Plaguesville, USA

by Jim LaVigne

  As Lampert spoke, the professional in Justin noticed that the Old Man seemed in good health, at least for a 102-year old, and as mentally sharp as ever. No worse, apparently, for the wear. So that, at least, was good news.

  “What about the others?” Justin asked. “Is Dr. Poole alright?”

  “We hope so,” said Cass bleakly, slumped on a cot. “But they separated us when we got here, so we’re really not sure. We haven’t seen any of the others for, oh, about a day.”

  “What happened to you, anyway?” asked Swails, on the next cot. “We thought you were dead!”

  “Oh, no,” said Justin. “I was kidnapped.”

  Suddenly he was embarrassed, realizing he hadn’t thought about what to tell people about Teresa and their rather unique relationship, and felt his face go three shades of red. Hurriedly, hoping to gloss over the awkward moment, he went on.

  “Yes, see, one of the Bloodclaws sort of attacked me,” he said, “while I was searching for the stash. She knocked me out and took me prisoner.”

  “She?” grinned Lampert. “Did you say she?”

  “Uh, yes,” said Justin. “It was Teresa, the young woman who was one of the three, whatever, leaders of the Bloodclaws.”

  “I remember her,” said Lampert, still grinning. “Geez, she’s a biscuit, Doc! I mean, hell, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t mind gettin’ kidnapped by a gorgeous young thing like that! An’ that’s comin’ from someone who’s recently been kidnapped. So what happened? C’mon, give!”

  “Well, she held me captive,” said Justin, nettled and precise, “and was planning on selling me, apparently to the highest bidder, when we were set upon by these brown fellows. She ran away, they got me, and here I am.” He barreled on before Lampert could say anything else. “But what do these men want from us? Do we know? Have they said what they’re going to do with us?”

  “Oh, oh pally,” said the long-haired stranger from his shadowy corner. “You do not wanna know.”

  Glad of the diversion, Justin walked over. “I’m sorry,” he told the young man, “we haven’t been introduced. My name is Dr. Kaes.”

  The man looked up insolently at Justin through long, clumpy brown hair. His eyes were blue and very bright, dominating a thin, handsome face marred by dirt, beard, and the sort of wan complexion developed only in prisons and hospitals. He wore a ragged pair of jeans and an old woolen shirt, once red and blue plaid, with beat-up cowboy boots, and smelled gamily of unwashed human. Now, after sizing Justin up for a second, he gave a small smirk and nodded.

  “I’m Bowler,” he said. “Pleased to meetcha.”

  “Do you know about these people?” asked Justin.

  “Oh yeah,” said the other, nodding grimly, “you could say that. I been here almost a year now.”

  “And what about them?” pressed Justin. “What are they going to do with us?’

  “Well, first off,” said Bowler laconically, “they’ll try and convert you. Try and get you to all be members.”

  “Convert us? So they’re a religious group?”

  “Oh yeah,” nodded Bowler. “Big time evangelical-types. Real bible-bangers. But that ain’t really the problem.”

  “Oh? And what is?”

  “Well, see,” said Bowler pensively, “they got what you might call some pretty extreme ideas about things… big things.”

  “Like?” said Justin, growing impatient.

  “Like,” said the other, “did you happen to notice it’s all men?”

  “I saw a couple of women, outside,” Justin said. “And some children.”

  “Slaves,” said Bowler sadly. “Breeders. And when they can’t breed no more? They go same as anybody they don’t need or who don’t convert. Gulp! Down the hatch.”

  “The hatch?” said Justin, a sick sensation growing in his belly. “What hatch?”

  “Lemme make this plain, man,” said Bowler intensely, sitting up on the edge of his cot. “OK? I’ll just spell it out for y’all. The Brothers of St Alferd are nothin’ more or less than cannibals. They eat people. Do ya hear what I’m sayin’? And if you don’t join ‘em, you men will get killed and eaten, too. You women, well, you won’t get eaten right off. That is, unless ya can’t have babies. Then you’ll get killed right off. And, you know, eaten.”

  As the others gasped and moaned and broke into panicked sniffles, Justin, grimly recalling the gospel quote on the office banner, felt the sick feeling burgeon to nausea and shook his head at what this rather unnerving young man was telling them.

