“Whatever, pops,” replied the soldier. “So how do you know that they didn’t take the bait? You got special powers or something?”

  “No,” the sergeant replied. “But I have this.”

  The grizzly veteran unwrapped a cotton rag stained red, revealing a severed hand with an official Republic band around the middle finger. Clenched within the lifeless fist was the forged letter. He shoved it at the young soldier.

  “This power special enough for ya?”

  ***

  Leena had her meager belongings stuffed into an old messenger bag long before dawn broke on the day of their departure. She fussed over a few items, but decided having one thing to carry would be the safest way to travel. She wanted the other hand available to wield a weapon. Ron would bleed for her. He had already. But he was weak, and Leena knew the toll the road would take. She was certain he would end up being buried beside it. This information came through her own intuition, not the trance-like scenes that visited her during dreams.

  She watched him snoring next to her and felt revulsion at the way his mouth remained open, his chest hitching as if he was being drowned. Leena had no reason to keep him in her tent other than the fact that she could. But then her mind would drift to Matthew, and she would need to stifle the feeling as soon as it blossomed. She imagined a white light hitting the crown of her head and dislodging that compulsive thought, or she would do math, adding random numbers until the mix of thought and memory blew through her head like a passing storm.

  There was a very brief moment of time when she thought she loved him. They were very young, brash, and foolish, but she felt something. She thought back to a fleeting moment when they both stood on the river’s edge, the June sun warming tired flesh with the water beckoning. She entered the river first, turning her back to him while she undressed as if that might feel more brotherly than erotic. Matthew had followed, and when she came up for air, she could see his pile of clothes next to hers. She remembered that flash in his eyes as he waded out, looking directly at her as if they were the last two humans alive. She felt the sudden burst of heat down below and the dryness of her mouth even though she swam in the river’s current. Their hands touched and she drew his face into hers. He spoke her name.

  Leena.

  “Leena.”

  “What? What the fuck, Ron?” she replied.

  “You’ve been sitting there with a stupid look on your face. I thought for a minute you might be entering a—”

  “No, Ron. I was not getting a signal. I’m tired, and you won’t stop snoring.”

  “What time is it?” he asked, rolling over to push the flap of the tent to one side.

  “Dark,” she replied.

  “Funny. You know what I mean.”

  “An hour or two, tops.”

  “You should get some sleep, hon. The road is a drag, from what I hear.”

  Leena nodded, and Ron was snoring before she could even lie down.

  ***

  The storm trudged along the coast of Lake Erie before dipping toward western Pennsylvania, yanking moisture from the surface of the water and flinging it south in an angry fit. The skies filled with blinding snow, the winds coming in sideways and threatening to take the Keepers out at the knees. Weary eyes looked around through rags stitched together like facial scars. The chapter had not traveled during the winter for several years. Many of the pledges had never pushed through a winter storm, as they typically hunkered down in a tent or jumbled hunks of concrete rather than walking through dangerous weather.

  John stationed the most lethal hands at the front and rear of the caravan. He knew nothing of military procedure or the safest way to navigate hostile urban warfare. Instead, he relied on a lifetime of running and fighting, more of the former than the latter. The president remained as such not through his prowess on the battlefield, but by knowing when to avoid it entirely.

  He placed a hand over his forehead and looked over a shoulder as the ice began to freeze in his beard. John could see dark shapes moving in the distance, the flakes making them appear as black, disembodied spirits on a white canvas. He raised an arm and waved. A silhouette of a man at the end of the line held up his hand and waved back.

  Alex will protect our back, he thought before turning around to face the front of the caravan.

  John raised his arm and waved at the crew leading the pilgrimage. A figure held up his hand and waved.

  And Matthew will do what Matthew does, he thought.

  John decided to keep the middle. There was no way to avoid vulnerability. The very nature of what they were about to attempt had left the chapter more vulnerable than it ever was before, even more so than during its inception on the desert highways of his youth. He put his most capable men at each end, and he would remain with the body of the group. John looked to his left, where Ron and Leena stood waiting for him to signal that the chapter was moving out. The president laughed to himself; Ron carried several sacks while Leena had a single bag strapped on her back.

  Not like the old days and the jokes about women and their luggage.

  “Let’s move. Signal up,” John said to James.

  James glanced at Dino and Billy before putting two fingers in his mouth and blowing a harsh whistle. The sound reverberated across the frozen earth as the men in front of and behind the president picked up the signal and relayed the message with their own whistles until it reached each end of the caravan.

  John took a step forward, knowing it was most likely the beginning of the end.

  ***

  “I don’t understand why we have to leave Pittsburgh. Just because of a single message from the pres of another chapter?”

  “You don’t know anything, Ron.”

  “Then why don’t you explain it? I’m so tired of dealing with your psychic bullshit.”

  Leena pulled the fabric down to expose her mouth. The cold wind numbed her lips and began to paralyze her jaw. “Not everything in this world has an explanation. You should stop trying to figure it all out and just decide what to do about it.”

  Ron hesitated, his feet kicking up puffs of snow as he stomped along the road.

