Hell's Children: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (9 page)

T
he morning
of the big move, Greg, who was on watch, woke Jack an hour before dawn.

“Is it time already?” Jack said. “Why’s it so dark still?”

“Sorry, man,” he said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “It’s the chick with the green hair you told me about. She’s here. Man, she’s skinny … Cool hair, though. I brought her inside. She wants to talk to you.”

Jack blinked in the faint light offered by the candle over the fireplace. “Really? That’s great.”

She was standing in the office just off the entrance. Greg asked if she wanted to sit on one of the plush office chairs. She shook her head.

Jack clicked his LED flashlight and set it down facing one of the walls so as not to blind her. The twins had gathered a box of candles, but they needed more. Lanterns, too, like a hundred years ago. Flashlights made more sense for emergencies and should be spared.

“Hi there,” he said, wincing at how loud his voice sounded after the quiet of the party room. He held his hand out for her to shake, then lowered it when all she did was stare at him. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“They’re dead,” she said in a flat, expressionless voice. For so slender a girl, her voice was deep and resonant. “I got sick like them, then got better. But they didn’t.”

He looked closely at her and noted she seemed somehow more emaciated than last time. Or maybe his mind hadn’t been able to accept it then, just as it balked now.

“Greg, can you bring some of those crackers—the ones with the salt? And some water?”

“Yeah, sure. Gimme a minute.”

“What’s your name?” Jack said after he’d left.

She stared at him curiously, as if slowly processing the request. “Olivia.”

“I’m Jack.”

“You said that when you came to my apartment. That’s how I knew to ask for you.”

He smiled in embarrassment and revised his first impression of her. She may have been troubled, but she wasn’t completely gone, or dumb.

“Sorry about your parents,” he said.

“And I’m sorry about yours.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, and felt a wave of relief when Greg finally returned with the crackers and water.

Olivia stared at the meager plate and said, “You and that girl had guns at my apartment. Can I have one?”

He stared at her a moment, his gaze lingering on the hollowness of her cheeks. “Maybe eat some crackers. Then we’ll talk about guns. Okay?”

Mechanically, she reached out, took a cracker, and put it in her mouth. When she started to cough, Greg gave her some water, which she gulped down.

“Not too much,” Greg said, taking it from her. “You look like you haven’t, uh, had anything for a while. They say it’s bad if you eat and drink too much after so long.”

Olivia wiped her mouth free of crumbs and water and said, “Now can I have a gun?”

“Why do you want one?” Jack said, dreading the answer.

“You know why. Please?”

He watched her quietly in the dim electric light, then sighed. “Greg?”

“Yeah?”

“Give us a moment.”

“You got it,” he said, sounding relieved, then left and shut the door behind him.

Jack reached out tentatively, took the girl’s hand—frail to the point of skeletal—and guided her into a chair.

“We all lost parents,” he said lamely.

“Yeah, but I actually loved mine.”

Jack stiffened in sudden anger. Sure, he wasn’t comatose with grief, but he still loved his parents. With great effort, he forced himself to calm. The girl was suffering and lashing out. He had to remember that.

“How old are you, twelve?” he said.

She shook her head. “Thirteen. Almost fourteen. And this is what I want. Why can’t you just give me one?”

“I saw you praying. What would your parents say if they knew their daughter was going around asking people for guns?”

For the first time, her expression broke into something beyond apathetic—she squeezed her eyes shut as her face tightened, and a single sob escaped. Jack’s earlier anger evaporated, replaced by a kindred sorrow.

“Why did it happen?” she whispered. “The Sickness?”

“Nobody knows. Some kind of weapon, maybe.” He shrugged. “I even heard it was aliens. The news had all kinds of crazy theories before everything went dark.”

“Why did I live?”

“I don’t know that either,” he said. “I do know you could have killed yourself a bunch of different ways, but you came here instead. Do you think maybe you’re looking for a reason to keep living, and not for a gun?”

She didn’t reply. She didn’t let go of his hand, either.

“Olivia,” he said, “there’s nobody in the world to stop you from doing it, if that’s what you want. There’s so much death outside these doors I can’t even get my head around it. If I tried, I might want to shoot myself, too. Instead of that, I keep busy. That’s the trick.”

“Busy doing what?” she said, wiping her eyes.

“Living, planning, helping friends. We’re leaving in the morning for a place I know about. When we get there, we’ll try to make it through the winter and see what happens after that. You’re just in time. We could use the help.”

“Leaving here?” she said. “For where, exactly?”

Jack knew the girl wasn’t a spy for a food gang, unless she was also one of the greatest actresses who’d ever lived. But if she stayed, he couldn’t know if she’d get picked up by one of the bigger gangs. He wanted to keep their destination secret until they were strong enough to protect themselves.

“It’s hard to explain,” he said and hoped she wouldn’t press him. “But it’s definitely better than here. So what do you say: you with us?”

Olivia stared out at nothing, not saying yes and not saying no. He was content to let her think about it, the same way his parents always waited for him to answer one of their strange and difficult questions.

After sitting in silence for a good two minutes, she grabbed another cracker and put it in her mouth. Then she nodded.

* * *

T
hose early-morning
November days were particularly chilly, warming up around noon almost to where you could say it was merely cold.

