The truck rumbled along the country road for about three-quarters of a mile before it turned onto a dirt road. Virgil remembered this area well, having travelled down it at least a half dozen times before. Life in Amish country didn't change much. He glanced down at the gas gauge and saw that it was near empty. It didn't much matter now. Either this Amish clan had survived the plague or it hadn't. The fact that the Amish believed so strongly in Ordnung, isolating themselves from other communities, gave them a much better chance at surviving the apocalypse. He told Annabelle to pull over to the shoulder and shut off the ignition. The road up ahead looked clear but that wouldn't last for very long.
“I don't get it, Virge. Why we stopping here?” Annabelle asked, her eyes still red from crying.
“We're going to walk the rest of the way. Let's head outside and gather up the others.”
They climbed out of the cab. The air felt hot and stifling with not even the hint of a breeze. Gritz steered the Humvee over to where they stood and came to a stop.
“Why are we stopping?” Dar asked.
“Their community is a little more than a quarter mile down the road. I asked Annabelle stop the truck so that we could walk the rest of the way.”
“Why walk when we have wheels?”
“We need to hustle everyone out of the truck before more of the dead arrive. Please trust me on this, Dar.”
“You better have a good reason or I'm going to be pissed at having left behind this awesome machine gun.”
“We don't have much time before the horde shows up so please trust me and release all the passengers from the back.”
Dar ordered Jamaal to unlock the double doors and let out all the remaining survivors. Once outside, some wanted to sit and rest, but Virgil forced them into a single file, human chain before beginning the short trek down the road.
“If any group of people had the wherewithal to pull through this crisis, the Amish would be at the top of the list,” Virgil said for all to hear.
“And what if they didn't make it?” someone asked.
“Yeah, Snow, what if they didn't make it?” Dar asked.
“Well, we gave it our best shot. Our food and fuel were running low anyways, and many of the survivors have been suffering from being cooped up in that hot container for hours on end. What other choice did we have?”
“Let's hurry up and see if they're still alive.”
“We need to establish a few things before we get there. The Amish are a simple people but not stupid. Assuming they even take us in, we must be careful how we act around them. This particular group is quite strict when it comes to abiding by the rules they've set down. It's one of the reasons we needed to leave the vehicles behind rather than drive them up to the gates.”
“You don't think they'd let us in if we parked them out front?” asked Felicia.
“There's a good chance they wouldn't. Besides, no sense taking that chance and be sent on our way.”
The group murmured in agreement.
“Most important to them is the principle of Ordnung, which roughly means that they wish to keep their community separate from the rest of the world. Only now there is no one else but the horde, and of course us. If allowed to enter, we will be outsiders in their world, and they will eschew all of our modern conveniences.”
“It’s not like we're carrying TVs, radios or iPods,” someone said.
“No, but some of you have watches and jewelry that you might want to put away for the time being.”
“You mean we gotta take off our bling?” the young soldier in the back called out.
“The Amish wear simple clothing so as to prevent any one individual from standing out. You must never stare or speak rudely to them. And men, please make sure you always speak to a male, and preferably an older male. We are outsiders entering their domain and will be treated as such.”
“Will they be pissed at us?” Annabelle asked.
“They're essentially a peaceful, nonviolent people, but that doesn't mean they'll welcome us with open arms.”
“What makes you think them Amish folk will take us in to begin with?” Jamaal asked. “They probably got only enough food to feed they selves and they own families.”
“There's no guarantee that they'll take us in, Jamaal. But let's just say that they owe me a couple of favors. I'll explain it to you all later.”
Virgil grabbed Annabelle's hand and guided the human train down the road, eyes and ears open for any sudden movement. The overgrown fields on either side of them appeared barren and endless, a complete waste of fertile land. After walking a few hundred feet he noticed some dead stragglers making their way through the tall weeds. Apart from the survivors' feet crunching on the dirt beneath them, the only thing he could hear was the echo of the dead groaning off in the distance.
After about fifteen minutes the Amish compound came into view. He was delighted to see a sturdy wooden fence surrounding the front portion of the camp. That could only mean one thing; they'd survived this plague. Of course, life had probably not changed much from their previous existence, which only acted to insulate them even further from the remnants of this broken down society.
