First Days After

by Jay Vielle

  “So why are they coming after us?” said Tommy. “I mean, they’re not zombies who eat brains, right?”

  Wendy frowned.

  “Right? Why are you frowning? Jesus, they eat brains?” said Tommy.

  “They’re not zombies in that they are not dead, and they don’t eat brains. Well, not only brains.”

  “What are you saying? That they eat living people?” asked Morgan, shivering visibly.

  “Yes. They are driven by a need to feed frequently. Their metabolisms are much higher than ours. And they seem to be carnivorous only. And they’re not too discriminating about what kind of meat they eat,” she said. “They are also scavengers and will eat carrion.”

  “Holy shit. Maybe that explains why we don’t see anyone,” said Tommy.

  “What do you mean?” asked Vinny.

  “I mean that they have eaten everyone else, dumbass,” Tommy said.

  “Screw you, Tommy. If that’s true, then where are the bodies of everyone else?”

  “For some reason they prefer to haul their meals into a private cache and eat together where they won’t be bothered. We watched them drag colleague after colleague of ours at Fort Detrick. It was horrific,” Wendy said.

  “And how long have these things been around?” asked Vinny.

  “Since the bombings,” said Wendy. “About a week.”

  “How did you learn so much about them so fast?” asked Tommy.

  “We captured one right away. When there were more of us. We were able to sedate it and run a multitude of tests. Everything we could think of. Brain scans, EKG’s, everything. We didn’t have time to process all of the data at first. The one we captured died after a day and a half of not eating. When that happened, the Colonel and I began to dissect it.”

  “Gross,” said Tommy. “I always hated biology lab. So, what did you find?”

  “They’re human. Just metamorphic humans. Something in the Russian weapons sped up a mutation process in them. Why some end up like they do—we never found that out. But we do know that in the one we found, its brain was only using the most primitive portions of the limbic system. It was effectively a reptile, at least in terms of its brain function. The outer layers were almost completely vestigial,” said Wendy.

  “Dad, did you know all this?” Tommy asked Jake.

  “Wendy explained some of this to us on the way down to get you. You all are getting the much more detailed version. There are some parts I’ve never heard, however,” said Jake. “Wendy, you’re saying that they have to eat every day to survive? And they only eat meat?”

  “From what we could discern, yes,” she answered. “At least on the one we caught. We really need to test them in mass numbers to know more about them. But that doesn’t seem likely.”

  “So you’ve only seen them eat human beings so far?” Tommy asked.

  “We saw some snag a squirrel right out of a tree,” she said. “I have to presume it’s anything with flesh that they go after. The ones that give the orders, the upright ones—they sent the ape-like ones up the tree after the squirrel. There’s clearly a hierarchy. The leaders look more human than the others. Almost like someone with a really deep, fake tan and white hair. The other ones almost look distorted a little. Like cavemen,” Wendy said.

  “This is really unbelievable,” said Vinny. “I’m sorry I doubted you, Dad.”

  “I didn’t know you doubted me,” said Jake, smiling.

  “I never said. I thought you were full of shit,” he said. “More so than usual.”

  “I am at my standard bullshit level, son,” said Jake. “Gauge accordingly.” Vinny smiled feebly. We rode past the turnoff to Fort Detrick and headed north towards Emmitsburg. As we passed Thurmont and Catoctin State Park, the tanks were still blocking the road to Camp David.

  “I wonder where that son-of-a-bitch is right now,” I said.

  “Not a fan of the president, Mr. Reyes?” Tommy asked. But Tommy already knew my answer. Our president was an arrogant, homophobic war hawk who entered into every pissing contest he found. He bullied, taunted and threatened other world leaders throughout his presidency, and right up until the first bombs struck, no one believed that he would bring about the world war that we were currently experiencing. Denial is the strongest drug, my parents always said.

  And though the truth was that our current state was due to a plethora of factors all leading up to a perfect storm of violence, I blamed him personally for the Cataclysm and for the World War that we all, I supposed, were still in. A week had passed since the world had blown itself up. So many explosives passed each other in the air at once, that in the two days of it we found it impossible to keep track. I remember listening to the major media stations with Jake at the school. We stayed up all night into the second day, listening for updates. We had received some of the info as to who was bombing whom. The first several hours seemed like a dream. The radio and television stations were keeping score like a football game. Then as more and more countries became involved, the updates stopped coming in, and the emergency broadcast system was all that was left. Until there was nothing at all.

  The status of our own country was still seriously in question, so I imagined that any news of the rest of the world was impossible to retrieve. We had not blown ourselves into the 18th century, but there wasn’t enough of our country functioning yet to connect itself to parts that were. The not-knowing was maddening.

  We drove past Mt. St. Michael’s University. Estela looked up ominously, staring at the campus. I suppose she had a lot of baggage there. I have faced prejudice before. Anti-gay, anti-Hispanic. It’s been part of my life from day one. But for her, it must have been especially difficult. Could you imagine? Moving across the country with everything you had to be with someone, then having that person—and every part of the world that surrounded her—reject you completely, leaving you alone in a strange place with no one to connect to. Such a beautiful campus in a beautiful part of Maryland. And a good school as well. But the Catholic church can be unforgiving to some things, I suppose, and homosexuality was always one of them. At least according to that professor who confronted her.

