Antioch Read online

  John didn’t “see” riin with his eyes. He felt it, like an emotion. When he touched Daniel’s skin, he felt a picture of riin pooled around the boy’s infections in small amounts and “saw” where it seeped into Daniel’s body from somewhere outside of perception. It only seeped in because the way was dammed. With a physical sensation, like the decision to weep, John opened the way and riin blasted into Daniel.

  The boy’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell unconscious, golden light flaring from his injuries. John lowered him and looked around. He found a cup among Daniel’s things and filled it with rain water from one of the canopy’s steadier leaks. Then he knelt next to Daniel and woke him up.

  Daniel was muddled. “What… what happened? Who are you?”

  John handed him the cup. “I’m from Antioch. My name is John. What’s yours?”

  Daniel’s eyes bulged as he drank. He knew of John. That led to a cascade of more recent memories. He blinked as they came.

  John waited, nodding. “It can take a bit to get your wits back.” He took the empty cup and filled it again. “How long have you been up here? You’re parched.”

  Daniel’s recollection reached his father holding the rope. Of a dozen questions he wanted to ask, the first was, “Where’s my pa?”

  John’s face opened - his grandson. He should have seen it. The boy was a scrawny, bug-eyed little Horace. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes, sir, I think. You’re Pa’s uncle, aren’t you? He told me you… he told me... where’s my pa?”

  John felt profound grief, the kind that builds in sudden stages as connections are made. He shoved his feelings aside to speak. “Do you know anything about a sickness in these parts, in Meroe?”

  “No… Pa looked sick and drunk and, and stayed under the tree for a long time. I thought he had the whammy! I don’t know what’s happening at all! Where is he?”

  John put a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, son. Your father is dead. I’m…” Daniel’s mouth fell open and he pulled away. John paused for a moment before he continued. “It’s some kind of plague. People are getting sick and when they get sick, they… make other people sick too. The church is trying to help.” He wanted to comfort Daniel but he didn’t know what to say. “Tell me your name, son. We’re family.”

  “Rebecca!” Daniel started to get up. “My sister, Becca’s at the house! We have to go get her!”

  John hung his head. “I’ve just come from the farm. I… found a little girl there. How old was your sister?”

  “What do you mean was? She’s five… she’s only five years old!”

  “Son, I’m so sorry.”

  Daniel’s grief and anger rose up in him like a viper. He looked at the sword on John’s hip. His tears and words squeezed out of a tightening scowl. “What did you do to them?”

  John was firm. “The plague killed them. The last time you saw your father, he was already dead. I’m supposed to be in Meroe right now, but I came here instead, looking for him. I was too late. I couldn’t help him and I couldn’t help your sister but I can help you. And that’s what I am going to do.”

  Daniel slumped.

  John’s face softened and he offered the cup again. “Please, tell me your name.”

  “Daniel.” He accepted the cup, feeling thirst then more than anything else.

  “Where is your mother, Daniel?”

  “Ma died a long time ago, when Becca was born. It was just me, Pa and Becca.”

  “You’ve no other family?”

  “Maybe, in Breahg. Ma was Breahg.” He said it like a confession. The clan’s history was barbaric.

  John understood. He blew out a slow breath. “Alright, we’ll wait out the storm here. Then you’re coming with me.”

  “But, what about Becca and Pa? Don’t they…”

  “They’re gone.”

  Daniel winced. “How come he moved around if he was…”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this before. The plague haunts the bodies like some kind of devil. It’s atrocious.”

  Daniel was lost. “We’ve got animals. I’ve got Pa’s chores to do for them now.”

  “No. You have to come with me. It isn’t safe here. Your animals will just have to do their best. They aren’t as important as you are.” John waited, but the boy had no further arguments. “How old are you, Daniel?”

  “Thirteen, sir.”

  “You’re almost a man before we met.” John sat down and put his legs over the edge. His chainmail grated against the planks. He waited in silence and then patted the wood, moist bits crumbling from his gauntlet. “I built this tree house.” Daniel hadn’t known. John nodded. “For your father when he was a boy. I grew up here too. A long time ago, all of this land was mine. It came to me because I was my father’s oldest son. But, when I took my vows, I gave it all to my younger brother, Isaac.”

