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

Joshua paused. All eyes upon him, held in rapt attention. He continued, his voice lower. “As you all know, I have pleaded with these military men to comply with God’s plans. But these arrogant men, like Pharaoh before them, have chosen to ignore God’s message.”

Joshua placed his Bible on a small table beside him. He clasped his hands in a symbol of prayer, lowering his voice and looking into the eyes of his martyrs. “These men have left us no choice, brothers. They have angered God and they will feel His holy wrath. We are but instruments of His will, carrying out what He has intended for the sinners here on Earth.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “We are the chosen ones.”

“Amen!” the men shouted. “Praise Him!”

Joshua smiled. “The day of reckoning is here, my brothers. Our work is nearly complete.”

“Hallelujah!” they cried. “Praise His holy name!”

Joshua slammed his fist on the pulpit as the men erupted into a frenzy. “Onward we march, brothers, and upon our last breath let the Lord’s holy name resonate!”

Joshua turned and exited the room, the enthusiastic sound of the faithful voicing their commitment behind him. He would allow them time for fellowship before their duty to the Lord took them all on their separate ways to Heaven.

Standing in what had once served as the church’s children’s nursery, Joshua gazed out the window toward the darkened land beyond the boundary of the fence. Out there the wicked lurked, bearing their sin upon their very flesh for all the world to see.

In only hours, the Lord’s judgment would be known to all those within the confines of the city’s fence. Not only to the men who ran St. Louis, but the men from Kansas City who’d given Joshua the bombs by which to damage the fence as well.

So arrogant they all were in their pride. The men from Kansas City thought their bombs would be only a distraction, providing them an opportunity to seize the city. But they weren’t the only men who could provide bombs.

And Joshua didn’t mean to merely damage the fence.

He meant to take the entire thing down.

“Zach, hand that box to your brother,” Ed Brady said to his oldest son as he pointed toward a slightly crushed cardboard box. It sat on a flatcar, held together by yellowing packing tape.

“Sure thing, Dad,” Zach replied. “What’s in it?”

“Creamed corn,” Ed said. “And lots of it. Guess nobody would touch the stuff before the outbreak.”

 
Zach smiled as he passed the box off to his younger brother, Jeremy. Ed watched the exchange, viscerally aware that he’d almost lost his oldest son to the virus. Only after Zach was bitten did they learn of his immunity.

Ed stood up straight, his back stiff from overuse. Being nearly forty years old made lifting boxes more difficult, but it beat the hell out of struggling for survival and living off scraps on the other side of the fence. He and both of his sons had done that for three years before arriving at the gates of a fenced-in St. Louis, Missouri.

Ed’s younger son handed the box to Trish.

She gave him a grin. “Thanks, little man.”

The boy smiled in return. Three years into the pandemic, Ed and his boys had stumbled upon Trish in an abandoned department store, lying sick with fever among the desiccated corpses. They nursed her back to health and she became their traveling companion. Though eighteen years his junior, Ed and Trish fell in love. They lived together now, along with the boys, within the confines of St. Louis.

A group of former military personnel and armed civilians, collectively known as “The Guard”, founded and now ran the city. But St. Louis didn’t exist as a lone oasis in the proverbial desert of the Badlands; an outpost existed in Kansas City, Missouri, as well. There the residence hall of the former state university served a new purpose as The Guard’s second base of operations.

“Is this train a steamie or a diesel?” Jeremy asked.

Even after all these years, Jeremy still used
Thomas the Tank Engine
lingo. In so many ways he was still just a child. “Steam powered,” Ed said. “It burns coal. The diesel doesn’t hold up so well after it sits for awhile, but the coal stays good. And a little bit of coal goes a long way.”

“What’s on the train?” Zach asked.

“Tools, food, some clothes, stuff like that.”

Ed took inventory of his family from the train platform. Zach, growing taller each day. Jeremy, so smart and savvy. And Trish, young and beautiful, strong-willed and wise well beyond her own youth.

After nearly a year inside the city walls, he allowed himself to imagine a world much like the old world, before the virus. A world where he and so many others lived like kings and took everything for granted.

This time around, there would be nothing taken for granted.

Zach stood on the flatcar, box in hand. “Dad, you okay?”

Ed realized he was staring. He smiled and winked at the boys. Jeremy returned the wink, closing both eyes, unable to favor one over the other.
Maybe when he grows up
, Ed thought, finally able to entertain the notion of his children reaching adulthood.

He felt good. They had survived the virus and they had survived the Badlands. They’d made it to their fabled city by the river. For the first time in a very long time, Ed felt hope.

Then, in an instant, everything changed.

Gabriel walked through the former city of St. Louis carrying two tools: a set of large wire cutters and an air horn. With these he intended to carry out his divine work and finally bask in the full glory of God’s approval.

He had simple instructions from Joshua: cut the fence and then draw the infected inside.

Fred Dennis, his name before meeting Joshua, would have been nervous knowing the task ahead. A mission from God, however, allowed no such cowardice. Giddy, he anticipated the end of his suffering on Earth and the beginning of his everlasting existence in paradise. Soon he’d be at the foot of God’s throne, standing there alongside Joshua and his brothers.

No more pain. No more suffering. No more addiction. No more regret.

Gabriel whistled a hymn to himself to keep his mind focused and to mitigate his joyous agitation. Instead of his normal white robe, he wore street clothes so as to not draw attention to himself. The large wire cutters jutted out from the back of his jeans, the handles tucked under his shirt. The air horn rode in his front pocket.

He walked quickly, struggling not to sprint. He had time. His brothers wouldn’t detonate the bombs for another hour. At a reasonable pace he’d arrive within a half-hour at the secluded area chosen by his leader. Once on location he’d have more than enough time to complete his work before sounding the air horn.

