End Days Super Boxset

by Hayden, Roger

  “Did you know that Paul invented Microsoft?” Jordan asked with bravado.

  Margie laughed along. “Oh really?” she asked.

  “Paul! Tell her how you invented Microsoft. He’s a billionaire this guy. It’s really an amazing story.”

  Paul smiled along but noticed the Sheriff moving out of sight. It was now or never. “Excuse me, guys,” he said while moving away with stealth. The Sheriff had moved to the grill with an empty paper plate in his hands. Paul pushed himself past the crowd while nearing the table. Suddenly, two armed men surrounded the Sheriff in a nonthreatening manner. One of the men leaned closer and spoke into his ear. The Sheriff perked up and listened with great interest. Paul approached the men and tried to listen in.

  “They got here about five minutes ago. They want to speak with you or someone in charge.”

  “Who are they again?” the Sheriff asked.

  “Said they’re from a camp ‘bout five miles from here. Seem normal enough, I guess, but at the same time they kind of give me the creeps.”

  “What do they want?”

  “They said they’re just here to visit. The subject of bartering came up. Maybe they’re low on supplies.”

  “In that case, let’s assemble a team to go talk to them. We’ll get it all under control.”

  “I’ll go,” Paul said as he slipped his way in their circle.

  He needed some way to get on the Sheriff’s good side. He figured this was the opportunity he needed, short of digging holes in the ground for a bunker. The Sheriff looked up at Paul with surprise.

  “Alright,” he said. “Let’s get some folks together and go meet these guys.”

  Chapter Eight

  The Seventh Order

  Three men and one woman stood outside the gate. They were all in their mid-forties dressed as if they were on a hike. “Do you have any weapons on you?” the Sheriff asked through the gate.

  “We’re unarmed,” the leader of the group replied. He had a dark red beard, neatly trimmed. He tipped his ball cap at the Sheriff.

  “Wait,” another man with speckled dirty blond hair said while raising his hand in the air. “I got this knife.” He pulled a large bowie knife from his cargo pocket and held it up. Red beard turned and spoke into blondie's face.

  “I said no weapons.”

  “I never go anywhere without my knife. I told you that.”

  Red beard took the knife from blondie. “You need to listen better next time,” he said in an angry tone. He held up blondie’s knife and showed it to the Sheriff.

  “This is all we got. Terry here never leaves home without it.”

  The visiting group smiled and did their best to seem nonthreatening as the Sheriff examined them. The gate guards stood behind the Sheriff. There were two of them, both male, with their rifles pointed in the air. Generally they never had more than one guard, but since the whole town was preoccupied with food and drink, the Sheriff wanted extra security. It looked like his concerns had been justified. Paul stood to the side holding an M500 shotgun that he had been given at the last moment. He had told the Sheriff that he had his own pistol and that the shotgun wouldn’t be necessary. The Sheriff seemed bothered and annoyed by Paul’s revelation.

  “We have to get better at checking people before they come in here,” he said out loud.

  “I believe Jordan has a pistol too,” Paul said, trying to be upfront and honest.

  The Sheriff looked upset, but didn’t answer. Instead, he just pushed the shotgun into Paul’s hands.

  “We’ll talk about it later,” he said. Then they assembled and marched toward the front gate.

  “How can we help you gentlemen?” the Sheriff asked.

  “Allow me to introduce the group,” red beard said. “My name is Walter Hughes. This here is Terry Gordon,” he continued, pointing to blondie. “To my left is the lovely Diane Jacobs, and to her left is Chris Rodriguez.”

  The group nodded and waved to the Sheriff and his men.

  “We’ve got a camp about seven miles down the road, next to a church. It’s not as well fortified as what you have here, but we’ve managed so far. We’re just venturing out, seeing what other people are doing.”

  “Looks like you’ve walked quite some distance. You don’t have any vehicles?” the Sheriff asked.

