The Shock

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Rachel hugged Stephen, hardly believing he was alive.

Guess I owe you for another answered prayer, Lord.

They’d ducked into the nearest house after finding the door unlocked. A sweep had revealed that it was empty, the former occupants apparently packing hastily and heading off somewhere after hearing the news of strange phenomena. Pete checked the fridge, finding only molded food and half a bottle of Sprite that had long since gone flat, while Rachel discovered a hand-operated can opener and served Stephen a cold can of chicken soup. They gathered in the darkening kitchen, Pete creating a stink with a tin of sardines that he ate with his fingers.

“You must be Rachel,” said the man who had apparently rescued the boy.

“Yeah,” she said. “Who are you?”

“This is my home boy, Campbell,” Pete said. He punched Campbell on the arm. “Guess you can’t get rid of me so easy after all. Where’s Arnoff and the gang?”

“Back on the highway, looking for World War Three.”

“They’re in luck, then. Apparently there are rogue Marines or some shit around here. They jumped me on the highway and took me prisoner and…hell, I have no idea why.”

Rachel looked past Stephen’s shoulder and said, “Zaphead bait.”

Campbell glared at her. “What’s the big idea, abandoning this kid? Don’t you have any sense?”

Rachel’s grip tightened on the pruning shear and she held it up, letting Campbell see the blood on the metal tip. She forced herself to breathe evenly or anger would overwhelm her. “We got along just fine before you rode in on your white horse like a one-man cavalry.”

Pete gave an uneasy laugh. “Hey, guys, we’re on the same team here, right?”

Campbell shrugged and looked down at the floor. “Sorry. Guess we’ll all wound a little tight right now.”

“She saved me,” Pete said to Campbell. “I’d be lying dead out there in the street if it wasn’t for her.”

Rachel ignored the praise, busy adjusting Miss Molly’s outfit. She gave the doll back to Stephen, who cradled it like a football.

“Did you hurt somebody?” Stephen asked, pointing to the bloody pruning shear.

“No,” she said. “Just a Zaphead.”

So, you’ve made the final leap. Not all living creatures are equal in God’s sight, and it turns out Jesus didn’t die for everyone’s sins.

“She’s pretty wicked with that thing,” Pete said, imitating her swing and giving it a home-run exaggeration.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I need to chop off somebody’s head.” Campbell looked through the curtains at the surrounding houses. “Is this neighborhood as dead as it looks?”

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “We saw a few Zapheads when we came through.” She pointed to the rising thread of smoke that hovered over the rooftops and trees. “Something’s on fire.”

“I played arsonist to create a distraction,” Campbell said.

“Looks like you did too good of a job. The smoke is getting thick.”

“Let’s roll,” Pete said. “There’s not any beer in this place.”

“Sounds good to me,” Campbell said. “I’ll bet we can borrow bicycles from some of these fine, upstanding citizens around here.”

Rachel wasn’t sure she should trust her instinct, because it was clouded with guilt. She should take Stephen and head north and find Grandpa’s legendary compound on the Blue Ridge Parkway, even if it meant these guys tagging along. DeVontay was probably already dead, thrown to the Zapheads like some perverted version of the ancient Romans throwing Christians to the lions. She could picture The Captain curling his lips in a sour sneer and giving the thumb’s down.

“I’m not leaving without DeVontay,” Rachel said.

“He promised he’d take me to my dad,” Stephen said.

“People just throw around promises like they’re water,” Campbell said.

“We can take care of it,” Rachel said, annoyed with Campbell’s holier-than-thou attitude. “You guys go on with…whatever it is you were doing.”

“We’re just standing around waiting for Zapheads to tear us limb from limb,” Pete said. “Yep. Just killing time.”

“Okay,” Campbell said. “I’d hate to let that white horse go to waste. What do we do?”

Rachel wasn’t sure whether she welcomed the help. Her plan had been to return to the house, wait until nightfall, and then sneak in and free DeVontay. She had to admit it wasn’t much of a plan, because she wasn’t sure where Stephen fit in.

“They’ve got guns and we don’t,” Rachel said.

“Damn,” Pete said. “You don’t think they’d actually shoot us, do you?”

“Their leader is a little unstable, to say the least. Apparently, they were holed up in a military bunker when most of the troop turned into Zapheads.”

“Can’t blame him for going a little nuts,” Campbell said. “I think the flares affected us all more than we realize. I was talking to a scientist and—”

“Jeez, Campbell,” Pete cut in. “That guy couldn’t even hit tenure track, so I wouldn’t put a lot of stock in his babbling.”

“How many people were with this Arnoff guy?” Rachel wondered if more survivors than she realized were around. Maybe most of them were hiding, looking out of the cracks of basement windows and waiting for the Second Coming.

“Four others,” Campbell said. “They may be headed this way, but I don’t think I’d wait on them.”

