First Days After

by Jay Vielle

  “I’m not flirting with her. I’m being polite. We’re just talking. We just had a life and death survival experience. It’s not like you guys have it down here. It’s bad back home. People need to talk about things after occurrences like that. Don’t they teach you that in military school?”

  “Mostly they make us march, salute, and say ‘yes sir’ a lot. But I’ll take your word for it.”

  I saw Jake’s shoulders relax after Tommy said that. He breathed a little deeper and actually mustered a smile for a bit. We gathered up the troops, got on the bus with full bellies and improved spirits, and rolled out of Lexington with a full tank of gas, bound for Blacksburg and Virginia Tech.

  Blacksburg lay about forty minutes south of Roanoke, which is a fairly major city in Virginia, a populous state with no really big cities. Lexington may have been a college town, but Blacksburg is a University city. Everything was decked out in Hokie orange and maroon, and the facilities at the school were massive, clean, and impressive in every respect. The buildings were all uniform in a light grey stone façade. The grass was green, the streets wide and clean. Vinny was waiting outside his dorm with two giant duffel bags and a girl next to him. The girl was sitting on a small suitcase chatting with Jake’s youngest son, a sophomore at VPI.

  “Does Vinny have a girlfriend?” Jake asked Tommy.

  “Not that I know of,” Tommy answered.

  “Then who is he with?”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” said Tommy.

  The bus pulled up to the curb. Students were milling around, the streets were full, and while classes had been cancelled, the town looked like Lexington—as if nothing different were going on. Jake opened the doors, jumped out and gave Vinny a hug.

  “Hey boy,” he said. “Glad to find out you’re okay.”

  Unlike Tommy, who resembled his father, Vinny had none of Jake’s coloring. Like Tommy he was much taller than his dad, but Vinny had darker hair and a slenderer build than either Tommy or Jake. I imagined that he looked like his mother, whom I had seen only in fleeting glances over the years.

  “Dad, this is Morgan,” he said. “She is from Washington, D.C.”

  With that announcement, Morgan’s eyes started to fill. Her lip trembled a bit, and she offered her hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Fisher,” she said.

  “Morgan would like to come with us. She has lost touch with her family back home,” said Vinny.

  “Of course, of course dear,” Jake said, and took her hand in both of his. Jake picked up her suitcase and moved towards the bus. “Plenty of room.”

  The young lady walked gingerly up the steps and looked around the bus at the odd group of passengers she was joining. With her there were four other young people in their teens or twenties. Between Jake’s two sons, Tommy and Vinny, Glen Billings and Jada Allen rounded out the younger folks. I wasn’t much older than they were, to be honest, at twenty-five, and neither was Estela. There were a couple of thirty-somethings in Maureen and Al, a couple of forty-somethings with Jake and Wendy, and then there was the Colonel, who was in his early sixties. Her eyes found Estela and locked for a moment.

  “I’m Morgan,” she said. “Morgan Branson. Thanks for letting me come with you.”

  The entire bus began to welcome her aboard, and you could see her anxiety begin to subside. She had brown, curly hair, cut fairly short and not quite reaching her shoulders. She wore round glasses and no jewelry, which gave her a kind of a bookwormy look. She was above average in height, and slender—which made her look tall. She had a friendly smile that seemed instantly engaging, though she seemed a bit reserved as she made her way back to the middle of the bus.

  “I’m Eddie,” I said. “Nice to meet you Morgan. What brings you aboard?”

  “Vinny said his dad could maybe help me look for my family.”

  “Oh,” I said, and caught the sight of Jake’s head jerking toward us as he heard. Then he frowned at Vinny.

  “Dad, Morgan hasn’t been able to reach her folks for several days. I told her we lived just outside DC on the Maryland side and would be riding right through Northern Virginia. She’s from Vienna.”

  Jake just nodded and turned away. “See what we can do,” was all he said, and he got back in the driver’s seat and started back out onto the main road and headed towards Interstate 81 North. Vinny sat behind Morgan and in front of his brother.

  “Sup, dude,” he said. “I see your haircut hasn’t improved much.” Tommy punched him in the arm.

  “I see you’re still an idiot,” he said. “What are you weighing these days?”

