As if to deny this thought, another man’s face came to mind. This one was younger and full of introspection. She knew him well—as well as one who tended bar could ever know someone, that is—and remembered his words, spoken about himself in an answer to a question she asked, unintentionally offering insight into her life, as well as his own.
What choices do I regret the most? he’d said. Why, the ones I didn’t make.
She closed her eyes and let sleep finally take her. In her dreams, with this man at her side, she was finally at peace.
* * *
“Kye, are you awake?”
The face of her salvation melted away when she opened her eyes. The features of her dream lover, tender and strong, beautiful and intimidating, were replaced by Stacy’s thin, clenched lips and flushed cheeks. The warmth in her loins dissolved; in her dream she’d been frolicking by the ocean with her lover, having mad, passionate sex while the waves crashed around them. That dream was gone now, and her happiness vanished along with it.
Stacy tapped her shoulder. “Kye?”
“I’m awake,” Kyra replied. She grunted and sat up. Her bones ached. She felt old. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“Sorry. The Army’s here.”
“Huh?”
“The Army. They’re here.”
Kyra frowned at her friend, inched toward the railing, and peered through the slats. A moment of shock washed over her. Before she came upstairs there had been twenty people in the Stone Church with them. Now it looked to be a hundred or more. And sure enough, mingling among the civilians was a group of soldiers, their fatigues caked with dirt and blood.
“Holy shit,” Kyra whistled. “How long was I sleeping?”
“I don’t know. Twelve hours, maybe.”
“When did everyone get here?”
“A little bit ago. They just kept coming. It was weird.”
Kyra raised her hand. Anger seeped in. Her heart rate quickened.
“This bullshit is why you woke me up?”
Stacy looked like she wanted to cry. “No…it’s just…I’m scared, Kye.”
Guilt swept in and Kyra frowned. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean nothing by it. Hey, I’m scared, too, you know.”
“I know, I know, but…” Stacy’s voice faltered, “They’re talking about going back out there…and Roger wants to go with them.”
Stacy dropped her head in her hands and started crying. Kyra leaned into her friend and wrapped her arms around her, cursing her selfishness. Stacy had always been there for her when she needed a shoulder. It killed her that she didn’t immediately return the favor.
“It’s okay,” she said, patting Stacy’s back. “I’m here. Let it all out.”
When Stacy calmed down, Kyra brought her down the balcony stairs into the Stone Church’s main chamber, leaving little Roger asleep in the loft. It had been years since she’d set foot in the place (she assumed it was the early eighties, when she came with her sister to see Black Flagg), and yet she still couldn’t get over the heretical nature of it, a temple of worship transformed into a shrine of youthful excess. The stage where the altar should have been was littered with remnants of gaffer tape. Stacked amplifiers and a soundboard were in the spot where a tabernacle should be. The stained-glass windows were blacked out and posters of rock idols, from the Ramones to Green Day to Slipknot, had been plastered where the Stations of the Cross would hang. Though she’d never considered herself religious, she still couldn’t help but think that God would be a tad disappointed if He knew how much His children regarded Him as an afterthought.
It didn’t seem as cold down in the galley. She took Stacy’s hand and led her to the edge of crowd. Her fellow church-dwellers were gathered in a half-circle, facing the stage, standing as firm as planks. They were spellbound by the man on that stage. Their body odor filled the air, and Kyra breathed though her mouth to avoid the smell, but it did no good. She could taste the sweat and stink of a hundred scared people as it slid over her tongue like stale cabbage.
The man’s voice echoed through the chamber. Stacy started to break down again as he spoke. I can’t take care of her and do this, too, thought Kyra. She found an empty chair at the far edge of the assembly and sat the blubbering woman down in it.
“Stay here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Stacy nodded.
With her friend slouched in the corner, Kyra weaved her way into the congregation, squeezing through the mass of people as she remembered doing in her youth, her body sideways, shoulders hunched, head down, and never glancing up to say excuse me. In the synergy of the moment she could almost hear Henry Rollins screaming.
