A dry-erase board behind the distribution table featured a crudely handwritten numbered list:
RULES
1. All must work if able.
2. Take only what you need.
3. God is watching you.
4. Reverend Ingram is, too.
“I’m no expert, but it sort of sounds like communism to me,” Kit said.
“Communism always turns into fascism,” Bill said.
“What’s that?” said a middle-aged woman standing behind them. Her hair was a shock of brown bristles and her face was creased from constant smiling.
“Nothing,” Bill said. “Just wondering what time we get to eat.”
“Are you street crew or gatherers?”
“Gatherers,” Kit said.
“Cute,” the woman said to Bill. “Is this your granddaughter?”
“Yeah.”
“I lost my grandkids,” she said with a smile. “But they’re in heaven now, so it’s all wonderful. We’ll all be joining them soon. Praise Ingram.”
“Praise…has anyone seen the Reverend lately?” Bill was disturbed by the woman’s zealous tone.
“Only on television. Ever since he became president, I’m more hopeful than ever.”
Bill didn’t respond, fearing his surprise would show. If he were already a marked member of the flock, he should know that Arthur MacMillan was dead and Ingram was president. He wasn’t really shocked that Ingram had achieved the office so quickly, only that the federal government still existed at an operational level.
Kit tugged on Bill’s sleeve. “I gotta use the restroom, Grampa.”
“God bless you,” Bill said to the woman as a farewell.
“I don’t need God,” the woman said, the smile fixed on her face. “Ingram’s blessing me now.”
The two of them hurried away until they reached the throng scattered around the sanctuary doors as if awaiting some important message. Most of the assembled were vacant-eyed and lethargic, like a bunch of junkies loitering in Needle Park and waiting for the next fix. Large color portraits of Reverend Ingram hung on the walls in ornate frames.
Bill pointed to a bank of Porta-Johns on the far end of the sidewalk, perched under a row of maple trees that had prematurely lost their spring leaves. “Do you really need to go?”
“Yeah,” Kit said. “This place is scaring the crap out of me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“How long can we keep doing this?” Arjun asked as they entered the bedroom.
“Until we’re dead,” Sydney answered.
They’d been lucky to find another house last night after heading south toward a more rural area outside Raleigh where the bombers hadn’t hit. The drive had been uneventful, and they’d even passed a few other motorized travelers during the evening. Sonia stopped the truck once shortly after they left Research Triangle Park, letting Jacob and Meg into the cab while the others got as comfortable as they could in the cargo area. Arjun had dozed off by the time the Nissan pulled into the Deer Run subdivision shortly before midnight.
After rolling past a few dark houses, Rocky pounded on the side of the truck and Sonia slowed, pulling up in front of a brick ranch home with an open yard. Rocky jumped to the ground and conducted a recon sweep around the house while Arjun and Hannah stood guard. Rocky broke in through the front door and Arjun could see his flashlight beam bobbing around the interior of the house for a few minutes, and then he gave the all-clear sign.
Now, as they chose the rooms where they’d spend the night, Arjun again found himself pairing up with Sydney. The bedroom had been a child’s, and the candlelight revealed posters of Muppets, SpongeBob SquarePants, and Minions. Dolls and stuffed animals were scattered around the room, along with crayons, pencils, papers bearing scribbles, and a minefield of loose Lego pieces. A glittering pink banner over the bed read “EMMA.”
Sydney used the bathroom. When she came out, she was wearing a pair of gym shorts and T-shirt. She’d left her backpack and gun in the bathroom, feeling secure behind locked doors.
“I wonder where Emma is right now,” Sydney said.
“Maybe she’s safe,” Arjun said, knowing it sounded hollow. At least Emma wasn’t lying in her bed leaking fluids and breeding maggots, or stomping around the room trying to bite them.
“Could be in Promiseland.”
“They’d have to fight a swamp of zombies to get there. More likely, the family packed up and headed for relatives.”
