After: Red Scare (AFTER post-apocalyptic series, Book 5) Read online

  At that time, all the silly divisions between human and mutant would dissolve, and Jorge and the others would see what was right.

  Marina came to her side, handing her a Dr. Pepper and bag of onion rings taken from vending machines in the break room. “Here, Momma,” she said. “You need to keep up your strength.”

  Rosa gave her a smile and brushed her black hair behind one ear. The strands were tangled and greasy. “Gracias, honey. You’re going to need a bath soon.”

  “Maybe it will rain.”

  “And you’ll dance in it like you did on the Wilcox farm?”

  Marina’s face darkened. “I miss our home. My art supplies and my clothes and my books. Will we ever be able to go back?”

  “We don’t know what the New People have in store for us, honey. We just have to pray that things will work out for the best.”

  “But do I pray to God, or do I pray to them?” She tilted her head toward the sheriff’s office.

  God help me, I don’t know.

  “You shouldn’t worry.” Rosa opened the bag of onion rings and handed one to Marina.

  Her daughter smelled it and said, “Yuck.” But she took a nibble, and then crunched hungrily.

  The snack food was stale and oily, but they ate the entire bag. Marina looked out the window as they shared the soda. “I wonder where Daddy is right now.”

  Maybe dead. But that’s probably for the best. Because soon he will be new.

  “He will find us when the time is right.” Rosa pointed to a street below, where a couple of mutants dragged a body behind them. “Don’t you see that we had to leave the café?”

  The real threat had been Jorge and Wanda, not the mutants, but how could she explain that to her daughter? The babies couldn’t just wait around and be killed. The tribe was counting on them. Marina had endured enough in the apocalipsis without discovering her father was part of the problem rather than the solution.

  “But he doesn’t know where we are,” Marina said. “We’re not like Zapheads. We have to see and think and talk.”

  “Don’t call them ‘Zapheads,’ honey. They’re New People.”

  Marina’s eyes welled with tears. “I want Daddy.”

  Rosa wrapped her in a hug. “I do, too, honey.”

  I want him to join us.

  Then it came to her. She didn’t need to be apart. Neither did Marina. She almost laughed with delight.

  She kissed Marina, whose nose wrinkled. “Shoo. Your breath stinks, Mommy.”

  “I know how to make everything better,” Rosa said. She took Marina’s hand and said, “Come with me.”

  When they entered the sheriff’s office, Father Casey’s baby was explaining how they would gather all the dead New People before collecting the humans. Bryan noticed Rosa’s rapt expression and asked her what she wanted.

  My bright-eyed boy. ALL my boys.

  “You wanted Rachel Wheeler because you needed someone who was part human,” she said. “I know she was the first of us, but she’s resisting the call. She’ll never join you or help you. She belongs to them.”

  “She’ll return to us,” Bryan said. “I can sense her even now. She’s somewhere here in Newton.”

  “But why wait for her return? If you want to fully understand humans, take one.” Rosa stepped forward, turning up her palms as if willing to take nails in them. “Take me.”

  The three babies looked at one another, their eyes like lava in the dawn. They didn’t speak for a moment, but some sort of silent conversation was taking place.

  Before they could answer, Rosa pulled Marina forward. “Her, too. The newer, the better, right?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “So we shall be as one,” Rachel said. “Simple as that.”

  “Damn,” Franklin said. “Nuclear annihilation would be a better ending. At least then the alien archaeologists of the future would just find a thin layer of irradiated plastic, the only proof of our stupidity. But you’re talking about sitting around singing a zombie ‘Kumbaya’ until the end of time.”

  “It’s impossible to explain,” Rachel said. “All we have are words, and the New People are beyond words.”

  “They’ll always be Zappers to me,” Franklin said.

  “I don’t think that’s important right now,” Brock said to Rachel. “Tell us their weaknesses. What they’re afraid of, where they’re setting up shop, anything we can exploit.”

