BARREN: Book 1 - War in the Ruins (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller) Page 4

  “Damn straight you’re not, muchacha. Don’t you move.”

  Katy felt the morning sun warming her neck as her wet clothes clung to her like a frigid claw. Her toes went numb and she smelled of the lake and rotting vegetation.

  The four survivors stood shoulder-to-shoulder behind their leader. They stopped while he continued, walking up to within two feet of Katy and Decker. He looked down at the dog and then up at Katy.

  “Ain’t seen you in the ruins before.”

  But he had—fifteen years earlier when there had still been a sliver of hope that order would be restored by the government. Katy thought the man had probably been in thousands of fights since the chaos began. She would be just another blurry face in his violent memory. But she had never forgotten his. They’d met in an abandoned gas station shorty after civilization crumbled. He had killed her companion but spared her life—Katy had thought about that moment many times over the years. This gang leader should have killed her then, but he’d let her go for reasons that seemed to confuse even him at the time.

  “I try to avoid them,” Katy said.

  The man squinted at Katy, staring at her until the pause became uncomfortable. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  “No,” Katy said, her eyes looking at the toes of her boots.

  He shook his head as if breaking a trance before turning his eyes back on her. “You taking a swim?” he asked, using his bat to point at Katy’s wet clothes.

  “Yeah,” Katy said.

  “You the one with the boat? The one we see going past every week or so?”

  Katy sighed and wrung her hands. Before she could reply, the man spoke again.

  “Don’t bullshit me. I know you didn’t swim here from Canada.”

  “She’s the doc, Jorge,” the woman said. “The preggos come to the shore to see her. She never gets off her boat.”

  “Don’t matter. Babies ain’t making it like they used to, and even when they do...”

  Katy waited, unsure how much to say or when. The man seemed to enjoy talking so Katy let him continue.

  “You got food on your boat?” he asked, abandoning his previous verbal thoughts.

  “Nothing,” Katy said, technically telling the truth. She was not about to tell the biker about her camp or the status of her supplies. At least, not yet.

  “That your dog?”

  “His name is Decker.”

  The hulk nodded, looking at the dog and then back to Katy.

  “Woman’s gotta have enough food to keep her dog fed, wouldn’t you say, doctor?”

  Katy rolled her shoulders and flexed her fingers. She took several deep breaths before spreading her feet shoulder-width apart, just as her sensei had taught her.

  “We’re leaving. My boat got damaged. I have to go fix it. Didn’t mean to intrude on your territory. Sorry to bother you.”

  Katy took a step to the side and the hulk matched it, blocking her path.

  “Where you think you’re going?”

  “There’s several of you and one of me. This blade is sharp,” she said, using her thumb to push the tiny razor to the top of her utility knife. “I don’t have a weapon, but I will defend myself if I must.”

  The hulk smiled and glanced between his men and the puny, rusted utility knife in Katy’s hand.

  “You threatening me? You think you’re tough for a woman, but I remember that doctors can’t hurt nobody. They take an oath—that hippo shit.”

  “I’ve been trained in karate and aikido. I know how to fight.”

  “Hear that, Salazar? She’s been trained. How about that?”

  Katy glanced behind the man at his companions, two of whom looked like a gentle autumn breeze would knock them over. They swayed, their eyes drooping and then shooting open.

  “My name is Jorge. Head of Los Muertos tribe. You should know who is about to kick your ass.”

  “Los Muertos means ‘The Dead.’ How clever,” Katy said with more sarcasm than she had intended. “You’re a tribe and not a gang?”

  “Ain’t been gangs for a long time. Nothing but survivors now, and those who get together form tribes,” Jorge said.

  Katy waited for the others to introduce themselves. She looked at each of them before bringing her attention back to Jorge.

  “Gonna ask you again what you’re doing here. That and your name, my new amiga.”

  “I’m Katy. Katy with a Y and not Katherine. You already know Decker.”

  “Why you call him that?” Jorge asked.

  “Because he likes to lay on the deck of my boat.”

