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

“Can’t sleep,” Lester said.

“With all that booze? I figured that’d put you right out. Always does me.”

“I suppose I’m not like everybody else.”

Rita stared at him for a few seconds. Lester maintained eye contact, wondering just what wheels might be turning behind those drunkard’s eyes.

“I suppose you ain’t,” Rita replied, swaying as she struggled to maintain her balance. “Something different about you, all right. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.”

Lester smiled. “Is that so?”

Rita nodded.

“What is it that you think I am?” Lester asked, grinning wider.

“What are you really doing with them kids? Or plannin’ on doing?”

“What do
you
think I’m doing?”

“Don’t answer a question with another question. Makes you look suspicious.”

“I’m traveling with them. You wouldn’t be implying anything, would you?”

Rita paused, her eyes locked on Lester’s. “Who are you, really?”

“I’m just a guy who survived the end of the world, same as you.”

Rita shook her head. “Nah. We ain’t the same, you and me. Not by a long shot.” She glared. “Who are you, really?”

This time Lester returned the glare, dropping the smile. “I don’t think you want to find out.”

They stood in the darkened kitchen, moonlight seeping in through the open window, their eyes locked on one another. Silence roared as the seconds ticked away. Rita inhaled, exhaled. Lester stood still, muscles tensed, waiting to see what happened next. The decision would be hers.

It was these kinds of moments that Lester lived for.

Another second passed, eyes still locked.

Rita made her move.

She turned, her reflexes slowed from the alcohol. That was all that Lester needed. Already cocked and loaded, Lester lunged forward, gripping Rita by the back of her shirt collar. She tried to cry out, but only got out a short croak before Lester’s arm wrapped around her throat, silencing her scream.

“You cunt,” Lester said, his voice a gruff whisper. “Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”

Maintaining the chokehold on Rita, Lester reached for the knife drawer. He found the knob and pulled. The drawer opened, announcing itself with that same squeaky squeal. He glanced toward the kitchen door to ensure neither of the teenagers had heard anything and decided to be heroes.

Rita thrashed, both hands yanking hard on his arm in an attempt to break the hold. Lester pulled tighter, focusing his attention on the contents of the drawer. He could make out the large knife in the moonlight, sitting where he’d left it. He reached for it. As his fingers closed around the handle, Rita delivered an elbow to Lester’s stomach, catching him off guard. Pain jolted his body, but he held tight. Another elbow caught him, this time harder than before. He felt his grip loosen. Seizing her opportunity, Rita lurched forward, breaking out of Lester’s grip.

Free, she took a step forward. She made it one step and had just opened her mouth to yell when Lester caught a handful of her hair and yanked hard, arresting her escape. Drunk and off-balance, she fell backward, toward Lester and his waiting knife.

Lester zipped the knife blade across her exposed throat. Blood poured, running down the front of Rita’s shirt and dripping onto the dirty linoleum. Struggling to control her thrashing, Lester dragged Rita to the sink, positioning her bleeding throat above the drain. She struggled for a few moments before eventually relaxing in his grip. He kept her body in that position until the gash stopped bleeding, after which he carefully lowered her lifeless body to the kitchen floor.

He glanced toward the living room: no movement. Sam and Chloe were still asleep. He looked around the dimly lit kitchen at the puddles of blood on the floor. He’d have to get it cleaned up, pronto. He also needed to get rid of the body, all before his new traveling companions awoke.

He glanced out the window. The moon sat high in the sky, casting its pale glow over the overgrown farmland behind the house. He figured it was maybe two or three o’clock in the morning. As long as Sam and Chloe remained asleep, he could pull it off.

Lester scowled at the body on the floor. This was all her fault, all of it. Nosey fucking cunt. She couldn’t leave well enough alone. He hadn’t even planned on killing her. The following morning they’d have said their goodbyes and then would have been off together—Lester, Sam and Chloe—leaving Rita to her filthy farmhouse and all the booze she wanted to drink.

