by Black, D. S.
The terrorists he had understood; they were religious nuts who thought they were working for a Higher Power, but the New World seemed to have a host of Higher Powers that could kill a man without actually killing him. Death, after all is not as bad as many other outcomes; the insidious forces at work in the New World, both the living and the dead (walking and otherwise spirited), worked their evils in ways unknown before now. Rhino didn't truly understand exactly what he was thinking, but he sensed the darker realms of the supernatural had cracked open and were now running the show.
God almighty, he wanted a fucking drink.
10
After putting a solid twenty miles between them and the paranormal barrier, they exited the interstate. It was now early afternoon. The temperature was lowering as storm clouds gathered above them. By the time they pulled into the small neighborhood called Pine Towers, the first rain drops were falling. There were a few walkers on small street. Vice and Rhino took care of them easily.
They chose a two-story brick house. Inside, with the heavy oak door bolted shut behind them, the curtains pulled, the house fully searched; they settled in and ate peanut butter on stale crackers. In the pantry, they found a small miracle: an unopened box of Chips, O Hoy chocolate chip cookies. The cookies offered a much-needed diversion from the memory of the paranormal barrier. The chocolate fed their brains with happy thoughts and hope for the next day.
“Tomorrow we go to Columbia. I think we should hide the Jeep a couple of miles away from the stadium and hike in as stealthily as we can,” Okona said.
“If we never see another green-blue barrier again, I’m game for any plan,” Duras said.
“If this really is one of their main camps, expect some serious shit. Maybe not crazy barriers, but you best believe that stadium is gonna be heavily guarded,” Vice added.
“Let's get some sleep fellas. The earlier we start the better off we'll be,” Duras said.
They each chose a room and by the time the first pounding thunder exploded in the hot summer sky, they were all well on their way to sleep.
11
The next day they were back in the Jeep after a breakfast of saltines, cans of beef soup, and a few leftover cookies. They were driving West and nearing the I-26 exit. The sky was cloudy, and rain came down in thick goblets. The air was much cooler though, and no one complained at all. It would also give them some cover as they made their hike to the stadium.
They exited I-20 and made their way onto I-26. To their collective relief, they saw no paranormal barriers. I-26 was cleared of broken down cars as well. It was clear sailing. Duras put in another Stephen King audiobook; this time, he chose The Tommy Knockers.
The windshield wipers swooshed back and forth. The engine ran fine and steady. In the back the men tried to rest, but the thought of both the coming confrontation with the Militia along with lingering memories of the strange experience of the day before held off any hope of rest.
Up front, as they listened to The Tommy Knocker’s narration, Okona and Duras thought similar thoughts. Okona thought of Tasha; Duras thought of Mary Jane. Both worried they may be dead already; both thought this current expedition may prove suicidal. How could such a small number of men take on the Militia? Especially a militia large enough to house an entire stadium?
But in a world where paranormal barriers exist, and death is waiting around every corner; risking life and limb in the hope of rescuing the only love left in the world was worth it every time. Playing the hero was better than running and hiding, at least for this Jeep full of men. Only a few weeks ago they had wanted to kill each other. Now, forged together by the looming threat of the Militia; they drove on, ready and willing to fight and die for each other. It’s an amazing thing the way men can come together, forming a bond of brotherhood. Centuries and centuries of warfare had done the same for many men, from the Spartans of Ancient Greece, to the Marines charging the Japanese Army on Iwo Jima.
And now, this small group of battle hardy survivors embarked on what would become one of their most dangerously perilous missions. As they saw the signs signaling they were closing in on Columbia, they exited and found an old woods road. There, they left the Jeep hidden under some downed tree limbs. They shouldered their rifles, stuffed what food they could carry into a back pack, and started their trek towards The Militia's second largest stronghold.
In the Arms of the Militia
1
Mary Ann and Tasha stepped into an office. The window gave an awe-inspiring view of the field below, and Mary Ann briefly remembered the good ole days—college pep rallies she rarely attended, and teaching biology; her heart and soul. The smell of tobacco ruined any hope of a day dream, and she focused on the man behind the desk. He was tall, well built, with the kind of face one expects on men doing hard time—intimidating and mean.
“Ladies, have a seat.”
They sat, a look of fear on Tasha’s face, and a stare of guarded stoicism on Mary Jane’s.
“My name is Teddy Mullinax. I’m a colonel in the Militia, and commander of the entire Columbia base.” He spoke with pride, puffing on his cigar between sentences. “What the Militia brings is order. Order from chaos. The time has come for humans to go back to their natural way—meaning, women serve men. Does that make sense?”
“Certainly. It’s the way of the New World.”
“It’s the way the world always was. Modern culture tried to undue nature’s way, and the Fever corrected their bullshit.”
“And left fine men like yourself to lead the human race into the new era.”
He gave her a long look, then laughed. “You’re a hard one, I can see. A survivor. It’s no wonder you made it this far.”
“What can I do for you? How can I help the cause?
