by Jay Vielle
“Of course, thank you Billy,” said Roz. “And Father Joe himself?”
“Not sure. He was going somewhere with Mark Longaberger.”
“He’s a good-looking young man,” said Roz. “What does he teach?”
“Social Studies,” said Melanie. “And yes, he is good-looking. Nice body, too.”
“You would know, Mel,” said John Segen, just a little too loudly again, with a forced laugh. Addie joined him in cackling.
“Just how good is that body, Mel?” Addie said with a wink. Melanie blushed a little. Jenny Custis stared at all of them with unveiled disapproval for their bawdy talk.
“How is it we never had him in the church before?” asked Roz.
“He’s an intellectual,” said Melanie. “He thinks about stuff. He thinks too much, I reckon. Makes him come off a little, I don’t know, conceited maybe? Like he’s better than everyone else. I mean, who doesn’t go to church. Back in Texas if you didn’t go to church you were probably gay.”
“Do you think he’s gay?” asked Roz.
“Well, he wasn’t when I was with him,” said Melanie. “But you know these days, that don’t really matter. You can discover your gayness whenever, I hear.” She overexaggerated discover to drag it out for effect.
“I’ve seen him out with other women,” said Jenny Custis. “And I’ve heard him talk. I don’t think he’s gay. I think he may be a sympathizer, though. Intellectuals sometimes are. They don’t look at the Bible and what it says.”
“Have you ever talked to him about that, Jenny?” asked Billy.
“Once. He casually said something like, ‘a poorly-translated, poorly-transcribed two thousand-year-old book that contradicts itself a hundred times isn’t the most reliable source.’ Or something like that. It’s one of his stock phrases, I think.”
“Well, he does like Father Joe. Maybe we can win him over,” said Billy.
“What’s not to like? Father Joe is a dream. Such a wonderful man of vision,” said Roz.
“Speaking of gay sympathizers, did any of you see that scene in the rotunda between Pedro and his daughter?” asked Melanie. “Dear God. I felt so badly for him.”
“Bad, dear. You don’t feel badly unless your hands are numb. You need an adjective with a linking verb. You feel bad for him,” said Jenny. Melanie rolled her eyes and scowled.
“Whatever. Either way, I couldn’t believe she made such a scene like that with her own father right here in the school,” Melanie said.
“It was unfortunate,” said Billy. “All I know is, if I ever talked to my father that way,” he trailed off.
“We both know what your father would have done,” said Roz. “But Pedro stood his ground, spoke his truth, and put her in her place. Did you see that little girlfriend she had? She didn’t know what to say. Probably riddled with guilt after that.”
“Just disgusting,” Jenny Custis said. “I just don’t understand that way of thinking. Kudos to Pedro for having morals.”
“Well, one kudo at least,” said Billy.
“Kudos isn’t plural, Billy. It’s Greek. It’s one word. Like ‘congratulations.’ You wouldn’t say ‘congratulation’ to someone,” Jenny said.
Melanie rolled her eyes again toward Roz and said under her breath, “Thank God we have her here to correct us.” Roz smiled and winked. John and Addie both eye-rolled as well, but with far less subtlety. Billy just smiled awkwardly back and nodded.
Several miles away, Wes Kent was sitting in the empty bank office of Ivan Morse. Ivan was a local, having been born and bred in Emmitsburg, and educated in town at Mt. St. Michael’s. He was well-liked, simple in his mannerisms, and knew every person in town. He always spoke in a ‘plain folks’ kind of elocution, and as president of Emmitbank he was involved in ninety percent of every funded activity, mortgage, or capital venture from here to Frederick, twenty miles to the West. He was the kind of guy that made you feel almost thankful for having to foreclose on your house, as if it were you who needed to apologize. Whenever he had to call in a loan or bring up a foreclosure, he seemed as if it were the most painful decision of his life.
And he was one of the largest donors the Church of the Many Blessings boasted.
“Ivan,” Wes Kent said with a big smile and an outstretched hand. Wes spread his fingers wide for the handshake, and it gave the effect of sincere happiness to see you. And Wes was definitely happy to see Ivan.
“Thanks for seeing me,” he said.
