Last thing he remembered, he was laying on the couch in the farmhouse. At least he thought he was or it could have been a fever dream. He thought he had heard some kinda commotion. He was half in, half out of sleep. Then he could swear he felt as if he had been picked up. He didn't know if it was real or a nightmare. There was a lot of pain he remembered. Maybe he’d passed out. Here he was, wherever here might be, with an IV stuck in his hand.
"Are you awake?" he heard a woman's voice call out. It sounded very professional, but compassionate at the same time.
Gus's mouth was bone dry. He had to swish his tongue around a few times before he felt he could speak.
"I feel worse than that time I spent a weekend in Tijuana on the donkey show circuit. Don't drink the water wasn't the only advice I ignored on that trip, let me tell ya."
She spoke again, but Gus still couldn't see her.
"Now stay still, try not to move around to much. You had lost a lot of blood by the time you got here. You're lucky you had no internal injuries or bleeding. None I can detect with the equipment I have. You also have an infection in your stomach wound. We will need to take it slowly on your recovery process. It's a blessing you found us."
"If this is blessed, I hope I never feel damned. You said when I got here? Were is here exactly darlin? Who are you?"
The white drape was pulled back and a woman stepped into Gus’s view. "You are in a church. The Holy Covenant of Saints. My name is Linda." She looked to be in her late thirties, attractive in a plain way. She was dressed in a simple white scrubs. Her hair was black and short, except for some strands hanging across her forehead. She pushed these over to one side as she bent over to grab one of Gus's wrists and took his pulse. "I was a nurse before the Outbreak. Well I guess technically I still am. Got quite the pay cut though. And don’t get me started on the fringe benefits."
Gus chuckled then stopped. It hurt his guts like the dickens. Still, he liked her already. Seeming satisfied, Linda stood up. She left his view for a moment and came back with a small Dixie cup. She held it up to his lips. Gus took a sip, relishing its wetness before swallowing it.
"With my help, Albright and his people converted part of the basement into a little clinic. With supplies and equipment salvaged from Saint Joseph Regional. You have the honor of being the worst patient I have had to treat since coming here. Before you, the most severe thing I have had to treat was the occasional stomach flu or scrapes and boo boos."
"So give it to me straight Nurse Linda. How bad is it? Am I going to need several sponge baths? Just so you know, I’m not opposed to them."
She laughed. Gus smiled at the sound of it. It was so genuine. "Sorry to disappoint. So you know, you had some pretty nasty stab wounds. Whoever stitched you up did the best they could, but I had to redo them. It was fishing line!” She sounded incredulous. Linda continued with a shake of her head. “You were about to burst out of them. I would’ve had to take the stitches out anyway. Your wounds are infected, which I think I already mentioned. You were pretty out of it the first two nights you were here. I’ve administering a series of antibiotics, some pain medication, and an IV drip for dehydration. I’ve stitched you back up the right way and the best I could. You’ll have visible scars, but other than that you should be back and close to normal in a week or two."
"Oh hell, what's a few more scars after the ones my ex-wife has given me. At least when I tell the ladies I got these scars saving someone's life, it will actually be true."
Linda chuckled. "You’ll have to tell me all about that later Gus. It sounds like quite the tale of bravery.” She patted Gus on the hand. “Right now you need to rest. Let your body heal from the trauma."
"Okay Doc," said Gus. All the joking aside, he was relieved he was going to be okay after all. Jumping in front of Harold’s knife was the scariest thing he had ever done in his life.
Linda checked his IV bag. When she was done, she put her hands on her hips. "Hey don't insult me. I'm a nurse."
Gus chuckled lightly, holding his stomach. It felt good to still be able to. He knew it was getting touch and go there the last few days, no matter how much Hannah had put on a brave face. He felt bad for Hannah too. He knew she would have blamed herself if something had happened to him, even though she shouldn't have. She wasn’t the knife wielding weirdo that cut him. JT and Tyrone of course had been worried to, but Gus didn't think they would have taken it as hard as Hannah. Not after she just lost Ashley. God, what an ugly business that mess at Harold's cabin was. The world's still as crazy as ever.
