We didn’t think anyone would threaten us. The thought of war never entered my head. After the beating humanity took in the apocalypse, why would any man wage war? How can you justify the loss when there were so few of us left?
I found out later that the states attacked Vegas to purge sin from the world. We were without sin, our society was pure and good, or as close to it as I can imagine. That slaughter filled me with a rage so all encompassing that I haven’t felt anything else since.
I was on the roof performing a sermon when we heard the helicopters. I hadn’t heard the sound of a chopper in so long I assumed it was weather, but there they came, up the Strip, a swarm of black helicopters. Their engines churned and blades spun and the noise of it disturbed all peace far and wide.
One of their numbers detached and hovered in front of the Sedgewick Hotel, north on the Strip. The chopper stood there for a moment, like it was in contemplation, and then its guns went off. I couldn’t hear the gunfire over the swarm’s cacophony, but I watched the muzzles flash and the side of the Sedgewick imploded and glass rain down upon the earth. The keepers of the Sedgewick fled out onto the street and were run down by men in trucks, who seemed to slip in during the distraction of the helicopters. They looked like ants and toy cars from where perched. It was ugly, a butchering. The Sedgewick held thirteen families, all survivors of the Plagues who had traveled together in caravan before they settled in Vegas. They joined the Vegas colony two weeks before my flock had.
I looked back to my flock. They stood in still shock at the carnage. I broke the spell with a call to arms. I screamed and slapped and shook men and women alike.
‘Go to arms! Defend the Vesper!’
I thought for certain they had come to take our beautiful city. I thought they had come for our food and buildings and our wells. I could not imagine they would kill us for some antiquated imagined debt.
My flock took to action. The world had gone so bad for them, and then to find peace, and then to lose it again. They left me on the roof, swinging my birch Moses staff in the air, screaming commands to the wind. A helicopter took notice of us and flew over. It fired into the broadside of the building with missiles, punching holes across the front. The air filled with return fire of my flock, pops of rifles, the shouts of the wounded and dying, and glass, fucking glass raining to the streets from all those majestic shelters. The helicopter hovered and pounded the Vesper relentlessly. I strode to the edge of the roof and pointed my staff at the helicopter, willing it to fall apart. It just kept tearing into our beautiful building, with all of my people inside. I shook my staff at the sky and yelled at God. I remember that. I yelled at God. I thrust my staff at the helicopters strafing the families on the Strip and swung it to the one hovering just below me. I commanded the Lord to strike these murderers from the sky, to smite the slayers, to slay them!”
Reverend Greek wheezed and fought to clear his throat. His face darkened and his hard breathes turned into a ragged cough. He slumped over the side of the couch and let his lungs regain the air to breath. Terence and Lead watched the Reverend. They both were lost in the memories of Vegas, in the memories of the roles they had played.
Reverend Greek gripped his bench and pulled himself into sitting position.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I asked God to smite the helicopters and the trucks, to destroy the machines of war. Of course my wish was granted in the worst possible form, you know what happened next.”
“The nukes,” Lead said.
“Yes, the nukes,” Reverend Greek said.
“I shook my staff at the helicopter and yelled to God and the sky was suddenly illuminated. The chopper was washed in a light so white and pure that it was literally the last thing I ever saw, or rather, it’s the only thing I see anymore.
The helicopter crashed against the side of the Vesper, it screeched and twisted and dropped out of the sky. A scorched air blew against my face and everything rumbled and vibrated. I dug my staff into the ground and leaned against the winds.
Another explosion took me off my feet. I spun directionless in the air; the skin on my face and arms tightened and blistered. I was flung into a stairwell and struck my head.
I awoke to silence, nothing. There were no noises from my flock, or from helicopters or guns or bombs or trucks or anything but wind. The wind whistled in the stairwell and through broken panes of glass and across the desert, ignorant of what was and what became.
I picked myself up. My eyes saw nothing but pure white light. The skin from my hands and face felt torn off. I imagined pink sun burnt flesh. I was sore to the touch of air. To my surprise, the staff was still in my hands. I used it to guide myself down the stairs, over human bodies and rubble. As I said, the hotel was silent, everything was silent. I found my way to the pantry and locked myself in. I ate canned food. I drank from our water barrels. I sat and thought, and sometimes I slept. Nobody came for me. I stayed in the pantry for a long time, eating, drinking, and thinking for days and days and days. Eventually I grew tired of sitting and listening for ghosts. Apparently, the destruction was complete. I packed food and water, and I walked away.
I traced roads with my staff. I traveled south, guided by the heat of the morning sun. I walked for days. I walked in the sun and through the night. Eventually I came upon the town of Needles. Quiet men took me in. I didn’t speak so they assumed I was mute as well as blind. They couldn’t tell if I was viral given my eyes and scars, so they restocked my supplies and sent me on my way. I followed the roads and the sun and eventually came here. I give leadership to lepers and virals. Once a week I give a sermon. That’s it. That’s my story. So you tell me, in Vegas, were you soldiers or were you people?”
Terence spoke.
“We were soldiers. I would ask for your forgiveness, but it is not required. Just know that our acts were the acts of men lost and hungry, and no more a dangerous thing exists than men who are lost and hungry.”
Lead sat silently. His mind listened to memories of helicopters firing upon his truck and friends.
“Forgive me,” he said.
The Reverend was thoughtful and somber.
“I don’t bear a grudge against either of you. Any payment for sin is between you and the Lord. I’m sorry to bring old memories better forgotten. Let’s trade goods. If you’ll be traveling in the night you can sleep in this church.”
“Offer the man your gun, Lead,” Terence said.
Lead pulled the pistol from his pocket and reluctantly placed it on the table in front of the Reverend.
“We offer this for water and food, we don’t have anything else,” Terence said.
Reverend Greek traced the gun with his fingertips. He felt its grip and pocked barrel.
“Oh my,” the Reverend said. “You must be a couple of hard cases.” His hand brushed what was left of rawhide grip. “At least one of you is a Preacher, was a Preacher, or killed a Preacher.”
“We,” Lead began but was swiftly cut off.
“Don’t tell me,” Reverend said. “I don’t want to know. I’ll take the gun. I can give you supplies for a couple of days, which is all we have to spare so there’ll be no haggling.”
Reverend Greek hefted the gun and rolled the cylinder between his hands.
“We don’t have any bullets to give,” Terence said.
“I didn’t ask for any,” Reverend Greek replied.
The Reverend stood and pointed the gun up to the church ceiling with a straight arm. He pulled the trigger and listened to the dry click.
“Like I said, you can bunk here; your supplies will be rounded up and left at the door before sunset.” Reverend Greek licked his lips. “You’re going to New Pueblo, right?”
“Yeah, what do you know about it?” Terence asked.
“They turn away any of my people who wander too far south. They want nothing to do with the virals. I don’t know where they are exactly, just that they appear in the wind and turn us away. They don’t offer barter, don’t socialize, most of my colony thinks they’re magic folk; spirits or such,” Reverend Greek said.
“Does the Church know about New Pueblo?” Terence asked.
“If they do it’s not by our doing. Like I said, most Church guards don’t want to get close to virals. Anyway, it’d hardly be kind of us to give away the knowledge of a people so secretive,” Reverend Greek said.
“Where do they turn your people away?” Terence asked.
“They show up down the Highway Nineteen. Follow it south. The signs are there, the cars are still lined up