  Rachel didn’t like being put on the spot. She was still shaken from her rescue last night, and she had slept poorly on a couch in one of the nearby houses. DeVontay slept on the floor beside her, bundled under old coats, but the cold never quite left them. Even sitting at the fire now, along with Brock and several members of his crew, she shivered and ached.

  Maybe I’m really sick. The mutation could be a type of virus, or even a cancer.

  She laughed at the idea. The only doctors around were the Zapheads, and she’d already taken their cure once.

  “What’s so funny?” DeVontay said. He held a stick over the fire from which a skinned squirrel dangled. Franklin and Sierra had gone hunting just before daybreak and bagged some wild game. Sierra gnawed at a rabbit leg, her lips shiny with grease. Franklin tended a simmering pot containing a gray concoction he called “bunny gumbo,” and Brock picked his teeth with a small clavicle before tossing the bone in the fire.

  “I feel like a double spy,” Rachel said. “The Zapheads want me to tell them what it’s like to be human, and you guys want me to tell you what it’s like to be mutant.”

  Although the mutants were far enough away that they didn’t flood her thoughts, she could sense their presence. They were like an itch that was pleasant to scratch but only ended up itching more.

  “Ease your mind,” Franklin said. “You’re with us now, and that’s where you belong.”

  DeVontay took her hand, and that made her feel better. His touch was grounding when all the rest of her wanted to disintegrate and float away in the December air.

  “I don’t have any hatred of them,” Rachel said. “I can’t help you kill them.”

  “Damn it, this isn’t about keeping a clean conscience,” Brock said. “This is about saving the human race.”

  “Back off.” DeVontay glared at Brock, whose hands tightened around his gunstock as if he wanted to wring DeVontay’s neck instead. “We got business elsewhere. It doesn’t even matter what happens in Newton when there’s a thousand Zaphead tribes around the world. It’s like the Hydra of Greek mythology, you chop off one head and two more spring up in its place.”

  “Where did you learn about the Hydra?” Franklin asked with a mixture of admiration and surprise.

  “Even North Philly got books.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. Just that people of your…uh, generation…tend to avoid the classics.”

  “Save the coffee-shop bullshit for after we’ve saved the world,” Brock said. “Right now we need a game plan.”

  “I thought you had one,” Franklin said. “Bait the Zaps out into the open and then mow them down.”

  Rachel winced at the bluntness of the imagery. They couldn’t understand the mutants were innocent—following their nature the same as the rabbits and squirrels did. DeVontay reeled in his stick and pulled a sinewy strip of meat, sniffed it, and stuffed it into his mouth.

  Maybe that’s not the best metaphor.

  “That’s not a plan,” Brock said. “That’s a wish. If we’re lucky, we can knock off a hundred that way, but what about the rest? At some point, we’re going to have to roll into town and flush them out like rats. But we need to know where they’re holed up. So what’s the deal, Rachel?”

  The faster she was done here, the sooner she and DeVontay could head out in search of Stephen. She wondered if Franklin would go with them, or whether he would stay here and join Brock’s mission. Her grandfather was notoriously antisocial, but he also saw this as a final world war, one in which neither side would take prisoners.

  “The bra
in trust is in the jail, just below where the courthouse used to be.” She pointed to indicate the direction, although the hill was hidden by the houses and trees. Skeins of smoke rose from the ruins. “The carriers are taking all the babies there now. The other mutants will be in the hospital, the Wal-Mart, and the Home Depot, which are all in the same business strip along the main road.”

  “You sure?” Sierra asked. “Because we’re probably only going to get one chance at this.”

  “I’m not sure of anything. But that’s what I believe.”

  “If only we had some heavy artillery,” Brock said. “Any chance this Sgt. Shipley guy will team up with us? We have some inside info and a few dozen armed volunteers. Surely he’d welcome the help.”

  “No dice,” Franklin said. “You don’t understand. In his world, he’s Captain America, the Zapheads are Hitler, and we’re Stalin. He’s on a holy mission, the only hope for salvation. You think the Zappers are destructive, you haven’t seen Shipley in action.”

