The Julian Year

by Gregory Lamberson

  Janet walked over to him. “I’ve been leaving messages for you all week.”

  “I know,” Larry said.

  “Then why didn’t you return my calls?”

  “I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted to keep my personal time private.”

  “Yet here you are.”

  “I’m ready to talk.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “I got jumped and robbed on Forty Deuce.”

  “Serves you right. It isn’t Disneyland down there anymore.” Janet glanced at the wall clock. “You’ve got less than an hour left. Don’t tell me you want to spend that time filling out a complaint.”

  “No, I just don’t want to be alone. Can we talk in private?”

  “Sure, follow me.” Janet entered an interview room and he followed her.

  “Everyone out there is wearing green or camouflage,” he said.

  She closed the door and gestured for him to sit.

  “I’d rather stand.”

  Janet picked up a strange vibe from him. “What’s the drill?”

  “I want you to kill me.”

  “Is there a punch line?” She tried to sound glib even though she knew he was serious.

  “A bunch of Regan MacNeils took my guns, so I wouldn’t blow my brains out and make my body uninhabitable.”

  “It sounds like they saved your life.”

  “I don’t want my life saved. I don’t want to turn into one of those red-eyed freaks. The idea terrifies me.”

  “Killing yourself would be worse.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Number one, it’s a sin. Number two, it’s got to be an awful feeling. Why get yourself all worked up over something you have no control over? Possession seems relatively painless and it’s the same result.”

  “Someone walking around in my body isn’t the same result as my body ceasing to move.”

  She knew he was right. “Why me?”

  His voice warbled. “I don’t have anyone else.”

  “We were partners for only a month. I don’t know you that well. Besides, there’s a cease-fire. If I killed you, I’d jeopardize that.”

  “No one has to know. You don’t have to shoot me. You can push me off the roof.”

  “Why don’t you jump and spare me the emotional burden?”

  Larry stared off into space. “Because I don’t have it in me.”

  Oh, Jesus, Janet thought. Please don’t put me in this position. “Look at me.”

  He made eye contact with her, his irises shiny.

  “I’m sorry but I can’t help you. We all have to face this. You’ve got to reach deep inside yourself and man up.”

  “I wish I could have turned myself in to a detention center.”

  “There are other places: shelters, halfway homes . . .”

  Grunting, he shook his head. “I’m not homeless, girl.”

  Janet took his hand. His fingers felt boneless. “Be strong.”

  “I don’t know where to go. Am I supposed to wander off, like a cat that knows its time has come? I’m not that comfortable with my predicament. I’m very fucking pissed off about it. It isn’t fair.”

  She took him in her arms, and his chest heaved against the side of her face.

  “I don’t want this to happen . . .”

  His teardrops spattered her wrist. She stroked his back until he cleared his throat, stepped back, and wiped his eyes.

  “How the hell did it come to this?” Larry said.

  “I don’t know. Are you religious?”

  He nodded.

  “There’s a makeshift Unitarian church a few blocks away. It doesn’t matter what denomination you are. Why don’t you go there and sit until it’s time? It’ll give you comfort.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  She opened the door and he stepped out. As she brushed past him, she heard the sound of metal brushing leather. Even before he shoved her to the floor, she knew he had jerked her Glock free of its holster.

  “Everybody, listen up!” Larry said. Then he fired the Glock three times.

  No! With her heart pounding, Janet scissor kicked Larry’s ankles, dropping him to the floor an instant before machine-gun fire punctured the wall and door outside the interview room in a deafening roar from multiple angles.

  Unharmed, Larry struggled to get up, pausing only when he saw the Taser gun in Janet’s hand.

  She squeezed the trigger, and a moment later he sprawled out like someone experiencing a seizure.

  “Hold your fire. Hold your fire!” Janet said.

  In response, the gunfire ceased. Smoke wafted overhead.

  She raised one hand. “It’s all right. I brought him down.” Then she crawled over to Larry and retrieved her gun.

  Janet sat on a wooden bench built into the wall, facing the holding cell with her arms folded and her ankles crossed.

  On the bunk bed in the cell, Larry stirred and groaned. He blinked at the bed above him, then sat up. “So much for Plan B. Where did you learn that move?”

  “Basic training,” Janet said.

  “And you remembered it? Shit, I don’t remember anything the department taught me at the academy.”

  “Mendez says we have to keep you here.”

  Larry raised his eyebrows.

  “You took my gun and fired it in the squad room.”

  “I made sure I didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Still, you broke some laws, and we have to keep you locked up.”

  Larry grunted. “That should be some trial. Night court?”

  Janet smiled.

  “There’s no clock in here. What time—?”

  “It’s almost 1700 hours.”

  Larry let out a tremulous breath. “At least I won’t be alone when it happens.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Janet snorted.

  Larry rose and paced. “You got any family left?”

  “I got a brother in Chicago. We never used to talk but we’re talking online now.”

  “That’s nice.” He tapped a fist against a palm. “You think you’re going to see him again?”

  “Nah. I don’t see myself going back to Chicago, and I sure as hell don’t see anyone coming to New York who doesn’t have to.”

