by Glen Krisch
Eldon and Mandy sat on the thick patch of garden mulch, facing each other, cross-legged. Eldon held Mandy's hands as they prayed softly together. When the armed mob closed on them in downtown Concord, the two oldest members of Marcus's group had been able to do little to help their cause. They seemed like good people. They weren't like Austin, who was a trigger-happy hillbilly. They weren't like Hector, who was so at ease with the automatic slung from his shoulder. They were definitely not like Delaney. No one in the group was like Delaney.
He watched Delaney watching for any sign of Marcus, her eyes darting about with manic intensity. He couldn't look at her without feeling a small amount of pain and an even more prominent embarrassment. So he glowered at her, examining the constellation of blood spatters on her cheek, dredging up every little amount of distracting emotion he could muster. Sure, they'd shared an intimate encounter in the janitor closet at Happy's Qwik Serve, but every moment of it had been a performance on her part, a ruse.
He wasn't fooling himself; he couldn't cling to the hurt and rejection to chase away what he didn't want to face. It was a horrible and immutable fact: he had killed at least two men just hours ago. He was a coldblooded murderer.
He shook his head, but the memories lingered. He couldn't help recalling the reverberations of Henry's skull (good God, why did Dylan have to know him by name?) when Jason had tackled him into the concrete wall of the loading dock. Even now he could feel the crunch of bone on concrete through his limbs, could hear it in his ears. And the other man he'd killed, the man named Brad, the one with the bloody dimple that appeared as if from out of nowhere to mar his unblemished temple? Jason didn't think he could ever forget seeing him collapse and leak blood until he was well beyond hope, until he stopped moving and became just another lifeless mass of organic matter for the earth to reclaim.
He blinked and saw the bloody dimple. Blinked again and saw Dylan staring lifelessly into the bright blue sky. He closed his eyes once again, clenching against the tears that were forming, and only looked upon the world before him when he heard a rustling in the leafy underbrush. A waifish blonde girl stepped clear of the darkness, soon followed by Marcus and his men.
"Marcus!" Delaney called out and broke into a fluid run. She gave the girl a condescending once-over and possessively took hold of Marcus's hand.
"I've been gone, what, ten minutes?" Marcus sounded put-off by Delaney's attention.
"And you found…?" Delaney asked.
Mandy and Eldon stood from their quiet prayers as the others approached.
"Everyone, this is Kylie," Marcus said. "This is her house."
"I never said that."
"Oh, really? I just assumed…" Marcus said.
"I live next door. The Thompsons' live here. Everyone else is inside. Why don't we head in for that water?"
Austin flipped the safety off his AR-15.
Kylie gasped.
"That won't be necessary, Austin." Marcus pressed the barrel of Austin's weapon toward the ground. "Right, Kylie?"
"Of course not—"
"It's just, like I said earlier. We had an unpleasant interaction with the people downtown. Just look at what they did to my big brother, Jason."
Jason felt like a spotlight had been pointed at him, highlighting the wounds Marcus himself had given him.
"Oh, that's horrible," Kylie said.
"We don't want any more of that. We're good people, and we just want to get to a place we know is safe."
"Right, I totally understand. It's a scary time."
"Good. So, how many people are inside?" Marcus smiled. "And how many are armed?"
2.
"I can't believe I didn't know that a pro ballplayer lived right in town!" Marcus took a sip from his lemonade. He gave Jason a look over the lip of his glass that probably no one else noticed. But Jason knew that look, that flash in his brother's eye, the slight curl of his lip. Not quite a smile—not a real smile, at least.
"We've been here for years," the teenager named RJ said. "It's not like my dad hid the fact, and the people in town have always been cool with it and given him his privacy."
Everyone had formed a nervous, uncertain semicircle in the living room. Kylie's mom, Linda, appeared not only nervous, but a bit unhinged. She had been dusting when they entered through the front door, and even now as she paced along the outside of the gathering, she still clutched the dust rag in her fist. Jason could tell his brother didn't trust her by the way he kept her in his sights.
"Well, I've only been here a few months," Marcus said evenly.
