Exodus: Book Two: Last Days Trilogy (10 page)

“Minus fifty degrees, not counting wind chill,” Madeline Lewis, assistant to the former President, gave her report to Leonard. She looked exhausted; her hair messed up, no makeup, her clothing wrinkled. “You need to appoint a Secretary of Foreign Affairs to handle this situation.”

Leonard smiled as he worked with four other men around a table. “You’re it, Madeline.”

She rolled her eyes and exhaled. “I can’t handle it. And I’m not qualified. I don’t know how to handle all the calls for assistance,” she said. “Oh, the Prime Minister of Israel is urging you to respond to the calls for help from Russia and China.” She paused. “Minus fifty, sir. These people can’t eat, they are dying by the...”

Leonard slammed his hand on the desk, silencing Madeline. “And I don’t have problems of my own to deal with? They want to eat? Tell the Prime Minister of Israel to feed them. Our food is staying here.” He held up a sheet of paper. “Refugee camps are starting by the minute. People are leaving the big cities. And I don’t blame them. We have our own people to feed now. Our own to take care of. And… for the first time in a long time, that’s what this country is going to do.”

Madeline tossed up her hands and began backing up. “I quit. I’m leaving. Keep in mind that, besides this four-man strong-arm of ‘Operation Clean Sweep,’” Madeline indicated the general and three suited men around the table, “I am it. I’m sorry. I was your Congress, Senate and your Secretaries of everything. And now, sir, I’m gone. Good luck.” She spun and bolted from the office.

The general turned from the slamming door back to Leonard. “I’ll institute the teams.”

“Excellent.” Leonard leaned back in his chair and rocked briefly. “I’ll need one man at each of these thirty-two camps.”

“Already handpicked,” the general assured him.

“Good. Then I need smaller teams to gather people and bring them there. This is what we need. We need the people together and believing this is where they have to be. These camps are their only hope; their only salvation. Got that?”

“Yes sir,” the general answered and moved toward the door. “I’ll get on the horn now.” He paused before exiting. “What about the power conservation?”

Leonard ran his finger over his lip in quick thought. “Not yet. Randomly shut down some big places that are pretty much empty. I mean, we have crews not showing up for work anyhow.” He took another moment in thought. “Then, maybe tomorrow or the next day, we’ll use the link-up... and kill it.”

With a bright, agreeable smile, the general left.

Todd was an artist, underpaid, unnoticed, but talented. He didn’t come from a rich family and still lived in the neighborhood where he’d been raised. He had a room over a magazine store on the edge of a slum. And from his window he painted visions of what he saw on the streets every day of his life. One of his subjects was at first a speck in the gathering multitudes. A speck, but Todd painted him. His hand moved, synchronized with his eyes, never leaving the larger-than-life man, Devante, as he spoke. When Todd finished with his preliminary sketch, he was shocked at what he saw.

A true picture of Devante.

Todd waited until mid-afternoon, after people drifted away from the towering man into little circles to talk. Devante visited each circle, making friends with the people, getting to know them. When Todd had his chance, he made his way downstairs and to the street.

Devante seemed to notice him right away and walked over to him.

Todd said, “I have something to show you.”

Devante followed him up into his room.

Their conversation was simple and brief. Devante lifted the cloth over the recently painted canvas, stared at the work, then let the cloth drop. “You do well,” he told Todd.

“Yes, I do.” Todd lifted the cloth and looked at the picture, then at Devante. “All my life I had faith in God. I prayed to him for that break I deserved. A break for my talent. A break in this world. It never came.”

Devante smiled peacefully. “It has now.”

In the rising dust of the driveway and the deserted atmosphere, the torn-off screen door, the broken windows and burned-out truck, Kyle picked up speed, flooring the full-size truck.

It screeched to a halt. “God! No!” Eliza bellowed in heart-wrenching grief as she scrambled over a frozen Marcus and out of the cab. “God! No!”

Marcus closed his eyes.

