by J. Thorn
“If that’s the last of it until summer, we should share.”
“We’ve got cigarettes,” Alex said.
“We should save those in case we need currency. The young men these days, they don’t care much for the pipe.”
“Then we should fire it up.”
Alex left the tent and came back with a piece of wood, its end a pulsing red ember. John packed the pipe and took the burning wood from Alex. He lit the pipe and exhaled.
“Ah. Nice and stale. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
John handed the pipe to Alex and let him take a long drag as he began to push his thumb through the sealed envelope.
“Where do you think they got the fucking stationary?” Alex asked.
A coughing fit forced him to hand the toke back to John.
“You gotta remember that when the Republic gave the holy rollers that ass-kicking, they moved in on several cities. The Covenant didn’t have a chance to set them all on fire. Shit, I’ll bet there are men sitting in apartment buildings right now with indoor plumbing and a handful of old Led Zeppelin CDs playing on a boom box.”
“The priests destroyed the grid,” Alex said.
“They did, they did. But I’m sure the fucking tree-hugging hippies already had turbines and solar panels setup and I’ll bet some of them still work. Shit, they won’t for much longer, and there’s no way to replace the batteries. But I’ll bet not everyone is living like this.”
John spread his hands out to indicate he was talking about their camp.
“Open it, would ya?”
John nodded. He set the pipe down on the dirt floor. He took the letter from the envelope and opened it from a tri-part fold.
“Single page, handwritten. Nice touch. Elegant.”
Alex smiled and rolled his eyes. John cleared his throat and read it aloud.
“To President John Burgoyne, Chapter of the Phoenix.”
John paused and raised an eyebrow at Alex.
“Go on, you drama queen.”
“We send this message in hopes you will receive it prior to the storm coming out of the east. Word has spread among the chapters that the regime of the Republic has ushered in a new era of peace. In order to secure it, they have declared a war of extermination on the Keepers of the Wormwood. They have branded us as outsiders, thieves and murderers. They have convinced their sparse yet ignorant populace that our removal is necessary and imminent. I send this to you so you can prepare for the inevitable. We can no longer communicate and coordinate without the aid of electronic communication and therefore each chapter suffers its own vulnerabilities. Should we cross paths, our patches will unite us in the fight. But know the Republic has preserved many artifacts of war and they plan on using them to rid us from the land. I wish you the best, my old friend. While we spent our younger years fighting over the same scrap of control, I now consider you a brother-in-arms against a new enemy that resembles the old one.”
“That’s it?” Alex asked. “Why risk a man and a horse to say goodbye?”
John held up a single finger on his right hand with the paper shaking in his left. “And as my last gesture of goodwill toward you, I leave you with this intel: We caught a scout outside of the Harrisburg ruins. After some physical persuasion, we learned the Republic has organized in the Delaware Water Gap and is pushing through Pennsylvania toward Pittsburgh. Their goal is to exterminate the Keepers in Pittsburgh, then Cleveland and finally Detroit. We’re the last surviving Rust Belt chapters. They’re coming for you first, John. And you have less than a week before they arrive. Gather supplies, hunker down and prepare for siege warfare. Your chances are much better if you stay put. If you run, they’ll hunt you down like dogs. Yours, Hacksaw, president of the Harrisburg Chapter, Keepers of the Wormwood.”
John knew the letter was bogus. He knew Hacksaw from their days on the road and the man could neither read nor write.
***
“I’ll take care of him.”
Leena looked at Matthew and grimaced.
“That’s not what your father said to do.”
“You’re nothing but a worthless bitch who happened to be born to a woman my dad fucked. You’re nothing to him and you’re nothing to me.”
Leena snarled and crossed her arms. “Just because he’s not my biological father doesn’t mean he isn’t my real father.”
“I don’t give two fucks if he’s both,” Matthew said. “He put me in charge of this man and I will do what needs to be done.”
The man walking three paces ahead of Matthew and Leena slowed. He turned his head slightly toward the conversation while appearing to gaze at the river.
“Keep walking, asshole,” Matthew said. “Past the tent. We’re not letting you in there. You’re gonna wait down by the river’s edge, where that cold Pittsburgh wind can tear the shit out of your face.”
Leena shook her head and continued walking next to Matthew, allowing as much space between them as she could.
“He’s a human and a member of a fellow chapter. How about showing some respect?”
Before Matthew could respond, the man spoke.
“Please let me warm up in the tent. I rode all night on that horse and I can barely feel my feet.”
“Not my problem,” Matthew said.
Leena stepped in front of John’s son and spun, putting her back to the rider. She thrust her chin at Matthew and whispered, “You are not to harm this man. He has done nothing wrong.”
Matthew spat at her and held his hand out, palm up, inviting Leena to walk in front of him. “Have it your way, babe.”
The rider stopped and waited for the two to decide what was going to happen next. Leena shouted instructions to the man but never took her eyes off of Matthew.
“The tent to your right is empty. There are a handful of logs next to the fire pit.”
