Last Days Trilogy

by Jacqueline Druga

  Devante watched silently for a couple of minutes, seemingly spellbound. “Who is he?” he asked finally. “And how does he have all those people listening to him?”

  “He’s what they call The Pope.”

  “The Pope?”

  “Catholics believe he’s God’s right-hand man.”

  Devante seemed offended. “There is no such thing.”

  “You and I may know that. But...” Rev. Bailey pointed to the television. “...not these people. They listen to his counsel.” Rev. Bailey paused. “And he’s telling them... not to believe in you.”

  Devante looked at the Reverend, then back to the television, and smiled.

  Seville, Ohio

  Kyle tried to filter out any religious bias when he watched the news about Devante. To Kyle, Devante was a walking, talking contradiction, an anomaly. Not to mention all the phony trappings: the grandeur of his speech, the stadiums, the all-believing crowds, the cheesy script from a dog-eared Bible. Kyle cheered the young U.S. President when, during an emergency press conference, he denounced Devante as a dangerous religious eccentric and scoffed patently at his prophesies of biblical disaster. Kyle literally applauded when the President scolded a reporter for suggesting that the Federal Emergency Management Agency evacuate Chicago.

  Then came the black rain. It was a rain with the consistency of black tar that fell thickly upon the Vatican, until it was transformed into millions of snakes, dropping from the sky as the Pope called for all believers in God to unite against Devante.

  Kyle began to reconsider.

  Later that afternoon, the tenor of the news changed drastically, and with it Kyle’s now-mercurial beliefs. Kyle’s head spun. But it didn’t spin enough for him to lose focus of what he had to do.

  “...with the plan set to be in full swing within one hour in an attempt to evacuate three million-plus people who live in Chicago and the greater vicinity before the noon-time destruction predicted by Devante.”

  Kyle looked once more to the television, then to the revolver on his lap. He checked the chamber and placed it in a knapsack.

  “The Federal Emergency Management Agency’s Jack Ross is confident about the evacuation plans, and says if everyone follows the procedures posted on the emergency broadcasting station or at local municipal buildings, a safe evacuation will be complete hours before the deadline.”

  Kyle unfroze at Eliza’s words as she stood at the kitchen door. “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she said. “Herbie got the help there.”

  “And I appreciate Herbie. But …they’re evacuating, Eliza. How long do you think they’ll keep on digging?”

  “Army transport vehicles, buses and planes are being moved into the city as I speak. Authorities are urging all those in Chicago to comply by the evacuation rules and obey martial law, which officially went into effect at midnight. Downtown Chicago is the central starting point for evacuation...”

  “See?” Kyle pointed to the television. “That’s where the Institute is located. Center of town. They’ll stop digging. You have the money right? I’ll need it if I’m to get them two out of the city... if I can find them, that is.”

  “I have it,” Eliza sighed. “You’re going straight to the Institute?”

  “Yes. They’re in there and alive. Herbie said their phone was gonna die, but they would too, unless we get them out.” Kyle set the knapsack on the floor.

  “...Joliet, Aurora, and Gary, Indiana will be the seven locations set up for camps where Chicago residents will wait until the all-clear is given.”

  Kyle grabbed his keys and rushed to the smaller bedroom, where his grandson Seth sat playing games. “Hey. I’m off.”

  “You’re gonna go get mom?” Seth asked.

  “I’m going to try,” Kyle said, and then walked over to say goodbye. “Now, Eliza will stay here with you. I’ll only be gone a day or so, so you be good.” Running his hand over Seth’s head, Kyle bent down and kissed him.

  Back in the living room, Kyle listened to the latest on his blaring TV.

  “...ninety-four, two-ninety four, eighty, seventy-six, fifty-seven, fifty-five. Once again, these are the major interstates now closed to incoming traffic, beginning seven miles from the city limits in order to optimize highway access and use. Evacuation busses will be on hand to transport people from their vehicles if necessary.”

