Exodus: Book Two: Last Days Trilogy (5 page)

“Oh, look at you,” said Eliza, as Kyle limped in the door. “You poor man.”

“Thanks,” Kyle responded. “I can’t believe they shot me in the goddamn leg.”

George shook his head. “They could’ve killed you.”

“Does it hurt?” Eliza asked.

Kyle grimaced at her, then heard the phone ring. “It tickles. Can you...”

“Sure.” Eliza stepped to the table by the couch, lifted the phone, and handed it to Kyle.

With a ‘beep’ Kyle answered it, “Hello. Reg?” he gasped and spun toward George and Eliza. “It’s Reggie. Reg, where are you? Are you all right?”

“Fine, Daddy. We’re in Chicago, heading out,” Reggie replied.

“Reg, listen to me. You don’t have much time. I understand, but there’s something else about Marcus you should... shit.” Kyle pulled the phone from his ear.

“What happened?” George asked.

“Cut off.”

Kyle looked over to the television screen to check the running timer for the destruction of Chicago. He let out a breath of relief. “There’s time. It must’ve been a lost signal, but they know time’s short. She knows they have nearly three hours. ‘Piece of cake.’” Kyle widened his eyes to George and Eliza. “That’s what she said.”

Marcus tripped as he stepped out of his car, his eyes wide. “Holy...”

“...shit.” Reggie stepped out her side.

Marcus slammed his car door, stomped his feet and dragged himself in a circle. “No. No. No!” His voice echoed, then burst into incredulous laughter. “Par for the course.”

“Yeah,” Reggie’s head bobbed over the scene on Interstate 90: a flood of deserted cars flowing out of the city as far as they could see. All four lanes, the shoulder and center, packed. “I guess we walk,” she said.

“Walk?”

“Well, what else can we do, Marcus, sit around and wait for hellfire? Look at our luck. No one informs us of the bomb threat, then we take the wrong route and are trapped after the building blows up. They start digging. They stop. We get out of that, and the city is deserted and about to be destroyed. We get to the car, we get here, once again... trapped.”

“And your point?”

“My point is,” Reggie said, “that we’re overdue for a break. Let’s get the hell out of here,” she huffed.

“Reg, the city will be destroyed in two-and-a-half hours.”

“Marcus,” Reggie rolled her eyes, “it’s just a little fire and brimstone. Not nukes. How much damage can fire and brimstone cause? Let’s walk.”

Marcus shook his head, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “No, let’s not.”

“What? You want to stay here and wait for it?”

“No.” Marcus hurried past her and started to run up the line of cars.

“He wants to run.” Reggie tossed up her hands. “Marcus! We won’t be able to keep up the pace. Marcus... the bags. Shit.” She raced after him. “Wait.”

“Reg.” Marcus grinned. “A dirt bike.” He pointed to the back of a truck. “A way out.”

“See, our luck is changing. Think positive, no more getting trapped.”

“Yeah.” The smile left his face. “Now, what about keys?”

“Please.” Reggie smiled, rubbing her fingers together. “I’ve worked in my dad’s shop since I was ten. You get it off the truck and I’ll get it going.”

“Deal.” Marcus jumped on the bumper. “Reg, grab the sleeping roll from the back of my car, too.”

Marcus pulled the bike and shook it to estimate the volume of the gas tank. He seemed satisfied as he rolled the bike awkwardly down a plank and off the truck.

“Here.” Reggie said. She dropped their things on the ground, then spread out a map on the tailgate of the truck.

“What are you looking for? We’ll just ride out.”

“But we can’t ride out forever,” Reggie said. “These things don’t hold that much gas. And dodging around parked cars will waste what we have. We have to get off the highway and find a faster route. Worry about direction later.”

Marcus looked over her shoulder. “Do you see one?”

“Yes.” Reggie pointed and folded the map quickly.

“Where? I didn’t see.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just worry about holding on to our stuff.” She lifted the duffel bag and tossed the strap over his shoulder. “And holding on.”

