The After War

by Brandon Zenner

  Brian backed out of the kitchen during food service, disappearing up the stairway to join the others. Outside, the occasional popping of gunfire could be heard as any stragglers were discovered and dealt with.

  Carolanne had not left the room since the previous night.

  “This is almost over, sweetie,” Brian told her.

  She nodded. “I know, it’s just … Bethany. I’m so worried.”

  Simon looked stung. “The thought that she could be all alone, held captive by those repugnant men while I’m helpless to do anything until the plans are well under way … it’s maddening.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more,” Brian said. “Here, I got some dinner.” He opened the cloth sack he took from the kitchen, placing everything on Nick’s desk. There were some apples, half a loaf of bread, and dried jerky.

  The night could not arrive soon enough.

  Carolanne sat with the radio headphones over her ears, listening to the silent channel as the men inspected their weapons. They cleaned the gears and barrels until the guns sparkled with grease and applied camouflage to their faces and skin.

  Brian looked at Simon, almost naked, with an old Colt .45 and a few spare magazines holstered to his belt, and said, “You sure you don’t want some clothing? A shirt, long pants?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Frank looked up from assembling his rifle. “I would not mock his methods if I were you. There is not a finer scout in all of Alice—or Hightown, for that matter. The man has a way of disappearing in the wilderness that surprises even me.”

  “Of course,” Brian said, knowing full well that Frank Morrow had years of Special Forces training. “I’ll follow your lead. The both of you.”

  Nothing new came over the radio, which meant the operation was a go. Brian armed himself in the same fashion as he had for his previous journeys, which felt like ages ago. He wore a tactical jumpsuit and vest with spare clips for his assault rifle and pistol on his belt and clipped to his chest.

  Frank carried the silenced scoped rifle with the double gauge shotgun slung over his shoulder. Simon took the pump action shotgun with a pouch full of shells, along with his pistol. They shared among them a limited amount of TNT, some explosives, and several hand grenades in satchel bags.

  What they could scrounge up of medical supplies—gauze, bandages, IV drips—was set in boxes by the door. Carolanne would be needed before the night was over.

  It was one thirty in the morning.

  They stood to leave.

  Brian looked at Carolanne sitting on the floor with a blanket over her shoulders, her eyes huge.

  “We’ll be in the hallway,” Simon said, and he looked at Frank, silently indicating they should take their leave.

  “Carolanne …” Brian walked to her.

  “No,” she said. “Don’t—don’t say anything.”

  He squeezed her tight as she wrapped her arms around his chest. He felt the warmth of her tears and her hot breath on his neck.

  “I’m going to end this,” he said. “It’s just … not fair. It’s not fair for us to have to go on living this way. I’m going to end this war. I’m going to bring peace to Alice—peace to us.”

  “Just come home safe, please. I can’t … lose you. I can’t lose both you and Bethany in the same week. Please, be safe.”

  Brian wanted to scream, punch the ground, shout to the heavens, hear thunder crash, tear houses down with his own hands, destroy cities. But he did not say a word, only held Carolanne tight, breathing in her beach-like scent as they kissed.

  “Go. You have to go.” She parted from him, wiping a tear.

  Brian walked to the door, looked back at Carolanne standing alone in the dark room … and left.

  Outside, he walked past Simon and Frank in the hallway.

  “You okay?” Simon asked.

  Brian kept walking. “Let’s get on with it.”

  ***

  The night was dark and still, but faint voices could be heard in the distance. The small infirmary was overflowing. Earlier that night, many of the Red Hands had begun feeling a bit strange. Their stomachs were ill with pangs of abdominal cramping, and many of their throats felt restricted and raw. A few began throwing up. Bright lights looked odd, and their thoughts were becoming erratic. Explosive diarrhea followed, and soon many were doubled over in pain.

  This was all to be expected.

  Frank led the group onward with his silenced rifle from shadow to shadow toward Alice Elementary. No enemy movement could be seen until they neared the side door of the school. Two men were stationed outside, and one was doubled over and gagging.