He stared at her, sizing her up. “Tell me about the City of God.”
“It’s an overblown idea made up by fools. Men who thought they could hold their own in the New World, but in reality, were only delaying the inevitable.”
“And what is the inevitable?”
“The arrival of men like you, of course. Men with the genes to handle the world the way nature intended.”
“We failed to take the City of God. It belongs to the dead now.”
“A pity. It would have made a great base for your militia.”
“We did kill all the inhabitants.”
He watched her closely for any sign of sadness. Her act was impenetrable. “As my grad school professor once said: natural selection is a bitch.”
Mullinax laughed loudly. He stood up and retrieved two shot glasses from a cabinet. As he poured the whiskey, he said: “Tell me about yourself. What’s your name? What did you do before the Fever?” He handed them their shots, and both women took the alcohol down quickly and gladly.
“My name is Mary Jane. I was professor of biology at Coastal Carolina. This is Tash—”
He cut her off with a wave of his meaty hand. “Biology?”
“The study of life, Teddy.” She waited and saw he had no problem with her using his name, instead of his Militia title. “I’m an expert in microbiology. I can offer the Militia a lot more than just a new piece of ass. And more so, I can be yours and yours alone. You can claim me as your prize.”
“Just so it's clear, you understand if I find out you ever meddle in the internal affairs beyond what is ordered—if you try to undermine my authority—I'll personally torture you to death with the lights on and the seating filled by roaring soldiers, along with many women. Women who understand and see the New World as nature’s way of setting human society straight.”
Mary Jane looked at him carefully. “I understand the new hierarchy just fine, Teddy. I'm applying for the best role a woman can hope for now. That of the lover of the Colonel in charge. A Colonel who might need a bit more brain in the bed with him.”
“Didn't I tell you women are mere property now? Maybe you—”
“I'm your property, though. I'm yours, Teddy. I want no other man to ha
ve the right to touch me.”
He stared at her.
“Not just me, though. Me and Tasha both. Use us as you wish, but make us your personal property. Like the kings of old—they all had their favorite toys—often holding on to them for quite some time. Teddy, nature allows for small niceties for the king's chosen few.”
“There is only one king. The Mountain King.”
“Teddy, this stadium is your given domain—given to you by the Mountain King himself. You are his chosen man. You are strong and powerful. My very nature as a woman strives to push me into your arms. Caesar had Cleopatra. I am no queen, but I can give you more than many. I am not only your toy and sexual plaything—I am your intellectual tool as well. Use me for the good of the Militia. For the future of Man.”
He sat with his back pressed against his large, plush leather chair. His fingers were laced together into one large fist. “You are a willful and convincing woman. How can you help me?”
“It’s in my best interest to help your cause. It’s as simple as that. Let me be your woman.”
“Now you are begging, begging me for aid. It’s me that holds your fate in my hands.” He acted as though he was mulling over a decision, then: “I'll tell you what. We'll do a trial run. I like you. I do. I've only liked a few women in my day. I hated my wife…in fact, I hated her so much I murdered her in cold blood.”
If this news affected Mary's continence, her face and body showed no sign of it. She'd won the hand of Colonel Ted Mullinax —at least for the moment, and that was a step forward, no doubt about it. If she played her cards right, she just might make it out of this hell with only bad memories to worry about.
“You're in luck, though. The Mountain King has strict rules for his leaders, but he does allow us to keep one or two women just for our own enjoyment. My last two…well…let’s just say they met an untimely demise after they pissed me off.”
“What can you tell me about the Mountain King? I've heard so little.”
Mullinax sighed. “Just that he's a powerful force. He is not just a man; he is endowed with power that works its way through the Militia, making us strong and unbeatable.”
Mary wanted to laugh and tell him no one is unbeatable, regardless of the delusions they may carry. She of course, held her lip.
The Colonel continued: “You will find the markings of his power in your new bedroom. You and Tasha will have comfortable accommodations, at least until I find another two who suit my interests more.”
“We’re both humbly gratified to be chosen for such an honorable position. We will do all we can to please you both physically and intellectually.”
“We'll see; that's for sure.”
“Do you believe in ghosts, Teddy?”
“I believe there are things happening since the Fever that are difficult to explain, but I’m a pragmatic man; every problem has a solution; every mystery has its answer. I personally think the Fever cracked open something.”
“Something biological? Or something spiritual?”
“Does there have to be a difference?”
“I think so,” Mary said with complete confidence. “Spirituality is the unknown; once we understand whatever is happening around us, it’s called biology. The study of life.”
“Are the experiences people have now part of the biological world?” He asked.
“Yes; if we can interact with it, then yes. Even if what people see and experience now is merely an illusion, the base of the phenomenon is still biological.”
“Interesting. There are areas that are dubbed Dead Zones. The Militia has found a number of these areas. They are named according to the color of the aura. One is green, and it’s the one closest to the coast. Another is in Greenville and its red. There is one on the ridges above the Mountain King's base that is black as pearl. We suspect they exist all over the world now, not just in South Carolina.”
