Pastor Bruce jumped from his seat, Bible clenched in his hand. “This is abuse, Jonathan! We’re farmers, not fighters. Most of us hunt, of course, but let me tell you truthfully, brothers and sisters, killing an animal is a far cry from killing a man. Why wage a war when we have the means to prevent it? The boon from the other night shouldn’t be hoarded but shared with the needy. We sacrifice a small sum and make friends for a lifetime.”
“Pastor’s right,” Ferris yelled from his seat. “We should give them what they want. They have a pregnant woman, for heaven’s sake!”
“Yeah,” yelled a woman. “You said it yourself, Mayor. We have supplies to last us months. I’d give my portion if it means no one has to die.”
A few more women nodded in agreement.
Church hammered his fist on the desk with an echoing thud. A pen rolled to the floor. “We will not waste our time bickering!”
“Listen to your mayor,” Trudy commanded. “Without him, there wouldn’t be Brighton.”
“I may be in the minority here,” Sawyer yelled from the back. “But how do we know this is isn’t just an idle threat? And if the threat is true, I’m sure we can pack up and move out fairly quickly. Brandy, the bad man, strolls into town, realizes it's not that impressive, and leaves with his friends. We return after and live out the rest of our humble lives in peace.”
“And give up Brighton?” Church shouted. “This town is all we have!”
“All you have, perhaps.” Sawyer grinned. “My daughter’s life matters much more than a few buildings and a pesky wooden wall.”
Church’s seat scraped across the wooden floor as he jolted to his feet. “I gave you and your daughter a home, fresh clothes, and food in your bellies, and you’d throw it all away. For what?”
Sawyer crossed his arms and slouched in his chair. “My life, obviously. I’m sure most of the people around here would do the same.”
“Listen up!” Harper interrupted. “Whether or not Brandy’s threats are true or false matters little because even if he doesn’t attack, someone else will. Most of you have been in Brighton since before the blackout. As someone who's been outside these walls, I can testify that the world has changed. People kill each other over scraps and tickets. How much more are they willing to sacrifice for a fortress full of food? We’re in for the long haul. Even if power returns this instant, it would take months, even years for us to recover. So this is what I suggest: we defend what’s ours. Even if that means wars. Because if Brandy wins, he won’t just be taking our stuff. He’ll take our lives and much, much more.”
The crowd grew quiet.
Eli stood and brushed his thick bangs away from his eyes. He shot his mother a quick glance, took a breath, and turned back to the crowd. “Last month, I didn’t have a home. I had a broken family and wasn’t sure if I’d make it after what happened in DC. But since I’ve been here, my parents have reunited and I’ve been part of something bigger. Brighton is my home now. My family. Anyone who stands for that, stand with me, stand with Mayor Church, and stand with my mother, the woman who provided for us at the most critical time.”
Harper smiled at her son and to herself. Immense pride circulated in her being, and she stood, followed by James, Trudy, Dustin, and Dr. Hanson. Then the carpenters and the farmers, the hunters and the gatherers, even Pastor Bruce. Eventually, Ferris and his followers stood. Much to her father’s surprise, Karla stood, too. Harper read her lips as the skinny teenage girl spoke. “I’m tired of hiding, Dad. Let’s actually do something.”
Groaning, Sawyer got to his feet.
Church looked out upon his people. “They may have numbers, but we have the skill. Let’s show them what we do to those who threaten our home.”
Though fear was palpable, the people mustered a courageous cry, and there wasn’t an occupied seat in Brighton.
***
Harper, Trudy, and Church took charge.
They scoured the supply logs, store closets, and basements packed with weapons and other loose items while the rest of the people went to their homes, gathering any useful supplies. Altogether, Harper counted seven pump-action shotguns, nine rifles, a duffel bag full of M16 assault rifles, and a handgun. There were twenty-two shotgun shells, nineteen rifle bullets, zero M16 rounds, and nine shots for the handgun.
“Needless to say,” Harper started, looking out at the table covered in armaments and ammo, “guns can’t be our main line of defense.”
“Why not?” asked James. “I mean, just look how many we have.”