  “Jesus Christ,” they heard the sick man say. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “You?” said the other, crouched several feet away in bushes. “I’m shitting my brains out here. We gotta get to the doctor.”

  “No, man.” The first guard paused, gagging. “Karl will kill us if we leave our post. Kenny and Sam already left for the doctor; we can’t leave the school unguarded.”

  “I ain’t seen Karl all day, and those fuckers inside ain’t going nowhere. Jesus, my head is throbbing. I’m feverish, like I’m hallucinating and sweating or something.”

  “I know.” The other man paused to dry heave. “I feel the same.” A whooshing sound cut through the air like quick wind and the man turned to his friend in the bushes. “Jim—”

  Jim had been shot with his pants around his ankles and was lying dead. Frank fired a second bullet from his silenced rifle, striking the standing guard in the shoulder, whacking him up against the brick wall. Another bullet struck his chest. The man slid down the wall, his heart beating the last few pumps of blood out of the open wound, and before he could scream, they were upon him—demonic-looking men with black muddy faces—pressing a palm against his mouth as his last few breaths of air escaped.

  “It looks like your stew did the trick,” Frank whispered to Brian.

  “I reckon so.”

  Frank checked the dead soldier’s pockets for keys and was happy to find a set, so no one would have to check the guard who had been crouched in the bushes at the time of his demise. Frank unlocked the doors as Brian gathered the soldiers’ weapons and dragged their corpses far into the brush.

  He led the way down the hall toward the gymnasium.

  The school was so quiet, that as they neared the shuttered doors, they feared that it might be too late and the townspeople had been killed.

  They removed the barricade, and Frank found the key to the padlock and chain.

  He opened the door, and they entered the pitch-black room.

  Hundreds of silent eyes stared back at them. Then someone produced a flashlight, and then another.

  “Turn it off. Turn it off,” Frank said in a hiss. It was possible that more Dragoons or Red Hands were wandering the halls.

  The lights were extinguished, and Frank Morrow addressed the crowd.

  “As you are well aware, war has been declared against us by both the Red Hands and by Nicholas Byrnes. For too long, we the people have been forced to keep our eyes shut at the proceedings going on all around us. Not any longer. It’s time to remove the veil held in place by the villains who were blatantly invited into Alice by Nicholas Byrnes. With the aid of General Driscoll, we are fighting back—all who are willing—tonight.”

  There was noticeable excitement in the crowd.

  Frank continued. “Everyone in this room knows who I am. My name is Frank Morrow, the ranking officer of Alice’s Ranger division. To my side is Simon Kalispell, the second in command of the Rangers, and Brian Rhodes, a most welcome friend from Hightown and now third in command. I have met with General Driscoll in the North and have been given the authority as general in charge of Alice. Nicholas Byrnes’s authority and title are null and void, and his leadership will be destroyed. Nicholas Byrnes is no longer our leader or a welcome friend and is in direct violation of our laws and ways. He will be exiled or killed, God willing. His authority is, from th
is point forward, irreversibly revoked.”

  The crowd stirred, and many had to be hushed down.

  “I will not lie or give you false hope; this is not going to be easy. We’re up against a hardened and ruthless enemy, but we have the support of Zone Red. Before the sun rises, we will reclaim Alice as our home and stomp away the vermin who have infested it. Karl Metzger is dead, praise God, and so are his lieutenants, Mark Rothstein and the man named Sultan. Nick Byrnes will have his hour tonight, and we will all bear witness to his demise as we tear down his gates.”

  At the news of Karl Metzger’s downfall the people again had to be hushed. Frank explained the plan and the part that the residents of Alice were expected to play to see victory carried out.

  “All in favor—all who will stand and fight, knowing full well the capabilities of the enemy that we face, and who will not give in to the ruthless oppression that will see us all dead—will you not follow me at this hour?”

  The people all raised their hands despite knowing full well that it meant certain death for many in the room.

