Judgment Day (Book 2): Redemption

by JE Gurley

“Very, but I do not wish to impose upon the hospitality you offer so graciously. A simple radio call for a helicopter and we’ll be on our way.”

  Rubbed his chin with thumb and forefinger, brother Malachi said, “Ah! That might present a slight problem.”

  The Gray Man leaned forward in his chair. His smirk had vanished. “What problem?”

  The sudden change brought a slight smile to Brother Malachi’s lips. “Nothing Major. It seems sunspots are interfering with transmissions. In a day or two….”

  The Gray Man shot to his feet. “In a day or two?” he growled. “I do not want to sit around and listen to hymns for a day or two. I have work to do.”

  “We all have work to do. Ours is for God’s benefit. I assure you I do not wish to have you or the unclean here any longer than is absolutely necessary. You disturb the harmony of our church.” He paused. “Think of the sunspots as God’s will.”

  “God’s will be damned!” The Gray Man paced in front of the desk with his hands clasped behind him. Brother Malachi noted with some distaste that he still wore his pistol on his belt. “This place gives me the creeps.” He looked up at Brother Malachi. “You give me the creeps.”

  Brother Malachi now felt completely in charge of the situation. He shrugged. “I do as I am called by God. Your opinion of me or what we do here does not matter to me. As our guests, we will make you as comfortable as possible. When we can contact San Diego, we shall do so.”

  Brother Malachi walked to the window and looked out. His office faced north, taking in the Cathedral, once the resort’s Top of the Rock Restaurant, and the Phoenix city skyline behind it. Smoke still rose in places from long-burning fires and new ones that cropped up as the summer progressed. The Marriot Twin Buttes Resort had once been an island oasis from the hectic pace of the city. Now, the tennis and volleyball courts stood unused. The pool was empty and no outdoor weddings were scheduled for the gardens, nor would they be for many years to come.

  He heard the Gray Man’s shuffling boots behind him. Without turning, he said, “Your coming here today was foretold.”

  “Don’t give me any of that mumbo jumbo, Sooks. I’m not buying.”

  Brother Malachi winced at the Gray Man’s use of his old name of Sooks. Clearly, the Gray Man had been investigating him. “I don’t doubt it. You have no faith in anything. A man without faith is lost, from his God and from himself. When I say foretold, I don’t mean from a reading of entrails or divination by dream, but I knew you or someone like you would come today or very soon.” He turned to face his companion. “Something is going to happen. I’m not sure what, but it will be earth shattering and life changing, and you and I cannot stop it. We will be blown away like chaff in the wind as God tends to the birth of a new race.”

  “You make me sick, Sooks. You lose it during the plague, think God chooses you to enlighten mankind about his new chosen people, and preach to me about my sins. I’m trying to save mankind, not write it off. You’re either a charlatan or a fool, and I have no use for either. I want that message sent as soon as possible. If not, I’ll start kicking some ass.”

  The Gray Man stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him, eliciting a bemused smile from Brother Malachi at the Gray Man’s vexation. It had been even easier than he had expected to anger the Hunter. Not all the players were yet on the stage. He believed one more was due. Who he was or what he wanted, Brother Malachi could not say.

  “Now,” Brother Malachi said softly to no one, “if he just doesn’t find out I lied about the sunspots, God can perform his miracle.”

  * * * *I

  The Gray Man was livid. He had let Sooks to best him. He should have known better than allow his emotions to get to him. All the talk about omens and foretelling – the crazed preacher had something up his sleeve. Sooks was no fool. He knew his position was tenuous. The big wigs allowed him to operate because he presented no real problem and sometimes provided a service. Did he think the bullshit about sunspots would mollify anyone? Sooks wanted to keep them there for some reason and was willing to risk a confrontation with the military to do so. If the New Apostles were growing some backbone, maybe he should find out what they were up to.

