Deadly Independents

By Ted Hill

Plague, Famine and War have taken their toll on the kids living in Independents. Now the survivors of the apocalypse await the final horseman.

Death is coming and no one is safe from the monster that haunts Jimmy’s waking dreams.

After Billy disappeared the night that War burned Main Street to the ground, Hunter and Scout have spent the past several months searching the Nebraskan prairie. They finally reach Denver in hopes to find the innocent boy and bring him home, but one reckless decision leaves Hunter at Death’s mercy.

When Molly discovers the fate that has befallen Hunter, the grief and pain are almost too much to bear. Only her newfound faith keeps her moving forward as everyone around her turns deadly. Armored by her belief and strengthened by the love she feels for Hunter, Molly must face the evil in the Big Bad if she hopes to protect Independents from the rising of the Beast.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Permuted
• Release date: Jun 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781682611296

Book preview

Chapter One: Molly

The pothole in the middle of Main Street drove Molly crazy. It needed to be fixed. That was the only thing she could focus on despite living in the apocalypse, because this was an easy fix, or so she thought as she pushed the wheelbarrow full of gravel and sand towards the center of town. Her next thought was how hot it was under the summer sun, and that maybe she should have started her project earlier in the morning, but putting it off any longer would only make her crazy. Molly wasn’t crazy. She wanted to fix that pothole properly so it would no longer plague her mind. That wasn’t crazy. That was purpose. And these days Molly was all about finding and fulfilling her purpose in life, no matter how much longer she had to live.

The absence of children and laughter in the streets was as noticeable now as it had been for the past six months. Neither really existed since the last Horseman wreaked havoc in Independents. Even through spring, when life was renewed and flourished, and the farms came back into order providing food for the coming year. Dinnertime was now filled with the fruits of their labors and no one was hungry anymore, at least not in Independents. The children were wary now, not able to mount excitement for things like goofing around and horseplay. They had seen too much, suffered too much, and all of them knew that more troubles lay ahead.

Death was on his way.

Molly reached the cobbles of Main Street, the wheelbarrow bouncing slightly over each brick as she finally arrived at her destination. The pothole yawned before her where ten red bricks had lost their base and now rested a good six inches lower than the rest of the ones that made up the entire block.

Molly pulled the work gloves that Ginger loaned her tight and got to work on her hands and knees pulling out the fallen cobbles. After she struggled with the first two, the rest popped loose without too much effort and she stacked them around the edge to be reused.

A small pair of grass-stained feet stepped into Molly’s field of vision. Why on earth are you out here messing around with this hole?

Molly sat back on her legs and smiled at the little girl. Catherine’s head was centered in front of the sun perfectly. It gave the saint a halo effect. Molly shielded the light from her eyes. This is something I have to do.

Catherine looked down into the hole. I really don’t see the point. Nobody even comes over here anymore. Why fix this hole?

Molly stood and brushed off her knees. Catherine was right, of course. Main Street no longer served a purpose except maybe as a road of bad memories. The buildings along either side were gone, burned down last fall by the fire War brought to Independents. What to do with the town, if they should stay or look for a new one, was still being debated. Jimmy and Samuel had scraped the burnt refuse from their foundations and piled everything to the south end of Main Street. Now the cobble street was a block of empty concrete slabs on either side, deprived of the buildings that had been so important to the kids in this community. Molly missed the apartment she had shared with Hunter. They now lived in the house where Billy used to live with Preston. It was a fixer-upper before Famine visited town with his insect cloud. Hunter and Molly had made it a home with Ginger and Jimmy’s help.

The same couldn’t be said for Main Street. It was no longer a home or a proud center of town where everyone gathered. The cobbles were still there, still pretty while they baked in the sun, and the pothole was the one blemish remaining.

Catherine said, You’re worried about Hunter, aren’t you?

Molly checked Catherine for teasing. The little girl’s eyes held innocence in their blue depths. An innocence that Molly didn’t trust, because Catherine was a little princess of mischief, and if she hadn’t been a saint, Molly could have easily sworn that the girl was messing with her and that was why she didn’t answer the question right away. Instead, she stared into those blue eyes waiting for Catherine to break into a grin.

When no sign of mischief came, Molly sighed and dropped her shoulders. Yes, I’m worried about Hunter, but not for the reasons you probably have up in that blonde head of yours.

Oh, so you’re not worried about Hunter and Barbie out on the road together?

Molly leveled her gaze—which was ineffective since Catherine was half her size. The hands on Molly’s hips didn’t help either.

Catherine smiled a big white row of teeth with a top one missing, and those blue eyes sparkled.

