“But this isn’t our home. Every day I wonder if I’ve waited too long, if this was the day my wife and son needed me most.”
“That’s at least fifty miles away. You can’t make it alone.”
“Maybe so,” Rocky said. “But it’s on my mind. What about you? What’s changed?”
“Jacob. I realized I didn’t want him in the middle of what’s out there. If I could find somebody to take care of him—somebody I could trust—I’d go back in a heartbeat.”
“Even though it’s safe here?”
“Safety is an illusion. A cognitive trick. We basically traded one set of tangible, quantifiable risks for a set of risks we can’t quite imagine.”
“I think what’s bothering me most is the unknown,” Rocky said. “The only information we’re getting is what we pick up on the shortwave radio. It sounds like Rev. Ingram has created some sort of new government. Except the army seems to be intact. If troops were still cleaning up zombies, we’d have heard some gunfire or explosions by now. I’d love to find out what they’re up to.”
“You think those helicopters were dropping some kind of antiviral agent? It looked like barrels and an aerosol spray of some kind. Maybe they’re taking more action than they’re reporting.”
“You’re a scientist. That’s a highly ineffective way to combat a plague. Like all those people who believed in chemtrails and were convinced the globalist cabal was poisoning the air. It’s a lot easier just to put Agent X or whatever in their beer, cigarettes, and toothpaste.”
“They’re up to something, though. The effort seemed organized. They wouldn’t waste their limited resources.”
“I wish to hell we could find out.”
“Maybe you could go in,” Meg said. “Infiltrate their forces and get some intel. You can do like Bill and Kit and give yourself a fake tattoo.”
“I’m not officially AWOL or anything,” he replied. “I’ve completed my mission, so nobody can bust me for that. All I have to do is show up and report back to my division.”
“The only trouble is getting out again. And if you’re determined to reach your family, you shouldn’t waste time becoming a spy just for us.”
“It’s not just for you. There’s got to be others like us out here, surviving and wondering why the government seems to have turned on us. If everyone’s fallen under Ingram’s sway and he’s now the president, we’re going to have a hard time staying out of their way.”
Sonia came out through the screen door and said, “You guys might want to hear this.”
Meg and Rocky put aside their work and followed her into the tiny back room that housed the shortwave radio. The walls were covered with maps of various kinds, from topographical to global. On a state map, Moreau, who’d taken on the task of monitoring the radio and contacting other survivors across the continent, had placed colored pins to indicate known zombie sightings, reported troop movements, and authorized government shelters. He’d also plotted a loose network of survival outposts similar to the farm’s, where people had banded together to prepare for the next phase of defense.
Moreau sat at a cramped, cluttered desk hunched under a padded set of headphones, adjusting the radio. It was an old analog model, so he had to constantly adjust the frequencies to avoid the static that crept into every communication. C.J. stood by the plotted map, where an X was drawn in red to indicate the farm’s location. Promiseland was marked with Ingram’s infamous Eye and Three symbol.
“Tell them,” Sonia said to C.J.
The old man’s usual tireless humor was replaced by gravity. “I’m going to have to tell everybody eventually,” he said in his dry, raspy voice. “But since you three were at Promiseland early on, you might help me make sense of it first.”
He tapped Moreau on the shoulder. The radio operator wiped at his bushy black mustache and removed the headset. “Oui?”
“Cut with the French,” C.J. said. “Pull that plug so we can all hear.”
Moreau yanked the headphone plug from its jack and the signal shifted to a small speaker on top of the unit. The tinny broadcast was a news report delivered in a female tone that Meg found disturbing. Even a robotic, computerized voice would’ve projected more human warmth.
“…and all unauthorized persons are no longer eligible for government services. The amnesty period ends effective midnight tonight, Eastern Standard Time. I repeat, Rev. Ingram has issued a decree that requires all surviving and healthy citizens to accept an official Eye and Three mark at any shelter registration station. Such citizens must first undergo a complete health and ideology screening and pledge their loyalty to Ingram. Those accepting the mark will be afforded necessary subsistence and protection in exchange for work or other services provided to Eye and Three worldwide.”
