Badlands Trilogy (Book 3): Out of the Badlands Page 12

  With half of his men dead he had ranks to fill and the surviving freaks provided an opportunity. He needed people who would follow, people who wouldn’t challenge or question. What better to fill that role than a true believer? Barnes only had to persuade them to follow a new messiah.

  And if they didn’t get on board? Well, they could always serve their purpose on the menu.

  * * *

  “We got him,” a voice called out, yanking Barnes out of thought. It was Womack, his face still spattered with blood from his vicious machete work. Something in that man’s eyes…unnerving, even for a tough piece of metal like Steven Barnes.

  “You sure he’s the head clown of this circus?” Barnes asked. Crosses adorned the walls around him, surrounding him on all four sides.

  “Says he is. Name’s Enoch.”

  Barnes grinned. “You don’t say?”

  “I do say,” Womack replied, his face as stoic as ever. Unflappable, this guy. “This guy is real old testament.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Barnes said. “By all means, let’s have a powwow with our dear leader.”

  Womack nodded. “I’ll bring him.”

  No sooner did Womack exit the room did Roddy enter. Little fucking creep.

  Barnes sighed. “What do you want?”

  “Found something,” Roddy replied.

  Barnes closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “Found what?”

  “Some kind of prison, looks like, out there behind the church.”

  “Anybody in there?” Barnes asked.

  “A woman. Nobody else.”

  “What did you do with her?”

  “We left her there.”

  “You think you can maybe bring her to me?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sure thing,” Roddy replied as he turned to leave.

  “Never mind. Leave her there,” Barnes replied, waving Roddy off.

  Roddy paused, awaiting instruction.

  “Go there and wait for me,” Barnes said. “Can you do that?”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Roddy replied before exiting the room.

  Barnes sat back in the swivel chair, wondering just what in the hell good ol’ Enoch had gotten up to in this joint. Barnes didn’t find a whole hell of a lot of difference between cult leaders. Sure, they had different names—Jim Jones, David Koresh, Marshall Applewhite to name a few—but their story was all the same. Delusional freaks who needed to spread their paranoia far and wide. As a leader of men, Barnes hated this. If anything, Steven Barnes was an ultra-realist, leading through complete acceptance of the world as it truly was—hard and cold.

  A few moments later Womack walked in with the freak leader. Barnes almost laughed out loud. Clichéd didn’t even begin to describe it. Long hair, wild eyes, the beard and the stupid fucking robe. Always with those goddamn robes.

  “You’re Enoch, right?” Barnes asked, a grin on his lips.

  “Who asks?”

  “Just answer the fucking question,” Womack said, tightening his grip.

  “I am. As before God and all—”

  “Cut the shit, freak,” Barnes interrupted. “I’m not interested in your gibberish. I ain’t your fucking choir. I wanna get one thing straight here with you, this little operation you’ve been running…it’s done. You had your fun and now it’s over. The best thing for you to do here is cooperate with me. That means no bullshit. Maybe then—and only maybe—will you get out of this topside of the ground.”

  “I believe I understand,” Enoch replied, his face somber.

  “Good, I’m glad we have an understanding,” Barnes said. “First thing you’re gonna do is tell me everything you got around this place, the whole shebang; all the food, all the guns. Everything, everywhere you got it hid.”

  “But these things are ours. God had provided,” Enoch said.

  “Didn’t I warn you about your bullshit?”

  “You are a vulgar and crass man,” Enoch said.

  Barnes chuckled. “Well, la-dee-fuckin-da. Ain’t you sweet and innocent? Word from your little cronies is that you, my friend, have been sending people off to the Great Beyond pirate-style, walking them off a fucking plank and into the dead heads. Pretty ballsy talking shit about me, wouldn’t you say?”

  “God requires sacrifice,” Enoch replied. “He demands it.”