She reached the front of the pack and stopped, for the first time clearly seeing the man who held everyone’s attention. He looked to be around her age, with dark brown eyes, salt-and-pepper hair shaved an inch off his scalp, and rigid cheekbones. Three gold bands adorned the patch on his shoulder. His uniform was pressed and still clean, unlike those worn by the other soldiers, who stared at him with reverence in their eyes. Spit flew from his lips as he addressed the crowd.
“That’s all there is to it,” he said, finishing up a speech Kyra hadn’t made it in time to hear. “Kill or be killed. Simple as that. It’s all up to you.”
“Bullshit.”
A collective gasp surged through the mob. Kyra recognized the voice and found a hint of comfort in its familiarity, like drinking a cup of warm milk and vodka in front of the fireplace on a cold winter night. She peered down the throng of denim and flannel, hoping to catch a glimpse of he who dared contradict our leader.
She found him.
Standing on the other side of the crowd, with his skinny arms crossed over his equally thin chest, was a bespectacled young man whose brow was creased with anger. His normally pensive blue eyes blazed with intensity.
“Colin,” she whispered. Over the years, he and two of his friends had come to call The Pit their home away from home. She recalled each of them clearly, a trio out of place in their surroundings, what with their kindness, sense of humor, and lack of hostility. The other two swam into her memory. She saw them as if they stood right in front of her—one very tall and gawky, with large features, the other more rounded and sensitive, yet still intense. It was this last face that clung to her, for it was the face of the man from her dream. If Colin was here then Josh Benoit, the young man she now realized had entered her dreams, wouldn’t be far behind.
The man-in-charge brought her back to attention with his blaring tone. “What was that?” he shouted.
“Bullshit,” Colin repeated. “You’re talking about suicide.”
“Don’t be a pussy, kid.”
“Pussy? Don’t you go telling me about pussy, there, fuckface. These ain’t terrorists. I know the news said they were, but they ain’t. Anyone with fucking eyes can see that. Shit, bro, we all know what these things can do! My neighbor came at me this morning. He was one of them. I beat him over the head with a crowbar about fifteen fucking times, and the dude wouldn’t go down!” He jabbed his thumb at the man standing beside him, a burly sort with a thick beard who seemed to wear the Guns Don’t Kill People t-shirt beneath his hunting jacket with pride. “Lucky for me,” Colin continued, “that Denny here saw what was going down and blew the guy’s head off. So don’t question my manhood, bro. I’m not stupid.”
The military man grinned. He turned and addressed the rest of the crowd. “You see, folks? These Wraiths can be killed! They’re no different than you or I.”
“Wraiths?” scoffed Colin. “Cute. Real cute. But it don’t matter what you call ’em. They’re still fucking zombies, man. I’ve seen Dawn of the Dead.”
One of the soldiers glanced at his commanding officer. “Now, General Stack?” he asked. The General nodded and the youngster disappeared through the back door.
“Our problem isn’t zombies,” Stack said. “What we’re fighting is something else. These things are smart. They’re driven and f
ast. They have an objective and they stick hard to it, like any good soldier. They used to be us, for Christ’s sake, and when they come hunting, they’ll find us wherever we are. They’re that dedicated. No place is safe. We have to eradicate the whole lot of them. And I repeat, just so there’s no confusion on the matter: a Wraith is not a zombie.”
The young soldier reappeared, pushing ahead of him a staggering, blood-soaked man. There was a chain attached to the collar around this man’s neck. He wore nothing but his underwear, revealing flesh that was discolored and gashed. The crowd squealed in panic. Stack grinned and aimed his gaze at Colin.
“This, people,” he said, “is a zombie.”
The soldier let go of the chain and shoved the dead man in the back. He stumbled toward the stage and climbed the stairs on unsteady legs, his vacant eyes locked on the General. A thick, red excretion spilled from the corner of his mouth and oozed to his feet. He lunged when he reached the top, his movements slow and lumbering. His arms stretched out before him, grasping blindly, and his lower jaw sagged.
