Butcher Rising

by Brandon Zenner

  The lean man stroked his beard and said, “We got nothing to lose, as long as we stay clear of the fighting. The way I see it, if we don’t bring something back to the men, they’ll be rioting over the smallest crumbs in due time. Finding anything—booze, tobacco—might appease them until our next foray.”

  Karl paused, and then said, “Well put. All right then, we march to the edge of Albuquerque.”

  The general unfolded his map from his breast pocket and held his compass to the page. “That way,” he said, looking out over the boiling desert landscape of dead trees turned to stone.

  Chapter Two

  Edge of Town

  The scouting party followed the interstate and soon passed through the deserted Zuni reservation, where the corpses were weathered bones and dried strips of flesh. The area saw little travel since its collapse, but still, they found nothing but rancid and rotten stores of food in the few homes and pueblos that hadn’t been wiped clean.

  In an eastern section of the reservation, a few miles from the mountainous woodlands thereafter, they rode to a stretch of buildings no greater than a block in length. Before the doors to a small clinic, among the line of boarded-up and broken storefronts, were piles of remains, some in body bags, others wrapped in stained sheets.

  Karl sent Bishop and a hunter named Marshal inside, as the others stayed mounted on their listless horses. After some time, the two men appeared at the doorway with wayward expressions and a small canvas tote.

  “Well?” Karl asked.

  Bishop opened the bag. “Got some codeine and oxycodone. Not sure what the others are. We took everything in the cabinets.” Bishop rattled a bottle, then dropped it back in the bag. “It’s hell in there. Bodies piled waist deep. We couldn’t get to the basement. Opened the door, but it’s full to the top step.”

  Karl took the bag from Bishop and tossed it to Liam. “Let’s move.”

  A mile out, they stopped at a modest pond to fill pots with water and then boil them before filling their canteens. They spent an hour fishing to no avail before venturing into the wooded and mountainous terrain.

  Bishop led them through dense pockets of pines and firs, over rolling valleys of bright pink wildflowers growing out of the volcanic soil, and across narrow basins. The two hunters discussed a time and location to meet, and then disappeared around a cluster of sandstone bluffs to look for prey.

  “I grew up only a stone’s throw away,” Bishop told them. “South of here, by Highway sixty.”

  “Hot as the devil,” Liam said. He pinched a portion of chewing tobacco from a tin and tucked it under his bottom lip, then spat a dark trail into the brush.

  Near evening, they made camp and gathered wood, waiting for the return of the hunters. They were eager for any sort of meat, be it squirrel or possum. As the sky darkened and the hunters still hadn’t returned, Liam approached Karl, who was sitting with his back resting on his saddle and his long legs stretched out toward the dancing flames. “Should we send Bishop to look for ’em?”

  “No, Mister Briggs. We wait. If they don’t return by morning, we move out.”

  Doctor Freeman was studying the rocks and minerals he’d taken from Arizona, and the men in turn asked him questions about their geology. He begrudgingly answered, and pointed out the black carbon and the green and blue copper.

  “What’s all that red there?” Liam asked.

  “Iron and manganese,” the doctor said. “The rock itself is primarily quartz, a colorless silicate. The different elements in the waters and muds have contaminated the permineralization process and stained the rocks the various colors.”

  Liam tossed a twig in the fire. “I’ll be damned,” he said.

  A half an hour passed, and Liam ordered Terry to heat up a can of beans. Karl kept his gaze trained on the young man as he emptied the can’s contents in a crusted pot and set it on a rock before the flame. Terry kept glancing up as he cooked, and Karl did not break his stare. When the pot began to bubble, producing pockets of steam, Terry asked, “You-you want some, sir?”

  Karl didn’t answer, but Liam let out a laugh and said, “Of course he wants some. You don’t think the man’s hungry? Give ’im a heap.”

  Terry doled out small portions, setting a plate beside Karl, when a disturbance in the brush caught everyone’s attention. The two hunters came leading their mounts out of the shadows and into the firelight.

