THE SAGA OF THE DEAD SILENCER Book 1: Bleeding Kansas: A Novel Of The Zombie Apocalypse (14 page)

“Yes, sir.”
Brandon looks at me. “Good to know you, Mr. Grace.”

“You, too, Brandon.”

Krystal stands next to him, stricken. I nod at her, smile. 
I’ll be all right
 when we both know that ain’t at all so.

“Oh, stop it!” says Evans. “You’re all going to see each other tomorrow on the box store run! Now go take Mr. Sanderson up to the processing place and get yourselves back to the school before you draw every last former citizen of
Natalia down on us! Go!”

Brandon and Krystal take one last frightened look at me before the brute with the bandolier and Smokey Bear hat turns in their direction, and their sense of self-preservation overwhelms their morbid
instinct to have one last look at the condemned man, maybe watch him die.

The brute walks past the battered brown truck towards his own. He moves his truck over just enough for Brandon’s comparatively puny
rustbucket to get by. Brandon zooms away down the frontage road. I watch him turn left way down the road, driving back up into the general area where we came from all of 45 minutes ago.

Evans nods his head towards the black truck and the man backs it up close, parks it and gets out. “Brick,” says Evans. “Check out that area down there where they were when we were coming up. Unless, that is, Mr.
Grace cares to tell us what’s down there.”

“I’d hate to spoil anything for anybody.”

“Indulge us.”

“No.”

I can sense the big man bristling but Evans nods towards the wooded ravine and with one final look at me Brick turns and walks down the slope.

“Come,” says Evans. “There’s much you need to see.”

It’s a long walk to anywhere from here. If I’m going to get killed, I might as well enjoy a final ride in air conditioning. I follow Evans back to his truck.

1
4

The blonde-haired kid—I’m guessing he’s at least as old as my son,
Jack—slips into the rear cab as I pull myself up into Evans’ big yellow truck. The new car smell is almost overpowering, bringing back fond memories of the Luxury Tank. Of course, this is a far more practical vehicle for the Batshit New World we’re coming into now.

“You like my truck?” Evans says as he climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Yes, it’s nice,” I say. I note the low double-digit on the odometer as he starts the engine. “Just picked it up at the dealership?”

“Believe it or not, I’d custom-ordered
this just three weeks ago. I was scheduled to go in and sign for it the day everything started shutting down around here.” Evans puts the truck in gear and we pull away. “I’d made a substantial down payment on it so it’s not a 100% post-apocalypse discount. Though Nelson back there and me did have to take out the salesman in order to take delivery, so to speak. Turns out my man Bud had wandered into work from his deathbed. Still in his pajamas and everything.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. Bud was a good man. I’d been getting a new truck from him every year for the last ten years since I retired from the Army.”

I think of my 11-year-old beater back home, and how grateful I’d been it only needed minor repairs every year because a car payment would have been out of the question even in the be
st of times. “I guess this is the last year they’ll be making new trucks, then.” It’s a stupid thing to say, I know. I’d really like to know where that dealership is so I can take possession of something as defensible and resilient as this.

“Sobering, isn’t it?” says Evans. “It’s why I’m trying to round up mechanics like Brandon. We’re going to have to learn how to fix what we have, because this is it.”

“
Well, I’m glad to know you’ll be keeping Brandon alive a little longer,” I say. “He seems like a good kid.”

“
Of course the ultimate would be to get some body-work men. Just imagine, we could keep everything running and looking good at the same time! We didn’t lose that many people. All we need to do is gather the scattered masses unto us, so to speak. It could even be better than before!”

“So that’s what the spike strips are for. Glad to know my pilot buddy didn’t die for nothing.”

“That’s what Brick’s gonna find down in that ravine?”

“What
if he does?”

“
We’ll put them away. Those weren’t supposed to be out there.”

“Why were t
hey?”

It’s a small spot of silence, but I can hear Evans’ son shift a little in the backseat. He’s probably armed. I’d sure as hell have armed
Jack if he was with me.

Finally:
“Mr. Grace, as leader of this community I accept responsibility for the errors in judgment that brought you to us. But I also want it understood that those spike strips were procured and deployed without my knowledge or authorization. Your boy Brandon there was hiding evidence of his own wrongdoing. His friend Marcus had already fled the shelter in fears of punishment for that.”

“So you and your people didn’t kill Marcus?”

“Contrary to what you may have been told, people are free to leave whenever they please. All we ask is that they do their supplying outside of Natalia. We need everything we’ve got to rebuild here, let alone take care of the people here willing to help us with that.”

“So I’m free to leave, too, then.”

“Absolutely. But let me try to talk you out of that. I think you might do well for yourself here.”

“
Really?”

“I know it doesn’t look like much but you only see so much from the Interstate. The land is good here.
We can get things growing.”

“It’s just not my part of the country. Not enough trees.”

“Funny you should mention that.”

We com
e upon a dark green wall of trees along one of the many short ridges that ripple through central Kansas. We cross a small bridge over a creek before turning down a side road. We turn down another road and the temperature drops noticeably where these trees touch over the street. Large, old houses on wide, raised lots sit comfortably out of the direct sun, sprinklers watering the gracefully rounded knolls of Kentucky bluegrass in some of the large front yards.

T
he old money “Good Families” would have been here a week ago while the real money ruled from their hundred-acre-plus farms and ranches outside of town. Now we’re back to the old neighborhoods. It makes sense, though, at least for the time it will take to train the peasants bunked in the high school to serve the New (Old) Paradigm.