  Being Hispanic, my parents had been good Catholics when they arrived in the U.S., and we had spent much of youth in and around the college and the Grotto, and the Shrine of St. Elizabeth Keton there. They had even worked there briefly but had moved on to teach together at Hollowel when they were both offered tenure track positions at the same time. I started thinking about what must had happened to my parents again and had to fight back tears. I had successfully compartmentalized them in order to move forward and face daily survival at Hunter’s Run, and the guilt of not having thought of them creeped into my mind. My throat tightened a little.

  And then, as if reacting to my very thoughts, something strange happened, almost as if on cue.

  My cell phone buzzed. I had a voice mail.

  “Whoa—what the hell is this?” I asked. “How do I suddenly have a voice mail?”

  “You have a voice mail?” Wendy asked. Jake’s eyes looked up in the mirror excitedly.

  “I haven’t had a text or a voice mail for over a week,” said Tommy. “And that was you, Dad.”

  “Does this mean satellites are working?” asked Al.

  “Eddie, what is it?” Jake asked.

  “I’m checking, I’m checking. I didn’t even hear my phone go off,” I said.

  “Put it on speaker,” said Wendy.

  I pushed the speaker button and started listening.

  It was my father. And he was speaking in English.

  Eduardo, if you can hear this, we are alive. We managed to find our way into a government bomb shelter near the National Mall built in the 1950’s that was still intact. A colleague found us as soon as the bombing in Washington began, but we are safe. There is one phone here, and it is a land line. We are waiting here with about forty other people. It is a bit cramped, but we have ample food and water, as they were using part of the room for vendi
ng machine storage. We are all taking turns using the phone, so we cannot talk long, but we are okay. I do not yet know the number of this land line, but if this call gets through your phone should identify it. It will likely be busy if you try to call back anyway, as everyone is taking turns leaving messages, and we were among the first. It was requested that we speak in English. There are some government workers that are nervous that we are South American. I believe there were some South American countries who declared themselves enemies of the United States. Peru is not one of them, of course, but people are nervous, so we are honoring the request, and speaking to you in English. We are praying that you made it through all of this. We will try again to reach you, but please don’t worry. We love you, son.

  I broke into tears. I couldn’t help it. It was like a dam burst. I had been trying not to think about my parents at all. I had decided to presume they were dead in my own brain. That made it easier to focus on my own survival. But I wondered. We all wondered. I cried hard. Deep, uncontrollable, heaving sobs. Wendy put her arms around me. Morgan and Estela moved up and did the same. I was embarrassed that I couldn’t control myself, but I just let it all go.

  I looked up at the mirror in the bus. Jake was smiling. And there were tears in his eyes.

  “Jake,” I said, “How is it that you’re crying? You are such an enormous pussy.” I then started laughing uncontrollably, and so did he. It was one of those contagious laughs. Pretty soon everyone was laughing and crying together. The tension broke, and we all just let ourselves go. My voice mail must have continued listing previously saved messages throughout all of the laughter, because as our laughter finally died down, and our breath returned, and our abdominals started to relax, I heard the lady’s voice on the voice mail message come back on:

  -First skipped message.-

  Everyone’s eyes bugged again, and we all held our breath to hear another message that had come in. It could have been one that came in either before or after my parents’ message, depending on whatever buttons I had hit while laughing and crying hysterically with everyone. You could have heard a pin drop.

  Eddie, soy yo otra vez. Casi me olvidé. Dile a Coach Fisher que vimos a su esposa cuando el ataque empezaba. Ella estaba hablando por su celular, pero no nos vio. Tuvimos que entrar, y no pudimos llamarla, pero ella sí estaba viva cuando entramos. Ojalá que le ayude a Jake. Buena suerte, hijo.

  Holy shit!

  Eddie, it’s me again. I almost forgot. Tell Coach Fisher that we saw his wife when the attack was beginning. She was talking on her cell phone, but didn’t see us. We had to enter, and we weren’t able to call out to her, but she was definitely alive when we entered. I hope that this news helps Jake. Good luck, son.

  Estela’s mouth dropped and she turned towards Jake. I wondered if Jake had understood all of it.

  “Jake, did you hear that?” His face went blank.

  “Dad, what did it say?” asked Vinny.

  “It’s about your mom,” I said. “My parents saw her when the bombing began but weren’t able to call out to her when they entered the bomb shelter, but she was alive when they saw her. She was on her phone.

  Vinny and Tommy looked at each other.

  “Mom’s alive,” said Vinny, and he hugged his brother.

  “At least she was,” said Tommy. “Keep your hope alive, little bro. We have to go look for her. Right Dad?”

  Jake’s face remained expressionless.

  “Dad!” shouted Tommy.

  “I hear you boy. We will. We’re in Emmitsburg, so let’s get these people settled first, make sure they’re okay, then we’ll grab some provisions and get on the road again,” said Jake.

