Seven Unholy Days

by Jerry Hatchett

  “It’s like this. All those buildings and streets are still there, right?”

  “Yes sir.” They were still there all right, with gosh knows what other kind of creatures of the dark running around in and between them.

  “And we could still walk down those streets if we were there. It would just be harder. Right?”

  I nodded.

  “God is like everybody’s light, son. We can still stumble our way through life, but it sure is easier when we have the light to help us.”

  “Ohhhh, I get it.” He just smiled, glad that I got it. Then he went to work on his sermon. And I kept thinking about how it looked when all those lights went off, and how all those people—Dad said there were millions of them in that one town—must be so scared without the lights. I thought about it long after the lights in New York came back on.

  I still missed Dad so much. It wasn’t fair. Nor was it fair to all the people who were now in the dark because my system failed. It was my fault. All my fault. I was sorry, so very sorry.

  “Matthew, wake up, son.”

  “Dad?” I said, opening my eyes and finding Tark towering over me instead.

  “You were moaning ‘I’m sorry’ over and over. This isn’t your fault.”

  I shook my head and processed what he said. “Tark, that’s nice of you to say, but when all is said and done this is my system and my responsibility.”

  “That’s horse hockey and you know it. If you hadn’t built the system, someone else would have. What was that company that fought you so hard for the contract?”

  “Hardier. Big Israeli outfit that threw together a North American shell to try to undercut me.”

  “Right, I remember now. The head honcho never showed at the hearings, kept sending busloads of lawyers.”

  “That’s the one. I was outmanned but I called in a lot of chits and pulled it out. Maybe I should’ve let them have it.”

  “And the same thing would have happened. And remember, the power grid is just one little piece of this puzzle.”

  “Yeah, but it’s the power grid that brought everything grinding to a halt. You said yourself that the Bureau can’t even run a proper investigation. The fate of the world is at stake and everything is so crippled that they can’t even put up a decent fight.”

  “There are supposed to be contingency plans in place for everything, including something like this, but the fact is our government let us down by not being ready, not you. That’s how it really is, Matthew.”

  He leaned over and got right down in my face, eyeball to eyeball. “Do you hear me?”

  What he was saying started making sense. My mind started clearing, my eyelids growing lighter as my fighting spirit gathered steam. “I do.”

  “Good, let’s nail this son-of-a-buck.”

  “Agreed.”

  I stood and stretched, and Tark said, “You think we should bring the FBI up to speed on what we’ve found?”

  “We better. They need the information. I’ll play it safe and send it directly to Brandon.”

  34

  6:35 AM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

  EARTH, TEXAS

  Mayor Charlie Raymond was a strapping bulk of a man, six feet four and two hundred sixty pounds of zero body fat topped with a Texas jaw. He stepped out of his house and shut the door quietly, trying not to wake his wife and kids. Charlie was still going to the office every morning before seven, just like he always had. There was little for him to do there, but he had been mayor for years and he was determined to do all he could to maintain at least the appearance of normalcy for the thousand-plus citizens of Earth, Texas.

  Before the crisis began, his routine had been to stay in the mayor’s office from seven to nine, then walk down the street and open his hardware store for business. The mayoral position was part time, to say the least. But the hardware store was now closed, so he spent most of his time at City Hall, hoping an encouraging word would crackle in on the old two-way radio that kept them linked to the state police.

  An ancient diesel generator rattled noisily from the basement as he made his way in through the front door. The exhaust was vented through a pipe that led to the roof, but a hefty dose of diesel fumes still made their way up the stairs and into the offices. Bruce Thurman, Earth’s Chief of Police, was waiting.

  “Charlie, there’s some fellows from the federal government in your office. Said they need you to call a town meeting right away.”

  Raymond cocked an eyebrow and headed that way. Both men stood up when he walked in, one tall, one short, both awfully sturdy looking for government weenies.

  “Mayor Raymond, we’re from the Federal Emergency Management Agency,” the taller of the two said. “We’re here to explain to the town what the government is going to be doing to help out, and we need you to gather up all the people you can for a meeting this afternoon at twelve-thirty.”

  “Well that’ll be a little tough for me to pull off. It’s not a big town by any stretch, but all we have for city officials right now are me and Bruce, and the only way to spread word around here right now is door to door. So how about you fellows just fill us in, and then we’ll start passing it on to the people.” Raymond said.

  “I’m afraid that won’t work, Mayor. We have a certain protocol to follow, and it requires us to hold the meeting ourselves,” Tall Man said. Short Man still said nothing.

  “I don’t believe ya’ll told me your names,” Raymond said, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice.

  Short Man, who despite being a solid looking specimen only came to Charlie Raymond’s shoulder, finally spoke with a hard deep voice. “I’m Luther Ross, Mr. Mayor. My partner here is Paul Prather. We are just doing our jobs and you have nothing to worry about.”

  “All right, gentlemen,” the mayor said. “You win. We’ll start spreading the word right now. Good enough?”

  “Yes sir, thank –”

  Chief Thurman spoke up. “Charlie, there ain’t no way in hell we can get around to everybody in so short a time.”