  “Eat us?” he said incredulously. “They actually eat other human beings?”

  “Actually, factually,” shrugged Bowler. “However ya wanna say it, they eat people. Yes.”

  “Good Lord!” Justin exclaimed, tottering on his feet. “That’s… that’s… barbaric! It’s incredible!”

  “Yeah, it sure is,” said Bowler glumly. “I myself had never heard of ‘em. That is, until a big gang of ‘em grabbed me and hauled me here, to this shithole. See, I was tryin’ to get to California. I heard they got like, real towns and stuff. Normal people, not just bangers and survies.”

  “Yes,” said Justin absently, struggling vainly to make sense of this bizarre new development. “That’s where we were headed as well.”

  “No shit?” said Bowler. He slumped back onto his cot. “Well, it looks like we ain’t gonna make it now.”

  There was a sort of shocked silence for a moment, but the Old Man found his voice soon enough, and, shockingly, burst out in laughter.

  “Bwa ha ha!” he chortled. “That’s rich, I tell ya! That’s a fuckin’ good one! Evangelical cannibals! Can you believe it? Man oh man, just when you thought human beings couldn’t get any fuckin’ worse! Well, one thing’s for sure—they’re welcome to me! Shit, if they can find more than about a pound o’ stringy, gamey old meat on these bones, they are fucking welcome to it! Know what I’m sayin’? Good a way to go as any. But holy shit! I guess you didn’t see this comin’, eh Doc? Fuckin’ Christian cannibals?”

  Dazed and sickened, Justin shook his head slowly. “No,” he said thinly. “I have to admit, it comes as quite a shock.” Then something occurred to him and he turned back to Bowler. “But what about you? If what you say is true, why are you still here? Why haven’t they eaten you?”

  “I passed the first test,” Bowler said quietly, downcast.

  “Test?” asked Greg, the orderly. “What test?”

  “I ate some of it,” said the young man. He looked up, a desperate look in his eyes. “I was starving, man! I had to! And besides, I never took the second test! That’s why I’m still here!”

  “Dare I ask about the second test?” said Justin, suppressing a shudder.

  “Yeah,” said Cass. “What about that?”

  Bowler gave a shrug. “What they call the Sacrament. What you and me would call killing. See, they wanna make sure you’re, I don’t know, dedicated or whatever. So they hand you a knife and tell you to do the dirty work. Sorta proving yourself, I guess. Anyhow, that’s sure as shit where I drew the line. No way. And since then, they just keep me here. I guess they figure I’ll give up, sooner or later.”

  “And do you continue to consume human flesh?”

  “Only once a month,” said Bowler. “When they make me. Otherwise, we get other stuff to eat. Eggs, fish sometimes, bread and cheese, some fruit. It’s not like these guys only eat meat.”

  “I see,” said Justin. “Only when they make you. And I take it that you are not going to change your mind? You aren’t going to take the second test?”

  The young man snorted and shook his head. “Fuck no!” he said. “Why would I wanna join these freaks? Shit, from what I seen, these guys are about as fun to be around as a gang of Plague-ies. No, soon as I can, I’m gonna bust outta here. These guys are seriously fucked up.”

  Suddenly Greg the orderly (what was his last name, anyway? wondered Justin) stood up from his cot, drew Justin off to the opposite corner of their cell, and, his voice strang
led and tense, hissed into Justin’s ear.

  “Dr. Kaes,” he said tersely, “you shouldn’t listen to anything this man says. He could be one of them, planted here to lie to us.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Justin evenly. “He seems harmless enough. He didn’t kill anyone, after all.”

  “So what?!” Greg spluttered. “He’s still a cannibal! All of these people are insane, Dr. Kaes! They eat people, for God’s sake! We can’t trust any of them! And besides, who knows what this man has done? He could be lying about all of that!”

  Justin frowned. “Well,” he said, “I’ll take that into consideration. At present, though, I’m afraid it doesn’t much matter. One way or the other, we seem to be trapped here.”

