Through the Fury to the Dawn (Action of Purpose Book 1)

by Stu Jones

  He shook his head. He needed to be here and now. The two most important things right now we’re taking care of his only friend and checking the radio for the possibility of news or information. Maybe it wasn’t that bad out there. The government would adjust, reorganize, and assume control again. Kane knew that the government planned and prepared for things like this. They had to have all the major officials underground somewhere. When it was all clear, they would emerge and reestablish a governmental structure, at which time they would begin broadcasting on the state of the nation. Citizens would then be clear to begin rebuilding their broken lives. There was no way to know how long that would be, but hopefully, soon he would be able to get out of the bunker and begin trying to fix the things that were no longer right in his life.

  Kane stood in the semidarkness, thinking about his family and what had become of them. If the devastation was as great and widespread as Radio Rick had portrayed, there was little possibility that they could have survived. How could he possibly go on with his life without them? That was a problem that had no solution, a problem that loomed over him until Kane felt hopeless in its shadow.

  How can I deal with this? Where do I start?

  Whatever the case, he needed some resolution to his current situation. The unending state of isolation and distress was driving him toward madness.

  DAY 17

  ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA

  Malak sat a metal desk on the open top level of an abandoned parking structure. The structure, which was now referred to as “The Compound,” was surrounded by a wall of stacked concrete chunks, which were reinforced with steel rebar. Two roaming squads of perimeter patrols checked and rechecked the wall as they made their rounds.

  So far he had recruited almost fifty men. This did not include the women, rounded up and forced to serve and service the men. Any children found would be killed, because they only consumed resources and could provide no service. The order had been simple enough for men and women alike: join and serve—or die. The new recruits were required to fight Malak himself in unarmed combat. Malak never lost a fight, so the men that fought him were either slaughtered or saluted by him for their savagery in battle. This ensured no weak links in his crew. Each of the forty-six men he commanded were crazed, vicious, psychotic men, hell bent on the destruction of others.

  It amused him that the likelihood of these men having been this way before the end began was low. Sure, a few of them were twisted from the start, like his lieutenant, Ashteroth. But many of the men who now served him had most likely been regular, everyday people. They had been people with families and jobs and structure to their silly routines. Maybe the worst they ever did was to take something that was not theirs, or hit the wife, or drive while intoxicated.

  Malak smiled. How fast they resort to violence, murder, and force when the man isn’t standing over them.

  They had not followed the law and acted with restraint in their previous lives because they liked it that way. They had done it because society had told them that if they didn’t, they would be punished. Malak smiled again. He had saved them. He had set them free from their fragile moral compasses, and they worshiped him for it.

  “Malak,” came a voice from behind him. You wanted us to notify you of any contact with lurchers.”

  Malak turned and glanced at the painted man behind him. “What about it?”

  “Third patrol made contact with a sizable group, ‘bout thirty of ‘em on the east side of the compound. Creatures tried to breach the wall.”

  “And third patrol put the disgusting filth to rest?”

  “They did.”

  “You’re dismissed.” Malak waved his hand, and the man disappeared back the way he had come. They were coming in higher numbers now. He knew they were nothing more than cannibalistic animals, but there was an unnerving, calculating intelligence there, some remnant of the human mind that had existed before. They were more organized than he had first thought. It was no matter. His structure was fortified, his men prepared, and the monsters would be put down like the dogs they were.

  When the voice finished speaking, Malak stood and moved to one of the holes in the wall of the structure. He gazed out upon the ruins of the city and breathed deeply the charred smell of a dead civilization that lay heavy in the air. It was his time now. That’s what the voice told him. The voice had been with him for years now, but only in recently had it seemed amplified, brought on by the usage of “Z,” a new and powerful narcotic. Now it was different. He was not under the influence of outside substances. Even though the withdrawals he was going through raged in his body and tortured his mind, the voice still whispered to him.

  It’s your time now, Malak. Build your kingdom as you wish.

  It spoke to him as clear as any man could, and he trusted it more than the desperate humanity that surrounded him. The voice was pure and strong, and it promised him breathtaking power, asking only for him to do what was right in his heart.

  It had been just over two weeks since the end had begun. The men called it called it the “end war” He had heard that the government had not survived in the least as one might assume it would, down in a bunker somewhere. In fact, he’d heard that nothing had made it—no president, no governmental branches, no societal system, and no military. No one was left except the lone and powerless few and the rabid monsters that tried to breach his compound by wave after wave. They were no obstacle, though. The true power now belonged in the hands of the fearless and the violent. Malak’s hands.

  Modern humanity was dead. All the politicians, doctors, teachers, artists, philosophers, lawyers, and other civilized people were gone. They hadn’t survived the first few weeks without running water, power, food from the store, and medical attention. Some simply lost the will to live. Possessing no survival skills or instincts, those once deemed society’s most important had become the most unnecessary. Everything they knew and every modern convenience that they ever relied upon, gone in one terrible instant. Life as humanity had known it had been violently torn from its place in history and thrown back into the dark ages. The world now was one of savagery, death, greed, and basic survival.

  Survival of the fittest.