“No problem, Wes. You know, even in times like these, it’s good to feel normal. Even though the bank’s closed, I can open it up for my favorite people,” Ivan said.
“And those people are greatly appreciative,” said Wes.
“So how can I help the Church of Many Blessings in this difficult period?” he said.
“I’m glad you asked that,” said Wes. “Father Joe has some very fascinating plans right now.”
“Really? We missed last week’s gathering. Have you seen him since the bombings?” asked Ivan.
“I see him almost daily,” said Wes.
“I had heard that some of you were holed up at Hunter’s Run. I wasn’t sure if you were one of those. I’m surprised you’re still there. Things are slowly coming back to something approaching normal. At least around here,” said Ivan.
“I have some plans for the high school myself,” said Wes. “And they jibe nicely with what Father Joe has in mind.”
“Wes, frankly it’s a little too soon to be talking about church renovations, or an extra bus, or an addition to the parish house,” said Ivan. “The country has just been bombed, for Christ sake. We don’t even know where the president is. Communication is unreliable at best, and some towns are under Marshall Law. Frederick, for crying out loud. That’s just down the road. I don’t know how it got hit so hard and somehow we got missed, to be honest.”
“God’s providence,” said Wes.
“No doubt,” said Ivan. “Now why don’t you tell me why we’re really here. It’s not for an additional bus, is it?”
“A lot more, Ivan,” said Wes. “A whole lot more.”
CHAPTER 5
“Wow. How come in all the Westerns no cowboy ever complains about how much their ass hurts?” I asked the group.
“Because none of them were gay Peruvians,” said Jake, chuckling at his own answer.
“I’ll bet you there were a bunch of gay Peruvians on those sets. They were just playing Mexicans and Apaches. Held down by a racist, homophobic system, forced into a closet, labeled collectively as wetbacks,” I answered.
“At least they weren’t constantly complaining,” Jake said.
“How much farther do you think, Jake?” Wendy asked. “We’ve been riding an hour now.
“I’m guessing we’ve covered five or six miles,” said Jake. “The map said it’s about seventeen.”
“Ugh!” I answered. “Two more hours of this cowboy shit?”
“At least. But the weather’s been good, and it’s warm enough. We’ll make it to the boats before sunset, and probably even get a chance to get some water behind us before dark,” said Jake.
“Are we boating in the dark?” I asked nervously.
“I think that’s something we need to play by ear. Right now, we’re on horseback. We have some weapons. The sun is out. If we get attacked by mutates right now, we’re in good shape. We can outrun them, outfight them. On the water—I’m not so sure. Wendy, any idea how those things do in water?” Jake asked.
“Not really. Frederick has a couple of decent sized rivers around it. But I never got the chance to observe them like that. We only saw them briefly,” she said.
“Long enough to get some tests done,” I added.
“It was a lab, Eddie,” said Wendy. “We didn’t put them in a wildlife preserve and watch them interact.”
“Fair enough,” I answered. “So, what does that mean, Jake?”
“It means we’re camping out somewhere in an area where somewhere around half a m
illion people just dropped dead of a hybrid irradiated Ebola virus, for one,” he said.
“Dad, that’s creepy as shit,” said Vinny. “Are we just gonna, I mean, are we gonna be around a bunch of dead bodies?”
“I wish I knew, boy. My plan never got us past getting to D.C. I didn’t anticipate things taking quite so long.”
“So, what are our choices?” asked Tommy. “Sleep in the boats? Or do we look for a place on land?”
“I have an idea,” said Jake. “I thought we’d run past it, but it looks now like it might be perfect.”
“What?” I asked.
“The National Arboretum. Tommy, Vinny, you guys remember that place? Mom and I took you there a bunch when you were little,” said Jake.
“Was that the place that had the koi pond?” asked Vinny.
“And those Greek pillars just standing out there in the field?” asked Tommy.
“Yes to both. It’s a gorgeous place. Especially around this time of year,” said Wendy
“Um, not tourists. So why are we going to a tree place?” I asked.
“The Arboretum is one of the least ‘discovered’ free tourist attractions in the area. Flowers everywhere, trees, gardens. It’s quite beautiful,” said Jake.
