Kingdom Come

by David Rollins

  The NYTimes.com article said eyewitnesses were claiming to have seen corpses walking along city streets. They described it like seeing a scene from the cable show, The Walking Dead. Whole towns were in panic. In Macon, so the report said, sheriff’s deputies had been issued with axes, presumably if bullets failed to do the job, and were staking out the city’s graveyards. The Macon Sheriff, Sheriff John Carter, reportedly said that this was being done to “ease the public’s mind and put the dead back where they belonged”.

  However, a protest group in Macon had announced through its Facebook page that it was determined to spare deceased loved ones the indignity of being hacked to pieces when they rose, and would form “a living shield” between the sheriff’s deputies and the dead. At other graveyards, there were reports of welcoming committees for “the newly returned”, as a spokesperson had termed them, with stalls set up with weird selections of food and drink – everything from plain water to bourbon to pound cakes to sheep brains. Religious fundamentalists were having their say. The Christians were preaching that the newly returned heralded the imminent arrival of Jesus and that non-believers had better repent their sins, or else. Muslims agreed that Jesus was on the way and that non-believers had better convert, acknowledge that there is no god but Allah, or suffer the fires of hell for all eternity.

  All manner of groups were springing up on social media discussing various aspects of this confronting phenomenon, from the potential biology of the newly returned, to the implications of the existence of “the soul”, to the more practical concerns of healthcare for these undead and whether or not they presented a biological hazard to the living. Other less worldly groups argued over whether the undead would come together as an army to fight the living alongside Jesus, as stated in the Qur’an. And speaking of Jesus, how might Jesus arrive? On a donkey, on a cloud, in a Tesla? Would he be of the Jewish, Christian or Muslim faith? And what would he look like? Would he have the appearance of a young hippie in his prime, with a dark beard and long dark hair, just as he had been back in the day, according to various shrouds and religious artworks. Or would he have the countenance of an old guy, one who had been dead for over 2000 years? Others argued that he’d never died in the first place. The discussions raged.

  “Whaaaat?” Schelly said aloud several times as she reviewed the sudden outpouring stirred up by the Macon Sheriff’s department. Had the world gone completely and utterly batshit crazy?

  A tone sounded, alerting her to a new tweet, this one from CNN. It contained the irresistible link, “Macon Sheriff denies dead are rising”. She clicked on the link and was shocked to see that the story featured a grainy black and white image taken from surveillance camera footage. It showed three longhaired, tatty people of indeterminate age walking through a gate. The caption read, “Cameras catch the dead leaving cemetery”. Schelly blinked. “No fucking way!”

  Another tweet arrived. The LA Times had written this story up under the headline, “Zombie Apocalypse unleashed”. Schelly absorbed the tabloid shock tactic and went back to the NYTimes.com, her preferred source.

  Hungry for details, as were over three million people currently reading, according to the rolling counter, she read the article that extensively quoted Macon’s Sheriff Carter from a press conference just held. Logos on microphones crowding the sheriff indicated that a large media scrum had attended this event, including journalists and stringers from all the wire services. Scrolling down revealed the picture of a fat, graying, late middle-aged man in a sheriff’s uniform contained within a frame overlaid with the familiar blue and white “play” icon. She clicked on the triangle.

  Sheriff Carter leaned forward into the microphone on the lectern and read from a statement. “The Bibb County Sheriff’s Department received a call from residents in the area of the Cedar Ridge Cemetery, complaining of a disturbance – bottles breaking and whatnot – at around 2 am last night,” he drawled. Several grim-faced deputies flanked the sheriff, a couple of them nodding confirmation as their boss recounted the details. “A deputy was dispatched to the scene. He found no one present at the cemetery, but the graveyard had been all dug up in places, with numerous tombstones overturned.

  “We expected this to be the work of vandals. Checking surveillance camera footage proved difficult as there are no cameras in the graveyard itself, though there was a camera in a nearby parking lot.

