Well Fed - 05 (44 page)

“Not bad,” Phil smiled.

“Not this time, anyway,” Gus agreed, relieved he’d gotten the bulky vehicle through. A woman protected by a winter coat stood in the middle of the road, bathed in headlights. She beckoned him forward. The motor home stopped before her, and she stepped around to the side door and knocked. They allowed her in, and Gus saw she was around his age, attractive, with rusty-red hair. She studied them all with a critical eye before smiling.

“Welcome to Pine Cove,” she said with a mild French accent.

Things happened quickly after that.

Under a full moon, a pair of locals guided the motorized behemoths past a thinning wilderness, where the road eventually opened into an easy slope lined with lanes and houses, all the way down to a shoreline and a seaside bay glittering with ripples. A deserted playground went by, as did a closed Mary Muffin shop. A service station along the road was actually servicing a car inside an open bay. A smattering of houses followed, their windows heavily boarded but with the top foot or so left open. Next were some shops with the fronts barricaded. A small square dominated the center of town with a statue of a sea-green fisherman pulling in full nets.

What surprised Gus most of all, however, were the people.

The townsfolk of Pine Cove slowed in their tracks and stared at the new arrivals. Some opened the front doors of their shops and stepped outside, marveling at the rigs. Children stopped with their parents or guardians and pointed. Gus figured at least a hundred watched the pair of motor homes roll by, as if they were grand floats in an early Christmas parade.

The attention made him smile.

The faces of Becky, Chad, and Maggie appeared in his mind, pleading, and Gus’s mood darkened.

“There’s so many,” Phil commented.

Gus felt someone breathe on his bare head, so he glanced back to see four other survivors hunched around the redheaded Pine Cove woman, sizing up the new town. The lady who’d exhaled on him didn’t register his fidgeting. He eventually parked the RV in the lot of a small motel, not fifty meters away from a volunteer fire department.

“This is it,” the Redhead announced brightly. “Step on out and stretch your legs. Mind the cold. We have, uhhh, rooms for you all tonight. Who is the leader here?”

“He is,” Phil rumbled immediately.

“I’m not the leader,” Gus blurted. “I’m just the driver.”

“You can talk for the rest of us,” Phil said. “I––well, we all trust you.”

Trust
—a rare commodity, precious but misplaced. Collie had freed those people while Gus had only shown up after the fight and out of breath.

But Phil shut down those awkward thoughts by standing and shooing the others out the side door. An evening breeze laced with the unmistakable hint of salt water caught Gus’s attention. That hooked him out of the driver’s seat, and he paused only to get a crick out of his back and neck, eyeing the doorway.

“We’ll get everyone situated for the night,” the Redhead said, studying his face close up for the first time and faltering only for a second.

“Sounds good,” Gus answered, letting the startled balk go. “And then?”

“We will see.” She smiled, showing uneven teeth and radiating kindness.

Gus smiled back, tight-lipped. He looked at the scabbard with his retrieved bat just behind the driver’s seat, even his pistols, but hesitated in picking any of his weapons up. “Ah,” he chuckled, “old habits.”

“Take them along if you like,” the Redhead offered.

That placed Gus’s mind at ease. He still had the knife in his boot. “’Sokay. I’ll take the chance.”

“My name is Marie,” she said, holding out a hand.

“Gus,” he said, taking it.

“More mouths to feed.” Will Duffer scowled from his kitchen window while a burning candle shone through the lower-left corner of the glass.

“Ah, Christ,” Jan Pierce lamented, shaking his head. He met the sullen gaze of Sally Fox, sitting on the other side of the table.

Her hand froze in turning the base of the whiskey bottle holding the one candle providing light. “The fuck are they doing, letting them in here?” Sally said in a voice usually sweetened in public. “Winter’s here, for God’s sake.”

“Pisses me off,” Will muttered and put his back to the window. He regarded his companions sitting at the bare table. They weren’t really friends but rather locals who shared a harsh opinion about Pine Cove and the world beyond its sheltered borders: a cruel but face-slapping fact.

The town could support only so many people.

And every new body lessened the portions of everyone else who had slaved and worked and blistered their hands and feet working the fields or had fished the bay in the summer heat.

