Dwellers of the Night: The Complete Collection (104 page)

about the satellites in orbit breaking? I don’t know. We soon had well over three thousand people, and feeding them was a
bitch
. We soon extinguished all food supplies from New Harmony—we get the water from the river—and so we began airlifting them in from outside the city limits. We have six checkpoints established around the city. We work 24-7 on alternating shifts. The next shift leaves in fifteen minutes, ferrying the gathered supplies back to New Harmony. And by the time they get here, the next crew will be gone and back from gathering more supplies. And the process will continue.”

“You gather supplies at night?”

“We don’t have a choice. The demands are too rigid. There’s even talk about leaving New Harmony in the future, unless we can find a way to grow our own food. A difficult task, with the large numbers, the suburbs, and the absence of electrical engineering. It’s like it was back in the 1600s. We’re currently planning a trial run several miles north of the city, fortifying several hundred acres and then growing crops.”

“Yes, but at night, the dark-walkers are out, and…”

“And it’s dangerous, to be sure. We’ve lost some people. But we’ve gotten good at what we do. That’s why we have the men with the sniper rifles and night vision goggles. We have grenades, explosives, automatic shotguns. We have an edge on the dark-walkers. But to be honest, some people are getting… anxious. It’s almost as if… and slap me across the face for being ludicrous, please do…

But it’s almost as if they’re evolving, growing smarter. Leaders are emerging. Alpha Males.”

The man nods. “I know. I looked one in the eyes.”

They don’t talk for some time.

“Tell me about New Harmony,” the man says. His cigarette is almost out.

“The Boss likes to meet everyone new. He’ll explain it to you tomorrow.”

The door opens again. They both turn around.

A man in a doctor’s gown stands there. He gives the man’s name.

“That’s me,” the man says.

“We’re ready for you. Your friend is taken-care of. He’ll be fine by morning.”

“All right,” the man says.

As he leaves, he pauses, turns back to Nathan: “I want my knife back.”

The man is exhausted by the time he leaves the doctor’s room. His side aches, freshly stitched, and he can still feel the hydrogen peroxide burning. He finds the door to the room and enters. The candles along the walls still burn. Katie and Mark sleep in the bed, lying next to one another, under the covers. The man doesn’t see Sarah anywhere. He moves to one of the cots and sits down, wincing in pain. It is nearly 1:30 in the morning. He pulls out another cigarette and lights it up, the cherry burning bright.

The door to the bathroom opens and Sarah exits the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. The man looks up, sees part of her upper thigh through the folds in the towel, and he quickly looks away. “I’m sorry.”

Sarah doesn’t say anything, walks over to the vanity. A set of clothes. She grabs them and walks back to the bathroom. She goes inside and shuts the door. The man continues smoking. A few moments later, the door opens again and she exits, dressed in a pair of khakis and a loose-fitting shirt. The man’s eyes are drawn to her damp hair, falling over her shoulders. He looks away again. Sarah tosses a pair of clothes into his lap as she walks past: “Those are yours. We’re leaving early in the morning. You’d better shower. You smell like shit.”

“Thanks,” the man mutters. He goes into the bathroom.

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The hot water running over his body is intoxicating. For the first fifteen minutes he doesn’t wash, just stands there, leaning against the shower wall, feeling the water coursing down his back, his arms, his legs, tickling his hair. He forces himself to lather up with soap and shampoo. He turns off the water, steps out of the shower. The mirror is fogged. A candle is lit upon the tall window’s sill, the flame sending light in arcs about the cramped bathroom. Water drips down his legs and onto the tile floor. Kira would always yell at him—“Dry off in the shower, you’re getting water everywhere!” The last time he took a hot shower was the morning he left for Germany, the morning he kissed her sweetly on the lips, told her he loved her. The last time he ever truly saw her before the disease turned her into a hell-bent monster. He stands before the mirror, sees his gaunt face, and he can spy a tear tracing down his cheek. The ambience and the atmosphere restores to life long-lost memories. He draws a subterranean breath and refuses to think about her. He quickly shaves, the stubble falling into the sink. Ten minutes later, he rubs his hands over his chin and face, feels the smoothness. He brushes his teeth for twenty minutes, trying to remove the buildup of plaque. He is standing before the mirror, looking at his new appearance, an image that could have been taken during the good days of being a pilot and being in love with a woman he could hold every morning and every night. A knock comes at the door.