  “Look, I ain’t interested in your god or your crazy ideas or which of your faithful flock you’re dipping your wick into. All I care about is you coming clean with what you got here. I can find out on my own, but that’s gonna waste my time and just piss me off. And believe me you, you do not want to piss me off.”

  Enoch looked down at the floor, his face fallen. He nodded weakly as Womack led him out of the room. Barnes followed behind. Over the next hour Enoch provided everything Barnes needed. Immediately after, Barnes threw him to the dead heads. Barnes watched from behind the fence, smiling as the devils tore him apart, gulping down hunks of his flesh as he screamed in the waning sunlight.

  * * *

  After getting rid of the head freak, Barnes made his way to the makeshift prison Enoch had set up for his sacrificial lambs. Aside from the woman still locked away, none of the former prisoners remained. They found several raggedy old bodies outside after the firefight ended and the fence had been repaired, but the rest either went over the fence or escaped on the truck. Those who chose the badlands outside the fence didn’t likely last long. Those in the truck….well, that was a problem to solve later.

  For now, Barnes wanted to talk to the only prisoner still in the cell. She was the only person still alive and in their possession that didn’t wear a robe and spout biblical gibberish at the drop of a hat. She might be the only voice of reason in the entire joint. And if she was hot? Well, women had many uses…

  Barnes entered the dilapidated structure and made his way to the chainlink cell wall. The place looked like a goddamn chicken coop. Smelled like one too. Enoch was a sick fuck. Hell, he even made Steven Barnes feel like a normal person in comparison.

  The woman didn’t rise when Barnes showed himself. She definitely knew he was there though. He wasn’t sure whether or not that pissed him off or garnered respect. Possibly both.

  “Who the fuck are you?” the woman said. She remained seated against the far wall.

  Barnes grinned wide. “I was gonna ask you the same question.” He paused, looking around. “Seriously, what’s your name?”

  “Alice.”

  “What the hell happened here, Alice?”

  “It was all John’s fault. I didn’t want to stop, but he did. Then these creeps locked us up.”

  “Did you come in that army truck parked out front? And do you know who drove the other one out of here?”

  “I came in the truck,” Alice replied. “Did the others make it out?”

  “They your friends?”

  “Hardly. Assholes left me here.”

  “What’s on the truck?” Barnes asked.

  “Supplies.”

  “Like what?”

  “Guns, food. Stuff like that.”

  Barnes turned to leave.

  “Don’t you want to know what’s on the other truck?” Alice asked.

  Barnes stopped. “Go on.”

  “Guns, lots of guns. Way more than there was on my truck.”

  “That so?” Barnes asked.

  “It is.”

  Barnes shrugged. “Well, who knows where in the hell they disappeared to.”

  “I know,” Alice replied.

  “Do tell.”

  “And I’ll tell you on one condition.”

  Barnes smiled. He was starting to like this one. Sitting in a jail cell and making demands. “What’s the condition?”

  “If I lead you to them, you let me kill the bastard who left me here to rot.”

  Barnes thought about it for a moment. He could torture her and she’d give up the info. Everybody did eventually. But he liked a good show. “You got a deal.”

  Chapter Thirty

  �
��Went scavenging,” Lester read from a note in his hand. He stood in Rita’s living room facing Chloe and Sam. They sat in attention as he read. “Be back later.”

  “Let me see that,” Chloe said.

  “Read it for yourself,” Lester said, handing her the note.

  Chloe studied the crumpled slip of torn paper, reading the sparse sentences before handing it back to Lester.

  “Why would she leave at night?” Sam asked. “Especially with those white carriers running around out there?”

  “Doubtful she left at night,” Lester said. “Anybody that’s survived this long after the outbreak has enough smarts to not put themselves at risk. She probably left at daybreak, before we got up, after the carriers go back to wherever they come from.”

  Sam nodded. “I guess so. That makes sense.”

  “So what do we do now?” Chloe asked. “Just stay here and wait on her to come back?”

