Death Springs Eternal

by Robert J. Duperre

  Forrest approached him, eyeing him with concern. “What’s going on here?” the old cop asked.

  Billy waved him off. “Go join the Terrys. Get some rest. I will fill you in later.”

  “Is this what I think it is?”

  “Unfortunately. Now go, and take Christopher with you.”

  Forrest grasped his hand, shook his head, his eyes full of fire, and then turned away. His fingers coiled and uncoiled as he walked, making him look like the most conflicted man in the world. Forrest slapped Christopher on the back, leaned down, whispered something into the boy’s ear, and then guided him off. Christopher glanced over his shoulder, his eyes suddenly glossy, and Billy grasped his fist with his opposite hand, trying to tell the boy to be strong. But it was Forrest who made that perfectly clear, getting Christopher’s attention and then cocking back his finger and faux-shooting one of the nearby soldiers. Christopher shuddered, but seemed to regain a semblance of composure. Billy silently thanked Forrest, both for being a friend and serving as an example that not every man in the world took the easy way out. He would be a good influence for the boy.

  Billy walked up to Leon, placed a calming hand on the raging young man’s shoulder, and squeezed. “It will be fine, son,” he said.

  “They wanted to take me away,” said Marcy, her voice weak. “Said I don’t belong with these people.”

  “I know,” he replied.

  “So what’re we going to do?” asked Leon.

  “What we must,” replied Billy, and when Lumley shouted for everyone to follow him, the three of them did just that.

  * * *

  Cody sat in the general’s Richmond City Hall office, fidgeting with the chair’s frayed armrest. The intimidating man across from him hadn’t said a word since Cody had given his report. He simply sat there, bone-still, staring at him with those haunting gray eyes. Cody pictured Bathgate nonchalantly pulling his pistol and shooting him in the face, as he’d gleefully watched the man do more than a few times. He wanted to open his mouth, to scream for him to get it over with already, but he kept his trap zipped. This was a test. It had to be. As he’d learned every day since entering the military, as long as it wasn’t multiple choice, there wasn’t a test in the world that Cody Jackson couldn’t pass.

  Finally, Bathgate blinked. He swiveled in his chair and stood up, clasping his hands behind his back. Moving to the window, he peered out at the late morning sun and the people working outside.

  “Do you know our numbers, Sergeant?” he asked.

  “Whaddaya mean, sir?” replied Cody. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.

  “How many men and women occupy this fair city?”

  Cody gulped. “Um, I don’t know sir.”

  Bathgate turned away from the window and faced him. His shoulders visibly relaxed as he spoke. “Right now, we have just over nine thousand souls living under our umbrella. Not three weeks ago, that number was closer to ten. And do you know what ties them all together?”

  Cody shook his head.

  “Dedication to survival, that’s what, Sergeant. They live so we may go on, and we go on so they may live. It is the tie that binds, the bond we all share. We have all been through hell separately, and now we create heaven together. It’s really quite a beautiful sentiment, if I do say so.”

  Gulping, Cody said, “Why are you telling me this, sir?”

  Bathgate started pacing again. “Those same ties that bind us also bind others. Those you brought back from Pittsburgh, they have their own links, their own common interest. Though much lesser than we, their numbers are enough that they could cause a problem. That goes for desirables and undesirables alike.”

  “I realize that, sir. But I know we’re running short on doctors and stuff, so I thought it was worth the risk.”

  The general strolled around the room, slipped behind his desk, and sat back down. “I understand that, Sergeant. I understand why you took the risk, why you brought them here. But I also want to let you know how large of a risk that is. You should have radioed me when you found them. I would have sent men, and we could have dealt with this…problem…outside of our home.”

  Cody’s heart began racing. “I’m sorry sir. I didn’t have much time. I had to think quick. I thought you’d know what to do once we got here.”

  “Oh, I know what to do,” said Bathgate, raising an eyebrow. “But do you?”

  Leaning back, Cody breathed a sigh of relief. Here it was, his chance to pass the test.