  “The footage showed over a dozen persons, what appear to be a mix of males and females in old worn clothes, coming from the graveyard and walking through the lot.

  “Over a dozen graves appeared to have been disturbed. We conducted a search for these – we’re calling them suspects – but so far the search has proved fruitless. That is all I can tell you at this time.”

  The sheriff and his deputies then walked away from the lectern as journalists burst into a chorus of shouted questions: “There are many cemeteries in Macon. Have any others been disturbed?” and, “Do you think corpses have actually risen from the dead?” and, “Is it true you’ve issued your deputies with axes?” and “Do you think this is the start of the End of Days predicted by the Scorpion?”

  The sheriff found at least one of these questions irresistible, and stopped to growl an answer at the reporter concerned. “Hell, corpses rising from the dead? C’mon, I’m not saying anything of a kind. Something’s going on here, and looks like at other places too. We just don't know what it is. And no, I have not issued my deputies with axes. I don’t know where that’s come from.”

  The sheriff then continued his journey out of the room until one reporter drawled, “Is there any truth to the rumor that one of your deputies actually struck one of these zombies with his patrol car, Sheriff, ran into him with enough force to kill him? I heard that the man then ran off. Is that because he was already dead? Can you explain it, sir?”

  This almost caused a riot with the gathered reporters surging toward the sheriff and his deputies and demanding more information.

  The sheriff put his hands in the air in an attempt to calm the mob. “No, I can tell you there is no truth in any of that. Our investigations are continuing. We will keep you informed.”

  Here the video ended.

  “Oh, man,” said Schelly, shaking her head.

  It was obvious from the Twitter alerts pouring into Schelly’s phone from the major news services that the world believed the sheriff was confirming precisely what he denied he was saying: that the dead had crawled their way out of the ground and were walking around. The predictions made in the Qur’an and stated by the Scorpion were coming true.

  Where are they walking to? Schelly wondered. Are they going all the way to fucking Syria? She reached for the phone and called the professor. “Jill,” Kiraz said when she picked up. “I was about to call you.”

  “Hi, have you seen the news?” Schelly asked her.

  “You mean the video?”

  “Yeah, the video of dead people supposedly leaving their graves.”

  “What?” Evidently, the professor was unaware of it.

  It was clear to Schelly that they were talking at crossed purposes. “Kiraz, what video are you talking about?”

  “The latest from the Scorpion. What video are you talking about?”

  An incoming call cut across her conversation with Professor Başak. It was Secretary of Defense Epstein. “Oh, I have to take this.” she told the professor. “Call you back?”

  “Don’t worry about it, I will see you soon.”

  “Okay,” Schelly replied, frowning, and a little confused. Did we make plans to get together? I don't think so. She thumbed the button, accepting the incoming call from the SECDEF. “Morning, Madam Secretary.”

  “Major, where are you right at this minute?”

  “At the Pentagon, ma’am.”

  “The president wants an update. The Situation Room. Get here as soon as you can with whatever you can bring.”

  Forty-seven

  Ronald V. Small @realSmall

  Do not doubt
our strength and determination, Mr Insect. You don’t want to pick a fight with us. That would be tremendously stupid.

  Hakim had not slept for fear that Zuti may be lying injured somewhere, unable to free himself. Much of the village had searched tirelessly, but Zuti seemed to have simply disappeared. That was not altogether unheard of, but it was unusual. There were whispers that perhaps he had been abducted by some warring faction and pressed into soldiery. Or abducted by slavers and sold. Hakim didn’t believe these stories – he refused to believe these stories. Zuti was out there somewhere, he just needed to be found, and quickly. He carried water but he would have drunk it all long ago. Thirst was the biggest enemy in the desert.

  Zuti was his oldest boy, the one who looked most like his mother, the mother who had died giving birth to Nur, his youngest. Hakim loved his son and so he searched all the places they took the herd with his second son, Labib, calling Zuti’s name. Sometimes fear and desperation filled Hakim’s eyes with tears as the hours slipped by. It was Labib who was strong and told his father not to worry.