“Yeah, I get it. Great spot to visit. Again—not tourists,” I answered back snarkily.
“The main building is large, safe, and probably empty. There’s a cafeteria, bathrooms, everything. It’s perfect,” said Jake. “Hell, if things don’t get better, I might move there.”
“Then I guess we’d better hustle our asses up, then,” I said. “Can these things go any faster?”
“We could trot them. Even gallop a little. But your ass is gonna hurt even more,” said Jake.
“Whatever. The sooner we get there, the sooner I’m off this thing,” I said.
“No wonder your people got their asses whooped by the Spaniards,” I said. “Llama jockeys.”
“You don’t ride llamas, huero,” I said. “You shave them, maybe even eat them.”
“Again, no wonder you speak Spanish,” said Jake.
A few coaching points by Jake and his boys, and we were off. We trotted the horses a while. Jake was right, that hurt my ass more. The boys taught me how to post. It’s kind of like standing up, moving up and down in the saddle, squeezing your legs so that the horse can trot, and it gives your butt (and supposedly the horse) a reprieve. I was surprised to find how exhausting riding a horse was. You were constantly monitoring things. Riding a big animal makes you nervous. Even Jake was particularly focused. That saps you enough, but the leg squeezing was rough, too. Jake said that it actually hurt less to sit in the saddle when the horse was at a full gallop because they usually ran so smoothly that you barely felt it, but going that fast would have scared the shit out of me. I was nervous enough as it was, so I continued to post.
We passed the Capital Beltway and it was an eerie sight. No cars, no people. We had passed dead bodies on the way, and that was creepy enough, but after a while we became numb to it. But looking at that massive thoroughfare completely empty made me shudder. I wondered just what kind of a world would be left for us. I had been in towns that seemed barely touched by this war, and others that had killed literally every inhabitant. It was hard to come to grips with that dichotomy, that juxtaposition of things normal and things Apocalyptic.
As we neared the beltway, we saw tanks parked on all of the ramps blocking entry. Each tank had half a dozen soldiers guarding it, with an extra vehicle nearby. It was eerie to see, and Jake told us to walk slowly so that we couldn’t be heard, and he kept us out of sight of the soldiers, going instead through the surprising amount of trees, and behind the occasional building front. We walked into the Sligo Creek Park and were able to trot again. The scenery was momentarily beautiful--until you ran into a corpse, and reality came flying back at us.
Once we were at the end of the park, we picked up the pace. Jake said that we would have to head southeast through College Park and the campus of the University of Maryland. We crossed onto the campus and the sight of it empty was shocking. I had only been there before when it was a bustling hub of activity. The flagship of Maryland colleges, UMCP was at the forefront of pretty much everything. Part of me was bracing for tons of dead bodies, but I remembered that when the first of the bombs started hitting, all colleges closed immediately and sent kids home. The dorms were still full of their things. I remembered a week or two ago seeing kids playing frisbee at Mt. St. Michael’s, and only now remembered that those kids were the international students with no place else to go. They had been shielded there by their proximity to Camp David and Raven Mountain, Site R. Any international students here were dead, probably in their dorms. As we rode past Xfinity Center and Byrd Stadium, I saw the occasional body on the ground—no doubt one of the few lingerers, perhaps from another country. Suddenly my mind raced to the fraternity and sorority houses, wondering how many of those poor kids spent their last moments there agonizing with irradiated Ebola.
As we rode towards the Stamp Student Union building, we heard noises.
“Heads up,” said Jake. “Be alert. Noises here can’t mean anything good.”
Sure enough, we saw bodies on the ground outside the building, and orange-hued, white-haired mutates crowding around them. I had never seen them feed before. It was horrifying. It looked like a pack of hyenas on a wildebeest, except that everyone there wasn’t an animal on the Serengeti—they were humans—or close to it. As we rounded the corner slowly, they didn’t take notice of us. They were too focused on their meal. One of the more upright, leader mutates turned our way and observed us. I locked eyes with him for a moment. His face remained expressionless. I wanted to panic for a moment, but Jake held me off.
