This Plague of Days (Omnibus): Seasons 1-3

by Robert Chazz Chute

  “There’s no reason to rush like that anymore. And I’m starting to enjoy the quiet,” Jack said.

  “That guy needs to chill out and listen to the crazy DJ’s old people music,” Anna added.

  Jaimie took that as his cue and, rocking side to side with his eyes closed, spelled out Mickey Mouse’s name in song.

  “If he sings that one more time,” Anna said, “I’m going full sparkly vampire with Team Edward and I’ll eat you all.”

  The Spencers wouldn’t have laughed so easily had they known it was Carron at the wheel of the pickup.

  The killer was no longer behind them. The night before, Jaimie had come to him in a dream. The boy told him where they were to meet.

  Carron wore a new uniform and he had a plan.

  Spears and broken teeth and gnarled fists

  The road was as clear as the blue sky. There was still the odd wreck, but they were all towed off to the side. The Spencers saw fewer cars and trucks. Instead, more people walked. Something else had changed, too. People walked in larger groups as they approached the border between New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. No one wore masks and many carried rifles and shotguns. Some even carried pitchforks and heavy sticks.

  “Non semper erit aestas.” Be prepared for hard times.

  Theo squeezed his son’s hand gently. “Tell them, Jaimie. Morituri te salutamus.”

  “We, who are about to die, salute you,” Jaimie said.

  Anna turned to her brother. “You’re freaking me out, Ears. Stop it.”

  “Yes, Jaimie. Stop that!” Jack said. “We’ve got to get through this crowd. We’ve got to get to the farm. I’m worried about the baby and we have to find you some pre-natal vitamins, Anna. Why didn’t I think of this before? We need — ”

  “We’ll be fine, Mom. We went for centuries without prenatal vitamins.”

  “And we had centuries of death in childbirth.”

  “Do you think you’re more worried about the baby than I am? Is that really possible?”

  “Sorry,” Jack said. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll get over it by the time we get to the Nova Scotia border.”

  But they were already there. People weren’t walking. They milled about, waiting for something. Campfires burned here and there and tents dotted the fields on either side of the highway.

  “Looks like they’ve been waiting patiently for quite a while,” Theo said.

  The crowds grew so thick, the Spencers’ car had to creep forward. Jack blew the horn and pushed through for a short time, but there were too many people. The road was blocked.

  “We’re almost out of gas and I haven’t seen a car to siphon in a long while,” Anna said. “It’s time to walk again, Mom.”

  “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  “Of course, I am,” Anna said with some heat. “And what if I weren't? You gonna carry me?”

  “Okay.”

  Jack stopped the car in the middle of the road.

  Sitting in the back seat, Jaimie had been miles away, watching as Xavier and Dayo prepared the battleground. His eyes were open, but he’d been asleep.

  He’d seen Misericordia and Vigilax, too, loading their helicopter with ammunition. In the horror movies Anna sometimes watched, the monster always had to be killed twice. He wondered if that would be necessary in real life, too.

  When Jack opened her door, the boy awoke.

  Jaimie’s head came up. “Are we there yet?”

  Anna gave a crooked smile. “I liked Ears more when he let the anticipation between outbursts build up.”

  Jaimie put his hand on his sister’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

  “Facta non verba,” Theo said.

  Jaimie nodded. “Deeds, not words.”

  As Jaimie stepped out of the car, a murmur flowed through the crowd, then shouts of recognition.

  “It’s him!”

  “It’s dream boy!”

  More than one person chanted, “He’s real. He’s real. He’s real.”

  Many outstretched hands reached for Jaimie. He flinched away and pressed his back against the car.

  “Stay back!” Theo shouted, but no one listened.

  The crowd surged closer. Panicking at the sight of their weapons and fearing they’d be crushed, Jack shouted for Anna to get on the Chevy’s hood.

  Anna crawled up, stood, and pulled Jaimie up with her. Then she pushed him to the Chevy’s roof.

  “Stay away from my brother!” she commanded.

  One angry woman’s voice rose above the rest. “You told us to come and we did! What now?”

  “We don’t know what now!” Anna answered.

