That kid is one tough son of a bitch, he thought, just like his old man.

  The other half of the group crouched around another man. The sergeant could make out the back patches but could not differentiate between members. He thought he spied the clean-shaven head of the vice, but could not be certain. The sergeant scanned the ground and counted several bodies that were not moving in the snow.

  “Body count?” he asked the young soldier.

  “Which side?” the soldier asked in response.

  “Either? Both? Quit making me ask for shit you know I need.” I’m out after this. I’m done with their fucking insubordination, the sergeant thought.

  “Three of the ferals, at least. Not sure the animals took out any of the Keepers, but it looks like they got in a few good shots.”

  The sergeant dropped the binoculars to his chest, where they hung from a worn, leather strap. He sighed and looked skyward, where dark clouds formed over the western horizon. “How far are we from Cleveland?” he asked.

  “Forty, fifty miles from the old city. Maybe thirty from the outlying territories.”

  “And which of those territories do we control?”

  The young man paused to pull a crumpled cigarette from his vest. He had struck a match and moved it to his mouth when the sergeant smacked it away, snuffing the flame in a pile of snow.

  “What the f—?”

  “Are you that fucking stupid? You can’t strike a flame out here. If they were looking anywhere near our camp, they would have seen that. Use some common sense, would ya?”

  The young solider snarled, leaving the unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t see the point in all this clandestine bullshit. We can get rifles, and enough shells to take them out at a thousand yards. We could drop them all before they knew what the hell was happening.”

  “That’s not how it works,” replied the sergeant. “We follow orders. We were told to make sure they don’t leave Pittsburgh, and if they do, they need to arrive in Cleveland. That’s what we’re going to do because that’s how we get paid. We don’t get shit if they die on the road. That’s the deal.”

  “Fuck that and fuck you,” replied the soldier, standing and gesturing with his hands in a manner that let the sergeant know he did not care about being discreet. “I say we take them out and tell command we did it in Pittsburgh. They’ll never know where we killed them.”

  Other soldiers milled about, most the same age as the young man challenging the sergeant. The old man looked around and smiled.

  “Disobey the command issued from top brass of the Republic, then lie about it to get our pay. That’s your plan?”

  The young man smirked, oblivious to the baiting. “Yeah, gramps. That’s my plan. You got something to say about that?”

  The sergeant reared back and looped a heavy fist that smacked the side of the soldier’s face with a bright pop. Before the young man could double over, the sergeant followed that with a swift roundhouse that dropped the soldier into the snow. The sergeant grabbed him by the collar and smashed his face into the bark of a nearby tree, bringing an audible gasp from the spectators.

  Internalizing the initial shock, the young soldier stiffened and drove a fist into the sergeant’s midsection. The old man gasped as the strike drove the air from his lungs. He stumbled backward, coughing and spitting while the young man stood and smeared a trail of blood across his face with the back of his hand.

  “I’m gonna break your old fucking bones.”

  The man rushed at the sergeant in the exact manner he had expected: fast and reckless. The sergeant spun into the charge, grabbed the young man by the back of the neck, and tossed him over a leg. The soldier went headfirst into another tree and collapsed in front of it. The sergeant rolled him over and pulled him into a sitting position. He slapped the young man’s face several times until his eyes opened.

  “You seeing me?” the sergeant asked through labored breaths.

  The other soldiers stood by, bursts of their breath stark against the frozen background. The young man nodded.

  “Good. I wanted to make sure that my face was the last you saw before you died.”

  Before anyone could move, the sergeant’s blade whirred through the air, cutting a crimson line across the soldier’s neck. The dying man put his hands to his throat as if he could stop the blood from spurting up. He collapsed sideways into the snow, where blood shot from the severed artery for several more moments before it oozed into a dark, melting pool.

  The sergeant wiped the blade of his knife on the man’s shoulder and slid it back into the sheath on his left hip, sniffling through the cold and inhaling the coppery aroma of the man’s blood. A hush fell on the group as the other soldiers stood cemented to the ground.

  “Anyone else here want to question my interpretation of the orders?” He tried putting the volume of authority in his voice until he realized that it might carry down the empty highway to the Keepers, now licking their own wounds. He stood, awaiting a response.

  One by one, the young soldiers turned and walked back toward their camp behind the second line of trees hiding them from those on the Turnpike. When the last man turned and left, the sergeant nodded and winced.

  “Fuck that and fuck you,” he whispered to the corpse left to rot in the snow.

  ***

  “There’s a call for you.”

  “Why is it so hard for you punks to show a little bit of respect?” replied the sergeant.

  “There’s a call for you, sergeant,” the young man said, slathering the last word in rich sarcasm.

  “Hand it to me.”

  The young man put a battered piece of plastic in the sergeant’s hand. The sergeant looked at the cracked screen and dented case and laughed. In his youth, people had taken such things for granted. He remembered the days when everyone had one in their pocket, and had the ability to instantly speak with anyone in the world. It was no surprise that the soldiers had no respect for it now, not realizing how powerful and ubiquitous it had been in the old world. The sharp minds that had survived the First Cleansing and eventually joined the Republic had worked for years soldering and wiring the devices in a way that would reanimate them. That thing known as the Internet no longer existed, and the practice of texting had died with it. However, the rogue engineers had managed to connect a handful of devices to permit communication over long distances. The sergeant laughed to himself at the fact that he was the one using the phone and the new generation was wary of it, the opposite of the way it used to be.

