by Dan Kemp
"Hey, I waited a week to ask," Skye said.
"True. I take it that what you mean is, who is this woman married to a god? Something like that?"
"Exactly."
"I'm nobody," Hope said. "I was born a girl, just like you. If I'm anything more than that now, it's only because of him."
"Can you do the things he does?"
"No," the other woman shook her head. "I don't die, or age. I heal faster than most, but not like James does. I can't change the weather, or shoot fireballs, or any of that."
"So how old are you?"
"I'll be one hundred and fifty three next week,” she said, as if this was a normal thing to say. Much like her husband, she looked no older than thirty.
"What happens to you when he's gone?"
Hope's smile faltered a bit, but her voice was no less cheerful. "I don't know."
They sat in a heavy silence for a few moments. "I don't mind you asking," Hope finally said. "But don't bring it up to him. He feels bad enough about it already."
"Alright," Skye agreed.
"Speaking of," Hope said, glancing at the door, which opened the very next second. James walked in, dropping a backpack to the ground and wiping sweat from his dusty face. He closed the door behind him and walked over to his wife, planting a kiss on her forehead as she stretched an arm around him.
Hope and Skye made small talk about the construction on the wall while James went into the kitchen to clean his face, soon emerging with a glass of water for himself and settling onto the couch next to Hope. Their chatter was interrupted by a shrill beeping, which came from a small radio on the window sill, previously unnoticed by Skye.
"This is a message from the U.S. Government," the voice began. Hope stood up and turned the volume down until the announcement was just barely audible. The broadcasts had been happening regularly, several times a day, for the past week.
"Have you heard of anyone who's going?" Hope asked.
Skye shook her head. The sudden appearance of the messages, which were being sent out on every frequency, had invigorated the townsfolk for a few days now. In an emergency town hall meeting, Dorian announced that, while of course anyone was free to leave, he had no plans to officially send anyone to Richmond. At least for now.
"Only me," James said, with an air of resignation.
His wife squeezed him gently on his thigh. Unlike the rest of the town, he had viewed the messages as a dark omen. As far as James was concerned, the whole thing was most likely a trap set up by Martin. If it was genuine after all, he was even more certain that Martin would show up there anyway.
"Where did you go today?" Hope asked, changing the subject.
"France," he said, after sipping his water. Considering the man's nature, Skye knew the answer shouldn't have surprised her, but it did anyway.
"What's it like there?"
"There's nobody left. I searched just about everywhere and didn't see a single person. Nothing at all.” His face was more grim than usual.
"How did you search everywhere?" Skye said.
"I flew."
"Oh," Skye said, with a laugh that James joined.
"I do have to say, it’s refreshing to use my power freely. It's been a very long time since I could do that, without fear of being discovered. I'm glad I could enjoy it again."
"Have you been anywhere better off?" Skye asked.
"Not really. Most places are just like this. There aren't many people left, and the ones who survived are either scrounging out a meager existence alone or joining up with others to prey on the weak. There are always small settlements, people looking out for each other until either raiders, famine, disease, or the damn dinosaurs get them. I've seen a couple places like this, actually, starting to rebuild. In Iceland, Reykjavik, you'd hardly know anything bad ever happened. But they're few and far between."
“People can overcome anything,” Hope said. “If they’re given a chance.”
James grumbled in agreement, finished his drink and stood up. "Anyway. I'm off to the medical clinic."
"I'll come," Skye said.
"I'll get back to the children." Hope stood and pulled James into a tight embrace, which he returned. "See you tonight."
"Yep."
***
It was cold inside the old doctor's office which now served as Black Creek's miniature hospital. Dr. Brandt greeted them at his desk as they entered.
"You must be James," the doctor said, shaking his hand. "Mr. Black said I could expect you. I'm quite eager to see you work." The skepticism in his voice was not subtle, but James seemed to ignore it.
"Lead the way, doctor."
He did, down the hallway and through the first doorway, brushing aside the curtain to allow them to enter. At first glance, the man on the stretcher appeared to be asleep. As she came closer though, Skye could hear his broken, incomprehensible mutterings. His forehead was soaked with sweat, and his eyes were half open, lids trembling. His arms and legs shivered. At each arm, an IV pumped in fluids and whatever else.
"What's he saying?" Skye asked.
The doctor shrugged. "Don’t know. He's delirious. Bullet to the leg, gone septic. Haven't been able to break the fever yet." He pulled back the thin sheet covering the man's lower half, and Skye could see now. A large, oozing hole gaped in the side of his upper thigh. Streaks of red ran up and down his leg, which was swollen to nearly twice the size of the other.
