Thy Kingdom Come (Navitas Post-Apocalyptic Series)

by Daniel Adorno

  "Dex, start the car!" he yells, pounding the man beneath him.

  I lunge toward the car door and drop into the driver's seat. My mother is screaming at the top of her lungs. The crowd almost surrounds us before I get the engine running and plant my foot on the accelerator. I swerve like a madman to avoid the wrecked cars around us.

  "Your father! You can't leave him!" my mother screams.

  But it's too late. In the rear view mirror, I see the crowd surround him and claw at him before he becomes a speck in the distance. My mother's sobs add to my guilt as I drive faster and maneuver through the highway. Crashed cars and wandering people, some pale and some not, whizz by on either side of the street.

  "I'm sorry, Mom. Dad told me to get out of here. He told me—"

  "Watch out!" my mother yells.

  A large, obese man stands in the center of the road. I slam my foot on the brake. The tires screech and we skid to a halt a few feet in front of the fat pale man. He watches us with hungry eyes then leaps with supernatural speed onto the hood of our car. With one bulky arm, he backhands the windshield and cracks it open on my mother's side. Broken glass flies at us both, but my mother gets the brunt of it.

  The fat man sticks his bloodied arm inside, trying to grab my mother. I stomp the accelerator. The sudden burst of movement causes the man to lose his footing on the car. He slumps forward, but reaches out to grip the hole in the windshield like a jagged handhold. I press harder on the gas, picking up speed. He regains his footing on the hood and rears back to punch the glass again.

  I hit the brakes.

  The obese man is catapulted off the hood and hits the street like a sack of potatoes. I grin despite the gravity of the situation, but my triumph doesn't last long. I glance at my mother and see her face and blouse are covered in blood. Dozens of glass shards are poking out of her face, neck, and chest like needles.

  "Mom?" I say, barely able to speak.

  "Dex—" she says. Her voice is weak and low. "More coming..."

  I follow where her eyes are looking. More pale people appear on the street and advance in our direction. A few of them break off from their companions and sprint toward us. The car's wheels screech again as I push the accelerator and go. I don't swerve. A few of them hang on to the sides of the car, but I shake them off by braking and zigzagging along the highway.

  My first instinct is to drive my mother to the nearest hospital, but St. Paul is a war zone. Every corner is full of car wrecks and pale people. Every so often, I glimpse normal people running on the streets or driving away from the chaos, but they are overrun by mobs of these mindless humans. Miles go by and the chaos lessens as we reach the outskirts of the city.

  "I'm going to take you to the Grays, Mom. Mrs. Gray can help you—just hang on!" I say.

  My mother nods, but says nothing. Her breathing has become labored and her eyes are drooping more with each passing minute. I try to drive faster, but I'm forced to slow down whenever a random wreck or pale person gets in the way. When the number of vehicles and people on the road lessen, I push harder on the pedal and go twice the speed limit to Forest Lake. Frantic prayers echo in my mind for my mother. I beg God to spare her the same fate as my father. Half an hour later, I reach the Grays' house. But I’m too late.

  My mother's eyes are glazed over and her breathing is labored. She looks paler than the things that attacked us. I jump out of the car and run over to the passenger's side to lift her out, but she lays a bloody hand on my forearm to stop me.

  "Mom, we're here. Come on, let's go inside, okay?" I say, fighting back tears. I don't want to be weak right now. I want to be strong like my father.

  "Dex...be safe," She whispers. "We love you—"

  She exhales and doesn't breathe again, her eyes still fixed on mine. Everything becomes a blur after that moment. I can't remember when Mr. Gray took me aside or when Mrs. Gray tried resuscitating my mother. All I remember is a gray sky and mud beneath my feet.

  When the memory fades, I realize my face is wet from crying and my shirt is drenched in sweat. My hand aches from holding the radio and I'm not sure how long I've been talking.

