SEVEN DAYS

by James Ryke

  Isaac frowned, “I could replace the bag, but—”

  “Do you think that’s what’s wrong with it? Does it need a new bag?”

  Isaac let out an imperceptible sigh. “I need you here with me, Rosemary.”

  She looked up, her eyebrows arched high. “I’m here with you. What kind of statement is that? I’ve been with you almost every day since we’ve been married. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Isaac took another step closer. “The vacuum is dead because we don’t have any electricity. We already moved the battery bank to Costco.”

  “You mean to tell me,” she said with a huff, “that the power is still out? When will the power company get their act together and fix it? I’ve got half a mind to drive up there and complain—I’m sure they must have received my letters by now. I don’t like to get confrontational, but they’re about to see a side of me they aren’t going to like.”

  Isaac knelt next to his wife, his hand gently brushing against her cheek. “There’s no power from the outlets anymore—there’s no longer a power grid. You have to come to grips with the reality that we’re facing—for your sake and the children.”

  She shook her head. “What are you talking about? I know exactly who I am and what I want to be. This is my reality: I’m your wife, and you’re my husband; we have two children, one girl, and one boy; you are a Pastor and have been since college; and we’re struggling with our finances. That’s who I am.”

  “That’s true,” Isaac whispered, “and I love you for it, and you have always stood by my side and supported me—despite the little money I make in my chosen profession. But the world has changed, and I need you to wake up to it.”

  Rosemary looked down at her hands. “Is this about us losing the church? Because, if it is, I already knew about it. It doesn’t matter. Look, I just need you to help me with the vacuum, Isaac. Can you get it working again or not? I don’t have time to listen to how the world is changing.”

  Isaac looked at the device. “It doesn’t have any circuitry, so the EMP did not kill it. If we take it back to Costco and plug it into the battery bank, it should work fine. But there are already several dozen vacuums on the shelf that are new and would work better. Plus, there’s no carpet in Costco to vacuum.”

  “You want to take it back to Costco?” Rosemary said. “We didn’t buy it at Costco—we bought it second hand, remember? Now, who’s having a hard time dealing with reality? And how would taking it to Costco change anything; I’m sure the power is out over there too.”

  Isaac grabbed his wife’s hands and squeezed them tight. “Look at me, sweetie, and listen carefully. I love you. I need you. The world has changed. Several months ago, an EMP fried all of the circuits on the East Coast, effectively wiping out the electrical grid. No government agency can react because they’re in the same situation. Most of the citizens were murdered by a man that took over the city. The man calls himself the Executor. He left the city, taking with him over four thousand people that he selected to be part of an army. Your son, Jacob, saw hundreds of bodies blown apart when this all happened. Your daughter, Jane, has given up her favorite pastime, reading, because it doesn’t seem relevant anymore. I can’t be the only one that emotionally lifts everyone all the time.” Despite himself, Isaac felt tears welling up in his eyes. “I need you more than ever.”

  Rosemary looked down, tears silently flowing down her cheeks. “I cook and clean more than anyone—and I have the burn marks to prove it; I’ve organized everyone into groups so they can best accomplish what needs to be done; I’m the one that holds people accountable when they don’t get something accomplished. I’m still here with you and do twice as much as the next person. And I’ll continue to work hard, but please, please, I can’t...don’t ask me.” Her sobs were more forceful now. “I can’t deal with…I can’t deal with this…”

  Isaac pulled her into an embrace. “You’re here physically, and yes, you do more than your fair share, but emotionally…you’re absent.”

  “Do you want me to shut down completely? This is how I cope. I don’t know if I can be there for you, Isaac. Our children won’t be going to college; they won’t find someone to marry; they won’t have those awkward and memorable first dates; they won’t have a childhood like we had. Every aspect of life has changed. I don’t know if there’s enough of me left to be there for you or the kids emotionally.”