Gus called out as Linda turned to leave. "A church huh? Who would have thought that's where I’d be fixed up? You have lots of people here? How long have you been here? Since the Outbreak?"
"Those are all things we will have plenty of time to discuss later." Linda put another gentle pat on Gus's arm. “For now, rest.
"You're right Doc, er I mean Nurse.” Gus winked at her. “The most important questions I want answered is, how are my friends? Hannah, JT, and Tyrone. They being treated as well as I am?"
"I don't know," Linda said, shifting away from Gus. "I'll check for you. You sleep."
"If there is one thing I am good at, it's taking old man naps."
Gus stared intensely as Nurse Linda racked the curtains back, the metal clips screeching on the metal bar. He could make out a staircase and some boxes stacked up in the quick seconds he could see in the gloom. There was nothing in what he saw that said this was a church one way or another. He guessed he would have to take Linda’s word for now but already something was tingling in the back of his brain.
Whatever it was, Gus decided there wasn’t much he could do about it now. Linda herself seemed like the real deal. Maybe just nerves, after Happy Harold. Gus settled back, enjoying that his body wasn't raced with pain for what seemed like forever, and drifted off.
JT and Tyrone awoke to the sound of the Sheriff dragging his baton across the cell bars. The clanging was worse than any alarm clock JT had ever heard. He wondered what time it was as he squinted at the sunlight coming through the open door that lead out to the other part of the police station. It was blinding after the total darkness.
"Breakfast time inmates," the Sheriff said. He was gruff, sounding like a hoarse old man from one of those old western movies. JT used to hate it when his dad would make him watch any of them when he was a kid. His Dad said some John Wayne was good for him. He always thought his Dad enjoyed torturing him. Then again that time together was cut short, so JT never knew the true answer. The sheriff also sounded like he was enjoying himself as he clanged the bars again.
He carried two paper bowls on a plastic tray in his other hand, along with two bottles of water. He slid the bowl and bottle in through the opening on the cell door. He repeated the same thing at Tyrone’s cell. JT got up, stretching his stiff neck and shoulders. His stomach rumbled and he rushed over to the bars. It was a bowl of dry Fruit Loops. First he popped open the water and downed it. He was thirsty. Starving too. Fruit Loops never looked so good.
"You fellas will do yourself well to savor that and not over indulge." The Sheriff let out a short laugh like a bark. JT didn't find it very funny. "We have some rations but your care will be limited until I hear your charges."
"Charges? What charges? We didn't do anything wrong," JT looked up from his cereal. He could feel his blood swirling as he tried to control himself. He looked back down, concentrating hard on his paper bowl. "If anyone should press charges it's us. Look what that church did to Tyrone. Look at his face. Not to mention my girlfriend is still there and who knows what could be happening to her. I swear that when we got here, I saw bodies of people, hanging from a tree. Is that how the law works now?"
"Girlfriend you say? Well I don't recall any mention of a female acquaintance. By you or by Albright. Even Charlie didn’t say nothing to me last night."
JT shifted his eyes, taking glance at Randall and then Tyrone. Tyrone sat in silence eating the cereal with his fingers as he wa
tched the Sheriff rub his mustache and stare at JT.
"This female friend of yours. If you're telling me the truth, why wouldn't she be here with the two of you?"
"Look man that's what I'm telling you! Those crazy cult fucks are up to something. They kept her behind to brainwash her or something," JT couldn't help it, his voice began to rise. "Dude, I feel like I'm talking to a wall here."
"Let's get a couple of things squared away here. My name is Sheriff Randall and I expect you to address me with nothing less. Not man, dude, or Randall. As for Albright and the church? He brought together all those people and has kept them safe. He has given them something worth living for, after suffering terrible losses. Most of those people I have lived with all my life as friends and neighbors, and he has kept them alive. Even more important, he has kept their hope alive."
Sheriff Randall took on that authoritative, I know everything so listen up tone JT hated so much. He had to will himself not to tune out. Everyone's lives could be on the line here.
