SEVEN DAYS

by James Ryke

  The church was once one of the most significant buildings in the state, but it was now dwarfed by almost every other commercial building in the area. Comparatively speaking, within the last twenty years, the church had shrunk substantially. Now it was marginalized by cheaply constructed buildings. What took McMillian nine years to build would only have taken nine months now, and that is if they were taking their time. The church did have consolation in one thing, however. Early on, it was designated as a historical building, and the land around it was set aside as a nature preserve. As the city of Norwich grew, it spilled out across the valley, but it left the church, the grassy hill it was built on, and the nearby forest untouched.

  The church had been the source of his wife’s concerns, the bane of her existence. “Why buy this building when there are so many others that are bigger and more up to code? The repairs for this place will set us back for a while, maybe forever.” But Isaac insisted, and Rosemary’s unconditional support of her husband won out.

  She was right, Isaac thought, this church has ruined us.

  Isaac walked to the rear of the chapel and entered his home. Instantly, the architecture and smell changed. This portion of the structure was relatively new and well equipped to handle the dangers of a monotonous life. He entered the family room and a blaring boxy TV greeted him. On the side of the TV was a little post-it-note that read, “Future site of plasma TV.” In response, Isaac had written, “Luke 12:15”.

  The TV was playing old reruns of Modern Family; despite the show being canceled, the sitcom was still one of his son’s favorite programs. The show had just ended and transitioned into a news segment. A blond reporter with a perpetual smile began to speak.

  “The Ministry of Health of the United States has notified the World Health Organization or WHO of an outbreak of an undiagnosed illness that has affected fourteen adults, of which all have been described as being in critical condition. All of the cases are localized in Fort Bragg, North Carolina. The symptoms observed are high fever, followed by respiratory or neurologic symptoms with rapid deterioration of respiratory functions. WHO is working with the military and other government officials to investigate the outbreak and to identify the source of the illness. All of the infected individuals are in the military except for one. WHO has begun to provide assistance in the area of field epidemiology and basic quarantine measures. Officials have stated that this outbreak appears to be a rare form of the Avian Flu, and rarely results in death. But we are being told this is vastly different than Covid-19 for one important reason. A group of dynamic scientists who are based out of California claim to have already synthesized an inoculation to the virus. Plans to distribute the vaccination among military officials are already underway. Authorities are instructing individuals in that area to take basic precautions such as washing your hands often, covering your mouth when you cough, and avoiding large group gatherings…”

  Isaac dropped the mail on a nearby end table. “Jacob, what are you doing up so early?”

  Jacob did a half-hearted twist of his head, “Oh, hey Dad. I was just up.”

  “How come you can’t get up this early on a school day?”

  Jacob stood up and flipped the television off. “The same reason you can’t help but post scriptures on the walls instead of giving lectures. We’re just built that way.”

  “Would you prefer lectures?”

  Jacob shrugged. “Well, you still give plenty of those, just not on the small things…like wanting a plasma TV.”

  “Did you look the scripture up?”

  Jacob shrugged again. “I thumbed through the Bible, hoping there would be a gift card for Best Buy—I thought it might have been your creative side coming out.”

  “You’re eighteen now. Why don’t you get a job?”

  Jacob fell backwards onto a worn couch. “Applying for jobs sounds like so much work.”

  Wait until you finally get the job, Isaac thought. He decidedly went to sit next to his son on the couch, but his son did not make any room for him. So, instead, he sat on Jacob’s chest. “Well, getting a job is tough work, but that’s the beginning and end of everything in life. ‘By the sweat of thy brow…’”

  Jacob’s face was turning slightly red. “It’s a little early for scriptures, Dad.”

  “Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long.”

  “You know, I just added Child Protective Services to the speed dial.”

  “What a coincidence, I just added an adoption agency to the speed dial.”

  Jacob grinned, wheezing with troubled laughter. “You wouldn’t even know how to program the speed dial. By the way, you’re crushing my chest cavity.”

  Isaac prodded Jacob in the ribs. “Come on. You’re tougher than that. Let’s see if you can get out of there yourself.”

  “I’m afraid of breaking your bones, old man.”

  “Duly noted. Let’s see what you got.”

  “You don’t want nun of this.”

  Isaac frowned. “Wow, you should put all these excuses in a book and publish it.”

  “Oh yeah,” Jacob yelled. He began to kick off the couch and buck wildly, forcing Isaac to reach out with his hands to stabilize himself.

  “Did you feel a tremor?” Isaac asked. “Pretty weak sauce. I bet that wouldn’t even hit a two on the Richter scale.”

  Jacob finally forced himself free and wrapped his hands around his father. The impromptu wrestling match went to the ground as Isaac was thrown back. Neither one of them was good at wrestling, so their conflict took on a somewhat surreal appearance as each one tried moves that they had either seen on WWE or YouTube. Whenever the match turned into a stalemate, the fighting turned dirty, each one resorting to a series of cheap shots until the other could get the advantage. Isaac had just grabbed Jacob and hoisted him on his shoulders when Rosemary Savage walked downstairs.