  Lester shrugged. “I suppose so. She invited us in. Seems rude to just leave.”

  “I hope she’s okay,” Sam said.

  “Me too,” Lester said.

  He could barely contain his smile.

  * * *

  They stayed at the house all day. Lester acted as if everything he’d written in the note was true. He checked out the back window periodically, announcing to his unwitting companions that there was no sign of her. They rummaged through the cabinets, locating some Kraft macaroni and cheese. They ate it at room temperature, soaking the noodles for an hour before mixing up the bright orange cheese sauce.

  Sam droned on and on, like any twelve year old asshole kid. Lester listened attentively, nodding sporadically, all the while envisioning a gaping slash in the boy’s throat, blood spilling down his neck like a crimson curtain. To placate his inner demon, Lester replayed Rita’s murder over and over again in his head like a movie, reliving the experience. It wouldn’t do forever, but it would be enough to steady himself in the meantime.

  Chloe remained aloof, but that was to be expected.

  When dusk fell and Rita still hadn’t returned, Lester feigned concern. Like any good protector, he talked Sam out of going out to look for her so close to nightfall. He agreed they’d all go out together the following morning to see where she might have gotten off to. Had she truly been alive still, that plan might have been one of the stupidest he’d ever heard. There was no way they’d ever locate that stupid bitch, not with all the open woods surrounding the highway. But he wanted Sam to remain loyal, so Lester went along.

  The way to Chloe’s trust was through Sam. Start with the boy and end up with the girl.

  They stayed in Rita’s house the second night. From the living room Lester could hear Sam and Chloe whispering in the bedroom. He desperately wanted to know what they were saying. Did they believe the note? Did they suspect him? Or were they growing ever closer to him, looking to an older man to guide them?

  With the now-waning moon sitting high in the night sky overhead, Lester peered out the living room window. He made plans while tall grass blew in the night breeze outside. They’d mount their search tomorrow morning, just as the little shit had suggested. Lester, however, would lead them on a very specific trajectory. Chloe might just be smart enough to ask questions if they found whatever was left of Rita too quickly. They needed to search for a while and then, when the time felt right, they’d stumble across some bones. Doubtful there’d be anything left, besides the bones and clothes. It would be enough though.

  He would hypothesize as a show for the teens. He say that Rita had gotten caught out after dark maybe, gone all day and home too late. Or maybe she left too early, thinking the predators were all holed up for the day, but discovering too late that not all of them had taken the day off from hunting. Sam would have a guess at things and Lester would listen and agree, no matter how fucking stupid the idea happened to be.

  With Rita dead they could replenish supplies from her house, without the two do-gooders worrying about stealing from the old bitch. After that, the real challenge: getting Chloe to agree to travel together, just the three of them. He figured he had a fifty-fifty chance, give or take.

  One thing was certain though. If they didn’t agree to allow Lester to come, he’d make his move then.

  He was far too invested in Chloe at this point to just walk away.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ed parked the truck behind a Bed, Bath and Beyond, set within a derelict strip mall an hour away from the scene of the gun battle. Ed’s family was unscathed. Shaken up, but unharmed. He hugged them hard, realizing how lucky they all had been and vowing to never allow anyone else to control their destiny, ever again.

  Jasper had taken a fall while scrambling into the back of the truck, but was otherwise fine. Ed shook his hand, but Jasper pulled him in for hug. After pulling away, Jasper said, “I’ll run through our supplies and see what we got.”

  “Okay,” Ed replied.

  Terry approached, a somber look on his face that was obvious even in the moonlight. “We got one dead,” he said. He had one of the M-16s from their stores slung over his back. “One of the Kevins…Kevin Wells, I think.”

  Ed frowned. “Shit.”

  “Looks like he was shot while we were loading into the back of the truck. Bled out.”

  “How’s the other Kevin?”

  “What do you think?”

  Ed nodded.

