THEM (Season 1): Episode 1 (4 page)

“I plan on it, if I’m still welcome...”

“Oh, I suppose I can excuse a little tardiness on grounds of you having the nicest ass in the Hill Country,” she replied as she poured me a cup of what passed for coffee these days, made from a mix of roasted acorns and chicory. “Plus, I need some wood chopped and I could use some help with repairs around the house. Perimeter fence needs mending and shoring, and I need a strong back to help me with the timbers.”

It seemed I was being granted a momentary reprieve, which I was more than eager to accept. I gave her my best Paul Newman smile. “Is that all I am to you, Kara Miller,” I teased, “just the hired help?”

“I imagine I can find some additional uses for you—but not until you take a bath. You smell like Donkey.”

“Fair enough. Where’s Tucker?”

“Back room, nursing his sixth shot of the morning. Whad’ya need him for, anyway?”

“Looking for news of anything odd going on out East. Something that nos’ I killed said has my spidey sense tingling. Probably nothing.”

Kara shot me a knowing look, as something passed behind her eyes that wasn’t quite worry. A storm crossed her face in an instant, almost too fast to catch it, and then it was gone. Momentarily, I was dismissed from milady’s presence with a nod toward the back and a double pour of rotgut. I grabbed my not-quite coffee and another round for Sam, and headed back to speak with him.

As I rounded the corner to the back room, I could see him sitting off to the side doing exactly what Kara had said, nursing his drink in silence. Sam was never what I’d call the sociable type, but it was relatively strange for him to be at the bar and deep into his cups at this early hour.

“Scratch Sullivan, what a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the occasion of your visit?”

“Tucker.” I nodded as I sat down across from him. “I need information.”

“Of what sort?”

“I need to know if anything unusual is going on in the Corridor.”

Tucker barked a short laugh, and his dark fingers drummed a nervous rhythm on the Formica table top. “Well, if by unusual you mean a hell of a lot more monsters running around than normal,
hell yes
... I’d say there’s something unusual going on. This last trip was a doozy, and hell if I might not retire because of it.” He slammed his drink, and I noted that his hands were shaking as he set it down.

“So, it’s bad then.” I knew if Tucker was shaken, things were bad, at least wherever he was at. “What part of the Corridor did you hit this time?”

“Well, I had a tip on a gun shop around New Braunfels that was untouched, so I headed out that way to find it. ’Cept, I never got that far.”

That gave me pause. “Did you come across something better?” I could always hope.

“Hell no. I did find a cache of dry goods and toilet paper that I picked up on my way back, but I got out as far as the settlement at Canyon Lake and started running into... unexpected difficulties.”

If he was saying what I thought he was saying, this was not good news. “Do you mean to tell me they were under attack?”

“No, not while I was there at least. They weren’t under nuthin’— that’s because there wasn’t anyone there.”

“Were they all out on raid?”

“No, uh-uh. I’m saying they pulled a Roanoke. They just disappeared. I searched the settlement, and there were no signs of struggle I could see, at least not that I could tell. I’d hoped to resupply there, but there was nothing left.”

“Punters?”

“You’d think, but where were the signs of struggle? No bullet casings, no blood—heck, not even a scratch in the dirt. They were just—gone.”

I stopped a minute to ruminate on what Tucker had just said. “Punters was the common term for “people hunters,” which included slavers and cannibals. They almost always did things bloody and messy, so it was unlikely to be them if there were no signs of struggle.

I slid Sam his next round and took a sip of chicory coffee. “Last I heard there were some two dozen souls at Canyon Lake, mostly able-bodied fighters. Know of anything haunting the corridor that might graze out that far and chase them off? Have to be some pretty bad mojo...”

“Naw’, nuthin’ but zombies and ghouls in those parts for as long as I can remember. Most of the real bad ones are down in San Antonio or up in Austin.”

“San Antone ain’t far from Canyon Lake.”

“True, but if you’ll recall that settlement is on the far north shore, protected out on the old park peninsula. They had a substantial wall built across there where that finger of land narrows just before it meets up with the mainland. Anything attacking them would have to either cross a significant amount of water, or scale the wall and deal with their guards. Either way it’d be a tough row to hoe.”

