The Last Mile Read online

  THE LAST MILE

  Tim Waggoner

  First Edition

  The Last Mile © 2014 by Tim Waggoner

  All Rights Reserved.

  A DarkFuse Release

  www.darkfuse.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Other Books by Author

  Broken Shadows

  The Men Upstairs

  Check out the author’s official page at DarkFuse for a complete list:

  http://www.darkfuseshop.com/Tim-Waggoner/

  This one’s for Sutter Cane

  Dan gripped the steering wheel tighter as his ancient Oldsmobile juddered across cracked and broken asphalt. He knew he should slow down, but considering what he carried in the backseat, he couldn’t afford to. There were far too many hungry things out here who’d kill—or worse—steal his prize.

  C’mon, baby, just hold together for one more run…please…

  It wasn’t a prayer, not exactly. Like everyone else in the World After, Dan knew there was no use in praying. If you wanted any special favors, you had to sacrifice to get them. The brand on his forehead—the scarred flesh swollen and feverish—was ample reminder of that. The heat blazing from his thrall-mark was growing more intolerable by the moment, and he gritted his teeth against the pain of his Master’s summons.

  I’m on my way! Dan had no idea if his Master could hear his thoughts, especially from this distance, but the pain didn’t lessen. He knew it wouldn’t, not until he’d made his delivery. Good thing that his thoughts weren’t heard, he decided. Drawing attention to himself would probably just get him more pain as a goad to travel faster.

  The road he sped along used to be Interstate 75, a major highway running through southwest Ohio, but now most people referred to it simply as the Way. Since the Masters’ arrival, the surface had become warped, the asphalt shot through with fissures. Jagged chunks of road stuck up at odd angles, and large subsidences were all-too-common hazards. Thick stalklike weeds sprouted between the cracks: ugly, distorted things, crimson thorns protruding from rough tree-bark surfaces, barbs dripping poisonous slime. Despite the speed with which he drove, the thorn-stalks managed to sway out of the path of his car, moving aside or bending down so he could drive over them. And those stalks that couldn’t get out of the way of his tires withdrew into the cracks from which they’d sprung, rising once more after he’d passed. While the thorn-stalks were by no means the worst things inhabiting the World After, Dan hated the sinuous, serpentine way they moved, and no matter how many runs he made, he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the damn things.

  Though thorn-stalks grew thick on the highway, the land on either side was completely barren, the ground smooth and sickly gray, as if all life had been leeched from it. But Dan knew there was life out there—at least what passed for life in the World After—lying hidden, waiting for anyone foolish enough to come here in the first place and suicidal enough to leave the meager protection offered by the Way. If Dan were to stop the Olds, park, and step out of his vehicle here, even his thrall-mark might not be enough to save him. That’s why he traveled prepared: a 9mm, a large hunting knife, and a machete lay within easy reach on the passenger seat. He used to have a shotgun, too, but he’d lost it during his last run, and as punishment for his carelessness, his Master hadn’t allowed him to replace it yet. As punishments went in the World After, Dan thought he’d gotten off light.

  The sky was filled with a sour yellow haze, like fog but not quite. Dan had once read about the pollution that choked cities during the beginning of the Industrial Revolution in the late 1800s. He imagined it would have looked something like this sky—a perpetual haze that was always the same, without any variance to mark the difference between day and night. If, indeed, there was any now.

  The outside air was cold, and though Dan drove with the windows up, the Olds’ heater hadn’t worked for years, even before the Masters’ arrival, and the inside of the car was chilly. But that was good: the cold helped keep him awake and alert. He hoped it would stay like this. The temperature in the World After could vary wildly at times, going from freezing to sweltering in the blink of an eye. He much preferred making a run in the cold than in the heat. The thorn-stalks grew more aggressive when it was warm, and Dan had heard stories from other thralls that, when it was really hot out, the plant creatures became frenzied and tried to puncture car tires. Dan didn’t know if the tales were true—if such attacks took place, no one had ever survived to confirm them—but he’d rather not find out for himself.

