The Seventh Day

by Scott Shepherd

  Sayers ripped his hand away and leapt to his feet. “No!”

  Aurora jerked backwards, as if he had reached out and slapped her.

  “What could be so horrible after all these years?” Joad asked. “The two of you have been together all this time. That girl’s world revolves around you, Sayers. I can’t imagine anything you could say that would change that.”

  “How about the fact that I could have saved her mother—my wife—from dying? How’s that for starters?”

  Aurora shook her head. “You don’t know that!”

  “Yes, I do!” shouted Sayers. “So do you. You were there. You saw it.”

  “Doc …”

  “No, Aurora. You know the truth. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” Sayers began pacing. “Laura doesn’t remember a single moment. I consider that a blessing. And I’m not going to have you …”

  He broke off and faced Joad. “… or you, tell her one damn thing. She’s my stepdaughter. You’ve no right to butt in.”

  “We’re just trying to help, Doc,” said Aurora.

  “And you can do that by staying out of it. Please. Just leave it alone.”

  The plea in his voice and eyes seemed to finally reach them.

  “You’re right. It’s not our business,” said Joad. “But Aurora makes a good point. If there were ever a time, this would be it. When things are good between you two and you’re back at the best place to explain whatever happened.”

  Sayers softened slightly. He knew Joad was right, but still shook his head.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “That’s your prerogative.” Joad sat down by the fire again and resumed warming his hands. “Just know these things have a way of coming out when you least expect it.”

  Sayers didn’t respond. He headed for the door and exited into the cool night air.

  30

  I’m drowning.

  At least I think I am.

  How ironic. It had been his bright idea to come to the lake in the first place, suggesting they play hooky and go water-skiing. He had to practically twist Norman’s arm, the Goody Two-Shoes. So what if he had a math test? Norman was already the smartest in his class. He’d ace it with flying colors, even if he skipped studying for a week. Samuel or Trey? Yeah—maybe they would have flunked.

  Up they come to the lake. They scrape together enough coins and stray bills to rent the boat and skis for a few hours. And of course, he decides to go first. Show off. He makes a big production of raising one hand and waving to the bikini-clad girls on the shore.

  And smashes right into a buoy.

  Everything goes black.

  Suddenly he’s awake and gulping for air, choking on water.

  Wait.

  He’s breathing. Then how can he be drowning? Doesn’t make sense.

  Unless …

  He’s on dry land.

  Ooomph.

  Someone on top of him. Samuel. Hands all over his chest. Pushing with all his might.

  He spurts up water. Maybe some vomit.

  He hears a few screams. But mostly giggling. He turns his head and sees the bikini girls, hands in front of their mouths, laughing.

  Laughing at him.

  He wants to kill somebody. Or crawl down a hole.

  Maybe even drown …

  Which would be good because right now he feels like he’s …

  … on fire.

  His skin was burning.

  Which made no sense because Primo was actually soaking wet.

  The childhood dream was over. For some reason, he was clinging to the edge of a pool in the middle of a vast room.

  Where or what this room was, Primo had no idea. It was quite dim; if there were windows, he couldn’t see them. Not that he was looking too hard, preoccupied as he was with the searing pain shooting through his entire body.

  How he had gotten there or into the pool? Even a bigger mystery. The last thing he remembered was Fixer diving to the ground, and a big explosion. It was Primo’s own fault—he should have just killed the man. Extracted vengeance for Trey and Quattro, and been done with the weasel once and for all. Then he could have gone after Joad and the doctor. But he’d gotten greedy, getting Fixer to build that ridiculous machine, and paid the price along with Secundo.

  Secundo.

  Where the hell was he? Was he in the pool also?

  The water was murky. Something about the muddiness seemed familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Primo couldn’t see the other end of the pool and felt a wave of panic race through him. Perhaps this wasn’t a pool at all; maybe he was in some strange ocean with who-knows-what swimming toward him below the surface, ready to chew him to bits with multiple sets of piranha-like teeth.

  Primo started to lift himself out of the pool. One big fucking mistake. Exposed to the air, his burnt skin felt like it was going to peel right off. He let himself sink back into the murk.

  “Smart move.”

  The voice came from the darkness of the room. The chill it gave off didn’t soothe his aching skin. It only added to the pain. Primo tried to focus, but the room was one large nebulous space. He thought he saw a shape move to his right, but it might have been his mind playing tricks.

  “You’re better off staying right there.”

  Point taken—and agreed with.

  The voice was as deep as an opera star’s baritone, but without the mellifluous tone. Threat and power exuded—and Primo felt the urge to duck under the dark water to escape it. But he feared that would present its own set of problems—the ability to breathe first and foremost.

  “Who are you? How’d I get here?”

  Primo managed to ask the questions, but not in his usual commanding manner. Compromised by excruciating pain ripping across his skin, and no clue where he was, his words were more polite queries than insistent demands.

  “None of that matters.”

  The response was said with such brutish finality that Primo didn’t dare question it.

  “You’re a lucky man,” boomed the voice.

  Primo lifted his hand up; shooting pain stabbed through it. He immediately thrust it back into the water.