“That’s what we should’ve done,” Sydney said. “We’ve spent days going to that research lab and all for nothing.”
Arjun sat on the bed and rested his rifle against the wall. He rubbed his spine, which was stiff from sleeping on the hard metal floor of the truck. “We had to find out. We had to try. Even if we risked our lives, it was still worth it.”
Sydney sat down on the opposite side of the twin bed. The springs squeaked as her weight settled and Arjun was instantly, achingly, conscious of her proximity.
“This is going to be awkward,” he said, facing away from her. “This bed is so small, there’s no way we can go to sleep without touching.”
“I don’t mind. Man, why couldn’t they have some alcohol here? Why do we keep crashing the homes of teetotalers?”
“I…I could check out some of the neighbors. Probably find something.”
“You’re crazy. Risking your life for a cure to the zombie virus is one thing, but risking it to impress a chick?” She lay down on the bed, squirming as she burrowed her head into the pillows. “Or maybe you just want to get me drunk enough that I’ll put out.”
He finally turned to her. She was beautiful and youthful in the candlelight, glowing with an incandescent innocence. Her blonde hair was like a halo and her brown eyes were dark with mystery.
“I wouldn’t do that,” he said.
“Oh, you don’t like me?” She gave a coy smile.
“I do.” He turned away from her again, staring at SpongeBob’s cheerful yellow face. “But I want you to like me the right way. Nothing fake.”
She touched his back and he jumped a little. “Are you sore?”
“A little bit.” He tensed as her fingers rubbed along his lower spine. Where was this going? Why didn’t he know what to do?
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Have you ever even been with a girl?”
He was glad he wasn’t facing her. He had, twice, but those encounters had been fleeting and embarrassing. He’d learned nothing, not even what he’d done right or wrong. “Sure.”
“You don’t sound like it. Or act like it.”
He rolled over to her, his face inches from hers. He wanted to be graceful, like a young George Clooney or a less musclebound Chris Hemsworth, but he came off more like a gawky Steve Buscemi. He nearly bonked her on the nose with this chin. He put one arm opposite her body, propping himself away from her as he looked down into her eyes.
“Hello,” she whispered.
“Hello.” It was as if he was seeing her for the first time, yet she was deeply familiar. How could her eyes grow even wider? Her pupils were massive black holes that sucked him down into their suffocating gravity. He surrendered to the pull.
Her lips were as soft as the breath that drifted from her nostrils. Arjun’s pulse raced, yet he was finally calm. He stopped fighting and worrying. He was here.
She tasted like she smelled.
Thump thump.
At first he thought his heart was pumping hard in his chest, and then it came again.
Thump thump.
Sydney pulled away. “What was that?”
Arjun lifted his head and looked around the room. The candlelight was weak and the corners were suffused in shadows. The closet door was open, so nothing was hiding in there.
Was something under the bed?
Then his heart did start hammering: thumpa thumpa thump.
“Up there,” Sydney said, pointing to the ceiling.
Arjun looked up at the ceiling. The drywall bulged a little, and then a crack ran through the stucco finish.
Earthquake? But he hadn’t felt any vibrations. Maybe he’d been too drugged by lust to notice.
Then the crack widened and the ceiling gave way.
Arjun wrapped himself around Sydney and rolled them both off the bed. The tiny figure bounced off the mattress amid tufts of yellow fiberglass insulation. It crawled onto hands and knees, white dust and cobwebs covering its face. The mouth gaped open, two tiny teeth descending from the gums.
“Emma’s home,” Sydney croaked.
Arjun untangled himself from Sydney, little Lego pieces sticking to his skin. His rifle was on the other side of the bed. And Emma didn’t seem like she was going to let him reach it. The little zombie growled and lunged toward them, falling half off the bed.
Sydney backed away in a crab crawl while Arjun stood to work his way around the bed. Before he could move, another thump from above was followed by a crunching groan, and two more figures crashed through the ceiling. These were larger but just as hungry as Emma.