"Now, I'm not going to join up with them. Grew up a Baptist myself, even though with everything that has gone on, I'm not sure what I believe anymore when it comes to God. If I'm going to be an honest man. Reverend Albright says what has happened is the Rapture. What do I know about that? Not shit. What I do know is, I am going to do what I can to make sure those people stay safe. Until you two can convince me otherwise, I consider you threats to them."
"Rapture? What? Like in the Bible?" Tyrone chimed in for the first time. He seemed a bit confused and put off by the remark.
"That's what Albright and his followers call it. You boys have a better explanation? Let me give you some advice. Before you come into a man's town and start throwing around accusations, you would do best to get to know the people and let your opinions form themselves. Now if you'll excuse me I have some business to attend to in my office."
The Sheriff seemed liked he was both upset but also confounded by their conversation as he stomped down the hall, his cowboy boots thudding along the concrete floor. He left the door open, so they would have enough light to eat by.
Who is this guy? JT thought to himself. I wonder if he is even really a sheriff? Is Albright even a real reverend? How are we going to get out of this shit?
JT looked over at Tyrone. Tyrone had his head down, fully concentrated on eating. Tyrone hadn't spoken more than a couple of words since being locked up in here. JT was stewing in his anger too much to pay much attention to it yesterday. He let the stale, dusty air fill his lungs and puffed it out.
"You okay kid?" JT maintained a neutral tone.
"Yeah I'm good," Tyrone replied, crunching his cereal. JT thought he sounded sarcastic. "But where's Hannah? Why didn't she help us? She just sat there. And what about Gus? How come he didn't get brought here too? Are they going to let us go free?"
"I don't know man. Maybe she was too scared to react?" JT said. Hannah had dealt with a lot lately. He was still willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. "As for Gus maybe they didn't see him as a threat. Beings he's so banged up. There are lots of questions about what is going on here. The only thing I know is, I have a bad feeling about all of this. We're going to have to find a way out of here. I’ll figure out how."
"Maybe if you wouldn't have left us, this wouldn't have happened," Tyrone said under his breath.
"What did you say to me?" JT slid to the edge of the cot.
"Oh. Nothing. I'm just mad at this whole situation," Tyrone hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I think Dusty was right. About a lot of things. We should have listened to him more I think."
That certainly came out of nowhere.
JT wanted to chew him out but instead held in another deep breath and dug into his cereal. He thought again about saying something before deciding arguing about the guy who saved their lives wasn't going to help the situation. JT shook the bowl of cereal, watching the shifting of the colored circles. It seemed to calm him like an intrigued child looking at a kaleidoscope.
Hours stretched into forever. JT paced. Once again, except for brief bursts of general chit chat here and there, Tyrone refused to engage in conversation. Occasionally he could hear him singing. It was a faint sound, touching his ears like a spring breeze on the cheek.
Wanna be a baller, shot caller
Twenty inch blades on the Impala
A caller gettin laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike
I hit the highway, making money the fly
But there's got to be a better way
A better way, better way
JT was about to lie back down, tired more from the boredom than anything else, when Sheriff Randall suddenly came back in. One of those big police flashlights was in his hand. Randall went over to Tyrone's cell.
"Alright Tyrone," Sheriff Randall said, unlocking his cell door. "Reverend Albright wants to talk with you. He’s sent down someone to collect you. Come with me and don't try anything sudden."
"This is bullshit!" JT said jumping to his feet. He was done. He had enough of this. "Who the hell do you people think you are? What gives you the right to treat us like this? There is no such thing as a court of law anymore."
Sheriff Randall gave JT a cold stare of contempt. "You better get with the program son. We are living in a new world here. What gives me the right? Power, the power of this right here," He patted his gun. "Due process under the law and all those other rights are like a piece of trash blowing in the breeze. They are gone. The United States is gone. There is nothing I can do about that. I will however, uphold the peace and protect the people here in my town."
He turned his attention back to Tyrone.
"So come with me, cooperate with the Reverend, and I am sure you all can get going along your merry way. It’ll be good riddance."