  “That’s the problem, Leena. I’m not making any decisions. I’m following. I’m not a follower. I’m a man of action.”

  Leena shook her head, leaving Ron’s erroneous self-perception intact along with his ego, which was built on a house of cards.

  “Well, he’s the president. If you want to be in charge, challenge for the patch.”

  Ron hesitated and shook his head. He mumbled, as disgruntled subordinates will do, and kept walking.

  ***

  Matthew smiled for the first time in months. He felt the wind burning his face with frostbite, but he did not care. He was the one leading the chapter, not the president and not the vice. He knew why John had put him up front, but he really did not care. Matthew kept one hand on the hilt of his knife and the other wrapped around a bow. The arrows in the makeshift quiver on his back rattled like deadly bolts of ice.

  He turned, continuing to walk backward on the frozen highway. The chapter spread out behind him, several dozen figures stumbling along like zombies. One hundred and forty miles. Matthew could not calculate the distance like the founders could, the men like James or Dino, who had once traveled half that distance in a single hour on a horse made of steel and breathing fire. They still talked of “horsepower” and “CCs,” which held no significance to him. Matthew had ridden horses in his youth, before the Republic formed and began to collect every available resource, leaving those on the fringe closer to it. His best guess was two weeks, assuming the lake-effect snow did not punish them the way this storm was. Some of the founders would have a tough time covering ten miles a day, but that was their problem. Matthew decided that he was going to make it to Cleveland, because that was what he did. He set goals and he reached them. It was all he had in this life.

  “Get up ahead,” he shouted to two boys no older than sixteen. “Look for the little green signs with numbers on them. The old timers call ’em mile markers. It should take you ten to fifteen minutes to reach the next one. Pass two more and then wait for us. If there’s a problem, turn and come back immediately. Got that?”

  The boys nodded and tore through the snow ahead of Matthew, where they disappeared behind the swirling white-out.

  Chapter 5

  The snow finally relented, after dropping three inches on the highway in less than twenty minutes. The powdery dust lacked the moisture of a late-season snowfall, but it still delivered an arctic blast. The winds blew it across the cracked asphalt in curls of frozen smoke. Drifts formed on the hulks of automobiles that had been plundered, set on fire, and left for dead. The chapter marched onward, maneuvering through the ancient wreckage and staying within the guardrails left to protect nothing but ghosts. They pushed on for hours, the sun glowing with a faint warmth and leading them westward and toward the horizon. The road was quiet and empty, and that worried Matthew. He stood to one side and let the caravan pass, leaving another ambitious youngster up front with strict orders to keep an eye open for the scouts. Matthew told them to send a signal when they were spotted, yet he knew that would not happen. He put his hands to his waist and waited for the president, now ambling ever closer.

  “Did you send scouts?” John asked.

  “Of course,” replied Matthew. He huffed and shook his head. “I’m not a child.”

  “I wasn’t implying you were. I simply asked knowing that, if you had, they would have returned by now and we would have spoken earlier.”

  “I guess if it’s about the chapter, you’re always up for a conversation, eh, Pres?”

  John’s eyes narrowed, and his brow tightened. “This ain’t about us,” he said to Matthew.

  “Never is,” Matthew replied.

  Another group of men walked past, founders surrounded by sons and daughters bearing most of the load. Several of the old-timers carried tool bags and wrenches in the hopes that they would use them someday or, at the very least, that their children would. John allowed them to pack the tools along with their own fantasy, as long as the pledges were willing to carry them.

  “Between us?” John asked, with the next group still twenty yards away.

  “Nothing nobody can’t hear.”

  “Then go ahead.”

  Matthew sighed and began walking again. John fell into rhythm beside his son.

  “Three hours, maybe four.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” replied John. “Did you have them count mile markers?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, maybe a few were down and the fools kept walking.”

  “And maybe not.”

  John sighed and turned to look for Alex. He could see his vice at the end of the caravan and felt exposed without him at his right hand.

  “I don’t think we can risk sending another group of scouts.”

  “Me neither,” said Matthew. “I agree with you.”

  John stopped and raised his eyebrows. The falling snow had melted and stuck to his face, making him look like a deranged wizard. “So what’s your suggestion?” John asked.

  “I’m not your fucking vice. You should ask him.”

  John watched Matthew jog ahead toward the front of the caravan as the sun crawled ever closer to the edge of the world.

  ***

  “Where are they?” Leena asked.

  Ron stepped toward Matthew and in front of Leena, awaiting his reply. Matthew remained silent.

  “How long’s it been since you sent the scouts ahead?” she asked, this time pinning a finger to Matthew’s chest.

  Matthew laughed, looking back at John trudging along. “How do you know I sent scouts ahead?”

  “Quit playing with me, Matthew. How long has it been and how far did you tell them to go?”

  “A few hours,” Matthew replied, only answering one of her questions. “They could have stopped to make a fire.”

  “It’s not any easier lying to yourself than it is to me, is it?”

  “I don’t know what happened to them. And neither do you.”

  Leena waited, feeling an insult brewing. “The people know. The chapter knows. You can’t hide the fact that those boys haven’t returned.”

