Fortress: Survival, #2

By Ralph F. Halse

Kitch McCall is a nineteen-year-old Tourette's suffer who hasn't seen much of the outside world. When the pandemic devastated the US, he's thrust onto the streets of Charleston, SC to fend for himself. Armed with nothing more than his wits, Kitch battles not only the infected but the surviving town psychopath, Junior Watson who is convinced he's a Viking. After rescuing Caitlin Kennedy and her sixteen-year-old sister, Marie, from the crazed Junior Watson, who thinks he's creating a Viking empire, Kitch uses the river to head back home, but it's not a safe place. Watson knows where he lives. The trio retreat to the safety of a local tourist castle. Caitlin declares her love for Kitch, and they become a couple. Junior Watson is hell-bent on revenge for Kitch killing Pi Fong during the escape, and he dispatches a unique assassin to kill Kitch and the girls. The assassin is a notorious serial killer escaped from the state's mental institution, one Simon O'Keefe. Surviving clusters of humanity battled not only the infected but each other for shelter, food, clean water, and a haven to call home. When you're nineteen in a dog-eat-dog environment, life and death are reduced to simple terms—kill or be consumed!

• Language: English
• Publisher: eXtasy Books Inc
• Release date: May 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781487427160

Book preview

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Ric & Jessica Halse for raising two wonderful sons.

Chapter One: Hard Decisions

Spear in hand, Kitch conducted a cautious two-hour search, exploring every nook and cranny of the medieval castle for hidden infected. To Kitch’s delight, they discovered a forge in the rear courtyard. Hidden behind its ancient facade was a fully equipped workshop. There were historical weapons and implements of war and peace that were recreated for public entertainment. Objects and tools from ancient history set about the walls were unfamiliar to the gawping techno-savvy twenty-fourth-century teenagers. Given time, Kitch remained confident he could fathom their uses.

Butted to the workshop stood a costume manufacturing room replete with mannequins, two ‘bot operated industrial sewing machines, and rolls of materials. Lights powered up on entry. A quick examination proved the machines possessed manual overrides. Back inside, the well-lit commercial kitchen was automated and set for catering to hundreds of visitors. When the world was whole, many of whom remained late into the night enjoying re-enactments of historical battles, exciting plays, and dramas acted out by real people, not holograms.

On timber stages, constructed to depict a myriad of holographic backgrounds, melodic operas were performed on balmy Johns Island nights. Guests were entertained during riotous feasts by comedic service staff, hence the gigantic refrigerators. The castle’s western wing contained numerous cells the size of an average bedroom into which was arranged life-size wax dummies fitted out in period costumes depicting life in a particular century. An internal courtyard offered rest areas, a deserted medieval market, and empty animal pens. At information source points, three-dimensional historical holographic figures explained life, battles, and ancient intrigues when a gaze focused on an object in any display.

When they arrived at a replica dungeon, ghastly representations of tortured figures cast in wax were set in a variety of pain-inflicting machines confronted the teenagers. Something evil and dark tickled the back of Kitch’s mind when re-enacted holographic tortures appeared, awash with screams, spurting blood, and sickening, bone-crunching snaps. Without warning, he barked, Display off. He spun so swiftly on his heel, and the two girls had to run to keep up with him.

Back in the cavernous dining hall, Kitch was trembling. The torture holograms had disturbed his mind. Taking a seat opposite, Caitlin inquired with a concerned gaze, You’d best spit it out. None of us can afford any secrets, Kitch.

Looking meaningfully at his new partner, Kitch commenced. You think I’m naive. In many ways, that’s true. Dad did his best, and I miss him for it. Dropping his head, he suppressed a deep, heartfelt sob while he swiped a lonely tear from his eye with his index finger. He continued on in a tremulous voice, I’m not so naive that I don’t understand human nature. I was the butt of more unpleasant practical jokes than you can ever imagine.

Kitch, what are you trying to say? Caitlin asked. You’re scaring me.

Sorry, when we were standing in that dungeon, a sickening thought flashed across my mind like a cheap Vid-Show. If Junior were here, he would be testing that equipment out on someone within minutes.

As he spoke, the girl’s faces altered to a greenish pallor. Taking Caitlin’s hands, Kitch continued, I know it’s only early days, but we must prepare for the worst. Junior or one of his patrols could easily discover this place. It might be a tourist attraction, but it is a castle. Its use will be apparent sooner or later to anyone seeking a safe haven. How many of those kids under Junior’s control visited this place with their parents like we did? We can’t afford to be discovered. We’ve not got the numbers to fight him. Then there’s the infected and other survivors to consider. We must proceed cautiously. I discovered the construction site because, even over the stink of death, I smelled meat cooking.