With the wheelbarrow full of dumbbells cold for several hours now, none of the children wanted to get up. Jack recruited Greg and Tony to prod them into action, forcing them to take what meager possessions they had—a doll, a picture, a piece of jewelry—and file onto the bus.

While that was going on, he plied Olivia with a small amount of protein-rich food and some water. He then quietly passed word to the others to keep an eye on her, with special instructions to everyone to keep her away from guns. If she wanted to hold one, they were to tell her no and then inform him.

While the bus was warming up, they packed the food from the safe in the car with Greg. They put the blankets and pillows, the big pot, and their supply of candles, tools, and dishes in Pete’s car. Lisa got on the bus with Jack to keep the little ones in line, and Brad and his baby brother rode with Pete—to keep
him
in line.

Olivia’s ride was a harder choice. Jack didn’t necessarily think of himself as a matchmaker, but his oldest friend had mentioned her green hair twice since she’d arrived. If Greg had a crush, he’d do a good job keeping an eye on her, so she went with him, along with Tony.

“Everyone’s settled,” Lisa said after buckling in each child.

“Great. Now we try to live through the day with me at the wheel.”

The fastest way to the interstate was by way of 50 to 28, but that was pre-Sickness. Right now, he didn’t know if the route was free of roadblocks. Rather than risk the unknown, he backtracked to where they’d found the bus, then took 28 back in the direction of his old home and what he now thought of as Blaze’s territory
.

For all his worry, they didn’t see anyone. Jack snorted. If
he
were a homicidal gang leader, he would have posted sentries.

When they got on 66, he blinked in surprise at how open and traffic-free it was. They saw the odd car—stalled or abandoned—but otherwise the way was clear. Which, considering the nature of the catastrophe, made sense. Nobody sick had the energy to leave, and the few that were still healthy had gotten out, for all the good it did them.

Jack hoped the roadblocks were limited to the neighborhoods and side streets. But if they did find one out here, big as the bus was and with his friends helping, he figured they could push through if needed.

* * *

“
W
hy are you slowing
?” Lisa said about ten minutes past the Gainesville exit.

“Look at that,” was all he said, pointing at a hillside pasture.

“Oh, wow! Cows!”

The children in the bus pressed against the glass to see.

Squinting, Jack said, “Something’s not right.”

One of the children confirmed the observation by screaming. Then, because they were little, all of them started screaming, even if they didn’t know why.

Jack stopped the bus, stood up, and shouted, “Knock it off!”

As one, the children quieted and stared at him.

“Sit down, face forward, and stay quiet on the bus,” he said. “That’s an order. Anyone who doesn’t gets left behind. Got it?”

Their collective gasps made him feel guilty, but only a little. This way it’d be easier if he had to issue any new orders. He’d be the mean one, the ultimate big kid, and dangerous in his way. He could never be their friend, never smile with them or laugh, or it’d undermine his authority.

“Come on, Lisa,” he said, and stepped off the bus.

“Laying it on a bit heavy, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “So, what do you think?”

They surveyed the hillside, dotted with about fifty black cows. All were in various stages of decomposition. The smell was awful. The view, ghastly.

“Who would do that?” she said quietly. “Looks like they were … like someone came through and killed them over the course of … I dunno. Weeks, I guess. Look at that one.” She pointed way off to the side at a wreck of sunken skin.

“Wasteful,” Jack said. “They didn’t butcher them properly—just took the legs. It’s like they got hungry, came here, shot something, cut its legs off, and then left. Part of the reason I brought us out this way was to … ” He shook his head. “I thought maybe
we
could bag a cow or two. Maybe a sheep or something. You know, for the winter.”

“I’m sure there’s more,” she said. “It’s a big country.”

Jack stared at the mess on the hillside another minute, not saying anything. Then he sighed. “Let’s get out of here.”

As they continued down 66, it became obvious the interstate was wide open except for the exits, which were mostly blocked off. That was fine. The place they were going didn’t have any nearby neighborhoods to worry about, and when they got to the exit—just short of Front Royal—they passed through without a problem.

Jack couldn’t stop smiling as they snaked through trees and hills deeper into the Virginia countryside, far away from dead adults and lunatics with guns and swords. Eventually, they pulled off the county road onto a wide gravel lane that led to a gate. Beside it was a sign reading, “Big Timber Model Homes: Join The Log Home Revolution!”

The children’s voices rose in excitement as they pulled into a wide, grassy clearing with a large creek-fed pond in the distance. Situated around it were a number of beautiful log homes, all of them brand new.

Jack stopped the bus and gazed intently at the scene before him. No cars or trucks. Best of all, no smoke from the four chimneys. Not necessarily proof the place was deserted, but he’d definitely take it.

“Jeez, Jack,” Lisa said from the seat behind him. “Where did you learn about this place?”

“Last year, with my parents,” he said. “They were in the market for a log home they could build themselves, up in West Virginia. We sat in a class in that big one over there.” He pointed to the largest of the cabins, with a soaring roof and a wraparound deck. “The brochure showed a retired couple putting one together all by themselves. Said it could be done for something like thirty thousand dollars. My parents looked into it. Way too much work, and only cost that much if you found all the materials yourself.” He smiled. “
Or
they could buy one of these lovely model homes, which the company would build for us starting at two hundred thousand. Dad said it was a total bait and switch. They could have bought one, but they wanted me to have the money after they …” He shook his head. “You know how they were.”