Now he had a mess to clean up and not a lot of time in which to do it. Placing the bloody knife on the counter, he rifled through the cabinets until he found a box of rags. It wouldn’t be much, but hopefully enough to wipe up all the blood.

But first, he’d need to deal with the body. Carefully and quietly Lester took one of the rags he’d found and made a makeshift scarf around Rita’s neck. It darkened as the blood spread into the fibers. He tied it tightly to keep any additional blood from draining out and onto the floor, avoiding even more of a mess to clean up later.

With the wound covered, Lester considered his options for ditching the body. The house had no basement, so that left only an extra room in which to stash the body. That wouldn’t do. Chloe being the nosey type, she’d be likely to snoop around the house, especially once she found Rita inexplicably gone (another problem he still had to deal with).

No, the body had to be removed from the house. But that meant venturing out into the darkness, a place owned exclusively by the new breed of carrier, a very real and very deadly risk. Something he really and truly did not want to have to do.

But the thought of never seeing Chloe with blood pouring from her throat, never seeing that look in her eyes…

Well, the carriers were a risk he was willing to take.

* * *

Rita had been a dumpy old cow and Lester damn near couldn’t get her fat ass out of the house without throwing his goddamn back out. He finally managed to lift the bitch up and carry her out the back door. The work wasn’t as quiet as he would have preferred it to be, but he was careful not to make any overtly loud noises. Besides, he was used to working quietly, especially before the virus.

Now, sweating and straining under the dead weight of their former host, Lester found himself in the back yard of the farmhouse. The air, cool and damp, surrounded and enveloped him like a blanket. Unseen crickets chirped from the tall grass, an ancient song that only they understood. The moon had traversed the sky a considerable distance now, heading toward the horizon. He had plenty of time before it disappeared behind the hillside, leaving him in total darkness.

He walked away from the house and into the tall grass, glancing at his surroundings as he went. The moonlight allowed him to see reasonably well, but he knew that if the carriers locked on to him before he finished his work then it wouldn’t matter if he saw them coming or not. He’d be dead either way.

In the distance, past a hundred yards of overgrown weeds and grass, dark and foreboding forest loomed. The carriers hunted at night, Lester knew. He’d seen it before. A few weeks back he’d watched a pack of the things chase down a deer, exploding out of the forest and into a field, surrounding their prey until one of them successfully felled it. Like a pride of lions hunting on the savanna.

Taking the body all the way to the forest’s edge was a bad idea. But taking it a few dozen yards away from the house and dumping it in the waist tall grass would work just fine. He’d make sure to lead Sam and Chloe away from that spot when they left the house. And if he was lucky, the carriers might just find the carcass and take care of it themselves.

And if Sam and Chloe wanted to go look for her? Well, he’d figure that one out when the time came.

He trudged through the grass, making his way further from the house. The bitch was getting heavy now, really heavy, and he wasn’t sure just how much longer he could keep going until he’d have to unload her. He walked, one foot in front of the other, his muscles straining with each passing second.

A rustling in the grass caught his attention. He stopped, turning in a circle to scan the field around him. He saw no movement, but he felt unsettled, like he was being watched. Suddenly the farmhouse from which he’d come looked very far away. Too far away.

Another rustle came from the grass. Lester spun around, searching for movement, still shaky under the weight. The feeling of being watched loomed heavier than ever.

Fuck it
, he thought.
This is far enough.

Thoroughly spooked now, he tossed the body to the ground. It hit with a loud thud, taking down a patch of the grass along with it. Her blood-soaked yellow shirt looked gray in the dim light.

Somewhere in the distance, Lester thought he heard a low growling. He glanced around again, nothing but tall grass swaying in the light breeze.

He listened hard.

The crickets had gone silent.

He ran back to the farmhouse, never letting up until he made it through the door and safely inside.

Ed sat against the rough wood wall of the makeshift jail cell, his body and mind numb with shock. Jeremy was dead. Zach would be next, along with Trish and everyone else who he knew and loved. All because of one very bad decision made by one very bad leader.

