SEVEN DAYS

by James Ryke

  Rick nodded. “Now that we know what to expect from each other, gather in a circle. Every day, we will meet at sunrise to drill. If you are late, everyone here will be punished for it. We will train as one solid unit, and we will be punished the same way—starting right now.”

  “Drill?” asked several people in unison.

  Rick only smiled in answer. He began leading everyone in stretches and muscle warm-ups. After several minutes, they began circuit training and line sprints. Within five minutes, the majority of people were red-faced and flustered with sweat. Many of the older, wider men posted their hands on their knees as they struggled for breath. Rick shook his head. And I thought I was out of shape. That was supposed to be our warm-up, not our workout. After studying the beet-red faces around him, he forwent the workout and instead transitioned into firearms training.

  He picked up an M4 and cycled the charging handle several times before he locked it back so the chamber was open. He pointed out the different components of the rifle and how to operate them.

  “Most of the ammo that I have is soft point, meaning that the tip of the bullet is a soft metal that’ll expand in the opponent’s body upon impact. No matter what type of ammo you’re shooting, you won’t feel much recoil with the rifle.”

  He hit the slide release, sending the bolt carrier forward with a loud clang of metal. “There are three important things to firearm proficiency: sight acquisition, smooth trigger pull, and surprise hammer fall. First, when you’re firing a gun, you must focus solely on the front sight—everything else must be blurry. Sometimes it helps to repeat to yourself ‘front sight’ as you shoot. Second, your trigger pull must be smooth; the slightest jerky movement can pull bullets from your target. Finally, you must have a surprise hammer fall. Your body will naturally try to anticipate the kick of the rifle or pistol. The only way to prevent this instinct is for you not to know exactly when the gun will go off—that is why it’s called ‘surprise hammer fall.’ These must be practiced over and over until it becomes muscle memory. If you obey these three rules, and if you practice enough, you’ll never miss your target.”

  Rick passed the M4’s around the room, giving everyone a chance to heft the rifles and work the action. He lined everyone up and had them dry fire several times before they were allowed to pass the weapon onto someone else. Then they drilled with the guns and empty magazines, loading and reloading them until each one felt proficient. Rick ran the group through another series of exercises before he finally released them for the day.

  As the group broke up and several people started to hobble away, Rick could not help but sigh. I’ve got my work cut out for me.

  SIXTEEN

  Day 4

  The next morning, Rick continued to set a grueling pace with his morning workout, which turned violent and chaotic at times. Isaac thanked God that the church was built like a fortress with an old Flemish bond and double brick and mortar that could bear the load of the abuse. Some of the older, more out of shape individuals complained that their bodies were still sore from the day before. Rick simply replied by saying that the best way to work out sore muscles is to work them out again. They broke the group into two teams—Alpha and Bravo—and began drilling defensive posturing.

  At the end of the training session, as people were trying to suck in as much air as their lungs could hold, Rick looked at the crowd around him. “I need four or five individuals to volunteer as scouts. Only these few will be allowed to leave the church today, but they’ll have the difficult task of covertly gathering information. Otherwise, you’re dismissed.”

  Hope seemed to brighten at the chance of leaving the church for a few hours, but, for most people, it dimmed again when Rick said that it would be “difficult.” The crowd began to give way until only four people remained. Jacob was one of them.

  Rick looked straight at Jacob, his eyes studying him carefully. “You’ve got an advantage of flying under the radar because you look so young, but are you sure you can handle this?”

  Jacob attempted to speak but stumbled on his words. He nodded instead.

  “All right,” Rick replied, “you four follow me.”

  Rick took the small group to Isaac’s office where Rick had them sit down. “I know all of your names, but I haven’t met any of you personally, besides Jacob. Tell me a little bit about your former occupation. I’ll go first. My name is Rick Savage. I formerly worked as a Border Patrol Agent but later became a CIA Operative. I’ve logged thousands of hours in the field working reconnaissance, surveillance, counterintelligence, and operational planning and implementation. I'm an unofficial black belt in Ju-Jitsu, and I have studied MMA for the last six years. Hector, you go next.”

  “Ok, Boss Man, my name is Hector Rodriguez. I’m the First Councilor here. Before this, I was a real estate agent.”

  “You can still make money doing that?” Rick asked.

  “You got that right, Boss Man,” Hector replied. “You give me a tiny plot of land, a firm foundation, and four walls, and I’ll have it sold before the month is out. If you give me another six months, I’ll even sell it for the price you want.”

  “What about tactical training?” Rick asked.

  “Real-estate is not as safe as it used to be,” Hector replied, “a lot of my amigos been put into their grave just for trying to do their job, but not me. I don’t have much experience with a gun, but I can cut you up real good with a knife.”

  The other three men looked at Hector, their eyes wide with surprise.

  “What?” Hector said, “I never said I killed anyone.”

