The Sinners: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (After the End Trilogy Book 2)

by Mark Gillespie

  Baldilocks spat into the corner of the hut. It was an unexpected shower for the hungry cockroach. Then he pointed to the case lying at Becky’s feet. At the same time, Mike flinched and Becky wrapped her arms around him.

  “It’s okay,” she said, whispering into Mike’s ear.

  “You my dear,” Baldilocks said, glaring down at Becky, “are the Bank Manger. To be exact, you are the bank manager of Chase in Jersey City. Oh what a specimen of humanity she was. There was one winter I remember it well – the weather was bad. The temperature had dropped to ten degrees and I was homeless at the time. I had no one to turn to – no friends, no family, nothing. I saw this woman on several occasions – she was always dressed in a black suit, wearing pants like a man’s suit, and she was walking into the bank everyday like she was queen of Jersey. So confident, so self-assured. I don’t know what compelled me to do what I did – maybe I still believed in human decency back then. But I was desperate…”

  “I know the feeling,” Murphy said, cutting Baldilocks off. “Hey mister, if you want to see a little human decency in the world then why don’t you start showing it? Huh? Think about it.”

  Baldilocks didn’t look at Murphy. His focus remained on Becky.

  “One morning I went over to her,” he said. “This smartly dressed woman. I introduced myself as Frank Church from London, England. She smiled at first, I remember that. I was hopeful. She said her name was Jane Mooney and that she was the manager of that particular branch. I told her about my situation and then I did it – I asked this woman for help. And do you know what her response was? She giggled into the back of her hand. Now don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a malicious gesture. She wasn’t deliberately being cruel or anything like that, I have no doubt. No, it was more of an embarrassed laugh and I have no doubt that later that day she told the story of our encounter to her friends around a beautiful dining table in a warm, luxury apartment on the Waterfront. She brushed me off politely. But I could see it in her eyes – how eager she was to get in out of the cold. The worst thing was that I saw myself through her upper middle-class eyes. And it drove me crazy. I never asked anyone for help again, not ever.”

  Baldilocks stepped to the right and dropped a case at Eda’s feet.

  “You’re the President of the United States,” he said. “Congratulations Eda. How do you like that?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Eda waited for the story – for all the reasons why the President was included on this angry old man’s hate list. But Baldilocks had already moved on to the next Sinner. He was standing over Murphy now and he tossed the last black bag onto the old man’s lap.

  “And you?” he said. “You’ve got a very special role. You’re going to play the part of my dear brother Joe. We had our differences to say the least, my brother and I. He even tried to have me committed at one point. That was before he disowned me and cut me off. But I’ll never forget dear old Joe. I hope he died well in the end.”

  Baldilocks smiled at Murphy.

  “Hey isn’t that your name too? Joe? Joseph? Well, looks like you get to keep it tomorrow.”

  “Your brother?” Murphy said. “A bank manager? The President and a mayor? This is your personal kill list huh? Let me tell you something Frank fucking Church. This doesn’t sound like someone whose hand is being forced by the supernatural. This sounds like someone venting. Pure and simple.”

  Baldilocks shook his head. “You’re wrong,” he said.

  He looked at the four prisoners with a sad smile. Behind him, Number 10 was backing off towards the doorway.

  “Get some rest Sinners,” he said. “Food and drink will be brought to you shortly. We’ll start out early tomorrow for Fairfield.”

  Baldilocks and Number 10 walked out of the hut. The guards closed the door behind them and locked it, leaving the four prisoners to sit in the murky, cold silence of the afternoon. The only thing Eda could hear at that moment was Mike’s nervous breathing. The poor guy, he was in for a rough night.

  Weren’t they all?

  7

  The next morning, Eda and the other three prisoners were dressed.