  Muttering angrily, the orderly went back to his cot and Justin, recalling Lampert’s saying something about breakfast, went over to where the Old Man sat before the table and chairs. On the table was a cafeteria-style sectioned tray, loaded with what looked like the most wonderful breakfast Justin had ever seen: eggs, toast, bacon, not to mention a big pitcher of water. Suddenly his mouth filled with saliva, his stomach gurgled angrily, and, before he even knew it, he’d taken a seat, dragged the tray and pitcher to himself, and fallen to with a will, stuffing the food into his face as fast as both hands could operate.

  Yes, it was cold and the toast was kind of soggy, but to someone who’d eaten soy paste for the last month or so, it was pure culinary bliss and he didn’t stop until the last bit of bread was used to sop up the last bit of congealing egg. Then he sat back, suddenly tired and achy again, and gave a satisfied sigh. Maybe he could get in a nap. Then he noticed Lampert, sitting across the table, smirking in a strange way, and something terrible dawned on him. The Old Man, perceptive as ever, saw his dismay at once and gave a chuckle.

  “Don’t worry, Doc,” he said sardonically, “it was bacon. Pig bacon, I mean. Leastways, we’re pretty sure it’s bacon.”

  “Oh God,” said Justin, his stomach roiling. “I just ate it, without thinking. Oh Jesus, are you sure it’s, what you said? Pig’s bacon?”

  “Like I said,” Lampert shrugged minutely, “we’re pretty sure. I dunno, I guess if I had to say, I’d compare it more to venison. Tasty, though, whatever it is.”

  Justin retched, his diaphragm muscle going into spasm all on its own, but he swallowed hard, forced it back down, and glared at Lampert.

  “You might have warned me,” he said crossly. “Then again, I should have thought of it myself. I was just so hungry! At any rate, I think that I’ll avoid the bacon from now on. Or, for that matter, any meat. I’d recommend the rest of you do the same as well. No telling what sort of terrible things these people might try to give us.”

  “Hey,” said Erin Swails wryly, “we didn’t eat any of it. Well, except for cannibal Bob over there.”

  Nurse Cass and Greg both nodded. Bowler scowled and looked away. Lampert just shrugged again.

  “Yes, well,” said Justin, swallowing gorge. “I suppose that was wise.”

  Trying to sort things out, he sat forward at the table, elbows out, and tried not to think about his breakfast. He was still trying to sort out the ramifications of their straits and what, if anything they could do and making absolutely no progress whatsoever when he noticed that the Old Man was staring at him. Blandly, blinking once languidly, he stared back.

  “Yes?” he said tersely.

  “Oh, nothin’,” said Lampert. “I was just thinkin’ is all.”

  Justin sighed. Oh no, he thought. He knew that this sort of exchange almost always preceded another of the Old Man’s rambling dialogues. Oh well. He had little else to do at the moment. Still, tired and traumatized as he was, he wasn’t sure he could listen. He sighed again and gave up.

  “Thinking about what?” he asked unenthusiastically, lowering his head to the table.

  “Oh, lots o’ stuff,” said Lampert. “Like how you’re gonna get out of this little predicament, for one thing. But it also occurs to me that these cannibal dudes aren’t really all that different from any other Christian religion.”

  That got Justin’s attention; he sat up and looked at the Old Man with raised eyebrows.

  “How so?” he asked. “After all, most Christians do not eat people, now do they?”

  “Maybe not literally,” said Lampert. “But speaking metaphorically, well, it seems pretty applicable to me. I mean, what did any church ever provide for its patrons? Sure, there were charitable-type organizations, folks that built houses or ran food shelves or whatever, but those kinda things are hardly the exclusive domain of religion, either, considering all of the secular relief agencies. So what did they really give people?”

  Justin shrugged. “Hope?” he replied. “A sense of well-being? Among other things.”

  “False hope,” said Lampert pointedly. “They promised an eternity of bliss, right? In heaven, that is, after you die. But what about the here and now? Did they really help with that?”

  Justin sighed and lowered his head back to the table. “I suppose you may be on to something,” he admitted. “Though what I fear is that these men are simply using Christianity—or some warped version of it—to justify their cannibalism. It allows them some psychic comfort. But then again, what’s the point? After all, our sitting here arguing about it isn’t going to change anything, is it?”

  “Nope,” said Lampert sadly, “won’t change one single fucking thing. I just think about this kinda stuff. That’s all.”