  “Good morning, did I already miss today’s wrestling match?” She pointed at one of the far walls. “Oh, watch the lamp, dear.”

  “What lamp?” Isaac said. He turned around to see where she was pointing, and Jacob’s head accidentally hit the lamp square on, knocking it to the floor. Fortunately, with all the commotion, one of the couch cushions had been hit free and caught the lamp before it struck the tile.

  Isaac winced. “Sorry, sweetie. Good morning. How did you sleep?”

  “It’s okay as long as the lamp did not break,” Rosemary said. “If you two sit at the table, we can plan out our day. We’ve got a lot to go over.”

  “What?” Isaac said. “What do we have to go over?”

  “I have to cook a meal for the Thompsons—Sarah is still bedridden since having the baby; at seven I have Development Night with the women; we have the service project with the Hansons at noon; and, Jacob needs to go over the skit for the church talent show.”

  “Ugh,” Jacob said.

  Isaac wanted to agree with Jacob, but he did not know how Rosemary would respond.

  Jacob collapsed at the kitchen table. “I don’t want to do any of those things.”

  “And you don’t have to…” Isaac replied.

  “What?” Rosemary and Jacob said at the same time.

  “…as long as you work on your college applications,” Isaac added.

  “Wow, Dad,” Jacob replied. “You sure had that trap set for a while.”

  Isaac sat down. “Son, going to college is an important step in your future.”

  Jacob frowned. “Dad, I know. I’ll get around to it…or maybe I don’t even need a degree.” He waited for a few seconds for his words to sink in before continuing. “College is not the only option. In fact, most kids regret taking on student loans so that they can learn about things that they’ll never use. Nowadays, there are no guarantees that I’ll get a better job if I go to college.”

  Now it was Isaac’s turn to look surprised, “What?”

  “The government feels that it’s no longer their responsibility to
help pay for schooling. Grants no longer exist, and there’s no way I could get a scholarship. Only people with famous last names can afford school.”

  Isaac swallowed hard. “You can get a student loan, can’t you?”

  “With the cost of tuition as it is, I could barely get a bachelor’s degree without owing more than a house. Plus, I don’t even need a degree to do what I want to do.”

  Isaac leaned back, preparing himself for whatever Jacob might say.

  The enthused youth continued. “Dad, I want to be in law enforcement, just like Uncle Rick. You don’t need a college degree to be a cop or even a Border Patrol Agent. Maybe I could get some low-level Federal job and then work my way up to a Special Agent position with the FBI or DEA or something.”

  “A cop? That’s the most dangerous job out there. You could

  get shot or sued. Rick got out of law enforcement for that very reason.”

  “Get with the times, Dad. That’s how it was years back—like in 2022—but not now. Things have changed. They get to beat people up, and no one says anything about it. I saw this guy getting the crap kicked out of him by three cops, and nothing happened to the cops.”

  “Cops don’t get to do anything they want.”

  “They do now,” another voice added to the mix. It was Jane, the youngest in the family. Although she was the youngest, she was almost the most well-read.

  Everyone turned.

  Rosemary sighed. “Jane, how long have you been there?”

  “Since about halfway through those two’s testosterone match,” Jane answered. “Over the last ten years, many of the cities in the United States have been dismantling their police, either through cutting funding or limiting their authority. But crime has just continued to rise—so has civil unrest. It’s become so bad in Chicago, that whole sections of the city have simply been abandoned.”

  “Yeah, so cops are held more accountable than ever,” Isaac asserted. “Their hands are so tied, they can’t write a ticket without it ending up on Youtube.” He never followed politics or new laws, not more than reading the occasional headline.

  “Well, that’s when things went from bad to worse. Soon nobody wanted to be a cop and crime exploded. Some cities tried to replace cops with phycologists or social workers—so they could deescalate the situation instead of it ending in violence—but that all changed with State of California versus Rodriguez.”

  Jacob’s body began to slouch. He always tuned out when his sister was on the cusp of some political speech.

  Jane continued, undeterred by the body language of everyone else in the room. “Rodriguez was in the Social Solution, a new unit established by the State of California that was to replace modern policing over a period of ten years. Six months into his new career, Rodriguez responded to a Domestic Violence call, where a Joseph Wright was beating his girlfriend with a wrench. When Rodriguez showed up, attempting to deescalate with nothing but a clipboard and a smile, the man set his dogs on Rodriguez. It was all recorded by neighbors, and went viral within the hour.”

  Isaac did remember this situation—he remembered seeing the brutal images that went global. The Pastor frowned, shaking his head.

  “And then the man turned the wrench onto Rodriguez…”

  Isaac put up his right hand in defense. “We don’t need the details—”

  “Well, anyway,” Jane said, “after Rodriguez’s family sued the state, it started a string of law suits initiated by Social Solution members against the State of California.”

  “That doesn’t explain how cops are now,” Jacob replied.

  “Well, the rest of the States were watching as California’s justice system completely collapsed,” Jane insisted. “And thereafter, every state has been rebuilding and refunding their police force.”