When the man was almost on top of him, Stack jerked a machete-like blade from the sheath on his hip and drove it upward, plunging it into the meat below the dead man’s chin. The weapon’s tip ejected through the top of his head with a gruesome pop. The man’s dead eyes widened, but there didn’t seem to be any pain in them, only blind shock. Stack yanked the blade free and the man’s face imploded. A geyser of red liquid sprayed down his neck and covered his chest. He teetered on faltering legs and collapsed in a heap. The body was thrown into a mad spasm and then stopped moving. Blood flowed down the altar steps.
The young soldier who’d ushered the monster into the room handed the general a handkerchief. Stack wiped the knife and his hands clean. The soldier held out a plastic bag. Stack dropped the soiled handkerchief in, took a bottle of hand sanitizer from another soldier, and rubbed a glob of the liquid into his palms.
“We discovered this breed a few days ago,” he said. His eyes never left his hands and his voice developed a soft tone, sounding almost contemplative. “From what I’ve been told, they’re nothing but dead folk somehow brought back to life. Don’t ask me how this happened. Shit, to be honest, I don’t really care. All that matters to me is that we have nothing to fear from these things. Unlike the Wraiths, they’re weak and stupid. Their only purpose is to eat. As long as you don’t get overwhelmed by a bunch of them, you can dispatch them rather easily. Taking out the brain is all you’ve got to do.” He chuckled. It was a humorless sound. “Then again, if you do get cornered, you’re pretty much fucked.”
Kyra glanced at Colin. Even in the aftermath of the display, his irritated expression hadn’t changed. He shook his head, turned around, and elbowed his way out of the assembly.
Another man stepped forward to take his place. It was Roger.
“What do we have to do?” he asked.
Stack’s smile reappeared. “We have to protect ourselves. We have to protect our country. Small groups such as ours have popped up all over the nation, from the south, where the violence was at its worst, to Middle America, to right here in New England. We’re forcing back the horde. We’re showing these crazy fuckers that no one comes into the good ’ole US of A and messes with us. We’re winning this war, people. My question to you is this: are you ready to be brave? Are you ready to fight for your freedom?”
A chorus of cheers erupted, drowning out the few disapproving mumbles. Kyra’s gaze dropped to the floor. He’d never completed the triptych. ‘Are you ready to die for your freedom?’ would’ve been the next line. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand that it was nothing but propaganda, a show. He’s lying. Every last part of it. Can’t anyone else see that?
A thought came to her. Colin had seen through the bullshit. Unfortunately, he’d already left the congregation. She turned on her heels and pushed through the applauding crowd, heading for the front door.
The air outside was at least twenty degrees cooler than the confines of the Church. Goosebumps rose on her arms and her teeth chattered. She wished she’d had the presence of mind to bring a blanket with her.
Colin stood halfway down the concrete footpath, his back to her. Wisps of his thinning, dirty blonde hair fluttered in the breeze and his arms hung limp by his sides. His eyes were aimed at the sky. Kyra followed his gaze.
The horizon glowed with a brilliant pink. She paused, cocked her head, and listened. There was no more gunfire, no more rumbling explosions, and no more distant shrieks. A soft hiss was all she could hear, like air whispered over the mouth of an empty bottle. It seemed as if the world had stopped moving.
“Wow,” she murmured.
Colin turned around. He looked preoccupied, and when his eyes met hers they displayed not a hint of recognition. “Hey,” he said. It sounded like a sigh.
She took a step in his direction. “Colin?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s going on? Where are your friends?”
He squinted at the question, shook his head, and removed his glasses. He proceeded to rub his eyes, and then looked back at her. All pensiveness evaporated.
“Kye?” he said. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I’m kinda out of it.”
She smiled. “It’s okay. To be expected, I guess.”
“I know. The world’s falling apart.” He aimed his middle finger at the Stone Church. “And the dumbasses are taking over.”
