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  Viewed up close, the flag leader looked more like a visiting missionary than a potential judge, jury, and executioner. He was forty-five at most, and sported a neatly trimmed beard that partially covered a heat burn across his lower face. Although he was now in our domain, and technically at our mercy, he showed no fear or even concern.

  “This is a wise decision on your part,” he told me as I led him into the kitchen. “You are the leader of this group?”

  “Yes, my name is Joel. We are always ready to welcome new friends. I only hope that our efforts are not in vain.”

  “You have done the right thing, Joel,” he assured me with a satisfied smile. Damned if that bastard wasn’t getting off on this somehow. He stood stick-straight, thrust his chest out, and wore his robe like it was some kind of royal cape instead of a survival garment. He clearly regarded himself as the Second Coming or better. “My name is Gareth. I am responsible for the formation of this crusade. We are on a mission to seek out Reaper sympathizers and eliminate them.”

  “So you said. I suppose my word is not enough for you?”

  “I’m afraid that won’t do, Joel, as it has been my experience that the Reaper’s adherents hide in groups such as yours. Like parasites, they seek shelter in the guise of a survivor, but meanwhile they plot to destroy any remaining vestiges of our former civilization.”

  “This isn’t just some paranoid quest that’s just as dangerous to the innocent as it is to the guilty?” This guy and his group technically had me by the balls, and we both knew it. I just wanted to make it clear that he was gripping some big ones.

  My accusation seemed to amuse him. “Joel, someone always has to pay for the crimes of another. Accomplices and sympathizers are as guilty as the criminal himself, because they can and do carry on where he left off. Any sympathy for the Reaper’s ideology is enough to make those who harbour it a danger to me, to you. The impure thoughts have to end so that we can be assured a future.”

  “That doesn’t leave much room for free thought. Fear-mongering is just as deadly to a recovering society, don’t you think?”

  “You speak well, Joel.” Gareth studied me. “You, I can say with certainty, are not a sympathizer. Do you know how I can tell?”

  I remained silent. Unperturbed, he continued. “I can tell because contempt for the Reaper flows from your very being. I see it in your eyes. I hear it in your speech. You’re pure.”

  “And I can assure you, the others here are as pure as I am.”

  Gareth surveyed his surroundings. “I see that you power your home with gasoline, and I assume that the large barn facility growing fruits and vegetables is also your work. These are the marks of a thoughtful people, people getting back on their feet regardless of the Reaper’s devastation, people moving forward.”

  They knew about the barn. That was troubling.

  “This puts you all in a very favourable light, and tells us a lot about the type of leader you are, Joel.” He offered his hand to me, and I took it. “We’ll be staying awhile. Feel free to allow your group to mingle with mine. We are good people, and I feel that you and I will be friends. I offer you support in the defence of your home for the duration of our stay. I’ll speak with you again tomorrow.”

  I walked him out. When I closed the door, Connor came out of the family room, where he’d been silently listening in.

  “That went well, man. I heard the whole thing.”

  “That was tense, that’s what that was. I’m burned out. I need a drink.”

  We went up to the addition, where the rest of the group waited. After Connor and I poured ourselves a stiff gin, I filled the rest of them in on how the meeting went.

  “It looks as though he’s going to want to put each of us under the ‘magnifying glass’, so to speak. The idea of it doesn’t sit well with me, but I seriously doubt he’ll find any of us guilty of the crime he’s punishing. None of you will come off as a member of the Four Horsemen if you demonstrate hatred for the Reaper when he tests you.”

  “So, when are we to turn ourselves over to this witch hunt?” Earl wasn’t happy. None of us were, but what could we do? This was just another form of surviving. That was how we had to see it.

  “Gareth says we can mingle with his company,” Connor said. “I heard him tell Joel that.”

  “Gareth?” Freddy made a face. “The fuck kind of a name is that?”

  “Gareth is the leader of the flags,” I answered. “Just walk lightly around him; I get the distinct feeling that he’s someone who could turn on you at the drop of a dime.”

