I did a little traveling to see how all the towns were doing. It turned out that there was a doctor in Riverwood. He was one of the former slaves of the brigands, living on borrowed time until one patient or another died. He and I got along great. The eastern town of Violet was able to tell me all about the invasion of undead that had come by them some months before I’d ever showed up. I heard a similar story from Cottonvale in the west. The populations of those towns had treated the problem the same as the folks from Marshville, with everybody hiding and keeping quiet until all but a few of the undead had moved on. I organized an archery contest to see who could kill the most zombies in the pit. Everyone had fun.

  All the towns in our collective had received shortwave radios by then, I’d made sure of that. Once people knew that there was a place out there actually broadcasting messages, everyone wanted one. Mark was happy to authorize the sale of a number of battery powered homemade models when he finally got around to sending a trader our way.

  We didn’t have much to offer that trader (by the name of Mr. Freeman), but he was feeling generous and let us cut some good deals with all the electronics we were never going to need again. Mr. Freeman also gave us instructions on how to charge a battery with some hand cranks. Hand cranks which he’d also conveniently had for sale. And then he left. I didn’t get the impression that he would be back any time soon.

  All in all, that was an excellent year for me. Very calming. It felt like I did absolutely nothing and it was everything that I’d known it could be. Cynthia and her kids, Brooke, Paula, and Jack, and I played countless board games, and even after I told everyone about the existence of Haven nobody wanted to leave home, which surprised me. By the time Christmas rolled around I was feeling very relaxed, like maybe I could travel to Haven and see the place personally, without doing anything off-putting or overtly odd. There was a girl there by the name of Andrea, I wanted to spend some time with. Still, I knew better than to rush things.

  That year finished turning and we got through another mild southern winter. I turned seventeen. Then I got a message from the guard station which had been established, the station just to the west of Cottonvale. They reported that a large group of men were rolling up to their guard post and that the guards were fleeing back toward Cottonvale. The newcomers had an actual military tank, some big thing with treads and a cannon.

  It might sound cowardly, but running away in a situation like that was exactly what I had told them to do. It’s one thing to stand one’s ground in the face of the enemy, it’s another to waste one’s life facing overwhelming odds. That’s what I was for.

  We’d had a heck of a time keeping any of our own cars running by then; all of our gasoline had gone bad some time back. Naturally I was curious how our most recent interlopers had achieved the feat of maintaining viable road travel. Mark from Haven had told me all about how to get our automotive mechanics working on some peanut oil diesel thing, but no one seemed interested. Too much like work. The best we could manage was to change out fuel lines and make the most of a short trip. Horses and bicycles had really caught on, too.

  I bade everyone goodbye and got on Blue, then we began making our way to Cottonvale. From previous experience I knew that it would take me an hour to reach my destination, so I left my shortwave on for the trip, anxious to hear any updates.

  The newcomers had sent an emissary forward to talk to Cottonvale’s mayor (Mayor Wayne). There followed a private conversation which the guards were not privy to, before the visitors rolled back the way they’d come. Mayor Wayne got on his shortwave and began to report all that, but I told him I wanted radio silence and that I’d be there soon. I kept on pedaling until finally reaching Cottonvale.

  The guards met me at the town’s gate and had a bunch of babble dumped in my general direction before I could make my way to the Mayor’s house. According to the guards of Cottonvale the newcomers had somewhere between two hundred and two thousand vehicles in addition to the tank, and were either a generally happy-go-lucky bunch or extremely bloodthirsty, depending on which of the town’s guards were vying for my attention at the time. I didn’t bother to question the sentries at length, but I did begin considering adding someone with experience to act as the guard’s leader. Initially, I hadn’t thought that the job would be all that demanding.

  The mayor had more reliable information. Once seated at his dining room table he informed be of the nature of his recent negotiations.

  “The newcomers are a bunch of crazy cultists, Judge Storm. They’ve come here to convert us all to some insane new religion. I don’t know what we’re going to do, they have a tank!”

