Thy Kingdom Come (Navitas Post-Apocalyptic Series)

by Daniel Adorno

  The high voltage propels the Mindless backward. He rises for a second, but falls down in a smoldering heap. I’m still standing motionless holding my blade. The sword Uncle Richard gave me is a technological wonder I can’t comprehend. But who made it? Why did he give it to me and why does it shoot lightning like some god-like weapon? I can’t wait to ask him. And he’d better have answers.

  “Is it dead?” Lela moans.

  “I don’t know. Maybe?” I say, turning toward her. A round welt is forming on her forehead where the Mindless hit her. She walks over to Bill, checking his pulse. The look of relief on her face tells me he’s still alive.

  I turn back to the Mindless, whose head is smoking from the electrical burn. Walking up to the body, I can see where the bolt struck. His left temple is completely charred. The Navitas implant is fried, which might have shut down the rest of his body’s functions. I’m not sure how Mindless physiology works, but Mrs. Gray believed the implants were the central nervous system of the virus. It’s probably why they’re so hard to kill. Their bodies don’t register pain, but a few shots to the brain stops them dead. Not this Mindless though. He was different—faster, stronger, and more intelligent than the others. Perhaps he shouldn’t even be considered a Mindless at all. The thought of an intelligent breed of Mindless frightens me.

  “You’re bleeding,” Lela says, walking over and pointing at my nose.

  “It’s nothing. I’ll be all right. How’s your grandfather?” I ask, sliding my sword into its scabbard.

  “He’s breathing and got a heartbeat, but I think he’s got a concussion,” she says with a tremble in her voice.

  “We’ll find someone in the city to help him,” I say, trying to sound optimistic. It’s unlikely any doctors are still alive in St. Paul, but there might a survivor willing to help us. I walk over to the gaping hole the Mindless left and see the city skyline come into view ahead. Pillars of smoke rise from several areas, mostly situated in the downtown. “We’re nearly to the St. Paul station, aren’t we?”

  “I think so. I’ve only taken the tram here once or twice—” she says. Bill groans. She kneels beside him and he says something unintelligible.

  “Grandpa, I don’t know what you’re saying,” she says with widened eyes.

  “The…station…slow down…tram,” he mutters.

  I head toward the driver car before Lela figures it out. We’re moving at top speed and need to slow down or we’ll fly by the station. Inside the driver car, I grip the acceleration lever Bill was fiddling with on the console. I pull on it, but it doesn’t budge. Thinking there must be a release switch, I check the rest of the console and catch a red error flashing on one of the screens. The message reads:

  Acceleration mechanical failure. Powertrain struts damaged.

  The blood rushes out of my face and I yank on the lever several times in a panic. It must have been the Mindless or the explosions. They damaged the tram and now we can’t stop.

  Ping ping ping! An alarm screeches in the cabin. Before I can figure out what’s causing it, the doors slide open. Lela steps in with Bill, who’s leaning on her shoulder for support. “What’s happening?” she asks.

  “Look,” I say, pointing at the error screen. “We can’t stop. That’s why that alarm is going off.”

  “No, that ain’t it,” Bill says. “That’s the crash proximity alert. We’re getting too close to something.”

  “Oh no,” I whisper, looking out the glass in front of me. About a half mile ahead is a derailed light rail tram scattered along the track. We’re going to crash into it in less than a minute.

  I don’t think. I just run. I pull Lela and Bill with me outside of the driver car. They run alongside me to the hole left by the Mindless. We jump out of the speeding tram. The air buffets our bodies as we soar through the air. My wounded body crashes onto a rocky surface that scrapes my arms, legs, and face. Before I find the strength to stand, the loud clang of metal rings in my ears as the light rail collides with the derailed tram.

  For a while everything is fuzzy until Lela helps me to my feet. She’s got scrapes all over her face and arms too. We landed in a rock bed next to the tracks. Bill is sitting on a tree stump near the rocks, surveying the damage. Smoke billows from the crash, obscuring the St. Paul skyline just a mile away. The sleek skyscrapers are like an ominous mountain range, dividing the rural and suburban north of Minnesota from the ultramodern urban world.

