CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The locusts swarmed sometime before dawn, and no entomologists had the ability to track them.
The U.S. Air Force was the first to notice them, recording unidentified mass bodies in the South China Sea via a GEO Flight 4 satellite. The system was designed to detect ballistic missiles and large-scale air squadrons, and officers at the Space and Missile Systems Center initially assumed China was launching some kind of attack. However, infrared examinations showed the detected bodies didn’t have the appropriate heat register for military applications.
Visual surveillance conducted by the destroyer USS Decatur confirmed the massive swarms of flying insects some four hundred miles off the coasts of Vietnam and the Philippines. The ship, which was already down to a skeleton crew because of Klondike Flu casualties, was inundated while the communications officer was relaying the report. The report was interrupted and that was the last time the Decatur was ever heard from.
The locusts hit San Francisco, Mexico City, Brooklyn, and Toronto at about the same time, although because of the collapse of the electrical and communications grid in many parts of the country, only those in the highest levels of government were aware of the widespread nature of the phenomenon. Those on the ground only knew that the insects ravaged the local foliage, suffocated the exposed victims by blocking their throats and nostrils, and veiled the rising sun like an ominously thick fog. The locusts seemed to rise out of holes in the ground, cracks in concrete and asphalt, and the window frames of abandoned homes—in other words, with no obvious origin.
A swarm descended on Raleigh shortly after sunrise, appearing as a shifting murmuration over the stunted ruins of skyscrapers. When the locusts reached Promiseland, the soldiers encamped in vehicles and secured buildings while the civilian refugees fought off the flying invaders by slapping at them with their hands or simply huddled inside tents and covered their heads with sheets and blankets. The swarm moved on as quickly as it had descended, leaving hundreds with tiny bite marks that soon swelled with suppurating infection.
Rev. Cameron Ingram thought the plague might cause some of the faithful to waver. After all, why was God punishing the innocent along with the guilty? However, his followers quickly rationalized the attack. It was written, and so it must be.
In fact, their fear made them even more eager to cling to Ingram as a savior, especially when he announced a United Nations effort to exterminate the pests. His promise helped solidify his influence among the half of the world that still resisted help from the United States. The specter of mass starvation and further infection gave even the most jingoistic nations pause.
Ingram did make a half-hearted effort at extermination, dispensing Air Force missions to drop concussion bombs and spray insecticides amid the thickest swarms. But the locusts were in constant migration, making them not only difficult to track but impossible to attack. The best defense was to simply wait for them to move on, and most people were only too happy for the plague to visit their neighbors instead of themselves.
When another series of natural disasters hit half a world away, Ingram ordered relief teams into those areas regardless of whether governments requested aid or not. Because political power was now decentralized, foreigners welcomed any kind of help. Nationalism was muted because those missions launched under the Eye and Three flag instead of the stars and stripes. In the few places like North Korea and Iran where leaders resisted the incursion, their troops were too occupied fighting the more immediate threat of zombies.
Ingram summoned an enclave of U.N. ambassadors to Promiseland, where he established a world headquarters in a refurbished university building half a mile away. He offered them a stake in his new proposed government, giving them some authority over deployment of United States resources in their home countries. Because this move boosted their individual political power above that of their former leaders, all of them gladly accepted. As a sign of good faith, Ingram required them all to be inked by Big Jones personally.
In the course of a week, Ingram had secured his dominance of the globe. His Cabinet and U.N. General Assembly passed policies that expanded health screenings, official tattoo stations, and the replacement of national and state flags with those of the Eye and Three. With military power clustered around Ingram’s network of shelters, refugees had little choice but to flock to them for protection. Ingram deliberately halted the extermination of zombies in order to hasten the process. Those who refused his help simply had to take their chances.
The consolidation of power coincided with a massive propaganda campaign, translated into dozens of languages by a new U.N. department. Ingram had already reduced his public appearances in the wake of his wife’s rumored disappearance. He stopped giving sermons in the Promiseland sanctuary and instead recorded cryptic messages that were broadcast via the few remaining communications channels. Those messages were spread by word of mouth, growing into myths as they worked their way through the grateful tribes of survivors.
Ingram still met with his inner circle every day, reviewing policies and making sure any dissenting opinions were crushed. The circle included Gen. Ridley; the vice president; Olin Starnes, newly appointed Director of Information; Rebecca Hahn, his U.N. ambassador; Stefan Dabrowski, Secretary of State; and Camila Lopez, his national security advisor.
Now, as he sat with them, he wanted to take the final steps toward consolidating power: by becoming not just a leader, but an idea.
“I don’t even want to exist as a man,” Ingram said at the conference table on Promiseland’s fourth floor. “It’s the best way to serve and unite the people. From now on, I’m just an image, a symbol. Like the mark.”
He could see the others didn’t quite grasp the concept, although Olin nodded dutifully as he always did. Cyrus had been reserved and brooding since Sarah Beth’s illness, but he still attended to his duties with great loyalty. Gen. Ridley, who was a little slower to surrender to Ingram’s religious beliefs than most, had become much more pliable under the delusion that he was commanding the entire world’s armies.