  A smile crept across Malak’s face as he thought of things to come. The voice had been right all along. It was his time now. Using the power of the darkness that flowed within him, he would build a new world. It would be a world that thrived upon the death of the weak, the indulgence of lust, and the strength of those who served the darkness. It was his world now. His world.

  DAY 24

  GREEN COUNTY, TENNESSEE

  Kane took his shirt off and sat back, wincing as the uncomfortable cool concrete block wall touched his bare skin. He placed the M1 Garand rifle butt down between his knees and glanced at Barney, lying quietly on his blanket across the room. The little sentinel watched his movements with a single inquisitive brown eye.

  Facing the bolt toward himself, Kane pulled back on the charging handle to reveal the chambered 30-06 round inside the weapon. He released the charging handle and let the bolt seat back into place before closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall.

  Why am I still here? Why am I trying so hard to survive?

  There was nothing for him to return to if he lived. No family, no familiar way of life, no friends, no purpose. There would be nothing left of the Kane Lorusso who had gone into the bunker those many days before. God had stolen almost everything from him—everything but his life and the life of his furry friend. Kane racked his mind in the black silence of the claustrophobic bunker. He pinched his eyes shut and wiped tears from his face as he moved the barrel of the rifle under his chin.

  He would do it. He would end this miserable existence.

  Breathing in deep the dank, musty air of the bunker for the last time, Kane slipped his right toe through the trigger guard and began to straighten his leg, his muscles quivering in anticipation of the report.

  He thought of his childhood,
fishing with his dad on Lake Cleary in the dead of summer. The crickets chirped as he and his dad threaded bloodworms on their hooks. That had been their time together. He loved those days. They laughed and talked about girls and sports and “man things,” as his dad had called it. His dad rested a heavy hand on his shoulder, and Kane caught a whiff of his father’s scent. It smelled of Speed Stick deodorant, sweat, and a hint of beer. It was as familiar as anything he knew.

  You’re growing into a fine young man, his father said. But always remember, it’s the choices you make that will determine who you will be as a man.

  It was the mid-1990s, and he was graduating from police academy. His parents and his sister gathered close as his uncle took their photograph. He was so relieved to be done after all the weeks of rigorous training.

  His mother whispered over his shoulder. We’re so proud of you, Kane. We love you so much.

  It was early December, seven years ago, when he had gone on his first date with Susan. She was so beautiful and full of life. He was irresistibly drawn to her. They were smiling and flirting together in the corner of a quiet coffee house. A fire crackled nearby, and the air smelled of good coffee and spice.

  She reached forward and lightly touched the top of his hand, smiling slyly and winking. I think you’re the most mysterious man I have ever met.

  It was February sixteenth, three years ago, as he paced at the head of the hospital bed as his wife was in labor with their two children. They had decided to wait, to not know anything about the twins until they were born. It would be the greatest surprise, and Kane had endured about all the waiting he could stand.

  “One more push!” the doctor said. His wife was screaming. “And here’s number two!”

  “Boys or girls?”

  “You’ve got one of each!”

  “One of each? Fantastic!”

  “Congratulations, Mr. Lorusso! You are the proud father of fraternal twins. Do you have your camera ready?”

  In the darkness of the bunker, Kane froze completely, refusing to stiffen his leg another fraction of a millimeter. With great care he pulled his toe from the trigger guard. Kane opened his eyes and looked down to see a familiar warm, furry little body that shifted again and shuffled closer to his leg. Barney whined, a low, sad sound as he adjusted his head to rest it on Kane’s thigh. Kane wiped his arm across his cold, sweat covered brow as the puppy rolled his head to the side until his good eye angled up to look Kane in the face.

  “Barney? I’m so sorry, buddy. I’m so selfish for trying to leave you alone in here.” He choked on the words as he set the rifle to the side and scooped up the small furry creature and hugged him under his chin.

  “I won’t leave you, Barney. That’s a promise.”

  In the dim artificial light of the bunker, Barney, revealing some salmon-tinged puppy breath, began to deliver a host of wet kisses to Kane’s lower jaw. Kane pulled the small dog close.

  “I love you too, Barney. More than you know.”

  DAY 26

  ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  On the ground floor of a wrecked, rubble-filled Jackson’s department store, a lonely wisp of a female figure crouched close against the interior wall. Though still a young woman in years, the scarred, drooping, gray flesh of her face indicated she was an elderly woman on the brink of death.

  Silently she rocked from toes to heels, moaning, as she pulled fistful after fistful of hair from her balding head. The injuries she had sustained and the wasting appearance of her fragile frame offered up a wretched appearance.

  A raspy, guttural hiss scraped past her vocal chords as she shuffled and scooped up a shard of glass with a skeletal hand. Squeezing the shard, she moaned again, gouging something into the partially burned plaster of the wall with rapid movements. As she dug through the burnt surface with the giant translucent claw, the inner plaster began to reveal itself, stark white against the blackened surface. Blood trickled down her arm and dripped from her elbow onto the trash beneath her feet.

  With frenzied motions she worked, moaning softly as she moved, scratching deeper into the white undersurface of the wall. The blood continued to run from the palm of her hand, slipping across and under the diamond and gold tennis bracelet that hung like a beautiful ornament the bloody arm.