  Eliza shook her head, eyes closed. “A nightmare. They’re just rattling directions as if it’s an everyday occurrence instead of the end.”

  “Don’t say that,” Kyle exclaimed. “If they don’t hide their feelings, people will panic.”

  “It’s too close to home. Chicago is just too close. Is it going to happen, Kyle?”

  “I don’t know. I know if it affects us, we’re ready. Right?”

  Eliza nodded.

  “But we can’t sit by with our kids trapped in Chicago.” He picked up his knapsack. “You keep this place locked tight. The keys to the Chevy are hanging by the kitchen door if you need them. I shouldn’t be gone long.” Kyle grabbed his belongings. “Thanks for watching Seth.” He walked to the door.

  “Kyle,” Eliza called. “I’ll pray for you. Bring our children home.”

  Kyle paused for a second in the open doorway, eyes fixed in the distance. Then he nodded, smiled, and said, “Count on it.”

  Westing Biogenetic Institute - Chicago, Illinois

  “Whoa,” Marcus uttered as the ground trembled and pieces of plaster rained down on him and Reggie as they sat on the floor. He swept his hand over his head, clearing the dust and debris.

  “You think they’re trying to shake a way loose?” Reggie asked.

  Marcus shrugged and muttered. “Has to be a way out. We’re breathing, aren’t we?”

  “Yeah, but we don’t know how much air we have,” Reggie said, half smiling.

  “You may be right about shaking things loose.”

  “You really think that’s good?” she asked.

  “Fifty-fifty. It could crush us, but it could open up a passage.”

  “Yeah. How long do you suppose it will take for them to find us?”

  “Depends on the amount of rubble, their manpower, and how long they’ll stay at it.”

  No sooner did Marcus say that than the drilling stopped. He and Reggie both looked up.

  “Dinner,” Marcus said. “They stopped for dinner.”

  “Dinner? Wonder what they’re having,” she mused sarcastically.

  “Why else would they stop?”

  “Are you trying to convince me… or yourself?”

  “Neither. No convincing needed. They stopped for a break.” Marcus glanced up at the roof, trying to shake off the anxiety of this new silence.

  Los Angeles, CA

  Rev. Bailey peeked into the living room to see how his wife and Devante were getting along. He saw Devante’s annoyance immediately. He couldn’t blame him. Her high pitched, rapid accent could bore a hole in a vault. And yet, Bailey felt a vicious humor. The divine Devante was, at least temporarily, trapped with Grace, who was still in her robe, and jabbering a mile a minute.

  “And then I said to my mother… She’s eighty-two, you know. I said to her. We should be packing up and going to the hills. But my mother insisted that we stay put because the hills would crumble. Isn’t that right? I heard that was right. You would know, wouldn’t you?”

  “Which do you desire to know of the sundry questions you have asked in these past twenty seconds?” Devante sighed.

  “If you know if we should head for the hills. Or is that giving away family secrets? I think my mother’s wrong. She’s eighty-two years old, you know. She could go to bed and not wake up. Of course, with the world ending... we could all go to bed and not wake up. But, then again, we would wake up, wouldn’t we? In the kingdom of God. But you above all would know that.”

  “Woman! Silence!” Devante flung out his hand, his face registering disgust.

  She was out like a light. A gin catnap.

  �
��I am so sorry.” Rev. Bailey said on his way in, stifling a smile “I didn’t mean to take so long and leave you. But that crowd...” He saw Grace and smiled. “Oh, God bless gin.”

  “She speaks so much and too fast.”

  “I agree. Anyhow,” Rev. Bailey exhaled, “the crowd is tremendous outside. The news media is well-represented, and the L.A.P.D’s falling all over themselves to clear traffic. It’s blocked for miles. There is nothing I can do...” the reverend smiled smugly.

  “Why do they not just go away?” Devante asked.

  “They want to see you.”

  “Will they disburse then?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Nevertheless, we shall try.” Devante stood up and started for the door. “We will give them what they want, and I will request that they return to their homes.”