  “It’s a helluva town. How did you wind up here, anyway?”

  “I was stationed in Egypt when things got bad. I was so happy when President Rhodes called us home, but it didn’t happen overnight, and things were just as bad on the ship. I didn’t have much say in where they sent me. I always wanted to see New York, so I guess it all worked out.”

  Larry avoided her eyes. “How do you like it?”

  “There’re too many fucking soldiers.”

  Grimacing, he tried to laugh. “I don’t feel well.”

  “It’s your nerves. You’re getting yourself all worked up.” Now he looked at her. “What time is it?”

  Janet checked her watch. “It’s time.”

  He winced. “Shit, I knew it.”

  She rose. “It was good serving with you.”

  Larry fell to his hands and knees and heaved a stream of vomit through the bars, splattering her combat boots. Gagging, he vomited again. Then he pounded the cement with his fists. Janet no longer saw his face, which relieved her. He turned still, almost relaxed, then got to his feet. When he raised his head, he looked exactly the same, yet Janet knew that she stood before a different person. His smile caused her to shudder.

  “You got a name?” she said.

  What appeared to be blood oozed over the surface of his eyes. “‘My name is Legion for we are many.’”

  “I knew the man whose body you’ve taken.”

  The sheen of blood darkened and swirled. “You were partners.”

  “You have access to all his memories?”

  He nodded as pinpoints of light appeared in the swirling blood, like stars in a galaxy.

  Janet unlocke
d the cell door. “Per the most recent terms of the treaty, you’re free to go now.”

  Forty-one

  September 28

  Rachel sat at the bar of Clancy’s in the concourse, sipping a bottle of beer as she listened to Bob Dylan over the speakers.

  A muscular man with short dark hair moved beside her and leaned on the bar. “You look like you need company.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Well, I do. Mind if I join you?”

  “Go ahead. I’m told it’s a free country.”

  The man sat on the stool beside her and held out his hand. “Drew.”

  She shook his hand. “Rachel.”

  “I know who you are, but you don’t recognize me, do you?”

  She studied his features, which she found on the handsome side. “No,” she said, a lie.

  “You wave to me every morning.”

  She made the connection. “When I’m running . . .”

  Clancy, the bartender, came over. At sixty-four, he was one of the oldest residents in NYS2.

  “I’ll have what she’s having,” Drew said.

  “A bottle will run you ten dollars,” Clancy said. “Home brewed will only cost you four.”

  “I’ll have a bottle.”

  Clancy walked away.

  “I liked it better when we were working for credits. I never really knew how much I was spending.”

  Rachel looked in his direction. “Are you NYPD? Or PD at all?”

  Clancy set the beer before Drew.

  “I was a marine. They called me back to service, and now I’m down here wearing a different color uniform. Captain Morgart coordinated auxiliary police in Manhattan. Otherwise, we’ve got two smokeys, three small-town cops, and one corrections officer. The rest of us are armed forces.”

  I thought so, Rachel thought.

  October 3

  Rachel didn’t know any of the seven members of the council except for Carmudy, but she had seen all of them around. It was hard not to in an underground complex the size of a small high school. All seven members—two of them female—sat behind a table on the auditorium stage. Most of the adults who lived in NYS2 sat in the audience.

  Lois Clarke, who appeared to be in her early fifties, sat in the center and spoke like a principal. “Considering we’ve been down here only seven months, I think we’re making remarkable progress. Our living quarters are in satisfactory condition, construction on new units is on schedule, and the live-in school has established standards up to par with the education system we knew above. We’ve maximized our food productivity and minimized our spoilage. Thanks to our police force, we’ve experienced no crime worth reporting. Our little microcosm is on course.”

  Rachel stood. “I have a proposal to make.”

  “State your name and occupation,” Lois said.

  “Rachel Konigsberg. I’m a carpenter, and I work part-time at the live-in school.”

  “What’s your proposal?”

  “I propose that every adult in NYS2 be armed.”

  “Why should we do that? You just heard me say that we’ve experienced no discernible crime rate. Despite the conditions, we’re establishing an idyllic society.”

  “It’s not my neighbors I’m concerned about. In just under three months, everyone aboveground will be possessed. Those of us living in these sanctuaries will be the last real people in the world. Several billion Regan MacNeils will be after our blood. We have no idea what their society will be like, but we have to assume that they’ll devote their full resources to finding us. If they can’t possess us, they want to destroy us.”

  Lois looked down her nose at Rachel. “You’re not telling us anything we don’t already know. What makes you think you know more about these fiends than the rest of us do?”

  Carmudy leaned over and whispered into Lois’s ear, with one hand shielding his mouth from the microphone.

  Lois said to Rachel, “So you’re the latecomer. Why didn’t you join the police force? With your experience, you could be captain.”

  Captain Morgart, sitting in the front row, shifted his weight.

  “I don’t want to be captain,” Rachel said. “I don’t want to be a cop. I want to start over.”

  “Then you should embrace our new way of life, not poison it.”