“Then the Militia’s only interested in the Palmetto State?”
“The Militia owns everything it lays claim to.”
There was a short pause. A tension filled the room. Mary saw a moment of hate flash across the Colonel’s eyes; a foretelling of potentially murderous behavior. She reminded herself to watch her words. “Tell me about these Dead Zones.”
“Well, it’s hard to explain. I've never been through it. From the outside, they look like liquid jelly auras, if that makes any sense. The men gone through have all come out mad as fucking hatters… the things they experienced...” He paused for a moment as if thinking, “it seems while in one of the Dead Zones, people you care for most are used to torment you. Based on what little we could gleam from those I sent in, they see apparitions that look like family and friends.”
“Maybe it’s a chemical effect in the brain. A hallucination. Hell, if you think about it, we may all have the Fever, only a different strain. With the proper equipment, I could study these Dead Zones for the Militia.
For you.
2
Mary and Tasha were given private quarters. They were roomy accommodations. The beds were queens with thick purple sheets. The beds themselves were made of well-designed pale-yellow oak. Dark runes in a strange language ran down the bed posts. The posts turned and twisted in well-crafted poles. They connected with a bronze bed frame. A thin lacy bed drape was tied back. The room was furnished with more yellow oak. The dresser was chest high. The same runes ran down its side that adorned the bed posts; she’d never seen them before. They looked like something out of a book of lore. Her Old World husband would have known, may be; but lore had bored her. History she loved, almost as much as she loved biology—and they go together—the history of humanity is found in biology, or maybe the runes were something the Militia made up. Some crazy delusion coming out of the Upstate, handed straight down from the Mountain King's lair.
A dark gray carpet covered the floor like soft metal. It was thick and felt wonderful under her tired feet. She looked over and saw the bathroom. She walked over and pushed open a thick yellow oak door. It had the same strange runes running down the middle. She pushed the half open door and walked in. Creamy white marble covered the bathroom from head to toe. A glass door slid back revealing a walk-in shower. The shower floor had a slip proof pad that ended at the drain. Under the mat and surrounding the silver eye of the drain was more pristine white marble. She felt she was standing in ancient Greece. The rules applying to women of ancient Greece compared well with the New World. She could understand why it was easy for brain dead men like the Colonel to fall so easily back into the ancient routine of controlling women. It gave them a sense of power and control. Women were a threat to men since the beginning. The earliest hunter-gatherer societies may have been more gender equal, but it didn't take long before humanity took a turn for the worse. After humans began settling down and storing food and supplies instead of using a feed and go method; a new male dominated hierarchy began. It stayed that way all the way into twentieth century. Although mythical patriarchies were written about, no historical evidence ever showed such female dominated societies ever existed. Certainly, there were queens of old who occasionally came to power by mere chance (and sometimes by murder) via the understood blood line of the king or by marriage, but none that had a society-wide female-controlled system of daily living; it was accepted men were better than women, not just different. That system had returned with a steady vengeance.
She thought these things in silence as hot, steaming water poured over her. The hot water helped clear mental cobwebs brought on by the stress and pain of being a slave; might as well be the top slave. Here the perks are better. Maybe Tommy would come, maybe he was already dead. Either way, she believed she could survive this. Her and Tasha; at least for a while. One day at a time. This was a time to forget the ego and focus on analyzing the opportunity to gain a small token of control in such a hellish situation.
As she stepped out of the shower, there was a soft knock on the door. “Come in, Tasha.”
The door opened. �
�How'd you know it was me?” Tasha was well washed and looking quite young in a soft wool robe. Her hair was wrapped up in a thick purple towel.
“You don't think these men around here will knock so softly, do you?”
“I still can't believe you convinced them to let us live like this. All the other women live on the field.”
“Just think of it as survival. We are the Colonel’s apocalyptic prized whores. It’s not fun being a toy for a man, but it beats being a toy for hundreds of men. And the rooms are nice, wouldn't you say?”
“I’m still scared. I feel trapped and scared all the time now.”
“That's good. Don't get too comfortable. Fear keeps you alive.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and took Tasha by the shoulder. “This is temporary. Somehow, someway, we will escape. Let me handle that! Don't speak of it! Ever! It’s too dangerous.”
Tasha looked at her with tears starting in the corners of her eyes. Then she smiled, willing the tears away. “You're right. And these rooms are really something, huh?”
“What do you make of these runes?”
Tasha giggled. “Runes? You make it sound so Tolkienish. I just call them engravings or marks.”
“Regardless of rather or not these runes indicate a dark power like something out of The Lord of the Rings, which is probably what the Mountain King believes; it may suit our needs to discover what they mean.”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Don't sass me, girl.” She winked at Tasha and for a moment felt that overwhelming sisterly love come rising inside her in a whirlwind of emotion; a twisting, screaming tornado of love. She saw her sister in Tasha's deep sea blue eyes. Sarah was dead, but she felt her presence in that moment; she saw it hovering around Tasha in a spiritual aura.