  There were a few moments of silence before the next individual spoke in a quiet but firm voice. “My name is Ryan McCurdy; I’m the second Councilor. I have been formally trained in the police academy and am proficient with a rifle and pistol. I want you to know, however, that our training is flitters compared to what it used to be—or so I’ve heard. I’m no bogtrotter, but the department’s budget has been slashed so many times that we had to turn off electrical power to half the station just to stay afloat. So, my training might not be grand.”

  “My name is Anthony Simmons. I used to play basketball every Thursday night until I hurt my knee. Nothing serious, but I just did not want to take any chances. I’ve never touched a gun until yesterday, but it doesn’t mean I can’t learn.”

  “I’m not sure this sort of thing is suited for you,” Rick said, his gaze flicking back to the other man’s black eye. “I think your energy might be more useful somewhere else.”

  Anthony’s jaw tightened. “All right, Rick, it’s no secret you and I have different opinions. Yes, you hit me—and I don’t think I deserved it. I was so shocked by it I did not react—but that doesn’t mean that I couldn’t have reacted—it just means you took me by surprise. I can hold my own, and I’ll prove it.”

  “This isn’t a testosterone match,” Rick replied as he tightened his chest muscles. “This is real. We can’t make mistakes or our loved ones will pay the price.”

  “I know,” Anthony said, his eyes locking on Rick. “And that’s why I’m here: I’ve got two boys and a little girl—and they depend on me. The last two days have changed my opinion—I was wrong, but don’t hold that against me. Give me a chance.”

  Rick nodded and took a step back. “Fair enough, Anthony. You’ll get your chance. All right, who’s next?”

  “My name is Jacob Savage. I once tried out to be a receiver for the high school football team, but I couldn’t catch the ball. The coach said I could run like heck though—so that should count for something. I’ve also watched a lot of MMA fights on television.”

  “Isaac lets you watch fights?” Rick asked.

  “I figure he wouldn’t if I asked him—so, I just never asked.” Rick nodded. “All right, gentlemen. We all have an idea of what’s going on, but we don’t have the complete picture. That’s the bad thing about being in a church that’s on the edge of town. We need you guys to enter the cit
y and gather further intelligence. I don’t need you risking your life or anything like that. We just want general information about the condition of the people out there: What’s the general sentiment; how do they seem to be managing; what’s the government’s role in the situation, etc. Go where the crowds of people are—that’s the best way to stay away from trouble. A few of the Congregation have brought their bicycles here—that’ll be a quicker way to get into the city, but that’s your choice. If you decide to take a bike, leave it outside of the city—it might get seized or draw unwanted attention.” Rick continued to speak about various other topics such as how to avoid detection and apprehension; how to react if your cover is comprised or you are questioned; how to posture your body so that you draw little attention.

  “But the most important thing,” Rick said, “is that you act naturally. If you feel you are being tailed back to the church, I want you to scratch your nose repeatedly and then head into the woods. I’ll take care of the rest and then come and get you.”

  “How will you see us, boyo,” McCurdy said.

  “I’ll see you,” Rick replied. “Any more questions?”

  Jacob had a dozen more questions, but he did not want to ask in front of all the others, and so when he left the office, he felt awkward, like a newly born calf taking its first steps. At the same time, he also felt a fresh rush of adrenaline pumping through his body. Rick trusts me to do this. He depends on me to get this done.

  Jacob and the other three individuals slipped out the back door of the church and dashed to the woods. From there, they split off into different paths until they could circle back around to the town. Jacob took the longest and most challenging route and did not leave the cover of the trees until several hours later. As he broke the tree line, he could see large, black columns of smoke wafting through the sky and collecting in the stratosphere. The trails of smoke came from several distant buildings that were still blazing red with flames. The city looked chaotic and dirty, like a refugee camp.

  The first building Jacob saw, he did not readily recognize. As he approached the structure, a horrific smell hit his nose, forcing him to cover his face with his hand. Something was rotting. The scent was relentless and unforgiving. Jacob involuntarily began coughing through his tightly knit fingers. His mouth started to salivate, and he had to keep taking small breaths to prevent himself from vomiting. He approached the building slowly, eyeing the grounds carefully for the source of the smell.

  It’s an old folks’ home. Jacob thought. He then spotted a dead cat near the bottom of the front steps. He stepped closer to the building; his eyes focused on the black feline. How can that little cat produce such a nasty smell? This question seemed to break Jacob’s tunnel vision and, for the first time, he was able to take in the whole scene. Jacob was not sure how he could have seen only the dead feline but, all at once, he became aware of the dozens of bodies strewn across the lawn. Older men and women, many of them still in their last dying pose, were scattered like weeds in every direction. Flies and bugs swarmed in on the bodies, buzzing in one constant sound. A dog fiercely attacked the leg of an old lady who was face down in the dirt, a red wig lopsidedly clung to her head.

  At one end of the building, there were a few freshly dug graves. Two shovels were set against a building as if the owners would return to continue the job that they had started. The graves were shallow and inadequate; only three of them had been completed—the other two were only halfway done. As Jacob stepped forward to get a better look at the gravesites, he inadvertently stepped on a fallen branch that cracked under his weight. In the silence of the day, the crack seemed to carry out longer and farther than it should have.