  “I did,” Rachel said. “His soldiers shot everything that moved. They didn’t care who was a mutant and who was a human. I’m surprised any of us made it out alive.”

  “They’re desperate,” DeVontay said, still working on his hunk of squirrel. “That was pretty much a suicide mission. Those troops had to know they wouldn’t get out alive.”

  “Then the Zaps have their guns,” Sierra said. “Including grenade launchers. And anything else they might have discovered. There’s enough ordnance in your average Wal-Mart to wipe out an entire town. But do they know how to use them?”

  “They know,” Rachel said. “But that doesn’t mean they will.”

  “Willow told me they use guns to show us that guns are wrong,” DeVontay said. After a few seconds of silence, he realized they had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Willow was my baby,” he said, sheepish. “I mean, I was her carrier. She helped me find Rachel.”

  Brock snorted. “Then maybe you’re a spy, too. And you know what happens to spies, right?”

  “Knock it off,” Sierra said. “If we start turning on each other, we’ll save the Zaps the trouble of wiping us off the map.”

  “Lighten up, hon,” Brock said. “Anything else you two lovebirds learn while you were skin surfing with those freaks?”

  “Just what we already knew,” DeVontay said. “The harder you hit them, the harder they hit back. We’re still teaching them with our actions. So I’m not sure getting good at killing them is the best approach.”

  “So, we just lay down our weapons and head home?” Franklin said. “I already tried that. And guess what? The Zappers still came for me. For all of us.”

  No, they came for ME.

  Although DeVontay knew the truth, he covered for Rachel. “They came because of Shipley. They knew he was threat, just like they know we’re a threat. They might be sitting around their own campfire right now and talking about how hard they need to hit us.”

  Brock wagged a finger in the air. “Wait, wait, wait. You said the jail was their headquarters, right?”

  “Yeah,” Rachel said. “The babies are summoning all the other babies. Their link can only travel so far. That’s why they gather in regional tribes instead of one huge hive. So if the babies are closer together, they can better communicate with the other tribe members.”

  “And when are these babies going to be together?”

  “They’re all heading that way now, as far as I can tell.” She glanced at DeVontay. “Some of them had to find new carriers.”

  “That’s what really burns my ass,” Franklin said. “How these humans can care for these things. Traitors to their kind.”

  “It sounds bad if you put it like that,” DeVontay said. “But once you hold one, and look into its eyes, and it talks to you…a baby that’s smart and can talk.”

  “God damn, Rachel, I hope you don’t breed with this guy.” Franklin took his bunny gumbo off its crotch of hot stones and stuck in a finger to test the temperature. He licked and nodded in approval. “Don’t know what this mess is supposed to taste like, but I’m calling it breakfast.”

  Brock stood up and paced back and forth, tapping his hand against the barrel of his gun. “It’s coming to me. That Hydra thing.”

  “What about it?” Sierra said. “We’re making up mythology here?”

  “That thing with the head. How many of these babies are there, Rachel?”

  “Only nine are still alive after last night.”

  “This shit’s mystical. So nine babies, and Hydra had nine heads, right?”

  “Well, some versions claim nine heads,” DeVontay said. “But there are many permutations of the—”

  “And that beast from Revelations, that one that slouches toward Bethlehem and shit? It has nine heads, too, right?”

  “Seven,” Rachel said. “But that’s generally believed to represent seven nations or governments rising out of the sea of humanity to—”

  Brock waved her off. “Never mind. The Hydra thing. You cut off one, and two grow back in its place. But what if you cut every one of the fucking heads off at once?”

  Brock slapped his hands together like he’d just discovered the last digit of pi. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and Franklin slurping his gumbo straight out of the pot, a trail of it leaking down his gray-and-black beard.

  “Kill the head and the body dies, am I right?” Brock held out his arms as if waiting for applause.

  Sierra nodded. “You might just have something there. A concentrated assault designed to wipe out their command structure.”

