“What are they doing?” Ned said.
Salina lowered the high-powered night vision binocs. “Checking all the rooms. I guess they want to stay the night.”
“Why don’t they just sleep in their SUV’s?”
She shrugged. Salina had given up trying to understand the thought processes of civilians a long time ago, and frankly she didn’t care what Jubal and his friends did one way or the other. The night air was chilly and she wrapped her arms around herself. Her army coat was warm but she could have used a hat and maybe a pair of gloves.
“What do we do now, chief?”
“After they’ve convinced themselves there’s no danger, they’ll take turns getting some sleep. They’ll place a couple sentries outside the motel to patrol the perimeter; whoever these sentries may be, tonight will be their last night on Earth. You and Morris are going to take them out. Permanently.”
“Unless it’s that Slate guy, right?”
“Hey, you may just grow a fully-developed brain yet, Neddie. Yes, if Slate is on the first patrol, we wait until the changing of the guard and go after whoever’s next. No matter what happens tonight, Slate must be kept alive.”
“Because you want him for interrogation.”
“He has information that we need.”
“Hey, you guys want some canned meat?” Morris said, walking up to them. In his hand was an aluminum bowl with a spoon sticking out of it.
“How’s Philly?” she said.
“He’s asleep. Snoring like a motherfucker.”
“If the dead weren’t already awake,” Ned said, “Philly would sure as hell wake ‘em right up.”
“That joke never gets old,” Morris said, kicking Ned playfully in the back of the leg.
“Hey!”
“Would you two please shut up?” Salina hissed. “I don’t want anyone to know we’re here, especially Slate.”
“But they’re like half a mile away. No way they can see or hear us sitting in the dark like this,” Morris said, his mouth full of mystery meat.
They had gone off road and parked partway up a hillside that afforded a good view of the motel, which sat right across the road from a little white church. Both buildings were in reasonably good shape but there were other buildings around that were in various states of decline. For example, one of the worst of them, a fast food joint, had somehow been reduced to rubble, yet its undamaged sign still sat atop its metal pole, the golden arches meaningless in a dying world.
“They can’t hear us but perhaps there are other things out here that can.”
Ned pulled his sidearm and displayed it. “Well, that’s what this is for.”
“Uh…okay,” she said, sighing. “And what happens when we pull the trigger on our big, bad gunsy-wunsy?”
“The fucker drops.”
“And…?”
Ned shrugged.
“Just when I thought you were getting smarter.”
“Big bang, dude,” Morris said, scraping the bottom of the metal bowl with his spoon. “Wake up the whole neighborhood.”
“Oh.”
“Except probably Philly. He don’t wake up for shit.”
They both chuckled until they noticed Salina glaring at them, moonlight caught in her dark irises. “You shit-heads get some rest. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to move.”
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“What the hell was that?” Ned said.
“Someone’s shooting down there. Probably found a little undead action.”
“They have all the fun.”
“Oh, we’ll be having our fun soon. Don’t you worry your tiny brain.”
* * *
Nestor scanned the landscape beneath the moonlight as Jubal pitched another shovelful of dirt over his shoulder. The baker held the flashlight on Jubal where he stood knee-deep in a hole. Nestor had asked him what the hole was for but Jubal had only said that Nestor didn’t want to know. But the baker wasn’t stupid; he knew this late night excavation had something to do with the two motel rooms that he was supposed to stay away from, and that he was supposed to keep Heather and Robin away from. He figured it must be something awfully bad for Jubal to forbid them like that. Maybe the rooms were full of zombies and Jubal planned on killing them and burying them later on. Or maybe not. Why would Jubal want to bury zombies?
Jubal stopped for a moment and wiped his sweating brow with his wrist. “Nestor, I wish you would get some sleep. All the rooms except the two that are off limits are inhabitable. Heck, a few of them look like they haven’t been slept in for a long time, maybe not even since the green sky.”
“Nah, I’m wide awake. Besides, I have to watch for zombies.”
“Just be careful where you point that thing.”
Nestor held up the flashlight. “What? This?”
Jubal chuckled. “No, the thing that can blow your foot off.”
They both laughed.
“It sure is cold out here.” He watched his breath obscure the light’s beam as he exhaled.
“We’ll get some warm clothing tomorrow. Right now, this digging is keeping me warm enough.” He pushed the shovel into the earth and heaved out another parcel of dirt, flinging it over with the rest.
“You want me to take over yet?”
“Nah. I can handle it. I like the activity. You keep watching for trouble.”
“You mean dead guys, right?”
“Not just dead guys. Anything that moves. Mother is guarding the rooms where the others are sleeping. You keep an eye out here so nothing or no one sneaks up on us. I can’t be alert and dig this hole, so I’m counting on you.”
“Hey, no problem, Jubal.”
He walked around the hole a few times, listening for sounds besides the chuff chuff of the shovel hitting the dirt and the labored grunting of the man in the hole. “Keep the light on my shovel, please.”