“Well, we can’t just sit here and wait for the Zapheads to mutate into whatever it is they’re becoming.”

“Or for us to change,” Campbell said.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Pete said.

“Change into what?” Stephen asked. Rachel wanted to cover his ears. And his eyes. And to spare his nose the scent of burning houses and rotted flesh.

“So,” Pete said, “full frontal assault in a suicide mission. I’m game. Hell, we’re going to buy it one way or another.”

“I’ve got an idea, but it’s a little risky,” Campbell said.

“I hope it involves heavy drinking,” Pete said. “I’m starting to sober up and I don’t like reality.”

Rachel stroked her fingers through Stephen’s hair. It was thick like Chelsea’s, with little curls. She wasn’t going to lose anyone else in this life if she could help it.

“Okay,” Rachel said. “Let’s hear it.”

“Well, it’s pretty easy to start a fire,” Campbell said. “Right, Stephen?”

The boy nodded. “And the Zapheads like it.”

“And the Zapheads like it. So, we create a diversion like they do in the war movies, then when everybody’s running around confused, we go in and get your friend.”

“What if we scorch DeVontay in the process?” Rachel asked.

“I didn’t say it was a good plan. You got anything better?”

Rachel studied Campbell’s eyes behind his thick, black-rimmed spectacles. His pupils were large with excitement, rimmed with a gray-blue the color of Puget Sound in the winter. His hair was mussed and dirty, his chin a little too small for his brow, and his shoulders suggested he lifted more cellphones than weights. He was the kind of guy to whom she wouldn’t give a second glance in a coffee shop or bookstore, but out here, in After, he gained an awkward masculinity and nobility.

Or maybe he was changing from what he had been before, a victim of the sun’s subtle workings.

Maybe YOU’RE the one who is changing.

No. She was pretty sure she was still a good Christian. That little display of violence against the Zaphead had been justified. Hadn’t God of the Old Testament been a vindictive warmonger before Jesus brought peace into the world? If you turned the other cheek in this sad new world, you were liable to get it bitten off.

“I guess we can’t wait for more white knights to ride over the hill,” Rachel finally said. “If this is what the Army becomes when the puppet strings break, maybe my grandfather was right.”

“Right about what?” Campbell asked.

“One of his sayings is, ‘When the walls fall down, all we have left is the enemy within.’”

Pete shook his head. “That’s some heavy shit. I hope he’s not out there walking around with a hatchet.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s one of the ones who survived, assuming he didn’t transform,” Rachel said. “He was planning for this.”

“Planning for this?” Campbell said. “Even the scientists were caught with their pants down. They pretty much figured we had a good five billion years before the sun became a red gas giant and gobbled us up.”

Pete bent over, stuck out his rear, and let out a loud, flapping fart. “There’s a gas giant for you,” he said.

Stephen snickered, and even though Rachel didn’t approve of the sophomoric humor, she was relieved that the boy seemed to be recovering from the latest trauma.

“Okay,” Campbell said. “Sun’s going down. We’re better off doing this right when it gets dark.”

“Follow me,” Rachel said, taking Stephen’s hand. She checked through the front window to make sure all was clear, although she intended to use the back door.

Oh, sweet Lord. Are you serious?

“Guys,” she said. “I think you need to see this.”

They crowded around behind her, Pete’s fishy breath fouling the air. Outside, the sunset was dusky and smoky, a hint of autumn in the surrounding maples and oaks. Faint ribbons of aurora borealis wended across the atmosphere like giant lime-green specters. Night shadows crept along the yards and across the windows of the houses, giving them a sinister aspect that suggested terrible secrets inside. But it was the activity in the street that drew their attention.

Two people were tending to one of the fallen Zapheads. Rachel couldn’t be sure, but she believed the corpse was the one she had struck with her pruning shear.

“Soldiers,” Pete said. “What the hell do they want with a dead Zaphead? I can’t see them wasting time giving one a proper burial.”

“It’s not soldiers,” Rachel said. Even in the poor light, she could see that one of the figures was wearing a light-colored T-shirt, not camouflage, and what looked like khaki cargo shorts and sandals. The other wore what looked like a bathrobe, the belt dangling, and the mop of hair above it could have belonged to either gender. The two stooped down and lifted the corpse to a sitting position.

“Oh, hell, they’re not going to eat him, are they? Don’t tell me these glittery-eyed bastards are turning into zombies?”

“Shhh.” Rachel cast him a hard look and nodded at Stephen, whose eyes widened as his grip on the doll tightened.

“He’s just kidding,” Campbell said to the boy. “He’s read too many comic books.”

“I like comic books,” Stephen said. “Spiderman is my favorite.”

“Cool,” Pete said, trying to cover his goof. “I had some issues in my backpack, but I lost it when the soldiers jumped me.”