The parents.
Emma’s family hadn’t gone anywhere. They’d hidden in the attic. The infection must’ve taken them all. And they’d either heard or smelled Arjun and Sydney and moved out onto the weaker support of the drywall ceiling.
The parents were behind Arjun, blocking his and Sydney’s way to the door. His only move was to go through Emma to his rifle. He took a running leap onto the bed, hoping to trampoline over the little dead girl.
But she was nimble, grabbing his legs as he landed on the mattress. He tripped, falling face forward onto the mattress. He kicked against the deader’s fierce grip. The two tiny teeth grazed his thigh, pressing against the fabric of his pants.
He twisted in panic, breaking free. Emma jumped at him like a spider. A hiss issued from that small, horrible throat. Arjun clutched the pillow and rammed it into the deader’s chomping face.
He punched the pillow a couple of times. “Get help!” he yelled at Sydney, but he couldn’t see her.
The bathroom door was closed. She’d locked herself in.
Leaving him alone against three zombies.
True love.
The parents staggered toward the bed, where once they’d probably read Emma stories and kissed her goodnight and told her not to be scared of the monsters in the closet. Because monsters weren’t real.
Now all of them were monsters needing to feed on Arjun.
The family that preys together stays together. A bumper sticker for the zombie apocalypse.
Emma’s stringy hair whipped around as she tried to chew through the pillow. Arjun shoved her away as Daddy Deader reached for him, mouth twisted in a growl of hunger. Momma stood between him and the rifle, gnashing her teeth and closing in.
He was surrounded.
Ka-pak ka-pak.
Gouts of blood spurted onto him, cold and gelid.
Daddy Deader bounced against the bedside table, nearly extinguishing the candle. Then he flopped onto the bed and went limp.
Ka-pak.
Mommy staggered back against the wall, blood oozing from a wound in her breast.
Ka-pak.
The next shot tore away part of her cheek. Her broken jawbone swung free. Her teeth clacked together, hunger still raging despite the damaging wounds.
Sydney eased toward the bed, pistol held before her in a two-handed grip. Emma shoved the pillow away, exposing her filthy, mottled face.
“Do it,” Arjun said.
“She’s just a kid.”
“She’s a damned deader who tried to bite me.”
“I can’t. Not while she’s looking at me like that.”
Arjun tugged a corner of the blanket free and tossed it over her head. “Now.”
Sydney lowered the pistol and fired once more just as Hannah and Rocky burst through the door.
“Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Arjun asked Sydney.
“Duh. From playing videogames.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“God has forsaken me, Cyrus.” Ingram sat at his desk with his head in his hands, the morning sun rising on a world where Satan reigned.
Cyrus Woodley was dismayed to see his mentor, inspiration, and friend in such despair. One world might be ending, but a better one was beginning. “God has moved you to the top of the mountain, Reverend.”
“Yes. But I don’t think I’m worthy.”
“You’re tired. You should get some sleep.”
“I can’t even close my eyes. And the battle’s barely started. How can I stay strong until the return?”
“Maybe we should send a patrol to your house and see if it’s inhabitable. I know the room I set up for you and Sarah Beth isn’t the most comfortable place, but I did the best I could.”
Ingram looked up, bleary-eyed as if he’d been crying. “I belong here,” Ingram said. “Promiseland is my home now. At least until I get to heaven.”
This man had achieved prominence and untold political power in a remarkably short time, given authority by both Man and God to reshape the world in these desperate days. It was an opportunity that Ingram had prayed for his entire life, and now it was thrust upon him.
Cyrus felt he had failed Ingram somehow. He was proud of his own political ascension, but he saw himself as a servant. When he’d looked in the mirror and mouthed “Vice President Woodley,” he couldn’t help smiling. But the appointment was tainted by all the death and suffering that had brought the world to this point.
