The Government: Dark Days

by Joseph Storm

  Kitty looked into Leader Judas’s eyes with pure obedience, “I do.”

  Since Leader Judas only had to answer to Mika Sorka, he was not given any vows. “You may place the rings on each others’ fingers,” Ben Arnold said, as the couple placed massive, diamond studded, platinum wedding rings in their rightful places.

  “Let these rings serve as the chains of union, binding you to your ideals, only to be broken if your leader deems it so.”

  Kitty nodded in approval.

  “Then it is done, this union complete, and the future of our nation sealed. From this day forth, the date shall be set in stone, as a national holiday for all to praise, remembering in glory and happiness.” Cheers filled the air.

  The date was December 24th, a day which used to be celebrated as Christmas Eve. However, since all national holidays such as Christmas, Thanksgiving, Independence Day, President’s Day, etc. were abolished, citizens were thankful to get one day of rest. The seven day-a-week work schedule kept the public constantly occupied, zapping any thoughts of rebellion from their minds. Mika Sorka had planned it from the beginning, proclaiming that, “Like any hostage situation...take away all comforts. Throw them a small bone, and they will love you for it.” Unfortunately for the public, that small bone would consist of spending a twelve-hour day, rain, shine, or snow, in gathering worship. They would sing songs of praise to the couple and government.

  “I pronounce you, Leader and wife!” Under-Leader Arnold proclaimed loudly and passionately, as he was instructed to do. He immediately followed the announcement by introducing a new statue, lifting the veil of cover. The sculpted likeness of the couple was revealed, forever immortalized in stone. They would soon be added to the many existing statues in every town across the nation.

  The supporting half of the crowd broke into loud applause, as they were placed up front to be seen by all. Just out of the camera’s eye, were the dissenting citizens, who did not show any reaction to the news.

  Seeing this, a few random mercenaries in black were dressed in civilian clothes, pre-placed into the crowd. They went into action, bashing the quiet ones in the back with low-lying butts of their weapons.

  The roar of the crowd grew greater, as the captive members were suddenly motivated to cheer, welcoming the new couple.

  Simon and Kitty Judas faced the crowd. They soaked in the applause, heartfelt and coerced alike.

  ******

  Over a month of pure hell had passed, as a horrid cold winter hit the area. The merciless clouds dropped 40 inches of snow in the period of a month. The day would bring a much different Christmas Eve than any of them had ever experienced, as there would be no tinsel filled trees, and bow-wrapped presents to hand out.

  The group fought their way west, entering the mountainous region of Virginia. They headed for the outskirts of a town called Luray, just outside of Shenandoah National Park’s borders.

  Exhaustion, lack of food, freezing temperatures, and sounds of hungry dogs followed them the whole way. Somehow, the group endured on as they reached a final span of roughly thirty miles. Their pace had equaled about ten to twelve miles a day, dodging or rerouting any town or government hotspot along the way. The plan was to do a final two days of fifteen miles, arriving at their new home by Christmas Day, to boost some sort of morale.

  It was an early morning. The dogs were heard earlier than usually, only affording the group three-hours of sleep, down from the five they had been getting. The plan was to elect a different watchman with every sleep shift, alerting the group of tracking dogs. Sometimes they would get to sleep in the darkness, though others were in the bright day. It no longer mattered to the desperate group.

  Since the frozen mud was harder to unearth, the scent of the large group was harder to mask. With each day, Xavier regained more ground on them.

  The clock struck 7:00 A.M., as the sun was peaking from the horizon. Smoke rose from the craggy mountain valleys, releasing not only the coldest temperature of the day, but what would be the coldest of the entire year. The gage had just hit ten degrees, chilling the air like an old fashioned icebox.

  “Pull it together people! Get your asses in gear! The dogs are getting louder!” Gunner called out, as he was extra crabby from a cold night. Shoman rubbed his arms together like a cricket in heat, shivering against a tree. He tried to stay awake as hard as he tried not to freeze to death.

