by James Ryke
The question went unanswered.
After several minutes, Rick broke the silence. “Don’t think about what just happened—there will be plenty of time for that later. We need to maintain our situational awareness. Let’s keep moving. If we don’t reach the tree line before nightfall, we might be joining those that died in the park.”
TWENTY-ONE
Day 7
Everyone in the Congregation was wide awake despite the late hour. The large meeting room was lit up by a few well-placed 16-watt fluorescent bulbs that gave off the equivalent light of several 60-watt incandescent bulbs. Blankets were taped over all the windows to make sure no light escaped. This would have normally annoyed Rick because it seemed to be a pointless waste of battery power, but his body was so tired, he did not have the energy or the will to complain about it. Anthony, Rick, and Jacob were covered in a thick layer of sweat, dirt, and ashes. Their arm and necklines were pitted with sweat stains that had long since dried into salt lines.
As soon as they entered the church, people rushed them, asking so many questions at once that none of them could be answered. Rick stuck out his hands, demanding that only one person speak at a time. He then answered a few of the questions in his deep, growling voice, but deferred most of them for tomorrow. They were given water and towels to wash their faces, which Jacob gratefully accepted.
Rosemary rushed forward, pulling her son into a tight embrace. “We were so worried about you. Are you Ok? What happened? Why didn’t you call? I could’ve come and picked you up, but you never called.”
Jacob broke the embrace with his mother and held her at arm’s length, his face suddenly angry. “What do you mean I should have called? Do you have any idea what’s going on? Do you have any idea what just happened? Do you know what I just saw?”
“What’s wrong, sweetie?”
“They killed…everyone—the whole city,” Jacob’s voice lost strength mid-sentence. “They were blown up—and those that survived the explosions.... It…it…was…”
Rosemary grabbed her son and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Your imagination has gotten the better of you. Why don’t you sit down in the kitchen and I’ll bake something for you.”
Jacob’s jaw went taut, tears now forming at the end of his eyes. “What do you mean, my imagination? Mom, the oven doesn’t work—”
“It doesn’t’ work?” said Rosemary. “When did that happen?”
Jacob narrowed his eyes as he studied his mother. “They lied. They lied to everyone in the city. They said the Federal Government had…had come to save us. They drew us out into the open…and then…”
There were a few gasps as Jacob spoke.
Rosemary stepped closer. “Come into the kitchen, son. You’ll feel better with some food and sleep.”
Jacob took a step back. “Why are you acting as if nothing has happened?”
“There’s nothing else we can do tonight,” Isaac’s cool, calm voice interjected, “and all of us will benefit from a good night’s sleep. There will be plenty of time to discuss what happened, but now is not the time. Rosemary, take him to the kitchen and heat up some food for him in the old toaster oven—that at least does work.”
“But what about…” asked someone from the Congregation.
“Not now,” Isaac replied, “Not today. Jacob can talk about it tomorrow…if he wants to.”
As the group slowly disbursed, Isaac grabbed Rick’s shoulder. “I need to talk to you.”
Rick turned around slowly, his weariness apparent from the dark circles under his eyes. “It’s been a long day, and I don’t have much patience right now.”
Isaac met Rick’s eyes, “This is important.”
“What do you want?”
Isaac led the way into his office, where Rick collapsed into the nearest chair.
The Pastor shut the door and sat down at his desk. “Thank you for saving my son. I’ve little doubt that he would be gone right now—and me along with him—if it wasn’t for you. I don’t know how you do what do, but I’m forever grateful. I don’t think I could ever be like that.”
“You will,” Rick said as he sank deeper into his chair and closed his eyes. “There’s a learning curve, but when the life of your wife and children are on the line, you’ll have plenty of motivation to learn quickly.”
Isaac leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching the ceiling for his next words. “You went out into the city today without telling me anything about what you were doing, risking your own life in the process. Who are these people you brought back with you?”
“I just met them myself,” Rick replied.
“How did you know where they lived? Or who they were? Why did you save them?”
Rick kicked his feet onto Isaac’s desk, “The food lottery. The selection of winners was not random—as you might have guessed. I selected the winners based on the skills that we were lacking. In each jar of food we gave away, there was a message that basically said because of their skill set they had been selected to survive. I instructed them to stay inside their apartment until Sunday when they would be rescued.”
Isaac rubbed a hand through his hair. “The food lottery was a sham? Why didn’t you tell me? What was all that crap about boosting the morale of the Congregation?”
Rick’s eyes snapped open. “I compiled a list of every occupation of every member in the Congregation—we had a lot of blue-collar, but not enough brains. We need a balance of both. We were short doctors, dentists, and professional tradesmen. A smart person knows a lot; a brilliant person knows a lot of smart people.”
Isaac leaned forward in his chair, it squeaked in violent protest. “You do realize that you’re doing the same thing the Mayor did—and you called him a tyrant for doing it. Remember what Jane said—that the Mayor would form a coalition by choosing only the people that he values. You played the role of God and decided who should live and who should die.”
