Chapter 6

For day after day John watched fretfully over the fallen boy in the church, first carefully cleaning and bandaging the gunshot wound and other scrapes he'd taken in the fall afterward, then making sure he was resting and above all, safe.

It was difficult work. The church roof must have been overdue for work when the plague killed off all its members, because the driving rain exposed several leaks. John managed to find a few pails, buckets, and small trash bins that he used to catch the water, but that necessitated constantly checking them all and emptying them outside again and again.

John never left the M1 behind. Anything he did, anywhere he went, he either held the M1 in his hands or had it slung over his back, bayonet fixed. Having killed with it now, having depended on it for his very survival, John needed the firearm like he needed air. His mind would not tolerate the idea of parting with a dependable weapon. That was just a normal part of life now.

With no one else there to stand watch, John simply stayed awake until he passed out, day after day, night after night. It was hard on him, but John didn't know what else to do. What he needed was to simply never sleep, but that wasn't possible. Thankfully, no one ever turned up to bother him or his friend. In fact, in all the days since he had buried his parents at home, apart from Henry, Mark, and Jason, John had never, not once, seen or heard another human being.

And out of the three, he'd killed two of them. It wasn't a great omen for prospects down the road, John felt, but he also couldn't see any way around what he'd done. If he hadn't killed Henry Evans and Mark Evans, they would have just killed him. They'd made that quite obvious.

Once the rain finally slowed, then stopped after two days, John spent most of the third day going out to search nearby houses, even cars, for useful items. He found enough horrific sights, enough decaying bodies, to last for the rest of his life, yet still he searched, resigned now to the idea that there would be more.

The trips were worth it, at least. John came back with ammunition, canned food, a brand-new twin-size mattress, still in its plastic wrapping, a few bags of charcoal in case he needed them to cook with, and sealed gallons of water. He kept one gallon at Jason's side in case the other boy woke up while he was gone.

Nightmares came, grisly and real. John saw Las Vegas, saw the Dark Man, stumbled through a Nebraska cornfield, terrified that he'd lost Jason, that Jason had been taken by something out there in the darkness, out in the endless fields of corn.

A few times John saw Mother Abigail, and he found himself minding his manners with her, treating her with great respect. He explained, more than once, that he could not leave his shelter, not now, even as she insisted nowhere would be safe from the Dark Man for much longer, that he had to hurry on his way.

Once, John saw Henry and Mark again, and that one was the worst of any of them.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

John stood up abruptly, realizing he'd fallen asleep again, passed out on the carpet in front of the first row of pews. He tightly gripped the M1 with both hands, looked around, then realized with horror that Jason was gone! A trail of dark, muddy water and gobs of slimy mud ran from the open side door to the church, to the spot below the altar where Jason's empty sleeping bag still lay, and back outside.

"Jason!" John shouted, sprinting for the door. "Jason!"

No one answered, but as John slipped and fell in the mud and slime, caught the stink, the horrible stink of it, he thought he heard something besides rain outside. He heard… laughter. A boy's laughter.

Forcing himself to his feet again, John ran outside and shouted for Jason again. Someone snickered this time, and John peered into the evening rain and saw Jason, his eyes wide in terror, being dragged towards a pair of unearthed, water-filled graves.

"Help," Jason mouthed, seemingly unable to speak. "Please help me."

"Stop!" John shouted, raising the M1. Two figures shifted on the grass of the graveyard, and John felt a tremor of fear, a fear too big to comprehend, as two boys in filthy, soaked clothes turned from crawling on their bellies to laugh at him.

One bore a ghastly wound to the side of his head; the other had a ragged gap on the back of his shirt, plus a circular one and what had to be a knife wound on the front. Matted with dirt and slime as it was, their blond and auburn-brown hair was still recognizable, their cold blue eyes soulless, gleeful and somehow alive.

John fired, saw Henry's body jerk from the impact, but he laughed and kept going. John shot him again. Henry just laughed more. So did Mark, when John shot him twice. He fired until the M1 was empty, then stood there helplessly, rooted to the steps, watching Jason's terrified, pleading eyes bore into his.

Finally, as they neared the graves, John sprinted forward, meaning to run the monsters through. He sank the M1's bayonet into Mark's back, dropped it and grabbed for Jason, but nothing seemed to help. The two things laughed their dirt-encrusted, watery laughs, and Jason whimpered, his arms limp and useless, their unnatural angle showing them to be as broken as his legs.