  “Well, it should go like this,” he said. “We let ’em sit for a bit. Keep the Churchies and the Aryans away, which shouldn’t be too hard. We go in there, make nice, try to find out who’s interested in moving up in the world. We distribute the useful ones, send them to different parts of the city, then we take out the rest, quiet-like. Easy as pie.”

  The general grinned. “Very good, Sergeant. Very, very good.”

  “Oh, but I’m not finished,” Cody said, eagerly rubbing the chair’s arm again. “We also let the Churchies and all them take the niggers, do with ’em what they want. It’ll help solidify our relationship, give ’em the impression we’re completely on their side.”

  “Even better.” Bathgate was downright beaming now. “But you forgot one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The first step.”

  “Which is?”

  “We take out their power structure, their leadership, but we do it quietly. The sooner, the better. A body without a head won’t know what to do until another head is attached. You know who’s in charge over there, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. When you leave here, make sure you tell Lumley I want them brought to me, post-haste.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cody felt excitement run through him. The general had liked what he had to say. Hell, he’d praised him. He couldn’t remember the last time that’d happened, and it helped make him bold. He thought of all the pussy they’d brought back, and he stood up quickly, almost knocking over his chair in the process.

  “Sir, you know the numbers. How many chicks we got here?”

  “Huh?”

  “Women. How many women?”

  The general’s smile faded. “Around thirty-two hundred. Why?”

  It was Cody’s turn to pace. “So over nine thou, and only three thou are girls? That don’t seem right, boss…I mean sir. I mean, guys got their needs, right? If you wanted to boost morale, why not give away some cookies? And not to mention the fact we need more pussies if we’re gonna make babies. Dudes don’t got the right wiring.”

  The corner of Bathgate’s lip twitched. “What are you getting at?”

  “Half the people we brought up from Pittsburgh are bitches, sir. What if, when we make our move, we round ’em up, maybe even some of the whiter black ones? We could…I don’t know…have a party or something. Keep the girls around, let the men go at ’em.”

  Bathgate sighed. “I’m not sure if that’s such a great idea, Sergeant. We do have families here. And even the evangelicals would most likely have a problem with slavery, especially if it’s white women.”

  “See, sir, that’s the thing. They don’t have to know about it! We get Morales and Porcello involved—we all know the hillbillies and the spics like to have a good time—and keep it between them and the enlisted men. No one else needs to be told about it. We put the COC in charge of security and call it a private party.”

  “You mean make an event out of it.”

  “Of course! And oh shit, how’s this for an idea? Let’s, I don’t know, put on an auction or something. Get the bitches out there, show off the goods, let the boys bid on ’em. It’d be fun. Build camaraderie, all that sorta bullshit.”

  “I don’t know,” said the general. “It sounds risky.”

  “No, not risky. It’s perfect. Trust me.”

  Bathgate drew in a deep breath and set both his hands on the desk. “Very well, Sergeant. I’ll give you a tentative yes, but I
’m going to have to think on it for a bit. I’ll call in Pitts and Porcello and see what they think.”

  At the mention of Pitts’s name, Cody cringed. How he hated that greasy fucker. “Um, okay,” he said.

  “But until I get back to you with a final answer, I want you down by the Deepwater Terminal.” Bathgate reached into one of his drawers, removed a notebook, opened it, and started writing. “The 72nd is working with the engineers from Corinth, fixing the bridge. They’re yours now. Make sure they do what they’re supposed to. Consider it your reward.”

  “Whaddaya mean, they’re mine?”

  “The 72nd. They’re under your command now.”

  “The whole unit?”

  “Yes, the whole unit. All one hundred and fourteen men. You still have your responsibilities with the Marauders, of course, so don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t. Thank you sir, thank you sir,” Cody stammered, the wind knocked out of him.

  “This isn’t a gift, Sergeant. It’s a reward. You earned it. Now leave.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Cody bolted to the door, but he paused before he left the office. Turning around, he tentatively faced the man, who acted as if he’d already gone. The general had given him remuneration, the least he could do was offer something in return.

