Music City Macabre: The Low Lying Lands Saga: Vol. 1 (10 page)

“Oh well. Here we go Bob. This goes out to everyone who can hear me. Freak or Regular, I don’t care. If you steal from me, You. Will. Die. Cheers, Bob!” Kade turned to raise his glass to Bob. As he did, Bob grabbed the cleaver and launched himself into Kade, driving the cleaver three inches deep into Kade’s shoulder.

Without bothering to remove the cleaver, Kade jerked Bob in close and proceeded to gruesomely headbutt him until his face looked like a bowl of Campbell’s soup. When Bob finally slumped to the ground, Kade took a moment to remove the cleaver. He then grabbed Bob’s head by the hair and hacked on his neck until he was decapitated. He looked at Ortiz, then at the body, and finally the crowd. Ortiz picked up the headless bloody pulp of a body and threw it into the crowd.

Kade walked down to the front of the stage. He picked up Bob’s untouched glass and held it in one hand, raising Bob’s head with the other.

He raised the glass to his followers who cheered and applauded wildly. He raised the glass to his lips, downed it, then tossed the glass aside. He took the mic out of his back pocket, turned it on, and took a few deep breaths. When he was finally ready, he lifted the head.

“When you drink the blood of the thief that violated your home, you own it!

The crowd of fiercely loyal Freaks, who would fight and die for this man, started chanting “KADE! KADE! KADE!

“And when you take the heads of those thieves and stick them on pikes so that every last Regular or Freak who comes to our house with ill intent knows they will be met with suffering and death, you must...own it!”

KADE! KADE! KADE!

“Thus endeth the lesson.” He dropped the mic, tossed the head to Ortiz and walked off the stage.

TRAVELLING

I took another walk around the Jeep and got in. Lost in his rundown of everything my Jeep Comanche had become was the small cache of guns and ammunition in the back seat. There were two Glocks and two assault rifles that all smelled freshly oiled and prepared for battle. Also included were two jugs of gas, and a two day supply of non-perishable food items. Two days if I rationed well. I had a bottle of pain meds given to me by the base Doctor, but I couldn’t take them and also drive. So it appeared that however long I was on the road pain and discomfort would be my travelling companions.

The last and possibly most interesting addition to my Jeep was a CB radio. Of all things. Why a CB? Who the hell even used a CB anymore? I sat for a moment then an idea hit me. I picked up the handheld and pressed the button.

“Prescott to Normal Safe Zone, over.” I waited.

“Ops to Prescott. We read you loud and clear. Safe travels sir. Always be vigilant,” said Kevin from his station in OPs.

“Will do. Pulling out.”

That morning I had rolled the dice with my galaxy S3 and found a GPS signal. The nice lady told me it would be 429.9 miles and a drive time six hours and twenty minutes. That was, of course, ridiculous. I was allowing myself a little gallows humor. Nobody used GPS anymore. You were basically a joke if you did. Battery life and other cell phone functions were much more important than trying to use GPS. I had my trusty 2013 U.S. Atlas and that was all I needed.

I wasn’t looking forward to this. I was driving alone, to an area I’d never been, on a long stretch of Interstate on which I had no idea what to expect. I was already sore and hurting as I left and the thought of having no pain meds for the next ten to twelve hours was a tad horrifying. OK...here we go.

Twenty-four hours later, I pulled off of Interstate 57 into the Welcome Cente,r not at Nashville, Tennessee, but Paducah, Kentucky. Interstate blockage had caused me hours of delay, which had depleted the majority of the gas Jay had given me. Before I hit Interstate 24 to Nashville, I had to stop.

It had taken twenty four hours to drive two hundred and eighty nine miles. I was exhausted, in pain, and I couldn’t stop sweating. I was sweating like Fat Elvis at a Vegas concert. I needed to eat something, take some painkillers, and sleep.

The parking lot of the Welcome Center was littered with abandoned vehicles and trash. This place had been tossed more times than a prison bitch. I wasn’t going to find anything useful, but I had to look anyway. There was a new looking Chevy truck with its hood propped up that looked tempting, but something told me to stay away, so I moved on. Almost all of the other vehicles had the glass busted out and were picked clean. Rest stops and welcome centers are incredibly dangerous places to be these days as evidenced by the odd assortment of bones I discovered in an old Pathfinder.