  “Uh huh,” said Justin. “Well, do you suppose you could think of something else? Like perhaps some way of getting us out of this place?”

  “Oh, I already thought all about that.”

  “You have?” Justin said, looking up hopefully.

  “Sure,” said the Old Man. “And I’ve come to one conclusion: we are fucked. If somebody from outside don’t come for us, we are gonna get eaten, like so many sides o’ beef. The end. Roll the credits.”

  Justin groaned and re-lowered his head. “No offense, Mr. Lampert,” he said. “But maybe you should just keep these little musing of yours to yourself from now on.”

  “Hey, you asked!” said Lampert crossly. “But if that’s how you want it, fine. I’ll just keep my fool mouth shut from now on.”

  I sincerely doubt it, thought Justin; you haven’t managed to do that yet! To the Old Man, though, he smiled wanly and shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “It’s just been a very long, very strange couple of days and I am not myself at the moment. Please forgive me.”

  Lampert grumbled a bit and then shook his head. “S’okay, Doc,” he said magnanimously. “You didn’t mean nothin’. And I guess it’s not every day o’ the week a guy gets kidnapped twice in as many days. You’re probably entitled to bein’ kinda touchy.”

  Coming from the Old Man, it was practically empathetic, but Justin was far too worried to take much notice. What were they going to do? What would become of them? Suddenly a wave of despair and self-pity washed over him. What had he done to deserve this? All he’d ever wanted was to help people, to help in the fight against disease and suffering, yet here he was, a captive of cannibals, slated for the cook pot. Worst of all, it seemed like they’d finally failed. After all they’d been through, all the sacrifices they’d made and the hardships endured, their mission had ultimately come to its end in this middle-of-nowhere militant survie camp. The hell of it was, these brown-clad morons would probably kill and eat Mr. Lampert with no idea that they’d just doomed humanity’s only chance at ending the Plague, and they’d never even know. A sudden, puny scrap of hope popped into his head and, choking back the despair, he sat up at the table.

  “What about their leadership?” he asked. “Do we know who’s in charge here?”

  The others all generally nodded, but only Bowler spoke up.

  “That would be the almighty Brother David,” said the young man. “You know, the dude with the face that looks like a melted Halloween mask?”

  �
�Ah, yes,” said Justin. “I met with him when I first got here. By the way, do you know what happened to him? How he acquired such awful wounds?”

  “Accident,” shrugged Bowler. “Or so I heard. Some kinda car crash, maybe a fire, I don’t know. But really, that’s just rumors. Who knows for sure? I sure ain’t gonna ask him.”

  “Hmm, yes,” said Justin. “He does seem somewhat aloof.”

  “If by that,” said Bowler, “you mean crazy as a bat in a whirlwind, then yeah, he’s aloof.”

  “A-ha. And what about guards?” Justin asked. “Is there someone posted outside?”

  “Night and day,” said Bowler. “One dude, plus his shotgun, that is.”

  Nodding, Justin thought about it for a moment and then went over to the heavy metal door and banged on it with the side of his fist. This made about as much noise as a pillow hitting a pile of soap suds, so he tried again, this time with a kick. Nothing happened for a moment, so he kicked some more. Then a voice called from without:

  “Hey! Quit that bangin’! Yer buggin’ the shit outta me! Ya hear? Cut it out! Or else!”

  This didn’t sound terribly promising. Justin stepped back from the door, hesitating, and then, despite his better judgment, forged ahead.

  “I want to speak to Brother David!” he hollered. “Can you hear me? I need to talk to your leader! It’s very important!”

  He waited, but whoever was outside didn’t reply. Instead, he heard some non-descript mumbling, some scuffling noises, and then nothing. He waited some more, but still nothing, just the few faint sounds of the greater compound.

  “Nice try, Just In Case,” said Mr. Lampert, after a little while. “Take me to your leader, eh? Gonna try an’ reason with him, right?”

  “That’s the idea,” said Justin. “Maybe if I explain our mission he’ll—”

  “He’ll what? Let us go? I kinda doubt it, Doc. These guys seem like just about the screwiest screwheads that ever were. I mean, you’re welcome to try! Hell, knock yerself out. But I wouldn’t count on that ugly fucker just lettin’ you walk outta here.”