“What then?”
Rachel sighed. “They’ve still got dried food rations from the complex.”
Betty’s voice grew arch. “What then?”
“I’ll have to go looking for more.” She picked up some unpaid bills. “The people who lived here were named Erbert. They were paid up on their utilities, so we might be safe on those for a couple of months. Or our usage could bring them right to our doorstep.”
“If we live that long,” Betty said, voicing Rachel’s thoughts. “There’s not enough room for us down there. It isn’t sanitary. Can’t we cover up these windows too and take over the upstairs?”
“I’ll have to get rid of those bodies tonight.”
“Where will you put them?”
“I’ll bury them behind the barn.”
“There’s no way we can leave here, is there?”
Rachel shook her head. “There are just too many of them to move even at night, and it’s too cold for walking anyway.”
“Those two vehicles outside probably work.”
“We couldn’t even squeeze in twenty of us between them. Besides, where would we go?”
December 27
Weizak sat at the window, watching snowflakes descend while he sipped a cup of hot chocolate.
A man sprinted down the street below, pursued by a police cruiser. The man came to an abrupt halt when another police car drove the wrong way on the one-way street, trapping him between bumpers. Jumping up and down, the man raised his hands in the air as two police officers emerged from each car, their eyes glowing red. He shouted at them and they shook their heads. Then a female officer drew a Taser gun and fired it at him. He hit the ground hard, and all four officers closed in on him.
Weizak retrieved his camera and photographed the scene. All four police officers turned in his direction, chilling his blood like wine. He shot more photos anyway.
The cops dragged the man to his feet and loaded him into the backseat of the first cruiser.
“They’re taking him away.”
But where?
“To jail or detention. The shoe’s on the other foot now. They’re locking us up until we change.”
And they know where I am.
December 27
Upstairs, Rachel sat on the box springs in the son’s room. Betty stood before her. They had left Barry in charge of the kids downstairs.
“I got rid of the bodies last night, but I left the bloody mattress. I aired the room out, but it still stinks too much to use.”
“I smell it from here,” Betty said.
“The windows are closed and locked now. Between this room and the den, you can bring maybe twelve kids up—the oldest ones, who will behave and listen to Barry. They have to understand they can’t go downstairs to see their friends. And you have to be careful taking them food and laundry.”
She gestured at a .45, two hunting rifles, and an emergency flare beside her on the bed. “The husband used this .45 to kill himself and his wife. These rifles are for hunting. There’s deer out there, but if we shoot them someone could hear the shots and investigate. I cleaned and oiled them and they’re good to go. If I don’t make it back, at least you’ve got some weapons to defend yourself.”
“Who else can shoot them?”
“Give Barry the .22 and you carry the .45. Leave a rifle upstairs under the bed and another in the basement. If you need them, you’ll know where to find them.”
December 28
Weizak held on to his gun all day long.
December 28
Wearing a coat and a knit cap she had found in the closet over her gear and carrying a blanket in a duffel bag in one hand and her M16A in the other, Rachel walked into the kitchen, followed by Betty. She had taken back her contact lens and wore them both now. “I’ll be back. Hopefully with food.”
“What if you aren’t?”
“There’s always that possibility.”
“I’ve got two dozen kids and no food.”
“That’s not exactly true. You’ve still got water, dried oats, and a can of this and a can of that—enough to make it a few days if you have to.”
Betty crossed her arms. “And then what?”
“I don’t know.”
Rachel opened the door, and they walked outside to the pickup.
“There must be a hundred acres of woods out there,” Rachel said. “This driveway is a one-lane road that cuts through it. According to the map, it ends at a dirt road that also runs through woods for miles, and there are other back roads along the way. With these contacts I won’t need to turn my headlights on, so no one should see me. Just to be safe, I’m going to drive for an hour before I stop anywhere. There’s at least enough gas in this truck to get me that far and back.”
Betty pointed at the empty license plate frames. “What did you do with those?”
“I threw them in the barn. I also tore up the registration stickers. This way they can’t trace the truck back to this property.”
“But you left the plates on the SUV.”
“If any of you have to use that to get away, you don’t want some state cop with red eyes pulling you over.”
“You’ve thought of everything. Please be careful out there. We need you.”
“Take care of yourself—and them.”
Rachel got into the truck and started the engine. She steered the vehicle into the driveway and allowed it to roll away from the house to make as little noise as possible. The truck lurched from side to side, and the trees and road ahead glowed bright green. She turned on the radio.
“This is Charlie, and you’re listening to All Night Rock Radio, the station that cares. It’s eleven o’clock. Do you know where your children are?” A burst of laughter followed. “Only sixty minutes until the witching hour, and you know what that means: only three more days until the end of mankind. Their true ending is our true beginning. And now, for your listening pleasure, here’re Mick and the boys.”
The Rolling Stones launched into “Sympathy for the Devil.”
December 29
Standing at his window, Weizak watched dozens of possessed people exit the buildings on his street and head toward Broadway. Some wore jeans, some wore khakis, and some appeared to wear suits beneath long coats.