“I appreciate your hospitality, ma'am,” the rider said, looking from Leena to Matthew.
Matthew shook his head and shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He turned and walked back toward his father’s tent, disappearing behind the trees.
“What’s up his ass?” the rider asked Leena.
“Nothing,” she said. “Don’t worry about him. He won’t hurt you.”
The rider nodded and followed Leena to the tent. She ducked down and stepped inside to make sure it was unoccupied. Before Leena could turn around and tell the rider everything was fine, he was upon her.
The man used his left arm to grab her waist and he thrust his right hand over top of her mouth to keep her from shouting. He squeezed hard and his gloves prevented her from biting his fingers.
“I’ve got a blade in my back pocket that will cut you open like a cold whisper. You’ll bleed out by the time anyone gets here to help you. Understand?”
Leena nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks.
“It’s been a long time since I had me a fresh piece, and honey, you’re going to do nicely.”
Leena smelled the road on his breath, cold oatmeal and flat beer. He removed his hand from her face and held the knife outward. The rider raised his eyebrows to make sure Leena understood the terms.
“Good. Now lie down on that sleeping bag there and let me get a good look at you.”
“Why are you doing this? Don’t you know the president is going to find out and he’s going to report you to yours?”
“Do you really think I came from one of your chapters? Seriously, are you that fucking stupid? Damn, if your pres believes that written bullshit then it’s going to be even easier than we thought.”
Leena snarled and used her elbows to push back until her head hit the thin fabric of the tent. The women of the chapter patched and sewed the tents so many times, they resembled standing quilts more than anything else. She considered screaming and pushing all the way through the tent’s thin polyester to bring it down, but she feared he would stab her anyway.
“It’ll be quick, looking at your fine body,” the rider said. “Won’t take but a minute.�
��
“You’re not a Keeper, are you?”
“Hardly. I’ve got some dignity left, trying to rebuild society with civilization, not living like refugees in the wild. Like fucking animals.”
“You caused all of this suffering.”
“The Holy Covenant caused the suffering. The Republic filled the void when the holy rollers couldn’t hold it together any longer. Legend says your old man brought down the head of the Covenant, killed the one they called Father.”
“John ain’t my dad. He was good friends with my mom.”
“Right,” the rider said. “‘Good friends’ with her.”
Leena shook her head. She was disgusted with the conversation but happy to stall the man.
“You and me’s about to be ‘good friends,’ too.”
The rider dropped his pants to his ankles, holding the knife in his left hand and sporting a wide grin. Leena closed her eyes but the vision of his bearded face and missing teeth was burned in her mind. She heard a gasp and felt the tent move. When she opened her eyes, the rider lay face-down next to her with an arrow protruding from his back. Matthew stood ten feet from the tent’s flap. He dropped the bow to his side and walked away.
Chapter 3
James, Dino and Billy sat on their stumps. The tight group of founders always sat on the same ones, facing the same direction. The pledges, the youngsters hoping to earn a patch and become full members of the chapter, smoked cigarettes while James passed a pipe to Dino. They were often called the three musketeers and joined the chapter in Phoenix shortly after John and Alex created it. Even though the gang left the Arizona desert many years ago and settled in Pittsburgh, they retained the name of the club in the city in which it was founded. Some speculation still circled around how they knew each other, prison being the most common theory. They always laughed it off and never gave a definitive answer. As the men aged, their bald heads and long, gray beards made them appear to be triplets in black-leather vests.
The founders sat closer to the fire while the pledges sat behind them. The firelight illuminated John’s face and the shadows filled the dark crevasses of his skin. The worry of lost decades turned his beard white and left him with gnarled hands.
“My fellow Keepers,” he said. “The time has come for us to make a decision that affects the Chapter of the Phoenix and all remaining chapters registered to the Keepers of the Wormwood.”
Feet shifted in the dirt, some pushing the slushy soil away from the fire pit where it would refreeze in the bone-jarring cold of the night.
“A rider delivered us a message today, the content of which I’d like to share with you.”
Alex removed the paper from his pocket and handed it to John. The president opened it and hunched over, his forearms resting on the tops of his knees as he read from the notes he made.
“The Republic is on its way. They are coming from the east and their plan is simple. They want to eliminate us. They have declared war on the outliers of this world and hope to rebuild it without us. The Republic may have destroyed the Holy Covenant but now they’ve filled those same shoes.”
John let the murmurs and whispers float through the men before continuing. “The message from Hacksaw suggests we stand and prepare to fight the Republic. My former adversary and fellow chapter president made these suggestions. He’s a Keeper to the core.”
“So we hunker down for the winter and stockpile whatever we can, as we’ve done for so many years,” Dino said.
“That is what the other chapters would expect of us, yes,” John said. “Which is why we will do the complete opposite. In three days, we walk the old turnpike to Cleveland, where we seek out whatever remains of the Keepers of the Wormwood.”
Alex looked around the campfire, stunned by what John just said. He had a thousand questions, but would have to wait to receive the answers in private. He fingered the vice patch on his chest and wondered how much it was worth anymore.
