First Days After

by Jay Vielle

  “I’m sorry, Colonel,” Nick said, and poked the gun barrel into the Colonel’s back. “You have to go.”

  Nick and some of the others put zip tie handcuffs on all the men. Jake, Tommy, Vinny, Al, Glen, the Colonel, and me—all of us got zip tied. They left the ladies unfettered. Lawrence, the leader, noticed the confusion on the face of the ladies and smiled.

  “In case you were wonderin’ ladies, you all ain’t zip tied for a reason. It’s easier to enjoy your charms if your hands are free to take various positions,” he said. “We figure you’ll be smart enough not to fight back.”

  Wendy’s mouth went agape. Jada began to cry. Maureen looked sick, and turned to look at Morgan and Estela, who were in shock.

  “How can you be like this? Like animals? Our country is under attack and you are taking advantage of it like, like, a criminal!” Wendy said. “It’s only been a week! How can you be like this so soon? What could have driven you to be this, this, this evil?”

  “Why that’s simple, ma’am. Some of us were evil long before the shit hit the fan,” said Lawrence, grinning. He pulled up his sleeve and showed Wendy a tattoo.

  “See this? I got this in Lorton prison six years ago. It says I was someone’s bitch. I was property, and that anyone who messed with me would have to deal with my owner. It kept me alive while I was there--but the things I saw, the things I did? They weren’t human. Then I got paroled, and I started driving a truck for another ex-con who owned the company. He wanted to give me a chance, knowing that society wouldn’t. He was right. He was also the first person I killed in this town. But he weren’t the last, that’s for sure. Folks here wised up quick. Now this tattoo means I’m the fuckin man, at least in this neck of the woods. And every time a new car comes off that ramp, I get richer. And so do the people who stick with me. But the ones who don’t? They don’t live long.”

  Wendy made a defiant face but was unable to hold back tears as she marched along with the bus passengers.

  “You’re a little old, but you’re a looker. Might have to keep you around here instead of selling you,” said Lawrence, patting her buttocks. Wendy grimaced and shut her eyes through the tears.

  About an hour later, the men had been dropped off at the high school stadium. We were sitting on the bleachers with our hands zip-tied, staring out onto the local campus. There was a lot of activity about a hundred yards away in the school greenhouse. People were bustling in and out of there non-stop, carrying packages, potted plants, and pushing carts around.

  “You all are gonna become the new hired help,” said the one called Nick, whom Jake had tackled and choked.

  “Lawrence don’t let new guys outta their cuffs for the first day or two, cuz they always try to bolt. A few days of trying to wipe your ass with two hands and you’ll start to come around. You realize you gotta labor, wipe shit, eat, and try to wash with the same fucking hands, and it don’t work. You’ll see. This place will break you or kill you.”

  Nick looked at Jake.

  “And don’t think I forgot about you, waddles. Payback’s coming. You’re my bitch now,” he said, and back-handed Jake hard. A bloody spot of broken skin opened up immediately, and we all looked at Nick’s hand. There was an enormous ring on it.

  “Like my ring, motherfucker? State champs two years straight.”

  Jake spat and eyeballed Nick.

  “You want another one?” Nick asked.

  A Gator cart came riding up, with a young man in his twenties driving. He had a tightly cropped head of hair and a cut off T-shirt that showed a muscular build.

  “Hey Nick,” the young man called. “Boss wants the new guys at the greenhouse. Moving a lot of shit out today, and he wants to stay on schedule.”

  “Alright, Troy,” said Nick. “I’ll march ‘em over there.”

  We walked the hundred yards to the greenhouse. Jake’s face was dripping with sweat and trickling blood from the backhand from Nick. It had to sting, but his face was stone. Just as we were passing the side of the bleachers, Glen Billings stumbled and fell.

  “Get the fuck up,” said Nick, kicking at him.

  “He’s diabetic,” I yelled. “His blood sugar must be off.”

  “I don’t give a fuck if he has AIDS, he needs to get up, now,” said Nick.

