Death Springs Eternal

by Robert J. Duperre

  Cody complied, widening his stance and grasping his wrists behind his back. He had to fight back the urge to vomit at taking orders from—and being simultaneously mocked by—someone as unimportant as this geezer, but he dealt with it quietly. The cop behind him relaxed even more, and so did the rest of his posse.

  “There is no need to be so formal here, Sgt. Jackson,” the old man said with a hint of a smile. His voice softened. “My name is John Terry, and this is my wife, Katy. Beside me is Forrest, our head-of-security, if you will.” He gestured to the rest of those standing around. “Welcome to the Omni William Penn Hotel.”

  The proclamation sent the mob into a wild applause. Cody stepped back as grins appeared on many of the faces surrounding him, some sincere, some obviously not. He performed a mental checklist, sectioning off each of those he saw who might prove difficult or not useful. Yet after a few minutes of scanning the crowd an angel appeared before him, and that checklist all but disappeared.

  She was tall and slender, dressed in a snug white t-shirt and baggy pants. Her dark hair bobbed just below her shoulders, her flesh pale, her lips thick and sensuous, her eyes sad. She was held up by two black men, as if she hadn’t the strength to do so herself. Cody stared right at her, and her at him, and his eyes traced her body from toes to tits, ingesting every bit of her luxurious legs, the width of her hips, the swell of her breasts. Her neck was smooth and elegant, waiting for his mouth to latch onto. He felt his heart rate pick up speed, riding a freight train of lust. His cock followed suit, and he was forced to turn around, flex his knees, and adjust himself so it wasn’t noticeable.

  No one noticed, thankfully. Everyone was still cheering, high-fiving among themselves while declarations of we’ve been saved and chants of USA! USA! filled the air. Even the girl hadn’t seen his embarrassing gesture, as she nuzzled her face into the younger black man’s chest. Anger brewed inside him, and his cheeks flushed. He knew right then and there the girl was his next conquest, just like the Afghan, only hopefully with better results. At least this one seemed more mature.

  “Is something the matter?”

  Once more there was a sharp jab to his ribs, and this time a surprised puff of air escaped Cody’s lips. He doubled over, growled, and almost punched Herb in the balls.

  “No,” he said through gritted teeth.

  John Terry raised his voice over the shouting mob. “Is there anything we can do for you good men? Do you need food for your travels? Shelter for the night? Is there anyone in need of medical attention? A good number of the people you see around you are qualified nurses and doctors, so if you have an ailment, please let us know and we will help.”

  This got Cody’s attention. Doctors? Nurses? If there was one thing the SNF sorely lacked, it was anyone with a medical background—other than the few veterinarians they’d come across, of course, but stitching up a horse is much different from stitching up a human. He’d seen enough attempts over the last few months to know that for a fact.

  Thinking quick, Cody said, “No, sir, there’s nothing you can do for us. But there’s something we can do for you.”

  Herb passed him a sideways, anxious glance as the crowd quieted down.

  “And what might that be?” asked John Terry.

  “We’d like you to come back with us. Back to Richmond. Back to the new capital of the United States.”

  Herb grimaced.

  “Why Richmond?” asked someone from the rear of the throng. “What’s there that we don’t got here?”

  “Well, for one, electricity,” replied Cody. He stepped forward, raising his arms like a preacher on Sunday. “Or at least we will. We have a group of engineers trying to get the local power plants back up and running as we speak. And there are jobs, and a community, and plenty of housing. We even started planting crops in the outlying areas, and some cattle for fresh meat—though honestly not many, so it’s kind of a special occasion thing. The city has been cleaned up, all undesirables have been eliminated. But we need more people. If we’re going to rebuild this country, we need to do so from the center on out. Built a strong foundation right there and let it spread. That’s why we were sent here—to gather what survivors we could find and bring them back, so they—you—can be a part of the grand renewal.”

