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Into the Badlands
a novel
Brian J. Jarrett
Copyright © 2011, 2012 Brian J. Jarrett
Elegy Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved by the author. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted by any means without the written consent of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any names, people, locales, or events are purely a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person (either living or dead), to any event, or to any locale is coincidental or used fictitiously.
2011.ITB.1.26 (Third Edition)
For Orson and Trent
The universe is not required to be in perfect harmony with human ambition.
– Carl Sagan
CHAPTER 1
Zach Brady sifted through the paltry remains of what had once been a sporting goods store, diligently searching for anything that might still be of use. Rotting, empty boxes spilled from cabinets and shelves like the organs of a gutted animal. Despite the cold he could still smell the stink of mold and rot in the air, even through the mask covering his mouth and nose.
His father and his younger brother were two aisles down from him, both engaged in searches of a similar nature. Zach felt that searching this store was pointless, but his father said it was necessary if they wanted to survive the winter. He always listened to his father.
He spotted a cabinet two aisles over. The doors were closed; that could be a good sign. Sometimes it meant there was actually something useful hidden inside. His dad had taught him the difference between what was useful and what wasn’t. It turned out toys weren’t all that useful. Zach didn’t really agree, but he was only ten years old and Dad made the rules. His father did allow him a single toy, though; he chose a ’57 Chevy Hot Wheels car. It was even small enough to fit in his front pocket.
Zach walked to the cabinet, stepping lightly around the fallen debris littering the floor, being careful with each step to test his weight on the decaying floor. The snow made it difficult to see what was actually beneath his feet. It had been a long time since this place had seen a roof overhead. He’d fallen through a rotten floor once before and he didn’t want to do it again.
When he reached the cabinet and opened the doors he found only some ragged sheets of decomposing paper, some pens, and some paperclips. That was as good as empty. He couldn’t help but be disappointed. Their supplies were dwindling and they needed a find soon. He thought his dad was scared but was trying not to show it. It made Zach feel better when his father was brave. It made him feel he could be brave too.
Suddenly he noticed how quiet things had become. He couldn’t hear his father and brother anymore. Wind whistled through the broken windows. A crow cawed once in the distance. Then he heard a sound come from the end of the aisle behind him, a sound like someone walking. His stomach clenched and despite the cold air against his cheeks, his face flushed hot.
He rose and turned slowly. At the end of the aisle, no more than sixty feet in front of him, stood a gaunt, dark figure. Dead leaves and small twigs infested its long, matted hair. Its breath escaped in small plumes, visible in the cold, dusk air. The figure stood slightly hunched, watching him. Its head turned to the side, its mouth twitching and jerking. It was dressed in dirty, disintegrating rags that barely covered its body.
It stood, simply breathing and watching. Zach froze while the thing just continued to stare. He knew that calling out to his father could provoke it, but so could running away from it. If this carrier was paralyzed badly enough he could maybe outrun it, but he also knew there was no guarantee of that. Sometimes carriers were so delirious they just walked away, not often, but sometimes. He hoped this one would just walk away.
Zach’s eyes shifted left and right; he could find no obvious exit. Shelves, boxes, and other garbage boxed him in.
Suddenly, the figure stopped moving and stood very still.
Zach reached slowly for his gun and unsnapped the holster. In the eerie silence of the store it made a deafening clicking sound.
It leapt.
Zach backpedaled, surprised by the thing’s speed. It had appeared to be starving, even near death, but the prowess and agility it displayed was terrifying. Zach tripped over some trash on the floor, landing on his backside. Boxes fell around his head, blocking his view.
He reached down to his holster to retrieve the gun. It was gone! He desperately searched for the gun under the trash and snow covering the floor, but he couldn’t find it. Panic coursed through him like an electric shock. The thing continued to run, jumping over trash and boxes, closing the gap between them with alarming speed. Zach stood up and tried to run. In his haste he tripped and fell on a rotten tree branch that had fallen through the decaying roof.
Now on his hands and knees he quickly looked up, surveying his escape route. He still didn’t see one; all the shelves now looked like a labyrinth. The gun was still missing and he couldn’t think. He was frozen in place, utterly terrified. He realized with sickening certainty that he was going to die in the trash; torn limb from limb by the monster behind him. In a last-ditch effort he opened his mouth to call out for his father’s help.
Before he could make a sound he saw a tall figure dressed in camouflage, wearing goggles and a surgical mask over a long beard running toward him. The man gripped a baseball bat in his hands.
Daddy.
His father jumped over him, swinging the bat with incredible force. Zach watched as the bat connected just above the thing’s nose. Its head snapped backward from the impact as its bare, frostbitten feet flew out from under it. It landed on its back, motionless, dead before it hit the floor. Standing over the miserable figure, his father delivered one final blow to the thing’s head, splitting it into pieces.
Ed Brady turned to his oldest son, a few small dots of the carrier’s blood clinging to his goggles.
“Oh, Zach,” he said through the mask, shaking his head, his voice wavering.
Zach began to cry.
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