by D. S. Black
The possibility that he and Okona would soon depend on each other for survival, never crossed his mind.
2
“You OK?” Mary Jane was staring at Duras as he came back to the world around him. He still sat with her on the blazing roof. A few moments had past, may be a few minutes, may be over an hour, he didn't know.
Had it not been for her... for Mary Jane...surely he would have lost what was left of his mind. The guilt over loving someone other than his dead wife caused him great pain. Just lust, that's all. I could never really love another woman, especially not in this hell.
But he could and he did. He remembered the first night he realized how much he did love her and couldn’t live without her. They'd taken a mattress and sheets out to the burning pits to watch the dead burn in the night.
“I always hated religious scum. But, when the shit flies, Christianity is an excellent tool. Control and power, that's the ticket.”
“I know babe. You've told me a million zillion times.”
“Never gets old.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Her hand had slipped under the sheets and gave a solid squeeze. She unzipped him. “Does Tommy need a blow job?”
“I'm the leader of the empire, of course I do. Life is stress.”
She unbuckled his pants and brought him out into the hot night air. Death blurred in his eyes as the fires burnt the night. The ashy ruin of the Old World. The Before World. But in that moment, he felt alive and powerful. He felt he understood his destiny, as though somehow all this made sense. The rising cloud of smoke rose as Mary Jane felt the gush of joy running down her throat.
As Duras came he watched the bodies burn, not moaning, forcing the pleasure to stay inside him, sending his eyes to the back of his head. Dear Jesus, thank you for the world. The world where I reign supreme. I am the giver of dreams, the maker of death. Me and my band of anti heroes. Together, we...that is to say I, Control and Own this rabble of survivors.
He fell over with relief and Mary Jane had laid her head on his broad chest. She listened to his heart beat. She felt the warm breeze coming from the pile of burning bodies and smelled death's sweetness, burning hot in her lungs and filling her soul with power to march on. She could remember the days before, but made a special effort to ignore them. Recalling her dead husband and son always made for a bad day. The memory of her sweet blue eyed boy. That was always the worst. His birthday. His smiling teeth. A little boy's dream.
A tear had ran down her face.
“I hear a tear fall.” Duras had said. “Tell me what's on your mind.”
“My son. I'm alright. I'm just remembering a time. Me and my husband took him to Charleston for the weekend. He loves Folly Beach.”
“Loved.”
“Yes, loved.
Duras and Mary Jane loved each other. A love forged in a apocalyptic furnace. A love that would soon be tested by the Militia; a group Duras had no idea even existed. He would know soon enough.
3
As his men cleaned the mess up down below, he rested his chin on the top of her head, and stared out at the blazing sun, and the blue sky.
“Mr. Poet, would you please quote me something you dreamt of once.” she said.
“In the darkest days, there stood a man, without a plan.
Lost in pain, lost of all hope, ready to die
Then came an angel, from somewhere in the dark,
dark brown hair glimmering, blue eyes shining
a cold and warm glare meant to wake my heart
shake my soul, and loosen my pain”
She stared up at him, and kissed the bottom of his chin. “You mad devil, you. What do you think will be here in 100 years?”
“A lot of walking dead people.”
“Maybe a good scientist will find a cure.”
“You're the only good scientist left.”
“We really need to go out and get some solar panels” she said.
“I know. We need to find some. Then find a blue ray player, a big screen T.V., and all the Star Trek collectors’ editions with all the extras.”
“And we will watch for hours. Tell me, what is your favorite episode?”
“I’m not sure I have a favorite. But, if I am forced to choose; I would say, under the circumstances, that the episode in Enterprise…” She interrupted him with a question. “Yes that’s the one starring Scott Bakula; and the episode I’m referring to is during the third season. Archer and his crew find a ship of Vulcans. But, the Vulcans have all lost their minds; and act very much like our dead friends out there rotting in the sun.”
“It’s good to be alive isn’t it?”
“It’s better to be in charge.”
“No doubt.”
They held each other, and the day warmed. Down below the sound of the bodies being shoveled made its way up over the roof tops, and into his ears. Then, quite drunk, Vice stumbled through the roof’s gray entry door, holding an even drunker Mary Ann around her thin waist.
“You rascals!” Vice started. “The sheep below are hungry for your words of wisdom.” His words came out in a drunken ramble.
Duras stood up and stretched. “Join me dear?”
“Of course, Sire.”
Him and Mary Jane made their way to the stair case.
