Xenia, After

by Joe Schlegel

  For Aaron, they staved off their worldly fears.

  He stood in the middle of everything. His curled goatee covered a weak jawline, and a thin mustache rested on his thin lips. The arms that protruded from his bland, ritual robe hinted to a skinny frame despite his authoritative aura.

  The hill continued to slope down behind him, and the tree tops projected the fantasy that they all floated dozens of feet off the Earth and that much closer to Heaven.

  Aaron motioned with his arms as he spoke, always careful to invite his congregation into his sermon, “This great town was once alive. It danced with the laughter of children and the steady stream of commerce. ...Now our very sidewalks are sad reminders of a golden age for all mankind.”

  Several of his faithfully devoted nodded along mournfully.

  “It’s inescapable, we all know this, to behold any image of this town and not feel the sharpness of loss and regret. And this morning, yet another of our surviving neighbors was robbed of her palpable reminder of happier times. Ruth traveled to Woodland Cemetery in the hopes of tending to her late husband’s headstone.”

  He motioned out to an elderly woman on a cushioned lawn chair.

  Her wrinkled face sagged down to her pointed chin, topped with a Sunday service hat upon her uncut, blossoming cotton top.

  A hand rested comfortingly on her shoulder from beside her on the concrete slab. She patted it appreciatively.

  All eyes rose back up to the large dais.

  “Along the way, she found two bodies.” Aaron glanced over his shoulder and flashed a regretful grimace. “The bodies belonged to them.”

  William and Wesley, seated with honor upon the dais, pursed their lips grimly, and they nodded in return.

  He turned forward to address the nine others in attendance, and he motioned kindly toward Ruth. “For fear that the stench would attract more of them, she evacuated the cemetery immediately.”

  The congregation all nodded approvingly.

  “Although we accept our mission to this new way of life, we must not abandon wisdom in the face of battle. Our Lord has seen fit to deliver us through this unholy tragedy and now it is our turn to serve the community in teams, in numbers, and in health. The Lord has eliminated the undeserving from our midst. Those of us who remain – believers and nonbelievers alike – are part of His greater plan. His beautiful gift of life is to be paid forward, and those of us who are able must protect His flock.”

  Several sets of eyes flitted over to William and Wesley.

  The duo raised their chins high, and they swelled with Divine pride.

  Aaron’s voice rose in volume, “These demons now roaming the Earth, they are incurably savage, and they thrive on destruction. They smell their own dead, and they converge around it. We could never expect our elders to confront such evil alone, and we cannot allow a surviving neighbor to encounter a small horde of these demons! Nor can we allow them to gather so close to our community!”

  He motioned for his dais company to rise.

  William and Wesley hopped dutifully to their feet. William’s scar over his left eye glinted in the sunlight, and younger Wesley’s pudgy face craned nobly to the sky.

  Aaron bellowed, “So we must burn their corpses and cast their wickedness back to Satan! We must prevent their stench and their disease.”

  The pair stepped up to either side of Aaron. They gazed nervously out upon the small congregation of familiar faces.

  “Our faith, my children, is what protects us against that army of insidious gluttony and violence. We must all accept our duties, and this afternoon finds another opportunity to shoulder our morbid responsibilities.”

  He grasped William and Wesley’s hands.

  Taking their cue from Aaron, the rest of the congregation leapt to their feet, reached out, and clasped palms with one another. They bowed their heads respectfully.

  “No longer are we ignorant of the foul and abhorrent appearance of death. It is with us each day, around us each night. And in the Lord’s name we search it out. He is testing the faith of the children whom He loves the most. Fear not as we venture out into the world that the flora is destined to reclaim, for we are doing His work.

  “He shall reward us for all of Eternity. Amen.”

  They chanted their response in unison, then lowered their hands to their sides and lifted their faces.

  Spreading his arms out wide, Aaron beheld all of his remaining followers. His voice gradually rose with intensity.

