“He was one of my men,” Carron said, “but I didn’t order him to do that.”
“This one has a beef with the family I brought in,” Dahlia said. She was about to say more but Xavier gave the slightest shake of his head and she went quiet.
“Your man killed one of the flock. My flock is with me because I promise them safety. Anyone outside the flock is not safe.”
Xavier was back in showmanship mode now, not just speaking to the lieutenant, but playing for the crowd. “You have brought violence here. We don’t want violence. That’s for the rest of the world. That’s for the old world. It doesn’t belong here. You don’t belong here. A sacrifice will have to be made to make this right.”
“Lieutenant! I need you! Where are you?” the man in the trailer called. A sputter and a sob followed.
“The trailer is full of food,” Dahlia said. She paused, seeming unsure what word rhymed best with food.
Xavier’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Interesting. Your wayward sheep is calling you, Lieutenant.” Xavier made a theatrical gesture to the trailer with both hands. He stepped to the side as if he was a magician showing an audience a box in which he would presently make a pretty girl disappear.
Dahlia withdrew the knife and shoved Carron forward. He hesitated a moment and then stepped to the trailer doors.
“Hey! It’s me! I’m going to open up the back!” Carron called. “Don’t shoot!” The lieutenant grabbed the handle and yanked the door open as he sprang back.
He needn’t have worried. A scraggly figure, looking more like a mummy than a live human being, teetered into sight. He was wrapped in filthy bandages at his head and around this torso. Limp, he fell out of the trailer and into the mud.
“Bently!” Anna said.
Someone blinded him with a bright, white halogen motorcycle headlight that gave his stained bandages a stark glow. Old blood had seeped through strips of linen and dried black. Fresh blood flowed red down Bently’s head and neck.
“The idiot burst his eardrums firing the shotgun in the trailer,” Larry declared.
Bently stared up at the lieutenant with accusing eyes as he tore at the strips of cloth that bound his head. People at the front gasped and others pushed forward to get a better look. Raised welts of deep burns covered the man’s face and body.
Carron stared back at his last fallen soldier dumbly, mouth hanging. The black stink of gangrene wafted off the walking corpse.
“You shoulda left me the handgun!” Bently covered his ears with both hands, felt the fluid run and pulled his hands away. He looked at the blood and tasted it, licking it from his withered fingers. He clutched his head and screamed in anguish. “I can’t hear!” he yelled. “I can barely hear my own screams!” Tears slid down his broken cheeks.
The crowd closed around him like a noose. Bently’s scream grew louder, then choked.
“Poor bastard,” Carron said. “His ears were pretty much all he had left.”
“If all the penitents in hell cried out in one voice, that’s what it would sound like,” Xavier said.
As the choking sound died, so did Bently. The circle opened again. Bently lay on the ground, a limp pile of rags.
“God has delivered us food we can feel good about taking!” Xavier announced. “We remain pure because we have punished evil and shown mercy. That poor soul is better off now.”
Several men and young boys stepped over Bently’s body and scrambled into the trailer. There was a whoop of excitement as they began hurling out foodstuffs. The yammering crowd pressed closer. Bently’s body lay trampled and forgotten under their feet.
“That’s my food.” Carron could only stand aside and watch the looted supplies disappear into the mouths of the hungry.
“I’m sorry about your man,” Xavier replied. “God’s justice is swift and terrible. If it weren’t, He wouldn’t be God.”
Carron started to say something but Xavier put a finger to the lieutenant’s lips. “No more blood tonight. That’s enough. We’re going to the Promised Land. We’ve got to stay clean.”
Carron fought the urge to bite off the man’s finger. “You stole from me.”
“It’s not stealing if you come with us. If you come with us, it’s sharing. If you’re with us, you’re safe.”
“You call them a flock. Flocks are for sheeple.”
“I get that you’re a rough, tough gun-totin’ sonofagun, sir. But not everybody is and not everybody has to be. Ours isn’t that type of journey, even now. Especially now.”
“I am a goddamn wolf.”
“You could choose to be a herding dog, instead. I need guard dogs, too. I can’t save everyone, but let me save you. I worry very much that God will damn you if you stay a wolf. It’s a bad world for a lone wolf.”
* * *
Carron stared at the cult leader as long as he could stand it. He recognized the light in the man’s eyes. All people who were crazy in a particularly dangerous way — who could gather followers with their words and visions — had that same confident look. Carron had that look himself, once. But that was before his men were taken from him.
“Will you join us?” Xavier whispered. “Join us and you’ll be safe.” He glanced down at Bently’s body. “The crowd, well…they can be fickle. I can’t altogether control them. I mean, if one of that man’s girls comes back with a gun, I might be able to stop her from killing an outsider, but your man did kill her daddy. If she was to shoot off just one testicle, say, she might see that as a compromise that pleases everyone.”
“I understand. I guess that makes me a your dog, for now.”
Carron stiffened as Xavier embraced him. He held him tightly for what seemed a long time. “You have lost a soldier tonight,” Xavier whispered in Carron’s ear.