  The group rose slowly, as exhaustion and hunger hijacked their faces. “Don’t forget my bags!” a moody Stacey called out to Gunner. She checked her face in an ivory-cased, handheld mirror, in which she fixed her disheveled hair. “Oh...we should just surrender already...at least the government would provide us with showers,” she said. Gunner grabbed her bags, biting his tongue as hard as possible.

  Stacey’s husband Robert returned from a distant tree. The sick look of paleness covered his face.

  “Are you ok?” Becky asked him.

  Stacey continued to selfishly gaze into her vanity mirror, “He’ll be fine. Big baby.”

  “I’ll make it,” he said, holding his stomach tightly. “I cannot keep the little food I’ve eaten down.”

  “We’ve all had a case of Giardiasis...there’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Becky assured him. “You have to keep hydrated.”

  “Isn’t that what caused this in the first place...a waterborne parasite?” Robert asked.

  “Fresh water...flowing, not still.”

  He nodded, preparing himself for the oncoming trip. “Even professors have something to learn,” he said.

  Throughout the month’s journey, when the snow managed to melt, small pools of water were left behind. Since the group had trekked away from the Potomac River, finding no time to find fresh water, they had to settle for stagnant water. Having no filtration system, there was no way of testing which source had been contaminated with an animal’s waste.

  The end-result led to waves of sickness. The intestinal parasite wrecked havoc on the group, causing endless bouts of diarrhea and vomiting. Sometimes, in the endless chase of pursuit, they didn’t even have time to stop, soiling themselves until the next moment of mercy. The smell only further helped the dogs find their trail.

  Joe Striker looked examined the ragged group, which moved slowly, lacked life. They were filthy, frost bitten, and for the first time, appeared to don the look of defeat.

  The newborn baby of Jonah and Julie Reed cried into the cold air. Pains of hunger and gas plagued its small stomach. “Shhh, sweet baby boy,” Julie Reed whispered in a tear-filled tone. She rocked the baby, pulling out her breast, and letting it drink the best it could. “My dehydration...and lack of food...I’m just not producing much milk anymore,” she said in fear.

  “Keep the kid quiet!” Gunner demanded. “How many times do I have to tell you...it will lead them right to us,” he said.

  “He’s a baby! You can’t expect him to know better!” Becky yelled at him.

  Jonah stepped up to Gunner’s face, “You’ve been on my last nerve since we got here. Tell my son to shut up again...and I’ll waste you.”

  “You wanna fight? Go hit those dogs...I’m getting the hell outta here before I become their dinner,” Gunner told him.

  “It can’t be much worse than this,” Jonah said, turning to the rest of the group. They all nodded in approval. “Before we left, I heard the government was giving amnesty to anyone that swore their loyalty! I say we give up this goose chase, get a warm bed, warm meal, and clean water.”

  The dispirited group applauded, showing the first sign of hope in a month.

  “You don’t mean that,” Joe Striker told them, approaching the group from his quiet corner.

  “The gentlemen’s correct,” Robert said, still holding his stomach in ache. “My wife...deserves better than this.” Gunner cringed having heard those words before. “We are not barbarians...and they are not either. I’m sure we can come to some type of agreement.”

  “Sure you can...it’s called appeasement...professor. Surel
y you’ve come across that word in your textbooks,” Gunner said in jest.

  “At this juncture, even appeasement sounds better than freezing to death,” he said, as he was suddenly interrupted by the hacking cough of Father Tyme’s lungs. Francis backed up against a tree, slowly sinking to the ground.

  Joe Striker ran to his aid, asking, “Father! Are you, ok?” The others turned away in embarrassment, forming a group to discuss their fate. Joe came to his aid. “That cough is getting worse everyday. Is there anything I can do?”

  “You can exchange your youthful lungs for my ancient ones,” he said with a friendly smile, hacking up more phlegm from his throat. “Anything short of that...we lack.”

  The sound of dogs started to creep closer.

  “You need medicine...something I can’t give.”

