Aftermath (Book 1): Only The Head Will Take Them Down (12 page)

Whilst events had been unfolding, numerous nearby campers had noticed the situation, and were now watching inquisitively, perhaps out of genuine concern for John’s life, but more likely for the entertainment of humans fighting humans for a change, instead of just the undead. John had even seen a twitch of curtains over in David’s RV, but he knew they wouldn’t come. A family like his had too much to lose by getting involved, and that certainly wasn’t something he could be angry about. Andrew meanwhile simply stood still, his body starting to shake slightly less, but his head still in no position to do anything useful.

“Well well well, what do we have here?”, asked Donald, as he awkwardly sifted through John’s wallet with his free hand. “Georgia born and bred, and an army man to boot? Something tells me we could have been good friends”, Donald said, grinning, “…You know, if things were a little different that is”, he added, re-gripping the knife even tighter. “I’m afraid though, that you’re looking less and less like a ‘
traveller’
by the second”, he growled, continuing his search.
“If you’re looking for money you won’t find any in there, didn’t seem much point in carrying it around no more”, John pointed out.
“No no, no money needed here, not the coin and note type anyway, but there’s no better way to get to know a man than to look through-“.
Donald stopped short mid-sentence, clearly having found something else he disliked. Both John and Andrew simultaneously braced themselves for what they feared was about to happen, though they had no idea why.

John’s ears just barely caught the faint noise of metallic leaving a surface, the sort of noise you would only hear in the quietest, tensest of situations. The noise however, was not that of metal striking skin, but of a blade being lifted off of skin, as Donald slowly moved the blade away from John’s throat. Andrew’s eyes could only stare in shock, perhaps more surprised at the sight of the stand-off ending peacefully than he would have been if it had ended gruesomely. After just a second of peace though, Donald resumed his old duty of doing things with incredible speed, such speed that neither John nor Andrew had time to understand what was happening.

Swiftly he released his grip and span John on the spot to face his captor, John finally able to see the man for the first time. He was older by a good ten years, but was still both reasonably tall and well built, albeit narrowly less so than John on both counts, which was what had made him such a perfect human shield. He had long, dark, greasy hair that was combed back over his head, and the bone structure of what may once have been a very handsome man. Now though, his face appeared scarred, perhaps from whatever other confrontations he’d had since everything began, or maybe from times before it. Whatever the case, he now gave the impression of a very violent individual, which was far from a comforting notion at this point in time.

“Tell me, ‘
Mr Parker
’, are you a family man?”, Donald asked of John.
John shook his head slowly in response.
“I didn’t ask you to lie to me John, I asked you a simple question”, Donald said, shaking him slightly as if to dislodge the untruth.
John stared back, confusion cascading across his face. How did he have any idea he was lying? It didn’t make any sense? They’d never met before? There was no card in his wallet that had any mention of family? Then however, he thought back to the picture of his wife and child, realising suddenly that it must have been found.

This realisation now gave John two choices, neither of which he was particularly happy with. The first was to continue the lie to protect his story with Andrew, and in doing so risk his own life at the hands of someone who might not take kindly to a man with a picture of another man’s family in his wallet. The second, was to come clean, and accept whatever fallout Andrew threw at him.
“Wife, one kid”, he said finally.

Behind John Andrew’s shaking had completely subsided, as he now stood very much still, puzzling over this latest revelation. It was the first time John had owned up to any family, and more importantly, was the exact opposite of what he had said previously. Suddenly Andrew found himself with so many questions to ask, and could feel the blood begin to boil inside of him. But even now, he knew he had to hold his tongue, at least until the situation had defused.

“Tell me their names, Parker”, instructed Donald.
“Why?”, questioned John firmly, keen to keep as much to himself as possible.
“Because, John”, he started, before raising the blade with incredible speed back to John’s throat, “I’m the man with the knife”, he said firmly, licking his lips slightly at the last syllable.
John hesitated, but knew he had to answer. “Michelle and…Hayley”, he said, for once opting for an honest answer, in a bid to end the situation as soon as possible.

John felt a sudden and excruciatingly blunt pain, as Donald threw the full weight of his forehead against John’s, head-butting him with such force that John was thrown backwards onto the ground. Within seconds, and long before John could do anything to help himself, Donald descended on him once more, pinning him to the ground and placing the knife back into position against his neck.
“How many times am I going to have to tell you before this is over, I DO NOT LIKE LIARS JOHN!”, Donald yelled angrily, now attracting the attention of yet more people.

