Xenia, After

by Joe Schlegel

  “I cast you back to Hell, demon!”

  Wesley thrusted the blade between the boy’s ribs.

  Freddie jerked and twitched.

  His flailing slowed.

  After several moments, his body finally expired.

  Wesley hesitantly slid the knife from the boy’s chest. And with his fingertips he cast it aside to a safe distance.

  William searched around the cemetery again. Satisfied that none of them had scurried toward the stench or the gunfire, he bent low and gripped Freddie’s clothes.

  They both avoided his blood while they dragged him over to the burning pile.

  Then they tossed him unceremoniously on top of the flames.

  William paced dutifully to Freddie’s bike. He parked it behind a monolithic grave stone, hidden from most of the cemetery.

  Wesley repacked their bags.

  They mounted their bikes, and then pedaled from the cemetery along its winding, asphalt path. And they continued to search for more strays.

  4.

  The Gathering of Survivors

  The electrical grids crashed mere days after the infection.

  Digital time keeping vanished, and battery-operated clocks were plundered for the alkaline life within them. Some watches skewed forward or backward, just enough to cast doubt on the consensus of them all.

  Only when the shadows flipped from one side of a building to the other did the surviving Xenians mark high noon.

  And as the sun floated long past the zenith of the sky – with the eventual dusk signaling the close of yet another full work day – they assembled in the covered gazebo. The pond beside it sat still, the life beneath the surface fished into extinction. Nary a duck or goose or seagull roamed about, either the lunch of a poaching beast or the dinner of a desperate human.

  The gatherings had once been a time to coordinate all their efforts, to plan and strategize while the weather remained warm. But the constant losses to their neighbors reduced the community meetings to a morbid head count.

  * * *

  Several dozen survivors crowded into the large, sterling white gazebo. Some sat among the picnic tables, others stood out and around them, and still others grouped up onto the raised stage. Aaron’s congregation converged together on the fringe.

  No one gazed into the pond waters as they once had. They watched, listened, empathized with anyone who stepped into their collective nucleus.

  Mohammad, a tall college senior with proud shoulders, announced, “We want to start the generators tomorrow.”

  But because the request came from a black man, Maddox visibly flustered.

  His rotund belly bounced as he shouldered his way into the open, and the middle of the diagonal dachshund printed on his shirt creased inside a fat roll. “Again so soon? We’ve hardly finished putting them away since the last! And what about the dangers, huh? That will just lure them closer to town!”

  Anika defiantly intervened, “Timing has never been an issue before. We used to run them every other day when the demand was high enough. And we’ve always used this opportunity to clean out the adjacent neighborhoods. There’s no reason to expect anything different if we can get enough volunteer gunman ...as usual.”

  “Except for the wayward stragglers,” Maddox spat, “those are the ones who prove most dangerous! There’s always one more!”

  He glared into the teen woman’s face.

  His eyes drifted momentarily to the Central State logo on her shirt, then his sneer shifted to the senior beside her.

  Mohammad stepped forward, and he placed himself closer to the middle of the gazebo. The collective attention of the survivors shifted immediately. “That’s why we’re bringing this up in front of everyone. Whoever is uncomfortable with the loud noises can avoid town for the day.”

  “Or we can vote against your reckless use of resources! This is entirely too soon since last time—”

  A voice from the circle of survivors countered, “How many people have we lost during these generator runs?”

  The owner of the question emerged. Conrad stood six feet tall, and his clean-shaven, Native American attributes emitted a patient wisdom and a calm intensity. His muscular frame forced a confident posture, and his leading role within the community teased a paltry swagger.

  He positioned himself squarely in the middle of both sides of the argument.

  “That’s not my point—”

  He addressed Maddox with the demeanor of a neutral moderator, “Then how depleted are the gasoline reserves throughout town?”

  Maddox raged angrily, “Is your plan to steamroll everything I say?!”

  “No one is going to vote against the security project!” Conrad reasoned, “We’ve invested too much precious time to just sabotage it all now! We’ll all contribute where we can to the students’ requests.”

  He turned from the fuming Maddox and addressed the opposing side, “How much help will you need?”

  “We managed to scrape up a dozen and a half volunteers last time,” Mohammad reported. “Everything ran smoothly with the generators, and the lookouts didn’t let a single one of them within a hundred feet of us. If we can get more than a dozen volunteers again, I expect we can have everything turned off within a couple hours.”

  Many faces remained unconvinced.

  And Anika noticed.

  She prodded, “Please keep in mind that we’ve successfully rationed the rechargeable batteries which we were graciously lent. And despite nagging fears that have spread false rumors,” she shot a knowing glance to the mustard yellow shoes of her rabid opposition, “we have harnessed our limited resources for maximum efficiency.”

  Maddox rolled his eyes and broadcasted his skepticism to the community at large. He wore his disdain boldly.

  “This is the best we have,” she implored, “and it’s finally time to start testing with our entire inventory. I promise you that we are as nervous about this as anyone, so we would like to start our tests with all the battery power we can get. And we invite all of you to throw in whatever batteries you need recharged, too.”