  “Decker. Because he lounges on the deck of your boat. How clever,” Jorge said with as much sarcasm as he intended.

  The wind brushed a lock of hair into Katy’s face. Jorge continued smiling at her while the others in his crew stood still.

  “We’ll take your dog now, and then we might let you walk out of here without a broken nose.”

  “No, you won’t touch my dog,” Katy said.

  “We take whatever we want. That’s how Los Muertos rolls in the ruins. You got something to say about it, you talk to Señor Slugger.”

  Jorge brought the baseball bat back and rested it upon his shoulder, both of his hands gripping the handle.

  “He’s not for sale,” Katy said.

  “We ain’t buying him, yo. We’re taking him.”

  Katy used her leg to push Decker behind her. She balled both fists and licked her dry lips.

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “Look behind me,” Jorge said. “What you see?”

  “People. Tired people.”

  “Yeah. You know why they’re tired?” he asked. “They ain’t had nothing to eat for days.”

  “There’s gotta be stuff left in the ruins,” Katy said.

  “After fifteen years? Where you been living? Whatever was around when the shit blinked out ain’t good no more. Hasn’t been for a long time. We ate the last of the shit in our tribe’s plot and the gourd seeds didn’t take last year. Our corn ain’t coming up no more. We won’t make it through the winter.”

  “Not my problem,” Katy said.

  “It is now because here you are and here we are. You’re going to give me the dog and I might not crack your skull open.”

  CHAPTER 7

  By the time they’d moved to the old tennis courts, the sun had climbed as high as it would in late fall. The rays painted spectacular golden lines on the ground but struggled to raise the temperature past 50 degrees. Most of the chain-link fence remained, although it was rusted to a burnt orange and the top sagged inward. Leaves, shopping bags and other debris were pushed into the corner by countless winters, tangled and trapped within the fence. Katy could still see some of the white lines of the court and that elicited a nostalgic smile that Jorge noticed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Katy looked at Decker tied to the fencepost. The dog whined but did not bark.

  “Nothing,” she said. “We don’t have to do this.”

  “I say we do. We want the dog and you won’t give him to us.”

  Katy shrugged and spread her feet. She slid an old rubber gasket from her wrist and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. It would hurt coming off, but it would hurt worse to not see the punches coming.

  Jorge leaned his aluminum baseball bat against the fence. Katy tossed her utility knife there as well.

  “How do I know your crew won’t jump me if I start winning?” Katy asked.

  “You don’t. But what choice do you have? This world ain’t about what’s fair or right anymore. It’s only about who comes out on top. You feelin’ me?”

  Katy stretched her fingers, balling them into fists and opening them up again. She cocked her head left and then right, never taking her eyes off of Jorge.

  “You ever tasted dog, Jorge? Seriously?”

  “You ever watched a loved one die of starvation?”

  The man was witty and she could understand why he was the leader of this band of survivors. Katy didn’t want to fight him any more than she wanted to see her dog being eaten for dinner. But those seemed to be the two most likely outcomes of her current predicament.

  “Last chance,” Jorge said. “You give me the dog and we walk away.”

  “You walk away and I won’t kick your ass,” Katy said.

  Jorge lunged, his bulky frame knocking Katy down. The man had one hundred pounds and six inches on her.

  “Get up,” Jorge said.

  For the first time, one of the crew of Los Muertos smiled.

  Katy scampered to her feet, running a hand across her forehead before pulling her ponytail tight. She stared into Jorge’s eyes.

  Redirect his movements. Just like you were taught.

  “C’mon,” Jorge said.

  He swung a meaty fist at her head. She ducked and Katy’s right arm came up so fast that Jorge saw only a flash before Katy’s fist bounced off his chin. Jorge stumbled backward and Katy came forward in the same motion, landing a left jab square on Jorge’s nose. Blood poured from the leader’s face before he hit the ground.

  “Puta,” Jorge said, spitting blood on the ground.

  Katy waited.

  “Leave. We will, too,” Katy said.

  Jorge spun and his right hand gripped the baseball bat. Katy raised her right leg and came down with her heel on Jorge’s wrist. The big man cried out, grabbing his injured wrist with the opposite hand.