Kyle, knees trembling, looked to where Eliza knelt by the steps, screaming. He focused on the hideous red plastered over the porch. Blood. Everywhere. Grabbing his shotgun from behind the seat of the truck, Kyle pumped it and took a step toward the house at the same time as Marcus. He shuddered when he heard Eliza scream again. Kyle approached filled with dread of what lay ahead.

George’s bloody hand reached over the edge of the steps, extending from the puddle of blood that pooled around and encircled his beaten, bullet-riddled body. He was unrecognizable except for his favorite shirt. The final gunshot had obliterated his face.

Eliza hovered over him, bellowing. Marcus emitted a single sob and collapsed near his father and mother, wrapping his arms around her.

Kyle reluctantly slipped into the house. It was trashed, every stick of furniture reduced to kindling. But no blood in the foyer, so Kyle knew the bloody trail of footprints that led from the dining room to the living room were not George’s. He followed it, shotgun ready. As he stepped into the living room, a gut-wrenching nausea filled Kyle when he saw Janice. There, on the dining room table was Janice, legs spread, naked from the waist down, her eyes still witnessing the horror, even in death. Blood still dripped from the gaping wound that was once her intact throat. Her head hung precariously from the edge of the table, nearly severed from her body.

Eliza’s screams still in his ears, Kyle walked to the buffet, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a tablecloth. Fighting his stomach, he shrouded Janice with the white cloth. After he did, he followed the footsteps again. They led into the kitchen and across the linoleum where they became a sea of blood spatter. Like impressions in the snow on a playground, they were everywhere.

He saw the open basement door and the blood on the top step. The footprints came from there.

Kyle moved slowly, apprehension gnawing at him with each step. A part of him knew, but he needed to be sure. Down he went. As soon as Kyle turned the corner from the last step, his fears were confirmed. Extended an inch or so over the jamb of the open cellar door, he saw a tiny bloody foot. Kyle gagged and wept.

After regaining his composure a bit, he set down the shotgun with shaking hands and lifted a coat that hung on the rack at the bottom of the basement stairs. He walked to the cellar, praying aloud with each step. His insides shook violently the closer he came. Kyle meant to move Kathleen from that cold cellar into the basement and cover her. But after he opened the cold cellar door, he knew he couldn’t. Blinded by tears, his heart breaking, he could not bring himself to touch the little girl, no matter how hard he tried. So much blood, such a tiny child. He saw the precious little girl had been bludgeoned, the instrument a bloody baseball bat lying by her shoulder.

It was all that Kyle could take. He spun around and threw up, the vomit shooting through the hand held up to staunch it. He bent forward and retched over and over, unable to control himself, his insides shaking violently. Then he heard Eliza shriek upstairs. Kyle couldn’t move. He held onto the wall for support and mustered all his strength to keep from passing out.

“I sense it,” Devante said, leaning back against a tree, legs crossed, eyes closed.

Peeling an orange, Todd said, “So like, if this dude is so fatal to...”

“Dude?” Devante opened one eye. “What is a dude?”

“A guy. A man. A dude.”

“Dr. Leon?”

“Yeah,” said Todd. “So if he’s like fatal to you, and like he has to be taken out, why can’t you just tell people where he is instead of having people waste their time doing this process of elimination thing with his family and buds.”

“I fail to decipher this wording you use,” Devante said. “But I do understand one thing you say.” He paused. “The truth is… I cannot say where Dr. Leon is. I cannot be responsible for leading people to kill him. I cannot. For he is the creator of this body, and the doorway he opened will close if I am connected to his death.”

“Huh?”

Devante snorted and looked at Todd. “If I kill him, I die.”

“Oh,” Todd nodded and took a bite of his orange. “But you’re telling people he’s bad, isn’t that the same thing?”

“No. I do not tell them to kill him. Telling them where the doctor is would be my way of ensuring his death. They must seek and find him on their own. Besides,” Devante reached for another slice of orange, “I have other things to concern myself with. We need to move on to the next camp. We have points to be made. Visions to ensure. I do not believe at this time that Dr. Leon is too much of a threat to me. Because right now... I truly believe...” Devante’s face brightened as he spoke and brought a wedge of orange to his mouth. “Dr Leon’s mind and heart are in the depths of a deep distraction.”