Kyra nodded.
“But hey, we don’t have to take orders. I know I sure as hell ain’t.” He shook his head as if he’d forgotten something. “Oh, jeez. It’s good to see you, Kye. I should’ve said that earlier.”
A wave of cheerfulness eased the tension in her chest. It was as if having a somewhat normal conversation with a man who treated her like she was something special, someone whose company should be cherished, washed all the tension away.
“I don’t mind,” she replied. “Hell, I haven’t been very together lately, either. It’s like, every second I’m asking, where do we go from here?”
“I know where I’m going,” said Colin. He pointed at the surrounding woods.
“Where’s that?”
“I’m gonna chance it.”
“Chance what?”
“The Long Run. Bobby’s grandfather’s farm is about five miles from here. We always said that if anything happened we’d all meet up there. You know, head for the mountains and rough it, Red Dawn style.” He laughed. “We always figured it’d be the Russians or the Chinese or something, though. We never would’ve imagined this. Well, on second thought, maybe one of us might’ve.”
“Are you sure it’s safe?”
“Shit, Kye, I don’t think anywhere’s safe. But at least there ain’t no gung-ho fuckers out there.”
“So true, but…” she said, and then hesitated. The face of the man-child from her dream begged her to ask a question, but she didn’t want to seem ungrateful. She didn’t want Colin to think his company wasn’t enough.
“Is,” she said finally, “I mean…do you think you’ll see…oh, shit, forget it.”
Colin’s expression shifted. His eyes glimmered, and he said, “Not sure, sexy. I haven’t seen him. But I hope so.”
Her heart picked up its pace. “Huh?”
“Josh. You wanna know if he’s gonna be there.”
She stepped back and bit her lip. “Uh…”
“C’mon, Kye,” said Colin with a laugh. “You two’ve been giving each other the want me eyes for years. I’m not stupid, but I still don’t get why either of you didn’t just go for it. So of course I know. Why else would you follow me out here and start asking questions? I know you’ve got friends of your own in there.”
“It’s not…sorry, I didn’t want to imply…shit.”
“Don’t worry. No offense taken.” His manner dipped, and he frowned. “To be honest, I’m really worried about the guy. I haven’t seen him in a couple days. We’ve been friends since we were kids, you know.”
“I know.??
?
“I hope he’s okay.”
“So do I.”
Colin glanced back at the trees, then at her. “I gotta get going. You want to come with?”
“No,” she replied. “I should stay here. Like you said, I’ve got friends inside. I have to take care of them.”
Colin bobbed his head. “I hear you on that one, sister.”
He turned and his feet began to patter in a light jog. He stopped halfway down the walk and glanced back at her. “Kye?” he said. His features were made somber by the approaching darkness.
“Yes?”
“If Josh shows up, tell him where we are, okay? You know, just in case he forgot?”
“Will do,” she answered, and then waved. Colin returned the gesture before twirling around and continuing his trot, heading across the parking lot until the blackness of the surrounding trees swallowed him. When his footfalls faded away, Kyra retreated back up the steps toward the cathedral doors.
With one hand on the lever, she fixed her eyes on the unnatural glow of the sky. Her spirits, soaring only moments before, plummeted. I’m not gonna see him again, am I? The thought became certainty. I’m not gonna see any of them again.
“Good luck,” she whispered, and walked back into the church.
CHAPTER 11
PENDERGRASS
ALLISON STEINBERG WAS IN THE LIVING ROOM, sitting in an uncomfortable folding chair. She gently stroked the amber curls of the little girl who lay before her while a soft lullaby crooned from her lips. “If I could talk to the animals, any animal, talk to any ape or chimpanzee.” The little girl on the cot fell silent, nuzzling a stuffed bunny in her arms. Her eyes flittered shut and her chest rose and fell with each calm breath.
Allison gazed at those chipmunk cheeks and slightly parted lips. “Oh, Shelly,” she whispered into the sleeping child’s ear, “I love you, baby girl.”