The Secret: A Thriller

by David Haywood Young

  “I’m Jacob Ashton,” I told him, wondering how he’d come up without my noticing. “People call me Ash.”

  I heard movement inside the church, and the man in front of me stuck out his right hand. “John Trebonne. Glad to meet you. Just down from Pennsylvania, or what’s left of it. Ah, will your people get upset if you come inside for a bit?” He nodded toward the trees I’d come from.

  I shook my head. Not unless I decided I wanted them to…but I didn’t say that. “No, we’re fine,” I told him, and waved a hand in the air, glancing back in the same direction he’d indicated. And then again, to two other spots. Which was kind of a lie. But only because all twelve of the men I’d brought, plus the runner, had actually spread themselves out and were sighting in on us with hunting rifles from several angles.

  “Hm,” I heard behind me as I walked into the church.

  * * *

  I came out an hour later and started walking back toward town. I gave a whistle with two fingers in my mouth and made a circling motion over my head as if it were a prearranged signal, pushing my men to fall in behind me as I went…and felt eyes behind me until I got out of sight.

  The strangers would be coming back in force, in two days. Forty men and women, who had traveled all this way because McDermott’s broadcasts had been the last they’d heard. And…there had been a man, a Pennsylvania native who had died from injuries he sustained coming home from Washington DC. He had pointed them in our direction.

  Whether it was true or not? These people believed the President of the United States had been coming this way. For safety. Weeks ago. And they hoped to find a stable government in the area. Stranger still, these people seemed mostly unaffected by the changes the rest of us had been going through.

  At first that gave me hope, but then I looked farther into their minds and found recent memories of a large yellow-bearded man who screamed to them about racial purity. I found darker memories, of the way these people had turned on any of their own who began to change. There were forty of them now, but they’d had over a hundred when they’d started this way. What they did to strangers along the way, even those who’d appeared normal, even children, was…hard to believe. Bob would have a tough time assimilating this new crowd once they got a look at the people of Henge. But he didn’t need to know that, did he? Nor did they need to know about Bob, yet.

  A particularly gruesome death of a teenage girl whose ears had begun forming delicate points swam to the forefront of my mind—they had cut the ears off when they were done, and their leader wore them as a kind of trophy—and part of me wanted to kill these four right where they stood. But I was going to use them instead. All of them.

  So…my conscience gnawed at me, and I was afraid I might be sentencing my daughter to death. But I used the strangers’ dreams of stability and freedom. I lied to them and made them believe me. I twisted their minds and made them remember they had come into town and been treated well.

  And then I sent them away, to bring others.

  Two days. I had to be ready for a fight. Or at least as ready as I could be.

  I hadn’t had a lot of time left to make a move anyway. Bob had been starting to stare at me a little too often. Sam too, though I still didn’t sense malevolence there.

  Or anything else, beyond the fact that he was paying attention.

  * * *

  “Damnit, Tim!”

  I’d been finding him for my daily dose of epinephrine for weeks now. It had been getting easier and easier for me to think clearly during the day. Maybe my mind was getting stronger. Maybe it was just that the days were getting longer and the nights were getting shorter. Maybe both.

  But today of all days? Tim’s mind-essence was barely there at all. His normal sharp-eyed glance and quick injection of synthetic adrenalin was nowhere to be found. Instead he stared at me blankly. “How may I serve the Master?” he asked me with a vacuous smile.

  “Fuck.” I thought about it—maybe Bob had given him some special attention last night? “I require attention, Doctor. I feel ill. Will you treat me?”

  “Of course. What is the nature of your complaint?”

  He sounded like he might fall asleep at any moment. On the other hand, since his mind seemed so weak…maybe I could push him awake…

  Nope. And I couldn’t find his drugs. Well, there was another alternative.

  * * *

  “Crap! Ow!” Tim hissed.

  I grinned at him. “Yeah, sorry about that. Next time tell me where you keep your stuff. That might have worked too.”

  “You broke my goddamn arm!”

  “Yeah. Feel like yourself yet?”

