The Last Days_Conclude [Book 3 of 3]

by Chris Ayala

  Hope was a difficult state of mind to destroy. Even after the vessel had none, people still tried to escape. Pity. Because that hope was met with further missiles and bullets from his hands. He pictured the panicked faces of the rapists as they had lost all hope. Just like he had inside that cell. But hope blossomed within him. Antoine's spirit didn't die on that deck. His spirit lived. It strengthened. And it would be in Nelson's mind forever. Until it would be his time to sacrifice for the greater good.

  Smoke blanketed the sight where the boat was, leftover debris lying on the surface of the water. Remains of a satisfying journey wobbled before sinking. The ocean wanted more, just like Nelson. More destruction. More death. He circled around, but saw no more bodies trying to leave their impending graves.

  With the excitement over, he overwhelming needed another taste. At this moment, Adam planned a large scale assault on the Union. Those dead bodies wouldn't be swept away by the sea, so he'd get longer to gawk at evil's painful deaths. It gave him pleasure.

  "Goodbye, Antoine," Nelson said aloud. His steady hands turned the jet and flew away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The long train ride through Russia only cemented Royal's distaste for the country more. It wasn't very pleasant looking. Even though nuclear weapons decimated the United States, Russia had no excuse for these ruined cities. Looting after the chemical attack on Doomsday left many stranded and citizens murdered. Being that much of her country ran from the nuclear disaster, not many knew a green gas spread from the Kremlin through much of Russia, as if any American would've cared anyway.

  She watched train stop after train stop of refugees attempting to board the train. Without tickets, they got kicked or punched to the ground. In the seat next to her, Zharkova didn't say much, her face always scowling like she'd been sitting at a slot machine for an hour without a single win. Their destination had been discussed briefly. Shut up, Aurora. We are going far. That's all you need to know.

  Anton kept quiet, as he always did around his mother, listening to music on an iPhone with headphones plugged into his ears. Everyone once in a while, checking to make sure his mother wasn't watching, he'd show his cellphone to Royal looking for approval. Not knowing a single musician or album art, she'd still give a nod of affirmation. Anton would go back to keeping his eyes closed and head back against the soft seat.

  By the time the train traveled to its last depot, no one was left on the train. Even the creepy gentleman in row A that kept ogling her legs departed two stops ago. The little girl in row B got off with her father at the last station. Too bad, because she enjoyed seeing the little girl giggle at the funny faces Royal made. Also at the last stop, most of the crew left. So now, as the train slowed to its final destination, it was just her and the Russian equivalent of Mommie Dearest. Thankfully, Zharkova, didn't attempt to make small talk. She didn't even tell Royal to follow her as the train halted and she stood to exit. There would be no cordial gathering from the witch, Royal doubted Zharkova would ever lift a finger to help anyone; the only finger she'd lift was the middle one. With a quick pat on the shoulder, Royal had to wake Anton or else Zharkova would've abandoned them both.

  They traveled down the walkway to the exit. Zharkova wore her Tuesday brunette wig that had even been topped off with a red ribbon, like her mind was a birthday gift. Royal wondered why women who donned wigs made it so obvious. Either because they thought no one would notice or they just don't care about other opinions; assuming the later. Royal couldn't see much out the windows anymore, which meant it must've been nighttime. So many luxuries faded out on Doomsday, including a simple watch. With hardly any sun, the time was either slightly dark time or non-slightly dark time.

  Without any luggage or personal items to bring, they stepped out of the train and into the dry chilly air. Immediately she found herself surprised at where they arrived at. Obviously, she hadn't expected Zharkova to take her to a theme park, but a shipping yard was far beyond Royal's expectations.

  The train personnel were already locking down pins and releasing air brakes by the time they walked onto solid ground. Amidst the heaps of various colored trailers and rusty old scrap metal there was an office trailer on cinder blocks. Zharkova scratched the back of her, causing her wig to shift with every shovel of those crusty nails.

  "How long we going to be here?" She asked, intending for Anton to answer, but Zharkova spoke louder.