  But then, while searching one of the areas frequented less by the goats due to its sparse feed, Labib saw a lone goat standing on a rock ledge. He recognized the animal, for it had a large white blaze on a coat that was mostly black. He ran and captured it. The goat was collared and, on closer inspection, it wore Hakim’s mark.

  Hakim and Labib called Zuti’s name as he led the goat in and around the base of the shelf. Soon they came upon three other goats that were living, and one that was dead, its flesh picked at by carrion birds. The goats did not need to be tethered and happily followed them, Hakim and Labib’s voices familiar to them, along with their smell. Labib wished the animals could speak, because surely they would know where to find his brother.

  Coming around a finger of rock, Hakim saw a mound of smaller stones set in a pile. It was manmade and unfamiliar, a new feature. They approached it, a natural inquisitiveness driving them, and then the mound of stones seemed to shudder and move as, disturbed by their sudden presence, many rats, beetles and other insects began to pour from out of the earth, between the stones. Above, a carrion bird circled and Hakim found himself saying, “La la la – la ‘iilah la …” No, no, no – no, God, no …

  The father tore at the loose stones, tearing them down. Soon he saw a white shroud beneath them, and there was dried blood on it and the pain in his chest made breathing almost impossible: “La, la, la!”

  The last of the rats ran from the shallow depression as Hakim scooped up the body he knew was that of his son, the boy’s hand and arm with many pieces of flesh torn away falling from the loosely bound shroud. Hot tears ran from his eyes and the pain of the loss was like a hand around his throat. “La, Zuti, la…” he cried softly, nuzzling the bundle hugged tight to his chest.

  Forty-eight

  Ronald V. Small @realSmall

  Today Ronald Small Jr. bought five hotels and got the best price. Very proud father!

  Secretary of Defense Epstein and Professor Başak were already seated at the polished ebony conference table. It seemed to coalesce from the darker regions of the vast Situation Room. The feeds from assets around the globe were silent. The unnatural quiet reminded Schelly of an empty sports arena between games.

  “Major. Thanks for getting here so quickly,” Epstein said in her now familiar smoke-and-booze-scarred voice. “Traffic from Maryland is a bitch this time of day.”

  “Morning, ma’am. Wasn’t so bad – the traffic.” Schelly placed her briefcase on the desk and pulled out the chair beside the professor, who looked up at her with a quick smile.

  “Major.”

  “Professor.” Hi, how are you? Love that combination you're wearing – pearl silk blouse with pleated orange skirt and black lacquered heels. God, you smell like heaven.

  Collegiate pleasantries exchanged, Schelly sat behind her briefcase and released the locks, which gave a satisfying thunk.

  “Kiraz was just saying she doesn’t think you’ve seen the Scorpion’s latest effort,” Epstein said.

  Schelly organized her notes. “No, I haven’t. Tried to get it up on my phone on the way over here, but it wouldn't load.”

  “It’s only just hit the usual outlets.” Epstein’s fingers tapped a touch screen in front of her. A wall monitor flickered, stirred by a sudden burst of electrons, and a picture materialized. It showed a balding man with graying wisps of hair in his mid-sixties – General Yegorov – on his knees in the dirt. In front of him was a compact suitcase attached to a chain and handcuff – the Cheget. Immediately behind him were three men, stripped naked to the waist, their wrists and feet bolted into tree limbs denuded of leaves to make the arrangement appear more symbolically cross-like. A fold in a towering rock formation framed the scene, the colors muted in the pre-dawn light.

  Three men crucified together … That picture looks familiar, thought Schelly, who was again struck with the ancient brutality of crucifixion.

  “The terrorists are getting more artful with practice,” Epstein observed, “and also more careless. Note the terrain. They appear to be in some kind of shallow ravine – a cleft in a rock formation. We're working with the folks at DIMOC to locate this topography within our revised target area. We’re hopeful of a match.”

