SEVEN DAYS Read online

  Rick returned to his seat. The Congregation stayed quiet, unsure of who should talk next.

  Isaac returned to the podium. “And so brothers and sisters, now that you know what’s before you, we must decide on what should be done.” The room fell silent, even the children did not stir.

  Finally, Anthony stood up, a large hat in his hand. He was a much humbler, skinnier man then he was only a few months ago. “There’s nothing else we can do. We’ve got to leave or be put down by this mad man.”

  “Casi es el inverano,” cried Maria Moreno. “Tengo hijos. No, puedo salir. Este es mi casa.”

  “And are we supposed to walk until are feet are bleeding?” asked Hector. “We’ve only got two vehicles, and even if they were both pulling a trailer, we wouldn’t be able to put that many cabrones on it. We got nowhere to go, jefe.”

  “Kate made some solar vehicles,” Emma Loveland said in earnest.

  Kate spoke for the first time, her voice sounding less enthused than usual. “We’ve only finished two of them—and they can only hold two people each. We don’t have any more invertors, so that’s all we can make. They aren’t strong enough to pull a trailer either—at least, not a very large one. I could’ve revived some of the other dead vehicles by replacing some electrical components, I think, but the Executor was thorough about seizing all of that stuff. We might find some electrical components while we travel, but it’s doubtful that someone hasn’t already taken them.”

  “We can take the two solar-powered vehicles, arm them with whatever weapons we have, and use them to scout ahead,” said Anthony. “Meanwhile, Rick’s suburban can pull a flatbed that holds all of our supplies, and then the rest of us will walk. We’ve got some time to get away from here. If we walk just ten miles a day, we’ll be over fifty miles away in just a few days.”

  “But we’ll be leaving everything that we’ve built,” Jane said, the strength of her own voice surprising her. The faces turned her direction, sending a chill down her spine. She cleared her throat and continued. “Right now, we have food, shelter, and warmth. Most of us won’t survive a winter out in the elements—not to mention the other dangers we’ll face at the hands of bandits or worse.”

  “No one wants to leave,” Anthony said in a low, respectful tone, “but the only other option is to stay here and dig our own graves. Yes, there’s a chance that we’ll die out there, but it’s almost an absolute certainty that we’ll die if we stay here.”

  Then several people spoke at once, some raising their voices for leaving, others for staying. The noise steadily rose until the entire room was filled with heated statements that were being thrown back and forth.

  Anthony raised his hand, his once fat arms now appearing more muscular and menacing. “Rick is the one that brought us to where we are now, and he has never led us astray. I was wrong about Rick in the beginning, but he has more than proven himself. I want to hear what he has to say.” Several people voiced their agreement and all eyes turned to Rick.

  The large man stood and slowly approached the front of the chapel. His knuckles turned white as he grabbed the wood podium. “Staying behind would do nothing more than encourage the Executor’s army. Leaving is the only option we have if we want to survive, but I disagree with the people that think we can stick together. The Executor does not just want our food; he wants us dead. He has vehicles and soldiers to spare. If we take off from here in a large group, I don’t care if we travel three hundred miles, he’ll find us—of that, I have no doubt. It wouldn’t be too hard to track down a group our size. People we see on our route might not challenge us because of our numbers, but they would most certainly tell the Executors’ scouts where we went. This is a game to him, and we, unfortunately, do not have the winning cards. The only way any of us will survive is to split up into small groups of maybe ten or twenty and then head in every direction. Either way, I doubt many of us will survive—either from the Executor’s forces or to starvation or the cold. There’s no good answer to this situation.”

  These few words left the chapel deathly still. Everyone still looked at Rick, their faces expressionless. Long moments passed. A chill draft swept through the room from an open window. Someone began crying.

