‘No matter how strong I get, I can’t protect them. The realization cuts my heart like cold steel… If fate is a millstone, then we are the grist. There is nothing we can do. So I wish for strength. If I cannot protect them from the wheel, then give me a strong blade, and strength to shatter fate.’ -Ichigo Kurosaki, BLEACH vol. 23

***

“Joseph?”

Joseph paused, mid-stroke, and put the knife and whet-stone aside. He knew the sight of himself, with a knife in hand, made most people nervous. He turned in his seat at the work bench, his hand not far from the weapon, and said to Kowalski, “Yes, ‘sergeant’?”

James Kowalski winced. He could hear the quotation marks, because he was listening for them. The self-serving brevet ranks of both himself and the lieutenant were necessary. He would gladly face a courts-martial, if and when things ever returned to ‘normal’. A world where the dead didn’t go shambling down the street, and he could take a date to the movies, or get this man some help.

“Look, Joseph,” for no one called Joseph simply ‘Joe’, “I wanted to apologize, for saying, ah…”

“That I’m a sociopath, and that we need a psychiatrist, stat?” Joseph’s lips skinned back from his teeth, but the smile never got anywhere near his eyes, and Kowalski saw that, once again, Joseph was trying. Trying so damn hard to be normal, to be human, to put his fellow survivors at ease.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re right.”

Kowalski found that his hand was on his pistol, and moved it away. Joseph, with an effort that cost him, turned his back to his knife and sat, leaning back against the bench, with his hands together, in front of him. He willed his muscles to relax, and sighed.

“What do you mean by that?” Kowalski asked.

“I am what I need to be, but it’s not easy. If I could, I would… stop.” Joseph’s eyes were bright. “What little we have, I love, and I will protect what I love, but I won’t pretend that I’m right, just… Righteous.” This time he did smile, and it made it all the way to his eyes.

“Joseph…”

“It’s good that you’re making a new life for yourselves,” Joseph went on, looking down. He was referring to Kowalski and Barnes’ sister, Susan; they had announced their engagement at dinner, the night before. “I’m happy for you and Suzy. You two should get married as soon as possible.” He looked up, again. “It’s a good match, the sister and the right-hand man of our two main leaders, and it’s something normal, something hopeful.”

Joseph turned back to his work. “I was talking to ‘Little Jay’ about it, and she agrees-”

“Joseph, are you jealous?”

The man at the bench chuckled. “No! She’s a nice woman, pretty, too, and she deserves to be happy. So do you, Jim.”

Kowalski started; Joseph had never used his first name before. It was always ‘Kowalski’ or ‘Ski’, ‘corporal’ or, now, ‘sergeant’.

“I know that people have been saying that I’m marrying her because she’s got a claim on the ranch…”

“And people are saying that she’s with you because you’re a big macho soldier, ‘him kill heap many zombie!’ Don’t listen to idiots, and take their jealousy with a grain of salt. I know that you love each other, are in lust with each other, but security has got a little something to do with it, too. Accept that, don’t deny it. Safety is one of those ‘need’ things…”

“What’s that?”

“Food and shelter, you know the hierarchy of needs? In our case, freedom from getting munched by zombies…” Joseph examined the blade, seeing his bleak eyes reflected there. He wiped it clean, sheathed it, and turned around on the stool, holding the knife and sheath tightly.

“Mother Constance is the leader of that group, the so-called Army of God. She’s responsible for over a thousand people, I hear tell, and we know how she maintains order in her flock, Jim. She exposes the ‘sinners’; thieves and rapists, maybe, but also the dissenters and unbelievers and the odd homosexual? She puts them outside.” His knuckles were white from gripping the knife in its sheath so tightly. “She’s mine.”

“Jesus, Joe…”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me that,” Joseph said, sadly. “I’ve exxed out my share of zombies, put Zeke down for good, and helped more than a few people who’ve been bit; but this is a straight up assassination, and I’m you’re man. If the snipers get her, fine. But I’ll make sure of her. She’s got unclean death inside of her, Jim, and she’s too dangerous to let live.”

