Uninvited Guests
The gravestones stood, silent, row upon row, like long-forgotten soldiers. They were defiant in the ardent light of the rising sun, and standing among them was a woman, comparably rigid. She glared at the faded names and descriptions engraved onto each monument; dark, burnished eyes studying the cemetery. The chill October air gnawed through her coat and sent a shiver sprinting over her fair skin. Standing in utter disregard of the cold, the lone woman inhaled the peace of the moment and exhaled it just as quickly, her breath leaking from her lips as a brief vapor. She often sought out the calm of the morning, when all the earth seemed to be holding its breath, hoping it would help ease her mind. The quiet didn’t succeed in sedating her turbulent thoughts this time, though. It only stirred them further.
She considered the inhabitants of these graves to be lucky. They felt no pain in their eternal slumber, wrapped in a still darkness. She considered them lucky for having escaped the world before hell took its place.
Distant footsteps reached her ears, the rhythm steady and familiar. There was no need to turn and see who approached. She already knew. She could recognize his light, unfaltering gait anywhere.
“I was wondering where you went,” the teenaged boy said, his voice clear and calm like the morning. “What are you doing up here”—uncertainty seeped into his words—“looking at tombstones?”
She glanced at him, noting his jet-black hair was tousled from a night of sleep, but curiosity burned behind his alert, slate-blue eyes. He was a handsome young man and intelligent, too, despite never receiving a proper education. He’d be in college now if things had turned out differently, she thought, frowning.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” she responded, pushing a strand of wavy brown hair from her forehead before looking off over the cemetery.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” he said with a smirk as he watched her expectantly. When she didn’t move to answer, he nudged her with his elbow. “Earth to Aunt Jack.”
It was a nickname, a shortened version of her real name, Jacklynn.
“I just needed to process some things somewhere quiet,” she began, more bluntly this time. “You can’t get much more quiet than a graveyard.”
The teenager chuckled at his aunt’s morbidly cynical remark. “So, what is it you’re processing exactly?”
Jacklynn returned her gaze to the stones and sighed. “It’s been just over eighteen years, Isaac,” she murmured.
“Oh,” Isaac whispered, his eyes dropping to his worn-out combat boots. “I guess it has.” Silence filled the conversation for a few moments before he looked back up. “You never talk about them.”
Jacklynn’s downcast features hardened as she turned an intense brown stare on him. “And, I never will. We’ve been over this.”
Isaac’s eyes fell away again. “I know,” he mumbled.
“We should get moving,” Jacklynn urged before spinning on her heel and walking down the hill to their campsite.
Behind her, she heard her nephew grumble something to the effect of, “Just like that, the moment’s gone.” She shook her head at his complaint as she trailed back down toward where she had left her belongings. Movement in her peripheral made her annoyance vanish, a twinge of adrenaline rippling down her spine.
Two figures lurked at the edge of their camp.
Jacklynn reached for the holster at her thigh and drew her handgun in one quick movement. “Isaac, get down here!”
***
Isaac flinched at his aunt’s call. Her voice carried an unmistakable tension that hadn’t been there before. Something was wrong. Spinning, he hurried down the slope and vaulted over a cluster of rocks before skidding to a surprised halt. His aunt held her pistol with steady hands, the barrel trained on two strangers who had wandered into their campsite.
“How many times have I told you not to leave the camp unattended?” Jacklynn growled at him, her harsh eyes fixed on the anxious intruders she held at gunpoint.
The man and woman, bundled in their scarves, gloves, and coats, had their hands raised in surrender. At a glance, Isaac guessed they were in their mid- to late-twenties. They looked haggard despite their age. The fear in their eyes painted them as no threat, but Jacklynn refused to lower her weapon.
“You picked the wrong campsite to raid,” she said.
“We thought it was abandoned!” the man explained, raised hands trembling. “Please, we don’t mean any harm.”
Jacklynn’s gaze turned fierce. “Stealing our stuff isn’t harmful?”
“I promise, if we knew these belonged to someone, we wouldn’t have touched anything,” the woman replied in a shaky voice, her frightened eyes darting between Jacklynn’s stern face and the firearm.
