Xenia, After

by Joe Schlegel

  Everyone halted near the doorway of the conference room, but only the town moderator entered.

  Each cot held a resting body bathed in candlelight, and every chest glimmered with a drying pool of blood. As they descended into their slumber, they believed that they had finally been delivered to safety.

  No one spoke. In the face of such a horrendous malice, not even tears expressed the heartache felt by all those in attendance.

  Trapper trudged further into the room.

  He stopped by the first cot, and he drew the blanket up over Hanna’s face. Then he progressed to the next, and the next.

  One by one, the bar’s contingent each bowed their heads, then shuffled away through the lobby.

  Ben spoke aloud, though to no one in particular, “So what’s their next move? What does a cult do now? Do they run, or do they hide?”

  “Both,” Conrad ventured. “I don’t think this was a deed they would have performed if they intended to abandon Xenia. They won’t be at many community meetings after this, but don’t expect to be out of their sight.” He flashed Ben and Jake a concerned glance, “And they’ll remain elusive as long as we appear hostile to their plans.”

  “Hard not to appear hostile while they’re slaughtering us from the shadows,” Jake defended.

  “The ultimate problem,” Ben interjected, “is that they have tens of thousands of homes and businesses to squat in secretly. They aren’t likely to go somewhere obvious, so any non-descript house on any random street is viably suspect.”

  Trapper agreed, “If they’re hunting anyone with a cut or scratch, then they won’t venture far from us. That kind of surveillance is very close-quarters. They know which neighborhoods we’re searching, and even which streets to find us. The rescued survivors that Aaron objected to are no longer his concern, so that makes the rest of their targets—”

  He raised his arm to proudly brandish the fresh wound on top of his forearm.

  “—mobile and harder to attack. We can split up and head to different safe zones, draw them out into manageable groups. Wait for them to sneak up on our locations, then take their asses out.”

  Conrad nodded, “There’s enough extra ammo at each spot to give us the upper edge. But none of us can risk being outnumbered. We need to gather the others, get the rest of Xenia involved. It might be a very long night,” he sighed.

  He led the half-dozen others from the lobby and out beneath the front walkway. Trepidation slumped their march into a somber parade, yet still they all held their shoulders back and their chins high, proud and tall.

  They stepped out from the end of the rotunda and neared their abandoned bikes.

  A crack echoed through the streets.

  Someone among the bar’s contingent crumbled lifeless to the sidewalk.

  Reactively, Jake shoved everyone back toward the library, to safety. “They’re here! They’re back!”

  Another gunshot thundered.

  They ducked and scrambled back to the lobby.

  “Mother fuckers!” Conrad hollered over the terrified screams of the others, “Psycho mother fuckers! Starkey wasn’t even hurt! He didn’t have a goddamned scratch on him!”

  Trapper roared, “We need to get out and around the shooter! We haven’t been here long, so there’s a chance they don’t have us pinned down yet! But we have to move now!”

  Conrad pressed him, “Can you shoot straight?”

  “With any gun you can find.”

  “I need someone to watch the door Trapper and I leave from! If we don’t come running back in after a few seconds, then lock it tight and rejoin everyone up here and wait for my signal! Get the hell away from the library, don’t let them trap us in!”

  Conrad stole a candle from the conference room. He cupped his hand so the candlelight flickered out ahead of him.

  They walked as swiftly through the darkened library as the flittering flame allowed. Past the communal reserve of bicycles, all stored away from the elements of the weather, they marched into a tiny, back hallway.

  He handed off the candle, then tentatively scurried out the door.

  Muted daylight burst into the tiny hallway.

  Trapper swung the rifle into his hands, then stepped out into the lot.

  Conrad followed immediately after him.

  They jogged to the far corner of the building, then turned along it. And they hustled along the pavement.

  At a full sprint, they darted across the street, the abandoned city trucks only a few hundred feet to their right. The police station’s plain, unadorned walls provided immediate cover.

  Norman’s sights trained on the library rotunda, but he clenched shut his other eye.

  The activity half a block beyond the city trucks shrouded into obliviousness by his limited peripheral.

  24.

  Containment

  Perched on a stool up at the liquor bar, Anika swigged from an indiscriminate, clear bottle of booze. She afforded no concern to which spirit helped her grieve. Tears streaked down her cheeks on either side of the glass bottle as she drank.

  Her face tightened, but she numbly resisted a shudder.

  “My sister survived a nightmare for weeks,” she croaked, “only to die in her sleep within hours of rescue. This world is fucking bullshit.”

  She sobbed mournfully, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and handed the bottle beside her. “If I had just looked for her longer, maybe I would have found her. But I gave up on her too soon. I gave up on someone who would never have given up on me!”

  The other woman gently reasoned, “You cannot blame yourself for what happened. How much of the city would you have had to crawl through before it occurred to you to check the transportation department lot? Longer than a few weeks, I’d imagine – there are a lot of alleys and back yards to check in every neighborhood.”

  “She’s my sister! I couldn’t even feel that she was alive? Why didn’t I feel ...something?”