  “Sir,” he said, “when you’re thinking on this plan, you might wanna also see if there’s any girls that grab ya. I mean, there’s some hot bitches there. Having one around might do ya good.”

  The general lifted his head from his notes. His eyes drifted to the window, gazing out as if he was seeing something imperceptible to most humans.

  “Not necessary, Sergeant,” he said without once glancing in his direction. “Now get out.”

  CHAPTER 11

  WELCOME TO RICHMOND, PART II

  A LAND OF FLAGS

  “What the hell is that?” asked Kyra.

  Josh kept his foot pressed on the brake, fingers tapping away on the steering wheel as he stared at the large sheet of fabric flapping in the wind. “I think it’s a flag,” he said.

  “Well, duh,” Jessica said from behind him. “But what’s it mean?”

  “No clue.”

  The flag was navy blue, with the letters S-N-F sloppily painted on it. It hung high on a flagpole just off the highway, rising above a billboard that ironically suggested everyone make sure to get your flu shots! They were just outside Laurel, Virginia, a few short miles from Richmond. It had been a grinding, seven-day trek from Allentown—just as he assumed, the closer they got to the coast, the more impenetrable the obstacles in their way became. Just like before, they resigned themselves to traveling only a few miles a day and hiding out in the suburbs come nightfall. But they were finally back on I-95 now, and for the first time since this whole mess started, the highway was clear of impediments. Josh’s inner optimist was growing flighty with anticipation.

  “Holy shit, and what’s that?” asked Kyra.

  “What? Where?”

  “Behind the flag. To the right.”

  Josh threw the SUV into park and stepped out of the vehicle. He approached the guardrail and rested one foot atop it. Kyra was by his side in a matter of seconds, as was everyone else he’d been driving with. He heard the doors of the second SUV open, and soon the entire surviving populace from Dover, New Hampshire followed his gaze.

  “What is it, Mr. Benoit?” asked Andy Carlson.

  Josh reached down and tousled Andy’s hair. “Andy, do me a favor and run back to the car and get the binoculars, wouldja?”

  “Yessir!”

  Andy took off, Francis on his heels as usual. Not even a minute later they were back. Josh gave Kyra a squeeze, patted old Emily on the back, and lifted the binoculars to his eyes.

  “Ho-ly shit,” he said.

  “What is it?” asked Mary.

  “See for yourself.”

  Mary took the binoculars from him and looked. Her mouth hung opened and she gasped.

  “Okay guys,” said Jessica, bouncing Zachary on her hip. “How about we cut the suspense and just spit it out.”

  Josh turned to the group. He could barely contain his excitement.

  “It’s more flags,” he said. “The good old stars and stripes.”

  The object Kyra had spotted turned out to be a whole lot of objects—a procession of flagpoles, all with the US flag waving proudly atop them. There were at least ten that he could count, rising above the trees like beacons for weary travelers. They’d obviously been erected very recently, and his heart filled with hope.

  “So what’s this one mean?” asked Yvette, pointing at the flapping banner above them.

  Josh shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care. Maybe someone’s initials or something. Does it matter?”

  No one said a word.

  “Then I say we all get moving. The city can’t be more than an hour away from here.”

  As he sped on down the road, Josh peered to the left and right, and his spirit soared all the more. On either side of the highway were heaped-up wrecks. He assumed they’d at one time been littered across the highway, obstructing movement, which meant someone had cleared the way. That, in turn, meant that Richmond was the place to be, and maybe Dream Marcy was wrong and they’d have a chance at happiness and safety there, after all.