It wasn’t fair. Or sustainable.

“I’m going to take Minglewood aside tomorrow and have that second talk,” Jan said. “In private.”

“That chickenshit won’t say anything to Collie and Wallace.” Sally’s words ended with the barest quiver. Some folks thought it endearingly cute, but at night, when she partook in conversations concerning a change in leadership, that little shiver sounded evil. “They’re the real mayors of this place,” she finished with a pissed-off shake of her head.

“And barely around,” Will muttered. “I don’t think I’ve even seen that fucking goofball, Wallace.”

“Secretive, hard-core military types,” Jan said and nodded warily.

“You believe that?” Will asked in disbelief. “I sure as hell don’t. I mean, seriously,
anyone
could go to an army base now and dress up in combat fatigues and pass themselves off as soldiers. Any-fucking-one. Even a cop, for that matter. Wallace. Bugs me. I gotta feeling I’d kick Wallace’s ass if it came down to it. That Collie bitch too if she wanted to roll. Turns my stomach they run things here while running around out there.”

“Maybe we should step up the day of the vote?”

Will shook his head. The three of them had been making quiet rounds, feeling townspeople out on how they felt about how things were being run in Pine Cove, about new people coming in, and about changing the rules.

“Every day we wait,” Jan warned, “is another day them two sheriffs bring in more strays. We’ll be taking on
roommates
before too long.”

Will glanced toward the window again, thinking about how many people might’ve ridden in on the motor homes.
Motor homes today—fucking buses tomorrow.
Jan had a point.

“And more people who might turn the vote,” Sally finished.

“Yeah,” Will said quietly, rubbing his stubbly chin. They figured twenty-five percent of the townsfolk supported the idea of a new election. Will intended to nominate himself, and once in power, he meant to change the town’s policy on collecting strays. And that was only the start. Even if he didn’t win, that couldn’t be allowed to continue. He’d fight Minglewood tooth and nail on that issue.

There was only so much to go around.

And whoever was beyond those walls was on their own.

When the motor homes drove through the gate, Sick dropped his binoculars and stared, his green eyes narrowing into thoughtful slits behind the black ski mask. He lay on his belly, five feet back from the edge of the rock cut and a thirty-foot drop, hidden under the low bows of a fir tree. He didn’t fear being detected, not with his ghillie suit rendering him indistinguishable from the landscape and practically invisible in the faltering daylight. Pine Cove, for all of its precautions and defenses, did not have the most observant people guarding its borders, which was just the way Shovel liked it.

Sick had an excellent view of the crude car wall and the makeshift but effective gate. Calloused fingers flexed on the binoculars as thoughts formulated in his brain. The motor homes had been a surprise. Who knew how many bodies they contained, not that they would be a problem for Shovel and his forces. He wondered where the pickup was headed and if it would return. The vehicle might head up one of the many side roads, where his armed companions were waiting for darkness. The pickup couldn’t be holding any more than four people. Probably fewer—hardly a problem if they ran into the army parked out of sight.

Sick’s fingers continued drumming the binoculars, each digit resembling a meaty leg of a very hairy spider. He wasn’t the only person observing the town. Shovel had deployed five of them in three shifts per day, all set up at various points along the sloping tree line beyond the rock cut. The town’s natural topography and location defended well against the undead, but against a mobilized and highly motivated unit, sharp inclines and thick trees did nothing, and once you got past that, it was a sleigh ride straight into the main street.

Sick blinked as if emerging from deep sleep.

If the pickup bypassed Shovel’s forces, it didn’t matter. The town remained the main prize. The driver and passengers were scraps compared to the bounty of potential skills and trades residing by the sea. If the pickup took a right turn and ran into Shovel, the boys would make quick work of whoever drove the vehicle.

The inhabitants of Pine Cove would learn something similar later that very night, in the predawn hours—when a warm bed was all that mattered and dreams ruled.

With all the patience and poise of a spider, Sick slowly replaced the spy glasses to his head and became motionless, channeling all his concentration into studying the guards on the car wall.

