“Was that…was that a joke?” Norman asked, unable to hide his smirk. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you make a joke before.”
Phoenix blushed and handed Norman the hatchet. Norman could only stare at it, feeling its awesome weight in his grasp.
“So, I’m supposed to…?”
Phoenix nodded.
“For how long? How far?”
“You’ll know when you’re through,” Phoenix said. The levity in his voice disappeared.
Norman took a practice swing, slicing through the air. His shoulders already protested, weary from shoveling so much sand to form the barricade by the shore.
“You’re the boss,” he said, leaning it against his shoulder like a lumberjack. He started walking toward the sand wall.
“You’re a good man,” Phoenix called after him.
“Remind me again when I get back and I’m looking for someone to take my frustrations out on.”
Phoenix smiled, but there was a sadness in his eyes that terrified Norman. He nodded and turned back to the task at hand, scaling the mound and sliding down the opposite side, careful not to dislodge any of the spear tips. As the storm closed in around him, the intensifying flakes making it so he could hardly keep his eyes open, he stepped out onto the ice and stole a glance back over his shoulder at the face of stone and the dark mouth of the cave. Could this be the last time he would ever see it? He shivered at the thought, his legs momentarily betraying him before finding the courage to trudge forward into the unmarred white snow.
“No turning back now,” he whispered. He whistled a nameless tune as he walked.
As soon as he reached the point where he couldn’t see land behind him, he dropped to his knees. With the beach to his left and the island to his right, he raised the hatchet and slammed it down into the ice, parting the accumulation cleanly and sending ice chips in all directions. He scooted backwards and swung the axe again. Repeating the process over and over again, he finally had to shed his jacket and tie it around his waist. He was so hot and the layers of clothing against his skin were dripping with sweat.
He laughed as the frigid wind knifed through him. It was a delightful sensation, but that would pass soon enough. Besides, the jacket wouldn’t do him a whit of good if he fell through the ice.
Swiping the sweat from his brow, he scanned the line he’d left through the snow nearly as far as he could see. The wind had already blown snow back over it in spots, but that was what they wanted anyway, wasn’t it?
He switched the ax into his left hand and began the process anew, chopping and chopping and chopping…
V
Salt Lake City
THE CHEERS WERE DEAFENING. GARRETT FED UPON THEM AS HE STOOD ATOP one of the tables in the restaurant, beaming like a child on Christmas morning. He could see why Richard loved this so much. The roar of approval. The clamor of applause. All for him. He felt like he’d somehow plugged himself into a wall socket, his entire body alive with electrical current, tingling from his groin all the way out through his fingers and toes where it crackled and snapped like fireworks.
The words had come with unprecedented ease as he had congratulated the masses on their diligence and hard work, their devotion to one another and the survival of their species, and their courage in the face of tribulation. Most importantly though, he used his speech to rally them for the coming siege, to bring grown men’s blood to boiling, and women and children to want to take up arms in defense of the new dream they had all built together and shared, not just as a hodgepodge gathering of refugees, but as a family. Come nightfall all of them, from the burliest of men to the daintiest of women, would be prepared around the clock to fend off an assault that could very well mean their deaths. And he had done it all on his own. He had achieved the grandest of all destinies. He had created a legacy of his own design, and now, like Martin Luther King, Jr., John F. Kennedy, and his personal idol, the great Vince Lombardi, he needed to finish with a tag line that would survive the ages.
He could smell the lasagna from the kitchen and knew he would lose them soon. Now was the time.
“Today, my fellow survivors…today we take our first steps into a brave new future. United as a people. United by God and by faith and by a bond that can never be broken. We will take our stand against an evil hell-bent on our eradication, against an army of abominations the likes of which has never graced this good earth before. And whether they descend upon us today or a week from today, we will face them together. And we will win. We have courage on our side. We have the strength of a people who know nothing of defeat. And most importantly, we have the right. With God on our side we will survive…and we will prosper. For today is the day our destinies intertwine as one. Today we will take our first strides toward a better future, toward a world where our subsequent generations will never know war. We will fight this one last battle. The war to end all wars. And we will begin anew in peace. Today is the day, ladies and gentlemen. We are the future. We will triumph!”
The applause grew so loud that Garrett couldn’t have heard himself scream. They rose from their seats, one by one at first, and then in waves until they were all standing and cheering for him. There were whistles and hoots and even a chant of “We will triumph!”
He watched them all, looking from face to face. All of them looking back at him with expressions he was unaccustomed to seeing. Respect. Adoration. Awe. All were for him and him alone. It didn’t matter now whether Richard ever came back. These were his people now. He had led them though the rigors of construction. He had united them. He had given them new life and new hope in the face of a formidable armada. And he would lead them to victory.
Garrett absorbed their affection like a sponge until he knew the time was right to let this feast of celebration commence. When the door from the kitchen swung open and the first of the apron-clad woman appeared carrying a steaming stainless steel tray, he climbed down and allowed the attention and the cheers to turn to her.