James moved to the side of the bed opposite from Skye and placed his hands on the man, eyes closed. Within seconds, the swelling began to subside. The red streaking on his leg seemed to shrink back toward the wound. When it had all disappeared, the hole closed over, as good as new.
The man's tremor stopped, as did his constant murmuring. James took his hands off the man, then looked to the doctor.
"Well, fuck me," Dr. Brandt said, looking at his patient over the rim of his glasses.
The trio worked their way down the hallway, and James healed each and every one of the wounded and sick. By the time they reached the last room, astonished patients looked on from the doorway behind them as James worked.
"I don't know what to say," Dr. Brandt said, collapsing into his office chair when they were finished. "Absolutely incredible. You've put me out of work, it seems. But thank you."
"You're welcome," James said. "I won’t be here for long, sadly. They’ll have plenty of need for you again, doctor. I once trained as a physician, a long time ago. I was always in awe of mankind's ability to heal itself. I just happened to have an unfair advantage."
Dr. Brandt's thank yous followed them out the door a few minutes later.
"I wish you didn't have to leave," Skye said as they walked.
"No more than I do," he replied. "But as I recall, you once told me the world would be better off without me."
"I didn't mean that, I was angry."
"You did mean it, and that's okay. You were right. I've hung onto this place for a very long time, afraid of what would happen to it if I were to leave. But it was you who finally convinced me to do what I knew I needed to. The time for me to set things right is coming. It’ll be up to people like you to decide what comes next. What do you want to do?"
He stopped, turning to confront her with the question in the middle of the sidewalk as they went.
She thought for a moment. What did she want? In her past life, it was never a question she even really asked herself. If she ever had, it was simply a question of the pursuit of material goods. What new clothes to wear, what new skin treatment would look better on camera. Such questions had now been obliterated out of relevance. If she had somewhere safe to live, and food, not that any of that was a given, but if she did, what did she want to do?
"I want to do what you do," she said. "Not like you, I know I can't. But, I want to help people. People who need it, who can't help themselves."
He smiled and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Well, Skye, it seems you've found yourself in the right damn apocalypse.”
James
James awoke as the first slivers of sunrise crept their way through the curtains. Yawning, he sat up in the bed. Hope, lying on her side beside him, murmured softly before quickly drifting off to sleep once again. On the nightstand beyond her, the alarm clock read 5:45.
He ran a gentle hand across her shoulder, squeezing it slightly, before climbing out of bed. His feet hardly made a sound as he walked into the bathroom and started the shower. Hope was still asleep when he emerged soon after. Once he finished getting dressed, James bent down and slipped his arms around her, planting a kiss on her cheek.
"See you tonight," he said, and she gave him a half-conscious hug back.
James closed the door quietly behind him and went downstairs, stopping at the closet near the front door, which held his gear. Today he fastened only the belt around his waist, and holstered a revolver at one hip.
He chuckled a bit to himself. The gun was hardly necessary anymore. Old habits.
The sun was just rising above the walls of the town as he stepped outside, taking a deep breath of the cool, dewy morning air.
"Good morning," came a voice from beside him.
James was, admittedly, slightly startled, but nothing in his body language would have betrayed that fact. Skye sat in a rocking chair on the front porch, her legs tucked beneath her and a steaming mug of coffee in one hand.
"Good morning," James said.
"Where are you going?"
"There's one last group I need to deal with. Dorian says they call themselves the Disciples of James. Do you know anything about them?"
"Not much," she said. "They harassed us once in a while, but they were never big enough to cause much of a problem. The only time they ever accomplished much was when Dorian's people helped them."
"What is it they want?"
She thought to herself for a moment. "I'm not sure, honestly. As far as we were concerned, they were just heretics. I guess they were right, though."
"Right about what?"
"About you. They said that you didn't destroy the world, that it was Martin."
"I see."
The night before, Dorian had told James about the Disciples over dinner. He was surprised to hear his friend say that they didn't deserve the same treatment the Church got. According to Dorian, they were misguided, maybe a bit crazy, but not bad people. Their main goals were merely to find James, and to protect the innocent. Perhaps, if he could convince them to stop their worship of him, they could continue to do some good in this world.
"Can I come?" Skye asked. As always, she wore a hard edge which failed to fully obscure the true emotion on her face. He pitied her, though it was clear enough she was in a mess of her own making.
"Sure."
They left through the main gates, James at the wheel one of the small armored vans. Their destination was a state park near the border of West Virginia. There, hopefully, he would find the Disciples.
