The Creepers (Book 2): From the Past Page 15

  The army’s fires could be seen on the far side of the valley. Hundreds of burning lights like candles on a god-sized altar. There were so many. He peered through the binoculars. Riders were approaching. So many people, men, women, even children, moving like ghosts all along the hillsides. He dropped the binoculars and straightened his coat. There would be no fighting his way out of this. He wasn’t afraid, though he wasn’t resentful either. He sought for ways to manipulate the situation to his advantage.

  One of the riders halted ahead. He was a young man with close cropped black hair and a long mustache. He waited for the train to approach, nodded his head, then began to pace it. Others soon followed suit, until there were too many for Baylor to count. He watched them closely. If any of them attempted to board the beast, he’d shoot them before they even laid a hand on her.

  It was all posturing and curiosity. He was just as guilty as they. He’d killed their people, and they his, and now was the moment of awkward peace. How long would it last? That remained to be seen. They didn’t go through all the trouble of testing him to crease his skull without so much as a fuck you. This went deeper.

  He caught glimpses of babies riding with their mothers and fathers. There were older children too. It didn’t make sense. This wasn’t just an army, it was a god damned diaspora.

  “It’s the train man.”

  “Mad Conductor.”

  “Martin failed.”

  “This means, my Thomas. . .”

  Some cried, some cheered, others threatened, but they all stayed their hands, even Baylor. The train sputtered, a long hiss cut the sound of their voices out, and it clanked one last time before coming to a halt. A woman in a long robe walked up to the animated body of the lone rider and began to wail. She dropped to her knees. The others began to crowd around to see.

  Baylor drummed his fingers on his holster, studying them. This collection of those that survived and those born after. He might have envied them if not for the violence done in their name, or had they a say?

  The robed woman shouted at him, but he could not make out the words through her sobs. Her weather beaten face shook. Rage filled her eyes. Her fingers, laced with wrinkles and scars, pointed at him, accused him.

  A small woman with long red hair approached, walking delicately on the beams of the track. She rested her hands on the wailing woman’s shoulders. “There is no room for tears in tomorrow’s world, Sandra. He made a choice and saw it through, but was not the victor. History will forget him, but not you, Sandra. There is still much left unwritten. So will you have a page or will your life end here?”

  Baylor felt a chill at the tone of her voice, and it was furthered when he noticed the scalps adorning her waist.

  “There is no life without him!” Sandra screamed.

  “And there is no room for such wasted energy.” The red-haired woman brought her hands up around Sandra’s wet cheeks, and then she moved in a flash, snapping her neck and discarding the body without so much as a second glance. Teenagers from the crowd began to remove the woman’s shoes, digging in the dead woman’s pockets. One of the men was about to fire a round into her dead skull when the red-haired woman said, “Don’t. Such weakness does not deserve your mercy.”

  Baylor watched the red-haired woman walk purposefully towards him. He had no doubt this was the woman, their leader. The muscles in her arms glistened from the rain. Rounded shoulders, carved biceps—had she been a man he’d have called her ropey, but somehow she retained a ferocious femininity. She stopped before the mouth of the beast. Her fist rocketed out, smashing the forehead of the lone rider. His groans died instantly. She traced a finger along the spikes of the cage.

  “The Mad Conductor, or do you prefer, Baylor?”

  Baylor looked in her dark eyes and found something to be afraid of. There was a knowledge lurking there that he didn’t quite understand, but the return stare exposed him, as if in an instant she knew all of his faults and hopes and she wanted to crush them under her heel. Then he realized what she was wearing.

  “How many guns you got on me?”

  “Enough. One can never be too cautious.”

  The woman waited politely. No doubt backed by the assurances of her snipers.

  “Baylor is fine,” he said, leaning down to help her up.

  The red-haired woman ignored his chivalry and flipped along the spikes in a twist. She launched herself up and over, landing at his side. She looked up at him with her hands on hips.

  “You could have just asked you know?”

  “Baylor.” She laughed. “And what would have been your response?”

  “Same as it is now.” He wished he had just a fraction of the lone rider’s speed. But he had to keep himself in check. He had to give Bobby time to work.

  “I think you’re likely to change your mind.”

  “You’re free to think whatever you like. Your man down there gets any closer to my girl and I’m going to make him dead enough to walk until the end of days.”

  She whistled loud and sharp. The man backed off at her command. “These are the end of days. Most people call me Miss Moya.”

  “Well, Miss Moya, how about you tell me what this is all about?”

  * * * * *

  The rancid smell of rotten animal fat would’ve made Bobby gag had he not been indoctrinated into the scent of the enemy by the Folks. Baylor used the nasty stuff to grease the gears in place of oil. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. Bobby could see the legs of horses and people through the thin slats. He was somewhere below the engine car, cramped in a coffin-like space. He had his rifle, some rounds, and that was it. He didn’t like the odds.