After close to a week of hiding, watching and, worst of all,
waiting
, Sick knew Shovel would drop the hammer tonight upon the unsuspecting populace of Pine Cove.

Then the harvesting would begin.

Marie escorted Gus to a barricaded RCMP office, led him past the heavy outer door, and knocked for the inner one to be opened. A man in a black sweater, jeans, and work boots appeared and let them into the police building . He nodded at Marie and eyed Gus with amused interest.

“New stray?”

“
Oui
. New one.”

The guy grunted thoughtfully, intelligent brown eyes appraising Gus for any obvious defects.

“You were in a fire?” he finally asked, a dab of French accenting his words.

“Yeah.”

“Hm. I’m Ray. Minglewood. I’m the elected mayor here.”

“Gus. I’m just another asshole.”

Ray smirked. “Well, in time, you might think that way about me. Wallace and Collie brought you in?”

“Yeah.”

“Come in.”

They walked Gus into a spartan office area filled with collapsed cubicles and a few work stations. A gun rack on a wall held five or six hunting rifles at attention, with boxes of shells at the base. Ray didn’t seem to carry a weapon, but he appeared in shape, perhaps in his late thirties, and ordinary looking. The only thing Gus really focused on was his shock of brown hair. Ray had a rainforest flowering his scalp, thick enough to shelter wildlife if needed.

The three sat themselves down around a desk, and Ray leaned back, crossing one leg.

“Well, this is the town.”

“Looks like fun.”

Ray shrugged. “It’s the best you’ll find out east—though Newfoundland probably has a few places but no chance of getting over there anytime soon. And I expect anyone on the island isn’t so keen to get off it. Same deal with PEI since someone over there actually blew up the bridge to the island.”

The two men studied each other then, like a pair of weary gunslingers attempting to feel the other out.

“So. Collie and Wallace brought you in,” Ray repeated.

“Me and a bunch of other folks.”

“Long haul?”

“It was. Comfortable though, in the motor homes. Wish I’d had one before.”

“Same here.”

“You a cop?” Gus asked.

“Me? No. Just a crab fisherman. But for some reason, they chose to put me in charge of security and the meet-and-greet of newcomers. Not that a little Q&A is a chore, you understand. If Collie and Wallace brought you here, then that says a lot.”

Silence fell then, and Gus glanced at Marie sitting at the end of the desk. She stared back, pleasantly neutral.

“They’re going through a hard time right now,” Gus added, wondering how much he could reveal to these people.

“We know,” Ray said. “Hard way to go. We figure Collie still isn’t clear. Something could always develop a little later. We’re wondering if Collie will be infected just being around him, but I’m guessing nothing will happen unless… well, unless
he
does something. As for Wallace, I haven’t seen him face-to-face in about two months now, but I’ve heard from others he isn’t looking so good. No one knows what’s going to happen there. It’s one big shitty question mark.”

“They’ll figure it out,” Gus said.

“They will, don’t get me wrong. We greet them with open arms, you understand. They were the ones who isolated themselves from the town. They have a cabin on the shore, about thirty minutes from here. That’s where they go on their downtime, when they aren’t actively looking for survivors. Wallace said so himself, that it was best for all, until this episode came to its conclusion. It’s just taking its goddamn time, is all.”

Ray sighed. “How many with you?”

“A little over a dozen,” Gus answered. “The RVs are filled with everything. Food, guns, ammunition. A generator too.”

Ray’s features lightened, and he glanced at Marie. “That’s a surprise.”

“You know how to set it up?” Gus asked.

“Not personally, but we have a few smart people around—an electrician and a mechanic. Some houses are already powered by solar but not all. Needless to say, hot showers around here are as good as cash.”

Gus wondered if that was a hint at his own rank body odor.

“Well, anyway, you look tired there, Gus. It’s getting late. Marie will find you a bunk in the community hall along with all the others you brought in and even get you something hot to eat. Hunting and fishing around here is pretty good. And we’re fortunate enough that a lot of folks already grow their own vegetables. Wasn’t a big leap to convert more land over to farming. We do all right but strive to do better.”

“Sounds good,” Gus said distantly, remembering his farm in the valley, missing the people.