The Creepers (Book 2): From the Past by Norman Dixon Page A

her eyes would dart
around to the windows, searching for more people. She never let her hand wander
far from the grip of the machete. Her temples pulsed as she ground her teeth.
She was afraid.
     
    “Why did these men attack you?” Howard
said, moving closer to the fire. He sat down, which made Jennifer jump.
     
    “It’s what men like Manuel do. We were
supposed to stop them, but we didn’t anticipate that second group.” She shook
her head. “Fucking came out of nowhere, and they had Creepers . . . led the
damn things right into our flank.”
     
    “Who’s we?” Howard said in a soft tone.
He wanted to reassure her. He needed answers.
     
    “Look, Howard, it’s give and get. I’m
not stupid. You’ve got that gun, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you keeping
a good distance so you can snap off a shot, okay?”
     
    “Very well.” She was well trained. Her
fear was just a mask. He had to be careful.
     
    “You didn’t just roll up here. You’ve
been here. Your fingernails are clean. I haven’t met a man with clean
fingernails since the trading post, and that’s been over a year now. Nobody
really has clean hands. Not like yours, not anymore. What’s your deal?”
     
    “Give and get, right?”
     
    “Right.”
     
    “I was born here. I’ve lived here all my
life, and today was the day I was going to venture out into the world. To make
my own way, and well, Jennifer, you kind of fucked that up for me.” He didn’t
like to curse. His father did often but always warned Howard against it. It was
something from the way things used to be, but that didn’t really matter
anymore, or did it?
     
    Jennifer studied him before saying,
“Where are the Creepers?”
     
    “Give and get, Jennifer, but I already
told you. I killed them all. You still owe me a little more info for taking
care of the one you forgot. If I hadn’t of happened along, you would be dead or
worse.” Howard let the latter part sink in.
     
    Jennifer reached into her pocket,
removing a black piece of cloth. She pulled her long black hair back and tied
it, shaking the leaves and twigs from her locks in the process. “That doesn’t
mean you get it all, Howard.”
     
    Even covered in dirt and grit her face
held a fragile beauty. A small, narrow nose, sharp yet small ears, and a
beautiful smile. She still had all of her teeth, a bonus in Howard’s eyes. He
hadn’t encountered many over the years that took hygiene seriously. His father
would’ve beaten it into him had he been a violent man. It was paramount to
one’s prolonged health. He found her slender frame inviting, but he could tell
from her hands she held a wiry kind of power, like him, like his father. A
power borne from the hardships of post First War life. There was a lot of
strength in that tiny frame. The dead men in the hole more than affirmed that.
     
    “We thought they were coming from the
ocean. Somewhere between here and Oregon. Running boats up the coast, avoiding
the Creepers, and then cutting across to the east. But we were wrong. And that
was our mistake, our downfall.”
     
    “We?” Howard asked again.
     
    “Wyoming Blue,” she said. The man
stirred, babbling incoherently in the throes of a fever. Jennifer kicked him.
“We were what was left of the military. If you could call us that. I think Post
would rather have referred to us as what was left of old America—the survivors
not willing to give up. We’ve been at it a long time.”
     
    “But you’re—”
     
    “I was born among them. I was born
after. This is all I know, but thanks to my mom’s guidance and Post’s
leadership I know what was lost, and I want nothing more than to regain it. We
were making a difference.” Tears welled in those big eyes. She blinked them
away. “Then these, these animals. . .” The word came out in a half sob. “These
animals came out of nowhere. And they were using Creepers as weapons and—” She
drew a ragged breath, stopping to regain