  The visiting group looked at each other. Walter, the bearded man, spoke. “We haven’t had the best of luck with vehicles at the moment.”

  “Is it the fuel issue?” the Sheriff asked.

  “Yeah, for the most part,” Walter said.

  “Cars are forbidden at our camp,” Chris, the Hispanic man, said.

  Walter flashed him a wide-eyed stare to silence him. He then looked at the Sheriff and laughed.

  “What good’s a car without fuel, you know?” Walter said.

  “How are your people holding up at the camp? How many do you have there?” the Sheriff asked.

  “There's about fifty of us and our resources are dwindling. We were looking for supplies when we followed the delicious aroma of food all the way to your front gate.”

  Paul studied the Sheriff, wondering if he was as open to visitors as he had originally claimed. There was something strange about the unexpected visitors. They were polite, but their eyes indicated something hidden.

  “I’m sure we can help you guys out with something, at least for making the trip all the way here,” the Sheriff said.

  Walter’s face lit up.

  “That’s very kind of you, sir. We would be more than grateful.”

  One of the gate guards, David, a stern, serious-looking man, leaned closer to the Sheriff and spoke into his ear.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered. “Once it starts, who knows what else it’ll bring. It’s like feeding the bears, you know?”

  “Nonsense,” the Sheriff said. “You know my policy with outsiders. Everyone gets a chance.”

  He looked back to the group outside the gate. “So what is it that you’re low on?” the Sheriff asked.

  “We’re running a bit low on food, got plenty of water for the time being, but rest assured we don’t expect handouts. We were just hoping to establish some type of trade system. We know that things are scarce all over,” Walter said.

  “Sounds reasonable enough,” the Sheriff added.

  “We were also wondering if we could see how you guys are living here. It would help us get some ideas about how to set up our own camp.”

  The Sheriff took his hat off and scratched his head. “Very well. We don’t usually do tours, but we can show you a bit of the town if you’d like.”

  David, the gate guard, placed his hand on the Sheriff’s shoulder. “Sheriff,” he said.

  “Come on now,” the Sheriff said back. “These people have traveled miles here on foot. Least we could do is show them around the place.”

  He signaled for the men to open the gate, and they did. The outside group entered, and the Sheriff led them into the town.

  “So you’re the leader here?” Walter asked the Sheriff.

  “I’m in law enforcement, a sheriff with the Johnson County police department”

  “But you run the town, am I correct? When I asked for the leader of the town, they brought you.”

  “I serve as head council member among others on the board. We’re all equally responsible for how things are done around here,” the Sheriff said.

  The smell of chicken, hot dogs, and ribs permeated throughout the air. The stomachs of the visiting group grumbled wildly beyond their control.

  “You guys must be hungry from your travels. Why don’t you join us for a moment and take a load off?” the Sheriff asked.

  The visiting group graciously accepted the offer. The Sheriff looked to the two gate guards and thanked them. The guards split off from the group and went back to the front gate leaving Paul, the Sheriff, and the outsiders to enter the Hendersons’ backyard cookout.

  “This is simply delicious,” Walter said after
taking a large bite of roasted chicken breast. The other group gorged on their plates of barbecued chicken and ribs in the most controlled manner they could manage. They didn’t want to look like animals. The Sheriff sat across from them on a picnic bench with Paul at his side. Paul continued to wait for the opportunity to ask about a vehicle. In a way, he resented the outsiders for taking the Sheriff’s attention. The Sheriff seemed sympathetic to their situation, which could place them on the top of the list as far as Paul was concerned. Worst-case scenario would be if they asked the Sheriff for a vehicle. The more Paul thought about it, the more he wanted them back at their own camp, never to return again. Feeling a little more comfortable after a beer, Walter continued to converse with the Sheriff.

  “You’re a good man,” he said.

  “I’d be careful before making claims like that. You don’t know what kind of man I am,” the Sheriff said half-jokingly.

  “At our camp, we do things a little differently. But I’ve come to learn that it’s truly the way.”

