Whiskey Black Book Set: The Complete Tyrant Series (Box Set 1) (11 page)

“Tori, my dear,” Kathleen called out.

“Coming,” Tori would say as she walked towards the sound of Kathleen’s voice.

“My time has come, sweetie,” Kathleen whispered to Tori as she approached her. She was lying on the floor of the greenhouse room. When Tori saw she was on the floor, she broke into a short sprint.

“Did you fall? Are you okay?”

“Child,” she said.

Tori was trying to lift her up a little bit so she could breathe. “I’m here, Kat. I’m here.”

“I know, sweetie. You’re here now, in your body, but your mind is off on some adventure.”

“No, I’m here, with you now,” Tori said, trying to reassure Kathleen that she had Tori’s undivided attention.

“I know you’ve been through a lot, child. I know you’ve lost more than I have, but what you have to understand is … that your drive to do good … has to be focused on helping those in need …”

Kathleen’s whispers were labored and took twice as long to say. Her sentences were full of momentary pauses and slurs.

Tori kept listening to Kathleen’s words.

“You cannot focus on the evil of mankind … It will consume you and the lines will blur … Eventually, it will take you and … you will lose yourself to it … and become that which you hate.”

“You’re going to be okay, Kat. I’m going to get you some help.”

“You’ve helped me more than you can ever imagine, sweetie. My time on this earth is drawing to a close.”

Tori’s eyes were swelling up with tears.

“It’s dark in here,” Kathleen said.

Tori looked around; it was a bright sunshiny day. The sun was shining brightly into the greenhouse room. The only darkness to be seen was at the passing of dear Kathleen. When Tori looked back at her, her life was gone. Tori cried aloud and ran her fingers through Kat’s long gray hair. In Kat’s hand was a small handwritten note.

Tori, you have been my sunshine in darkened days. I have treasured your company more than you may ever know. Under my bed, there is a box for you. It is not locked. —Your loving friend, sister, and companion, Kat.

Tori was now an emotional wreck. She knew how fragile Kat was but had failed to notice the signs of an unavoidable conclusion to her story. She just sat there with note in hand and wept for what felt like an eternity.

When Tori had collected her composure, she stood up and prepared herself for the parting gift. The letter said that there was a box under her bed. She kneeled down beside the bed and lifted the large blanket that hung down off of the bed nearly to the floor. She bent over and looked under the bed. There was a large tan-colored box with fancy metal trim on every corner. The box looked like it was woven with some kind of split bamboo design. She reached in and pulled it out. The box was an old-fashioned suitcase with a locking mechanism and a keyhole.

The note said it was unlocked,
she thought as she slid over the button-looking device on the locking mechanism. The lock popped open with a loud
thud
sound. She gently placed both hands on the corners of the suitcase and raised the lid. The first thing to catch her attention was Bubba, her favorite possession. It had been polished and neatly placed in the suitcase. Tori never even thought to mention Bubba for the duration of her stay with Kathleen; she never felt a reason to have it in her possession. She felt peace when she was with Kathleen, a sense of contentment and security.

Next to Bubba was an envelope that was labeled
Dearest Stranger.

Tori picked it up and started to cry again. She knew it was written by Kathleen and addressed to Tori before she had learned her name—perhaps while she was unconscious with the fever. She opened the envelope and pulled out a handwritten letter. It was in cursive, a form of writing that Tori had to teach herself because it was no longer taught in the school systems when she was a child. It read:

Dearest Stranger,

My name is Kathleen Stewart. When I found you, you were half dressed, lying in the woods with a bullet hole in your side. You had no other property than what I have placed in this suitcase. You had such a bad fever that I thought you would surely die if I didn’t help you. I’m not in the best of health, so it took me three hours to pull you into my home and another three to clean you and bandage you. I have some clothes that I think might fit you, but I can’t get them on you right now. I’m afraid I used the last of my strength pulling you inside.

I don’t know if you can hear me when I talk to you, but I shared my life story with you so many times that you’re surely tired of hearing it. They say you can hear people talking to you when you’re unconscious and that it’s good for the soul. That’s why I do it.

I do not know if I will be alive by the time you find this, but I wanted you to know that I took good care of your pistol. When I found it, it was caked in soil and had a terrible mildew color.

