Crusade (Eden Book 2) (17 page)

“Well.” Mickey placed his auto-shotgun barrel up against the log he sat on. “Let me see if I can’t go help Bear scare up some wood for the fire. It’s gonna be a cold one tonight.”

“Okay,” Gwen said. “Be careful.”

“I got my strap.” He smiled, patting his waist line where he had his 9mm tucked between his thermals and his jeans. He walked off beyond the illumination of the flame, into the pines and Atlantic White Cypress, thinking to himself about the
Undying
Monster
of Hammond Hall, reciting from memory, “When stars are bright, on a frosty night, beware thy bane on the rocky lane…”

“Ho, friends.” The strangers stepped from the night and a site they were. There were three of them—a woman and two men. They were clothed in rags and furs and pieces of coats and clothes stitched together. Their hair had grown out and hung from their heads in clumps. They looked weather-beaten and worn around the edges, grimy and feral. As they stepped into the light Julie and Gwen could see one of the two men was missing most of his hand. In his other he toted a red cooler.

The taller of the two men had spoken. Cadaverous, his eyes looked enormous in his head. His shrunken cheeks and prominent chin were covered with bristly hair, much in need of a shave. He had a rifle of some sort slung over his back, barrel down. His skin was leathery and his eyes were hard. He was older than the others, much older.

Gwen instinctively reached for the M16A4.

“I said
greetings
friends.” The taller man’s voice was gruff, almost hoarse. “Won’t be no need for that.” He indicated the assault rifle. “Will there?”

Gwen wasn’t sure what to do. The tall man had a rifle but it hadn’t left his back. They had announced themselves. If they’d meant herself or Julie or Buddy harm… Gwen made a decision and leaned back, away from the sixteen.

“That’s better now.” The tall man nodded. “Put Emily here at ease.”

Buddy hadn’t moved from where he sat, rocking slowly, and though Julie and Gwen hadn’t noticed it, he was no longer mumbling to himself. His thumb had started moving back and forth again, polishing the side of the lighter.

“Would you ladies mind if we joined you, warmed our weary bones by your fire? It’s a cold night, and it’s been a long day.”

Before either could answer the tall man motioned with his hand. The one-handed man sat down across from Gwen and Julie, on the other side of the fire, on Buddy’s right. The woman sat on his left and the tall man settled down next to her, uncomfortably close to Julie. Gwen shifted her weight towards Julie and only after she had done so did she realize she’d moved that much further from her weapon. She silently cursed herself.

“Much obliged, ma’am,” the tall man addressed Gwen, letting her know he’d noted her movement, completely ignoring Julie. It was like he wasn’t even taking Buddy’s presence into consideration.

“Well, I guess, you’re welcome,” she said, stumbling over her words, detesting herself for it, for any show of weakness. “You’ll have to forgive me. It’s been awhile since we’ve seen any other people.”

“Where you all coming from?” the other man inquired. He was just as gaunt as the tall man but looked frailer, weaker. He looked like an overgrown baby bird, a fledgling. Both Julie and Gwen noted the way the tall man looked at him when he spoke.

When Gwen turned her attention back to the tall man and the woman, Julie found herself staring at the second man’s disfigured hand. It looked like it had been cut in half two inches above the finger line. He still had a thumb, but beneath that was a wad of dirty, reddish bandages. She had to purposefully take her focus off the man. In doing so she looked at his feet, which were encased in torn boots wrapped with duct tape.

“Now L.A.,” the taller man said. “You know it’s impolite to interrupt a conversation, and me and the ladies here, we were having ourselves a conversation.”

The other man looked down at his ratty boots. Julie noted that the tall man wore the best footwear and the woman and the one-handed man named L.A. wore what looked like cobbler’s scraps.

“Indeed, where are you ladies, and your gentleman friend there,” the tall, grizzled man chin nodded to Buddy, “coming from?”

“The city,” Julie said and the man licked his upper teeth before speaking.

“Is that a fact? You hear that, Emily? These three travelers, obviously much wearied and fatigued like ourselves, have escaped from that great whore of Babylon.”

Oh
Christ
, thought Gwen,
religious
fanatics
.

“Oh Christ,” said the tall man, nailing Gwen with his stare. “I bet you just thought to yourself that you’re sharing your fire with a bunch of religious fanatics. Didn’t you?”

“No,” Gwen lied. “I was just thinking it’s nice to have the company of some other…some other people.”

“
Some other people
,” the tall man said. “You hesitated when you said that. Well, despite appearances, especially L.A. Munroe’s here…” The tall man snickered but L.A. continued to look down. “The road will do that to you. It wears away at you. Your friend over there. He looks like he knows what I’m talking about. Don’t he, L.A.?”

“Yeah, John.” L.A. kept looking at the ground. “Yeah.”