  “I don’t think that will...” Rev. Bailey tossed up his hands when Devante kept moving. “I urge you...” He followed him into the foyer. “Please do not open that...” Rev. Bailey cringed as the screams of the crowd flooded into the sound-proofed home. Devante was already outside.

  The Vatican

  A black cloud hung over the Vatican. The clergy was disturbed, Cardinal Welsh included. The Pope had not shown his face or left his room since the doctors ordered a few hours of bed rest. It had been a while since anyone had spoken to him, so Cardinal Welsh approached the Pope’s private quarters.

  The Cardinal carried his entire ruse, a tray of food, as he moved down the plush corridor to the private bedroom suite. He hesitated before the huge double doors, knocked once, then, balancing the tray with one hand, stepped inside.

  “Holy Father,” he called out softly.

  The television was on. The Cardinal saw only the Pope’s hand resting on the arm of the chair, its back toward him. Toting the tray, Cardinal Welsh couldn’t help but see the latest spectacle: Devante arrogantly raising his arms above the masses, gathered as if for a trip to the Heavens.

  “God will hear our prayers.” Devante cried to the murmurs and shouts of the believers.

  Cardinal Welsh spoke. “I brought you something to eat.” He set it on the table next to the chair. “Holy Father?”

  No response.

  He walked around the table. “Holy Father, are....” Cardinal Welsh gasped.

  The Pope sat peacefully, eyes closed, head slumped. Reaching out tentatively, Cardinal Welsh touched his face, still lukewarm, but clearly and sadly dead.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Westing Biogenetic Institute

  Chicago, Illinois

  Squatting over the blanket, Marcus accidentally dropped the pencil, then brightened as he watched it roll away from him. He picked it up and dropped it again.

  “The floor’s buckling,” he muttered to himself.

  He saw Reggie gagging over the sink in the dim light.

  “Still sick, Reg?”

  “Yes,” she replied weakly. “Can’t help it. Grape Gatorade and mint toothpaste.”

  “Brush with water.”

  “You said it would be harmful if I drank it.”

  “Reg, you don’t have to drink it, just brush.”

  “I might accidentally let some slip down my throat,” she said. “Or convince myself that it did and then I’d get sick anyhow.”

  “Sorry I asked.” He tossed up his hands. “Suit yourself.”

  “I will. And I’m surprised you aren’t sick.”

  “From what?” Marcus questioned.

  “From drinking the water.”

  “I don’t swallow when I brush my teeth,” Marcus said with an edge to his voice. “I’m normal.

  “Don’t snap at me.” Reggie wiped her mouth.

  “Sorry.” Marcus said. “I don’t think our rescue workers broke for dinner last night. I think they broke for Milwaukee. They aren’t coming back.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Get out.” Marcus crossed the room to the door. “This room is close to the side door. Maybe if we can get a crawl space going, we can get to the glass out there.”

  “We weren’t able to budge any concrete before.” Reggie came over to join him.

  “There’s been a lot of shaking and trembling. Maybe something shook loose.”

  “Well...” Reggie joined Marcus at the mound of rubble. “Let’s dig then.”

  Monee, Illinois

  “...tragic day for Christians and Catholics as they awoke this morning to learn that Pope John Paul had passed away last night from an apparent heart attack. Officials from the Vatican are saying...”

  Kyle shut off the radio to catch his bearings. He knew if he kept driving east he’d run into far too many people. The refugee traffic was already beginning to bottle up. They came from Chicago and the surrounding communities and as far away as Gary, Indiana, the closest refugee camp. So Kyle cut south onto a small two-lane road. Even though the traffic flow was heavy, he figured the authorities wouldn’t bother closing such a small road. He was wrong.

  He turned off the ignition when he saw the Army barricade. Traffic was steadily flowing out of Chicago, and none was going in.

  He rolled his window down when the soldier approached.