***
“What the fuck, John?”
“I know you’re upset, but I couldn’t tell you before we met around the fire. I had to make sure you were clear.”
“Clear on what? How many decades do we have to spend fighting through the same shit before I’m ‘clear’?”
John winced. He loved testing his men’s loyalty but hated when that included Alex. “The rider was not a Keeper and he did not deliver a message from Hacksaw.”
Alex shifted his feet, looking at the flap of the tent as John lowered his voice. “Go on,” he said.
“This is all a ruse by the Republic to keep us immobile until they get enough hardware in here to take us out.”
“Who turned the rat, Leena or Matthew?”
“Matthew. Leena. Both.”
Alex waited.
“The rider got Leena in a vulnerable place and let his tongue slip more than he should have.”
“So she killed him before getting the rest of the information?” Alex asked. But then he slapped his forehead with one hand. “Matthew. I should have known.”
“He may have saved her life.”
“And he may have cost us ours. I could’ve gotten more out of that messenger. You know I’m a persuasive son of a bitch.”
“More intelligence would not have made a fuck of difference, Alex. We’re not going to sit here and be target practice for the antique weapons the Republic unearthed or stole. We’re going to take our fate into our own hands and make for Cleveland. You and I, we know the lay of the land. We can hold out.”
“John, John, John,” Alex said. “Have you seen us lately, my friend? We’ll be lucky to get to the old PA–Ohio border without a swollen knee or the gout coming back. We’re old men. And that ‘lay of the land’ is from another time, another era. It’s not going to do us a shit of good just because we recognize those old streets.”
John stood and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. He huffed and then let a single laugh precede his smile. “Then we’ll go back to be buried there. I have no choice, vice. I have to do this. For me. For you. For the chapter. We have little chance of getting to Cleveland alive and even less chance of finding refuge there.”
“Huh?” Alex asked. “Then why are we going?”
“Because our chances are worse if we stay here,” John said.
***
John kept Matthew busy overseeing the breakdown of the camp, ensuring the founders had everything they needed. Some were older than John and others wore battle scars that made them seem ancient. Alex stood on the river’s edge, staring back at what used to be the Point. He remembered rivalries of his youth between Cleveland and Pittsburgh, feelings now completely alien. Alex wondered if that kind of thing would ever matter again.
The men packed the essentials, which were all that existed anymore. Some kept a handgun rolled in a pouch, hoping the bullets they sought for decades would someday magically appear. None had. The pledges of the chapter were born into this world. They knew nothing of firearms, organized government or civilized living. The youth brought nothing with them but resentment toward life and its bitter, unending loneliness. Most carried a dagger while a few of the elders, those who were not afraid of having it used against them, carried a club. The founders joked about the good ol’ days when an unregistered assault rifle could take down twenty men in sixty seconds. That type of carnage existed only in stories told around a paltry campfire.
Like the other pockets of resistance that outlasted the Holy Covenant and remained hidden from the Republic, the Phoenix chapter relegated women to their stone age responsibilities. However, they did so not out of primitive sexism, but pure survival. The men outnumbered the women by a factor of ten to one. The founders realized their most valuable resource, their greatest weapon, was the ability to procreate a future resistance to the Republic. Because of that, the chapter went to extremes to protect all women, especially those who were fertile and of age to reproduce.
“The sun is almost up,” John said.
“We’re really leaving, aren
't we?” Alex said.
“We are, vice. Grab your Pittsburgh Steelers shirt and let’s get to the turnpike before they raise the tolls again.”
“I’m not from Pittsburgh, asshole. How about I shove it up your ass along with some Cleveland Stadium Mustard?”
John and Alex laughed as the last of the founders fell into line, ready to move west. Several of the pledges smiled at the barbs tossed from John to Alex without a clue to their context.
Chapter 4
The snow came down in waves, making the long-distance lenses and old binoculars useless. The scout brushed a pile of the powder from the ledge of his tree stand as if he could prevent more from accumulating. He watched as the sergeant paddled through the drifts that threatened to bury the chunks of concrete, the last memories of the abandoned city.
“Come down,” he said. “They’re getting ready to move out and so are we.”
“Five minutes,” he said.
The sergeant looked up and shook his head. He could remember a time when that type of response would warrant a “respect” beating, so every word from that point on would be followed by, “Yes, sir.” But those days were as forgotten as most of the luxuries the old men used to enjoy. The boy soldiers could not remember indulgences like cold beer, soap and fresh towels. They were raised in nothing but the refuse piles of civilization and that was about the level of respect they had for this world, including their superiors. It didn’t matter whether they were employed by the Republic or some other group of shitheads wearing a patch on their back.
Two sides of the same coin, me and the pres, he thought.
“Now, or I pull your skinny ass down here by the back of your neck.”
The soldier made a gesture with one hand.
“And if you tell me to ‘fuck off’ again, I’ll rip that finger from your hand and shove it down your throat.” The sergeant waited, fearing he may have overplayed his physical threat, especially since he knew the young man could probably beat him in a fight.