“I don’t take the Book of Revelations literally,” she said. “I don’t think the final battle is going to take place in the Holy Land, or that the Antichrist is walking among us.”
“But there’s something in there about the world ending in fire from the sky, right?”
“After the seventh seal is opened, a great star falls from heaven and a third of the sea turns to blood. But there are also earthquakes, locusts, and foul waters. I don’t see any of that, do you?”
“So, it’s possible this isn’t really the end of the world? Just a warm-up act.”
She couldn’t tell if he was teasing her or not. The first blush of dawn took some of the darkness from the window, and Rachel became aware of the shabby furniture in the room. The bed linens seemed clean enough, though, and she was in no position to complain. The toilet didn’t stink, so at least those particular waters hadn’t been fouled by the great whore of Babylon.
She patted Stephen’s arm, which was curled around Miss Molly. “All I know is it’s not over as long as there’s a single human left,” she said. “We’re here to care for each other as best we can, do the next right thing, and stay in service to the Lord’s will for us. We don’t have to understand it. Our job is to just keep showing up.”
“So, you don’t see all this as a showdown of Good versus Evil?”
“Are the Zapheads evil just because they have destructive natures? Maybe they’re serving the Lord’s will just as we are.”
“Everything happens for a reason, huh? Sounds like the excuse people use for some sucky choice they made.”
“And God gives us free will, so we have the chance to choose goodness and grace and salvation.”
DeVontay stood, clutching the pistol, and peeked out of the high window. Satisfied, he turned back to her, his face now plainly visible in the dawn. He seemed angry, his skin stretched taut over his jawbones, his forehead furrowed. “Except, we didn’t get no choice, did we? We wake up one day and we’re in hell.”
“No,” she said. “We’re alive.” She touched Stephen’s shoulder. “We still have something to live for.”
“Oh, yeah? Come take a look at this.”
Careful not to rouse Stephen, whose snores had quieted, she slipped out of bed and joined DeVontay at the window. Outside, she could see the surroundings that had been hidden the night before. They were in a mixed-use commercial area, a few apartment buildings separated by retail and light industrial uses—a plumbing supply shop, a fenced lot with stacks of wooden beams and piles of sawdust, and a thrift shop with toddler clothes in the window.
But it was the activity in the street that drew her attention. People—Zapheads—were walking up the street. Although they appeared nearly unaware of each other, all of them at least fifty feet apart, they were headed in the same direction. They moved with none of the uncoordinated sluggishness of a few days before, nor did they seem particularly intent on destroying anything.
“Weird,” she said. The scene was rendered even more surreal by their utter silence. If not for their transfixed, unblinking eyes, she would have thought they were fellow survivors. Even now, she wondered if maybe Zapheads and survivors were sharing the same street in relative harmony, perhaps coming to accept one another.
“Creepy as hell. Where they going?”
Rachel looked at the angle of the shadows that stretched from the sides of the buildings and the few cars in the street. “They’re heading east. Back toward the big fire.”
“So, maybe they’re not in hell, just heading for it.”
“It seems like there are more of them.”
“These sons of bitches ain’t coming back from the dead, are they?”
Rachel almost made a joke, but DeVontay clearly was simmering on the verge of exploding. “Whatever instinct is driving them, it’s brought them out in the open. Maybe a lot of them were inside before.”
“Inside killing people, maybe. Don’t forget what they done.”
“Well, maybe they’ve changed.”
“Yeah, right. Praise the Lord, they saw the light. Maybe they’re not even mindless killers anymore. Let’s run outside and start singing Dancin’ in the Street and see what happens.”
DeVontay had raised his voice so much that Stephen let out a plaintive, confused cry. “Mommy?”
Rachel shot DeVontay a venomous glare and hurried to the bed. She swept the boy up in her arms and held him tightly, the sheet swaddling his shoulders. Rocking back and forth, she whispered, “Shhh, honey. It’s okay.”
DeVontay began stuffing his things into his backpack as if preparing to leave. Stephen finally became aware of his surroundings. “Whu-where are we?”
“North of Charlotte,” she said.
He wiped at his eyes with a grimy fist. “Is that close to Mi’sippi?”
“Closer than yesterday,” she said.
“I think we better wait it out,” DeVontay said, again monitoring the street through the beige curtains.
“It’s not any safer traveling at night,” Rachel said. “They don’t seem to sleep.”
“They don’t eat nothing, either. You’d think they’d wear down after a while.”
Rachel didn’t like having this conversation in front of Stephen, but she didn’t see any way around it. “Well, let’s face it. We just don’t know anything. Right after the Big Zap, they were killing every living thing in sight, random destruction, acting mindlessly. Now they’re moving with more purpose, like they’re getting settled into their new lives.”
DeVontay pulled one of the curtains wide. “You call that shit ‘life’? It’s like somebody opened up their heads like a jack-o’-lantern and stuffed them full of poisoned cotton candy.”
“Cotton candy?” Stephen said, standing up on the bed and trying to see out the window.
Rachel pulled him back down into the bed and gave him a pack of crackers. “You better keep your strength up. We’ve got a long walk ahead.”
“Why is walking better than staying right here?” DeVontay said. “We can hole up, make a run to a store now and then, wait this thing out.”
“We have no idea what we’d be waiting for. You think the Army’s going to roll in and save us? We’ve already seen how that plays out.”
“Then we ought to find those guys from last night—Campbell and them—and band together so we have a better chance of fighting them off.”
“The Zapheads outnumber us. I don’t think we’ve gotten a good idea of their population. They’ve gone from random, individual acts of violence, where you might only see one or two at a time, to a more open, communal behavior.”
“This ain’t psychology class. This is war. Plus, you don’t even know what those things are thinking about. They might as well be puppets hanging on invisible strings.”
“I like puppets,” Stephen said with enthusiasm, spraying cracker crumbs from his mouth. Then, his face darkened. “But I don’t like Zapheads.”
Rachel again glared at DeVontay, who ignored her anger. “But Zapheads may not be our only problem. Look at The Captain and his storm troopers. What if they’re not an isolated case? What if there are pockets of military forces out there, armed to the teeth and making their own rules? They’re as likely to slaughter us as the Zapheads are.”
“That’s an even better reason to stay here, then. Those idiots might be shooting everything that moves.”
“No,” Rachel said, not knowing how to put it in a way that wouldn’t frighten Stephen even more. But perhaps the fantasy of reaching his father was enough to sustain him for now. “The fires are spreading. Imagine all those toxins in Charlotte. When that city burns, the smoke is going to be a killer.”
“So, our choices are choking to death, getting shot, or getting our brains bashed in by Zapheads,” DeVontay said.