“Eat up!” he shouted over the din. “I want everyone ready to take post in ninety minutes! I want everyone in position well before sunset.”
He surveyed them for the moment, sharing in their moment of happiness. For a while there, he had thought such emotions out of their reach forever.
Turning, he headed out into the lobby and grabbed the mound of clothes he had shed onto one of the chairs, layering himself as he opened the door to the stairwell and ascended. It was a strange sensation climbing up the stairs under the artificial light, but one he would definitely be able to get used to in a hurry. They had electricity and warm food. Soon enough there would be hot showers and DVDs playing on the televisions. They were so close to resuming their normal lives and civilization that he could hardly contain his excitement. All they had to do now was survive the impending onslaught, if indeed it was really coming. After all, they were relying on the dreams of a child in that regard. And they were more than prepared to withstand an army in a Branch Davidian kind of way. He was certain that their compound was impregnable. No one was getting over that fence without being shredded by the barbed wire, and even then they would drop down into a trough of fire. And all the while they would be under fire from snipers on the roof. All of the windows and doors were boarded up, leaving the only entrance as the solitary door on the roof.
As soon as that man in the tower raised the alarm, their defenses would be ready and the slaughter would commence. Not their slaughter, but the merciless killing of anything brave or stupid enough to approach their perimeter. It was positively airtight. Their ordeal would soon be over, paving the way for life to begin again.
Reaching the top level, he zipped up his jacket, donned the hood, and shouldered through the door onto the roof. His men were still at their posts as he had hoped, though by now they looked antsy with the aroma of lasagna wafting up from below. The snowfall seemed to have increased even in the hour he had been inside, the flakes now so large and swirling so quickly around the rooftop that the others a
ppeared to strobe. There one moment, gone the next only to reappear from the whiteness closer than before.
“Your replacements will come relieve you as soon as they’re done eating,” he called, but none of them heard him over the rising wind. “Hey!”
The closest man to his right turned to face him, acknowledging him with a nod. He walked over to Garrett and slung his rifle over his shoulder.
“Did you say something?” he asked, nearly yelling to be heard even from a couple feet away.
“I said as soon as your replacements are done eating, it’s your turn.”
“Awesome!” What Garrett had mistaken for a man from afar was a boy who couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. “I’m starving. And I tell you, that smell’s just about to drive me out of my mind.”
Garrett smiled and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Almost there,” he said. “Then just eat until you pop, okay?”
Beaming, the boy raced off to pass along the news to the others.
Garrett turned and headed back for the stairs leading into the parapet, and what the men had affectionately nicknamed “The Crow’s Nest.” He would take over the watch personally to allow his people to finish off their meal. Lead by example, he’d always said. It just wouldn’t be right for him to be sending his men up onto the roof while he was sitting down there stuffing his face. Besides, the earlier he took his shift, the more likely he was to get a little shuteye during the night. Both outcomes served him especially well. And if those creatures came during the night like the boy had predicted, his shift would be over barely half an hour after sundown. He ascended the thin staircase, stepping across the threshold and into the small round room. There were four arched windows, presumably granting access to the matching directions of the compass. In the center of the room was a placard showing a map of Salt Lake City and the surrounding area, each of the major points of interest marked by a bright red arrow. The majority of the map was crusted under a layer of ice and snow like the rest of the room. The overhanging slanted roof kept out the brunt of the storm, though the ferocious wind chased the flakes through one window and out the opposite side. A quarter-operated scenic viewer was positioned in each of the windows, but the man on watch was using a pair of binoculars and pacing from one window to the next with his rifle slung over his back.
“Why don’t you go ahead and get a start on dinner?” Garrett said, his voice startling the man who fumbled to draw his rifle, but only ended up dropping it on the ground. “I’ll take over a few minutes early.”
“You sure?”
Garrett looked at the gun on the icy floor. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re the boss,” the man said, shoving the binoculars into Garrett’s chest.
I am, aren’t I? Garrett thought with a smile. In Richard’s absence, they had accepted him as such without question. He loved Richard like a brother, but his tears would dry quickly enough if Richard never returned.
“There’s still some coffee in the thermos,” the man called back over his shoulder, the thud of his boots pounding down the stairs fading to nothingness.
Garrett walked toward the window facing the city proper, grabbing the rifle along the way. Slinging it over his shoulder, he stood before the gabled opening, the snow blowing sideways in front of him, and looked out upon the city. He’d never truly appreciated how intricate a mere collection of houses and streets could be. There were the ivory bubbles of the Olympic domes and buildings as far as he could see. At the center of it all was the great Mormon Church, an imposing monolith of gray stone with towers like a European castle. He brought the binoculars to his eyes and studied the amazing structure. The upper windows were circular while the lower windows were arched, snowflakes blowing against the face and through—
Hadn’t there been glass in the windows before? He hadn’t been paying very close attention, but he was sure….