  “He can’t, you asshole. Don’t you know what diabetes is? He could go into a coma and die if you don’t get him either food or medicine. We have some on the bus,” I yelled.

  “Shut up,” said Nick, who then bashed me in the face with the broadside of his shotgun.

  “I’m tired of dealing with you fuckers. If he can’t make it, then he dies. Leave him. Weaklings can’t exist in the new world,” he said.

  We all kept walking and Glen lay still and flat next to the bleachers. Jake was seething, but said nothing. The Colonel grimaced, and Al made a face and looked down at the ground. Nick marched us up to the greenhouse, and as we got close, I noticed why all the activity was buzzing around it. The plants they were moving around were Cannabis. Marijuana. Weed.

  “Now you know why Lawrence is such a badass,” said Nick. “We been supplying the jail with weed for the past three years. Now we gonna expand our territory, now that we have more ‘hired help’ like yourselves. We’re all gonna be rich men, cause even in the Apocalypse, people want weed. And we can supply it.”

  “Using the high school’s greenhouse?” I asked.

  “We took it over last week. Replanted our shit in there. People fucking bailed outta the school the minute the bombs dropped. Lawrence was smart enough to take it over. Local cops came to run him out the day after, and we killed ‘em. All of ‘em. Nice thing about small towns—ain’t too many cops, and the ones that are there are just yokels.”

  “Using the local high school as a headquarters,” I said. “Who would’ve thought of that?”

  Jake cut his eyes at me and Al scowled a little.

  “That bus you provided is gonna be a help too. We could only get our hands on one of them, but now we can move more shit faster. More shit means more money,” said Nick. “Now pick up everything inside the greenhouse that ain’t planted in the dirt and put it over into that flatbed.

  “How are we gonna carry all of that with our hands tied up?” asked Al.

  “Find a way, Stilts. And shut up,” said Nick. “Colonel, you too, sir. Sorry. Job’s gotta be done.”

  The Colonel looked quizzically at Nick for a moment, nodded, and moved forward towards the rest of us. The next hour we spent putting everything that wasn’t planted and growing onto a flatbed wagon being pulled by a pick-up truck. It was exhausting, and my wrists were killing me with every movement. The plastic cut into them, leaving a mark, and I wondered how long it would be before permanent damage set in from being tied up like that. The greenhouse was now mostly empty, and the flatbed full of product for Lawrence to sell.

  “Back to the stadium now,” Nick said. “You can sit there till we have more shit for you to do.”

  I wondered why we were being put in the bleachers of the stadium, with so much space anywhere around the school. Then, as we got closer, I saw why. Up in the press box was a man with a rifle and a scope. A sniper. He could pick us off easily before we could get anywhere. Lawrence wasn’t kidding. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He knew what he was doing, he knew how to manage thugs and push dope, and his numbers would only grow. And he had us as his slaves. God only knows what he was doing with the girls.

  I also noticed something on our walk back that Nick did not: Glen Billings was gone.

  CHAPTER 16

  “That was really, really good,” said Mark Longaberger.

  “See,” said Emery. “This place does good work, like I told you.”

  “Well, yeah, that too,” said Mark. “I was talking mostly about the barbecue.”

  Emery laughed. Billy James was collecting the information of the guests, which eventually totaled nearly a hundred and fifty people. Mark hadn’t believed it at first, but the names on the sh
eet didn’t lie.

  “Wow. I wouldn’t have believed you if you told me seventy people showed up today,” said Mark. “But this did go on for about four hours.”

  “There are many people in need in this town,” said Pablo. “I must admit, I too changed my mind about this church.” Emery smiled in a very satisfied fashion, like a cat with belly full of bird.

  “What do you mean, Pablo?” asked Mark.

  “I was not always a Protestant, Mark,” said Pablo. “In fact, I teach here at Mount Saint Michael’s because it is a Catholic institution. Spain, even more than Italy, is the most Catholic country in the world.

  “More so than the country that houses the Vatican?” asked Mark incredulously.

