John Xander grabbed it, rolling away from his assailant’s clumsy lunge. He had the bag unzipped before the brute could close again, and, without pausing to think, John withdrew the shotgun.
I really, really hope this is loaded.
As the would be murderer and rapist processed the change in his fortunes, John pumped the shotgun, bringing it to his shoulder like he had seen in the movies. With a shout, he pulled the trigger. The gun roared, bucking so hard that John nearly dropped it. From such close range, the blast nearly blew the man’s torso away, disintegrating the bastards body like so much paper mache in a tornado.
The rest of recently deceased minions scattered at the sound of a gun at play. John continued to train the gun on their fleeting backs, but found he no longer had the strength to pull the trigger. Once the last of their number had disappeared into the surroundings, he let the gun slip from his fingers and ran to his wife. Wrapping his arms around her, John held her tightly to his chest while she sobbed.
Is this how the world will be? I just killed a man, and the bombs haven’t even started dropping yet. How much worse will it get?
Gently, John guided his wife to the passenger side of the car. Belting her in, he ran back and collected the bag and gun with trembling hands. He tossed them in the backseat before climbing into the driver’s seat. Starting the car, he looked over to Olivia. She had begun to dry her eyes, recovering from the fright she had endured. Tenderly, she reached over to squeeze her husband’s hand.
“You had to do it John, they would have killed us otherwise,” she reassured her husband.
He nodded, but said nothing. John wasn’t ready to talk yet. He had never imagined taking a life, and wasn’t sure how to reconcile the action with his own self-image.. Shifting into gear, he pulled away from the scene, driving towards the countryside. They left the radio off, driving in a morose silence. It was half an hour before John realized that he hadn’t even considered calling the police. For better or worse, it appeared that he and Olivia were now fully committed to Jack’s plan.
Chapter 4: The Italian
11:04pm
August 15th, 2015
Minneapolis, MN, USA
Jack spun the wheel, cranking the fully laden SUV to a stop just in front of Cyrus's apartment door. Fenrir barked from the back, expressing his displeasure with the sudden maneuver. The rest of the cars occupants sat in stunned silence, trying to reconcile with the end of their world. Ignoring his loyal companion’s growl, Jack drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, his impatience showing as he worried about Cyrus. Jack dreaded going through the rigamarole of convincing yet another friend of the situation.
Come on...be ready... Ceasing his restless tapping, Jack narrowed his eyes into the darkness, certain that he had seen movement...There! Cracking the car door and whistling sharply, Jack signaled to the bent shadow hiding near the building’s corner. He watched as the figure sprinted towards the car, gaining form and substance until he could be recognized as his friend Cyrus Rovari.
A bartender, Cyrus worked with Jack at one of the local establishments, sometimes filling in as a bouncer there. He was a big man, with a sturdy frame and heavy, powerful movements. He lacked the muscular definition of his friend Jack, but the strength was there, hidden beneath a thin layer of pudge. Where Jack was like a blade, dangerous and smooth, Cyrus was reminiscent of an old cannon. He was heavy, and destructive, but he lacked speed.
The comparison was particularly apt given his penchant for loud, boisterous conversation, akin to the thunder of a firing cannon. He was of clear Italian descent, though it was mixed with Scandinavian stock to give him his large size. The Mediterranean shone through in the olive tint of his skin and the rolicking black curls that topped his head. He wore a small goatee, carefully maintained to give him a more distinguished appearance then he might otherwise have attained.
Dressed simply in cargo shorts and a partially buttoned flannel top, Jack was relieved to see that he had at least changed out his habitual flip-flops for a pair of sneakers. They would allow him more versatility and better movement, something that he would likely need in the coming hours. Jack rolled down the passenger’s window to speak to his friend, but Cyrus beat him to the punch.
"This for real," Cyrus asked, looking Jack straight in the eyes. Cyrus had clearly taken the summons more seriously than Justin.
Pleasantly surprised, Jack answered him, "yeah man. It's time to bug out. You ready to roll?"