Molly said, No, I’m not worried about Barbie and Hunter. I trust Hunter completely, and Barbie and I have an understanding. She won’t go for my guy and I won’t let Margaret go for hers.

That’s convenient. I don’t think Barbie is all that impressed with Samuel anyways. It’s Michael she’s after.

Molly nodded. She felt bad for Samuel, and the part of her where Margaret still resided missed him more than the saint was willing to admit. The only thing that really mattered to Molly was having Hunter in her life and by her side. Margaret, Barbie, and even Catherine would have to get in line behind her and what she wanted. Right now, she wanted to fix a pothole.

Molly grabbed the shovel from the wheelbarrow. She looked at Catherine one more time, shook her head, and then scooped up some gravel and dumped it into the hole.

Catherine walked around and stood between Molly and the wheelbarrow. "So why are you fixing this hole?"

Molly frowned at Catherine and tried to pass the little girl. Catherine sidestepped and blocked the attempt, thwarting Molly’s work.

Molly surrendered with a sigh. I can’t really say why I’m fixing this stupid pothole. It has always bothered me, even before Hunter brought you here from out of the Big Bad. I never had any real ambition to fix it until now. I want to fix it, I am fixing it and if you want to help you’re more than welcome to, but I need help, not people questioning why I’m doing something.

Catherine moved out of the way. Okay, you can continue.

Thank you.

Molly scooped out another load of gravel, dumped it into the hole and then leveled it out. She then scooped sand from the other side of the wheelbarrow and dumped that in the hole over the gravel, followed by three more scoops of sand and leveled that out, as Ginger had told her to do.

So, Catherine said from her spectator spot next to the wheelbarrow out of the way. Are you worried about Hunter?

Molly stopped from smoothing the sand and checking the level, making sure she had a good base for the bricks to be laid. I am worried about Hunter... And Scout and Barbie and Joan. I worry every time they go out into the Big Bad to face whatever evil is out there beyond our fence. I also have faith that they will be protected and returned safely to us.

Catherine raised her eyebrows at that. You have faith, she said in her best little girl voice.

Of course I have faith. If I didn’t then I would let the worry consume me. And that’s not healthy or productive. I have faith because I have seen too much and I want to believe that something better is coming.

Something better is coming, Molly. All in good time.

You mean all in God’s time, don’t you.

It’s basically the same thing. God will make this world right again in time. This is his world, after all, and he won’t let his creation fall to a usurper.

The Devil?

Yes. Lucifer. Always jealous and power mad, that is his downfall. He was such a beautiful angel, too. It’s really sad.

Molly shook her head in bafflement. Are you saying you were in Heaven when the Devil fell?

Of course, silly.

I thought Saint Catherine was born sometime in the middle ages.

I was born way before the middle ages, but I also have been in God’s service for much longer than that, same as Margaret and Barbara. Think of us as God’s holy helpers. We get to come down to Earth every once in a while and help put things back in order. It’s kind of a fulltime occupation.

Molly must have stared at Catherine for more seconds than she thought. The little girl smiled, walked over and wrapped her arms around Molly’s waist and began to squeeze. Molly squeezed back the way Catherine liked.

It’s good that you have faith. God will not let anything bad happen to Hunter and the rest. They are under his protection, after all.

What about the world, all the adults? Why did God not protect them?

The little girl’s face fell, etched in sorrow. He allowed man to be in charge of his own destiny when he expelled Adam and Eve from Eden. He helps those who ask. He also allows everyone their free will. By the time the plague started, God made plans to fight the evil crisscrossing his world. Catherine stopped talking and looked back at the hole. It’s good that you have faith. Faith is like your hole over there. You have to put something into the faith to fill the emptiness. You have to have something in there supporting that faith if you want to walk a level path. You can’t just say ‘I believe’ and everything will be all right.

So I should go to church and read the bible and then God will make my life better.

You don’t like your life?

Molly inspected that statement. Sure her parents had died, along with everyone else. Sure life had been hard and still was pretty hard when you considered that they were in charge of their own survival and so far it had managed out fine even with Pestilence, Famine and War out there trying to destroy what little happiness they had scraped out of the world in this little space of Nebraska. Sure, life was hard. The kids of Independents had been calloused by a hard life. They were the survivors who had inherited the world, but they weren’t the meek ones. They were tough and ready for what came next.

I love my life. I have my brother, my friends, my health and I have Hunter. Life is what you make it, right? Molly asked.

That is a wise thing to say.

I read it in one of my self-help books.