  "All you goddamn Americans always in a rush. Just because Chicago burned down in a day, didn't mean it only took one to create it. Creation takes time, annihilation does not. So keep your mouth shut, Aurora. I'm in charge here." She said, banging on the office trailer door with the palm of her hand. Her words stung, Royal hated not being in control and even worse, not having a clue what was going on. Everyone should stick to plans, but something told her that the Russian witch didn't have one.

  Some sound that Royal could only assume was Russian lingo came from behind the door. Zharkova entered. The inside was more filthy than the outside, loads of coffee paper cups, empty bottles of Smirnoff, and stacks of paper nearly covered the only desk in the room. Sitting behind the desk, his chub sticking out over the arms of the chair, was some sweaty man. Without coming close to him, Royal could tell he must stink. Flies circled around a plate of leftover food.

  Not even a simple hello, Zharkova immediately started barking at the man in Russian sharp dialogue. She kept slapping his desk like there was a mosquito on it, hard and direct. Royal looked to Anton for some direction of what was happening, but he kept his head low. "What in tarnation is going on?" She asked him. He awaited permission from his mother to speak, but got none. Starting to feel useless in this endeavor, Royal stressed again, "If we gonna combine forces against the Union, I need to understand what's happening."

  "Do you see," the stranger behind the desk muttered, interrupting Zharkova's rant and leaving her speechless, "those containers out there?"

  Thrown aback, it hadn't occurred to Royal that the man had spoken to her. Not only did it surprise her that he spoke flawless English, but that he also had the nerve to interrupt Zharkova. She looked out the yellow stained window in bad need of Windex. By the dock, waves wobbled a large cargo ship with stacks of those same metal containers that were in the yard. "Um. Yeah."

  "They are filled with people," Anton said, suddenly feeling a sense of confidence since his mother's mouth had been shut.

  Containers filled with people made sense now. That was how rebels were being transported. "Well, what are you all hooting and hollering for then? This is great news. We can get people out."

  "They aren't alive, stupid girl. They're dead!" Zharkova spat out. "Thanks to this man's incompetence."

  With a smug face, the Russian shrugged, "I said the protests were a bad idea. We had guns, but they had better guns."

  Royal peeked out the window, reminding herself how many containers she saw outside. Blue, red, green, and yellow containers large enough to fit half a dozen cars were now caskets. "How many?" She whispered.

  "Eight thousand," Anton answered.

  Feeling faint, Royal slid into a seat, stacked with papers, by the window. This was what defeat felt like, the strength stolen from your legs. It didn't need to be said, the Union military was unstoppable. Without a clear plan as to how they would storm the castle, and not be murdered like all these people, Royal could only sense hopelessness.

  "That's what happens, Aurora, when you defy a government!" Zharkova said, snatching up her purse off the desk and exiting the trailer.

  Was this how rebellions fell? With thousands of lives dead and no report of it?

  "Look," the stranger said, "I don't usually do this, but I can arrange for your safe passage back."

  Royal turned, "Sorry?"

  "I've been smuggling Russians out of this country for months. I'm sure I could get an American back home…to where you belong." He lit up a cigar and took a big, sad puff. "The Union doesn't have a military of one country, but of all of the
m. Do you have any idea the arsenal they possess? We can't win. Might as well enjoy what's left of this life. In your own goddamn country." He reached in his drawer and pulled out a fresh bottle of vodka, snapping the cap open and pouring the liquid down his throat like it was water.

  Every morning Royal was awoken by the screams of Zharkova, she dreamed of going home. At least the silo made her feel welcome. Besides Anton's attempts at hospitality, Royal was imprisoned. A long boat ride across the Atlantic might be what she needed. "Please don't use the lord's name in vain," she whispered out the window. Adam's plan didn't take into account how to get passed the military to enter the castle and essentially dethrone Marcel Celest. Praying wouldn't stop a bullet from entering the skull.

  "Hurry up!" Zharkova said outside in Russian, which Royal actually understood since she said it a lot to Anton.

  Her son held the door open for Royal. "I'll bring you back in the morning to take the morning ship to America."

  Royal nodded and stood to leave.