Their journey passed without incident, and before long an old, weathered wooden sign marked their arrival:
Coopers Rock State Forest
The country road gave way to a narrow gravel path, which crunched and shifted beneath the van as they began to delve into the thick forest. In some places the grass had so overgrown the path that it brushed against the windshield.
"It sure doesn't look like anybody has driven through here recently," Skye said.
James agreed, but said nothing as he pressed on. When ominous, heavy footsteps from deep within the trees to his left shook the ground, he stopped the van until whatever it was had passed. Finally, when it seemed the grass would soon grow so thick that it would prevent their passage, it suddenly fell away around them.
They sat in a large forest clearing now, transected by a crystal-clear stream which came tumbling down a cliff at the far end before running across the grass and disappearing into the trees. Around the perimeter were a dozen or so log cabins, each surrounded by small plots of various crops.
In the middle of the clearing was a larger cabin, which mostly obscured his view of what appeared to be an animal paddock behind it.
Despite all of this, there was no one in sight.
"Are they hiding?" Skye asked, craning her neck around. "They can't have gone far."
"Not at all," James agreed.
He pressed the gas, slowly pulling farther forward into the circle, but stopped at the sound of a shrill screech. Something big was approaching now. There were heavy, but quick, footfalls nearby. Spinning in his seat, he found the creature just in time to see it halt its charge and turn, sliding to a stop. The van rocked under the impact from the dinosaur's long tail. The glass in all the windows shattered, and the vehicle barely managed to fall back the right way.
James threw open the door and leapt out, raising a shield in front of him to block the blast of a shotgun. Before him stood a twenty foot long, four-legged, duckbilled creature. It bucked and reared in place, and atop its massive, straining neck sat a man in a leather saddle. He looked absolutely minuscule in comparison to his mount.
The man fired another blast down at James, no more effective than the first. He let out a frustrated whoop and whipped his long reins, and the dinosaur reared back to stomp him. James, taking control of the air around him, threw an invisible shockwave toward the beast.
At the top of its rear, the dinosaur lost its balance and fell, thrashing and squawking, to the ground. The rider freed himself of his enormous saddle as his mount tore violently away and rolled back onto its feet before disappearing into the forest. The shotgun lay just at his side, and the man grasped it as James approached. But when the two men's eyes met, he dropped the weapon.
"My lord," he said, bowing his head. This one would seemingly require no further convincing.
"Get up," James said, and the man did as he asked. He wore strange armor, seemingly made of scales with streaks of feathers. Dinosaur skin. "What's your name?"
"James," was the answer from the other man.
"Me too," James said, somewhat awkwardly.
"They all say that. It’s probably not his real name," Skye interjected, having just now emerged from the van.
"Really?"
Skye nodded, and shrugged.
"Dorian could have mentioned that. Where are the rest of you?"
"In the main hall," the armored man replied, pointing to the large cabin in the center of the clearing.
"I would like to meet them all."
"Yes! Absolutely! Follow me."
The man who called himself James led the way to the cabin, and as they approached James could see other faces watching from inside. His escort held the door open with a slight bow, and James entered.
The place had the look of an old hunting lodge. A few men and women sat on chairs and couches which circled the middle of the room. Most stood near the windows, watching him as he entered. Above a brick fireplace hung the enormous mounted head of a triceratops.
Several among their number, rather than the dinosaur leather clothes worn by most, wore thick hooded robes which obscured their faces. These few, upon his arrival inside, immediately threw themselves at his feet.
"This James is not worthy," each said in unison.
"Get up," James said once again, and they did, with hesitation. "First thing, I'm James. You've got other names, and those are the only ones I want to hear from now on." The robed members of the group looked at each other as if unsure what to do, and there was some anxious chatter amongst the rest.
"Everyone sit. I'm here to talk," James said, and he was relieved that for once talking might be all he would have to do. When everyone had taken a seat, he continued. "Tell me what you think happened three years ago," James said, pointing to a woman who wore a robe.
She looked terrified to have been chosen, and she had to clear her throat as she answered.
"Well, Martin Singh, who was just elected president, destroyed the world. And you tried to stop him, but it was too late. I saw it on TV."
The
re were some murmurs of agreement around the room.
“I can’t believe I voted for him.”
“Quiet.”
"That's exactly right," James admitted, shocked at the lack of embellishment in their story. "So where does the part where you worship me, and pretend to be me, come in?"
There was some more lively chatter now amongst the crowd, until one of the robed men spoke up. "We would never pretend to be you, my lord—"
"Don't call me that."
"Al—alright," he stammered. "We would never dare to impersonate you. We merely wanted to honor you by doing good, as you did."