You don’t have to go to church and read the bible for God to make your life better. You have to make your life better for yourself. God did the hard part. He put you here. It’s up to you to make the best of it like it said in your self-help book. God does appreciate it when we do good deeds for other people. That’s His favorite thing.

Molly nodded and looked back to her hole. She hadn’t planned on the job taking this long, nor did she expect to be distracted by a religious talk with an eight-year-old saint. Life in Independents seldom gave her what she expected, and that’s probably why she loved living here so much. Life kept her on her toes. Molly took the level out of the wheelbarrow and placed it on the sand, eyeing the floating bubble to make sure her bricks were going onto a flat compacted surface of sand.

Catherine took a seat in the shade of the wheelbarrow and watched silently, which Molly felt thankful for. She placed the first brick, then the next, until all ten were interlocked back into place. She checked the level. The bubble leaned to the right because the cobbles weren’t settled perfectly. Ginger had warned her that it was a possibility and that it would probably take a couple of tries before she got it right. Molly wanted to get it right. She pulled all the bricks out and started again. Catherine didn’t say a word from the shade. Sweat ran down Molly’s back under the full strength of the sun.

On the fourth try, the bricks lay perfectly. She sat back on her legs again with satisfaction, looking at a job well done, and smiled.

I think everyone will be proud at what you did here today, Molly, Catherine said, her green toes on the edge of the first brick of the completed project.

Molly shoveled another scoop of sand and then, with Catherine’s help, smoothed it out over the finished work, allowing the sand to fill in all the cracks, locking the cobbles in place.

Molly said, I didn’t do it for anyone else. I did it for me.

Chapter Two: Scout

Denver looked exactly the same as the last time Scout was here—when they rescued Catherine and Jimmy had died. Scout’s eyes roamed over the piles of trash laying everywhere. To him, though, it wasn’t really trash. It was all treasures that had spilled from the front doors of the houses in the neighborhood after the inhabitants had decided to root down northeast of the high rises in downtown. The prospect of what could be salvaged from those tall buildings made Scout itch.

Then he reminded himself that everything burns and the itch went away. They didn’t come all this way to find treasures. They came for Billy. Another rescue mission. Except this time they knew what they were up against and they had brought spiritual backup. Joan and Barbie were not average girls. They were resurrected Holy Saints who Scout had seen channel God’s Holy power on a number of occasions. Still, saints or not, he worried because Hunter had decided to split up the search, boys with boys and girls with girls. Scout would have rather been searching Denver with Joan, but Hunter had been insistent. Hunter always got his way, and that ticked Scout off.

So tell me your awesome plan, Scout said.

Hunter stood at the corner of a building that used to be a gas station before all the fuel ran dry and the windows were busted out. He watched the building across the street in the twilight where a girl in a greasy apron hustled out the last of the dinner stragglers.

He smirked at Scout. Let me ask you, do you want to pull feathers off dead chickens all day so you can earn poker chips for your meals, or would you rather get enough poker chips to keep us fed while we do what we came here for. Hunter returned his attention to the cafeteria as a large kid in a greasier apron than the first shoved a small boy out the door, and told him to go home. I’ve plucked my last chicken. Trust me.

You always avoid work, Scout said, and Hunter smirked again.

Scout sighed. So what’s the plan?

Hunter removed his backpack and pulled his pistol out from inside. I’ve always wanted to rob something.

Scout opened his mouth and widened his eyes. Hunter’s smirk continued and Scout wished he’d gone with the girls. You must have crashed your bike too many times if you think this is going to work. We won’t be able to do anything around here if we go in there like this.

Hunter invested in a full-on smile. I’ve already thought of everything. He reached into his backpack and tossed a black piece of cloth at Scout, who turned it over in his hands and looked back up at Hunter slipping on a ski mask.

This is seriously stupid, Scout said.

That’s why it’s going to work. Now shut up and put the mask on. It’s dark enough. We’ll be in and out before you know it. Hunter racked a round in the chamber and broke from the shadows of the gas station.

Jackass, Scout said under his breath as he watched Hunter cross the deserted street like he owned Denver and everybody worshipped him. Hunter stopped outside the cafeteria doors, ski mask and all, and looked back for Scout. He lifted the mask off his face and waved Scout to come on.

Seriously stupid, and I’m the idiot who follows him, Scout said and tugged the ski mask over his Afro and down his face. He took his gun from his own backpack and hurried across the street like a pack of hellhounds nipped at his heels.

Ready? Hunter asked as Scout slid to a stop out of breath beside him.

Not really. How are we going to do this?