Meg was appalled by the announcement. She’d seen how Ingram had rapidly expanded his influence and ridden to power on the back of widespread fear. But the preacher had just as quickly resolved the chaos into this fascistic, oppressive mandate. It was made all the worse because Ingram was effectively condemning untold thousands of people to death.
As the announcer droned on with a list of “official shelter registration stations,” Sonia said, “And they’re not doing anything to address the deader problem, either. We received a broadcast this morning that all military offensives are on hold.”
“Rat bastard sold us out,” Rocky said. “I can’t believe High Command went along with Ingram.”
“Power,” C.J. said. “You folks are younger than me, but this game’s as old as time. Only the stakes used to be lower, and we had systems in place to smooth off the sharp edges. History shows that every time there’s a vacuum and an opportunity, some goddamned sociopathic strongman will show up to exploit it.”
“The worst part is he couldn’t do it alone,” Meg said. “Ingram didn’t just seize power, it was thrust upon him. A lot of people demanded it.”
“Give them the benefit of a doubt,” Sonia said. “They’re scared. The rug just got pulled out from underneath them and the threat was real, horrible, and immediate. So they turned to whatever solution they could find. It makes sense on a cognitive-behavioral level. Fear’s kept the species alive for thousands of years.”
“What if we were just an evolutionary placeholder?” Meg said. “What if zombies are the true apex of the human race?”
“I was told you were a scientist,” Moreau said in his French accent. “Zombies will eventually run out of food, so how will they last after we’re gone?”
“Viruses are shrewd at feeding on their hosts without actually killing them off. Even basic, brainless life forms have a survival instinct. So let’s look at deaders the same way we look at viruses. Whatever’s animating these things—I’m out of theories at this point—has some kind of end game besides just wiping us out.”
Moreau pointed to the radio. “If you listen to the Eye and Three Network, the end game is in service of Ingram and the Book of Revelation.”
“Zombies as the devil’s army,” Rocky said.
“Not a bad marketing angle if your brand is ‘Head of the New World Order,’” Sonia said. “Especially if you’re posing as God’s chosen leader.”
“Shh,” C.J. said, holding up his hand and craning a droopy, leathery ear toward the broadcast. “I want to hear this.”
“…and an additional clause in Reverend Ingram’s executive order renders all food, supplies, personal property, real estate, and financial assets common property of Eye and Three. All those who refuse to submit to the mark by midnight will be declared hostile combatants and guilty of treason.”
“What the hell?” Rocky said. “Treason is an act against the country, but Ingram’s erased the country.”
“Further, such people will not receive the blessing of Rev. Ingram and will be denied access to his sermons and addresses. All people are required to accept Ingram as their unchallenged leader and grant him unlimited authority. All who receive the mark will be saved, and all unauthorized pe
rsons are no longer eligible for government services. The amnesty period ends effective midnight tonight, Eastern Standard Time.”
From there, the emotionless announcer started over, repeating the entire proclamation. After a minute, C.J. motioned to Moreau and said, “Find us some good news.”
C.J. explained that they’d been in contact with a few other outposts, which were the ones marked on the grid, and had heard about others through the rumor mill. Those outposts were all dutifully marked on the map, but Meg thought they looked pitifully rare against the wide expanse of the state that was presumably dominated by deaders. Without the military’s help, she didn’t see how any survivors could maintain a toehold against the endless hordes.
Moreau searched the bandwidth for other shortwave operators, but after tuning into several channels that broadcast the same official Eye and Three propaganda, he plugged a battered laptop into the unit and punched up a music file. The soft gongs heralded the raunchy rock of AC/DC’s “Hell’s Bells.”
