Xenia, After

by Joe Schlegel

  Conrad casually walked upstairs to retrieve his bike.

  The believers walked to their bicycles, led by Aaron. They paid a wide berth to Ben’s discarded bandages.

  “While a few of us complete the first task,” he reiterated, “the rest of you quickly gather weapons from communal reserves. We must move swiftly before the flock fortifies itself.”

  At the bottom of the driveway, most followed Aaron to the left, toward town. But Parrish, with his thin mustache, and Percival, with his lavender circles beneath his eyes, turned right.

  The cult rode along the double yellow lines until the first intersection, then it splintered yet again. Edward, whose wart skewed as he furrowed his eye brows, and Emily, whose skeletal smile tugged at the loose skin on her face, chose a different route with a separate destination.

  Aaron led the remaining two onward. They turned onto Detroit Street beside the overturned caboose.

  They proudly, boldly, swiftly pedaled the final few blocks to the library.

  Then they turned in behind the courthouse, rode around the city trucks left in the narrow street.

  As they approached the library’s rotunda, they slowed.

  They crept up the front walk to the barricaded entrance.

  Aaron parked his bike near the doors. He tugged on a pair of thick, rubber gloves.

  He led the other two through the lobby.

  In the conference room, Maddox’s victims slept deeply in the candlelight. Their chests rose and sank gradually, their pained faces relaxed into peaceful, angelic bliss. The flickering of the tiny flames never registered beneath their eye lids, their minds entirely ensnared by slumber.

  Aaron entered, but balding George and pompadour Vanora hung back in the lobby to play lookout.

  Ruth bowed her head respectfully to welcome the guest. Her large hat exaggerated the greeting. “Conrad procured some morphine,” she explained softly, “administered it in small enough doses. He wanted the poor souls to rest peacefully tonight.”

  “That was very considerate. No doubt that that has made it easier on everyone. Where has everyone else gone?”

  “Some are hunkered down at home, waiting out any lingering threats from today’s activities. There are always stragglers. Trapper is down at the bar, and it sounds like he’s got a sympathetic crowd with him. The news about Freddie, oh dear me.”

  Aaron pried further, “And what of Ben? The woman and her child?”

  “They rode home for the night. Little Rhea had a horrid day, I’m afraid. Well they all did, really.”

  “That’s all the news you’ve heard?”

  Ruth’s expression fell. She anticipated more tragedy with a pained grimace. “Oh mercy, no. Did something else happen?”

  “Not yet.” He motioned to the cots around him, “If you’d kindly excuse us for a few moments, I’d like to have a private moment with just them and the Lord.”

  She respectfully bowed her head again, “Certainly.”

  Ruth paced from the room, and George stepped aside to let her pass.

  Aaron marched to the first cot.

  Hanna laid calmly, peacefully. The volunteers washed her clean, and they delicately tended to her cuts and abrasions. Her collection of bruises swelled or darkened, nevertheless clean.

  He unsheathed a Bowie knife from his side.

  Floridly, he placed the tip of the blade to Hanna’s chest. He gripped the handle with both hands.

  Aaron pushed the knife down between her rib cage and through her heart.

  Her light breathing ceased immediately.

  He removed the blade slowly, cautious of the blood.

  With the Bowie knife held out by his side, he paced around to the next cot.

  Oliver laid peacefully at rest.

  Aaron placed the blade on his chest.

  Hanna’s blood dripped down from the metal. It pooled onto his fresh, clean shirt.

  He gripped the handle with both hands, again, and thrusted down into Oliver’s heart.

  And one by one, he executed each of the defenseless survivors. George and Vanora watched from the doorway.

  Aaron cautiously tossed the infected knife aside, then peeled off his gloves.

  “Trusting David to his duties,” he spoke as he exited the conference room, “that eliminates the current threat. The other four will be gathering arms and ammunition for us, so now it’s off to our rendezvous spot. All we have left now is to weather the backlash from the background.”

  22.