  “Fucking hell, Ash!”

  I shrugged at him. “Seriously. You should show me your stash. And what happened to you today, anyway?”

  “Happened? Oh.” He looked thoughtful. Well, thoughtful and in pain. “I guess…I think Bob came and worked on me some last night. Didn’t seem to like how it was going, then made me drink some of his blood.”

  “Seriously? And that actually worked for him?” I shook my head. “That guy’s stone weird.”

  Tim grunted. “Eisler’s no better.”

  “Maybe not.” We’d both noticed Eisler and the Reverend were more evenly matched than it might appear. They both mind-raped our fellow citizens. Bob had the lighter touch, seeming to inspire a sort of lassitude, a might-as-well willingness to obey his commands. Eisler did some of the same, but his approach seemed more crude. Still powerful, though. And sometimes Eisler destroyed people’s minds utterly—to the point Bob wouldn’t even bother to hunt them. Though that didn’t mean they didn’t get eaten. The cafeteria zombies weren’t picky.

  “Big news today,” I told Tim. “There’s a group of survivors from Pennsylvania. They heard McDermott’s radio broadcasts a while back and started this way. So…there are about forty of them.”

  Tim’s head swung up. “Newbies? So they’re not under Bob’s control yet?”

  I shook my head. “Not anybody’s, as far as I could tell. And I don’t think they’ll react well if Bob tries to grab ’em. Listen—stay alert tonight. Bob’s probably going to have to strain himself when he wakes up. Meanwhile I’m going to get everybody as agitated as I can. And pull as many people as I can out of this place, so Bob has to come to us if he wants to keep a lid on things.” Partly because I wanted to stress Bob by geographically separating the people he’d need to control. But mostly because I didn’t want him anywhere near Abby tonight if I could help it.

  Tim frowned. “You can do that? Pull people away from here? I mean, without Bob figuring it out?”

  I shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe he’ll blame it on the newcomers. He knows they’re coming, knows I scheduled a meet for tonight when he’d be awake. Thing is, I need you to dose as many people as you can today.”

  He studied me. “Sounds like a one-shot deal, Ash. We screw this up, Bob’s going to figure it out and kill us. Tonight, no more chances.”

  “Yeah, well. I’m getting stronger. You were too, until last night. And I don’t think we were ever going to get a lot of chances like this, when Bob’s going to be pushed to his limits. I say tonight we kill the bastard.”

  Tim was silent, considering. Then a rare grin splashed across his face. “About fucking time.”

  * * *

  McDermott, shaken but willing, looked up at me from where he sat on the floor, rubbing his arm where Tim had injected him, twice, before heading out to grab more people. “I can arm myself. And a few others. And we can be ready to follow your lead.”

  “Is that all?” I asked.

  His forehead furrowed. “All of what? What do you want me and my men to do?”

  I shrugged. “What you said is fine. But look, Captain, I need to know—what kind of perimeter does the Army have around town? I know at least one group has traveled right through it. What happens if Bob suddenly goes away? Are we looking at reprisals, or medals, or what?”

  “Oh. There is no perimeter.” He l
ooked into my face, tried to grin, and gave up on it. “Mr. Ashton, the whole…disease…started right here. At the prison, anyway. Then it spread to other parts of the country. We tried to contain it—”

  “By blowing up the prison? Plus an EMP bomb so nobody talked to outsiders? Then napalming downtown?”

  He looked away. “We tried lots of things. A lot of things happened, early on. I was relieved of command twice for refusing to follow orders. But people kept dying. Including my replacements.”

  He stood, unsteadily, and squared his shoulders. Then looked directly at me. “Mr. Ashton, at first this seemed to be ground zero of the worst epidemic of—well, the worst epidemic—ever to hit the United States. But when it spread…”

  I didn’t want to ask. I was busy, damnit. But I had to know. “What happened?”

