Badlands Trilogy (Book 2): Beyond the Badlands (18 page)

They ran to her. “Max and Rose! They’re gone!” Zach said.

“Just run!” Trish cried, clutching the rock. “Go!”

They ran, Zach and Jeremy in the lead as Trish brought up the rear. She glanced behind. Shapes moved in the shadows like Medusa’s writhing snakes, but she saw no sign of Max or Rose.

They followed the track through the darkness, until the woods appeared, welcoming them inside. The moonlight diminished beneath the forest’s canopy, forcing them to slow to a fast walk.

They kept moving, pushing deeper into the forest and away from the carriers behind them. After a few minutes of walking Trish directed the boys off the track and into the woods. Saplings and tree branches clawed at them as they pushed their way deeper into the brush.

Eventually they stopped, exhausted and spent. They found a large tree jutting up from the forest floor.

“Sit down,” Trish said between heavy breaths. She collapsed between them. Screams and wails pierced the air, carried upon the nighttime breeze.

“Are Max and Rose dead?” Jeremy asked.

“I don’t know,” Trish replied, her breath still hitched. “I don’t know.”

“Should we have looked for them?” Zach asked.

“Honey, I don’t think there was anything we could have done.”

“We didn’t even try.”

“What did you expect me to do?” Trish barked.

Zach recoiled. “I don’t know. I just thought maybe we should have done something.”

“There’s nothing we could have done,” Trish repeated. “They came too fast.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have come that way at all. Maybe we should have gone around the city.”

Trish didn’t reply.

The breeze picked up as the minutes went by. Eventually the screaming stopped and the night became still, the silence broken only by the occasional bird call or the scurrying of small animals through last winter’s dead leaves.

Lying on the ground beneath the tree, the boys drifted off to sleep. Trish remained awake, wondering if she’d just gotten two people killed with a bad decision. Exhausted, sleep called to her. Despite her reluctance to sleep without someone on guard duty, fatigue got the best of her and she drifted off to a fitful sleep.

* * *

Trish awoke with a start, realizing she’d fallen asleep without placing anyone on guard duty. Immediately she searched for Zach and Jeremy. Finding them okay, she felt her heart begin to slow as she breathed a sigh of relief.

She roused the boys gently. Wiping the sleep from their eyes they stood, stretching their tired muscles.

“What now?” Zach asked. “Should we try to look for them?”

Trish shook her head. “We’re not going to find anything.”

They slipped on their packs and made their way to the railroad tracks. Birds chirped all around them as sunlight filtered through the trees. A cool breeze blew, the treetops swaying together in ancient choreography. They stepped out from the forest and into the clearing of the railroad tracks.

A dozen yards away, Max sat on the rail, staring at the ground.

“Stay here,” Trish said.

She made her way to where Max sat. “Max, where’s Rose?”

He looked up at her. “She’s gone.”

Trish sighed. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes narrowed. “You should be.”

“What?”

“This was your idea, coming through the city.”

Stunned, Trish stammered, searching for a response.

“Just go,” he said, staring back at the ground.

“Max…”

“Go!”

Trish backed away, searching unsuccessfully for a response. Instead, she silently gathered up the boys and walked away, leaving Max sitting on the rail behind them.

* * *

Max sat, holding the knife blade to his exposed wrist.

One cut would be all he’d need.

Throughout his life he’d been taught the only sin that couldn’t be forgiven was suicide. He’d never even considered it before, even after Ian died. How could he risk going to Hell and not seeing his son for eternity?

But now things had changed. Rose was dead and it was his fault. Blaming Trish couldn’t change that.

He stared at the blade. It would only hurt a little. He touched the blade to skin and pushed. A drop of blood blossomed beneath the blade’s tip and he stopped. Why couldn’t he just do it?

A nightmare vision flashed through his mind. The deadwalkers swarming Rose, tearing her apart. Her screams. The look on her face in the moonlight.
Why didn’t you protect me?
her eyes pleaded as they swarmed her.

And then he ran.

He ran away like a coward.

He pulled the tip of the blade out of his arm and held the knife up, watching as the blood slowly crept down the metal.