  Full Disclosure

  Perhaps the history of Xenia benefits from a handful of critical events which grew and bolstered the town for the next generation, from the founding of the town, to the laying of the railroad tracks, and beyond. And as fear schismed the infection’s survivors, they all finally reached an avoidable crossroads, unable to delay their decisions any longer.

  Run? Or fight?

  Which chance were they willing to die for?

  Unbeknownst to the town’s original settlers, their centuries-old ambitions hung in the balance one summer evening, so many generations later. The mills, the railroads, the factories, the tornadoes – the legacy of a small, Midwest farming town glimmered in the shallow roots of the survivors.

  Fight? Or run?

  Anika strode confidently into the conference room. She checked around for Ruth, but the elderly woman wandered nowhere about the candlelit cots.

  She searched the room for her elder sister.

  But she spied a dark, wet stain on one survivor’s chest.

  Then she spotted another.

  As a stunned epiphany crashed into her fresh joyfulness, she scanned each cot. Every one of Maddox’s captives possessed the same wet stain.

  Anika staggered closer, but her legs wobbled.

  In the candlelight, her sister’s chest shimmered with fresh, dark red blood. Hanna’s peaceful veneer hauntingly portrayed the death beneath her eye lids.

  She attempted another step, but she stumbled.

  Anika fought through her numb weakness to reach her sister. Yet the weight of misery dragged her pace slower and slower.

  Her voice called out for Ruth. Only a frightened croak emitted, instead.

  She placed a hand on Oliver’s cot to lift herself from the carpet. Consciously, she averted her eyes from his chest.

  A gravity tugged her back to the door, an urgent sense of duty drew her into the lobby. She needed to alert the others, she knew. And the closest gathering convened at the old bar.

  Stunned and in shock, Anika nodded to herself, encouraged herself, bolstered herself. She wiped away enormous tears as she rose onto her wobbly legs.

  She found strength as she stumbled outside to her Sunspeed which waited patiently on its kickstand.

  Anika charged down Detroit Street. She forced her legs to churn as she grinded into the pedals. On either side of her, the old, abandoned homes and small businesses flew by in a blur.

  A few tears streaked backward from the wind.

  * * *

  Oil lamps that burned within the confines of curved, glass chimneys lit up the bar from several different angles. They cast yellow, flickering shadows upon every surface through the bar, the once bustling restaurant and hometown favorite.

  Perched on a stool at the liquor bar, Trapper hunched over a bottle of dark liquor. His feathered blond hair fell limply down his forehead and around his face. Ben and Jake sat on either side of him. None spoke. They instead stared into the dancing shadows from the scattered lamps.

  Many other survivors sat around on chairs, in booths, or lay depleted on the floor. Few of them found words hopeful enough to survive the heavy, despondent mood.

  The front door opened.

  Conrad entered along with a bright, momentary explosion of daylight. The lamps flickered briefly, dimmed even from the muted sunshine of the overcast late afternoon.

  Squeezing Trapper’s shoulder as he passed, Conrad shuffled behind the liquor bar. He nodded his shaved head expressively to Ben, “There
’s a dead sociopath bleeding out in your living room. You may want to find a new place to squat tonight if you don’t want to clean it up.”

  Trapper’s shoulders hunched even lower.

  “So what they’re saying about Freddie,” he craned his head up to lock his bleary eyes on the Shawnee moderator, “it could be true?”

  “David denied any knowledge of it, but he didn’t deny going after Lily. Because George preached the same belief as David, and because William and Wesley attacked young Rhea, I can no longer pretend that these are only isolated incidences.”

  “We pushed Aaron a little,” Jake confirmed. “He’s definitely the mouthpiece behind this, said the same paranoid bullshit but tried to sugar-coat it with his special brand of nonsense.”

  Conrad reached for the bottle of dark liquor.

  Trapper obligingly handed it to his friend despite his sullen hunch. He pondered from atop his barstool, “How could a human being act so overtly evil, and in such a small, dependent community? What kind of depraved minds rationalize the use of seclusion as a weapon?”

