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

by Stu Jones

  Jesus save!

  Something flashed from the hole in the wall to her left, the butt of a rifle striking with a gooey smack against the side of the closest Sick’s head. A man. He was swinging the rifle and kicking at the freaks. Three, four, five of them went down. The man continued fighting them off with devastating blows, standing between her and the madness. He brought the rifle up, and she watched in a strange slowness as the rifle glowed and cracked, again and again, the Sicks falling in a gory display. Molly’s limbs were anchored in stone. The stranger continued fighting, ducking and dodging, shooting and smashing with the butt of the rifle. He fought with a savageness that stunned her. After what seemed like an eternity, it was over.

  He continued to stand with his back to her, lungs laboring, his eyes watching for movement. He squeezed off a few more rounds until the few who were still thrashing became still. He scanned the immediate area again, watching, waiting. Nothing moved in the urban twilight.

  After a time, the man turned to face Molly, and she was able to see him well for the first time. He solidly built solid, a man in his early thirties with a motley head of dark brown hair, grey-blue eyes, broad shoulders, and a bearded face stern with the stress of battle. As the barrel of the M1 smoked, he set it against the wall and extended his hand to her, the stern look melting into something softer.

  “Are you okay? What is going on here?” he said, still out of breath. “Why…why were they attacking you?”

  Molly continued to stare, not uttering a sound. God had not forgotten her. He had sent her an angel.

  The man smiled and continued to hold out his hand, his face a reflection of fearless character.

  “Okay, let’s backtrack,” he said. “My name is Kane, and I’d like to be your friend.”

  Molly erupted in a choked, wheezing gurgle of tears that sounded like a squished toad as she reached for the offered hand.

  The dim streets of Knoxville, Tennessee, had an eerie appearance in the fading dimness of the day. Nothing stirred in the rubble-filled streets save a lonely bit of paper floating on the wind and the constant flicker of a burning city. The acrid smoke of many fires rose up ever higher to mingle and disappear into the collective blackness that was now the ceiling of the world.

  Kane moved cautiously, picking his way through the marred streets with his rifle held low, at the ready. The girl followed close behind him, mimicking his every move with a slight limp. She had not yet told him her name—or anything, for that matter. He had decided that it was most likely because of shock and that she would speak when she was ready. As he moved, he scanned left to right and glanced behind him and the girl for possible threats. As he scanned, he noticed her watching the ground, stepping where he stepped, her mouth forming silent words as she walked. Under the ash and filthy clothes, she appeared to be a pretty girl with blonde hair, not older than nineteen or twenty, with a natural athleticism that showed in her slim figure.

  He stepped to the corner of a broken Central Commerce Bank and quick peeked the corner. The street was clear. He motioned for the girl to follow and moved with purpose, trying not to focus on the occasional arm or leg or child’s shoe that protruded from a collapsed building or overturned vehicle.

  Initially, his thought had been to go into the city and attempt to find survivors or means of communication. He now knew it was a mistake. This place was a biohazzard. Kane had resolved to backtrack and leave the city when he’d heard the girl’s cries a few blocks away. The madness he had seen in those creatures’ faces was far from human. Seeing them converge on the girl had left him no choice. No choice at all.

  Kane was now trying to make it back to a multistory investment firm building that he passed on his way into the city. Being in the shadow of a great hill, it had seemed to weather the violence fairly well, and he had marked it in his memory as a good spot for taking refuge if things went south. As they moved, the structure came into view with a partially destroyed sign that read, Singular Investments: We take pride in every single one. The building was about five stories tall, and though the brick façade had mostly come off, it still appeared to hold its structural integrity. He motioned toward the building.

  “We’ll move to that building and stay in there for the night.”

  The girl nodded in agreement, and the two of them moved without a sound across the street and into the darkened structure.