“Holding on to what?” Marcus asked.

“Me!” Reggie bent over the bike and began to work on it. “When’s the last time you went dirt bike riding?”

“Never.” Marcus said. “When’s the last time you went?”

“Never, but...” The bike started and Reggie grinned. “I know how to ride. You don’t.” She straddled the seat. “Get on.”

“We should be wearing helmets,” said Marcus. “Is this strong enough to hold... Shit!” Marcus jerked back as Reggie took off. “I know I should have a helmet.” He held on for dear life as Reggie zigzagged through traffic. “I want it documented that I once was a prudent man!” His last word rang out in a scream when Reggie found an open area and sped off.

Twenty-two minutes. Twenty-two minutes until the predicted destruction of Chicago. President Nelson sat behind his desk, lost in thought, eyeing his watch, as he reviewed the successful evacuation report. Political scuttlebutt said his entire political career hinged on Devante’s prediction. Nelson would either be a decisive hero or he would be the laughing stock of the world.

It was a tough call. But snakes
did
rain down on the Vatican, which made Nelson’s decision easier. Leaders from the past might have blown the whole crisis out of proportion or handled it wrong. George Bush, Jr., for example, might have forced a confrontation with Devante, maybe arrested him as a terrorist, or had him shot accidentally by a ‘bystander’. If Chicago burned, then Chicago burned, but at least Bush II would have ensured Devante wouldn’t cause any more trouble. But many knew President Nelson as the opposite. He wasn’t confrontational, couldn’t be. He was the ‘peaceful’ President, and explicitly believed Devante’s threats were not threats at all, but Godly attempts at peace.

As far as the destruction of Chicago, only time would tell. And when President Nelson looked at his watch again, he knew it would only be another twenty minutes before that happened.

The Army barricade was still there, unmanned, on the anonymous back road. Reggie read it as a clear shot south. What she didn’t count on was the dirt bike running out of gas two miles later. She knew it would eventually, but another ten miles toward the Interstate would have helped immensely.

“Reg, we’re on a dirt road,” Marcus complained.

“No we’re not.” She stomped her foot. “It’s paved.”

“Do you know where we are?”

“Out of Chicago.”

“You should have stayed on the main road.”

“Marcus, quit bitching. We’re out of Chicago. I got us out. Besides, I think we’re at a safe distance.”

“Reg, the last town we passed was empty.”

“Precaution,” Reggie said. “And this isn’t vacant.”

“I don’t see any houses.”

“No, but we saw that hand-painted sign for Buffy’s Diner. Civilization can’t be far off, right? Especially if there’s a diner alongside the main road. It’s a traveler’s stop.”

“It was a hand-painted sign, Reg!”

“Bet that’s it.” Reggie pointed ahead to a speck of silver in the distance.

“Seeing that there’s nothing else around, must be.”

“Hey, it’s food.” Reggie shrugged and moved even faster.

“Let’s hope it’s a safe shelter,” Marcus said, suddenly standing alone, as Reggie moved further ahead. “I’m the only one here and she still doesn’t listen.” Marcus hurried to catch up, mumbling to himself.

Twenty minutes later, they entered the long tubular diner, ringing the overhead bell of the single glass door. The door closed noiselessly behind them. The diner was empty, yet the television still played, dishes were still on the tables, and the smell of burnt coffee filled the air.

Reggie took in the sight. “They left in a hurry.”

“I wonder why.” Marcus pointed to the television. “Four minutes.”

“Oh, they were being ridiculous. This is way outside of Chicago. Hey, look, some cereal. Want some?” Reggie tossed one of the single-serving boxes to Marcus.

“Thanks.” He set down their things and moved to the diner phone by the register. “I’ll call and let them know we’re out.”

“Okay.” Reggie ripped open her box of cereal and watched the news. Engrossed, she finally started eating a minute later when Marcus walked up behind her, returning from his call.

“Got through, but then got cut off again. They know we’re out and reasonably safe.”