Cyrus looked at Jack. "Definitely. I'm not screwing around with the end of the world, if you’re nuts then it’s no big; I'll laugh about it over a beer...If you're not,” Cyrus explained, letting the alternative hang in the air unsaid.
Jack warned his friend. "Fair enough. I promise a beer, but it may be some time before we find something to laugh about. “ Cyrus nodded, fully convinced of the seriousness of Jack’s summons.
He looked around the vehicle before continuing to speak, "one question though Jack, the text said you and Justin would be by to pick me up. It didn't mention the girls, who are they?" He jerked his chin towards Nicole and May.
"Additionals. I ran into them and couldn’t leave them behind. They have agreed to come with us though, so they’re in it as deep as the rest of us. This is my neighbor Nicole and her daughter May. Ladies, this is Cyrus, he's a friend of mine."
May waved to Cyrus, but Nicole just stared out the window, clearly still shocked by the reality Jack was asking her to believe in. Jack noted her silence, recognizing the future issues that could arise if she fell too far into shock, but chose to give her a chance of righting her own ship before he intervened. He looked back to Cyrus.
"Alright, the full vehicle changes things a little bit, but it’s nothing we can't handle,” Jack mused.
He pulled out his cell phone, checking to see if he had received any updates before speaking, "I had planned to just squeeze this first group in and go straight on, but the way things are going, I think I have a better idea."
Jack hopped out of the Trailblazer, motioning Cyrus to take his spot. Pulling his bag and M16A4 from the vehicle he let Cyrus climb behind the wheel before sliding his 9mm from it's spot on his belt. He flipped it around passed it over to Cyrus, butt first.
"I'm going to find some transport, I want you to head to Gunderson's Armory on 5th, over in Dinkytown. Old Dax should be there somewhere, though you may have to knock pretty loud.”
“Dax the happy hour guy, orders a beer and then cowboy’s it up with a shot of rye or Irish whisky,” Cyrus clarified.
“Yeah, thats the guy. Tell him that I sent you, and that I will be along with a second wave of survivors soon. If he gives you any trouble, just tell him that I said I'd bring the Jameson, that should settle him down."
Sticking his head in, he looked past May and Nicole to catch a pair of glowing yellow eyes that peeked over the back seat. "Fenrir, stay and guard," he commanded. His companion gave a quick bark to show his acceptance, then padded a few circles before lying back down. Fenrir directed, Jack turned back once more to Cyrus, who had been waiting for his attention.
“Listen Jack, I swear I’ve got this. I’ll get everyone to the Armory, just make sure you get there safe and sound alright?”
Jack nodded once and then gave the side of the door two quick hits. He moved back to let Cyrus maneuver the vehicle, watching as the SUV cruised away. Jack reasoned that they should be safe for another hour or so, but splitting up at this point certainly hadn’t been a part of the plan originally, and it made him a little uneasy. Catching himself filling with doubts, Jack shook it off.
They’ll be fine, and I’ll have joined them in just a few minutes anyways.
Alone now, Jack moved out of the street and lost himself in the shadows.
Wouldn't be good for people to see me armed up just yet. A few more hours and it won't matter, but for now, I'll keep this quiet.
He ran quickly, eyes alert, watching for movement and an opportunity to find some wheels. It didn�
�t take long before his eyes fell across a likely target. The vehicle in view sat kiddy corner from Cyrus’s building. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, as though it hadn’t been washed in some time. The wheels still seemed to have good pressure though, so it probably hadn’t just sat parked for much time.
Maybe not the MOST practical apocalypse escaping vehicle...but damn if that isn't worth saving.
Jack was looking at a beautiful '69 Dodge Charger. Midnight black, with air scoops built into the hood and glossy silver trim, it was practically begging Jack to drive it. Glancing around quickly, he checked the street for signs of movement.
All clear.