  The train ride back seemed more lonely than the first. Zharkova had finally fell asleep, so Anton had done his best to comfort Royal with nonsensical chatter. One moment he talked about the influences of Rock and Roll music, then the next moment he'd talk about music as though it was dead. Maybe it was. Free speech got squashed by the Union, surely entertainment would be next.

  No one boarded the train in the first hour. In that time, Royal routinely spun a speech in her head of what to say to Adam. Things were different when Lloyd and Nina were alive, they had powers beyond what most could comprehend. She once saw Lloyd conjure a ball of bright light in his fist. Whoever they were, wherever they were from, they started the idea of a rebellion and Sirius Dawson strengthened it with words. Now all three of those people were dead. Maybe their idea was supposed to die with them.

  The train slowed to a stop. Even though it wasn't a peculiar action for this vehicle, Anton perked up and tried to glance out the window. Royal, just starting to get cozy enough to sleep finally, sighed, "What's got you all wound up?"

  "No one lives at this depot. Why are we stopping?"

  Before Royal could let the question sink into her head, the answer appeared before her. As the train pulled up, four black SUVs crowded the station. The words "Union Keepers" printed in plain white letters on the side.

  "Shit," Anton said. He immediately tried to shake his mother awake, but she kept slapping him away spouting Russian bitter words.

  Royal tried to think of what to do. Hiding seemed like an option, but surely they had access to tickets and who was on board. Running could work, but how far could they really go, especially with a crude elderly woman who'd probably complain the entire time. Growing up on an 80 acre farm, Royal had faced some dangerous animals. Coyotes used to circle the woods sometimes. If you ran, you were the prey. Sometimes standing your ground was the only option.

  "What should we do?" Anton asked Royal, as though he noticed her mind working to find a solution. Zharkova was already awake, her wig backwards and a bit of slobber still dangling from the lip.

  "They only bite if provoked," Royal said.

  "Stupid girl, I hope they gouge your eyes out first, Aurora!" Zharkova shouted.

  If the Russian leader kept calling her Aurora, the name of the sleeping beauty, one more time then Royal might gouge her eyes out. "Would you just sit down and shut your mouth, you old bat!"

  Zharkova gasped, her cane not nearly long enough to reach across the aisle way and hit Royal. If it was, she might've had second thoughts about verbally combatting the surrogate of evil in the form of a kindly old woman.

  The door to the cab slid open. Anton sat next to his mother; Royal hugged the wall closer like it was invisible and she could run out.

  Union Keepers always wore all black, with a slight hint of gray colors on the trim of their uniforms. Such a simple design, yet so much more terrifying than if they'd just dressed up as killer clowns. So far, only one entered with his eyes glued to the trio and his right hand resting on the firearm on his hip. Behind him, one more entered. The second was dressed different, beige colored turtle neck sweater with rolled up sleeves and blue colored jeans. Must have been someone important to forgo wearing the required textile.

  "Don't bother pulling out the firearm…they would've ran already." The man in charge said.

  He sounded like a robot! His voice computerized, but different than old man Albert who used to live across the farm that lost his voice to cancer. The man in charge stopped in the aisle between them. Royal wished that Anton had sat in the empty seat next to her and not to his mother, now she had no one to clasp too.

  "They could have guns, Sir," the Union Keeper said.

  The man in charge shrugged, "Search them, tie them up then. We don't need reasonable cause, remember?"

  Being a typical man, Anton tried to retaliate. He yelled something in Russian, but immediately got tackled against the seat and bound with handcuffs. He may have been a lot of things, a hippie, a vegan, and a musician, but that didn't mean he was a fighter. Being a typical woman, Royal tried to push and shove while screaming, "Leave him alone!" It didn't work, because of the butt of a gun knocked her down to the ground. In minutes, all three of them were cuffed to the back of the train cab. She'd never been cuffed before. Criminals were right, they did hurt.

  Certain that her death was imminent, Royal kept kicking as hard as she could, injuring the Union Keeper. If she was going down, one of the pack was going with her.

  "Everyone calm down," the robotic voice insisted. "We just want to talk. You've been a hard one to track, Mrs. Zharkova."