  “About one eighty,” Vinny said. “Down a bit from earlier. Was thinking either 174 or 165 lbs. this season. How about you?”

  “About one ninety-five. I was thinking 184. The way Dad was talking on the way down here, I’m not sure there is going to be a season at all.”

  “You kidding?” he asked. “Mr. Reyes, is he kidding?”

  “Afraid not, Vin,” I answered. I had taught Vinny at Hunter’s Run. He was only two years out of school. “We saw some pretty heavy scenery back home. Everybody’s gone. Roads are empty. There’s evidence of some really weird after-effects of some of the bombing. Your hometown is a shambles. There’s looting, even killing. It’s rough.”

  “Jesus. There’s nothing like that here,” he said. “What about Lexington?” he said to Tommy.

  “Nothing. Some brief blackouts, but not much.”

  Just then, Maureen shouted out loud with her phone in the air.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “I have the news on my phone! There’s news on my phone! Everybody be quiet!” She turned up her volume.

  This is CNB news. The nation is reeling after massive multinational bomb attacks rocked dozens of major cities and military bases across the continent. Reports are still coming in, and we will be updating you regularly as we become aware of them. For now, the following major cities are considered disaster zones. Civilians are urged not to approach these areas until further notice, and only approved military personnel are permitted to be there. These cities in the mid-Atlantic region are: New York, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania; Baltimore, Annapolis, and Frederick, Maryland; Washington, D.C.; Arlington, Quantico, Fredericksburg, Richmond, and Norfolk, Virginia; Boston, Massachusetts; Providence, Rhode Island; Stamford, Connecticut; Wilmington, Delaware; and the lower Eastern Shore of Virginia. These areas have sustained extensive damage and could present dangerous levels of radioactivity. Repeat: avoid those areas completely until further notice. Marshall law has been instituted in each of those areas.

  Then the message began to repeat itself and Maureen clicked off her phone.

  “Dear God,” she whispered. “That’s like the whole East Coast. Millions of people.”

  “I can see why they went for major cities, but why the Eastern Shore of Virginia? There’s nobody there,” said Vinny.

  “Chincoteague has a Coast Guard installation, and Wallops Island is a major NASA and Air Force defense base,” said Jake.

  Maureen had tears in her eyes. Wendy did too. Al was clearly affected as well. Morgan was crying softly with her face in her shirt. Vinny tried to comfort her awkwardly. No one spoke for a few minutes. Tommy got up and walked to the front of the bus and sat in the front seat behind his father.

  “I’m sorry I doubted you, Dad.”

  “No worries, boy,” said Jake in a low voice. “It was only natural.”

  I looked at the Colonel. His face looked perplexed. He was deep in thought, and he shook his head slightly as if talking to himself.

  “Colonel? What now?” I asked him.

  “If Marshall law has been declared in Washington, it’s a decent bet that the president will be there soon.”

  “How do you figure?” I asked.

  “It’s been hit already. No need to bomb a place twice. It’s a waste of resources. The military can keep the streets clear and the people away. The president can work out of his bunker. I’m betting they’ve landed alre
ady. If you don’t mind switching the plan again, Jake,” the Colonel began.

  “Washington, then, instead of Greenbriar?” Jake asked.

  “I think so,” said the Colonel. “Hard to know for sure, but it’s the best bet probably, other than Site R, and we’re way too far from there now.”

  “Wait, Colonel—wouldn’t all of those places they just mentioned be radioactive?” asked Al.

  “Ordinarily, yes,” said Wendy. “But if all of these places were hit with the virus-carrying Brenerium bombs, maybe not. Those new weapons go for massive mortality instantly. Then the breakdown of Brenerium isn’t as strong, drastic, or as long-lasting as the standard neutron or hydrogen bombs. It might be safe to approach those areas now without danger of radioactivity. This wasn’t your grandfather’s nuclear war. This one is different.”

  “’Safe’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use based on what we saw when we picked you up,” I said.

  Wendy bit her lip, and the Colonel frowned slightly. Eyes widened among the original group.

  “What did you see?” asked Tommy Fisher. No one answered.

  “Oh come on,” he shouted. “You guys have been holding back on this ever since I got on the bus. We all have to face this whatever it is. Talk.”