  While I wipe off the bits of rock embedded in my arms and face, Lela and I gaze around the area. A few yards from the track is a mangled electric fence with an opening leading onto a suburban street. I recognize the area at once. We’re just outside the Como Park area, near the highway where my father died. It’s a rich neighborhood with large houses dating back centuries, but some are from the 2000s—my grandfather’s era. Cassidy’s house is about a dozen blocks away.

  “We should get moving,” Bill says, hobbling towards us.

  “You need to take it easy first,” Lela says. “Sit down and rest, Grandpa.”

  “No time for that. We’re sitting ducks out here. Who knows how many Mindless are about. Let’s find shelter and figure out a plan to find Charlie,” he says.

  Lela winces at the mention of her brother’s name, but keeps her thoughts to herself.

  “I know somewhere we can find shelter,” I say abruptly.

  Lela gives me a sideways glance. “Your friend? The one in trouble?”

  “Yes. She doesn’t live far from here,” I say. Garrett will be unwelcoming to visitors, but he doesn’t worry me as much as the Mindless. I know they’re more populous here. The city is a feast of electricity and potential hosts for Navitas. I need to be more vigilant than I was in Forest Lake. Dying now when I’m so close to saving Cassidy would be beyond tragic. “If we follow that road, it’s only a half-hour walk from here, I’d bet,” I say, pointing beyond the hole in the fence.

  “Why is your friend in trouble?” Bill asks, narrowing his eyes.

  “I’ll tell you on the way,” I say, walking past him toward the tracks and the smoldering light rail cars.

  “Where are you going?” Lela yells after me.

  “To get my sword.”

  Twenty

  My stomach aches from hunger after we pass the second cross street in the Como Park neighborhood. I lost my backpack in the tram wreckage, probably buried under all the twisted metal. The canned food and supplies that Mrs. Gray packed are all gone, making our depressing situation all the more dire. On a more positive note, I retrieved my sword from the debris along with Bill’s rifle. Lela hung on to her shotgun before the crash, so even though we’re all starving, at least we’re armed. It’s likely Garrett still has food left upstairs we can eat and give to Cassidy. At least, that’s my hope.

  The walk in the neighborhood is surprisingly serene. There’s no sign that the large houses along the sidewalk are broken into or that any Mindless inhabit the area. Even still, Bill tells us to be cautious, which means weapons drawn at all times. We also keep our voices low when we speak to be safe. There’s little to chat about until Bill asks me about Cassidy. I explain the situation in much the same way I did to Lela: Cassidy is locked in a basement and will starve if nobody lets her out. But unlike Lela, Bill perceives that there’s more to the story.

  “Who locked her in the basement?” He asks.

  I hesitate, but eventually answer. “Her father.”

  Lela scoffs. “Seriously? That’s messed up.”

  “He lost his wife to the Mindless, so he’s been on edge ever since,” I say.

  The truth is Garrett’s behavior is inexcusable. This isn’t the first time he’s been abusive. Years before IlluMonday, the police arrested Garrett after a domestic violence call to his house. Cassidy told me he struck her mom across the face after a heated argument. The argument was about Cassidy going to my church’s youth group every week. Garrett hated all of his daughter’s religious convictions and commitment to church. But after the arrest, he
came around and attended church regularly with his family. It didn’t seem genuine though. He never socialized much and had a sarcastic tone whenever he spoke, and not in a funny way. More like arrogance and contempt hidden between everything he said. In the back of my mind, I always wondered if he would become abusive again. I guess with the loss of his wife and the desperate situation we’re in, I shouldn’t be surprised that he did.

  "Is he armed?" Bill asks, scrutinizing the alleyways behind a row of houses nearby.