  That got the crowd rumbling again, though quieter than before. Cody feared for a minute that he might have overplayed his hand, been a bit too dramatic, and he glanced at Herb and Garret, saw them grimace, and his confidence faltered. He rejoined the rest of his men, who were hovering about behind him, and waited.

  John Terry stayed where he’d been, standing with the big cop Forrest, his expression never changing. He seemed to consider Cody with his ancient, wrinkled eyes, and then pointed his cane at the door.

  “I would like to ask you to wait outside while we discuss this matter,” the old man said.

  Cody nodded, and without another word he spun on his heels and marched to the front door. The rest of his men fell in line and followed him out.

  After closing the door, Cody turned his back to the massive structure. He walked down the steps and around the corner, where he spotted piles upon piles of steel girders, wooden beams, and concrete blocks. Getting a little closer to them, he saw many of the objects were splattered with dried blood.

  “That’s how they kept ’em out, huh?” asked Herb.

  “Duh.”

  He grew bored of looking around, finding nothing of interest but a few spent shell casings and dark splotches on the concrete. Wringing his hands together, he abruptly turned around and headed back the way he came, elbowing his way through Herb, Garret, Davey, and the others. It irritated him how close they were, and his face flushed.

  “What’re you, sheep?” he barked. “Stop fucking following me!”

  He stormed away, his heart racing. Fear wracked him—fear that his speech would be seen for the stinking pile of shit it was, fear that the beautiful woman inside would never know his name, fear of trudging back to the general empty-handed. The only reason he’d agreed to this mission so readily in the first place was to prove once and for all how much better than the rest he was—better than that lazy asshole Pitts, than Hawthorne, than all of them. His fists clenched and he glanced at the vehicles sitting idle in the middle of the street. It would be so easy to put the cannon to good use, to snatch up some grenades and put an end to the bastards in the hotel before they had a chance to react.

  He shook his head. No, I can’t. There’s too much here to lose.

  He turned around once he reached the front stoop to see that his men hadn’t followed his edict. They were still trailing him, though they did give him a few extra feet of space. He cocked his head, listened to sounds of commotion in the hotel, and then stared at Herb. His longtime friend looked back at him with his lips slightly askew.

  “Okay,” said Cody. “What’s wrong?”

  Herbed nudged the soldier beside him, a kid nicknamed Sturgeon, the only member of the team younger than Cody. He’d been a late arrival to the People’s Militia, joining only a few weeks before the world ended and the SNF came a’calling. But Cody liked his spunk, and the fact he loved country music as much as he did, so Cody always requested him for special duties. It didn’t hurt that Sturgeon was obsessed with the contents of Cody’s box.

  Sturgeon stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Uh, boss…” he began.

  “What,” growled Cody.

  “Well…we’re not so sure about this.”

  “About what?”

  The kid pointed at the hotel. “About all them folk. We don’t think bringing them all’s a good idea.”

  Cody chuckled. “Oh yeah? Why?”

  “Well, the thing is…y’see…there’re rules.”

  “Yeah. And?”

  “And there’s some, y’know, folks in there the general…well, the COC…don’t want around.”

  This time, Cody outright laughed. “You don’t say?”

  Sturgeon crinkled his nose, appearing
confused. As did Herb and Garret. Hell, they all did.

  “Listen,” said Cody when his guffaw calmed down, “don’t worry none about it. There’s fucking doctors in there, man, and freaking bitches.” His waning confidence started to gather again, and he felt much more himself. “Hell, we might never see that many chicks again. We gotta bring ’em back with us, and just by looking at the lot of ’em, they’re gonna stick together. Let Bathgate sort ’em all out when we get there.”

  “Is she worth it?” asked Herb with a knowing shake of his head.

  “Hells yeah she’s worth it.”

  Just then, there was the sound of knuckles pounding on glass. Cody turned around to see the big cop, Forrest, standing at the door, ushering him to come back inside. Cody nodded and then flashed his mates an a-okay.

  “Here goes nothing,” he said. “I betcha they say yes.”

  Herb didn’t look so sure. Fuck him, Cody though. I know what the hell I’m doing.