  “Road’s closed, sir,” said the soldier.

  “I didn’t know, I thought I could get in,” Kyle told him.

  “No, sir. You’ll have to back up and turn around.”

  “But I need to get into Chicago,” Kyle pleaded.

  “No one gets in,” the soldier repeated with strained politeness. “Please back up.”

  “My daughter is in there and I need...”

  “There is a full-scale evacuation. If she’s in there, we’ll get her out.”

  Kyle tossed the truck into gear and leaned out the open window. “Son, are all roads closed? Can you suggest a way I may be able to get in? I have to find her.”

  The soldier hesitated, and then flipped through his clipboard. “There’s a route 30 that breaks off up by North Aurora into a secondary road. I don’t think that’s been closed yet.”

  “Thank you.” Kyle smiled, sincerely. “Thank you very much.” He backed the truck up and turned into the grass off the road. He pulled out his map. “Thirty. Thirty. There.” He saw it was a good distance north and would take a while. But he had to try.

  Los Angeles, CA

  “And they make these every day?” Devante sat in the dining room of Rev. Bailey’s home, staring at the front page of a newspaper.

  “Every day. And that’s not the only one,” Rev. Bailey said. “However, most people read the online version of these.”

  “Online.”

  “The internet it connects the world.”

  “No wonder word of my presence has spread over the countryside.”

  “You’re trending on social media.”

  “What is that?”

  “People open pages, it’s a way to connect.”

  “Do I need one of these social media pages?”

  “At this point a Devante Facebook profile is not needed.” Rev. Bailey sipped his coffee.

  “What does this mean? The phrasing is odd.” Devante showed Rev. Bailey the headline of ‘FEMA takes over smoothly in evacuation.’

  “The Federal Emergency Management Agency, FEMA. And Chicago getting blasted by fire from the sky is definitely an emergency. They have to get as many people out of there as possible. And by the headline, I would say it’s going well.”

  “God does not intend for these people to get out.”

  “God probably wasn’t thinking of...” Rev. Bailey peeked at the paper. “FEMA and Jack Ross.” He winked. “I’m sure God is not going to mind lives being saved.”

  “There is a point to be made.”

  “And you don’t think the destruction of Chicago, loss of life or not, is making a point?”

  “What do you pretend to know of how God feels?” Devante thundered.

  Rev. Bailey stammered, but no words came out.

  “Would you not think I would be the be
tter judge?” This came softly.

  “Yes, but... Devante. Life is so precious.”

  “Yes, it is,” Devante answered. “But God’s people waste it. It is time for them to see what they have and what they can lose. You know the reason I am here. And I will speak no more about it until after tomorrow. You have my speaking place chosen. Correct?”

  “Yes.” Rev. Bailey nodded, his hands playing with his coffee cup.

  Devante turned another page and stopped. “Regina.”

  “Excuse me.” Rev. Bailey asked, his eyes going to the paper. Devante looked at a photograph of Reggie and Marcus. “Oh, yes,” Rev. Bailey said, “the woman trapped at the Institute.”

  Devante closed his eyes. “I see them running. Free.”

  “But they’re trapped. Aren’t they?”

  “I see them running.” Devante opened his eyes and stared at the picture again. “Her life essence will not leave this earth.” he muttered. “We must get her. Regina. This Marcus Leon has her against her will. She is not his fiancée. She is nothing but his assurance of safety.”

  “Why is she so important to you?” Rev. Bailey asked.

  “I feel a connection to her. She was present at my birth. I would like her with us.”

  “Then we must find her.” Rev. Bailey said. “I have a friend who works for The Times. Let me give him a call. If they’re out of that building, someone must have seen them.” Rev. Bailey stood up. “You have a vision of her? In these visions, do you see any road signs or landmarks?”

  “I see her running.”

  “Running. Yes.” The reverend cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll uh... just make that call.”

  Devante continued to stare at the photograph of Reggie in the paper. Only at her.

  The Ohio Border