Hell's Children: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (27 page)

Brad, Olivia, and Molly yelled, “
Would you please shut up?
” at the same time, and the kid closed his mouth.

“Brad,” Jack said, “how’s little Tyler doing?”

Brad frowned. “He’s fine, but it’s too cold out, and I’m cramped as hell. If I get out of here, I swear I’ll …” He bit his lip. That was the funny thing about Brad—he never actually cursed around Tyler. “That son of a … man, he better
hope
I never get out.”

Jack didn’t have to ask who he meant. “Right. Where’s Greg?”

“Greg got shot,” Molly said. “In the leg. It looked like he might be okay with some kind of help. I mean … if it doesn’t get infected. Jesus, Jack, I’m sorry. Steve’s hurt, too. They beat him up pretty bad. Because of me.”

She covered her face and burst into tears.

As sad as he was to hear about Steve, a wave of relief flooded through him on hearing Greg wasn’t dead. Any hope was better than no hope. “What about the children?”

“Locked in your cabin,” she said in a hoarse voice, wiping her eyes. “But Jack—Carter killed Trisha. Made us all watch, too. I’m sorry.”

Red, enveloping rage rose up in him like a volcano, and he reached out to steady himself. It was all he could do to keep from pulling his recently recovered pistol and storming the place right now, but all that’d do was get him killed and leave his friends with one less person to help.

“Me too,” he said lamely, hating how it sounded. “For everything. Give me a minute. I’ll see if someone can help with those cuffs.”

Jack found Larry, brought him onto the bus, and explained the situation. Even though Jack introduced him as a friend, his friends looked at the Dragster nervously.

“Everyone carries tools,” Larry said. “Mostly to be cool. I’ll get someone started on it. I bet we can cut through where the seats bolt down, or maybe unscrew them.” He shook his head. “I totally forgot he had those handcuffs. Carter looted the police station way back when. Too bad we don’t have that tear gas he took—we could bust in like Call Of Duty. That’d be so boss.”

Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Yeah. You said it. Thanks, man.”

Maybe five minutes later, Will returned, troubled but unhurt.

“Well?” Jack said.

“Uh … man, I don’t know what, uh … how to say it.” He looked at Larry and the others as if seeking friendly faces. “First off, Greg’s still alive.” A few people cheered, but were quickly shushed to let him speak. “So anyway, there’s this girl named Lisa. That’s Greg’s sister. She damn near killed half of everyone who came here with Carter. Then get this—she went and
killed
Carter
.”

Shocked gasps filled the air.

Larry said, “What do you mean killed him?”

“She killed Carter. That’s what they said, and I didn’t see him anywhere. They’re super pissed about it, too. They were about to kill her, but now they’re waiting. They got her locked up somewhere and—”

Whatever he said was lost in the jumble of shocked and excited conversation. Nobody seemed upset, really—just surprised, and possibly happy about the new development. For his part, Jack was torn between vicious joy and concern for his friends.

Cutting through the din, he said, “You know where they have her?”

“No idea,” Will said. “Think she’s with Greg and Steve, though, the way they talked. They ain’t giving them up, either. I told them what you said. They said they don’t trust you on account of what you did to Ray.” He stared at his shoes, not meeting his eye. “This one kid—Mexican or something—he said you promised to let Ray go and then shot him dead. Now they won’t come out unless you …” He moved closer to Larry as if seeking protection. “Unless you go in yourself. Unarmed.”

W
ould
it have been so hard to get handcuffs of your own and just hold Ray a few days? Did you really have to kill him?

Jack had been so angry when he did it. Ray had been in on Mandy and Pete’s murders, he was sure of it. Justice had to be served—a message sent. He’d recognized the importance of meeting Carter’s aggression with the same level of force and then topping that with a crushing blow.

Minus the detour through weirdness and Hell with Blaze and the Pyros, everything had gone just fine. Better than fine, if Larry and his friends outside were any indication. And then Miguel happened.

Despite seeming calm to Larry and the others, Jack was furious.

Dammit, Miguel. You backstabber. Why did I trust you?

If only the stupid know-it-all had kept his mouth shut. Then his friends would be safe, and Carter gone or severely weakened.

While the crowd watched, Jack pulled his gun and handed it directly to Will. He didn’t care about safety anymore. The crowd voiced their collective good wishes. He didn’t care about that either. In fact, he felt empty. He didn’t even have Carter to hate now. He may as well have aged ninety-nine years, so little did the world around him seem to matter. All that was left was a desire to save his friends, get them somewhere safe, and then ride out the wave of violence and death that had plagued him since losing his parents.

