by James Hunt
“That’s not my problem,” Mike said.
“It’s not up to you,” Blake said.
“My answer wasn’t a suggestion,” Mike said, hitting the down button of the elevator.
“Your daughter has an assignment, and she will follow her orders,” Blake replied.
Mike’s knuckles cracked as he squeezed his hands into fists at both sides. He slowly turned from the elevator.
“You’re not seeing the bigger picture here. If we lose Cincinnati it could take years for this country to rebuild,” Cadogan said.
There was a sidearm on Blake’s hip. Mike could see Blake’s fingers itching to grab it.
“Go on,” Mike said, gesturing at Blake’s gun. “Try it. But you better put me down because if you don’t my face will be the last one you see on this earth.”
Blake’s hand was gripped around the pistol’s handle now. Mike took a step forward and he could see Blake’s arm tense up.
“Blake, stand down,” Bram said.
Blake released his grip and took his seat. Bram ran his hands through his hair and walked over to Mike. His voice was low when he spoke.
“Everyone in this room has made sacrifices. All of us have lost more than we care to talk about, but we’re so close. We’re almost at the finish line. All we need is one last push, Mike, and then we’ll be done. Nobody will ask anything from you or your family again,” Bram said.
Mike wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that everything was almost over, that he just needed to go a little bit further and they’d be in the clear, but Mike knew better. There was always something else, and it always came at a very high price.
“When was the last time you were in combat, Sergeant?” Mike asked.
“November 2013. I was in Afghanistan,” Blake replied.
“You have any close brothers that made it out of Afghanistan alive, but never really came home?”
“Yes.”
“A month ago I had to ground my daughter for getting a D on her report card,” Mike said. “Last week I watched her shoot a man in the head in the middle of the street.”
Cadogan rubbed the stubble on his face. Blake didn’t know where to look, except the ground. Bram was the only person who still held Mike’s gaze.
“I think me and my family have pushed far enough,” Mike said.
The elevator door pinged open and Mike stepped inside. He hit the bottom floor button and when the doors to the elevator closed, he took in the faces staring back at him. Cadogan looked depressed, Blake was angry, and Bram’s was curious.
Mike didn’t break his stride as he rolled past the soldiers that frisked him before entering the building. As he walked back to the hotel he passed couples and families in the streets, enjoying the sunshine.
He should have felt happy at that moment, seeing the normalcy of what an afternoon should be, safe. But the only emotion that overtook him was animosity.
Mike hated those families. None of them had experienced what his own went through. None of them were being called on now to sacrifice more. Just him.
Then he noticed the stares of the people he passed. Everyone was avoiding him, moving out of his way. He couldn’t tell why until he caught his reflection in a window. The man staring back at him wasn’t recognizable. The look on his face was resentful. Vicious.
He stood there, studying the face until it was one he remembered. His mind went back to his father. He desperately wanted him to tell him what to do, but it wasn’t an answer that he was going to get.
Anne wasn’t home when Mike made it back to the hotel, so he decided to head to the school to see Freddy.
All of the kids were outside, playing kickball in the small field next to the school. The teams were split up in an even mix of different age groups.
All the children wore smiles on their faces. They were in that moment of pure joy, oblivious to the world beyond the game they were playing.
Mike’s stress melted away at the sight of Freddy, bouncing up and down, excited about being next up to kick. He couldn’t remember the last time that he was able to watch his son just be a kid again.
The look on Freddy’s face was the reason why Mike had done all he had to keep his family safe. Because he wanted all of them to be normal again, to be able to return to the life and people they were before the blackout.
Mike knew what he had to do. When Blake and Cadogan led their men into battle tomorrow he would be there with him. Not for a cause, or for the millions of people counting on the power coming back on; that was too much. He would be doing it for one person, who was still smiling as he stepped up to the plate.
Day 24 (Carrollton)
Jung squinted his eyes into the sunlight breaking through the blinds. For a moment he panicked, trying to remember where he was, how he got there. He tried moving his hand to block the sunlight and realized they were tied to the bedposts. He looked down at his feet, which were in similar restraints.
He was completely immobile. When he started to thrash against the ropes he immediately felt dizzy and stopped. Whatever strength he had left was barely enough to lift his head, let alone break the rope tying him down.
The room started to spin. He felt as though he was going to puke. The taste of hot, sour bile started to fill his mouth. He forced it back down, burning his throat and stomach.
His clothes were gone and the only thing covering his body was a nightgown, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.
The door opened and flooded the room with sunlight. All he could see of the person that entered was their silhouette. When the door shut it took a minute for Jung’s eyes to adjust back.
