Silencer, p.22
Silencer, page 22
“I’ve heard similar things before. Not about Jake, but women, the ones with Holsom, saying that kind of thing about the other men. That they’re gay, and ugly. I didn’t think you’d be in on that. Still, we need to end this now. I don’t want another gun fight in the dark if we can help it.”
Tipper went still and silent. Jake stood up.
“Got it. That’s fair. I’ll set up a watch, outside. Which is going to make for a fun night.” He smiled. Not that he was happy, since with his luck it would rain on him, but to find out that Carl had heard other guys there at the house get the same treatment he was. Until that moment, he’d thought it was all about him, even if Nate had noticed it.
Now he was starting to wonder if he was just a bit focused on himself. Too much so.
Tipper sighed.
“Right. I’m not...”
He went outside, losing her voice in the opening and closing of the kitchen door. Then, like a dog trying to get comfortable, he circled the area around the whole house, then curled up next to the side of the place, four feet from the white door.
Jake couldn't sleep that way but no one would sneak up behind him either. There were some low bushes that he used for cover. The night cool enough that he was glad for the long sleeves he wore. No one came out looking for him. But then, they wouldn't. If someone armed walked off to get away from you, chasing them was a bad plan. Not that he was being moody. He hadn’t even been mean, he didn’t think. Tipper had been acting weird and it wasn’t nice to hear someone saying you were ugly like that, but there was something off about her, at the same time.
She was locked on and ready to do her job. Almost constantly. Not the kind to do anything to aid a person who was damaging their group, either. Even if she’d shot him down for sex, she was a better person than any of that seemed to be saying. He’d seen it. Consistently, over the course of better than half a year.
He just didn’t know what the heck was wrong with her. With all the women at the house. Almost all. Only, he really did have an idea. Derrick Holsom had been the problem. The waste of space wasn’t there any longer, and was still a dire issue. One that didn’t make any real-world sense. If the women had all been fawning over Carl, who was built like Mr. Olympia and had nice clear skin and eyes, he could have seen it as being at least plausible.
Even if they’d gone for a few of the other men. The only thing that Holsom had really managed was being kind of tall. He was about six-three or four. Other than that, he’d been more or less average. Except, for some reason, women didn’t think that was the case at all. Tipper had claimed the man was good looking. Not just nice enough, but so good looking. The whole situation ate at his mind for a while. Finally, he had to simply turn it off, so he could pay attention to the guard duty he was supposed to be doing.
The time passed slowly and he dozed off more than once. Waking with a start each time he did. The fourth time he woke from a dream where Heather, looking just like she had earlier in the day, yesterday now, whispered to him that they were coming and that he needed to wake up and kill them all now, she sounded urgent. It made him feel like cold water had been dashed into his face.
Jake really didn't want dream Heather helping him just then. Even if he could see her picking Randy over him as totally valid, since the other man took far fewer risks, and Jake might not seem like he could actually help her as much. That was probably even true. He worked constantly already. Adding in even more effort might not really work. Still, there was a difference between feeling kindly toward the new girl and not being even a bit hurt.
Only being behind the bushes saved him from detection, of course. The men all walked in the moonlight, in the open, wearing black and had night vision goggles on. There were only four of them, that he could see at least.
More cops, at least from the bullet proof vests and regulation boots they wore. They needed to steal their boots before burying them. From the ones in the barn as well, if they had them. In the old world that would have been incriminating evidence and it might be again someday. For now it just meant durable footwear. It was taking from the dead or make a point of finding a shoe store in town. One that they hadn’t already looted clean.
Only Westwood didn’t have such a shop and never had.
He took out the weapon on his hip, since it was black and not too shiny, and fired up at the first man, hitting him in the head, then re-aimed and hit the second dead in the visor before he rolled out of the way, scrambling along the edge of the house.
The third fellow actually tripped over one of the fallen, in a decently comical fashion, calling out in a wacky, almost cartoon like voice as he did it. Jake aimed for the head instantly, used to taking things on the ground like that. It surprised him a little, because the weapon just moved into place and fired smoothly, almost as if on its own. Two more ran around the corner then. So there were three left still, which meant there had been more than four in the group.
Jake just hoped he had enough rounds. Two for each. He'd lost count. They could see at night but so could he, if not as well. They didn't have infra-red though, or if they did their system sucked. Jake was still alive after all. He hid behind bushes and circled around them until a shot lined up. They were firing wildly, not knowing where he was yet. Thankfully, they shot at where he'd been, not his current location.
Jake got the next two as they spun in place trying to find him but the flash marked his location too clearly, meaning the last man could open fire on him. Lying flat on the ground he just rolled to the left. Not for any particular reason, of course. It just felt right in the moment. That might have been the wrong move, Jake considered, since something he rolled over started to bite or sting him. It hurt, the pain mainly on his stomach and right side. It moved under his arm and then bit his left arm pit over and over again. He decided that as soon as he shot the guy in front of him who had just emptied his magazine into the ground not ten feet away, he was going to freak out and start slapping himself there.
Not that he didn’t feel for the insect. It was biting because a simple reflex had been triggered. That was all.