  Just inside, Kane motioned for her to stop and wait at the entrance as he removed the flashlight from his pocket. She watched as he moved fluidly down the small corridor, snapping the rifle left and right and using the flashlight to flood the rooms with white light. She waited in silence as he disappeared down the hall of the abandoned office building. Moments later he emerged from the shadows at the end of the hall.

  “All clear. Come on.”

  They moved to a set of stairs and began climbing. At every turn Kane made a slight pause at the corner, snapping his upper torso around, rifle and light pointed upward.

  Kane moved methodically with Molly in tow, having her remain behind while he cleared, then calling her forward as they progressed. After what felt like a long time, they arrived on the top floor and moved to a large conference room that looked to be in complete disarray, with a big wooden table and wooden chairs strewn everywhere with all the windows blown out. Molly entered the room and stood, rolling her hands over one another and looking about.

  “It’s alright,” Kane said, seeing her uncertainty. “The light and smoke from a fire will be visible, but I’ll barricade the door well first. We should be safe in here.”

  Molly moved to a wall and sat, drawing her knees to her chest as Kane shut the heavy oak door and turned the deadbolt. He then grabbed one of the chairs and shoved it up under the handle. Propping up a second chair, he stood on it to reach up into a hole in the wall and grasped a protruding 2x4. With easy back-and-forth motions, he worked the board free without bending the nails. Kane surveyed the room.. After a moment of rummaging around in the debris, he came up with a length of one-inch diameter lead pipe.

  “Not ideal,” he stated, “but it will work.” Kane went to work, removing the chair from the door and replacing it with the 2x4.

  Molly remained still, an unmoving shadow in the darkness. Kane, flashlight in mouth, went to tapping and then banging the nails through the plank into the wooden floor. After procuring a few more nails from various locations around the room, Kane returned to nail the top part of the board down through the door itself, just under the knob. He grabbed the 2x4 and tugged a few times. Satisfied, he began to build a fire out of available debris, and after a few short minutes, the room was ablaze with the warm light of burning chair legs, the smoke wafting up through jagged gaps in the roof.

  Kane sat back to another wall and began pulling necessary items out of the pack, aware of the girl’s penetrating gaze. He stopped while pulling a blanket from the rucksack and met Molly’s stare.

  “Okay, look,” he said, looking down with a sigh. “Let’s just get something out of the way.” He set the pack down and looked her in the eyes once again. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going to hurt you or…or try to…take advantage of you. That’s not who I am. I’m just a guy. And I’m as scared and lost as you are, so maybe we can keep each other company for a while.”

  Kane watched as the vigilance in her face drained and her shoulders slumped.

  “Here, you’re welcome to share anything that I have,” he extended the blanket to her. “If it smells like a puppy, it’s because that’s who it belonged to last.”

  He dug into the pack and, to his surprise, found one last energy bar. He halved it and gave half to her. Through the dirt, ash, and grime shone the most genuine smile Kane had ever seen. It was a smile that radiated with the thankfulness of being safe for once, for simply having someone who was willing to share a fire, a blanket, and a meager meal. Kane couldn’t help but smile back, a big smile—the first time he’d smiled in a very long time.

  Molly ma
de a chopping motion with her hand toward her throat. She did it again, wincing as she brought her hand to her throat as though playing a game of Pictionary.

  “I not sure I understand.” Kane said, watching.

  She brought her palms in and down, making a rumbling sound with her throat as though something was collapsing. The she raised her hands up, as if trying to protect her head.

  “Alright,” he said. “So you were in a building that… Fell down on you?”

  She nodded her head.

  “Okay.”

  She raised her hands again and made the chopping motion to her throat. She opened her mouth and moved her lips without sound, making a forward motions with her hands. She shook her head and touched her throat again.

  “Something fell on you and hurt your throat?”

  She nodded.

  “And you can’t speak now?”

  She nodded and dropped her hands to her thighs, as if all done.

  “Oh. I thought you were in shock or something.” He paused, thinking. “Can you write?”