  “Grandpa Isaac?”

  John nodded hesitantly. “A little more than eighteen years ago, when Isaac died, that was the last time I saw your father. We had an argument.” He scratched his short, gray beard. “Fwah.”

  Daniel sniffed and looked up at him. The old man put his hand on the boy’s shoulder again. The gauntlet was wet and horrible, but Daniel didn’t pull away that time.

  John said, “What did your father tell you about me?”

  “He said you’re busy and important and that’s why you don’t come to visit.”

  “Did he say why he never came to see me in Antioch?”

  “He hardly ever left the farm. There’s a lot of work to do. But… if we needed to trade, he said there’s less bigots in Meroe.”

  John sighed. “We were both too stubborn to apologize.”

  Daniel couldn’t remember his father ever having apologized for anything. Then his heart sank again. “The last thing I said to Pa was I hated him.”

  John nodded sadly. “We said things like that too, terrible things.”

  “Pa was drunk and I got mad at him. I told him he was stupid and he should’ve taken Ma to have Becca in the church. I told him Ma… I told him Ma died because of him!”

  Death in childbirth was common outside of Antioch and the farm was days from there by wagon. John knew an unforeseen complication during delivery would have been impossible to help. Most people’s injuries and illnesses were either too serious or too minor for a long journey to see the Circle.

  John squeezed Daniel’s shoulder. “Is that when you got the busted lip?” Daniel reached up to his mouth and felt smooth, painless flesh. His hands were lean and strong as well with tiny, white scars over the knuckles. His aches, fever and delirium were gone. He was still thirsty, though.

  John said, “We all make mistakes, son. We all do things we regret. You never know if it will be the last time you see someone. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Or others.”

  Daniel wiped his face with his shirt. The two of them sat there on that rotten platform, watching the storm rage through the wilderness.

  5 The Grace

  A terrible storm had just passed, the Grace rested at sea and someone was knocking on Andalynn’s door. She brought her head out of the basin between her knees, her short, blonde hair clumped from sweat and her face nearing green. She couldn’t have said which was worse right then, seasickness or the rot. Her cabin smelled of sour milk.

  She resolved to stop vomiting long enough to see who was knocking. The worst of it was over anyway. She’d been in dry heaves for a while by then and if someone was at her door, it could only mean trouble. Andalynn did not receive social calls.

  She put on a pair of black, rubber goggles and tied a surgeon’s cover over her nose and mouth. Then she opened the door to a fiery sunrise and a tall person wearing a gas mask that had the look of a startled walrus. The mask also muffled his speech. “Wung munnug!”

  Andalynn hooded her eyes under the goggles. “Drake… take it off.”

  He did - foomp - a chipper nineteen-year-old with big teeth. “We found it
!”

  “Drake…” She wasn’t in the mood for his garbledy-gook routine or his bad jokes.

  “Is Biggs in there with you?” He tried to poke his head in to take a look.

  She blocked him, clenched her teeth and barked, “Drake!”

  He jumped back. “No, seriously, Captain sent me, everyone’s on deck, we found it! We’re there! Or, we’re here. You know what I mean!”

  She stepped out to empty her basin over the guardrail. The ship’s lanes were compact, blocky and wood grain. One crewman and then another squeezed past. Drake bounced away with them, stuffing his head back into the mask. Andalynn’s stomach jumped - he is not joking. She ducked inside, holstered on a pair of revolvers and then hurried to the front of the ship.

  Fifty people, the entire crew, crowded the deck, wearing all kinds of goggles and respirators. They watched the horizon with telescopes, binoculars and unrestrained excitement. Captain looked out over the water through the big scope on his bolt action rifle, an M1903 Springstien BOSS (Bearing-Optimized Sniper System.) He wore a luxuriously purple calf-length coat. Wisps of wavy auburn hair trailed from the gauze cocooning his head.

  Andalynn went to stand next to him at the rail. A sailor on her other side, not realizing who had just moved in, put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Can you believe it? We’re finally…” Then he saw her face - the goggles and surgeon’s cover - and took his hand away. “Oh… sorry.” He left, wiping that hand on his shirt.