Church crossed his arms as people bustled by them on the main street. One knocked over a ceramic plate from the night before. “Harper’s correct. These bullets need to last us in the long run. If we use them now, future threats will surely eliminate us.”
“And this guy won’t?” James scratched his beard.
“Bullets aren’t the only thing that can kill a man,” said Church.
James stopped scratching. “That’s possibly the scariest thing you’ve ever said, Church.”
The mayor shrugged, and they sorted the weapons. Only the most proficient hunters would be equipped with firearms, they agreed. The rest of the weapons would be stowed away at certain checkpoints throughout the town. If the enemy broke the wall, the people would be able to retreat, find these hidden stashes, and defend themselves more efficiently. Nonetheless, most long-range weapons would be given to the watchtower guards, while the shotgun users would patrol the wall-walk. More ammo was given to a single weapon instead of only two rounds for many guns.
The townsfolk returned with knives and hatchets, covering another table. Dustin led a small group into the outer woods to retrieve thick sticks and heavy stones while James gathered thin rope and duct tape. Meanwhile, Trudy brought out two crates of bear traps, explaining how to set them without getting your hand chopped off. When Harper thought of what it would do to someone’s foot, she re-tasted her corroding lunch.
James gathered the other carpenters. They stripped the inner doors and cabinet wood from the surrounding houses to fortify the gate. A ladder was provided for Dustin and his posse to pass in and out. After the gate was sealed, Harper and a few others smashed windows and picture frames. They slathered glue on top of the battlements where someone may climb over, and spread the glass shards across it. Ferris flipped the picnic tables on their sides, creating cover spaced out down the main road. Cars were pushed as well. At the farthest end, they parked the Humvee, its turret trained at the Fence’s gate.
Sniper posts were set up in the chapel’s belfry and the rooftops of several buildings. Female herbalists plucked hot peppers from their gardens, placed them in airtight Ziploc Baggies, and proceeded to mash the peppers into a soup. They wrapped them with rubber bands, effectively creating pepper-spray grenades.
Dustin, Eli, and Karla whittled away at the branches they received until the wood was smooth. They held kitchen knives at the tip, grabbed tie-line, and secured the blade. After a few practice jabs, Dustin gave the spear to Eli. He tossed it across the road. It zipped through the air and skidded across the asphalt. Karla picked up one and embedded it in a truck’s tire. Air hissed from the rubber, and the three of them exchanged high fives. They took the rocks they gathered and set them up on various points of the wall.
The Doyles reluctantly stripped their bar shelves of lesser liquors. They shoved dishcloths into the bottle necks and set lighters nearby. Molotov cocktails lined the Fence with a complimentary sticky note that read, Throw far.
By nightfall, the people of Brighton had a dozen incomplete projects going. They consumed leftovers as they set bear traps and ran a low line of barbed wire around the outer wall. By the time stars ruled the sky, Harper had a full day’s work under her belt. The residents met on the main road, where Church assigned them a weapon and guard post. After that was complete, the night shift took charge while the others snuggled in their beds, ready to wake at a moment's notice.
Harper yawned and headed for her motel room. A few mo
re days, and her family would be inside of a real house. The other soon-to-be sleepers entered their adjacent rooms with an anxious silence.
Harper stepped into her dark room. Candlelight flickered from the windowsill. Eli lay in his twin bed with his fingers locked behind his head, looking at his reflection on the dusty TV screen. James sat on the adjacent bed, neatly laying out his boots, cargo pants, and shirt for the next day.
“Hey,” James said with a tired smile, folding his pants and smoothing out the wrinkles.
“Hey.” Harper shut the door behind her, plopped down on the bed, and untied her boots. “How are you holding up?”
“Considering we may die tomorrow… I don’t know.” James put his folded clothes and boots at the foot of the bed. “I guess I never thought I’d be in this type of situation.”
“Tell me about it,” Harper replied. “I was sure the only action I’d see in the Reserves would be cleaning up forklift spills.”
“We’ll get through it,” Eli said. “We got through DC, remember? As long as we are together, we can tackle anything, right?”
“That’s right, big man.” James scrunched his pillow and shut his eyes. “Now get some sleep.”
Eli blew out the candles. “Mom, Dad. I love you.”