  One raised his hand, displaying a wicker basket. “It ain’t much,” he said, opening the lid. He removed a small rabbit by its hind leg and passed it to the other hunter. “Not much meat on it, but we did manage to get this.” He reached into the basket and began pulling out what looked like a thick cord. “It’s small for a bull snake, but we’ll get a meal’s worth.”

  “Terry,” Karl said. “Give these men your utter thanks and appreciation.”

  Terry looked from the hunters to Karl, then back to the hunters.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “They saved your life.”

  The hunters skinned the animals and cut the flesh into chunks to roast before the flame. The smell of meat cooking made Karl all the more hungry, and he was given the largest section of snake meat, charred at the edges. The immediate rush of warm juices in his mouth, laden with protein and calories, sent pangs of pleasure throughout his body. A veil seemed to lift from his eyes.

  “Eat up, boys,” he said. “Eat up.”

  ***

  Bishop and two of the hunters took the lead as they neared Albuquerque, scouting for signs of warfare or trouble. They were out of the woods, and again on dry, barren land. The horizon was free of the explosions they had witnessed several nights earlier, giving Karl some hope that fighting would not see them all dead before midday. The desert offered little cover as they approached the far cluster of homes. From a half mile out, Bishop returned with his horse at a trot.

  “Sir,” he said, within earshot of Karl. “We got a live one.”

  “Where?”

  “By the barn, up a ways. That one plumb center.”

  Karl squinted and shielded his eyes from the sun. “Is he alone?”

  “It appears so. And injured. He was pulling himself along with a crutch or a branch, until he saw us.”

  “He’s seen us? What’s he doing?”

  “Took a seat on a rucksack he was lugging. He’s just sitting there. Want us to gather up what he’s got?”

  Karl strained his eyes in the direction of the barn, which he could see far off on the flat land. “No,” he said. “We’ll go together.”

  They cantered their horses, and it wasn’t long until Karl could see clearly. The man was staring in their direction and did not move as they approached, but stayed sitting upon his rucksack. When Karl was within speaking distance, he said, “Hello there.”

  “Go on,” the man said in a booming voice.

  Karl didn’t reply. The man was covered with grit from head to toe, making his worn military fatigues the same shade of gray as his hair. A stained bandage was wrapped around his right thigh, and his shirt had torn open to reveal scrapes and lacerations all along his chest.

  “You found me,” the man continued, “so go on and kill me. I won’t make it much farther anyway. Get on with it. Haven’t had a lick of water in over a day. By God”—the man looked to the sky—“I’m coming home.”

  Heat rose in Karl’s chest, and he could feel the stares of his men, feel them recoiling in expectation of his typical reaction when faced with a man of ideology. But instead he took a deep breath, cooling the flames in his heart, and said, “Perhaps. Please do inform me: who is it that you believe we are?”

  “One of them.” The man motioned with his thumb behind him.

  “From Albuquerque?” Karl shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid not, my good man. Just passing by.”

  “Passing by? You’re not planning on going in there, are you?” He motioned again behind him.

  “The barn?” Liam asked.

  “Albuquerque.” The ma
n ran his palm over his hair, shaking out some of the dust. “It will be the death of you, by Lord, I swear it.”

  “You swear what now?” Liam said.

  “Death. It will come swiftly.”

  “How the hell do you know?”

  “Because I’ve fought and failed to claim it as my own, and witnessed firsthand the ruination of my comrades. By God’s good grace, my life has been spared.”

  Flames shot up again in Karl’s heart. Grainy images, so old that it was like looking at an ancient video reel and not his own memories, flashed across his mind. Gray-haired men in black priest robes, their faces so stern it was like they were chiseled out of granite. The smell of cologne. Breath laden with coffee and whiskey.