  Andalynn watched him go. She said, “I am here, Captain.” Her voice had the volume and confidence of a public speaker. Shielding her eyes from the sun, she followed the crowd’s attention to a thin strip of land in the distance.

  Captain spoke in a nautical drawl while concentrating on his aim. “I’ve heard you’re bringin’ up your guts again. Thought you‘re over that.” Drake was on the other side of him, giving Andalynn the thumbs up.

  She hooded her eyes at him again. “I did not do well during the storm.”

  Captain said, “Despicable tempest. We could’ve been here yesterday, to be true.” He turned to face her, stray hair, goggles and gauze making his head look like a steaming, robotic egg. “If Zeke’s points are right, port’s around the bend.” He sounded like he was smiling.

  The crew buzzed with anticipation. They manned their stations to bring the ship around and, even as they worked the rigging, couldn’t look away from the coast. Then, there it was - Meroe. Cheers erupted from the deck.

  Captain balled his ebon fist triumphantly. “This is it! I know it!” He handed Andalynn his rifle. “Take a look at that! Those backward little shacks are beautiful!”

  Shouldering the stock, she aimed at a cluster of cottages that dotted the steep incline of a small, natural harbor. Long piers branched out high over the water and blended into the town’s wood plank pavement. They were slim strips meant for fishing, not for docking ships.

  Andalynn said, “I do not see any people.”

  Captain said, “No, and it sits a bit shallow for the Grace, but that’s not the first thing I’d say…” He opened a split in his mask to take his pipe’s bit in his teeth. Then he drew a gnarly, homemade match out of a box from his coat pocket and struck it on the guardrail. It snapped, flared and spat brief, little fireballs and hissed like torn parchment. When it calmed to a flame, he lit the pipe and flicked the matchstick into the sea.

  A murmur was spreading among the crew from another discovery. Andalynn said, “There is a ship farther east along the coast. It appears to have been beached.”

  Smoke curled from Captain’s gauze. “Oh, aye? Hmm… We might should leave her out and drop the dinghy then.”

  Andalynn handed the rifle back and said to Drake, “Gather the others. Prepare to land.”

  Drake saluted. “Wung, mung!” They both hurried away.

  Captain took aim at the distant shipwreck. With mixed feelings over what was on the horizon, he spoke to no one but himself. “No need to hurry now. We’ve nowhere else to be.”

  ***

  Andalynn sat at the dinghy’s prow with her back to their destination, watching the Grace as they rowed away. Its three, tall masts were draped in ropes and pulleys like a spider web on blades of grass. A black-metal furnace hung on chains from the spars over one side instead of a lifeboat; the crew called it the Coffin. The glow from its grate gave it a lantern’s quality. The Coffin, the Grace and the dinghy each rocked and swayed in their own rhythm. Andalynn’s nausea returned and she closed her eyes.

  Six others sat in the small boat with her. They served as the ship’s marines. When it was necessary to go ashore, they were the ones who went. They were an improvised group that agreed to abide by a harsh code of law they called the System. They hadn’t been ashore in a long time.

  Drake pulled an oar, merrily honking nonsense through his mask. “Mung wunga gung. Gunga wumma munga mung!”

  Ditch said, “Shut uuup, dummy…” He pulled the other oar. Under skimpy swimmer’s goggles and a bi-valve respirator, Ditch was small, bald and tattooed. His stiff leather jacket and cargo pants jingled and chuffed as he rowed.

  Biggs laid back with his legs crossed, an easy going country-boy. “Least you can’t tell what he’s on about in that thing.” He wore a dangly strapped diver’s mask and had a bandana pulled over his nose like an outlaw.

  Ditch spoke rapidly. “Man, that’s why it sucks, cause I get like, curious. I know whatever he’s sayin’s dooked - I know it - but then I start wantin’ to know how dooked, you know?”

  Biggs chuckled. “S’pose.”

  Drake pumped his fist. “Wum gum! Mung wumma gumma!”

  Ditch said, “Alright, alright, shut up for real. We’re gettin’ close.”

  Welles watched Meroe through his binoculars all the way in. He said, “I keep hoping someone will just walk out and wave.” He sounded like that hope was fading.

