After (Book 3): Milepost 291 by Scott Nicholson

he’d been
forced to endure their presence, they seemed even more grotesque now than when
they were wantonly destroying all things in their path.
    Even
creepier, he was losing his perception of what life had been like Before. He
was losing all sense of normalcy and the great psychological security blanket
of civilization, and this was becoming his reality .
    “Don’t
tell me these starry-eyed fucks are telepathic,” Campbell said.
    “I
am not sure that’s the right word for it,” the professor said. “You see how
they copy our phonetics and tone. Clearly they don’t have a grasp of language,
at least not human language. If they could truly read minds, they’d have
already absorbed the sum of our knowledge and memories.”
    “Damn,
don’t tell me they know about that Penthouse magazine I accidentally
left in my mom’s sewing room. Or the Zapheads I killed in Taylorsville.”
    The
professor’s face took on that vacant, rapt look again, as if falling back into
his messiah complex—the spiritual leader of the strangely changed, the Christ
of After.
    “Or
perhaps what we think we know is useless to them,” he said.
    Stuff
it in a psycho fortune cookie.
    Rachel
stirred, and Campbell knelt by her side. As for what he did next, he couldn’t
be sure whether he was trying to comfort her or comfort himself.
    But
he wanted something solid in a wobbly, watery, illusory world.
    He
took her hand and held it, watching the blanket rise and fall with her
breathing until the sound of her exhalation became a wind of hope, drowning out
the mad mumbling of the Zaphead hordes.

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
     
    The
river widened and grew shallow, and DeVontay’s kayak scraped bottom.
    He
soon found himself spending more time climbing out of the boat and wading than
he did paddling. But at least he’d left the Zapheads behind.
    Much
of the flood plain featured ragged grass meadows, with a few cows and horses
foraging between autumnal tree lines. Houses were set here and there along the
banks, built on stilts or higher out of the flood plain, and a narrow paved
road meandered alongside the waterway. DeVontay imagined that was the route
used by the bicyclists who rented from the outfitters. He wondered if he should
have taken a bike instead of the kayak, but something about being out in the
water made him feel safer.
    Not
likely a Zapper is going to pop up and drag me under like an alligator.
    He
thought about going ashore and checking out some of the houses, maybe finding a
secure place to hole up for the night, but he was reluctant to risk
encountering any more mutants. He had enough food to make it another day before
he’d have to forage again. Mostly he was too disheartened to step over any more
dead bodies or smell the stench of a society gone by.
    The
kayak bottom out on some slick stones, and he stepped into shallow water to
free it. At least here in the open air he could almost fool himself into
believing he was on a recreational outing. Just a man against nature, a
dark-skinned Daniel Boone with a glass eye and a thirst for adventure.
    What
if the Zapheads ARE nature? What if they’re the way we were meant to be? Maybe
they’re normal and I’M the freak.
    Exhausted
by the sheer demands of survival, he’d given little contemplation to the solar
storms and the larger forces that had swept across the planet. Without Rachel
and Stephen, he wasn’t sure how much longer he wanted to fight.
    If
only he—
    “Hey,
you!”
    DeVontay,
knee deep in water, nearly lost his grip on the kayak. He shielded his hand over
his eyes to block the late-afternoon sun reflecting off the water.
    “Who’s
there?” he said. The voice had come from the far shore, which was thick with
wiry vegetation and shadows.
    “You’re
not a Zaphead, are you?”
    It
was a man’s voice, and DeVontay could barely make out a form in the murk. “I’m
talking, aren’t I? You ever heard a Zaphead talk?”
    “Depends
on what you mean by