  We would have to become comfortable with the deal we had agreed to. I only hoped that it wasn’t a deal with the Devil, although somehow, I knew that it was.

  “We’re to wait for further instructions, so I can’t say for sure when the questioning will begin, but like Connor said, he told me to let you guys mingle with his people. So go for it. But while you’re ‘mingling’, try getting information from them. Find out where they’re from, and where they’re going. Anything you think will be useful to us: numbers, male to female ratio, types of artillery. If this whole inquisition goes south on us I want to be able to hold our own.”

  With that said, Sonny led the group outside, where Gareth’s solders greeted them with open arms. Sara and I watched from Skylab as our two armies began to intermingle with trepidation. The flag bearers seemed normal and friendly enough. Maybe it would be all right after all. A sense of well-being overcame me. Then another shiver coursed through my body.

  “Oops, someone just walked over your grave!” Sara rubbed my back gently.

  “As long as it isn’t Gareth.” My smile vanished. So did Sara’s. We returned our gaze to the front lawn. “You know, he’s prepared to help us defend the house for as long as they stay.”

  “Sounds like someone that we can trust to be fair and not judge too quickly.” Sara was so good, too good. She was too trusting.

  “I don’t know, Babe. There’s that glimmer of power in his eyes: they’re lit up, like Sonny’s are when he realizes he’s about to get into a fight. You know the one?”

  She nodded.

  “Power like that can be used one way or the other. Either way he knows he’s got it and that leaves us at a disadvantage.” I hugged Sara with my right arm, pulling her close.

  Our two factions stayed up late into the evening. Although they carried weapons (heck, so did we!) the flag bearers were not as sinister as we’d initially believed. It was actually both energizing and soothing for our group to talk to new people, to share experiences and commiserate over personal tragedies. Sara found common ground with a fifty-something woman who once practiced medicine in the city. They were simply led by a man possessed.

  The evening ended at midnight, when Gareth ordered his troops to bed by sounding one of the many horns. Our crew returned to Skylab to discuss the day’s events and ponder the future.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The weather changed rather dramatically overnight, as the northerly wind had gone from cool to cold. Our heavy coats came in handy once again. The summer was a memory, fall had come and gone, and now winter was upon us. A nuclear winter would be the joke around the house. Jokes kept you sane. Our humour may have become darker since the apocalypse, but at least we could still laugh.

  Kevin was playing a favourite CD in the addition as he toiled at another drawing. Goosebumps broke out on my forearms as I listened. The beautiful echo floated throughout the room and reverberated off broken glass, empty bottles, and drywall. Music had become less a luxury and more a necessity to break the gloom since encountering the tanker.

  I opened the east windows of Skylab to allow the flag army to enjoy the music as well. One by one they gathered on the front lawn, staring up at me, listening. When I spied Gareth making his way through the crowd, I waved. He gestured for me to come down, so I did.

  We met on the front step, which was still bloodstained from our encounter with the biker invaders. Gareth stood on a particularly
large stain, seemingly oblivious to the fact.

  “Let us begin the process. It’s time,” he told me. Such a diplomat. “I want your full compliment to meet me at my trailer. There I will tag and place them accordingly, to be questioned when their number is called.” His tone was colder, and the crooked smile twitched under his beard. I felt broken then, no longer able to protect my group. Gareth knew it - I knew it.

  “I’ll let them know.”

  When he took his leave, I closed the door and called for Connor. He appeared above me, leaning over the railing from the top floor.

  “Connor, let the house know that we’re being called to the inquisition today!”

  “Right now?”

  “Right now, my friend. Everyone needs to be processed. I’ll get the guys from the basement.”

  The flag army surrounded our house, protecting it from further threats while we, its residents, were put through the wringer. Gareth had kept his promise in that department. I hoped that he would therefore conduct a straightforward question and answer session with my friends. I had to hold on to that. But what would happen if he were to – intentionally or otherwise- find one of them guilty? Sara? What if he declared her to be a sympathizer? Or Connor, or anyone? I couldn’t just let them be executed. I wouldn’t!