  Mohammad added, “When we’re assured that none of the units will trickle-drain the batteries overnight, then all that’s left is to test the whole system at once in a real-world setting.”

  No one spoke.

  Several people shifted uncomfortably, weary of the silence.

  As moderator, Conrad prodded, “What’s your best guess about these early results?”

  “About the units individually? We may find one or two that needs some last-minute TLC, but that’s to be expected since everything has been assembled from scratch. Once the whole system goes live, it’ll just be a matter of routine maintenance to keep everything running as it should.”

  Maddox scoffed loudly, “And who is going to do all of that if you students don’t make it to Winter?”

  Nervous attention considered both sides of the debate.

  The Shawnee moderator responded evenly, “Learning and fixing the system will, of course, become a community rotation. The architects, here, will teach us all. But until everything is up and running, we need to support the project any way we can.”

  He lifted his head to address the circle of survivors around the gazebo.

  “Are there any volunteer gunmen to watch from the rooftops tomorrow—”

  “Whoa!” Maddox angrily intervened, “We didn’t even vote! How can you be so sure that the majority supports these perilous actions?”

  “All those against using the generators tomorrow,” the moderator patiently catered, “please raise your hands!”

  Heads pivoted and gazes scanned, but no one objected.

  Calmly and matter-of-factly, Conrad concluded, “I believe the silent majority just overruled your objections. You’re still free to steer clear of town if this bothers you so much, same with everyone here.”

  Maddox seethed, “It won’t do any good to avoid the area if those goddamned generators lead them right past my home!”

&n
bsp; Another man shouldered his way into the middle. His shaved head and long beard stood him out from the community. Ben McQuown had grown guarded and calculating in the new world, though the gravity of sorrow prevented him from slipping into a stand-offish demeanor.

  Behind him, a woman eyed him nervously, then regarded her daughter with a maternal, protective glance. Her brunette bangs swayed across her forehead.

  “We understand your objections,” Ben rationalized, “but we have no other workable plan to prepare for Winter. If you have something else in mind, by all means please enlighten us. But if all you’re going to do is bitch and moan and whine, then just shut the hell up.”

  Maddox jammed his meaty hands into the pockets of his jean shorts, already filled with a large key ring, and he muttered aloud, “Ya’ll won’t be happy until they’re gnawing on your feet!”

  An uncomfortable shudder rippled across the gathered survivors. Aaron’s congregation exchanged dark looks amongst themselves.

  No one stepped forward with objections.

  But with a quieter, more fearful tone, Seven peeped from behind Ben, “Their activity doesn’t end when the generators go quiet.” She looked down at her daughter who played very nearby, then she continued, “For countless hours afterward, they are spotted lumbering through town and right up close to our own homesteads. They stroll past our bedrooms, just on the other side of the wall where we’re trying to sleep.”

  Ben spun back to her.

  Seven returned his attention with concern etched into her young features. Her brunette bangs reached down to her eyebrows, and her shoulder length hair tucked back behind her ears to accentuate her round cheek bones.

  He countered bracingly, comfortingly, “As long as we remain quiet, they won’t ever know we’re so close. It’ll all die back down by morning.”

  She nodded understandingly, but the worry remained carved deep into her almond-shaped eyes. Seven cast another protective glance to her daughter, who played quietly with the only other boy near her age.

  Ever the moderator, Conrad raised his chin to address the gazebo audience and drew the communal attention away from the timid mother, “Are there any volunteers to man the rooftops tomorrow?”

  Several arms raised into the air, some more faint-hearted and unsure than others. As heads turned this way and that to count the others, a few more hands rose into the air.

  “If I’m here,” Trapper grunted, “I’ll help.”

  He stood at the far edge of the gazebo with his back to the community. His pained, worried eyes stared up Detroit Street until the road hid behind homes and trees. Just beyond his line of sight, the courthouse’s lifeless clock tower overlooked the central intersection.

  His rigid posture advertised his concern and anxiety to the rest of the assembled survivors.

  Conrad pried gently, “Where else would you be?”

  “Freddie should have been back by now – all three of them should. Something must have gone wrong. If I’m not here, I’m out looking for them.”

  From Aaron’s congregation of polo shirts and khaki shorts, David spoke up, “Maddox and I were subverted by one of them around Woodland Cemetery earlier today. For all of our safety, it’s possible they took a more scenic route back home.”

  “I’m going to go check for myself after the meeting.”

  Conrad immediately objected, “Yeah, you’d leave just two minutes before they showed back up, and then you’d spend all night searching in the dark for people who arrived home perfectly safe. Next morning, you’re one of them. Our community simply will not be sustainable if these losses continue.”

  “If they aren’t back by sunrise, I will rip this town inside out looking for Freddie.”

  “Trapper, if they aren’t back by sunset, the rest of us will already be preparing the search parties. We’ll leave at daybreak as a team.”

  The engineering students exchanged worried glances, but Anika spoke the words they contemplated. “We’re losing good shooters all the time -- every week, in fact. If we organize everyone into search parties tomorrow, then how many people will be available to assist with the generators?”