Where are you freaks going?
“To work.”
His mind boggled.
By noon, two different radio stations played nonstop music: one jazz and the blues, the other pop and rock.
“Where’s the heavy metal?” Weizak said. He’d always suspected the satanic association for metal was one more sham.
As he poured canned soup into a pot and heated it on his stove, the lyrics of a familiar song overlapped the jazz on the radio and his body stiffened. Cocking his head, he listened with growing delight, then hurried across the apartment to the TV, where he stood rooted with fascination. Staring at the black-and-white images on the screen, he sang the theme song from Gilligan’s Island. He burst into excited laughter.
December 30
Putting his books aside, Weizak spent the day watching old TV shows: Bonanza, I Love Lucy, Green Acres, Star Trek, The Honeymooners, The Fugitive, The Patty Duke Show, Gilligan’s Island, and Little House on the Prairie.
At 8:00 p.m. when he expected to see All in the Family and Maude, the presidential seal filled the screen.
A male voice announced, “We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming for a message from the president of the United States, coming to you live from the Oval Office in the White House.”
Weizak stopped chewing dry Wheat Chex long enough to grab a pen and a pad from the end table beside him.
A medium shot of President Lopez sitting behind a large desk replaced the presidential seal. She wore a pastel suit and her eyes glowed red.
Weizak closed his eyes in despair. When he opened them again, her eyes still glowed.
“Good evening,” President Lopez said. “This address is for the benefit of those short-timers who rema
in free or in hiding. We’ve taken the White House; we’ve taken the country; we’ve taken the world. Your time is at an end and ours begins anew. You know me as Donna Lopez, but she’s nothing but a screaming voice in the back of my mind.”
The president ran one hand through her long black hair. “I’m a different person now; all of us are. We’ve paid for our sins, and now we’re reborn in your images. Since January 1, nearly seven billion of us have returned to this plane. As of April 21, over two billion of us were killed or executed by your kind. Most of these murders were ordered by your leaders, including the previous possessor of this body. Today almost five billion of us stand strong on every continent. By midnight, less than eighteen million of you will remain on the planet.”
A wide shot showed the full desk. “Tomorrow at midnight you will comprehend the suffering of damnation as our souls inherit the earth. You will cease to exist in a physical sense, and we will at last know the paradise you have squandered.”
The camera cut to a close-up of President Lopez, and Weizak cringed at the sight of her mirrored eyes.
“We are of One Mind. We know who you are. We know where you are. You can’t run and you can’t hide. There is no defeating us. If you remain at large, we urge you to report to your local precinct, where we’ll ensure your comfort. If you insist on hiding until your end, we ask only that you maintain your body. Any attempts at violence will result in your destruction.” She paused. “This message will repeat every hour. Damn you all and damn the United States of America.”
The screen turned red, and yellow Chinese letters appeared with a superimposed caption: Ju Hintao, Paramount Leader of the People’s Republic of China. The image of a white-haired Chinese man who wore a suit and horn-rimmed glasses filled the screen. He spoke in his native tongue, with the translated text appearing at the bottom of the screen. “Good evening . . .”
Weizak ran over to his computer, where he had already started a Word doc entitled “December 30,” and struck the keys.
That night, lying alone in bed, he wept like a child.
Sixty
December 29
Rachel drove off the road and into the woods and parked. She had passed a farmhouse a quarter of a mile ago. After switching the ceiling dome light off, she hopped out, closed the door, and gathered naked gray branches from the ground with which she erected a rough frame over the truck. Then she took pruning shears from the back of the truck and proceeded to cut down branches from a large pine tree covered with green needles. She dragged those branches over to her makeshift teepee and wove them into the frame she had built.
Satisfied that she had camouflaged the vehicle, she climbed back into the cab, locked the doors, and removed her contacts. Leaving her M16A where she could reach it in a hurry, she set the alarm on her watch for 6:00 a.m., pulled the blanket out of the duffel bag, and lay on her side. She hoped she would fall asleep before she got too cold.
Although Rachel woke up during the night, she got enough sleep, and when the alarm woke her she felt rested, if stiff. She got out of the truck with her M16A, relieved herself, and stretched. The sky appeared as dark as it had when she parked the truck, but it wouldn’t for long.
After putting in her contacts, she walked parallel to the road, following it back to the driveway of the house she had spotted earlier. Despite the insulation provided by her SWAT uniform, she grew cold and rubbed her hands together. When she reached the driveway, which might have been another quarter mile to the house, she turned left.
At the edge of the woods, with a view of the house, she made herself a nest, sat, and took out her binoculars. No vehicles occupied the driveway, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any in the garage. No lights came on inside the house, but who said freaks with glowing red eyes needed artificial light? No one came outside.
Rachel took out a packet of instant oatmeal and nibbled on it. She had brought no other food, leaving it for Betty and the kids.
An airplane flew overhead.
Convinced the house was empty, she waited for darkness to return.
When it did, she waited another hour just to be safe. Then she approached the house from the rear.