  “Last chance,” Katy said. “I keep my dog and you walk away.”

  Jorge began to laugh. Blood flowed from his nose and into his mouth, coating his teeth. He sniffed and then spat another wad of bloody phlegm.

  “You one tough bitch. You know that?” Jorge said.

  Katy had both fists up, waiting. She did not an
swer.

  Decker barked, but it was too late. Jorge’s crew slid behind Katy. Three had knives and one raised a rock over his head and ran at her. She turned in time to escape the major blunt force of the blow, but the rock skimmed off her shoulder. Katy cried out as the edge of the stone bit into her skin. One man with a knife slashed at Katy’s head and missed, but the other swung in a wide arc at her back. The skin above Katy’s belt, in the small of her back, opened with a fiery pain.

  Jorge stood and delivered a kick to Katy’s midsection, knocking the air from her lungs. The members of Los Muertos stood back after turning the advantage back to Jorge. The huge man wasted no time in exploiting the edge. He leapt up and came down on the top of Katy’s head with an elbow, making a sound like a hammer smacking a ripe cantaloupe.

  Katy rolled over onto her back. Her vision swam and the bright sunshine made black splotches of pain explode in her head. She turned to see the woman, the only member of Los Muertos who had not attacked her, untying the rope that held Decker to the fence.

  “No,” Katy said, the single word tumbling from her lips.

  “You stay down and we won’t beat you no more.”

  “Okay,” Katy said. “Okay. Take the dog and leave me be.”

  She rolled over and onto her knees, shaking her head and breathing heavily. The silver charm swung from her neck like a pendulum.

  “See,” Jorge said. “I told you she was—”

  Katy was up in an instant and driving the top of her head into the middle of Jorge’s chest. She ran through the big man, knocking him back and stepping on his face as she ran him over. The rest of Los Muertos turned, but none could beat Katy to the baseball bat. She grabbed it and took two swings, backing off the attackers.

  She looked at their faces and they all appeared empty, as if they were about to pass out. Katy wondered how much energy the fight had taken from them and how much longer they were prepared to stick it out. Jorge lay on the ground, his nose twisted and blood continuing to flow from it.

  “Bring me my dog,” Katy said to the woman. “And if you hurt him, I swear to God I’ll bash your brains in.”

  The woman holding Decker’s leash tossed it at Katy and kicked the dog in the rear. Decker ran over and sat next to Katy. Jorge sat up, but his face was white and his eyes rolled around helplessly in their sockets.

  “He’s gonna pass out and you all can’t carry him. Better get him some water right now.”

  Katy held the bat with both hands but took a step back from where Jorge sat.

  “We ain’t got none,” one of the men said. “Not here, anyways.”

  “You camped nearby?” Katy asked.

  “Over there,” said another member of Los Muertos, pointing to a partially collapsed house about fifty yards from the tennis courts.

  “You living there or camping?”

  “Camping,” Jorge said, as he climbed to his feet. But as soon as he did, the big man swooned and fell back to the ground.

  “Pinch your nose,” Katy said. “If you don’t stop the blood, you’re gonna pass out.”

  Two of the men went over to help Jorge to his feet and he swatted their hands away.

  “Lot of protection you offered, assholes.”

  Katy smiled, the bat still in her hands.

  “You got caulk?” Katy asked.

  “Huh?” Jorge said. “Like for drafty windows and shit?”

  “Spackle. Glue. Anything adhesive? Need to fix my boat. If you do, I got some food I can trade. Nothing substantial but enough to get your crew back on their feet.”

  The members of Los Muertos all leaned back against the fence, their arms at their sides, breathing heavily.

  “How do I know you gonna be good on the trade if we get you what you need?”

  “You don’t,” Katy said with a smile. “But what choice do you have? This world ain’t about what’s fair or right anymore. It’s only about who comes out on top. You feelin’ me?”

  This time, Jorge smiled, the blood filling the lines between his teeth.