“He’s not the first soldier I’ve lost,” Carron said. “He was my last. After the explosion, I found him. I thought I could save him.” Carron’s voice broke into a choked sob. “I thought I could save him!”
“I grieve with you. But you’ve gained a good cause.”
“I used to be a leader. I had a cause.”
“You can really save people now,” Xavier said. “You’ve saved many children from hunger tonight. If you can help me keep these people fed, together we can save them all. God will be so pleased.”
“Well, I’m all for that.” Carron surrendered to the embrace, slowly raised his arms and returned the hug.
“Welcome, brother,” Xavier said.
“Thank you,” Carron replied, but his gaze was fixed on his pistol. Dahlia had taken his Parabellum from the police cruiser and tucked it under her belt.
Xavier still held Carron, rocking slightly as if soothing a crying child. “Thank you so much for delivering God’s food to my flock. We were one day away from rebellion, I was sure, but I knew we would be rewarded if we kept the faith. An angel told me so.”
Carron gritted his teeth when he caught Marjorie Bendham watching him. The old woman was laughing. Carron looked away. He looked to the road. The Spencer’s van disappeared over a rise, headed east.
From the Call, the Cull and unkind confines.
Aadi Vermer, friend, father and former security guard, chewed on a bloody hunk of flesh torn from the Royal Marine’s neck. He stared from the pier with cold eyes as he ate.
Aboard the Amundsen, the refugees gazed back as the shore receded in their wake. Aastha and Aasa cried. Dayo and Desi wept as they covered Aadi’s daughters’ eyes. The girls did not resist. From the ship, Aadi looked like any other Sutr-Z zombie.
Behind Aadi, storm petrels and great skua descended on the bodies of the dead littering the pier. Soon, more zombies joined the birds to pull and feed on the carrion.
“What was the Royal Marine’s name?” Desi asked.
Sinjin-Smythe shivered as he looked to the body at Aadi’s feet. “Cameron.”
“No, Craig. What was his first name?”
“I don’t know. I never
thought to ask.”
* * *
Sinjin-Smythe’s cell phone was useless, but the Amundsen’s satellite phone worked. He called the number Shiva had given him. He was supposed to call when he reached New York to retrieve his baby, but he had to talk to her now. The phone rang a long time before she answered.
“Ava?”
“Craig, Ava’s dead. But I’ll talk to you.”
“Fine. Shiva, then.”
“Don’t tell me you’re already in New York?”
“No. I’m getting out of Iceland.”
“Poor Craig. Always trailing in the race.”
Sinjin-Smythe looked back to the pier. Aadi was a dot now, just another of the infected. But Aadi had saved his life. Aadi had made him laugh. He was a friend, so he could never be a mere statistic.
“Craig?”
“The virus is evolving. It’s getting smarter. I’ve seen the next progression on video and, just now, Sutr-Z took a friend of mine without a bite. He must have gotten infected blood in his mouth in the fight. It happened in an instant.”
“Ah, so you’re traveling to exotic places and making new friends. Good. You’ll need them.”
Sinjin-Smythe ignored the jab. “My friend couldn’t talk. I’m not sure he recognized us at all. I hope not.”
“Why are you really calling, Craig?”
“Will this thing go airborne next?”
“Sutr has a mind of its own. It was merely an incredibly deadly influenza a short time ago. Lots of surprises.”
“But what’s the plan, Shiva?”
“I don’t divulge plans. I execute them. What do you want to know that I will answer?”
Sinjin-Smythe almost hung up then. Instead, he took a deep breath. “How about this? Why did a genocidal sociopath pick me? Was any of it real? Were the nights we spent in Ireland real? I was in Dungarvan again. That time with you…felt real.”
“You mean how I told you we were moving in together? It wasn’t all bad. Of course, it was all real. To you, at least.”
“What?”
“Craig, you’re one of those sad little men who start worrying too young about dying alone. You want to believe in love and romance everlasting. You don’t have many friends. You’re bright so you think you aren’t vulnerable. You’re perfect for someone like me. You do as you’re told. That is the one thing I loved about you.”
His breaths came shallow. He wanted to scream in her ear. He wanted to reach through the phone and choke her long neck until all the smug was wrung from her. “Shiva, I’m coming for the baby. Keep her safe or I swear to God I’ll make you wish you had. Don’t test me.”
Shiva laughed gaily. “A little late in life to discover a spine, isn’t it?”
His voice was low and he stopped shaking. “I’m not coming for you alone. I’ve made good friends now. Real friends.”
“Craig, it sounds like you’ve gone through a growth period. That’s good. So have I. And if you ever threaten me again, I assure you, I’ll make you suffer for a long time before I even let you begin to beg to die.”
“I just want my baby, Shiva! And it’s not me who’ll kill you. The kid with the mirrors for eyes? He’s on my side, too. He’ll kill you and escort you to the gates of Hell.”
He heard a sharp intake of breath. Finally, he’d stunned her.
“Call me when you get to America, Craig. I’ll have you for dinner.”
* * *
Shiva handed the satellite phone back to Lijon. Their new boat, a 40-meter luxury yacht, rocked from side to side in choppy water. Apparently irritated, the baby kicked hard.