The older woman’s finger brushed the trigger. “I don’t believe you.”
The strangers gasped at the movement.
“Seriously, Aunt Jack?” Isaac interrupted.
Jacklynn glared at him over her shoulder. “They’ve probably been tailing us for weeks, waiting for a chance to pick us off and take our supplies.” She turned her face back to the strangers. “Over my dead body.”
“Just let them go,” Isaac said. “They’re not even armed.”
“You know better,” Jacklynn snapped. “That kind of thinking will get you killed.” Isaac opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. “They’re a couple of scavengers. Or decoys; part of a larger group waiting to ambush us the second we let our guard down.”
“We’re traveling alone, I swear,” the man said.
“Shut up!” Jacklynn roared. She glared at them for a moment, then, without averting her gaze, said, “Go check them for the mark.”
Isaac sighed before approaching the couple, noting how the woman’s eyes widened.
“The m-mark?” she stammered.
“The mark of the cult,” Isaac responded softly. “Every member has a brand on the left shoulder to show they belong to it.”
“We’re not cultists,” she said. She choked on her words as she finished, eyes glistening. “The cultists are the ones who killed the rest of our group just a few days ago.”
Isaac tensed, studying her. “Did they follow you?”
Shaking her head, she answered, “No. We made sure they lost our trail.”
Isaac stepped closer and slipped his fingers between her skin and the fabric of her shirt and coat. He pulled the material back to reveal her bare shoulder, relieved to find no mark. He repeated the process with the man and yielded the same result, but his eyes widened when he noticed a pinkish, leathery scar stretching across his shoulder and crawling up his neck. It looked like it came from a burn that hadn’t fully healed.
“I had a run-in with a nasty render several months back,” the man said. “Got an infection that made me sick as a dog for a while. It’s part of what spurred us to find a safer place to settle.”
“I’ve never seen a render leave a wound like this,” Isaac murmured thoughtfully.
“It’s just a convenient lie,” Jacklynn interjected. “He probably tried to destroy any evidence that he belongs to the cult.”
The stranger shook his head, opening his mouth to deny her claim, but Isaac spoke up first.
“Neither of them have marks,” he uttered back to this aunt. “Satisfied?”
“No,” Jacklynn retorted, adjusting her grip on the pistol. “They need to be dealt with.”
The man tensed. “You don’t mean …” He trailed off when Isaac stepped out in front of him to confront the armed woman.
“Come on, Aunt Jack, they’re not a problem.”
“Quit acting like I didn’t teach you better,” Jacklynn said in a low voice. “They can’t be trusted.”
“How can you know if you won’t give them a chance?”
Jacklynn’s brows furrowed. “I’ve given out enough chances. This isn’t up for debate.”
“Obviously, it is,” Isaac countered, “unless you plan on shooting me too.”
“Move, Isaac.”
Isaac stood his ground. “No.”
Jacklynn gripped her pistol tighter, her jaw flexing, before resignation eased the harshness in her brown eyes. Slowly, she lowered the weapon. “Man, you’re stubborn.”
“I learned from the best,” Isaac quipped smugly.
“Fine,” Jacklynn muttered, holstering her pistol. “They only live to die another day.” She spun and began gathering her supplies to prepare for the next stretch of their trip.
Isaac, still standing next to the newcomers, turned to face them. “Sorry about all that,” he said with an apologetic smile, rubbing the side of his neck. “We don’t run into a lot of people out here.”
“I can tell,” the man responded in a surprisingly light-hearted tone. “But I guess fighting for survival can make us all do funny things.”
“Funny isn’t the word I’d use,” the woman said with a nervous chuckle, brushing her sleeve over her eyes.
“Well,” the man continued, “as long as she doesn’t point that gun in our direction anymore, I think we’ll be fine. No hard feelings.”
Isaac stared at them, shocked at how well these two were taking all of this, considering they had just been accused of stealing and threatened at gunpoint. “Really? None at all?”
The man shrugged half-heartedly. “There’s not much point holding grudges in this day and age. Waking up and living day-to-day is grim enough before adding any more problems in the mix.” He paused, adjusted his coat, and held out a hand. “I’m Stephen. This is my wife, Casey.”