Twenty to thirty zombies stumbled around at the front gate, a few dressed in the traditional Amish garb. Although their hats had long been ripped from their skulls, they still sported their trademark flowing beards. The rest of the dead appeared to be regular folks from the surrounding communities. They shuffled their feet along the dirt, wandering aimlessly back and forth in hopes of gaining access into the compound.
Dar stepped out of line and immediately the dead turned and made for her. As loathsome as he found the horde, Virgil knew that to destroy them in front of the Amish was probably not a good idea. The Amish were a nonviolent people. Whether that extended to the dead was a risk they shouldn't be taking. But on the other hand, telling Dar not to kill them was like telling a Bengali tiger not to hunt.
Dar wielded the ax and lopped off the head of the first cannibal she came across. It came off cleanly and tumbled end over end through the air. She proceeded to work her way through the remainder of them, taking great joy in the act. Virgil and the remaining survivors stood by silently as she laid into the stragglers. Skulls flew across the landscape and rolled to a stop along the dirt road. Dar grunted so loudly when she swung that it sounded like one of those female tennis players serving for a game. Virgil watched as porridgy brain matter flew out of the halved skulls and dampened the dusty dirt.
She'd beheaded the last zombie when Virgil heard the gate of the compound begin to open. A tall, lean Amish man with a flowing beard lorded over the entrance. The man wore a plain black hat and simple clothes and had a grim expression. Virgil instantly recognized him as Cephas Yoder, the default leader of the sect. He was known in the congregation as the Bishop, although no one called him that to his face. Virgil thought the title somewhat ironic. In most religions the church leaders enjoyed the luxury of their prestigious titles but in this community the term bishop signified an elevated status. The Amish, more than any other group, took pride in their equal status, and those who understood the greater role he played in their lives used the term in a slightly derogative manner.
“What say you people?” Cephas asked in a low voice.
“It's me, Cephas. Virgil Snow.”
“Brother Snow? What brings you here in these times? And why have you allowed this crime against God to occur outside our gates?”
Dar glared at him, her humiliation tempered by fatigue and repressed rage.
“I apologize, Cephas, but we've suffered terribly in the last month and have lost many loved ones and friends.”
“I'm sorry for your losses but it's no excuse for the crimes committed here. God has spoken the word through these poor souls and it is not up to us to decide their fate,” he said, stepping outside to look around. “But your fate is God's to decide. Come inside and take shelter.”
Dar stepped over the corpses and made her way to the back of the line. Apart from the wood fence fronting the compound, it looked a lot like Virgil remembered. Some of the Amish stopped to stare at them before moving on to finish their chores. All were dressed in the same simple clothes. Many of the men wore hats and long beards like Cephas, although his beard seemed to be the longest of them all. The women wore dresses draped with aprons that reached down past their ankles. Horse driven buggies rolled along a series of dirt-covered paths that crisscrossed along the fields and farmland.
“I'm only discussing this matter with you, Virgil. Tell the rest of your people to stay where they are.”
Virgil turned and faced the weary travelers. They looked hungry and tired and in need of rest.
“Cephas has advised me that you all should wait here for the time being until we can discuss our next move.”
“Follow me,” Cephas said, walking ahead.
Virgil followed the tall Amish man toward a small, isolated, house located off to the side of the compound. It was a plain, simple home with peeling paint and a drab set of wooden steps leading up to the front door. Off in the distance he could see the small cluster of homes that made up the bulk of this community. He followed him inside, noticing that it was far bleaker than it appeared. A large potbelly stove sat in the middle of the room. Like every other house, there were no electrical appliances, outlets or indoor plumbing. He sat down at the table and across from the man.
“How is it you have come here, Virgil?”
“We came from Boston in two trucks. The world is not a safe place anymore and has been overrun by these terrible beings. This plague has made everywhere uninhabitable.”
“It is God's plague for sure, His way of sending us a message,” Cephas said, folding his long hands together. “The only reason you were even allowed to enter is because you were a great help to us.”
“That's the reason we came all this way, Cephas. I had a hunch you and your people might have survived this ordeal. But how did you manage to do it?”
