Hell's Fortress by Daniel Wallace, Michael Wallace Page B

stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth and pantomimed raising a rope at his neck.
    “Is that the law these days?” Trost asked.
    “You have a better idea? These vermin are like rats. We can’t keep them out.”
    “Did you say tuberculosis?” Eliza asked. “I’ve never heard of that around here.”
    “Third outbreak since December. We’ve lost hundreds already.”
    “Yeah, I can see from the graves,” Trost said. “Though it looks more like thousands, to me.”
    “You can thank the army for that,” one of the prisoners said. “Bombed us out. That’s why we stole that food. What choice did we have?”
    “Shut up and get digging,” Gibson said. He turned back to the newcomers. “He’s mostly right. Bandits took over the old Walmart and instead of sending in the National Guard like we asked, the government flew a couple of B-52s over and turned half the town to rubble. That made the problem worse.” He looked Trost over with a critical eye. “They say you hooked up with the polygs. Looks like they’re keeping you fed.”
    “I’ve been earning my keep,” Trost said. “But I’ve still lost a good twenty pounds.”
    “Could have been fifty. Could have been all of it.” He met Eliza’s gaze, then sized up Miriam and Grover. “Is the mountain road open?”
    “No, it’s closed,” Miriam said.
    “How did you get over, then?”
    “It’s closed with .50-caliber machine guns,” she clarified. “And land mines. Sniper rifles. Grenades.”
    “Yeah, I got it. You fundies take care of your own. Well, Trost, it’s a good gig if you can get it.”
    “Who’s in charge?” Eliza asked. “Is there a mayor?”
    “The army came through last fall after bombing the place and arrested the mayor and the city council. When the army pulled out, the Cedar City PD declared martial law. I’m chief of police now. So that means me, I’m in charge.”
    “You?” Trost sounded aghast.
    “What was I supposed to do? You left. Mendoza died of meningitis. Phillips and Wirtz were killed in the riots.”
    “What about Nielsen? Udall?”
    “Nielsen is a young guy—the army drafted him when they came through and we never heard from him again. Udall disappeared. They say he ran for the hills with his wife and kids. His brother has a ranch somewhere by Price. Or maybe it was in Arizona. That makes me the last guy standing. What are you doing here anyway? These your new wives? Who’s the kid?”
    “We’re on our way to Los Angeles,” Eliza said. “We had a run-in with bandits, and we’re hoping to resupply in Cedar City.”
    “What do you need?”
    “Mostly food, but also firearms. They took everything.”
    Gibson grabbed a shovel from one of the prisoners and used it to measure the depth of the last grave. “That’s good enough, boys. Get those bodies in the ground and cover ’em up. Looks like you earned supper tonight.” He turned to the others. “Have you got anything to trade?”
    “We do,” Eliza said. “Good tools—axes, saws, wrenches, all sorts of stuff.”
    “Shovels too,” Trost said. “Yours look well-used.”
    “We’ve got plenty of tools,” Gibson said. “We’ll take what you’ve got, of course—stuff wears out, there’s no way to replace it. But we can’t pay much. What we need is fuel. Or silver. That still has value. Got anything like that?”
    “I told you,” Eliza said. “We were robbed by bandits.”
    “Then you’d better go back to Blister Creek and get something useful.”
    “If we could do that, we wouldn’t need your help in the first place,” Miriam said.
    Trost had been edging forward during this conversation and now stood close enough to Gibson to lay a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Help me out here. It was me who got you that job in the first place. Don’t you at least want to see the tools?”
    “Tell you what,” Gibson said. “Come down to the house and I’ll feed you the same supper I was going to give to these fools. Two hardboiled eggs and a