The Sword of Saint Michael

by D C P Fox

  At first, she couldn’t remember why she was in George’s house. The vigil . . . The snowstorm . . . It was all coming back now.

  George dead, come back to life. She killed him.

  Then the aliens—the bodies in the other bedroom—intruded. She had killed them.

  Canvassing confirmed no more people, or aliens—alive or dead or undead—occupied the house. Afterwards, she went back to the bedroom—the scene of the slaughter. Jocelyn had done all that. She had killed all those people.

  Aliens. They were aliens . . . right? But they didn’t look like aliens—they looked human.

  Oh, no.

  Jocelyn’s mind started to clear, and as it did, her memory returned. Lucid now, she realized she had suffered a psychotic break. That final dose of her meds must have kicked in while she slept. The last thing she remembered was shooting the final person in the face.

  Holy shit, she’d mistaken these people for aliens from another planet.

  She became angry at her illness. When in the throes of a psychotic break, she was always one hundred percent sure of her distorted reality. Thought not real at all, it felt incredibly real. At the time, there was no doubt they were aliens.

  Returned to sanity, she realized how her diseased mind, once again, leaped to a conclusion with no rational basis. Now, she was one hundred percent sure of her reality—the actual reality.

  They weren’t aliens, and not even infected like George, but everyday people with lives and families.

  And she had butchered them.

  She had never harmed anybody during prior psychotic breaks. This one proved different.

  She wept, her sobbing turning into an outright bawl. “Oh, no, oh, no,” she said with eyes closed, as if saying it would make it all go away. Maybe she was hallucinating right now. Maybe there weren’t any bodies. Maybe no one had come to the house. Maybe when she opened her eyes, she’d realize it had all been a nightmare.

  But it wasn’t a nightmare. Although everything seemed real in a psychotic break, this reality was definitely the correct one. She likened it to a dream. While dreaming, you didn’t question the reality of it, but when it was over, you knew the difference between the waking reality and the dreaming reality.

  She had to get out of that bedroom.

  Once in the living room, as her crying subsided, Jocelyn sat down on the couch, blood smeared on her clothes and sticky on her hands. The pile of blankets that had covered George’s body was no longer there. That made sense—his visitors had removed it. She looked out the rear window and saw the blanket pile on the patio, large enough for the body to be under them.

  She realized she should talk with her spirit guides, particularly Saint Michael, but he and Skunk hadn’t been available for a while. They had turned their backs on her, and damn them to Hell if they did the same now.

  Overwhelming sadness and guilt began to take hold. She had spent four years controlling her illness as best as she could, proud that she could function as a member of society and finish her PhD. But, ultimately, she failed. Her control of herself was only an illusion, due merely to her not being in a stressful situation.

  She felt like the lowest form of life on Earth. She didn’t deserve to live, her “normal” life just a facade, an elaborate lie that hid her true nature.

  She was a murderer. There was no way around that label. She would always be a murderer for the rest of her life. Was she going to kill in every stressful situation?

  She probably needed to be locked up and kept away from society.

  But it dawned on her that she had been off her meds. Her meds had kept her from becoming a butcher.

  She began to have slight control over her turbulent thoughts, enough to realize she needed to calm down, center herself, and logically figure out her next step. To do that, she would need to meditate and seek guidance. She realized just how dependent on her spirit guides she had become.

  So, she sat upright in the Egyptian pose, bloody palms face down on her knees, and tried to relax, though that was difficult because she desperately wanted to rush into the meditation. But she required a deep meditative state if she were to gather her wits, if nothing else. She relaxed and gained patience in incremental steps in a positive feedback loop, eventually attaining the state of relaxation she desired. She counted herself down into meditation and asked to go to her Inner Temple, and she transported there in an instant.

  Chapter Ten

  Day Zero

  Janice Fernley had recognized Jize Chen, the famous concert pianist, as soon as he walked into her store. A big fan and frequent attendee of his concerts, she wasn’t the type to fawn over celebrities. Not that she didn’t want to, but she knew they must get that all the time, and while some may find it flattering, most of them wanted to be left alone.

  A childless widow, she found it difficult to empathize with Chen very much, but she needed help to survive . . . whatever this was. If this were terrorism, there were a lot of terrorists. Usually these kinds of attacks blew over in an hour or two, but she had a feeling . . . not this time.

  She recalled the lotto tickets above and behind her, on the wall. If only she won the lottery, it would get her out of this miserable life. With few friends, and no family, all she had was her cat.

  Twenty-two years alone now. Twenty-two years without Rob. Twenty-two years with no one.

  She allowed herself a little pride at keeping Chen from getting himself killed. Or giving up their location.

  Janice peered over the counter and saw these terrorists—or zombies, as Chen called them—breaking glass on buildings and entering and exiting them through front doors. It was only a matter of time before they came into the store and spotted them. She clicked the roof of her mouth with her tongue—something she always did when thinking—and wondered where would be a good place to hide out. The bathrooms would be too obvious, but she did have an uncomfortable idea.