  I replied in my best judge voice, “Yes, madness does seem to be a more common affliction since the Change. How many of them were there? Did you count their vehicles?”

  “The guards tell me that there are thousands of them. I don’t know how many cars they got. I met their representative here in my home. What are we going to do?”

  “Calm down please, and tell me specifically what they want.” The mayor had called it a ‘negotiation’. That implied some kind of terms.

  “They expect us to feed them! I don’t get the impression that they’ll take no for an answer, either. They said that if we don’t tithe to the ‘host of the Lord’ or to his ‘anointed’, then they’ll bust on in and take whatever they want, including the women.” I thought, Ugh, that again.

  I asked, “Do you know where these malefactors are? I mean at this very moment.”

  “The guy said that they were going to move into what used to be Chieftainvale on account of it not having any of the ‘immortal’ in it. I guess he was talking about all the zombies that used to be there. That’s where they plan on setting up shop.”

  “All right,” I said, “get a tithe ready. That’s ten percent of the town’s food reserves. Collect it however you need to. Remember when Reagan was in charge? For now that is our situation. Send riders to all the other towns and tell them that I said for them to do the same. Right now I need to buy time and improve our bargaining situation. I’m going to ‘go over unto the garrison of the uncircumcised: it may be that the LORD will work for us.’”

  “But isn’t that dangerous? And why don’t we just use the shortwave’s?”

  “Our new neighbors have a modern tank. There’s no way we can count on them not being able to overhear every word we say over the air. They won’t kill me on sight; they’ll want to have a liaison by which they can issue orders. Besides, ‘there is no restraint to the LORD to save by few or by many.’”

  “Whatever you think is best, Judge.”

  So, from there I left Tracer and the girls behind (if I got searched I didn’t want to lose them), got back on Blue, and rode over to Chieftainvale to do a little in-the-open spy work. My first impression, as I approached, was that they were an efficient bunch. Clearly I was facing a group experienced with the perils of travel. As I crested a hill and looked down on the city of Chieftainvale, I could see all the little ants clearing out the few remaining zombies, and setting up an impromptu barbed wire barrier which stretched from house to house. They were already well on their way to moving in.

  Using my little telescope, I was able to see all the defenses they were establishing, as well as count their numbers. They numbered approximately three thousand souls counting men, women, and children. Every man and woman was armed, some of them quite well. I saw a couple of military trucks with large machine guns mounted on back, possibly .50 caliber. Most of the people had arrived in various buses, I estimated there must have been a hundred of them. There was also a holding pen which they had constructed from wire and posts, apparently brought along for that very purpose. As I watched I saw the new townsfolk of Chieftainvale back a semi truck up to the pen and unload a bunch of zombies into it. I had no idea why. I saw that the tank which had everyone talking was manned and standing guard in some old overgrown park, no doubt intended as the primary reinforcement should any enemy attack.

  There was a truck up ahead blocking the road with four guys leaning around it. Obviously they were acting as perimeter sentries, and I thought that they would be as good a place to start as any. I doubted that they were aware of my presence, because I was making a point of being sneaky and using the trees along the road for cover. Each of them were wearing a skullcap, either a kippah or a zucchetto. My guess was that specific headwear was contingent upon rank.

  As I approached, the sentries each lifted his AK-47 and took aim at me. What a bunch of jerks. They did not fire, and waited for me to get close to them before their leader spoke.

  “What do you want here, boy?” I was still small for my age, but the way he said ‘boy’ just kind of rubbed me the wrong way. Something in the tone. It occurred to me that maybe my scout work was done before it had truly begun.

  “I’m here to see some anointed guy about how he wants his food delivered. What’s the dude’s name anyway? Or does he just go by ‘Mr. Anointed’?”

  The sentries were not amused, but that’s okay, I was. With a sneer their leader announced, “That’s ‘The Lord’s Anointed, Philip Anderson’ to you, whelp.” At least they lowered their rifles.

