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  “Why?” I blurted. I could not help myself. There had to be an answer.

  “These things saith he that holdeth the seven stars in his right hand, who walketh in the midst of the seven golden candlesticks;

  “I know thy works, and thy labor, and thy patience, and how thou canst not bear them which are evil: and thou hast tried them which say they are apostles, and are not, and hast found them liars: And hast borne, and hast patience, and for my name’s sake hast labored, and hast not fainted.

  “Nevertheless I have somewhat against thee, because thou hast left thy first love. Remember therefore from whence thou art fallen, and repent, and do the first works; or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will remove thy candlestick out of his place, except thou repent.”

  “What does that have to do with anything!” I wanted to slap him, and if I could have reached his face, I would have.

  “He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God…these things saith the first and the last, which was dead, and is alive, I know thy works, and tribulation, and poverty, (but thou art rich) and I know the blasphemy of them which say they are Jews, and are not, but are the synagogue of Satan.

  “Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer: behold, the devil shall cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried; and ye shall have tribulation ten days: be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life. He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; He that overcometh shall not be hurt of the second death.”

  “Let me know how that works out for you,” I snapped, and then I turned and walked away.

  This next part is probably not my proudest moment. Not the action, just the way in which I did it. I stopped suddenly and spun. General Carson was still watching me. I drew my knife and approached. I made sure that my eyes never left him. I stood by his feet and laid the razor sharp blade against his upper thigh. (Did I fail to mention that they had all been stripped naked?)

  I honestly thought he would show some sort of reaction. Instead, he just glared at me with his lips pressed together. I made the first slice.

  “Selina…”

  “Ethan….”

  “Angel…”

  “Brian…”

  “Janie…”

  “Phaedra…”

  And then I just started listing every single name I could think of. When I finished, he had over three dozen slices on both legs. Blood was dripping on the ground in a steady patter. He never cried out. I turned to walk away and he shouted at the top of his lungs.

  “Thou sufferest that woman Jezebel, which calleth herself a prophetess, to teach and to seduce my servants to commit fornication, and to eat things sacrificed unto idols.

  “And I gave her space to repent of her fornication; and she repented not. Behold, I will cast her into a bed, and them that commit adultery with her into great tribulation, except they repent of their deeds. And I will kill her children with death; and all the churches shall know that I am he which searcheth the reins and hearts: and I will give unto every one of you according to your works.

  “But unto you I say, and unto the rest in Thyatira, as many as have not this doctrine, and which have not known the depths of Satan, as they speak; I will put upon you none other burden. But that which ye have already hold fast till I come.

  “And he that overcometh, and keepeth my works unto the end, to him will I give power over the nations: And he shall rule them with a rod of iron; as the vessels of a potter shall they be broken to shivers: even as I received of my Father. And I will give him the morning star. He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches.”

  I could hear him all the way back to my tent. Even worse…a bunch of his little minions joined in on this little chant. I knew that it sounded familiar, I just did not know where I had heard it before. It was actually Betty who clued me in.

  “He’s reciting Revelations from The Bible,” she told me.

  I wanted to ask how she knew. After all, we were friends and I had never once spoken with her about her belief system. I was stunned when she told me that she had been a Revelationist for a few years. She said that she was lonely and at a point in her life where she did not feel like she fit in anywhere. She decided to check out the various religious groups in Warehouse City. Something about the Revelationists rang a bell for her.

  Eventually she found that she wanted to be more involved in the safety and security of the city she called home. I was surprised, but I also was raised to understand that just because something is not my particular brand of happiness does not mean I should have a problem with others. I still remember how surprised I was when Mama Janie and Mama Lindsay told me how their relationship was something that was a problem for other people back in the Old World. I didn’t get it. I mean, who cares. I guess that is one of the positives of the outcome from humanity almost being wiped out. People have bigger things to worry about than who loves who…or is it who loves whom?

  Oh well, the mystery about the stuff General Carson was spewing was solved…and I really didn’t care. I would find out how brave he was when the day of his execution came.

  So the prisoners were left to dangle for the next couple of days. A few died from exposure that first night, so we built fires all long where they hung to keep any of the others from taking the easy way out.

  By the second day, a few of them were almost touching the ground with their toes. Shoulder sockets were not meant to maintain that degree of stress for so long. I guess that was the signal.

  That evening, a few of them were cut down. Some were killed actually quite quickly. A sharp blade across the throat was the easiest any of them would have it. I guess anybody who could remember a particular person from the battle was given the right to choose that person’s form of death. That was why some were killed so mercifully. Nobody claimed them.