  A soft moan came from the backseat, startling him. He glanced over his shoulder, and through the chicken-wire mesh that he’d erected as a barrier between the front and back seats, he saw that the girl was beginning to stir. Great. He hated it when they woke up. Making a run was hard enough without having to keep an eye on a passenger, and delivering them to his Master was far easier when he didn’t have to look them in the eye. Last time…

  He turned forward to face the road once more. If he was lucky, maybe she’d lapse back into unconsciousness. But he knew he couldn’t count on luck. No one could, not anymore.

  * * *

  Alice was first aware of a terrible throbbing in her head, made all the worse by being jostled around. A moan escaped her lips, and she tried to retreat into the comforting darkness where there was no pain, no awareness, no anything. But despite her efforts—or perhaps in a perverse way, because of them—she found herself becoming increasingly awake. She didn’t want to open her eyes, because if she did, then she would be forced to acknowledge her surroundings, and in turn she would have to deal with whatever had happened to her. Whatever had occurred, it was undoubtedly bad, and considering just how bad things could get in the World After, she’d prefer to remain unconscious.

  She opened her eyes anyway.

  She saw a ceiling, a dome light, and realized she was lying on the backseat of a car. A moving car, which explained the jostling. She tried to push herself into a sitting position, but she couldn’t move her arms. She raised her head—setting off a fresh wave of pain behind her eyes—and saw that her wrists were bound with duct tape. Her knees were up so she couldn’t see her feet, but it took her only a second to try and move them, confirming that her ankles were likewise bound. She felt panic surge in her chest, and before she could stop herself, she drew in a gasping breath.

  “Guess you’re awake, huh?”

  The man didn’t turn around to look at her. His voice was calm, devoid of emotion, but that was nothing special. Everyone sounded like that these days. All she could see through the chicken-wire barrier was shaggy black hair spilling onto the shoulders of a brown leather jacket. She couldn’t tell how old the man was, but there was a bit of gray mixed in with the black, and she guessed he was in his late thirties to mid-forties. She had no idea who he was, nor how she’d gotten here, but she’d bet it had something to do with the pain throbbing in her skull.

  A memory flashed through her mind then: standing in an alley, rooting through a trash can, searching for scraps of anything that resembled food. The trash offered slim pickings—people didn’t throw much away anymore—but she’d managed to find an apple core with a little bit of fruit left on it. She was just bringing the rotting treasure to her mouth when she heard the scrape of a shoe behind her. Before she could react, she’d been struck on the back of the head by something hard: a gun butt or knife handle, she guessed. Light exploded behind her eyes, followed by darkness.

  That’s when he took me, she thought. Damn it, if I’d only been faster!

  The realization tha
t she’d been taken captive sent a new jolt of fear shooting through her. There were so many horrible reasons why a woman might be kidnapped these days, especially one still in her teens…rape and torture the least of them.

  A kernel of panic began to grow inside of her, and she knew that if she didn’t stop it now, it would take root and spread until it overwhelmed her. And if that happened, if she surrendered to her terror, she’d be as good as dead—or worse. So with an effort of will, she squashed her fear, jammed it down deep inside until a calming numbness settled over her. Only then did she trust herself to speak.

  There were so many questions she could ask, but the first one that popped out was, “Why didn’t you put tape over my mouth?”

  Her captor didn’t reply at first, and she thought that either he didn’t hear her or intended to ignore her. But then he said, “What?”

  “You taped my hands and feet, so obviously you don’t want me to go anywhere. But why don’t you care if I talk? I’d think it would be distracting, having a captive chattering away in the backseat…”

  She couldn’t believe what she was saying! Was she still dazed from the blow that had knocked her out? Had she suffered some sort of brain damage? The last thing she should be doing was annoying her kidnapper!