  "He is. He owns two rifles. A few handguns as well," I reply. Garrett liked to go hunting during deer season every year, so I know he's stocked on ammunition and weapons. I'm praying we can reason with him.

  "Well if he's as crazy as he sounds. We might have to put him down, Dex," Bill says.

  "Let's just save Cassidy first. We'll worry about Garrett afterward," I say, ignoring Bill's suggestion.

  After we pass another row of empty houses, we reach a bend in the suburb that winds left into an intersection. The intersecting street runs into the main highway and then to downtown St. Paul. Up ahead there’s a cul de sac with five similar houses, each a different color than the next. The red one in the middle is Cassidy's house. Memories of sitting on the front porch enter my mind. We'd sit and play stupid games on our mobile pads for hours. During the summer, I'd stay late to watch the sun dip below the branches of the sycamore tree in the front yard until it disappeared into the horizon. Cassidy thought I was weird for doing that. She called me a hopeless romantic. I loved coming here.

  But the nostalgia wears off as we walk up to the house. The windows are boarded up in a haphazard way and the porch I shared with Cassidy is barricaded with sandbags and cement blocks—restricting any access to the front door. Garrett has transformed the house into a fort.

  "You think he's got landmines in the lawn?" Lela asks sardonically.

  "I wouldn't put it past him," I say, stepping onto the driveway. "I'll check the egress window around back. We can sneak inside from there."

  "Lela, go with him. I'll stay out here and keep watch."

  "Grandpa, we haven't seen any Mindless here. You can stop whispering now—"

  "The Mindless are the least of my worries," he says, scrutinizing the house.

  Lela shakes her head and walks alongside me to the back. Uncut grass and weeds dominate Cassidy's backyard. Black bags of trash are piled in a heap in the corner of the growing wilderness. A single mound of dirt rises above the grass—Marcie Stoke’s grave. A simple wooden cross sticks out from the mound.

  Along the house’s foundation, I spot the egress window and it’s boarded up too. I slip the blade of my sword into the thin gap between the boards and the window. Tugging the hilt toward me, I pry the first board loose. Lela uses her hands to grab hold of the second board and pries it loose after a few pulls. Once the window is clear, we both peek inside. The window is caked with grime, making it difficult to see anything.

  "I don't see anyone. Maybe they skipped town?" Lela suggests.

  "Doubtful," I say, pulling on the window to get it open. It's locked. Garrett would have thought of that. "Step back, Lela. I'm going to kick it in."

  She laughs. "Look at you. Breaking and entering."

  I smash my foot against the glass. Crunch! A large spider-web crack appears in the center of the window. I kick it again, harder this time. The satisfying sound of glass cracking follows my second attempt. I hope Garrett didn't hear that. Lela uses the butt of her shotgun to clear the shards from the egress opening before I crawl through the window into the dark basement.

  The pungent smell of mold is strong inside. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust, but I soon realize that I'm in the utility room where the washer and dryer are kept. The lid of the washer is open and a small bucket is sitting inside, filled to the brim with clean water. I bet Cassidy found a better source of water than that rusty pipe. To my left is a closed door. I wait for Lela to descend into the room before turning the doorknob.

  "Wait," Lela whispers. "I should go first. I've got the shotgun."

  She's right. The sword won’t be any good against Garrett if he's armed. Not unless I can get it to shoot lightning again which is unlikely. "Fine. You go first."

  I open the door for her slowly and she tiptoes through with the shotgun aimed ahead of her. The short hallway outside the utility room leads into the family room where Cassidy and I hung out most of the time. The leather couch we sat on to watch holo streams and talk for hours is still here. In the dim light I can see something lying there. Long flowing hair spills from a lithe frame on the couch onto the floor—it's Cassidy!

  I run to her without hesitation. My hands clasp her shoulders to turn her over. Just as I'm fearing the worst, she jumps back from my grasp.

  "No, no!" She screams, stretching her arms out to shield herself.

  "Cassidy, it's me! It's Dex," I say, trying to sound calm.