  He promised Baylor he would wait. Wait until dark to sneak out and scout the area, the army, and see a way to right wrongs. There were so many of them, and he could hear more in the distance. A sudden scream made him jump but it was silenced. He could hear the bass of Baylor’s voice from above but he couldn’t make out the words. There were no Creepers within his range.

  What could they really do against all that he’d seen from afar? The count went beyond either of their estimates. In the same thought, he wandered back to the Settlement, and all that had transpired. There was a chance, but he wouldn’t know its extent until he got out there among these people. But to do that, he had to wait for dark.

  Many a winter night had been spent at Ol’ Randy’s side working on being quiet. All the boys had to prepare for a time when hiding was the only option, and move about while hidden, and not all of the lessons involved Creepers. Bobby remembered the night well.

  Ryan led a team of some native Settlement boys and the rest of his brothers, while Bobby and Ol’ Randy ran their own team. There was some punishment due to him for being the best, but for the moment he relished in the fact he’d been chosen again.

  In those seemingly insignificant moments, Bobby felt almost like a son, like he mattered to someone other than his brothers.

  “He’s good. Well—” Ol’ Randy spat— “thinks he good. ’at boy ain’t got a lick a sense in ’im. He’s taking the dog route up the back slope. Thinks I’m a fuckin’ idiot. Tryin’ to make me think he’s crazy, but he left the fat Clarendon boy on watch a mile back.” Ol’ Randy held up a red piece of cloth. “Only four left, Bobby boy.”

  Bobby held up two pieces of red cloth and smiled. “Two.”

  “Att’a boy. You a force to be reckoned with, Bobby. Now, what do ya say we teach the rest of them a lesson they ain’t soon to forget?”

  “Sounds like a plan, sir.” Bobby slipped into the dark with Ol’ Randy. They moved when the wind moved. They stepped around the light. They worked with the terrain and communicated like animals. Never did they break twigs by accident, never slipped up. They were undefeated, and even Ryan, as devious as he was, could not usurp them when it came to stealth. Bobby and Ol’ Randy knew all the tricks. When they were out in the wilderness, all bets were off.

  Together they found Ryan and Pete doubling back. Bobby cringed a
t how loud they were. He moaned like a Creeper and Ol’ Randy followed suit.

  “Shit stack. Thought that old bastard said the hill was clear?”

  “Shut up, Ryan. You’ll draw them to us.”

  “Make them easier to kill.”

  They moaned again. Bobby tossed a rock over Ryan’s head. It took everything in his power to keep from laughing, though he worried Ol’ Randy wouldn’t take that last poke lightly.

  “It’s over there,” Ryan said, his face a circle of pasty white in the light of the moon.

  “I hear it.”

  Ol’ Randy kept up the low moan, drawing them in. Bobby circled around behind them before they had a chance to react. He soon had two red flags and an ear to ear grin.

  “Thought you was cute, little Ryan. Cute as a button,” Ol’ Randy said, picking the boy up by the collar. “What was that bit about a bastard?”

  “Sir, I-I—”

  “Go on, son. Speak up now. Let the whole hillside know about that bastard!” Ol’ Randy laughed, relishing Ryan’s tears.

  The train rocked, and clattering machinery ripped Bobby from the memory. His brothers and Ol’ Randy slipped away like steam from the beast’s mouth. Bobby plugged his fingers in his ears and waited.

  Wait for nightfall, he told himself, wait for nightfall. Then he would really know the depths Baylor had put them in.

  * * * * *

  Baylor smelled smoke. He knew instantly it was not wood that was burning. He’d smelled plenty of burning corpses in his time and not just after the world fell apart. He remembered being in the city that day, collapsing buildings, clouds of dust, and that smell. That melted plastic and bodies as they smoldered smell. The city never lost that scent, even after the clean up, which was one of the reasons he had to leave.

  She leaned against the beast’s inner cage. “The smell bothers you?” She gripped the bars, flexing her muscles, threatening, testing him.

  “A lot of things bother me,” Baylor said, tossing a bit of coal into the box.

  “Do I bother you?” Her lips smiled but her eyes were predatory.

  “That goes without saying. Cannibals bother me. I see those scalps, I smell the flesh, that nifty getup you’re wearing. How long ago did you lose your humanity?”

  “The judgments never seem to leave, Baylor. That old world just won’t let go, or rather some of us won’t let it go. We had a little issue with a group of real savages. And now they’re being disposed of. Nothing more. You’re not the first to make assumptions about me based on things that no longer apply.” Miss Moya turned away from the barred view. “None of this is what it seems. Just like you, Baylor, just like you.”

  “I’ve been the same since I started laying track. Since this kid from the city figured out how to fucking drive this thing, how to take care of it, build on to it. Never changed. Never ate anybody. Never killed anybody that didn’t have it coming to them. I’m exactly as I seem. Just a man trying to see the coast. Go west, young man. Fucking pipe dream. You set guns on me and my family for what? For this piece of machinery?”

