The day after: An apocalyptic morning (131 page)

              "My God," Mindy cried, her hands at her face, her own eyes bugging out in disbelief. "What have you done? They'll kill you! They'll kill all of us!"

              "Keep your voice down," Maddie said, wiping her knife on a relatively clean part of the Mickress.

              "But you killed him! You murdered him!"

              "Yes we did," she said. "And it felt good too. I almost came in my panties watching that fuckhead flopping around. I only wish it could've taken longer."

              "Maddie, Kendall, what are you doing? Why did you do this?"

              "Shhh," Kendall said, stepping forward, her trembling hand still holding the flashlight. "We're not the only ones."

              "Whu... whu... what?"

              "This is happening all over town," Kendall told her. "At least we hope it is."

              "All over town?" she asked, trying to grasp what she was being told.

              "It's a revolution," Maddie said. "Soon, this entire town will be in our hands."

              "Our hands?" Mindy asked, still unable to keep from staring at the dead body of her former husband.

              "The women's hands," Maddie clarified. "And it's about Goddamn time. Now the question you have to ask yourself, Mindy, is are you with us or are you with the men? You need to decide right here, right now." She left unsaid just what would happen if Mindy declared that she was against. Mindy, one of the tattletale variety in the past, had been left out of the conspiracy for this reason. But now it was all or nothing. Maddie was fully prepared to dispatch her in a way very similar to Livingston's own murder if she did not agree to go along.

              Mindy continued to stare at the corpse of the man who had raped her on a nearly nightly basis, who had put himself into her ass, who had beaten her, slapped her, kicked her, who had sprayed his semen all over her body and face. She was certainly not upset at the fact of his death in and of itself, only of the possible ramifications of it. Could what Maddie was saying possibly be true?

              "Well?" Maddie said, her hand gripping the knife a little tighter.

              "I'm with you," Mindy said. "We'll probably all die, but I'm with you."

              As Maddie had said and as Kendall had hoped, the same scenario was being repeated all over town, in every house where a man lay sleeping. In every case at least one woman was a firm member of Jessica's clan; in most, two of three or four wives were in on it; and in one case, all of the three wives were in. Not every attack went as smoothly or as silently as the attack upon Livingston had, nor did every recruitment of the wives not in on the plan go as easily.

              In Sergeant Preston's house, the good sergeant was awakened by the sound of his wife entering the bedroom to perform the deed. This forced her to move a little quicker, a little more frantically than she'd planned and Preston managed to get his hand on her wrist just as the knife came whistling in. Fortunately the wife that had been lying next to him was in on the scheme and was able to temporarily disable him - by means of grabbing his testicles and squeezing as hard as she could - long enough for her to break free and drive the knife into his chest. She was then forced - while the other wife held her hand over his mouth to keep him from crying out - to worm and squirm the blade back and forth until enough blood vessels and vital organs were ruptured to cause unconsciousness secondary to blood loss.

              In Sergeant Bristle's house, surprise was achieved but the initial knife thrust was not deep enough to either sever the trachea or rip open a carotid artery. Bristle screamed and fought for the better part of ten seconds before the tip of the sharpened knife was finally thrust directly into his Adam's apple hard enough to lodge into the cervical spine behind it.

              In Corporal Patton's house, the assassination went off without a hitch but the entire rebellion was nearly exposed when Cindy, the senior wife, who was not in on the plot, tried to run screaming into the night to find the roaming interior patrol and alert them. Cindy was stopped at the door by having the knife driven into her shoulder blades and then she was choked to death in the entryway.

              In all, however, despite a few close calls, every woman that had agreed to perform their deadly task acted upon it and every man targeted, one way or another, ended up dead. In the space of fifteen minutes, thirty of the remaining forty-five soldiers (this count did not include Barnes himself) were dead along with three wives that elected not to participate in the uprising. It pained the conspirators to have to kill their fellow women - in no case did they enjoy doing it - but they all did it without hesitation.

              Though a few screams and bangs and frantic struggles managed to sound outside the walls of their houses, the five-man patrol of men that was wandering through the night streets, searching for potential escapees or infiltrators, were never close enough to hear them. They continued on their rounds, unaware that their minority status in town had just become considerably more minor.

              Many of the women that had participated in the killings simply held in place, awaiting the next stage of the developments. Where it was possible, one representative from each household in which a sleeping man had been dispatched made their way to the rallying point just adjacent to the high school building. This only occurred in the households where more than one wife had been in on the plot from the beginning. In those houses where a single wife had done the deed, that wife stayed put in order to keep an eye on the recently recruited co-wives.

              In other houses, houses where the men were off on the Garden Hill mission but the women were part of Jessica's plot, those women slipped out and made their way to the rallying point as well. These women - sixty of them had been chosen to participate in the next phase - came armed with knives and clubs but no firearms. As per Barnes' long-standing order, no firearms were stored in houses. All of them were either in storage in the high school building or with the guards on post.

              The women made their way carefully, stealthily through the darkened streets, keeping well clear of the roving patrol for the time being. This was easy to do since the patrol used flashlights to illuminate their path. Whenever the bobbing of lights was seen in the distance, or the clanking of the automatic weapons that they carried was heard, the woman would simply hunker down somewhere and wait for them to pass or move away. By 3:00 AM, the agreed upon time for rally, all sixty women involved had checked in with Jessica, who had been waiting anxiously in place since shortly after 2:00.