He sprinted to the driver's door, pulling out his lock picks as he went. Shouldering his rifle so it rested behind him, Jack bent down to work the door. As he put his hand to the handle however, he gave it a gentle pull, just in case. With a stroke of astounding luck, he discovered the door to be unlocked. He tossed his bag and rifle onto the passenger seat and then clambered into the drivers seat.
Ohhhh...that feels nice. leather seats. Comfort, style, and some nice American muscle may come in handy in the days to come, now if only...YES!
He had reached up to flip open the sunvisor, just on the off-chance that the (former) owner of the car hadn’t watched enough car movies growing up. The car’s keys had dropped out and onto his lap in the second massive stroke of luck to befall him.
Something’s got my back tonight, lets hope Lady Luck doesn’t do her fickle bitch routine any time soon.
Jack snatched the keys up and rammed them home, igniting the feral black beast. Engine roaring, he peeled out, putting as much distance from the scene of the crime as he could. Hopefully he would be long gone before anyone thought to check on their ride. Maybe by that point, the cops would just be too busy to worry about finding some stolen car.
The windows down, wind whipping through the car, Jack cruised towards Dinkytown. His hair floated about his head, lifted and blown about by the moving air. He let a small smirk appear on his face, enjoying the experience. A warm summer night, the feel of all those ponies beneath the hood.. There would be too few of such pleasures in the coming days.
The sudden blare of a car horn snapped him back to reality. He focused his mind back on the tasks at hand; Meghan, Kate, and Bear.
Hopefully, Duke is headed to the Cove house already and I can roll up there next. I’ll grab these three, then meet Dax and everyone at the armory. We can either split up and I’ll meet them at Itasca after I hit the Cove’s, or we can all go together through Shoreview before continuing north. Hopefully.
Jack switched the radio on, listening to the local rock station as he tried to bleed some of his fear out. There wasn't room for fear or nerves; he had to get to his friends, and he had to make them safe. There would just have to be enough time. The plan called for him to have everyone gathered and out of the city before the shit really hit the fan. Pulling onto University Ave, Jack headed through the heart of the Twin Cities campus.
Meghan should be near her apartment, I'll grab her and then we can go north to Kate and Bear's places. Thank god they are so close. While a good plan, it couldn’t account for everything. He listened closely when he heard the dark refrains of Nirvana being replaced by an official sounding alert message.
"This is the emergency broadcast service. Please hold for a message from the President of the United States," said the official sounding voice on the radio.
Jack sat up straighter. Oh shit...was his only thought. Public panic might seriously complicate his extraction plans. The radio suddenly filled with the slow steady words of the commander in chief.
"My fellow American's...My fellow humans... A dark day has come upon us, a day we thought never to see. The outbreak of war three years ago has bred new hatreds and dark new depths for mankind's depravities. Much of the world has fallen silent already. Our enemies have released horrors beyond reckoning and my duty now compels me to inform you that our armies have failed; our military might has proven impotent. The outrages that our enemies have perpetrated on our allies will soon be in our homes as well. The Chinese have destroyed and conquered much of the old world, Africa lies in the throes of genocide and war, Asia is in their hands entirely, and Europe is silent and dark. Our allies are lost to us, and we are alone. In this dark hour, we have made the weighty decision to strike out against them, however we yet can,” the President said before pausing. The air crackled with static and the collected breaths of a listening nation.
“The use of nuclear weapons is something no president wishes to authorize, and I do so now for only one reason. I do not simply seek revenge, but instead some small hope of salvation. With the fall of our nation now imminent, I would not see our enemies appear with chains in hand on our shores. To halt their inevitable advance, we must fall to their level. We must seek not their defeat, but their utter destruction. Truly, they will know the rage of our nation, even as that nation fades into memory. I know not what response we will receive, I know only that it will be swift, and it will be heavy. The Chinese have weapons, both nuclear and biological, which they WILL use. I wish it were otherwise, I wish I could give you the comfort of hope. Of that tender quality however, I am now bereft. I urge you now, my patriots, my brethren. Survive. At any cost, you must survive and keep the dream of what this country once was alive. It is only through your efforts that we may someday rise again. Your government will seek to...pzzsshhttt."