***

Joseph crept up on the enemy sniper in the little flat roof-corner. The snipers’ lookout was already staring sightlessly up at the big West Texas sky. Joseph had complete surprise, and put his gloved hand over the man’s mouth, the knife to his throat, a knee in his back, and said quietly, “Sorry,” drawing the blade sideways. Life spurted, hot and very red in the pale morning chill.

Andy was the replacement sniper for the home team. He looked from the body, to Joseph, and then got into position without a word. He made approving noises, clucking happily at the found sniper rifle, a better rig than he had brought along. The bitter complaints about going back to his gun-shop for his own monster of dubious legality and provenance, supposedly a Vietnam-era souvenir, were forgotten. Andy put down an air mattress and sleeping bag, wiped the rig off, and set to work, talking quietly with his spotter, his teenage daughter.

Veronica, Ronnie, spared the body a briefly look of pity, and gave Joseph an unabashed blank stare, so he dragged the dead man back around to where the stairs came up to the roof before he made doubly sure of him. There was always the possibility he had just been bit, or that Zeke had changed the rules, again. He did the same with the lookout.

Someone else was taking care of the other enemy snipers nest, and Barnes’ neighbor was set up over there. There were two prisoners, who had been camped out at the Baptist Church; they had decided not to cooperate, so the word on the snipers nests was simply, ‘kill them’. Joseph got down to the little welcoming committee, where his job was to wait, be mildly intimidating, and watch the Lieutenant and Rancher Barnes’ backs. If things went very badly, which they probably would, he would be within yards of Mother Constance, and he tried not thinking about all of that.

“Joseph… are you with us, Joseph?” Lt. Marshall asked. Joseph nodded, and then remembered to add, “Yes, sir. I am.”

The Lieutenant eyed him, sighed, and walked over to Barnes. They talked quietly, and Joseph did his best not to eavesdrop. He heard most of it, anyway; about Suzy and Ski, the second, fully functional tank and crew of two survivors that that-bastard-Smith had located and gotten back to their base in the wee small hours of this morning, somewhat redeeming himself, plus contingencies. They didn’t, or felt that they couldn’t, talk about Joseph, which left a big hole in their planning. Joseph helpfully switched off with Gomer, saying he needed to relieve himself.

Zeke was out there, of course, so Joseph didn’t wander far. What was more worrisome this morning was how many more living, breathing hostiles might also be out there. Mother Constance was due, coming to make a deal sweetened by the tank. A very simple deal; join the Army of God, or die. Their foraging parties overlapped, and competition would not be permitted.

Bill, Not-Bit, came along and did his business at about the same time, and they wordlessly agreed to stand back to back, eyes scanning all around. A question nagged at Joseph, and he asked, “Why are you out here?”

“I asked if I could volunteer. Bob,” Bob-the-Electrician, and one of the ‘heads of state’, the representatives of the survivor groups that had joined over the last three weeks,” talked to Barnes.”

“Why?”

They finished and made their way back. Joseph took the lead, and found that an ankle-biter had crawled into their path. It was a truly pathetic example of zombie-dom, and Joseph motioned for Bill to crush its skull with his bat, which he did, while Joseph cast around. Where there was one… but they moved on, unmolested.

“I suppose… I thought that I had something to prove,” Bill said, quietly.

“Stupid. You’ve got vital skills-“ Joseph shook his head. Why was he giving the man a hard time for doing what he had to do? It made no sense; it just was. “Look, do us all a favor, will ya? Don’t catch a bullet, don’t get bit, and don’t die.”

“I’ll try-“

“You will damn well do better than try, damn it. Do you hear me?”

Bill looked startled, and would have said something, but they heard the sound of approaching vehicles. Joseph’s belly did a slow, sickening roll, and then the uneasiness passed away, and he was centered, in himself and in the world. Ready. He nodded.

“Show-time.”

