Return from the Apocalypse

by Blake Pitcher

  Outside, a commotion. Shouts and jeers, indistinguishable through the walls of the complex, even with the windows open. Esther tries to put them out of her mind but they carry on until she cannot ignore them any longer. She leaves her mop and bucket and carefully makes her way to an open door, stepping carefully around the side of the building to the front that faces the main entrance.

  A crowd of men has circled near the gate, erecting a rough pole and planting it in a newly dug hole. She does not immediately comprehend the situation, scanning the group for her son. She sees Zulé first— the woman is tall even among the men, composed and grim. Mackenzie is by her side. Intact, and not the focus of the commotion, but rather looking on at it.

  Esther sees the pole turning as it is leveraged up and into position. Something sits atop; round and distorted.

  And then she sees the face, shrunken and drooping, hair sticking sickly to the sides. It is the head of Vane, the giver of warnings. The voices of the men taunt and laugh, but Esther cannot hear anything. Everything is static. Perverted actions under a perverted sun. The face is sad, yet somehow resigned. The men turn the pole so that she faces out to the desert, filling in the hole around its base. Packing the dirt tight with their boots. Dissipating under the watchful eye of Zulé to return to their posts and duties. In the background, Maddox watches, a disapproving look scrawled across his face. He, too, fades to the shadowed recesses of the complex.

  Esther walks out into the area behind the gates, passing the departing men. She walks up to her son, taking his arm, leading him away. He resists, but cannot articulate. His eyes harden over his ashen countenance.

  Zulé does nothing as Esther drags Mackenzie back to the building, down the hall to their quarters.

  “Everything will be okay, Mackenzie. Everything is going to be okay.”

  The boy does not respond, allowing himself to be led to the bed to sit down.

  “I’m going to get us out of here. What you saw out there...” Esther struggles for words. “I’m going to keep us safe.”

  “You’re going to keep us safe?” A scowl breaks through her son’s stoicism. “I’m the one protecting you.”

  “I know you are, you can help,” Esther says. “We need a plan to get out of here.”

  “You’re the one who brought us here in the first place,” Mackenzie says angrily. “For some man you say is my father. I didn’t ask to come here. And now you want to take me away?”

  “We’re in danger.” Esther begins to see Mackenzie, through the blur of emotion. Sees the gun slung over his back.

  “You’re right. We were. But did what I had to do.”

  “You did?” Esther does not comprehend.

  “There are people here, bad people,” Mackenzie says. “Those who would hurt you and tell you lies. Subverters of the Freedom Republic.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I did what I had to do,” Mackenzie says, a quaver rising in his voice. “To protect you.”

  “Oh Lil’ Mack, what did you do?”

  “I’m not Lil’ Mack anymore.” Tears streak down his dusty face. “Not anymore.”

  Esther takes her son into her arms, holds him until his rigidity gives way and he sinks into her embrace. His stifled sobs vibrate against her shoulder.

  Esther fights the urge to console him, to sway him, and to question him. She knows her words may turn him away. So she lets him release, lets him cry out to her. And she waits.

  {}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

  Esther drifts through the hallways of the complex, unable or unwilling to remain in the confines of her quarters. Increasingly, her room is a cell to her, one of many in a sprawling prison of a ranch. Mackenzie had stifled his tears, left for the comfort of routine in the stables, rejecting his mother’s arms.

  The rejection is numbed by the gravity of the situation. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, Esther thinks. What a silly phrase. But still true. The commune was a prison of a different sort, one that confined but also provided an outlook for the future. The future seemed much shorter and harsher now. Will my head be on a stake next? Esther wonders.

  Her listless steps guide her down a familiar hallway and to a familiar door. Her hand knocks gently, expecting no answer. She would knock and drift away, until her feet found somewhere to land. Friction to escape. Friction to push her forward.

  But not without her son.

  Somewhere in the subconscious of her mind she seeks an ally.

  The knock is answered, and the door opens.

