Dispersal

by Addison Gunn

  Of those that Samantha knew, Binh and Anita returned, as did Bernard. Bernard’s wife Rose, however, was nowhere to be found. They’d run off in different directions at the start of the attack, and Bernard wasn’t sure where she’d gone. His guilt became his utter ruin.

  After they’d scoured the ashes, Samantha found Bernard sitting in the remains of his scorched shelter, rocking and sobbing.

  Beside him, a woman going through her own shelter turned to watch Bernard, then joined him in tears. She dropped to her knees in the ash, and black dust rose in a cloud around her.

  From there it spread until the entire group were racked with sorrow. All around Samantha voices wailed, tears streamed, and hope was lost. Before long, she was in tears with them.

  So much life wasted. So much hate and fear. The deserters had done nothing against the farming commune but take her in, yet the mob’s violence had persisted and they’d attacked. It was pointless. Samantha herself had become all she despised when she’d murdered Joseph.

  It seemed to her, that evolved or not, Infected or not, humans were a violent species. No amount of communing, no amount of cooperation or empathy—nothing could prevent human nature from revealing its ugliness. Humans consumed and destroyed. It was what they were meant to do, and they did it well. Humans were the parasite of the planet, and it was they who would destroy the Earth, not the parasite. Desolate and overcome, Samantha sank to the burnt forest floor where her hut had once sat and wept bitterly.

  After a few moments, Binh appeared at her side. “We are gathering what we can and moving south. If we find warmer land, we might yet survive the winter.”

  Wiping tears from her cheeks with ashen fingers, Sam nodded, then stood. Joining the group, she abandoned the remains of the camp and slowly trudged away.

  THEY TRAVELED FOR days, eating what they could find—scraps and mouthfuls, gobbled in haste—and drinking from dwindling supplies until streams or creeks were found to refill containers. Samantha could tell she had lost weight by the fifth day, and cinched her belt tighter.

  Luck was on their side, at least for now. The weather was holding. It was uncomfortably cool at night, but they had taken to sleeping in one large, hastily-constructed shelter, huddled together for warmth and comfort, and that had helped some. For now, the torrential rain was not a factor.

  There were twelve of them—a handful of survivors had opted not to come—but soon smaller groups formed within the larger, and Samantha found herself working with Anita and Binh day after day in their hunt for game.

  After many failed attempts, Sam discovered spear-throwing and archery were not her strengths. She did have a knack for the sling, however. Often, she was able to find and catch enough of the smaller game—rat-things, the rabbit-like burrow-tail, occasional smaller terror-jaws, which she could at least stun long enough to dispatch with a knife—to feed the whole group. This became especially helpful when the archers, who concentrated on larger targets—wild husk-mutt, thug-behemoths, and even rot-gliders—came back empty-handed.

  Her usefulness was not lost to the group. As the week progressed, their fear of her dissipated, and Samantha almost felt a sense of acceptance. She was part of a commune now, fully. Not leading, not following. She had lost herself to the will of the group, and she had to confess, it felt nice, solid, smart—even if the living conditions of her first true commune were less than comfortable.

  It was the beginning of their second week traveling, in the middle of a freezing downpour, that they finally found a semblance of civilization. At the abandoned town of Old Forge, near the center of upstate New York’s forest, they discovered an operational dairy farm, complete with a herd of docile thug-behemoths, a milking barn, a field of some sort of wheat-derivative, and a large farmhouse with several adjoining sheds. The farm sat in the middle of a large clearing a few kilometers from a desolate highway.

  They didn’t see anybody, Infected or human, but it was obviously occupied. A spinning wheel sat on the porch of the farmhouse, a basket of wool at its feet; candle light could be seen in the draped windows of the farmhouse; smoke rose from the house’s tall stone chimney.

  “Do you smell that?” Anita asked, her mouth gaping.

  The twelve of them crouched at the edge of the clearing, watching.

  Binh, whose view was obstructed by the rear end of a gently ruminating behemoth, scrunched his nose. “Smell what?”