  More murmurs rippled through the crowd. Growing anger replaced awe.

  “You’re going to have to do better than that!” a man shouted. “There are men with guns at the border, just over that hill!”

  “That’s where we’re going!” Anna said.

  The man’s eyes were wet. “Those are military men with heavy weapons. Many of us have been waiting for days. Yesterday, some of us got angry just waiting around for you. A delegation went out, all armed with rifles. We heard heavy machine guns. None of our own came back!”

  The crowd looked to Jaimie. “Speak!”

  “Tell us the plan, Dream Boy!”

  “Tell us!”

  “Speak!”

  “What are we doing here?”

  The crowd took up the chant. “Speak! Speak! Speak!”

  Anna turned to her mother. “They think they know him, but boy, they sure don’t.”

  Jaimie looked out on the crowd. Too many voices, colors and tastes flooded his senses. The crowd’s emotions were an assault. His head ached and he wanted to vomit, as if he could get rid of the flood of input by wretching it out.

  As the crowd grew more agitated, Jaimie covered his eyes. Overwhelmed, he tried to escape into sleep, but someone pulled at the cuffs of his pant legs, insistent that he speak. Their fear and anger tasted like urine and bile. The heaviness of their confusion soaked through his chest and pounded on his head.

  A shot rang out and the mob threw themselves to the ground. There were a few shouts of fear, but the din was replaced by the echo of the gunshot.

  Jaimie slowly opened his eyes and pulled his hands away from his face. At the sound of the gunshot, Anna had moved to stand in front of her brother. Jaimie peered around his sister.

  Dahlia stood alone among the bodies, her pistol pointed at the sky. “Seems the new messiah is a tad shy! But he told us he doesn’t know the future and he doesn’t know why. You’re here to fight for the future and to defy death. Defend him to your last breath! Follow Dream Boy and a plan will unfold! Turn back now and your children will never get a chance to grow old!”

  Dahlia smiled. Jaimie couldn’t bring himself to smile in return, but he nodded.

  Dahlia pointed toward the crest of the hill. “The future awaits. Let’s shake a leg.”

  * * *

  Theo stood in front of Jaimie, holding his son in a tight bear hug as the boy cowered. The mob had stepped back, watching and uncertain, but they were still too close and their emotions ran too high for Jaimie’s comfort.

  Jack took Anna by the shoulders. “We’re going over that hill. You stay here.”

  “I’ve come a long way not to go the last hundred yards, Mom.”

  “But it’s not just about you anymore.”

  “It hasn’t been just me for…maybe almost three months?”

  “Yeah, but I know for sure you’re pregnant now and I can’t do this if you’re with us. Stay here with the…these people.”

  “They’re called the Army of the Word,” Dahlia interjected. “I know that sounds absurd.”

  Mother and daughter turned to the tall, skinny woman. “Rhyming?” Anna asked. “Still? Now? Really?”

  Dahlia shrugged. “It’s called style.” She made an elaborate bow. “As a former circ
us performer, it’s hard to turn down the awesomeness dial.”

  “I have a lot of questions,” Jack said, “but I don’t think I have enough time to ask them all before this mob gets out of hand again. We’ve got to get Jaimie out of here. It’s too many people for him!”

  Dahlia nodded. “Go. I’ll stay with the girl. That’s my job.”

  “What?” Anna gritted her teeth. “The girl might have something to say about that.”

  Dahlia shook her head. “It’s the boy’s bequest and the little girl’s request.”

  “Wait! You’re my bodyguard?” Anna asked.

  Dahlia nodded. “Bodyguard. Traveling companion. Friend. Teacher. Midwife. No rhyme there, Anna, so you know I’m taking the appointment seriously.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. “But we don’t know the future. How do you know all that?”

  Dahlia stepped closer and whispered to the women. “But the little girl does. Aasa Vermer, tiny East Indian princess with a charming Brit accent.”

  “She came to you in your dreams?”

  “No,” Dahlia said, “she spoke to me personally this morning in Maine. She’s waiting in Poeticule Bay. And what’s going on there, you will not believe! I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve done acid.”