If you do manage to pull through your fever, and you find it in your heart to do a good deed for an old lady, would you mind taking me to Arlington, VA? There’s a nice little cemetery there where my husband, Ben, is buried. It’s on the northeast corner where they bury relatives of the veterans. I miss him so. Our son is not far from there in the National Cemetery for veterans. He served in the Marines. In return, I would like to bestow upon you my home. It’s sturdy and it doesn’t leak.

I believe, in my heart, that there is good in all people—you just have to touch the right spot. That’s why I want you to have this necklace. It symbolizes goodness and sacrifice. If you’re not a Christian, you can still believe that people are capable of good deeds.

I guess that’s all for now. My hand hurts from all this writing. I’m looking forward to looking into your eyes when they open. You are such a beautiful girl. I hope to meet a beautifully spirited lady when she wakes up.

Your patient caretaker,

Kathleen

Tori found the necklace and held it up for a better look. It was a 24-karat solid gold Christian cross and it had a heart weaved around it.

The next several days had Tori preparing for a trip to a place not too far from where she had barely escaped with her life—the District.

She found a flatbed truck with keys sitting on the closest interstate. She drove it back to her new home and prepped Kathleen for her trip to Arlington. Adorning Tori’s neck was the solid gold cross that glistened in the warm sunlight. It was a symbol of human decency and sacrifice. It represented the crazy ideal that there was more to humanity than carnage.

As an additional piece of motivation, Tori relished the idea that she could go shopping for a replacement Harley-Davidson.

April 18, 2033

Townsend, Tennessee

It was nine o’ clock p.m. and Tori was running for her life. Her heart was pounding and her breaths were deep. She couldn’t stop moving or they would catch her. The pain in her solar plexus felt nearly unbearable. Her abs were cramping and her pursuers were catching up. The fight-or-flight response that they taught in boot camps, police academies, and like disciplines was, and always had been, a true physiological response.

A Few Hours Earlier

Life was random. It was full of situations and circumstances, some of them planned, some of them unplanned. If there was one thing Tori had learned from the events of the previous two years, it was that it rains on the just and the unjust. She was an agnostic and believed in an almighty God, but that He minded His own business and didn’t interfere in the affairs of men. She wasn’t always like this. Her husband, Richard, had been a devout Catholic, and she was brought up Protestant but never went to church but maybe two or three times in her life. The church services she had visited were dry and void of anything she could give substance to. She knew what
faith
was, but found it hard to put her trust into anything she could not feel, taste, hear, see, or smell. It wasn’t that she was concrete in her cognition; it was more of a need to substantiate. She was very analytical in everything she applied herself to. So naturally, when she stumbled upon the sounds of gospel a capella, she followed her ears to a broken-down church building behind what used to be a Phillips 66 gas station.

She was empty-handed from her expedition through the Midwest. One of her recent encounters had left her battered and without supplies. She was looking for Bubba, her shiny 1911 Smith & Wesson .45-caliber pistol. She knew it was in the area, she just didn’t know where. It had been taken from her, and she was on a mission to retrieve it, no matter the cost.

That was another thing about Tori. Once she had her mind made up, there was no telling her otherwise. She was as bullheaded as they came. To her, it was
a principle thing
. They took something from her greater than the price of that pistol; it was her pride. In Bubba she found strength. It was her
go-to
when she felt the odds were against her.

As she closed the distance between her and what she thought was a capella music, she could hear the faint sounds of an acoustic guitar. While electricity had been restored in some parts of the US, it hadn’t been fully restored because several parts of the grid were still inoperable.

The white Catholic building was now in sight. Its windows were busted out and the front double door was knocked from its hinges. Only the right side remained; its top hinge being the only thing holding it in a semi-upright position.

What could be so joyful about a broken-down church in the apocalypse?
she thought.

She crept up to a position beneath the window and slowly peered in. No sooner than the scalp of her head had appeared above the plane of the lower portion of the window, the guitar stopped and the people inside were silenced.

They saw me,
she thought as she lowered her head.

Ducking behind a shrub of red-colored berries, she took cover, hoping to be concealed from whoever might have seen her. She looked over her shoulder to the rear but only saw a large parking lot. If she were to run in that direction, they may have a clear line of sight if they wanted to shoot at her. Her other option was to continue running around the side of the church until she found an avenue of escape.

There was something familiar about the berries. They had a recognizable smell to them. She peered through the front of the berry shrub one last time to see if anybody had exited the front door. The coast was still clear. So she picked a few batches of berries and began loading her pockets.

