by M. E. Betts
"Shit," she whispered, "are they gone?" The loud whisper echoed through the quiet road, where a leisurely snowfall persisted, although the weather had died down quiet a bit.
"I think it's over," ventured a female voice from near the building.
Shari and Kandi, both spattered in blood, raised their fists into the air, uttering loud, guttural victory cries. Shari's fellow McCormick compatriots, though at first reluctant, joined her after a moment, the cacophony of their thundering, life-affirming cries roaring and echoing through the snowy city. Some of them laughed, hugging those near them.
Shari retrieved her drywall hammer from the female sadist, then started toward the hole in the north building, where Hugo and a few dozen others made their way outside to confirm that the conflict was truly over. To her left, Shari saw Daphne headed in her direction. As she reached Shari, she held out two .500 Magnum long-barrel revolvers, like the one Shari had seen on the sadist back on the highway, the sadist she had seen Daphne stalk, kill and loot.
"He had two of those?" Shari breathed, her tone incredulous as she took the two revolvers gratefully. One was black with swirling, raised gold accents, stylized in a way that was reminiscent of ancient Greek artwork. The butt of the grip was slightly bulbous, somewhat like a hammerhead that was a half-sphere in shape. It bore an engraving, Phobos. The other was engraved with the word Deimos. The end of the grip was capped with rows of low, sharp spikes like those on a meat tenderizer. It was a solid silver color, but with the same raised swirls present on its black and gold counterpart. They were both equipped with rail systems ready to receive scopes, flashlights or lasers.
"Hell's bells, those things look like they weight ten pounds apiece!" Kandi noted. "What sort of genteel psychopath had those custom-designed? Good thing you're developing a proper athletic bulk to your figure."
Yeah, no shit, Shari thought, holding the set of revolvers, one in each hand, and appreciating the heft of the ornately carved weapons. She raised her arms as if she were making a snow angel.
"Yeah," Daphne said, handing Shari a box which was partially full of cartridges. "This is all the ammo he had, so you'll have to find some more. Merry Christmas."
Shari hugged her around the neck. "Thanks," she said. "Merry Christmas to you. And a white Christmas it'll be, huh?" She turned her face upward to catch snowflakes on her tongue. She nodded toward the wounded building, where a cloud of smoke and debris continued to waft outward. "Guess we won't be using the north building much anytime soon."
That evening, most of the adult residents drank, smoked, danced and laughed, thereby medicating themselves from the traumatic effects of the day, and the past several months in general. They had worked into the afternoon, until just before sunset, to collect the bodies. Those of enemies had been thrown into the lake after their brains were determined to have been neutralized. Those of friends had been wrapped and gathered, awaiting their burials over the next several days, as McCormick survivors were able to carve graves into the frozen Earth one at a time.
The south commons pulsated with low bass tones as Shari navigated the crowd. She made her way to a corner, where she found a microphone for the P.A. system.
"Good evening, survivors," she said into the microphone, Kandi beside her. A hush fell over the crowd. "When I first took over as head of security, I really didn't know what to expect--not from myself, and not from the rest of you. But, after today, I have full confidence--in myself and all of us--that whatever the world throws at us, as a community, we'll come out on top.
"We didn't make it through unscathed. We lost 36 men and women today. They were good soldiers, and they were good people. They were good soldiers because they made it this far, and they did their part to help others. They were good people because they wanted to do what's right. They wanted to live and let live, and to help live. If any good is to come of everything that's happened since Easter of this year, then there have to be people like us to shelter and incubate that goodness. And sometimes, that comes down to a zero-tolerance policy for those who would lash out, unprovoked, at other living human beings. What I saw out there today was our people, good people, working together to protect the just. To protect the innocent. To protect those whose only crime is trying to survive to see another day.
"And so tonight, we revel in our survivial, as a community. We don't, and we won't, forget those who were lost." She looked out over the crowd, a sea of faces. She saw Hugo and Daphne close by, near the front. Hundreds of survivors stood behind them, focused on Shari's words. "But we honor and cherish the sacrifices that they've made. Those of us who are left standing will live to see tomorrow." She paused, raising her plastic cup. "To them and to us. To our heroes."
The crowd murmured and cheered in agreement, clinking cups with one another as the music resumed. Shari joined Daphne and Hugo, the three of them starting toward a comfortable booth to relax their bodies and their minds after the events of the day.
"You've earned a title," Kandi said, sliding into the U-shaped booth beside Shari. "You're an Angel of Death."
Maybe so, Shari thought, lighting up a smoke. But I'd rather be an angel of life.