“How are you feeling?” Billy asked.
Jung was silent. He wasn’t sure if he couldn’t speak because of the shock of Billy standing in his room or the lack of strength needed to turn his thoughts into words.
Billy placed a bottle of water and a pack of crackers on the nightstand next to the bed. He reached for Jung, who immediately recoiled.
“It’s okay,” Billy said.
The bandages on Jung’s arm had a purple tinge to them.
“Looks like we’ll need to rewrap those,” Billy said, sighing under his breath.
When Billy went to untie the bandages Jung finally found his voice.
“No!” Jung said.
Billy jumped. Jung’s voice was violent, loud.
“If I don’t change those bandages the cuts will get infected. We need to keep those wounds clean,” Billy said.
“Let me go.”
“Jung, I can’t do that.”
“Let me go!”
Jung pulled his arms and legs against the restraints as hard as he could. The brief burst of adrenaline coursing through his body gave him a moment of strength. The bed started to shake from his thrashing.
“Jung, calm down,” Billy said.
“Letmego! Letmego! Letmego!”
Billy ran out of the room, leaving Jung thrashing by himself. After a few more moments the adrenaline left him and Jung’s body went limp. His face was covered in sweat and his breaths were labored.
There was a reason Jung didn’t want Billy to take his bandages off. What lay underneath was a shame he didn’t want to see. He remembered everything: holding the shards of the broken mirror, digging into his skin, watching the blood flow out of him, and the slow fade of falling asleep.
He just wanted it to end, but someone always kept pulling him back. That was his punishment. He wasn’t ever going to be able to escape the world he was in. The fires of hell on this earth were going to continue to burn and he was meant to burn with them.
***
Joey followed Cain everywhere he went. If Cain was outside, Joey was outside. If Cain was in the kitchen, Joey was in the kitchen. If Cain was cleaning his pistol, Joey was cleaning his rifle.
He would watch Cain linger in the living room, moving from picture to picture, or ornament to ornament, examining each of them. Joey noticed that Cain always kept his hands behind his back w
hen he studied something.
The rare moments where he wasn’t mimicking Cain’s habits were spent exploring Cain’s truck. Joey had never seen anything like it. It was like something out of a movie.
The heavy armored doors, the massively thick tires—it was a tank on four wheels. Even the windshields were thick, caked with dust.
When Joey woke up early that morning he rushed downstairs, wanting to catch Cain at breakfast, but when he made it down the kitchen was empty, except for his mother, who was pulling jars out of the cupboard.
“You hungry?” Beth asked.
“No, I’m gonna go huntin’.”
“Take this with you.”
Beth tossed Joey a bag of jerky. He caught it and stuffed it into his pocket. He grabbed his rifle on the way out and began his journey into the woods.
The forest was always quiet in the morning, and cool. The sun had yet to burn the patch of land with its summer heat. Joey weaved in and out of the trees, rifle tucked under his arm. He usually had to travel deep into the woods before he found any tracks, but today he caught sight of some deer prints ten minutes into his walk.
Whenever he found tracks a switch would flip in his head. His feet became lighter and the rifle became another extension of his arms. He moved through the woods as if he was a part of the trees, swaying in the breeze.
The tracks were fresh. The deer was close. Joey scanned the thick patches of trees. The wind was blowing in his face, so he knew the deer wouldn’t be able to smell him coming.
After a few more minutes of a steady pace he saw him. It was a young buck, its antlers still growing. The deer was fifty yards away, stepping casually between clusters of trees, munching on some grass.
Joey brought the rifle’s scope to his eye. The branches kept drifting in and out of the crosshairs making it difficult to find a shot. He waited patiently. He knew he had the advantage. He just needed to be patient.
He looked up from the scope, still keeping a bead on the deer, and tried looking for any clearing ahead that the buck would be walking into. There was a ten-foot gap between two trees five feet from the path the deer was on. That was his shot.
A few minutes later the head of the deer found its way into the middle of Joey’s crosshairs. He moved his finger gently to the trigger. He gave a slow exhale and fired. The sound of the shot ringing through the forest and the deer hitting the ground was simultaneous.
Joey smiled looking up from his scope and slung his rifle’s strap over his shoulder.
“Nice shot,” Cain said.
Joey flung himself around, trying to grab the rifle off his shoulder and falling backwards in the process.
Cain was in his usual stance, hands behind his back, looking straight through Joey.
“Need help dragging it back?” Cain asked.
“Okay.”
That was the first word Joey ever said to him and it came out in a whisper.