  “I know a better place to hide,” she whispered. “Come with me to the back.”

  “Where are we going?” He also peered outside, clearly horrified by the attack on his family. But they couldn’t afford the luxury of his grieving.

  “Somewhere I think they won’t find us. Crawl with me.”

  She turned around on her hands and knees and crawled to a swinging double-door. If he didn’t follow her, she didn’t want to wait. So she didn’t look back as, once she entered the refrigerated cooler area, she stood up and made a break for the walk-in freezer. She opened the door, and, to her relief, Chen appeared right behind her.

  They both scampered in and closed the door. She looked at the door handle. It didn’t lock from the inside.

  “Help me stack these crates in front of the door,” she said. They went about that work, and the ones they put on top were too heavy for them to lift above their heads, so they had to empty them.

  Once they finished, the cold air felt good as she had warmed up from lifting the crates, and they hid behind two large crates not used for the barricade.

  But she shuddered as the cold settled in. She had left her jacket in the kitchen and hadn’t thought to pick it up off its peg as she went in.

  “Here.” Chen took off his jacket. “You can have this.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t.” Yes, she could.

  Chen shrugged. “I like the cold—or, well, I tolerate it quite well.”

  Janice appreciated the lie. As she lived in Beaver Park, she was able to tolerate the cold, but only with lots of clothing on. She doubted he lived in an area that cold in the winter—she guessed New York—but she accepted the coat.

  Then heavy footsteps came from outside.

  The door to the freezer opened, and a strong smell of rotten meat assaulted Janice’s nose. Maybe Chen was right—this was a zombie, not a terrorist. Or simply a foul-smelling terrorist. Which was more likely?

  The zombie/terrorist couldn’t see through the crates, but it could move them (the top ones empty and light), search the place, and find them.

  B
ut the door closed, and she heard footsteps walking away.

  She breathed a sigh of relief, but realized . . .

  “We should wait,” she whispered. “Others may come by.”

  Chen nodded, breathing deeply, his breath coming out as white vapor. He shivered, and she resolved to give him back his jacket if they were in there for a while.

  Janice decided it best to pass the time talking and getting to know each other. She noticed the condensation of her own breath as she whispered, “Do you have other—”

  “Other family?” he whispered.

  She nodded. She knew he had a deceased wife, but she didn’t want to let on she knew about him.

  “I have a daughter and a son.”

  “What are their names?”

  He shook as he whispered, “John and Julia.”

  “Do you believe they—”

  He glared at her. “I don’t want to think about it right now. Right now, all I’m thinking about is staying here till the police come.”

  “What if they don’t come?” she asked, while thinking she wasn’t sure if she forgot to close the register.

  “Why wouldn’t they?”

  “I know you said you don’t want to think about it, but . . . maybe this isn’t happening just right here. This could be happening all over town, all over the state, all over . . . well, anywhere.”

  “That’s nuts,” Chen declared. “You’re catastrophizing.”

  She rubbed her face and sighed. “Yeah, you’re probably right. The authorities will be here soon. It will all be over. And then we can get on with—“

  He glared at her again, raising his voice a little. “Our normal lives?”

  Oh, right. He had relatives he cared about. He had seen them murdered. Oops.

  She sighed again. “I’m sorry.” She looked down at her crossed legs. “I’m just—”

  “You’re sorry? Are you sorry you tackled me, kept me from saving my family?” His voice rose some more. Janice was concerned he was being too loud.

  “You know I did that to save you, right? You’d have gotten yourself killed.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do, and so do you.”

  He seemed to ponder this. He sighed, a little too loudly for Janice’s taste. “Okay,” he conceded, this time at a lower volume. “I suppose you’re right.”

  Chen stared down at the floor. He looked depressed. She knew the signs from back when she had been a nurse. That was such a long time ago . . .

  “So what about you? Do you have family?” He was still staring at the floor.

  “No. I live alone.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They’re dead. I have no siblings, I have no cousins, I have no children, I have no one . . . except my cat.”

  “That must be very difficult.”

  “Not as difficult as . . . well, what you’ve gone through just now.”

  Chen nodded, still staring at the floor.

  Though Janice had saved his life, she understood why he wasn’t grateful. She hadn’t done it for his gratitude.

  She looked at her watch. Though it seemed like forever, she guessed it had only been ten minutes. There had been no noise since the terrorist/zombie opened the freezer door and left.

  “I’ll try to see what’s happening,” Janice declared. “We don’t want to stay in here too long.”

  “I’ll go, you stay here.”

  She shook her head. “We’ll both go.”

  “All right.”

  They tried to remain quiet as they removed the crates from in front of the door. Then Janice opened the door a crack and peeked out. There was no one in the cooler. She crawled out the door, Chen following her, and she approached the employee access door that opened into the main part of the store. Slowly easing the door open a bit, she looked through but saw no one. She crawled behind the register counter and poked her head up to view what was happening. All the creatures, the zombies, the terrorists, whatever, had all moved on.