“Perhaps we should redesign the mark,” Olin said. “I could conduct some research into—”
Ingram banged his fist onto the table. In the abrupt silence, he held up the original scar that had proven his true identity. Once, he’d assumed he was chosen by God to lead the fight against Satan. But over time, he’d accepted the real truth.
Still, invoking that name was convenient when dealing with mortals. “God chose this mark, not me,” he said. “Besides, tens of thousands of people have already been marked. We are the Eye and Three.”
“Of course you’re correct, sir,” Olin added, red-faced. “I apologize for considering a rebrand. This isn’t Coke and New Coke.”
“Does this mean you’re not going to meet with the U.N. anymore?” Hahn asked.
“Well, not personally. I will record any necessary statements and have them translated and distributed as before. In the meantime, I trust you to accurately convey my decisions on all appropriate matters.”
“Proudly, sir.” Hahn smiled warmly at him, yielding to his projected charisma. This was one reason he wanted to limit his human interactions. These weak creatures couldn’t control their passions.
Still, Ingram hadn’t entirely shed his…earthly needs. So he returned the smile and added, “I know how persuasive you can be, Ms. Hahn, but don’t be afraid to apply pressure where needed.”
“What do we tell people when they ask about your whereabouts?” Dabrowski asked. “Already rumors are making the rounds.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“The usual: that you died, that you became infected and turned into a zombie, that you’re a puppet and Three and Eye is actually run by a cabal of Zionists in Israel, and that Zuckerberg, Musk, and Bezos created you as a corporate front to hide their AI takeover.”
“I heard a good one,” Gen. Ridley said. “The Russians developed the virus that caused the Klondike Flu to create a one-world g
overnment that they would then usurp. Talk about the most convoluted conspiracy theory imaginable. It would’ve been easier for them to just drop a dozen nuclear missiles on us and laugh while our food supplies dried up.”
“Iraq actually requested that you move Promiseland to the historic site of Babylon so the prophecies could be fulfilled,” Dabrowski said.
Ingram found these theories amusing. “The Quran has its own prophecies that aren’t too dissimilar. Its followers believe in a day of judgment and resurrection.”
“Zombies don’t discriminate,” Lopez said. “They eat them yellow, red, black, or white, dine-in or takeout.”
Several of the Cabinet members chuckled, and Ingram suppressed his wrath. “The time of competing gods is over. We have one god now.”
Eyes darted around, brows furrowed in confusion.
“The idea,” Ingram said. “The symbol. We’ll remove God from the world and give people the symbol instead. After all, isn’t that more real than some invisible deity in the heavens?”
The group was perplexed. Cyrus was the first to speak. “You’re asking us to abandon God? At a time when we need Him most?”
Ingram looked at his dear friend and spoke gently. “We’re only fulfilling what He demanded us to do.”
Gen. Ridley cleared his throat, eager to change the subject. “We’ve maintained defensive positions around our shelters worldwide, but at some point we won’t be able to hold back the zombies everywhere. Some of the larger population centers are practically under siege. If we don’t push back, we might lose some of them.”
“Our message of hope hasn’t reached everyone,” Ingram said. “Don’t they all deserve a chance at salvation? Don’t they all deserve to submit to the Eye and Three?”
“Why are we talking about symbols?” Cyrus said. “We’re really talking about you.”
Ingram was pleased at his bodyguard’s show of defiance. He would’ve been disappointed if the former MMA fighter and tormented junkie proved to be as meek as the other sheep.
“You need me, Cyrus,” Ingram said. “All of you need me. Not God. Me. Look at what I’ve done in such a short time. I’ve united the world in a way God never could, and He’s had thousands of years to try.”
“And you’re just getting started!” Rebecca added. “I’ve heard them chanting your name.” She began chanting “In-GRAM, In-GRAM, In-GRAM,” like the former high school cheerleader she’d been, even pumping an invisible pom-pom in the air.
Olin, Dabrowski, and Lopez started to join in but Ingram cut them off. “Let’s not waste any more time on this. I am a fact, but I’m also just an idea. The idea matters more.”
“Sir, we’ve had inquiries from other countries that are conducting research into the virus,” Dabrowski said. “They’re requesting technical support and access to any data we’ve compiled. They think they’re close to developing a vaccine.”
“New directive,” Ingram said. “Henceforth, any scientific investigation into the Klondike Flu and its derivatives and mutant strains is strictly forbidden. Violations are punishable by death.”
“You can’t do that,” Cyrus said. “We’ll never have a large enough military force to wipe out the deaders. They’ll eventually get the rest of us.”
“Don’t underestimate our will to win,” Gen. Ridley said, insulted. “We’ve suffered casualties, sure, and our ranks are depleted, but we have the finest fighting force in the world. If we can get these other countries to help us even a little bit—”
“Most countries are stretched to the limit just defending the territory they already hold,” Rebecca said. “Unless it’s a combined effort led by the United States under the Three and Eye banner, no one will get on board for a wide-scale offensive.”
“Hold the line for now,” Ingram said. “Let a few more of the unbelievers die off. And then we’ll make our move.”
Of course, Ingram’s move wasn’t exactly the same as the one Gen. Ridley had in mind.