  Anita opened her eyes and sniffed the air. “They’re cooking meat. Can’t you smell it?”

  A few others from the group nodded. Samantha wasn’t sure if they could actually smell anything, or just wanted to. Bernard went so far as to lick his lips.

  Samantha, on the other hand, couldn’t smell anything. “We should wait until nightfall,” she said. “Take what we can.”

  “You mean raid their farm?” Binh stared.

  “Not raid—just commandeer a few things. We don’t want contact. Not until we know who or what they are. We can’t risk communing.”

  “There’s three of them over there,” someone said down the row, but a clap of thunder muffled what followed. All Samantha caught was, “...those sheds.”

  Binh rose to peer around the behemoth in front of him. “Where? What are they doing?”

  “Looks like they’re smoking cigarettes,” the woman said, squinting through the rain. “Or something.”

  “Come on,” Anita said, a tinge of impatience in her voice. “We’re getting soaked.”

  Retreating back into the treeline, they huddled closely, keeping low and a few meters back from the clearing.

  “We can’t camp here, they’ll see the fires,” Bernard said.

  “Good luck with fires tonight anyway,” Binh said. “Everything is drenched.”

  “We should move away and send in a search party tonight, just to feel them out,” Anita suggested.

  “No,” Samantha said, a little sharper than she intended. “We’re not splitting up.”

  “What if a couple of us approach them—find out what they are?” a woman suggested.

  “Not splitting up,” Samantha repeated.

  “What do you suppose is in those sheds? Do you think it’s food?”

  “Or maybe clothes?”

  “I could really use a jacket.”

  “Not. Splitting. Up.”

  A sharp crack made them all go silent. To their right, the three smoking farmers appeared, cautious, unarmed, and calm. The smell of cloves surrounded them like an aura.

  Samantha’s hand unconsciously went to the tails of her sling, tucked into her belt.

  “Don’t run,” one of them said. He had a thick beard and wore a knitted cap. One of his boots had a hole in the toe. “We’re not looking to hurt nobody.”

  “If you could just not shoot us, that’d be swell,” said the one with the thick glasses. His palms were held in front of him.

  Samantha half-rose, ready to run, but something stopped her. She felt it almost immediately: their energy.

  Suddenly, and overwhelmingly, she felt the desire to sit. The three men before her were so open, so gracious, so full of love and understanding, the sensation startled her. The men’s calm, soothing quality hit her hard enough that she lost her balance. She drove her knees forward into the dirt to keep from tipping over. Like dominos, her fellows did the same.

  The three men came forward and stood in the center of their group.

  “We accept and love you individually and as a whole,” said the one with the cap.

  “Please come with us, so we may clothe and feed you.”

  “Come where it is warm and pleasant. No harm will come to you.”

  All of Samantha’s group—Binh, Anita, Bernard, even Samantha—couldn’t seem to keep a thought in their heads. Before Sam could stop herself, she was standing alongside the others; helping one another, leaning into each other for balance. They linked hands and followed the three men out of the trees, over the hedge of ferns, and onto the field of thug-behemoths toward the barn—not
a word of complaint or resistance uttered.

  “Come on now, folks,” one of the men said. “Everything will be fine.”

  “That’s right,” said one of the others. “We offer peace and tranquillity.”

  With no worry or care, they entered the milking barn, where a dozen or so people worked at milking stations. Three-legged stools sat beside moaning behemoths who straddled buckets filled with purplish, milky fluid. All—people and behemoths alike—turned and looked at the new arrivals.

  Samantha knew she should feel uneasy—in fact, she was sure of it—but was overpowered by pacifying, comforting love. She couldn’t help it. She felt... happy?

  “More recruits,” said the man with the glasses to the others inside the barn.

  “Praise the Lord!” one of the milkers answered.

  “Sister Emma,” said the man with the knitted cap. “Could you be so kind as to run up to the main house and gather up warm blankets and clothes, and a couple loaves of bread for our new friends? Brother Jim,” he added, turning to the tall man on the other side, “why don’t you help her?”