  More tears flowed down Isaac’s cheeks and slipped onto his Wife’s shirt. “I love you more than life itself, and I would do anything for you—now, more than ever. If you need time, I can give you as much time as I have left, but, please, only take the time that you need and nothing more. I need you. I need more than just someone to organize everything. I need you here with me.”

  They continued to cry for several long minutes, the sound of their sobs filling the congregation hall. After the sobbing slowed and then finally stopped, Isaac pulled his wife back to her feet.

  “So,” Rosemary asked. “Can you fix the vacuum?”

  “Nah,” Isaac replied as he wiped tears from his cheeks. “Let’s go buy a new one. I hear Costco is having a sale right now.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Day 78

  Chass lay on the ground, his body too weak to stand. His eyes were trained on a blue, four-story building a hundred yards in front of him. Whatever Rick had recently injected into Chass’ body was by far the most potent drug. His eyes felt dry and heavy, which only became worse as the night progressed. Whenever he caught himself falling asleep, only one thing could keep his eyes open—the thought of killing. Seeing the familiar black uniforms again with the red bands only made this desire stronger. It reminded him of how brutal the Executor could be. Death felt near. He wanted to see blood. He wanted to see death. His mind spun like a perpetual wheel, continually repeating the same two phrases in his head. I need to kill. I have to kill. His fingers clawed the moist dirt below, its rough soil seemingly increasing his violent appetite.

  It had taken Rick and Chass another few days to locate the small enclave of the Executor’s followers. They had set up camp in a blue building, which was positioned a few miles away from the main encampment. Chass guessed that there were about eighty people stationed in the building—judging by the traffic going in and out and by how many vehicles were parked outside. The people were loud and careless, the noise of their voices carrying far into the night. They had started several campfires and gathered around them, some carrying half-empty bottles of alcohol. The Red Sleeves had posted guards, but they seemed more interested in conversation than in maintaining their post. All of them had rifles—most were M16 variants. But now, as the men talked, most of the guns were scattered around the camp, like the aftermath of a haphazard game of horseshoes.

  Chass shook his head, still in disbelief that Rick had drugged him and left him behind. I could’ve killed them all. I will kill them all.

  “Quit moving,” said a low, gravelly voice. It was Old Pete. “I told Rick I was going to watch over you, but that don’t mean I won’t knock you into next week. I mean it, yah hear. I can’t have you rolling around on the ground like a worm in hot ash.”

  Chass growled, his body too tired to voice anything else.

  The night ticked by. With each hour, the temperature continued to drop. As the fires began to die, most of the inebriated men staggered into the building, their hands clutching their firearms as they turned in for the night. Sentries appeared on the roof, their faces concealed by thick clothing. There were eight of them, two assigned to each wall. Only three of them even attempted to stay awake; the rest fell asleep as soon as they found a comfortable position.

  Chass’ heart quickened. This is it. This is it. He stared intently at the sentries—longing to see their blood spilled.

  Still, nothing happened.

  Chass heard a faint crackling sound. It was coming from a radio that Old Pete was using. Since the old man’s hearing was mostly gone and Chass’ hearing was seemingl
y amplified, he could hear everything that was coming through the speaker.

  It was Rick’s voice. “Check in Foxtrot, Romeo, and Delta.”

  Three different voices in turn gave the same response, “10-4.”

  “On my mark,” Rick said over the radio, “we take out the first three Red Sleeves on the roof. Fox, you take the one on the east side; Romeo, you take the one on the Northside; Delta, you take the one out on the south side. Make sure your target is eliminated before you move on to the next, how copy? ”

  “10-4,” responded three different voices in turn.

  The radio crackled. “3…2…1…mark.”

  The three most alert sentries simultaneously hit the ground, their bodies immediately turning into dead weight. As they collapsed, their bodies made a thud against the roof.

  Chass’ heart flooded with adrenaline. His eyes widened, and his hands tightened into fists. He licked his lips, his eyes transfixed on the fallen bodies. It was too dark to see any blood, but Chass could almost taste it.

