“You mean to make it look like there are no Zapheads around? Gunning for some type of community award or something?”
“No, to lure more Zapheads. Maybe they’ve got some vigilante thing going on.”
Pete carelessly swept the flashlight beam across the room as he turned a page, reading aloud to Stephen. Rachel scolded him, afraid the light would attract the people outside like curious, single-minded moths.
Instead, the pair on the street kept dragging the corpse, heading east toward the fire that Campbell had started. The spreading conflagration threw a reddish cast to the sunset, the smoke roiling against the purple-streaked sky like a tableau in the tempest of hell. The person in the bathrobe lost her grip on the corpse, and the robe parted to reveal mottled flesh.
“I think they’re Zapheads,” Rachel said.
“Doesn’t make sense,” Campbell said. “Zapheads are violent, mindless killing machines.”
“Maybe we simplified them so we could pretend we understand them.” Rachel didn’t like that answer, but was it any worse than the reality of the last few weeks?
The man in the T-shirt turned and looked directly at Rachel, or at least she felt that way. Even from thirty yards, the hooded aspect of his eyes told her it was a Zaphead. He was of average height, wearing a crew cut and topsiders, and he could have been a guy washing his driveway with a garden hose, a beer in his hand while waiting for the afternoon’s football games to kick off.
Rachel ducked a little, pulling Campbell down while calling out, “Keep low, guys, they’re looking this way.”
They crouched in the gloaming for a long minute, with the only sound the distant crackle of the bonfire. Rachel expected a knock on the door, or maybe for a body to fling itself against the window. She wished she hadn’t left her pruning shears in the kitchen.
She grew tired of the tension and parted the corner of the curtain just enough to see the two Zapheads carry their fallen comrade on down the street. Rachel was surprised to think such a thing, but they had escorted their dead companion with a tenderness that was in direct contrast to all the violence she’d witnessed from them.
“I should follow them,” Campbell said. “See what’s going on.”
“No,” Rachel said. “How can that help us? Right now, we need to save DeVontay and get out of here before your fire scorches us alive.”
“We can all be superheroes!” Stephen said, apparently becoming so engrossed in the comic book that he’d blurred the line between fantasy and reality. Rachel almost envied him.
“Sure, kid,” Pete said. “A super-duper ray gun will do the trick.”
As if to punctuate Pete’s words, a brittle crack resounded from outside, drawing Rachel’s attention. At first she thought it was the popping of wood from the heat of the fire, but the Zaphead in the white T-shirt was sprawled in the street on top of the corpse he’d been helping to carry. A dark stain spread across the back of his shirt.
Gunfire.
Another short rang out. The last Zaphead ducked and peered into the smoky murkiness, then fled out of the street into a side yard.
“Bet it’s The Captain and his goon squad,” Rachel said.
“Or maybe Arnoff’s group,” Campbell said.
Pete joined them at the window. “Sweet. Let’s team up.”
“At this point,” Campbell said, “I can’t tell the Zappers from the humans. And I’m not about to get shot to find out.”
“He’s right,” Rachel said to Pete. “But you guys do what you want. I’m going to get DeVontay.” She called to Stephen in the darkness of the living room. “Get your stuff, honey, and meet me at the back door.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
At first glance, the ranch house appeared to be abandoned.
Rachel parted the waxy leaves of the rhododendron that bordered one edge of the yard. The windows were dark, although the glimmer of the distant bonfire reflected in the windows. Campbell’s act of arson had spread, rimming the twilight sky in the east with an angry red-orange. Flames leaped and flickered above the treetops, casting striations of light across the land. The air stank of smoke, and breathing was difficult, but Rachel couldn’t help thinking of all the cremated corpses whose fine ash now floated into her lungs.
“Dang, Campbell,” Pete said, crouched behind her on the property adjoining the ranch house’s yard. “That’s some bonfire you built. You’re doing your part to wipe the slate clean, huh?”
“Maybe these guys have already left,” he said.
“No,” Rachel said. “I don’t think they’re all that interested in survival. They’re more interested in the war.”
“The war against who?” Campbell said. “I think we’ve all pretty much lost this one.”
“You don’t understand soldiers. Better to go out in a blaze of glory than get your butt kicked.”
Stephen squeezed her hand, the little guy curled into a ball beneath the foliage of the shrubbery. “Don’t go in there.”
“I can’t leave without DeVontay. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, these guys will take you to your dad. Right?”
“Uh…sure,” Pete said. “We’re headed that way anyway.”
“Okay, then.” Rachel said. “I’ll start the fire on the end near the garage. That will give everybody a chance to escape before it gets out of hand.”
“Got any accelerant?” Campbell asked.
“I saw a charcoal grill in the back yard before it got dark. There was a can of starter fluid beside it.”
“Another weenie roast,” Stephen said.
Rachel chuckled, although the sound of reassurance was more like choking on a chicken bone. “Need some paper, though.”
After a moment, one in which something large popped and exploded inside the distant conflagration with the whoosh of an airliner at liftoff, Pete said, “Damn it. Well, so much for the investment potential.” He unzipped his bag and shoved a stack of comics in her hand. “Bye, Spidey. It’s been real.”
“It’s for a good cause,” Campbell said.
“Sacrifice is for suckers,” Pete said, “but this better get me some serious brownie points in heaven.”
“I’ll put in a good word,” Rachel said, hoping she didn’t sound too sanctimonious. She’d been praying fervently in the past hour but had kept it to herself.
Well, yourself and God. Because you’re not in this thing alone.
She checked to make sure her lighter was still in her pocket, then tensed to push her way through the rhododendron. “I’m going with you,” Campbell said.
“We’re more likely to be spotted that way,” she said. “Besides, you need to look after Stephen.”
She felt a strong hand gripping her forearm. She turned and saw wildfire rippling in Campbell’s eyeglasses, and behind that, his gleaming, earnest eyes. “If you go in there, I have to go with you,” he said.
Anger burned inside her, as hot as any fire. “This isn’t the time for some stupid post-apocalypse man-code. In case you haven’t noticed, the codes are pretty much erased. So don’t pull your macho bullshit, because I’ve made it this far without you.”
Stephen drew in a shuddering gasp, and Rachel immediately regretted her outburst. She stroked Stephen’s hair and whispered. “It’s okay, honey. I’ll get DeVontay and be right back. I promise.”
Pete let out a snort of disbelief but Campbell stayed silent. Rachel clutched the small stack of comic books in one hand, her pruning shear held in the other. The ludicrous nature of her position struck her. If she’d seen somebody outfitted like this in a viral YouTube video, she’d have dubbed the viral star a demented supergeek, doomed to a life of cat memes and celibacy.