  Then he called on his walkie talkie until he got ahold of someone to let him know about my presence. There was a brief conversation which ended in another wait, while someone more important came to see me. I got the impression that these men took standing guard very seriously and would prove difficult to lure away from their post, say, by some random explosions or gunfire.

  While we waited, the sergeant, or whatever, had a little more to say, “What’s your religion, boy? Are you pagan, atheist, heretic, or apostate?”

  With options like those I didn’t see how I could go wrong. These guys were like Patriarch Fisher on steroids. Not the good kind of steroids that make someone strong, either, I mean the other kind of steroids that lead to roid rage and murder.

  I answered, “I’m not too sure about those first three things, but you weirdos can leave my prostrate out of this.”

  That got a laugh from three of the men, but Sergeant Stupid was getting angrier by the minute. He told me, “Ignorance is no excuse! I have half a mind to come over there and beat some manners into you, boy!”

  “Who you calling ignorant, grandpa? I got more religious knowledge in my foreskin than you got in your whole genital region, and I’m circumcised! You’re right about you only having half a mind though, you got that part right.” I always like to raise the bar when it comes to insulting brinkmanship. It saves time.

  He was just taking his first step toward me when a jeep came rolling over to us. Sergeant Stupid recognized the vehicle and contained his rage. Once it arrived, a tall man was helped out of the back seat by the driver. I could tell that the guy stepping out of the back seat had the look of middle management about him. He was wearing a full on preacher gown with a big ol’ pontiff type hat, and a Roman collar and loopy vestments covered in Greek letters. I didn’t laugh, but it was a real near thing. I managed to cleverly cover my giggles with a massive coughing fit.

  In spite of my best efforts, the pointy hat wearing Halloween costumed knucklehead seemed to sense that something was off. With his driver at his side, he gathered a brief and biased report from Sergeant Stupid before turning to me.

  “My name is Regent Thaddeus Wight. Sword Brother Simon here,” he vaguely motioned to Sergeant Stupid, “says that you want to arrange a food delivery, which is as it should be. Very appropriate of you. He also says that you are in need of discipline. I, myself, wonder why the natives would send a boy to do a man’s work. It is disrespectful, don’t you think?”

  Before I could squeeze in an answer (just as well), he continued, “Let this be a test then, child. If you can answer then I have misjudged you and we will discuss the delivery. If not then Sword Brother Simon can do as he wills, and let that be a lesson to the heretics of Cottonvale.

  “Please recite the 22nd psalm,” he said.

  “The whole thing? I mean, it’s kinda long ain’t it? Do you mean from the Greek bible or the Hebrew? King James or New International Version?” These guys were getting funnier and funnier by the minute. I was feeling the part of me that likes to kill people starting to wake up. Aside from a few helpless zombies it had been months, after all.

  Sergeant Stupid put on a smile, and so did I. He gave out a chuckle of anticipation. I gave out a full belly laugh. How I had missed this. What a good day to die.

  The idiot with the pointy hat, in a merciful yet condescending tone, said, “Why don’t you just do your best, and I’ll be the judge of your punishment based on your performance. At least show me what you know.”

  I could tell by his sanctimonious snide little smile that he didn’t think I knew what he was even talking about. His micro expressions screamed sadistic freak, but I could tell what he really liked was the appearance of being the heart and soul of mercy while still bringing on the pain. Also, he clearly didn’t like to get his own hands dirty.

  I said, “Sure thing, ‘Regent’. It’s like a prayer, ya’ know? How about if I just hit the highlights? ‘For dogs have compassed me: the assembly of the wicked have inclosed me...Deliver my soul from the sword...from the power of the dog.’ Just to be clear here, you guys are the ‘dogs’ and ‘wicked’ in this particular situation, understand? Now, do you want to know how this psalm ends? Do you still want me to show you what I know?” I reached behind me and held back the hem of my cloak, showing Bob to everybody. I didn’t need to do that; I could have drawn him just as fast either way, but the way I did things was way more fun.