  “It is our Holy charge to give mankind one more chance to thrive and prosper! We alone possess the power to usher humanity beyond the Twenty-First Century! So arm yourselves! And watch out for one another! The Lord will not shield even his Chosen Few from the face of death and terror! Yet He helps those who help themselves!

  “When these demons approach our flock we must strike back against their evil! And we must do so viciously, mercilessly. We will become the Truth in the new world! And our church will expand across the globe!”

  He grinned with unfettered confidence yet quieted his voice back to his normal decibel. “Alas, we mustn’t fixate on our glorious future, for our attention must remain in the unforgiving present. The nonbelievers are not blessed with His loving Grace, so we must tend to them, and we must always be prepared to act in God’s name.”

  Looking beside him to William, he smiled supportively, “The Lord smiles—”

  Then he addressed Wesley, “—upon you both.”

  3.

  A Holy Crusade

  Predators sought out humanity with a veracious, cannibalistic hunger. Their feverish feeding drove humanity into an increasingly rare meat. They searched for it until they lacked the life to move another step, then their bodies rotted, untouched by even the most hungry of nature’s creatures.

  For the survivors, vigilance saved lives. Remaining in the most open spaces possible allowed them just a few more seconds of reaction time – just enough time lest a missing Xenian turned up infected and hungry.

  The double yellow lines became well-worn paths, and sidewalks served only as warnings that they treaded away from the safety of the wide open. Side streets witnessed activity from only the wildlife. Entire neighborhoods sat for weeks before an adventurous survivor stalked cautiously into their midst.

  Yet still they lumbered through, hungry, searching.

  Freddie stared down a narrow, two-lane road as it stretched further and further into the distance. He barely registered city hall or the library on his left, nor the courthouse and jail on his right. His gaze searched for movement, unnatural movement.

  Not yet a teenager but squarely in the first swings of puberty, the dire transformation of the world scarcely contained his hyper excitability. A mild outbreak of acne emphasized his helpless adolescence.

  His shoes planted firmly in the middle of Detroit Street, several yards from the crosswalk which started the narrow road on its way. Behind him, an outdoor patio littered with tables, chairs, trash, and ignored debris settled undisturbed.

  A conversation finally tore him from his vigil.

  He turned right, toward the town’s central intersection.

  His uncle spoke to two men mounted on ten speed mountain bikes – William and Wesley. Backpacks hung from their shoulders, full and bulky.

  They headed on a mission, Freddie realized. He sprinted closer to the conversation.

  “...into Woodland,” Trapper asked, concerned.

  William nodded and Wesley responded, “Shouldn’t take too long with the Lord watching over us.”

  “Yes, well please be careful—”

  “I can watch over them, too,” Freddie interrupted as he skidded to a halt beside them.

  Tense concern creased Trapper’s middle-aged features as he looked down at his nephew. But all he saw reflected back to him were excitement, intrigue, and a relief from crushing boredom.

  “That’s not such a great idea,” he grumbled, “who knows how long those bodies have been out there. The smell may
have already attracted a few more of them.”

  “Then these guys will definitely need someone to watch their backs! I can do that!”

  Sensing the discomfort, Wesley offered, “This isn’t going to be a fun trip, buddy. We mean to venture into an unsightly situation. What we must do to rid the area of their stench isn’t an easy thing to stomach for even grown adults.”

  But this only shifted the pleading blue eyes of Freddie’s earnest request onto the backpacked pair. “I don’t want to actually do anything with the bodies; I just want to help keep you guys safe! You’ll need a good lookout, right? Wouldn’t that help?”

  He volleyed back to his sole surviving family, “Please, Uncle Trapper, I’ll stay close to them! I mean, not close like be near the bodies, but close.”

  “It would be helpful to have a lookout,” Wesley shrugged bracingly. “If we can keep our eyes on the task, we’ll get it done a lot sooner.”