  “And they don’t have body cameras anymore,” Jason said, eager to be back in the conversation.

  “Really?” Isaac said.

  “Body cameras are still used in most states,” Jane replied, “but only at the discretion of the officer. Most states have also brought back a more robust form of qualified immunity. In most states, you can’t even sue an officer.”

  Isaac pulled his head back. “Really?”

  “With the way crime has exploded, one can’t expect a cop to put their life on the line and serve unless they feel like they will be protected while they are doing their job. But it might have been too little, too late.”

  “See Dad,” Jacob said. “Being a cop is a good thing.”

  Issac looked at his daughter and smiled. She had billowy brown hair that was usually roped in by a hair tie, but right now it was free and wild. Her hair was so out of control that it made other people’s “morning hair” look stylish. Her clothes were baggy, and her glasses were thick—two things that seemed to be at the heart of her insecurities. Isaac would have liked to encourage his daughter to spend more money on clothes so that she would fit in a little better, but he was a Pastor, a man that should be preaching against vanity, not encouraging it. Besides, he had no sense of style or fads, and so he stayed relatively quiet on the subject. He did, however, encourage Rosemary to talk to their daughter, so at least one of them could help her dress like a seventeen-year-old should instead of a little kid. But like many daughters in the world who are struggling with their identity, Jane did not take kindly to her mother’s advice.

  Rosemary was different than her daughter in almost every aspect. She was known as a powerhouse within the church. She donated countless hours of her time to cooking for the sick, organizing service projects for the needy, and planning and preparing for a myriad of church activities. She essentially organized every facet of the church from the Sunday service to the charity team on Wednesdays to the Bible study group on Tuesdays to the Women’s Development on Thursdays. In truth, she did more in a week by herself than most religious communities did in a month.

  Isaac nodded towards his daughter. “So what about that dance coming up? You’re seventeen now. You can go to dances like that.” He had never broached the subject of a social event with his daughter, and his voice clearly betrayed his awkwardness, but he figured that with a light tone and a playful gesture, he just might get a positive response. He was wrong. Instead, Jane fixed an annoyed look on her face and began reading the New York Times on her beat-up eTablet.

  Isaac turned his attention back to Jacob, at least he responded when he spoke. “Son, listen. I don’t care what you do in life, as long as you’re doing it for the right reasons. If you want to be a cop, be a cop, but tell me it’s because you believe in upholding the law or something.”

  Jacob looked at his father, his face devoid of emotion. “I want to be a cop because I want to uphold the law and—”

  Isaac rolled eyes. “Don’t just tell me that, I want you to believe it. I want you to believe in the justice of the United States penal system, believe in the fact that you’ll be risking your life for a better cause. It’s not just a position of power, but a position of responsibility.”

  “Dad,” Jacob whispered, “I don’t think anyone believes in that anymore.”

  THREE

  Rick did not drink his regular quota of alcohol the night before, and so he was up earlier than usual. It was 10:00 AM. He had received two texts last night: one from his friend Alex, the other from a number that he had not seen for several years. Alex’s text was simple: “Tom’s hand broke. I’ve got a fight coming up. No one can teach like you. You free in the afternoons?” Rick deleted this text and went on to the next one: “Be part of our million dollar giveaway. Text Gold to 75764 within the next five minutes.” Most people would disregard a text like that, but Rick knew immediately what it was. He blinked his eyes repeatedly as his limbs slowly stirred to life. He slapped his cheek, forcing adrenaline through his veins. On your feet, Rick. You’ve got work to do. This final thought revived his body. Within five minutes, he had showered and dressed. He concealed a gun at his waist and attached anothe
r to his ankle. He thought about bringing an extra gun magazine but then decided against it. I’m not going anywhere—I just wanna see what he wants.

  Years in the Border Patrol and later in the CIA had made Rick paranoid. His brain had been trained to think everything was a trap—that everyone was a double Agent. This might have been good practice five years ago, just before he left the Agency but, now, the CIA did not have any secrets worth protecting. Espionage was a thing of the past. Any secret worth selling had already been sold; any money that had been used to pay for secrets had long been spent.

  Rick went down two flights of stairs before he reached the basement floor. He flipped a light on, revealing a massive control room. The scene would have been impressive had it not been for the trash that littered the floor. The setup could have best been described as a high tech command center that had been used to host a drinking party. Everything looked sophisticated and cutting edge except for one wall that was a collage of photos and newspaper clippings. To Rick’s left was a large gun rack lined with multiple M4’s, the same model that was readily available before the assault rifle buyback program began. Technically, it was illegal to possess any type of long arm in America, but this was a law that most former law enforcement officers preferred to ignore. On another gun rack, there was a host of pistols, magazines, various gas grenades, and silencers. The pistol selection was much more diverse and had everything from 1911s to Glocks—all of them in .40 caliber. Along the way were several red cabinets marked with various types of gun supplies and ammo. The center of the room had a large, horseshoe table that was decked with multiple computer consoles—one, in particular, was the most dynamic and had eight different monitors. Several of the screens were streaming news channels from across the world.