  Rolling down his window, he stuck out his hand, fanning his fingers the way he had since he was a kid, fighting against the wind to keep his arm straight. A loud honk startled him, and he veered sharply to the right, almost losing control of the car. Kyra yelped, Jessica screamed, and the kids hooted. In a confused panic he glanced left, only to see the other SUV beside him, Mary at the wheel. Emily, her white-gray hair blowing like ribbons behind her, pointed at him from the passenger seat. Mary then leaned forward, her face comically stern, and gestured to the road ahead. Even mousy Yvette made her presence known, rolling down the rear window and shouting—yes, actually shouting—at him while the gaggle of children beside her laughed.

  “What the hell are they doing?” asked Kyra.

  Josh grinned and said, “They wanna race.”

  He floored the petal, and the SUV lurched forward. Those in the back alternated between cheering him on and sticking their tongues out at the other vehicle. Kyra sat back with her hands on her belly, holding her breath despite the smile on her face. Josh patted her on the wrist, telling her not to worry without words. She replied with a nod and a wink.

  Josh was so caught up in the moment—Jessica was now belting out an off-key version of Hot For Teacher—that when he first spotted the flash of silver in the distance his mind didn’t register it. He kept up his torrid pace, pushing the vehicle to almost eighty, and then he heard Jessica say, “Hey, why’re they stopping?” He snapped into it and his brain finally started working. He saw the obstruction for what it was—a line of cars blocking the road, forming an impenetrable steel caterpillar. They were coming upon it quickly—much too quickly.

  “Fuck!” he screeched, holding Kyra back with his right hand and slamming the brakes. The SUV bucked, the tires squealed, and for a span of time that seemed to stretch out forever two wheels lifted off the pavement. The bodies of those sitting in the back—Jessica and the children—thumped into his seat. Somewhere in his mind he registered Andy yelling and Meghan starting to bawl.

  The large automobile skidded to a stop, not twenty feet away from the blockade. Josh panted in his seat, sweat pouring down his brow. He heard Kyra whimper. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to bite his way through the pain that wrenched up his neck.

  “GET OUT OF THE VEHICLES!”

  Josh’s eyes shot open. He glanced behind him and saw the other SUV. Mary was still in the driver’s seat, holding her hands up. Emily followed suit. He wondered why they would yell at him like that, why they were acting the way they were.

  “I SAID GET OUT OF THE VEHICLES, NOW!”

  Slowly, he swiveled his head until he was looking directly at the obstruction he’d almost crashed into. It w
as a line of vehicles, all right—big trucks, sedans, and a few military transports with camouflaged paint jobs—but these hadn’t been left behind after some accident. There was a fence of coiled barbed wire in front of the lineup, as well as a few wooden barricades that looked like someone had created the world’s largest set of Jacks.

  And there were people there, as well—a lot of people, standing rock-still behind the vehicles, holding weapons. Weapons aimed at them.

  He heard the squawk of a megaphone, and immediately threw his hands in the air. He noticed Kyra doing the same thing from the corner of his eye. “Stay calm,” he whispered.

  “Well, duh,” she whispered back.

  His actions must have quelled whoever was in possession of the megaphone, because there were no more shouted orders. Josh leaned over, pulled the handle, and slowly pushed the door open. He stepped out of the SUV with extreme caution, not wanting to make a sudden move and give anyone a reason to shoot him.

  Eventually, both vehicles emptied out. The Dover survivors formed a line before the blockade, arms raised, waiting for someone to tell them what to do. Josh’s heart beat so fast he thought he might be on the verge of a heart attack. He didn’t like the looks on the faces of the men standing behind the cars. They looked hard. They looked dangerous.

  After an extended silence, megaphone-man finally spoke again. “EVERYONE ON THE GROUND, FACE-DOWN. IMMEDIATELY.”

  A series of clicking noises followed. Josh shot Kyra a panicked glance, and then both of them dropped to the pavement. The rest of the group had done the same—all but Bliss Hargrove, who teetered on her nine-year-old legs, hands held below her mouth, gripping a dirty stuffed dog, tears streaming down her cheeks. Rising slightly on one hand, Josh reached out and grabbed her shirt. He pulled her down a little too quickly, and she lost her balance. Her elbow struck the ground hard, causing her tears to flow even harder.