by James Ryke
“They’ve reached the dry moat. Rick, where are you? We can’t hold them back.”
“They’ve breached the vehicle barriers on the east side.”
“A vehicle is barreling towards the front gate!”
“The drawbridge is down! Someone raise the drawbridge!”
Moments later, the front door exploded into shards of metal.
Kate cued her radio. “Everybody fall back to the Keep. The front gate has been breached—I repeat—the front gate has been breached. Fall back to the Keep.”
This transmission created a wave of fear and panic that quickly spread throughout the Congregation. People screamed and ran. The building turned into chaos. Defenders fell back from their posts.
“This is the Build Crew—do you want us to try to seal up the front gate?”
“Negative,” Kate replied. “It’s been compromised. Pull back to the Keep.”
“We’ve got to stop them,” said the same voice.
“Get back to the Keep!” Kate growled. “Per Rick’s orders, get back to the Keep. The gate is overrun. Get back to the Keep!”
Kate pulled her rifle from her back. They need more time. The vehicle had not punched through the gate entirely and instead ripped large holes in the metal door. It had only been a few seconds since the front gate had been compromised, but already attackers started to push themselves through the small openings and into the building. Kate pulled her rifle to her shoulder and fired, hitting two men with one shot. She fired again and again, hoping that this at least slowed the attackers. The vehicle pulled back and rammed the gate again, this time, ripping the entire thing down from the wall. She could hear the frantic approach of Congregation members as they entered the Keep four levels below.
The attackers spread through the building like liquid spilled across the floor, a feeling of triumph evident in their movements. They yelled and howled, screaming like a pack of wild animals. Their gunfire was random, mostly shot into the air in triumph. These initial attackers were joined by hundreds more with each passing second, their progression only slowed by the sheer mass of Red Sleeves that were fighting their way inside.
“Is the Keep shut?” Kate said over the radio. “Shut the Keep!”
“We’ve got a few more falling back,” someone replied.
Kate shouldered her rifle and raced downstairs, reaching the bottom floor in seconds. The large entrance door to the Keep was still cracked open by a couple of feet. A few of the Congregation were still squeezing inside when the Red Sleeves started to appear from the darkness, like ghostly phantoms, their faces dripping in blood. Kate shot her rifle, hitting a Red Sleeve in the head. She was just about to fire again when a few defenders stepped right in front of her line of sight as they ran inside the Keep.
“That should be it, lass,” said McCurdy.
“Shut it,” Kate yelled.
Several men yanked the door, and it responded quickly. It was just about to shut completely when a Red Sleeve grabbed on and began to pull the other way. The momentum was too much, however, and the man’s fingers were sliced clean off as the door shut. They locked the structure with three metal bars, which cinched the door even tighter.
“We need to return fire,” said McCurdy. “Everyone with weapons—to the roof.”
Kate grabbed his shoulder and shook her head. “No. We can’t….”
“What?”
Kate met the man’s eyes and put force behind each word she spoke. “Rick has a plan, but if we fire our weapons, it won’t work.”
“What plan?”
“Trust me,” she whispered.
The excitement and energy of the Red Sleeves was so vibrant that it seemed one could taste it. They chaotically swept through the building, finishing off the wounded Congregation members with a flurry of bullets. The noise intensified as still more Red Sleeves entered through the gate. The collection of chaos crescendoed until it was one constant sound.
“We’re dead,” screamed a girl.
“There’s no way out,” asserted another man, clinging to a woman and child next to him.
Kate sat back and said nothing. She too could feel the panic rising in the back of her throat, but she forced it down. Why has Rick not asked me to spring the trap? Maybe something happened to him. What if I’m dooming all these people by my inaction? What if Rick’s hurt and he can’t speak? What if he was shot down in the raid? Several bullets ricocheted off the metal plates just outside of the Keep. At least a dozen different people in the Congregation started hyperventilating.
“We can’t be alive when they break in here,” said an older, somber man. This pronouncement sent a wave of panic through the defenders as their options continued to diminish.
Kate shook her head as she approached the man. She lowered her voice so that only he could hear. “There’s still one card that we can play, and if it works, none of us will have to fire another bullet.”
Jane caught sight of Kate and ran towards her, wrapping her into a tight hug. Rosemary joined them seconds later, her face blackened with dirt and splattered with blood. Despite her appearance, there was a determined defiance in her eyes that Jane envied. She turned towards her Mother, tears now flowing down her face. “We’re going to die. We’re going to die.”
Rosemary lifted her daughter’s chin until she could see her bright smile. “They can’t have you while I’m still alive. Do you hear me? This world will not take you from me while I still breathe. I love you, Jane, and no matter what happens now, I’ll be your mother, and you’ll be my daughter. We’ll always be a family—take comfort in that small thing. I’m not going to leave you in this life or the next. I love you.”
These words brought a flood of emotions to Jane’s heart. Tears still flowed from her eyes, but they were from a much different emotion. “I love you too, Mom.”
Kate frowned, tears were starting to appear in her eyes too. “This is all part of the plan. We’re going to be ok—all of us.”