Kyle jammed shells into his shotgun, cursing profusely. “Not a goddamn sheriff to be found.” He pumped and aimed it at the wall, sighting it. “Not a county or state police officer around.” He calmed briefly, setting the weapon down and looked at Reggie and Herbie, standing by silently. “It’s up to us.”

“Gates are all secure,” Herbie told him. “What else do you need me to do?”

“Nothing right now.” Kyle patted Herbie’s arm. “You did real good breaking into the pharmacy for those things for Marcus. That was a risk. Good man. You rest. I’ll need you on watch tomorrow.” Kyle moved to the steps.

“Daddy.” Reggie grabbed his arm. “Why can’t I take a watch?”

“You have a son to worry about.”

“And I can’t protect him sitting on the roof? He’s not safe in here with Herbie on the couch and you in bed?”

“Reg...”

“No, Daddy,” Reggie pleaded. “I’m a good shot. You taught me. Let me at least take the first watch for a couple hours while you get some sleep.”

“I can’t let you take that chance,” Kyle argued.

“What chance? I’ll be fine. Let me take a four-hour watch.” Reggie clutched her father’s arm.

Kyle knew she wasn’t letting go until he gave in.

“Herbie’s been running around town since the crack of dawn boarding up places and...” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “He buried Eliza and Marcus’ family while none of us could function. He needs to rest. And you do too. Get some. What good will either of you be if you’re too tired tomorrow?”

“And you’ve been on the run.” Kyle looked at Herbie, and then back to Reggie. “All right. Listen. You can take a full four-hour watch, but you need to rest up, kick back for two hours...”

“No, Daddy.”

“Two hours, Reg. I’ll be satisfied that your senses are back. Okay?”

Reluctantly, Reggie nodded.

“Get a jacket and a cup of coffee. While you’re up there, don’t turn on that flashlight unless absolutely necessary. Got it?” Kyle instructed. “I got a shed full of supplies, a flourishing garden and a house full of people. Stay alert. Promise.”

“I promise.”

Kyle nodded, and then kissed Reggie on the forehead. “Rest up. See you in two.” Rifle in hand, Kyle, resolute, stone-faced, turned and walked away.

Marcus pulled the bedroom door closed. The sedatives would give his mother some much-needed rest. Since the discovery of the bodies, she hadn’t spoken to Marcus. Not a single word. For the first time in his life, she looked at him with pure anger in her eyes. The sadness of this weighed upon him as he moved into the next bedroom, Reggie’s room. He wasn’t invited to stay in there with her. Kyle had given him a small bedroom. But Marcus wanted to be where Reggie would sleep. He needed her around him. It was the worst night of his entire life.

The scenes of horror played over and over again in his mind until it spun out of control and mercilessly rendered the violence surreal. It was such a horrific experience that, thankfully, it became unreal. He felt numb. He couldn’t cry. He was detached and cold and free from the pain, but Marcus knew it would hit him soon, and devastate him.

Inside the bedroom, he sat slowly on the side of Reggie’s bed and lowered his face into the palms of his hands. Seconds later he heard the sound of boots on the hardwood floor of the hallway. He lifted his head as the footfalls stopped at the door. He turned and squinted at the doorway.

Reggie stepped in, carrying a black leather jacket and a rifle. “Dug these out.” She set them down on the chair by the dresser and shut the door. “Hey,” she spoke softly, walking around to face him.

“Where... where are you going?” Marcus could barely speak.

“Nowhere yet. But in a bit, I’m going on roof watch.” Reggie knelt down before him and laid her hands on his knees. “A few hours. Not many. You need to get some rest.”

“Do you... do you mind if I sleep in here with you?”

“Oh, God no.” Reggie laid her hand on his cheek. “I want you to.”

The softness of her palm comforted him. He slowly swayed his head back and forth with her touch, and then put his lips to her palm.

Reggie straightened, and then inched her way up between Marcus’ legs and wrapped her arms around his neck. Marcus grabbed hold of her and held her close.