  Maddox stands in the doorway, white hat on, of course— it always was. The disapproving look is gone, now it is more calculating, but not surprised. A smile plays on his lips when he sees the turquoise hairpin in her hair.

  I don’t remember putting it in, she thinks. But I did.

  He beckons her inside and places his hat on the twisted mesquite nightstand by his bed.

  {}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

  The redness seeps from his face like a cooling oven. His voice is a hollow echo in Esther’s ears as they sit on his veranda. Though his face shows concern, his eyes gloat of satisfaction.

  “Zulé’s actions were reprehensible,” he says. “Unnecessary and extreme. But I assure you of your safety. I will vouch for that.”

  “I am concerned for my son’s safety above all, not my own,” Esther says.

  She had touched his arm, felt the flannel of his sleeve.

  “Of course.”

  He had pulled her into his grasp, ropy arms encircling and constricting.

  “How can I protect him from Zulé?”

  The fibers of his shirt smelled of horses and leather. His tongue pushed its way into her mouth.

  “I have my concerns. But she will not harm the boy. She has been crossing lines, exceeding her authority. Spending too much time at the ranch when there is so much work to be done on the front.”

  She suppressed her revulsion. He unbuttoned his shirt.

  “Can you rein her in, send her away? Send us away?”

  Meaty hands aptly removed her clothes. Stiff wire hairs chafed her skin.

  “I want you close to me. Both of you. For your safety.”

  The mattress was formed to his impression, holding her.

  “And Zulé?”

  Breath hot against her neck.

  “I can control her. She will eventually listen to reason. She is headstrong, like her father.”

  The ceiling was a place she could float to.

  “Zulé’s your daughter?”

  Everything was white noise.

  “She is. But if she chooses not to listen to reason, well… we’ll see. The ties of family are strong. But there is always room for more family.”

  It was over. It was never over.

  Never.

  Chapter 24: Plans made and broken

  The nights had been sleepless, and this morning was chill. A pair of caracaras cross paths in the sky above the complex, floating on the breezes, looking to scavenge. Esther wraps herself more tightly in her blanket, walking barefoot through the ranch. All night she has racked her brain for ideas, for a plan.

  She knew she must find Mackenzie and flee the ranch. There was no refuge here, despite her rash attempt to form an alliance. No safety, no protections. Only empty promises and vague resolutions.

  Zulé ran this ranch. She could not purchase her and her son’s safety by any means. Zulé had an irrational hate of Roger. Thus she hated her. And possibly her son. Wherever he was.

  Esther tries the stables, walks the fences, but he is not to be found. It was a Friday, a night of the bonfires. Esther grasped at the only straw she had. When the Enlisted men were drunk and distracted, she would flee the complex with Mackenzie.

  But will he come? The worry was real. He was so close to Zulé now, and so far from her. I will lie if I have to. Lure him away. She had already put together a small pack of clothing and food, hiding it in plain sight by the dresser in a pile of worn clothing.

  In all likelihood they w
ould starve or die of exposure in the wilderness. But at least it would be on her own terms. Free, and not a slave and whore.

  It would be simple to slip beyond the fence and disappear into the darkness. To where and how long, who knew? But they won’t take us alive, the grim thought suggests. They can put my head on a stake before I surrender.

  Mackenzie would have his cherry-stocked shotgun from Zulé. It was something.

  But where was he?

  The day progresses, and Esther follows her routine. She has a new helper now, another Penitent, silent of course. She evolves the plan in her mind, giving it shape. She would ask Mackenzie to stay with her for the evening. As the light grew dim, she would ask him about his shotgun, say some nice things about Zulé. Ask if she could learn to shoot it. Take him outside near the fence, and turn the gun on him.

  No, it would never work.

  She could tell him the truth. Maybe he would listen. Maybe…

  Or perhaps tell him part of the truth.

  As the day draws to a close, Mackenzie appears to collect his dinner. Esther walks with him to mess hall, but finds it difficult to broach the subject. They fill their plates and return to the room where they eat quietly.

