Death Springs Eternal

by Robert J. Duperre

“Thank you, sir,” replied Billy, and the rest of his troupe repeated the sentiment.

  Bright lights shone from behind this time, and all present turned to face the commotion as the remainder of the caravan pulled into the parking lot. The engines cut out, the motors died down, and the rest of the survivors from the Omni poured out of the vehicles. They approached the building, their faces awash with light, seemingly as in awe of the sight as Billy had been.

  Glancing at the first airman, Billy noticed the man’s eyes widen. He appeared shocked to see so many people.

  “So get to it, Robbie-baby,” Jackson said with a laugh, slapping Lumley on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go give my report to the Big Man.”

  With that the youngster and his entourage hastened away, hopping in their respective vehicles. Billy watched them as they drove away, and gazed in amazement at a horizon filled with twinkling lights. He saw the outlines of tall structures out there, lurking like vanguards above the hazy brightness.

  “Yeah, that’d be the city proper,” said Lumley. “Sure is a sight, huh?”

  “It is.”

  Lumley faced the throng and raised his arms. The crowd around them wasn’t exactly raucous, but with so many mouths going at once, it was hard to hear anything other than one giant, muddled conversation. It took a few minutes for everyone to settle down.

  “Okay then,” the first airman said, raising his voice so all could hear. “As I just told these fine gentlemen, my name is First Airman Robert Lumley. I’ve been selected as your liaison. We need to register you all first, names and socials, and then we will proceed to your new homes. You will be staying just outside the city, on the campus of the University of Richmond. Unfortunately there is no power there yet—the grid only reaches as far as the structure behind me—but we’ve set up generators, and hopefully the university grid will be up in a few days’ time. Any questions?”

  That was the wrong thing to say, as it seemed like everyone had something dire they wanted to know. The chatter began anew. John Terry and his wife finally made their way to the front of the crowd, raising their hands to quiet everyone. None seemed to notice. People shouted over each other, asking every question under the sun. Is the President here? Can I search for my loved ones? Do the bathrooms work? When’s breakfast? Lumley, obviously overwhelmed, took a step back. He ran a hand through his hair, grabbed a megaphone, and held it to his lips.

  “Okay, bad idea!” he said. “Please calm down! Form three lines and enter the garage. We’ll man the desks once in there, and proceed one at a time to each station. Then we’ll take down all the important information.” He paused, then added, “We’ll also hand you each a card, upon which you can write your questions and concerns. All will be answered in the next week. I promise.”

  Billy chuckled as the people around him began doing as they were told, forming three clumps of humanity that could only dream of being considered lines. Folks pushed and shoved one another, trying to keep their smaller groups together. It struck him as funny, in a not-so-funny way. Back at the Omni, when they’d been trapped and on their own, his fellow survivors had been the embodiment of cooperation and order. Yet now that they were in a familiar place, with familiar creature comforts and structure, they reverted to petty squabbles and immaturity. John Terry again tried to calm everyone down, this time slamming his cane against the edge of a metal folding chair positioned just outside the garage. Eyes turned to him.

  “Get yourselves together, people!” he shouted. “What are we, savages?”

  Everyone seemed to get the point this time, murmuring and shuffling about until the lines were pretty much even. Forrest chuckled, taking his place in line. Billy shook his head, threw his arm around Christopher, and entered the building.

  The structure, Billy found out, was actually a parking garage, only the ramps leading up had been cordoned off. There were indeed desks in there—twelve to be exact, three rows of four—and the process of registration began. The soldiers, including Lumley, sat behind the desks. One individual at a time, names and social security numbers were written on four-by-six index cards, and then dropped into milk crates. They’d organize them later, Billy assumed, but there was something haphazard about the way the soldiers—all but Lumley—went about writing and placing the cards in the crates gave him pause. They seemed to not care one lick, as if what they were doing was a needless formality and nothing more. These were supposed to be members of the American military establishment, the most disciplined men and women around, not petulant teenagers. And one look at the expression on the face of the man-in-charge said he felt the same way. This was certainly something he’d need to discuss with the first airman later.