“Marcus, I am so sorry,” Reggie whispered and sighed, her hand gripping the back of his head. She pulled him closer, trying to assume some of the pain, a feat they both knew was impossible. “I am so, so sorry.”

Marcus moved his head slowly from side to side, his forehead grazing her collarbone as he tried to speak, but couldn’t. He exhaled and lifted his head, and then moved his hands to Reggie’s cheeks. He brought her face close, their eyes inches apart.

“Marcus, what...” Reggie said, her lips parting.

His grief and love were instinctive and large. Marcus didn’t quite understand. He was drawn to her, irresistibly. Fingers clutching her face, Marcus brought his lips to Reggie’s. His kiss was hungry, biting, as if loving and abrasive all at once. His lips pulled at hers, slow, and then quick, seeking sustenance, seeking truth.

“Marcus.” Reggie muttered.

He shook his head, tears mixing with the kisses.

“Marcus...”

Silencing her again, his head shook and pleaded ‘No, don’t stop me,’ as his mouth pursued. Reggie might have stopped him, might have pulled back, he knew, until that one second when he kissed her and felt himself whisper something, an incomprehensible thing that spoke loudly, and filled the room with his pain.

Reggie heard it. Felt it. And surrendered, without a fight.

Was it wrong, Marcus wondered, as he clutched Reggie’s body against his, held her... made love to her, to experience this moment for which he’d waited his entire life while in such despair?

He reached out; Reggie was there. He sought her solace and comfort through an act that seemed so wrong and so right at such a tragic moment. Yet, he knew he needed it. While drowning in pain, he clung to his only good; something to take away the pain, his best friend, Reggie. No regrets. No guilt. No wrong, Marcus told himself over and over as he lay on the bed staring at the ceiling.

He was reassured by the sound of Reggie’s boots overhead. Then the silence of the house hypnotized him and he dozed off. But it wasn’t a real sleep, as he realized things would never be the same again. He did dream, but he didn’t want to because he knew that his dreams of the past few days had nearly happened. He fought to stay awake. He could feel himself coming out of that state, his dream surroundings fading, his body slowly rising to the surface, when he heard the familiar male voice.

“Marcus.”

It was as if someone outside of his dream was calling him. And when he turned, he saw the eyes. Those green, translucent eyes, staring at him.

“Marcus, I will need her.
I
will need her.”

Pain shot through Marcus’ heart. “No,” he shook his head. “I need her. Not you.”

“I’m sorry, Marcus.”

“No.”

Suddenly Marcus was wide awake and opened his eyes. The overhead light was still on. He looked at the ceiling, ears primed for Reggie’s boot-steps. Sluggishly, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He looked at the alarm clock and saw he hadn’t even slept fifteen minutes. Elbows on knees, Marcus raised his hands to his face and then he heard the lightest of taps on the door. Marcus looked over his shoulder to see Seth.

Seth quietly walked in, sagging from all the adult weight on his young shoulders. With a heavy sigh, Seth climbed up on to the bed and sat next to Marcus. Folding his hands between his legs, he turned his head and made eye contact with Marcus, and then transitioned into a smile.

Marcus studied the purity of those eyes, their intentness at such a silent moment, man and boy breathing heavy, in sync. He lay his hand on Seth’s small knee. The colorful and funny boxer shorts Seth wore made Marcus laugh in remembrance of his own youth. “I wish I had a pair of these.”

Seth spoke, with sadness evident in his voice. “I’d let you borrow them, but they’d be too small.”

Silence.

“Marcus?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry about your dad and sister. And I’m sorry about Kathleen.”

Marcus closed his eyes hard.

“I just wanted to tell you that.” Seth’s lips puckered and his eyes welled up as he started to slide from the bed.

“Seth.” Marcus stopped him. “Will you... will you stay for a while?”

Seth nodded and sat back down on the bed, staring straight ahead.

Thirty seconds passed, and then: “I don’t remember when my Dad died. But I know it makes me sad when I think about it.” He lifted his shoulder and rubbed his ear against it. “I just know that, you don’t have to be a kid to feel sad. And even if you’re a grown up, I know it’s okay to cry.”