  Outside, the bonfires have been lit, and the first echoes of debauchery escape the nearby valley.

  “The men can be unpredictable when they’ve been drinking,” Esther says. “Would you stay with me tonight? I would feel safer.”

  He could not argue that.

  The evening drags on as Esther waits. Mackenzie reads, unaware.

  “Mack?” she says carefully.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  Mackenzie shrugs and looks uncomfortable. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I need to explain some things to you. Difficult things. But I know now that you are old enough to understand. I’ve treated you like a little kid, and that’s wrong.”

  Mackenzie shrugs, but his expression eases.

  “I need you to help me, Mack. To protect me. Can you do that?”

  Mackenzie nods slowly. He puts down his book. “I want to help.”

  Esther treads carefully. “Zulé has taught you a lot. I see that now. How to shoot, how to be an adult. That’s good.”

  Mackenzie looks at his shotgun sitting against the bed.

  “But there is a threat to me on this ranch. Not Zulé, but someone else. Someone who has hurt me.”

  Mackenzie’s eyes light up with concern and anger. The bonfires burn hotly in the valley. The men would be beginning to stumble now.

  Esther is ready to make her plea, her big sell to convince her son to take his gun and follow her out into the desert when a sound pops above the other noises outside.

  More popping follows.

  A shout, indiscernible.

  Mackenzie grabs his gun. They sit alert, listening.

  A minute passes. Zulé appears in the doorway.

  “We’re being attacked. Mack, bring your gun and come with me. You stay here.”

  “Mack, no.” Esther says. But he is already following Zulé to the unknown danger beyond.

  Esther trails Zulé and her son down the hall in her bare feet, out to the front gate. The men on watch duty are pointing down the trail to the bonfires. A bell is ringing. A man is on his horse, charging down to the bonfires to aid the men.

  More gunshots come from the valley.

  The complex is under assault.

  Esther grabs at Mackenzie’s arm, tries to pull him back to the building. Zulé turns and points her rifle straight at her. “He’s needed now. Return to your room.”

  Esther stands in defiance, ready to die, if need be. A hand clasps her shoulder from behind. Maddox.

  “For your son’s sake, not now,” he says.

  Esther is frozen. Mackenzie is loading his gun, looking to Zulé. And then they are gone, charging into the darkness.

  {}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

  Maddox leads Esther back to her room, and sits her on the bed. Words of empty comfort puff from his sun-cracked lips, his hand idling on her thigh. He closes the door when he leaves, the lock clicking behind him. The room truly was a cell.

  Perhaps they are minutes, perhaps they are hours. Either way the increments of time are unbearable until the shooting and shouting stops.

  More unbearable time.

  Her door opens. It is Zulé.

  “You’re safe now,” she says.

  “My son, what about my son?” The words are a strangled cry.

  “This way.”

  Esther follows Zulé numbly, out from the building and over to another. Outside a few bodies lie dead on the ground. Zulé leads Esther into the jail building, to a cell. Mackenzie is there, staring in through the bars.

  Relief floods Esther. She grabs him up in a hug, which he shrinks away from, still staring into the cell.

  Esther turns and looks at what has caught his attention.

  A prisoner, bound and gagged on the concrete floor.

  Not just any prisoner.

  Roger.

  PART FOUR: The Return

  Chapter 25: Fort Davis

  Soldier’s Hill glows silver under the summer moon with stars forming a circlet around its craggy head. Are you dreaming up there on your watch, Billy? Roger ponders the fate of the younger Mercusio brother. The White Texan’s thirty had ridden in to find Roger had been spirited away. There would have been casualties.

  Roger sits on his horse, beside Ernesto, viewing the distant huddle of canvas tents. Perhaps Vane sleeps in one of them. He feels the ghostly touch of her lips to his brow, as when he left her at Julius’s secret cave.

  If she were there, would she welcome him? Would anyone?

  “Hard to say what kind of reception we’ll get,” Ernesto says, as if reading Roger’s mind.