But hadn’t it been foretold long ago? Why should anyone waste time bemoaning the will of God? Indeed, this had been the entire point of the creation of the human race. To send the species on a multigenerational gauntlet of free will and sin until the devil ruled this world and all right-thinking people left it for the next.
“Gen. Ridley wants to meet with you,” Cyrus said. “What shall I tell him?”
“What does he want?”
“To expand the offensive. He thinks we should crush Satan’s armies before they have time to win more converts.”
“The devil can recruit as many as he wants.”
“Not true, sir. He can’t touch those of us who’ve sworn ourselves to God. And to you.”
“Faith is a tenuous thing, my friend.” Ingram rose from the desk as if air was the weight of water. “Can a mark of loyalty protect anyone from the Great Deceiver? Can a little bit of ink stop evil from flourishing in our hearts?”
Cyrus was uncomfortable. How could the Reverend submit to this moment of weakness when God was counting on him? But he decided Ingram deserved his private thoughts and feelings. The important thing was to hide them from his followers.
“You were bitten and you resisted the infection,” Cyrus said. “That was a miracle, and I witnessed it with my own eyes. No one at Promiseland has succumbed to the infection since then. We’ve not had anyone else surrender to Satan and become a demon.”
“That scientist—what was her name?—she thought the outbreak was caused by a virus.”
“Dr. Perriman? She sold her soul to the church of science. She’s probably dead or infected by now. Another slave in Satan’s army.”
“You think so?”
Cyrus did something he’d rarely done in all their years together. But now he was Vice President and not just a bodyguard. He walked around Ingram’s desk and put a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “Anyone who doesn’t join us is the enemy. That’s what Gen. Ridley meant. One way or another, they will eventually conspire against the Lord.”
Ingram blinked his red-rimmed eyes. “Then we should kill them first?”
“Yes. As the army sweeps across the country exterminating zombies, they should kill the faithless, too. Easier to destroy them now, while they’re still human and their souls aren’t completely corrupted, than after they’re corrupted by evil.”
“Will the Cabinet and our allies support me?”
“You’ve
seen how frightened everyone is. All they want is a strong leader. They’ll go along with anything you say, as long as you speak with conviction. To them, you are the voice of God.”
Ingram stood a little straighter, staring off into an unseen distance. “I am the voice of God.”
Cyrus embraced him. “We’re at war. We need you.”
Ingram gave a weak hug in return and stepped away. “You’re right. I was feeling sorry for myself. Blaming God for…” He paused, tugged his tie into place, and smoothed his jacket. “Tell the general I’ll meet with him in an hour.”
Cyrus was relieved to see Ingram’s hazel eyes burn with determination. “Good.”
“Forgive me for my moment of weakness.”
“Only God forgives, Reverend. It’s not my place to have an opinion.”
Ingram relaxed and smiled. “You and me, the leaders of the free world.”
“You’re the leader. I’m just here to help fulfill your vision. By the way, where’s Sarah Beth? Did she like the room?”
Ingram’s mood darkened just as suddenly as it had lifted. “She’s fine. Just remember her in your prayers.”
“I always do.”
After leaving Ingram’s office, Cyrus stopped by the military’s command center to inform an aide of Ridley’s meeting time. The place was busy, with communications personnel relaying orders to squadrons in the field. Cyrus asked an officer how the mop-up operation was going. The officer replied that troops held ground covering a two-mile radius around Promiseland, stretching several more miles toward the former capitol district. Mobile units from Fort Bragg had opened the interstate southwest to Charlotte and east to the Marine Corps base at Camp Lejeune.
“We’re kicking zombie ass, sir,” the officer reported.
“Keep up the good work.” Cyrus saluted and went to the ground floor of the facility. Most of the physically fit were out on work crews, clearing roads and restoring utilities. Small children and their caretakers stayed in the gym, where hundreds of cots were lined in rows. Cyrus made a note to recommend a resettlement project now that more territory was safe. The place was starting to smell bad.
Revelation: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Thriller (Arize Book 2) Page 15