“You like it here, huh?” says Evans.

“Made in the shade,” I say.

Evans pulls into the driveway of a large, 19
th
-century manse. When did it suddenly become impossible for modern builders to include rounded towers with conical roofs? So beautiful, unlike the tacky, blocky McMansions our century’s managing classes accept as “luxury living”—what I was drooling over in Kansas City barely a week ago. I’m guessing the swells lived here during Natalia’s wild western cowtown days. That these magnificent structures still stand after well over a hundred years….

“What do you think?” Evans says.

“I’ll take it.”

“It’s yours if you want it. I used to know the owner. You remind me a lot of him. I think yo
u might even be the same size. Anyway, the generator’s hooked up. It’s been running for a while so you can take a hot shower and see if those clothes fit.”

“So what do you need from me?”

“We’ll talk about that over dinner.”

“
Oh. When and where?”

Evans holds out a familiar object.
“My house. Dinner itself is at six. Cocktails at 5:30 if you’re so inclined.”

I take the object. It’s my phone.

“Fully charged,” says Evans. “Here’s your charger, too, by the way. Mr. Riley two houses over and across the street had a spare to fit it.”

“I’ll be damned,
” I say, taking the neatly wrapped bundle of wire-and-plug.

“I took the liberty of putting my number in your Contacts list.”

“Great.”

“We can at least talk to each other here. Of course, if we really get going we can get some of these other cell towers operational. Expand our sphere of influence, as it were.”

“All right,
” I say, nodding.

“Let’s get inside, get you started.
Got air conditioning in there. Get cleaned up; maybe you can get in a nap before cocktail hour.”

He pops his door, I pop mine. No one’
s under gunpoint. So far, so good.

Evans nods at his boy and he runs down the driveway to the street, presumably to their own house along the shady lane. I follow Evans up the front s
teps of the house to the wide front porch. Mr. Evans makes a mini-ceremony of handing me the keys to unlock the door. I push the door open into a cool, dark space. The smells of hardwood floors, old furniture swirl around me.

This is the kind of place you live in, not at. You don't step into a living area right away; we're in a foyer. If I had a coat or boots this is where they'd come off before going into the first sitting area, just off the dining room.
 

“There’s one room in particular you may be interested in,
” Evans says.

I follow him up the
steep hardwood stairs. We emerge into a wide, dark hall, lit only by the faint light through the trees outside the windows of the many rooms. It’s so delightfully cool, even in this upstairs, I could lie down on the floor and sleep.

“
We had to air it out,” Evans says. “I think it worked, but I was a little too close to the project, in and out while they were scrubbing. We had the mattresses hauled out, of course. We’ve yet to liberate replacements for the master bedroom and the daughter’s room so you might want to stay in the guest bedroom until we get that deep into town.” Evans stops and turns to look at me. “Just so you know this is a problem in every house on this block.”

“Who lived here?”

“The Tellers. Carol and Kaylee. Husband Nick supposedly got called away last week and frankly I don’t look for him to come back. If he does we’ll get you another place. This is the nicest one that’s vacant, though.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Speaking of things appreciated, we noticed you had a butcher’s meat ax and a meat tenderizer on your belt. They looked very much used. Not like in a kitchen, either.”

“What about it?”

“I saw you with Mr. Sanderson today. You’re not afraid to approach these things.”

“Assuming you really saw me with Sanderson, you’d know I came at him from behind, after his attention was drawn by Brandon.”

“I do know that, because I was watching with the binoculars. We knew you’
d left.” He adds quickly, “You’re honest. You’re not a braggart. That speaks to your character. I just thought you might be interested in seeing this room. Nick Teller was something of a collector.”

Evans takes a few steps forward and left and we’re in a windowless room full of glass cases. He had to have known the one
that would catch my eye. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I say.

“You’re going out with us on the expedition tomorrow, right?”

“I can use this?”

“It’s not doing us any good in here.”

“All right, then. I can’t help but notice, though….”

“You’ll be surrounded by my people. Until we come to an understanding, they’ll have the guns.”

Because we have trust issues, Tanner.
I catch myself smiling at the memory. I almost miss that shifty bastard. “Fair enough,” I say.

“You see the belt over there. That ought to go well with the clothes we have for you. Luckily we had enough old-school hunters on this street for a match.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, I love it and all but—this isn’t what you expect me wearing to the dinner party, right?”

Evans laughs. “No, no! I’ve got those laid out in your room. I just wanted you to see this. We’ll talk about what we’re going to do after dinner
! You like this, though, right?”

“I can do a lot with that one blade I saw
.”

“I’ll bet! Let me show you to your room!”

It’s still a pretty good size for a guestroom. It has its own bathroom, which is really the only thing I care about in these matters. Evans leaves me with a reminder of the cocktail hour time, and he lets himself out. I look among the clothes on the bed, and realize—well, what could have been done? No one thinks to stock up on underwear in the bag for the apocalypse. I’ll have to wash what I have on, either in the sink or in the laundry.

Bu
t only this one time. I’ll have to make a personal shopping list for tomorrow’s adventure. Underwear, shaving, and deodorant. I’ll look for a suitcase in the house. For right now, it’s a bathrobe, a shower, and hell, I just might take that nap. The more I rest, the better I heal. The quicker I heal, the quicker I’m on my way to what’s next.