They left the Frenchman to his task and his heavy metal and gathered on the porch again. Several people were out in the garden, harvesting mustard greens, planting squash and cucumbers, and running support trellises for the pole beans. Meg looked at her own efforts and the two inches of dried yellow corn in the bottom of a metal bucket. It all seemed futile, as if they were playing at a dude ranch while Rome burned.
Or, more accurately, while Rome was being taken over by Caligula.
“He’s insane,” Meg said.
“He’s only as insane as the people let him be,” Sonia said.
“So he believes he’s fulfilling the Book of Revelation,” Rocky said. “And what if he’s right?”
“You’re saying Ingram is the Antichrist?” C.J. said. “That’s a bridge too far, my friend.”
But lots of bridges had already been crossed that no one knew existed.
Meg looked up at the sky, wondering what kind of entity could conceive of such a twisted, convoluted drama. She decided an omnipotent, intelligent force would never commit such an atrocity or dispense such misery.
However, a human being could.
Very easily.
Even joyfully.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“I’ve always wanted to live on a farm,” Arjun said as they strolled along the fence line near the forest.
“You’re lying.” Sydney swatted him with a clutch of wild purple irises she’d harvested just beyond the fence where the grazing animals couldn’t reach.
Arjun chuckled. “You’re right. I’ve never even thought about it before. But I kind of like it.”
“I think you just like me.”
That much was true. Since they’d arrived at the farm more than a week ago, they’d finally had a chance to spend some time together instead of focusing on staying alive. Arjun was still a little on edge, but he wasn’t sure if that was due to imminent extinction or the tingling feeling in his belly. He wasn’t quite ready to define that feeling, but he’d written it into gaming scripts before and seen it on television.
“Seems kind of weird how we used to live,” he said. “I can’t even imagine going back to a two-room apartment squeezed into a building with three hundred strangers.”
“Yeah, and some of them even lived right next door.”
“We might’ve gotten to know each other anyway.”
“Not like this. Not with it seeming so…” A soft blush of rose appeared on her cheeks as she gazed off across the pasture. “So immediate. Important. Like it’s the only thing that matters.”
He took her hand, lifting his face to the sun and smelling the brisk green aromas of grass and blossoms. A wren wended a cheery melody through the trees. One of the horses looked at them and snorted in derision. Down in the valley, the sun reflected off the tin roofs of the buildings as tiny figures moved amid the reddish-brown dirt of the garden.
“I’ve got an hour until guard duty,” Arjun said. “Want to go to the barn?”
“I saw some people in there milking goats,” Sydney said. “We wouldn’t get any privacy. Unless you want to help them?”
“Yuck. I’d rather tug something else. How about the woods? Get back to nature a little.”
“I don’t know. Even with the guards around, I don’t feel safe beyond the fence.”
“Come on. Knocker goes out almost every day.”
“Knocker’s like a Daniel Boone wannabe. No offense, but you’re a tenderfoot.”
“They may be tender, but they’re happy.” Arjun danced away from her, acting silly. This woman made him feel like a goofball, but all of it was sincere. And she never forced him to be serious. The world demanded that of them already, and they respected each other enough to allow themselves a little bubble of pleasure.
He ducked between the strands of barbed wire that was stretched between locust posts. He threw his arms wide with a flourish. “See? I’m out here and nothing’s happening to me. I didn’t turn into a pumpkin.”
“But you might turn into a deader.”
“That’s why we have guards.”
Sydney looked around, uncertain. “This is the kind of thing the blonde chick in a dumb horror movie does.”
“Well, you’re not dumb.”
“No, that’s why I’m on this side of the fence.”
“Come on,” Arjun implored, hoping he didn’t sound like a whiny, needy brat. Well, he had a need, but he wasn’t going to whine for it. Unless he had to. “You’ve got your gun.”
“You don’t.”
“Because I have you to protect me.”
She frowned. “All right, but just for a minute.”
“It might take more than a minute.”