The last shot rang out clearly, and he did slap at his arm pit with a nice bit of excited vigor. Then reached under his layers of shirts and grabbed at something that crunched nicely under his fingers as he pulled it away. He wasn’t currently wild about insects, really. They were everywhere, and did things like bit him, at inconvenient times.
Then again, it was always an inconvenient time to be stung or whatever. Hopefully, bites, since a stinger would mean poison. Not that he was allergic to anything but it would still swell and hurt for days. It was just another thing he didn't need to deal with.
Jake moved as quietly as he could behind a tree and crouched, reloading with a fresh magazine. Then he started crawling, hoping not to be attacked again. By anything. He didn't have much luck. At least three more things, all of them buzzing, stung him as he moved. Hornets or wasps, at a guess, but he couldn’t see them at all. They didn't feel good whatever they were. He also found another black clad man who was doing exactly what he was and crawling through the brush. The big difference being that the other fellow yelped, loudly, when he got stung.
It cost him his life.
After that Jake didn't find anyone else. So they had either run away or all of them were gone. He kind of hoped for dead. It would be a pain to dig a pit big enough for all of them now.
“Stupid cops, always messing everything up for the good people of the world...” He muttered this so softly it nearly didn’t count as even being under his breath. There were probably some good cops left, somewhere, but the men and women from Westwood were pains in the rear and not much else, as far as he was concerned.
This was just supposed to be a relaxing hunting trip. Tipper had made sure that wouldn't happen. Even if it didn’t make sense.
It was the freaking end of the world.
Honestly... personal low self-esteem aside...
Holsom wasn't that good looking. That whole situation just didn't make sense at all. Tipper should have been putting a bullet in the louse's brain, not taking him up the behind in a crowded room.
He stayed out until first light, on guard, then knocked on the door, four raps, then three, then four. Three came back, then four, then three more. So they were all them at least. Good. It was the agreed upon field knocking pattern, so that no one would learn their secret knock for the house if they overheard it while they were away. It got changed each week. Really, it wasn't that things were that dangerous but a lot of people had time to make things like that up now. The door opened to show Carl and Dave standing there ready to fight just in case Jake had been taken by the newcomers.
He shook his head.
Like that could happen. They might have killed him but taking him prisoner wasn't ever in the cards. If they had somehow, they wouldn't have gotten the knock from him. The best they'd have gotten would be a fake one so that the people inside would know to just start shooting.
“Six or seven more, I think. Night vision.”
Tipper looked at him, a strange thing that seemed out of place. Kind of worried, as if she hadn’t been the one acting up the night before. Jake didn't bother acknowledging it, simply moving outside, and scanning the whole situation. He let the others handle the bodies. He'd done his bit for the team and besides, his back hurt, and the sore spots under his arm were less than fun, too.
Jake decided to start working on the wood stoves instead. Doing that was probably a bit weak of him, but in that moment he didn’t want to think about dead people for just a bit. One of them, the main one in the kitchen had to be put out first and four buckets of water dumped in to cool the fire enough to clean out the coals into a second bucket of water. It hissed and spit, even though he'd been certain everything would be out. He had to use most of their water for it but he could go back to the river if they needed more.
The other stove just had to be loaded up, so he disconnected it and drug it out noisily. It left some scratches on the floor, which made him feel bad for a bit, since it looked to be nice hardwood. It felt like a stupid thing to worry about, since the owner of the place was probably long dead but it wasn't his floor to mark up like that. Maybe, if he got a chance he could refinish it or something. It was very possible he could find the needed stains and polishes. The old Robson Family Hardware Store in Westwood still had some.
Next to the paint section. No one had looted either of those, early on.
This stove was smaller and lighter, which didn't mean light, not for one person. Hefting it up onto the wagon was possible at least. Barely. He'd need help with the bigger one, he decided. Standing there, panting, a fine sheen of sweat clinging to his arms.
They had the meat too, already hanging, and ready to go back with them. It took the others longer to finish their grisly tasks than his had. They came out of the barn sometime later, carrying strings of boots, belts, and various other items. A few shirts, some jewelry that couldn't have fit any of the men at all. Items probably kept as loot.
“What are they going to do with that? Gold and silver have no value. They could give it to some girl to lure her in, I guess. So they could kill her and rape her corpse.” That, the very thought, was mean and a bit sick.
That wasn't kind, he realized, and probably not even true. They'd just rape the girl and leave her. Or kill her. That sounded more likely for the police in Westwood if they could be called that anymore. They called themselves that but it didn't make it true. Real cops would eat these losers for lunch.
Or they could if they were cannibals.
They got back to the house by two in the afternoon, and the meat got loaded directly into the smoke shed, a brand new ten by ten fire powered structure that used cold smoke to... do something Jake didn't exactly understand to the meat. It wasn't enough and it still needed to be dried if it was going to keep, so a lot of it got cut into thin strips and laid out on old window screens for that.