  The Gray Man decided to walk off his anger. He thought better while walking in the fresh air. When he stepped outside, the heat hit him like a blow to the stomach. He breathed in air hot enough to slow-cook a boiled egg. He had learned to tolerate the heat but never to love it. He preferred the milder climes of the northeast, the New England of his childhood, rather than the warmer Mid-West of his later years. Des Moines had never been home, even though he had lived there fifteen years with his wife and family.

  “God, why did people ever settle this desert?” he said with bitterness.

  The grounds of the resort were spotless. Crews patrolled daily sweeping streets and sidewalks, picking up leaves and limbs, gathering trash and cigarette butts. Everyone had his or her duty and dared not shirk it. After all, they did God’s work.

  The Gray Man almost laughed aloud. He put no stock in a God that decimated His children with plague and wars and created a new race out of animals. The least He could have done was start fresh with chimps or gorillas. They at least rarely killed one another and never for politics or ideals. Even dogs could probably do a better job than man had. Sometimes he wished it had all ended, every last man, woman and child on earth. Let the cockroaches crawl over the corpse of mankind and mushrooms sprout from the bones of civilization.

  The acolytes avoided him from either deference as a visitor or because of the aura of bête-noir he exuded. He preferred it that way. A man alone did not stand a chance against zombies. Therefore, he was always in the company of others, keeping himself apart from them by his obvious disdain for them. This allowed him what little solitude he could manage among his fellow survivors.

  He followed a footpath to the top of the highest butte. From it, Phoenix and its suburbs lay at his feet, smoking ruins inhabited by men-like animals.

  “We should nuke it and let the desert have it back,” he yelled to the wind.

  To northeast, Camelback Mountain and Piestewa Peak poked through the smoke haze. To the west, almost close enough to touch were the ridges and peaks of South Mountain with its cluster of towers and antennas. To the southeast, the Superstition Mountains were barely visible thought he haze. The Goldfield Mountain range provided the city’s northern boundary. Beyond the White Tank Mountains to the west lay only more desert and more mountain ranges. Even San Diego was a glorified desert by the ocean. He was tired of deserts, sand and heat. He longed for New England hardwood forests and winters with snow, lakes, and rivers, that actually had water in them. There was only one redeeming quality of a desert – you could see zoms coming from a long way off.

  The light crunch of feet on gravel drew him back to the lookout. He turned to see the same young female acolyte whose offer of sex he had refused.

  “Dinner is ready,” she said, bowing her head slightly.

  It was an absurd gesture, especially to him. He wanted to reach out, touch her head and offer her absolution. Instead, he nodded.

  “Lead the way,” he said, realizing he was hungry. He knew there would be no meat in the meal – the New Apostles shunned meat – but even fresh bread and hot vegetable soup would taste good right about now.

  * * * *

  By his third day there, the Gray Man ready to kill to get away from the New Apostle compound, a desire not shared by his two companions. Hot food and female companionship had kept them occupied since their arrival. Atkins had even found time to bathe. If the New Apostles had been able to offer any spirits stronger than wine, the two Hunters would have sworn allegiance and stayed. As it was, he saw little of them, which suited him.

  The munies received food and water but otherwise ignored by the New Apostles. Their status as munies placed them out of reach of God’s forgiveness. They could never become Children of God and as the property of the Hunters, they could not be offered as f
ood to the Children. The Gray Man checked on them daily. In his presence, they huddled together across the room as if he were to be their executioner. In a way, he supposed, he was. From what he had seen of the munies hooked up to their sedative drips and blood drains, they were as good as dead.

  Twice, he had confronted Brother Malachi about sending a message by radio to San Diego or Alamogordo but had been refused due to continued ‘sunspot activity’. The Gray Man intended to make Brother Malachi pay for his impertinence at his first opportunity. He was sitting in his room plotting his revenge when Brother Malachi came to visit. In spite of the open door, the leader of the New Apostles knocked on the doorframe.

  “It’s open for Christ’s sake,” the Gray Man yelled. “Come in.” He did not bother getting up. “What do you want?” He glanced at Brother Malachi’s anxious face and knew the news was not good, at least for Brother Malachi.