  "Dex. I'm so, so sorry,” Cassidy says. I can hear sniffles on her end.

  "Yeah, me too, Cassie.” I’m emotionally exhausted and yet relaxed at the same time. A long silence passes between us, but neither of us seems to mind. "Despite everything that’s happened. It feels good to tell someone,” I say finally.

  "Yeah, I bet.”

  "I've got to get out of here. Can’t stay anymore."

  "Why not?"

  "I want to find my Uncle Richard. I want to know why this happened, and he's the only person who can tell me."

  "Oh, right, he worked at Dronis. But you can't go there, Dex. The city is crawling with Mindless," she warns. I can picture the fretful look on her face.

  "I’ll take my chances, Cassie. If he’s alive, I need to find him."

  "But how?"

  "I don’t know. But I’ll figure something out."

  Seven

  My plan to run away is simple. I'll sneak out of the house in the middle of the night when everyone’s asleep. During the day, I can pack food and clothes in a leather backpack I’ve hidden in the master closet upstairs. Ever since the surgery, the Grays have been more attentive to Zechariah and I’ve had more freedom to go outside with little resistance, so packing for my trip should go unnoticed.

  Cassidy didn't like my plan of running away and leaving the Grays behind. I tried to explain to her how hard it's been living in a basement for so long, but that argument fell flat. Cassidy's been cooped up in a house for over a year and hasn't gone outside since her mother died. Garrett keeps her inside, afraid she'll be infected like her mother. I thought Mr. Gray was tough on Zechariah because of his implant, but that's minor compared to Garrett's paranoia. Cassidy admitted that Garrett sometimes asks her to recite the alphabet and spell her name backwards to make sure her mind is still uninfected. "He's just worried about me, it's no big deal," she says. But it’s a big deal to me. Garrett's losing it, but I’m not surprised; the man witnessed his wife turn into a Mindless before he shot and killed her.

  It doesn't excuse what's he's doing to Cassidy. So on the way to the Dronis Biotech headquarters, I'm going to rescue her. Cassidy's house is in a St. Paul neighborhood and Dronis is across the river in Minneapolis. The detour will delay my search for Uncle Richard, but I don’t care. If Garrett can’t keep a grip on reality, my best friend’s life is in danger.

  Around noon, I finish my lunch in the basement with Mr. and Mrs. Gray and offer to wash all the dishes.

  "Thank you, Dex. That's very kind," Mrs. Gray says, a slight smile forming on her face. She looks tired and her hair is more unkempt than usual. I'm guessing she had a rough night worrying over Zechariah.

  "Have you talked with Zechariah yet, Dex?" Mr. Gray asks, handing me a finished plate.

  "No, not yet. I didn't want to disturb him when he's still recuperating," I say, averting eye contact since I'm lying. Zechariah and I haven't spoken since our spat about my parents. We never resolved our argument, but I'd rather leave him in peace rather than try to fix things now.

  "All right, well I'll sit with him while you take a nap, Jess," Mr. Gray says.

  "I'm fine. I can--"

  "You're exhausted. Take a nap. He'll be fine," Mr. Gray insists.

  I gather all the plates and head to the laundry room, leaving them to continue debating. While they talk, I use the opportunity to search through the food cabinets and stuff my pockets with a few MREs and cans of food. I try to choose the least favorite meals like canned green beans, vegetarian MREs, and corned hash—whatever I can survive on. But I indulge myself and grab a can of peaches for dessert. Taking plenty of water will be easy since the Grays have an abundant supply of it from their own well. I need to remember to grab a canteen from the shed outside and fill it for the trip.

  Once the dishes are washed and my pockets are filled with food, I slip ups
tairs while the Grays continue talking. When I reach the master bedroom, I pull my leather backpack from the closet and pack the food inside. Over the course of the day, I collected ten cans and a dozen MREs along with two extra pairs of clothes, matches, and my radio. Unfortunately, I can't find anything to use as a decent weapon against the Mindless. Mr. Gray keeps his handgun hidden and his rifle is always near him. I could snatch a butcher knife or something sharp from the shed. I'll wait until everyone's asleep to find something.