  “Things, Tommy,” said Wendy. “We don’t know exactly what they are. They are transmutations—mutates from their original form. They’re altered.”

  “Mutates? Is that what you’re calling them?”

  “Actually they’re so new they don’t even have a name, but I guess that’s as good as any,” said the Colonel.

  “Just what do these mutates look like?” asked Vinny. We all looked around at each other, but nobody jumped in.

  “They’re orange-skinned with white hair. They’re essentially the same in body, but some of them have devolved brain patterns,” said Wendy.

  “Devolved?” asked Vinny.

  “Backwards in development. Primitive, reptile-like. At least some of them. Some seem to be only a bit reduced. But all of them are aggressive,” said the Colonel.

  “Aggressive. Like, why? What do they do?” asked Tommy.

  Suddenly I realized that nobody from our original crew knew the answer to that one. We knew that they were dangerous. That they caused damage to the base. But we didn’t know their end game. I must have had a weird look on my face, because as I turned to look at the Colonel he couldn’t hold my gaze.

  “Aggressive…for feeding purposes,” Wendy said.

  “Whoa,” I said. “Feeding? They eat people? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Now we don’t know that exactly,” said the Colonel.

  “Yes, we do, Ray. We most certainly do. We saw them feeding on dead bodies, and we watched them slam the hell out of our doors trying to get to us,” she said.

  “So, they’re zombies?” asked Vinny.

  “Zombies are dead, dumbass,” said Tommy.

  “Fuck you, Tommy,” said Vinny.

  “Both of you, be done,” yelled Jake, in a voice I hadn’t heard him use since the Wal-Mart. “We’re trying to learn something here. Wendy?”

  “They’re not zombies,” she said.

  “Told you,” said Tommy. Vinny scowled back at him.

  “They do seem to be carnivorous, and they do eat…carrion. Dead flesh. They found dead bodies everywhere and devoured them.”

  “Dear God,” I said. “That’s just horrifying.”

  “It was very animalistic. We watched them investigate the bodies, poke around at them. Then they just, they just eventually started eating,” said Wendy, wincing.

  “Well, that’s not great news, Colonel,” said Jake.

  “That’s not all of the bad news, son,” said the Colonel.

  “What do you mean?” said Jake. “What else?”

  “They don’t only eat carrion,” said the Colonel.

  “Jesus,” I said. “Jesus F-ing H, Christ. Are you saying they ate living people?”

  “We had an assistant. Bill Rafferty. A lab tech. He was with us in the lead room. He panicked and tried to leave, and they hunted him down,” said the Colonel.

  “Hunted?” asked Jake. “How do you mean, ‘hunted?’”

  “They used coordinated attack patterns. Remember the ones who were standing upright? The ones with more hair? They seemed to be directing them somehow. We watched them go after Bill. I couldn’t bear to watch them eat him,” Wendy said.

  “I observed,” said the Colonel. “It was coordinated hunting patterns. The upright, hairier ones directed the others into position. They funneled Bill into a spot where he couldn’t retreat. Then they just descended on him as a group. Nasty stuff. They stripped him bare and ate him raw. Then they napped nearby like a pride of lions or something. It was difficult to watch,” he said.

  “Dear God,” said Al. “That’s a worst-case scenario. Predatory mutated humans?”

  “Colonel, do you think there could be more of those things elsewhere? Besides Fort Detrick?” asked Jake.

  “Impossible to say for sure,” said the Colonel.

  “But given what we found when we were studying all of this, there’s no reason why this couldn’t happen elsewhere,” said Wendy. “You agree Ray?”

  “For all we know, if the conditions were similar, there’s no reason other people didn’t react the same way in other cities. The odd combination of weaponized viral attacks with Brenerium seems to kill eighty to ninety percent of the population and alter the other ten to twenty percent. And a few of those seem to retain a greater portion of their former humanity.”

  “Well, as horrific as all of this is, if they feed primarily off the dead, they can sustain themselves almost indefinitely. There will be plenty of dead left around those bombed areas,” the Colonel said. “Especially the larger cities.”