"Help," Jason whispered as John reached for him. "Please. Not like this. Not like this!"

"I won't let them take you!" John cried. "I won't let them get you!"

"Just watch us, asshole," Henry mocked him. "Come on in, and you'll swim with the rest of us."

"No!" John screamed desperately. "NO!"

"Listen to him cry," Mark laughed. They were inches from the closest of the two graves, its gray water seeming to go down forever, far beyond just six feet. John looked around frantically, saw his discarded Garand lying in the mud. He leapt for it-

-and heard the snap of bone as something grabbed him, broke his left leg. As he screamed in pain and collapsed, a steel hand closed around his right, and he heard a snap again.

"Please," John begged, lying on his back as a shadow fell over him. "Please. Just kill me."

"No," Henry Evans smiled. "You're not getting off that easy." He grabbed John by the collar, turned, and began dragging him toward the grave. "I can stand, now," Henry said, and indeed he could, though his steps were clumsy and uncertain, like a toddler's. "Soon I'll walk. Mark, too."

Jason was crying helplessly, still looking to John for help. Mark rolled into the grave, disappearing from sight with a splash, and after a moment he reached back out and pulled Jason in.

"No, no," John whispered. "Anything but this!"

"C'mon," Henry snickered cruelly. "Come on and swim, pussy." He grabbed John by the neck and pulled him under the water.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Bright sunlight was pouring in the church windows when John snapped awake again, soaked in his own sweat. He sat up, panicked and looked around, saw Jason lying there, sensed the reassuring feel of the M1's wood stock in his hands. Sweaty, hyperventilating, sure, but John knew he was also alive.

He got up, carefully, and went to one window, looking out to see Henry and Mark's graves. They were undisturbed, the crude markers still intact. He turned back to see the carpet was clean, unmarked aside from a few dirty footprints.

Jason was still lying in his sleeping bag, looking… better, at least, than he had been. John was glad just to see him. It was good to simply observe the steady rise and fall of his chest and know that he was alive.

Unwilling to leave him again unless he was here long enough to run down on supplies, John picked up one of the Bibles still sitting in the pews and began reading, seated right beside Jason. He made sure to unzip the sleeping bag and leave it open as the day grew hot, ensuring Jason could rest comfortably. There John stayed for hours, and expected to stay the whole day, until he noticed movement and realized Jason was stirring beside him.

After a few moments, Jason sat up and looked around, blinking at the bright sunlight coming in through the windows. He noticed John and looked up.

"Hey."

"Hey," John said, a little cautiously. Jason's awakening had taken him by surprise and he was unsure of how to proceed.

"Henry shot me," Jason remarked.

"Yes," John replied. "I got you out of there."

"Okay." Jason frowned. "I can't remember. How come I can't remember?"

"You got knocked out," John told him. "You've been out for a couple of days."

"Where'd Creepy Henry and his cousin Mark go?"

John hesitated. "I killed them."

Jason stared in disbelief. "You what?"

"I had to," John insisted. "I-I didn't want to, but I really didn't have a choice-"

"That's awesome!" Jason exclaimed. He jumped up and hugged John tightly, made a funny little giggle. "Thanks. I always hated Henry. He was a bastard. Nobody liked him."

"No, nobody really did," John said. "I wonder what- why he and Mark did that."

"Oh, jeez, I'm-I'm fucking naked," Jason blurted, abruptly letting go of John and looking down at himself. He was actually wearing his underwear, but that didn't keep him and John from both blushing crimson and looking away, coughing uncertainly.

"I had to clean you up," John said quickly. "You kind of- you were a mess after Henry shot you. And I didn't want you to overheat in the sleeping bag."

"Well, jeez, if you wanted us to fuck, forget it, 'cause I only fuck girls," Jason told him. "Not- not that I'm not comfortable in my underwear. The babes love me like this."

"I'm a ladies' man myself," John insisted. "I just helped you out."

"Yeah. Well, we're not going on any dates, okay?"

"Sure."

"Where'd you leave my stuff? Lemme go get dressed."

"Right over there," John said, pointing.

Jason quickly put a pair of shorts on but chose to stay bare-chested, insisting he needed to "stay cool and get hotter," for when they got to Boulder. He proceeded to improvise a workout for half an hour, adding random comments about his masculinity and lack of romantic interest in John.