  “Look, this isn’t easy to take.” He bit his lip, then told me: “Henge, West Virginia might be the closest thing to a town left in what used to be the United States. Maybe, by now, the last town in the world. It’s been a while since we got anything via radio. But the last we heard, whatever happened…it was spreading. Here. Europe next, then Asia, then…everywhere. Except that in most places, maybe everywhere but here, people just…they died. All of them. It made getting details really hard after the first few days.”

  I was leaning against a wall, trying to stay on my feet and think past this. “Well…shit.”

  That brought a faint grin. “Yeah. Exactly. Look, Ashton, I haven’t been telling people about any of that. And my men kept dying, too. Finally I had only two men I trusted to operate the radio and keep their mouths shut. One of them disappeared. He’s probably dead. The other, well, Bob ate him early on. Smithers. Didn’t seem to want to live. I think he made sure he wouldn’t. So, it’s been a while since we even tried to find out what’s going on outside Henge.

  “So, now you know. I ask you again, Mr. Ashton. As far as I can tell you’re the best option we have to lead these people, who for all I know are the last humans—or nearly—in the world. Henge was different. Whatever it is, it probably started here. And here at least, some people lived. Which makes everybody we have left a precious resource.

  “Now. What would you have me do?”

  I wanted to go hike in the woods, maybe even cry a little. Or yell at someone. Or maybe just kill fucking Slimy Bob Germain, then take a nap. But I wrestled my mind back to a semblance of focus. “First. We’re not the only survivors. At least one other group is still alive.”

  His eyes lit up, but I shook my head. “They’re not friendly. They’ll be here tonight. I’m planning to use that to get rid of Bob. He can’t…we can’t let him continue.”

  He stood there, blank faced. I thought about pushing him, but I was pretty sure he basically agreed with me about Bob. After a moment I continued, my voice as bland as I could make it. “Arm yourself as best you can. Help me round up anybody else you think might be useful, so Doc Sullivan can dose them. Or if we need to we can break some less-important fingers to get people riled up. With me?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said after a moment, then gave me a quizzical look. “About the fingers…is it true you broke Doc Sullivan’s arm? He mentioned it before he stuck me with those needles…I didn’t dream that part?”

  “Yeah. Not a dream.” I stood there looking at him. This wasn’t the time to go into that. So I gave a slight shrug. “Well. I thought of a better plan later.”

  He gave me a puzzled look, then twitched a grin. “Got it. I’m going to guess there was a personal element?”

  I shook my head. In the heat of the moment it had seemed like a good idea. “One more question, Captain. Tell me something—the radio operator who disappeared on you? Was his first name Jerry? White-blonde hair? Jaw that looked like it might be two feet long?”

  McDermott blinked. “That’s the one. Good man.”

  “Yeah,” I told him. “That he was.”

  McDermott nodded and turned to leave. “McDermott?” I asked. “Can you tell people this dustup is Eisler’s plan? I’m trying to—”

  He stopped, turned his head, and gave me the barely-there grin I was beginning to recognize as the most open expression he preferred to show. “Outstanding. Never liked him either.”

  Then he left.

  I went to go see who else could be irritated or broken free—at least temporarily—from Bob’s control.

  The arm thing, I reflected, had been sort of excessive. On the other hand I figured Tim had it coming for the stunt he’d pulled to get me to let him leave the mountainside. He hadn’t seemed to disagree. Telling me I had a chance to get Robbie back had been…not okay.

  Focus! I told myself. Later for the interpersonal stuff. Tim and I could hoist a few beers and settle it some other time. Maybe. Today we had a rebellion to manage.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was time. I got McDermott and his men moving first, then went to find Tim.

  “Got those syringes ready?” I asked him, poking my head into the classroom he’d set up as a sort of clinic.

  He held up a hand, checked the pulse of a woman lying on a pallet (she didn’t look good, but I recognized Mrs. Carmody, who had given me hell for walking across her yard as a teenager), and nodded in satisfaction. “This one’s going to—”

  Mrs. Carmody shrieked, then writhed. Tim grabbed her arms. “It’s okay, Sherry,” he told her. “You’re waking up from something that’s been…like a dream. It’s time to open your eyes. It’s time to help fix things.”