He thought of Ian. Infected, they’d strapped him to the bed as he foamed at the mouth. Only a week earlier he’d been playing with toys, laughing and running, doing all the sorts of things toddlers did.

By the time the virus took him the hospitals had filled beyond capacity. A medical student eventually administered barbiturates into Ian’s heart, stopping it cold and ending his suffering.

After Ian’s death, Rose withdrew. She stopped talking. She stopped eating. She stopped caring.

Max fed her, bathed her, took care of her. She needed him. She needed him to be strong and to protect her. With Ian gone, it became his purpose in life.

But now Rose was gone.

And it was his fault.

He thought of the often-referenced bible story of Job; even with everything that mattered in life taken away from him his faith remained strong. Much like Job, Max had lost everything too.

Could his faith remain as strong as Job’s?

He didn’t think it could.

Surely God wouldn’t punish Max by sending him to Hell, separated from his family for eternity. Surely God, in all His infinite wisdom and grace could see how badly Max needed escape. Reprieve. Abatement. Surely God knew how badly he needed to see his family again. One flick of the knife and he could be with both of them again.

Max gripped the knife, holding it over his wrist. He felt his pulse quicken and his face flush as butterflies fluttered in his stomach. All that was left was to push the blade deep into his arm and cut. If he moved fast enough he’d barely feel it.

He readied the knife, hesitated.
Do it, you coward!
his mind screamed.
Do this one thing right!

He dropped the knife.

Falling to his knees, he wept.

* * *

Max supposed that some people actually heard the voice of God in their head. But God had never spoken to Max directly. Instead, He always spoke through signs and premonitions, through thoughts, feelings and emotions.

So as Max lay on the jagged gravel, wanting to die but unable to gather the courage to do so, God spoke to him. A notion bloomed in his mind, a notion to which he’d been completely blind only moments before. An idea so perfect and obvious that it could have only been placed there by God Himself.

The boys. Zach and Jeremy.

Max had always lived a life of service. To his son and his wife, to his church and his community. With all that gone, with no one left to serve, he’d thought he had nothing left.

But God had shown him just how wrong he’d been. Without their father, Zach and Jeremy had only Trish to look after them. And no matter how much she cared about them, no matter how hard she tried, Trish could never be the father they needed.

But Max could be.

He stood, filled with glorious purpose. How long had he been lying on the track, he wondered. Hours? Trish and the boys might be miles ahead of him by now.

But if he hurried, if he walked through the night even, he’d catch up to them. He could only hope he was fast enough to make it to them before anything bad happened.

God willing, he would be.

After leaving Max behind, Trish and the boys walked for most of the day. They spoke little, mostly lost in their own thoughts. No matter how she tried, Trish couldn’t wipe the scene from the prior night from her mind.

All those carriers, swarming in the dark.

And Rose, dead.

She wondered if Max was right. Maybe Rose’s death was her fault. The plan to walk through the city under cover of darkness seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea at the time. Even Max had agreed. How could she have known what would happen? How could anyone be to blame?
 

They stopped for a quick lunch of vegetable soup direct from the can, drinking nearly all of their clean water before resuming their trek.

As they trudged through forest and farmland, Trish noticed the sound of the Missouri River fading behind them. With the attack in Jefferson City fresh in her mind, she kept an almost paranoid vigil, watching for threats of any kind.

But as the evening began to make itself known they saw nothing more than a few deer, a turkey and a handful of rabbits during their walk.

They stopped before dusk, setting up a camp away from the tracks and well within the forest. After gathering wood, Zach lit the fire with their flint and some dried tree bark. Before long they had a healthy fire, with water from a nearby stream boiling above it. They treated themselves to beef stew that night, settling in under light blankets to ward off the night’s mild chill.

“Dad’s never coming back, is he?” Jeremy asked, staring into the fire.

“Don’t say that,” Trish said.

He looked at her, his eyes engaging. “Be honest.”

Trish sighed. “I don’t think he is, honey.”

“Do you think it hurt? You know, when the carriers got him?”

“Don’t think about that.”

“I can’t help it.”