After sitting there the whole time, John sighed irritably and pulled his own shirt off and threw it aside, then grimly joined Jason in a new round of pushups. The other boy looked at him in surprise and then redoubled his efforts; this led to a series of one-up games that kept the workout going for another thirty minutes. Both of them were sweating pretty heavily by the time Jason finally said he was done for now.

"So I saw that old lady again," Jason said, sitting down on the carpeted steps leading up to the altar.

"You did?"

"Yeah. She's really big about this God stuff." Jason paused. "Said it doesn't even matter if I don't believe in God. I said I don't, she said that's just fine, he believes in me." Jason cleared his throat. "You know. Whatever that means. And, she said you're not a total jerk, and we gotta go to Boulder and stuff."

"I saw her, too," John replied. "And the Dark Man."

"Henry and Mark would've just gone to him," Jason said, his face darkening. "They were fucking evil. The old lady said they were 'wickedness,' or whatever. So they got what they deserved."

"I'm just glad you're alive," John said honestly.

"You wanna kiss me or something?"

"No, I just- I, uh…" John cleared his throat and did his best to imitate Jason's macho-cool voice. "Yeah, you know, I don't wanna be bored, and cool shit always happens around you. Not that I like you or anything."

Jason stared at him uncertainly, trying to determine if he was being made fun of. "Okay. Uh… that makes sense. I think the same thing about you, basically."

"Good."

"Okay."

"Fine."

"Yeah."

"Whatever."

"Coo- hey, you stop that!"

"Stop what?" John asked, grinning.

"I'm not a fag so stop trying to- I dunno, whatever you're doing!"

"I'm just messing with you," John said. "Because we're friends."

"Lucky you," Jason blustered. "I mean, lucky that someone as cool as me lived."

"You're right."

"And you got to stare at me naked for a few days," Jason leered. "Was it fun?"

"Jeez!"

"I thought you believed all this church crap," Jason said, gesturing around. "Did you bring me in here so God could save me or something?"

"It was right up the hill," John said. "That's all it was."

"I still don't believe in God, you know. And I don't care if you do."

"Okay. That's fine."

"Jeez," Jason said. "You and Mother Abigail. Being all- I dunno, all nice and shit."

"You don't like us being nice?"

"I don't like you."

"Yes, you do. You asked if we could be friends."

Jason sighed. He looked around self-consciously, then hugged John tighter than before. Then he let go and looked away.

"That never happened."

"Sure."

"I mean it! I will kill you if anyone finds out!"

"I won't make you look bad in front of the babes," John promised.

"I hope some super hot girls lived," Jason said fervently. "Please let some hot girls my age be out there."

"Our age, dude."

"Yes, our age."

"You gonna let me have a few of 'em?"

"A couple. On Fridays when I'm too busy, you can take some of the girls from the line outside my door so they can get some love. I mean, not that great but it'll be better than standing there. And once I fuck 'em they'll know what a real man is like."

"You're not even thirteen yet."

"I'll still be the biggest man in Boulder," Jason boasted. "I mean the biggest." He patted his crotch and held up his biceps, flexing each of them.

"And the smallest," John teased, tapping Jason's forehead.

"Hey, hey," Jason fussed, "don't mess up my hair. It costs forty bucks to do it up right and stuff."

"That bandage can come off in a few more days," John said. "I changed it a few times and you're okay. Just leave this clean one on to be safe."

"What're you gonna do, play doctor? Is that how you wanna get laid?"

"I dunno," John admitted.

"Don't you want to?" Jason insisted.

"Of course," John quickly replied. "Yeah, I do."

"We'll have no trouble," Jason said easily. "It'll be so easy."

"Sounds good."

"I'm gonna open a YMCA out there," Jason declared. "When I get there. To Boulder. I'll teach everybody how to respect their lousy bodies and make 'em worth looking at and stuff. And we can have that cool song about the YMCA and I'll reopen the pool there so people can see me with my shirt off and be jealous and everything."

"Okay. Sounds good."

Jason looked at John. "You think they'll have one out there?"

"Sure. Plenty of cities have 'em."

"Are you gonna work there?" Jason asked.

"If you want me to."

"Yeah," Jason grinned, slapping John on the back. "It'll be awesome, man. You're gonna be so glad you got to be friends with me."

"I already am glad."

