SEVEN DAYS

by James Ryke

  “Yes, but I want to explain it in better detail.”

  “Ok,” her eyes hinting at a smile, “It’s late, and I’m hungry. Why don’t you tell me over dinner?”

  Rick paused, his expression softening by the impromptu invitation. “Dinner?”

  Kate looked down, “I know you like to eat alone, and I don’t want to intrude, but there’s a lot to talk about, and we’ll have to multi-task if we hope to get it all done.”

  Rick nodded. “I guess. Sure. It’s probably for the best. I’ll follow you.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Day 71

  Jacob stuffed an extra shirt and tactical pants into his pack. He then added a few changes of underwear and socks. As per Rick’s request, his clothing was all black. His packing took all of thirty seconds, a feat that would have been nigh impossible before the power went out. He clipped on his ammo belt, attached the keepers to an interior belt, and shouldered his clothing bag, which bumped into the M4 that he was already carrying. It took a few moments for him to shift the pack and rifle until they comfortably sat on his shoulders. He then began walking off to the front entrance of Costco, where the vehicles were parked. He had only walked four feet before a soft but firm voice stopped him.

  “Jacob,” Isaac said, “you weren’t even going to tell us?”

  Jacob looked down, took a breath, and then turned around, locking eyes with his father. “I knew what you would say if I did. I didn’t mean any disrespect by it.”

  Isaac stepped forward, pulling his son into a firm hug. “My family is all I have: If I were to lose you or your sister, it would destroy me inside. This mission is too dangerous.”

  “That’s why Rick needs me,” Jacob said in an even, straightforward tone. “I’m not going to prove anything to anybody: I’m already better at hand-to-hand than most everyone here. And I’m not going because I’m naïve of the dangers—I’ve heard Chass talk about the Executor plenty of times—I know what he’s capable of. But I’m the best shot with a rifle, second only to Rick. And no matter how Rick or anyone tries to play it off, I’m one of the best men we’ve got. I’m young, but that just means I don’t yet know my limitations, and for this mission, maybe that’s a good thing.”

  Isaac looked at the floor, apparently struggling for some sort of response.

  “Father, I’m going because I need to go. We need those weapons, and we won’t be successful unless we have the best people for the job.”

  “There are others that can fill your place.”

  Jacob shook his head. “I was there when the Executor opened fire on innocent people. He drew them out to the park with the hope of food—and then he blew them away. There were bodies everywhere, burnt and bleeding; the ones that were still alive pled for help. That was very real. A reality that now, I’m sure, has been repeated in several dozen cities. This man has tortured and killed thousands.”

  “All the more reason for you to stay behind.”

  Jacob let out a long sigh before he smiled. “I believe in your lessons now—I didn’t before. I’ve never told you that. You’re right about charity and compassion being the most important things, and you were right to stand against the Executor. I believe that this is the right thing too. Ever since that day when those people were slaughtered in the park, I’ve changed. I’m not the kid that I used to be—even though I might still look young. My youth and strength are what I have to offer. And in this world, does age even matter? I say it doesn’t. Age is not a determinate of experience. It seems so stupid to me, now in hindsight, that the right to do anything was determined by age: the right to vote or drink, the right to gamble, or drive. I don’t think that courage is determined by our birthday—I think it’s something that’s forced upon us by necessity. And when we face a challenge that may require our death, we only have two choices: We can either shrink from it…or rise against it. You taught me that when you, the man that has always preached charity and love, said that it was our duty to stay and fight. I won’t lie to you and say that I don’t fear death, because I do—especially in some painful ordeal. I don’t want to die, but at the same time, I don’t want to live in a world where I must compromise my beliefs to survive just another day.

  “And do you remember that retirement community that I came across? I couldn’t even dig graves for all of them before my hands were so blistered and bleeding that I couldn’t handle the shovel.” Jacob looked at his scarred hands. “I don’t regret not being able to finish the graves, because that’s all I could do. If I die or worse, I will at least know that I did all I could do.”

  “But I can’t lose you—” Isaac said, his voice breaking midsentence.

  “Father, I’ve never felt more amazed or impressed by someone’s courage as I felt for you on the night that you preached about how we should stay and fight. That was the hard decision—the one decision that felt right. I felt it. Everyone did. And you did not shrink from it, but these are the consequences of that decision.”

  Isaac nodded, tears appearing at his eyes. “I’m proud of the man you have become.”

  “Can you tell Jane and Mom? I don’t think Mom understands what’s happening, and it would be too difficult to try and explain.”

  Isaac nodded, unable to speak as a few tears slipped down his cheek.

  Jacob looked at his father one last time and smiled. “If you didn’t want me to believe your lectures, you shouldn’t have preached with so much conviction.”

  Isaac laughed, a cracking sound that seemed so different than usual. They embraced one last time, and then Jacob left, his rifle bouncing menacingly as he disappeared.