  A wave of nausea hit me as I watched my friends be numbered and tagged liked animals. The preliminary processing went quickly. Each member of my proud group was now itemized to Gareth’s satisfaction, ready to be called upon. My blood boiled- what right did he have? But before the interrogations could begin, mass excitement broke out.

  “We’ve got movement in the woods!” A frantic voice came on over Gareth’s walkie. “Lots of movement….” Gunshots sounded, followed by an ominous static.

  The flag troops on front yard detail raced to aid their compatriots in the woods. I ran to Skylab. From my new vantage point, I watched as figures moved through the forest, trying to climb the hill as they dodged trees and bullets. It was like a turkey shoot out there. Remembering the spotlight, I went back downstairs. But when my hand touched the switch, I stopped.

  Those whom I was assisting: were they the real threat or did we have more to fear from the charging horde? Should I let this new enemy overrun the flags? Who was the more dangerous of the two? Neither was an outstanding choice. I made the call to help Gareth’s people, as they were actively protecting the house. Then I turned the powerful lamp on our common foe.

  The approaching horde was indeed a force of comparable size. I hobbled as quickly as I could to the front yard to rally my own troops, numbered and tagged though they were. To my relief, Gareth was willing to let us help his “perfectly capable army” defend our home.

  I gathered my friends in the front foyer. “Girls, you stay in Skylab and pick your shots from there. The rest of us are going into the thick of it. Gareth’s people have no idea of how to fight on our terrain.”

  Sara, Julia, and Caroline went to the addition while the guys followed me to the garage. We exited via the back door and crouched in the bushes, clutching our weapons and watching the two groups exchange fire.

  Several of Gareth’s men and women were dead or dying on the battlefield. They’d been pushed back at least ten metres by the horde, which was now shielded by the planters. I signaled for my men to flank the enemy through the cornfields to the north and make our approach under cover of the forest.

  “Alright,” I whispered as we reassembled at the edge of the woods. “Spread out three feet from one another and choose your shots.” The rush of adrenaline was invigorating, helping me keep up with the group despite my injury. I waved them down and positioned myself to the extreme left of the line. We were ready.

  Climbing over their departed comrades, the invaders cautiously navigated the tortured terrain. They began splitting up, leading the great bulk of what remained of their army in our direction, flanking the flag’s men. The spotlight’s beam penetrated the trees, giving us a good advantage. Looking at my friends’ faces, I saw that the majority were struggling with the idea of an ambush. It may not have been the most sporting thing to do, but this was war. It was us or them.

  “Everyone, pick the target to your right. That way we won’t be firing at the same person,” Earl whispered from the extreme right of the line.

  “Fire!” I hissed.

  We discharged our weapons, dropping several of them. Then we advanced on their position, careful not to be caught in a crossfire with the flag army. While we waited on the enemy, worry for the girls in Skylab gripped me.

  “Sonny, Seth, Kevin- go back and see to it that no one gets past the flag’s troops. Join the girls!” They nodded and headed back as stealthily as they approached. The rest stayed with me, and waited.

  We were nearly trampled when three sets of legs crossed in front of our line. Earl, seeing his opportunity, tackled one around the ankles, taking him down. We ambushed the other two. No shots were fired. John pounded on one man’s chest while Earl knelt on his arms. Earl studied the face of his enemy, one hand covering the man’s mouth. Then he blinked hard, produced his army knife, and jabbed the blade repeatedly into his target’s throat. Targets. We had to see them as such if we were to fight and win.

  Connor’s fingers were gripping his opponent’s tangled hair as he pounded the man’s head against the forest floor. When his hands tired, he let fly with his famous right-hand punch, ending the struggle permanently.

  Freddy’s man got away from him during their tussle in the grass. Sidney caught up with him first and looped a belt around his throat to secure him to a tree. Freddy then lunged up and swung his fist with such ferocity that the man’s neck snapped. The body went limp, and Sidney released his hold on the belt.

