The After War

by Brandon Zenner

  “We’ll know the exact number at briefing.”

  “You know, one day it won’t be a group of ragged miscreants who come marching to our front door.”

  “Our line is strong, Nick.”

  “Our walls were never completed. Against the usual assortment, yes, our defenses are well equipped, but there are others out there, Dad. Many more who would love nothing other than to slit our throats and strip our fields.”

  “Nick, I know what you’re getting at—”

  “We need to reconsider bolstering our line, adding numbers to our fighting men.”

  This was a fragile conversation, Nick knew. As far as everyone was aware, the three Zones compromised the largest number of survivors working together to rekindle humanity in an organized assemblage.

  But there were others.

  Bands of men. Organized groups.

  A man had presented himself two weeks ago, arriving alone at the checkpoint. He came riding on the back of a massive buckskin horse, the animal’s coat a light gray, its eyes even paler. The man came unarmed, smiling a mouth full of teeth like gravestones. He was a spectacle to be seen, standing a full head in height above the tallest guard on duty. He bowed to them all and spoke in such a way, with such eloquence, that the guards decided to radio headquarters rather than turn the man away. Tom and Nick had met the rider at the checkpoint and listened to what he had to say.

  When they approached, the man had been holding his stallion by the reins, the muscles on the beast’s side rippling like steel wire under its taught skin. The man was lean, yet the width of his shoulders displayed his strength. He was older than Nick, and when they shook hands, Nick felt a grip like iron wrap around his fingers. When the rider smiled, the skin on his face creased with the roughness that his years on this earth had accumulated.

  The man spoke to them in a deep, smooth voice that came out from his throat with the bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

  “Sirs—General and Lieutenant,” he formally addressed them, standing straight. “I come to offer you the services deserved of your fine establishment here in Alice. I offer you myself and my men. A proposition you will find most appealing.

  “I am the leader of a band of well-trained and well-armed mercenaries who will do anything asked of them in exchange for lodging and food. There will never be a question raised. They will kill, defend, and construct—run in circles if it is so wished.” The man paused, then went on to give a rough estimate of their numbers, the abundance of weaponry they maintained, and a short tale of their exploits.

  “I leave you, Sir General, with a proposition and nothing more. The fate of your people is for you alone to decide. My men are eager to soil their hands at your bidding. You will rest at night knowing my soldiers watch the gates. They are the finest assortment of fighting men alive in this world. I assure you that. I will leave you now to organize your thoughts and will return in two nights’ time to further discuss the future of Alice and the grandeur that it shall forever achieve.”

  Nick was enthralled, or at least curious to hear more. An army. Ready to fight and obey his every command. All they wanted in return was food and water, and Alice had plenty of both.

  But Tom would not stand the notion.

  “Not a chance,” he had told Nick as they walked off with the man trotting away. “That man … there’s something not right with him.”

  That was the end of it. Tom would not listen to Nick’s logic. He shook his head and said, “No. End of story.”

  Tom refused to return two nights later.

  As they distanced themselves from the guard tower, Tom again stated his objection.

  “If you’re suggesting that we find that man and his band of mercenaries, you can forget it.”

  Nick felt his face flush red. His father could be so stubborn. Never did he let Nick offer an opinion.

  “Then, Father”—he sighed—“if that is your final say … I’ll leave it at that.”

  “It is, and always has been, my final say.”

  “Fine. But I hope that when a large enough threat presents itself, you’ll be wise enough to consider the man’s proposition. We have more than enough food and enough housing to maintain three times their numbers.”

  Tom stared ahead, and Nick knew the conversation was over—for good.

  As they walked off, Nick’s personal guard and secretary of sorts, Will Holbrook, struggled to keep up.

  “Will,” Nick said, turning to let the young soldier come close.

  “Yes, sir?” Will stood rigid before his lieutenant.

  “Go get something to eat and take the afternoon off. Find me before the evening meeting, at my house.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  Nick and Tom Byrnes distanced themselves from the front line, leaving Will standing at attention.

  Chapter 39

  Progress

  “It was the damned Chinese,” a Ranger named Mark Camps said. “Those bastards were ruthless.”

  “Nah,” Justin Waters argued, shaking his head. “It was the A-rabs. That’s where it started, in the Middle East. That’s what the news said.”

  “Fuck the news. Those asshole reporters and the scumbag politicians, they lied to us all. They lied about everything.”

  Simon watched Frank Morrow suppress a laugh as the two Rangers went on. Frank was the oldest Ranger in all of Alice. Perhaps not by much, but he held himself with such a degree of decorum and poise that other men knew upon meeting him that they were in the vicinity of a wise and learned man—a natural leader.

  Frank asked, “What if it was neither?”

  The two Rangers looked at him. It was common banter among the men to pick a party responsible for creating the disease. It was the eternal question, as eternal as the other questions of why? Why did humanity nearly perish? Why did I lose all of my loved ones? Why am I still alive? These questions were asked in endless loops, but answers never came.

  “Maybe,” Frank continued, “it was us that created the disease. The United States of America.”