The rest of the cars in parking lot bore no fruit, so I headed inside. I had popped a couple of pills and my stomach was telling me to eat something by starting to feel queasy. I drew my Glock and entered cautiously through the front door. The Center felt anything but welcoming. The place had been summarily destroyed, first by the Collapse, then repeatedly trashed after The Descent. I gave each office the once over, again hoping to find anything I could use or take with me but, again, the place had been properly scavenged. Well...looted. I mean destroyed. I was wrapping up my office visit when I heard what sounded like scratching coming from the direction of the lobby.

Gun in front of me, I walked out into the lobby and did a three hundred sixty degree turn, scanning for danger. I wasn’t naive to the fact there could be Freaks in here, but I hadn’t necessarily gotten that vibe. That truck outside was more likely a guy who ended up dead before he could address the issue under the hood. Coming around a large welcoming kiosk, I saw a sign that directed bathroom users down the hallway to the left for relief. I hadn’t really paid attention to the bathrooms initially because I pissed outside. Why? Because, well...
because
.

Heading down the hallway, I heard the scratching noise again, and what? Crying? Great. I approached the women’s room and I could feel my heartbeat quickening and the sweat was dripping off me. I counted a quick one-two and kicked the door of the bathroom open. Nothing obvious.

“I’m armed and really pissed off. I’m going to check each stall and if you’re Freaky I’m gonna waste your ass.”

I continued down the row and cautiously pushed each stall door open and was quite relieved to not find anything. Human or not. I have no interest in killing anyone right now, or bringing on a travelling companion. God help me if that happens. I can’t leave them but I just don’t have enough provisions for anyone else.

I left the ladies room and headed the short stretch down to the ‘Gents’. As I approached the door, I heard the scratching again. Not the crying though.
Dammit.
Ok. Shit, I’m not ready for this. I’m not even close to being in the right frame of mind for this. I holstered my gun and backed down the hallway.

With my back against the wall and facing the entrance to the center, I slid down to the floor. First things first. I brought out both Glocks and dropped the clips. I was so delirious, I couldn’t remember if my guns were fully loaded. They were. I’d never leave for a fight without loaded guns. I’m not prone to swim in the waters of self doubt, but my condition was leaving me in serious need of some arm floaties.

I slowly return to my feet and take a minute to stretch. Yes, stretch. I’m hurting anyway but throw in twenty-four hours in a car and I’m proud to actually be walking. OK, back down the hallway, gun drawn and intensely focused. I hear the scratching right on the other side of the door as it grows in intensity. Whatever’s on the other side of the door knows I’m here.

I figure I only have one shot at this. I back up, count one two, and bum rush the door. It flies open a whole two feet and stops cold. My momentum carries me smack into the door and I get rewarded with a beautiful jolt of pain as my fist digs right into my stab wound. Falling to the ground, I grab my gun off the floor and scoot backwards, gun trained on the door.

Shit. what the hell was that?
I get up and approach the door again. I’m over this. I have ravioli in the other room. “I’m coming in on a count of two. Freak, human, whatever, if you pull any shit with me I’m gonna torch your ass. Seriously, speak now or I’m gonna punch your ticket. I’ve been driving for a fucking day and I’m pissed off and hungry.”

I switched the gun to my left hand which wasn’t normally ideal, but whatever was on the other side of the door was close enough to hit just pulling the trigger. I’m not feeling super great after all, so I need the advantage. I push the door open very slowly and then surge through the small opening into the bathroom, ready to shoot that shit up like the OK Corral.

Right I away I see man who is clearly Paul Bunyan’s distant cousin. He’s been dead for a good while. The smell hits right away and I stifle my gag reflex. Next to him is a German Shepard who is close to being Death’s new buddy. The dog is very skinny and while I imagine she’s been drinking from the toilets, who knows the last time she ate.