  “We’ll manage, Bruce. Let’s go get started.” Raymond turned back to the visitors. “Fellows, ya’ll just make yourselves at home. We’ll start working the town and see you back here in a few hours.”

  “Ain’t no dang way,” Thurman muttered under his breath as Raymond steered him out of the office by the elbow.

  Once outside, Raymond walked briskly to the town’s lone patrol car with his Chief of Police in tow, mumbling all the way. Raymond got in the passenger side and as soon as Thurman was in he said, “Drive, Bruce. Right now.”

  As soon as the cruiser left City Hall, Raymond said, “Bruce, I don’t know what’s going on with those two, but I guarantee you it’s not good.”

  “What you mean?” Bruce Thurman wasn’t a dumb man, but despite twenty-two years as Earth Chief of Police, he could hardly be called a brilliant investigator, either. It just hadn’t been necessary. Earth was a lazy little hole in the road where the locals got along and outsiders didn’t stay long.

  Mayor Charlie Raymond was a different story. He had spent fifteen years as a Texas Ranger working out of Houston, and he could for a fact be called a brilliant investigator. One of the best ever of the famed Rangers, to be accurate. He was a criminal’s worst nightmare, with an uncanny ability to be in the right place at the right time. Until one night when it turned into the wrong place at the wrong time for Ranger Raymond. He took four well-aimed .44 Magnum slugs from a drug dealer’s revolver to the chest. The Kevlar vest stopped the monster rounds but the sheer impact nearly killed him.

  He spent two weeks in the hospital and, after much pleading from his wife, turned in his badge and moved the family back to his boyhood home in Earth. His father was thrilled to turn over the keys of the family hardware store to him and Charlie Raymond settled right into the quiet life of Earth, Texas, eventually running unopposed for mayor when old Hank Buford retired from office the hard way, in a pine box.

  Until four days ago it had been a gre
at life. Then the power died and people started turning into morons who fought and bickered and griped and whined and usually wound up blaming it on the Mayor when all was said and done. After all, he did get paid $250 a month to take care of things.

  Now it was time to really earn his keep. “Bruce,” he said, “first of all, why the heck would FEMA send two officials to Earth? I know we love it, but let’s be honest; we’re just a hole in the road, a thousand people and change. If they sent two here, how many did they send to Houston, two thousand? It makes no sense.”

  It seemed to be sinking in with Chief Thurman. “I guess that is pretty odd, ain’t it?” Slowly sinking.

  Raymond looked the other way and rolled his eyes. “Second, those guys don’t look like any government weenies I ever saw. They’re built like tanks. Both of ‘em.” Thurman nodded. “Third, the tall one smelled like diesel, and my guess is he picked that lovely smell up from our basement, where he had no business being. And last but not least,” Charlie said, “the short one is packing a weapon.”

  “Good Lord!” Thurman said, nearly running off the road in the process. “You saw it?”

  “I saw the bulge in his jacket. Large frame automatic is my guess. There are always low-lifes waiting to take advantage of a bad situation, and I think it’s safe to assume that’s what we’re dealing with in these two.”

  “Look Charlie, I don’t mind telling you that I don’t have the training to handle something like this. What are we gonna do?”

  “I know, Bruce. I don’t want to step on your toes, but with your permission I’ll sort of take over on this thing.”

  “You got my permission and my blessing and any dang other thing you want, Charlie. Just name it.”

  “Good deal. I have a plan. Let’s run by my house for just a minute and then we’ll get started on it.”

  “Ten-four, Mr. Mayor,” Thurman said as he hung a right onto Raymond’s street.

  “Please keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking from now on,” Tall Man said. “You sounded like a bad actor, ‘we are just doing our job.’”

  “I was just trying to help.”

  “Help quietly next time.”

  “It’s not my fault I’m not smart like you.”

  “Nobody said it was. Just be quiet, okay?”

  “Okay. Is everything ready here?”

  “Both canisters are loaded, the primary remote’s in my pocket, and the failsafe timer is set on the secondary unit,” Tall Man replied as he consulted a small notebook from his pocket. “We’ll need at least a hundred and twenty-five in here, so as soon as we start the meeting in the Civic Center, we’ll count out enough and you’ll bring them over here.”

  “You sure that many are just going to follow me because we say so?”

  “Sure, we’ll tell them that the crowd is too big for us to handle in a single meeting. They have no reason to doubt us.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Be sure to lock the doors, then come back over where I am and I’ll activate the canister with the remote. I calculate a hundred and forty for over there, to be on the safe side.”

  Short Man stared vacantly into space for a moment, then said, “Can we really do this, man? This is way out there.”

  “We have to do it. It’s all part of the Messiah’s plan. These people are of no consequence. We’re tools of destiny, my friend. Besides, this is nothing compared to what the L.A. team did.”

  “I know, I know. I believe in the cause, but it feels different than I expected. I don’t mind combat, but these folks ain’t much of an enemy.”

  “It’s not about enemies. We’re not really killing them anyway. We’re setting their souls free where they’ll be in his presence all the time, just like we’ll be someday. If they could only understand the truth they would line up willingly.”

