Glimmer of Hope: Book 1 of Post-Apocalyptic Series

by Ryan King

  Reggie stared at the man for a few seconds and then set the hot cup down. “You know there are stories about Ernest Givens.”

  “I know,” said Norton. “The Long Walk seems to be all anyone is talking about.”

  “Yes, but also his organizing of a resistance movement here when Schweitzer’s forces were in control. Have you heard those stories?”

  Norton nodded, but looked away.

  “There is one particular story I heard not too long ago. It was about Ernest’s group ambushing and taking supplies not far from here. Supposedly, he convinced all the occupation people to come over and join his resistance. All accept one.”

  The police chief fidgeted.

  “This man refused to change sides, yet Ernest spared him anyway and let him go. Now, most would have said that was a stupid move by Ernest considering that the man would likely go report everything he knew about what had just happened.”

  Norton looked at the floor.

  “That man was you, wasn’t it?”

  The police chief looked up angrily at Reggie.

  “I imagine you are flooded with a surprising number of feelings. Guilt maybe for being part of the occupation force. Maybe gratitude for what Ernest did. Certainly some sense of—”

  Norton cut him off. “All of those things and none of them. What does any of that have to do with him now?”

  Reggie shrugged. “Well, you are the chief of police. I have to assume you are well qualified and come to this job with plenty of experience. Am I right?”

  “Yes, I supposed so.”

  “So, when I ask the chief of police what he thinks we should do about someone causing trouble in his town, a reasonable person would expect an answer. For you not to have one tells me there’s something else going on.”

  Norton sighed and sat back on the couch a little.

  “You don’t owe him anything, you know.”

  “I owe him my life,” said Norton.

  “There it is,” said Reggie. “You feel like you owe him because he didn’t kill you when he could have. Some would say should have.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you have a greater obligation. You owe the citizens under your care much more than you owe Ernest Givens. Don’t you agree?”

  Norton looked down and clenched his hands together before nodding.

  “So, let me rephrase my question. If this were anyone else but Ernest Givens, doing what he is doing now, what would you recommend we do?”

  Norton thought for a few seconds. “Find a way to arrest him. Maybe charge him creating a public nuisance or inciting violence, but those are misdemeanors. I can’t hold him for very long on those charges. He’d be out the next morning for his daily rally.”

  “Unless we arrest him and hold him indefinitely,” said Reggie.

  “On what charge?” asked Norton.

  “No charges,” sighed Reggie. “We’re still under martial law. I can have him arrested and held for thirty days without charges, as Nathan Taylor recently reminded me.”

  Norton looked taken aback. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to do that, but I see little choice in the matter. Do you see other options?”

  He shook his head.

  “Okay, draw up the warrant and I’ll sign it,” Reggie said. “You can have one of your men bring it by. I suggest you arrest him at his home instead of in front of hundreds of rabid supporters.”

  Norton nodded and stood. “I understand, sir. I really appreciate your time.” He turned to Janice, who was standing in the doorway. “Thank you for the tea, ma’am, and sorry for waking the president.”

  Janice just smiled and nodded back.

  The police chief was nearly to the door when he looked back at Reggie. “I often wonder why he didn’t kill me. I would have him.” He looked at the poker head in the ceiling. “I suspect you would have as well.”

  Before Reggie could answer, the man was gone. A fit of shaking hit Reggie again.

  “Now back to bed,” Janice said. “This is not going to end well if you don’t get some rest.”

  Reggie thought that it wasn’t likely to end well regardless.

  He climbed back into bed and resumed the fight for his life as the plasmodium vivax parasite raged through his body.

  Chapter 12 – Tertian Fever

  Nathan walked into his home greeted by the furious screaming of his daughter, River. He went to the sound and found her lying in her crib, face red and fists clenched. Nathan reached down and picked her up, trying to sooth her with soft words and caresses.

  He walked from room to room, looking for his mother or Alexandra and found no one.

  They left my daughter here alone, he thought and felt such a flush of anger…then he froze in place, not even hearing his daughter for a few seconds.

  Striding out of his house and across the space separating the cabins, Nathan burst into his mother’s residence without knocking. “Mom, where are you? You know River was over there screaming her head off alone? Mom?”

  There was no answer. He searched her house, but didn’t find her.

  Nathan walked out and approached Joshua and Alexandra’s home. Maybe they were both over there. As he got close, he heard the now-unusual sound of a motor vehicle racing down the dirt path. It stopped in front of the house he was walking to and Doctor Bobby Wilson hopped out, medical bag in hand.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Nathan. “And how did you manager to get a car?”

  “From my understanding, your mother made such a ruckus, even throwing your name around, that they felt they had to.”

  “For what?” Nathan asked.

  “Something is wrong with Alexandra.”

  “The baby?” asked Nathan with dread.

  “I don’t know anything yet,” said the doctor. “Why don’t we go in there and have a look at her?”

  Nathan nodded and followed the doctor inside.

  “Is that you, doc?” his mother called out. “It’s about damn time.” She saw Nathan as well. “I’ve been trying to call you to...” Her eyes fell on River, and the color drained from her face.