“We love you, too, sweetheart.”
In pitch blackness, Harper observed the ceiling. The bed felt like cotton under her back, but her attempt to shut her eyes became nearly impossible. She rolled to the side, looking at the shadowy lump of Eli under the covers. She listened to his soft snores. After a time, her son thrashed back and forth, mumbling pleas. A cold sweat soaked his trembling body. Harper felt warm tears roll down her face. She sniffled at the sight that had become far too common.
James curled up behind her, wrapping his husky arm around her and cupping her fist, his heat and stench hugging her own.
“He’s not going anywhere,” her husband whispered. “Neither of us is.”
Eli pulled the covers up to his mouth, shaking.
“Did I fail him?” Harper asked.
“He takes after his mother,” whispered James. “You couldn’t if you’d tried.”
Harper scooted back, bringing herself closer to her husband. She intertwined her fingers with his and let her eyes fall closed.
Daylight. She stood in an endless field. Brandy faced her. He ran a plastic comb through his blond hair, slicking it back. Mid-stride, he stopped combing and smiled. His flawless white teeth twinkled like an actor’s in a Colgate commercial. Without warning, the sky turned black. Rain showered on the two of them. Red droplets splattered across Harper. The blood squall splashed against Brandy, staining his teeth and hair cherry red. His comb had vanished. He held the thick bowie knife at his waist. A drop of blood rolled down the blade’s edge. Tattered cloth was embedded in the groove on the weapon’s handle. Dead bodies were piled around his feet. He smiled and picked his red teeth with the knife’s point. Harper took a step forward, trying to make out the corpses curled around the man’s ankles.
“Harper.”
She jolted up, soaked and overheating. The thick covers fell to her lap. Moonlight and the sound of night critters spilled in through the cracked motel door. A figure stood before her bed. Harper turned to her son’s resting place. The covers were pulled to the side. Eli was nowhere in sight.
Wide eyed, Harper turned her attention to the figure and opened her mouth to speak.
The man interrupted her. “It’s time.”
“James?”
Her husband stepped closer. A sliver of moonlight cast across his big brown eyes. “Come on. Eli’s already out there.”
Harper swiveled out of bed. She slipped on her pants, tightened her belt, and tied up her bootlaces. She followed her husband into the cold night, unable to fully shake her sleep. The freezing breeze awoke her flesh. She crossed her arms, hugging herself as she walked down the wide street. Harper passed makeshift table barricades and cars strategically parked on the road, heading for the Fence’s wide-open gate. Something swayed in the wide frame. Beyond, the outer street and acres-long farm fields stretched out and dipped behind a fold in the geographic landscape.
James and Harper stopped at the gate’s threshold. The shadow of the hanged body enveloped them with each gust of wind. Eli’s lifeless brown eyes watched her. Patches of decay spotted his pale face. The rope constricted his neck, sending purple bruising spreading out of her son’s twisted flesh.
Harper gasped, and she was back in her motel room. Dressed and standing next to his bed, Eli stretched his arms above his head, yawning. “You all right, Mom? It looks like you saw a ghost.”
“I’m…” Harper’s heart hadn’t slowed. “I’m fine.”
The doorknob jiggled, and James entered with two steaming coffee mugs. “It’s time.”
Harper swiveled to the side of her bed, blinking a few times. Confident her nightmare had ended, she got up, dressed quickly, and followed her husband into a darker reality. She walked close to her son, slipping her arm under his. Normally, she’d expect him to pull away, but this morning he did not.
Thin clouds painted the dark-indigo sky, leaving little room for the remaining stars and moon.
“Stay close to me, no matter what,” Harper told Eli. “I don’t want you to leave my sight. Understand?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“I mean it.”
James handed her a warm mug. “It’s the last bit from Church’s secret stash. Cost me a spot behind the Fence. Enjoy.”
“We’ll hold the wall together. Brandy cannot get inside,” declared Harper.
From the belfry and adjacent buildings, snipers watched the Murphys walk down the center of the barricade-obscured street of Brighton. A few paces apart, the men and women of Brighton lined the perimeter of the Fence. The largest cluster was at the gate front and two deep. That was where Church stood.
