Xombies: Apocalypso

by Greatshell, Walter

  The Deathmobile pulled up to the barricade, and several men got out. They were matter-of-fact about the destruction they had wrought, no strangers to killing. One of them had a flamethrower. “All right, kid,” he said. “Step away from the body so we can purify the area.”

  “Fuck off,” Ray said.

  “Yeah, yeah. Brother Matt, come get this kid, will you?”

  “You got it, chief.” Brother Matt stepped over the barricade and raised his boot to kick Ray off Brenda, but before he could deliver the blow, his body jerked rigid and he made a strangled noise from the back of his throat. His eyes bulged and his tongue popped out, and all of a sudden his torso twisted apart at the waist.

  Apollo rose into the light. He was a shot-up wreck, an animated blue monstrosity, but a Xombie was still a Xombie, and his big hands gleamed red, clutching pieces of Brother Matt’s severed spine.

  The other men opened fire, but even before they pulled the triggers, more Xombies materialized out of thin air, literally falling upon them from windows overlooking the street. In an instant, every man was down. Their radios crackled with anxious queries.

  Brenda touched Ray’s hand. Her fingers were ice-cold. “Go, honey,” she said. It took her great effort to say it, and she didn’t have much left. “Please.”

  Not knowing what he was doing, Ray crawled away from her. He would later realize he never kissed her good-bye, never told her he loved her, and this would torment him during the long voyage on the submarine. There was a wine store a few feet away, and he went inside. The Xombies didn’t seem to notice. Ray walked through the store and out the back door into an alley. No one saw him; no one followed. A few blocks away, he found a motor scooter lying on its side. It was a nice Vespa, just abandoned, with the keys still in it.

  It started right up.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  GULAG

  Todd pushed the hooded prisoner in front of him, trying to look brusque as he approached the sentries. The two Brethren sat in a huge riot vehicle, the Deathmobile, one at the wheel and the other manning a rooftop machine gun. The gunner trained his weapon on the approaching pair.

  “State your business,” he called.

  “This woman just surrendered to me outside. She says the Hellions won’t touch her.”

  The driver sat up. “No shit? You know, there’s a bounty on Munies. If she’s for real, you get a promotion. Where’s your incident report?”

  “Right here.”

  The man barely glanced at the paper. “Why haven’t I seen you before?”

  “I’m new. I’ve been assigned to the hotel.”

  “You’re not one of those guys who rode in on bikes?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Cool. And you weren’t even anointed? No protection at all?”

  “No. Can we get through this?”

  “Be done in a sec. Whose side are you on, the Prophet or the Apostle?”

  “The Prophet.”

  “Bad idea, if you ask me. Odds are with the Living Saint, two to one. This is one horse race you want to be sure to bet on the favorite.”

  “Amen to that, brother.”

  The man at the gun seemed to be studying the prisoner closely.

  Todd suddenly felt very stupid to think this plan could work. Sneaking a dress, a wig, and some cosmetics from the mall stores, Todd had watched as Ray tried to create a look that was feminine without being overly fussy—apocalypse chic. “That’ll work, that’ll work,” Todd kept muttering doubtfully. It was all a bad joke. At best, Ray looked like a soot-smudged female impersonator.

  But it seemed to be good enough. The guard gave the okay, and Ray was allowed through the gate of the compound and released from his bonds. Todd was dismissed.

  Peace, bro, he thought.

  Unhooded, Ray found himself standing alongside a row of portable toilets. Straight ahead were ranks of brand-new recreational vehicles, dozens of them, with an open space in the center. In that clearing, he could see a group of women sitting at several picnic tables, playing cards.

  Before Agent X, Ray had come here every Fourth of July. It was nice: Bands played and people brought beach chairs to watch fireworks over the State House. With the trailers and fences and huddled figures, it now looked more like a gulag.

  The group at the table waved him over. There were about ten of them, anonymous figures with scarves wrapped around their heads. They looked like old homeless ladies, bundled in whatever the men supplied them with from Nordstrom’s, Macy’s, or Bed, Bath & Beyond. Heart hammering, Ray started over to them, wondering how he was going to pull this off.

  From off to the side, a man’s voice called, “Ray … ? Oh my God, is that you?”

  “Uncle Jim!” Ray said.

  He rushed to embrace the man and was held off by a warning look. In a low voice, Sandoval said, “No touchee. It’s the rules.” Looking askance at Ray, he asked, “What the hell are you wearing?”

  Now it was Ray’s turn to lower his voice. “I know, I’m a girl, just go along with it. Call me Raven.”

  “Raven. Right. Right, of course. What are you doing in here?”

  “I came to see you. I had Todd pretend to arrest me.”

  “You jackass! Don’t you realize there’s about to be a holy war? Dixon’s people are crazy!”

  “Why do you think I came? I got your note—are you okay?”

  “I’m all right, considering some nutball tried to stick a knife in me. I’m fine. You really shouldn’t have come in here.”

  “I had to do something.”

  “I know.” Sandoval spoke urgently in Ray’s ear: “Listen, if things go the way I’m hoping, we won’t have to be in here much longer anyway.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “You’ll see. Just play it cool.”