The radio filled with static, breaking off the end of the President's address. Struggling with the dial for a moment, the horrible truth dawned on Jack. D.C., the nations capital, was probably gone, He held his breath for a few moments, hoping that the air would be filled again with the president’s voice, disproving his own morbid assumptions.
When several long minutes had passed without a resumption of the address, Jack flipped off the radio. Sadness filled his heart, his foreknowledge of this day proving little comfort now.
I wonder if dad made it out?
Jack shook his head, knowing that his congressman father wouldn't have left if the president was still there, he was too brave and too much a patriot to abandon ship that way. Shaking the tears from his eyes, Jack pulled the car into his brother's girlfriend's apartment complex, losing himself in the task at hand. His grief would have to hold for now, fermenting. There just wasn’t time for it. Once they got to the compound; once Greg took charge, then he could shut down. Not before.
Meghan and Sam had been dating for several years. On their last hunting trip together, Sam had confided that he was planning on asking her to marry him when they graduated. It had been one of happiest moments of his life; his brother Sam admitting the depths of his affection for you marvelous young woman. Jack was determined to make sure that it would be possible, apocalypse or not. Parking the car, Jack could hear the panicked shouts and screams of a public without hope.
They'll cry now. Cry and wail, and gnash their teeth even. Then they will get angry. There will be rioting soon, probably within the hour.
Rifle up, bag on in case the car was gone when he got back, Jack headed out. Meghan wasn't at the pre-appointed meet up location, and the cell towers were suddenly jammed with calls. Without communications, he would just have to do a bit of searching. Slinking through the shadows he approached the front entrance of Meghan's building, in a quiet stalk. An angry chorus of male voices stilled him and left him crouched, searching for their location.
Certain that the angry mob was contained behind the building, he ran to the door, determined to make it before any of the angry voices came around a corner and spotted him. Reaching it, Jack mashed the buzzer for Meghan’s apartment. Standing in the tense evening cold, he waited, praying for a response. His long hair was unkempt, whispering about his face with the slight breeze of the cool evening. His breath came smoothly, unbothered by his exertions up to this point. Waiting in front of the door for a moment, Jack’s muscles tensed beneath the fit of his black T, muscle memory reminding him
how bad of an idea it was to be stationary.
When no answer came, he went to plan B. Stepping back, Jack un-slung the rifle and raised it above his head.
This is gonna make some noise.
With a hefty swing, he brought the butt of his rifle down, shattering the pane. The crash of the door pane must have reached the group behind the building because he could hear them moving towards him when the tinkle of glass ceased.
Not wanting to say hello, Jack sprinted up the stairs, heading for the third floor and hoping he'd be able to figure out an exfil on the fly. He pounded out of the stairwell, wondering about the screams he heard. People were running for rooms in the hall, slamming doors as he went swiftly past them.
Oh yeah, that's probably because of me and the big old gun.
He didn't have time to stop and explain himself or try to calm them though, so he continued on. Reaching Meghan's apartment, Jack knocked loudly before identifying himself.
"Meghan, It's Jack, Sam's brother. Are you there?"
Inside, he thought he could hear muffled voices raised momentarily. Jack quickly hid the gun against the doorway, to avoid making the inhabitants unduly nervous. He could positively identify the sounds of footsteps creeping up to the peephole, and endeavored to school his face into its most reassuring version. He waited a few seconds, gratified to hear the click of the door unlocking. It opened a sliver and Jack could just make out Meghan's fiery red hair and bright blue eyes through the crack of the door.
"Jack, is that really you," she asked.
Instead of responding, he gently pushed the door wider, eager to get out of the hallway and the public eye. Inside the apartment, Jack immediately noticed the shadow of another person, as well as signs of hurried packing.
The Dead Familiar (Winterhaven Series) Page 4