by Riley Flynn
He could see right down to the foot of the stairs. Feet and hands lay strewn across the small part of the floor. Jenna had been busy. But they weren’t slowing down. If he concentrated, Alex could see he wall shake when an invader leaned up against it.
Boom. Alex felt the trigger lick back. He pumped the handle. Ready for the next one.
Boom. Wood and splinters burst out, revealing the dry wall behind the plaster. Reload.
Boom. Reload. Fire again. Alex saw movement everywhere, and all around him gun shots started going off. He kept firing and pumping the handle. At the foot of the stairs, dust and debris swirled around, a heavy fog filled with shadows and ghosts.
Alex fired once more into the crowd. Pump, reload. He was out.
“Jenna!”
Already, she was stood over his shoulder, another shotgun in her hand.
“Thanks.” Alex rushed the word, turning back to the stairs.
A man was already climbing up, half the steps behind him and a semi-automatic rifle in his hand.
Alex unleashed another volley from the shotgun, knocking the man backwards, out into the air, and tumbling down.
On the way, he collided with the next person on the stairs. Alex fired two more shots, chasing them away. He waited for the fog to settle. But no one was coming.
“Clear on this side!” he shouted. “How about over there?”
Gunshots told him enough.
“Jenna, take over here.” He called out. “I’m coming over.”
Standing up, Alex couldn’t feel his legs. Tiredness. Pain. Fatigue. Constant war. But his heart was racing, beating as loud as the rifles, almost bursting out of his chest.
He handed the gun to Jenna, and she ducked into position. Alex collected a pistol from the cache, then ran next to Reni standing in the window bay, firing out.
“They’re coming up on the roof, Alex,” she shouted between volleys, not taking her eyes off the courtyard. “They’ve moving too fast.”
Alex could see it. Below, as the barn burned, Levine’s people had stationed themselves behind the burned-out cars and the sheds and stables. They were aiming potshots at the windows while their friends snuck around the sides. Either running into the house or trying to climb up on the porch and breach the windows by swinging in.
Timmy was aiming for the cusp of the porch roof. As soon as a person appeared, he’d fire. Sometimes he caught a head, sometimes a finger. Sometimes, he did just enough to put the fear of God into them and they fell away to the ground.
Outside, the snow hadn’t stopped. But the flames from the barn fought against the blizzard. This was war.
“They’re on the sides, man.” Timmy shouted, firing a shoot at a fresh head appearing over the precipice. “Take a look.”
Alex lightly touched Reni on the shoulder, easing her out of his way, alerting her to his presence. She stepped aside.
Alex leaned out of the window. He saw a man running along the top of the roof. Raising his pistol, he took aim.
A bullet fizzed through the air and glanced off the tile right beside Alex’s head. He dived back inside.
“Christ!”
“Be careful, man. They’re not accurate, but there’s a lot of them.”
“Cover me. Quick!”
Reni and Timmy both turned to the courtyard and began to lay down covering fire. Alex leaned out again and saw his target. Closer now, maybe ten feet away and moving.
Alex looked down the barrel of the pistol and pulled the trigger.
The bullet flew by, hitting only air as the man dived to his side and skidded down the roof.
Alex aimed again, waiting for the moment when the man hit the edge.
As soon as he man stopped moving, clinging on to the slippery tiles, Alex pulled the trigger. The man’s body fell limp and dropped to the ground.
“Six o’clock, man.”
Alex turned to his six. There was another one. He aimed, hit this one first time. Another behind him. Fired. Missed. Caught him with the second shot.
A bullet pinged against the roof tile and Alex ducked inside. He couldn’t carry on like this. They were climbing up faster than he could knock them down.
From the top of the stairs, Jenna’s shotgun fired shell after shell. She needed a reload.
Alex jumped across the room to the bed, reaching over the top, past the busily-reloading Joan and grabbed a second shotgun already loaded with shells.
“You’re doing the Lord’s work, Joan!” he shouted out but she didn’t hear him over the din, her finger scrabbling rounds into magazines as quickly as she could.