  A man and a woman – Eda didn’t catch their numbers – came into the hut not long after sunrise to help the prisoners put on the outfits that Baldilocks had left for them. It had been a long night inside the hut as Eda had suspected it would be. She’d dozed for an hour or two at most but the close confinement with three strangers, the weird sounds coming from the swamp and of course, the thought of what was to come – that was more than enough to disrupt anyone’s night. There had been other noises inside the hut – mostly this was Murphy’s ridiculous snoring, as well as a scattering of muted conversation between Becky and Mike. Somebody wept at one point.

  Eda almost welcomed the dawn when it finally came.

  The two numbers had brought with them a light breakfast of dry meat and some salad scraps for the prisoners. Nobody ate a thing.

  The garment bags were opened. Four black suits, dusty and wrinkled were pulled out.

  Eda allowed the numbers to dress her. Her only protest was a contemptuous expression that she wore throughout. She undressed first, taking off her rain cloak and her other clothes while the men in the hut – at Murphy’s insistence, not Eda’s – were forced to look the other way. Eda thought this gesture, this clutch at chivalry, was ridiculous. They had bigger worries going on.

  They put a white shirt and pants on her first. Then came the suit jacket. It felt heavy, like one more burden to carry and on top of that, it felt like someone else’s skin taking over Eda’s body. She watched as one of the numbers put on the tie, turning and pulling until the knot was tight up against the collar of her shirt. She couldn’t believe that people used to put themselves through this shit. Putting on a tie felt like punishment enough.

  Eda was allowed to keep her boots on. She was thankful for that at least.

  When they were all dressed, the prisoners were taken back to the main camp. They walked through a forest of glue-like sludge to get there, moving in single file with the guards and two numbers marching on either side of them. Overhead, a miserable blackish-gray sky threatened to unleash rain.

  The four prisoners weren’t the only ones dressing up for the big day. The Children had taken off their filthy camouflage rags at last. Now they were dressed in what Murphy might have described as their murder clothes.

  As Eda walked back into camp, she saw the small community, all of them dressed in long gray cloaks that looked like a cheap bathrobe. A snake-like belt was looped around the waist. The cloaks stopped at the knees and the legs were naked down to the shoes or boots that covered their feet.

  They also wore masks over their faces. It looked like the skull of an animal, long and narrow at the snout, like a wolf. Black straggly hair fell down from both sides of the mask. The craftsmanship was clumsy, almost child-like, and yet it was the amateurishness of the design that chilled Eda’s blood. She felt sick as the horde of Children turned around to witness the prisoners’ return. They peered at the captives through the tiny eye-slits in their dog heads. Nobody spoke.

  Eda looked around for Frankie Boy. No sign of him.

  The crowd of dog-heads parted, opening up a narrow channel in the center. Somebody walked through the gap, approaching the prisoners.

  This person was wearing a different sort of mask. It was made of rubber and it was a caricature of an image that Eda had seen before. It was the real Uncle Sam, the one who’d become a symbol, a personification of the now defunct American government. The mask consisted of an old man’s face with white hair and long chin whiskers for added decoration. There was a top hat on his head in the colors of the old American flag, the stars and stripes. Eda wondered if any of the Children were aware of what the mask was supposed to represent. She didn’t get it. Most of them were old enough to remember the real Uncle Sam. Or had they forgotten already?

  Eda recognized the straggly hair spilling down either side of the mask. Baldilocks had als
o spurned the cheap-looking gray robes sported by the rest of the cult. He had something else going on, something much more colorful. He wore a matching blue coat with red and white striped lapels. The front of the suit stopped at the waist but at the back, a long tail ran down to his calves. The pants were black and white striped. It was a garish outfit but it went perfectly with the Uncle Sam mask.

  Baldilocks walked towards the prisoners. His bulbous eyes burned through the eyeholes of the mask.

  “Sinners,” he said. His voice sounded metallic, smothered under the disguise. “It’s time to repent.”

  Somebody lunged at him from the group. It was Becky. The guards grabbed a hold of her before she could get close to the cult leader. Becky wriggled, trying to break free of her captors. She clawed angrily at the mask but was well out of range.

  “You crazy son of a bitch,” Becky yelled. “What are you doing to us? We’re not sinners for God’s sake!”