At this point, there was practically a crowd around, all keeping their distance, but all watching nonetheless. Some looked over from their nearby makeshift homes, others from further up the camp, and some had wandered over and were peering in from just a few metres away. What worried Andrew the most though, was that he imagined none would side with them, as all were in a camp with this psychopath and presumably had been for some time, and didn’t know either Andrew or John from anyone. Either the situation had to resolve peacefully, or Andrew was certain that at least one of them was going to die.
“I’m not lying to you!”, John insisted, looking his aggressor eye to eye, trying to convey some kind of signal that he was genuinely telling the truth.
“Then why pray tell”, Donald began, “Did she tell me her name was Gillian!?”

John lay on the ground, still staring at his attacker eye to eye, his mouth slowly opening and quivering with confusion, his eyes widening and closing, his whole body shaking as he tried to process the news he had just heard. This man knew his wife? Had spoken to his wife? Had seen his wife? He had had enough, he wanted answers.

Cautiously but firmly John pushed both the knife and its holder away from his throat, and slowly stood up from the ground, ignoring numerous re-advancements from Donald. There was no need to be careful anymore, John was certain that if Donald still had any intention of killing him, he would have long since done it by now. Eventually, as he stood up straight, once again locking eyes with his attacker, he began to ask the tirade of questions flowing through his mind.

“You’ve seen my wife?”, he started.
“Not unless her name’s Gillian, looks a damn sight like her though”, Donald replied, traces of his sickening grin still evident on his face.
“Gillian was her stage name”, John said abruptly, referring to his wife’s usage of her middle name for her acting career, it being much less common than her real one. “You’ve seen my wife?”, he asked again.
“Yeah, about a week ago at another camp”, Donald answered.
“Did she…”, he started, struggling to stand as verbal confirmation of his wife being alive met his shaking ears, “With h…her, did she have…”, he stuttered again and again, trying impossibly to construct a sentence that made any kind of sense.
“Had a little girl with her, same as in that photo of yours”, Donald cut in, knowing what the question was going to be well before it was asked.
John buckled, his knees hitting the ground hard. But he didn’t care, he was overwhelmed with emotion, joy and happiness at the forefront of it all. His family were alive, and this man had seen them to prove it.
“Take me to them”, he insisted, “Please”.

Chapter 13: Parting Company

Andrew’s backpack landed hard into the rear of the truck. The force of the throw was an odd mix of both anger and precaution, anger at having been lied to so many times by the one person outside of the motel he thought he could trust, and yet precaution as he attempted not to break any of the items he had quickly stowed away. Despite his best efforts however, the bags landing was immediately followed by the spilling of its contents, the toggles of the backpack apparently not tied quite as tight as he had hoped.

“Andrew, you can’t go back by yourself”, John insisted, arriving at the truck his companion had hurriedly escaped too.
Andrew said nothing in response, refusing even to look at John as he clambered into the bed of the F150 where his belongings now lay, strewn out messily into each corner.
“You’ll get shot back at that bridge, or attacked in your sleep by one of those damn things, hell maybe even shot by someone thinking you’ve already turned into one!”, John insisted.
Still Andrew refused to acknowledge anything John had said, instead starting to place several items back into his assault pack.
“Don’t you want to go back to your family in one piece?”, John eventually asked, having watched his soon to depart friend pack for long enough.

Andrew froze, his head pausing for a moment before slowly turning to face John. Upon rising to his feet, John couldn’t help but suddenly begin to fear Andrew, if only slightly. The increased height that the truck provided, coupled with the boiling rage clearly visible on his face, both combined to give him an intimidating look he had not once displayed before.
“Don’t you DARE talk to me about MY family”, he said sternly, in the kind of tone that was perhaps even more intimidating than if he had yelled it from the rooftops for all to hear. “You lost that privilege when you lied to me about yours”, he continued.
“I had no idea mine were still alive, I didn’t want to give anything away and risk their safety”, John pleaded.
“Bullshit”, Andrew replied bluntly. “You knew everything about mine, and I thought I knew there was nothing
to
know about yours”, he added, before returning to pack the few remaining items into his bag.
“I know, and I’m sorry for that, but I didn’t want to put them at risk, I wanted to do right by them first”, John attempted to explain.
“I get that”, Andrew replied, much to John’s surprise.
“You do?”, he asked.
“Of course I do”, Andrew said again, as he climbed down from the truck, “But I can’t trust someone whose lied to me as much as you have, and I don’t want to be driving round risking my life out here with someone I can’t trust”, he finished.