The air inside the room was almost unbreathable. A thin black cloud hung over everything. He was choking, coughing. Every breath was getting harder. Every breath could be his last.
Gun loaded, he ran across to Jenna and handed it over. She took it without looking, firing the first shot into a man five steps from the top of the stairs.
They had to do something. This couldn’t carry on forever. Eventually, their defenses would slip. Even the slightest mistake could spell the end. I have to do something, Alex realized.
The bed in the corner was shaking. Alex changed tack and headed for it, looking over the top. Joan was lying on the ground, crouched over her baby, still reloading. Above them, Finn was dancing and twisting, readying himself to fight off anything that tried to take them. The weapons were scattered all around.
Alex knew he had to keep them safe.
“Alex!” Joan looked up, right into his face. “You need these.”
She held up two bottles, sealed shut with two ragged strips of bed sheet. She’d been busy. The Molotov cocktails. Clever girl.
Snatching them up, grabbing a lantern with a candle inside, he ran to the window beside Timmy.
“I’ve got a plan,” he shouted in Timmy’s ear. “I need your help.”
“I’m all ears, man.”
They had to shout to hear one another.
“Follow my lead.”
Alex used the candle to light two of the smaller cocktails. There were seven altogether, all in various sizes. Liquor bottles filled with gasoline and stuffed with rags in the top. Once they were burning, Alex leaned out the window.
He threw one in either direction, making sure they exploded on the roof.
As the bottles hit the tiles, a wave of flames engulfed the area. A burning wall built up on both sides.
“That should keep them off,” shouted Alex. “Now, see down there?”
He was pointing to a spot on the courtyard. Right there, a crowd of the believers had built up. There were less of them now. They couldn’t swarm anymore. They were taking it slow. Planning. To do this, they’d gathered together.
“They’re out of range,” Timmy looked at the bottle in Alex’s hand. “You’ll never hit them.”
“I’m not trying to.”
Timmy looked from the crowd to the bottle and back to Alex. A smile began to spread across his face.
“I think I got you, man. I’m ready when you are.”
Alex trusted his friend. He knew Timmy well enough to know when they shared an idea. Right now, in this moment, their minds were one.
“Just got to make sure I’ve got my rifle.” Alex looked around for the Savage.
It was back on the other side of the room. He lunged across the bedroom. There wasn’t much time.
“Alex, I need more ammo.”
It was Jenna. She was trying to reload by herself. But Alex didn’t have the time. One second too long and the crowd might have broken up.
The spare shotgun was on the floor in the middle of the room. As Alex ran for the Savage, he kicked it toward the teenager.
Boom. The gun fired as it clattered across the room. A spray of pellets chewed a wide circle out of the wall. At least that means it’s loaded, Alex thought.
A face appeared around the corner. Jenna, her eyes spread wide in anger and fear.
“Jesus Christ, Alex!” He could hear her even over the gunfire. “Think
before you act!”
Stupid move, he knew. Stupid, stupid move. He could have killed someone. A friend. As his thoughts began to sink him into a pool of regret, Jenna punched Alex on the arm.
“Not now! Get on with it! Do better!”
Jenna didn’t waste time. She grabbed the shotgun and started firing. Alex collected his Savage and ran back to Timmy.
They were still there.
“I hope you got a good arm, man.”
“Me too, Timmy.”
Alex lit the biggest cocktail he had. He weighed it in his hand, waiting for the rag to burn down. The timing had to be perfect.
Leaning back, he hurled the bottle from the window. It went looping up into the air. Timmy followed it with his gun.
The bottle arced up, the flaming rag trailing an orange tail against the night sky. It hit a peak height and began to descend. Alex watched it. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Even with the war around him, he had to stare.
Timmy fired. The bottle exploded. A cloud of white flames expanded in the sky, right about the crowd of believers. A star in the night, guiding them home, Alex thought.
The burning cloud of gas fell on the crowd. It took immediately. They screamed, ran from their cover.