  Her outburst was sudden and violent. She lunged at Baldilocks again and two more dog heads appeared on either side to restrain her.

  “This is murder!” she cried out. It was a plea to sanity but nobody in the crowd was listening or wanted to listen.

  “Murder!” Murphy yelled, joining in. “Murder!”

  “Bind their wrists,” Number 10 said, pulling the dog mask up over her head. She walked up and stood and Baldilocks’ side. There was an anxious look in her eyes. “Let’s get them to the canoes. Quickly.”

  The prisoners’ arms were forced behind their back. Their wrists were bound together with rope.

  Just before they were led away, Eda searched for a glimpse of David in the crowd. She knew the bastard was hiding behind one of those ugly masks. If only the Children would do her a favor and grant her a last minute request. If they did, Eda knew what she’d ask for and she also knew that she’d never get it.

  Baldilocks pointed back and forth along the line of prisoners. Then he turned to the crowd of dog masks gathered behind him.

  “Behold the Sinners,” he called out. He sounded like a preacher, like he was half-singing, half-talking to the crowd. “The President of the United States. The Bank Manager. The Mayor. And my brother. Their black hearts will not beat for much longer. With good fortune my friends, this will be the last time we – the Children of Nature – are called upon to perform this act. Let us hope that the next time Uncle Sam whispers in my ear, he’ll tell me that it’s over. That he’s satisfied.”

  Number 10 pointed to the crowd.

  “To the boats,” she said. “The first twenty-five people only as well as the Sinners. The rest of you wait here. Two of us will come back with the canoes in a short while. When we’re all together at the crater, the ceremony will begin. C’mon, let’s start moving this thing out.”

  Some of the Children began to walk through the swampland, making their way towards the banks of the Passaic.

  Eda and the prisoners were taken with them.

  As they walked, a low-pitched chant emerged from the crowd. Someone was beating on a drum and with each jarring thud, a single word came from their lips:

  Sam.

  Sam.

  Sam. Sam. Sam.

  The chant continued all the way to the river.

  The prisoners were placed in the first and second boats. Two prisoners in each one. Soon a small fleet of canoes pushed away from the riverbank and set off towards Fairfield. Eda closed her eyes, unable to escape the soundtrack of her impending doom.

  Sam.

  Sam.

  Sam. Sam. Sam.

  “Bye Frankie Boy,” Eda whispered.

  The canoes arrived at the Fairfield riverbank.

  After the Children and the prisoners had disembarked, two of the dog masks in the lead boat hooked the vacant canoes together with rope and then set off, herding the empty fleet back to the Meadows to collect the next load of Children. Eda figured it would take several trips before all of the Sam worshippers were present in Fairfield. And they would all be there. Nobody, not man, woman or child would miss the annual sacrifice.

  The Sinners were led to the crater. Nobody spoke, but every one of the Children chanted.

  Sam.

  Sam.

  Sam. Sam. Sam.

  Would it never end?

  Eda felt numb inside. Hope was slipping away. But it was hopeless. It felt hopeless. Along with Murphy, Mike and Becky, she was escorted on the short hike to the edge of the bombsite. Eda’s stomach lurched as she got nearer. She cast her eyes into the mouth of the crater and finally understood how someone might think it was alive. It was like balancing on the lip of a hungry monster. It wasn’t a straight fall down to the crater basin – the edges sloped downwards at an impossibly steep angle and went on like that for hundreds of feet, all the way to the bottom. It was a brutal thing to contemplate.

  Peering down, Eda saw numerous dark specks scattered across the basin. There were also bright paint-like dots, most likely bones.

  Instinctively, she tried to take a step. Eda bumped into one of the Children whose stubborn refusal to move told her there was nowhere else to go. The only way out was down.

  A long wait followed. The rest of the Children arrived in phases while the prisoners were forced to remain teetering on the brink of the Fairfield crater. A light drizzle fell at one point and Eda lifted her face to the sky, allowing the cool spray to comfort her.