Rick leaned forward. “I might have wanted the same outcome as the Mayor, but we went about it in very different ways—and that matters. He killed people so he did not have to help them; we hid ourselves so that we did not have to kill people. There’s a big difference. Do not dare put me in the same category as the Mayor—he just murdered thousands of people.”
Isaac straightened his chest and narrowed his gaze. “I just need to know that you are different than him. In the last few days, I’ve seen you take charge in a way I did not think anyone would be capable of, and we need someone like that, but McCurdy and Hector made it back a few hours before you did and they told me what you did out there. McCurdy said that you killed four men without thinking—one of them who was already restrained. And what’s interesting is that you don’t seem to feel any remorse. That scares me: I don’t know what you’re capable of. I don’t know if I really know you.”
Rick stretched his neck and then ran his hands through his hair. “Look, little brother, I don’t know what you thought I did in the CIA, but it wasn’t paperwork. I was a Field Operative. Hell, maybe I’ll feel guilty or something later, but right now, neither of us have that luxury.”
Isaac let out a long sigh, the tension easing from his voice. “Rick, and I do not mean this in an offensive way, but I have to ask you as simply as I can—can I trust you?”
Rick’s voice seemed to pick up the excess venom that had left Isaac’s voice. “Of course you can—that’s the only reason I’m here, to protect your family. And I don’t enjoy killing people. You know me well enough to know that. Every action I take is out of necessity. My actions brought Jacob back to the chapel—not you. You would be mourning the loss of your son had I not done what was necessary. A fork might be useful to eat dinner with, but every once and a while, you need a knife.”
“Why?” Isaac asked simply. “Why did you come here to help my family?”
“That’s just who I am,” Rick said. “Why do you preach the word of God to people who barely pay attention? Why does Jaco
b constantly try to take on more than he can handle? I don’t know. That’s just who we are.” Rick leaned back, took a deep breath, and continued to speak, this time his voice much calmer. “I’ve been on the precipice of hell, and I have witnessed a society collapse into anarchy. It ain’t pretty. People don’t just disappear—they die in the most inhumane ways possible. You’re a good man, Isaac, one of the few good men still alive. You don’t deserve the death that this new world has in store for you.”
“What about Chass?”
“I called him before the blackout,” Rick rubbed his face. “I sent him money and told him to meet us here. But we’ve got to face the facts. That was over a week ago, and even if his motorcycle died in the EMP, he should’ve been able to walk here by now. At this point, your guess is about as good as mine. He’s probably trying to wait it out—like the other nut jobs that stayed in the city and thought the Federal Government was going to bail them out.”
“Do you think other cities are this bad?”
“No,” Rick said, “this new Mayor has completely changed the rules of the game. But it doesn’t matter; from this point on, most cities will start to collapse.”
“What chance does Chass have?”
“Not good,” Rick replied.
“Have faith, brother,” Isaac said. “I have something else to tell you. Your neighbor arrived while you were gone.”
“Mr. Chang?” Rick asked. “Did he bring the truck?”
“He said his name was Mr. Zhao, and he parked the truck next to your SUV in the forest.”
Without another word, Rick exited Isaac’s small office and entered the large meeting room. Instead of heading towards Mr. Zhao, however—who was surrounded by a host of concerned members of the Congregation—Rick left the building, hesitating only for a moment at the door frame for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He was at the truck within seconds, his movements quick and decisive.
Isaac caught up to his brother. “Zhao is inside. He looks pretty beat up. His wife isn’t nearly as bad, but she’s cut up too.”
Rick only glanced at his brother for a moment before he opened the tailgate. “I’ve hidden ammo and half a dozen rifles in the bed of the truck.” At first glance, the truck looked completely normal, but on further inspection, Isaac could tell that something was different. The bed of the truck was several inches thicker than what it should have been. Rick pulled out a multi-tool and began to work on one of the bolts on the floor. Once free, he went to the opposite side of the truck and freed two more bolts. He then pulled sharply up on the floor, revealing a mix of packaging peanuts and firearms.
Rick lifted one of the rifles out of the box. “Boy, am I glad to see you—”
“Did you tell him where you were just so he would drive your truck up here?” Isaac asked.
“What? I can’t drive two vehicles at once.”
“That’s not my point. Zhao has been your neighbor for how long—a year, maybe two?
“I don’t know. Something like that.”
“You don’t even know.”
“We didn’t talk much,” Rick said. “Anyway, what’s up with the interrogation? What does it matter? He’ll have a much better chance of survival here, and now that we’ve got these guns, so will we. Just because we both benefit does not mean that I did anything wrong. Get off your high horse and wake up to the world around you, brother. You need to own up to the hell you’ve been thrown into.”
“Your intent matters just as much as your actions. I don’t think you would’ve cared if he died—that’s my point.”
Rick approached his brother with the rifle still in his hands. “What I do, and what I suggest you do, is to remove your emotions from the decisions you have to make. People will die—that’s unavoidable—but if we can keep a clear head, a few of us might live. We can’t hesitate to act—even if that means that we’re unfair to a few for the sake of the rest. We’re playing by different rules from only a week ago, Isaac.”
“If you have reduced every thought to a cold calculation, then I have to wonder, what else are you willing to sacrifice to meet your ends? How can I trust you?”