  “Delta, you’ve got movement on the east side. Take him out.” Another body fell to the ground, dead before he could even stand up.

  “Take the rest out—double tab to the head.”

  One by one, the bodies were struck with bullets, their frames arching back in convulsive movements.

  “Your path is clear,” said a voice over the radio.

  “Cover our six,” Rick replied, “we’re going to make contact.”

  Rick appeared from behind an auto garage, flanked by three individuals. They slowly scanned the area before approaching the building at a quick pace. Rick had drawn out his silenced .22 pistol. They reached the front door within seconds only to find it was locked. Rick removed something from his pocket, a small black case. A red light appeared, exposing the lock. After a few minutes of fiddling with some unseen tool, the door swung open.

  Chass swore and ground his teeth together as Rick and his group disappeared into the open doorway. He stared at the doorframe, images of dead bodies flashing through his mind. I need to kill. I have to kill. Chass pushed against the ground with his arms, slowly forcing his body up, but as he did, Old Pete pushed him back down with his boot.

  “Steady, boy,” Old Pete said. “We can’t draw attention to ourselves.”

  Chass’ weakened body collapsed back to the ground, forcing a wheeze from his lungs. “I need to—”

  “What’s that?” Old Pete asked. “Look. There’s a group of people coming out of that far building. The door had an alarm or something; somebody’s coming.”

  A small group of seven or eight people emerged from another building, their arms loaded down with rifles. They wore camouflage clothing with a red cloth tied around their right arms. Their destination was clear—straight for the door that Rick had just entered. As of yet, they did not seem panicked, almost as if they had done this same drill a hundred times before. They paused momentarily at the door as one person unlocked it and pushed it open. Immediately, something changed the soldiers’ demeanor. They slung their firearms against their shoulders and flipped on their lights.

  “My stars and garters,” Old Pete whispered as he took a few steps closer to the building. “What do I do?” The old man looked between his gun and radio, indecision hampering his movements. He finally shouldered his rifle and took aim at the soldiers below, but his hesitation cost him a clean shot. Before he could pull the trigger, the Red Sleeves had disappeared into the building.

  Old Pete cued his radio. “Rick, you’ve got a group approaching your flank. They’re at least seven of them, all heavily armed. I think they’re onto you. What do you need me to do?”

  “10-4,” Rick responded.

  “You’re trapped,” Old Pete whispered. “I don’t see a way out of there.”

  “Hold your position and snipe anyone that leaves the building from the front door,” Rick said through the radio. “We’ll make our way to the roof—that’s where the key should be. Just keep the people inside and pinned down, how copy?”

  Old Pete did not answer.

  “Pete, how copy?”

  Pete’s body lay unconscious on the ground, a large split across the back of his head. Over Old Pete’s body stood Chass, a rock in his right hand—blood was dripping from his eyes. Chass grabbed Pete’s handgun and tucked it into the back of his pants. He then limped to the back of the car, leaning against the vehicle for support. The exertion it took to stand up and knock Pete over the head was almost more than his body could bear. The more he stepped, the less responsive his body seemed to become. The darkness around his eyes started to swarm in as he reached the back of the vehicle. With one quick effort, he smashed the rear window with the rock, sending glass shards sprinkling in every direction.

  He stuck his hands through the shattered glass. “Where is it? I know it’s here.” Chass’ vision was fading; he felt his knees buckling. His hand slipped out the window, and he fell to one knee.

  Then he heard gunfire. The sound hit Chass’ ears like a distant memory, pulling him back into reality. Every time he heard that sound, death was soon to follow. This last thought shot energy into his frame. He stood up again, this time sticking both hands into the back of the vehicle. He pushed aside ammo magazines and empty boxes, rummaged through tactical bags and pelican cases. After a few moments, he found a box that had a white cross on it. He dropped it to the ground and tore it open, throwing aside gauze bandages and medical creams. He finally found a black pouch that had white lettering on the side: ARTIFICIAL ADRENALINE—To Be Used With Caution. Chass did not hesitate: he picked up the needle and plunged it into his heart, forcing the fluid into his bloodstream. Instantly the mist disappeared from his eyes, and his body exploded into movement. He let out a long, bestial yell that was so consuming it seemed to have stalled the gunfight that was taking place inside the building.

