“Jeez, Campbell,” Pete cut in. “That guy couldn’t even hit tenure track, so I wouldn’t put a lot of stock in his babbling.”
“How many people were with this Arnoff guy?” Rachel wondered if more survivors than she realized were around. Maybe most of them were hiding, looking out of the cracks of basement windows and waiting for the Second Coming.
“Four others,” Campbell said. “They may be headed this way, but I don’t think I’d wait on them.”
“Well, we can’t just sit here and wait for the Zapheads to mutate into whatever it is they’re becoming.”
“Or for us to change,” Campbell said.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Pete said.
“Change into what?” Stephen asked. Rachel wanted to cover his ears. And his eyes. And to spare his nose the scent of burning houses and rotted flesh.
“So,” Pete said, “full frontal assault in a suicide mission. I’m game. Hell, we’re going to buy it one way or another.”
“I’ve got an idea, but it’s a little risky,” Campbell said.
“I hope it involves heavy drinking,” Pete said. “I’m starting to sober up and I don’t like reality.”
Rachel stroked her fingers through Stephen’s hair. It was thick like Chelsea’s, with little curls. She wasn’t going to lose anyone else in this life if she could help it.
“Okay,” Rachel said. “Let’s hear it.”
“Well, it’s pretty easy to start a fire,” Campbell said. “Right, Stephen?”
The boy nodded. “And the Zapheads like it.”
“And the Zapheads like it. So, we create a diversion like they do in the war movies, then when everybody’s running around confused, we go in and get your friend.”
“What if we scorch DeVontay in the process?” Rachel asked.
“I didn’t say it was a good plan. You got anything better?”
Rachel studied Campbell’s eyes behind his thick, black-rimmed spectacles. His pupils were large with excitement, rimmed with a gray-blue the color of Puget Sound in the winter. His hair was mussed and dirty, his chin a little too small for his brow, and his shoulders suggested he lifted more cellphones than weights. He was the kind of guy to whom she wouldn’t give a second glance in a coffee shop or bookstore, but out here, in After, he gained an awkward masculinity and nobility.
Or maybe he was changing from what he had been before, a victim of the sun’s subtle workings.
Maybe YOU’RE the one who is changing.
No. She was pretty sure she was still a good Christian. That little display of violence against the Zaphead had been justified. Hadn’t God of the Old Testament been a vindictive warmonger before Jesus brought peace into the world? If you turned the other cheek in this sad new world, you were liable to get it bitten off.
“I guess we can’t wait for more white knights to ride over the hill,” Rachel finally said. “If this is what the Army becomes when the puppet strings break, maybe my grandfather was right.”
“Right about what?” Campbell asked.
“One of his sayings is, ‘When the walls fall down, all we have left is the enemy within.’”
Pete shook his head. “That’s some heavy shit. I hope he’s not out there walking around with a hatchet.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s one of the ones who survived, assuming he didn’t transform,” Rachel said. “He was planning for this.”
“Planning for this?” Campbell said. “Even the scientists were caught with their pants down. They pretty much figured we had a good five billion years before the sun became a red gas giant and gobbled us up.”
Pete bent over, stuck out his rear, and let out a loud, flapping fart. “There’s a gas giant for you,” he said.
Stephen snickered, and even though Rachel didn’t approve of the sophomoric humor, she was relieved that the boy seemed to be recovering from the latest trauma.
“Okay,” Campbell said. “Sun’s going down. We’re better off doing this right when it gets dark.”
“Follow me,” Rachel said, taking Stephen’s hand. She checked through the front window to make sure all was clear, although she intended to use the back door.
Oh, sweet Lord. Are you serious?
“Guys,” she said. “I think you need to see this.”
They crowded around behind her, Pete’s fishy breath fouling the air. Outside, the sunset was dusky and smoky, a hint of autumn in the surrounding maples and oaks. Faint ribbons of aurora borealis wended across the atmosphere like giant lime-green specters. Night shadows crept along the yards and across the windows of the houses, giving them a sinister aspect that suggested terrible secrets inside. But it was the activity in the street that drew their attention.
Two people were tending to one of the fallen Zapheads. Rachel couldn’t be sure, but she believed the corpse was the one she had struck with her pruning shear.
“Soldiers,” Pete said. “What the hell do they want with a dead Zaphead? I can’t see them wasting time giving one a proper burial.”
“It’s not soldiers,” Rachel said. Even in the poor light, she could see that one of the figures was wearing a light-colored T-shirt, not camouflage, and what looked like khaki cargo shorts and sandals. The other wore what looked like a bathrobe, the belt dangling, and the mop of hair above it could have belonged to either gender. The two stooped down and lifted the corpse to a sitting position.
“Oh, hell, they’re not going to eat him, are they? Don’t tell me these glittery-eyed bastards are turning into zombies?”
“Shhh.” Rachel cast him a hard look and nodded at Stephen, whose eyes widened as his grip on the doll tightened.
“He’s just kidding,” Campbell said to the boy. “He’s read too many comic books.”
“I like comic books,” Stephen said. “Spiderman is my favorite.”
“Cool,” Pete said, trying to cover his goof. “I had some issues in my backpack, but I lost it when the soldiers jumped me.”
“You’re in luck,” Campbell said, motioning toward his own backpack on the couch. “I figured you’d want them if I ever caught up with you. I rescued them for you.”
Pete caught on that they were trying to distract Stephen from what might be a gruesome discovery. He patted Stephen on the shoulder and said, “First appearance of the Green Goblin, little man. And in near-mint condition.”
“Not so near-mint anymore,” Campbell said. “But you can read it with the flashlight. Just keep the beam hooded so nobody can see it from the street.”
“Sweet!” Stephen said, just like any normal boy would, not one who had endured the wholesale destruction of his race and seen the world change into a hostile wasteland. Rachel’s heart clenched just a tiny bit, but she wouldn’t allow any tears of sympathy. She’d cried herself out after Chelsea’s death, and any future breakdowns would have to tap an entirely new and undiscovered reservoir.
Rachel and Campbell put their noses to the window, shoulders touching, their breath fogging the glass. The two figures attending the Zaphead now lifted it and held it sagging limply between them, much like a couple of sailors might drag home a drunken mate.
“You think they’re going to bury it?” Rachel asked.
“It would be the first time that I’ve seen. But I have to admit, I’ve spent more time running and hiding from them than watching them.”
“They’re moving like humans. Good balance and posture, their motions focused on something besides destroying.”
“Yeah. But if they’re survivors, what do they want with a dead Zaphead?”
Rachel could think of a few possibilities, including Pete’s imaginative leap of cannibalism, but that didn’t make sense, because there was still plenty of food around. Scientific experimentation was unlikely, given the utter breakdown of all academic systems, and she couldn’t come up with any use for a dead body otherwise. “Maybe they’re cleaning the streets.”