"Dad's been on the road pretty much since Spring Training started."
Marcus snapped his fingers and pointed at RJ. "That explains it." Marcus's smile faltered and tension filled the room.
As if sensing it, Kylie said, "I've seen Marcus working in town."
"Yeah, right, right," Marcus said, picking up the story. "I work for the city, mowing and landscaping, and I was hoping to do the snowplowing this winter. But looks like that won't be happening."
"Don't talk such talk," RJ's stepmother, Monique, said from her reclined pose on the couch. She was the only person in the dozen or so people who was seated. Judging by the empty wine bottle on the end table and her slightly slurred speech, she was trying to escape from the reality of their situation. "Power'll be back on in a day or two."
RJ looked at Marcus to measure his reaction. Marcus replied with a knowing nod.
"Can I get you some more to drink, Marcus?" RJ said. "I see you have a canteen. I'd be happy to fill it for you."
"That'd be great." Marcus turned to Jason. "Your canteen is empty, too, isn't it, brother?"
"Sure." Jason didn't want to make a scene, so he followed RJ. He knew how dangerous his brother could be, but these people surely didn't.
When Hector and Austin started to follow, Marcus shook his head. "Why don't you guys make sure everyone out here is comfortable?"
Hector looked hurt for being left out, but Austin seemed more than happy as he sat on the couch near Monique's feet. He bit his lower lip and nodded toward her flirtatiously, but she barely acknowledged his presence.
The smaller group reformed around the enormous kitchen island. Jason had never been in such an opulent home. He watched his brother sizing up the place, wondering what they were doing here. If he wanted to rob the Thompsons' estate, Jason didn't see the point. What would Marcus do with expensive kitchen appliances that were now little more than giant paper weights? Jason had seen a painting or two that might've fetched a tidy sum a few days ago, but he didn't think they would be worth much in the aftermath of the EMP and the rise of the Arkadium.
"This is some place you have here, RJ," Marcus said.
"It's not my place…" RJ said coolly, and then added, "but thanks. My dad's worked hard for a long time."
"Well, I wish he was here so I could get an autograph!" Marcus guffawed.
RJ didn't seem to buy it. He stared for a moment at Marcus's blacked-out tattoos as if trying to decipher what was hidden beneath. "So what are your plans, Marcus?"
"Boy, that's a good question."
Jason couldn't tell if there were any racial undertones to how his brother addressed RJ. Regardless, Marcus was leveraging for the upper hand.
"Because the power isn't coming back on, no matter what my stepmother seems to think."
"No, I'm betting it'll be dark for some time. Have you guys taken stock? Secured your water?"
"We're working on it."
Marcus nodded, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked over to the sliding door leading to the backyard. Jason didn't have anything to add, but he knew Marcus wanted him here to take mental notes for his next entry in the New History.
"I hope you're doing the same."
"Yeah, we're heading out to Cherrington," Marcus said, turning to face RJ. "We've got family there."
"Because I'm pretty sure that was an electromagnetic pulse—a high kiloton nuclear device detonated in the upper atmosphere
."
"You hear that, Jason? We are in the presence of an educated young man." Marcus somehow made it sound like an insult.
"It might not destroy all electrical circuits," RJ continued, unperturbed, "but it could be months, if not years before things get back to normal."
"That whole back-to-normal thing? Yeah, that's not going to happen. Today is the most normal day we'll experience the rest of our lives. Same could be said for tomorrow. We've been blasted back into the Stone Age; most people just don't know it yet. When they do, they'll act like humans do, and it'll be a regression to the mean, so to speak." Marcus paused, flashing a witty smile. "If you want to know my plans, boy, they are the same as everyone left alive: to survive. And I will do whatever it takes to see those plans through, if you know what I mean."
"Why are you here?" RJ pressed, his voice sounding so small coming from someone his size.
Marcus looked ready to cut the charade and assert whatever dominance he felt in the given circumstances. His fists were tensing, relaxing, tensing again. RJ stood firm, returning Marcus's glare.
"Marcus, maybe we should—" Jason was cut off when someone pounded on the front door.