  Trapper surveyed the fierce appeal in his nephew’s big, round eyes. His heart tugged painfully, split between giving him everything he could ever want and keeping him protected and safe. He reluctantly asked the duo, “How often are these things getting active?”

  William shook his head and Wesley answered, “We’ve done more than a dozen and a half and seen a drastic drop in residual activity. It’s possible that they might all die off even before Winter. But then again, they are still out there, I can’t deny that.”

  He peered reluctantly down to his nephew. “Do you understand how dangerous this is? Are you aware of what risks you’re asking to take?”

  “It’s so dangerous,” Freddie stated firmly, “that even men of God want another set of eyes on their side. And the risks are the same no matter who I’m standing next to, no matter what part of town we’re in.”

  Trapper opened his mouth to respond, but his words hung in his throat, unspoken.

  His nephew pivoted his body to face William and Wesley, still straddled on their bikes. “That means he doesn’t want to say yes, but he can’t say no. He’s been doing that a lot since they first appeared.”

  He jogged around his uncle, then sprinted along the double yellow lines to his bike, which leaned onto its kickstand a short distance from the conversation.

  Trapper implored to the backpacked pair, “I understand that he’s supposed to watch your backs, but I need you to keep an eye on him, too.”

  “We’ll die protecting him,” Wesley swore.

  “Don’t let it go that far. Just bring him back to me before sunset.”

  Perfectly in between the curbs, the trio peddled in a single file line down a street. Wesley led, with Freddie a few yards behind, and William trailed the caravan.

  The road ran parallel to Main Street, just far enough to present the rears of restaurants on one side and the fronts of apartments on the other.

  It curved around and up a hill with businesses and houses on either side. The road leveled out at the top of the hill, and four large, Ionic pillars ahead of them marked the entrance to Woodland Cemetery. They leaned into the turn, and they sped between the massive, concrete columns.

  They coasted slower. All three riders searched the area intently.

  Wesley led them right and obediently followed the asphalt path. They circled in front of the mausoleum.

  Deeper into the cemetery, the stench permeated.

  Wesley grimaced with displeasure. Freddie set his jaw bravely and refused to be scared.

  Brakes squeaked slightly as they slowed.

  The trio converged side by side and stopped near a decomposed body slumped between two headstones. Its filthy and tattered clothes draped off its frail limbs, like a poorly-dressed skeleton. Flesh oozed off of its emaciated muscles.

  William stood from his bike. He surveyed the spacious, wooded cemetery around them. His facial scar flushed red, apprehensive.

  Wesley rested his bike on its kickstand and dismounted. He swung the backpack from his shoulders.

  He rummaged through it with one hand while the other held it up near his chest.

  Freddie watched Wesley extract a pair of thick, rubber gloves and tug them on his fingers. Then he stood and approached it.

  Careful to keep his skin protected from their blood, Wesley gripped its ankles. He dragged it through the grass and onto the asphalt path.

  William spotted a second body and dismounted from his bike.

  He laid his backpack on the ground and unzipped the main compartment.

  Freddie parked his bike, too. He rushed to a nearby, family grave monument – a monolithic chunk of gray stone – and nimbly climbed to its top. Spinning in a slow circle, he looked out over top the rows, curves, and groupings of grave markers.

  William stretched the thick gloves onto his hands. He paced among the gravestones.

  He watched the area around him, attentive for any human-like motion. Gripping its leg and remaining arm, he dragged it in the direction of the other.

  Wesley shoved the heinously decayed corpse into a sloppily orchestrated fetal position on the asphalt. He prepared it for its cremation.

  Freddie climbed down from the monolithic stone. He strafed sideways as he studied the spaces between the headstones.

  His line of sight searched down every curving row he passed.

  Wesley looked up, startled by the movement in his peripheral. “You told your uncle you’d stay close,” he warned.

  “I have blind spots up there! They could get close if they stay hidden, so I need to be able to see everything!”