"Oh, jeez," Jason sighed, his cheeks tinged pink. "You're trying to make me like you again. But you won't. Cause I don't like you. So there. Yeah."

"Okay," John replied. "Well, I don't like you, either."

Jason laughed. "You liar." He got up, swayed and nearly fell. John sprang up and caught him, then gently helped him sit down again. "Goddamn it," Jason muttered. "I thought- I felt okay earlier."

"Not every day you get shot in the head," John cracked.

"It didn't hurt," Jason said, touching the right side of his head. "Why- why didn't it hurt at all?"

"You got knocked out fast," John said. "That's all I can think of."

"Yeah." Jason's stomach rumbled loudly. "I haven't eaten a fucking thing."

"Don't worry," John said, getting to his feet. "I got plenty. I even found a bunch of Kingsford bags, so we can get hot food for once."

"Awesome!" Jason cried. "That's sweet, you're the best!" He suddenly couched and looked away, adding, "Well, the best because you've gotten to hang out with me. I mean, I guess you've learned some things."

"Sure have," John agreed. "I'll get some food ready. Just take it easy."

"I never do anything else," Jason answered. "I'm too cool, man."

"That's right," John said.

"Dork," Jason told him, but he quickly covered his mouth with one hand as he started smiling.

As John was about to go outside and get a fire started on the grill he'd pulled out of the church basement, Jason called out, "I guess you can work at the YMCA with me. If you want. You know, I could let you, if you really ask me. I guess."

John stopped, saw the hopeful look on Jason's face. His tone was skeptical and too-cool as usual, but Jason sounded like he was hoping John would agree. Remembering how desperately alone and afraid Jason was, how alone they both were save for each other, John made sure to give Jason a friendly smile.

"Yeah, man," he said, shrugging. "I think that'd be really cool."

Jason nodded. "Okay." He smiled, then quickly acted like he hadn't. "Yeah, all right. So… when are we going to Boulder?"

"We both need more rest," John decided. "But soon. Let's give it a couple days."

"All right." Jason paused. "Um… you're a dork. But I want you to, uh, you know, hang around for a while. Okay? So I'm not bored."

"Don't worry," John said. "I'm not going anywhere."

A/N: 5-14-2020.

I can't tell you how good it feels to finally have this chapter done! I had my ideas for it already in mind and was starting to sketch it out when my former laptop died on me. No idea what happened, it just won't turn on anymore. Eventually, when this COVID19 business is over with, I'll get the old laptop to a shop and have them look at it. For now, my new laptop will take care of business and then some. It's way better than the old one. It's ironic that I'm updating a story set in a world where an easily-communicable virus brought civilization to its knees in an astoundingly short time as Corona Virus continues to take lives and devastate economies all over, but hey, all history has to do is happen, as Harry Turtledove said.

Jason Morgan has retained one key element of his pre-Plague self; his insistence on an obsessively-maintained macho personality. He is vain, pushy, and arrogant, and because he's more than a little insecure about his masculinity, he is constantly talking about his strength and prowess and talking about girls. He also struggles to tell people he genuinely likes how he feels about them, and so has to hide his growing trust and liking for John behind a mask of "I don't like you" claims and stories. He may not fully believe what Mother Abigail has told him, but he can't pretend his dreams of her, and the words they exchanged, didn't happen. Jason, like Nick Andros did, told Abigail Freemantle he doesn't believe in God. Like the wonderful Christian and human being she is, Mother Abigail isn't put off by that one bit.

I don't think jumping up and hugging John like he did is something Jason would normally do, but then, he's not his normal, pre-Plague self anymore, and nobody else is, either. I think that getting shot in the head probably also helped throw him off a bit. Jason is still Jason in many ways, though. I think him being openly happy that Henry and Mark Evans are dead is in-character for him. He isn't as concerned with doing the right thing or being forgiving as John is, but Henry and Mark did very little to earn any form of forgiveness.

Exactly what was said between Jason and Abigail I don't know; I think I'll leave those visions to the reader's imagination, at least for now. But Mother Abigail must have explained some things, helped convince Jason that John is someone he can trust. Jason also understands that John saved his life and killed the two boys that ambushed him, which helps as well. The trauma Jason is suffering from means he will probably struggle after sundown for a long time, maybe for the rest of his life. But for now he has gained some trust in John, which will help both of them on the long road to Boulder, Colorado.