The man takes a deep breath: “What?”

Sarah’s voice: “I’m sorry.”

The man doesn’t say anything back.

“I didn’t mean it,” Sarah says. “I swear I didn’t mean it.”

The man just stares at his own reflection, his own hollow eyes. “It’s all right.”

“I know you’re decent,” she says. “Everyone’s selfish.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“No. That’s not what I… Shit.”

The man turns, opens the door. She’s standing there in pajamas.

“You changed,” he says.

“They had pajamas in one of the drawers. I got some for you, too.”

“That’s okay.”

She nods. “All right.” She looks into his eyes. “Again, I’m sorry. Foolish words.”

“Again,” the man says, “it’s all right. We all say… foolish things.”

“Okay,” Sarah says.

“Okay,” the man says.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

The man shuts the door, returns to the mirror.

His thoughts of Kira are gone.

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Chapter Thirty-Five

New Harmony

“Illusion is the first of all pleasures.”

- Sir Oscar Wilde (A.D. 1854-1900)

I

The man stands outside the front doors to the mansion, smoking one of his last cigarettes. He hopes that wherever they’re going, cigarettes will be readily available. He hears footsteps behind him, and Nathan emerges with the others. Katie is tired, Sarah is holding a Styrofoam cup of hot coffee, and Mark looks surprisingly well. The man continues smoking his cigarette, asks Mark how he’s feeling. Mark replies that he’s still somewhat weak, but feeling “capital.” Sarah hands the man her cup of coffee. The man thanks her, tosses out his cigarette, begins sipping the coffee. Sarah says, “It’s black. No sugar. No cream. Just how you like it.” The man nods, doesn’t say anything more. Nathan leads them across the lawn to the only remaining helicopter. The other two have already taken off, and the last one can be faintly heard in the distance, the steady thrum of rotating propeller blades. Nathan slides open the door to the passenger cabin, and they climb inside. The floor of the passenger cabin is padded leather, the seats are leather, the walls are leather with pockets. Underneath one of the seats is a cooler; underneath the other seat is a compartment filled with emergency flotation devices. Nathan is the last one in, and he slides the door shut, throws back the lock. They buckle up as the pilot ignites the engine, releases the propeller brake, and allows the propellers to begin their steady whine.

“This is like the helicopter from ‘Jurassic Park’,” Katie says as the Agusta AW109A Power Elite helicopter begins to rise off the ground. The Pratt & Whitney PW206C engine floods the helicopter with power, and soon their slow ascent becomes much quicker. The man leans to the side and peers out the PLEXIGLAS window, sees the Victorian mansion with its stone shrine disappearing beneath them, then arcing off to the right as the helicopter’s rudders bring it to face west. The helicopter levels out, three thousand feet above the ground, and the man leans back in his seat, takes a deep breath, tries to relax. He wants another cigarette. And another cup of coffee. He lets the empty Styrofoam cup fall to the padded leather floor.

The helicopter flies west. No one talks. The man peers out the window, watching subdivisions and malls and parks slowly roll past. They fly over the infamous Fleming Park, with the snaking Blue Springs Lake to the north and Lake Jacomo to the south. There is an old yacht thrust against Jacomo’s western shore, half-sinking and lodged in the mud. The helicopter banks northwest, and the intersecting Missouri River and Kansas River can be seen to the north. The helicopter flies over Raytown Athletic Field Park, which is adjacent to the Arrowhead Stadium and its sibling, Kauffman Stadium. The helicopter’s rudders pull it west, and up ahead are several skyscrapers: downtown Kansas City, Missouri. The helicopter begins to slow, and out the window, the man can see that several of the buildings surrounding downtown have been burned to the ground; amidst the rubble Anthony Barnhart

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have been erected fifteen fifty-foot concrete barriers with assorted gates for the passing of vehicles. There are several guard-towers, and the man can see figures inside, the size of ants. Nathan tells him,

“They’re to keep out your infected and the bandits.”