  Now, there were a few deaths that I had to turn away from. Having a rope tied to each arm and leg and then the horses sent charging off in four different directions was nasty and never ended the same way twice that I could see. I know one man was dragged behind a horse…that lasted a while and I didn’t much care for it. There were simple beheadings and a few cases where the person was stretched out and staked to the ground. The person who had chosen that individual would sit on their chest and eventually plunge a knife in their chest or cut their throat when they were done saying what they wanted to say. A modified version of that was when they would place a flat piece of wood on the staked man or woman’s chest and then begin to pile rocks until the person could not physically take another breath. I saw a few cases where a fire was built on the person’s abdomen.

  Like I said, I do not condone any of that stuff, but I do not condemn it either. These lunatics were set on bringing the end of humanity. However, I think some of those hanging from the poles and witnessing this were having some real issues with what they were seeing. I admit that I had to slip away more than once to be sick. (The burning of a human being is very gruesome to watch and to hear.)

  I was only a little surprised that members of some of the tribes that came with Ethan started to participate. That night at dinner I saw more than a couple pull up one of the Natives who had performed an execution that day. I had to imagine that it was a Q & A session of some sort. The next day, I would be proved right when I saw a few of them perform an act they had witnessed the day before.

  Just before midday, Betty came up to me.

  “You realize that they are waiting for you to take part in this, don’t you?”

  Actually, I did not know that. Why would they be waiting for me?

  So that night at dinner, I stood and went up to the bonfire. That is sort of the signal that you have something to say to the entire group. I was more than just a little surprised when the entire camp went silent. It only increased my anxiety when everybody s
tarted crowding in. I knew for a fact that, unless I yelled at the top of my lungs, I would not be heard by those in the rear. I would have to rely on the word being passed back. I remember briefly wondering how mutated my message would be after it was relayed from mouth-to-ear down the line. Oh well, it could not be helped, so if you ever come across something that quotes this speech, check the accuracy because I took the time to write it down first and used it as I spoke that night.

  “Brothers and sisters, for the past two days, we have been administering our own personal form of punishment or vengeance against those who killed our friends, family, and companions. Each has his or her own reason for doing what they do. I have watched every single one. I admit that I have had to turn away at times, but I never left. I felt it was my duty to each of you to stand in support of your action whether I understood it or not.

  “I have been told that many of you are waiting and wondering when I will take part. I have an answer. I will be last. I claim the man known as General Carson before you now and say that he will die at my hands. But he will be last because I want him to watch all those he led to this ending as they perish. I want him to hear their cries and their renunciation of their actions under his leadership. I want him to suffer a thousand deaths, but in the end, I can only offer one. So I do the next best thing. He will watch until he is the last man hanging.

  “Rest assured, brothers and sisters, we are together in this final endeavor. General Carson deserves far worse than we will ever be able to give, but I believe that if the Heaven and the Almighty God that he proclaims to serve does exist…then what we give him here will only be the beginning. When God…his God…rejects him for what he has done, then and only then will his true suffering begin.”

  There was silence. No, I did not expect any applause. And when one of the Natives stepped forward and took me in a hug, I figured that was good. But then he began to sing in the sweetest, yet most masculine voice I have ever heard.

  The earth is our mother,

  we must take care of her.

  Hey yanna, ho yanna, hey yan yan.

  Her sacred ground we walk upon,

  with every step we take.

  The earth is our mother,

  she will take care of us.

  And then, he began it again, but the words were picked up and sort of washed like a wave through the crowd. By the third time through, I actually had the lyrics down and joined in. Soon, some drums began a steady, syncopated beat, and then some sort of flute drifted in as well. It was such a magical and beautiful moment that I did not want it to ever end.

  The next few days were more of the executions. Also, we were hit a few times by some wandering dead and some of our scout teams returned with a few stragglers of General Carson’s army. To say that some of them reacted poorly to what they saw when they were brought in to our camp would be putting it mildly. Sometimes it was difficult for me to hear. One woman begged and pleaded, insisting that she had been forced to serve by her parents.

  I guess she could have been telling the truth, but we were committed to our cause by this point and could not waver. That probably seems cold and callous. I am sure that some of you reading this may already be putting me in that same box that Meredith was stuffed into by legions of readers who hated her. I can’t worry about that.

  Eventually, the day came and General James Carson was the last man. In case you are wondering, we made sure that he stayed alive. Sometimes that was almost as much of an ordeal as the executions. He resisted us at every turn once he realized what was happening.

  That day, I stood before him. Of course, by then, his voice was gone. He had gone on a rant for almost a full day and night reciting the entire Book of Revelations from start to finish and then repeating. I admit that I was impressed that he knew it word for word. I even checked. It took me a while, but I eventually found a bible. He did not even know it, but I sat just behind him a few yards and followed along. He did not miss a single word or phrase from what was marked as a King James Version. (I actually wonder if he was named for this James person.)

  When I came up to him that morning, his mouth was moving, but all that I heard was a rasping noise. So, if he had any last words, words of wisdom, curses on me and any of my possible future offspring, or pleas for mercy, they were wasted and unrecorded.