“You’re in luck,” Campbell said, motioning toward his own backpack on the couch. “I figured you’d want them if I ever caught up with you. I rescued them for you.”

Pete caught on that they were trying to distract Stephen from what might be a gruesome discovery. He patted Stephen on the shoulder and said, “First appearance of the Green Goblin, little man. And in near-mint condition.”

“Not so near-mint anymore,” Campbell said. “But you can read it with the flashlight. Just keep the beam hooded so nobody can see it from the street.”

“Sweet!” Stephen said, just like any normal boy would, not one who had endured the wholesale destruction of his race and seen the world change into a hostile wasteland. Rachel’s heart clenched just a tiny bit, but she wouldn’t allow any tears of sympathy. She’d cried herself out after Chelsea’s death, and any future breakdowns would have to tap an entirely new and undiscovered reservoir.

Rachel and Campbell put their noses to the window, shoulders touching, their breath fogging the glass. The two figures attending the Zaphead now lifted it and held it sagging limply between them, much like a couple of sailors might drag home a drunken mate.

“You think they’re going to bury it?” Rachel asked.

“It would be the first time that I’ve seen. But I have to admit, I’ve spent more time running and hiding from them than watching them.”

“They’re moving like humans. Good balance and posture, their motions focused on something besides destroying.”

“Yeah. But if they’re survivors, what do they want with a dead Zaphead?”

Rachel could think of a few possibilities, including Pete’s imaginative leap of cannibalism, but that didn’t make sense, because there was still plenty of food around. Scientific experimentation was unlikely, given the utter breakdown of all academic systems, and she couldn’t come up with any use for a dead body otherwise. “Maybe they’re cleaning the streets.”

“You mean to make it look like there are no Zapheads around? Gunning for some type of community award or something?”

“No, to lure more Zapheads. Maybe they’ve got some vigilante thing going on.”

Pete carelessly swept the flashlight beam across the room as he turned a page, reading aloud to Stephen. Rachel scolded him, afraid the light would attract the people outside like curious, single-minded moths.

Instead, the pair on the street kept dragging the corpse, heading east toward the fire that Campbell had started. The spreading conflagration threw a reddish cast to the sunset, the smoke roiling against the purple-streaked sky like a tableau in the tempest of hell. The person in the bathrobe lost her grip on the corpse, and the robe parted to reveal mottled flesh.

“I think they’re Zapheads,” Rachel said.

“Doesn’t make sense,” Campbell said. “Zapheads are violent, mindless killing machines.”

“Maybe we simplified them so we could pretend we understand them.” Rachel didn’t like that answer, but was it any worse than the reality of the last few weeks?

The man in the T-shirt turned and looked directly at Rachel, or at least she felt that way. Even from thirty yards, the hooded aspect of his eyes told her it was a Zaphead. He was of average height, wearing a crew cut and topsiders, and he could have been a guy washing his driveway with a garden hose, a beer in his hand while waiting for the afternoon’s football games to kick off.

Rachel ducked a little, pulling Campbell down while calling out, “Keep low, guys, they’re looking this way.”

They crouched in the gloaming for a long minute, with the only sound the distant crackle of the bonfire. Rachel expected a knock on the door, or maybe for a body to fling itself against the window. She wished she hadn’t left her pruning shears in the kitchen.

She grew tired of the tension and parted the corner of the curtain just enough to see the two Zapheads carry their fallen comrade on down the street. Rachel was surprised to think such a thing, but they had escorted their dead companion with a tenderness that was in direct contrast to all the violence she’d witnessed from them.

“I should follow them,” Campbell said. “See what’s going on.”

“No,” Rachel said. “How can that help us? Right now, we need to save DeVontay and get out of here before your fire scorches us alive.”

“We can all be superheroes!” Stephen said, apparently becoming so engrossed in the comic book that he’d blurred the line between fantasy and reality. Rachel almost envied him.

“Sure, kid,” Pete said. “A super-duper ray gun will do the trick.”

As if to punctuate Pete’s words, a brittle crack resounded from outside, drawing Rachel’s attention. At first she thought it was the popping of wood from the heat of the fire, but the Zaphead in the white T-shirt was sprawled in the street on top of the corpse he’d been helping to carry. A dark stain spread across the back of his shirt.

Gunfire.

Another short rang out. The last Zaphead ducked and peered into the smoky murkiness, then fled out of the street into a side yard.

“Bet it’s The Captain and his goon squad,” Rachel said.

“Or maybe Arnoff’s group,” Campbell said.

Pete joined them at the window. “Sweet. Let’s team up.”

“At this point,” Campbell said, “I can’t tell the Zappers from the humans. And I’m not about to get shot to find out.”

“He’s right,” Rachel said to Pete. “But you guys do what you want. I’m going to get DeVontay.” She called to Stephen in the darkness of the living room. “Get your stuff, honey, and meet me at the back door.”