  “People like Aaron, and like Maddox,” Conrad sneered with disgust, then swallowed a large draft of liquor, “they’re only emboldened when they think no one’s watching. And with the rest of the world blacked out and silent, truly no one is watching out for us. No one is going to save us, not from Aaron’s cult, not from Maddox’s atrocities, not from them, not from Winter.”

  Ben protested, the fringes of his speech softer from the dark liquor they passed around, “The ability to justify or perfectly time a murder doesn’t fix the real world damage they have caused, their crippling of all our chances for survival. Maddox has been dealt with already—”

  Mohammad, in the background, raised his glass and toasted silently.

  “—but a threat just as insidious, yet much more pervasive, still haunts Xenia. This must be dealt with – now. Seven, Rhea, and I are on the top of the cult’s shit list. Watch us long enough, and you’ll witness one of those depraved fuckers finally taking us out.”

  “Fuck that shit!” Jake leaned sideways on his stool. He reached by his side and withdraw a black, carbon steel pocket knife, the blade locked yet spring loaded inside the handle.

  He snapped it open.

  The blade glistened in the lamplight.

  Without a hint of hesitation, he dragged the edge along the top of his tattooed forearm, and the thin incision dribbled blood. “Now I’m on the top of that cult’s list, too! Ain’t a damn one of them want to fuck with me! I’ll make each one regret their every life decision if they get stupid enough to make a move!”

  Slurred, drunken faces from throughout the bar peered up and around to the men at the liquor bar.

  They watched. The others strewn throughout the restaurant sat up straight, engaged and nearly rallied. For their even-keeled moderator to lean so heavily against anyone bated their collective, drunken breath.

  Norman cringed.

  Jake reached out for the bottle in Conrad’s hands. He splashed some of the dark liquor onto the blade of his knife. It mixed with the blood and washed most of it away with spectacular spirals.

  He handed both back across the bar to Conrad.

  Accepting the offer, the town moderator smirked impishly to all the faces turned up to him, “It could almost be described as a miracle that Aaron’s faction never noticed the blisters on my hands. I’d be a far distant memory if they had, I’m sure. And with all the anarchy controlling those people, I won’t wait for them to declare me their enemy – I’d rather just make it official now.”

  The crowd stood. They gathered closer, eager to participate in the alcohol-fueled rebellion.

  Conrad carved the carbon steel into the top of his forearm. The liquor that coated the blade mixed with his dribbles blood.

  “I welcome them to try their bullshit now.”

  He offered the bottle and the blade down the bar—

  Trapper grasped his arm. He pulled it closer and accepted the knife himself.

  Then he grasped it firmly as Conrad dribbled liquor along its sharp edge.

  “I want EVERY one of those religion-perverting extremists to come snooping around,” Trapper growled. He traced the sharp edge along the top of his forearm and marked himself identical as his compeers. “Best believe I have a score to settle! Let God have a say about what they’ve done in His name, let them answer for Freddie and countless others—”

  Daylight broke through the front doors yet again, though noticeably darker from a thickening overcast of clouds.

  Anika charged into the bar on stiff, sore legs.

  She screamed breathlessly, “THEY GOT TO THE SURVIVORS!”

  All eyes swiveled around to her as the doors closed and the dancing lamplight resubmerged the old restaurant.

  “THEY’RE DEAD! THEY’VE ALL BEEN MURDERED!”

  Conrad, hesitant for any answer, inquired, “Who is? What’s going on?”

  Anika fell weakly to her knees. Tears and agony choked out her words with a swollen lump in her throat, “My sister – the others – all of them – someone killed—”

  She slumped forward and dissolved into sobs.

  Stunned briefly, several of the buzzed drinkers shook themselves into action and rushed to her side.

  Trapper, knife gripped even tighter than before, turned to Conrad behind the bar. “They’ve struck again, haven’t they? The moment we turned our backs...”