  Chass grabbed his swords from the SUV and strapped the sheaths to his back. Once he had them situated, he drew them out, their blades reflecting the half-moon high above him. He took off at a full sprint and reached the building in seconds. Within another moment, he passed through the doors and reached his first victim. A man, woken by the gunfight and half-dazed from shock, appeared in the hallway near the entrance, his gun haphazardly pointing at the floor. Chass plunged his sword so deep in the man’s heart that the blade slid all the way to the hilt. The man fell dead, his eyes still open but twitching.

  Chass pulled the sword out of the body, bringing a spray of blood with it. The red liquid shot out, splattering onto his hands and the far wall. He stepped into the room where the man had emerged, his movements so quick that no one noticed the new intruder. There were at least a dozen people inside, their faces barely noticeable in the dim light of a few flashlights. Chass moved quickly, slicing one man in half at the waist and piercing another through the head. Panic spread as one of the lights disappeared into darkness. No one in this room appeared to be armed. More and more lifeless bodies fell to the ground. Within moments, Chass was the only thing that still stood—everything else was a mess of chopped flesh and blood. Again he let out another ravenous yell, enthralled by the death that surrounded him.

  He continued onto the stairwell, his clothes already soaked with blood. The majority of the gun fighting seemed to be coming from up above. Rick and his group were pinned down on the stairs, caught between the third and fourth floor. The two sides exchanged fire, but neither one could gain an advantage over the other.

  Chass cut down body after body in the hallway on his way to the stairs, most of his victims did not even see him coming. When he reached the stairs, he took them four at a time, his lungs barely feeling the exertion. At the top of the first level, he ran into five Red Sleeves. Chass plunged a sword down through the shoulder of the first individual and then sliced the fingers off of the next. He chopped off the head of a third soldier who was trying desperately to raise his rifle and then sliced the leg of a fourth. The fifth soldier was able
to shoot his handgun, but in the man’s panicked state, the bullet ricocheted off the stairwell and disappeared. Before the man could fire again, Chass drew out Old Pete’s pistol and placed a bullet between the man’s eyes. The man fell to the ground like a solid weight.

  He sheathed his swords and picked up the dead man’s semi-automatic pistol and continued on, a pistol in each hand. He passed the second level, shooting Red Sleeves in the back of the head with each step that he took. One lucky soldier was able to fire back, hitting Chass in the shoulder, but the man’s luck quickly faded as he was shot in the throat. The stairwell became a red waterfall as the blood collected and dripped down to the base floor. He appeared in front of Rick, his face stained red and dripping. His eyes were wild and rabid, as if they were not his own.

  Rick swallowed and stood. “Chass, what are you doing? How did you—”

  Chass approached his brother, his eyes narrowed. “The keys to the armored vehicle will be on the fourth floor, where the command staff will be staying.”

  Rick shook his head. “We’ve lost the element of surprise. There’s no way we can fight our way to the fourth floor. Our best chance is to abort the mission. I’m calling a full retreat.”

  Chass approached his brother, their noses only inches away. “I’ll take care of the Black Hounds on the fourth floor; you just secure the armored vehicle that’s parked in the garage. Once I get the keys, we’ll have to haul ass out of here.”

  “There’s not enough time.”

  “Then I suggest you hurry,” Chass said in a low voice. “I cut through them to get to you, but they’re still plenty more down there that’ll regroup and give you a good fight. Have your snipers shoot anyone that tries to escape the front entrance, and if Old Pete wakes up, you’ll need him to pick up the snipers and get the hell out of here.”