Isaac accepted the gesture. “I’m Isaac, and that ray of sunshine over there”—he gestured to the older woman on the opposite end of the camp—“is Jacklynn, my aunt.” He looked back at them. “So, where are you two headed?”
“Omaha,” Stephen replied, rubbing his gloved hands together to generate warmth. “We’ve heard good things about it, and with the weather cooling off, we’d really like a safe place to stay through the winter.”
“Gotta love those Nebraska snowstorms,” Casey added with a grin as she flipped her hood over her light-brown locks. She had a simple but pretty face, dotted with freckles here and there, and her smile was bright and genuine. Stephen’s hair was a shade darker, and his disposition was similar to his wife’s: cheerful and relaxed.
“We’re going to Omaha for the winter too,” Isaac said. “It’s our first time heading there, actually. We usually just stay in some of the smaller towns up north and then leave as soon as spring hits.”
“Why would you leave so often?” Casey asked. “Those communities offer shelter, food, and sometimes jobs and homes for people who want them. It seems kind of counterintuitive to me.” She paused and lowered her gaze, as if realizing something. “Unless … the place you stayed last got destroyed?”
“No, nothing like that,” Isaac said, then glanced back at his aunt, noticing how she packed up her things with deliberate, angry movements. He frowned, lowering his voice. “Aunt Jack doesn’t like to stay in one place too long. She says it’s safer to keep moving when we can. Something about renders being more active when it’s warm out.”
“I guess I can see the sense in that,” Stephen agreed. “Give your enemies a moving target, huh?” He smirked, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Well, if you and your aunt are going to Omaha, maybe we can go together. We’d be willing to share what we have, and it’s always a good idea to have a couple extra sets of eyes.”
“Oh … well,” Isaac began in a thoughtful tone, but the sound of footfalls stalking up behind him cut him off.
“Not a chance,” Jacklynn interrupted as she put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him aside before directing her attention to the newcomers. “Just because I didn’t kill you two doesn’t mean we’re all going to be best friends. I still don’t trust you, and you’ll just slow us down, anyway.”
“We’re healthy and quick, though,” Stephen offered. “And we’ve made it this far on our own. What’s the harm in going together if it could benefit all of us?”
“There’s plenty of harm in it,” Jacklynn retorted. “More people, more noise, more problems. We can’t afford to chaperone you two when renders can jump out at any point.”
“Come on, Aunt Jack,” Isaac began, but Jacklynn’s stern expression forced him to silence.
“We’re done talking about this. Get your stuff and let’s go.”
“You’d just leave them?”
Jacklynn gave him an “are-you-serious” look, as if surprised he had to ask. “Yes. Let’s go.”
Isaac scowled at his aunt as she went to finish her packing, then he turned to apologize to Stephen and Casey. Just when he opened his mouth, something in the corner of his vision made his stomach lurch. “Oh, crap.”
“What?” Stephen asked, following Isaac’s line of sight. The blood drained from the man’s face. Hovering in the distance was a render ship, its dark, hulking form silhouetted against the brightening sky.
“Renders!” Isaac shouted as he whirled and snatched up his things.
Jacklynn turned to investigate the commotion, and the moment she laid eyes on the approaching vessel, her features went rigid. “Move, now!” she cried, motioning for the others to follow as she took off in the opposite direction.
Isaac grabbed his pack off the ground and threw it over his shoulders, the weight of it settling against his back as he raced after his aunt, the other two on his heels. The group ran down a gradual slope until the terrain turned into a steep embankment. At the bottom was a wooded area.
“Get to the trees,” Jacklynn demanded.
They descended the rocky hill, wobbling and sliding, paying no heed to all the cuts and bruises they acquired on the way down.
As the scree tumbled in their wake, their feet planted on more level ground, and they darted for the treeline with Jacklynn leading the way. A few yards in, they came to a halt and pressed their backs to the nearest trees with hopes the balding branches would shield them from view.