  “That’s crazy talk.” Mark dismissed Frank with a wave of his hand. “If anything, it just happened. You know, like from God or something. Or like the earth had enough—enough of the war and us killing everything—and shook us off like a wet dog shaking itself dry.”

  Simon was not interested in joining the discussion today. It was the same discussion, all day, every day. But his ears did perk up at Mark’s observation.

  They were finishing the perimeter inspection and were now nearing the checkpoint. In the past, Simon had enjoyed talking to the other men about the disease and the fate of humanity, and the men took interest in what he had to say. Many had even begun meditating—contemplating that a constant cycle of violence, no matter how small in comparison to the disease and war, could be just as dangerous. One negative thought could spiral out of control like a snowball down a mountain.

  No matter how many times it was discussed, the fact remained the same: the war and disease had happened, and nothing could be done to change the past. It was best to accept reality, move on to deal with the pain and suffering, and find ways to prevent their small remnant of humankind from repeating history.

  As they passed the checkpoint, they stopped so Frank could dismiss them, and then they split up in different directions.

  Simon was in a hurry.

  In under an hour, Bethany was going to be released from the hospital. Her leg was healing remarkably well. For some reason, Tom Byrnes had kept her in the hospital for six days, much longer than needed. Typically, an injury like hers was patched up, and the person was soon sent on their way. She told Simon she didn’t know why she was getting such personal treatment, but if she had to take a guess, it was because Tom Byrnes wanted General Driscoll to know that Alice takes good care of its people.

  Simon reached the hospital and made his way down the corridors to Bethany’s room. His eyes glanced on the clipboard on the door before entering. Sure enough, the name Bethany Rose, Fe
male, was typed across the top.

  Simon opened the door, knocking lightly at the same time.

  “Bethany? Did I wake you?”

  Her eyes darted open as he entered. Simon had visited her after her leg was sewn up, and seeing her lying on the bed alone without even a window made his heart ache. He brought her a book the next day, and each day following had dropped in to chat. She was a curious girl, asking Simon plenty of questions about hunting and stalking. He told her that he could kill a deer with only a spear, and she didn’t believe him. She had a few good stories herself and told Simon all about the incident next to Sunfish Pond.

  “I’m awake,” she said. “Just resting my eyes.”

  He walked over to the side of her bed.

  “I’m leaving soon.” Her face was radiant.

  “I heard. You must be excited. This wasn’t a good way to be introduced to Alice.” He laughed, and so did she.

  “Listen,” he said, pulling over a chair to sit down. “Tom came to talk to me early this morning—”

  “Tom Byrnes?”

  “Yes. He came to talk to me. He mentioned that you have two roommates arriving in Alice in a few weeks. In the meantime, he wants you under guard.”

  Her face went sour. “I don’t need anyone—”

  “It’s not up for debate. It’s an order from the General. You’re injured and will need help getting around.”

  “I can get around fine. I can get to the bathroom, and I’ve been showering by myself for the last two days.”

  “That’s why you’re not moving in with a female soldier. He asked me personally, as a friend, to take you in—just until your roommates arrive. You’ll have a bedroom to yourself. I share the apartment with a roommate, Jeremy Winters. He’s moving out of the larger room, so you can have it while you stay.”

  “I don’t need the larger room. I’m fine in a smaller one.”

  Simon rolled his eyes. “Fine—you can have the smallest room we can find.”

  “I … I’m sorry. You’re being nice, and I’m being … a bitch. It’s just that, you know, I’ve been staring at the walls in here for days. Honestly, I don’t care where I go, as long as it’s out of this hospital. You say that Tom Byrnes is a friend of yours?”

  “Our families were friends before the disease. I have a picture—rather, I had a picture—of Tom, my dad, Nick, and myself all fishing. I gave the picture to Tom a long time ago, before I was an official resident.”

  She nodded and looked up at Simon with a smile. “Thank you, Simon. You’re helping me again. It’s nice to find a friend here so quickly. I can’t wait for you to meet my cou—” She cleared her throat. “Sorry. I can’t wait for you to meet my roommates, Brian and Carolanne.”

  Simon smiled. “Well, until then, how about we talk to the doctor about getting you ready to leave? Jeremy is going to come by in a few hours to give us a hand.”

  Simon thought she was about to say, “I don’t need any help,” but she didn’t.

  “I can’t wait,” she said with a smile.

  Chapter 40

  The Foghorn

  Nick checked his watch. The minute hand seemed to be ticking away at lightning speed. In half an hour, he and his father had a lunch meeting with Martin Howard to discuss the speech they were slated to give later that evening about the impending shift in manpower to Project Yellow—solar power throughout Alice. Nick had lost the majority vote, and the project had been given the green light.

  Currently his father was making his afternoon rounds, checking in at the reconnaissance office—the eyes and the ears of Zone Blue—set deep in the woods. Tom’s rounds were punctual, starting with the various posts along the front, then the water filtration plant, and lastly, the recon office. Nick knew he had less than five minutes until his father would be leaving for the meeting, and he intended to catch up with him at the office.

  He checked his watch again. Tick, tick …

  Behind him, Will Holbrook was a few yards away.