Vamps hated water, and deadheads generally couldn’t swim. They’d wade shallow water to get at a juicy piece of meat, but deep water almost always stopped them cold. “Couldn’t they just wade around the wall along the shore?”

“Naw’, they have the lake mined there. Some old World War II crap they salvaged from Camp Bullis.”

I whistled through my teeth. “This just gets curiouser and curiouser.”

“You ain’t heard the half of it, Scratch. I decided to hit one of the old residential areas around there to salvage for supplies and hole up overnight. No way I was staying out there in that settlement; it creeped me out too much.

“So, I headed just southeast of there along the old farm-to-market road that leads into New Braunfels. Figured I’d try to find an old canoe and float on into town by way of the river. I found some good stuff in some of the homes that hadn’t been picked over, and it got late so I holed up in an attic for the night.

“Damned if at about two thirty in the morning I wasn’t woken up by the loudest howls I’d ever heard. And it wasn’t just one voice; there were several, maybe eight or ten.”

“You’re talking a pack of lycanthropes, hunting the Corridor?” I was starting to wonder if this was the liquor talking, but I trusted Sam Tucker’s judgment. He was an experienced salvager, and I knew he wouldn’t spook easily. Even so, I could see his hands tremble as he continued.

“At least two came into the house where I was staying. I could hear them snuffling around below. I knew they had my scent, but they must’ve been puppies because they were too stupid to figure out where I was. I just about crapped my pants and gave myself away though, I’m not ashamed to admit.”

“Huh. And you’re sure they were lycanthropes?” Tucker gave me a sour look that spoke volumes. “Alright, I was just making sure. What’d you do then?”

“What do you think I did? I waited for morning, packed up my shit, and hauled ass back to safety as fast as I could.”

“Did you report this—maybe to the constable or some of the council members?”

“Yes and no. I stopped by Donnie’s office on the way in and basically was told to keep my wild drunken nightmares to myself so as not to scare the good upright folk in the settlement. Thought about it and figured that it did sound pretty outlandish, a pack of ’thropes all the way out here. Who’d believe me?”

I nodded thoughtfully and tipped the chipped stoneware cup to him. “Me for one. I got a tip from a nos’ I killed that something’s brewing and headed this way.”

That earned me a cocked eyebrow from Sam. “I know, I know—and normally I wouldn’t pay any attention to anything said by one of
Them
as I was about to send it back to the pits of hell, but something about this has me—I guess you could say ‘rattled’ for lack of a better term.”

Sam nodded once. “Yeah, well, you see the state I’m in. It’ll be a good long while before I head back out that way.”

“That’s a shame; I was hoping I could hire you as a guide. Been a while since I salvaged the Corridor.”

“Whad’ya need me for? Not much has changed, it’s just gotten uglier and more run down.”

“Yeah, but I’m out of touch with the rhythms of the place. Hate to walk into a sleeping swarm and become zombie bait.” Sure, zombies were relatively easy to deal with in singles, but in large groups they became problematic. Walking into the middle of a group of zombies that were in a mental holding pattern was a common way for travelers to get eighty-sixed out beyond the safe zones.

“I fail to recognize the likelihood of that happening to the great Scratch Sullivan. Naw’, I’ll pass, friend.”

“Sure I can’t change your mind?”

“I’d sooner roll my sack in peanut butter and beef jerky and enter a dog-fighting pit naked. No thanks. I’m content to just sit here and wait for you to turn up undead so I can make a move on Kara.”

“A sound plan. Speaking of which, I believe I have a honey-do list to conquer before I go risk my life for the greater good. You can join me, if you like—might earn you a head start for when I pass on.”

Tucker gave me a sideways glance that bordered on disapproval, or maybe it was pity I saw beneath his craggy brow. “You got a good thing going with her. Can’t see why you don’t retire your guns and settle down. There’s plenty of young bucks who are willing to fight this war in your place.”

“Someday, I suppose I will. But my line of work don’t mix well with estrogen and domestic life.”

“Suit yourself. But I’m sayin’ you’re a fool.”

“I’ll not be the one to argue that point with you. Thanks for the intel. Your next round’ll be on me.”