  Jaimie moaned and slapped his own temples. Jack hadn’t seen him do that since his first day in a classroom surrounded by thirty curious children. Now he was surrounded by hundreds and it was excruciating for him.

  “Go!” Dahlia said. “I’ll keep your daughter, and your granddaughter, safe.”

  “Granddaughter? Are you sure?”

  “Aasa Vermer knows! She’s plugged in. Go before Jaimie hurts himself!”

  Jack and Theo flanked Jaimie as he stumbled toward the hill. The crowd parted. As the boy passed, one young woman called, “I still believe in you, Jaimie!”

  Jaimie paused and gave her a nod. His gaze fell to the rifle in her hands and he looked away.

  “C’mon, son,” Theo said. “It’s not far. Let’s go see the future.”

  Jaimie walked forward, eyes shut, as his mother and father squeezed his hands, leading him. He tried to concentrate on his own thoughts instead of the din and onslaught of the crowd’s presence.

  The sun rises in the East and sets in the West. The East is where days come from. Are we going back in time, to Time’s origin? Or is Death the creator of Time? The limit that sets the clock?

  It was Dahlia who started up the chant. “The Army of the Word is behind you! The Army of the Word is behind you!” With each round, more of the ranks added their voices. “The Army of the Word is behind you!”

  With each step into the clear road ahead, Jaimie felt stronger. The voices followed them past the crest of the hill.

  Ahead, the road was blocked by two Leopard tanks, and a cluster of men dressed in camouflage. On either side of the lonely, two-lane road, lay marshes.

  Finally, Jaimie, Jack and Theo stepped into the welcome near-silence between the armies poised for battle.

  Footsteps. The chirps of birds in the brush to the left and right. The rising wind sighed across the flats, blowing in from the ocean carrying the smell of salt. The cool air caressed his skin and washed away the mob’s discordant energies.

  His mind clear, Jaimie knew if he didn’t allow his story, and history, to unfold, soon there would be no men. There would only be Misericordia and his chosen few Alphas, enslaving and feeding on the women and children. No human survivor of the Sutr plagues would awake to a fresh dawn without knowledge that all they were, or could ever be, was meat.

  If Jaimie failed, the race that had walked on the moon and had dared to hope for Mars and beyond would only have one hope left to cherish: a quick death.

  Flags unfurled, We are the war that makes the world.

  Francis Carron stood in front of two tanks, flanked by soldiers dressed in camouflage. Carron was the only one in a dress uniform. Incredibly, the man’s aura was still a sheath of rage.

  When Jaimie saw the sick, orange tinge at the edges of Carron’s crimson energy field (a sign he was as cruel as he was angry) Jaimie guessed a quick death for the Spencers was more than he could reasonably hope for.

  Anger consumed Francis Carron. If not for all the soldiers at his command, Jaimie might have felt sorry for the black marketeer.

  As father, mother and son drew closer, four soldiers ran forward, machine guns ready. “Put up your hands! Do you have any weapons? Show me your hands!”

  “Don’t come any closer!” another yelled. “Stop!”

  His parents halted. Jaimie kept walking forward, beyond the reach of his parents.

  “Jaimie!” Theo yelled. “They told us to stop! Stop, son!”

  But Jaimie could not hear his father anymore. Stop, son. Stop sign. Stop signs are red, but they aren’t angry. Fire engines are cherry red, but they aren’t cherries. Except for the fire engines that are yellow, but they aren’t afraid. I’m not yellow. I won’t be afraid because fear isn’t useful. Action is useful.

  “Your friend Marjorie Bendham sends her regards!” Carron taunted. “She died with a surprised look on her face.”

  “What if he’s strapped with explosives?” one of the soldiers screamed. “Can I shoot him, sir?”

  Jaimie’s gaze fell to the two-lane road’s cracked pavement. Amid the old patches of black tar, he saw where the bodies had fallen. The corpses had been dragged away, but their leavings were the tracks and traces of blood rivers and tributaries, oxidized to crusted rust and dried to ebony. Many bodies had fallen where Jaimie now stood. The map of death led to Francis Carron.

  “Permission to shoot, sir?”