  “Everything can’t be as easy as the rest of our trip,” Roger says.

  “You call that easy? We just rode a crapload miles on horseback.”

  “And no one gave us trouble.”

  “Not when you’re with the Pony Express man himself.”

  “After what you did at the Moonshine Sadie…”

  “Not like anyone can just send a text. News can’t travel any faster than we can.”

  “Yet it travels, still.”

  Ernesto tilts his hat forward. “Let’s ride in like Paul Revere and wake some people up.”

  “Just me,” Roger says. “It’ll be less intimidating. Besides, Maddox might have left some surprises. Better to have some insurance waiting in the wings.”

  “It’s your reunion party.” Ernesto’s eagerness is written on his face, as is his mild disappointment at having to rein it in.

  “Crack of dawn. Then I’ll go.”

  {}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

  It was going to be a hot one. The sun had not yet risen, yet Roger could tell. It was going to be as hot as blazes. He walks along the base of Soldier’s Hill toward the encampment, having left his horse with Ernesto. Better not to surprise anyone. Still, no alarm bells were ringing, no hasty defensive formations made to greet him as would have been the drill.

  On closer inspection, the horseshoe pits lie dormant with no signs of upturned earth. The remaining tents are dingy and tattered, as if they had been beaten down and then reassembled.

  A thin spiral of smoke struggles into the air from a cooking fire tended by a heavy set man who encourages the feeble flames with dried mesquite pods.

  “Crimhauser,” Roger calls out as he approaches.

  The man turns his head and snorts in disbelief. “You kidding me?”

  Roger stops a few paces from the fire.

  “Either you’re a ghost or you’re mental.”

  “Maybe both,” Roger says.

  “I wish I could say I was sorry to see you.” Crimhauser pulls himself to his feet, back creaking in resistance. “But it’s pretty lonely out here these days.”

  Roger offers his hand, and Crimhauser shakes it firmly. “I owe you so much f
or helping me escape.” Roger looks at the sad remains of the camp. “I’m sorry—”

  “Shut up with your sorry,” Crimhauser says. “It is what it is.”

  “How bad was it?”

  Crimhauser pokes the fire with a stick. “When they came back from Julius’s wild goose chase, they were pissed off. Or at least I heard. I didn’t exactly come rushing back after dropping you off. I was scheduled to watch over the goats in Catclaw Glen, so I did. Joe Mercusio could tell you better. He was there.

  “What about his brother?”

  Crimhauser shakes his head. “Billy had too much of a mouth on him, you know that. Story is he smarted off to the White Texan himself when they came riding back in without Julius. Goddamn bastard beat him to a pulp.”

  “Billy’s dead?”

  “We’re all dead. Some of us are just lagging behind.”

  “And Julius got himself killed over me, too.”

  “He knew what he was doing. He was a loyal type, Julius. Despite his temper. He knew what he was doing when he led them off into the desert, that he wouldn’t be coming back. At least they shot him clean and quick. I couldn’t leave him out there, after the fact. So I carted myself out there and pulled his body from the buzzards, buried it as best I could. Put some of his precious comics in there with him, to keep him company.”

  “If I had stayed, maybe things wouldn’t have been so bad.”

  “You’re alive, and so am I,” Crimhauser says simply.

  “You said Joe’s still here?”

  “Yeah, Joe’s still here. That’s about it. Me, Joe and a handful of Freedom Republic loyalists left to keep an eye on things.”

  “You ever find out what happened to Vane?” Roger’s throat catches.

  “When the White Texan and his men came back, they were mad as hornets. Billy was the first to open his yap, poor sumbitch.” The usually stoic Crimhauser’s eyes seem a little moister. “After Maddox beat him down, it was time for the rest. People were red-crossed, black-crossed, flogged and finished off for good. I came in after the initial fury had subsided, and being I had worked with the Enlisted as a cook, my hide was spared. But it was close. Things were hot. Instead of riding on out, they hung ‘round for days.