  The women were fascinated and suspicious. “Who’s this, Jim?” one of them called. “You never told us you had a girlfriend on the outside. Why don’t you introduce us? And maybe fetch her a drink. She looks like she needs it.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend, Chandra,” Sandoval said. “She’s my … niece. Raven.”

  The woman looked unconvinced. “Raven. Really. Well, it’s quite the jolly little family reunion, isn’t it? What a fortunate coincidence that you both survived the plague!”

  “Not such a coincidence. Raven and I both escaped on the submarine.”

  “Oh, is that submarine of yours back in town?”

  “Just long enough to drop her off, apparently.”

  Ray said, “That’s right. They didn’t want any women on board, so they put me ashore.”

  “Well, that’s just terrible. You’re certainly welcome with us.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now there’s just one thing. As you can see, dear, most of us here are old enough to be your mother … or even your grandmother. That suggests that you have an unusual resistance to Agent X for someone your age. You can bear children—possibly immune children. This places you in a very select minority. Has Jim explained to you what that means?”

  “Uh, well—”

  Sandoval jumped in, steering Ray away toward a table of sandwiches and drinks. “All right, all right! Get your minds out of the gutter!”

  The women cackled in their wake.

  “Fucking biddies.” Sandoval poured Ray a glass of lemonade. “Unbelievable.”

  The sound of women’s laughter almost made Ray weep. Taking a bite of a ham sandwich, he asked, “What did you mean when you said we might not be in here much longer?”

  “My people are staging a coup against Chace. If all goes as planned, by this time tomorrow, we’ll all be set free.”

  Ray swallowed. “Are you sure? It looked to me like Chace has the popular vote.”

  “They’ve just known him longer; he’s a celebrity. People always like a charismatic yokel, but they’ll jump ship as soon as he stumbles. Which he already has. He thinks they’re all fired up for this war on Washington, but I guarantee you that mos
t of them will bail out at the first opportunity.”

  “What if he kills you first?”

  “He doesn’t dare kill me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because these women won’t permit it. They remember what these nuts did to them during the Agent X panic. Female survivors were almost exterminated. They’re not about to let that happen again.”

  “But if Chace has all the weapons you mentioned, what’s to stop him from just marching in here and doing whatever the hell he wants? These women are helpless prisoners.”

  “Are they?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, look around you. Who’s out there in the city doing all the grunt work, and who’s in here on the lawn, playing cards and drinking Margaritas?”

  “I … don’t get it. Are you saying these women are somehow in charge?”

  Sandoval grinned.

  “But how?” Ray asked.

  “Because the Evians hold the Sacrament. They are the Munies—the truly immune, not just resistant to Agent X infection, but actually counterinfectious, able to neutralize Xombies. Make them human. In fact, Xombies shun them—I hear you’ve experienced this yourself at one of Chace’s little demonstrations. Well, it’s a tincture of immune blood that makes it possible. That’s how I was restored to my humanity … and how we will eventually restore the whole human race.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “At present, however, that goal of Xombie salvation is limited by the small number of available donors. The immunizing effect of the blood serum is temporary, which means there has to be a reliable supply. The living come first, and obviously the supply of vaccine can only increase if the number of Immunes increases. That means having immune babies—as many as possible, preferably females.”

  “Hence your harem.”

  “Now don’t jump to conclusions. I haven’t touched those girls. In fact, I can’t touch them—nobody can. Not without their full consent.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll see. As a presumed Immune, you’ll be staying with them.”

  “I still don’t understand what’s to stop Dixon from marching in here and taking charge of the whole operation. Making the Immunes his slaves.”

  “It’s all under control, trust me. Do you think I wouldn’t have it covered?”

  “You? How could I doubt?”

  “Damn straight.”

  They talked for hours about old times, until the sun fell below the mall. A blustery wind kicked up, and the women stowed their cards and went inside their trailers. Finally, Sandoval said, “Phew, I hate to let you go, but I can tell you’re beat. Come on, I’ll take you to your trailer.”

  “Can’t I stay with you?”

  “I wish. The others would never stand for it. No, you have to bunk with the Evians. Don’t worry—you’ll like them. They’re some of the nicer people in camp.”

  He took Ray to a fence within the fence—a smaller enclosure containing a single trailer. The gate was locked shut, but Sandoval waved at the camera, and they were buzzed in. He sighed. “Well, this is as far as I go.”

  “Really? You can’t even just introduce me?”

  Sandoval shook his head no, choked up with emotion. “But I’m really glad to see you, Ray. I should kick your butt for risking your fool neck like this, but I’m grateful you came. ”

  “Me too.”

  They hugged, clinching tightly. A nearby woman’s voice shrieked, “Get a room!” and they hurriedly broke apart.

  As the fence shut between them, Sandoval called, “Don’t you worry, everything’s going to be all right!”

  Ray went up the short walk and knocked on the trailer. When he looked back, Jim Sandoval was gone.

