by Hunt, James
He stood there for a while, watching over the dead man like the Grim Reaper. He stared at the rifle at his side, wondering if this was his life now, if this was the only future that he would have. Had the days of ranching gone? Would he never ride his land beneath the warm sun, herding cattle that he raised from calves?
All James had ever wanted was to leave the world a little better than the way he found it. And he tried to accomplish that in the way he lived his life, in the way that he treated others, and the way that he conducted his business on the ranch.
What was happening now went against everything that James had tried to do throughout his life, and as he gazed down at the dead man in the barn that had been reduced to a pile of charred sticks, a part of him knew that he wouldn’t be the same even if he could pull himself out of it. He had gone too far down the rabbit hole now, and the only way out was tunneling deeper into the unknown.
James needed to know what kind of trouble was coming their way, and he wanted to know what the other dead man couldn’t tell him.
48
The terrorist was lying down next to his dead friend in the barn, restrained. The rope configuration was a simple one that James used on cattle. It was designed to train the cattle from struggling whenever it was placed in a confined space. The more it moved, the tighter the rope became, causing discomfort around the legs.
But James had made a slight modification for the terrorist, which caused the rope to tighten around his neck the more he struggled. It would never get tight enough to kill him, but it would get tight enough for him to wish that he was dead.
Trunks stood nearby with a bucket of cold water from the river. James hadn’t asked him to be there, but since the man wouldn’t leave, James put him to use, and when James nodded, Trunks splashed the man’s face.
The terrorist gasped, his movement causing the rope to tighten, and he choked for air.
James dropped to a knee so he could get a better look at the man’s face, and so the pair were eye to eye. He wanted to make sure that there were no delusions about who was in control.
“Where did you come from?” James asked.
With his hands and feet tied behind his back and the rope still digging into the soft flesh of his throat, the terrorist snarled and then spit in James’s face.
James wiped the mixture of blood and saliva from his cheek and then tightened the rope, choking the terrorist until his eyes rolled back and his cheeks turned blue. He held it there for a few more seconds before finally letting go.
The man coughed and hacked, his expression dazed and confused, wondering how the hunter had become the hunted, and the sensation was as disorienting to him as the noose around his neck.
“Where did you come from?” James asked.
This time the man didn’t spit. “The town.”
“How many are with your group?” After a few seconds of silence, James reached for the rope again.
“Wait!” The man barked, his voice hoarse. “Wait.” He coughed and then caught his breath, waiting for a moment to either gather the strength to speak or try and remember how many more terrorists he had marched into town with. “One.”
James frowned. “One what? Hundred? Thousand?” With still no answer, James pulled on the rope and it tightened, choking the man.
The man squirmed in what little room was available to him, the motions he was making looking more like seizures than anything else.
James released the pressure of the rope and then waited for the man to catch his breath again. “How many of you are there? How many did you bring!”
The man kept his head slung low, his breathing slow and methodical, and he started to laugh. “We are one.”
James stood, stepping back as the man continued to laugh, repeating the same phrase.
“We are one! We are one! We are one!”
James stepped out of the barn, but even outside, he could still hear the screams.
“James,” Trunks said, joining James outside. “He’s not going to tell us anything useful, no matter how much we try and torture him.”
James stopped his pacing and looked toward the barn where the enemy was still screaming, and it finally occurred to James that they had been going about this the wrong way. They had been treating the enemy like people, but they weren’t people.
“James?” Trunks took a few short steps as James headed back toward the barn. “He won’t talk!”
James picked up the rifle as he entered the barn. Without giving himself time to think it over, he placed the end of the barrel against the man’s head.
The screaming stopped, and the terrorist turned his bloodshot eyes up toward James, which were bulging from his skull with madness. “You won’t stop us, because you don’t know how to stop us. We will march until there is no one left to fight. You cannot win, because we don’t know how to lose.”
James placed his finger on the trigger and squeezed.
The man’s body went slack but remained upright because of the rope, making him look like a dead spider that had fallen on his back, its stiff legs raised toward the sky.
James stared at the body for a while, then turned to find Luis at the barn’s entrance, frozen.
“Jesus,” Trunks said.
James walked toward Trunks. “My people leave tonight. You can take everything but a few weapons.” He shoved Trunks into the darkness. “Get the people ready.”
James walked toward the house and then grabbed the wheelbarrow that had been used earlier in the day. He finally understood what these people were. They were animals. Rabid animals. And they needed to be put down.
James loaded the terrorist’s bodies into the wheelbarrow and then pushed it toward the front of the ranch. He dumped the bodies at the front, then tied it to a post at the front gates. The body was limp, and the head hung to the side, but it stayed upright on the post by the time that James was finished. After the second body was tied up, James found some old tarps and covered Luis and Mick’s bodies.
James saw the group and immediately bypassed them. He couldn’t handle speaking to them now. He needed to see Mary, and Jake, and remember why he was doing all of this.