  The man paused, as if considering his reply, but when he finally answered, he sounded tired rather than annoyed. “I’m not allowed to put tape over the mouth. It…muffles the screams.”

  She almost lost it then, but she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Pain flared bright and she tasted blood, but the panic receded once more. You can make it through this, she told herself. Just stay cool, stay smart…

  It wasn’t easy bound as she was, and with a head that felt as if something with razor-sharp claws was trying to dig its way out of her brain, but she managed to sit up in the backseat, though she paid for her small triumph when nausea twisted her gut. It didn’t help that she’d swallowed a mouthful of blood from her cheek wound. Despite the chill air inside the car, she felt suddenly feverish and feared that she was going to throw up.

  Careful now…you don’t want to piss him off by puking on the upholstery.

  The thought that her life might hinge on whether she could choke back her vomit struck her as wildly funny, and she felt a wave of laughter building inside her. She wondered which would come out first—puke or laughter—or if she’d blow chunks the same instant that she started braying like an insane donkey. In the end, the competing impulses canceled each other out, and she was able to sit there quietly. Her head even seemed to hurt a little less.

  Score one for hysteria, she thought.

  She turned to look out the right passenger window to get an idea where she was, but the view wasn’t much help. Yellow-fog sky, smooth gray ground, the damn thorny weeds that seemed to sprout through every major road in the world now, almost as if they were there to make travel more difficult. She wasn’t in town anymore, but other than that, she couldn’t say where she was. She supposed what really mattered was where she was being taken.

  I’m not allowed to put tape over the mouth. It…muffles the screams.

  She decided she didn’t want to know where they were headed. Not yet.

  “Your car doesn’t sound too good.” A major understatement. From all the rattling, chuffing, and banging, it sounded as if the damn thing was going to shake itself apart any minute.

  “It’ll get us where we need to go. We’ve only got a mile or so left.” His tone was flat and emotionless as before, but Alice thought she detected a trace of doubt in his voice.

  So, Leather Jacket’s car was on the verge of breaking down. If it did, that might work to her advantage, providing an opportunity for escape. But escape to where? Town was dangerous enough, but out here… She’d rarely been outside the city limits since the arrival of the Masters, and even then she hadn’t gone far. But she’d heard stories of what it was like. Everyone had. And even if only a fraction of the tales were true, she might live longer—and her death might be easier—if she remained with her captor.

  Alice was still pondering what, if anything, she could do to save herself when she saw a dark blur of motion out of the corner of her eye. Something large and swift slammed into the driver’s side of the car, and Alice, unable to control her emotions any longer, screamed.

  * * *

  On the day that would forever after be known as the Arrival, Dan was on his way home from work and he was in an exceptionally foul mood. His boss had wanted him to stay late and work overtime because production was down, and when Dan refused, he’d gotten a royal reaming out. This place has put food on your family’s table for how many years now, Dan? Seventeen? When you started here, you were one of the hardest workers we had. Now I guess you’re nothing but another lazy-ass slob, just like all the rest, huh?

  Dan had wanted to say, No, I’ve put food on my family’s table by working my ass off for you the last seventeen years, you unappreciative sonofabitch! But he gritted his teeth and said nothing. He knew from long experience in the machine shop that talking back to the boss only made things worse. But he’d held his ground on the overtime demand, and in the end he’d won, simply because he’d worked there longer than anyone except the boss himself, and the shop couldn’t afford to lose him.

  Dan was thinking for perhaps the thousandth time about taking night classes at Adkins State Community College to train for another career so he could quit the shop when he turned onto his street. He was less than a quarter mile from his house when it happened. The sky grew instantly dark, as if a sudden storm were approaching. The air was tinged bruise-purple and it seemed to ripple, as if waves of heat were pouring off the surface of the street. Once, back when he was single and living in an apartment complex, Dan had been walking outside, carrying a load of laundry to his car. He’d forgotten that a solar eclipse was supposed to happen that day, and when he stepped out into the strange purple-blue light and saw weird crescent-shaped shadows on the ground, for an instant he’d imagined that he’d somehow crossed over into another world. He had that same feeling now.