“What plan?” a man yelled. “Being trapped in here is not part of the plan.” His voice carried much further than Kate thought it would have, and at that moment, she realized how quiet the Red Sleeves had suddenly become. The dramatic volume change was eerie—and for a brief second, she wondered if the Red Sleeves had retreated. She felt the sudden urge to climb to the top of the Keep and see what had changed. Then she heard several tires squeak as a vehicle came to a stop. Doors opened and then shut again. The shocks of the car creaked, as if a person was climbing to the roof. Then the Red Sleeves cheered. The noise was so sudden that Kate half expected the walls of the Keep to collapse.
“Victory!” said an enthusiastic Executor. He was standing on a military-style Hummer that had an M249 belt-fed machine gun mounted onto the back. “Not even if god existed and he could rain down fire from the skies, could we have been stopped. We are a new people—born through blood and tested by suffering. This is a new age of strength that will far outshine those generations of the past. Look at how these feeble beings hide in their protective building, as if that could possibly stop the Red Sleeves. We are stronger than them—and now, their survivors will suffer for it.”
“Now,” Rick’s voice came through the radio. “Now, Kate, do it now.”
Kate was so focused on the Executor’s words that she was surprised by the sudden noise on her radio. Her thoughts slowly drifted into focus as she realized what Rick was saying. Hurry, she thought. I’ve got to hurry. As the Executor droned on, she ran to the center of the Keep, where an electric motor sat next to a massive wheel. She unlocked a padlock that held fast a series of thick metal cables that hung from the roof and dripped down the floor. She then plugged the motor into an outlet and attached the wires to a circular wheel.
“What’re you doing?” Jane asked.
“I’m sending down fire from heaven.” She hit a button on the motor, and the wheel started to turn, wrapping up the metal wires. In the distance, something crashed, but th
e sound was ignored over the rich rhetoric of the Executor. The wheel started gaining speed, and more things began to collapse. Kate then hit another switch, and a large fan up above began to send a powerful current of air to the people below. The noise became so persistent that the Executor’s speech eventually slowed…and then it stopped.
The cables that were being pulled in by the electric motor ran up the Keep and to the ceiling of Costco. From there, they split up in various directions along critical points of the structure. Every five feet along the wire hung a large terracotta planter. The insides of the terracotta planters were lined with plastic and then filled with bleach powder. Inside the powder was another glass jar that contained muriatic acid. As the cables were coiled up by the electric motor, the Terracotta planters were released one by one and sent falling to the hard floor below, where they exploded into shards of glass and terracotta. The chemicals, once mixed, instantly started producing chlorine gas, which wafted up from the ground in yellow clouds.
The Red Sleeves stepped back from the noise that was approaching them from all directions. They packed in closer and closer together, completely surrounding the Keep. Several of them began to fire into the darkness. It was not until a planter fell right on top of one man, the impact killing him instantly, before all hell broke loose. The Red Sleeves retreated in all directions, most of them making a beeline for the main entrance. They began to wobble as they ran, their chests suddenly seized with violent coughs. The harder they ran, the more breath they needed to sustain their speed, the quicker the chemical compound overcame them. Then they began to fall—most of their eyes glazed over before they knew they were dead. In the chaos, the Executor and several bodyguards reentered the hummer and started the engine.
It was not until he could see the bodies starting to collapse to the ground before the Executor realized the danger he was in. He turned to his driver, “It’s a trap. Get me out of here. Go!”
The Hummer roared to life and spurted forward, crushing the skull of an unfortunate man who had been pushed to the floor in the wake of the chaos. The Hummer thudded and jumped in the air as they drove through the crowd of bodies, each one adding to the mix of blood and carnage left by the vehicle’s bumper.
The Executor fumbled with the air-conditioning and shut the vents. “It’s some sort of gas. Get the gas masks from the back.”
This order was quickly obeyed by one of the two bodyguards in the back seat. They were only forty yards away from the front entrance when the Hummer broke free from the crowd. Someone handed the Executor a gas mask. They were thirty yards away. He slipped the mask over his head. Twenty yards away. He sucked in deep—it was not until that moment that he realized he had been holding his breath. Ten yards away. Suddenly, the windshield on the driver’s side splintered into countless fragments. The driver leaned forward, his face half missing from a barrage of bullets. The car went off course and slammed into the wall just left of the exit, sending its passengers lurching forward. The Executor hit the glass in front of him, leaving a wide gash across his forehead. Blood trickled down the gas mask, pooling around his neck.
Then the glass in the back windows fragmented and broke as a stream of bullets riddled the other two bodyguards. They tried to turn and run, one was even able to open a side door, but their bodies soon were absent of life.
The Executor pulled out a 1911 pistol and fired haphazardly through the passenger window, the glass turning opaque as it shattered. His mind was still dazed from the wreck, and his movements came in slow, jerky motions. When he opened his door, he almost fell to the ground in a heap. He caught himself and stood up. As he was turning to his right, his pistol was knocked free from his grip and went spinning across the floor. The Executor swung at the attacker, but his gas mask was so foggy he completely missed. A sudden pain erupted in his shoulder and then his side.