What the hell happened here?
I holster my Glock, kneel down and start to search the man. First things first. He killed himself with a gunshot to the temple. The gun,
thanks man,
is partially under where the dog is lying next to her owner. The spatter is all over the wall and, thanks to my pills, looks like a unicorn.

He’s a big dude. Seems to me he should’ve been able to protect himself. Not having been here, though, that’s a stupid thing to say. Could’ve been him and the dog against ten Freaks for all I know. His coat looks pretty sweet and it’s freezing so I decide to take it. As I sit him up and begin to pull his arm though the sleeve I see the bite. Instinctively, I scramble backwards and almost compliment his headshot with a full clip before I catch myself.

I have his left arm through and have the coat almost off when I see a folded note that is sticking out of the inside pocket. There’s blood on it and the writing is chicken scratch at best.

Whoever finds this— My name is Cory Stalker. Me and my dog were attacked by the freaks. I killed 2 of ‘em but the last one got my arm when I got between him and Lexi. I killed it straight away but I know my time is short. I’m going to kill myself. I hope you find this and Lexi is ok. She is a great dog. A loyal dog. My life was shit til I got this dog. Make her your own and she will reward you. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring myself to shoot her. I’m leaving her in here with me in hopes that you will get here in time. It’s starting. I can feel it. Take care of Lexi. Thanks.

I folded the note and put it in my back pocket. I turned to the dog and said “Lexi, huh? Not the name I would’ve chosen but ok. Listen I’m gonna let you out of here but you gotta find your own way. I got another hundred miles or so and I can barely feed myself. Nothing’s gone my way so far.” I’m not sure why but I took Cory Stalker’s Kentucky driver’s license out of his wallet and put it with the note. I walked to the door, opened it wide, and gestured for the dog...shit...Lexi, to come with me. She looked at me but wasn’t able to muster the strength to get up.

“Oh come on, Lexi,” I said to the dog. “Don’t do this to me! I’m done with partners. They always die. I can’t have you coming with me to Nashville. I can’t worry about you right now. I can’t. Now get up and get your ass out here in the hall. Go chase a squirrel.”

Lexi was weak, hungry, and for good measure you could throw in scared, since I was yelling at her. I closed my eyes and shook my head. This was a bad idea. No, a fucking stupid idea. I was spitballing here, but I guess if I’ve learned anything in the last forty-eight hours it’s that life is precious. Maybe I should wipe the tears away with my tie.
You’re a damn fool Prescott. A dog named Lexi? Jay gave you rations for two days. You’ve been at it thirty-six hours and you’re not even to Nashville yet. “
Ok Lexi, in for a penny, in for a pound. Let’s go girl.” I can’t explain it, it’s totally irrational. Maybe I was supposed to find this dog. That’s crazy right?

I put my hands out in a calming gesture and approach the dog. Lexi’s ears are pinned back but I’m not entirely sure she can do anything about it. I slip my hands underneath her, picking her up, and I ease out the through the door I had pinned open with my foot. I carry her down the hallway to the welcome kiosk where I’d left my Coleman grill and the Chef Boyardee ravioli.

I took only a few minutes to get everything up and running and, a short time later, my new pal Lexi and I were feasting like kings. Except not really. The dog scarfed down what I gave her and desperately wanted more, but I didn’t have much myself and couldn’t share. I was able to boil some water, though, so she had clean water for the first time in who knows when. After we had eaten, if you could call it that, we sauntered into one of the offices and I wedged a chair underneath the knob and intended to sleep. I was behind on my internal schedule, but I had to rest. Balling up the new coat I took from Cory Stalker, I had every intention of getting some serious shut-eye.

Several hours later, I still hadn’t fallen asleep. I was relaxed and feeling tremendously better as far as my body was concerned, however, my mind was swirling. Maybe Jay has the right idea. Since before The Descent, and especially after I had rolled with my two closest friends. Brothers in my eyes. I never had a single reason to distrust Coop or Pollock. They were my support net. They always had my back and me theirs. Coop died. Pollock betrayed me in the worst way. Just two fucking days ago. I still can’t believe all that shit was 48 hours ago.