Badlands Trilogy (Book 3): Out of the Badlands by Brian J. Jarrett

“Well, if you insist.” He turned to Sam and Chloe. “We wouldn’t want to pass up a new friend’s hospitality.”
    Rita smiled. “Then come on in,” she said, motioning toward the open door of the farmhouse. “I’ll get the water for the tea going.”
    * * *
    Rita sat in a worn rocking chair inside the farmhouse’s living room, the shotgun placed in front of her upon the armrests. The house was small and had probably been quaint at one point. Now reused boards covered the windows, attached to the walls with a combination of large nails and rusty screws. The boarded up windows allowed in almost no light, so Rita had a candle burning in order to see.
    A slight hint of mildew hung in the air, mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed tea and old whiskey.
    “How’s the tea?” Rita asked.
    “It’s good,” Lester replied.
    “You don’t have to suck up,” Rita said. She stood, placing the shotgun in the corner of the room. “I ain’t gonna shoot you, so long as you don’t shoot me. Deal?”
    “Deal,” Lester said.
    “Tea’s old, I know,” Rita continued. “But about the best you’re gonna find these days.”
    “Tea doesn’t really go bad,” Lester said. “Provided you keep it closed up.”
    “Good to know,” Rita said. “I ain’t what you’d call a connoisseur, I guess.”
    “Well, it’s good tea all the same,” Lester said. “So you’re doing something right.”
    Rita nodded, taking a sip of the tea as if to agree. A long pause ensued, the silence in the room palpable.
    “The windows,” Sam began, “they’re boarded up to keep out the carriers?”
    “You bet,” Rita said. “Ain’t the prettiest bit of home improvement, but it serves the purpose.”
    “Good idea. I don’t think fences work anymore, not without razor wire at the top.”
    “Carriers can’t climb fences,” Rita said.
    “I think the white ones can,” Sam insisted.
    “The what?”
    “My mom and I were living with a bunch of other people in an old school,” Sam continued. “It had a razor wire fence, but that storm we had brought a tree down on the fence. After that, the white carriers got in. They killed everybody, even my mom.”
    “That’s awful,” Rita said. “Sorry to hear that. I think each and every one of us has a story like yours.”
    Sam nodded.
    “I never had any kids myself,” Rita continued. “Never married, either. I guess I was the picture of a spinster. I lived with my mom until she died. She was eighty-nine and spry up until the day she up and keeled over. Probably good that she never saw the shit storm the rest of us did.” She took another sip of tea. “I used to watch kids though. My mom and me both, right up until her passing and then just me. Good money, all under the table. Goddamn government always wanted to take more than their fair share. Look what that got ‘em. Virus hit and they just rolled over like a scolded dog.” She paused, looking toward the boarded up window behind the couch. “I sometimes wonder what happened to those little ones. I guess I know, but sometimes I still wonder.”
    Silence ensued. No one spoke. Then Rita seemed to come out of the haze of old memories. “These white carriers, you seen ‘em close up?” she asked.
    “Yeah,” Sam replied. He told her how he’d used his camera flash to blind them and about their escape.
    “I only seen glimpses at night, here and there,” Rita said. “Wasn’t too sure what it was.”
    “We think the carriers are changing into something else,” Lester said. “Maybe a new type of species.”
    “Well, I’ll be goddamned,” Rita said, shaking her head. “Seems like we’re going from bad to worse.”
    “It would appear,” Lester said.
    Rita took a sip from her tea. “What were you planning to do tonight then? Don’t seem safe to be out, especially now.”
    Lester shrugged. “Probably hole up in one of these old houses.”
    “How about you stay here?” Rita asked. “Got some pretty good hooch that