  “That settles it,” Frank continued. “Tonight we go to battle. Not later, but now, we free our hands from the binds that hold them in oppression. We will march against Nick and his Dragoons and hold them accountable for their crimes against humanity. First, I am going to need a few volunteers.”

  Frank picked from the crowd twenty trusted officers and hardened soldiers. Brian handed the men the few weapons they had taken from the slain guards.

  “We are leaving now to raid the Alice Police Department to free the storerooms of their weapons and ammunition. Prepare yourselves to depart upon our return. Anyone unable or unwilling to fight should remain behind. Anyone with medical training, or who is already injured, you are to report to the firehouse before dawn, where some medical supplies have been stockpiled. We will need more, so gather what you can.”

  With those words, the twenty men turned and left Alice Elementary.

  For an hour, the people waited in the dark as Frank led his team to the police department. With the townspeople locked away, the center of Alice was deserted. Frank’s men overwhelmed the two Dragoons guarding the police station—one rushing out of the bathroom with his pants clutched in on hand, a rifle in the other. Brian’s wild mushrooms were having a devastating effect.

  The armory was in the basement behind a solid metal door. They used a swipe-card found on one of the dead guards and rushed inside.

  Rows upon rows of assault rifles of all variety along with pistols, knives, and grenades lined the walls. The men filled duffel bags to near bursting and then swung even more assault rifles over their shoulders.

  Back in the dark gymnasium, the crowd grew boisterous as the twenty soldiers returned, dispensing the arms amongst the crowd. Frank held a quick counsel with his senior officers, discussing logistics.

  The sound of approaching vehicles could be heard, but several men had already placed explosives in the streets and set themselves up to ambush any oncoming vehicles.

  Alice’s army was ready to storm the gates of Nick Byrnes’s castle faster than the Red Hands could take men off the front line to counter the resistance … not that they would be able to take any men off the front line, if the plan was successful.

  “This is it, people,” Frank shouted. “Follow your orders and stick to the plan! Remember, we fight together as a team, as a town—as a family! Kill anyone who stands in our way! We march now to the death of our enemy! We march to victory! We march to war!”

  The people shouted and cheered.

  “Move out!” Frank commanded.

  He turned with Simon Kalispell and Brian Rhodes at his side, and the three men led the people of Alice to battle.

  ***

  Miles away on the front line, Karl’s sick men stirred. In the far distance overhead, lost in the sky, was the gentle sound of something humming. The sick and wretched soldiers manning the line did not know it yet, but that strangely familiar sound meant death approaching.

  Chapter 62

  Ghost Army

  Lieutenant General Dietrich, “the Priest,” stood tall on a massive boulder, turning to face his army in the flat gully below.

  “Rise now,” he said, with his hands in the air. “Rise now, for the end is near. Our journey is almost complete. We march to Alice where General Metzger awaits, and by God’s good grace, to victory beyond.”

  The bandage circling the top of his head was itchy and in need of a change, but Dietrich maintained an air of composure before his band of soldiers, many of whom had sustained injuries far worse than his own. The fighting in Masterson had proved more ferocious than anticipated, and his men were weary from war and from the constant marching that followed.

  The aid who patched up the Priest’s head had said it would heal fine as long as Doctor Freeman could stitch it up proper.

  But the Priest proclaimed, “It is up to God to decide one’s fate. If the hands of our Lord work within the good doctor, then so shall it be.”

  “You’re a crazy one, Dietrich, thinking God’s got something to do with this,” the aid had told him.

  Standing tall upon the rock, the Priest gave the command: “Rise now, men. Rise now, and face the road ahead,” and a sea of men rose like apparitions birthed from the carnage and wreckage all around, claimed from the desolate earth on which they trod.

  No further camouflage was needed of Dietrich’s men, for the soldiers resembled the gray and dusty rocks of the earth itself, so soiled were they in mud and gore and as twisted as their surroundings.