  After a few moments, she gave a low growl, peeling shredded lips over broken teeth, and stood to stare at the wall that was now covered in a mad, almost illegible script.

  SickAndDead.ItchySkin.ItchyHotNeverSleeps.FleshyPersonTastyMeats. NeedsFleshy-GoodTasties.

  Giving another hiss of satisfaction, the ragged figure shambled from the burned-out storefront and into the street, mixing and mingling with so many others as they sauntered aimlessly through the despoiled wreckage of the city.

  DAY 30

  ASHEVILLE, NORTH CAROLINA

  Dagen moved to the compound wall and looked out upon the desolate wreckage of downtown Asheville as evening set in. Fishing out a cigarette and placing it between his lips, he fumbled with a not quite ruined book of matches. He flicked half a dozen sodden stems against the striking pad before one caught in a flash of flame. Mumbling his discontent, he lit the cigarette and shook the match out inhaling deeply the fragrant tobacco smoke.

  Small tendrils of smoke drifted about his face as he stared into the encroaching darkness. It had gone down so fast; entire societal collapse. It was perfect. Gone were the days of rules and militaristic order and… The Jay Lee Sloot school for orphaned children in Hagerstown, Maryland.

  Dagen grimaced and rubbed his face, the rotten memories of his childhood bobbing to the surface like so much trash.

  Sons of bitches.

  He took another long drag on the smoke.

  He had never known his father, an ignorant teenage crack head who had knocked up his mother then disappeared without a trace. His mother, not believing she could handle a child on her own, had abandoned him at a nearby fire station. Fitting that he should start his life with nothing.

  A small fight broke out in the courtyard behind him. Two men were struggling over a worn survival flashlight.

  “Enough! I swear, if you don’t stop, I’ll tear both of your throats out and keep the trinket for myself!”

  The men abruptly stopped and dispersed whispering curses at each other. They knew better than to invoke the anger of Malak’s second in command. He turned back to his cigarette and his thoughts.

  Jay Lee Sloot was a Christian man, a man devoted to helping and restoring the lost children of society—at least that’s what he wanted the world to believe. The truth was much uglier. The School had been a hell hole filled with violence and oppression where children were beaten or had their daily rations taken for the smallest infraction. Jay Lee Sloot seemed to be a bright spot in an otherwise miserable existence for Dagen.

  Dagen had been six years old when Sloot had first befriended him at the boarding school. He had a charming way about him, something fatherly and warm, and Dagen had been ravenous for the man’s attention. Sloot was attentive to many of the boys at the school, but he was especially fond of Dagen. He spoke of how great the Lord was and that Jesus had overcome the grave for the sake of mankind. He said that God’s truth would set him free and that God had orchestrated their special friendship. The man had an easy, disarming personality and with a wink here and a treat there, he won the boy’s unbridled affection.

  Praise God for you, Dagen. You are such a blessing to me, Sloot crooned as he lovingly stroked the boy’s thigh.

  DAY 33

  GREEN COUNTY, TENNESSEE

  The dog food was gone. Kane had tried to make it last, but there wasn’t any more. There had not been any for the last three days, and a terrible boiling hunger rolled through Kane’s stomach. The man who had entered the bunker those many days ago was a different creature now. Any extra fat or heavy muscle was used by his system for fuel long ago. Mentally and emotionally he was standing at a giant precipice, just inches from toppling into the depths of insanity.

 
He sat in the darkness and sipped handfuls of water from the bucket, the only temporary reprieve from the aching in his stomach. The light sticks had run out, as had most of his other necessary supplies. Kane had decided to only use the flashlight for emergencies, which relegated him to scrambling around in the dark for most of his waking hours. The darkness of the bunker was overwhelming; it felt murky and eternal. It sucked away at his soul, threatening to change him into something monstrous.

  Kane paced in the confined space, grabbing handfuls of his hair and talking to himself, the pungent odor of bagged feces stinging his eyes and nose.

  “It’s fine, it’s fine, everything is fine. I’m going to make it out of here, and I’m going to find my family.” He continued pacing. “Isn’t that right, Barney? You and I are going to make it out of here. We’re going to be just fine.”

  Barney wheezed and chuffed as he shuffled and changed his position on the blanket. He was not doing well, and for the last week he had not gotten up off the blanket. Kane now spent most of his waking hours sitting and talking with Barney, who seemed to appreciate Kane’s gentle words and rubbings under his chin. All they had was each other in the thick blackness of the bunker. Kane sat next to the animal again and scooped him up off of the blanket. Barney made a long, sad whining sound as Kane tucked him close into his chest. He could feel the small animal’s heart racing inside his narrow chest.

  “I know you feel terrible, Barney, but you’re going to be okay. You’re going to beat this infection because you’re a fighter. Remember when we first took shelter in here? I was so bent out of shape, and you with your bad eye had the best attitude. I appreciated you for that.”

  The animal shook violently, his lungs laboring.

  “And when I was going to kill myself, you didn’t give up on me then either. You’ve been my best friend, Barn, and I need you to keep going a little while longer. I need you here with me.”