  He braked, put the Olds in park, and stepped out of the car. He wasn’t sure why he stopped, especially since his house was so close, but he wasn’t surprised to see other people up and down the street reacting the same way, coming out of their houses, standing at the windows, eyes wide and frightened. They’d all felt it: something was happening, something important. The rippling in the air grew more pronounced, and was now accompanied by a dizzying buzz that seemed to come from within his ears. Vertigo washed over him, and he had to lean back against his car to keep from falling. He felt no fear. What was happening was so different from anything he’d ever experienced before that his mind didn’t know how to react to it yet.

  The ground groaned beneath his feet, as if the earth itself had suffered some manner of injury. Tiny fissures appeared in the asphalt, like cracks in black ice, and began to widen and spread. The neighborhood dogs began howling then, a high-pitched wail that sounded more feline than canine. Dan looked at the lawns across the street and saw the grass turn white, the blades curling downward like a mass of dying insects drawing in their legs. He sensed movement off to his right, heard a soft plap as something hit the street. He turned and saw a robin lying on the asphalt, legs quivering, streams of blood running from where its eyes had been. Another bird—a cardinal—fell from the sky, followed by a second robin, then a sparrow. Dozens more fell out of the wounded sky, all dead or dying, all bleeding from empty eye sockets. Dan covered his head with his arms to protect himself from the rain of dead birds, but the thought of getting back into his car never occurred to him. It was as if he were in the grip of some powerful instinct, a need to stand and bear witness to what was happening.

  The dogs’ howling rose in pitch until it sounded as if the animals were screaming with one terrified voice. Still Dan wasn’t afraid…not until the sky opened a million eyes and gazed down upon him with alien hunger.

  * * *

>   Alice shook her head, trying to deny what was happening. Dead birds littered the parking lot around her, the ground beneath her feet trembled, and eyes filled the dark-bruise sky. Dead eyes, insect eyes: cold, calculating, and hungry. Eyes that didn’t blink, that took in everything and gave back nothing. She felt scrutinized in a way she never had before, as if every one of those eyes was fixed on her, analyzing her down to the subatomic level and finding her wanting. She wore a white blouse, black pants, and black shoes—the standard uniform for servers at the Pasta Pavilion. She’d been on her way to work when everything began to change, and while she knew it wasn’t the greatest job in the world, she’d liked it well enough. But now, standing beneath the pitiless gaze of those alien eyes, she understood what a joke she really was. She was a subservient cow in a world full of near-mindless cattle, carrying platters of food to overweight carb-addicts so they could stuff their bloated faces and grow even more obese than they already were.

  This realization forced Alice to her knees. Her left knee crushed the head of a dying starling in the process—staining her black pants with blood—but she barely noticed, so overwhelmed was she with despair. She bowed her head as tears ran down her face and deep sobs wracked her body.

  “No more…” she pleaded.

  But there was more. Much.

  * * *

  Dan spun the steering wheel in a frantic attempt to maintain control of the Olds. Whatever had broadsided them had started the car fishtailing, and while that would’ve been dangerous enough on a smooth road, the broken surface of the Way made correcting for the impact a nightmare—and the woman screaming in the backseat didn’t do anything to help his concentration. The car slid, shuddered, bounced, and at one point threatened to tip over. A loud chunk! came from the rear, and Dan was thrown forward as the Olds ground to a stop. His forehead hit the steering wheel, forcing his teeth together with a painful clack and catching the tip of his tongue. Sharp pain lanced from the wound down to the root of his tongue, and Dan’s mouth filled with blood as his head jerked back and slammed into the headrest. The Olds’ airbags had been activated months ago, during one of his earliest runs, and without any way to have them reinstalled, he’d simply removed them. In all the time since, he hadn’t had an accident, but now he wished he’d tried harder to find a way to make the airbags work again.