  I watched it all as I covered their backs, witnessing a brutality that none of us would have been capable of before hell rained upon us. We had become soldiers, each of us, not just survivors. As I reviewed the last twenty-four hours, I recoiled at the thought of allowing a monomaniac like Gareth decide whether we should live or die. It was preposterous. Who did he think he was- God’s gunslinger? I definitely knew what we weren’t: his prisoners. Fuck him, and fuck his inquisition. We would go back and reclaim our freedom.

  Connor leaned over the limp torso he’d long since stopped hitting, one hand still wrapped around his foe’s throat while the other rested on the man’s still chest. Breathing heavily, he rolled off the corpse and lay flat on the forest floor, arms out, legs sprawled. Earl sat with his back braced against a tree, knife in hand, eyes fixed on the gore-coated blade. John kept a watchful eye on the cliff from whence the three men had materialized, frantically shifting this way and that, staring down the barrel of his rifle. Sidney searched the clothing of the man he and Freddy had taken down, looking for anything we could add to our stockpile of weapons and ammunition. Suddenly he let out a strangled cry. “Oh, no! Oh shit, man!”

  “What, Sid?” Freddy hurried over, gesturing frantically for him to lower his voice.

  “It’s a girl, man. It’s a little – a little girl! We just killed a little girl, Fred!!! You know how I feel right now?” He wasn’t going to shut up. I knew it and so did everyone else. Soon he would give away our position. The gunshots were loud but he was getting louder, as if he felt it necessary to challenge the noise so that he could be heard over everything. He kept repeating that he’d killed a girl.

  “Damn it, Sid! Shut the fuck up!” John hissed. “You’re gonna get us all shot!”

  “What did I do? What did I do?!” With that, he broke away from us and started running, out of the protection of the forest and into the open field. I started to follow him to drag him down, but Connor stopped me. “Let him go, man. He’s got to get away from us.”

  Before I could respond, machine guns opened up on us. We were being targeted now. Bullets ripped through the trees. Dead branches snapped and fell all around us. We hit the ground.

  “Let’s fall back,” I said. “We’ll do better if we get to higher gr
ound.”

  “Wait, Joel.” It was John. “I think I saw where that fire came from.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m telling you, it’s just one gunner over there.” He pointed toward the path. “I can get him!”

  “I’ll come with you.” I crawled next to him, my heart pounding and my leg throbbing. “You guys cover us. We’ll take this prick down!”

  “Joel, your leg.” Connor pointed to my pant leg, where a patch of blood was slowly spreading.

  “I’m going with him,” I repeated. Connor looked worried but said nothing further.

  “We’ll lay down a line of fire to the left of you guys,” Earl said. “Just be careful.”

  John and I slid over the small cliff, making our way toward our target. When we were roughly forty feet from the others, we stopped and waited for the gunner to fire again. John put his index finger to his lips and then pointed into the woods, where I presumed that he’d detected our enemy’s whereabouts. He then formed a gun with his other hand, followed by a quick slash to his throat. The meaning: when he fires on our guys, we will pinpoint his precise location and then rush in, killing him. I nodded back, gripping my pistol with sweaty palms, anxious for the moment to end. Seconds later, the gunner shot again, signing his death warrant.

  We hurried up a small hill, following the gunfire, the sound of our approach muffled by the artillery. Upon reaching the top we slid into a natural foxhole, where the enemy had bunkered in. John leaped upon him and stunned him with a solid punch to the head. I collected his weapon and asked John to back off, as I was interested in getting information from our prisoner first. John did so, but not before slapping him across the face to remind him what his current position was in the food chain.

  To our surprise, our captive seized John’s foot and twisted it violently, throwing him onto his back. My trigger finger squeezed down hard. The resulting splatter was like a fine red mist, covering John and I completely. The man wheezed as he died, the deep hole in his torso gushing blood. John bit down on his sleeve to stifle his moans; a later examination would confirm that his ankle was broken.