That seemed to perk him up a bit. “Well, a fool you may be, but let no one say you’re an asshole. Watch your back out there.”

“Always.”

As I was about to turn the corner on my way out, I paused for a second to ask Sam one last question. “Did you happen to spot any ’thrope tracks at Canyon Lake?”

“None, and don’t think I didn’t think about it when I was pissing my pants in that attic. I’m telling you, those people vanished—poof, into thin air. Creeps me the hell out just thinkin’ about it.”

“Fair enough. If any other caravaneers or salvagers come through, do me a favor—chat ’em up and see what news they have and what they’ve seen in the Corridor.”

A nod from Tucker was all I needed in reply. Time to get started on that honey-do list.

- - -

[4
]

A
bout three hours later, and I had already repaired the walls of Kara’s place and started in on the fence. Like I said, most folks holed up in underground bunkers or fortified houses after dark, and Kara’s place was no different. Her late husband had found a load of railroad ties from somewhere, and decided to shore up the walls of their home with them.

In effect, he’d turned their small ranch home into a veritable fortress. By using metal spikes to hold the ties together, and long hardened bolts set through the brick and studs of the interior walls, he’d fortified the house such that it would take a serious effort on the part of even the most determined monster to bust through. Solid metal shutters sturdily attached with the same long hardened lag bolts, reinforced metal security doors, and a thick sheet metal roof completed the effect.

But even railroad ties rot, so I’d had to pull a few out and replace them from the pile Kara’s ex had left out back. This also required adding extra lag bolts driven through the wall to hold them in, considering that I couldn’t use the original method of driving spikes down through the tie above. Actually, I was pretty sure the replaced ties would be stronger than the original.

I thought about the prospect of future ties going bad and wondered if there was some way to further treat them against rot. Texas heat and weather changes were just hard on structural materials; however, there might be something to coat the outside of the ties with to prevent any further damage. I made a mental note to check the storehouse in town to see what they had.

Compared to the house, the fence was fairly easy to mend. Kara’s place also had a six-foot chain link fence topped with barbed wire around the perimeter. Not tall enough to keep out any real baddies, but plenty high enough to prevent the lesser undead from getting inside the yard and close to the house. Besides, it gave her dogs a place to roam where they wouldn’t become zombie chow, or people chow for that matter.

The fence was in good repair. It just had an upright or two that needed to be reset. I dug out around the poles in need of repair, mixed some concrete up from the stores Kara’s ex had left, and poured it into the holes after I plumbed the uprights. After that, I checked the razor wire and barbed wire atop the fence all around, closing gaps with fencing wire that I tied nice and snug. Before long the place was looking much more secure, if not more cozy. Not much coziness to be had from a pitch-black log cabin and razor wire. Such was life in the New World.

As I walked back to the house to clean up, I made sure her dogs had water and started pumping well water for the outdoor solar shower. Not much more than a black fifty-five-gallon drum and a garden hose, but it actually worked quite well for the purpose. Finding a clean set of BDUs and fresh T-shirt, I soon had the grime and mule odor from the trail scrubbed off.

Then, I went to work at my beard with a straight razor and the homemade shaving cream Kara kept around for me. Out at the cabin, I just grew my beard long; however, when in the settlement I knew Kara liked me clean-shaven so I took the extra trouble and time. No sense risking my chances at getting lucky tonight. As I worked, I took stock of myself in the little shower mirror, and what I saw reminded me of how I looked when I first got back from the ’Stan, just ten years older. Hollow cheeks, distant eyes, and scars that no amount of time would fade.

Well, at least I still had my roguish good looks and rapier wit. Han Solo would be proud. Cracking a grin in spite of my ruined face, I worked a little aloe leaf into the nicks for good measure, replaced the dressings on my legs, then set about seeing to Donkey for the evening.

About the time I had Donkey brushed and chomping on some wild hay, Kara had returned from the bar. Unlike pre-Apocalypse times, all bars shut their doors about an hour before dusk, just like all the other businesses did these days. No barkeep would want to be responsible for letting a drunk walk home after dark, and not even the drunkest fool would be caught dead out after dark anyway, and certainly not drunk. So all bars kept banker’s hours, which worked out great based on the plans I’d made in my mind for the evening.