  Isaac joined his brother at the podium, a warm but serious smile fixed to his face. “Thank you, Rick, for everything that you’ve done the last several months.” Isaac turned to the Congregation, “I thank every one of you for the sacrifices that you’ve made. As I was listening to your voices just now, memories began to float to the front of my mind. I remember when Ian Nitchals accidentally set his car on fire at the church BBQ a few years back. He was fixing the gas line and smoking while doing it. The Congregation pitched in and saved the vehicle long before the fire department ever arrived, and, thankfully, the only casualty was one of Ian’s eyebrows.” The Congregation echoed with scattered laughter. “Remember that time that a bird pooped on my shoulder right in the middle of the sermon about Noah’s ark? To this day, I still don’t know how that thing got in here.” More laughter. “Do you remember when Old Pete fell into such a deep sleep during one of my sermons that we actually thought he had passed from this life? The ambulance had already shown up when Pete suddenly stirred awake, which made me jump so high I bumped my head on a door frame.

  “These are just a few memories of hundreds that bring me joy. We aren’t just people that come together on Sundays to listen to a preacher read words out of a book. We’re more than that.” His voice broke, and he paused for a few moments before continuing. “We’re more than neighbors who happen to live next to each other. I would just as soon lose my life for the mere chance of saving anyone of you, as I feel confident you would do the same. You are good people—people that still have something of worth to offer this world.” Isaac looked down at the podium as he tried to vocalize his thoughts.

  “We don’t choose the challenges that we face; we can only choose how we face them. Hear the words of Peter: ‘Of the Jews five times received I forty stripes save one. Thrice was I beaten with rods, once was I stoned, thrice I suffered shipwreck, a night and a day I have been in the deep…’. But, yet, he still preached the gospel, because it was the right thing to do. He died because of his faith, but it was the right thing to lose his life for.

  “There comes a time in an individual’s life when they have to decide that some things in this world are worth dying for. When the world prospered, that concept became more metaphorical, but now, as the world has descended into this hell, it’s completely literal. Rick is right. Unchecked, the Executor has the most massive army in this area, and he will commit any number of horrific acts. The Executor is an evil man—as evil as anything the world has ever seen, and there’s nothing that stands in his way. He will roll over city after city, sending thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of people to a violent death. And even though our faith tells us that death is not the end to life, I could not consider myself a good man if I did nothing to challenge that evil.

  “And what if we only think of survival and flee? Does it not say in Mark ‘For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?’ Let me change the words slightly, so they better fit our situation and ask you the same question: What do you profit if you survive at all costs and yet you lose your soul? Is survival the only reason we’re alive, or does it matter what we do in order to survive?

  “I know exactly what we must do: We must stay here and defend ourselves, drawing the Executor into full-fledged combat.” Isaac paused and let his words sink in. “Make no mistake: I’m afraid of what we face—I have two children that I might lose—and I would rather have my heart ripped from my chest than to see them hurt. But I fear the triumph of evil more than I do the loss of life. No evil man or woman has ever been dethroned without the loss of blood of good men and women—such is the cost of free will.”

  Isaac’s words melted into the Congregation like a sunset into the horizon. There were a few people cryi
ng, not with the wrenching sobs of a desperate individual, but from the warm inspiration that propels someone into hope.

  Rick stood up, his expression difficult to read. He slowly approached Isaac and stopped when he was only a few feet away.

  Isaac turned and faced his brother. “Don’t fight me on this, Rick. This is what needs to be done.”

  Rick nodded once and then pulled his brother into a deep embrace. “I’m not going to fight you. I’m with you. If we’re going to die, we might as well do so in a blaze of glory. I’m with you, brother.”

  “Good,” Isaac said as he broke the embrace, “because I don’t have a clue of what we would do without you.”

  “I’ll take it from here,” Rick said as he stepped up to the podium. He turned his attention to the Congregation, pausing for a few moments before he spoke. “Isaac is right—staying is what needs to be done. Is there anyone opposed?” There was a slight ruffling as heads panned around the room, looking for any possible opposition. No one objected. “I do not want there to be any misunderstanding: If we stay here, our chance of survival is slim at best. If we stand against the Executor, I’ll expect all of you to fight, to kill, to bleed, and possibly die in the defense of everyone else. Does that change anyone’s mind?”

  “The sleeveen Executor killed my brother!” shouted McCurdy.

  “He slaughtered the entire city!” Hector added.