In the bunker, James found Mary by Jake’s bedside. Their son was still asleep. She held his hand, gently massaging his palm in both of her hands.
“Mary,” James said. “We need to talk.”
When she didn’t respond, James knelt by her side and saw the transfixed stare on her face. James placed his hand on her shoulder, but she still didn’t budge.
“Mary?” James asked.
Finally, Mary looked at her husband, and in that knowing glance she saw something that frightened her. “James, what—"
“I made a deal with Banks. The man who came here with me, Trunks, he’s going to take everyone in the semi along with our supplies and take you to the compound.” He turned to leave and Mary pounded her fist against the metal post at the foot of Jake’s cot.
“James, what are you—Stop!” Mary shouted. “When will you be able to just walk away? When can you just leave it? How much farther do you have to go before there isn’t anything left? Do you want to die? Is that it? Look at me, goddamnit!”
James turned. “Luis is dead.” He watched her reaction, and her expression morphed between surprise and horror. “They killed him, Mary. And they’re going to keep killing unless someone does something.”
“I know how much you love this place, but it’s just a piece of land.” Mary trembled as she walked to her husband. “And I know how much Luis meant to you and—” She covered her mouth. “Christ.” She shut her eyes and tears leaked out. She shook her head and looked at James. “He wouldn’t want you to stay. This isn’t worth losing your life.”
“I know that,” James said, and then, calmer than he expected himself to be, he walked to his wife, and the moment he touched her, the trembling ended. “But this isn’t about the land. It isn’t about the ranch. It isn’t about Luis. It’s about standing up for what’s right. It�
�s about taking the fight to the enemy. It’s making sure that no one has to endure what we’ve endured. They can torch the land. They can kill all of my cattle. They can take every last thing I own until I’ve got nothing but the clothes on my back, but I swear under the oath of my Lord and Savior that I will not let them steal my freedom to choose my fate. I will not let them take that away from me. Because if we can’t choose our own fate, then what the hell are we doing out here? What was it all for?”
Mary placed her hands on his cheeks and then pulled him close, her face bunched up like she was about to cry, but she wouldn’t let the tears fall. “It’s to see our boy grow up.” She reached for his hand and placed it on her stomach. “To raise our next child. That’s what it’s all for. I’m begging you. Please. Don’t stay. I already know how strong you are, but this is one fight that you won’t win.”
“It’s not about winning, Mary.” James gently removed her hands from his cheeks. “It’s about letting the enemy know that we won’t run.”
The lines on Mary’s face slacked, realizing that there was nothing that she could tell him to try and convince him that this was the wrong choice, that this was folly. She only nodded and reached for Jake’s hand again. “Just let me know when you’re ready to move him.”
Before James could exit the bunker, Zi came in, breathless from her hustle down. She dusted her hands off and then frowned when she saw the state of James and Mary. “What happened? Everyone’s up there wondering what—” She realized someone was missing. “Where’s Luis?”
James didn’t answer.
Zi grew emotional, her eyes reddening and her mouth trembling. “Where is he, James?” She hunched forward, starting to cry. “James, where is he?” She slowly stumbled to the bunker wall for support, and the tears fell.
James never said the words out loud as he walked past her and climbed back to the surface where he addressed the crowd. He told them about the community, about the deal that he had made. They were worried, but no one objected to leaving.
James kept his distance from everyone else while he prepared for what came next.
“I’m staying.”
James turned from his rifle and saw Zi. “I’m not asking you to.”
“And I’m not asking for permission,” Zi said, stepping forward. “I’m staying. I’m fighting.”
“Me too.” Ken appeared to his left.
James wasn’t looking for volunteers, but he wasn’t going to stop anyone from staying behind if that was their choice. “Grab a gun. Start loading magazines.”
Their work was silent, and before they had a chance to finish, Trunks informed James that everything was loaded and ready to go.
James found Mary by the truck, and while she had warmed a little from her previously cold demeanor, she still wasn’t happy.
“Survive,” Mary said. “No matter what you have to do. Make sure you’re still here when I come back for you.” She walked toward the truck, hands on her stomach as she turned around. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” James said.
The truck started, and James lingered behind, waiting until he couldn’t see the truck anymore and long after he couldn’t hear the rumble of its engine. When he turned around, he saw Ken and Zi standing there, waiting for him.
“So, what now?” Ken asked.
It was dark, but they had less than ten hours before dawn, and they’d need every second of the darkness to prepare for the fight that was heading their way. “We get ready.”
49
The cancer affected everything about Nolan’s existence, even the way that he dreamed. Whenever Nolan dreamed as a boy, he could always tell when he was dreaming. He had read somewhere that some individuals could actually control that part of their brain, and once they had the ability to recognize that they were dreaming, they could harness that dream and do whatever they wanted, like they were creating an alternate reality.
Nolan was in his teens when he finally managed to master that muscle of the mind, and while it came in useful for all of the pubescent and adolescent urges that were making his limbs too big for his body and the hair too wild on his face and chest, he’d also use it to think his way out of problems that he was having in real life.