  Jaimie looked in the soldier’s eyes. The man was so afraid, he wanted desperately to kill. However, Jaimie was so sure Carron would not allow him a quick death, he kept walking. He moved slowly, one step at a time, testing Carron.

  “Jaimie, stop!” Jack yelled. “Come back! Don’t shoot my son! He has no weapons! He’s unarmed! We have nothing!”

  Carron laughed, his hands never leaving the front of his gun belt. His new uniform, that of a lieutenant colonel, was the highest rank Haroun could find for him on New Montreal’s black market. He looked more trim than he had in Kansas City, and very smug.

  “Sir! Your orders, sir?”

  Carron ignored the pleas. “Where’s your daughter, Mrs. Spencer? I want to interrogate her. Repeatedly.”

  At the mention of his sister, Jaimie closed his eyes again. Jaimie stepped into a dream. He stopped and stood, swaying slightly, not six feet from Francis Carron.

  “You seemed quite formidable when you interrupted my sleep,” Carron said. “Telling me what to do. Telling me to be nice. Telling me not to follow you. Telling me to run away. Somebody, anybody tells me what not to do, it really makes me want to do it.”

  Jaimie felt sorry for Carron then.

  “If there’s one thing I hate,” Carron continued, “it’s people telling me what to do. I would have been a general if I could have stood it. But a lieutenant colonel will do. Field commissions allow quick advancement in time of war. The uniform’s different, but I’ve got a command back and you can’t take this one away from me.”

  Jaimie opened his eyes. “I cannot take your power away from you.”

  Carron’s smile died as his aura flared a brighter crimson. “So, you can talk.”

  “I do everything better when I’m asleep.” Jaimie smiled. “I am asleep now.”

  Despite himself, Carron laughed. “Give a snore. I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t snore. Mostly, I murmur.” He brightened. “I’ll give you a murmuration.”

  “Private Gill, shoot Mrs. Spencer in the head. Her daughter will come screaming.”

  “No, you will not!” Theo thundered with anger in a way Jaimie had never seen. “Jaimie, you can stop this! Do it now!”

  And the boy knew he could. It started with a small idea: collective nouns. A bubble
of goldfish.

  The idea grew.

  His father’s emotion was so strong, the boy could feel it rise in his own chest, strengthening, lifting and straightening.

  A tower of giraffes.

  There was power in rage that Jaimie had never appreciated until this moment.

  A pride of lions.

  He gathered the crimson energy, squeezed his eyes tight and let it flow through him, reaching out and touching The Way of Things, pushing it to shape events.

  The soldier next to Jack, Private Gill, raised his weapon and put it against her head. However, the next sound was not gunfire. It was thunderous, but it was not thunder. It was the beating of thousands of pairs of wings.

  Everyone turned. From the marshes on either side of the road, clouds of birds rose high into the sky. Thousands of small birds — a murmuration of starlings — made a black hole in the sky, moving and shimmering as if it were one massive organism.

  Gill, who only a moment before had been intent on killing Jack, stared up. Jaw slack, he lowered his weapon. Then he dropped the rifle, fell to his knees and crossed himself.

  Carron pulled his pistol from his holster and took careful aim. “I gave you an order, Gill!”

  Gill turned his head to speak, but Carron’s shot took a chunk out of his skull and sprayed Jack with blood. Jack screamed.

  As Gill fell dead at Jack Spencer’s feet, some of the birds scattered in fright. The rest of the soldiers manning the roadblock shouted, both in shock and anger.

  One of the soldiers bellowed in disbelief to another. “Sgt. Clangdon! He killed Fish!”

  “Damn right I did!” Carron shouted. “You follow my orders, you stay alive!”

  Clangdon, a redheaded man who’d lost his helmet, stared at Carron with small, mean eyes. “You only showed up here yesterday, sir! Now you…Gill was a good man!”

  “If you lack discipline, you got to go!” Carron replied.

  The birds shrieked together in one angry voice adding to the confusion and drowning out Carron’s speech to his men. The angry cloud flew closer, directly overhead. Everyone but Jaimie and Theo covered their ears against the din as the murmuration formed a spiral of black, hypnotic beauty.