  But not just them.

  There were no dead bodies at all. It seemed as if while she and Chen were in the freezer, someone had cleaned up all the corpses. This was absurd; they couldn’t have been in there for that long—not enough for anyone to remove that many bodies. Right? Cars scattered all over the road, sidewalks, parking lots, etc., but there were no dead bodies.

  No dead bodies? How could this be?

  Jize was back in the freezer with Janice as they had decided to hide out for several more minutes. He realized he hadn’t introduced himself. He had told her about his family, but not about himself, though he suspected she already knew. Now was the time to see if she was a real fan. “I’m Jize Chen. Sorry we met under these circumstances.”

  “Janice Fernley.”

  “You recognize me?”

  She shrugged. “I am a big fan, but let’s not talk about that right now. I’m sure the last thing you need is a fan fawning all over you.”

  That was the truth.

  “And I’m not in a fawning mood at the moment.”

  They waited a little longer before checking outside again. Maybe the zombies were all hiding, waiting to strike. Maybe they had picked up all the bodies and hid them, though that didn’t make much sense.

  “Do you think they’d attack cats?” she asked.

  Why would she think about cats? Oh, right. She said her cat was all she had. He shrugged. “I doubt it.” He had no idea, but she needed comforting.

  After about ten minutes had passed, they slowly and cautiously emerged from the store and into the sunshine.

  Cars filled the road, and some had crashed, unmoved from their positions since the last time Jize saw them. Some motors still ran but with no drivers. Jize noticed hundreds of bloody footprints originating from pools of blood and heading up the street.

  Amidst this shocking scene, Jize spotted a man walking with a young girl in a princess outfit, both covered in blood, the girl on the man’s shoulders. The man carried a shotgun and did not look like a terrorist or zombie.

  Jize risked contacting him. “Hello! Over here!”

  The man stopped and pointed the gun in Jize’s direction.

  “What’s your name, Snow White?” Vin asked the girl on his shoulders.

  “Silly! You just said it!” She giggled.

  The girl was not coping with this well.

  “You must have another name. What is your . . . not pretend name?”

  She took a few seconds before responding, “Emily.” She said it with such sadness that Vin’s heart ached.

  “Hello! Over here!”

  Vin turned toward the voice and saw two people in front of a gas station across the parking lot from the supermarket—a white woman and an Asian man. The Asian man, who looked in his sixties, had a full head of jet black hair and wore denim jeans and a well-tailored sport coat. The woman appeared to be in her fifties, with straight, dirty-dish blonde hair. They both looked scared as hell, and they had no weapons—at least, nothing out in the open.

  Vin raised his weapon and pointed at them. Their facial expressions betrayed a similar experience to his and Emily’s.

  “You’re unarmed?”

  The man nodded. The woman gave a soft yes.

  Vin didn’t like it, but he would have to trust them. They seemed harmless, but if they weren’t, he couldn’t frisk them without making himself vulnerable. “Follow me. I think I know a good place to hide out.”

  “Where is that?” Janice asked.

  Vin pointed at the supermarket. “Right there.”

  Vin was in the lead as they made their way down the supermarket aisle. The Asian cried out, and Vin turned around and observed that the Asian had slipped and fallen in a pool of blood. Now the woman was the only one of the four without blood on their clothes.

  Vin put Emily down, and she promptly grabbed onto his legs, making him uncomfortable. He paused, and the others halted behind him. He looked beyond them for zombies but saw no one.r />
  What and where had the girl been running from? Did she know the boy who attacked her?

  The woman saved him by gently taking the girl’s hand off his leg. “You need to let go, honey. I promise I’ll keep you next to me and safe.”

  “But he’s Charming!”

  How am I going to explain that?

  The woman must have picked up on it. “I’ll make sure your Prince is here at all times, Okay? But you need to let go.”

  The girl nodded and released him. He could see tears streaming down her cheeks.

  She’s a brave little girl, even if she’s concocted a fantasy that I’m Prince Charming.

  “Okay,” Vin said. “Follow me.”

  When they reached the swinging doors at the back of the store, Vin told them all to huddle while he checked out the break room. He held on to his shotgun as he opened the right side of the double doors with his shoulder. Seeing no people or zombies to the left, he did the same with his other shoulder, and there was no one on the right. He motioned them to come in behind him.

  As they all filed in, a toilet flushed in the bathroom.

  Vin turned toward everyone and put his fingers to his lips. They all had the good sense not to make a noise, even Emily, who was now clinging onto the woman.

  Good, it’s not just me.

  He crept over to the bathroom, heel-to-toe, and pushed on the door, but it wouldn’t move. Trying to turn the knob, he discovered someone inside had locked the door.

  He called out, “Whoever you are, we know you’re in the bathroom. Are you armed?”

  There was a long period of silence before a man from inside called out, “No. Are you?”

  “Yes. Now don’t take it personally, but I won’t trust you until you come out. I’ll have my gun trained on the door—”

  “Is this absolutely necessary?” Janice interjected.