Trish pulled him closer. “I know.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Zach said.

Trish smiled. “Me too.”

“That man who took you, I’m glad he’s dead,” Zach said.

“Honey, I don’t want you to be glad he’s dead. Let’s just be glad that he can’t hurt anybody else again.”

“Okay.”

“I miss Max and Rose,” Jeremy said.

“Me too,” Trish replied. “She was a nice person.”

“Max is wrong, you know. What happened to Rose wasn’t your fault,” Zach said.

Trish touched the boy’s face and smiled. “Thanks, honey. That makes me feel a lot better.”

And it did.

* * *

As the boys slept, Trish kept vigil by the campfire, Zach’s pistol clutched in her hand. The fire subsided as the night drove on, down now to low, blue flames atop orange coals. Insects chattered incessantly in the darkness.

Suddenly a twig broke somewhere in the forest. Startled, she jumped, gripping the pistol tightly. She glanced over at Zach and Jeremy; they lay next to the fire, still asleep.

Probably a deer
, she thought. Wouldn’t be the first time for that. Nighttime was an active time for many of the forest’s animals.

She settled back in, watching the fire reduce the wood to ash. The seconds passed with no sound besides a light wind whispering through the treetops. A whippoorwill sang in the distance.

Then another twig snapped as trees rustled.

Trish sat up, her heart pounding. She shook Zach and Jeremy gently. They woke quickly.

“What’s wrong?” Zach whispered.

“I heard something.”

She slowly got to her knees, finger on the trigger. Sweat coated her palms as her heart pounded in her ears. Her mouth went dry. She searched the trees in the dim firelight, but could see nothing.

More racket in the underbrush as leaves shook. Trish glanced at the boys, their eyes wide. She swallowed hard, releasing the safety on the pistol.

The unmistakable sound of footsteps on the forest floor. Close now. Labored breathing and low mumbling from the darkness between the trees.

Then saplings shook and parted as a figure stepped out of the darkness and into the light of their fire.

The shadowy figure stepped out of the woods and into view. Trish raised the pistol. “Stop where you are or I’ll put a bullet through you.”

“Trish?” a voice called out.

“Max?”

“Yeah. Don’t shoot.”

Trish lowered the pistol, relaxing with an overwhelming sigh of relief. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry.”

“And you just about got yourself killed.”

“Are you guys okay?” Max asked.

“Yeah. We’re fine.”

“Can I sit down?”

“I suppose.”

Max took a seat beside her, tossing his backpack off to the side. He grinned at Zach and Jeremy. “How’re we doing, guys?”

“Good,” they replied.

“Go on back to sleep,” Trish told them. “I’ll stay up.”

“Trish-” Max began.

“I have to take care of this fire,” Trish said. She stood, leaving Max to himself. She tucked the pistol in her back pocket and began tossing more wood onto the fire.

* * *

After tending to the fire, Trish sat a few yards away from the flames, staring into the dark forest.

A few minutes later, Max joined her. “Boys finally went to sleep.”

Trish glanced at their sleeping forms. “Good.”

Silence. Max looked down at his hands. “Hey, about what I said earlier. I was-”

“It’s okay.”

“It wasn’t your fault. I was upset. I said some things I wish I hadn’t.”

Trish nodded. “I’m sorry about Rose.”

“I still can’t believe it’s real. I keep thinking that any minute I’m going to turn around and she’ll just be there. But she’s not. She’s never coming back.”

“It’s tough, I know.”

“You’ve been going through it for a while.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier for you.”

“I sure can understand better now. I feel like a jerk.”

“Don’t. What’s done is done. All that matters now is getting to the city in one piece. We can worry about all this afterward.”

The minutes passed as the fire consumed the new wood. An owl hooted in the distance.
 

“I think things are going to be okay now,” Max said. “This is where God wants me to be. And this is what Rose would have wanted, me here, protecting you guys.”

Trish only nodded in the dark, unable to shake a growing sense of unease.

* * *

With Max back in the group again, they took to the rail and resumed their journey toward Kansas City. They walked through more open farmland and even more woods. The miles piled up as the scenery remained virtually unchanged.