  “We have just received word by radio that a helicopter is coming today from San Diego.” He held out one hand as the Gray Man leaped to his feet. “Yes, the radio is now working. Evidently the sunspot activity has diminished.”

  “Sunspots, my ass,” the Gray Man snapped, balling his fists and resisting the urge to use them. Then the full impact of brother Malachi’s message sank in. “How did they know I was here?”

  “They are not coming for you. They are bringing someone to whom I am to offer my fullest cooperation and extend every courtesy.”

  By his tone, the Gray Man knew this must have been a verbatim recital of the message and not his idea. “Who is coming?”

  “A Major Corzine.”

  The name sent chills running up and down the Gray Man’s spine. The Major, as he preferred to be called, effectively ran operations at San Diego, bossing around generals and senators like menial labor. No one knew much about him, though there was speculation that he had come up with the Blue Juice. If he was coming here, it meant trouble. No wonder Brother Malachi was worried. He stepped closer to the leader of the New Apostles, faced him eye to eye.

  “I need a vehicle now. I don’t want to be here when he arrives.”

  A smile creased Brother Malachi’s lips. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. I informed him of your presence. He insists that you remain here for his arrival.”

  The Gray Man spun on his heels and faced the wall. His face twitched from rage. “Damn you, Sooks! I’ll make you pay for this if I have to parachute zombies into your little haven here and watch them rip you and your Apostles apart.” He turned back to stare at Brother Malachi. “I hope you know that whatever he wants, it won’t be good for you.”

  Brother Malachi folded his arms over his chest. “It appears we are both in the same boat. I expect God to watch over me. I don’t know who will watch over you.”

  Brother Malachi’s smugness was the last straw. The Gray Man’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the edge of his robe. “If the Major wants you dead, I’ll be the one pulling the trigger. Then I’ll burn this place to the ground and piss on the ashes.” He shoved Brother Malachi backwards, forcing him to catch himself on the doorframe. Without another word, the New Apostle leader left the room.

  “Christ!” the Gray Man snarled at his reflection in the mirror. His scar stood out vividly because of his anger. And a little fear, he admitted to his image. Major Corzine had, as they say, friends in high places. One word from him and people disappeared. The gray Man straightened himself, brushed his hand through his graying temples. I’ve got nothing to worry about. Why then did his reflection look so doubtful?

  12

  Jeb Stone urged his wife down the narrow corridor toward the aquarium. She had always enjoyed visits to Sea World in San Diego. He doubted the aquarium was still there, but hoped the small saltwater tank at Biosphere2 would be an adequate substitute. If the committee got their way, it would soon become a freshwater fish tank filled with trout and bass for the larder. They needed the food, but losing the sheer enjoyment of watching the fish didn’t seem worth the gain. He walked with one arm around Karen’s frail waist, taking most of the weight from her shaky legs.

  Karen had never been beefy. On her 5’6’’ athletic frame, her normal 135 pounds looked svelte. Now, she was barely skin and bones at just over 90 pounds. Her gaunt cheeks made her appear ten years older than her 28 years. Her tendency to skip meals and refusal to exercise her withered limbs concerned Jeb. It was as if she had given up on living, given up on him.

  “Just a little farther, honey,” he pleaded softly.

  “Why are we doing this,” she moaned. She walked with one hand brushing the wall for support.

  “To see the fish, my love. You like fish don’t you?”

  She stopped moving and looked at him with cold, lifeless eyes. “I hate fish.”

  “But you….”

  “Take me back,” she snapped. “Now!”

  The vehemence in her voice surprised him. “But I….”

  She shoved away from him, slamming into the wall hard, almost falling. “Take me back.”

  Jeb sighed. He had no more energy for arguing. His broken heart had wrung the last drops of sympathy from him. “Okay, you win. Go back and die. I give up.”

  “I want to die. Haven’t you gotten that yet? I hate it here. I hate these people. I hate what I’ve become. My son is dead,” she sobbed, but no tears flowed. Jeb had not seen her cry since her rescue. It was as if she held onto her fear and anger, allowing it build up inside. Nothing he had tried seemed to help. He had no more tricks left in his bag of psychologist’s tools.