  I stepped inside, leaned against the wall and watched him work with her. He and I had some things between us, some things that we hadn’t talked about. And now wasn’t the time. But I understood why he’d done what he’d done, and right now it was good to see him working for what I was fairly sure was the right side. Mostly.

  Eventually Mrs. Carmody (I’d never known her first name before this, or even suspected she might have one) calmed, insofar as she was capable under the influence of a massive dose of stimulant, and Tim gave her what sounded like a well-rehearsed spiel. The world had changed, people had been in her mind, she could fight back. It was Eisler’s plan. She should think about how much better things would be with the Chief in charge.

  He got her up and walking out of the room, weaving slightly as she walked down the hallway, and sat down himself with a heavy sigh.

  “First, do no harm,” he quoted.

  I studied him. “Think she’ll be okay?”

  A shrug. “Maybe. She’s got an irregular heartbeat. Shouldn’t be a problem, but we’re all under a lot of stress—actually the people who seem calmest, the ones in an apparent stupor? I think that’s mostly Bob’s influence, and beyond that I think they’re fighting it all the time. Their heart rates and blood pressure are awfully high. Underneath that zombie demeanor, I think they’re fighting with all they have. They’re just…not good at it. Or maybe they’re so good that Bob can’t let them recover.”

  I nodded. “So why’d you pick her?”

  Short laugh. “You kidding? Sherry Carmody ran the PTA for twenty years. Never liked the woman—she’s vicious and takes no prisoners once she gets going. She only retired when her daughter took over.” He paused. “Actually I’d try to recruit the daughter too, but I haven’t seen her since this started.”

  I rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment, surprising both of us. “So, the syringes?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah. They’re ready. You sure about that part?”

  “Tim, I’m not sure about a damn thing. But this is the best chance I see us getting. Bob’s going to figure us out eventually. If he hasn’t already.”

  He met my eyes. “You sure you can use it? If you get the chance?”

  Could I? I considered for a second, then shook my head. “It’s not about me, man. What’s going on just…isn’t right. People ought to be able to make up their own minds.”

  “Yeah? Looks to me like you could be the next Bob, if you wanted to be. You sure you can stop yourself?”
/>
  I grinned at him. “Hey. One thing at a time. If I try to become some kind of evil overlord, it’s your job to stop me. Later, when we have time.”

  He laughed, sourly, and went to a cabinet and pulled out two loaded syringes. Handed one to me. Stood there with the other in his hand. “Ash? I’m not sure I can do this. Don’t…don’t count on me, all right? I’ve been a doctor for a long time. Helping people.”

  “Sure you can,” I told him. “For Felicia, if nothing else.”

  Not to mention that he’d apparently killed at least a couple of guys Bob had sent out with him at one point. But Tim had made a couple of good points. I couldn’t stand having Slimy Bob in my head all the time, draining my energy and directing me as if I were his meat-puppet. And I wanted to take everyone else’s minds and bodies away from him too. I was…offended and scared and more desperate to end all this than I’d ever want Tim to know.

  But how much of what I was doing was to save other people, and how much was just for myself? What if Bob’s dominance was just another thing that would soon change? How much risk could I justify inflicting on what was left of Henge’s citizenry just because I saw an opportunity to get rid of a problem that for all I knew might solve itself?

  After a while I shook my head. Maybe I was doing the wrong thing. Maybe I was saving us all. Maybe Tim’s question had been right on, and I’d become a worse monster than Bob had ever been.

  No way to know. But meanwhile I was going to do what I thought was right. It was that, or stand by.

  Also, I wanted my daughter back. With me. I wanted my son and my wife and Rose back, too, but with Abby there still seemed to be a chance. If I was right about Sam. But I couldn’t exactly ask him.

  “Hey Tim?” I asked him, nodding at the syringe he’d handed me. “Give me another couple of those, will you? You never know. And the epinephrine too—I want to dose myself right at sunset.”