  The night before, I spent a lot of time trying to decide which manner of execution I would inflict. There were so many to choose from. I decided that he did not deserve any sort of ceremony. I had him brought down and bent over a tree stump. I selected my best blade and stood over him. I did not feel the need to make another speech or any sort of statement. Quite honestly, I don’t think he deserved any of that nonsense. I brought the blade down in one very deliberate swing. His head came off and rolled to the ground, coming to rest a few feet away, his eyes staring with an empty gaze directly at me. I hope that his brain worked long enough so that I am the last thing he ever saw.

  What you need to remember is this: were it not for what we did and what we do now, you very likely would not be reading this. If General Carson and his splinter group from the NAA managed to succeed, everybody would be dead and the Era of the Anomalies would have begun. I may not have made a big enough deal of the fact that this group—this ‘extremist faction’ of The Genesis Brotherhood (an already extreme group in their own right)—were prepared to end humanity. That means YOU.

  It is always easier after the fact for people to judge the actions of others. Funny, I went back the past couple of days and read Sam’s and Meredith’s journals. Something stood out that made me bristle at the response that Meredith has received all these years.

  I considered copying it here, but instead, I will simply say that everything that you needed to know about her was written on the evening of Friday, June 20th in my dad’s journal right after his death. She told you exactly who she was, so any of her actions, including when she gave me up, should not have been a surprise.

  Looking back on some of my own words, I do not have that luxury. You know why? Because, I still do not really know who I am. I wonder how many of you will forget that I am still just eighteen. Sure, I have ideas about who I want to be, but those change about as often as the weather. I am still trying to find that answer.

  Also, I only very recently discovered that I am part of a culture that I have not yet really been able to absorb or understand. I’m not saying that being born with Native American blood in my veins makes a difference in who I am, but I should at least try to find out a bit before I go one way or the other.

  I have so many questions…and I am going to spend some time looking for answers. And I may not find ANY of them, but at least I can look.

  I have no idea if I will continue this journal or not. Right now, I just want to be able to relax. Not think. Not act.

  I have to be honest, I set this book down for most of the month while I tried to process everything that had happened. I only missed it for the first couple of days. I know that Meredith set hers down once, but she said that it was a form of therapy for her to write everything down. For, me, that comes from talking to these people that surround me…Betty…

  I was sitting on a rock with Betty this morning and she asked me why she had not seen me with (and this is a quote) “that stupid book?” I shrugged and she just nodded and told me that I didn’t need to try and be anybody except myself. I don’t think I am the journaling type.

  So, what does that mean? That means that we are done. If you have found this…if for some strange reason it was copied and made available to others like my dad’s and Meredith’s, then I applaud your stick-to-it-iveness if you have read this entire thing. I hope that it provided you with something useful…at the very least, a diversion.

  A snowflake fell just a moment ago. I believe that I will go sit with Betty and watch to see if others will soon join. It seems we will be camping here until winter has passed. Travelling through any of the mountain ranges now would be folly. This location is not bad
. We did move just a bit after I did away with General Carson.

  Chapter 6

  Tuesday, November 1st

  There are a few inches of fresh white powder on the ground. Life has slowly returned to something like normal. I feel refreshed.

  Last night, I went for a walk with Jimmy Stonekiller. We talked about stuff that I imagine normal young men and women our age talk about. He seems nice. I think I can actually enjoy that now…the part about him being nice.

  Lately, the evening fire has been a time to share our stories. I have discovered that the Native Americans are not the only ones who tell a good tale. Last night, one of the women from a tribe located along Corridor 26 told her story. I look at her now, and it is not difficult to see the young girl that she spoke of in her moments before the fire as she shared a piece of her life.

  Her name is Rindy, and she is a member of the Aloha Warriors. (She pronounces it A-lo-a and makes sure to correct any who mistakenly call it A-lo-HA. She tells you very curtly that she is not from the island paradise of Hawaii.

  Hers rang a bell for me, and so I sat with her today and asked her to tell it again. So here it is as she told it to me. I call it, Yes, Rindy, there is a Santa Claus.

  Rindy Farmer peeked out from the shadowy doorway. This house had been a good find, sitting all by itself on a hill looking out over a vastness that everyone was pretty sure must be somewhere in Wyoming. A steady rain continued to fall, adding to the gloom felt by everybody the past few days. Nobody could be absolutely certain, but the general consensus placed it to be sometime in December. This would be the third Christmas since them. Most folks called them zombies, not Rindy. That was the nickname she had given her little brother Zimbalist—named after some long dead television star that her dad liked when he was little.

  When her parents brought him home the first day and told her the name they had picked, she wrinkled her nose in distaste. From that day, he’d been ‘Baby Zombie’ to her. He was dead now.