  I head back to the basement, trying to be as stealthy as possible. I'm sure I can come up with a good lie for being upstairs on the fly if I'm caught, but I'd rather not raise suspicion. As I descend from the landing, Mr. and Mrs. Gray are still talking in the family room, but their voices are hushed. Curious, I sidle toward the adjoining wall of the room and listen.

  "We're running out of painkillers, Malcolm. He will be in lots of pain if I can't have something on hand," Mrs. Gray whispers.

  "There's still lots of aspirin in the pantry, Jess." Mr. Gray replies.

  "Over-the-counter meds won't be strong enough. Zechariah needs stronger medicine, especially after such a major surgery. Morphine, oxycodone, codeine—strong narcotic drugs."

  "Jess, we need to make due without. There's nowhere nearby that supplies any of that stuff. Drugs are the first thing looters would steal so they can barter with pushers."

  "Perhaps. There’s a clinic in downtown Forest Lake, they couldn't have looted them both," Mrs. Gray says.

  "Downtown? That's Lake Street Gang territory. That's the worst place to look for supplies."

  "Malcolm, our son needs medication. If you won't go find it then I will."

  I can hear a slight cracking in Mrs. Gray's voice. And then there's silence before Mr. Gray speaks.

  "You know how foolish it would be for you to leave, Jess. You're the doctor and he's your patient. He needs you by his side."

  "Well, then you have to go!" Mrs. Gray sobs.

  "Babe, I can't leave you all here alone. If more Mindless came when I was gone...I could never live with myself."

  The silence returns for a time until I hear Mrs. Gray's muffled sobs. Mr. Gray is probably holding her close. Pangs of guilt hit me as I process everything. I can't leave this family now. Not when they're in need. The memory of my father's disappointment for abandoning people that needed help plays back inside my head. Despite my guilt, there's also anger raging inside. I want to leave this place and find answers. Why did this happen? And what is anyone doing about it? Uncle Richard knows, I'm confident of that.

  Maybe there's a way I can help the Grays and find Richard? Downtown Forest Lake is on my way to St. Paul, so perhaps I could get medicine for Zechariah and bring it back here. I'd have to steal a car to cut down the travel time, which might prove difficult. The other problem is convincing Mr. Gray to let me leave. Running away was the solution to that snag in my plan.

  Footsteps approach in my direction—I've been standing against the wall too long. I walk casually into the family room like I've just finished the dishes and nearly collide with Mr. Gray.

  "Sorry Mr. Gray!"

  "Whoa, Dex," Mr. Gray says, stopping mid-step to avoid running into me. "I was just about to see if you drowned in the sink."

  I force a smile. "Yeah, I was kinda daydreaming in there for a bit, but the plates are all clean."

  "Good. Listen, could you go watch over Zechariah for a few minutes?" He asks. "I need to go search for something in our bedroom upstairs and Mrs. Gray is taking a nap on the couch."

  I hesitate for a moment like a deer caught in headlights. I'm not sure what I hate more: Mr. Gray digging around the master bedroom where my backpack is hidden or being forced to talk with Zechariah by being in the same room. "Sure, I can do that," I say, unable to find an escape from my predicament.

  "Excellent," Mr. Gray says, patting me on the shoulder. He walks past me and stomps up the stairs. I exhale then head towards the Grays bedroom.

  The Grays' bedroom is windowless and dim like the rest of the basement. A small candle flickers atop a cherry oak dresser in the corner of the square room, casting eerie shadows on the large bed along the wall. I'm relieved to find that Zechariah is sleeping and hold onto the hope I might still avoid an awkward conversation. I sit on a rickety chair next to the bed, taking in the state of my now disabled friend. His amputated leg is bandaged in several layers at the stump and elevated on a stack of pillows. The pallid color of his skin has receded, but it is still paler than the dark, brown complexion I remember. His wide mouth is open, letting out a light snore as he slumbers. Part of me is happy to see him resting so well while another part is saddened to see him in this wounded state.