Rachel kicked open the side door of the house and faced a set of stairs to her right, which descended into a dark basement, and several steps to her left that she followed into a country-style kitchen with a breakfast nook. She went straight to the refrigerator; no light came on when she opened the door, and the foul stench of rotten meat and spoiled milk assailed her senses. She found brown lettuce, withered asparagus, and a carton of eggs she was afraid to open. The freezer compartment had more food, none of it any good.
She slammed the door. Damn it!
Next she examined the cupboards: cereal, Pop-Tarts, SpaghettiOs, Chunky soup, cake mix, instant cocoa packets, and Kool-Aid powders. Then she hit pay dirt: an entire box of Cup-A-Soup. She figured they could last a day on the booty, two if she and Betty got creative. She filled the duffel bag, zipped it, and left.
I can go scavenging every night if I have to, she thought as she walked through the dark woods.
She located the truck without trouble, and after she opened the front door, she threw the food into the cab. As she raised one leg to get in she felt eyes on the back of her head, and she spun to face two MacNeils standing with rifles aimed at her. She froze, debating whether she could get her M16A.
“Go ahead,” the MacNeil on the left said. “Give me a reason to shoot.”
Rachel raised her arms.
“Konigsberg.” He grinned and she noticed he lacked several teeth.
Possessed hillbillies, Rachel thought. In that moment she realized that every MacNeil on earth knew her and where she stood.
The other man took her M16A and opened her coat, revealing her SWAT suit.
“Looks like this is our lucky night.”
With Fort Drum just a couple of hours away by car and far less by helicopter, Rachel knew she was cornered. “Kill me.”
“I highly doubt that,” her toothless captor said. “They’ll probably crucify you in Times Square and make you watch the ball drop.”
Rachel drew her Glock and opened fire on the speaker’s head. The first shot blew in his remaining teeth, the second scalped him, and the third filled in the blank spaces of his face with blood. As the MacNeil crumpled to the ground, his associate slammed Rachel’s face with the stock of her M16A, knocking her head against the truck. The rigidity of her quivering fingers prevented the Glock from slipping from her hand even as she fell to her knees in a daze.
The man twisted the M16A, aiming it at her, and she shot him three times in the gut, knocking him back. She tasted blood in her mouth as she rose and reclaimed the M16A.
Oh, my God, she thought. I have to lead them away from the others.
She kicked away the rifle of the freak she had just shot in the belly. He writhed on the ground and she kneeled beside him. Taking his head in her hands, she stared into his red eyes. “Look at me.”
The glowing orbs seemed to focus on her.
“I hope you suffer.” That should piss them off.
She dropped his head to the earth, jumped into the truck, and drove out of the woods, spilling the camouflage she had arranged as she slammed the door. Stepping on the gas and spinning the steering wheel, she made sure the wheels sprayed dirt as she drove away, creating a show for the MacNeil. She turned on the headlights and eased up on the gas long enough to fasten her seat belt and take the map from the glove compartment.
A helicopter appeared in the sky ten minutes later and a police car five minutes after that, its strobes flashing and siren blaring.
Rachel accelerated and stayed close to the edge of the road, and branches snapped at the truck. She switched off the headlights again, making it harder for the helicopter pilot to see her now that she had his attention.
Come on. Come on, she thought.
Light appeared all around the truck as the helicopter paced it. Ahead she saw what she wante
d: the road appeared to stop, replaced by woods. A metal sign instructed her to turn left or right. Instead she drove through it, praying she didn’t crash into a tree.
The truck sped through dense brush, bouncing on its shock absorbers, the trees offering cover from the helicopter’s searchlight. Rachel didn’t have to look into any of her mirrors to know that the police car had screeched to a stop at the barrier. She swerved to avoid a tree, then swerved back. Her destination lay straight ahead: the edge of a steep decline leading to a creek below.
The truck raced forward, the edge growing closer. Gritting her teeth and gripping the steering wheel, Rachel stepped on the gas and experienced free fall. The truck crashed into the earth, throwing dirt into the air. She twisted the steering wheel, rolling the truck sideways. It tipped over, rolled again, and went into a spin. Rachel’s face struck the steering wheel, and one of her contacts fell out. Her world blended green light and pitch-black darkness, throwing off her depth of field. The truck performed a final roll and slid to a stop upside down.
Heart thundering, Rachel unbuckled her seat belt and slammed her head on the ceiling. Positioning herself on the ceiling, she kicked out her window, but the side of the truck had dug into the dirt, and she couldn’t get out. The back window had a large crack in it, so she kicked it with the heels of both combat boots. Grabbing the window with both hands, she tore it out like cardboard. Then she gripped her M16A and crawled under the truck bed. Gasoline poured out of the tank, which had ruptured, soaking the earth.
Wiggling out from under the pickup, she heard the creek even though she didn’t see it. She peeked around the corner of the truck. Two men with glowing eyes stood on the hill’s edge above. The helicopter hovered above the space between her and them, its spotlight sweeping over the trees and casting long shadows in pools of illumination. Two more men joined the first pair, and all four descended the hill.
The Julian Year Page 38