Alex already had the Savage in his hand. With Timmy, they picked off the people as they cried out and rolled in the snow.
The believers didn’t know what had happened. They hadn’t seen or they hadn’t realized. Another group of them took cover behind a burned-out car.
“Ready again, Timmy?”
“You bet, man.”
Alex lit another rag and heaved the bottle out. Timmy hit it again, perfect shot. It exploded. The crowd burned. The rifles finished them off.
“We must have got twenty of them,” Timmy bellowed. “At least!”
“Look!” Reni was shouting. “They’re running away!”
She was right. Against the back drop of the burning back, Alex could see the shadows turning to the fields and fleeing.
Timmy shouldered his rifle, about to pick off one of the men running away. Alex held out a hand.
“Don’t. They’re just Levine’s men. They got conned by him. I bet this was a whole different revelation for them.”
A blast from Jenna’s shotgun. Then it fell quiet. As the last echo faded away, Alex realized. There were no more shots being fired. Everything was silent.
The snow was falling outside. In the bedroom, looking out over the courtyard, the dust began to settle.
Timmy was the first one to shatter the silence. He shouted. Not words. Not anything that made any sense. Just a deafening, animal shout. Reni joined him. Jenna, too.
But Alex stayed silent. He walked over to the bed, checked behind it. Joan was still crouched above her baby. She looked up. She smiled.
Alex led them through the house. He took point while Timmy and Reni followed. Jenna stayed behind with Joan and the dog. There were bodies everywhere. But they had to be sure.
No one was left alive.
“We got them all, man. We got them all!”
It was the truth. But something about it felt wrong. There was a ringing noise in Alex’s ear. It might never fade away. But he knew quiet when he heard it. Right now, the farm was as quiet as it had ever been. They’d won. So why didn’t he feel good?
Walking from room to room, they surveyed the damage. The car driven into the entrance. The roof, still on fire. The burn, now collapsing in on itself. The house was a ruin, filled with the dead.
Once he was sure they were alone, Alex divided up the group. He sent them around to put out various fires. If there was anyone left alive, they could try to help them. Or put them out of their misery. The decision was a personal one.
Reni went to find her brother. Timmy said he’d look for Jamie. They were to be buried first.
But there was something sticking into Alex’s mind, a knife digging deeper and deeper. He already knew what it was but he didn’t want to admit it to himself. Even as he looked into every dead face, he couldn’t find the one he was searching for. Levine.
The preacher was still out there somewhere. Alex watched his friends celebrate and mourn. But he couldn’t join them. When they weren’t looking, he began to gather together his possessions. His rifle. A pistol. The last Molotov cocktail, the size of a soda bottle.
He pulled out the rag and wrung it out. Fixing a cap in place, sealing the gas shut, he slipped the bottle into his back pocket and wrapped the rag around his wrist. As he filled a pocket with bullets, he found a lump. Krol’s lighter. Still heavy and gold. He kept hold of it. A lucky charm.
Either stay and comfort his friends or head out into the night. Even if he tried to stay, Alex knew he wouldn’t be able to sit still. Always looking over his shoulder, always expecting the preacher to appear from the shadows. The Lord works in mysterious ways.
I have to find him, Alex decided. I have to go alone.
Leaving the farm house to smolder, leaving his friends behind, Alex stepped out into the night. He didn’t wear a jacket. He didn’t want to tell the others. He felt the cold air whipping around his neck. This was a private fight. Atonement. Among all the dead, he felt alive.
It was time to find Levine. It was time to end it all.
33
The barn burned and the snow fell. The trusses and walls fell down, heaving and grinding. As they toppled and crashed, a storm of cinders burst out into the night, flashing bright white for a moment and then fading to black. Alex couldn’t see the sky. He couldn’t see the stars or the moon. Only the embers and snowflakes, illuminating the world, falling all around him.
He stepped around the bodies. Some spluttered and slid slowly from the land of the living. Levine had promised them heaven, had promised to walk them right up to the gates of the Lord and lead them through himself. This was their rapture, dying in a field on a forgotten farm. The end of their own little worlds.