  “Yes?” he said, speaking into the handset.

  “Will they turn around?” the phantom voice asked while the young soldiers stood nearby, pretending not to eavesdrop or show their curiosity toward the black magic in the sergeant’s hand.

  “Doubtful. The pres seems intent on getting back to Cleveland. They fought some bandits on the Pike.”

  A crackling silence lengthened from the other end.

  “What do you want me to do?” the sergeant asked.

  “Stop killing your own men, for starters.”

  “So you’re getting reports on me?” the sergeant asked.

  “No, but you have to figure your communications man is going to talk.”

  The sergeant nodded in reluctant agreement. “There’s virtually no charge on this thing.”

  “I understand,” replied the voice. “You understand the importance of this call, then.”

  “Yes,” said the sergeant, waiting.

  “If they move forward, continuing the march down the Turnpike, they must make it to 271 or you don’t get paid. They’re clearly not turning back.”

  “I got it.”

  “I don’t think you do, sergeant. From what I’ve been told, you almost lost a few of the Keepers in that last melee.”

  “They’re fine. The president, his vice, and his son.”

  “That’s how it’s going to stay,” replied the voice. “Because you’re now their protection. Get out in front and give them an invisible escort to the perimeter at Route 271. That’s where we’re going to finalize the transaction. I don’t want that group of misfits getting anywhere near an officially incorporated Republic territory. Do you understand?”

  “They’ll see us. They probably know we’re following them,” said the sergeant.

  “I don’t care if they know or not. I want them delivered unharmed and in one piece or I’ll deny our deal ever existed and pocket the Republic’s deposit that I’m holding on your behalf.”

  “Fine,” the sergeant replied before snapping the clamshell shut. He decided that finishing the conversation was not worth the battery power it would expend.

  ***

  Leena squeezed John’s leg to help staunch the flow of blood. The cold air and packed snow helped to slow the bleeding while she field dressed it. She knew that someone other than her would have to stitch the wound or it would pop open again. Leena sighed, thinking John was lucky that the blade did not cut into the calf muscle or he would have been in a world of trouble.

  “Ask the vice to take a look at this,” she said to one of the pledges assigned as the president’s personal guard until they reached Cleveland.

  “I can’t leave him,” he said with an air of inflated duty.

  “I’ll stay. Go. Get Alex.”

  The boy turned, pushed through the flap of the tent, and trotted down the Turnpike toward the cluster of tents designed to keep a secure middle ground.

  “It fucking hurts,” John moaned as he rubbed a hand on his forehead. “Did you stitch it?”

  “No. It’s taped,” replied Leena. “I’ve sent for Alex to do that. I think he’s checking Matthew right now, making sure he doesn’t have a cushion.”

  “Concussion,” replied John. “It’s called a concussion.”

  “I don’t care what it’s called, Pres. Alex wanted to make sure he could still walk.”

  John nodded, biting his lip as his smile turned into a grimace of pain. The slash to his leg had drained enough blood to weaken him, and felt like sharp teeth biting into his skin.

  The pledge came back through the tent with clumsy bluster. “He’s coming,” he said to Leena before turning and leaving again.

  Leena sat back, and John closed his eyes. He felt Alex enter the tent. He knew his right hand’s movements better than any other living creature.

  “Leena says you need stitched.”

  “Damn it, Alex. You know how much I hate the fucking needle. Give me a shot first?”

  The question made Alex laugh, the joke they had shared for decades about the way medicine had been practiced before the First Cleansing.

  “Sure, numb you right up,” Alex replied as he tied a knot through a needle.

  “You’re not any better at lying now than you were then,” said John.

  “If the girls can give birth without pain meds, I think you can take a few stitches to the back of the leg.”

  John nodded, knowing his old friend was right.

  “You need to rest and let this heal. We should turn back, or at the very least stay here until winter breaks.”

  “You know we can’t do that, Alex,” John replied. He looked at Leena.

  “I’m going to fetch some water,” she said, leaving the tent.

  Alex waited and then dropped his voice to a whisper. “You have no proof that any other chapters remain in Cleveland. Hell, we couldn’t even determine that after the years we spent in old Shitsburgh.”

  “If we turn back, we die,” replied John.

  “And if we get to Cleveland and find the Republic has set up there, we’re dead,” said Alex.

  “You gotta trust me on this, Alex. The Keepers are doomed if we go back. The chapter is already weak. Cleveland is our only shot, and if it don’t work out, at least we’ll die there.”

  “Yeah,” Alex replied while shoving the needle into John’s skin and pulling the thread through the hole, “at least there’s that.”

  ***

  John stood before the guardrail and faced the chapter. His leg throbbed with each heartbeat, and he refused to consider the possibility of an infection settling into the stitches sewn without antiseptic and clean needles. Those vulnerabilities were a reality in this raw world, even with a handful of matches saved for crude sterilization. He glanced at Alex and Matthew, both standing to the side, their eyes fixed on his. The founders huddled in pockets, using their proximity to keep the chill from blasting across the abandoned highway and into their bones.