Point your gun and look menacing and let me do all the talking.

Scout’s heart hammered in his chest and sweat made his hands slippery, especially the one holding the gun. He racked a round in the chamber just in case. I really don’t want to shoot anybody.

Relax dude, it’s a cafeteria, not a bank. Nobody in there will be armed. Trust me.

I hate when you say that.

I know. That’s the reason I say it. Hunter looked down at Scout’s hands. Stop shaking. They won’t take us seriously if you look like you’re about to wet your pants.

"I am about to wet my pants. Scout shook his free hand and switched his gun over to shake out his shooting hand. He breathed deep. Forgive us, Lord." And then he nodded for Hunter to begin the fun.

Hunter turned and burst through the front door. He quickly moved into the building with Scout right behind him.

Candles in some type of makeshift chandelier lit the inside, four of them centered in every quarter of the cafeteria. Tables surrounded by chairs were scattered throughout. Scout first saw one kid stacking chairs upside down on a table, the big kid with the greasy apron. Next he saw a girl who had removed her apron and was up on a ladder blowing candles out.

What the fuck, the big kid said.

The girl twisted, saw Hunter and Scout with their guns drawn and fell off the ladder, crashing to the floor.

Scout looked around for others.

Hunter sprang into action. Cover them. I’ll check the kitchen. He left Scout and passed through a pair of swinging doors.

Shit, Scout said under his breath and pointed the pistol at the boy. Put the chair down.

What the hell do you want? We stopped serving dinner an hour ago.

Scout didn’t answer. He moved over to the girl on the floor while keeping the gun on the big kid. Are you all right?

She rubbed her knee and gave Scout a menacing look. I’m fine, dumbass.

Two more of the kitchen staff shuffled out through the swinging doors, one with his sleeves rolled up and his arms dripping wet, the other girl smeared in flour, both followed by Hunter with his gun at their backs. They looked about as scared as the other two, which was not at all.

Is she okay? Hunter asked.

Scout nodded looking down at the girl—who showed Hunter her middle finger.

Where are the poker chips? Hunter asked. Give them over and we’ll get out of here without anyone getting hurt. Hunter looked back at the girl on the floor. She had sheathed her finger and was now rubbing her knee again. "Any more hurt."

You want the poker chips, the chair-stacker said. They’re right over there on the counter.

Hunter backed up to the counter, keeping the group in sight, and grabbed a large can. He rattled the poker chips around and even though he wore a ski mask, Scout saw the smirk through the mouth hole. We got them. Let’s—

The door opened from outside and Hunter and Scout switched to full alert. Scout was already amped up to the max, so full alert meant an extra two beats per second to his heart rate. Three big boys came through the door. One carried a duffle bag on his shoulders and the other two held shotguns.

The boy dropped the duffle bag and when it hit the floor, everyone could hear the plastic clicks of several hundred poker chips. The two with the shotguns stood there like they never expected to have to use them. Hunter and Scout squared off on them from two different sides of the room and Scout felt angry with Hunter and afraid for his own life. He wasn’t prepared for a shootout.

The shotgunners came to their senses and swung their weapons off their shoulders and pointed right back, one at Hunter and the other at Scout. They looked capable of pulling the triggers.

Scout estimated how big the hole in him would be if they decided too.

With Hunter and Scout’s attention on the shotguns, the big kid that had been stacking chairs broke from his stance and tackled Scout from the side, taking him roughly to the ground. The gun popped loose from Scout’s grip and skidded to the wall. Scout tried to scramble out from under the smell of week old ground beef, but the kid was way too heavy.

The greasy kid put his elbow into the back of Scout’s neck. Stop moving or I will crush your throat.

Scout stopped and prayed. He didn’t know what was happening with Hunter until he saw his boots and heard the warning.

Get your big ass off of him or there’s going to be a blinding white light that starts in the back of your head.

Scout felt the boy’s bulk leave him, relieved that the crushing weight was gone.

Hunter said, Get up. It’s time to go.

Scout stood as fast as his shaking body would allow. Hunter had the fat kid in between himself and the shotgunners that stood twenty feet away. Get your gun, he told Scout.

Scout hurried over to the wall, retrieved his gun and waited for Hunter to tell him what he should do next. Hunter looked at him. Scout hated how calm his friend was while Scout really thought he might have wet his pants a little.

Get over here, Hunter said.

What the heck is going on? the guy who the dropped duffle asked. You two aren’t from Denver are you? Do you have any idea who you’re stealing from?

We don’t really care. Hunter jammed his gun in the back of the fat kid’s head. "Start moving