  The tall, gray-haired priest led the men upon horseback, sitting straight as an arrow in the saddle, his head up. His baritone voice bellowed, echoing out over his men in gospel song.

  “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the lord:

  He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored:

  He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:

  His truth is marching on!”

  Some men sang and mumbled along, not knowing or caring about the words.

  The hours passed, and Dietrich could feel dampness in the late night air as he sang aloud.

  “Glory, glory, hallelujah!”

  They were close to the ammunition stockpile, and he could feel the excitement through the singing of his men, whose voices grew louder as their pace quickened. With the aid of the vehicles in Sullivan Park, they would be in Alice in no time at all. They would be sleeping on beds and eating real food, at long last.

  He glanced back at his men. His army appeared like a rambling horde dispatched straight from the depths of hell, adorned in an assortment of dark, leathery necklaces made of dried human ears and jewelry crudely constructed of white and gold teeth. They carried an assortment of weapons, from high-tech machinery to scraps of sharpened metal and hammered spears.

  The men trampled through the woods in the darkness of night, keeping a vigilant eye for the tall barn in the middle of the park.

  Any minute now. Dietrich smiled.

  “His truth is marching on!”

  The barn appeared, and the woods opened up to a massive paved lot before three buildings.

  “Give me some light,” the Priest ordered, and flashlights as well as floodlights were brought forward. The army moved into the clearing. Officers ordered men to open the barn doors, and trucks were driven forward to gather the supplies.

  “Where are the guards?” Dietrich looked about. Four men sent from General Metzger were supposed to be guarding the lot, but they were nowhere to be seen.

  A sergeant galloped his horse to the Priest’s side. “There’s hardly nothing here.”

  Dietrich didn’t answer. In the paved lot sat a solitary tank, the treads in need of repair, two transport vehicles, and several flatbed trucks. The Priest squinted through his one good eye and scratched at the bandage around his head. He looked to the barns and at the men walking back and forth. They were carrying boxes of ammunition, ro
ckets, and the like, but the officers were muttering that there were only a dozen or so crates.

  Then it hit him.

  At the same time, two of his men came running forward.

  “Dietrich, sir! The guards—they’re dead! Been shot, off in the woods!”

  The Priest turned to his officers. “Galloping speed—now! Fan out!”

  The war begins with me …

  The command was spread throughout the men; the soldiers dropped boxes, munitions spilling to the ground. Far off, in a crate full of tank shells in the back of the barn, sat a satchel full of plastic explosives. A wire went from the satchel, around the barn’s molding, and traveled outside, forming a circle around the large lot. The wire was buried several inches below the sandy soil, and it attached to additional satchel bags and explosive ordnances hidden underground.

  The other end of the wire traveled far, trailing off into the woods, where a dozen snipers lay perched high up in the trees, their eyes pressed to the lenses of their thermal scopes. One of the men spoke into a radio and was issued back a command. He pulled a small switch out of his pocket, coiled the end of the wire around a pin, and pulled the trigger.

  “Fall back!” the Priest ordered, hunched over his steed, heeling the warhorse to a full gallop.

  All at once, the ground beneath the army exploded, sending colossal drifts of dirt and slabs of pavement high in the air. Dietrich pulled on the reins of his horse, coming to a stop before a smoking pillar. The explosions rippled over the ground from satchel bag to satchel bag, igniting the ammunition left in the barns and dug underground, as well as several barrels of fuel. The Priest watched his men evaporate in walls of fire.

  His horse reared then buckled, and Dietrich fell to his side, but was fast on his feet. The horse got back up and pulled away, speeding off into the dark woods. The Priest was alone in the blazing inferno with his dying and maimed soldiers all around.

  The men of Hightown, along with a team of Alice’s elite soldiers from Zone Green—recalled from the far south on General Driscoll’s orders—appeared all at once out of the shadowy woods and unleashed such a barrage on Dietrich’s men that half of his remaining party was cut down within the first minutes of the battle.