Marcus immediately hurried from the kitchen, reaching the door just before Kylie. "I'll get it if you don't mind."
"It might be my dad!"
"Sure, but it might not be." Marcus unsheathed his knife and arched one eyebrow. "Best to just let me keep us safe, darlin'."
Kylie was about to say something but thought better of it. RJ put his arm around her and made her step away from the door.
"Marcus… wait." Jason knew what the coolness in his brother's eyes meant; things could escalate quickly. Everyone was in danger, including himself, if he didn't intervene.
"Safety first, brother!" Marcus gave him a wink and then opened the door. "Why, hello, neighbor!"
"Hi… we're wondering if you've seen…"
Jason caught a glimpse of a middle-aged man dressed in jeans and a brown button-down shirt. He held a hunting rifle, pointed down, that he tried to bring to firing height when he recognized Marcus.
"Oh no!" Marcus cried out in feigned horror.
Caught by surprise, the man sputtered and nearly fumbled the rifle to the ground. In one fluid motion Marcus closed the gap between them, took hold of the rifle stock, and closed the door behind him. The last thing Jason saw was the terrified look in the man's eyes.
Jason rushed to the narrow window next to the door and peered out. The man was already at his brother's feet. Despite his fingers twitching at his throat and his frightened blinking, he was for all practical purposes already dead as dark fluid streamed from a ribbon-thin wound at his neck.
Marcus calmly picked up the man's rifle, aimed it at the ground and fired.
"Oh my God!" Kylie screamed.
As a whole, the group gathered in the living room, ducked, and scrambled back from the window, cursing and praying in equal measure. RJ's sister—either Donna or Dawn, Jason couldn't remember—ran from the room down a short hallway.
"Forgive us, O Lord!" Linda Dwyer rocked herself from her huddled position in front of the couch. "For our sins are plentiful!"
Marcus noticed he had an audience of one and looked at Jason with a mad gleam in his eye. He hefted his knife as if just remembering it was in his grasp, and without looking away from him, drove the knife into his left shoulder.
"Oh God…" Marcus called out, his voice shaky, frightened. So very different from the conniving strength in his eyes. He winced when he pulled the knife from his shoulder, but just barely. He tapped his fingertips against the front door. "Help me!"
"What happened?" Delaney shoved in next to Jason and saw her beloved weakly knocking on the door. "Oh, no, Marcus!"
She bumped into Jason so hard she nearly knocked him to the floor, but she soon had the door open and Marcus fell into her arms.
"Are you shot? Dear God, not this. Not now!"
Blood flowed from the open wound. Delaney placed her hands over it, at first gently and then with more force. Marcus cried out in pain and his head swayed with dizziness.
"Here, let me inspect the wound." Mandy rushed to Marcus's side and unslung her backpack. "Move your hands, dear…" She unzipped her pack. "Delaney, I need to see the extent of the damage."
"Yeah, right, sorry."
"It's not a bullet wound," Jason said.
"It's not?" Delaney said.
"No, it's a puncture wound."
"He's right." Mandy brought her eyes close to the wound and pressed her fingers around the seeping edge, inspecting it in the uncertain light. "Straight in, straight out."
Marcus gave Jason a quick glance that only he would see and understand.
Tread lightly, brother. Tread like your life depends on it.
"Yeah, that's what I saw. It was all a blur, really. A total blur."
"This is going to sting something fierce, Marcus." Mandy created a divot in a thick gauze pad and then filled it with several powders from different pouches from her homemade med kit.
"What is it?" Jason asked.
"A little of everything. Cayenne to staunch the bleeding, some yarrow root, oregano…" She pressed the poultice against the wound, and then wrapped a bandage around his upper arm to keep it in place. "Don't let that slip."
"Sounds like you're prepping me to be the main course," Marcus said through clenched teeth. "Don't forget the dumplings."
"Quiet, you," Mandy said. From her calm efficiency, she had practiced long and hard for moments such as these.
Marcus looked around at the people surrounding him, judging their reactions. "He said… he said he wanted our supplies. He saw my knife and brought his rifle stock down on my hand. And then I guess instinct took over."