Without looking back, he made his way to the Skyline. He almost tried the knob, but then knocked instead. The door opened, and rough hands dragged him inside.

Jack found himself in the great room surrounded by nine boys including Miguel, and a girl with a weak chin and a perpetual scowl. Most were as old as Jack, give or take, and all were armed except Miguel and the girl.

“So you’re the famous
Jack
Ferris
,” the girl said, sneering through the name.

The rest glowered at him with hard eyes.

Jack detected another emotion living side-by-side with the hatred:
fear
. Fear was good. He could use that.

“Okay,” he said, “tell me where my friends are and everyone lives.”

“Why don’t we just kill him?” a fat kid said.

Jack blinked in amazement. The boy wasn’t just a little plump in the face, like Tony and some of the Pyros. He was the first honest-to-goodness fat kid Jack had seen since before the Sickness.

The girl said, “Because he’s got those idiots outside brainwashed, that’s why. They don’t know what a snake he is.”

“You killed my sister, you son of a bitch!” said a dirty-faced kid with a hairlip. He pulled his gun and pointed it. The girl grabbed his arm, twisting it to the side, and it went off.

The blast was shockingly loud, causing his ears to ring, and for a brief moment everyone was staring around to see who’d been hit.

When it became clear everyone was fine, the girl yelled, “Give me that, you idiot!” and pulled it from his hand.

Jack pondered the killed-my-sister comment, then realized:
ah … the girl from the house the other night, with the flashlight
.

The boy yelled, “You’re not supposed to have a gun, Cassie! Carter said so. Give it back!”

He reached for her, and she shot it over his head.

Everyone crouched, including Jack.

“I’m keeping it!” she shouted. “Carter didn’t want me having one because he was afraid I’d kill him. I might have, too, but now he’s dead. So just back off!”

Keeping his face impassive, Jack said, “I’m sorry about your sister. What do you expect when you come murdering my friends? And now Trisha.” He shook his head. “One of your own people.”

The fat one said, “Shut up!” and hit him in the face, staggering him against the wall, where he slipped and fell.

Sudden pounding on the door froze them, and nobody said anything.

Miguel went to the door and shouted, “What do you want?”

“What’s all that shooting?” Larry shouted from the other side. “Did you shoot Jack?”

The fat kid nudged him with his foot. “Tell him we didn’t shoot you.”

Jack got up slowly, taking his time, letting their fear build. Then he said, “I’m fine, Larry. You don’t have to come in and kill them like we said. Give me a few more minutes.”

There was a brief pause from the other side. “Sure, Jack. You got it. Just like you said.”

“Thanks, Larry.”

Jack turned around and faced a different sort of room than the one he’d walked into. He knew he needed to build on that before they caught their balance.

“So, as you can see,” he said, “those guys are on my side now. And they’re perfectly willing to come in here and wipe you out if that’s what you want. But unlike Carter—”

“Don’t you say his name!” the girl shouted and pointed her gun at him.

Jack tensed, ready for the bullet that would end all his troubles, but it didn’t come.

“Sorry,” he said, hands raised. “Didn’t know it was a sore spot. Look, I don’t enjoy killing. I’m actually sick of it. But then he had my friends killed. Then I got mad, and then
you-know-who
got mad back. See? That’s how wars are started. So we had a war. But here’s our chance to turn all that off and go back to normal.”

Miguel shook his head. “Oh, wow, just listen to you. You expect us to believe you after what you did to Ray? You sounded the same way! Then you shot him. You’re just a murderer, that’s all you are.”

Rather than back down, Jack said, “I’ll shoot anyone who hurts my friends, and that’s the truth. As far as I know, none of you killed Pete and Mandy. And Carter—sorry—he’s the one who hurt Greg. As far as I’m concerned”—he raised his hands peacefully—“you’re all free to go. Or even join me. Let’s just end this.”

Cassie and the others exchanged glances, each trying to gauge what the other was thinking while still seeming tough and in control. Miguel looked thoughtful.

“Stay here,” the fat kid said and told the others to follow him.

Jack watched them go into one of the downstairs bedrooms. Apparently they weren’t worried about him getting away, which was comforting. He tried to listen in, but couldn’t hear anything except the girl yelling at them. She wanted to keep him hostage so they could get away.

If that happened, he wouldn’t go. All they’d do was kill him and the others once they were safe.

To pass the time, he looked around the room where the children usually slept. Mattresses had been arranged in a fun, flower-shaped pattern on the floor, with photos and keepsakes gathered in boxes beside each one. Over against the far wall was the radio—usually glowing like a nightlight 24/7, and now turned off. He considered sneaking over to call the farm, but didn’t. The most it would do was scare them, and by now they were probably scared enough from no one answering their check-ins.