“You’re wanted,” Reggie said matter-of-factly.

“Excuse me?” Marcus asked.

“You’re a wanted criminal.” She turned to look at him. “Murder. Rose.”

“Great. Just great.” Marcus tossed his hands up. “What else could happen?”

“Chicago could burn in thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight... Marcus, let’s go look.”

“We won’t see anything.”

“Still. Let’s go.”

“All right.” Marcus followed Reggie outside.

“Which direction?” Reggie asked, still munching on her cereal.

“Um.” Marcus looked at the sky. “Noon. There.” He pivoted their bodies to the right.

“You’re right. We aren’t going to see anything.”

“No, it may not be that far but it’s too far to.... oh God.”

“What?”

Marcus stepped into Reggie and pointed up. “Look.”

Three dots of light appeared, like stars in the daylight sky, growing bigger by the second. When they approximated the size of the sun, they began moving away from it. Alarmed, Reggie moved into Marcus and clutched him, the bowl dropping to the ground. She watched in awe as huge flaming torches, almost harmless-looking at first, dropped from the heavens and out of view.

Reggie pressed her head to his chest, whimpering his name.

Seconds later, sky lit up with the flash of a blinding white light then three sonic booms thundered, like a galactic timpani drum. It vibrated the ground. Marcus turned both their bodies away from the light. But it was so powerful and bright, it seemed to burn though their eyelids. Before they could move, before they could run inside, they heard an otherworldly howling. A wind of mass destruction, heavy and moving. It whistled and moaned as it ripped a path through the land, leaving a wake of destruction. They heard it coming, then felt the heat before it arrived.

“Inside.” Marcus pushed Reggie toward the diner. They raced to the door, arriving just as the wind hit, hot and strong. As Marcus opened the door and shoved Reggie in, she turned and saw the horrible whiteness of the still lingering light, rolling in from the distance. It looked like a large cloud of billowing smoke backlit with white light.

She turned back to Marcus. “Get behind the counter!” he cried.

They bee-lined to the counter, kicking frantically at the stacked dishes underneath to clear an area, then scurried into it just as a deafening ‘bang’ hit the diner, and the trailer-style restaurant trembled and rocked out of control. All Marcus and Reggie could do was close their eyes, hold on, and hope.

Rev. Bailey’s hand gripped the phone, his throat knotted, but emotionally he was numb. He told himself he had no right to be surprised. He was warned. But a part of him wanted to believe that God would change His mind at the last minute. The reverend turned to Devante in the silent living room. He managed to extricate the phone and hand it to him.

Devante stepped forward and took the phone. “Like this?”

“Yes. Just speak.”

Devante placed the phone to his ear. “Yes?”

Rev. Bailey turned around, arms folded, his back to Devante, listening. He said the word, ‘yes’ three times before the reverend heard the phone being placed down..

Rev. Bailey turned back to Devante. “Well?”

“That was your leader,” Devante stated.

“President Nelson, yes, I know. What did he want?”

“He wants to meet and speak with me. I told him ‘yes’. He is on his way.” Devante moved toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Did I not promise to speak when the dust settled?”

“Yes, but...”

“The dust has settled.” Devante walked from the room.

Rev. Bailey’s eyes widened in surprise. “Barely.” He said, then followed Devante out.

The newsman’s list sounded like lottery numbers.
“...Juliet, Hammond, Orland Park. All these evacuated cities are reported as buried. Cicero, Oak Lawn, Wheaton, Naperville. Sketchy, reports are still coming in of no signals at all from these locations. This report just in from a chopper says that Lake Michigan is mud. Or appears to be....”

Kyle turned away from the news and faced George and Eliza. They seemed lost. “Okay, let’s think this through. They had two-and-a-half hours to get out of the city. Then, according to Marcus, the dirt bike ran out of gas and they walked. Apparently far enough,” he said. “Now all we can do is wait.” Kyle returned to the litany of destroyed cities.