  “Will,” he shouted without turning. “If you can’t keep up, why bother doing your job at all?”

  “S-sorry, sir,” he said, panting. Nick would have to reconsider whether Will was best suited for the job. He was just a kid, after all.

  Nick sighed. “I have to catch the general before he leaves—hurry it up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They cut straight through the gardens, down the wide lane in the center, with some of the workers stopping to salute or nod their greetings. Nick waved them off and watched them move aside as he barreled forward.

  The sun shone straight down throughout the fields, unhindered in a clear sky, and especially in the center lane where there were no shadows at all. Nick was sweating only a few steps in, despite the cool breeze in the air. After about a minute, his undershirt was sticking to his chest.

  “Will, hurry it up,” he shouted behind him.

  Will jogged after Nick, his rifle bouncing over his shoulder as he ran, until they reached the woods on the opposite side of the abundant vegetable gardens.

  The trees grew thick, and there was no manicured path to the reconnaissance office, but it was an easy enough walk up and down a few shallow hills.

  Nick could just make out the structure ahead. The old concrete ranger station looked more like a small windowless bunker with thick wires snaking out into the woods than the central hub for all of Alice’s communications. It was intended to look that way—like nothing important.

  The few men working in that office were responsible for relaying information from one front to the other, issuing reinforcements, and supplying the two artillery brigades with coordinates for an attack. Artillery ammunition was scarce, so bombardments had to be precise.

  A lot of activity went on in that little room.

  Nick checked his watch again. He was close enough to see the two guards stationed outside the door standing at attention. His father must still be in there.

  Just in time, he thought.

  The door opened, and his father stepped out while still speaking to one of the officers. He was holding a clipboard, and when he looked up, he made eye contact with Nick standing atop of a rocky mound.

  His father smiled and waved.

  Nick looked at the old man, his old man. The old soldier still looked good—stout and strong despite his barreled chest and rounded stomach. His cheeks burned red with the cool air against his morning shave. He was wearing a windbreaker and his white hair fluttered in the breeze.

  This old man was responsible for the safety and security of all of Alice. He had accomplished so much in his lifetime—more than Nick could ever hope to achieve, although he would try.

  A flurry of memories overtook him—the grainy photographs of his youth with his much younger and skinnier father, who only had streaks of gray in his dark hair at that time. He pictured his dad posing for the camera, beaming as he held his baby boy in his arms. He saw his father in his crisp army fatigues and remembered the deep pride that he’d felt as a child seeing his father the soldier; and even more pride when later, his dad had become a private investigator. He remembered his father’s pain, and his own, when his mother had gotten sick and succumbed to cancer.

  Nick stood there in the woods, his father in the doorway waving his hand, with a smile on his face that showed nothing but genuine affection.

  Tom waved, and Nick waved back. Then, there was a noise.

  Nick looked in the air. He heard a whirling, whistling sound. Faint, but growing louder.

  Nick saw his father look up, followed his gaze, his hands shielding his eyes from the sunlight flickering past the tall canopy of trees.

  The whirling sound grew louder, and panic came flooding over Nick. “Ohhh, shit—”

  He took off in a run toward the windowless office.

  “Dad!” he shouted. “Dad! Get down! Get down!”

  Will sprinted behind him. The guards in front of the building were scanning the skies, looking for the noise and panicked to see N
ick rushing toward them.

  “Run!”

  Tom grabbed the doorway and was jumping inside when the first mortar hit.

  “No! Dad—no!”

  The mortar round was large—possibly a 120 mm shell—and in an instant, Tom Byrnes vanished in a lightning-fast blaze of fire. The roof of the small concrete structure exploded upward in a thousand pieces, and debris of all kind shot out from the doorway like cannon fire. The guards at the front were blown off their feet. One lay where he fell, motionless, burning, as the other scrambled to get back up.

  “Daaaad!” Nick screamed, still running.

  The guard had made it two steps from the office when another shell hit the ground, followed by another, and then another. A few hit the trees overhead, sending large splintering branches crashing to the ground. The guard vanished, and a wave of torrid force struck Nick so hard that he fell on his back.

  He shielded his face as another shell landed nearby. The fierce heat seemed to singe his skin. Something heavy hit his shoulder, rocking him, and then something else hit his leg, tearing away the material of his pants near his knee. He moved and twitched his limbs; everything seemed to still be attached and he didn’t feel the hot, slippery sensation of massive blood loss.

  Firm hands grabbed his shoulders, and he looked up to see Will Holbrook dragging him into a shallow depression in the ground. He now remembered why Will had been appointed as his personal guard—the boy was strong as an ox.

  They made it to cover as a shell ripped into a parked Jeep beside the recon office, producing a gigantic fireball that scoured the tree branches high above.

  Nick and Will pressed their bodies against the ground, as if they were trying to meld with the earth. Waves of dirt and debris splashed over them.

  Then the explosions ceased and the air grew still.

  They cautiously lifted their heads and could feel the heat emanating from the leaping fires of what had been the recon office. They stared at the dancing flames for some time, open-mouthed, as if inside that fire lay the doorway to hell itself, and at any moment, legions of demons would spring forth to poison the land.