  “Oh my God,” she said, putting her hands over her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” said Nathan, feeling his anger drain away. “She’s pissed, but otherwise fine. What’s going on here?” He stopped talking when he saw his daughter-in-law. The normally energetic Alexandra lay on her side and appeared to hardly be breathing. Her skin had taken on a dead yellow tone, and there was dried vomit around her mouth and on the blankets covering her. Her extended belly felt taut while the rest of her was flaccid and lifeless.

  His mother turned back to Alexandra. “I don’t know. She’s had a fever and chills, even some convulsions. Now she’s unconscious and I can’t wake her.”

  Bobby began to examine Alexandra. He pulled up her eyelids and shined a small penlight into each eye. He listened to parts of her body with a stethoscope. He then pressed on parts of her body, and she moaned loudly when he pressed under the left side of her ribcage.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Nathan.

  Bobby shook his head. “I don’t know for sure. I’d need to take blood and run some tests.”

  “How long will that take?” asked his mother.

  “A few days at least,” said the doctor. “We no longer have the lab equipment we once had.”

  “Does she have a few days?” asked Nathan.

  Bobby frowned and refused to answer.

  “What do you think it is?” Nathan asked.

  “We’re seeing lots of cases like this. They’re not exactly alike, but I think she’s going into organ failure. Her liver seems to be the worse off.”

  “Why?” asked Nathan’s mother.

  “I suspect it’s because she has untreated malaria,” the doctor explained.” The parasite travelled through her blood stream until it lodged in her liver and began to reproduce. Now those viruses are maturing and being released b
ack out into her body to attack other organs.”

  “We’ve been hearing rumors of malaria,” said Nathan’s mother, “but it mostly infects the old and very young. Alexandra’s strong.”

  “Actually,” said Bobby, “a lot more are probably infected, but are able to fight it off. Even those untreated will likely have relapsed at some point. I suspect, like Bethany, she is more vulnerable due to her pregnancy.”

  “Could it infect the baby?” asked Nathan.

  “I’m not a pediatrician, but the baby should be okay as long as the mother is okay.”

  Nathan snapped his fingers. “We got a bunch of meds from that bunker in Mississippi the other day. Maybe one of those could help.”

  Bobby shook his head. “She needs antibiotics. I went to the dam to check out what they brought in when I heard about it. All of the antibiotics are decades out of date. Seems like the only thing they kept the bunker resupplied with over the years was generator fuel.”

  “So what do we do?” asked the mother.

  Rubbing his hand on his head, Bobby sighed heavily. “If I knew it was malaria, I might give her some of the new antibiotics they’ve developed over at the Murray State Biology Department. I have some with me now in fact.”

  “Good, let’s do that,” said Nathan.

  “Hang on,” said Bobby. “I don’t know for sure it is malaria.”

  “But you’re pretty sure, right?” asked Nathan’s mother.

  “Yes,” Bobby sighed, “but the other complication is the fact that she’s pregnant.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Nathan.

  The doctor held a stethoscope to Alexandra’s belly. “Currently there is a live baby in there. I can hear its heartbeat. I have absolutely no idea what kind of side effects these homemade untested drugs will have on the baby.”

  They all looked at Alexandra’s belly.

  “What do you think will happen to her if we do nothing?” asked Nathan’s mother.

  “I suspect the parasites will continue to infect her body. Her white blood cells likely can’t keep up and her liver is almost shot now. Once her liver goes...it won’t be long after that.”

  “But she could recover?” asked Nathan.

  “Sure,” said Bobby, shrugging. “Anything is possible, I guess.”

  “Do you think she will recover on her own?” asked Nathan’s mom.

  “No,” Bobby answered.

  “So,” said Nathan, “we’re faced with the decision of either giving her the medicine that might save her life and also harm the baby or not giving her the medicine and hope that she will recover on her own.”

  The doctor nodded.

  Nathan’s mother looked at the doctor. “So, what are we going to do here?”

  “I can’t make that decision,” said Bobby, “especially when it involves an unborn baby. Normally, the next of kin decides if the patient is incapacitated.”

  “Joshua?” said Nathan. “But he’s still in the south. There’s no way he could get back here in time.”

  “Then it needs to be one of you,” said Bobby. “I doubt she has time for us to go track down other relatives.”

  Nathan looked at Alexandra and then at River, who had fallen back asleep. He thought of what Joshua would think if something went wrong. He thought of David and couldn’t get his dead son out of his head.

  “I can’t do it,” said Nathan.

  Bobby pointed at Alexandra. “Imagine this is Bethany, Nathan. What would you want done then?”

  Nathan shook his head. “No, there has to be another way.”

  The doctor dropped his head.

  “Give her the medicine,” said Nathan’s mother.

  They both looked at her, and she nodded.

  The doctor slowly opened his bag and filled a syringe from a vial. He then injected her with a large dosage of a clear liquid.

  “There’s nothing more we can do now,” said Bobby.

  “Yes there is,” said Nathan’s mother. She slid to her knees beside Alexandra. She placed a hand on the woman’s head and another on her stomach.