  She keeps her arms up, but looks at me with doleful eyes before recognition sets in. "Dex?"

  "Yes, Cassidy," I say, offering a smile.

  She throws her arms around me in a tight embrace that nearly knocks me over. A torrent of sobs escapes her and despite my efforts to comfort her, she continues to cry.

  "We need to be quick, Dex," Lela says, looking around cautiously.

  "Cassidy, we need to go. I'm getting you out of here before your Dad finds us," I whisper.

  Her hold on me loosens and she pulls away. Tears stain her reddened face and she nods.

  "I won't let him hurt you again, okay?"

  "It's not his fault, Dex. He's suffered so much," she says.

  "We all have." I say, avoiding the urge to argue about Garrett's state of mind right now. I help her up off the couch and take in how frail she looks. Starvation will do that to you. Once we deal with Garrett, I need to find some food.

  Lela checks the hallway and then gives us an all-clear by waving toward the utility room. Before we cross the doorway into the crammed room, a gunshot fires. We drop to the ground. My heart pounds as I search the hallway behind us for Garrett. There's no one except Lela crouched on the ground searching for the shooter.

  "I think it came from outside," Cassidy says.

  "Bill." I glance at Lela, who's face has turned white. She dashes past us and bounds toward the egress window before I can stop her. I scramble to my feet and help Cassidy up. Then she clutches my arm.

  "Dex, you have to let me talk to him," Cassidy pleads.

  "No, you're not getting near him, Cassidy," I say. "You're getting out of here. Once you get outside, I want you to take cover in the backyard somewhere."

  "Aren't you coming?"

  "I have to find your Dad before he kills somebody."

  She tries to protest, but I ignore it and lead her to the egress window. From the light of the window, I can see her eyes are bloodshot and her skin is paler than normal. Another day in this basement prison and she’d be dead. “Please, Dex. Get him to stop,” she pleads. I nod to appease her, but I’m fully aware of how this might end with Garrett. After a brief embrace, I help Cassidy scale the wall until she can crawl out on her own. She looks down at me to say something, but another round of shots are fired. It's her cue to do what I said, so she runs off to the backyard.

  I grab my sword then head back through the hallway and into the family room. There's a staircase around the corner leading to the main floor where Garrett is shooting from. I take slow steps up each stair, hoping the old wood doesn’t creak loud enough to alert him. The door at the top of the landing is locked. I wedge my sword into the door jamb, hoping I can somehow pry it open, but after a few minutes of frustration I give up. That leaves me with one option: kicking the door open. The only problem is Garrett will definitely hear it, putting me right in his cross hairs. But a clever thought pops into my mind. If I time my kick with the next round of gunfire, it’ll drown out the noise. It’s the only plan I have at the moment, so I wait.

  Beads of sweat drip down my forehead as I wait.
Every second that passes makes me doubt whether Lela and Bill are still alive. Did they get shot by Garrett? My heart pounds so loud I can hear the whoosh of blood in my ears. Then the gunshots start. I pull back from the door and kick it with all my weight. The wood of the doorjamb splinters, signaling my success. I run inside before the shooting ceases.

  On the landing, I see bullets scattered all over the floor. A closet door across from me is opened wide and I breathe a sigh of relief once I realize what’s inside—Garrett’s guns. The rifle racks lining the wall are empty, but there’s a revolver still sitting on a shelf above them. I take it and start a frantic search for bullets. Most of the ammunition available is of a larger caliber, but at the bottom of the closet, I find a half-empty ammo box with revolver rounds. Once the gun is loaded, I sheathe my sword then head down an adjacent hallway. I’ve been here enough times to know that the hall ends at the kitchen, so I stop short of entering it. Garrett is an expert hunter like Mr. Gray, so he’ll probably be holed up in the room with the best vantage point against an intruder—the living room. The kitchen connects to a dining alcove across from the living room. A breakfast bar in the kitchen divides the two spaces, so once I step past it, Garrett will have a clear shot if he’s in the living room.