Some of these went into the smoke house too, some into a screened box, to keep the bugs off but allow air flow. A few larger parts were smoked whole, for dinner the next day. Jake worked on the project until it was done, then moved on to the next task, trying to keep busy. That was getting the wood stoves into place. The bigger one got set up in the front room, the smaller one up in the second bedroom. It had a fireplace already.
Once those were in he went and scrubbed for a while, cold water rolling off of him in the little screened off wash area. If old bed sheets with holes in them on posts were counted as screens, that was. It worked well enough. The cool water felt nice, since the day had been warm, made more so by his heavy clothes. He noticed the swelling all over his right arm and stomach, which was red and inflamed from the vile and mean insects that had kicked his behind earlier. He'd live. There was nothing to be done about it anyway.
Except for curse the things who stung him. Of course, he was pretty sure most of them were already dead. So he'd have to curse their buggy little souls. While he was at it he threw some ill wishes in for Holsom. It was petty of him but it matched how he felt about the monster.
Before going in, he looked at the greenhouse that was being constructed, a simple log frame that extended past the house to the west side, so it covered the underground dwelling completely. He'd never toured it but it sounded dark. They needed to get candles for it. Or make them. Or maybe lamps or something like that. Otherwise everyone would have to crawl around in the dark. After a second he decided to let someone else deal with it. The mothers to-be were responsible for their babies and themselves, he wasn't.
“I’d say screw them, but Holsom already did that.” He muttered this in a very low, half amused, voice.
The man had fucked them all in more ways than one.
Jake wondered if Nate would actually throw any of them out. They already did less work than anyone else and would be bringing danger down on them when the crying babies came. Or they would have been, except for the new quarters that he'd produced to keep them alive. None of them would thank him for coming up with the idea though, that was nearly certain. At least not the Holsom Baby Mommas.
They ate more, too.
It was not a very good return on investment. Plus, he felt a bit off about it all still. So that warranted these women and their children all dying. Kicked out into a world that they almost certainly couldn’t survive on their own. Even if they had a partner to help them do it. They’d end up being horribly eaten to death by two-legged land sharks or raped to death by whoever found them.
It made sense to turn them out if he was pretending to be a psychopath or a straight up monster himself.
He wasn't though. So that meant he'd have to help keep them all alive, feeling uncertain about it or not. Working extra hard to protect people who very likely wouldn’t have held a party if he died doing it.
Burt saw him looking at the new construction and walked over, a large smile on his face. The man pointed happily at it.
“This is exactly as large as we can get it with the amount of plastic we have right now. It’s not nearly big enough to feed us all constantly but at least we might be able to have fresh greens and a few other things longer into the year. We're going to finish it tomorrow. You can help with that if you're not too busy? This was your idea, after all.”
It wasn't. Actually it had been Burt's idea, or Mary's. Jake could help though since they had enough wood already.
Jake nodded.
“I’m in. Um, the day after that I’d like to take the little wagon into town with me.”
He didn't bother saying why and no doubt seemed sullen when he mentioned it. Burt looked at him as if he wanted to steal it or something. His gaze was suspicious and at least a bit curious. Possibly feeling that Jake wasn’t going to run away with his best stuff at all.
Finally he relented and fessed up to his plan. Snorting a bit and trying to seem playful.
“I want to get some bricks and metal shelves from the grocery store if they're still there. A few other things, as well, if I can. Maybe find a girl that won't think I'm too hideous to be around or something? Hmm? That would be a change up around here. Something was just... Really off with that whole Holsom thing, you know? Like he was brainwashing women, or something.” He took a deep breath then and went on. “I could meet one of those new super-zombies maybe? The last one I met didn't seem that picky anymore. True, she tried to eat my throat out but that's not too different than the women around here really, is it? Did you notice how they didn't rot?”
Jake shifted the conversation on purpose, not wanting to key the man into how wonderful all the women there were. Burt was happy enough with Lois and probably didn't even consider that Jake's problems were more than a dating dry spell.
Forever wasn’t a spell. More like a curse...
The older man nodded, his head moving rapidly.
“I did. I don't have a clue what that means, either. Probably that they won't go down as quickly as the other kind on their own. For all we know those were around from the start and we just never saw them before.”
Jake shook his head, not buying it.
“Maybe. Two of them were dressed like cleaners though, just like them. No one caught on to doing until nearly two months in. The girl...” Jake sighed. “I knew her in high school. I... We were friends... Honestly, we were closer than that. I thought so, anyway. It didn't work out. I... just wasn't good enough for her in the end, I guess. Well, we can’t control what others do or want in their hearts. That isn’t their fault.”
It was the same, except that he was older now, and more damaged. Harder. That meant he didn't give his heart as strongly or easily anymore. It kept him safe. Safer. The rejection still stung a bit, true, but it didn't warp his mind half as much now. Not even close. Jake couldn't afford that. His heart was needed right where it was, beating away.
Still, just for a second he felt Rachel standing next to him. She seemed sad about something. It was his imagination though, not a ghost. Those didn't exist, or if they did, then she'd been dead for a lot longer than it seemed like, because he used to feel this same thing daily. Back when he knew she was probably just across town. No more than a few miles away. Forgetting him.
