Tales of Junction Read online

  “Ok, asshole. Just drive the fucking car already.”

  Working together, it took the scavs about a half hour to lash the two wheeled carts to the port-o-potty and then tie the makeshift trailer to the rear bumper of the bug.

  Once out on the road, they found that their trailer pulled reasonably well at low speeds but became unstable if they went much over twenty miles per hour. They hoped that the added weight of the tools and other items would make it pull better for their return trip. Still, both men were quite relieved to watch the dilapidated carnival disappear as they crested the hill on their way back to the antique store.

  There was still plenty of daylight when they got back to the antique shop, but they were in no hurry and decided to spend another night in luxury. Like every scav, they had considered finding a place just like this one, far away from people, and just taking it over, making it home. Also, like every other scav, they knew there was safety in a group, and Junction, even though it was a filthy hole, was probably the safest of any place they had seen.

  One more thorough search turned up a few additional items to add to their pile. As the sun began to set the pair wasted little time securing the doors and heading up to the second story to eat and get some rest.

  “Hand me that salt. Maybe it will improve Filler’s stew. “

  “Why do you think I put chips in it. Anything is an improvement.” Frito produced a small bag and started crunching them up over the jar of cold stew. “Did you really see something in that camper?”

  “Yeah, but it was probably just some solitary sore that knew better than to start shit with a couple bad asses like us. Well, me anyway.”

  “Tool, you never fail to amuse…” Frito paused before adding, “…yourself.”

  “You think it might have been something else out there? A twisted maybe?”

  Frito looked up from his jar of stew, “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  “Think about all the times we’ve been out. Have you ever seen anything other than dead heads or sores?”

  “There are more things in heaven and earth, Tool.” Tool stared at his friend briefly before shaking his head as Frito continued, “Just because we haven’t seen one doesn’t mean they aren’t out there.”

  “Look, the twisted are a ghost story. Nothing more. An urban legend like the Jersey Devil or Bigfoot.”

  “Oh hell no! Don’t get me started on Bigfoot.” Tool was just about to reply when Frito began to laugh.

  “You got me.” Tool said, shaking his head and muttering,”asshole.”

  The next morning the scavs loaded all their treasures into the port-o-john trailer.

  “It doesn’t make sense that this place has gone untouched for so many years. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, somebody should have ransacked it by now. There’s definitely something eerie going on. For once I’m actually looking forward to getting back to Junction.”

  “Speaking of Junction, do we want to pull a few items out before we get there? I mean, Filler is gonna be pretty happy with the haul, even if we didn’t find any tires for him, no reason we can’t hold back a few things for ourselves.”

  “Way ahead of you Frito. Got my pack filled with good stuff.”

  “What about your gear?”

  “Put as much as I could in my jacket pockets. Freed up plenty of space. Probably buy me a few nights of company over at Janet’s.”

  “Tool, you are one sneaky sumbitch. I think I’ll let you drive the first shift.”

  The trip back to Junction was taking considerably longer than hoped. Their outhouse trailer wobbled severely as the beetle gained speed. The scavs had gotten into the groove, stopping often to adjust the hand carts and ropes. It was tedious but necessary to keep from scattering their haul across the road should the trailer turn over in transit.

  Tool woke to the sound of rain on the roof of the beetle. The car wasn’t moving.

  “Can’t see the road for the rain?”

  “Yeah. Don’t want to risk losing our cargo and the wipers aren’t working.”

  “You’re a regular comedian. We’ll wait here for a bit. Hopefully, it will let up soon.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll go back to sleep then.”

  Tool rested his head against the window and drifted back to sleep. It seemed he had only just closed his eyes when Frito nudged him awake.

  “We got a little problem here.”

  “Nothing serious I hope.”

  “She won’t start.”

  “What? Are you fucking with me? Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “Sorry. All it does is click”

  “Did you leave the lights on again?”

  “Tool, this is serious.”

  “Ok. The rain is passed, let’s take a look.”

  The old Beetle had no cover over the engine and it didn’t take long for the scavs to see that the fan belt was missing.

  “You don’t suppose there’s a spare in the front? Filler may have one stashed in there.”

  Frito unlatched the front of the VW and began pulling out the gear that Filler had provided for the trip. Jars of stew, jugs of water, gas cans, a couple quarts of oil, a scissor jack, a length of chain, but nothing resembling a fan belt.

  “I got nothing up here. How about you?”

  “You mean, did I suddenly shit a fan belt? No.”

  “How far can we make it without that belt?”

  “Not far. Especially while we pull this trailer.”

  “I thought this fucking thing was air cooled?”

  “It is, but that belt turns the alternator, which runs the electrical system. Without it, we’ll have to Fred Flintstone this fucker all the way back to Junction.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “We improvise. Go through everything we got and find something.”

  The scavs began to rifle through their gear. Emptying their pockets and packs onto the cracked blacktop road. When they were done both men stood and stared at the items.

  “What about your pack? Got any duct tape, Frito?”

  “No, would that even work?”