  “I’m sorry but I can’t do that. I won’t do it. There’s too much at stake. If the fiends discover us or any of the other sanctuaries, we’re all finished. Under this idealized society of yours, we’re sitting ducks. This is still America, right? Even ninety feet underground? Then we have the right to bear arms, to protect ourselves against those we know want to destroy us.”

  Lois sat back in her seat, like a judge. “We’re still operating under martial law. Your Second Amendment rights don’t come into play here.”

  “I’m afraid they do. They’ve never mattered more. If only your police can carry arms, then this is a police state masquerading as a free society. Or it’s a prison.”

  “You’re assuming there are any weapons to distribute.”

  “I’m sure there are. I spoke to President Rhodes about his plans for this setup. There’s no way he would have sent us down here unarmed. He wanted us to survive more than anything. He died so we could survive. You’re sitting on a stockpile of guns somewhere.”

  Lois stiffened.

  “I’m calling for a vote. It’s my right to do so. I want every adult in this complex to be armed with one handgun and one rifle so he has the opportunity to defend himself if the time comes. I’m also calling for the distribution of cyanide tablets, so each one of us has the choice of taking our own life if those bastards get in.”

  Lois looked across the audience. “You need a 50 percent majority to call for a special vote.”

  “I’m not finished. I want every escape route in this complex made public and evacuation drills conducted. If we’re discovered, I’m not waiting to be executed. We need cyanide. I’ll fight, I’ll try to escape, and if there’s no other option, I’ll pop a pill. I’ll die on my terms, not theirs and not yours.”

  Rachel faced the audience. “Come on, everyone. You know I’m right. Even if you disagree with me, at least put it to a vote. Let the community decide. Now let’s see a show of support.”

  One by one, every person in the audience raised his hand, including Captain Morgart.

  Rachel turned back to the council. “I guess we vote.”

  Forty-two

  October 16

  Weizak sensed the world had taken a rotation for the worse when he awoke freezing. Pressing his fingers against the radiator, he felt only cold metal. By law, the heat was supposed to have been turned on.

  But is that still the law under martial law? He put on socks and slippers, then ran hot water in the sink; at least that still worked. He took a long hot shower, uncertain whether it would be his last. As had become his custom, he turned on the radio and the TV, both tuned to news stations, just to ensure they remained on the air. After dressing in jeans and a button-down shirt, he slipped into a suede jacket with a wide zipper.

  His footsteps echoed as he descended the stairs, and it occurred to him he had no idea how many people—if any—lived in the building. The private security guards hired by the landlord had stopped reporting for duty, and the building management office failed to return his calls. On the first, he had decided not to pay his rent. So far, no one had complained.

  Gray clouds obscured the sun, and wind blew fallen leaves along the sidewalk. Bulging garbage bags blocked his view of the curb. All the cars on the street were gone; either their owners had driven away in them, or the vehicles had been towed to create space for military vehicles. As he passed the parking garage and saw no attendant, he wondered if the car he had bought at auction remained inside.

  At the corner of Broadway, he looked in all directions. Perhaps two dozen pedestrians traversed the sidewalks. Except for a lone bus, there was no traffic.

  At rush hour, he thought.

  He crossed the
wide avenue and entered Ruthie’s, his favorite coffee shop, where he counted ten patrons. He took his regular seat at a window and ordered coffee and a traditional breakfast. None of the other customers paid attention to the news on TV. He tried to eavesdrop on the conversations around him, but the other regulars spoke in hushed tones. A pair of Humvees rolled down the street.

  After returning home, Weizak turned on his computer and discovered his Internet service had ceased to operate. He tried his telephone and his cable; both services, provided by the same outfit, had stopped. With his pulse quickening, he turned on his radio, and the voice of a newscaster came over the speakers.

  Thank heaven for that, he thought.

  Then he put on his jacket and ran back outside. On Broadway, he caught a downtown bus. With little traffic on the street, he reached Hudson Square in record time. The sun was setting as he reached the front doors of the Daily Post’s headquarters, where he showed his ID to a skeptical security guard.

  On the sixth floor, he emerged from the elevator and walked through the newsroom. A dozen uniformed reporters pecked at their keyboards without paying any attention to him.

  Weizak spotted Captain Wheeler inside Major Czubinsky’s office, and he knocked on the open glass door. “Captain Wheeler?”

  Wheeler looked up. “It’s Major Wheeler now.”

  Of course. “Congratulations.”

  “What can I do for you, citizen?”

  Weizak didn’t like the sound of that. “My Internet service is down. I was hoping I could have my old desk back so I can keep working.”

  Wheeler leaned to one side for a better view of the newsroom. “Your desk’s taken. And as of this afternoon, it doesn’t matter if you have Internet service or not: the Daily Post is officially an arm of the United States Army, fully staffed by soldiers. We don’t need you anymore. Unless you wish to sign up. If that’s the case, I’ll make sure you get your desk back right after you complete basic training.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  Weizak opened his mouth to respond but stopped himself. Instead, he gave Wheeler a little wave. Then he turned and walked out of the newsroom.