  “We’re not going back,” John said, leaning heavily on a dead tree branch functioning as a cane. “We’re moving out at dawn.”

  “But, Pres, you can barely walk. We’re sitting ducks walking down the middle of the fucking Turnpike.”

  “I understand, James. I can’t guarantee anyone’s safety, only that I will do everything possible to get us all there. It’s the best I can do,” replied John.

  The founder pulled his hat down low and tipped it to his old friend and leader of the Keepers.

  “I’m with the president,” Alex said, speaking next.

  Matthew nodded in agreement but said nothing.

  “Gotta pull a good, old-fashioned roll call, like we used to do behind the handlebars.”

  The founders chuckled at John while the pledges remained silent, with stoic faces.

  “I’m giving you full support as a Keeper and member of the Chapter of the Phoenix. You can return to Pittsburgh in good standing, with your patch on your back.”

  A murmur meandered through the members of the chapter, men and women whispering to each other through cold, worried faces.

  “I’m with you,” said Leena.

  “The fuck you are,” replied Ron. “We’re heading back, Pres. No offense.”

  John shrugged, waiting.

  “I’m going with him, Ron. Sorry, but I am,” said Leena.

  Ron moved forward and grabbed Leena’s wrist. Before he could spin her around, Matthew’s fingers dug deep into the soft flesh between the peaks of Ron’s collarbone.

  “She ain’t your old lady,” he whispered into Ron’s ear.

  Ron released his grip on Leena, and Matthew removed his hand from Ron’s shoulder. Ron turned to face Matthew with a snarl dragging the corner of his mouth into a pointed apex.

  “And she ain’t yours either,” he said.

  John looked out over the group, now embroiled in their own feuds and disagreements over whether the chapter would remain as one or fracture into two. He kept his ears open to the conversations floating by while keeping an eye on Leena.

  “I can take care of myself, assholes,” she said to Ron and Matthew. “I’m a woman, not a helpless idiot.” Leena shot an icy stare at both men before walking over and standing by John.

  James, Billy, and Dino stood next to John, the “Founders” patch displayed proudly on the front of their vests. Alex, Matthew, and Leena gathered on John’s opposite side. The rest of the chapter, including some founders, women, children, and all of the pledges, remained standing on the remnants of the highway’s dividing line, the paint worn off long ago by relentless winters.

  “Three founders, my vice, my son, and Leena.”

  A cold chill blew in from the west, pulling miniature cyclones of snow from the ground and spinning them against the humans standing on the highway. None of the other founders moved.

  “Guess that’s it for roll call,” said the president.

  “John, please,” came the voice of another founder, one fully prepared to turn around and head back to the life they had carved out of man’s ruin. “You can’t possibly make it with a handful of old-timers and a woman.”

  “Best of luck to you all, and may the Keepers of the Wormwood ride on,” John replied. He looked at his new band of brothers and nodded before turning his back to the Turnpike and hobbling toward his tent.

  ***

  “We lost more than three quarters of our numbers.”

  “Makes us more mobile, faster, and less of a target on the road. You remember those days of riding side by side and how easy it was for us to outrun trouble.”

  “I remember,” replied Alex. “But that was a long time ago, brother. Our bodies ain’t what they used to be. I wish you’d reconsider. Nobody in the chapter would think any less of you if you changed your mind and we all headed back in the morning.”

  John leaned back as the wind blew the smoke from the fire into his face. He tasted the charcoal on his lips, and the smell brought him back to childhood. He remembered roasting marshmallows over a backyard fire pit.

  “If you don’t got my back, go with them.”

  “What are you saying, John? You stripping me of the vice patch after all these years?”

  “I’m doing nothing of the sort,” he replied. “I’m going to Cleveland. You’re either coming with me or you’re not.”

  “You prepared to walk us into the hellfire you know is waiting? The founders had their time, but what about Matthew and Leena?”

  “I don’t think for them, Vice. They’re both adults and can decide for themselves.”

  “Bullshit. And you know it. You’ll have their blood on your hands.”

  John whistled at Alex and shook his head. “You going back or not?”

  “Of course not, you old piece of shit. If I do that, who’s going to kick dirt on your cold corpse?”

  ***

  John listened to the crackling of frozen branches, the only thing that kept them from freezing during the long, cold night. The members of the chapter who had decided to return to Pittsburgh set up a ring of tents beyond the highway on the opposite side of the guardrail from where the fight had taken place earlier that day. John chuckled as he realized that they were willing to risk another attack from beyond the trees before they would set up camp next to him for one more night. When it came down to it, the Keepers of the Wormwood had split, and that would not change in the morning. He would not be surprised if they left before daybreak, trekking back toward western Pennsylvania and a grim life of bare survival. John could not contemplate what most likely awaited him in Cleveland, but he vowed to exit the world on his own terms and not like an animal cowering beneath the earth.

  “Want some company?”

  The question jarred him from his thoughts. He looked at Leena’s smile, one of the few to cross her face recently.

 

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