  “But Jake, the roads to D.C. are closed,” I said. “How do you plan on getting there?”

  “The roads are closed, Eddie. We’re in a bus. But I own a four-wheel-drive truck. We’ll just go off-road,” he said. Tommy and Vinny smiled at each other and nodded.

  I wanted to be happy for them, but selfishly I thought perhaps I could tag along and we could look for my parents as well. Then my thoughts were interrupted when I looked up.

  We were in front of the high school again.

  CHAPTER 21

  Mark Longaberger and Wes Kent were upstairs in the Family and Consumer Sciences wing where Wes had made his own little nest. Wes had just finished giving the tour of locations where Hunter’s Run High School was now housing homeless and displaced members of the church. Wes offered Mark a cold Coca-Cola and they both sat down on the couch in the room that Wes had designated as his own. It was out of the way of the mainstream, far from the common areas of the building and diametrically opposed from the new housing areas that Wes had shown Mark. Wes leaned back with a satisfied smile on his face and took a swig from the soda.

  “I did a little redecorating,” said Wes. “The FACS teacher was one of the first to leave when the bombing started. She’s from West Virginia originally, so I doubt she’s coming back,” he said. “It’s homey, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Very much so, Wes. A nice little spot for you, and well deserved. I have to say, I’m really impressed with all that you’ve done for the community,” said Mark. “There is certainly no end to the need, and…”

  Lou Orville came jogging up, knocked quickly and loudly, then burst into the suite.

  “Wes,” he said. “You should come.”

  “What is it now?” Wes Kent answered, clearly bothered by the interruption. “You always seem to arrive at the wrong times, Lou. It’s your gift.” he said.

  “The others. They just drove up,” said Lou.

  “Others? What others? What are you talking about?” asked Wes.

  “Fisher and his friends. Their bus just pulled up to the front door. They’re about to come in.”

  Mark lifted an eyebrow. “They’ve come back?” he asked.

  “Yes. And they’ve got more people with them. It’s like a dozen or so now.”

  “Well, well,” said Wes. “I wonder what they think they’re doing here. We will just have to go and ask them.

  We all got out of the bus and stretched. Several hours in a bus, no matter how exciting, can cramp your style and your legs. The sight of the school was welcoming. I had spent my high school years here, and my first professional years here, and it was home. Al and Maureen smiled as they got out, and Jake’s boys grinned at having returned to their alma mater as well. It was like an old friend who would always be there to welcome you back.

  And then I remembered the circumstances under which we left. It all came back when I gave a look toward Estela, who had only terrible memories of bigotry and mistrust in the few moments she was here. Morgan sensed her uneasiness and put a light hand on her shoulder, which Estela took in her own and squeezed. “I hate this place,” said Estela.

  “You only know a part of it,” I said. “It’s not the place, it’s the people you hate. Besides, we know a lot more than we did than when we left.” I glanced over my shoulder up the hill towards the Wal-Mart that Estela had worked in. She looked too, and her glance that direction was no more reassuring for her than looking at the Hunter’s Run entrance.

  “Well, well, the prodigal son returns,” said Wes Kent, making a dramatic entry into the courtyard in front of the school. “Just what do you think you’re doing here, Fisher?”

  “I’m coming to my place of employment, Wes,” he said. “And I’m sure as shit not your son. I’m too old, and not nearly prodigal enough.”

  “Cute,” said Wes. Mark Longaberger and Lou Orville came outside quietly and stopped behind Wes.

  “You may not remember this, but this isn’t your building, Wes. It’s public property. And being a coach, I have keys to about half of the rooms in this place. It’s as much ours as it is yours,” Jake said. Maureen, Al, Wendy and I all stood shoulder to shoulder in a defiant stance. They had subtly done it, but the effect was the same, and I felt proud. Tommy and Vinny walked up and joined us. Having two, ripped six-footers join our wall was a powerful ad
dition. To the onlooker, we were a formidable wall of eight defiant people. Wes’s face reflected our show of strength.

  “Then you may not remember that you are not welcome here anymore,” said Wes. “Your former colleagues made that decision, not me. And America, and whatever is left of it, is a democracy.”

  “Can the bullshit, Wes. I’m not sure how you manipulated all of that, but I was leaving anyway. You didn’t chase me out, as much as you’d like to think you did. And those people there behind me? They opted to join me. You didn’t chase them out either. It’s their school too. So, be a sweetheart and step aside, will you? Because we’re going in,” said Jake. Tommy and Vinny smirked. They may have battled their dad privately in a myriad ways, but they enjoyed the influence he wielded in the building. Maureen and Al had told them on the bus about Wes Kent’s power play and their reactions went from annoyance to fury when they discussed it. In some ways it was clear that they enjoyed the conflict.

  “Always violence with you, isn’t it, Jake? Tell me, do your new guests know that you’re a murderer?”

  Jake scowled at that. So did his sons.

  “Fuck you, Wes,” I yelled. “Self-defense isn’t murder, and he saved the lives of most of the people who ‘voted’ us out.” I accentuated voted for effect. “He’s no more murderer than you are.”