Marcus wanted to cry. Seth’s simple words, his own pain over the loss of his best friend, broke Marcus as he tried to be strong. He couldn’t even say, ‘Thank you.’ His throat was too swollen. He merely nodded his head once, placed his arm around Seth, pulled the little boy to him, and laid his lips to his head as he held him.

How bright and how many the stars were, Reggie thought. Against the beauty of the heavens, it was hard for Reggie to imagine that so much was going wrong in the world around her, especially in her own home. She kept her watch, listening and peering out, but Reggie’s mind never wandered far from what she could only imagine her father, Eliza and Marcus had witnessed at the Leon home.

Reggie had suspected something was wrong when she didn’t get a call. The passing time confirmed it. Then she saw the looks on their faces, and Reggie knew. Eliza couldn’t walk. Kyle had to carry her. Her face was puffed from crying, and she gasped for breath. The tragedy rendered her useless. Reggie loved Eliza dearly. Eliza had been the only mother she’s known. She made Reggie’s first dress, explained the birds and bees, and had even taken her to the store for her first Kotex. But as much as Reggie loved Eliza, a part of her wanted to strike out at her when she turned away from her son and said, “I will never forgive you for this.”

With Eliza’s final words, Reggie’s heart broke. Her insides screamed for Marcus. Reggie knew Marcus too well, and knew the ‘pass it off’ shake of his head was a front for his devastation. Marcus could not be blamed for his family’s death. Though he did blame himself. But was it Eliza’s place to confirm it?

Reggie had heard all the stories, told by elders, about how one partner feels what the other feels, how one somehow knows what one’s significant other is thinking or wants without speaking. Reggie now knew this to be true, now, at that moment on the roof. Sitting beneath the multitudes of stars. Reggie felt her friend’s soul calling to her. She felt his need, his hurt, and his desperation.

She suddenly registered the gnawing squeak of her hands rubbing the stock of her rifle, rolling it. Back and forth, she rubbed, back and forth, as she stared up at the stars, as if for answers. Only for a moment did she close her eyes, a long blink, reaching out, mouthing a prayer.

“God,” she spoke softly, staring skyward. “I know you hear me. And I know you lost some people praying to you. But... there’s still a lot of us out here, calling on you. We need help.” Reggie’s voice cracked. “This earth you gave us... it’s falling apart, see, and it’s not your doing. You didn’t start this, that asshole did. It’s not your end, we know that. It’s his. We want to fight him, but I kind of think you’re a bit pissed off. See, we didn’t mean for it to happen. Marcus didn’t mean for any of this to happen. He was just using the gifts you gave him, and the rest of the world took it and ran. We want, we
really
want, to stop it. And I want to help Marcus. But, he needs
your
help.
We
need your help.” Reggie swallowed. “Help us... please.”

As soon as Reggie finished her prayer she saw it. The brightest twinkling star of her lifetime. In a second it began to whistle and increase in volume, growing bigger and bigger, hurtling earthward. At first Reggie feared it was a repeat of Chicago.

But then a warm peaceful feeling filled her, and she stood up as the bright flash of light fell faster and faster.

Reggie shrieked with excitement as it sizzled, then it squished against the sound of something wet.

Downstairs, the thump jolted Kyle off of his bed and onto the floor. Cursing and rubbing his back, he jumped up and grabbed his jeans. He raced to the bedroom door, fetching his shotgun from the dresser. He flung open the door while buttoning his pants and stepped into the hall.

Marcus, still dressed, flung open his door as well. “Kyle, did you hear that?”

“Yeah.” Kyle looked up to the ceiling, listening for sounds of Reggie on the roof. He heard nothing. Kyle raced through the upstairs hallway and down the steps, with Marcus right behind him. At the bottom, he saw Herbie getting on his shoes. “You heard it, too?”

“Yes sir.” Herbie hurried to the door with Marcus and Kyle.

Reggie had her move down cold. She slid down the angled roof, swung her legs out and jumped onto the back porch roof in one smooth motion, giggling with the sudden memory of her teenage years. Back then, she did it quietly. But at that moment, silence wasn’t important.