4
He hummed an old war tune his father once sang; but he didn’t know the words, or the name. So he just humed, and the sound echoed off the walls of the zigg zag stair case. The metal stair handles were cold to the touch, like a dead man’s hand. Vice and Mary Ann had stayed up top, because he claimed it was his turn to do nothing and bask in the great glory of the sun and enjoy watching the ants work below. So down, and down some more he went, down the stairs until he reached the bottom where two metal doors, both with silver knobs, stood waiting his arrival. Then he noticed it. How had he missed it before now? Had they just built it? My god! What glory! In the corner of the door, right at the top right edge was a nest of blue jays.
“Oh! How marvelous!” his dear Mary Jane proclaimed in one very excited voice. “I shall bring them worms and anything else they need!” she said.
“I'll have the men dig you up as many as you need.”
He stood, holding her close, there in the dark at the end of that long stair way, and watched the light flickering in that small corner where the birds lived peacefully, chirping away. “I will make a decree. This right side door shall never be opened!” he said.
She jumped into his arms and kissed him firmly. “You doll! You wonderful, courageous doll!”
Eventually he stopped staring at the chirping birds, and pushed open the left side door. The hot sun beamed down onto his face, followed the foul stench of a thousand rotting corpses. In front of him was the town court yard, covered in blood drenched cobble stone. The feet of his men plodding against the stone, and he watched as they heaved the bodies on the backs of pickups that then carried them away in a sputter. He suggested it was time to deal with the sheep; so with his dear lady on his arm, he marched with his chest held out, trying to enjoy the smell of death.
The flock had moved to the main cafeteria, and a set of guards protected the entry doors. Inside, hungry faces devoured soup and bread; and Ron John the chef gave Duras a wiggly wave with his skinny black arm when he saw him enter. Then the people all waved, and forced smiles on their faces; but the fear, confusion, and anxiety leaked through their worn expressions.
Duras kissed Mary Jane on the cheek and launched himself onto a table, causing it to rattle. He held both hands high in the air, palms out, “Listen up! I know you are all scared. But, this is nothing more than a test. A test of our faith. There are faithless men and women in those trees out there, and occasionally God has to let them hurt us to make sure we are still his servants. But, those that die in the name of God, receive a bountiful award in heaven.” Their eyes watched him intensely, and they had little choice but to want to believe enough that they forced themselves to accept his words. F
ear is a powerful motivator, never forget that. Fear has helped war lords and great national leaders control their populations since the dawn of civilization.
“We have come a long way.” He continued, looking down for a moment, and contemplating his words. “When we first came together we were all famished. But, I gave you a promise then, and I give it to you again now. Stand with God, and a place in his holy cathedral will be set aside for you in the next life. This is the Tribulation. There was no rapture and there never was going to be. That was nothing more than the hopeful ramblings of men that thought they knew God, but did not. Look at your plates, and thank God for the food we have.” The sheeple were taking his speech well. “Rest assured. We will march on the godless heathens that live in those woods. They are vermin. They are retched animals! And, it is our duty as God’s chosen few to march into those dark trees, and burn every last one them!”
“Do it for Bobby!” One sheep shouted
“And Sandra!” Another tossed in.
And soon the one hundred strong group were in high spirits encouraging him to go with God’s speed and destroy the barbarians hiding in the murky forest. And, for days after that, their spirits rose. The bodies were finally disappearing, and the streets were getting cleaned. He helped pull the metal fencing from the storage buildings, and helped rebuild the fence. A few dead people strolled by, but nothing a few bullets couldn’t handle. Then after two weeks went by, the City of God was getting back to normal.
5
Then, like a reminder that life is never safe, a massive hoard came down and pushed hard against the northern side of the perimeter. The New World as a never ending supply of zombies. Where do they all come from? It never ends. At least one thousand of the dead bastards groaned their way against the metal links. He didn’t sleep very much for days. Killing, killing, and killing some more. Is it really killing when they were already dead? Who cares.
The fence held. And, he began assisting his men. One rotting corpse after another was loaded onto the pickups and driven to the fire pits. At the pits, the fire burned high, bellowing blackened gray smoke high into the air. When night fall came, the hot black smoke became visible against the backdrop of a full moon. He sat Indian style on cooling grass, his hands resting in his lap, and stared motionless at the rising plumes. There was no escaping the smell of scolded and melted flesh. Some of the men sat on the backs of the pickups, smoking cigarettes and drinking moonshine. Others continued to dump the few remaining bodies on the smoldering pile. The night sky was clear, and stars shined. He laid flat on his back, and listened to the bones crackle in the flames. It felt surreal. He could not help but think, for just a moment, that none it was real. And, then he thought, as his eyes met the big dipper above, that somewhere out there might be life. Maybe they could see them. Maybe they watched them, and laughed at their situation. Or maybe they did not notice them at all. It wasn’t that long ago that those stars gave him goose bumps, made him dream of a marvelous future—commercial space flight, trips to the moon, and one day, surely, even if long after he had died, his species would populate even the farthest of star systems.