  “I don’t think the sibling connection works like that.”

  “It should,” Anika protested. “And I should have found her, I should have saved her sooner! I should never have left her side – I should never have given up the search!”

  She collapsed deeper into anguish.

  Tears fell to her lap.

  Amid the few others left in the bar, a man stood up from his booth and placed his liquor bottle back into the communal stockpile. “It’s gonna get dark soon,” he spoke softly. “If you two ladies are sleeping here tonight, make sure this place is locked up before you pass out.”

  Anika flashed him a weak yet appreciative smile. And she nodded her mindful acceptance.

  He hugged her shoulders as he past, then pushed through the double set of doors—

  Automatic gunfire erupted.

  Bullets tore through the walls.

  A lamp’s glass chimney shattered, yet the flame endured, somewhat smaller.

  Everyone dove from their seats to the ground.

  The man stumbled back in through the doors. Blood poured from oozing wounds up and down his legs.

  A second hail of bullets – another high-powered rifle to pair the first – traced back and forth along the walls.

  The bar patrons covered their heads, scarcely protected against shrapnel and debris from the bullets’ damage.

  Outside, Parrish, with his thin mustache, and Percival, with tired, lavender circles beneath his eyes, fired until their magazines emptied. They reloaded swiftly.

  They marched closer to the old restaurant. Their bikes leaned on their kickstands in the middle of Detroit Street.

  Trapper peered around the rear corner of the police station. He held his rifle butted up against his shoulder, his movements clipped with obvious military training. His feathered, blonde hair tossed in the breeze.

  He swept his aim back and forth across all the nearby parking lots, Main Street only a half block in front of him. Along the rear of the tall, square building, the fire escape ran diagonally up to the roof. The fenc
ed-in basketball court atop supplied a tall line of sight.

  Conrad watched behind them, alert.

  They scrambled up the dense, metal steps.

  At the top, they slipped through a hole cut in the chain link fencing.

  A cutaway strip of the ceiling’s fencing hung low near the court. They swung their firearms onto their backs, lunged onto the hanging chain link, then climbed rapidly to the top of the enclosure.

  They rushed to the back corner, careful to stay on the line of doors spread out months ago to protect their footing.

  Trapper dove into the prone position just a few feet from the edge. He perched his rifle against his shoulder.

  He aimed through the sights.

  And he spotted Norman.

  Trapper fired over and over again.

  He fought to rein in the rifle’s recoil.

  As bullets struck the concrete near him and whirred by his head, Norman dropped down out of sight behind the ledge.

  Conrad turned his face down toward the library entrance, and he cupped his hands around his mouth, “DISPERSE! DISPERSE!”

  The bar contingent rushed out along the library’s walkway, led by Ben and Jake.

  They aimed their firearms around as they strafed out into the open, their rifles poised to terminate any threat, man or otherwise. Then they sprinted between the city trucks and dashed along the small road opposite, covered from the sniper’s fire by the courthouse.

  In the shade of the building, they slowed their pace. Yet they kept their rifles held high and at the ready.

  And they crept closer to the Main Street just beyond, closer to the wild front lawn of the courthouse.

  Mohammad and Corrine, however, scrambled in a different direction from the rotunda. They crossed the street and ran along the front of the police station, directly away from the sniper.

  25.

  From All Sides

  From around the generators in the central intersection, Vanora spied movement.

  She crouched behind the fender of a coupe. Her pompadour poked up into view.

  Those who emerged tentatively from beside the courthouse, though, didn’t move as though they had already turned. She knew, however, that the infection rarely allowed itself to be so obvious.

  Vanora rose from her post. She aimed into the bar’s contingent.

  And she fired.

  The gunshots echoed throughout the central intersection.

  Bullets chipped the bricks and stone walls around them.

  A man collapsed to the ground, newly wounded. As the rest of the contingent scrambled back beside the courthouse’s cover, he crawled feverishly beneath the unmowed grass. But he only dragged himself a few yards before he slumped weakly onto the concrete.

  Vanora abandoned her post.

  She sprinted along Main Street, her rifle pointed down the small road where the group retreated.

  They panned into view.

  As she ran past, she pulled the trigger again.

  She sprayed bullets into the unsuspecting, unprotected contingent.

  Ben stood tall. And he returned her fire.

  But before he hit her, she sprinted out of sight behind a city building.

  Vaguely overtop the central intersection, a babbling screech echoed closer. Everyone searched around fearfully, anxious to detect the direction from which the newest element to the battle approached. They surveyed every line of sight, and they stared hauntingly at the corner of every brick and mortar building.

  Just a block away, Corrine and Mohammad passed the Sherriff’s office.

  They turned the next corner, toward Main—

  Then they skidded to a halt.

  George, with his receding hairline, raised his rifle, unexpectedly face to face with the infection-prone flock. He scanned every strip of skin he saw.

  He demanded, “Are you wounded?”

  “No! I’m uninjured!” Corrine raised her arms out to prove her innocence, “Don’t shoot!”

  “Show me your arms and legs! Spin around and show me!”