  Ditch said, “Yeah, man, I used to do that too.”

  The wind followed them in from the sea. No one spoke above a whisper. They moored at the deep end of a long pier and, rifles and gear slung on their backs, took turns creeping up the creaking ladder. On the other side of the harbor, beneath the level of the boards and across a forest of pilings, a ghoul shuffled unnoticed into the water toward them.

  Andalynn scanned inland with a spyglass. The doors and windows of the cottages closest to shore were open and broken. It was silent aside from the water lapping at their thumping boat.

  Biggs looked up. “No gulls.”

  Ditch sighed. “This place is gone, man.”

  It discouraged them all. Meroe was supposed to be the end of the road, the end of their troubles. It was supposed to be safe.

  Andalynn said, “We have the wind at our backs. This is an adequate position. We should take advantage of it and begin clearing immediately.”

  The other sailors mumbled and shifted.

  Biggs backed her up. “Ever’thin’ else is where Zeke said it’d be. Road north oughtta take us straight to Antioch, then, right? Shoot, that’s prob’ly where most a’ these folks got to.” He put his hand on Welles’ shoulder. “Aint never gon’ have to do this again, y’all.”

  They always responded better to him. Weapons clicked and clacked in their unanimous resolution.

  Andalynn said, “Outstanding. Drake has the bag.”

  Drake slumped. “Wummaguh wahwah munguh mug?”

  Ditch mocked him with a dopey whine, “Why do I always have the bag,” and then brushed by him with a little bit of a shove. “Cause you shot Biggs last time you were on the line, stupid.”

  Biggs said, “S’alright, Goober,” and consoled him with a pat as he moved past.

  The line, five riflemen kneeling in a row, leveled their weapons at the land’s end of the pier. Drake crouched behind them and unzipped the bag, a hefty, olive-green cylinder filled with a nest of cartridges, each one as long and as thick as a man’s finger, pointed and brass. Drake set out five-shot stripper clips to reduce the line’s loading time
. They only had six of those clips and he put the extra next to Biggs.

  Andalynn stood beside Drake, looking out over their heads. When he gave her the thumbs up, she pulled down her surgeon’s cover, cupped her hands to her mouth and called out, “Ahoy!” The message was loud, clear and saved a bullet.

  Silence had been broken. They didn’t need to whisper anymore. Welles shook out his nerves and said, “Not us.” Each of them said it - not us - and they waited.

  Two figures staggered into view, two hundred yards away. Andalynn inspected them with her spyglass and was surprised. “These are young…” Somewhat encouraging, the young were slower and easier to hit. She called out the target order, “Twelve, eleven!” Twelve o’clock was dead ahead.

  Five violent reports stuttered from their ready weapons. The ghoul at twelve o’clock jerked and twitched in the whizzing bullets, lost balance and dropped to its hands and knees. Then it brought up one foot and tried to stand.

  The riflemen lifted and pulled their bolts with fluid clicks. Empty cases spun smoking from the chambers to make way for new rounds. The bolts slid home again and then - more roaring blasts. Debris exploded out of the distant monster. It crumpled, motionless. The line was dialing in.

  Biggs cried, “Down!” the signal to switch targets to the eleven o’clock zombie. They focused on one at a time and couldn’t settle for flesh wounds. They had to hit the head.

  All of them were accurate shooters with a Springstien BOSS, it was an accurate weapon, but they strove for speed in addition to that. Ditch was pretty good. He could hit a six inch target at one hundred yards every seven seconds. Biggs could put five rounds through an apple at that range in under fifteen. Before Ditch chambered his third round, the eleven o’clock zombie’s head detonated.

  “Down!”

  The others whistled and hooted in appreciation of the shot.

  “The boss with a BOSS.”

  “I’m just gonna put mine down.”

  “Biggs is the man, man.”

  Biggs said, “Listen up! Lynn’s callin’ em.”

  “One, twelve, eleven!”

  They tore the ghouls apart. The last to the left hadn’t taken ten steps before it fell and Biggs called, “Down!” for the fifth time. The sailors reloaded, staying tense. They’d only begun to clear. If large groups appeared, or a small group of older ones, the odds could quickly force them to retreat.