  She began to pray.

  Chapter 13- Finding a Place

  Ernest Givens lay uncomfortably on the thin mattress. He stared at the cold bare walls of the Mayfield City Jail and still found it hard to believe he was here.

  As a former army non-commissioned officer, he had visited plenty of jails in his time. Typically, it was to come take control of soldiers who had gotten too drunk in public. Most police tended to give soldiers a bit of a pass instead of formally booking them and allow their chain-of-command to come take them away. Usually, it was understood by all, including the soldier, that dire punishment of its own would be forthcoming through informal NCO channels.

  Several times he had come down for soldiers charged with DUIs, and in those cases, there was nothing he could do. Once, he even had a soldier charged with manslaughter after a bar fight ended badly. Sergeant Major Givens had said that however low he sunk in life, he would never end up on the wrong side of those bars.

  Yet here he was. Ernest looked up and down the jail cell hallway. Some were quiet like he was, but others were loud and boisterous. Especially in the communal drunk tank filled with people the police thought needed to sober up before being released again.

  How did I end up here? he wondered. Am I making a big mistake with this whole president thing?

  Ernest lay still and thought about this question. Something told him it was important on some level. He eventually decided that it was in the JP’s best interests that someone ran in opposition to the incumbent. It wasn’t healthy for democracy to have the sitting leader just get re-elected year after year as a simple formality. He had seen plenty of countries around the world with ‘free elections’ where there was only one candidate who received ninety-nine percent of the votes. Who does that one percent vote for? he always wondered.

  No, should someone run was not the key question. The question that mattered to Ernest was if he was the man for the job, and he already knew that he didn’t know. Hell, less than a month before, he had been a total mess on the verge of blowing his own brains out.

  Someone has to run against him, he thought. I didn’t ask for this. People came seeking me out. If no one else is going to step up, then I have no choice.

  There was a presence outside his cell and Ernest realized that he had dozed off. He opened his eyes and saw a man standing there in a police uniform with a grim expression.

  “Police Chief Norton,” said Ernest, “I see that you were obviously raised properly.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Why, being a good host and coming to check on your guests.”

  Norton looked self-consciously at the other prisoners who were watching and listening to him. “You know it didn’t have to be this way.”

  “You’re right,” said Ernest, sitting up on the edge of the bunk and swinging his feet to the floor. “You could have not arrested me.”

  “You were getting people hurt. Inciting violence and mischief.”

  “Are those the charges? Inciting violence and mischief?” Ernest thought for a second. “By the way, I’ve never been read my rights or charged yet. Now that we’re on the subject, I want a lawyer.”

  “Me too,” said a belligerent voice down a few cells. “I want a lawyer.”

  “Shut up,” said Norton without looking at the man down the hall. “You haven’t been formally charged,” explained Norton, “because we have up to thirty days to do that under martial law.”

  “Ohhhhhhh,” said Ernest, smiling. “Now it makes sense. Now I know why I’m really in here.”

  “You’re in here because of why I just told you.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little convenient that right before the election the sole challenger to the man in power is arrested and held without charges? Reggie Phillips surprises me. I thought he was more of a ‘let’s play fair ball’ sort.”

  “It was me who recommended
you be detained,” said Norton. “The president asked for my recommendation, and I gave it to him.”

  “And I guess that’s all it takes anymore,” said Ernest, rising from his bunk to approach the bars. “Two men just get together over, what, beer?”

  “Tea.”

  “And decide to make their problems go away by locking it away.”

  “It’s legal,” insisted Norton.

  “It’s only legal because you say it’s legal,” said Ernest. “Where are the checks and balances that are supposed to be in place? Who approved the president’s order on martial law? What judges say what is legal and what is not?”

  “It’s not like that,” Norton said. “The president is a good man.”

  “Probably so,” admitted Ernest, “but total power changes people. The JP is quickly headed down the path of totalitarianism.”

  “Right on,” said several inmates, and there were other words of agreement.

  “You know that I fought against Ethan Schweitzer’s totalitarianism,” Ernest said, moving closer to Norton. “Remember that?”

  Norton nodded, his face tight.

  Ernest spread his hands wide to take in his surroundings. “And is this what all that was for? You know I’m not a criminal.”

  “I ain’t no criminal either,” said the belligerent voice again.

  Norton ignored the voice and kept his eyes locked on Ernest. “Why couldn’t you have just kept quiet?”

  “I did,” answered Ernest. “For a long long time, but those days are over.”

  “So are those of you running your mouth,” said Norton abruptly. He looked around, the spell broken. “It’s almost lights out,” he told them all.

  “Hey, Norton,” said Ernest.

  The man turned back to look at him.

  “You ever think about that day?”

  “What day?”

  Ernest smiled. “You know damn well what day I’m talking about.”

  “No, I don’t think about it.”

  “You’re lying,” said Ernest. “I bet late at night you think about it all the time. Maybe even in your dreams you’re walking away from me, waiting to hear that gunshot you know will be the last sound you hear. Actually, you wouldn’t hear it, because the bullet would travel much faster than the sound, but dreams are funny like that.”