  She nodded again, and Kane began digging into the pack until he found the first aid kit. Pushing through to the back of the kit, Kane removed a small notebook and pen, which he handed over to her. She immediately began writing at a frenzied pace, and after a minute she handed him back two small sheets of paper with the following message:

  THE BASICS

  My name is Molly Stevens, and I am/was a 19-year-old freshman at UT.

  When the attack happened, I got trapped under my dorm when it collapsed.

  That’s how I injured my voice.

  For the last few weeks I haven’t eaten or slept much.

  I’ve barely survived, hiding from those monsters.

  I don’t have any family anymore.

  I’m not sure what to do now. Where to find food or water or where to go.

  If you see me moving my lips, I’m praying.

  I love Jesus.

  God sent you to help me, and I’m thankful for you.

  Thanks for sharing what you have with me.

  Kane smiled and looked up.

  “Nice to meet you, Molly. You went to UT? Are you familiar with the downtown area?”

  Molly nodded.

  “You don’t know where an emergency radio broadcast station is down there, do you?”

  Molly nodded and scribbled on her pad. Third and Finley I think. The building with the huge antenna.

  “Okay. We’ll check that out tomorrow.” Kane rubbed his chin. “Well, guess it’s my turn now. My name is Kane Lorusso, and I lived with my family in Green County, just outside of town. I was a police officer, a father, and a husband.” He paused for a long silence. “I was a lot of things that I’m not anymore, I guess.” Another long pause while Kane rubbed his face. “When the attacks happened I took refuge in a fallout bunker on my property, and I stayed in there until two days ago. My puppy, Barney, survived the attack too, but he didn’t make it out of the bunker. He was my friend. I was told a few days before the attack that I have a fatal heart condition, so, I’m not sure what’s going on there.”

  Kane paused and tapped at the paper. “I see that you wrote that you love Jesus, and you like to pray. I think those are good things. I think that God has given me another chance at life so I can use it to do something for Him, but I don’t quite know what that means or what exactly I am supposed to do. So…I’m trying to figure it out as I go, day by day.”

  Kane decided to omit the part about God talking to him and what happened to him outside the bunker.

  Molly smiled at him again, that brilliant smile. She then looked down and scribbled something out. She handed it over to Kane.

  Is this damage just local or what?

  Kane shook his head with a grimace. “No, Molly, I’m afraid that the entire country, maybe even the whole world may be like this. In the last few months, before the attacks, did you hear about the Sword of Destiny?”

  Molly nodded.

  “Well, it seems they were the ones who started it all. When they unleashed what they had, most every other country in the world did the same. They used nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons all together, the combined effects of which might help explain your friends that tried to kill you in the city.”

  Molly scratched against the paper with the pen and revealed her work again. Your heart, how bad is it?

  “Well, I’m not sure. The doctor seemed to indicate that it was most certainly a terminal condition and that I would need a transplant. How much time I have left is up to the man upstairs, I guess.”

  He meant the last statement as a sort of lighthearted attempt at humor, but as he watched her reaction, he saw a mask of fear and abandonment flash across the young woman’s face and realized something for the first time.

  She needs me.

  He continued quickly, “But you know, since I came out of that bunker I’ve been feeling a lot better.”

  Molly nodded, acting unconcerned, and started scribbling again. She showed it to Kane. Where’s your family?

  Kane swallowed hard and gritted his teeth. “I don’t know. They went to Miami just before the attacks, to get things ready for my initial heart surgery, but I don’t know what happened to them. I do know Miami was hit….”

  He stopped and leaned back, taking in a deep breath. “I’m a realist, Molly, so I’m not going to lie to myself or you. They are probably all dead.”

  Molly hung her head, and the room was quiet except for the light popping of the fire and the brisk wind pushing through the hollow windows.

  After a moment, Kane said, “It’s hard to think about, but I have to believe that everything happens for a reason.”