              Jessica, though the tacit leader of the revolt and the inspiration behind it, was not the operational leader. She had learned enough about her own shortcomings to delegate that to others who were more knowledgeable about fighting and strategy. Five of the women in her phase two group had served in the military in their pre-comet lives. Though, being women, none of them had been combat soldiers, all had gone through basic training just like the men had. The fact that Jessica had allowed this portion of the plot to be planned by and placed in the hands of others was perhaps a testament to how badly she had been stung by her Garden Hill experiences. She knew that there was but one chance for this and one chance only.

              As it happened, Madeline was the designated leader of the operational portions. She had served two terms in the army, rising to the rank of sergeant in charge of a supply loading operation. Still she had qualified as expert with her weapon consistently in training and had taken many of the advanced leadership classes offered to her.

              "Okay," Jessica whispered to her after roll call had been taken. "We have confirmation that twenty-three of the thirty are dead. Of the other seven, we can probably assume that most, if not all of them, are dead as well. No alarm has been raised and the patrol has been spotted circling normally around town."

              Maddie nodded, still gripping the knife she had used to kill Livingston with. "I don't like to assume things," she said. "But in this case, I guess we don't really have a choice. Is Carla here?"

              "She's here and ready for action," Jessica said. "Shall we move in?"

              "Let's do it," Maddie agreed. "Put Carla out in front and the rest of us will hang just outside the arc of the light."

              Sergeants Schuyler and Dewey were standing guard in front of the main entrance to the high school. They had been on shift since 6:00 PM the previous evening and were not due to be relieved until 6:00 AM. The twelve-hour guard shifts were something new - a result of the majority of the men being away on the Garden Hill mission. Both of the senior sergeants, aside from feeling extreme fatigue and boredom, thought it beneath them to be assigned to such a lowly post for so many straight hours. But both knew better than to nod off or do anything but stand at attention before the door. Barnes was known to make unannounced visits to the posts, particularly this one since he slept right upstairs. The penalty for being inattentive on duty was three days of house arrest and reduced rations. The penalty for sleeping on duty was death by hanging.

              "Three more fucking hours," Schuyler groaned, looking at his watch. "I can't take it. I'm going batshit here."

              "No shit," Dewey agreed. "I'd almost rather be on the march than pulling guard duty." He considered for a moment. "Almost."

              "You got any more smokes?" Schuyler wanted to know. "I ran out an hour ago."

              "It ain't my fuckin fault you smoked up your rations. Don't even think you're getting any of mine."

              "Hey fuck you," Schuyler said angrily. "Don't be so stingy. Don't you remember when..." He stopped as Dewey suddenly hit him on the shoulder and leveled his rifle foreword. "What? What is it?"

              "Who goes there?" Dewey said, his finger tightening on the trigger. The figure approaching out of the darkness was obviously female, and females were forbidden from being out after 10:00 PM for any reason. "Answer up now!"

              Schuyler leveled his own weapon and reached for the radio on his belt. It was tuned to the frequency of the guard posts and the interior patrol and could summon them in a Micker of seconds. Barnes also monitored the frequency when he was awake.

              "Don't shoot!" a meek, feminine voice pleaded. "It's me, Carla."

              "Carla?" Schuyler said, recognizing the voice of his junior wife. He lowered his rifle a little. "What the fuck are you doing out here? You know that's a beating offense!"

              "I'm sorry," she said. "I had to." She walked closer, her hands empty, nothing the least bit suspicious looking about her. She seemed genuinely scared.

              "You had to? What the fuck for?" Schuyler demanded. "Get your ass over here and start making some sense right now!"

              She walked over, coming fully into the cone of light that was cast by a security spotlight mounted on the roof. "It's Jan and Laura," she said, seemingly near tears. "They're... they're..." She stopped, apparently too emotional to go on.

              "They're what?" Dewey, impatient said, staring at her. "Tell us what the fuck is going on or I'll beat you myself!"

              "They're gone," she said. "I woke up to go to the bathroom and they weren't there! I think they're trying to escape."

              "Oh Jesus," Schuyler said, shaking his head. Several of the militia members had been afraid something like that would happen while the bulk of the forces were gone. The temptation to make a run for it would be just too great. He reached for his radio to alert the interior patrol, not knowing that he had already fallen for the ruse his wife had set for him. Carla was simply a distraction, something to detract the attention of the two guards during a critical minute. That critical minute had passed.

              Before he could get his hand on the radio, before either of the men could swing their weapons upward or even comprehend what was going on, more than fifty women suddenly rushed at them from just beyond the edge of the lighted area. They were on them in a second, knocking them flat to the ground. Hands pinned their legs while other hands forcibly pulled their arms out to the sides, slapping them to the cold cement. Before either man could cry out, other hands put knives against their throats.

              "Don't say a fuckin word, either of you," ordered Carla, standing over the top of them, her voice no longer meek and mild.

              "That's right," said Jessica, coming up behind her. "If so much as a squeak passes those lips, your throat will be cut so fast you won't know what hit you."

              Both men looked up into the hostile sea of female faces in fear. Both wondered what the hell was going on here. How could something like this happen? What were these women doing? This was impossible!

              It was more than possible as they both quickly figured out. The women moved quickly, rolling them over onto their stomachs and pulling their rifles free of them. Maddie and one of the other women with military experience were given possession of the weapons. Their sidearms were stripped next and these were given to two other women, Jessica being one of them. She held a gun in her hand for the first time since she'd tried to kill Skip back in Garden Hill. Ironically, or perhaps not, it was the exact same type of weapon. Her hand shook a little and then she put it in her waistband, making sure the safety was on.