  “The way?” the Sheriff asked.

  “Our leader is a woman, and she knows her stuff. Sister Bonnie, we call her.” Walter had gotten the Sheriff’s curiosity.

  “She’s a nun?” the Sheriff asked.

  “Not necessarily, it’s sort of a title, you know, like Sheriff?”

  “Fair enough, guess I can’t say much about that. So what church does your group belong to?”

  “Pardon?” Walter asked.

  “You said your group lived in a church. Just curious what kind of church it was. What denomination?”

  “The church operates as a headquarters of sorts, but the actual camp is located outside. Maybe you’ve heard of us, we’re called the Seventh Order.”

  The Sheriff took a bite of his burger and chewed.

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  The woman, Diane, cut in. “Our church was formally Presbyterian, if that’s what you’re wondering.

  The Sheriff looked up. “And now it’s a, what was it called again?”

  “The Seventh Order,” Walter said. “In the Book of Revelation, one must remove seven seals in order to open the scroll that reveals the final judgment of the Apocalypse. Seven seals, seven days, seven orders. Do you see the connection?” Walter asked. He had grown a tad passionate in his explanation.

  “I suppose so,” the Sheriff responded, slightly confused.

  “Sister Bonnie, she’s our leader. But that’s not all. She can show all of us the way, even your town.”

  “You don’t say?” the Sheriff said.

  “She’s our lamb and prophet,” Walter continued.

  Again, Diane attempted to intervene. “She’s proved to be an invaluable leader in times of uncertainty.”

  The Sheriff wiped his mouth with his napkin and looked at his empty plate. He rubbed his stomach, stood up, and stretched.

  “Well ain’t that something? Sounds like a hell of a woman. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to business here soon. What kind of supplies can we help you out with?”

  The visiting group looked at each other, then to the Sheriff. “Guess whatever food we can carry back. Do you have any non-perishables?” Walter asked.

  “I believe we do,” the Sheriff said.

  He then looked to Paul. “Paul, talk with Alan, he’s in charge of food management. Tell him we need to get this group some non-perishables for their trip back home.”

  “Will do,” Paul nodded, slightly annoyed.

  “It’s been a pleasure meeting you guys. Keep in touch and stay safe out there,” the Sheriff said, offering Walter a handshake.

  Walter gripped his hand and shook it back. “We have so much more to discuss though, Sheriff. We would love if you guys could visit our camp and meet Sister Bonnie. She’s truly an amazing woman.”

  “I’ll certainly consider it,” the Sheriff said politely.

  “We should work together through this. Establish a system of trade and help each other out however we can.”

  “I’m all for it,” the Sheriff said.

  “We are so graciously indebted to you for your generosity and hospitality. We insist that you come to our camp and meet Sister Bonnie. We have livestock, fruits, vegetables, and water.”

  “I’ll talk with the others, and we’ll see what we can do,” the Sheriff said, trying to pull his hand away in the most polite manner possible.

  “Okay, Walter, let the Sheriff get back to his business,” Diane said.

  Walter released the Sheriff’s hand and smiled. “I just want to show how appreciative we are. Please consider coming down to meet us. We’re only about seven miles away. It’s nothing if you take a vehicle.”

  The Sheriff bid the visitors a good night and tipped his hat. As he turned around to walk away, he immediately stopped and turned back to the group. “It just hit me that you came on foot. Don’t worry, I’ll ask one of the guys here to give you a lift back to your church.”

  “That’s okay, Sheriff. We much appreciate the offer, but we’re fine on foot,” Walter said.

  “No, it’s no problem at all. We’ll give you a ride back into town.”

  “It’s not necessary, please,” Walter said.

  “Don’t be foolish, we’ll put some supplies into a truck and take you back.”

  “Sheriff,” Walter said forcibly, “I said no. We cannot accept a ride. That is final.”