“We built the wooden fence first and then surrounded the rest of our farmland with eight foot deer fencing, which we had in great supply. The posts were dug deep enough into the ground to ensure that the others stayed out. It is a stable, strong fence and we were lucky to have it. The dead cannot get inside here.”
“But how? Weren't you overrun once the epidemic broke?”
“We originally built the fence as a sign of our independence from the outside world,” Cephas said. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Virgil followed Cephas outside. They walked down the dirt path in silence until they climbed the knoll leading to the commons area. At the center of the compound he saw a large barn, a tall metallic silo and a cluster of houses surrounding a slightly larger house, which he remembered as being Cephas's. A few trees lay scattered among the houses. In the middle of the field a horse drawn flatbed pulled two men and some bundles of hay. In every direction he looked he saw open fields and rolling hills. He figured it must have taken a lot of fence to surround this farmland. They continued past a few of the Amish residences sitting maybe a quarter mile from the path. Virgil's legs felt weak and the strong sun overhead caused sweat to pour from his pale scalp. Now he knew why the Amish men wore straw hats with such wide brims.
Cephas pulled ahead, not bothering to wait for him. He walked with an economy of emotion, barely swinging his arms and leaning forward at a slight angle. Virgil glanced back and saw the barn and silo far behind them. Turning around, he noticed a second barn and a silo like specks off in the distance. He wiped the sweat off his brow and leaned over, clutching his knees in order to catch his breath. Cephas stopped far off in the distance. But why? Virgil took a deep breath and started to move again. As he got nearer, he saw a clump of trees off to his right and a stream running alongside the fence, a section of which had been made into a gate. Stumbling outside lurked a few of the dead.
His thighs seared with pain and only when he reached Cephas did he realize that a large ditch had been dug within the compound spanning from one side to the other, and dividing the farmland in half. The barrier fences curved in toward the compound like an hourglass and more zombies were patrolling just outside the perimeter. By the time he pulled up next to Cephas he was horrified to see that the ditch was filled with zombies.
“Good God almighty.”
“Please refrain from saying the Lord's name in vain.”
“I'm sorry, Cephas. But why in the world..?”
“See those houses on the other side of the ditch?”
“Yes.”
“What you see is a divided community, Virgil. Ever since the plague struck the two communities went their separate ways.”
Virgil could see a speck off in the distance and on further inspection he noticed a group of Amish men building a barn. Some of them sat on a crossbeam and banged away while others prepared to raise one of the frames. The hot, putrid stench wafting up from below nearly made him vomit. He wanted to look away in the worst possible way but instead glanced down and stared at the collection of angry faces snarling up at him. They stood packed together like fans at a death metal concert, their arms reaching up in an attempt to grab hold of him. Some, to his surprise, had been Amish in their previous life. The females still had their Amish caps bobby-pinned to their hair, as well as their soiled blue dresses and simple aprons cinched at the waist. The men wore grimy, blood spattered work clothes, their trousers held up by black suspenders. Their straw hats had long ago fallen off their heads, revealing homemade bowl cuts and filthy, wispy beards. Virgil once asked one of the men why the Amish didn't grow mustaches and was surprised to learn that the Amish believed mustaches to be a sign of aggression.
“Why do you keep them here?”
“We believe in peace and nonresistance just like it says in the Bible. Death does not frighten us as long as we are committed to Jesus Christ our Lord.”
“But how did they get in here?” Virgil asked, noticing two men walking toward them from the other side.
“We used to be one community until the plague struck. See the shorter man of the two? You may remember him. His name is Lebanon Ford. He wanted to allow five men and their families back inside the compound once the plague broke.”
“And you wouldn't allow it?”
“They were drunkards and fornicators and broke their baptismal vows. The only reason they even bothered to return here was to seek refuge from the diseased world, not to accept our ways.”
“I thought you are a peaceful people? And yet you were willing to let these families die rather than take them back into the fold?”
A stern expression came over Cephas's face.
“These men had women and children who were not of our faith. These are the rules that we have followed for many generations, Virgil. We must remain completely separate from the outside world.” Cephas looked over and at the two men continuing to walk toward them. “One of these men was my own son. Still, the truth is that we did not plan to cast them out to die. A small, fenced off area was to be built just outside the compound where they would be able to live safely with their families. Enough land to plant a small garden to feed their families. Of course we would supplement their food supply when needed. This separation was not a punishment but a way to show our love to those who have broken church laws. The hope was that they would someday return to the fold.”