  “Our son is dead,” he gently reminded her. “I loved Josh, too.”

  “You let him die. You left us in that place.”

  By “that place,” she meant the FEMA facility in Marana, Arizona, the same camp from which Mace had rescued Renda.

  “I went there,” he explained for the hundredth time since rescuing her. “I tried to get to you. I finally broke in, but you were gone.” He had almost fallen victim to zombies after the military had abandoned those not immune to the ravages of the plague. “I almost died.”

  “I wish you had,” she shot at him and began tottering back down the corridor in the same direction they had come.

  Jeb did not follow her. He watched her disappear around a corner. It was only after she had gone that he realized forcing her to confront the aquarium might remind her of San Diego and her ordeal there. He slammed his fist into the concrete wall.

  “Damn! I’m so stupid.”

  Her words stung him deeply. He had tried. He had held himself to blame for her capture, directed all his efforts to tracking her down and freeing her. He had hoped that, once free, she would return to the lively woman he loved. In that too, he had failed. He was failing everyone, even himself. Renda was right about that.

  Trouble kept erupting like brush fires throughout the little community. Fights broke out over trivial matters. He had wasted three hours that morning in a committee meeting listening to complaints ranging from petty theft and refusal to work to adultery. The last was harder to determine since only he and Karen were legally married. Renda and Mace had said vows to each other and some of the others had paired off, but whether they remained faithful, at least in his mind, was entirely between them and their current mates.

  Janis Heath seemed to be embroiled in many of these romantic disputes. It seemed she was determined to go through the men of the commune as some sort of personal challenge. He had left the committee meeting with the members still arguing, determined to provide Karen with a change of scenery. Faced with the choice of the well-being of the community or his wife, he knew how he would decide. It was rapidly getting to that point. He could no longer split himself into an infinite number of parts and expect to remain whole. He had lost so much weight that he had been force to add another notch to his belt to keep his pants from falling to his knees. Sleep had become a series of short naps interrupted by some matter demanding his immediate attention.

  Deciding that a few minutes alone would do
him some good, Jeb took the long way around back to his quarters, first exiting the building and then entering through the Mayan pyramid-shaped arboreal dome. The fragrance of trees and earthy odor of decomposing forest mulch struck him as he opened the door. The roof irrigation system had just produced a light ‘rain’, and the air was heavy with mist. A long, raised wooden walkway traversed the dome alongside the glass wall. As he ambled along the walkway, allowing the serenity of the forest soak into his drained soul, a flash of color that should not have been there caught his attention. Peering through the foliage, he recognized Janis Heath and William Sikes. At first, he thought they were only seeking a few minutes of solitude as he had, a lovers’ tryst. Then their voices began to grow more strident. He knew it was none of his business, but he slowed his pace and strained to overhear their conversation.

  “It’s none of your damn business,” Heath said, jabbing her finger into Sikes’s chest.

  “You’re a slut,” Sikes snapped, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “You went after that red-headed stranger before he even got inside the dome.”

  Janis threw back her head and laughed at him. Sikes raised his hand to strike her.

  “If you hit me, I’ll kill you, you gutless bastard,” she warned.

  Sikes growled an obscenity. For a moment, Jeb thought he was going to hit her. Instead, Sikes lowered his hand. “This isn’t over bitch.”

  He turned and sprinted off through the forest toward the other exit. Janis glanced in Jeb’s direction and smiled as if she had known he was there all the time, counting on his interdiction if Sikes turned violent. It seemed like something she would do. Using people was her specialty. Jeb continued his walk but with any chance of a few moments’ peace now spoiled by increasing communal friction.

  Between the forest and main habitat building, he spotted Mace smoking a cigarette, standing and staring out the glass wall toward the horizon, absentmindedly flicking the lid of his Zippo lighter with his thumb. He turned at Jeb’s approach, relaxing when he saw it was Jeb.