  Miss Moya laid her hands over his and squeezed. Baylor felt the raw power, saw it emanating from her eyes, in her words, as she said, “For these hands. For your mind. I need men like you. I need men that have braved the storm and can fight, but also know things. I have plenty of warriors, but warriors will only take you so far. They are but a piece of the puzzle of tomorrow. This is about world building, Baylor. Not conquest.”

  Baylor pulled his hands away. He eyed the scene as the beast eased out of the valley. Just on the other side of the hill, he saw the piles of bodies, and off to the left he saw many men digging a familiar shape. Another pit. Perhaps this one for him.

  “World building? Last time I checked they were barely enough of us left, and you went and cut down a lot of damn fine people. Not exactly the ideal model for going about things.” Baylor felt his temper flaring, felt himself about to do something entirely stupid, but he thought of Jamie and Sophie and little Randal. If he fell now, without making an impact, they’d be okay for a time, but this woman and her army would not stop. Somewhere in the years ahead, she would come for them, for all of them. He’d worked too hard. So many of them struggled to stake their claim. He wasn’t about to throw it all away to put a bullet in this woman’s head. As much as he wanted to, responsibilities stayed his hand.

  “Viewpoints, Baylor. There is not enough room for the weak when tomorrow comes.”

  “So no room for crying old ladies? Kids?”

  “There is no tomorrow without children. There goes that old-world brain, Baylor, chomping at the bit, making assumptions, thinking it knows what it sees. We thrive on pattern recognition, we see what we want to see, and a lot of times we are wrong. Do not mistake my ways for simple mindedness.”

  Baylor whistled a low tune just to annoy her. He knew her type. He’d encountered plenty of idealists over the years. Caught on a good day, he might even lump himself into such a category.

  “This is our chance now. Our chance to change it all, and it would’ve happened sooner if we had not lost him. Baylor, what if I were to tell you there was a child that was immune to the infection? A child that could’ve turned the tide before we fell further apart. But that child was ripped from the face of this earth because of a brutal misconception.”

  Baylor’s heart was in his throat. He kept his eyes on the track. If he looked at her, she’d know something was wrong. He couldn’t risk anything. Words from the doctor’s notebook drifted through his head.

  “No one is immune.”

  “Josh was.”

  * * * * *

  The flood of Creepers sent him into a seizure. His muscles tightened, cramped, and he flailed inside the metal coffin, banging his fists against the steel. There were more than he’d ever encountered before, more than the army he marched on the Settlement, so many more. Thousands and thousands. He steadied himself by letting them flood his mind. When he first truly discovered his gift, he remembered filling the void, working to stifle the hunger, but now, now he worked on expanding the void. He opened himself up, added space, and let them all in.

  The images flashed by so fast he barely had time to analyze them. He floated above them. The wall of monitors had become an ocean. One big rippling surface of memories and chaotic noise. Voices screamed in his mind. Some on repeat, some fresh to death. He flipped through them until he found what he was looking for then dove in.

  The world warbled, like echoes down long empty hallways, like light bending at undiscovered arcs, and then calm. He stumbled about in the swarm. Rotting body pressed against rotting body, swaying as one. They moaned and he moaned along with their catatonic lament. The definitive song of his time. More than a sound. A calling. A warning. He followed along.

  The bodies had nowhere to go. He could sense them trying to get out. He could feel their press. He probed the body he was in control of and found an opening. He ordered the gangly corpse through the horde until he found the edge. There was no way out. Walls repurposed from old siding, flooring, and anything else flat they could find. Above, men moved on top of the wagons, armed men, their eyes never leaving the horde.

  Bobby worked along the edge. The flies were thick and loud, as was the creaking of all the wagons moving together. He could hear the crack of whips somewhere ahead. He saw a limp form hanging from a harness. A human form. Then it all made sense.

  It was ingenious really. They couldn’t do what he could, so they did the next best thing. He could tell from the rusty construction that this pen, this moving corral, had been such for a long time. There were a few grade A Creepers trapped inside, but the majority of bodies were new, which solidified Bobby’s theory. The fallen were being added as they fell. Bobby kept moving the Creeper, studying the walls, looking for weaknesses and finding none.

  Even the main gate was drawn tight. He could see how it would open for battle, but the men up top could make it into a funnel to control the horde to a degree. He would
n’t be able to unleash this army without finding another way.

  The Creepers moaned, waiting for an order, waiting to obey, but Bobby had nothing for them. He left the Creepers and returned to the confines of the metal coffin. The sound of Baylor shouting had him reaching for his rifle, but the game had changed. He no longer had the high ground or the upper hand. The situation called for new tactics.

  Bobby drew the Auto Stryker and slipped into the night.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Get that ass in a chair, stranger,” Jamie said, slurring her words badly. Her face was beet red and slick with tears and sweat. She’d been at the helm all day, sipping on Baylor’s stock of vintage scotch while she guided them home. “That’s a good passenger. Drink?”