“So you were going to set them up in a fenced area outside the compound?”
“Lebanon and I disagreed on this matter because his own child was also one of the shunned. Now most of them live on his side. Every Sunday both sides meet at the ditch to pay their respects to our loved ones.” He looked with pity onto the horde below. “We try to keep the children away but people are free to come and go here as they please.”
“Do you and Lebanon remain friends?”
“I wouldn't say we are friends but we are civil with each other. Despite our pleas otherwise, it is the younger ones who are the most angry and have created problems with one another.”
“But I thought such behavior goes against every belief the Amish stand for?”
“I admit that things have gotten slightly out of control. The two younger groups have even taken to beard cutting as an act of retaliation. The beard has a spiritual significance in our faith and the punishment is severe for those who commit such a terrible act.”
“Have you caught those responsible for doing this?”
“No, but we would cut contact with them and cast them out of the compound altogether if we caught them. They would not even be allowed to live in the shunned area.”
“That's a death sentence.”
“What happens outside the compound is God's will and out of my hands.”
Virgil looked over and saw the two men standing at the edge of the ditch. Their heads were bowed and their hands clasped in prayer. He noticed for the first time that the younger man had half a beard.
“Who is the outsider with you, Brother Cephas, and why have you allowed him into our community?” the smaller man asked.
“This here is Virgil, Brother Lebanon. You surely remember him. He used to come here to help the children with their ailments. In fact if I remember correctly he helped your boy, Isaac, overcome his ailment back in the day.”
“Yes, I remember him now.” Lebanon turned to him. “How are you, Virgil?'“
“Fine, Lebanon. And you?” he said, now remembering Lebanon Ford and his wife Sarah.
“Thanks be to God all is well for now. Hopefully He will keep watching over us as he has done during this crisis.”
Virgil remembered caring for their son Isaac, who suffered from a metabolic disorder known as Maple Syrup Urine Disease. The illness caused a child's urine to smell like maple syrup. The disease resulted from generations of close breeding. Without treatment, the boy would have eventually suffered severe brain damage and died but with proper monitoring and diet, the disease had been treatable. The boy suffered a mild case, easily treatable, and although Virgil wasn't a physician, his presence in the camp had been seen as a godsend by many of the parents whose children had been afflicted by similar illnesses.
“It's not only Virgil. He's brought a whole group of them along,” Cephas called over the ditch. “They've come here to ask for protection.”
“They're not one of us, therefore you cannot allow them to stay. Despite our differences, Cephas, I pray that we are still of the same mind on this matter.”
“There is no rule that they cannot stay and become one of us, if that is what they choose to do. The sincere seeker, if this is what he or she desires, will be given every opportunity to follow our ways. If they decide otherwise then they are free to go on their own.”
“This war between us needs to stop, brother Cephas. It goes against everything God has planned. Look down at our sons in the ditch, waiting for judgment day, both of whom were shunned. It should have never happened.”
“Our sons did wrong, Lebanon. When Jesus returns he will be the one to decide their eternal fate. Let us pray that we don't lose our own salvation and the salvation of the loved ones still with us.”
“We've been lenient with the younger generation for too long. Maybe it is time to change our ways and resort to a harsher form of discipline in order to control their youthful impulses.”
“Our ways have been like this forever. It is tradition, Lebanon. How else will the Amish youth be able to freely decide for themselves whether or not to join our faith?”
“Without harsh punishment someone will certainly end up hurt. As much as I condemn such violent and unruly behavior, I would hate to see one of our own members rise up in anger and retaliate. It is the reason you and I must be more strict in our disciplinary measures, and put down the hammer with these reckless youths.”
“We must return to work now. Peace be with you.”
“Peace,” Lebanon replied, turning to walk back toward his compound.