The man who went by the name of John reached into a grimy bag he wore on one shoulder and retrieved a faded green bottle. Something like Julie’s grandmother would have kept olive oil in back in their kitchen.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you spying my bag there, pretty lady,” John said to Julie. “This here’s a five thousand dollar designer bag.
Was
. Ain’t worth much now though.”

He uncorked the bottle and drank from it. He growled as the contents went down. “Well, if that don’t keep the cold off you on a night like this,” he looked at Gwen, “I don’t know what will.”

“John Book,” a voice called from the dark.

“Well, look here, we got more guests,” John said.

Gwen and Julie looked up as Mickey came walking out of the dark, a worried look on his face, dried tree limbs stacked in his arms. Behind him marched another man—this one also tall and dirty looking, wearing a cape of furs stitched together. The man behind Mickey had a shotgun in both hands, and it did not reassure Gwen that the barrel was pointed down and off to the side.

“Mister Marcus. How good of you to join us,” John said. “And look, you’ve brought company. Well, how lucky for us, we exhausted pilgrims, that we found these nice folks out here in the middle of,” John looked around, “well, the middle of nowhere.” He laughed.

“Lucky for us,” said the man John had called Mister Marcus, and when he said it Gwen noticed he was missing a few of his upper teeth. She wanted to look at Julie but didn’t. Instead she looked across the fire at Buddy. If he had any idea of what was going on he gave no indication. Mister Marcus’s shotgun had a red sleeve of shells hugging the butt.

She realized they were in deep trouble.

“Sit down,” Mister Marcus said. “Right there.”

Mickey settled down, kneeling, piling the wood next to him, beside L.A. Munroe and his cooler. His USAS-12 shotgun was still barrel up, but it was between John and the quiet woman and might have well been half way across the world. Mister Marcus settled down next to him and the circle was complete.

Gwen could smell this man, Mister Marcus, and the smell wasn’t good.

“Son,” John spoke at Mickey. “You planning on praying or something? Settle back, why don’t you?”

It wasn’t a question, and he sat down in the snow. He thought he remembered a porn star named Mister Marcus, but that guy had been black. This guy was white and filthy.

“Well,” John said. “How good it is to have some proper company, some
civilized
company, to while away the evening. The Lord works in mysterious ways, don’t he Emma?”

The woman said nothing. She had a glazed, far off look in her eyes.

Against his better judgment, Mickey took another drink from the bottle.

Gwen felt like she had to say something to assert her…
her what
? Her whatever. “Emma? I thought your name was Emily?”

“Well, I was always partial to
whore
, or
slut
, or
cum-queen
.”

John laughed and Mister Marcus laughed but L.A. didn’t. The woman just sat there.

“You’ll have to forgive our, our blue sense of humor.” John wiped a tear from his eye. “This road. Been awhile since we’ve seen any, any living people that is. Pass that bottle back over here, son.” He took another swig. “Our humor may not be politically correct, but it helps us get through the day. Ain’t that so, L.A.?”

“Yeah, John.”

“Didn’t catch that. What was that, L.A.?”

“
Yeah
, John. I said yeah.”

“L.A..” John shook his head. “He’s a bit more serious than me and Mister Marcus here, or Emma for that matter. Ain’t that so? Young man’s seen more than any young man should ever have seen. He helps keep us grounded, keeps us on the straight and narrow so to speak. You comprehend my meaning?”

Julie did not like their situation one bit. She had the .357 holstered under her jacket, out of sight, next to her protruding belly. The .380 was at her lower back and she couldn’t get to it with her coat on. Where the hell was Bear?

“Yeah, we understand,” Gwen said.

“Oh, she knows we’re just messin’ with her, don’t ya’ hon?” He reached over and squeezed the woman’s flat breast through her layers of clothes and rags, which made Mister Marcus laugh again.

“You two married?” Mickey said.

He turned his head slowly to look at him. “We’re all married in the eyes of God, son. You’re familiar, perhaps, with the concept of the family of man?” He passed the bottle around the circle, back to Mickey.

“Nothing. Nothing son.” John composed himself. “And it’s good of you to point that out. L.A., don’t be stingy. Crack that cooler and let’s break bread with our new friends. And look at you there, hogging that bottle.”

Mickey handed the bottle to Mister Marcus and the other man uncorked it and drank. He watched the man with one hand open the cooler. There was snow packed inside.

L.A. reached into the snow with his one good hand and removed a few Tupperware containers. He cracked one open and there was meat inside.

“Oh man, you’ve got
meat
.” Mickey started babbling in part because he was nervous and the liquor was working on him. “We haven’t had meat in…cans,
always
cans. Canned peas, canned corn, canned cream corn. You ever try and eat cream corn out of the can without a spoon?” he asked Mister Marcus.

“No, can’t say I ever did.” Mister Marcus had a bemused look on his hard face.

“Mickey,” Gwen said, but the other did not look at her.

“My friends tell you we’re coming out of the city? Well, it’s bad down there. Millions of zombies,
millions
of them. We were holed up in Eden—it’s got walls, there were a bunch of us, and every day—”