  The door opened, releasing a torrent of music—Fiona Apple’s “Criminal.” A sour-faced young woman stood in the doorway, looking Ray up and down. She was wearing what looked like an orange life vest over a peasant skirt, army boots, and an oversized knit hat with dangling earflaps. “Who’re you?” she asked.

  “Hi. Sorry to bother you. My name is Ray Despineau—uh, Raven.”

  The woman ignored his outstretched hand. “What do you want?”

  “I guess I’m staying here tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m immune. So they say.”

  “Oh. Great. Well, c’mon in. I’m Fran.” The woman stood aside to let him pass.

  “Hi, Fran. Nice to meet you.”

  “Seriously?”

  Ray stepped into a very cluttered room. Heaps of clothing, shoes, games, books, magazines, cookware, food garbage, and all manner of random electronic paraphernalia were scattered on the floor or piled on the furniture. The music was very loud. For a second, he didn’t realize there were people hidden amid the mess: two teenage girls, both wearing life vests similar to Fran’s. One girl was on the couch, and the other sprawled on the carpet. All three were pale to the point of translucence, with dark circles under their eyes. Cancer ward, Ray thought.

  He introduced himself again.

  “I’m Ashleigh,” said the one on the couch, who was decorating her huge artificial nails.

  The one on the floor was reading an art magazine called Hi Fructose. She said, “Deena.”

  “Hi, Ashleigh and Deena. Looks like I’m gonna be staying with you guys.”

  “We heard,” said Ashleigh. “You can have Wanda’s room. It’s the one in the middle.”

  “Thanks,” Ray said, “but doesn’t Wanda need it?”

  “Not anymore. Shit happens.” Ashleigh went back to her nails.

  Deena said, “Hey, is it true that Michael Jackson is back from the dead?”

  “That’s such bullshit, man,” scoffed Ashleigh.

  Deena said, “You’re the one who thinks Elvis is still alive!”

  “Elvis is totally still alive—I saw him, bitch.”

  “Why should Elvis come back and not Michael Jackson?”

  “Dude, if you have to ask that, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

  “Why? Michael Jackson probably sold more records in his lifetime than—”

  “Stop—just stop it. Elvis is a classic, do you get it? He’s the King, the original.”

  “You always do this.” Deena turned to Ray. “She always does this. Do you think Michael Jackson’s back?”

  “Anything’s possible,” Ray said.

  He went and found the empty bedroom. The dead girl’s things were still there, the bed unmade. A picture of Jesus was taped to the wall. As he stood looking at it, something moved under the wadded-up bedding, something not human. Part of its shin was exposed: pink gooseflesh with black hair. With a howl, it suddenly jumped off the bed and raced through his legs and into the hall. Ray half shrieked before realizing it was a dog, a very ugly, piebald mutt.

  Ray jumped as someone touched him on the shoulder. It was Fran. “Sorry,” she said, “but I almost forgot to give you this. I’ll help you put it on.” It was one of the orange life vests.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “About ten pounds of Thermite with a C-4 chaser.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t freak out, it’s actually very stable … unless you trigger the detonator by pulling this tab. Then you have five seconds to say your prayers. C’mon, don’t you want to be in control of your own destiny?” She helped him put the vest on and secure its fasteners. Aside from the bomb itself, Ray was nervous that Fran might take notice of his lack of cleavage, which he had concealed with padding, but she politely took no notice.

  Finishing up, Fran said, “Now, the only time you really want to take this off is when you’re taking a shower or during our designated sleep periods. Everybody sleeps at different times so we don’t have to sleep in these things—it’s too uncomfortable. Now that you’re here, we’ll have to readjust to a four-way schedule, but it’s cool. Well, that’s about it. If you need anything, I’m right in the next room.”

  Ray closed the door and wept.

 
Later, over dinner, they talked some more. Canned food had been dropped off at the gate, and Fran heated it on the propane stove. Ashleigh said grace.

  “So what do you girls make of all this?” Ray asked as they ate.

  “You sound like my mom,” said Ashleigh.

  Deena affected a robotic grin, and squawked, “ ‘What do you girls make of all this?’ ”

  “Just wondering,” Ray said.

  “Are you a man?” asked Deena.

  He almost choked. “Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t know. Just something about you.”

  “Does it help you to hurt my feelings, Deena?” he asked.

  “Kind of, yeah.”

  “It really does,” said Ashleigh.

  “Now, girls … ” Fran said.

  Ray said, “If I was a man, I wouldn’t be in here, would I? The only reason you’re all here is because you can still bear children, right? Without that, there’s no other hope for mankind.”

  “Like Eve,” Ashleigh said.

  “I thought Eve was a dirty word around here.”

  Fran said, “Depends on who you talk to. We’ve been hearing rumors that Eve may be getting a reprieve. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Raven?”

  “Maybe so.”

  All attention turned to Ray. Deena said, “Oooh. Sounds like she does know something.”

  “Just that a lot of people are fed up with the God Squad out there. You girls may want to start thinking about where you’re going to spend your golden years.”

  Ashleigh bristled at the words “God Squad.” “You’re an unbeliever.”

  Rolling her eyes, Fran interrupted, “Where else is there to go?”