  “I’d hate to see unlucky.”

  “How many chances do you need?”

  “Chances?” asked Primo. “For what?”

  “To set things right. “

  This whole situation was getting wackier by the moment. Primo yearned to be back on his pirate ship, gliding across The Flats. That would be completely normal compared to what he was now experiencing.

  “Afraid you lost me.”

  Something shifted in the gloom and approached the pool. Primo backed away and lost his grip on the edge. He began to flail, his burnt body too weak to stay afloat in the heavy water. Primo lunged and grabbed hold of the pool coping. He steadied himself, easing the burden on his aching limbs, but bringing him that much closer to whatever lurked in the dark.

  “All four of you were spared. Four brothers. That, in itself, is extraordinary. What are the odds?”

  This was something that Primo had actually considered. When it had just been him and Quattro wandering the streets, and Trey showed up with the horses, (the ones that bastard Joad kept stealing), he sensed Secundo was out there somewhere.

  “Large, I imagine.”

  “I’d venture to say, something approaching infinity.”

  The shifting sound stopped. Primo let out a sigh of relief; nothing was coming out of the gloom for him.

  At least, not yet.

  “I’ve always found when something seemingly impossible happens, there is a reason,” said the voice. “Four brothers, hardly upstanding citizens of the world, survive a cataclysmic event like The Seventh Day, while millions of people, much better people, vanish from the earth. It begs explanation, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Primo was at a loss. He couldn’t fathom what this man wanted from him. He could only go with the flow until he understood what was going on.

  “Like you
said. I guess I’m just lucky.”

  “It’s more than that.”

  The shifting noise sounded again. Crap, thought Primo. More than ever, he was convinced he wanted no part of what hung back in the darkness.

  “There is nothing random about the Remaining. Just like there is nothing random about your Gift. The same goes for Fixer and the girl. And Joad.”

  “Joad?”

  “Especially Joad.”

  What was with this guy? Who the hell was he, and how did he know so much about what had happened to him? Did he have some crazy-ass television only he was receiving?

  “Joad doesn’t have a Gift.”

  “Yes, he does. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

  “Which would be what?”

  “The greatest one of all.”

  “That really doesn’t explain much.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to.” The shifting forward movement stopped again. “You just need to make sure he never gets the chance to use it.”

  “I’ve been trying.”

  “No! You’ve been failing!”

  The violent accusation rippled the murky water as Primo felt himself tremble.

  “You and your brothers were brought together for one singular purpose. This man. The same man who killed both Trey and Quattro—and has left you and Secundo for dead more than once.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  There was that shifting noise again. A huge shape emerged through the darkness.

  “Then do something about it! Set things right!”

  The Husky lunged out of the gloom.

  It had grown once again. It was now bigger than Primo, and had blood dripping from its teeth.

  Primo screamed and fell back into the pool. He was swallowed up by the murk. He flailed once more, the mucky water pouring down his throat. He reached for the surface, but everything hurt too much and it just kept getting darker and darker.

  Until there was nothing.

  Primo could hear himself screaming in agony.

  The morning sun baked his seared skin. Primo was still in the debris field; The Fixer in a thousand scorched pieces scattered around him. He rolled around in the red loam, searching for shade, comfort, any relief from the third-degree burns that covered every inch of his exposed flesh.

  Between cries of anguish, Primo detected another sound. Whimpering.

  But it wasn’t him.

  He craned his neck to look left—and there was Secundo. Facedown in a hunk of metal (formerly part of The Fixer), looking like a lobster still boiling in the pot, unconscious, but moaning from a multitude of injuries.

  Primo tried to move, but realized he was unable to do so. He closed his eyes tight and reached into that place wherever his Gift lay, pushing hard on all his rage and emotion. In a matter of seconds, the dark storm clouds appeared above his head; within a minute it began to rain. The water pelted down on he and his brother.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t salve the wounds. In some ways it made things worse; the burns stung more than ever. But it cooled things enough to let Primo crawl toward Secundo. It was tough going and felt like it took forever to navigate a hundred feet.

  Along the way, Primo realized where he’d seen the murky water from the dream pool before.

  The small pond on the outskirts of the debris field.

  Primo had used every remaining ounce of strength to drag his comatose brother to the pond. He actually passed out twice himself from the exertion and blistering pain of his own wounds. But they finally reached the edge of the water.

  Water with the same murky consistency as the bizarre pool in a room that Primo had dreamed up.

  Primo thought about the nightmare. More specifically, The Husky.

  It hadn’t steered him wrong yet.

  The humongous hound had forced him deep into the murk, the water that soothed the horrific burns all over his body.

  Primo struggled to his knees and leaned over his passed-out sibling. He mustered up enough power to roll Secundo into the pond.

  Primo followed him in.

  The moment his body dipped below the surface, Primo felt enormous relief.

  The liquid adhered to his skin like a cocoon. And immediately soothed his pain. He felt his strength returning.

  An hour later, Primo had dragged himself and Secundo from the pond.

  His brother was breathing normally. His moaning had stopped.