Both girls nodded earnestly.

There’s something else. The children and my promise to release them, one I intend to keep, Kitch added, maintaining a steady look. We need a plan to get those kids back here without Junior’s killers following us.

How do you intend to do that? Caitlin demanded tersely.

We’ve stumbled on paradise. There’s food for a year or more, heat for winter, cooling for summer, and shelter from tropical storms. We’ve got medicines in a structure virtually indestructible and entirely self-sufficient. Reality is, we have to prepare for other survivors to explore this castle. How we make up our minds whether they are friend or foe, as the twelfth-century hologram said, is subjective and something we must all agree on.

The two girls looked aghast. Caitlin spoke first, Agreed! We’ve been through too much to surrender to Junior. I’ll throw myself off the battlements before I let that sick bastard get his fat paws on me again.

Me, too, Marie chimed in with a fierce determination written across her face.

Massaging her brow, Caitlin said testily, None of us were prepared for this, Kitch. After the destruction left by the war, who could imagine wiping humans from the planet was so easy? Caitlin added with an iron-hard finality that had Kitch frowning, If anyone tries to get in here, I say we kill them.

Fierce determination and terror flickering in Caitlin’s eyes were a gut-wrenching reflection of the torture and perversions she experienced at Junior’s deviant hands. Kill them? Are you sure? he asked dubiously. That’s kind of extreme, isn’t it?

Extreme? After what we’ve been through? Wake up, Kitch and take a deep sniff, that’s death we smell on the breeze. No, I’m not sure I want to kill. I don’t cotton to be infected, and I’m sure not fixing to see you or Marie fed to the infected. I want those bastards, Junior and Connor, dead for the crimes they’ve committed. The rest, I don’t necessarily want to see dead. Bear this in mind. There is little doubt they’ve been infected by Junior’s mad vision of a future world based on cruel blood rituals developed around killing and taking from the weak. In Junior’s world of blood and pain, the strongest rule. We need to selectively make allies into a strong community. I say we quarantine anyone worthy of joining us, until we’re sure. She held up her thumb. They’re not infected. She raised her index finger. And we trust them enough to be certain they’re not going to murder us for our resources and lastly—she set her hand back down on the table—they must be committed to us as we’re committed to them. Otherwise, they’re not welcome.

Problem is, as I see it, Kitch said, agreeing with Caitlin’s disturbing reminder of his father’s fate. As soon as anyone sets eyes on our wealth of stores and understands the security we enjoy inside these walls, they’re not going to want to leave. Smart people will watch us closely for cues on what we respond to. Desperate people with values other than our own may pretend to be on our side until we agree they can stay. They may well muscle up and try to kill us.

We could pretend to live somewhere else, couldn’t we? Marie asked.

Great idea, Kitch agreed, smiling at Marie’s intuitive wisdom. But not at my family home.

We need a decoy house. Marie shook her head, adding with the serious frown of a much older person, Gotta be houses without infected. If survivors turn up, we tell them this place is full of infected and say we live nearby. We invite them to share resources we’ll store from the mall and observe them until we’ve made up our minds they’re not infected. And if we don’t trust them enough to offer an invitation to stay, we ask them to move on.

Perfect, Caitlin agreed, smiling at the advanced wisdom of her younger sister. I suggest we go much further and test their strengths and weaknesses before inviting them into the castle. You should set up a warrior’s challenge for any who present as fighters, Caitlin said to Kitch.

That might take some thinking about, he replied, frowning.

Don’t take all day about it. It’s our food. Once we accept new arrivals, it’s going to run out sooner than later. We need providers, not takers. Like hunters, fishermen, and fighters. People who can build and protect, who are not afraid to learn gardening skills. Test them along those lines, Caitlin demanded. When Marie was locked in that filthy building, Junior let boys and girls out to join his band as soon as they turned twelve, or if the girls became capable of breeding. You know what happened to the girls? Do you recall those two young guards watching you dig the pit?

Kitch nodded.

Joel and Peter, they were Junior’s latest initiated warriors. She shook her head. "Six months ago, they were VOID-playing pre-adolescents looking forward to pimples, discovering girls in a nicer way than Junior exposed them to and hours more of study. Now they’re certified infected killers ready to do Junior’s filthy bidding. He tested them, not like he tested you. Your case was special. That was pure spite. Those young boys were shoved out into the night when the infected are slower. To earn a warrior’s place. They each had to rope an infected and bring it back to the front gate by dawn. They were given two nights to do it, or not come back. Junior wants proven fighters. Anyone else is a liability.