  After arriving, the Children wearing dog masks began walking around the edge of the giant hole, taking up position on the outskirts. They moved in silence and when they reached their destination they turned to face the prisoners.

  Eda looked to her right. Becky was taking slow, labored breaths. For some reason the Children had positioned Eda in between Mike and Becky and she didn’t know if this was deliberate cruelty on the part of their captors or just an unfortunate accident. It didn’t seem to matter to Baldilocks or the Children that they might want to die standing side by side. As it was, Becky and Mike stood with their heads bowed. Every now and then they’d glance past Eda at one another, smile bravely, and then lower their eyes back to the dirt.

  To Eda’s right stood Mike and then Murphy. Murphy, who was a big bear of a man, had shrunk to half his original size. He was silent now but throughout the canoe journey he’d hurled abuse at his captors. It was his last stand, a fit of anger and fear, manifested in every curse word under the sun. Now all his bravado was worn out. Uncle Sam’s crater had already devoured his soul.

  The other boatloads arrived.

  The last of the Children came through the small firs at the edge of the road. A hint of after-rain sunlight sparkled on the leaves, illuminating the green. The Children walked towards the crater, once again in silence. There was no need to say anything – everybody had been here before and they knew what to do. The dog heads took up position on the outskirts and they stretched far and wide, forming a crude semi-circle that shadowed the rim. Some of the dog heads were no more than blurry specks on the horizon, not much bigger than the debris that littered the bottom of the blast hole.

  Sam.

  Sam.

  Sam. Sam. Sam.

  As the crowd chanted, the red, white and blue masked figure of Baldilocks approached the prisoners. His step was slow, painfully slow. While the mask glared at the unfortunate four, he pulled a small dagger out from underneath his coat. Eda shrank at the sight of the dagger – an inwardly curved blade of about eight inches with a bone handle.

  “Get away from me,” Murphy groaned. He was snarling at the wind. Not looking any anyone or anything.

  “Great Spirit,” Baldilocks roared, his face pointing at the sky. “Uncle Sam. Please accept this, our sacrifice. We give you these four Sinners. And we beg of you, not to ask too much more of us. We are not killers. Let this be the last time, if it pleases you.”

  Baldilocks turned towards a small crowd of dog masks at his back. He offered the dagger to one of them.

  “Number 30,” he said. “You were the first of the Seekers to deliver a Sinner
to us this year. I give you the blade. Will you take it?”

  The dog head came forward and took the dagger.

  “I’ll take it,” said a low-pitched male voice.

  Number 30 walked over to Murphy with a violent swagger. Eda watched him stop in front of the old man, their faces just inches apart.

  The dog head raised the dagger and began sawing at the soft rope that bound Murphy’s wrists. Murphy’s arms fell to the side, limp and exhausted. His proud eyes were old and worn out.

  Number 30 stood upright, saying nothing. Eda had a feeling that the masked man was reveling in the slow torture of his victim. That he was drinking in Murphy’s fear, becoming more powerful in his mind. Maybe it’s what he had to do to finish it.

  Murphy began mumbling incoherently to himself. Eda looked over and saw an outpouring of regret in his eyes, pushing everything else, even fear aside. Murphy had spoken in the hut about movement, about travel, as a way of keeping alive. Now he couldn’t move an inch. This was the end of the road, the end of all movement, and he knew it.

  Number 30 inched closer. He put the tip of the dagger to the old man’s throat.

  “I don’t deserve this,” Murphy said. He shook his head back and forth.

  Sam.

  Sam.

  Sam. Sam. Sam.

  “Joseph Church,” Baldilocks cried out. “My beloved brother. You are the first Sinner. Go down into the hole and confess to Uncle Sam.”

  “My name’s Mur…”

  Number 30 slid the blade across Murphy’s throat while the old man was still talking, cutting from one end to the other. Murphy’s words morphed into a gasp. His eyes swelled in horror, his hands reaching towards his neck.