"You did what you had to." RJ sat down on his haunches next to Marcus and placed his hand on his uninjured shoulder. He glanced at the dead body on the front steps, and when he looked back at Marcus, he looked queasy. "Thank you, Marcus. That had to be difficult."
Marcus looked down at his hands, appearing to choke up a little. "Like I said, whatever it takes."
"I better get you some water!" Linda Dwyer said.
"I'd appreciate it," Marcus said, allowing his voice to crack.
A door opened and shut and then Dawn (or was it Donna?) raced into the room. She had a satchel slung diagonally across her chest and a 12-gauge shotgun held waist-high.
"Did I miss it? Where is he?" She noticed first Marcus sprawled on the floor, and then his bloody wound, before finally seeing the dead body on the front steps, his throat surgically sliced from ear to ear. Her face twisted and then she handed the shotgun over to her brother. She sprinted into the kitchen and vomited in the sink.
Jason was the only one present who saw through Marcus's façade. He backed away from his brother, from RJ and Kylie, who were making sure Donna (or was it Dawn?) was all right. Linda looked crazed, Mandy concerned. Eldon looked like a man who had lost his way.
"Time for some more Merlot!" Monique got up with a couple of shambling steps and headed for the kitchen.
Jason went out the front door, doing his best to not see the bloody mess. He needed fresh air. He needed to breathe.
When he reached the thick carpet of grass, he noticed the sky above the woods was a bright yellow. Smoke billowed like the breath of a dozen dragons. He heard the crackling of fire and the panicked calls as frightened birds flew overhead. Wind gusted in over the trees, bringing with it the unmistakable smell of burning wood.
"Guys…" he said, still staring in awe at the fire. “Guys…" Jason snapped out of it and rushed back to the doorway and looked inside.
Mandy was busy gathering up her med kit. Delaney was still at Marcus's side, looking at him adoringly. Marcus saw Jason. "What is it, Jason? What's wrong?"
"We need to get out of here. Now!"
Part III
Chapter 13
1.
The fire in the stone hearth had gone out in the middle of the
night, allowing a slow creeping chill to invade the one-room cabin. Jerry Hackford woke at dawn, shivering, with stubborn sleep grit in the corner of his eye. He rubbed at it until it was gone, sending sparks across his vision. As had often been the case since he and Elena retreated to the woods, he'd been crying in his sleep. He pulled himself to the side of the bed, his bones aching and his beard a tangled mess. He stretched his arms above his head and felt a knot loosen midway up his spine. His bare feet searched for slippers that weren't there. His mind was so foggy that he'd forgotten how much they'd left behind eight months and two days… no, make that three days ago. Eight months and three days. Would he ever forget that tragic anniversary?
When he stood he stared for some time at Elena's slight outline under the lightweight sheet, hoping just his mental prodding would get her to stir. No such luck.
Jerry leaned over, tucked the sheet over her shoulder and brushed a gentle kiss on her graying head. He wanted to smile, but it seemed like he'd forgotten how.
Dawn's tepid light fought to warm the cabin's interior. The sun was at just the right angle to reveal the gaps in the log walls. Jerry was lonely without his wife's company, but he was glad she wasn't awake to point out his deficiencies as a carpenter. He'd built the hunting cabin ten years ago on the sliver of land left to him by a great uncle he'd never met. He'd only intended to use it for the few times a year he went chasing after whitetail with his two sons, Cameron and Scott. The accommodations were supposed to be rough. At the time, he'd considered the army surplus cots and the roof itself a luxury over sleeping on the unforgiving forest floor.
They'd had a few good years here, he and his sons. They'd come to this sliver of land abutting the state park until Cam declared himself a vegetarian after falling in love with a girl who thought PETA was some kind of almighty religion. He was never the outdoors-type anyway. Cam had gotten an advanced degree in mathematics—a field of study Jerry couldn't wrap his mind around—before moving to Washington DC to work for a political think-tank that switched party affiliations whenever the mood struck. Politics, mathematics, heck, even vegetarianism—Jerry sometimes wondered how he could create a child so dissimilar to himself.