“Cocky, huh?”
He lifted the top run of barbed wire so she could slide under. “I’m getting better with practice.”
“Well, we have had a lot of practice lately.”
“At least twice a day.”
They entered the forest, which seemed to welcome them. A trickling brook wound between gray granite stones on its way to a watering pond and then down to a stream that ran alongside the driveway. The canopy of oak and maple overhead was brilliant green and the leafy forest floor was dappled with sunlight. The undergrowth was verdant with ferns and saplings, and toadstools pushed up from the soil in the wake of a recent rain. The rich odor of loam and dogwood blossoms assailed Arjun, and he realized how splendid the natural world was.
No virtual reality could compare to this one.
They were soon out of sight of the farm and as they hiked up the ridge, they talked of what their future might look like. Arjun was careful not to make any assumptions about their relationship. He didn’t want to discover that this had been a romance of convenience. And of course neither of them could predict what civilization might look like if it ever returned.
They found a sun-splashed glen where the overhead leaves had been ravaged by locusts. Arjun took off his shirt and spread it on a bed of leaves. He pulled Sydney down beside him and they kissed to the music of songbirds and the soft stirring of squirrels and chipmunks. Arjun’s pulse pounded as a calm excitement raced through his veins, a now-familiar feeling that was somehow different each time.
Sydney removed her revolver from the loop in her belt and laid it beside them and then began to undress. Arjun removed her shoes and socks and massaged her feet. A breeze meandered through the tree trunks and sunlight cascaded around her head like a halo.
“You look like an angel,” Arjun whispered.
“You don’t have to sweet-talk me, honey. You’re already getting lucky. But I’ll take it.”
“No, I mean, you look ethereal, like a floating slice of cake.”
“Hmm, I sound tasty. No wonder the deaders want to eat me so bad.”
“They’re not the only ones.” He was about to kiss her again when he heard scuffing leaves in the distance.
Something big was moving.
Deer? Bear?
Sydney’s eyes widened and she re
ached for her revolver.
“Too fast for a zombie,” Arjun said with more confidence than he felt.
Then they saw the figure running between the trees, stooped low and silent.
“Knocker!” Sydney whispered. “What’s he doing out here?”
“He’s always out here, but I’ve never seen him in a hurry. He’s usually creeping around like an undertaker.”
Knocker was soon out of sight, and Arjun wondered if he should’ve called out to the man. The whole thing was odd, but Arjun would’ve been embarrassed for Sydney in her state of undress. Their relationship was hardly a secret, but they’d tried to be discreet.
“I don’t like this,” Sydney said, collecting her shirt from the forest floor.
“Yeah, we’d better get back before—”
Then Arjun saw why Knocker had been running.
Shapes swayed between the trees on the ridge, shifting and shuffling, as if the woods had started walking.
“Deaders,” he muttered. “Dozens of them.”
After more than a week without encountering any deaders, Arjun had fooled himself into thinking the threat had diminished, that it was now as abstract as cancer or nuclear war.
No more.
“Holy hell,” Sydney whispered.
The revolver only held six rounds, and even if she made each shot count, they’d be swarmed.
“Come on,” Arjun said, giving her a gentle push back the way they’d come. He wasn’t quite sure of the direction, and now all the trees looked the same, but if they headed downhill they were bound to run into the pasture.
They didn’t pause to put on their shoes, instead running barefoot through the loam and leaves, trying to dress as they ran. Arjun stubbed his toe on a root and nearly tripped, but he managed to grab a low-hanging branch. He turned to look up the hill, but he couldn’t see the zombies. However, he sensed them, their hidden movement like a giant tidal wave building beneath the ocean’s surface.
They crossed the little brook again and Sydney slipped on a mossy rock. Arjun caught her before she fell, but her revolver bounced away and stuck in the mud. As Arjun retrieved it, Sydney cried out in alarm.
Revelation: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Thriller (Arize Book 2) Page 21
