“That’s gonna put anyone inside in some serious danger,” Reese noted.
“Agreed, but I don’t think they give a rip.” Pickering looked up. “These are the worst of the worst, the cockroaches left over after a nuclear winter. They’re too smart to die for us and too dumb to make it easy.”
“We’ve lost a lot of people to these scumbags, and over the past few days, we’ve figured out what they’re doing under some new leader,” Decker said as he joined Pickering at the map table. He crossed his arms and frowned. “He’s ruthless.”
“I heard Sean Mayo talk about it at the kidnapping,” Reese explained. “Some guy named ‘The Boss’—they were all terrified of him and what he did to someone named Alejandro.”
“Alejandro?” Asked Pickering. “Never heard of him.”
Reese shrugged. “I don’t know either, but evidently he double-crossed this Boss character, and the guy made a mess out of him. As an example to everyone else. They were all pretty spooked over it.”
“This just keeps getting better and better,” muttered Decker.
“Well, I can’t say as I’m surprised—these guys, they’re animals,” Pickering said. “They’re making slaves of the prisoners.”
“What?” Reese blurted.
“Yep,” Pickering agreed. “Anyone they catch is forced to go find more loot: food, drugs, water, guns, ammo, anything that’s not nailed down. They gotta haul it back to the convention center in carts, cars, or on their backs.”
“And if they don’t?” asked Reese. “What if they just run away?”
No one said anything for a long moment. “They’re always on the lookout for new captives,” Decker rumbled. “Gotta replenish the stock.”
“So…” Reese cleared his throat, unable to shake a mental image of Jo in chains. “How are you—we—gonna do this?”
Decker grunted. “We got plenty of weapons—we emptied the precinct before the Scavengers took it down, I made sure of that. What we don’t have are people who can shoot.”
“I can definitely shoot,” Reese said as he studied the map. “But rifles are out—my shoulder’s no good.” He looked up at Decker. “And I’m right-handed.”
“Well, that sucks,” Carla mumbled.
Pickering glanced at Decker, then back at the map. “I got an idea, LT.”
“Let’s hear it,” Decker commanded. “Gimme some options.”
“Well, we got everyone coming in…but they’re gonna have all the corners covered,” he said, his finger on the map again.
“Yeah, I know. What’s the plan?”
He looked at Reese. “What if they were distracted and couldn’t focus on our breach point?”
“I’m sorry, guys, I don’t see how I can be of any help—I just told you, I can’t shoot with this shoulder…” Reese explained.
Pickering grinned. “We don’t need you as a shooter. We need you as a diversion.”
“What?” asked Reese. “How am I going to be a diversion with only one good arm?”
“It could work,” Decker mused.
After a few seconds of silence, Reese spoke up. “I’m sorry, can someone clue me in on just what you’re talking about?”
Decker pointed at the map. “They know who you are—you killed Sean Mayo’s brother,” Decker replied. “Trust me, you showing up at one of the entrances will be a diversion.”
Reese swallowed. “I…I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do.”
“Be yourself,” Decker said. “Keep ‘em occupied while we gut ‘em from behind.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Reese muttered. He glanced down at the map. “Jo—my friend, she could be anywhere in there.” When no one spoke, he looked up and frowned. “This is where you’re supposed to say something encouraging, like ‘we’ll find her,’ you know?”
Decker looked away. “I’m not saying that. Too many of us have lost people we care about to these animals. As if the tsunami wasn’t bad enough…” He looked at Reese with empty eyes. “We got no use for pep talks. It’s gone beyond that.”
Reese sighed. “This apocalypse sucks.”
Chapter 13
Westin Residence
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Darien looked down at the pile of toilet paper and other bathroom necessities his crew had managed to bring in over the past few nights. They’d carried all the loot inside one of the bedrooms on the second floor. All the windows had been closed and boarded up, so absolutely no light from inside could leak out, and more importantly, no one could see in and find out just exactly how much stuff they had acquired in the past few days.
“…fourteen, fifteen…” Darien muttered to himself. He nudged a box with his foot, which uncovered another package of toilet paper. “Sixteen.” He scribbled the number on the checklist pinned to the clipboard in his hand. "Not bad, not bad."
"I don't get it, what's with the obsession with toilet paper?" asked Lopez.
"You ever drop a deuce without some?"
The convict grinned. "Once…when I was camping with my old man. It sucked."
Darien pointed the pencil in the man's direction. "That's why. Tidal wave shut everything down for miles around the coasts. I don't know how far north and south it hit, but Charleston is done. Now that the power’s been out for a couple days, how long you think it's gonna be before we’re able to find toilet paper again?”
The convict crossed his beefy arms but nodded reluctantly. "Good point."
"Now—we need to focus on canned goods. We got a decent supply, but with all of us here, we’re going to go through our food pretty quick."
"Well, the big guy eats as much as three of us—” groused Lopez.
"And Jon Boy does the work of all of us combined,” Darien replied without a glance up from the paper in his hands. "I expect our group is going to