Alex couldn’t stop his mind working. He knew he had to find Levine. He knew he had to kill the man. But, surrounded by the death and the destruction and the devilish tricks, he couldn’t help but think What was the point?
Passing the burning bones of the barn, stepping out on to the untouched fields, Alex walked toward the darkness. In this new world, he missed electricity. A strange thing, he thought, to remember right now. How familiar and fake the light from a lamp could be. Now, when they wanted to see in the dark, something had to burn.
We’re living in interesting times.
The image of Krol and Levine competed in his thoughts. Three sides of the same coin, Krol had said. Stupid phrase, Alex thought. Even the thought of interesting times was something to detest now.
The weight of the rifle, hanging from his shoulder, was a comfort. The gentle clink of the spare rounds in his pocket echoed through the silent fields. A pistol tucked down the back of his pants, the smallest Molotov cocktail in one pocket and a lighter in the other and not much else.
Cold, dark, and difficult. Alex’s sneakers crunched on the untouched snow as he pushed deeper and deeper into the darkness.
He’s out here, Alex knew. I don’t have to go looking for him.
After walking for fifteen minutes, he stopped. Turning around, he could see the crumbling barn and the rest of the buildings, all lit up like Christmas. It was too far to see people. The whole farm looked small from here; it was impossible to make out the individual shapes and shadows, moving under their own desires.
So many dead, so few left living to clean up the mess. This was the whole of the country now, Alex realized. From coast to coast, people were fighting over what was left of the farm. Men like Levine and Krol, iron-willed animals with visions were harvesting the living.
Some, in the end, might turn good. Krol had certainly seen the light.
But some, like Levine, were irrecoverably broken.
This was the new world.
A strange place to live, Alex thought. The snow fell. That is, if we survive the winter.
/> The beat of the horse’s hooves cut through the quiet and made Alex turn his head away from the farm. A heavy sound, a rhythmic thump matched with the crinkle of the fresh snowfall.
The sound came from out in the darkness. Alex stood and waited. He considered the rifle. One shot, aimed true, could cut down the preacher before he’d even arrived.
But, scanning the horizon, Alex saw nothing but shadows. He could only hear the noise of the man approaching.
“Alex!” The voice called from the darkness.
Even after everything, Levine’s voice was still coated in sugar. A syrupy tone, enough to rot the teeth.
“Alex, throw down your gun.” It wasn’t a command. The preacher’s tone was light, airy. The sound of a disappointed father reasoning with a histrionic child.
“Come and take it.”
The rifle stayed lodged in Alex’s hand. The hoofbeats stopped.
“Alex, my friend. Please do not be foolish. To think that I don’t have my own weapon trained on you in this moment, what do you take me for?”
Levine had come from the darkened fields for a reason, Alex realized. He was almost invisible right now, stationed some distance away on his horse. Ears still ringing from the gunfight, trying to track the sound of the preacher’s voice was impossible.
Instead, Alex was silhouetted against the burning barn. Levine had him at a disadvantage.
Carefully, Alex laid the rifle on the snow. Levine only knew about one of the guns, anyway.
“Good man,” came the voice from the darkness.
The horse began to move again, coming closer and closer. Slow, steady beats by hooves on the field. Alex counted them out. One, two, three, four.
As he reached twenty, he could see the beast. Levine on his pale horse, emerging from the shadows. Alex craned his neck up, looking the man in the face as he came into the light.
The preacher carried a gun. A snub-nosed revolver. Not big enough to win a war but small enough to shoot one man. Alex felt alone. Now, he could feel the cold. The wind whipping him around the neck, the falling flakes landing on his skin and melting.
But Levine seemed immune to the cold. His robes had been ripped and torn. One sleeve had been removed entirely, uncovering a muscled shoulder and the top of his chest. The man had been an athlete, a politician, and a preacher. Tonight, the shadows played across his tanned skin as he stepped out of his saddle.