  At least he hoped that was the case.

  * * *

  “This is not right,” said Billy. “Not at all.”

  Dr. Terry shot him an irritated glance. “You are more than welcome to stay behind.”

  Billy stood rock-still and stared at the old man, not giving ground. But Dr. Terry was a strong one, and he didn’t give any either. They were two immovable objects, gazing across the short expanse between them, irritation shining in both of their eyes.

  People moved around them as if they didn’t exist, excited faces attached to bodies that lugged bags of clothing and other personal items. The Omni was preparing for a grand exodus, getting ready to flee their safe haven and trudge south, where the promise of a better life and fresh start awaited them.

  But it was an empty promise, and Billy knew it. He knew it when he first peered at Marcy’s expression as she gazed into the newcomer’s eyes, and the ominous words of warning she uttered in the moments afterward. She’d told him there was insanity there, insanity and a sort of corruption she couldn’t quite explain. Like termites in the rafters, she said. It looks good on the outside, but once you peel back a few layers…

  Dr. Terry finally blinked. He hobbled forward, grabbed Billy’s arm with a grip that felt quite strong for someone his age, and muttered, “Come with me.” Billy complied, following the old man across the carpeted floor of the lounge toward the office behind the bar.

  Once Dr. Terry clicked the door shut, he turned to Billy and waggled a crooked finger at him. “Listen to me, Mr. Mathis,” he said, not without compassion. “I know the risks here. I don’t like it any more than you do.”

  “So why are we leaving?” Billy asked with a sigh.

  “Because there’s one thing that drives people, and if we remove that one thing, everything will eventually wither away. Hope. You know about hope, do you not, Mr. Mathis? We have already seen a few go missing, and of their own accord. These people can’t go on thinking this is all there is. We need to give them something to look forward to.”

  Billy closed his eyes. “I understand,” he said, “but this is the wrong way.”

  “What other way do you suggest then?”

  Billy opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. He had no answers to give, no grand plan. He had nothing to go on but the insights of a girl who knew something the old man may or may not believe, and it was those insights he trusted, though it was difficult to admit.

  “You are being too trusting. I told you what Marcy saw. I told you what she felt. This is reason enough for me not to believe these men.”

  Dr. Terry shook his head. “First of all, I don’t trust them, either. But what do you say we go on here? The ramblings of a woman who might well be insane? I think not, William…and for one, I am shocked you would put so much stock in what she says. You are a logical man. Start thinking logically.”

  “I am.”

  “No, you aren’t. A logical man would say we should leave, give the people optimism yet stay on our toes. At the first sign of trouble, I trust Kelsey and the boys to get us out of it. If what we come upon happens to be a band of marauders, we have enough capably equipped folks here to suppress any threats. But what if it is a rebuilding effort? What if this is a new beginning? Do we not owe it to everyone to find out?”

  Billy squeezed his lips together and frowned.

  “I didn’t think so,” said the Doctor.

  Dr. Terry shoved his cane into the floor and turned around. As he opened the door he turned back to Billy and offered a couple last words. His expression was sincere as he spoke them.

  “Stay if you must, but despite your past, you have proven to be an asset. It would be an honor if you decided to join us.”

  With that the old man was gone. Billy leaned back against the desk and put his hand over his face. If you decided to join us. Those words grated on him. With the whole residency of the hotel evacuating, there was no decision to make. It was either leave with the rest of them or get overrun by the gangs that were slowly taking over the city.

  He grunted, slapped his open palms against the desk, and then stormed out of the room. Outside he saw the activity had heightened, and people were shouting back and forth, smiling, helping each other load up for the journey. Just seeing this made him doubt his convictions, and that doubt built as he walked among them, heading for the main entrance. Dr. Terry was right. Who was he to take away their hope? Not anyone at all was the answer.