“Oh, sorry.” He continued to walk the perimeter of the excavation but kept the light pointed where Jubal was working.
He wondered if the light was a good idea. Didn’t it illuminate Jubal and himself and make them targets? If Salina were nearby, all she’d have to do is use a high-powered rifle and—he didn’t even want to think about it. He had asked Jubal earlier why they just didn’t dig in the morning but the stoic little man had said nothing, his mouth a line of grim determination. For whatever reason, Jubal wanted this hole dug now.
“Jubal, what happened in those rooms?”
Jubal stopped digging and sighed. “I said before, you don’t want to know.”
“Well, how am I supposed to be part of the team if you don’t tell me stuff?”
Jubal shook his head and sighed. “I guess you have a point. All right, I’ll tell you. I’m done digging anyway.” He climbed from the hole and brushed the dirt from his jeans. “And now I have to go back to those rooms and finished what I started.” He began walking away, the shovel over his shoulder and Nestor followed, still listening for sounds other than the ones they themselves were making.
As they circled around to the front of the motel, they both saw a single, glowing red eye in the dark distance. It grew bright and then dimmed again.
Nestor reached for his sidearm.
Jubal touched Nestor’s arm. “Take it easy there, hoss. That’s just Mother smoking one of his smelly stogies.”
“Oh jeez. Sorry.”
“You’ve got to calm down, man. Going off half-cocked never did anyone any good.”
“I’ll try. Deep breaths, right?”
“Sure, if that’s what works for you. Always try to be sure of what you’re shooting at before you pull the trigger, because a bullet is forever.”
“Forever. Right.”
Then Jubal told Nestor what he had found in room sixteen, leaving out the grisly details but disclosing enough information to cause the baker’s knees to knock together.
“And you haven’t found the killers yet?”
“Nope. We checked all the rooms but found nothing. Whoever did it probably hightailed it out of here after their sick business was finished—God, I hope so anyway. If we ever find the person or persons, I vote to bring back death by hanging.”
Nestor cleared his throat. He knew he wasn’t a brave man. Salina and her men had repeatedly pointed out that fact, something that Nestor had already known. He had become aware of it when he entered junior high school and met up with bullies for the first time. He had learned to fight back when the humiliation and pain became too much, but he never got used to the violence. It sickened him and he always tried to avoid it. For most of his adult life, he had been successful. Running his own business hadn’t been easy but there was never any violence, unless you counted the way Nestor’s beloved wife behaved on the rare occasion when a customer complained about one of the products. Life had been nearly perfect until the plague came along. After that, his family was gone, the world turned upside down and violence ruled the streets.
Nestor was thankful that Jubal Slate had showed up in his life. He saved Nestor from the abuse he suffered from Salina. He was thankful that Jubal and the others would treat him with respect as befitted a good man in a civilized world. Though he would never forget that the old world was dead and would never rise again.
“If it’s okay with you, I would rather not see what’s in that room.”
“Not a problem,” Jubal said.
They approached Mother. The big man aimed the Shredder at the pair but as they drew near, he lowered it again and smiled around his bit of cigar. “Are you room service? I called over an hour ago.”
Nestor liked Mother despite the scars on his face and the underlying sense of rage that the big man worked to control. He believed Mother was a good man, and one who would protect his friends.
“We finished the digging,” Jubal said. “I need your help now.”
“Great. I live to serve. And to do the heavy lifting.”
“Good. Nestor will keep watch.”
“Me?” Nestor said.
“Him?” Mother said.
“If…if that’s what you want, Jubal.” Nestor felt his bowels turning to water.
“Not by yourself,” Jubal said. He tapped on the door behind Mother. “It’s me.”
The door cracked open and Nestor saw Heather’s lovely face.
“I need Amara for a few minutes.”
The door opened wide and the tall woman was there. She was the only member of the group that made Nestor uncomfortable because she was so aloof and mysterious. She never initiated a conversation and if asked a question, responded in the fewest possible words. All of that was off-putting enough, but it was another of Amara’s characteristics that disturbed him even more. She always seemed to be listening to voices that only she could hear. The woman was probably a little crazy, and crazy people were unpredictable in Nestor’s book. Jubal trusted her though, and Nestor trusted Jubal but that didn’t mean Nestor would relax around her.
Mother nudged him. “Good news, man. If you’re attacked by ninjas, you’ve got the perfect partner.
* * *
Jubal met Heather’s eyes. He felt what she felt: he wanted to take her to an empty room and spend the night together, alone. At least he hoped she felt that way. It would be a hell of thing to find out he was the only one of them in love.
As he always did, he shoved his feelings aside. There was no time for a relationship in this world. Not when they were always on the move, fighting for survival. If this Sanctuary was real, if they could find it and discover an oasis from the constant fighting, then perhaps he could think about his own happiness.
Amara stepped out of the room.