Virgil remembered the ritual of Rumspringa. It literally translated from German to mean 'to jump around.' Although he never heard the word spoken by the Amish, he knew the practice existed. Back around the time he used to visit the Amish, the extent of the youth's wild behavior was laughable by modern standards: dating, swearing and dressing up their buggy. It was hardly the media portrayal of Amish youth getting fall-down drunk, engaging in orgies and doing drugs. Then again he'd not been around long enough to have witnessed any truly outlandish behavior, if indeed there had been any. And he assumed that being such a conservative sect, the practice was not as exaggerated and widespread as in some of the more lenient groups living in Lancaster.
Cephas, ten paces ahead of him, took the path leading up to the cluster of homes around the small common area. Waiting for them in front of the barn stood two men Virgil recognized as Cephas's older sons. Now in their early twenties, he remembered them when they were mere teenagers.
“You remember my sons, John and Mark.”
“A might good to see you again, Mr. Snow,” the older one greeted him. “Been a long time since you were in these parts. Things have certainly changed since we've last seen you. Uh-huh.”
Virgil nodded.
“Take him to the barn with the others,” Cephas ordered his older son. Then he turned to Virgil and said, “Rest up and the women will bring you and your people some bread and pitchers of water.”
Mark walked off with his father toward the field, leaving him with John, the older of the two. John began to walk toward the barn and Virgil followed. The doors of the barn were closed to help keep it cool inside.
“I know what my father told you, Mr. Snow, but it's not entirely the truth.”
“We're both adults now, John. Please call me Virgil,” he said. “And what's not the truth?”
“It's a lot worse here than my father lets on, Mr. Virgil. There's much more going on here than what you might think.”
“Oh?”
“My father is a God-fearing man and be it not for him we might all be dead by now. And trust me, we're not ready to die just yet.”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“You're a good man, Mr. Virgil, and God watches over good men like you. But the truth is, the ones over yonder are extremely jealous of us on account of my father's crops being far more abundant than their own. They must rely on us to supplement their own meager food supply. If not for us they'd have already starved to death.”
“Do they have poor soil on their side?”
“Hardly. It is just as rich and fertile as our own.” He hesitated, running his hand through his wispy beard. “The youth on both sides of the ditch have been allowed to run free and it is causing many problems.”
“Like what?”
“I'll explain later. But first I must tell you the reason for these problems. We have a very special person on our side and this person has a certain special, how shall I say, ability.”
“Let me guess, John. This person can walk among the dead.”
“Yes! But how did you know?”
“Because we have one too. How do you think we survived and were able to travel from Boston to your farm?”
John smiled and continued to stroke his beard, a habit he'd obviously grown fond of.
“Does your person protect you from the head pains?”
“Yes, it seems they all have that capability.”
“God watches out for those who are humble and contrite. It is probably why he provided your people with one as well, Mr. Virgil,” John said, a wild gleam in his eyes. “There's one problem though. The girl possessing this special ability is Lebanon's daughter, once married to Jacob, my younger brother.”
“Yes, I can see how that might be a problem.”
“Oh, it's much worse than that, Mr. Virgil. Before the Dead Reckoning came, my brother and his wife left us to partake in the modern ways outside the compound: drinking, watching TV, riding in gasoline powered cars and using cell phones. Hannah was unwed and pregnant when she and Jacob begged to be let back into the fold. My father disavowed all ungodly activity but he quickly married them and allowed them to join our clan.”
“How did you discover that she had the gift?”
“Because she got bit when the dead started coming back to life. She and my brother had two small children. Jacob drove her here in his car and begged my father to let them in. The girl got very sick, Mr. Virgil, and very nearly died. But to everyone's surprise she lived. We thought it a miracle at the time and a sure sign from God that the Dead Reckoning was upon us and that we would be spared. The entire family was there when she opened her eyes and came out of the sickness. Everyone else who had been infected died and came back to life, and then told of their visit beyond. They spoke from the mouth of God Himself before their second death. But not Hannah. From then on she had no fear of death or dying. She simply got up one day and walked out in the field as if she were possessed of some spirit, and walked right up to the fence where the dead had gathered and said a prayer for them. It was as if she knew all along that they would not harm her. My father said that this was God's will to send her back with us. And we owe all this good grace to you.”
“Me?” Virgil said, not quite seeing how he could be responsible.