Isaac swallowed as the hum of the render ship grew closer until the ground vibrated and the air crackled with static. The vessel slid through the sky above like a predator, searching. He stared at it, wide eyes fixed on the eerie blue trails of light shining through its black, jagged hull. He held his breath, his fingertips digging into the coarse bark of the tree behind him. Seconds seemed to stretch into eternity with every heartbeat.
The ship passed over them and then faded from view. All was quiet for a while before Isaac dared to inch away from the tree, craning his neck to look up at the thinning canopy of branches. “I think we’re good for now,” he said, barely above a whisper. “But we should keep moving. That ship acted like it was patrolling the area.” He glanced at Jacklynn. “Stephen and Casey should come with us.”
The older woman glared at him, adjusting the straps of her bag, then let out a sigh. “We don’t have much of a choice at this point. Splitting up would cause more movement and draw their attention right back to us. We’ll travel together for now”—she looked at the couple—“but don’t get used to it.”
“Which way should we go?” Casey asked in a shaky voice, clearly terrified after their narrow escape.
“Southeast,” Jacklynn said bluntly. “Omaha is still the goal. We need to reach it before winter sets in.”
She stalked off, as if expecting the others would follow without further prompting. While Stephen and Casey trailed after her, Isaac paused long enough to glance back at the branches, picturing the render ship that had overshadowed them just minutes prior. A chill trickled down his spine before he turned to rejoin the others.
***
Jacklynn worked her way through the densely wooded area, her boots crushing the dead leaves and twigs that littered the ground. It was the only sound in the silence. That, and the collective footfalls of the others. She assumed they were too shaken up from their close call to chatter with each other. She preferred it that way. Staying quiet and focusing on getting away from the area was the smartest move.
Feeling eyes on her, Jacklynn glanced over her shoulder at the three trudging along behind. Stephen and Casey hurriedly averted their gaze when she looked their way, almost as if they feared repercussions for staring at her too long. Isaac, on the other hand, didn’t flinch when she made eye contact.
Jacklynn knew her nephew was used to her direct behavior. She had raised the boy, after all, since he’d never known his parents. She rarely pulled punches with anyone, and he was no exception. After surviving in this hellish, post-invasion world, she knew he trusted her judgment wholeheartedly, considering she’d managed to keep him alive for the last eighteen years.
Glancing at the young couple again, she remembered how Isaac had advocated for the strangers, like a kid begging to keep a stray dog. Maybe not as wholeheartedly as I thought, she mused, shaking her head at herself.
The group walked for about an hour, trekking through the forest and following game trails here and there. At one point, Jacklynn discovered a small, fast-flowing stream where they paused to fill their canteens to the brim and rest a while before continuing. Feeling a bit more energized after a drink and a moment to catch their breath, Stephen and Casey began talking quietly amongst themselves. Even then, conversations were few and far between.
By the time they cleared the treeline, it was almost noon. It was a clear day, the sun’s rays warding the chill that attempted to bite at them. Their pace quickened once they were beyond the trees. Though there were fewer obstacles to hinder them, Jacklynn remained wary of the possibility of more patrolling render vessels. Being caught in the open might as well have been a death sentence.
They continued to travel over the countryside at a quick, steady speed. The Nebraskan wilderness was a sight to behold, with its distant, rolling hills and abandoned farmland sprawling as far as the eye could see. The landscape almost glowed in the daylight. But it was as unforgiving as it was beautiful. Wildlife, treacherous terrain, and sudden storms or changes in temperature were just a few things people had to worry about. It was often, however, most survivors were more concerned with render attacks or getting kidnapped or killed by cultists and other humans with unwholesome intentions. Every single day proved to be a struggle for those strong or lucky enough to eke out an existence.
As the sun went down and the chill settled in, Jacklynn and Isaac searched for a suitable place to camp for the evening. They were deep into the countryside and a good distance from any large towns or roads. There appeared to be nothing for miles until Isaac pointed out a structure to the south, silhouetted in the dying light.
“What is that?” he asked, squinting at the building. “An old church?”
Jacklynn followed his gaze and saw a small, worn-down structure nestled at the top of an outcropping of rocks like a watchtower. A steeple with a cross rising from the roof was barely visible from where they stood. “Looks like it,” she responded with a frown.