“Lock the door,” he said to Heather. As the door closed, Jubal already missed seeing her eyes, even as sad and tired as they appeared.
He led Amara a few feet away from Mother and Nestor.
“Mother and I are going to clean room sixteen. Can you stand watch with Nestor for a bit?”
“Yes.”
“What about my stalker? Is it still out there?”
“Yes,” Amara said. “But no closer.”
“Okay.” He felt relieved. Yeah, some unknown opponent was tracking him but at least it wasn’t any closer. That was one thing he didn’t need to worry about tonight. “Before you left number sixteen, you said something.”
“Preacher.”
“Yeah. Any idea what that means?”
“No.”
Jubal was a practical man. Growing up, he learned to believe in only what he could touch. Coming to terms with the reality of psychic powers was not an easy transition. Though practical, he was also a realist. Amara had a gift, just like Mikey had. He didn’t understand it, but that didn’t make it any less real. Her gift often produced information that was vague and unspecific, but at least it gave him a leg up on whatever pursued him. Amara was his early warning system.
“Okay. Thanks.”
“He’s still here,” she said.
“The psycho who did this?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I am sorry.”
“It’s okay, Amara. I appreciate everything you do.”
The woman hesitated. “Someone else is coming.”
“Salina.”
When Amara spoke, she actually sounded surprised. “How did you know?”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t suddenly develop psychic powers. I just know her. Or people like her. They seldom give up.”
“I should have killed her.”
“Maybe you’ll get your chance yet,” Jubal said.
Salina wasn’t back for a tearful reunion. He couldn’t forget the look on her face after she’d heard technology existed that enabled a human to control the resurrected dead. She coveted that power, and she would want to know if Jubal was keeping that secret from her.
The tension that he always carried with him settled like a stone between his shoulder blades. He had a sick killer to deal with, an unknown enemy closing in on their position, and now Salina and her kill-happy crew. Maybe soon a few dozen zombies would show up to make the night complete.
No, he reminded himself, don’t think that way. Focus on one thing at a time. Right now, he had a burial to take care of.
“Watch out for Nestor,” he said.
“I will.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
* * *
The Preacher watched the two men go behind the motel. They both carried guns, crude weapons that took all of the finesse out of killing.
He had no trouble making out details in the night. The Preacher could see almost as well in darkness as he could in broad daylight. It was an ability that served him well since he’d discovered his calling. The replacement guards were a nervous fat man and the tall woman with a shaved head that he desired so dearly. She looked so frail that a stiff breeze would knock her over.
This was a sign. He was meant to act now. Killing the two guards would demoralize the others, fill them with fear. That was the first step in creating a masterpiece. After killing them, he would return to the church. Once the men with guns realized the killer hadn’t fled, they would eventually come looking for him in the church, but The Preacher had spent many nights preparing his home to receive visitors. This church, his home, would be the site of his greatest work yet.
It was time to begin. His fingers tingled with anticipation, eager to make the first brush strokes on his latest canvas.
* * *
“Holy shit,” Ned said.
“Quiet,” Salina whispered.
“Okay.” Ned spoke more softly. “But you gotta see this.” He handed the night-vision binoculars to Salina.
She looked through the lenses. As Ned reported earlier, Nestor and the kung fu bitch were pulling sentry duty. That was nothing new. She kept looking. She didn’t want to ask Ned what he had seen unless she had to. After the day she had, she wasn’t about to display any weakness.
“You see him?” Ned whispered close to her ear.
She could smell the rank odor of his unwashed body but was sure she reeked just as badly. What she couldn’t accept was the casual way he pressed himself against her. There was no time for that now.
She noticed furtive movement down there. A figure had appeared near the church and dashed across the street, dropping down behind some bushes. She zoomed in. She saw nothing more for two full minutes. Then the figure rose to a crouch and moved again. It was a man dressed all in black. Even his hair was dark. And something glimmered near his waist. He reached the cover of a tree and pressed his back against it.
She lowered the binocs. “Son of a bitch.”
“Told ya,” Ned whispered. He rubbed his erection against her ass.
Salina turned and pushed him away with a palm to his chest.
“Hey!”
“Shut up. The next time you touch me, I will cut your balls off. Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” Ned said, his voice barely audible.
The only other sounds were the snoring of Philly and Morris, one loud, the other not so much.
“What are we gonna do?” Ned said.
“We’re gonna shut up and watch. We’ll let things play out for now.”
“You think he’ll try to kill them?”
Salina considered what she had seen. The man in black wore a belt of knives, all encased in leather sheaths that kept them from clanging together or otherwise making unwanted noise. She hadn’t seen any other weapons on the mystery man.
“He’ll try,” she said.
A lone man against a group that was armed with automatic weapons. Salina didn’t give the newcomer great odds; nobody was that good. But if that nut even tried to go around to the back of the motel where Jubal was, that’s when she’d make her move. No one better dare to come between her and the power to control the world, and that meant no one was going to touch a single hair on Jubal Slate’s head.