“Yes, Mr. Virgil. Jacob did not leave us merely to partake in worldly pleasures. Well, he did indulge in them while he was there, but his ultimate goal was to get an education and become a doctor like you and hopefully return to the Amish and help save the lives of his people. We are only allowed to attend school up to the eighth grade but Jacob wanted to go to medical school and become a doctor and study the human body just like you did.”
“I'm extremely humbled. Is it possible I could speak to your brother?”
“No. Jacob died trying to save Hannah's life.”
“What happened?”
“He thought she would get attacked when she approached the fence but it was Jacob who ended up getting infected. To our great sadness he died, but not before telling us about the chosen ones and the kingdom of God he very nearly entered. I believe he was telling us that we—the Amish—are those chosen ones.”
“I'm very sorry about your brother, John.”
“Thank you for your sympathy. I believe that God has seen fit to keep my people here in order that we repopulate the earth and teach future generations about our way of life.” He started to walk off before turning around. “There's one other thing you must know, Mr. Virgil, and I only ask that you to keep this to yourself.”
Virgil stopped at the barn door and stared at him.
“The youth, as is our custom, are given much leeway in regards to their behavior. They regularly hop the fence at night when the dead are few and taunt and sometimes kill them. They've stashed bottles of demon rum out there as well and sometimes they wander off and get drunk in the woods, often getting into fist fights with the youth from across the ditch.”
“And none of them have gotten infected yet?”
“They've been extremely lucky up to this point and from what I've been told they mostly keep close to the fence. Odds are they are bound to get infected someday. The older ones have outgrown the behavior and have settled into routine but the rite is getting passed down to the next generation. Our numbers are growing, Mr. Virgil, with babies being born every month. We need to grow our numbers and rapidly repopulate the earth, which is why my father is secretly joyous about your arrival.”
“Joyous? But we're outsiders in your world and he seemed anything but joyous to see us.”
“You don't understand. If you and your people sincerely want to join us then it will make future generations better able to thrive. You, of anyone, taught us that.”
“I take it you're speaking about the genetic variety off your offspring?”
“Isn't it obvious, Mr. Virgil? You made us see how God works with the building blocks of life. It was why Jacob wanted to be a scientist. Because of you.”
Virgil eyed him warily.
“Our fence is flexible and strong and spread out over a long stretch of land. Now we are truly isolated from the outside world,” he said. “We built it just before the dead began to rise up. It makes it difficult for them to bottleneck in one place. They wander along the perimeter and when they do bunch up it is usually at the front gates.”
“How did you dig that ditch by hand?”
“We didn't. A few of the younger boys, at the urging of others, went out and 'borrowed' a tractor from a nearby farmer and proceeded to dig this ditch while the rest of us looked the other way.”
“But I thought you were against machinery of all sorts?”
“We are but we justified their actions as youthful indiscretions. We give the youth the freedom to experiment until they can make up their own minds whether or not to join our faith. Of course we all knew that we were simply turning a blind eye in order to ensure our own survival.”
“You rationalized their using machinery.”
“That's one way to put it.”
He laughed, now regretting insulting John. For whatever reason John did not seem to take issue with his laughing. But now Virgil understood how it worked in the camp; the youth were doing what needed to be done at others’ bidding. It wasn't like they had much choice whether or not to join the church. Not joining was equivalent to suicide. Suggestions were surely made and those impressionable youth that obeyed were rewarded. Those that refused would be shunned. And as long as it was done under the guise of Rumspringa then everyone could fully justify whatever actions the youth took. No wonder the women were having more children. They had to replace the children who transitioned to adult, thus ensuring that there would be a steady supply of youth to fulfill the needs of the community in a manner fitting their traditional ways. It was a faith-based pyramid scheme.
But something had gone terribly wrong and things had gotten out of hand.
Virgil thanked John and entered the barn. Most of the others inside were resting on bales of hay and conversing quietly amongst themselves. Baskets of bread lay on the bales as well as metal pitchers of water. Virgil tore off a crusty chunk and took a large drink of water, pouring the rest over his sweat-dampened hair. The warm, crusty bread tasted delicious, reminding him of how hungry he'd been. As soon as he'd filled his belly he sat down across from Annabelle. Then he collapsed on the soft, sweet smelling bale and fell fast asleep.