  “God will see me through this...if I am willing to help myself.”

  “I think we’re all beyond prayers at this point,” he said.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he answered.

  “I was kind of hoping you’d say I was wrong,” Striker said, running a hand over his dirty, tired face. He exhaled in disillusionment, looking back at the debating group of people. “It’s over...we’ve lost them.”

  “Son...when I said you’re right...I didn’t mean God was wrong.”

  “Well...I sure wish he’d give me an answer. Frankly...I’m sick and tired of waiting for one.”

  “Maybe that’s your problem?”

  “What?”

  “That you wait for an answer...instead of using the brain that God gave you. Find the answer yourself.”

  “He gets credit for everything...shouldn’t he take the blame every now and then?”

  “God takes credit for making us...for better or worse. What happens after that...is what we make of it. Like you for instance...”

  “What about me? I’ve failed every test thrown my way. I let my wife die, son get taken, crowds burned...and sure enough, turned these people to the dark side.”

  “Freewill, son. The decision they make...is theirs to live with. Of course, you have the freewill to convince them to fight on.”

  “They don’t respect me...hell, they don’t even believe in me.”

  “Did you ever think that you...are the one lacking believe in yourself? Your own leadership?”

  “I’m not their leader...I never asked to be.”

  “Moses never asked to free his people from the bonds of slavery...but he accepted the challenge.”

  “Incase you haven’t noticed, father...I’m no Moses.”

  “Leaders are not born, son...they merely accept their calling...pass the test. Think of yourself as their leader, and they will think of you in the same light.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then you have your answer.”

  “Which is?”

  “That God isn’t failing you. You are.”

  Striker looked down in guilt. “How can one man...take on such an impossible task?”

  “One step at a time,” he said, smiling. The expression was interrupted by more violent coughing. “Leave me behind. I will not be the cause of our downfall. You must move quick...I will only drag you down.”

  “I won’t leave you.”

  “How will I make it?” he asked.

  “One step at a time,” Striker said, as the two men connected eyes, finally understanding each other.

  Becky placed a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “As much as I hate to say this...we have to let the others go. They’re all adults...and they’ve made up their minds.”

  Robert approached, interrupting their conversation. He told them, “We’ve taken a vote...and decided to turn ourselves in. We’ll waste as much time as we can...giving you room to gain distance. After that...we’ll have no choice but to bargain...tell them everything.”

  Striker thought for a moment. He suddenly rose from the ground with renewed vigor. Joe approached the group, pacing back and forth, arousing their interest. The recharged man addressed them with passion in his voice, “Am I hearing this correctly? You voted to leave us?”

  The group nodded in agreement. Jonah stepped out as a second spokesman. “We can’t live like this...my son won’t survive this cold.”

  “Democracy,” Striker spoke out. “Remember this moment...frame it so deeply in your minds...never let it fade.”

  “Explain yourself,” Robert demanded.

  “Because...this was the last moment you were free. It was the last moment your voice still mattered. No, it was the last moment you even had a voice.”

  The others looked down in shame, fear and indecision covered their faces.

  “And you say your son won’t survive,” Striker said, motioning to Jonah and Julie, cradling their fragile newborn. “You’re correct...he may not make it through the day...or the next...or the one after that...though tell me, what will his life be in the hands of evil? Can a seed truly grow under skies of constant darkness? Will you be able to live with yourself...knowing that one day, he will be called upon to execute the innocent, corrupt the good? Will you be able to sleep at night, knowing he won’t be raised with your values? The values of your parents, their parents before them...American values! No...he’ll be turned into a monster. He’ll thrive upon rape, murder, stealing...death!”

  Again, everyone looked away, refusing to face Joe Striker in the eyes. No one wanted to accept the truth.

  “My son faces that LIFE every day of his existence! If it had been my choice...and I could only offer him that life...I would mercifully choose death. But unlike me...you still have that choice. You still can control the fate of your son’s destiny...one I would have died for! You are all free to choose a life of chains. I choose light over darkness. I choose freedom!” he called out, as sunlight rose from the cover of a tall mountain. Warm rays of sun landed upon the freezing group of people. It was a divine moment of inspiration for people who hadn’t felt such emotion in a long time.