  Karl suppressed the fire inside him and let his throbbing vision clear. He was the leader of men, and managing his thoughts in a calm demeanor was imperative. He looked at the flatland all around. “You alone?”

  “You going to kill me or not? I see you eyeing my bag.”

  Karl could feel the silence of his men waiting for his command. This gray man wouldn’t make it much farther the way he was looking, and especially without any water.

  “Perhaps,” Karl said. “Or perhaps not. We passed north of Albuquerque not long ago and witnessed war. What part did you play?”

  The man swallowed but didn’t answer.

  “You have nothing to gain by not speaking up. From the moment we laid eyes on you, your life was forfeit.”

  Liam spat tobacco juice in the bushes and said in a rasp, “Want me to end this?” He unsheathed a combat knife and brushed his thumb over the blade. “We can’t be standing around all day. He’s injured. People are after him, and I’m assuming it’s whoever’s defending that city.”

  “Point taken. Mr. Briggs, please—”

  “We came here two hundred and fifty strong,” the man cut in. “We approached from the east with the full might of our colony, of which I’ve grown weary. From what we’d gathered, the city wasn’t supposed to be so heavily fortified. We expected maybe a few dozen behind the walls, but no more. We were nearing the defenses when they opened fire, and the superiority of their armaments became apparent. I implored our leader to order a retreat, but my words fell on deaf ears. Must be hundreds in there. Yet, we furthered the advance. Marcus Johansson, our ill-fitted commander, held out the belief that the enemy’s strength was less than we were seeing, that they couldn’t endure … but then their artillery opened up and hell rained down. We lost over half our men in the first twenty minutes of battle. Gone. Vanished to ash in pillars of fire and smoke. In the end, with Marcus missing, we fell back. The doors to the city opened, and a great mass of men spilled out. Soldiers, by the looks of them. They came running after the retreaters, shooting and clubbing us down. I managed to slip away, crawled all through the night, heading southwest instead of east, like the rest. If they had any inclination that I’d escaped, I do believe they’d have caught up to me by now. Don’t go in there, for the life of you.”

  “There were two hundred and fifty of you, you say? Why attack Albuquerque?”

  “Why do men fight? For survival. We need fuel. We need water. The city center has running, filtered water, and we’ve all but run dry.”

  Karl lifted an eyebrow. “Running water? You don’t say.”

  “By my reckoning, I do.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  The man opened his mouth and then paused. Then he said, “Please, in all that is holy … could you spare a sip of water?”

  Despite the man’s injuries, he was well-fed and strong. Karl nodded to Bishop. “Give it to him.”

  Bishop passed his canteen and the man grabbed it, closing his eyes while taking long pulls.

  “Hey.” Bishop reached for the canteen. “Easy now.”

  “We have plenty,” Karl said. “Go on. Drink.”

  Water washed down the man’s chin, trailing dark rivulets across the dust.

  “How many of your people survived?”

  The man finished drinking and wiped his mouth with a sleeve.

  “I don’t know. A few dozen, maybe.”

  “My name is Karl Metzger. I lead this contingency, and we number in the hundreds. Tell me, what are your plans?”

  The man shrugged. “To survive, I guess.”

  “Do you aim to go home? You say you’ve grown weary; why is that?”

  “Can’t rightly say.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  The man shrugged.

  “What is left of your home? Your leader is dead, and you rode out with over two hundred men—how many now remain in your colony?”

  “What are you asking me?”

  “A proposition. You strike me as a man who knows how to brave this world. A man who knows when to take advantage of a situation to his benefit.”

  “I follow the Almighty. I am but his servant.”

  “Come now, let’s get you bandaged up and feed you something proper.”

  The man found the branch he’d been using as a crutch and slowly got himself to standing. He took a stiff step, then said, “I trust in the Lord to guide my steps, and I can tell you that our meeting here today is by no means a coincidence.”

  “What’s all this about God?” Liam asked. “You a priest or something?”