Once, one kid returned without an infected. Junior never said a word. He just hauled the next kid closest to twelve out by the scruff of his neck. Before he dropped him over the gate, he hands the poor kid a weapon. When that confused kid hit the ground, Junior yelled down at him. If he wanted a place back inside, then he could fight for it. The survivor must kill the other kid. Only then was he allowed back. For the survivor, Junior holds a bonfire ceremony. Did you notice the tattoos?

Kitch grimaced.

"They’re Xavier’s drawings. Something about Odin, Thor, Loki, and Valhalla and it provides his inspiration. Proven warriors get a tattoo of Junior’s design whether he wants it or not. Junior says it’s a very Viking thing. While Spock tattoos, Junior forces alcohol on them, until they’re cross-eyed drunk. Connor picks out a female for the initiate. If he can still stand, Junior goes into his big brother routine. He escorts the kid to a bonfire, making him feel special. Everyone gets all tribal, painting their faces with a mixture of soot and blue construction chalk. Junior makes it a real production, boasting to the others what a great fight it was, even if it wasn’t. He might be dumb in some ways, but he knows how to flatter frightened kids looking for acceptance and a safe place to sleep in a world of death and violence. He wants loyal killers, Kitch, and with very little effort, he has them.

A day after they were tattooed, those two boys went out to bring in a frightened old man, who somehow survived the infection. It was horrible what they did to him. He was on his knees, begging Junior to open the gate. The infected behind him were at that moaning stage. Watching from the scaffold, I thought, at the back of the boy’s minds must have been the worry that if they didn’t carry out Junior’s orders and kill the frightened old guy, they would take his place. I was wrong. The brutal enthusiasm those two kids applied to killing him was wicked and sickening. Drunk as a lord, Junior stood beside me, encouraging them to lop off his arms. Covered in his blood, they taunted him as that old man pleaded for his life. Even as he bled out, he looked confused. Like, why are these children doing this to me? Junior made a sick game of tossing his severed limbs to the infected. You noticed the twenty or so infected just standing around the front gate?

Kitch nodded

Junior feeds them body parts like pets. Survival of the strongest is what we’re up against, and they’re only boys. Junior and Connor, they’re nearer to grown men who see themselves as conquering heroes. Expect no sympathy or mercy. Junior, Connor, and Spock have filled those children’s lives with blood rituals, binding them to each other. Every morning, Junior passes around a dish filled with cold water. He places it on a stack of bricks and washes first. All the males line up and use the water to wash in, spit and snot in. It’s a Viking ritual, or so Junior says.

Kitch nodded. Caitlin’s logic directed his thinking processes along a hard line, and he marvelled at her clarity of thought. This beautiful young woman, who had been through so much, was always thinking several steps ahead. Speaking of fighting skills, do either of you have any? Kitch inquired.

I’m sixteen, small for my age and weak from a lack of food, all I can do is run, Marie responded sadly. I’ll fight, if I have, too, she added with fierce conviction.

Not like your Kung-Fu, I can’t, Caitlin responded. But I’ll happily beat anyone with a club, if I need to protect what we’ve got.

If anything happens to me and if you’ve no other choice. You two have to rely on this building protecting you, until you can get out that small back door near the forge. Retreat to rooms that are lockable. First, gather what you can...

I told you, Caitlin interrupted between gritted teeth. Slamming a clenched fist on the tabletop, she continued, I ain’t fixing to leave without a fight. He knew that his passive alternative thinking grated on her nerves.

You must have a last-resort plan. If whoever is pursuing you is breaking down the doors, it won’t be to say hi. I’ll train you in Kung-Fu and weapons you can kill with. There are plenty here.

Even me? Marie asked with a surprised look.

Especially you, Marie. You need to kill from a distance because you’re small-boned. I’ve two weapons in mind that will do the job nicely, Kitch answered with a smile.

A crossbow? Marie guessed with an enthusiastic smile lighting up her small face.

Too heavy and slow to reload. An infected could get you before you armed it. A recurved bow is a better choice. The other weapon is as devastating and much quieter. I’m lucky Dad taught me how to work with metal and wood. I’ll require a little time in the forge to reproduce it.

Okay, so over the next few days, we move out, locate a house and set it up to look like we live there, then come back here, Caitlin confirmed.

The old lady, who dressed in multicoloured, alternative clothing and the big floppy hat. Do you guys remember her? Marie asked.

Sure, she visited local schools and the mall with fresh produce grown in her backyard to sell. She’d tell anyone who would listen how to grow healthy produce. She was kind of eccentric and really sweet. Why? Caitlin asked.

"Well, she pushed her produce to the mall in a brightly painted wheelbarrow. It stands to reason, she must live within walking distance. If we can locate her house, there’ll be fresh vegetables, chickens, maybe rabbits, and other edibles. She told stories