“Was it him, Dear Sister?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want?”
She put her hand to her belly. “Same as always. Soothing. He wanted to make sure we were still good friends despite the break up.”
Lijon smiled. “We’re at minimum safe distance. The captain says we should get below, though. We have incoming on the radar behind us and a storm ahead of us. It won’t be long.”
Shiva smiled. “You go below with the others. Everything’s ready?”
Lijon nodded.
“Very well. Go, go. I’ll tell you all about it when it’s over.”
Shiva licked her lips as she watched her subordinate retreat below deck. How much longer could she hold herself back from draining Lijon of every drop of blood? How much longer could she tolerate Lijon’s traitorous thoughts? Her aura was rife with deception.
Shiva put on thick goggles and ear protectors and buckled herself into a chair in the stern to wait. On the horizon, she could still glimpse the highest towers of New York’s skyline.
How far did her attack force range? How many was her zombie army now?
The answer to the first question was unknowable. The answer to the second? In a moment, the Sutr-Z forces would be reduced to zero, she supposed.
Flash!
Her mind went blank. Shiva could see the bones beneath her skin as she raised her hands to shield her eyes from the onslaught. The United States military — whatever was left in mountain fortresses and deep bunkers — was quite dependable. They acted as she had predicted.
No matter. Shiva could always make more armies. And now? Better armies.
She braced herself for the roar. Massive waves were on the way, but it was the sky that captured her attention. The rising, roiling mushroom cloud was truly beautiful, a testament to the humans’ need to emulate their gods. They created and destroyed and barely counted the cost. The human race were her ancestors. Why should she be any wiser?
The zombies were dead. Long live the vampires.
3
This Plague of Days
Season Three
Season 3, Episode 1
The secret hides in the trees and in plain sight. The answer to the mystery waits on the other side of the door we all must pass. The door locks behind us.
*
After the Fall, the darkness wasn’t the absence of light anymore. Something returned with the quiet. The continuum of existence shifted backward to a time when words and dreams had more meaning. Lucifer means “Light Bringer.” After his fall, the world was divided. And so it is in This Plague Of Days.
*
Every day there is a war. The humans on their grim march…the starving infected…the Alphas on their warpath. The wars will continue after the last soldier falls. We’re fighting the War of Entropy. We will fight with ourselves until all of Earth is a graveyard or we escape to the stars.
*
Liminality:
To grow, what we were must die.
~ Notes from The Last Cafe
Thunderbolts fall from heaven
In the last of the old days, while the virus still incubated small and soft, we went about our lives. We went to work. We bought and sold and ate and slept. Distracted by the little things, we somehow forgot big dreams.
We wished we lived where we vacationed, but we did not move. We acted like our time was not finite. We fell in and out of love, heedless of the larger dramas at the edges of vision.
Before the pandemic wound around the Earth and began to squeeze, we did not connect cause and consequence. We were actors on the stage of our imaginations, improvising our lines, unaware that the theater was on fire.
Those who did not believe in higher powers? They still believed in the illusion of tomorrow. We all thought the future would somehow be better, or at least no worse. We were blind to Entropy’s rising storm.
Nature’s hammer blows were theoretical for most of us then. We did not believe in death until the hurricane made landfall. Until that nice receptionist from the doctor’s office called about a surprise, and very urgent, follow-up appointment, the threats were not personal. Danger was for other people.
We didn’t know complacency was slavery. We were fairly happy in our blindness, but we didn’t even appreciate that.
The Sutr plagues made us honest. We began to talk a
bout suffering and loss and what we believed. Disease taught us compassion. Fear reminded us we were still animals, part of the food chain. We learned we are all, without exception, Time’s target.
These are the lessons of the pandemic. This is your plague of days.
* * *
Kelly Dickson had been a mother, wife and elementary school teacher at the Brooklyn School for the Blind. Before X, Z and A — three deadly strains of the Sutr virus — pulled the world down the path toward the new Dark Ages, Kelly lived in New York all her life. She named her dog (a tall, affectionate boxer) Batman. She faced the darkness with a smile, confident she could find the way.
As the summer turned to autumn and Sutr’s first stirrings were still a vague, foreign problem mentioned at the bottom of newscasts, Kelly shook as she asked her husband to check the electronic test kit for her. Kelly was nervous about having a child. The sensor read: blue.
Kelly didn’t know what blue meant. She didn’t know what the color blue looked like, either.
“It means we’re pregnant,” Brad said.
“One of us is more pregnant than you,” Kelly said. It was true the baby was an accident, but one of the happy kinds.
“It’ll be okay. It’ll be better than okay. We’ll make it good. Maybe even great.”
“I’m scared, but I think we’ll just have to settle for perfect,” she said.
“We’re too ambitious not to try, right?”
“Yes, that’s true.” She kissed him.
Her husband, Bradley Dickson, was an engineer for Dell. Brad had been buried under high aspirations and heavy work long before the baby. As the baby grew within Kelly, the world changed behind the Dicksons. It was as if they stood with their backs to a movie screen, oblivious as the plagues built in strength. They fixated on a bright future instead. They talked of someday grandchildren. They could only see each other.
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