  Their burns had already miraculously blistered over in blotches of red and gray that permanently stamped them as monstrous freaks that any Remaining would shun.

  Which didn’t matter in the least to Primo.

  He could only think of one thing.

  Joad.

  Whom he blamed for everything. From Trey and Quattro, to the scars he and Secundo would wear for whatever time they had left.

  Primo vowed to do The Husky’s bidding. He would make Joad pay with his life.

  Secundo’s eyes flickered open. “What was that?”

  “What was what?”

  “That room with the pool.”

  Primo was stunned. “You saw that?”

  Secundo nodded slowly. “You were talking. With … that dog.”

  Interesting, thought Primo.

  Very, very interesting.

  31

  Everyone in the castle was fast asleep.

  Well, everyone but Aurora.

  As ruler of the realm, she felt obligated before retiring to make sure all was at peace in the kingdom. She actually thought of Funland as such (albeit a very small kingdom), usually without subjects. She could count the Remaining she’d seen in the past year on two hands. The fact that it had survived The Seventh Day fairly intact allowed her to think of it as an untouchable principality, such as Monaco or a neutral country like Switzerland (back before both were obliterated by the Strangers).

  But achieving peace was easier said than done.

  The specter of Sayers’s and Laura’s last visit to Funland had hung over the quartet for the rest of the evening. Once Doc stomped out of the castle, Aurora had been left alone with Joad. The first few moments were awkward, as Aurora knew more about Naomi’s fate than she dare let on. If only she could unburden herself to Joad, it would remove an immeasurable heaviness from the room. But that would betray Doc’s request—and the poor man had been through quite enough.

  Aurora gave Joad the grand tour instead. He seemed fascinated by the history surrounding the castle, particularly when Aurora told him it had once been a small carriage house in the French Loire Valley. She explained how, back in the Great Depression, her grandfather had placed it on huge wheels and towed it to the Mediterranean. It was put on a barge and shipped across the pond to America. He had bought a parcel of land, the very one the castle rested on, determined to grow grapes and market wine in the heartland. The baking Midwest sun killed the dream before it ever materialized, and Marcus, Aurora’s father, who dreamed of becoming a professional golfer but was homeschooled in the castle, spent more time tending to his broken parents than the vines that refused to grow.

  Daisy, Aurora’s mother, changed all that. She had hitchhiked from the hills of Laurel Canyon, and was heading for a cow pasture in upstate New York where there was a whole lot of free music going on. She arrived exhausted to the castle, spent the night, and paid the three-dollar B&B fee for the privilege (the family needing to make money somehow). The following morning, Marcus took her breakfast order; by the time she finished her omelet, Daisy had taken his heart. She never left.

  Soon the castle was filled with the lilting sounds of Joni Mitchell, James Taylor, and Mama Cass, and her California Dreamin’ family. Marcus and Daisy’s very own little princess quickly followed; they named her Aurora, appropriate for the daughter of a Lady of the Canyon. Daisy would rock the baby to sleep cooing “Dream a Little Dream of Me,” imagining herself on a porch high up in the Hollywood Hills, while Marcus took his love for golf and built Funland, encircling the castle his father had dragged halfway around the world.
>
  Funland flourished. Families stopped on their way to six different states to quench their thirst or play eighteen holes of miniature golf as Daisy’s favorite music poured from speakers hidden in bright plastic flowers. It might have said mid-America on the map, but anyone walking in the gates was transported back to a magical place where it was always 1971 and Joni Mitchell was on the radio.

  Marcus’s only regret was that his father passed before he could see his folly become a success. Not that the old man would have known; he had battled Alzheimer’s for years. Aurora had vague recollections of an old man sitting in the small tower, staring out the window, trapped like Rapunzel in his own mind.

  The years passed and Aurora grew up happy. Why not? She lived in a rock ‘n’ roll fairyland with too-cool-for-school parents. She never had to go looking for a job; she spent afternoons and summers working at Funland, and gradually took over as her folks got older. She never tired of seeing smiles on kids’ faces as they putted their way around the castle. Her folks died within months of each other, and Aurora thought it fitting. They were inseparable from the morning that Daisy decided to forgo Woodstock to build a life with Marcus. Aurora liked to think of them reunited in a place where her father had holes in one by the score while her mother sang a duet with her beloved Mama Cass.

  “You had no family of your own?” Joad had asked, as they settled down in the main room.

  Aurora shook her head. “Don’t forget, Funland was in the middle of nowhere. Even before The Seventh Day. Pretty much just a roadside attraction, everyone simply passing through. The closest town of any consequence was at least forty minutes away.”

  Aurora had no regrets. Sure, she would have loved a family if things had worked out that way. But if surviving meant losing a loved one—be it a spouse, parent, or heaven forbid a child—Aurora was quite content on her own. One look at the pain Doc had endured reaffirmed her belief.

  She listened just as intently when Joad told her about his journey back to Nemo and Rebecca. Aurora admired his steadfast belief that his wife was still alive and waiting in his hometown. She told him the others were lucky to have a man like Joad protecting them. Joad downplayed it, saying they were just tagging along. But Aurora thought his true emotion showed when she mentioned Laura.