Scott Nicholson - Milepost 291

“Where are we going?” she asked, still drowsy but putting weight on her legs.

Campbell wrapped his arms around her waist and helped her stand. “Milepost 291.”

“Don’t betray us, brother,” the professor said.

“Why don’t you just stay cool? We’ll be out of here, and you can stay and play with your little cult until the end of time?”

Campbell flung one of her arms around his neck so she could support herself. “Don’t look at them,” Campbell said. “Just walk with me.”

He wasn’t sure the Zapheads would just let them leave. Their violent impulses had subsided, but they’d been acting with bizarrely possessive intentions. Rachel had literally been herded to the farmhouse, and the Zaps followed Campbell’s every move.

The first phalanx of Zapheads was only three feet in front of them, standing shoulder to shoulder. Their surreal eyes glinted like small pockets of alien hell.

Campbell ducked a little and pushed his way through them, supporting the groggy Rachel. He expected the Zapheads to block his way, or maybe even attack him. But he wasn’t afraid, not now, and he wondered if the professor was right about their empathy—maybe they reacted to rage or anger, but this new emotion of determination and defiance might be new to them. They hadn’t had any opportunities to learn a defense against it.

The first line of Zapheads grudgingly parted, and now he and Rachel were completely encircled by them. They pressed close, but they were more restless than frenzied. Rachel was likely not alert enough to register their presence, which Campbell took as a good sign. That meant she wouldn’t show fear.

“No,” the professor shouted.

The Zapheads immediately started repeating the word, which rippled like a mad mantra up the stairs and across the whole house, even outside. In the cacophony, Campbell scooted toward the hall, where more Zapheads paced back and forth.

“Campbell,” the professor said.

Campbell looked back over Rachel’s shoulder and saw a reflection of the candle off silver. The knife.

The professor waved the blade in the air, threatening him. “Put her down, or I’ll cut you.”

The phalanx of Zapheads closed ranks, creating a wall of living flesh between Campbell and the professor.

As the Zapheads endlessly echoed “ No no no no no ,” the professor shoved at them to reach Campbell and Rachel. Campbell turned and walked backwards, with Rachel leaning her weight on his shoulder. She was moving her legs now, regaining her balance, but they wouldn’t be able to outrun the professor.

“You’re upsetting them,” Campbell said, trying to use the professor’s own logic against him. But the professor was wide-eyed and open-mouthed, face contorted with rage, focused only on preserving his unnatural cult.

As he fought his way toward Campbell, the knife swept down and sliced into the biceps of a female Zaphead. The mutant didn’t utter a sound, but the repetitive voices all died away at once, throwing the house into an eerie silence broken only by the slight groaning of wood as the wind blew against the siding.

Then the injured Zaphead grabbed the professor’s arm, pulling him forward and causing him to lose his balance. Another grabbed at the knife, cutting his hand in several places before finally wrestling the weapon away from the professor. The smell of blood was rich in the air, along with that electrical burning odor, and more Zapheads pushed into the living room.

Campbell took advantage of the opening to lead Rachel down the hallway toward the kitchen. The professor’s scream was high and brittle, and with one last look, Campbell saw one of the Zapheads drive the knife into the professor’s back as others tore away his sheet and pawed at his naked body.

Thank God Rachel can’t understand what’s happening.

They passed a couple of Zapheads in the hall who staggered toward the living room as if animated by the violence. The back door was open in the kitchen, and Campbell made for it. He didn’t care about food or supplies. They could worry about that once they fled the farm.

And if they didn’t make it off the farm, food was the least of their worries.

The professor screamed again, and this time it actually rose into a shrill cackle of disturbed glee.

“Kill your messiah,” he wailed. “So it is written, and so— arggggh…GODDMAN IT …so it shall be.”

“So shall it be,” rang out a high female voice, almost blissful. The phrase was taken up by others, a deep bass here, an alto, and then rising into a repetitive chant.

Dude got exactly what he wanted. Finally found his true calling. Well, rest in pieces, you nutty piece of shit.

Outside, the grass was moist with dew and soon they were both soaked to the knees. Dark shapes moved past them in the night, all headed toward the farmhouse, ignoring the two staggering humans. Once, Rachel fell against him, nearly knocking them both to the ground, but he caught her and held her upright.

Their faces were close enough that he could look deep into the flickering furnaces of her eyes. He wondered what was happening behind them, and what Rachel would become by the time they reached Milepost 291.

He didn’t care at the moment. As their bare feet tracked across the high pastures, all he could think about was the looming concealment of the ebony forest and enough distance to drown out the professor’s agonized shrieks.

At first, DeVontay thought only a few children were lurking back in the dark pens.

But more and more small faces appeared, pressing against the wire and looking out.

“These are my friends,” Stephen said. “I guess you call them that. Rooster calls them something else.”

“Rooster?”

“The man who runs this camp,” came a female voice from the shadows.

She stepped out into the dim circle of light cast by the kerosene lamp. She was vaguely Asian-looking, although she could have been a Pacific Islander of some sort, with exotic almond-shaped eyes and straight dark hair. She was as filthy as any Zaphead, and she nervously glanced at the door.

“Hello. I’m DeVontay.”

“So you know Stephen?”

“We’re traveling buddies. We got separated two weeks back.”

“We thought you were dead,” Stephen whispered.

“I thought…” DeVontay forced a smile and rubbed Stephen’s frowsy head. “I thought you guys would already be at Milepost 291 waiting for me with a big cake and silly party hats. So where did you lose Rachel?”

“The other night. We were out in the woods and…” Stephen’s head tilted in shame and his shoulders shook with a sob. “I got scared and ran. I tried to be a little man like you told me.”

DeVontay knelt and gave him a hug. “Hey, hey, my man. We’re all scared these days. It’s okay.”

He wanted to know more but until he made sense of their current situation, he didn’t see any way he could find her or help her. He looked at the woman, who now clutched a kid at each hip. They were about eight or nine years old, with runny noses and dirty faces, and had slipped out of the darkness without a sound.

“Why is everybody hiding back in the dark?”

“When we hear the doors open, we hide.”

DeVontay let that sink in for a moment. “How many are in here?”

“Fourteen. Three of us are women, the rest are kids.”

The little boy at her left flank looked up with anger. “I’m not no kid.”

She patted his shoulder. “You’re right, James, we’ve all had to grow up fast.”

Apparently sensing the two armed men had gone and the door locked and bolted from the outside, others began to emerge into the light. They were all unkempt and sallow, as if suffering from lack of sunshine and poor nutrition. “How long have you been in here?” DeVontay asked the woman.