He let out a long sigh.
That future is now dead. Dead as them. Dead as all of them will be. Dead. Dead. Dead. No life. No hope. No joy left. No promises to keep. Nothing. An endless wandering. A joyless march into the abyss. That’s all. All that’s left. No stars. No ships. No greatness. No glories. No humanity. A dead species. Gone. Gone forever. Never more. Never was. Never will be. A forgotten memory. Where are they? Dead. Forever dead. Don’t think. Need to sleep. Need darkness, nothingness, a place to rest.
Walking away from the fence line, back into the city streets, feeling the cobblestones and hearing the click of his boots; he saw Mary Jane walking towards him, with hopeful glee shining in her eyes.
He did not look her in the eyes, and brushed by her. She ran behind him, and grabbed him by his shoulder. “Don’t do this again…” She said.
He pulled his shoulder away, and ignored her. He walked back to his castle home, and stared up the length of the Gothic architecture. The door clanked open and he walked down the long hallway, up some winding stairs, and stepped into a dark hallway. The clicks of his footsteps echoed off the marble walls. Along the walls, torches burned. His shadow flickered in the flame light, and the dark magonay door of his room came into view down the broad hallway.
His chamber door clanged shut behind me. The room was dark as night, save for a dash of moon light beaming through a window and streaking over his bed.
He sat on his bed’s edge, and that was when he stared. He stared at that picture bathed in moon light. There she was. There they all were. Smiling and happy, because that was the day when he'd taken them to that tropical paradise, down in the heat of Miami, where the sand was so white, and their skin all got burned. Where he laughed with his boy, and sang stupid songs with his girl, and put them to bed, made love to his wife, that wonderful woman, so bright and so sweet, like a flower in bloom, or sweet honey suckle on a spring’s eve, and they'd loved all that night, and drank cold red wine, and felt the warm ocean’s breeze, smelled the salty sea, and danced on the balcony, under the moon and the stars, with the low rumble of the waves crashing not far; and he will never forget those cool white sheets, and the morning after when that brilliant boy, and that beautiful girl, came running in, waking them up, and begging to play; and down they all went to the ocean and—
And that was then. And now was now.
He reached out and held that picture. He laid in his bed, pulled it close to his chest, closed his eyes, and for a split moment he thought he might beam back to that time, when smiles were the norm, and bed crumbs were the worst of his problems; but now he had to fight the dead, keep the flock in line, and face the dreary world around him; he held his picture, and kept his eyes shut, ignored the stinging tears; and at some point, he went to sleep, and dreamt of that moment in time.
6
He awoke to clanging and banging against his chamber door. Mary Jane's voice was wild and excited. “Open the fucking door! She’s going to kill him!” His dreamy flash back of yesteryear’s remembrances was all but faded and gone. He shoved himself out of bed and marched to the door. She certainly would not be up in such a fuss and a tizzy for no reason. The door creaked loudly as a opened up and the sweaty face of his end of the world girlfriend screamed at him. “You go in here and leave me to deal with that rabble! Every fucking goddamn night! Now that fool friend of yours has felt up one of the younger girls and my sister has him held at gun point and is bat shit out of her mind.”
“The younger girls? Who?”
“I think she is only 13!”
“Jesus fucking Christ!”
“You told him not again! You told him not—”
He held his finger to her mouth, “And I meant it.”
He marched through the dark corridor. Some sunlight beamed through windows near the top of the hall. Again? Again! He rushed through the double exit doors and moved over the cobble streets. He could hear the crowd gathered and the people fuming. Mary Jane, with her long, strong atheltic legs, darted in front of him. “Here he comes Sarah!”
He walked up and pushed his way through a crowd of sweaty excited spectators. And then, in the middle of the town’s courtyard was Vice on his knees with Sarah Ann standing a few feet from him aiming a sawed off shot gun directly at his head. “Did she tell you what he did Duras? The son of bitch go drunker than drunk last night. And guess what? He walked off and said he had to take a piss but instead followed little Margie home and felt her up!” Sarah Ann said.
“Don’t fucking listen to that shit Duras! The bitch is out of her mind. Too much drink and smoke if you ask me. Say, do your pal a favor and shoot the fucking whore!”
“Whore?! You sick fuck!” Sarah Anna was fuming.
“Everybody just shut up for a moment! Where is Ice Man?”
The Ice Man came out of the crowd as if waiting for me to call for him. His
golden blonde hair looking pert as ever. “Yes sir, ready and willing.”
“Take him to lock up till I can figure out what to do.”
“Lock up? What the hell Duras? How long have I been your right hand man? How fucking long?”
“And how many times have I warned you to stay away from the younger girls? Now shut up and pray! Because God is the only hope you have if this turns out to be true.”
