with his door open, sitting sidesaddle in the driver’s seat. He watches the soldier retrieve something from his own ride.

“
Is that a 9mm?” Dan asks, jogging to the camper, holding up his spare 9mm clip and the box of ammunition.

“
Sure is.” The guy replies.

“
I lost my nine a ways back. The mag might not fit your gun, but the bullets will. I was wondering if we could make a trade.”

The man debates the notion for a few seconds as the eager soldier holds them aloft. He thinks about how he could use more ammo,
who couldn’t these days?
He raises an eyebrow. “What is it you need?”

“
Food and gas if you can spare it.” Dan says simply.

“
Shit, we’re almost home and will have plenty when we get to the cottage.” The man moves into the back of the impressive RV. Dan can see the man’s wife is seated in the passenger seat. On her lap is a bag of knitting.

“
How are you today, ma’am?” Dan asks the middle aged woman.”

“
Fine.” She replies to the tattered soldier. “How are you?”

Her question sounds like it contains genuine concern. He does look frightful. His uniform is a mess, and he has dried blood all over his face.

“
I’ve been better.” Dan tries to make it sound ironic and funny to put her at ease.

The generous camper returns with a brown paper bag and an aluminum can of gasoline. Dan figures a couple of gallons are better than nothing.

“
Our fridge is out, but it’s food nonetheless.” He apologizes.

“
Awesome. Thank you so much.” Dan tells them. He considers it very fortunate to have met these nice people. He really appreciates it.

“
Thank you for the ammo.” The man looks to his wife. She nods as some nonverbal communication transpires. “Hey, young man, do you want to ride with us as far as Poland Creek?”

“
I would, but the route I have planned actually takes me clear around the Creek. It was so nice meeting you though.”

“
You take care of yourself.” The man says before shutting his door. The woman waves as the behemoth vehicle departs.

Dan waves back, watching them leave. He finishes gassing up and wonders if he should have gone with them. He doesn’t like having people to worry about and be responsible for. But, it isn’t as if they would be traveling far together. They wouldn’t have slowed him down too much.

“
I’m just an asshole.” He opens the paper bag and removes a warm sandwich of bologna and cheese. There’s a can of not too warm cola and a small bag of cheese flavored tortilla chips. It takes only four bites for the soldier to devour half of the sandwich. He decides to ration the rest.

“
Nice people.” Dan states while sliding back into the driver’s seat. He can already feel the oppression of the road. The monotony hits him and he hasn’t even started the engine yet.
Maybe I should try and catch up with them,
he thinks as he lays his head on the steering wheel.