“This is who I am,” Rick snapped, “and if you want to survive, this is who you need to become.”
TWENTY-TWO
Day 10
For the next three days, survivors of the attack trickled out of the city, like water from a broken faucet. When they did leave the city, it was usually at a dead sprint. Occasionally Red Sleeves would shoot at them or chase them to the edge of the city, but not much effort was put into their pursuit. The people that did escape the city were ragged and worn, their eyes bloodshot and distant. They carried little with them: a few empty water bottles, a half-empty backpack, and maybe a couple of blankets. Most of the survivors headed out of the south part of the city, towards a town named Hillsboro, located only a few miles away.
At every significant entrance into the city, the Mayor had posted dozens of soldiers, most of them armed with assault rifles. Each entrance was also supported by a vehicle—usually an old truck—that had a mounted machinegun on the back. After the survivors were flushed out, the Mayor seemed to be making a concerted effort to seal off large sections of the city. All of the main entrances into the city were blocked with stacks of vehicles, with one large vehicle being positioned towards the front to act as a gate. With each passing day, the Mayor increased security around the city. The wall of cars was eventually welded to the surrounding buildings; the gates were then transformed into large, steel doors. The tops of buildings were reinforced with sandbags and turned into pillboxes. The vehicles used to patrol the city were reinforced with steel rams, metal plates, and shooting ports.
All of this activity had Isaac nervously pacing around the church. This anxiety spread throughout the Congregation until even the most stalwart individuals found themselves perpetually glancing out the windows towards the city. When Isaac asked Rick about it, the only reply he would get was, “The more you have to do, the less time you’ll have to think about it.”
The Pastor took his brother’s advice and turned his attention to reorganizing the Congregation. He called a meeting and invited every church leader to attend. At that point, it was Rosemary, not Isaac, who promptly took charge. She outlined all of the responsibilities in the church under seven departments: Consumption and Gathering, Water, Shelter, Energy, Sanitation, Education, Security, and Medical. After a quick vote, the organized body decided to call themselves The Atriachs, a name that seemed to sound like it held some authority. To the Consumption and Gathering Department, Rosemary assigned Clint and Maria Moreno, a Hispanic couple that had four children. Clint barely spoke Spanish but could understand the language almost perfectly, while Maria preferred only to speak Spanish. When they talked together, each spoke in their native tongue, and, oddly enough, they understood each other just fine. Their children, however, were mixed: some spoke broken English while the rest of them preferred Spanish.
Next, Rosemary assigned Lee and Emma Loveland, a couple who regularly divorced and remarried, over the Water Department. Lee and Emma rarely made eye contact with each other, and when they did, it almost always turned into a staring contest. They were constantly competing with each other, especially when it came to board games. Their first divorce could very clearly be attributed to a very intense game of Monopoly.
Rosemary then assigned Zane and Kloe Hanson to head up the Shelter Department. Zane was a former beach bum turned father of triplets. Life instantly became hectic as he found his easy-going nature, and pot-smoking habits were not enough to land him a decent paying job. He went through a myriad of jobs ranging from Costco greeter to restaurant dishwasher to construction worker before he finally found his niche as a welder. Zane’s greatest regret about his professional choice was that he had to cut his dreadlocks to avoid the fire hazard his greasy hair provided. Kloe had a similar, easy-going, spiritualist approach to life, but she was much more grounded in reality.
<
br /> Kate Hensen was assigned to the Energy Department.
Sanitation was assigned to Jackson and Nicolette Brown. Jackson was a handyman, which he proved by always carrying a hammer and tape measure on his belt. He often went through spurts of energy to extreme lethargy on a daily basis—a trend that enabled him to start several projects but finish only a select few. His wife was just the opposite and acted as a counterweight to his mood swings. She worked slow and methodically, often picking up where her husband left off. He was chubby, always wore a 5’oclock shadow, and was short, while Nicolette was skinny, well-groomed, and tall.
Shane and Shauna Hensen were assigned to Education, a department that no one besides Rosemary thought was necessary. Shane was a door-to-door salesman and often spent his summers selling pest control and alarm systems out-of-state. He had started his own company, hired several employees, and worked feverishly towards the end goal of making a lot of money. He had some immediate success, but then the market became oversaturated with his product, and he failed to adapt and branch into other avenues. He refused to change from his traditional model and his business tanked. To save money, Shauna applied for and received an available tax credit to home school her children. She had a knack for teaching, and soon other parents started enrolling their children at Shauna’s school. She became the breadwinner, forcing Shane into a “stay at home father role.” After that, Shane’s sense of direction seemed to have vanished along with his business profits.
Benjamin Brooksby was then selected to be the Patriarch over the Medical Department. He was an older, white-haired man who had recently lost his wife in a car accident. He had much more experience than all the other medical professionals Rick had rescued, and he did not lean too heavily on technology, as some of the younger doctors tended to do. He had a calm, soothing voice that somehow, despite its monotonous tone, held captive everyone within earshot.
“Finally,” Rosemary said. “We need to pick a head for the Security Department. That’s a decision I wanted to leave up to the group.”