Setting the binoculars on the sill in front of him, he hauled the rifle over his back and rested the butt against his shoulder. The church grew much closer through the scope, giving him a magnified view of one of the windows. Snowflakes that appeared to be the size of elephants obscured his view, but he could vaguely make out what looked to be jagged triangles of glass poking from the seals, smeared opaque with something white.
His heart leapt in his chest, beating so hard his vision throbbed.
He swung the rifle toward the ground at the base of the church, but his view was blocked by numerous buildings.
There was the scuffing sound of footsteps entering the room behind him, but he couldn’t afford to steal his eye from the sight.
“Weren’t the windows still intact in the church?” he called back over his shoulder. His circle of vision crossed over rooftops, flashing across the façade of a bank before reaching a distant park, the trees blanketed with snow like marshmallows.
The footsteps approached, but no one answered.
Garrett had already moved the sight on to the houses beyond before realizing what he had seen. At first, he thought there had been a statue in the middle of the square, a monument cast of iron or stone of a man on a horse, but it had moved right as his vision crossed over it. Or at least it looked like it had. When he redirected the scope onto area where it had been, there was now a trail of fire burning in the snow, and behind…behind it a wall of darkness swept across the park. Set into the blackness were golden twinkles, like so many fireflies. No not fireflies…
Eyes.
Thousands of yellow eyes. Looking directly at him as they raced across the park. Bodies took form, all black limbs and legs.
“Oh, God,” he whispered, lowering the rifle to see the army through his own eyes. It encompassed what looked to be dozens of acres swarming with ebony bodies like so many ants.
And it was only a block and a half away.
He opened his mouth to raise the alarm, but someone wrapped an arm around his head, turning it sharply to the side. Something sharp pressed into the soft tissue on the exposed side of his trachea.
“My name is Oscar Dominguez,” a voice rasped into his ear. With a grunt, the man drove the shard of glass from Richard’s shattered mirror into Garrett’s neck, releasing a gush of warmth from his carotid. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”
Garrett shrugged free of the smaller man’s hold, dropping the rifle to grab for the triangular shard jutting from his neck. His heels snagged and he fell to his back, staring wildly up at his assailant while he pawed at the glass, unable to decide whether to try to remove it or hold the flesh together around it.
The man with the snake tattoo on his neck that he had erroneously assumed to be dead dropped to his knees on Garrett’s chest, knocking the wind out of him.
“In prison, you learn to play dead,” Oscar said, maneuvering his legs to pin Garrett’s arms. “The big ones…they like it when you put up a fight. Not me. I like things short and sweet.”
He grabbed the glass with both hands, the edges slicing his palms, gave it a firm twist and ripped it to the side. A spring of arterial blood splashed his face and there was a whistle from the opened windpipe before the dying gurgle of air was drawn through the rush of fluids.
Oscar spat in Garret’s face and staggered toward the stairs, dizzy from the concussion and blood loss, breathing through his mouth, as there was no hope of moving air through the pulpy remains of his nose, fighting through the stabbing pain of what felt like a dozen broken ribs, but content that justice had been served.
He couldn’t wait to tell the others about the monster he had saved them from.
VI
The Great Salt Lake
“HOW MUCH LONGER DO THEY HAVE?” THE MAN TO RICHARD’S LEFT ASKED.
“It doesn’t matter,” Richard said. “They’ll bring the boy.”
“What makes you so sure? I mean, if they went to all the trouble of spying on us and kidnapping the kid, why would they give him up without a fight? I mean unless…”
&
nbsp; “Unless what?”
“Nothing,” the man said, pressing his eye back to the scope of the rifle to make sure he saw them coming before they emerged from the snow. He’d seen what had happened to Bruce for questioning Richard about what had transpired at the hotel and didn’t relish the idea of joining the other men’s scorched bones in the blaze. Right now he just wanted to get this whole ordeal over with and get back inside where they surely had the electricity running by now. With or without the kid, if need be. He couldn’t help but wonder whether or not Richard had falsified some of his story, but right now he just didn’t care. He just wanted to go home.
“Are you sure?” Richard asked. He could sense the man’s hesitation, but it was of no consequence now. He just needed that simpleton to keep an eye on the horizon. After that, he was expendable. Perhaps an accident would even befall him on the journey back to the east. Firearms did have a tendency of discharging accidentally from time to time.
Richard turned and hopped back down from the rocky ledge to stand by the fire. There was only one other man there now as the rest were gassing the snowmobiles in preparation for a fast getaway. The man had his chin to his chest and his hood pulled down to hide his face from the cold, but Richard knew that he was watching what had once been living breathing human beings turning to charcoal. Bruce had planted a seed of doubt in the minds of these men, he was sure, but it mattered for naught. They feared him now, and there was no better inspiration for allegiance than that.
“Some weather we’re having,” Richard said. When the other man raised his frightened eyes, Richard cackled, scaring the man even more. So what if they all knew now. He was their overlord, their god, and none of them would even dare to raise their voices to him.
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