  “Consider the fact that Spain became a country because of Catholicism,” said Pablo.

  “I thought it was because Ferdinand and Isabel married and joined their massive holdings,” said Mark.

  “It was, but they joined to combat a religious foe,” said Pedro. “Don’t you teach history?”

  “I have to admit, that in spite of my being a history teacher, the particular history of Spain isn’t my strong suit,” said Mark. “I usually teach about either ancient Mesopotamia or the modern United States. Can you explain it to me?”

  “Well, Spain was a collection of small kingdoms and dukedoms. Castle towns, surrounded by walls and protected by warlords, and run by moros—Muslims from North Africa. Then an arranged marriage between Fernando of Aragon and Isabela of Castilla y Leon solidified much of the land. They were the reyes católicos—the Catholic rulers—and they created a country in 1492 dedicated to eradicating all religions except Catholicism.

  “1492—the year Columbus sailed?” asked Mark.

  “Sí. They were intent upon gaining wealth and influence for Spain, and with the Pope’s blessing, sent emissaries and conquistadors to the New World to do just that. But in the process, they pushed the Muslims farther and farther south. And the church offered sanctification anyone who had fought and died against them. San Fernando—from whom my mother gets her surname—was a moor fighter. Most importantly, Santiago Matamoros—Saint James the Moor Slayer—the Muslim Killer—is his literal sainted name. He is the patron saint of all Spain. Our national hero is El Cid—a knight who fought the moros for years. Our entire country owes its existence to unifying around Catholicism.”

  “And apparently the destruction of Islam,” said Mark.

  “Well, those were different times. From the times of the Crusades, Europeans have fought to say which god is the more powerful,” said Pablo.

  “So how is it that you ended up here, at this church?” asked Mark.

  “I met Emery here at a college lecture I was giving. He talked to me about my ideas and invited me to come to the church. They showed me similarities in things I love about the Catholic church, then won me over by making me see the ways this church improved upon it. They are not so different in how they view the world—but very much so in terms of the way they run things.”

  “Does the college have a problem with you…converting?” asked Mark.

  “I am still Catholic,” said Pablo. “I have not renounced my original faith. But now I describe myself as perhaps being not so trapped beneath church hierarchical dogma. I still attend mass at the college, and still visit the Shrine of Saint Elizabeth and and the Grotto of the lady of Lourdes. But I also am open to ideas here as well.”

  “I see,” said Mark. “What ideas in particular attracted you?”

  Emery and Pablo eyed each other warily, then slowly turned back at Mark.

  “I mean, from an academic point of view. I mean, I’m having a positive experience here myself,” Mark said nervously. “I just wonder what aspects of this place appeal to you.”

  “Well, Mark,” said Pablo. “It’s that the church and I see eye to eye about the kind of people who belong in the congregation.”

  “Really?” said Mark, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Mark, it’s no secret that many denominations consider themselves to be God’s chosen people. Catholics, Jews, Mormons, Baptists. Each group has certain characteristics to which they adhere, and believe that God’s blessing is upon theirs especially, and that those people within it demonstrate certain…behaviors, qualities if you will, that delineate them from the unwashed,” said Pablo. “For years as a devout Catholic, I followed the Holy Father’s instructions to the letter. I was even a member of Opus Dei. Have you heard of it?”

  “I read The Da Vinci Code.”

  “Dear Lord, it’s nothing like that. It is simply a lay group of individuals who chose to live like members of the clergy.”

  “So…celibacy?”

  “We deny ourselves many temporal distractions,” said Pablo. “Denial strengthens faith, will, and the soul. But this most recent pope has allowed standards to relax in ways that Heaven would be much firmer with, in my opinion. This church holds firm to my standards.”

  “Which are?”

  “There are a number of them,” said Pablo. Billy James looked a little nervous.

  “Now Pablo, don’t scare the boy,” he said.

  “I think Mark has spent enough time with us to know that we have grace in our hearts,” Pablo said. “But he must also know where we are less forgiving.”

