Scott Nicholson - The Shock

“Okay, we’d better stay away from the street.”

By the time they’d crawled back into the relative seclusion of the back yards, the soldier had recovered and collected her rifle. Campbell didn’t want to be around when the Zapheads came out and the bullets started flying.

He was just about to start jogging when a female voice called out: “ Stephen !”

Rachel hugged Stephen, hardly believing he was alive.

Guess I owe you for another answered prayer, Lord .

They’d ducked into the nearest house after finding the door unlocked. A sweep had revealed that it was empty, the former occupants apparently packing hastily and heading off somewhere after hearing the news of strange phenomena. Pete checked the fridge, finding only molded food and half a bottle of Sprite that had long since gone flat, while Rachel discovered a hand-operated can opener and served Stephen a cold can of chicken soup. They gathered in the darkening kitchen, Pete creating a stink with a tin of sardines that he ate with his fingers.

“You must be Rachel,” said the man who had apparently rescued the boy.

“Yeah,” she said. “Who are you?”

“This is my home boy, Campbell,” Pete said. He punched Campbell on the arm. “Guess you can’t get rid of me so easy after all. Where’s Arnoff and the gang?”

“Back on the highway, looking for World War Three.”

“They’re in luck, then. Apparently there are rogue Marines or some shit around here. They jumped me on the highway and took me prisoner and…hell, I have no idea why.”

Rachel looked past Stephen’s shoulder and said, “Zaphead bait.”

Campbell glared at her. “What’s the big idea, abandoning this kid? Don’t you have any sense?”

Rachel’s grip tightened on the pruning shear and she held it up, letting Campbell see the blood on the metal tip. She forced herself to breathe evenly or anger would overwhelm her. “We got along just fine before you rode in on your white horse like a one-man cavalry.”

Pete gave an uneasy laugh. “Hey, guys, we’re on the same team here, right?”

Campbell shrugged and looked down at the floor. “Sorry. Guess we’ll all wound a little tight right now.”

“She saved me,” Pete said to Campbell. “I’d be lying dead out there in the street if it wasn’t for her.”

Rachel ignored the praise, busy adjusting Miss Molly’s outfit. She gave the doll back to Stephen, who cradled it like a football.

“Did you hurt somebody?” Stephen asked, pointing to the bloody pruning shear.

“No,” she said. “Just a Zaphead.”

So, you’ve made the final leap. Not all living creatures are equal in God’s sight, and it turns out Jesus didn’t die for everyone’s sins.

“She’s pretty wicked with that thing,” Pete said, imitating her swing and giving it a home-run exaggeration.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I need to chop off somebody’s head.” Campbell looked through the curtains at the surrounding houses. “Is this neighborhood as dead as it looks?”

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “We saw a few Zapheads when we came through.” She pointed to the rising thread of smoke that hovered over the rooftops and trees. “Something’s on fire.”

“I played arsonist to create a distraction,” Campbell said.

“Looks like you did too good of a job. The smoke is getting thick.”

“Let’s roll,” Pete said. “There’s not any beer in this place.”

“Sounds good to me,” Campbell said. “I’ll bet we can borrow bicycles from some of these fine, upstanding citizens around here.”

Rachel wasn’t sure she should trust her instinct, because it was clouded with guilt. She should take Stephen and head north and find Grandpa’s legendary compound on the Blue Ridge Parkway, even if it meant these guys tagging along. DeVontay was probably already dead, thrown to the Zapheads like some perverted version of the ancient Romans throwing Christians to the lions. She could picture The Captain curling his lips in a sour sneer and giving the thumb’s down.

“I’m not leaving without DeVontay,” Rachel said.

“He promised he’d take me to my dad,” Stephen said.

“People just throw around promises like they’re water,” Campbell said.

“We can take care of it,” Rachel said, annoyed with Campbell’s holier-than-thou attitude. “You guys go on with…whatever it is you were doing.”

“We’re just standing around waiting for Zapheads to tear us limb from limb,” Pete said. “Yep. Just killing time.”

“Okay,” Campbell said. “I’d hate to let that white horse go to waste. What do we do?”

Rachel wasn’t sure whether she welcomed the help. Her plan had been to return to the house, wait until nightfall, and then sneak in and free DeVontay. She had to admit it wasn’t much of a plan, because she wasn’t sure where Stephen fit in.

“They’ve got guns and we don’t,” Rachel said.

“Damn,” Pete said. “You don’t think they’d actually shoot us, do you?”

“Their leader is a little unstable, to say the least. Apparently, they were holed up in a military bunker when most of the troop turned into Zapheads.”

“Can’t blame him for going a little nuts,” Campbell said. “I think the flares affected us all more than we realize. I was talking to a scientist and—”

“Jeez, Campbell,” Pete cut in. “That guy couldn’t even hit tenure track, so I wouldn’t put a lot of stock in his babbling.”

“How many people were with this Arnoff guy?” Rachel wondered if more survivors than she realized were around. Maybe most of them were hiding, looking out of the cracks of basement windows and waiting for the Second Coming.

“Four others,” Campbell said. “They may be headed this way, but I don’t think I’d wait on them.”

“Well, we can’t just sit here and wait for the Zapheads to mutate into whatever it is they’re becoming.”

“Or for us to change,” Campbell said.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Pete said.

“Change into what?” Stephen asked. Rachel wanted to cover his ears. And his eyes. And to spare his nose the scent of burning houses and rotted flesh.

“So,” Pete said, “full frontal assault in a suicide mission. I’m game. Hell, we’re going to buy it one way or another.”

“I’ve got an idea, but it’s a little risky,” Campbell said.

“I hope it involves heavy drinking,” Pete said. “I’m starting to sober up and I don’t like reality.”

Rachel stroked her fingers through Stephen’s hair. It was thick like Chelsea’s, with little curls. She wasn’t going to lose anyone else in this life if she could help it.

“Okay,” Rachel said. “Let’s hear it.”

“Well, it’s pretty easy to start a fire,” Campbell said. “Right, Stephen?”

The boy nodded. “And the Zapheads like it.”

“And the Zapheads like it. So, we create a diversion like they do in the war movies, then when everybody’s running around confused, we go in and get your friend.”

“What if we scorch DeVontay in the process?” Rachel asked.

“I didn’t say it was a good plan. You got anything better?”

Rachel studied Campbell’s eyes behind his thick, black-rimmed spectacles. His pupils were large with excitement, rimmed with a gray-blue the color of Puget Sound in the winter. His hair was mussed and dirty, his chin a little too small for his brow, and his shoulders suggested he lifted more cellphones than weights. He was the kind of guy to whom she wouldn’t give a second glance in a coffee shop or bookstore, but out here, in After, he gained an awkward masculinity and nobility.