Harper felt the world twist around her as she neared the wooden steps. She gulped down a mouthful of scalding coffee, wincing at the burning sensation and bitter taste. The stairs creaked beneath her boots. Her dream replayed over and over. She glanced at Eli to make sure he was still there. He was just as nervous as she was.
The mayor rested his rifle on the wooden battlement, scanning the farm fields, rolling hills, and woods through his scope. Beyond, the Smokies jutted from the Earth’s surface. Church’s gravelly voice leaked from his bearded lips. “Only take shots you can make. Once we run out of ammo, this fight will take a sharp turn.”
Dustin readjusted his rifle sight. “Maybe we’ll scare them off. You know, after the first few shots.”
“Wishful thinking,” Church replied.
Eli moved down the wall, and James continued farther on. Around the bend of the Fence, Sawyer hunched behind a knife-spear. All across the wall-walk were people that Harper had spent the last month with, but she felt that she had known them for a lifetime. She cocked her rifle and knelt next to Church.
“Nervous, Murphy?” Church asked.
Harper supported her rifle on the wooden frame and looked down the long road. “Yeah. You?”
Church didn’t speak for a moment. “Always.”
With weapons pointed to the outer world, Brighton stood vigil in the windy morning. The sun drew across the sky. The distant farmhouses were picturesque against the green rural-Virginia landscape. Clouds sailed across the heavens, and the morning chill turned to afternoon heat. Birds landed on power lines and chirped. Yellow-vested bees buzzed over wildflowers.
Harper readjusted the rifle on her shoulder. Her knees cramped from kneeling. Church remained vigilant, lifting his weapon at the slightest hint of movement. A cough sounded at the western watchtower. Harper’s stomach grumbled.
“I don’t think our guests are coming!” Sawyer yelled from the eastern tower.
“Positions!” Church shouted back. “They are waiting for a break in our defense!”
Sawyer stood. “Really? Have you spotted scouts? Has anyone spotted scouts?”
No one replied.
Church turned to Harper. “Inviting this man in was a mistake.”
“How about we grab some lunch?” suggested Sawyer. “Ten minutes isn’t going to make a difference at this point.”
Church boiled. “He’s asking to get shot.”
“Sawyer has a point,” James said. “No use starving ourselves.”
Harper nodded. “We can have the kids cook something up and head out in groups of three to five. The rest can hold down the defensive line.”
Church set his jaw and aimed his riflescope. After a moment of no outside movement, he pulled his head and groaned. “Go in pairs. Stay armed. Ten minutes tops.”
Harper and Church waited until last. They split a can of baked beans and returned to the Fence to eat them. The mayor finished his within two minutes and went back to scouting. Harper spent a moment double-checking her Molotov stash. After, she returned to her watch point and let the day bleed into night. Church set up three-hour sleep shifts, plucking a third of Brighton’s forces at a time. Every third person was chosen to ensure the wall’s defense. Church took over for Harper during mid-shift, and she repaid him by commanding final watch. The night was calm and serene, making the atmosphere thicker with fear.
The next day felt much longer than the first. The one meal plan tripled to three a day, and one of the watchmen was called out for sleeping on shift. Church made him walk fifteen laps around the wall. When another man laughed, Church had the giggler do twenty. Looking out at the wilderness, Harper spent a lot of time in her thoughts. She thought about Eli mostly. If he’d finish high school, what sort of job he’d have after electricity returned to the world, and if he’d get married. She reminded herself that he was only sixteen but let her imagination run freely. Eli’s college graduation, a family Christmas, grandkids. She wondered if those were still viable possibilities.
On the third day, it rained. In their ponchos, the residents of Brighton looked like a bunch of plastic bananas perched on the wall. It was wet, sloppy, and absolutely miserable. The storm went on and off all the way through day four. The sinister clouds and cold showers left behind a hacking cough. Dustin got the shivers so badly that Dr. Hanson took him into the Laundromat clinic, where he rested up near Levi. Lack of sleep hastened the sickness, and each day, more watchers stepped down. Karla got hit with it pretty badly. It tore through her frail body and weak immune system. Sawyer fell deathly ill hours later but suspiciously recovered the same day as his daughter.
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