Whatever would happen would be decided soon, one way or the other.

Jack flinched when the girl ran out of the bedroom, tears streaking her dirty cheeks. Three boys grabbed her—she’d been trying to get to the kitchen. They dragged her past Jack and threw her onto one of the mattresses, scattering a box of toys in the process. He noticed she didn’t have her gun anymore.

The one whose sister Jack had killed said, “Cassie, sit down and act mature! We got no choice!”

He must really want to live
.

That was good, because Jack did too.

“Okay, Jack, we’ll do it your way,” the fat kid said. “Brian, Dwayne, go let ’em out.”

Two of them went to the kitchen. Then came the sound of boards clattering on the floor.

Jack couldn’t keep the smile from his face. It was going to work out after all.

Then, moments later, all hell broke loose.

* * *

L
isa was bad at waiting
. She considered shooting the door, but all that would do was let everyone know she was armed and waste her three precious bullets in the process. So she forced herself to relax.

Maybe five minutes later, she heard a blood-curdling scream from Cassie, who must have discovered Carter’s body. Then came a loud argument between her and Miguel. Lisa could guess what it was about. Cassie wanted to execute her, and Miguel—for all his faults—was trying to stop her.

Okay, so maybe I won’t kill him when I get out of here.

Didn’t mean she couldn’t shoot him in the leg, though.

After that, there was a series of slamming doors, followed by …

“What the hell?” Greg said.

“Quiet,” she said.

From somewhere outside, barely heard through the thick cabin walls, came a bunch of weird, Yankee Doodle tunes. Ten quiet minutes later, a gunshot banged from somewhere in the cabin, possibly the great room. She wondered who’d died. Cassie? Miguel? One of her friends?

They heard a second shot.

Several minutes passed. Worried for her friends, she was about to try kicking her way out when she heard noises coming from the door. Someone was prying the board loose—coming to kill them next. It was now or never.

A boy opened the door and said, “All right, you. Come on, we’re—”

Lisa shot him in the face and rushed out. She aimed at a second boy but held her shot. He wore a holstered gun and was holding a hammer. He dropped the hammer and raised his hands.

Quickly, she grabbed the pistol off the dead kid. Semi-automatic. No idea if it was chambered. She shot the kid with his hands up to find out, then grunted in satisfaction.

She could still feel their taunts as she’d been led upstairs with Carter, the disgusting things they’d said—telling him to “stick it in her mouth” and then laughing at her. Then that girl had spit in her face.

Lisa embraced her hatred, her fear, her pain, knowing she couldn’t hesitate in what she had to do, however barbaric. Not if she wanted to save her brother.

With a wordless shout of rage, she rounded the corner and started firing.

* * *

J
ack stood
dumbstruck when Lisa flew around the corner with a gun in each hand. She shot the kid with the hairlip and then another boy, twice—once with each gun.

The fat kid’s eyes seemed to bug out of his head. He pulled his weapon and aimed at her—then fired wildly when Jack tackled him to the ground. Jack punched him hard in the jaw and wrenched the pistol from his hand.

Armed now, he turned just in time to receive a glancing blow to the head with the stool Olivia used when she told stories to the children.

Jack fell back, dazed, but didn’t drop the gun. He pointed at Cassie, ready to pull the trigger, and then paused when he saw the fear in her eyes.

“Find a place to hide,” he said and moved to stand.

Faster than he could blink, she reared back and hit him with the stool again, catching him on his hastily raised arm.

Really?
he thought, crab-walking backward to get away.

Her eyes were crazy with rage, and she was actually drooling. She followed him, swinging with everything she had. Jack kicked her hard in the leg, bringing a yelp of pain and taking her down.

Over near the kitchen, Lisa kept shooting. The fat kid got to his feet and ran for the door—only to fall back when Larry slammed it open and swept in with his pistol-gripped shotgun.

Jack aimed and shot a different kid just as he was drawing down on Lisa. At the blast, she looked over, and her eyes widened. “Jack? Oh, God, you’re here!”

“Everyone stop!” he yelled, clambering to his feet and running foolishly into the middle of the fray, arms outstretched for calm. “Stop shooting! Hold your fire!”

Behind him, Larry’s shotgun boomed through the room, tickling the bones in Jack’s chest. He’d shot the fat kid while he was down.

“Larry, dammit, enough already!”

For a moment, Larry looked angry, then he shook his head. “I was just helping.”

Miguel was cowering with two others behind an upturned table.

Cassie sat rocking on the floor, clutching her knee and not looking at anyone.