Scott Nicholson - Milepost 291

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. At least she didn’t become a Zaphead. And she’s better off now than any of us.”

“I reckon you’re right there.”

“Who do you really think killed those people in the brick house?”

“Somebody who knows me, that’s for sure. And I have a feeling the next message is going to be in bigger letters.”

“She’s finally asleep,” Campbell whispered to the professor. “Or at least out of it.”

“The infection took its toll, even though the fever broke.” The professor was wearing another sheet, still naked despite the October chill. “She’ll probably be weak for a few days while she recovers.”

“I’m still not sure I believe it, even though I saw it with my own eyes.”

“They’re operating on some quantum level,” the professor said. “We can’t even hope to understand.”

“But we have to come up with an explanation. Or else we’ll have to call it a miracle.”

“In science, the simplest answer is often the correct one. And ‘miracle’ is just a good a word for it as any.”

The Zapheads still paced ceaselessly in the dark house. The only light in the living room was a candle burning low on the mantle, although the darkness was punctuated by the eerie constellations cast by the eyes of passing Zapheads. Campbell and the professor both sat on the floor beside the sofa. Campbell was shivering despite his extra blanket. The professor had to be freezing. “What about her eyes?”

“Maybe whatever transference of energy they performed somehow changed her,” the professor said. “If the electromagnetic pulse of the solar storms made them what they are, they might have disrupted or altered the electrical impulses of her brain. Maybe even her whole body at an atomic level.”

“The laying on of hands,” Campbell said. “I thought that was the domain of snake-handling charismatic preachers.”

“These are God’s creatures,” the professor said. “Performing God’s work.”

Campbell didn’t like the rapt wistfulness in the professor’s voice. Playing messiah to a bunch of mutants was one thing, but elevating them to messiahs was a whole extra level of weird.

And Campbell couldn’t bear it if things got any weirder.

“I’m getting out of here,” Campbell said, not sure if he could trust the professor. His allegiance might lie with the Zapheads now. “As soon as Rachel’s better, we’re heading for Milepost 291.”

The Zapheads quit their pacing, and Campbell wondered if they had somehow heard and comprehended, even though he was talking quietly.

“They sense a threat,” the professor said. “They’re quite intuitive. That’s why they react to our actions.”

“Like when they were ripping your friends to shreds? Arnoff and Pamela and Donnie might disagree with your analysis.”

“They weren’t my friends. We were just traveling together.”

“We’re all just traveling together. On one great big Starship Earth—”

The professor put his hand on Campbell’s shoulder. The outburst had caused the Zapheads to encircle them. Although they were not yet agitated, the tension in the air was electric, almost humming. Rachel moaned and stirred in her sleep.

“They won’t let you leave,” whispered the professor.

“I am not asking permission.”

“What if I won’t let you leave?”

“Just because you’ve been stuck here longer than me doesn’t make you the expert. I don’t think anyone knows anything about what’s happening.”

“You won’t leave.”

Campbell stood in the dark, and the Zapheads circled him.

“And you can’t take Rachel,” the professor said. “She is one of them now.”

Campbell could just make out her pale face. Her eyelids were twitching. Was she dreaming of Before? Or were new images and concepts forming due to the influence of the Zapheads’ healing?

The professor is a lost cause. But Rachel…if we can get away, maybe she won’t become one of them.

But Campbell was forced to admit to himself that he wouldn’t make it Milepost 291 without her. Even though she’d said she didn’t know the exact location of her grandfather’s compound, she knew the general area far better than he did. And he didn’t want to be alone for even a minute.

He’d have to wait for Rachel to fully recover. Making a reckless break now might throw the Zapheads into a frenzy, and the professor would thwart them however he could.

“Okay,” Campbell said, sitting back down. “You’re right.”

“I still think we can teach them,” the professor said. “We can build a better world, without all the mistakes of the past.”

“But who is going to judge the mistakes?”

“Evil men throughout history always seem to emerge when the conditions are ripe. But so do good men.”

Campbell nodded toward the dark silhouettes that milled restlessly around the living room. “What about these things? Do we call them ‘men’ now? And what about the women? They don’t have sex, so they won’t be breeding. They barely eat, yet they seem to maintain their vigor. If this is the top of the evolutionary food chain, I guess we’re going to end up sausage one way or another.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Natives are getting restless, huh? I thought you could control them with one wave of your hand. Or a word of prayer.”

The Zapheads were muttering now, not repeating full words but rather fragments of syllables and sounds. Their feet thundered on the floor above, as if the ones upstairs could sense the agitation of their brethren below. Campbell no longer wanted to wait for a chance to escape. He was ready to get out of this sci-fi lunatic asylum.

“You are upsetting them,” the professor said. “Maybe they’re all connected somehow. Not telepathically, but empathically. That could explain their universal rage in the wake of the solar storms, when their human brains were wiped clean and a raw, primitive neural network was all that remained.”

“Whatever,” Campbell said, tugging Rachel’s hand. She blinked and the tiny luminous specks still swam in her eyes. “Wake up, Rachel, we’re getting out of here.”

“Whu…where are we?” she said.

At least she can speak in complete sentences. She hasn’t been completely zapped.

He wasn’t sure what he would have done if she’d repeated his words. He might have left her there and fled into the night.

“Can you stand?” he whispered to her. She nodded, still groggy.

“Stop this,” the professor said. “You can’t take her from them now.”

“They don’t own her. They don’t own me, either. You can stay if you want, but we’re out of here, one way or another.”

Kneeling, Campbell helped Rachel sit up. The professor loomed over them, calling out, “Campbell, don’t be like this. Think of the family.”

The man’s tone reminded Campbell of the infamous cult leader Jim Jones, who’d seduced hundreds of his People’s Temple members into drinking poisoned Kool-Aid. Campbell had watched a documentary on the tragedy, and Jones used the same imploring, nearly whining voice to hurry along the mass suicide.

“Think of what we can do if we stay and teach them,” the professor said.

“Can you stand?” Campbell whispered to Rachel. He was going to get her out of there even if he had to drag her.

She didn’t answer but instead gripped his shoulder and swung her legs off the sofa. The room seemed to fill with Zapheads. Their breath was like a rising wind, and broken bits of guttural sound rose from the depths of their throats. Campbell glanced around and saw at least two dozen, their strange lambent eyes pointed in his direction.