  “Look,” said Ron, interrupting their conversation. “Someone’s on the road.”

  Matthew gripped his knife, turned, and nodded to his father. John was already running toward him.

  ***

  “Fall back. Make sure Alex stays toward the rear in case this gang has circled back on us.”

  “How do you know it’s a gang?” Matthew asked John.

  “I’ve been on the road most of my life. Your scouts are dead, and odds are, more of us are about to be as well. Step back and be ready.”

  John trotted past Matthew; a handful of founders were already rummaging through bags for blades and wrenches. Some had aluminum baseball bats crisscrossed with scars and dents from altercations that had nothing to do with triples or fly balls.

  “Greetings, old man. What brings your family to beautiful Beaver Valley, PA?”

  John looked at the two men standing before him. Both had black-leather boots and denim pants with stitches held together by little more than the frozen air. Green army fatigues hung from their bony shoulders, and they cradled rifles with scopes that no longer contained glass.

  “Just passing through,” said John.

  The men looked at each other and laughed.

  “Ya hear that, Scottie? The man and his crew are just ‘passing through’ as if we’re only players in his little game.”

  The other man laughed again, which transformed into a cough that rumbled deep in his chest.

  “I’m only trying to pick our way through the highway.”

  “To where?”

  “Cleveland,” John replied.

  “Cleveland? Holy shit, brother! You’re a damn good ways from that city. Why you wanna go there anyway? Place been dead for decades. Ain’t that right, Scottie?”

  The man’s partner nodded, still trying to subdue a cough that forced him to hunch over. He spit a red line into the fresh, white powder.

  “Your friend is sick.”

  “You a doctor now, old man? You gonna diagnose us? That it?”

  John felt the anger coiled in the man’s rhetorical questions. Several of the pledges caught up to John and stood behind him while the founders fanned out around them.

  “If you think your posse can draw faster than my trusty Winny 308, you go ahead and try it.”

  The man slid the rifle down until the stock sat on his right hip. He pointed the barrel directly at John’s chest. Scottie followed his friend’s lead, a trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth.

  “Bronchitis, pneumonia, probably both.”

  A few of the founders nodded, remembering what those terms meant and how tough they had been to treat even before civilization went down in flames.

  “Keep your fancy words to yerself. Scottie will be just fine.”

  John waited, the barrel of the man’s rifle bobbing up and down in the air. “Just let us pass, son. We don’t wanna spill no more blood in this world unless it belongs to the Republic.”

  The man hesitated, turning to look over one shoulder and then raising the rifle higher.

  “If you got someone covering your back, now is the time to call them out,” John said

  “Says you,” replied the man.

  “That’s right, son. Says the president of the Chapter of the Phoenix, Keepers of the Wormwood.”

  “That supposed to scare me?” the man asked. “I’ve taken down bigger threats than you from three hundred yards. Right, Scottie?”

  Scottie nodded while his body listed to the right.

  “Call ’em out and let’s throw down, or let us pass. It’s too fucking cold to be standing here talking like idiots.”

  Matthew saw Alex in the distance. He held up one hand, palm out. If these two were more than they appeared to be, there would be an attack on the rear of the caravan, and Alex needed to be there to defend it.

  Scottie collapsed in the snow, and John lunged forward, grabbing the man’s rifle with his left hand while launching a roundhouse punch to the man’s right cheek. Several of the pledges turned outward, expecting the rare retort of rifle fire but hearing nothing. John tossed the rifle to Matthew before stomping down on the man’s wrist with his left boot.

  “I’m sorry,” the man said, breathing heavily into the snow. “Just me and Scottie, and he ain’t been doing so hot the past few weeks. Please, mister, don’t hurt us.”

  Matthew slid the chamber of the rifle open, tucked a finger inside, and flipped it upside down. He shook his head at John.

  “How long’s it been since you had ammo?” John asked, pushing down harder on the man’s wrist.

  “Stop, please stop. I’ll answer your questions. Just get off my wrist. You’re breaking it.”

  John nodded and stepped back. The man sat in the snow and pulled his arm into his gut like a pouting child.

  “How long?” John asked again.

  “Two, maybe three years.”

  John nodded at Matthew, who turned and motioned to Alex. There was a chance the two fools with empty rifles were a ruse for a bigger ambush, but John doubted they could make Scottie bleed on command. The most apparent observation was most likely the right one.

  “Anybody else with you?”

  The man shook his head.

  “Did you see any of our members come through here a few hours ago?”

  “No, sir,” replied the man. “We was hunkered down because of the snow. Didn’t see nothing for weeks except yins coming up the highway.”

  “You were going to rob us with two empty rifles?” Matthew asked.

  John glared at him.

  “Wasn’t going to rob you. We’re the toll collectors. We was hoping to collect a little from ya. Seems like you got a few extra dolls.”

  When Matthew saw the man’s eyes move to Leena, he brought his right foot up and into the man’s teeth. The man squirmed, facedown in the snow, kicking and screaming while Scottie had a difficult time keeping his eyes open.

 

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