“That’d be a great place to make camp,” Stephen said, his tone brighter with the prospect of not having to spend a night out in the open.
“It’ll do,” Jacklynn muttered before hiking off toward the building. The other three followed, and they reached the church grounds in a few minutes. The horizon had almost swallowed the last ray of sunlight by the time they approached the entrance.
Jacklynn turned and gestured at the others to stay outside. She pulled out her handgun and walked up the steps to the main doors, the old wood and rusted hinges creaking as she entered. It was dark inside, with only the dimmest trace of crimson dusk coming through the colored panes on the west wall. The musty smell of rotting wood filled her nostrils. Unclipping a small hand-crank flashlight from her bag, she switched it on, then rested her gun hand over the wrist of the one holding the light. The beam floated through the shadows of the room as she scoured the place for threats that could be lurking within. After a quick sweep, she was satisfied the building was safe and returned to wave the other three inside.
Stephen and Casey dug out their own emergency flashlights as they came in, allowing the group to see the space more clearly.
To say the sanctuary was worse for wear would have been an understatement. Holes peppered the ceiling and the floorboards, which groaned underfoot. Pews were overturned, the baby grand piano on the stage had caved in, and hymnals and papers littered the ground. Many of the stained-glass windows were cracked or completely broken.
“It’s a shame,” Casey said as she waved away some of the dust that stirred up upon their entry. “I bet this place was really beautiful in its heyday.”
“Can you imagine what it used to look like on a Sunday morning?” Stephen added in a whimsical tone before he began pointing his light to various areas of the sanctuary. “Pianist at the bench, rows of people filling the pews, all lifting their voices in harmony. Almost makes me wish I could jump back in time just so I could see it.”
Jacklynn snorted at his words but held her tongue, focused instead on gathering up some papers, books, and general debris. She organized all the items on the floor, grabbed an old box she had found, then headed back outside.
***
Isaac’s imagination ran wild with the picture Stephen’s words painted. “I get churches were places of worship,” he began as he glanced around, “but what exactly were people praying to?”
Stephen looked at him. “They prayed to God.”
“I know that much, but what god?”
“The God,“ Stephen answered with a smile. “The creator of the universe and everything in it.”
Isaac gave the man a wary look. “You almost sound like one of those cultists when you talk like that.”
Stephen chuckled before walking down the aisle and pointing at a large wooden cross at the back of the stage, battered and dusty, but still standing. “That right there,” he began, “is the difference between what I believe and what the cult believes. Love over hate, salvation over destruction.”
“Aunt Jack would say that’s all too good to be true,” Isaac replied. Shortly after he spoke, his aunt returned, carrying various sizes of rocks and sticks in a box. She bent down to arrange the gravel in a layer directly beneath the largest hole in the ceiling.
“People used to come to places like this to learn more about God,” Stephen went on, drawing Isaac’s attention again. “Sometimes they’d enter the doors of churches and then leave a completely different person.”
Isaac arched a brow, holding back a snicker. “You make it sound like some sort of magical transformation.”
“Oh, it’s not like that. It—it was more about just making a choice, then committing to it every day for the rest of your life.” Stephen paused, glancing around the room as his expression grew distant. “My dad was a preacher, but I still didn’t get to spend much time in churches before the invasion happened. I was only about six or seven, I think. But what time I did spend, I experienced things that are kind of hard to explain.”
“It’s just a building,” Jacklynn muttered from where she knelt over her work.
“You’re right,” Stephen agreed, and the older woman glanced back at him, surprised. “It is just a building. Church was always more about the people, not the place. In the Bible, it mentions that where only a few people gather in the name of Christ, he’s there among them. Churches were just a nice meeting place; somewhere to create the right kind of atmosphere so they could welcome God into their hearts.”
“Oh, please,” Jacklynn scoffed at him. “No one believes in that kind of thing anymore. Anyone who does is just as crazy as those render-worshiping cultists.”
“You have every right to believe that,” Stephen replied, “the same way I have the right to believe what I believe.”
“Wait,” Isaac interjected, “what’s the Bible?”