“Easy Eddie. Nobody’s gonna abandon a meal right in front of them for one on the hoof. Just ride easily past,” Jake said.
“Oh God,” said Wendy. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. Predators don’t leave a bird in the hand for two in the bush, like people do. One of the problems I always had with Jurassic Park was the number of dinosaurs who did just that. It’s not really natural,” Jake said.
“You’re having a ‘willing suspension of disbelief’ problem with a movie about animals cloned from the fossilized stomachs of mosquitoes?” I asked.
“Just sayin’,” said Jake.
Just then, we saw another pair of the mutates coming from the far corner of the building. They apparently had not spotted their fellows dining on the far side, and suddenly took great interest in us. They rose slightly off of their all four haunches and made some strange, guttural sound, like halfway between a howl and a chirp. I was frozen. Just then, the upright leader made a similar sound, and the creatures dropped back down and moved toward the pack dining on the corpse.
“Pack behavior,” said Wendy.
“That alpha just called them off,” Jake said.
“Why would it do that?” I asked.
“Bigger animals and bigger numbers. There are five of us on horseback. If those two go off by themselves, they might get killed coming after us. If there’s not an urgent need to feed, that’s a bad move in the wild. It kind of makes sense, if you think about it,” said Jake.
“It does,” echoed Wendy. “And good for us that it does.”
Just then, one of the two late comers snarled and came at us. It spooked Tommy’s horse, who reared up on its hind legs. Tommy held tight to the saddle and leaned forward for balance. Mine trotted away nervously. Wendy and Vinny urged their horses away. Jake turned his squarely to face the creature.
“You guys move along,” he said. “I’ve got this.”
The creature moved towards Jake, clawing the air at Jake and his horse and growling, but not getting close enough to strike. Jake urged his horse backwards by pulling on the reins and kicking his heels into the beast’s ribs.
“Easy girl,” he said. “Back, now. Go on back.” The horse backed up, never taking its eye off th
e mutate.
“That’s close enough,” Jake yelled menacingly. The creature stopped and shrunk back a little.
“Enough, I say,” he yelled again. The mutate turned and trotted back towards the others, almost like a dog issuing a warning to a mailman. Jake kicked his heels harder into the horse and trotted forward to join us.
“That was close,” said Wendy.
“It was. But we’re learning more about them every time. They have a pack mentality, almost like wolves or dogs, and the alpha controls them. They will guard what they have but won’t go after anything unless they’re starving and desperate. We also know, from our last encounter, that they have enormous pain tolerance. Remember Tommy shot one in the hand and it still held onto the bus? It wasn’t until he made the head shot that it stopped for keeps. But that pack in Frederick was ravenous. This pack had its supper laid out for it and was being territorial. That kind of knowledge could come in handy later,” Jake said. “Come on, let’s get a move on before we see more of those things before we’re ready.”
That didn’t take long. We had barely made it past the other end of campus, near the Physics Ellipse when we saw another, smaller pack of mutates. And these weren’t feeding. Just ahead we could see the northeast branch of the Anacostia River.
“We need to follow that river,” said Jake. “And we have to get past this bunch.”
There were four of them, and they were running towards us now.
“You all go ahead. Tommy, lead the rest of us towards the river and leave me behind,” said Jake.
“Stop trying to be the hero,” said Tommy.
“I’m not. You cut me off. They’ll go after the straggler. I’m armed, but only with a bow and arrows. I’ll need some help. Get them away from here, then grab the rifle. It should be lashed to your saddle.” Tommy nodded, took off and our horses galloped after. I was holding on for dear life.
Once the mutates saw our ‘herd’ dwindle to one, they started fanning out to surround Jake, just as he predicted. Once our horses reached the river, Tommy wheeled his around and sprinted back towards his father, who was trying to untie his quiver from the saddlebag. Jake got the quiver and threw it over his shoulder. He reached down for his bow, which was a Mongolian style recurve bow. Jake wasn’t a hunter per se, so instead of the five-hundred-dollar variety compound bow that most deer hunters purchase, Jake had bought a more artistic and challenging one. He was good with a bow—I had seen him in action against those thugs a week ago. The pack was charging wildly now and had closed to within fifty yards.