  The boy’s circular patrol gradually distanced himself from the other two. Yet he continued to snake around the headstones.

  William rolled the lifeless body on top of the other corpse.

  He tugged off his gloves fearfully, careful not to touch where their skin had brushed the rubber. And he dropped them onto the bodies.

  Wesley rambled to his backpack as he gingerly pulled off his own gloves. His attention lingered on Freddie, who marched in a wide arc between the headstones.

  Then he crouched down and rummaged through his bag.

  He pulled out an unopened can of paint thinner.

  Freddie paraded in a wider circle. He read the etched last names on each headstone as he scanned for movement. Surnames repeated themselves in small clusters, though the dates often spanned across a decade or two. Words of endearment spoke of love, duty, and friendships, some with tragic prose.

  Yet more harrowing to behold proved to be the simpler, unadorned slabs of concrete. Set in the midst of a family of gravestones, one displayed only, “Infant Child,” in faded, eroded letters.

  And he paused momentarily, taken aback by the sadness that the simple inscription evoked—

  Movement snapped his attention to the right.

  One of them rushed toward him, freshly alerted to the sight of food. Its drooping jowls bounced and swayed with each manic step.

  Freddie spun to call out his warning, but panic clutched his throat – he had ventured further from William and Wesley than he anticipated.

  He sprinted for help.

  The full grown male gained on him rapidly. It outpaced him with each, long stride.

  Overtop the pile of gathered bodies, Wesley tossed a lit, strike-anywhere matchstick onto the dripping paint thinner.

  A fire plumed into the air and spread quickly, though it constrained itself safely within the splashes of acetone.

  Freddie glanced back to his chaser.

  Hungry, it closed in swiftly.

  It weaved frantically around the headstones.

  He scrambled and maneuvered around sections and rows of graves.

  Still, it gained ground on its adolescent prey.

  Freddie forced his voice to rupture through the knot in his throat, and he squeaked, “They’re here! One of them is here!”

  He waved his arms over his head.

  “Get your guns—”

  Freddie tripped.

  He collapsed down into the overgrown grass.

&nbs
p; William spotted the fall. Behind the boy, he saw it.

  He reflexively drew a Glock 17 handgun from his side holster.

  As he extended his arm, he aimed down the front sight of his handgun. Several rounds exploded from the barrel.

  It dropped while the gunshot echoes dissipated through the trees.

  Wesley rushed to Freddie—

  But he halted a few feet from the boy.

  Mounting terror tightened his face. He backtracked, fearful.

  Freddie checked behind him, scared that another approached. He scuttled through the grass toward Wesley—

  Yet Wesley scrambled away from the boy. He kept a deliberate distance. Reluctant, ominous terror enveloped his demeanor.

  After one last scan for more of them, William jogged to his partner’s side. He followed Wesley’s gaze to the small scrape on Freddie’s knee.

  They looked direly to each other.

  Freddie stared up at the pair, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

  In response, however, Wesley spoke to William. “He’s infected.”

  “No,” the boy protested, “you killed it before it got to me!”

  “We must tend to the flock,” Wesley quoted, “and we must always be prepared to act in God’s name.”

  Freddie recoiled, nervous and confused. “What are you talking about?”

  William unbuckled his belt. He slid it from the loops of his khaki shorts.

  He advanced ominously cautious on the boy.

  As though closing a snare, he whipped the belt down around Freddie’s mouth. His teeth dug unto the stiff leather while it tightened behind his head.

  Terror filled his eyes.

  William pinned the belt down to the grass. Freddie’s cheek smashed into the ground, and his head didn’t budge.

  He squealed nasally.

  And he flailed and fought to squirm his way to freedom.

  Wesley slipped a knife from his side sheath. “Don’t let it bite you,” he warned urgently. “Don’t let it scratch you!”

  Then he crouched down beside the boy.

  He pushed his shoulder to the ground with a rough, unforgiving hand. And with his other, he placed the knife point against Freddie’s chest.