  “It might. Hey, what’s that?” Tool pointed to a red plastic envelope.

  “Oh, I found those upstairs at that shop. Figured on giving ‘em to Trina.”

  “Sorry, brother, them pantyhose are getting sacrificed to the Volkswagen gods.”

  Tool opened the package and straightened the legs of the hose, before cutting them off at the crotch. Then he stretched them out and spun them together like a rope. After that, he strung them onto the pulleys and tied the ends together. Frito watched in amazement as his partner fashioned the makeshift belt.

  “You really think this will work?”

  “Frito, my boy, I’ve seen it done on a big ol’ Detroit diesel, back when I was hitchhiking. It worked on that beast and it’ll work on this fucking toy. The bad news is, we gotta unhook the trailer and push start her. Then tie the trailer back on.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Once the bug was going, the friends hooked up their trailer, repacked their gear and started off again. To Frito’s amazement, the improvised belt survived the entire trip back to Junction. As they drove, the scavs did as all men have done throughout time, they told stories. Some were true, some embellished, others completely fabricated, but all entertaining.

  “Tool, we’ve been friends for a while now and I’d guess that I know you better than anyone else in Junction, but until you mentioned hitchhiking, I had never heard you talk about your old life.”

  “Old life?”

  “Yeah. You know. Before everything went to hell.”

  “You wanna know what my life was like? I’ll tell ya. It was shit. My old man was a total prick. I left home just after my thirteenth birthday. Lived on the streets when I wasn’t in juvie for stealing or some other bullshit. It was a fucking shit life. Hitchhiking, jumping freight cars, never knowing when I would get to eat, where I was going to sleep, or if I would wake up with som
e sick fuck trying to put his dick in me.”

  “Sorry, Tool. I was just curious. I shouldn’t have pried.”

  “All those lousy pricks are dead now, but I’m still here, still alive, and getting more pussy than anyone in Junction. The sickness was a blessing for me really. “

  Frito eyed his friend closely, thinking. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you? You asshole. I hate you.”

  Tool began to laugh loudly, “I can’t believe you bought that line of shit!”

  “You’re a dick. You know that, right?”

  “Oh yeah, one of the best.”

  The Guardian

  She loved this place. She had spent many lovely evenings here before everything had changed, before the sickness and death and undead. That’s why she stayed. The memories occasionally came flooding back to her. They were wonderful memories of the old days. This place helped her remember. Helped her to hold on to the way things had been, the way she had been.

  She had loved coming here. Walking down the midway. Listening to the noise of it all. The children running and laughing, squealing from the excitement and sheer joy of it all. She had enjoyed the rides also, of course. The Ferris wheel had been her favorite. Mostly because he had proposed to her at the top. She could remember how much her hands had been shaking. She had been scared that she might drop the ring and never find it below, but she hadn’t. She kept the ring even after he had succumbed to the sickness.

  The ring was gone now. Lost during her transformation.

  Not that it mattered. This place and the home they had shared were more than enough to keep the memories flashing across her mind. That’s why she guarded them so fiercely. She knew what the undead could do, crashing around and smashing through windows because their clouded eyes had caught sight of their own reflection. The living were even worse, burning and wrecking things, leaving their stench on anything they touched. For all the years following her transformation she had gladly killed living and undead alike. Allowing neither to get close to those places she held dear. Those places that reminded her that she had once been human. Reminded her that she had once been a normal girl with hopes and dreams. A normal woman with a wonderful man who shared in her interest of antiques. They loved the things they bought and sold in that little store. The apartment above was their love nest. Small and tidy, it was perfect for them.

  She guarded these places. Destroying, and often consuming, those who came too close. When necessary, she ate the rats and other small creatures that had the misfortune to stumble into her carnival. It was hers, now wasn’t it? Nobody could dispute her claim. Mostly because anyone who might have had long since ceased to exist. A laugh passed her lips at the thought of a courtroom full of undead waving papers at the judge as she sat there in her current form.

  The laugh sounded a bit like a cross between nails on a chalkboard and a screeching cat. It echoed around the little trailer and drew her back to reality. She glanced down at her hands, the fingers now freakishly long and tipped with sharp black talons. All her limbs were longer now and covered with oily black skin. Her muscles rippled with every move. It was almost mesmerizing, even to her. Even after all this time, her current form seemed foreign.

  But something was different about these two. First, they didn’t smell as badly as the others. Second, they didn’t break anything, seeming to be almost respectful of the place. She watched them intently as they made their way through her carnival. Memories of her fiancé came flooding back. His sandy blonde hair and that dirty camouflage jacket she could not convince him to throw away. She missed him still. As the pair moved along she carefully followed them, almost mesmerized by him. He was special. A bit nervous, glancing around, shifting his weight from foot to foot. She wanted to hold him.

  That night, she climbed the wall of her antique store and watched him sleep, making sure to be gone long before the sun rose.