  Father Tyme made the sign of the cross with his trembling hand. He climbed his way back up onto his feet, readying himself to move on his own.

  “Are you ready?” Joe asked him.

  “I choose to survive,” he said, gently smacking Striker in the face like a proud father.

  “Let’s roll,” Joe said, as Becky, Gunner, and Father Tyme made their way west. Gunner tossed Stacey’s bags behind him, shooting her a wise smirk. “Have a nice trip,” he said, finally finding the courage to stand up to her.

  The others in the group looked on, waiting for someone to make a move. Julie Reed stepped forward with the baby in her hands. She started following Joe Striker.

  “Where are you going?” Jonah asked.

  “To give my son a life,” she said, continuing on. One by one, the group started splintering off, following her. Before he knew it, Jonah was the last one left. He checked his hurt pride, and followed the rest of them.

  Stacey grabbed her bags, handing them to her sick husband Robert. “Take these!” she demanded.

  “I’m a tenured college professor...not a skycap.”

  “If you ever want sex again...you’ll do it.”

  He begrudgingly grabbed the heavy bags, which were obviously too heavy for a man of his frail nature and current weakened state.

  Striker looked back at the approaching group. He realized that he had been wrong. “I guess they believed in you after all,” Father Tyme told him. “More importantly, you finally believed in yourself.”

  “No, Father...I believe in my son,” he said.

  ******

  Night had fallen on the forest, as the goal of fifteen miles had been surpassed by twenty-five. The eerie barking of the dogs, which had grown alarmingly close, had suddenly quieted down. They decided to call it quits for the night, celebrating a makeshift Christmas Eve.

  The group had set their places for the night. They broke off into small celebrations with their families and friends.

  Joe Striker, Becky Fox, Gunner Shoman, Father Francis Tyme, Stacey
and Robert Yale, gathered together. Rare luck had managed to find them, as the morning lows had passed. A cloud-covered warm front of 34 degrees descended upon the area.

  They managed to find a flowing creek. Joe and Gunner made a makeshift fishnet out of Stacey’s pantyhose, which they took without her permission. “Fishnet stockings! Couldn’t think of a better name for ‘em,” Gunner said, tearing them apart into an open trap. The reward was a small feast of rainbow trout.

  “Uh...not more fish! I guess it’s better than frogs. How did you catch them?” Stacey asked.

  “Fish nets,” Gunner said with a smirk.

  “Funny, I have stockings with the same name,” Stacey said with a laugh.

  “You don’t say,” Gunner responded, joining in her laughing.

  Becky helped prepare the fish, using a dagger. “Raw again?” she asked.

  Gunner held up his hand lighter. “A special night deserves more of a spark than this.”

  “Make a real fire,” Stacey called out. “I’m tired of all this raw fish! In fact...I’m tired of fish all together!”

  “Then go find us a cow,” Gunner said.

  “If you’re suggesting the making of a fire...no,” Joe Striker ordered.

  “Why not?” Robert asked.

  “The same reason we nearly froze to death every night...it’s a big signal...saying come get us!”

  “How about a short one...just to pan sear them?” Becky asked.

  “You’re in on this mutiny too?”.

  “You can’t deny this face, can you kid?” Gunner inquired, as Becky made a sad frown, making him smile.

  “I still don’t think it’s a good idea...but...a quick one. That’s it!”

  After a search for dry wood, a fire was lit. The fresh fish were seared on the flame which warmed their skin. Before they knew it, separate small fires were comforting each group. “This is not what I agreed to,” Joe said.

  “Good ideas have a way of catching on,” Gunner assured him.

  “Try to relax for once,” Becky said. “It’s Christmas Eve...there’s been no sound of dogs for hours now. Maybe they’re taking the night off too.”