  Without a reply, the moderator rushed around to the bar patrons.

  “I need someone to stay here with Anika! Everyone else – if you’re sober enough – ride with me!”

  Trapper rose dutifully from his stool.

  But Conrad placed a worried hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you should sit this one out, stay here with Anika—”

  “I’m drunk, but I’m still part of this community!” He motioned to the handful of others who tended to the weeping messenger, “She has more than enough support, it seems. And I’m useless if I’m not in the middle of the action! I owe them for robbing me of the last of my family – how many more reasons do I need to ride beside you?”

  Conrad, happy to oblige, stepped aside out of Trapper’s path.

  More than half a dozen others filed out behind him ...except Norman. He retreated deeper into the old bar.

  Muted, overcast daylight shone briefly from the patio door as he swiftly, slyly exited out the back.

  23.

  Norman’s Allegiance

  Norman pedaled vigorously.

  Near Shawnee Park, he veered out of sight from the gazebo and passed behind the old middle school. And he scrambled along the chain link fence around the back of the property.

  He spooked a four-point buck that grazed in the overgrown grass.

  Norman squeezed the hand brakes, and he skidded to a quick halt. Then he maneuvered through a hole in the chain link fence. Nearby, he scrambled to the assembled group.

  “They’re cutting themselves with a knife,” he exclaimed, disgusted and panicked. “The same knife – they’re just passing it around! Only booze rinses the blood before each incision! They expect that to kill the infection! It’s horrific!”

  The believers remained obediently silent, though immaculately attentive.

  Aaron demanded, “How many? Who?”

  “Jake first, then Conrad and Trapper, and it looked like several more were lining up for their turns with the infected knife! But Anika showed up and interrupted the whole ritual! She knows about the murders already!”

  “That news travelled exceptionally fast,” he sighed. “Clearly not everything about Xenia has changed, it seems. And this doesn’t leave us with much time to plan.”

  “And Ben,” Norman wildly recalled, “he was there too, but without his family! He’s still alive, and it’s obvious the infected woman and infected child are still alive, too! If they had been taken care of, then Ben would be grieving, not just sympathetic with Trapper!”

  “Then David must still be waiting out
side Ben’s house,” Aaron imagined, “timing his strike when all three are together. Unfortunately, that could happen near nightfall; so that’s one less person we should wait for.”

  “We don’t have time to wait! Whether or not any knife-wielding idiot actually has infected the others, they are all rallying against us! We’re left with no choice but to extinguish everyone who sides with the infection!”

  “No,” he barked fiercely, “we mustn’t reduce ourselves to be cold-blooded murderers! The unafflicted will remain alive, regardless of their wayward allegiance!”

  Aaron addressed his followers with an impromptu invocation, “We must preserve our flock as best we can, no matter how suicidal its tendencies may become! We cannot abandon them in this, their most trying of times! The Lord will reward us forevermore for our steadfast precepts to caution and communal safety!”

  He scanned the faction.

  “Ben, Seven, and Rhea – we know them to be infected from earlier today. Now it seems, Jake, Conrad, and Trapper have chosen to donate their lives to our Holy crusade, as well! In the name of God Above, their euthanizations will guard this town. Xenia will continue as a shining example of a pure and untainted community in the midst of Armageddon—”

  Norman prodded urgently, “The newly-infected ones are at the library now, but who knows how long they’ll stay put! They’re only there to inspect the scene of the crime, after all. Also, a few remained back at the old bar with Anika.”

  “Covering both locations would stretch our personnel a little thin,” Aaron speculated.

  “We know they’re divided locations now, but we don’t know how much longer our tactical knowledge is good for. Night is drawing closer, if the long shadows weren’t obvious enough. If we don’t strike against the infected people now, then they might attack innocent lives.”

  “If we position ourselves wisely,” he nodded agreeably, “then perhaps we can salvage this town by nightfall.”

  Conrad rushed through the lobby. The rest of the bar’s contingent followed immediately behind him.