“
Viburnum opulus var americanum
,” a strong low voice said from behind her.

Startled, she quickly turned around to see a priest standing in all black, except for the dingy-colored clerical color beneath the man’s Adam’s apple.

He remained calm and was unarmed. He saw the look in Tori’s eyes and the bruises on her face. He knew she had been through an ordeal of sorts, but had no idea to what extent.

“
Viburnum opulus var americanum
,” he repeated.

“What, are you talking in tongues or something?” she asked.

“No, no, no. That’s the species of berries I see you’re putting into your pockets. I … I’ve been studying botany. It’s amazing how much time we have on our hands these days.”

“Look, mister, I don’t want no trouble, just heard some music and thought I’d be inquisitive. I’ll be going now.”

“They’re cranberries. You can eat them,” the man said, almost pretending to not hear her derision for the confrontation.

“Thank you,” she said, standing up to slowly back away towards a neighboring building.

“Nobody’s going to hurt you, ma’am,” he said.

“Thank you, but I learned a long time ago that chances are for the devil.”

“The Lord took a chance on me,” the priest said.

“What are you talking about, preacher?”

“He died for us, knowing we would make mistakes. I’d say that’s a chance. There’s people inside this building that thought they didn’t have a chance at redemption, but they found it.”

“Look preacher, I’m not savable. I’m broken and dangerous.”

“That’s fine. Please, come in and get something to eat. You look hungry.”

“How ’bout you bring it out to me? I don’t follow strangers into unknown buildings.”

“Keri Anne?” the priest called out. “Can you bring some soup out for our guest?”

Tori stood and studied the priest as she waited for a lady in her forties to come out of the church with a cup of hot soup. She slowly approached Tori, but Tori wouldn’t take the soup from her hand. Perceiving that she was afraid that she might be poisoned by the strangers, the priest took the soup and sipped it.

“I promise you,” he said, “it’s not poisoned.”

Tori reached out and grabbed the soup and gulped it down into her belly. It had the taste of canned chicken soup but had the consistency of a thickened bowl of broth. She could taste that flour was added for volume.

“Thank you,” Tori said.

“You’re welcome. Would you like to come inside?” the man asked again.

“No, thanks, padre. I’m on a mission for God,” she said.

That comment piqued the curiosity of the priest.

“A mission
from God
?” he said, as if he doubted any chance she could hear from heaven.

“That’s right,” she said. “A band of men in an armored party bus robbed me and had their way with me for six days. I escaped on foot and I’m going to find a way to kill them,” she said with determination in her eyes.

The priest just stood and stared at her.

“Every last one of them, padre,” she continued. “They’re all going to meet your God.”

“I, uh … I didn’t catch your name, child?” The man was obviously nervous at the turn the encounter had taken.

“My name’s Tori, and I’m not your child, but I do appreciate the soup. Do you have any weapons?”

“We have a rifle, but our bullets are limited, and we use it for hunting.”

“What’s that, you said? You use it for survival?” Tori was now twisting his words.

The priest didn’t answer.

Tori looked around and walked to the front of the church. She peeked in then turned back toward the priest. He had followed her forward about half the length of the side of the building then met Tori. She was moving much faster than him and he didn’t understand the reason for her rush.

“Look, padre, the men that I was with are very bad men. If they find me here, your whole church will burn. What’s left of it, anyways.”

“We can rebuild. The church is made up of people, and they cannot destroy that.”

Tori took a good look at the priest and could tell by his composure and demeanor that he had never been exposed to any of the new horrors that were plaguing the post-America landscape. There were three men and four women inside the building, besides the children. A quick glance through the front door revealed about three kids.

“Where’s the rest of the town?” she asked.

“There’s a few people left here, but for the most part, they evacuated the area and headed toward Gatlinburg. There were promises of food and water for everybody that took
the mark
.”

“The mark?”

“The mark of the beast …
that no man might buy or sell unless they have the mark
.”

“You’re making references to the Bible?”

“Yes, it’s right there in Revelations.”

“Look,” Tori said, rubbing her head and a bit more frustrated, “I’m having a revelation right about now.”

The priest gestured with his hands as if to say,
well, what is it?

The sound of a bus engine was heard in the near distance.

“It’s time to go,” she said as she took off to the inside of the church.

The priest followed her in.