  “Sir,” the man said, “I was and always shall be. My name is Dietrich.”

  Chapter Three

  Ravaged Youth

  The horses took to the wet terrain with ease, but the same could not be said of the army marching through the mist behind the officers.

  “They’ll be needing a break soon,” Liam said, looking over his shoulder to the three hundred plus men. A ragged bunch that belonged to the desolate landscape.

  “Captain,” Karl replied, sitting tall upon his buckskin horse. “The men are hearty, and the evening fast approaches. They’ll be fine, I assure you.”

  The army had been marching east for days, and the going was slow. Karl rode with Liam and the Priest at the head of this cavalcade. The scenery had been magnificent at times, despite the rain, with overlooks of lush mountains and valleys of pines. The Priest whistled a melodic tune as they neared the wooded section of a mountain pass, and Karl could feel through the pace of his men a lifting of spirits.

  The rain tapered off as they reached the lowland, and the Priest said, “We should make camp. It’s another full-day’s ride tomorrow.”

  Karl nodded and issued the command to Liam. “You heard the man.”

  Liam turned his horse and spoke to the sergeants. The army fanned out, and tents and tarps were raised. Soon, a dozen campfires pockmarked the terrain.

  “No fires,” Karl instructed Liam. “There could be scouts around. We don’t need our army blinded in the middle of the night if we come under attack.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The order was repeated down the line, and Karl began unfurling his own tent.

  “Dietrich, Briggs,” he said with his back to the men. “Get the maps.”

  “Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

  A moment later, the three men sat hunched over a map. America Southwest was printed in bold letters at the top. The paper was lined and zigzagged with black and red marker, and a small dot of green forestland was circled. On the map’s border were tallies of numbers.

  “You do realize what will happen if we reach your destination and find nothing?”

  The Priest looked at Karl through a placid gaze. “Sir, I echo again the words that I’ve spoken … it was divination for us to meet. You saved me in my time of need; found me injured on the battlefield, and delivered me to salvation. I’ve healed on your bed, and have eaten your food. It’s my turn to return the favor. I had no inclination of returning to the bunker, and to the imbeciles who reside in hiding, waiting for death to take them. I was going to venture into the world alone before you came to my aid.”

  “Don’t know about any higher power,” Karl said. He’d become so accustomed to hearing thi
s man go on about God that the fire inside him had simmered to sparks. “Luck had us find you, and I’m taking you at your word.”

  “You will see when we arrive,” Dietrich continued. “I cannot promise you numbers, only attest to what we left behind in defense—an exact fifty. I suppose some more will have made their way back from Albuquerque, but not many. There’s no way of knowing if those bastards killed them all while they fled, or followed them back to the bunker. If they did follow them, they wouldn’t have gotten inside easily. The hatch is over a foot thick, solid steel, and once inside, the entry shoot is a straight hallway going down. There are three remotely controlled turrets at the bottom, and room for a dozen armed men behind reinforced walls. Anyone invading has one option—straight into gunfire. And there are explosives planted in intervals along the way. Once we get the people settled under my leadership—your leadership—I’ll call a meeting with our allies in the north, as promised.”

  “Your people, they’ll follow you?”

  “Most will. Some will resist. Those who can’t decide can stay and do as they please. There’s nothing left for them—little clean water, and the fuel was so low when I left that only the emergency lights were burning. And with the floodwaters rising, they won’t have a choice but to venture out. There is only so long a person can stay confined to four walls.”

  Karl snickered and traded glances with Liam. “Most of us can attest to that.”

  “I am their priest and a leader among the community. They have always heeded my counsel. I have no doubt they will continue to listen.”

  Karl nodded, tracing his finger idly over their marked route.

  “Yet they didn’t listen to you when you gave pause in Albuquerque?”

  “Many wanted to. You must remember, Marcus Johansson was the commander of the colony, and his words were held in high esteem.”

  “Okay then. Let’s get some shut-eye. We march at dawn.”