  When the registration process ended, the survivors were led back outside, gathering in the parking lot. Christopher scurried away from him—with his permission, of course—rushing to join a group of children more or less his age, laughing and cavorting with all the naiveté of youth now that a semblance of normality had been returned to them.

  Billy sighed. Something was obviously wrong here. Part of him wanted to chastise his inner skeptic, to turn a blind eye to all his worry and doubt and allow himself to be blissfully unaware for once. He glanced up, noticed the sky above had become an ominous gray with dawn’s approach, which only added to his paranoia. He felt the painful stabs of exhaustion, both physically and mentally, and rubbed his temples.

  A slender hand grabbed his elbow. He looked over to see Marcy standing beside him, and for a moment it felt like his heart had been injected with adrenaline. She smiled back at him, though her eyes were filled with sadness.

  “We need to talk,” she said. Leon loomed behind her, scowling.

  “Very well.”

  As Billy walked behind his two friends, heading for a secluded spot away from the crowd, he eyed Forrest, who stood with the John and Katy Terry, talking with Lumley. The old cop caught his gaze, tapped the pistol on his hip, and then passed him a thumbs-up and a cautious nod, which Billy returned. Despite the relief and giddy excitement in the air, Forrest seemed to display all the trepidation he felt. That is a good man, he thought. We are lucky to have him on our side.

  When they were sufficiently out of earshot, the three of them huddled in a tight circle. Leon breathed hard, like he’d just finished running a marathon. Marcy’s smile disappeared. She looked to be in a great amount of pain.

  “What is wrong?” asked Billy.

  “They came back,” she replied. “For a while I was all good, like I’d just stopped being crazy, but the closer we got to here, it just kept getting worse. I mean, it’s not as bad as it was a few days ago, but I’m still…seeing things.”

  “Such as?”

  Marcy’s jaw tightened. “Nothing concrete. Not yet, anyway. It’s more notions and feelings. But it’s just like what I felt from the guys back at the hotel. This doesn’t feel like a good place.”

  “Explain.”

  “There’s hatred here. A lot of it. More than anything, that’s the impression I get.”

  “From who?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling, like someone leaking black goo into my brain or something.”

  Leon squeezed Billy’s forearm. “I feel it too, man,” he said, his eyes white and glowing in the dawn’s new light. “I don’t need no psychic powers or anything to know it, either. C’mon, don’t tell me you haven’t felt the same thing.”

  Nodding his head, Billy said, “I have.”

  “So what’re we gonna do about it?”

  “Right now, it seems we have no other choice but to go with the soldiers, take whatever lodging they give us, and sleep. We are all exhausted. Once we are rested, we can discuss our next step.”

  Marcy and Leon both frowned, though they agreed it was the best choice of action. After all, where else could they go? Though the world had always been a big, scary place, it was even more so now. The only comfort they had was each other. Together, he felt they could get through anything, defeat all odds, and c
ome out on the other side in a better place. They had survived this long, outliving infection, the walking dead, and even their own personal demons, by trusting each other. They had to do that now, as well.

  Soon the survivors from the Omni were being loaded back onto the vehicles they arrived in, preparing to journey to the University of Richmond and their new lives. Billy, Marcy, and Leon walked back to them the way they left—together.

  * * *

  Over the years, Billy had come to love the city of Richmond. He always made it a necessary stop on his trips up and down the eastern seaboard, either for vacations, teaching seminars, book signings, or simple road trips. He thought it might be the most gorgeous city in America, its rolling landscape covered with ash, beech, hemlock, and maple trees. The architecture was a combination of old-world Victorian homes and inventive, glass-infused skyscrapers. As a city it stayed remarkably true to its bucolic roots despite the addition of those few tall buildings and a population of four hundred thousand people.