Then the carriers would come, spreading God’s holy pestilence upon the sinners.

Despite the chill in the air, small beads of perspiration collected on Gabriel’s forehead as he walked. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. The few people he passed on the streets didn’t notice him. Divine protection in action. He was doing the Lord’s work, after all.

Arriving at the location, he slipped undetected through an alleyway running between two small duplex apartment buildings. He quickly found himself behind the buildings, the fence no more than a dozen feet away. Two dumpsters sat near it, creating a pocket between them where he would carry out his work undetected.

The perfect location,
he thought.
Joshua has considered everything.
It’s no wonder God chose him as His vessel.

He prayed, muttering the words Joshua had taught him over the past year. Joshua had done more for Gabriel than any drug counselor or rehabilitation clinic had. His nerves calmed with the presence of the Lord at work upon him. Contentment washed over him as the words rolled from his tongue.

With his prayers spoken and his resolve stronger than ever, he walked to the fence and began to cut. The minutes passed slowly as he snipped away the chain link connections, leaving a wide hole in its place.

His task now complete, Gabriel backed away from the opening and stared. They would come when they heard the horn. They always followed sound.

And when they did he would give himself to them. A sacrifice to prove his devotion.

An explosion roared in the distance, causing him to jump. A plume of black smoke traveled upward, mushrooming out as it dispersed into the air. He smiled. His brothers at work. He couldn’t wait to see them again in the presence of God.

Screams rose from beyond the fence. The infected grew restless. Poor, damned souls.
 

Gabriel held the air horn up high, issuing several loud bursts. He waited. Moments later they came into view. Limping, crawling, moaning, the smell overwhelming.

Gabriel sounded the horn again, waving his arms and jumping up and down to get their attention. They spotted him quickly, dashing toward him as fast as they could. So many, more than he could count. He felt a brief panic, the way he used to feel between fixes. But now he had God to reassure him.

 
Moments later the infected arrived at the fence, crowding the opening as they fought for entry. Closing his eyes, he dropped the air horn to the ground and raised both hands high as he uttered a final prayer.

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.

Then the carriers overwhelmed him.

* * *

Jeremiah walked quickly across the street, his sights fixed upon the large tanker truck parked near the edge of the city. The explosive vest wore heavy on his shoulders, but he could manage. Just knowing he’d be seeing his Maker so soon made the burden that much easier to bear.

Full of old gasoline, the abandoned tanker would cause a massive explosion, attracting carriers for miles. With any luck, Jeremiah would get that tanker to explode.

No, not luck. There was no such thing as luck, only God’s will.

And God willing, the tanker would explode.

Jeremiah approached the tanker carefully, searching the area for any of the gun-toting military types running the city now. The area was clear. He walked quickly to the tanker, inspecting the valves along its side. A quick search revealed the tool he needed to open them. God’s grace shone brightly on this day.

Minutes later he had the caps off of the tanker valves. Gasoline spilled, striking the ground and creating a puddle around the tanker. Fumes poisoned the air, burning his nose and his eyes, but he ignored it as he walked a safe distance away from the spill.

He glanced at his watch again. Less than thirty seconds to go. He waited. As Jeremiah’s synchronized watch struck one o’clock he heard the first explosion in the distance. Removing a Zippo lighter from his front pocket, Jeremiah flicked the flint. He watched the flame burn for a few seconds before tossing the lighter into the puddle of gasoline. The fumes ignited, a bright blue flame appearing above the liquid, enveloping the tanker.

He ran.

Moments later the tanker exploded behind him, knocking him down. His ears rang from the blast as heat from the flames licked his back. He pulled himself up to his feet and smiled as thick, black smoke swirled upward, billowing into fat clouds.

He walked to the fence and waited. It took only a few minutes for the first carriers to arrive. He let them accumulate, their grunts and moans growing louder with each passing minute. They pushed against each other in a filthy, huddled mass. The air stank as their numbers increased.

 
It was time. God waited for him.

Hugging the fence’s support column he stood eye to eye with the infected sinners. “May God have mercy on your souls,” he said before closing his eyes and pressing the detonator attached to his explosive vest.

Jeremiah disintegrated, the blast taking down the pole and the carriers standing by the fence. A large section of the fence fell, the surviving infected pushing their way through.

The fence now gone, carriers streamed through, trampling carelessly upon Jeremiah’s smoldering remains. A few of the infected stopped to eat the larger pieces while the rest continued onward toward the city, in search of prey.

* * *

After the explosions, Samuel waited until the last of the men with firearms fled the gate, leaving it unguarded. Emerging from behind a rusted delivery truck, he quickly crossed the distance between his hiding place and the fence.

At the fence he inspected the gate. A simple chain and lock secured it. The cutters he had with him would work. He aligned the tool’s blades with a link of the metal chain, mashing the handles together with all his might. He strained hard, watching with glee as the blades slowly made their way through the metal chain link.

Then movement flashed in his peripheral and he found himself suddenly on his back, staring up at a snarling carrier. It tore at his face and his neck, raking his chest with sharp, claw-like fingernails.

It sank its teeth into Samuel’s throat and came away with a mouthful of flesh. Blood ran freely from the open wound.

He shoved, knocking the carrier away. He clamped a hand on his wound, but the blood leaked right through his fingers. The carrier got to its haunches, chewing on Samuel’s flesh like a dog on a bone.

The carrier charged. Samuel scrambled toward the cutters, quickly retrieving them. He brought the metal end of the tool down upon the carrier’s head, cracking its skull. It fell, limp, striking the ground with a dull thud. Infected blood poured from a deep laceration in the thing’s head.