  “Okay, but what happens when they run out of dead people?” asked Maureen.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Welcome everyone. It’s so good to see you,” said Wes Kent. Melanie Richmond hugged the two dozen or so members of the Church of the Many Blessings as they entered Hunter’s Run High School’s rotunda area.

  “Great to see you, Mel,” said a large woman wearing a white button-down with her collar popped.

  “You too, Roz,” said Melanie.

  “Robin, you’re here too? I’m so glad you’re alright,” Rozlyn James said to Robin Eaves.

  “It’s been awesome since our phones started working again,” said Robin. “We have been able to contact lots of loved ones.”

  “Of course, we’ve all lost loved ones too,” said Wes. “It’s a national tragedy. We’re going to have to use God’s strength to rebuild,” he said. “And we will. We will.”

  “It’s a little scary out there,” said Roz.

  “It certainly is,” said Roz’s husband Billy. “There has been looting, and a number of assaults in broad daylight. It’s unbelievable. I thought I knew this town,” he said. “So much violence.”

  “Don’t say another word,” said Wes. “We had a violent presence right here with us for a while, but that’s all behind us now. Have you heard the news reports yet?”

  “Yes. At least the East Coast ones. It’s horrible. So many cities attacked. So many people dead. How is it that the little town of Emmitsburg survived?” asked Billy.

  “God’s will,” said Wes.

  “Amen,” repeated a number of the church members.

  “We are the chosen,” said Wes.

  “So why, Wes, are so many of you still holed up here, now that phones are working and electricity is coming back?”

  “Many of us lived in Frederick,” Wes said. Frederick is essentially a ghost town. You can thank Fort Detrick for that. Of course it would be a major target in Maryland. Everyone else who had somewhere to go or someone to go to has already gone. But those you still see here? We have nothing left to go to, no one waiting for us. The kids that are here can’t contact their parents, but we’re looking after them now. The Heffners—do you reme
mber them? Well, they have taken it upon themselves to look after the orphans here. They’re fine people. Fine people,” said Wes.

  “How’s the church?” asked Melanie. “Did it survive?”

  “Oh yes,” said Roz. “We have it guarded. It’s in perfect shape, and there are a lot of stored provisions there, like the Food Bank. We’re making sure nobody gets in there.”

  “Good thinking,” said Melanie.

  “Father Joe rather fancies himself like Clint Eastwood in Pale Rider, and he has several others taking turns guarding things.”

  On cue, Father Joseph Clarque walked in, white collar around his neck, and hanging in front of it was a large silver cross contrasting on his black shirt. He was back-slapping Wes Kent and shaking every hand Wes could introduce him to. He smiled reassuringly, the crows’ feet on his eyes deepening when he did. As he moved forward, he saw Melanie Richmond.

  “Melanie, my dear,” Father Joe beamed. “So glad to see you alive and well.” Joe embraced her for a good ten seconds, patting her back as he pulled away.

  “You too, Father,” said Melanie. She smiled, and then she and Robin guided the guests into the cafeteria, where a veritable feast awaited.

  The twenty-five residents of Hunter’s Run High School had gone to great lengths to host the two dozen guests they had coming to visit this night. Fried chicken, tater tots, and green beans waiting in chafing dishes for the guests. It represented a good bit of the food that the survivors had originally set aside for themselves. Ordinarily, a meal might be only one of those rationed out. But Wes Kent had assured them that this was well worth the investment. Discovering the surviving church members of the Many Blessings congregation was big, he said. The Church of the Many Blessings represented some of Emmitsburg’s finest citizenry. It had a daycare facility and an elementary Christian Academy there and made a habit of taking missionary trips every summer to Central America to help build houses and churches for poor communities there. Oddly, no church members were of Central American origin, and very few Hispanics attended the Christian Academy. The tuition there was considerable—comparable to some of the finest private schools in the Baltimore area that were so prevalent. Emmitsburg, being about forty-five minutes west of Baltimore, was usually too far for many of the town’s finest families to send their children to schools “Charm City’s” famous preparatory schools—and there were many in Baltimore—but there were several private schools in Frederick, and Hunter’s Run had a good reputation for a public school, so many of those parishioners’ children ended up there after a stint at the Elementary Christian Academy.