  That doubt swiftly left him as he stepped outside into the sunset, and Marcy was the reason. She stood with Leon and Christopher, leaning against the railing that bordered the stairs, looking out at the commotion. Billy followed her gaze, watched the people pile their belongings into the vehicles the soldiers brought, as well as a few Forrest and company requisitioned from a nearby parking garage. The expression on her face said everything, full lips locked in a frown, eyes droopy and sad. Christopher fidgeted on one side of her, while Leon rubbed her back on the other. Both of them mirrored the girl in the middle—upset, frightened, uncertain.

  He walked up to them and tried to smile. It must have come out better than he expected it to because Marcy and Christopher replied with half-hearted grins of their own. Billy ran a hand over his recently shaved scalp and shook his head.

  “There is no convincing them,” he said.

  “I know,” replied Marcy.

  “What do we do?” asked Christopher.

  Leon shrugged. “We follow the pack.”

  “Really?”

  Billy placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He looked so frightened—even more so than when they’d shoved their way through the undead horde on the way to the hotel, if that was possible. “Yes,” he replied with a wink. “We will be fine.”

  The small group then went about bringing their own meager belongings curbside. Billy grabbed his small bag and held it close to his chest, feeling the binder held within and the sheets of paper within that, documents that chronicled his long journey through both his own mind and the land of the lost. Other than his fellow survivors, it was his most precious possession.

  They decided to ride with Forrest, who’d chosen a steel-gray industrial van as his mode of transport. The old cop seemed quite pleased they picked him, and Billy reciprocated that sentiment. For all of Dr. Terry’s words, he got the distinct feeling that Forrest was just as uncomfortable with the whole venture as he was.

  A few hours later, as dusk settled over Pittsburgh, a caravan of twenty vehicles snaked their way out of Pittsburgh, Sergeant Jackson leading the way in his cannon-mounted Jeep. They encountered only a few pockets of resistance, as bandana-clad ruffians jumped out from the decaying buildings, only to be cut down in swift procession by the soldiers. The economy of the killing made Billy shiver. Death was an ugly thing to see, and the image of Eric Calhoun, the boy he murdered, entered his thoughts. He saw the kid’s family, drenched in his blood, as smoke wafted from the barrel of Billy’s revolver. He felt again that sense of power, of righteousness, and suddenly wanted to leap fr
om the van right then and there. There was power in murder, power he wanted no part of, power he had a sneaking suspicion would be the basic tenet of any rebuilding process he came across.

  It was Marcy who pulled him out of it, putting a hand on his knee and then laying her head in his lap.

  “It’ll be okay, Billy,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I promise.”

  Christopher leaned in. “You really think so, Marce?”

  She nodded weakly. “Yeah, I do.” She reached across and clutched Christopher’s fingers with one hand while Leon rubbed her back. She winked. “I promise.”

  Christopher sat back and exhaled deeply. “Okay. But you think we’re the only ones? You think other soldiers are out there, looking for survivors? You think they’ll save people?”

  “I’m sure of it, Chris.”

  Billy looked at her tired face, and knew she was telling the truth. At least about half of it.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE SAD, SAD CASE

  OF BRANDON HAWTHORNE

  Brandon Hawthorne, former captain in the SNF, watched puffy white cumulus clouds whisk across a deep blue sky. Their speed amazed him. Must be windy up there, he thought. If only that wind would drop down in altitude. The temperature was probably closing in on a hundred degrees, and the sweat dripping off his body stung him in all the wrong places. He’d always loved the heat, from when he was a kid straight on into adulthood, but he wasn’t in any shape to enjoy it now. The fact that he couldn’t even fan himself only made matters worse. You’re such a complainer, he scolded himself. But truth be told, he’d take complaining about the weather any day of the week. At least it distracted him from the pain.

  He floated through a sea of human flesh. People surrounded him on all sides, but when he craned his neck to see them they turned away, as if not looking at him would save them from his fate. They were filthy and dressed in torn rags, and they pressed against the bars of steel and wood that held them captive. None ever talked to him, and if he hadn’t heard them whispering amongst themselves, he might have thought them mute. He did wish they would at least offer him a kind word. He was alone and helpless. He could’ve used the company.