As his hands clumsily felt for his wounds, his attacker lifted him up and rammed him through the passenger side window, impaling his stomach on two large pieces of glass. Blood dripped from his wounds and coated the floor below. The door creaked and canted to the side under the weight, but did not fall. He was stuck, unable to work his way out without ripping his stomach open and spewing his intestines across the floor. The pain throbbed through his body in relentless pounding waves.
“So, this is the great Executor,” Rick said through a thick gas mask.
“Finish me,” the man replied, his voice barely audible.
“All of your talk of purifying your race, and yet, you now cower down in weakness.”
“Finish me….”
“The last life you take will be your own,” Rick said. “Take off your mask and end what pitiful life you have left. Or, stand up and fight me like the man you claim to be.”
The Executor did not move for several moments, his mind alight with competing thoughts. Finally, his bloody hands drifted to his mask, his fingers trembling as he worked with the straps. He pulled with all his strength until his head was finally free. The proximity to the open entrance, however, significantly weakened the concentration of the gas. It took several minutes of agonizing pain, but after a flurry of horrible convulsions, the Executor’s body went still. He was dead.
EPILOGUE
Day 102
It took nearly three hours before the chlorine gas was completely flushed from the building. Even so, Rick still insisted everyone wear a gas mask as they cleaned up the chemical compounds that riddled the floor. They then began the daunting task of carting out the dead. Despite the massive mounds of bodies that encircled the Keep, this job was much easier than first anticipated, thanks to Rick’s vehicle and U-Haul trailer. They first stripped the bodies of everything useful—handguns, rifles, knives, radios, razor blades, canteens, and other personal items—then carted them to a small wood building on the edge of town. It was not long before the building was so full of the dead that the bodies had to be stacked outside. Once the dead were all moved, the small wood building was set on fire.
While a few people stayed behind to bolster their defenses, Isaac and Hector took two heavily armed teams to the Executor’s camp. They took every precaution, including flushing out the surrounding area to make sure enemies were not hiding in the trees, and approaching the camp from two different angles. It seemed as if everyone had either long since run off, or had perished in the final charge. Judging by how intact the camp looked, Isaac guessed that it was the latter.
Inside the walled camp, they found evidence of the horrible scenes of the “Gathering” that had taken place the night before the first assault. Isaac had expected this—but seeing it with his own eyes filled him with a mix of emotions ranging from gratitude, because his family did not have to suffer like those around him, to empathy for the people that did. He tried to stay focused on the task of clearing the encampment, but occasionally his eyes became so transfixed on the corpses scattered around the camp that he could see nothing else.
His heart went out to these people. To have survived for so long and to have met their end in such agonizing pain…. How quickly men and women become demons when their world is turned to hell. How could anyone inflict another human with such torture? He knew what he was seeing had been done thousands of times in the past, by either reigning tyrants or bloodthirsty warlords, but witnessing it was something different entirely. I would have never thought any of this possible—never would have thought that I would one day have to kill to protect my family. I thought we had progressed past all of this. He looked at his hands, which were still spotted with blood. Rick had been right about everything. He knew what vile creatures humans could become; he knew what basic and carnal instincts existed just below the superficial layer of society. This realization struck him deeply and stayed with him as he continued through the camp.
It took another thirty minutes to clear out the southern part of the encampment. Most of the eighteen-wheelers that made up part of the exterior wall contained a series of bunk beds that were stacke
d up to the roof. They were usually cluttered with garbage and smelled of urine and alcohol. Occasionally, one of the eighteen-wheelers had a makeshift kitchen containing essential cooking supplies. They took everything of value they could find and stacked it in one giant pile near the center of the camp.
As they continued, Isaac could not help but notice that the trailers progressively became more clean and organized. The bunks were more accommodating and comfortable; the kitchens were better equipped and well-stocked. Most of these living quarters had lights powered by batteries that were recharged by solar panels. The items in the trailers that they were now seeing made the other things they had collected up to this point look like junk. Isaac stood next to Hector as he opened the next trailer. This one was wall to wall with food.
The Pastor let out a shout of joy as he stepped inside the trailer. “Look at all of this.” He grabbed a clipboard that was on a nearby wall—it was an inventory sheet. “They’ve got everything: canned chili, carrots, green beans, rice, beans, sugar, wheat, flour. They’ve got everything.” He called out for the others to come over—most had heard Isaac’s yell and were already approaching. Isaac’s heart was thumping so hard in his chest that it made his hands shake. The emotion coursing through his veins was surreal—simply indescribable.
“Look,” Isaac shouted as he held up a large can of chili. “We’ve got chili! I love chili!” This was met with a loud cheer, as if this pronouncement was the most important news that any of them had ever heard.
“Jefe, the next one has food too!” Hector was pointing his gun at the open door of the next trailer. “It’s full of food, and it’s not the gruel that we’ve been eating, but real food.”
The next four trailers were spilling with similar items, while a fifth trailer was entirely full of seeds. Isaac stuck his hand in an open barrel of wheat. He let the grains slowly slip through his fingers and fall back into the barrel. He looked from large barrel to barrel—reading each of the names with a child-like giddiness. This changes everything.