The door at the end of the dim prison hall opened, drawing Ed’s attention. His pulse quickened. They were back. This time for Zach? Or maybe Trish? Who knew what these psychos were capable of. He glanced at Jasper and Trish, both of them had the same confused look. Terry stood, muscles flexed, ready.

But the figure coming through the door wasn’t a guard. It wasn’t the cult’s crazy leader. Even in the low lamp light he recognized the person coming through that door.

Jeremy.

Ed leapt to his feet and ran to the chain link fencing, gripping it. Jeremy trotted down the walkway, keys jangling. When he got to the cell door Ed got a better look at his youngest son. Blood spatter covered his face and clothes. He looked tired, older somehow.

“Hi, Daddy,” Jeremy said.

Ed thought his heart might break. “What happened? We thought you were…”

“Nope,” Jeremy replied.

“Open that lock,” Terry bellowed. “We can catch up on things later.”

Ed nodded. “Open the lock, buddy.”

Jeremy fumbled through the dozen or so keys on the ring, searching for one that might fit. The first key didn’t work, neither did the second.

“Make sure you remember which ones didn’t work,” Ed said. “Just go through them one by one.” He glanced at the open door, imagining a shadow appearing on the other side at any moment.

The third key didn’t fit.

The seconds ticked by like hours.

The fourth key went in, but wouldn’t turn.

“Take your time,” Trish said.

“We got all day,” Jasper said.

“No, we don’t,” Jeremy replied. “They’ll figure out what happened eventually.”

The fifth key went in.

And turned.

The lock sprang open.

“Fuck yeah!” Terry cried out. “You’re the man!”

Jeremy stepped out of the way to allow the door to open. The prisoners exited quickly, some heading toward the door.

“Stop!” Terry called out. Those closest to the door stopped abruptly. “Not yet. We got another cell to open here.”

“But we gotta go!” a man with blonde hair said.

“Then you gotta go through me,” Terry replied, standing up to his full height. He was six foot five if he was an inch.

Blond Hair nodded.

“Hand me those keys,” Ed said. Jeremy handed him the keys and Ed touched his son on his bloody forehead.

“Hurry, Dad,” Zach said from the second cell.

Ed hurried. He flipped through the keys one by one, until the seventh key on the ring twisted and the locked popped open. Zach rushed out through the door and into Ed’s arms. He hugged both boys tightly.

Terry looked at Blonde Hair, raising his eyebrows. “Now we go.”

Prisoners filed out of the jail cell, one by one. As the last few exited, Ed caught sight of Alice near the end of the line. Anger flared inside him. He thrust out an arm, catching her in the shoulder and knocking her back into the cell. The last two people streamed through the door as Ed slammed it closed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Alice screamed.

“Ed?” Trish asked.

Ed closed up the padlock, securing the door. “She doesn’t get to leave,” Ed said, addressing the crowd.

“Ed, you can’t just leave her in there,” Jasper said.

“She earned it,” Ed said, his look serious and determined.

Jasper didn’t reply.

Ed looked the group over. “Anybody who wants to let her out, raise your hand.”

No hands went up.

“No,” Alice said. “You people can’t do this.”

Ed shrugged as he walked away.

“You fucking asshole!” she screamed. She looked frantically at her former co-leader, also part of the departing group. “John? Not you, too?”

John looked away.

Alice shook her head. “You can’t do this. You can’t leave me here.”

“Let’s go,” Ed said. Terry nodded as the rest of the group followed.

“You fucking pricks!” Alice screamed. “You cocksuckers! You better watch your asses because if I find you I’ll kill every last one of you!”

The group of former prisoners exited the room, closing the door on Alice’s screams.

* * *

“How do we get out of here?” Jasper asked. He stood with the others, more than three dozen strong, just outside the makeshift prison. Moonlight shone all around them as dark shapes moved around in the shadows just outside the fence.