  “Madam Secretary, unfortunately, until the next satellite pass we have no way of contacting Quickstep 3.”

  “Oh …”

  The door flew open, Andrew Bunion holding it wide for President Small, who strode in like a man who believed taking big steps made him appear dynamic. “Have we found him?” the president demanded, coming to a stop at the conference table.

  “Good morning, Mr President. Valeriy Petrovich? No,” Epstein replied. “But we believe we’re close.” Her eyes flicked for an instant at Schelly. “The good news is that he appears to be alive in the video just posted to YouTube. We believe it was shot only this morning.”

  The president glanced over and saw the still frame on the monitor. “You got the video loaded? Play it.”

  Epstein tapped the control screen and the images on the monitor moved, the focus on the kneeling General Yegorov pulling out to a wider shot as Al-Aleaqarab walked into the picture and stood beside the Russian. Gesturing with a deformed claw clutching the now familiar curved blade he used as a pointer, he addressed the camera, “I speak to all leaders of the Crusader nations. One of your own, a great Caesar, will soon be dead, given to the Hellfires for all eternity, unless you agree to send your armies to meet the faithful at Dabiq. Time is running out. Only you can spare him. You must decide.”

  The Scorpion then looked behind him, up at the unconscious president. “It is written that the crucified must be stabbed in the heart after three days, freeing him from torment. Allah the Merciful commands this, and so it shall be done.”

  Al-Aleaqarab then went back to Yegorov and crouched beside him, the camera framing both men, the Russian’s head bowed. “In the meantime, Caesar’s general has been most helpful with our battle plans. His knowledge and assistance will help us sweep your Crusader armies from the Earth. The purity of the one true faith will then be the flower that blooms in the desert and spreads across the world, uncontested. Do not forget that Caesar’s weapons of mass destruction are also mine to command.” The terrorist picked up the briefcase with the knife under its handle, then set it down again. “The End of Days is coming. Soon the Antichrist will be among us. The moment draws nearer with every breath Caesar takes.”

  The camera panned closer in on Petrovich, his chest heaving like a frightened bird’s. And there the video abruptly finished.

  “Well he’s a determined sonofabitch,” the president said. “You have to say that for him.” He turned to Bunion. “I still really like your idea, Andrew. Get ‘em all in one place and nuke ‘em. I can’t believe this guy wants to come up against the best military in the world. It would be a hell of a battle. The greatest battle the world has ever seen. Win something like that and you’ll go down in history.”<
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  As a monster, thought Schelly, horrified. Surely you can’t be serious.

  The professor was also clearly less than comfortable about the president’s continued enthusiasm for what would be slaughter on an unprecedented scale.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” the president said, smiling at Schelly.

  “Huh? Oh, thank you, Mr President,” Schelly replied, suddenly aware that the commander-in-chief was staring right at her. “It’s … it’s great to be here.” What the hell do you say?

  President Small turned toward the professor. “And nice to see you again, too.”

  “Thank you, Mr President,” the CIA analyst said with a respectful nod.

  “I like your shirt. It’s nice, very feminine,” he told her. In an aside to Bunion, he conferred, “Do we have the best-looking intelligence types, or what?”

  What? Again? Did you just lick your lips at Kiraz? Why are we here?

  “I like your red braces, Mr President. They match your red tie,” the professor replied, playing the game.

  And your eyeballs, thought Schelly.

  Small continued, glowing. “Do you think so? I believe they look business-like and also very very presidential.”

  “Mr President, if I may offer an opinion of this video?” the professor cooed, leading him back to the business at hand.

  “Yes, of course. That’s why we’re here.”

  “The Scorpion continues to prey on the religious iconography of Christianity, the default religion of what he calls ‘the Crusader nations’. He is hoping we will find this an offense, an insult, and that it will goad us into the response he desires, and which he states is the final battle between the faithful and the armies of Rome.”