  THIRTY

  Day 71

  Rick had hooked a dual axel 6’ X 12’ enclosed U-Haul trailer onto his SUV and modified it by installing various shooting ports that had been reinforced with thick steel. They took limited amounts of food, most of the ammo that they had available, and a few blankets and sleeping bags. Apart from the SUV and U-Haul, they were also taking the two solar-powered vehicles that had lately become invaluable. The vehicles’ low profiles and their ability to move silently made them excellent for scouting. It held two people: One who drove, the other who was armed with a rifle and stationed in a metal cylinder welded onto the back. One of the Late Comers had added a small periscope to the top of the vehicle, which gave it the ability to peer over the tops of walls and hills without exposing the driver or the gunner. This same Late Comer, who quickly picked up the nickname Archimedes—a moniker that Jane christened him with—also had a set of working radios that he gave to each soldier and installed in every vehicle. Rick wanted to find out where the radios came from, but Archimedes proved elusive.

  As Rick looked over the individuals he selected, he could not help but notice how much the last few months had changed them: they were fit and confident, their eyes not betraying the flood of emotions that most assuredly ran through each of them. Rick’s continuous and austere training had turned them into an obedient mix of soldiers—at least by all outward appearances.

  After Rick had explained everyone’s position and responsibility, they loaded up and drove off. It was a sad affair with only a few worried wives and children waving goodbye—everyone else had already begun work on the fortifications. Rick drove his vehicle no faster than forty-five miles an hour—the fastest that the solar cars could travel. It was not long before they left the city limits and continued on south, towards the last known location of the Executor. Chass rode in the passenger seat of the SUV, his face moving sluggishly under the heavy medication the doctor insisted he take.

  Rick stole a look at his brother for a moment, carefully whipping his eyes away before Chass noticed. “So, brother, tell me more about the Executor?”

  Chass let out a long sigh, as if even talking taxed his energy. “What’s your plan?”

  “I have a plan, but I need more information.”

  “Well,” Chass said, his expression soporific but hostile, “you wouldn’t have s
et out if you didn’t have some idea of what we’re going to do when we find him.”

  “It was something you said,” Rick replied. “That when the Executor sets up his main camp, he usually has a satellite camp that’s a few miles away. I imagine he does that in case he’s getting overrun, he can call for reinforcements to flank the enemy’s position. You said that the satellite encampment consists of extremely loyal people and several dozen that are being tested. Didn’t you say that at night they lock up most of their weapons in an armored vehicle?”

  “Yes,” Chass said, “they lock up the weapons of those who have not yet proven themselves, but only the leader of the camp has the keys, and he’ll be in a fortified position. You’ll have to fight through just about everyone to get those keys.”

  “How many people are stationed at these satellite camps?”

  “Between eighty and a hundred and fifty.”

  “And they’re well-armed?”

  “And hard to find,” Chass replied. “The Satellite camp keeps a low profile and is extremely well-fortified—maybe even more so than the main encampment. They usually hole up in a stone building and stay there until the Executor’s army is ready to move on. They’re known as the Black Hounds because in addition to the red cloth tied on their right sleeve, they wear a black cloth on the other. You’re only taking fifteen people with you, sixteen counting me—that means everyone will have to kill at least five or six guards before you even have a chance of getting your hands on their weapons.”

  “How many guards do they have patrolling on any given night?”

  Chass shook his head and looked out the window. “Maybe…ten. You’re a fool for thinking you can take on so many. What are you going to use—your guns? They’ll know where you are after the first shot, and it won’t be long before they’re reinforced by the main encampment. The Executor has working radios, and at the first sign of an assault, he will deploy his army. ”

  “I’ve brought three .22 long rifles with me—all of them have silencers. I also have subsonic rounds that travel around one thousand feet per second, which means they won’t make a loud crack as the bullet takes flight. The silencer absorbs pretty much all the noise.”

  “Rifles?”

  “They’ll make less noise than an airsoft gun.”

  Chass shook his head, his eyes narrowing around the road in front of him. “Let me kill them. I need to kill them.”

  Rick arched his eyebrows. “You need to kill again? It hasn’t been that long since—”

  Chass surged forward, his fist punching straight through the glove box. “I need to kill them.” His chest swelled, amplifying the veins that spidered through his body. His eyes turned into narrow slits that scanned the road ahead.

  Rick swallowed hard, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. “Where did that come from?”

  Chass abruptly lost his energy, and his body slumped back into the chair. “I can do it. I can kill them all…. I need to feel their blood …. This medication has to stop….”

  Rick did not answer for a long time. Finally, he broke the silence. “But what about the rest of us—how can we be sure that you won’t injure anyone else?”

  Chass leaned back in his chair, his eyes rolling back into his sockets. “If you won’t let me fight, then why did you bring my swords, Rick?”

  There was no response.

  Chass grimaced. “I saw them, Rick—I see everything even when you think I’m asleep. Why did you bring them if you didn’t plan on me using them?”

  “I have them just in case they’re needed,” Rick replied. “But as it is, I don’t think we will. The Doctor has a theory that if you can go a while without seeing death, perhaps you can break the cycle.”

  “As I said before, I feel nothing for anyone—and that won’t change. The only thing this medication does is dull my senses. I need blood on my hands. I’m done with this medication: If anyone tries to inject me again—”

  “And that’s why we give it to you while you’re asleep.”

