Scott Nicholson - The Shock

She nicknamed him The Captain, even though she was pretty sure he wasn’t a Zaphead. She peered at the shapes of men. Four that she could see, maybe more standing behind her. At least two of them appeared to have rifles.

None of them looked like DeVontay.

“We heard a shot,” she said. “We thought someone might need help.”

“We?”

“Me and DeVontay.”

“The dark one,” the man said.

Dark one? Well, I guess it could be worse. Could be calling him the N-word.

She raised her voice. “Are you here, DeVontay?”

A muffled moan came from somewhere inside the house. The Captain moved from his post by the window and crossed the room. The additional light gave definition to the edges and shapes. Rachel could make out a desktop computer, the dull rectangle of the window reflected in miniature on its blank screen. Loose papers were piled around it, and unkempt shelves were stuffed with books, board games, and ceramic cats. An exercise bike stood in the corner, a windbreaker dangling from one handlebar.

Rachel turned her head, working blood flow back into her fingers. She couldn’t see them, but she sensed several more people standing behind her. The air in the room was stale, body odor mingling with dust. Someone smelled of tobacco, and the cloying corruption of rot lay under it all, the new base aroma of the planet.

A hand gripped her shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but not gentle, either. “You know what this is, correct?” The Captain said.

She shook her head. “We were only trying to help. We saw the Zapheads coming for the house—”

“Zapheads?”

“Yeah. The crazy people. The ones who changed after the solar storms.”

“We’ve all changed.”

She couldn’t argue with that, and she had a feeling The Captain wasn’t in a mood for arguments anyway. “Yeah, but they’re the ones trying to bash our brains in.”

“You may have noticed that we—that is, if you are one of us—are no different. Morally, you could make a case that ours is a greater sin, because we’re aware of our violent actions.”

Whoa. This guy’s been out in the sun a little too long.

“You’re aware you’re giving a morality lecture to a woman you’ve tied to a chair, right?”

“Shall I gag her?” one of the shadowy figures to her left said. “Like we did with the other?”

So DeVontay’s alive.

“No,” The Captain said. “We need to find out if she is willing.”

Willing? These guys can’t be rapists, or they would have done their business while I was unconscious. And it’s not like I can resist all that much right now.

“Like I said, we heard a shot and saw some Zapheads headed for the house,” she said, doing her best to sound calm even though she wanted to scream. “We figured somebody was in trouble and came to help.”

“And these…Zapheads, as you call them…what do you think makes them attack?”

“I don’t know. Different theories, you know. The sun boiled their brains. The radiation mutated them. The electromagnetic pulse scrambled their wiring.”

“Have you considered that maybe they are enlightened?”

“No. I haven’t considered that at all. Been kinda busy staying alive.”

“Do you believe in an all-powerful God?”

“What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? What next, the rack?” She struggled against her bonds. Feeling crept back into her limbs, in tingling pinpricks of fire. She rocked back and forth, testing the sturdiness of the chair. It was a cheap dining-room model, the legs loose and the slats digging into the backs of her thighs.

“We have to know if you are one of us.”

She whipped her head around, taking in the perimeter of the room, at least as much as she could see. Three of The Captain’s chums had changed position, one taking up a post by the window. Rachel couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman until the person spoke.

“Movement on the street,” the woman said. Her tone wasn’t quite military, but it was all business.

These guys have either spent some serious time together, or had something going on before the sun went nuts. Before After.

“Is it one of the enlightened?” The Captain asked.

“Appears to be.” The woman tracked the barrel of a gun across the veiled window.

“Stay quiet, everyone,” The Captain said. “We don’t want to hurt it.”

“Let me get this straight,” Rachel said. “You jump me and tie me up but you let those things wander loose?”

“Live and let live,” The Captain said. “They’re children of the sun.”

“The Sixties are over,” Rachel said. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re all that’s left. And we should be helping each other. We’re on Team Human. Right?”

“We are here to serve,” The Captain said.

The woman at the window raised a hand. “There’s somebody else outside.”

“Enlightened?” The Captain said.

“Hard to tell. Looks like a boy, maybe ten.”

Rachel’s heart froze in her chest. Stephen!

“Time for the test,” The Captain said. “We shall see if she is worthy.”

The doorknob gave a brassy squeak behind her and the shadowy forms moved toward it. The female sentinel reached up, one skinny arm silhouetted against the daylight beyond the sheet. Then the makeshift curtain came down with a rip and sunlight poured into the room. Rachel squinted against the sudden yellow brightness, and by the time she’d recovered her sight, the room was empty. Footsteps echoed down the hall and The Captain said, “She’s all yours.”

Rachel scooted in little hops until she was turned and facing the door. Her first impression was correct. The room was a home office or den, bookshelves lined with paperbacks, loose sheaves of papers stuffed among them with the haphazard care of someone who loved information more than artifacts. A globe on a swivel and a heavy oak lamp stood on a small bureau near the door, with statuettes and photographs behind the glass of the cabinets. The floor was tiled with pressboard, but the hallway beyond the door was carpeted. She twisted against the ropes, chafing her wrists as she cast about the room looking for a sharp edge that could sever the ropes.

Maybe there’s a letter opener or scissors in the desk.

Rachel tried not to think about Stephen wandering around the yard, lost and looking for her, or the circling Zapheads that might kill him. She couldn’t bear another death. Billions had died and she had been helpless, God had abandoned her in her time of greatest need, like He had Jesus when the flesh of his palms shredded beneath the steel spikes and his lungs sagged in suffocation.

Or when the cool water had pulled her little sister, Chelsea, into its deep blue heart.

I don’t like this theme. God is never there when you need Him most .

She gripped the edges of the seat and lifted as she pressed down with her toes. The chair slid forward a good three inches, and she repeated the movement twice, three times, gaining more distance with each bounce. She was so intent on her goal, the metal desk with the computer atop it, that she didn’t notice the person in the doorway until a lamp crashed to the floor.

Rachel twisted her neck around. Budget Bieber came toward her, eyes brightly vacant beneath the brown bangs but somehow fixed on her, just the same. He carried himself in an insouciant slouch, stooping to the floor to retrieve the lamp. He appeared to test its weight with one short swing of the wooden base, as if first learning of its potential as weapon. Satisfied, he yanked at the flimsy lampshade until it tore free.

Rachel pitched forward, away from him, forgetting her feet were tied. When she felt herself falling, she twisted so that the chair toppled to the right. Her elbow banged against the floor, but the flimsy chair broke apart. She tried to roll, but the back of the chair clung to her, dangling from the ropes that bound her wrists.