  I glance at a grandfather clock near the dresser and grimace. It's only been five minutes since Mr. Gray went upstairs, but I grow anxious with each passing minute. The longer he searches the room for whatever he wants, the greater the chance he'll find my packed supplies. I wanted to tell him upfront about leaving and proposing a way to bring back medicine for Zechariah. But if he finds out before I tell him, it'll be much harder to persuade him to let me go.

  I take a deep breath and exhale, trying to clear my head of worry.

  "Mom, is that you?" Zechariah asks. His eyes open slightly, but he doesn't turn to see me.

  I try to keep quiet, hoping he'll fall asleep and not notice I'm here. But when he yawns and stretches, I see his eyes glance my way.

  "Dex?"

  "Hey, Zechariah. How are you feeling, dude?" I say, hoping to keep this casual.

  "Like a lion is gnawing at my leg," he replies. His face contorts as he sits up on the bed. "Where have you been?"

  "Oh, you know just running errands for your Dad. Edith needed milking and dinner isn't going to make itself when your mother is busy caring for you."

  "Right," Zechariah says, looking down at his bandaged stump. "Dad told me you volunteered to do the surgery. That was brave."

  I'm taken aback by the compliment, but I continue to keep it light. "Hey, you would have done the same for me, don't worry about it."

  "I'm sorry, Dex."

  "For what?" I say, afraid where this may be going.

  "I shouldn't have tried to be brave and take on that sparkhound by myself," he says. I notice a slight glimmer in his eyes in the candlelight.

  I struggle to find comforting words. I want to tell him he's right, he has to stop trying to prove something to his father. But I say nothing instead.

  He wipes the corners of his eyes then looks at me. "I'm also sorry about trying to make you talk before."

  There it is. I nod in response to the apology, but keep my mouth shut. Guilt sets in though when a silence passes between us. I don't want to recount what happened on IlluMonday, partly because of how much emotional effort it took to tell Cassidy. But I also don't want to cry in front of Zechariah. He's a close friend, but he's also younger than me and I feel like being vulnerable around him will make me look weak. My mother's voice rails against my hesitance though and my conscience wins out.

  "Listen, about my parents…" I begin. "Here's what happened that day."

  I recount the entire story to Zechariah, holding it together through all the painful details. It's easier telling it the second time and I wonder if this is what therapy sessions used to be like decades ago before psychological conditioners became popular for people with mental issues. When I finish, I'm not sweaty or exhausted like I was with Cassidy. I prepare myself for a myriad of questions from Zechariah, but he doesn't say anything. His head is drooped with his arms folded across his chest.

  "I'm really sorry that happened, Dex," he says at last. "Your parents were good people. They didn't deserve to die like that."

  I shudder involuntarily at his words, overcome with a surge of emotion I can't control. Don't cry, I tell myself. But it's too late. Hot tears spill out on my cheeks. I sniffle loudly then cover my face with my hand, taking deep breaths. The sadness and images of that day pass, allowing me to gain
composure again. "That was a hard day," I say, forcing a smile.

  Zechariah nods and opens his mouth to say something, but Mr. Gray enters the room before he says anything.

  "Sorry am I interrupting?" Mr. Gray asks. His tone is sarcastic and his eyes are fixed on me. Disapproval is visible on his face.

  "No. What's up?" I say. Then I notice he's carrying something dark and bulky in his hand.

  "Oh nothing, I just thought you could explain this to me, Dex," he says, tossing the object at my feet. Cans of food and supplies spill out from the black leather backpack onto the floor. My stomach wrenches as I look up to meet Mr. Gray's stern gaze and realize I've got some explaining to do.