  “I wonder.”

  “Don’t. Let’s get busy. We want to be ready when the rest of the crew arrives,” Tall Man said as he walked toward the door with Short Man close behind.

  “That big dude, the mayor, did he look familiar to you?”

  “Nope.”

  “I swear I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Don’t suppose it does, just making conversation.”

  “We can talk later, after we’ve taken care of our duties to the Messiah.”

  “I still don’t feel good about it.”

  “Jesus G. Christ, would you please get a grip?”

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to say that name.”

  “It was a slip of the tongue. Your yapping is getting to me.”

  “What do you think the Messiah would do if he heard you say the ‘JC’ word?”

  “He’d probably have me killed so I hope you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

  “You ain’t got to worry about me.”

  “I wonder.”

  Mayor Charlie Raymond slipped in through the back door of City Hall and stood rock still, listening. After hearing nothing he eased down the stairway to the basement. The generator clamored, reeking with the pungent smell of diesel. Raymond moved slowly around the old chamber with his flashlight, looking for anything out of place. And then he saw it, a contraption taped to the side of the air conditioning ductwork on the output side that branched out into the old building. He moved in for a closer look and saw that it was a stainless steel canister about the size of a can of spray paint. A hose came out of the nozzle end and fed through a hole that had been punched into the main duct that branched out and routed air to the whole building. Next to the canister was a small black box the size of a matchbox, with a thin black wire hanging down from it and a yellow wire running to what looked like a small valve on the canister. A radio-controlled receiver was Raymond’s guess.

  Disarming such devices was well outside the realm of his expertise, but the gadget looked fairly straightforward and didn’t appear to be booby-trapped. The small rubber hose pulled easily off the nozzle. He pulled the duct tape loose and gently set the thing on an old table nearby. He examined it carefully but there were no markings of any kind. He held his breath and pulled the yellow wire loose from the connector on the canister. Nothing happened. He breathed again.

  News was hard to come by but they had been able to listen in to the Emergency Broadcast System on the radio and knew full well what horror a chemical weapon had wrought in Los Angeles. Charlie Raymond was determined not to see a repeat in Earth, Texas. He stepped carefully back up the stairs, taking the deadly device with him.

  At the top of the stairs he opened the door and checked the hall in both directions, then walked with amazing lightness for a man of his bulk toward the rear exit. He passed by the old grate in the wall at the end of the corridor, not noticing the tiny marks on the heads of the rusty screws that held the grate in place.

  Behind the grate, which served as the air conditioning intake duct for the ground floor, was a $2.96 disposable filter from Wal-Mart. The slots that held the filter in place on the backside of the grate were designed such that the grate did not have to be removed in order for the filter to be changed out. For this reason, there had been no reason to remove the rusty screws holding the grate assembly to the wall, for the past twenty-two years. Until today. Directly behind the filter, inside the intake duct, sat a device identical to the one Charlie held so carefully as he opened the back door and stepped outside City Hall and into the merciless Texas sun.

  35

  7:15 AM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

  NEAR THE HART COMPLEX

  Jana left White Thunder—the name she’d given the horse—tied to a small tree about fifty feet inside the woods and eased toward an open field that joined them. She had ridden slowly through the low density stand of mostly oak and walnut trees for nearly three hours. The riding was easy, with very little ground vegetation to hinder progress other than occasional runs of scrub brush. She eased out of the woods on her hands and knees, concealed by the tall prairie grass in the
bordering field. The early morning sun was hot, having already burnt off most of the dew.

  Once in the edge of the field, she raised up just enough to scan the surrounding area, hoping to see some sign of nearby civilization in a direction other than the one from which she had come. She saw nothing but the grassy field laid out to the horizon. No houses. No barns. Not even fences. Just lush green desolation to infinity. She made her way back to White Thunder, sat down, and leaned back against a large maple tree.

  The shade of the forest would eventually yield to the searing heat of the sun, but for now it was cool and pleasant. Jana looked at White Thunder, tied several trees away. He would have looked like a statue if not for the occasional swish of his tail. A red-headed woodpecker hammered relentlessly in the tree above him, until the horse gave a soft snort. The woodpecker left, leaving nothing behind but a soothing amalgam of bird and insect song.

  She needed to keep moving, needed to find a town, a house, a church, a sane human being, a phone, anything. She had to warn the people back home about the bomb. What if she was too late? Maybe Great Central Electric was nothing more than a smoldering heap of charred concrete and metal by now. Perhaps the whole town was. Would anyone believe her story of being kidnapped and imprisoned as future queen to a maniac? It sounded like something from a movie. Time to stop thinking and start riding. Find help. After a few minutes sleep she would do just that.

  7:24 AM CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME (LOCAL)

  HART COMPLEX

  “Kostia, druzhishe.” Kostia, my old friend. Hart greeted the General on the other end of the secure connection in Russian before continuing in English. “It has become necessary to accelerate certain portions of the schedule. I will be leaving the country this evening en route to you. I shall expect to see you on Sunday instead of Monday. Will the package be ready for delivery?”