  Prophet and Loss

  Mitch Burton headed toward the South gate of Junction. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to sit his post in peace. Mitch preferred the North gate, but knew that Earl Pritcher was already there, and wherever Earl was, there could be no quiet. It wasn’t that Earl was a horrible person, all things considered, he was probably one of the better people the world had to offer these days, but he just had this thing about prostitution. Not like Tool has a thing about whores, no, Earl was completely the opposite and furthermore he seemed to feel the need to let everyone know just how much he disliked the profession. In the old world, Mitch imagined that Earl had been one of those horrible neighbors who constantly complained about the dandelions in your yard. Probably the head of the local home-owner’s association too. He had never bothered to ask Earl about his former life because none of that mattered now, especially not to Mitch who had a job to do.

  His job was to keep Junction safe. No small task to say the least. Most days were easy, but when things went to hell, they went in a big way. Zombies weren’t a real problem anymore, not many wandered this far out. Even the Sores rarely came close to the walls, preferring to hunt those individuals who were foolish or desperate enough to leave the safety that Junction provided. Pilgrims and scavs were their regular targets and more than a few good people had been lost to those animals. The only real threat to the safety Junction provided was the gypsies, more commonly called gypos by the residents of Junction.

  Mitch liked to think of the gypsies as the terrorists of the new world. They tended to infiltrate successful communities in small numbers. Once they got a foot hold, their companions on the outside would storm the gates to rape and pillage, taking what they wanted and burning the rest. Even by modern standards, it was an ugly end.

  As he approached the gate, Danni gave him a wave. She was an odd person but she looked quite at home holding a shotgun, most likely a loaner from Filler. She had shown up with a small group of pilgrims a few months ago and decided to stay. Unlike most women, Danni refused to sell herself, choosing instead to do odd jobs, filling in where needed to keep herself fed.

  “Hey Danni. How was the night shift? Anything moving?”

  “Quiet. Just the way we like it. Tool went out just before dawn, but that’s it.”

  “Good. Have you had breakfast yet?”

  “Nah, Filler gave me some stew to get through the night. “

  “How about you go get us both something to eat? On my tab.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know, but frankly I’m hungry and too damn lazy to get it myself.”

  “Alright. Anything in particular?”

  “Yeah. No stew. Anything but that damn stew.”

  Danni laughed at the look of genuine disgust that had crossed Mitch’ face.

  “How about an order of Eggs over My-hammy with a side of blueberry pancakes?”

  “Don’t tease me.”

  As Danni was climbing down from the guard post atop the wall, Mitch picked up the binoculars that hung in their usual spot and began to scan the horizon. Something in the distance caught his eye. Some movement far down the old interstate that lead to their little town. Mitch looked over his shoulder toward Danni as she walked away.

  He yelled down to the girl, “Tell Filler we got movement on the road.”

  Danni gave him a nod before continuing her errand.

  By the time they had finished breakfast, Mitch could clearly make out the figure of a ragged looking man with a full beard and shaggy hair. He lowered the binoculars, rubbed his eyes and handed them to Danni. “Take a look and tell me what you see.”

  “It’s a real mess of a man….” She trailed off then added, “Is he wearing a robe?”

  “Oh good, you see it too. Thought I was losing my mind for a minute. If you’re not too tired, would you mind hanging out until the wizard gets here?”

  “Sure thing Mitch.”

  Sometime later “the wizard” complete with staff, made his way to the gate and looking up at the guards, made a grand gesture of spreading his arms wide as if he m
eant to open the gates by sheer force of will, “I am a stranger in a strange land. I seek an audience with Pharaoh.”

  “I’m sure you are.” Mitch said loud enough that only Danni could hear. “I’ll go down, you stay here and keep that twelve-gauge ready.”

  Mitch opened the gate just enough to let the wizard in. “Well, Moses, what brings you to Junction.”

  “Wan in April the draught of March has pierced to the roota, then longin men to goon en pilgrimages.”

  “Look Moses, we got enough crazy. If that’s all you bring to the table, you can turn right around.” Mitch was looking the man over. The old bathrobe was filthy and open enough to reveal more dirty clothing underneath. On his back was a yellow pack, muddy and stuffed to the point of bursting, but no obvious weapons.

  “If I were insane, I wouldn’t know that I was insane. Since I know that I’m insane, I must in fact be sane.”

  “Be that as it may, you better have something substantial to offer if you plan to stay in Junction.”

  “The prime directive forbids me from interfering with the development of those less evolved.”

  “I’ll escort you to Filler’s. You can get something to eat and a room for the night, but you better plan on paying for it.”

  “Very well, captain.”

  Mitch opened the door to Filler’s and pointed to a table. As Moses made his way to a chair, Mitch continued into the kitchen and knocked on the office door. A voice boomed from the other side, “What?”

  “We have a visitor.”

  The door opened and a large figure filled the frame. Filler was big. Far too big in a time when most were gaunt from fighting to survive day after day.

  “What’s his story?’

  “No idea. So far, nothing he’s said makes much sense.”

  “Crazy?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Just strange. I got a feeling that he’s up to no good, but it’s just a gut thing.”

  “You think he’s a gyp?”