The helicopter is slowing now, and it flies around the Kansas City Power & Light skyscraper. It heads towards the buildings not burned down, those encompassing several city squares. There are ten large buildings held within the encompassing barriers, and Nathan rings them off his tongue. The man hardly listens. They near the largest skyscraper, a black monolithic tower: the Doubletree Downtown, once a fantastic hotel for the rich and famous. The man sees the other helicopters sitting atop a shorter building, the Westin Hotel; they are being unloaded, the goods carried inside. The helicopter descends, and the man grips the chair’s armrest as it makes a quiet landing atop the Doubletree. The engine is cut, the magnetos flipped, the rotor brake ignited. The propellers whine to a slow, monotonous crawl. Men appear from the small covered doorway of the roof. They open the doors and help everyone out. They stand upon the roof, in the warm morning sun, feeling the wind ripping at their clothes. Nathan sucks in a deep breath of air, says, “Welcome to New Harmony: the final utopian society on planet earth.”

II

From his perch atop the rooftop, the man can see to the north the Wheeler Downtown airport. There are several commercial airliners parked against the gates, the accordion walkways stretched to the airplane entrances. The man has not seen an intact commercial airplane for some time, and he closes his eyes, pushes back the memories of his flying days. Nathan grabs him by the arm, and the man looks at him. “This way. The Boss wants to meet you guys.” His trance is shattered, and the four of them follow Nathan down the roof doorway and into the stomach of the skyscraper.

They descend several flights of stairs until they reach Level 184. They walk down the hallway until they get to the room at the end of the hall. There are several guards standing beside the door. Nathan talks to them in hushed whispers, and they step away. Nathan beckons the newcomers to come with him, and they enter the room. At one time it had been a presidential suite, with a living area, a dining room, a large bathtub, and two bedrooms. A balcony. The man notices that the lights in the room are turned on, and a radio plays some sort of jazz CD. The room is finely kept, with several sofas and chairs, a bookcase filled with books. Atop the glass coffee table are several philosophical writings. Nathan leads them to one of the bedrooms, which has been turned into an office. Behind the desk, against the window overlooking the Wheeler airport, sits a lanky man with nicely-combed auburn hair. The man looks up at them, smiles, stands. He shakes their hands, tells Nathan he can leave. Nathan slips out the door. The man introduces himself: “The name’s Keith Sampson. Welcome to New Harmony. We’re glad you’re here.”

Keith leads them to the living area, and he instructs them to sit down. Mark, Katie, and Sarah take one of the sofas, and the man sits alone on one of the cushioned chairs. “The first New Harmony was constructed in 1814. It was just called Harmony at the time, and it was founded by the Harmony Society, led by a German immigrant named Johann Rapp. It was a pietist commune. A religious society. It was built in Indiana, and when the Germans decided to move to Pennsylvania, the Anthony Barnhart

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community was bought by Richard Owen, a religious skeptic known worldwide. Owen sought to make a utopian society, but it eventually failed. What we have here is ‘New Harmony.’ It’s a new experiment in communal living, and it’s been working out
wonderfully
. The reason the German pietists and Richard Owen failed in their attempts is that they sought to distill the innate human nature through rules and regulations. Where they have failed, we are succeeding. A true utopian society acknowledges the nature of mankind and lets mankind live as he is
supposed
to live.”

Keith crosses his arms, smiles. “Before August 11, 2011, society constrained mankind’s passions. Society erected all sorts of rules and regulations to try and ‘civilize’ man. A foolish endeavor, don’t you see? It is like taking a tiger and thrusting it into downtown New York City and demanding that it shop for its goods and pay rent for its living quarters and to not eat bloody meat. It just can’t happen. Society took mankind—we are, after all, just animals—and tried to turn us into gods. The result? Vast dullness and emptiness in life. Thoreau said that the majority of men live their lives in quiet desperation. This is because they were forced to wear shoes not fit to their shoe size. What I mean is, they were forced to be something they were not. New Harmony is without constraints. We encourage everyone to live out their passions. There are three primary ingredients to what it means to be human: the need to survive, which we have accomplished. The need for community, which we have provided. And the need for sexual gratification, which we have allowed—and encouraged. No one who comes to New Harmony ever wants to leave. They find everything they are looking for, and they enjoy life even more than in the days prior to the infection.”