“Aw, man. I think this is the last of the cornbread. Want a piece, Zach?” I offer Zach the last piece of cornbread, but his nods to the negative. Anthony reaches out a hand without uttering a single word. I pass him the cornbread and crinkle up the parchment paper it was in. I tuck the paper into my pocket—to be used for lighting a fire later.
Zach seems out of sorts. He has barely spoken a word and keeps looking from me to Anthony. Something is obviously on his mind. Finally, I become fed up with the silence and turn fully in Zach’s direction.
“What’s up, Zach? What’s on your mind? I’m used to Anthony being the strong silent type, but something has happened to your chatterbox. What’s going on? Spit it out!”
Zach briefly looks down at the ground and then speaks.
“I don’t think we should have left the cabin. We were safe there. Well, as safe as we can be. They had guns—and food. We had a roof over our head. We could have fortified the place. Instead, we’re out here with the elements—living like some mountain men or some damn Tarzan. I’m tired of all this. I mean, is any of this worth it? We don’t even know if there is any civilization left. We’ve been walking for days and not seen anyone but those people back there. What are we even doing? What if the Reverend’s right? What if we’re the last humans alive?”
Anthony surprises me by responding angrily to Zach’s lament. He throws down his small plastic cup—spilling his cold coffee.
“Do you have any idea exactly how many people there are on Earth? How about on the North American continent alone?” Anthony roars.
“Billions. So what?” Zach retorts. “What does that…?
“That’s right! Billions!” Anthony continues. “And we’re a resilient species. I promise you—the human race doesn’t hinge on a few people roughin’ it in the mountains of bumsuck heaven.”
Zach raises a finger in consternation. “The term is bum f---“
Anthony cuts him off. “I know the term, Zach! God! I’m trying to at least keep conversation civil, okay? Now, I don’t want anything to do with that Reverend. He’s as evil as they come. I will walk around the Earth seven times if that means finding likeminded people—civilized people. You join up with someone like Cox and you become no better than Hitler. Have you noticed the color scheme of everyone in his little tribe? Not too much variation is there? A sandy-blonde here, a strawberry-blonde there. A few brunettes. A couple of redheads. No Hispanics, no Asians, no blacks, no Indians, no first-nations. And we have plenty of those in this county too. You saw what he did to Carla and Deidre. What do you think Carla’s crime truly was? Looking at a married man? Or something a bit more insidious? And there were no demons in Deidre. She was autistic for crying out loud! We give people therapy and medication for that. We don’t burn them at the stake! He shot my brother. Executed him—with a smirk on his face. But, I guess the One-Drop rule doesn’t work in reverse. The Reverend isn’t right, Zach. About anything! Don’t go down that road. Don’t even entertain the idea.”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Zach looks away and then replies sheepishly.
“I just don’t want to die, Tony! I don’t want to be burned at the stake—while people cheer and raise their glasses. I don’t want to run for the rest of my life. God! I just want to lay in a clean bed with sheets again. I want to hold my girl and make love in the hay. I just want the life we all had before. Before the world went to crap. I’m tired of the bugs, and the running, and the traps, and the night noises that keep me awake. I’m just so damn tired!”
“We all are,” I chime in. I give Zach a sincere smile. “That’s why we have to keep going. We have to keep looking—keep hoping—for something better. We’re bound to run into someone soon. Hopefully, we’ll meet up with some sort of Law Enforcement. We do, and Cox will have Hell to pay for what he’s done. We're not doing this for only ourselves. We need to do this for anyone who might cross the Reverend’s path. People like Carla, Ronnie, and Deidre—who might not fit into his little tribe. We don’t have the manpower, or the fire power, to stop him. We need to find some people who can. And let’s not forget his 'heavenly' friends or whatever the hell they really are. I have a feeling; they’re the key to this whole thing. We have to find people with the means to deal with them too.”
Zach nods silent agreement and stares into his coffee cup.
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5:32 PM
We are awakened from our rest by the loud stamping of feet and the slow trot of horses. I raise my head and peek through the foliage covering my earthen pit. Through the branches, I am able to make out a dual column of people—making their way through the woods. One column is composed of women; dressed completely in white. The second column is of men; dressed in all manner of colors, but all sporting tactical gear. Easily thirty to forty people. On the edges of the group, I spy four riders on horseback— Reverend Cox, Everett, Cordale, and Deputy Wheeler. Two women are chained to the back of Everett’s horse. They are not yet adorned in the common white dress. Kidnapping victims, no doubt. The slow gait of the riders must be to allow the women to keep pace.
As the end of the columns pass my hiding place, a horrible sight meets my eyes. The last few people, in each column, are carrying pikes. On the pikes, are the severed heads of the Reverend’s opposition. Some heads are in varying stages of decomposition. However, I immediately recognize the heads of Benjamin Martin— and his family. Miriam’s mouth is open wide, one eye a shattered mess, and her tongue partially hanging from her severed head. The top of Ben Junior’s skull is completely sunk in on one side, and there are no eyes in the sockets. I silently pray that this was the work of carrion eaters and not torture. The trails of blood, down his rotting cheeks, tell me otherwise. Alison's long, beautiful red hair is now matted and clings to her skull. Ben Senior’s jaw is tightly clenched as if he had been in the act of gnashing his teeth at the moment of his death. My heart sinks and I remember how we had volunteered to stay. Could we have helped them stave off the Reverend, had we stayed? Or would our heads also be upon pikes?
I hear what sounds like a sob come from the spot where I know Anthony lays. I will him to stay quiet and remain calm. At least, until the danger has passed. I don’t hear the sound again. So, I am comforted that he has gotten his emotions under control.
We remain hidden for another couple hours. Even after night descends, we stay exactly where we are. Mosquitoes feast on our legs, arms, and buttocks alike. We don’t even dare move to swat them away.
I’m pretty sure, we are all in some level of shock. Where do we go now? What do we even do? Do we even have a chance in Hell? Are we in Hell?