  “In due time, Pablo,” said Billy.

  “Billy, the Apocalypse is upon our doorstep. World War III has begun, and millions of people are dead all over the world. God’s message could not be louder. Mark, the mongrelization of what your country’s earliest promises were, well it has reached levels that Heaven has moved to correct.”

  “Huh?” said Mark.

  “The scripture is very clear about homosexuality, as well as the mixing of races. It is also clear about the roles of women in this world, and how they differ from the males’ roles. First Timothy says, ‘Suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence.’ Recently the Catholic Church has allowed its firmness on these topics to lapse in their adherence. The Church of Many Blessings has always been firm on their approach all of these, and that is why I left the Catholic Church to come here to worship.”

  “Are you serious? In this day and age, your beef is with gays, multi-racial people, and women? They are in the social vanguard for Pete’s sake. You can’t outlaw people!”

  “We are not outlawing them, Mark. We are simply choosing not to socialize or be with them spiritually. We are not denying them any rights as American citizens. We are simply declaring what God has already said about them and choosing to gather among the purer souls. That is all.”

  Mark Longaberger suddenly looked like he was about to throw up. He glanced around at the church members on the periphery of the barbecue to see if they were listening to Pablo, and how they might react. All of them looked at Pablo with affirmation and pride. A couple of them were nodding. But when Mark caught their glances eye to eye, he read only mistrust, doubt, and concern. He was not one of them yet. He wasn’t one of them ever. For a brief moment he felt that it was his responsibility to teach them, as if they were a classroom full of his students. They were ignorant, not evil, and he could convince them of his way of thinking by simply citing a few facts, some statistics, some irrefutable science. He may have felt a little in over his head, but these were educated adults. Surely they would listen.

  “Pablo, Billy. You can’t be serious about this. This seems more political than religious. I mean, you really think this?”

  “It wasn’t us that made this political,” said Billy. “We contained it to our congregation. It’s the crazy socialist liberals who rammed this down everyone’s throat. But because we don’t happen to agree, we are persecuted, chastised, even ostracized. But not anymore. It’s a whole new ballgame now. We can remake America the way the founding fathers wanted it.”

  Mark felt a chill go down his spine.

  “Mark, you must see,” said Pablo. “When your country elected someone like Barack Ob
ama-- a mixed-race Muslim, a lover of homosexuals, transsexuals, and all types of natural aberrations--it was very clear what path our country was going down. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and no matter how well-intended those people may have been, they were on Satan’s path. And thankfully, God intervened and prevented a woman from ascending to the White House, where the murderers of innocent children could be legitimized.”

  “Holy shit,” said Mark. “I think I need to take a walk.”

  “Think about things Mark. The evidence is clear. God is cleansing the world, and testing us, challenging us to remake it in his image.”

  “And his image is that of a straight, white, male,” said Mark.

  “Can you think of a more accurate description of Jesus Christ?” said Pablo.

  Mark stood agape, his head shaking ever so slightly in disbelief. He put his soda down and started to walk down the street. His shoulders slumped, and his feet scraped as he walked, as if all of the air had been taken out of him.

  “You came on too strong too fast, Pablo,” said Billy.

  “I disagree. Isn’t it better that we know now which side he is on?”

  “We could’ve won that one over,” said Billy.

  “I’m not so certain,” said Pablo. “Either way, he knows where we stand. It’s up to him to decide. Chosen, or Unchosen.”

  “I think you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,” Billy said.

  “That may be true, but was what I was saying vinegar, or was it simply an accurate depiction of what we believe? People also respect truth and directness. He does not have to accept our way completely, but if there are parts that make sense to him, he can be won over that way as well. People do not usually align themselves completely with anything right away. That is more for fringe believers. There are, even to me, aspects of the church’s doctrine that are not fully aligned with my beliefs, but overall your approach to things aligns with more of mine than it doesn’t. Give him time and allow him to express his own doubts. You may find him more willing to join. Or you may simply discover more quickly that he is not going to be one of us. Either way, it is more honest.”