You took the words right out of my mouth. His want seemed to be hanging by a thread now. The Reverend seemed intent on dividing them, which was a sure way to pick them off one by one if he wanted to.
As they left, the Sheriff shut the door, leaving JT to sit there in the darkness. JT lay back on his cot, letting the words of the Sheriff sink in. His stomach twisted as understanding dawn on the jam they were in here. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He exclaimed out loud as he slammed his fists down on the cot.
They dragged Tyrone in, both men holding him by the elbows. He was taken in the front door of the church and through the worship center. He had a clear view of the rotting bodies hanging from the tree on the way in. He could swear some looked nibbled on. He wondered if they purposely went as close as they could to the tree as a not so subtle threat.
He looked around desperately for Hannah as soon as they were inside, but all the pews were empty. He looked up at the cross dominating the stage ahead and shook his head. That cross looked to him as if it was made to radiate fear, not any kind of hope or inspiration.
First zombies, then Harold, now this crazy shit. Can't a guy get a break?
They came to a heavy looking wooden door off to the left side of the stage. Charlie rapped on it. Reverend Albright opened the door a few moments later, looking as smart as when they first met, in his crisp clerical shirt and black slacks.
"Ah, it's our young friend Tyrone," smiled Albright. "Please bring him in Charlie. Craig, you may go."
Charlie continued to hold Tyrone's arm and shepherd him over to a large leather chair. The kind with metal buttons in it. Tyrone was pushed down into the seat forcefully. Charlie stood behind the chair, arms crossed over his chest. Reverend Albright sat behind his expensive looking wooden desk. It was clean except for a little placard decoration. It too was made out of wood. Tyrone read the words carved into it. Above all, taking the shield of faith, where with ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. Tyrone wondered if this saying made Albright feel invulnerable.
Reverend Albright sat there, his hands interlocked and lying on the desk, looking Tyrone over. Tyrone felt like a germ under a microscope. Still he didn't dro
p his gaze or squirm in his chair. He wasn't going to give this man the satisfaction. He wasn't afraid of him. After the zombies, after Harold, what could he possibly fear from this faker.
"You want something from me this time Reverend?" sarcasm dripped from Tyrone's voice. "Or should we skip ahead straight to the beatings."
"My son, we truly do not wish to harm you. You have been nothing but hostile towards us, so we’ve had to act in kind." Albright answered, smooth as honey.
"Eye for an eye and all that jazz right?"
Albright smiled and pounded the desk with a open palm. "Maybe there is hope for you yet. That is exactly right. The world has changed my friend. It is now closer to the Old Testament days than to the sick, modern society we had just months ago. God has smite all the lands and has revealed the sinners among us. Most of them anyway. I still haven't made my mind up about you."
"Really?" Tyrone said with a laugh. "Sounds like a lot of mystical horseshit to me." His voice took on a sing songy rhyme. "Never been a sinner, I've never sinned. I got a friend in Jesus. Yeah right."
"You need to wise up kid," Albright said, for the first time putting some menace in his voice. "There are no laws here anymore except God's laws. Right now, I'm the voice of God. What I say goes around here. You would do yourself a great service to learn that."
"What do you want me to do, kneel down before you? Kiss your ring? Ask for forgiveness my master?"
The remark earned him a hard clap to the side of the head from Charlie. Tyrone wasn't ready for it at all. It knocked him half way out of his seat. Albright sat behind his desk, still as calm as a coiled snake. It took Tyrone a few minutes for the sharp pain to dull enough for him to get back upright into his chair.
"Thanks for letting me know you’re a fraud and all of this is a scam." Tyrone held the side of his head and tried to hold back his tears. "It confirms what I believed about The Bible and God anyway. Jokes written by jokers."
Tyrone found himself on the floor, ears ringing more than ever. He watched little drips of blood fall from his cheek to the hardwood. Prisms of light formed before his eyes. Instead of waiting for him to get up, Charlie grabbed him and violently placed him back in the chair.
The Outbreak Series (Book 2): Purgatory Page 5