  She'd never seen the Russian leader scared, perhaps no one had. "General Vanderbilt, I assume?"

  The man in charge nodded. "Our reputations are well known, I take it." The general looked at Royal. "I know you, don't I? Secretary Declan's daughter. I actually listened to that podcast of yours. Maybe we wouldn't be in such a heap of trouble worldwide if you had just kept your mouth shut about government conspiracies. Building up resistance before a resistance was even needed."

  General Vanderbilt? Royal did recognize the name. Radio said this madman had been acquitted of killing Sirius Dawson. Sirius Dawson, the voice of the movement and Royal's best friend. She tried to kick at him, but the other Union Keeper kept her at a distance.

  "Feisty," Vanderbilt commented, "just like your father. What's it like being the child of a mass shooter?"

  "You murdered my best friend!" Royal shouted. Trying to calmly handle this situation went out the window awhile ago, either she got beat by Keepers or got beat by Zharkova with an old bat for calling her an old bat.

  He snorted, "Sirius Dawson? Yeah, I did. And it didn't stop you a-holes from trying to shut the Union down. Maybe we gotta try something different?"

  The Union Keeper sneered, "I say we torture them, Sir. Send them back to their people with a missing limb. That'll send a message." Biting his lip, the Keeper seemed as excited as an empty stomach on Thanksgiving Day.

  "Maybe we should," Vanderbilt instigating him. "No one would know."

  "Can I have my way with the girl, Sir?" He requested, ogling at Royal.

  Vanderbilt shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

  With no use of her hands, Royal could only use her words. She felt daring at this height of total fear. "Bring it!"

  The Keeper's eyes bulged out as he approached Royal. Still attempting to be the hero, Anton lurched forward with arms cuffed behind him and slammed the Keeper over, but he was no challenge to the military's training. The Keeper did some swift kicks and punches, leaving Anton bloody and on the ground. Royal had seen first hand that their enemies had more than weapons, they had fighting style. Her bravery melted away.

  Then a gunshot boomed in the cab. The Keeper's brains splattered over the carpet and Royal's jeans. Everything happened so quickly, she just sat there with her mouth half opened. The Keeper's body crashed to the floor, with only a partial skull left. If Zharkova hadn't forced Royal to watch th
ose gruesome videos, this might've made her vomit.

  At first, she assumed Anton had somehow gotten his hands on a gun. Or maybe Zharkova. But she was wrong in both guesses.

  Standing above the dead Keepers, with his revolver still giving off a bit of smoke, General Vanderbilt took a deep breath and sighed. "So difficult to find any sane ones. They all don't get the big picture." The maniac took out a napkin and wiped the blood off his gun. "You must have wondered, more than once, why I sound like a robot. Well, let me tell you. My windpipe was cracked and my vocal chord dislodged; there's a metal box in my throat to help me speak and breath." He wiggled and scratched his throat. "Very uncomfortable. You know who did this to me? Brent Celest. You want to know why? Because my actions caused the death of Sirius Dawson." He put away his gun into the holster. "I've had a change of heart recently. No, I'm not joining your ignorantly named movement. Actually, it's more of an acceptance rather than a change of heart. Stricken for the rest of my life to sound like I'm inside of a trash can, I've come to accept that I'm trying to stop a movement that builds from somewhere we can't kill…inside the heart. This isn't uniformly dressed opponents, like the Syrians. The People of Bliss could be anybody. So, instead, I need the rebellion to come to us. The Union Castle is well guarded, but perfect for a final brawl, wouldn't you say? I bet that's been the plan all along, huh?" Vanderbilt stood over Royal, down on the ground he looked twice as tall and intimidating. "Well, all I've got to say is…bring it." He smirked and turned to walk to the door out.

  Zharkova, not saying or doing much besides huddling in the corner the entire time, finally crawled over and consoled her beaten son.

  "Oh!" Vanderbilt said, door somewhat ajar, "One more thing." He gazed into Royal's eyes. "You want to know how Sirius Dawson died? I mean, not the act of it…but how?"

  Royal gave no answer, still trying to catch her breath.