  An older man in a wheelchair stirred to life, his sunken and shallow face looking for the source of the sound. As the older man moved, dozens of flies buzzed off his body, scattering amongst the surrounding corpses. The wheelchair had been pushed out onto the front porch and positioned so that the older man could see the dying lawn and wilting flowers. His bloodshot, milky eyes now strained towards the direction of where Jacob stood. Slowly his mouth moved, but no words escaped his throat. His face had been badly burned by the sun and was covered in blisters that were either newly forming or had ruptured into small geysers of puss.

  Jacob narrowed his eyes and stared, his hands shaking with indecision. He’s dying—he should already be dead. Where is everyone? Where are the nurses or the employees? How could they just leave these people to die out here? He needs water. Someone has to do something. Where is everyone?

  Jacob back peddled, his eyes still transfixed on the older man’s frame. He stared for a few moments longer before he turned away from the daunting scene. His walk quickly turned into a jog and then into a sprint as a sense of urgency overcame him. The retirement home was not too far from the edge of the city, and Jacob reached it within minutes. The small hope of finding help quickly diminished as he hit Main Street. The citizens of Norwich were withdrawn, as if they had nothing else on their mind except where they were going and what they were doing.

  Jacob passed an electronic store with busted windows. The plasma TV’s, as well as every other high dollar electronic device, had been stolen or destroyed. The walls were torn apart, and the roof had collapsed in one section. The only thing that remained was a mess of wires and cables hanging from the ceiling and fixtures like sadistic cobwebs. The next store had also been looted but to a much lesser extent. This store sold shoes. The glass had been broken, but most of the shoes remained undisturbed; only the major brands had disappeared from the shelves.

  Jacob continued his stroll down the street, his eyes focused on a distant point on the horizon, like Rick had taught him. Every block was the same—few people and lots of scattered garbage and fragments of glass. Occasionally, he would come to an area or building that had completely burned down. The cause of the fires was not immediately apparent, but it seemed that no one had even attempted to fight the flames—some of them were still smoldering.

  As Jacob approached the city center he began to see more faces: a group of children sitting on a sidewalk and staring into a gutter as if it was a flatscreen tv; a young man pushing a shopping cart full of clothing; a woman passed out in the middle of the street, the front of her shirt stained with vomit. He walked past a park that had now been turned into a makeshift refugee camp. Hundreds of tents covered the grounds with only small paths of dead grass between them. Several porta-potties had been placed at various entrances to the park, but all of them had hand-drawn signs on them that read “Out of Service.” They had been so overused that at least two of them had burst at the seams, creating a lava-like flow of the wretched liquid. The smell wafting from the camp was so potent that it forced Jacob to cross the street. Most people were not doing anything besides lounging on the dead grass and soaking up the sun. Several teenage girls were spread out on lawn chairs in brightly colored bikinis, their skinned oiled up with tanning lotion. For the most part, besides distant and morose music, the park was silent. People did not seem to have too much to say to each other. There were a dozen campfires that sent up jagged columns of smoke into the air, but even these looked pathetic.

  After two more blocks, Jacob entered a street that was crowded with people of all ages. They were talking aggressively, sometimes even shouting as they pushed themselves through a makeshift line towards something down the street. In their hands, the people held empty milk jugs or plastic bottles. Occasionally, a few people would walk away from the front of the line toting bottles of water that were filled with a brown-tinged liquid. As Jacob stepped closer, and as the line occasionally broke so that he could see through it, he noticed that several large water heaters had been converted into makeshift faucets. As a person would come to the front of the line, they would twist a knob and fill whatever plastic container they were carrying.

  Jacob watched the process, entranced by the intense expressions on everyone’s faces.

  “You here to get some water?”


  Jacob turned around to see a man dressed in a black shirt and hefting an M4 assault rifle. He wore a piece of red cloth that was tied around his right arm. He was unbathed and unshaven—his whiskers had already started to combine into a beard. He looked young, maybe around twenty-two, but the dark circles around his eyes made him appear older.

  “I came into town looking for help,” Jacob lied. “My family lives off Highway 20—it’s a good jog from here. We only have enough water for a few more days.” This is the story that Rick had given him to share if anyone asked him any questions.

  “You can’t get water until you register with the city council.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The man rolled his head to one side and then the other. “I mean, to receive government assistance, your family has to register with the city council, and you’ve got to submit your house for inspection. You’ll then receive a blue band with a distinct serial number that’ll allow you to pick up a gallon of water per person every day.”

  “And will you deliver the water to my house?”

  The man laughed. “What rock have you been under, boy? Look around you. There are only about forty vehicles in the city that are still functional, and those are being used to transport water back and forth between watering holes. We have over two hundred thousand people in this city that we’re trying to look after, and the nearest river is about thirty miles away.”

  “Why do those cars work?”

  “Something about them being old—hell, I don’t know. But we don’t have the workforce, the time, or the resources to make house calls. That’s why most of the people that live a little distance from town have moved into the parks or abandoned buildings but, as it is, I wouldn’t recommend it.”