  Corrine and Mohammad complied immediately. They slowly twirled around in a circle with their limbs stretched fearfully.

  A screech and babble echoed to them from the middle of town. Everyone turned from the stand-off and looked around for the incoming threat.

  Abruptly, a gunshot thundered.

  Corrine collapsed, dead from a clean shot through her head.

  From the porch of a house on the corner, Ruth pivoted her smoking pistol to aim at Mohammad. It held firmly, steadily between her bony, wrinkled hands.

  George questioned, “What the hell was that?”

  “She reached for her gun,” Ruth shouted.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I pulled the trigger, didn’t I?” She sneered at Mohammad, and her wrinkled face twisted into malice and disgust, “In my day, your kind knew its place.”

  George smirked as he trained his rifle on Mohammad, too. “You should have gone back to where you came from, monkey. Instead, since Maddox doesn’t know how to tie up his own loose ends, you’re my mess to clean up.”

  Mohammad gaped between both armed believers. He barked, “To Hell with all of you, racist pieces of shit!”

  “He was eyeballing you for next, Maddox was,” Ruth taunted. “We were working out the snatch and grab just last week, figuring out how to get you isolated from the rest of your kind.”

  “This is the disgusting abomination that you’ve turned religion into? A perverted mission to purge anyone who doesn’t look like you, who doesn’t believe in the same things as you? That’s not the Jesus Christ I was born loving! You’ve disgraced His name! The bottom pits of Hell are waiting for you, the Lord will assure it! Nothing will rationalize murder in God’s Name; He shall condemn you and deliver me.”

  Another echoing babble joined the chorus of the first. The location and direction of the second one remained just as perilously unknown as the other.

  George shook his head slowly, “No, no, Maddox would never consider joining our congregation. Our shared vision of an ethnically pure future resides outside the church – kinda like a hobby, of sorts.”

  “You’re the inferior race,” Ruth added ominously. “We are the master race. So it’s been in this country since even before the Declaration of Independence was signed, and so shall it remain—”

  A growl rippled overtop the stand-off, one unlike the approaching undead.

  From behind George, a coyote stalked into view. He slowly, terrifyingly turned his head to see how close the wild predator had crept.

  It stood uncomfortably nearby, too close to strategize an escape.

  He spun his rifle around quickly.

  The coyote lunged.

  A few stray bullets pierced the air.

  It bit into George’s arm and jerked him down to the ground.

  And it pounced onto his face and throat.

  A smaller, female coyote stalked around the house closest to Mohammad. She stared at him hungrily.

  He turned slowly to the sound of her growling.

  His face recoiled from terror as he edged backward, fear clutched his heart.

  As she stalked past the porch, her head snapped sideways to the elderly woman.

  The hair on her hind stood on end, startled.

  Ruth swung her pistol around and fired.

  Her panicked shots flew wide of her target.

  The coyote leapt over the porch fence and pounced on the woman.

  Mohammad retreated backward—

  Then he spied two young cubs who peaked their heads around a bush to watch their parents. And three more popped out to look.

  He sighed with mild relief, scrambled back around the Sheriff’s office, and sprinted away from the feasting family.

  26.

  Containment, Breached

  Parrish’s voice called through the riddled walls of the old bar, “Step out here one by one – unarmed! Nice and easy now!”

  “Come in here and get us, mot
her fuckers,” Anika shouted from the floor.

  A dozen more rounds sprayed into the bar. Chips and chunks of debris explode from the walls and the liquor bar.

  The patrons flinched and covered their heads again.

  Once the gunfire ceased, Percival challenged, “Don’t make this difficult! Prove to us ya’ll aren’t infected by stepping out one by one, and then we can all go our separate ways!”

  “They’re lying,” the other woman protested quietly, “A goddamn papercut dooms us in their eyes! They’ll line us up like a firing squad if we go out there!”

  Anika appraised the others, all on the ground and scantily illuminated by dancing lamplight, “Is anyone here injured? Any wounds at all? Even the smallest thing that could have broken skin – even if it’s healing?”

  They all raised their hands, though no cuts or scrapes shown obviously.

  She sighed at the woman knowingly, “Then I guess that leaves this up to us. Give me a few moments before you follow, give me a little time to assess the situation, okay?”

  A mortal grimace hardened as she rose from the floor.

  Her jaw set and her eyes narrowed. She turned to the door with a freshly inebriated swagger to her stiff, fearful march.

  “Alright,” she shouted, “I’m coming out by myself!”

  Anika pushed through both sets of doors.

  She winced as she stepped out into the waning, overcast daylight. The sun crept steadily west. It casted long shadows toward the horizon where it would soon rise again.

  Parrish and Percival stood as gray silhouettes until her eyes adjusted.

  “Arms and legs!”

  Anika stretched her arms out and shimmied her ankles apart, and she searched around for any chance to survive the cult’s crosshairs. She checked the ground and the parking lot around her, but she only found gravel and pebbles – nothing defensive, nothing offensive, nothing useful.

  “Lift up your shirt!”