  The spring, in particular, brought out the best in the city. The soft white blooms of flowering dogwoods made the air sweet to breathe. The sun was bright and warm, but usually not as oppressive as it was just a few miles south. The people were generally warm and friendly, unusual for big-city living in the States. If he could choose of one word to describe it, it would be comfortable.

  And it was that word—or the lack of it—that came to mind when he stepped out of the van once they entered the University grounds. In early morning sunlight, without the counterfeit reality of electric lighting, he saw a land stripped of beauty and charisma. A decaying countryside took its place; burned-out buildings, seared, dead grass, trees bent sideways, abandoned wrecks that had once been automobiles. Facing him was a building whose windows had been long smashed. Weinstein Center for Recreation and Wellness, the sign proclaimed, but the state of the edifice opposed that title. Its walls—those still standing—bore scorch marks, and brown stains covered the concrete steps. Behind him, in an old baseball diamond, a place Billy would have spent many weekends if he’d been a student here, there were hundreds of crosses standing at the head of upturned piles of dirt. The lake behind it appeared brown and polluted, most likely filled with rotting corpses as well. Just like SCI Greensburg, just like Pittsburgh, Richmond had become one huge graveyard. He kicked himself for even entertaining the notion that things might be different.

  The soldiers, led by Lumley, went about gathering the survivors into small groups. All firearms were confiscated, with much protesting from Forrest’s cop friends, while orders were shouted and people hustled from cluster to cluster, some following directions, some not, but all appearing as if they just wanted to lie down and sleep. Dormitory buildings loomed in front of them.

  Billy scanned the different groups, and realized something strange: all people of African or Arab lineage, at least those who were noticeably so, were being gathered into a single assembly—his own. Old dreams, old paranoia, crept up on him. A sickening sensation pricked at his spine, and his fists balled out of instinct.

  Lumley strolled by, gaze locked on his clipboard. A soldier appeared on Billy’s left, trying to get his attention. Billy shoved him away and stormed after the first airman.

  “Lumley,” he said. “You will speak with me. Promptly.”

  Lumley glanced up and his eyes widened. He dropped the clipboard to the ground and held his hands out to his sides, as if telling everyone else not to panic. When Billy drew near, he could see the man was breathing heavily through his nose.

  “What is going on here?” Billy asked. He heard the venom leak out in his voice and tried his best to contain it. There were more soldiers lingering about here than at the processing station. They’d run him through in a second if he caused any problems.

  “What do you mean?” said Lumley.

  “You know very well of what I speak.”

  Lumley’s eyes dropped, and he put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Come with me,” he whispered.

  They strolled across the parking lot and stepped behind one of the intact walls of the Weinstein building. Stopping there, Lumley’s eyes flicked from left to right as if he was scared someone was eavesdropping on them.

  “Speak,” said Billy.

  Lumley took a deep breath. “Okay. Listen, there’re things going on here, all right? Things that aren’t…I don’t know, on the up-and-up.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, for one thing…” He ran his hand over his mouth and then pointed at Billy. “I think that’s a bit of a problem for some folks here.”

  “What is? The color of my skin?”

  Gulping, Lumley said, “Yes.”

  “And why would that be?”

  The first airman shook his head. “I don’t know, man,” he said, still speaking in a whisper. “Seriously. My unit and I had been stationed in Montgomery when the shit went down. We hid out at the base, defending it best we could, but I don’t know how much longer we could’ve lasted. We were there for almost a month when this General from Florida named Bathgate showed up. He had a couple platoons of him, from different divisions of the military, and he said he was under orders to cluster everyone into a single combat unit. We were rebuilding the country, he said. His group was small—only a few hundred—but they were well organized. We were all relieved. So of course we joined forces with them. That was months ago. Some of the things I’ve seen since then…let’s just say, it’s disturbing. Bathgate recruited folks we wouldn’t have ever considered back before this all started—militia groups, anti-government organizations, and yeah, a lot of others who don’t like folks like yourself. Then the black folks from my engineering unit disappeared.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Exiled from camp. Killed, maybe. I never found out for sure. The general has his circle of trust, and I’m not in it. I’m on the fringe here, just a soldier doing a job. But I’ve heard rumors that all folks of color they run across, he’s got his band of dedicated bastards who take them out.”