“Just why is it you’re hiding from these men?” he began to ask incessantly.

“Where’s your rifle, old man?” she said with teeth clinched.

“First tell me why they’re looking for you?”

“The last stop they made, the one where I made my escape, they left me alone in the bus with just one man.”

Tori paused.

“Yes ...and?”

“And I sorta killed him.”

“With what?”

“With this,” she said, pulling a tomahawk from the back of her pants. “Now, please, we need to get out of here. Where’s the rifle?”

“Go get the rifle, Tommie,” he said towards the window of the church.

Tori entered the church and met Tommie. He handed her the rifle. It was a Remington .22 caliber.

“Really?” she responded. She snatched up the rifle and ran a few yards to the back side of the building. There was a dried-up riverbed that she ran through, and she hid in the trees, where she followed the sound of the bus with her ears. From Tori’s position, she could see the church, and she began railing under her breath because the priest was still standing outside near the front of the church.

The bus was finally in sight. It came in from the east and turned right down the little road that led to the church. Tori felt the driver must have spotted the priest because it took a last second sharp turn and headed straight for the church.

The bus was a tan-colored Department of Corrections bus that had been modified. The restraint systems were still intact, but the walls were carpeted and the windows were boarded.

That’s it alright,
she thought.

She watched as the bus came to a stop and seven men piled out, heading straight to the priest.

Tori could see about half of the men from her position, but could not hear a word. She knew there was going to be trouble and hoped her new friends would not sell her down the road. She decided to reposition to an area on the opposite side of the bus. So with that in mind, she took the long way around the block and came up behind the bus, out of line of sight of the men.

She pulled her tomahawk out and took a look at the back side of it. The rear of the ’hawk was nothing less than a skull splitter. She pointed it in the direction of the tire and attempted to flatten it. With a hard strike, the tomahawk just bounced off. It was a heavy-duty tactical weapon, but not designed for popping tires. Looking around, she saw a two-liter empty plastic bottle. She put the barrel of the rifle inside the bottle and pointed it at the tire. When she pulled the trigger, the crack of the rifle was minimized, but the popping sound of the blown tire was greater than anticipated. She lunged upward and peered through the windows of the bus and saw the men looking in her direction. She was spotted.

The men gave chase, and Tori bolted into some nearby woods. She could hear them calling out to one another. “She’s over here,” one would say as she bolted from cover to cover, trying to lose them in the trees. They tried their hardest to maintain a visual on her, but no sooner than they had spotted her, she would disappear again. At one point in the pursuit, Tori slipped and fell into a ravine. Roots from one of the older trees were protruding from the muddy wall of the ravine and caught Tori’s back. Her coat snagged and slid upwards, exposing her flesh to the harsh and jagged roots. They tore into her flesh and into the area of her right latissimus dorsi. The cut started from the lower portion of her back and spanned the length of it just to the bottom of her right scapula. She needed medical attention, but it had to be ignored for the time being.

Off in the near distance, she could see a wooden cabin about the dimensions of a medium-sized shed. Its barky appearance gave it the perfect camouflage. Looking behind herself, she couldn’t see her pursuers anymore. Their voices were fading away as she stood up and made her way up the shallow end of the ravine, using the trees’ root systems as makeshift stairs, and headed towards the cabin.

The door was locked, but that didn’t stop her. She used her elbow to smash out the window and then reached in to unlock the deadbolt. Upon entering the room, she could see that the cabin was designed for just one person. There was a small twin-sized bed, a kitchen countertop, only one window on the back side, and no running water. Searching frantically around the room, she was looking for something to treat her cut with and found a small footlocker under the bed. She pulled it out and saw that it was padlock secured. Her tomahawk might not have been designed for this purpose either, nevertheless, she used it to bust open the lock. Inside she found a spare pair of socks, an emergency heating blanket, a canteen, a blanket, a sheet, and a first-aid kit. She spread the blanket out and threw everything inside of it and then knotted the corners together. Her intent was to carry the bag of goodies away from the area, but first she needed to treat the burning wound running the length of her back.

She couldn’t reach the wound, so she had to improvise by cutting the sheet with the edge of her tomahawk. She removed her upper garments and wrapped the clean linen around her core. When she was satisfied, she redressed and hid the blanket of goodies outside under a pile of dead shrubs. The temperature was dropping, so she returned to the cabin and tried her best to remain observant.