  A silence came over the group. Paul felt the sting of awkwardness in the air. The Sheriff tipped his hat at the group again. “Very well, you guys be safe out there. Paul, make sure you talk to Alan.” He then walked away into the crowd of mingling townspeople.

  Paul looked at the visiting group. “Okay, let’s find Alan,” he said. As he led them out of the Hendersons’ backyard, he looked for Julie and Jordan in the crowd. He didn’t see them but instead found Rob and Carlie walking by.

  “You guys know where I can find Alan?” he asked.

  “Yeah, sure, he’s around here somewhere,” Rob said.

  Rob took Paul to go look for him as Carlie stayed with the visiting group.

  “Hi, I’m Walter, nice to meet you.”

  Carlie smiled back, slightly disinterested but polite. “Nice to meet you too. I’m Carlie. So you’re the special visitors at the gate?”

  “That’s us. Word travels quickly,” Walter said.

  “Doesn’t take long,” Carlie said.

  A brief silence came between them as their focus shifted to the townspeople eating, drinking, and laughing.

  “Do you believe in the apocalypse?” Walter asked Carlie. Surprised, she turned to face him.

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  Once again, Diane stepped in to try to diffuse Walter’s tone. He instantly waved her away.

  “It’s a legitimate question, Diane, what’s the big deal? If it’s not the apocalypse, maybe this young lady can tell us what she believes it to be. So tell me,” Walter said pointing at Carlie, “what do you think the death of hundreds of millions of people is all about? Is it just an accident? Are these nuclear attacks cyclical? Or maybe we could just wake up tomorrow morning and wish that it never happened.”

  “Walter, that’s enough,” Diane said.

  She grabbed his arm and pulled him away from Carlie. Walter regained his composure and calmed himself. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me,” he said.

  Carlie shrugged it off. “No big deal, and no, I don’t think this is anything we can just wake up from,” she said.

  In no time, Alan approached the group with his short, curly red hair and glasses. He looked like he could have been in charge of a chess club, but each resident of New Haven had their roles to fill. Paul felt odd as he escorted the group back to the front gate. Alan had retrieved several bags of dried fruits labeled banana chips, apples, and apricots. The visitors didn’t ask for anything more and dutifully left through the front gate. Their visit cost Paul an hour. Samantha’s name repeated in his head over and over again. As he walked back
to the Hendersons’, Paul looked at the shotgun in his hands. Something didn’t feel right. He suspected that they were actively trying to make him a member of the community. Maybe Jordan’s initial paranoia was justified.

  “What the hell are we still doing here?” Paul said to himself.

  He went to his room and put the shotgun under his bed. It was time to confront the Sheriff once and for all, though he didn’t want to overplay his hand either. A tired Julie met him as soon as he entered the backyard.

  “Paul, I want to go home now,” she said.

  He was confused by what she had meant by “home” but told her that they would leave soon.

  “I just need to talk to the Sheriff for a minute, and then we’ll go.”

  “Jordan’s drunk,” Julie said.

  Paul looked into the crowd and saw a soused Jordan from afar with Margie. She wasn’t nearly as tipsy but appeared to be enjoying herself. Jordan had his arm permanently resting over her shoulder. Paul thought about taking a picture of Jordan in order to embarrass him later, but cell phones were as useless in New Haven as they had been anywhere else. Paul had just stopped carrying his around. He looked back down to Julie.

  “Why don’t you find your friend Timmy and hang out with him for a little bit?”

  “His name is Tommy, and he’s not my friend,” Julie said, defensively.

  “He seems like a nice kid. Give him a chance.”

  “I just want to go back to my room now. I’m tired and these adults are annoying.”

  “There are other kids here besides Tommy. The Henderson kids seem nice.”

  “They’re weird, just like most of the people here.”

  Paul could see what was happening. The later in the evening it got, the more ornery Julie would get. It was typical Julie. When she got into her moods, she became an avalanche of negativity.

  “Five minutes, Julie, then we’ll get out of here. I promise.”