  “So why are we here, then? Why not simply gun us down at the hotel?”

  Lumley shrugged. “Maybe the rumors weren’t true.”

  “And yet you tell me about them as if they are.”

  “I have my doubts. But you seem like a respectable man. I thought you deserved to know.”

  Billy leaned against the wall, making sure to avoid the black charring. “There is one thing I do not understand,” he said.

  “What?”

  “If you do not trust your superiors, why are you still here?”

  Lumley’s eyes dropped once more, and his cheeks flushed. “You don’t understand. It was tough out there. I lost so many friends. The general kept my men safe, and I’ve never had a problem with anyone, personally.”

  “But only those men who fit an acceptable description.”

  Running a hand through his hair, Lumley replied, “Sometimes you have to make a choice. I chose to protect my people.”

  “At the expense of your principles.”

  Lumley shot him a determined look, all sense of shame disappearing. “In times like these, principles are an indulgence. They don’t exist anymore.”

  “I think I have heard enough,” said Billy, and he started walking away.

  “Hold on,” said Lumley.

  Billy turned, hands on his hips, and glared at him.

  “Listen, that’s not really true. I want to help as much as I can, okay? The rest of the folks here are going to be set up in the closest dorms. But I had a few guys I trust clean out the University Forest Apartments, toward the other end of the campus. It’s pretty wooded over there, secluded. You’ll be out of sight from the majority of the populace, and hopefully it’s out of sight, out of mind. It’s the best form of protection I can offer for now, just in case.”

  “Can we leave if we so desire?”

  Lumley shook his head. “Not a good idea yet. The general’s got outposts set up all over the place, and he’s having a fence
built around the city. But I’ll see what I can come up with, okay?” His voice sounded whiny, almost pleading. “I’m sorry. It’s the best I can do.”

  Billy groaned, turned his back on the man, and stormed away. He listened, but could hear no footsteps coming up from behind him. He pictured the man in his mind, saw him cowering there, trying to convince himself he was in the right by turning a blind eye to what went on around him. It was pathetic.

  The faces of the soldiers took on new meaning as he strolled by them. In their eyes he saw revulsion, distrust, eagerness to do harm. He wasn’t sure if it was really there or if he imagined it, but that didn’t matter. Marcy had been right. There was hatred here. And now he had to do the same as everyone else—protect his own at all costs.

  Most of the lighter-skinned survivors from the Omni had been escorted away by the time he rounded the corner. Only a few, including Forrest and Christopher, milled about, looking confused. He spotted Marcy and Leon, standing in a group of thirty or so others. Marcy looked ill as a soldier grabbed her arm, trying to force her to move away from the assembly. Leon raised his fist, ready to strike. Billy braced himself to leap forward.

  “Hold it!” a voice—Lumley’s—shouted.

  Billy paused, turned, and saw the first airman calmly sauntering across the pavement. He’d washed any doubt from his expression. Billy expected him to unsheathe his firearm and pop him in the head, but instead the first airman marched right past him.

  “What’s going on here?” Lumley asked.

  “She’s in the wrong group!” said the soldier, a young man of Hispanic lineage. “She won’t leave!”

  Lumley brushed him aside. “So what? We don’t control who goes in what group, Private. If she wishes to stay with these folks, she’s more than welcome to.”

  “But you said—”

  “Shut it,” snapped Lumley, his head whipping around. “Go back and help Austin get the generators going.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The young soldier stormed off, and Billy noticed that the eyes of the soldiers who remained were fixed on their superior. Some glared, some were confused, some offered sympathy, but all were frightened. There seemed to be a thin thread binding this army together. Billy got the impression it would only take one slight tug for that thread to snap.