  “Of course, Brother Ed.”

  The two milkers rushed off into the storm.

  “My new friends,” the first man then said, turning toward the dripping group. “Sit. Rest, please. You must be tuckered out.”

  In unison they sat on the barn floor. It was warm inside; it stank of dung and buzzed with black flies, but was still tremendously more comfortable than Samantha had felt since before her own farmhouse had burned to the ground. Or maybe ever in her life. She couldn’t figure how. They were in a smelly, gross barn, she was soaked through to the skin, hungry and exhausted—and she couldn’t have been gladder of it.

  On either side of her, Binh and Anita sidled up close, resting their legs beside hers for warmth. They watched Brother Ed attentively as he cleaned the raindrops off his glasses on his undershirt, then tucked the white tee back into the top of his corduroy pants and planted the large lenses onto the bridge of his pocked, bulbous nose.

  “Welcome to the Brotherhood!” His words reverberated off the barn rafters.

  Immediately the hairs on the back of Samantha’s neck rose and her good feelings drained away.

  “To the Brotherhood of the Archaean,” he added, making Binh and Anita relax on either side of her. “Our mission,” he continued, “is to spread the Archaean parasite like the word of God. It is our job, my brothers and sisters, our reason for existence, to reach far and wide and ensure that every man, woman, and child of this Earth shall be brought into the communion of the Archaean.”

  “Amen,” said the man with the knit cap.

  Jaw set, Samantha turned around and checked for exits. As far as she could tell, they had entered through the only door, which was now lined, shoulder to shoulder, with the milkers who had occupied the barn before their arrival. Behind Brother Ed and the two others was a ladder leading to a hay loft, but there was no visible back door.

  Samantha’s stomach roiled with anxiety and hunger.

  “Tomorrow,” Brother Ed said, “we shall find you jobs in the fellowship. For everyone has a God-given gift on this earth, and it is our calling to find yours. First, however, you must sleep. You must rest. Eat. Enlightenment shall wait for the light of morning. Ah—here we are...”

  From the entry the other two men reappeared, carrying a heaping armload of blankets, jackets, and an overflowing basket of bread.

  At the sight of the food, the newcomers rose to their feet. Brother Ed raised his hands to stall them, as the two followers walked in amongst the crowd, their arms loaded with goodies.

  The refugees were instructed to sit down and pass the blankets and jackets to one another. Then, like priests, Brother Ed and the two other men walked through them and handed them each a chunk of bread, ripped from the loaf.

  “This is a symbol,” the one with the knitted cap said to Samantha as he handed her a chunk of bread.

  Greedily, she stuffed it in her mouth and chewed.

  “This is the bonds of humanity, broken by the Archaean parasite for you.” With that, the man moved off, handing bread to Anita and then to Binh.

  Samantha listened to him repeat the line, then swallowed the lump of bread in her throat. “Oh, Jesus.”

  AFTER A SURPRISINGLY restful sleep huddled together—carefully guarded—on the floor of the milking barn, Samantha and her group awoke at first light.

  They were each given a tin cup filled halfway with mashed oats and raisins, then escorted to the farmhouse and lined up single file. One at a time, they were marched onto the porch and sat before an elderly woman, who embroidered a starched white linen as she talked.

  After brief conversations with the woman, Bernard, Binh, Anita, and the others were escorted to various parts of the farm. When it was Samantha’s turn, the woman tucked her needle into the fabric, rested the embroidery hoop on her lap and blinked at her with white eyes.

  “What do you feel are your best skills, my child?” the woman asked.

  Samantha shifted in the straight-backed chair, causing the wood to creak. “How do you mean?”

  “Do you feel emotionally connected to children?”

  “No,” Samantha snapped, without meaning to. “And I’m not looking to change that, if that’s where you’re going with this.”

  The woman looked taken aback for a moment, but covered it quickly with a yellowed saccharin smile. “Of course. Do you knit or crochet?”

  Samantha almost laughed. “No.”

  “Sew?”

  “No.”

  “Have any proclivities toward gardening?”