***

There were roamers, and ankle-biters, Zeke-in-a-box, Kenny’s and Kay-Zee’s. It was the specialized vocabulary and jargon of the zombie-apocalypse. Joseph reviewed the list after somebody from the A-of-G side of this little shindig mentioned ‘gut-busters’; that was a new one by him, but apparently, when Zeke fed a little too well, well…

The tank rolled up, and the little group from to the South oohed and ahed appreciatively. His opposite number rolled his eyes, and Joseph found himself imagining sinking his knife up to the hilt, right under the big guy’s chin.

He had definitely been doing this for far too long.

Mother Constance was suddenly by his elbow, and Joseph felt the raw power of her personality. She was definitely mad, but it was the sort of madness that comforted you, held you tight and made you feel safe. It took you up, took you out of yourself, and made you part of something. To belong, to not be alone.

“Very impressive, friends,” Mother Constance said, “But be not led into the sin of pride, of vanity. This, too, is God’s Plan,” and she held her hands high, turning towards their vehicles. “Look upon the power and glory of The Lord, Our God!”

“Behold, a Mystery…” she added, almost as an after-thought, and one of her acolytes, the one with the Japanese sword over his shoulder, opened the back door of a police car. A zombie lurched out of the back seat. It turned to the next nearest human, Bill-Not-Bit.

“No! In the name of The Lamb of God, hold fast!”

And Zeke stood still; not happy, if it could be said to be happy or unhappy, but agitated. It turned to Mother Constance.

Joseph looked down at the knife, in his hand, and wondered how it had gotten there. There would be time enough later, to piece together what he had done wrong, if there was a later. He advanced on the old woman. Then he watched as, in his peripheral vision, his knife hand moving far too slowly, the katana blurred towards it, and made a bias cut that separated it from his lower arm, leaving blood, pain, and two pointy bone ends.

“Sorry, friend, can’t have you ki-“ The man with the sword said, and was cut off as Joseph swung up and under his chin, but off-center, opening a jugular, stabbing up all the way through the back of the man’s tongue, and just barely reaching the brain.

The pain was a blinding white-out, and when Joseph came to, lying by a car, the acolyte was just about finished. He had voided himself, and was drumming his feet in the gravel. Mother Constance was trying to hold him, stricken and in shock. The snipers took her, one bullet in the shoulder so that she spun around, and then her head exploded.

It was glorious, and Joseph basked in guilty satisfaction. Once more, proof that he was not a good man. Then a shadow fell across him. Zeke had wandered close, looking confused. It staggered against the car and fell onto him as a bullet buzzed through the air where its head had just been. It bit him, deep, before Joseph could knock it away, and he sat up, looking in wonder at the big chunk that the zombie had just taken out of his thigh.

This was embarrassing; a clumsy, stupid-Zeke trick, and he laughed. “Damn.”

There was a sickening pop, as Bill’s bat connected, and Zeke was ‘outta here!’ Bill looked down at Joseph, and Joseph winked up at him. “That’s the high cost of living, Bill; an arm and a leg!”

“What if we-“

“No; just bring me my knife, will you? I guess-“ He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “I guess that I won’t be adopting Little Jay, after all…”

Bill’s hand was shaking when he handed him the knife. Joseph took it with his left hand; held it up and looked at his reflection in the blade. His eyes no longer had a haunted look. Just so. At least now he didn’t have to worry about becoming a monster, either because he’d given up his humanity or because some zombie had ‘shared the love’; that would inevitably happen, if he didn’t take steps. Freedom is… nothing left to lose.

“Don’t you want to wait around a bit and talk to the Lieutenant or… Little Jay?”

“I’ve never wanted to burden anybody else with this shit, Bill, and it’s not going to get any easier, if I wait. Say my goodbyes for me, please?” Bill nodded.

Joseph took a deep breath. It was understandably awkward; left-handed, under the chin and into the brain, so that he would not rise and join the restless dead. Unfortunately, he needed a little help, or he would have botched it. Afterwards Bill pulled the knife out, wiped it and sheathed it, and placed it on Joseph’s chest, next to the severed hand.