“The Christian instruction manual,” Casey answered with a sweet smile. She reached into her husband’s backpack and pulled out a book. “Our faith is rooted in every word written in there,” she said, handing it to Isaac. “If you can read, you should give it a look.”
“I read enough to get by.”
“Did your parents teach you?”
Isaac went still before sparing a glance over at Jacklynn. “No. They … my parents died. I was too little to remember. My aunt’s the one who raised me and taught me everything I know.”
“That’s too bad about your parents,” Stephen said, “but it sounds like your aunt’s taken good care of you.”
Isaac looked at Jacklynn again, watching as she pulled out a half-used matchbook and lit the kindling. The flame grew and cast a warm glow through the sanctuary. Then she sat, pulling out her pistol and a small maintenance kit from her bag, disassembling the gun to clean it. He turned back to Casey when she started to speak.
“Is it just you two now? No other family?”
Isaac nodded as he walked over and sat down beside his aunt, warming himself by the fire. The other two joined them, getting comfortable and pulling out some rations from their bags. He watched them in silence for a minute, the urge to keep talking about his parents growing. No one had ever asked about them. Stephen and Casey were the first people that he could remember to show some amount of interest for his family. Peering at Jacklynn, he had a feeling she would get annoyed if he brought it up, but as the words pooled on his tongue, he couldn’t help himself.
“From what Aunt Jack’s told me, my mom used to work for the news, and my dad was a researcher for some kind of space flight organization. I have one of his old field journals and a memory drive.” He pulled a sealed plastic bag from his inner coat pocket, revealing the small notebook and device inside. “I don’t really understand any of the notes, but it’s nice having them. Looking at my dad’s handwriting makes me feel closer to him.”
“I bet,” Casey said softly.
“I don’t know what’s on the memory drive yet,” he continued, turning the bag over in his hand. “There’s not a ton of working computers lying around for me to plug it into. But, I’ve been thinking that there might be one in Omaha when we get there. Maybe I can get a chance to use it.”
A movement to the side drew Isaac’s attention, and he glanced over to catch his aunt shaking her head, her lips pursed with contempt while she worked on her pistol. Averting his eyes, he picked at one of his frayed bootlaces.
“Well, I hope so,” Stephen chimed in, bringing Isaac’s gaze back up. “There could be all sorts of treasures on there.”
Isaac opened his mouth to respond, but Jacklynn interrupted.
“You take first watch, Isaac. I’m going to sleep. Don’t let these two fill your head with nonsense all night long.”
***
Jacklynn stood and left the circle, moving over to the stage and stepping up on it. She eased her body down to the dusty floor and attempted to get comfortable. Isaac and the newcomers spoke in low voices on the opposite end of the sanctuary while she stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore them. Shifting around on the rough floorboards, her eyes wandered to the dimly lit cross to her left, standing almost protectively over her. She stared at it for a long time, noting its chipped, white paint and beveled edges.
An image of a similar cross settled behind her eyes. It seemed so tall back when she was a little girl, barely ten years old. Her life hadn’t been much easier as a child, before the invasion and before Isaac.
When her father had returned wounded after his second tour in Afghanistan, he wasn’t the same. She distinctly remembered coming home from school almost every day to find him laid up on the couch, the rancid smell of alcohol on his breath. Mom had always said he’d taken up drinking to cope with the stresses of the war and the PTSD, but it eventually got so bad that he couldn’t hold down a job. Jacklynn’s shoulders tensed at the memory. It had placed a lot of strain on the rest of the family. For years, her mother was forced to work two jobs to pick up the slack. Then, on Sundays, she started taking Jacklynn and her little sister to church to give them a safe place away from their father, whose words soured and fists hardened after one too many drinks. It had been a good idea at the time, now that she thought about it. It helped them get through a trying period in their family history.
Still, even with the heartaches and disorder of her childhood, things were simpler back then. There was a point when she’d believed in a loving God, in a savior who’d given His life to save the lost, in a Heavenly Father more loving than her own.
No more, Jacklynn thought with a frown as she rolled over, turning her back on the cross. She blocked out the muffled voices across the room and the soft, flickering light of the fire. Sleep overtook her before she realized it, yet it offered little peace.