  “Some.”

  The woman’s wrinkled face brightened. “Excellent. How about cooking?”

  “No.”

  “Housekeeping?”

  “What century do you think this is, lady?”

  The old woman’s smile fell. “I beg your pardon?”

  Samantha gritted her teeth. “My proclivities involve domesticating, riding, and caring for wildlife, hunting, and farm management.”

  “I see. Well, come time to harvest the wheat and next season’s planting period we will always need more hands in the fields, so that’s helpful. In the meantime, I will assign you to the care of the behemoths. Report to Brother Paul in the barn and he will instruct you on your duties.”

  Samantha opened her mouth to ask a question, then thought better of it. Instead, she followed the escort—a man who introduced himself as Brother Daniel—to the barn, where Brother Paul instructed her, and another woman named Sister Ethel, to muck out the behemoth stalls and fill them with fresh hay.

  Sister Ethel worked in complete silence, ignoring any questions Samantha put to her concerning the settlement, going so far as to move to the far side of the stalls when Sam persisted. The subsequent solitary labor was uncomfortable, but provided Samantha enough silence for her to better think through the situation.

  Her circumstances weren’t at their worst, she knew. She had a roof over her head, she had food, fresh clothes. There did not seem to be a speck of hostility in a living soul within a kilometer radius, which Samantha—given all her commune had gone through—found comforting.

  But things could turn on a dime. The religious tone of the commune was more than a bit concerning to her, especially since she had no true idea what their church’s doctrines were—if any—and what plans they had for their new arrivals, including her.

  And it was very clear that the longer they stayed with the group, the harder it would be, if ever, to leave.

  Samantha felt connected to the group’s positive energy, and wanted to pitch in and help out any way she could—which was truly how a commune was supposed to work. But she couldn’t shake her underlying distrust. How could this peace be maintained in long term? How was this commune any different from the others she had encountered?

  Before she was able to come to any sort of conclusion, she and Sister Ethel finished their chores, and were tasked by the old woman with re-st
abling the thug behemoths from the field, then setting up wooden benches in rows across the center of the barn.

  It was long, back-breaking work, and by the end, as the sun began its descent, Samantha’s muscles wailed with strain and her hands ached with new blisters. Where, she wondered, would all these new followers sleep, and when would she be able to? If the barn was full of benches, were they all to pile into the farm house?

  Samantha didn’t find the idea of a wooden farmhouse floor too appealing—but then, she wasn’t looking forward to sleeping on the floor of the barn again either. Either way, she hoped the meeting wouldn’t take long. Exhaustion dragged at her eyelids like anvils.

  Some time after the benches were laid, the whole of the dairy farm sat in the pews, waiting. Those who arrived too late for a seat stood in rows at the back and along the sides.

  Finally, just as the sun disappeared over the horizon, Brother Ed walked to the front of the crowd and adjusted his knitted cap as if it were a crown of thorns. “Like the word of God,” he said, raising his voice and arms, “the Archaean parasite demands to be spread.”

  The crowd around Sam in the back row nodded in agreement. She couldn’t argue with it, but she couldn’t quite explain the sickly feeling in her stomach.

  “Through the use of our ‘outreach’ program,” Brother Ed continued, “it is our sacred duty to reach out into this world and spread The Word.”

  To Samantha’s utter astonishment, Anita, who had taken a place on the bench beside her, nodded and muttered, “Amen,” under her breath.

  Binh, on Sam’s other side, nodded as well.

  “Then I call upon you,” Brother Ed shouted suddenly, “my brothers and sisters of the Archaean, to volunteer! Rise up!” Raising his hands, Brother Ed spread his fingers wide, then brought them together with a booming clap. “Fulfil your destiny and come with me! And we will unite this world under one parasite!”

  “Spread the word!” chanted the congregation, all rising to their feet as one and clapping their hands together once over their head.

  “Brother Binh, Sister Anita, come with me!” Brother Ed shouted. “Brother Donald, Brother Bob. Sister Pam, Sister Samantha. You have been chosen!”