  As soon as the sentries saw Bob the barrels of their rifles began to rise. Out Bob came and down they went. I fanned him like I was a fanning fool; poor old Bob just about caught a cold from the breeze. That still left me with Mr. Pointy Hat. As I stepped over the fallen foe, the four sentries, I saw Mr. Pointy Hat’s knees knocking under his silly gown.

  First off I knocked that stupid pretentious hat off his head, then I ordered him, “Finish the psalm or face Judgment.” He babbled half a line or so, it was pathetic, so I shot him in the belly.

  The driver had frozen, which was why I hadn’t shot him along with the sentries. I told him, “Hey, I’m a judge, and now maybe a prophet, why not? This is my prophecy: You will hunt me all night long but to no avail. Come morning you will have neither cannon nor false prophet: both taken by my hand.”

  I would have liked to question the chauffeur for a bit, but I knew all that shooting would force a response before very long. Already I could hear someone yammering over Sergeant Stupid’s walkie talkie. I ran back to blue and grabbed Ginger and some things I thought I might need, then moved off into the woods and began a standard circling maneuver, just like Uncle taught me.

  As I’d anticipated, a horde of indifferent woodsmen spilled out into the surrounding forest, fiercely gazing this way and that, searching everywhere, and generally leaving no stone unturned. Which I figured was fine by me, as long as I got blue back unharmed when the job was done. By then I had already made my way into the city and had ditched my cloak and Bob to better blend in.

  As a first stop, I made my way over to that big ol’ intimidating tank. The top was open and there was some clueless chump up top looking around. I approached the tank from behind, but before I reached it the chump ducked back down and closed the lid. I could hear the motor beginning to rev up so I had to put on some speed in order to close the distance.

  I jumped up onto the behemoth and worked my way around to the turret guns. Naturally, I had come prepared; I had remembered that I was dealing with a tank, after all. I stuck a wad of chewing gum in the barrel of the big machine gun on top and then jammed some more into the barrel of the co-axial gun.

  The next part was tricky. I didn’t see any way to walk out on the barrel of the cannon without being noticed by someone from inside the tank. My solution was to move quickly and hope for the best. There’s a lot worse ways to go than being run over by a giant death machine, or to get blown up while riding a fiery exploding cannon.

  As I ran along the top of the cannon it began to turn and the co-axial machine gun exploded. I felt the passing of some exploded bits of metal debris, but I remained unharmed while I stuffed a big wad of plastic wrapped sand down the barrel.

  As the barrel inclined I dropped and rolled aside. The tank was so wide that it was a near thing, but I made it to safety before getting crushed. It had helped that the turret had been spinning at the time, otherwise I might not have made it.

  That’s when the barrel exploded, making its end look like something out of a Bug’s Bunny cartoon. I had been ready for it, of course, as soon as the barrel had sought elevation. I figured they had wanted to scrape me off without shooting the city. If I’d held on a half second longer I’d have been reunited with my uncle. Even as it was I was flattened by proximity of the blast, and grateful for the earplugs I’d thought to pack (like I said, I knew I was going up against a tank).

  The tank was still rolling along but it didn’t have the appearance of having anyone in the driver’s seat. The whole thing just sort of rolled along until smashing through a house at the edge of the park it had been in. The tank fell into the partial basement with its butt in the air. I took that as the perfect opportunity to run over and plant a five pack of sweaty dynamite in the left tread and run like heck.

  I quickly made for the edge of the park and the cover which might be afforded by the surrounding houses. The explosion behind me proved to be entirely satisfactory, granting me high hopes that the tank had thrown a tread or in some other way been rendered immobile. I dashed back to the site of the explosion and placed an old crumpled paper fast food bag near the damaged tread and ran back to cover, awaiting enemy reinforcements.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22