  “All right. You keep your damn dog. We’ll see what we can find to fix your boat. We do that and you give us some food.”

  Katy tossed the aluminum bat at Jorge’s feet where it rattled on the pockmarked and cracked asphalt.

  “And maybe some tape to set your nose straight. Unless you got an ER around here somewhere.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Twenty years ago,” Jorge said, dabbing his nose with the remnants of a dirty T-shirt, “I woulda beat you to a pulp.”

  Katy sat on the floor across from the man with Decker in her lap. She pulled the dog close.

  “That was then, this is now,” she said.

  A member of Los Muertos came into the room and handed Jorge a crinkled plastic bottle with an inch of cloudy water at the bottom.

  “Drink,” the man said to Jorge.

  “We ain’t got—”

  “Forget it,” Katy said, interrupting him. “I’m not thirsty.”

  Jorge shooed the man from the room and then whistled at Decker, two quick, high-pitched bursts that people had used for centuries to call their dogs. Katy held on to Decker who struggled to get to his feet with his tail wagging.

  “We wasn’t going to eat him. Relax. Come here, Decker.”

  Katy let the dog go and he trotted across the room to Jorge. The big man poured half of the water from the bottle into the palm of his hand and held it out. Decker lapped it up and then returned to Katy’s lap. Jorge held up the bottle in the air and tilted the top at Katy before downing what was left inside.

  Shadows cloaked the room, despite the brilliant orange hue of the setting sun. Katy saw old metal filing cabinets with streaks of burnt-red rust on them. An overturned desk sat in one corner along with four chair legs, none of which were still connected to a chair. It smelled moldy and old but with no hint of rotted meat or urine.

  “This isn’t your camp,” Katy said.

  “Of course it ain’t, stupid. You think I’d bring a violent, kung-fu bitch and her dog to my home, loca?”

  Katy smiled.

  “We use this place when the snow or rain comes down hard. Roof is still intact.”

  Katy looked up at the water-stained ceiling tiles but saw no breach in them.

  “You’re bikers.”

  “Used to be,” Jorge said. “Before all the gas went bad. Now, we just survivors. Like you.”

  Jorge’s eyes had begun to swell and Katy knew they’d be black in twelve hours, although she doubted the leader of Los Muertos tribe would care about that. She saw Jorge still wore his black leather vest with a Los Muertos patch on the back. Katy didn’t know much about biker culture or which clubs ran Cleveland, but she guessed that a gang called “The Dead” would have been a tough crew.

  “Just a handful of us now. Got the old ladies and kids back in the village, but we got problems there, too.”

  Katy caught a glimpse of something in Jorge’s eyes, but the big man pushed it down and kept talking.

  “We could use a smart, strong woman like you. And a dog.”

  “I’ve got a job. Responsibilities. I’m flattered you’d ask me to join but—”

  “Wait, what? A job? What are you talking about?”

  “Of sorts,” Katy said. “I check up on the pregnant woman living in the ruins. I’ve probably seen some from your crew.”

  “But you never enter the ruins. We see you out there, sailing and shit. You want to be left alone. I get it,” Jorge said. “But your timing is all off, chica. You know what tonight is?”

  “No.”

  “Tonight is Reckoning Night.”

  Katy raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “And...”

  “Reckoning Night,” Jorge said with an emphasis on the first word. “How long you been on the lake?”

  “Years,” Katy said, not yet trusting Jorge enough to reveal much more.

  “Well, we got to get to hiding fast. Sun is almost down. The old lady back home, she’ll have everyone hidden, but we’ll have to find a spot here. We ain’t got time to get home.”

  “Whoa,” Katy said, waving her hand in the air. “What the hell are you talking about? What is Reckoning Night?”

  A member of Los Muertos entered the room through the open door and nodded at Jorge.

  “Vámonos. Ahora.”

  Jorge held up his hand.

  “Five minutes.”

  The man left Jorge with Katy and Decker.

  “Reckoning Night is when they steal our kids and kill anyone in their path. Been happening for years. Hado is the leader—a stone-cold killer. Ain’t nobody you want to meet out there.”