John was stumped, he was right, and even John couldn’t argue with his logic anymore. John didn’t have a leg to stand on, something he couldn’t help but show with his speechless face.
“Settled then, I’m heading back to the motel, back to my family”, Andrew stated as he reached into the cabin and took out the Remington shotgun he had scavenged from the gas station the day before, its flashlight still attached. “You can keep this, wouldn’t do me much good anyway”, he said, handing it to John.

John was utterly stumped, he knew his own odds diminished dramatically without a companion, and he didn’t trust Donald even close to as much as Andrew, but there was nothing else he could say, no more lies he could spin, no more truths to bend. In fact, it took all his mental strength to utter five final words to his once faithful companion, “I’m sorry Andrew”, he said as he stared at his friend, “Good luck”.

*
      
*
      
*

“Today marks both a great and terrible day. Today I found out that my family are alive, or at least, they were a week ago. More importantly, with the help of the man who saw them, I’m gonna’ go try and find ‘em. Our deal is real simple, he gets to keep all the none-essential stuff we find – decent clothes, weapons and ammo, excess food etc. – and in return, he takes me to where he saw them, and then he leaves. Maybe he’ll drive me a couple miles out, rob me and ditch me, maybe he’ll shoot me the second we’re far enough from this place that the sound of the shot won’t be heard back here, I don’t know. But no matter what he does, it’s the best chance I’ve got, hell, the only one in fact.

I couldn’t convince Andrew to come along, he couldn’t deal with all the lies, and frankly, I don’t blame him. He’s headed back to the motel, and he’s got everything he needs, including the truck. It’s okay though, Donald – my new ‘friend’ – has a ride, so till I get there I’m fine. I’ve got my Ruger, and a real nice Remington now too, so at least I’ve come out of this little ‘divorce’ with some good stuff. I do feel bad though, and I’ll feel a lot worse if Andrew doesn’t make it back. Maybe I’ll go check up on him one day, hell maybe I’ll take my family to meet his, if he’ll let me.

Anyway, I reckon Donald should be about ready to head out, so that’s my queue to leave. Till next time.

John.”

*
      
*
      
*

“You ready yet?”, John asked as he walked over to Donald, who by this point was in the last stages of bagging up his tent.
“Sure am”, he replied, “Might need to put a few more things in your truck though, running low on space inside the cabin here, and the back of yours is a lot more spacious”.
“The trucks gone, Andrew took it and headed back”, John said, feeling slightly embarrassed as he did.
Donald chuckled, securing the final seal of his now fully collapsed and bagged tent as he did. “Lover’s tiff huh?”, he asked, chuckling.
“Something like that”, John replied sternly, trying to communicate that he was not in fact joking.

Donald stood up straight, turning to look at John as he did, his face sinking. “You’re serious?”, he asked.
John simply nodded in response.
“He left?”, Donald asked.
“Yup”, John replied.
“With the truck?”, Donald continued.
“Yup”, John said again.
“The truck that had my stuff in?”, Donald said.
“Your…what?”, John asked.
“My stuff!”, Donald exclaimed, “I had a couple sweaters in there, some water, and a bag with my nav-stuff in! My compass, my drawing stuff… my map-“, Donald began to reel off his list.
“Relax would you”, John cut in, “I’ve got a map, I’ve got a compass, and as far as drawings are concerned, I wasn’t planning on doing many today, so don’t worry about it, we’ll get there”, John said, both reassuringly and sarcastically.
“We better find a god damn compass, and a map too, or I’ll be taking yours!”, Donald barked.
John stared back at the man fiercely, before eventually breaking the silence with a begrudged nod. At this point he had to do just about whatever was asked of him. He was no more useful to Donald than a shield, a means of extra defence if they were swarmed by the undead, and likewise, Donald knew that John would only be loyal until he got to his family. Bearing that in mind, Donald wanted to make the most of his new body guard while he had him.