  “But these are babies!” Rachel said. “And their carriers will be with them. Human carriers.”

  Brock smirked. “So?”

  “It’s worth a try,” Sierra said. “Certainly easier than exterminating hundreds of Zapheads one at a time. Without the smart ones, maybe they’ll become helpless.”

  “One other possibility,” Franklin said, smacking his lips as if he’d just eaten a four-course meal at a five-star restaurant. “We kill the babies and the Zapheads go back to what they were before, right after the solar storms when they hunted us down and tore us apart like we were made out of tissue paper.”

  This time the silence stretched for a good ten seconds.

  “That’s a possibility,” Rachel said.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Stephen studied the map, and then looked at the road sign again.

  How can this road be both U.S. 321 and N.C. 105 at the same time? And a sign back there said “Blackberry Road.” How did people with cars ever figure out where the heck they were going?

  But he felt pretty good about knowing his location. The smoke helped, because DeVontay and Lt. Hilyard had pointed out the little towns below from up on the Blue Ridge Parkway. The fires from last night had definitely been Newton, because he’d seen them through the binoculars, and Newton was pretty much the biggest town in this part of North Carolina. According to the map, U.S. 321 cut a line right through it and kept on grooving south all the way to Charlotte.

  Let’s just not think about N.C. 105 and Elk Park and Cross Creek and Haasdale. And wherever Blackberry Road goes.

  Rachel and DeVontay had taught him well, so he had little trouble traveling alone, especially with no Zapheads in sight. He preferred sticking to the open road to make better time, plus he liked the idea of being able to outrun anything that threatened him. A wild dog a couple of miles back growled at him, but Stephen stood his ground and shook his walking stick until it slunk back into the forest.

  The route offered plenty of houses for food and shelter, and he was pretty good at smelling out which ones held dead bodies. He scavenged plenty of peanut butter and applesauce, and at a roadside gas station he got lucky and scored a box of Slim Jims. And since no grown-ups were around to stop him, he helped himself to Snickers bars, gummy bears, moon pies, and cans of Sprite. He’d carried a dull ache in his stomach all day, but the indigestion was worth it.

  At nigh
t he holed up in the most secure room in whichever house looked the safest, settling down in plenty of time to search the house before dark. Even though he’d found plenty of candles and matches, he didn’t dare risk a light. However, in one bedroom he’d found a pack of cigarettes and couldn’t resist trying one. Two puffs and his throat burned, and he spent half the night coughing.

  Another bedroom featured a stack of magazines featuring naked women, and he flipped through one, feeling icky and excited at the same time. He put it down halfway through, heart pounding. But when the shame subsided, he retrieved several of the magazines and carefully studied them until darkness fell. By the time he awoke, he was feeling much older than ten-and-a-half.

  He wasn’t even scared—well, not much—about being alone. If he met any other survivors, he’d see if they wanted to come along with him. If they turned out to be psychos or soldiers, he’d just politely go on about his business, ready to run if necessary. But so far the woods and back roads had been quiet, with only some livestock on the farms and squawking crows overhead to break the peace.

  Stephen estimated Newton was still two miles away when the first business development appeared. It was a little strip mall of a few specialty shops, a dentist’s office, and a store plastered with colorful Spanish signs and advertising. The parking lot featured a dozen or so cars, and some of them looked to have moldering shapes in the front seat, but he didn’t look too closely. He didn’t see anything of interest and he already possessed plenty of food, so there was no reason to explore. But the last shop on the strip caught his eye: Heavenly Creatures Pets’n More.

  The storefront window featured a cartoon cat that was portrayed as a winged angel, nine little halos rising above its pointy ears. Stephen wondered what had happened to the animals when the Zap hit. Did the owners have time to let them all out of their cages?

  He figured most of them would be dead, little more than husks of fur and feathers, the fish already congealed into scum floating on top of the tanks. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see that. Bad enough to see rotten people, but he was kind of used to that by now.