  At that moment, a surge of weariness overcame Chass, forcing his eyes closed. He tried to fight the sleep that filled his body and made his head spin. The exertion of punching the glove box coupled with the lethargic effect of the drugs seemed too much. His breathing slowed down until it was a steady, methodical pace. Within moments he was asleep. When he woke up an hour later, he instantly spotted the Band-Aid over his arm, where he had been injected with more medication. He ripped the Band-Aid off and flung it across the car, swearing under his breath as he did.

  Chass tightened his jaw. “Where did you get the gas?”

  “What?” Rick said. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

  “The gas—where did you find it?”

  Rick nodded towards the vehicle. “I specifically bought this vehicle because it could run off all sorts of fuels—including biodiesel. You see those telephone poles ahead—some of them have transformers attached to them. Inside each one is about five gallons of bio-diesel, which before was used to keep the device cool, but now it provides me with an unlimited supply of fuel. Why does it matter to you?”

  “We started having trouble with our gasoline engines,” Chass said. “Someone said that the older the gasoline became, the less octane it contained and the more damage it did to the engine. The vehicles started shutting down. Now, most of the vehicles the Executor uses run off diesel.”

  Rick nodded, “Diesel stores a little better, but if you don’t keep adding octane to it, it will eventually do the same and destroy the engine. I’m surprised that the Executor hasn’t thought of that.”

  Chass blinked, his eyes still heavy with sleep. As he focused his vision, he could tell that they were in what remained of a city. Rick had to swerve the car back and forth to avoid the random debris in the road. There were bodies scattered everywhere, some of them sliced up by knives, but most of them shot. Despite the windows of the SUV being rolled up, the smell of the dead permeated the vehicle, filling it with the sickening odor. Most of the buildings had been set on fire and now stood as monuments to the horror that ravaged the city. Old blood, dry and cracked, painted every road and sidewalk. There were still paw prints from the animals that had stepped into the fresh puddles of blood as they scavenged the town.

  They continued driving for several days. Every day seemed to bring a new testimony of the atrocities that were left by the Executor. Bodies were no longer just stabbed or shot, but more and more, they were tortured before they were killed. In one city, there was a ring of crosses around the city center—bodies still hung from them and swayed in the gentle breeze. In another town, there was a pile of partially burned body parts. Ransacking and looting seemed like it was just not good enough for the Executor anymore. It was like he was trying to perfect the art of genocide. As the miles and days drifted by, there were more and more decapitated bodies, their heads sometimes attached to poles, their expressions depicting their terror. There were more and more torture devices that were crudely constructed and left behind. Occasionally they would see a few living people huddled in the ruins of the cities, but they immediately fled as the vehicles approached.

  Rick hid the sickening emotion that was boiling up in his body as best as he could, but it did not seem long before a smiling Chass seemed to notice.

  “I’ve been here,” Chass whispered. “I killed these people.”

  Rick did not react.

  Chass continued, “Do you see the office on the left: I must’ve killed at least seven people there. It was a family, I think—”

  Rick shook his head. “If you keep talking like that, I’m going to double your medication.”

  Chass took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring with burning hatred, but he did not speak the rest of the day. It was not until the following day, as they passed through a large city, that Chass spoke again. “This was the last city that we attacked before I left. They typically stay in a place only three or four days—depe
nding on the size of the city. I’m sure they’ve hit a few more cities since I’ve been gone, but they’re near, I can smell them.”

  Rick nodded. “All right, it’s probably best if we keep the majority of people here and only send out a few scouts. How well do they scout out the area? Do they have roving patrols?”

  “No, people are scared to approach the camp, and they’ll walk for miles just to avoid it,” Chass replied. “When the Red Sleeves camp for the night, they’ll park a fleet of 18 wheelers in a square formation to create an impenetrable fortress. Each night they secure it together with large sheets of metal and wire, so it forms a solid wall. They have no reason to fear the approach of anyone.”

  “Well, then, that should make at least this part easy.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Day 76

  The church was almost barren, besides the benches that had been secured to the floor in the main chapel. The carpet was stained and dirty—the consequence of hundreds of people using it for their dining, living, and sleeping quarters. Anything of use had already been moved out. Isaac was only stopping by one last time to lock the doors. He did not think that locking it up would prevent anyone from breaking in, but it just felt wrong to leave it open. He had walked up to the church alone, and so when he saw another figure in the large congregation hall, he was somewhat startled.

  It was his wife, Rosemary. She was crouched next to a vacuum, her eyes scanning it for possible problems.

  “Rosemary,” Isaac whispered. “What are you doing here? We’re leaving the chapel.”

  She looked up, her hair matted with sweat. “I know, but I thought I would at least give it one good cleaning before we did. It’s a good thing you showed up because I can’t figure out what’s wrong with the vacuum.”

  Isaac studied his wife, unsure of the best way to approach her. “It won’t work.”

  “I know,” she said with a little laugh. “Why don’t you see if you can’t work your magic and get it to work? You fixed it last time it broke down.”