“Researchers believe the virus is already in us,” Lopez said. “That means any of us could turn at any time. We should work to develop a vaccination or we’re all on borrowed time.”
“Mrs. Lopez, the virus is animating the dead. People who were dead even before the flu outbreak. I think we need to accept that this has gone way beyond science.”
No one had an answer to that. If they did, they didn’t dare speak.
“Dismissed,” Ingram said. As the officials gathered their papers and Olin switched off his digital tape recorder, Ingram asked Cyrus to stay a moment. To Rebecca, he said, “Please meet me in my office.”
After the room had emptied, Ingram gripped his bodyguard by both shoulders and gave him a forceful shake. “Ever since Sarah Beth, you’ve been moping around and acting useless. You may think less of me now, but don’t forget this was all meant to be.”
Cyrus avoided the reverend’s gaze. “Just because it’s written doesn’t mean it’s the truth.”
“It’s happening. That makes it the truth.”
“You lost your faith. I’m trying to hold on to mine.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Brother. I believe more deeply than I ever did. I just believe in something different now. It’s glorious.”
Ingram realized Cyrus would never understand. But Ingram could help him become the man he’d once been.
He reached into his pocket and pressed the packet into Cyrus’s hand. “Here. For you. To get you back on your feet again.”
Cyrus looked down at the syringe and packet of white powder in his hand. His fist clenched around them, and he raised his hand as if he were going to hurl the heroin against the wall. Then his eyes took on a soft, dreamy glaze.
“Maybe,” the burly bodyguard said as he pocketed the drugs. He drifted past Ingram and out the door.
When he reached his office, Rebecca was sitting on his desk, her blouse open and bra undone, legs parted beneath her hiked-up skirt.
He went to her. As she removed his shirt, she gasped at the dozens of bite marks and scars from where Sarah Beth had fed and the flesh had healed over and over.
“Love hurts,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The population at the farm had grown to twenty-seven.
Aside from Meg’s group, Rocky had rescued a family from a zombie attack while on a supply run. Another group had driven down the road at random, looking for a secure place to hole up, and C.J. had welcomed them to stay. Meg was uneasy since the newcomers looked a little rough and dangerous, but after a couple of days without incident she decided she was just being unfairly judgmental. A loner who identified himself only as “Knocker” had wandered in from the woods, where he’d survived by hunting wild game and eating roots, dandelion greens, and pokeweed.
When the locusts had swept through, three of the cattle had died from suffocation. The crew spent several days butchering and curing the meat after filling the chest freezer. The insects had razed portions of the pastures and C.J. feared the rest of the livestock wouldn’t make it through the summer, especially as the weather turned dry and hot.
Meg took the opportunity to learn new skills such as sewing and splitting firewood while Jacob had a great time gathering eggs with the other three youngsters. Doc had even taught him a couple of chords on the guitar, and he spent at least half an hour a day practicing.
Meg was at peace for the first time since she’d returned home from Alaska, but she knew it wouldn’t last. For one thing, Ian was still missing. For another, she was no closer to understanding how the dead had returned from the grave, and thus what her daughter’s fate might be. And no matter how bucolic their daily routine on the farm, there was no escaping the essential fact of a worldwide zombie plague.
Meg chatted with the other group members, though most she knew only by sight. Several tended to spend most of their time on watch so they were rarely around. She wondered if they were loners or just preferred guard duty to the manual labor that everyone else engaged in.
&n
bsp; Aside from C.J. and Sherry, her favorites were the pixie-haired Doc Summers, with whom she discussed theories on the virus, and the reclusive Knocker. She also developed a soft spot for Kit, who’d befriended Jacob. Meg suspected her son had a crush on the older girl.
Among her own group, Rocky took interest in training the guards as well as others who didn’t have much experience with firearms. Meg reluctantly allowed Jacob to learn some basics of gun safety, although she wouldn’t let him fire a weapon.
Sonia often met with C.J. to discuss farm operations, convincing him that even a communal living arrangement required some organizational structure. Arjun and Sydney spent a lot of time together, and she suspected some of that was spent up in the barn’s hayloft, since privacy was a scarce commodity here.
One of the horses came down with an illness, and Meg was afraid the Klondike Flu had made a jump into the animals. But Doc diagnosed it as West Nile Virus and the horse was quarantined until it recovered. On a hunting trip, Knocker brought back a couple of rabbits that both Doc and C.J. expressed doubts about, so the meat was boiled and given to Roscoe, C.J.’s old coon dog.
Just the day before, a couple of helicopters had flown low over the farm, and they appeared to be dropping something in the forest. Meg realized how vulnerable they were if the noise attracted zombies to the area. Despite the several layers of barbed-wire fencing, a determined horde of zombies could circle them and trap them. The stockpiled ammunition wouldn’t last long, and they might be forced to fight their way out by hand.
“We’re getting complacent,” Rocky said to her one afternoon on the porch after lunch.
“We’re settling down, that’s all,” she said, shelling seed corn into a bucket for the chickens and goats. She passed him a dried, husk-wrapped ear as an invitation to help. “We needed a break.”
Revelation: A Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Thriller (Arize Book 2) Page 20