  “Half a dozen,” the Shawnee moderator offered, “maybe.”

  Anika shrugged defiantly, yet kept her voice audible to the rest of the survivors. “We’ll have to carry our rifles on our backs as we switch out the batteries,” she told Mohammad, “but we can make it work with only a handful of gunmen. We can run the generators ourselves.”

  Conrad grimaced.

  He confessed, “The thought of you guys running around those loud generators without proper cover fire is almost as scary as Trapper wanting to brave this city at night. You guys said it would only be for a few hours, right? Then let’s fire up the generators later in the day, give the search parties time to work and come back home.”

  “We’re not against searching for Freddie and the others,” Mohammad conceded. “We only need to know the overall plan so that we can coordinate with the community. Whatever the consensus believes, we’ll play along, no arguments there. Just remember that we all wanted these security units up and running as soon as humanly possible.”

  “I agree – I think we all do – that the system needs to be tested, it needs to go live,” the moderator conceded. “I would like us to consider starting the generators nearer the close of day. It would also give me time to hook up the ham radio, try it again.”

  A few heads nodded their agreement, already on board with any plan from Conrad.

  Trapper motioned to the engineering students, “I say it’s up to you folks. You’re free to start the generators anytime you wish. As soon as you get enough gunmen rallied, I say fire ‘em up.”

  “There shouldn’t be any problem waiting until the end of the day,” Mohammad agreed earnestly. “We can use tomorrow morning to get the test site rigged up. What do you say, volunteers assemble at the courthouse a couple hours after high noon?”

  Most of the survivors nodded their tame acceptance and understanding while the rest stared passively, unobjecting.

  No more business peeped up from the gazebo’s audience.

  Conrad wrapped up, “If the Woodland Team doesn’t come back by sunset, we’ll need volunteers for the search parties. The more we get to show up, the faster we can check out the safe zones. But that still doesn’t change the reality that Wesley and William and Freddie could pedal around that corner at any moment, perfectly healthy and with a thrilling new story. Hopefully you all wake up super early tomorrow morning for absolutely no reason at all.”

  Sensing the impending finality of the meeting, Maddox huffed from the gazebo angrily. The diagonal dachshund stretched across his belly and his keys bulged from his jean shorts pocket.

  Other survivors peeled away, and they rambled to their bikes. Their eyes darted around for any unnatural movement.

  Seven rose and reached down for Rhea’s hand. “It’s time to go home, princess.”

  Her daughter stood up from her playmate reluctantly. Before she accepted her mother’s hand, she hugged the boy goodbye.

  She grasped Seven’s palm, and they walked from the gazebo and to their bikes.

  Rhea glanced back one more time to Logan as his own mother led him in another direction.

  The sun dipped beneath the west horizon. Light dissolved, shadows darkened, and gradually a city without street lamps and porch lights wiggled beneath the blanket of nightfall.

  Just as the rest of the survivors scurried to their humble squats, Aaron pedaled his simple, mono-gear bike across a stone bridge. He trudged up the sidewalk that led through the old orphanage’s grounds, and he attentively scanned the open area around him.

  He coasted to the front of Collier Chapel and stopped.

  As he leaned the bike down upon the short, concrete steps, a white door just above him opened hesitantly.

  Wesley’s pudgy face peered cautiously out from within the chapel. He looked left and right, then flashed Aaron an apprehensive frown.

/>   The believers’ leader proclaimed happily, “So you were delivered back to us safely! The Lord is truly merciful!”

  He paced up the steps, and Wesley withdrew back into the chapel as Aaron entered. Quietly sat in a pew at the back, William hunched into a foreboding slouch. Even the scar across his left eye dulled into a melancholy red.

  Aaron closed and locked the tall, white door. Several floor candelabras burned brightly, some with seven burning tapers, each atop an intricately molded arm.

  And he immediately noticed an absence. “The boy?”

  William sighed and Wesley reported, “The stench lured another of them from the woods. It chased the boy, and he led it straight to us. We acted as quickly as we could, but it wasn’t in God’s great plan for him to survive. He became infected.”

  Aaron appraised William. He noted his depressed slouch and his radiating apprehension. Quiet William looked weighed down, sullen.

  He fixed his searching perusal upon Wesley.

  The younger, pudgy man implored, “We had no choice – we had to put him down before he endangered our community. He was wicked in his final hour. The Lord showed me his dull horns and his slithering tongue. I heard His voice command the act.”

  Aaron nodded understandingly.

  “Our holy charge is a difficult one, and it is fraught with regretful decisions. This circumstance is not one with which the congregation will judge you negatively. Meanwhile, Trapper and Conrad are already organizing search parties. They’ll leave at dawn if you two haven’t returned, and they will most certainly check Woodland Cemetery. I trust that you disposed of all the bodies?”

  Wesley nodded dutifully, “Absolutely! All three of them have been burned with the boy’s infected remains thrown on top. The search parties won’t be able to decipher any telltale features after the flames boil their rotted flesh.”

  “Then I dare say that your Holy Mission has been completed satisfactorily.”