Because while Nolan had always been smart, he had never been creative, and there was something about the space in his dreams where he could harness untapped creative potential.
Over time those skills sharpened, and every time Nolan turned out the lights and crawled into bed, he actually looked forward to clocking in for his night job, because that world he would enter was full of endless and infinite possibilities. Nothing was impossible.
But the cancer cells that were eating away at his body had finally made their way into the one organ that he valued and still worked even though the rest of his body had decayed and slowly shut down with age.
Nolan tossed and turned in the nightmare, unable to control or even comprehend the reality of the dream world that he’d fallen into as he was chased by monsters with claws and fangs, and he was harassed by the corpses of the dead that had risen from the earth.
Fire and brimstone rained down from a blood-red sky, and Nolan was always too slow to evade the evils of the world that he couldn’t escape. And while the monsters were these faceless creatures, the people that had risen from the dead were always people that Nolan knew. They were friends, family, and finally his beloved wife who had passed six years ago in her sleep.
The moment Nolan saw her, the world around him suddenly transformed into the bedroom of his house, and he was lying in bed, his wife beside him, with her eyes closed as she slept still and calm.
Nolan glanced around the room, every detail exactly the same, and for a moment he thought he’d finally woken up, but as he lay there in bed, he felt something warm touch the side of his leg. It was liquid and spreading down his leg and up his side.
Nolan ripped off the sheets and saw a black ooze running from beneath his beloved Betty, and he quickly reached over with both hands to try and shake her awake. “Betty! Betty, darling, wake up!”
But she wouldn’t stir, and the more he tried to stir her awake, the more that black ooze continued to run from beneath her body and she was sinking into the stuff, which Nolan now recognized as blood.
“Betty, no!” Nolan reached for her hand as Betty sank into the liquid, eyes closed and oblivious to her husband’s pleas. “No!” He cried harder when her face disappeared and she vanished beneath the surface of the darkness and all that was left was the hand that he held, but now it was going under and it was pulling Nolan with it.
Nolan didn’t fight it anymore, and he cried as he held tight to his beloved wife’s hand as she was sucked deeper into the darkness and the abyss. He shut his eyes, his body sick and cold and ready for the sweet release of the torture.
And then it was nothing but blackness, and in that blackness, he heard his wife whisper in his ear, her breath tickling his skin the way it did whenever she tried to wake him up in the morning. She had always been an early riser, raised on a farm and up before the sun.
It was a habit that she had instilled in Nolan, though Betty still managed to “beat him to the sunrise” as she used to say despite his efforts. And she never once used an alarm clock. She’d simply wake up and whisper a ‘good morning’ in his ear. But when she whispered now, it was loveless.
“You’re a weak old man,” Betty said. “You’re a failure and a coward.”
Nolan tossed and turned, and it was only after he heard himself screaming that he woke.
After his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized that they were no longer in the bunker. When he opened his mouth to call for help, there was nothing but the gasping sensation of breathing in raspy gulps of air. It was like every muscle in his body had seized up and were being stabbed by thousands of tiny needles.
The pain continued for a few minutes, but when it finally subsided, he collapsed back onto the sweat-soaked sheets and pillow and then fin
ally found his voice, which cracked a few times before he was able to finally speak any coherent words. “Jake? Mary?”
Whispers and murmurs were followed by shuffling feet and then Mary was beside him.
“How are you holding up?” Mary asked.
Nolan groaned, and then after a concentrated effort and a few breaths, he shook his head. “How long have I been out?”
“A few hours,” Mary answered, and then handed Nolan a bottle of water. “Here, drink.”
Mary had already unscrewed the top off the bottle, Nolan thankful for the gesture so he didn’t have to try and work the cap off himself, because he wasn’t even sure he had the strength to do that. Hands shaking, he brought the rim of the bottle to his lips and drank.
The water rolled down either side of Nolan’s mouth as he slowly drained half the bottle before lowering it to his side and taking deep breaths, shutting his eyes, not realizing how thirsty he had been. But when the sensation of hunger didn’t follow, Nolan knew that his condition had worsened. Time was running out.
“They came back,” Mary said. “Those fighters we dealt with in the town. They came back.”
Nolan looked past Mary and saw all of the faces inside… whatever they were inside.
“We’re in the semi-trailer,” Mary said. “James struck a deal with Banks. He stayed behind.” She lowered her eyes. “Not everyone survived the last attack.”
It didn’t take long for Nolan to connect the dots. “Luis.”
Mary nodded. “I didn’t want him to stay, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“He’s a strong man, Mary,” Nolan said, trying to be supportive. “He’ll make it through.”
And while Mary nodded, Nolan sense that she didn’t think that was true.
Nolan wondered why James had stayed. He had never been a vengeful man, never someone who sought an eye for an eye and thought that dying in a blaze of glory would absolve the loss of losing a friend. But perhaps there were some things that were beyond revenge and hate. Perhaps too much blood had been spilt.