  Molly nodded again, looking down to write once again. She showed it to him. God has saved us for his purpose. He will tell us what he wants us to do.

  “I think he will, Molly,” Kane said. “I’m sure that he will.” With a quick smile, he added, “We should get some rest.” He shook his blanket and pulled it up tight around him. “Rest well. In the morning we’ll head over to that emergency radio substation on Third and Finley—see if we can find anybody else. If you need something, just reach over and shake me.”

  Molly nodded and laid down, curling up with her blanket. Kane sat with his eyes half closed, looking into the fire. He watched the flames jump and dance as they swirled and spun with each other. Swirling and dancing like the memories of his family. Memories of his children giggling and squealing as they ran, the security of his wife’s embrace, and the warmth of her kiss. It all seemed so far away and dreamlike, and he just wanted to hold them in his arms again. The fire glowed and fizzled, and Kane began to drift away into a different time. A time awash with golden light and the love of his family, a family that could not be further from him now as he sat huddled in the barren wastelands of civilization.

  DAY 35

  NEAR COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA

  Courtland Thompson walked through the endless field of tall golden wheat at an esay pace. The blue sky radiated with crystal clarity, and the wind rustled the stalks of wheat like golden waves on an open sea. He closed his eyes as he walked, breathing deep the cool breeze and enjoying the sun on his face. He belonged here; he had always known it deep in his soul.

  “Courtland.”

  The gigantic black man stopped, opening his eyes and looking to the left where he had heard the voice. He stared at the endless wheat stretching into the horizon. He looked to the right and then turned to look behind him. That was strange. He could have sworn someone had called his…

  “Courtland.”

  Courtland spun back to the front and found nothing that had not been there before. The wheat continued to gently bow as the wind cascaded over it. He squinted his eyes, trying to see.

  “Courtland, are you listening with your eyes or your ears?”

  “But I can’t see you.”

  “Then listen.”

  The giant black man became still. “I am listening.”

  �
��Who do you say that I am?”

  Courtland stammered, his knees shaking, “Who are you?”

  “Who do you say that I am?”

  Courtland’s knees buckled, and he dropped down onto them among the tall wheat. A brilliant bright light burst forth and surrounded him, causing him to gasp and tears to flow down his face. “My Lord God!” he exclaimed, squinting into the light.

  “The one you’ve had visions of is coming. He will be a fugitive and an outcast, but you must help him to understand his purpose. He will come in my name, bearing the sword of justice. It is by his side that you must stand against the darkness in my name and for my sake.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” said Courtland, forcing the words from his throat.

  “Be vigilant, for the time is at hand,” the voice whispered.

  Courtland sat straight up in the darkness of his small room. The padded wooden table he used for a bed creaked under his weight. He exhaled and rubbed his hands over his head, trying to slow his breathing and the hammering of his heart. Had it been real? It sure had felt real; the memory of the vision still burned in his mind.

  His knees crinkled and popped, and Courtland winced as he swung his feet over the edge of the table. He rested them on the cold floor and turned his head to look out the window. The ranch was completely quiet except for the occasional walking of a sentry along the fence.

  “Stand against the darkness?” he whispered to himself.

  Courtland could feel the fear and doubt creeping up in his chest. Even though he was immense in size, a true modern-day giant at eight and a half feet tall and over five hundred pounds, he was no longer a young man. After his sports career, he had retained a good bit of his athletic prowess but had been unable to keep from aging. Now he began to digest the words that drifted in his mind. He was to become some sort of warrior at fifty-three years old? He knew that his doubt was a lack of faith, but even now he was unable to make it leave him.

  He wondered if his mind was going bad on him, or if the short-term memory loss he had suffered after the attacks had something to do with the visions. They were becoming more and more frequent to the point where they seemed more real than his own memories. He remembered the week before the attacks; and then the next thing he knew, he had woken up here at this ranch outside of Columbia, South Carolina, as a part of “the Family,” as they called themselves.