Joey and Cain both grabbed the deer’s antlers and started pulling it toward the house. Joey kept his head down most of the time, but would glance up occasionally just to make sure they were still heading in the right direction.
When they made it out of the woods and into the farm’s open field both let go of the deer’s antlers. Joey bent over on his knees, taking a moment to catch his breath.
“Why don’t you run and get the cart,” Cain said.
The cart was on the side of the house, but his mom left a few bags of chicken feed on it. He yanked the bags off and put them back in the barn.
Joey wheeled the cart through the field and he could see Cain with his back to him crouched over the animal. He couldn’t see what Cain was doing, but whatever it was had the deer’s carcass trembling.
The cart hit the ground with a thud when Joey dropped it a few feet behind Cain.
“What are you doing?” Joey asked.
Cain was cutting something along the deer’s chest.
“It’s a special moment, isn’t it?” Cain asked.
Cain kept his back to Joey, continuing the sawing motion with his arm. Joey could hear the cracks of bone, and the slicing of muscles and tendons.
“Killing something gives you a certain power,” Cain said.
Then, Cain finally turned around. Joey’s eyes immediately went to Cain’s hand, which was holding the deer’s heart. Blood dripped from Cain’s forearms and onto his uniform.
Joey froze. The knife that Cain used was in his other hand, wet with blood. A hole was left in the deer’s chest, where the heart was stolen. Cain stepped forward, extending the animal’s organ to him.
“You did this, Joey. Your skill brought this animal down. It will feed you and your family. This is yours,” Cain said.
Joey reached out his hand hesitantly. The heart was tough, warm, and wet. It took both of his hands to keep it from slipping out of his grip.
“That is power, Joey. You have it in your hands right now,” Cain said.
Joey imagined the heart still beating. He could feel the life and death of the animal in his bare hands.
“Your father understood that power, didn’t he?” Cain asked.
“Yes.”
“If you could have him back, would you?”
“Yes.”
Cain dropped to one knee, keeping himself at eye level with Joey, who was still staring at the heart in his hands.
“There is nothing that will bring your father back. Nothing. All that’s left of him is up here,” Cain said, his bloody finger tapping Joey on the forehead. “Does it make you angry that he’s gone?”
Joey nodded his head. He missed his father more than anything in the world. The anger he felt about the loss of his father, and the betrayal of his brother, still hadn’t left him. He found himself squeezing the heart tighter. He could feel the tear running out of the corner of his eye. His entire body was tensing up. The anger was tearing through him like a freight train.
“Use it,” Cain said.
Joey’s fingers dug into the heart, piercing it, pouring blood and spilling it to the grass. He started screaming, as the heart broke apart in his hands. He squeezed harder and harder until the lump of muscle turned to mush.
“Good,” Cain said.
***
When Jung told Fay he wanted to go outside she looked at him as if he was crazy. He knew why, though. He hadn’t left the room since they arrived. He never even wanted to get up and leave the bed unless it was to use the bathroom.
“Why?” Fay asked.
It was a valid question. Jung probably could have come up with a lot of different answers for it, but he decided to stick with the truth.
“I need to see my wife, where she’s buried,” Jung answered.
Jung was still in his restraints. He wasn’t sure if she would let him go. She didn’t trust him anymore, so he probably figured she thought there was some ulterior motive behind it.
“You eat something and I’ll take you to where she’s buried,” Fay said.
“Okay.”
After Jung forced down an entire packet of crackers, an apple juice, and some chips, Fay finally undid his restraints and walked him outside.
Fay had to guide him and pretty much hold him up since this was the most physical exertion he’d had for days.
Jung and Fay shuffled down Main Street and Jung’s eyes caught the spot where Jenna died.
“C’mon,” Fay said. “She’s over here.”
On the edge of town there were a few clearings cut in the grass. The larger of the clearings had dozens of rocks circled around the edge.
“What’s that?” Jung asked.
“We couldn’t identify all of the bodies of the townspeople, so we buried them together. Mike didn’t want to leave them to rot where the bikers left them,” Fay said.
“How many were there?” Jung asked.
“Count the rocks.”
Jung’s mouth dropped. He couldn’t believe that many people were killed. Then he noticed a few other smaller clearings. His throat went dry.
“Is that…” Jung trailed off.
“No,” Fay answered. “Jenna’s over here.”
It was different than he expected. He could see the dirt was upturned where they buried her. The small stone that rested at the head of the grave was nestled firmly in the ground.
He bent down on both knees, silent. Fay stood behind him, taking a few steps back, letting him have as much space as she could.