  “You need to get everybody together,” Terry said. “Let ‘em all know what’s going on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They need to know what’s next. Jasper’s inventorying our stuff, but you need to inventory the people. Figure out who made it and let ‘em know your plans for what we do next.”

  “Terry, I’m not running things here.”

  “That’s not what I saw back at the freak church,” Terry replied, before walking back to the truck. “Get to it, boss.”

  * * *

  Ed collected the group behind the strip mall building and took inventory of the survivors. Outside of his family, Jasper and Terry, Ed counted seven survivors. Kevin Cook, grieving for his dead companion who shared the same first name. Sue Beard, her green army coat red with Kevin Wells’ spattered blood. Tina Raymond, who they’d met while imprisoned in Enoch’s makeshift prison cell and whose young daughter had been sacrificed by the cult.

  A black man in his fifties named Reggie had stumbled onto the truck shortly before they all fled the gun fight. Three more prisoners had climbed aboard with Reggie; Dario, Burt and Herb. Dario was mid-thirties and short, with dark hair and a sour expression. Herb turned out to be an early sixties man with white hair and an equally white beard to match. Burt a former banker in his late forties with a small voice and short stature.

  They’d lost Ann, who wanted to unselfishly go back for the rest of the remaining prisoners. And the man with the gray beard, whose name Ed hadn’t caught. John was dead too. And Kevin Wells, whose bloody body now lay in the bed of the truck.

  The faces in the crowd stared back at him, looking for direction, searching for answers, seeking a leader in the midst of a disaster. Ed didn’t want to be that person. He had never wanted to be a leader, he only wanted to keep his boys safe and hopefully carve out some kind of existence in the shithole that planet Earth had become.

  But now, here he stood, twelve faces watching him, waiting to see what he had to say.

  He glanced at his family. Zach and Jeremy watched him intently. They trusted him. They needed him. They had faith in him. Right or wrong, they looked to him as their guide and guardian.

  He met Trish’s gaze. They’d become so close that she knew what he was thinking usually before he did. The look on her face said everything, without a word. You can do this, her eyes said. It’s time that you got us all to that safe haven.

  Ed nodded at her and she returned it, smiling.

  Ed took a deep breath and began talking.

  * * *

  “We took a bad hit tonight,” Ed began. “The wrong decis
ions were made and we know who made them. Those people are gone now, so that leaves just us.”

  He saw faces nodding in agreement from the small crowd before him.

  “We lost a lot of people, unnecessarily. I almost lost my family. I thought my son was dead. I don’t ever plan on letting that happen again. Some of you, like me, came from Kansas City to find a new safe haven. The few of you who were locked up at the church, you’re free now. You’re under no obligation to go anywhere with anyone.

  “This puts us at a crossroads. We have a decision to make. We can continue to California as a group—like we planned—and try to catch that ship to Hawaii. We can also split up now and go our own ways. We’ll split the weapons and the supplies evenly and be done with it.”

  “How can we trust you?” Dario asked, the sour expression on his face even more pronounced.

  “You can trust him,” Jasper said, stepping in. “You can trust him with your life.”

  Ed held up a hand. “It’s okay, Jasper.” He turned to Dario. “You don’t have any guarantee and I don’t have time to prove it to you. If you don’t want to come along with the rest of us then we’ll give you some supplies and you can go your own way. Up to you.”

  “You’re saying that you folks were headed somewhere safe?” Reggie asked. “Some place you know about?”

  Ed explained the plan in detail, including the radio transmissions they’d overheard while back in Kansas City.

  “So are you the leader here, or what?” Dario asked.

  Terry stepped forward. “Yeah, he is.”

  “We should put that to a vote, I say,” Dario said.

  Jasper raised his hand. “I vote for Ed as the leader.”

  Trish raised her hand as well. “I vote for Ed.” Both Zach and Jeremy followed.

  Tina raised her hand. “I’ll follow you, Ed.”

  Kevin Cook, his dirty face streaked with tears also raised his hand. “Ed.”