  “Is there anyone who is against this new plan?” Rick asked. Still, no one opposed. “If we are going to do this,” he continued, “then all of us need to be committed. We’re going to have to work longer and harder than any of us have before.”

  “What’s the plan?” asked Hector. “Just let us know, and we’ll get it done.”

  “We need to find a defensible position—preferably a stone building that has limited windows and a large parking lot that we can turn into a kill zone.”

  “Like a Home Depot?” Hector asked.

  Rick nodded. “Maybe, it depends on the design and location. It needs to be the tallest building in the area and separated from the city—preferably on a hill.”

  “The local jail should be a right fine place.” Old Pete said.

  “How big is it?” Rick asked.

  “It’s really secure, but it’s a one-story building that’s maybe…six thousand square feet.”

  “Not tall or big enough,” Rick answered.

  “The new Regal movie theater is big—twice as big as the jail,” said Kate.

  “But it’s downtown and squished between other buildings,” said someone in the back.

  “What about the mall?” Old Pete crackled. “It’s massive—and it has a huge parking lot. One time it took me three hours just to find my car—of course, that was before I figured out how my key fob worked. It’s the tallest building in the area—it even has parapets that wrap around the entire roof. I once was hired to rewire the electricity of one of the main department stores. I’ve been on the roof.”

  Rick shook his head. “If it’s like your typical mall, my guess is that it’s too big. We need something large, but not so big that we don’t have enough individuals to defend it.”

  “What about the old Costco that’s on the north side of town,” said Jacob.

  Rick waited to hear any objections, but none came. “A Costco would work just fine—as long as it’s removed from the city.”

  “It is,” Jacob replied, “and it’s the tallest building in the area.”

  “Yeah,” Old Pete chimed. “That a’ boy Jake. It’s not too pretty for nice, but it’s great for good. Ain’t nothing gettin’ through a Costco. We could hold them off for a whole year.”

  “Are there any objections?” Rick asked. He waited as a few members of the Congregation whispered back and forth, but eventually, everyone fell silent. “That’s it then. That’s where we’ll make our stand.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Day 70

  “What are we dealing with here?” asked Isaac, his eyebrows raised in concern.

  “Well, it’s like nothing I have ever seen, Isaac,” said Doctor Brooksby. “It’s astounding—absolutely incredible. He is showing no signs of mental or physical impairment—in fact, just the opposite.”

  They were standing just inside the front entrance, several feet away from the door that led to Isaac’s office where Chass had been tied to a chair. Securing Chass to a chair had been the Doctor’s idea, but it was something that Rick fully supported. Isaac was a little more hesitant to restrain his brother like an animal, but he finally relented when all of the medical professionals bluntly refused to treat him unless he was restrained. Even then, after Chass had been bound by leather straps around his arms, chest, and legs, Doctor Brooksby was the only one that spent any real length of time with him.

  “What do you mean?” Isaac asked.

  “Chass has superb reflexes,” the Doctor replied, “almost as if his body is running perpetually on adrenaline.”

  “I’m not following you, doctor.”

  “For example, take a look at this list of numbers.” The Doctor pulled out a small digital box that contained the number seventy-two. “This little device is used to test a patient’s ability to intake data—and luckily, it does not have any circuitry in it, so it was unaffected by the EMP.” The doctor hit a button on the side of the device, and it began to flash other various numbers. “I can set this box at several speeds. Tell me, what numbers do you see as you look at this?”

  Isaac squinted as the numbers whirled by. “They’re moving too quickly. I can’t…well… I saw the number twenty-seven.”

  The Doctor nodded, “The human brain can only take in about twenty to twenty-four frames per second—that’s why movies appear to be a motion picture instead of a series of pictures. That is normal. But, and this is the exciting thing, Chass can see almost every number that this machine presents. Now, let me see your finger.” Isaac presented his hand to the Doctor, who, in turn, stabbed it with the tip of a pin.

  “Ow…what was that for?” Isaac said as he quickly retracted his hand.

  “Now look at the box,” the Doctor said excitedly.

  Isaac frowned, but then obeyed. “I see the number fourteen… and the number twenty-seven… and number eleven.”

  “Exactly,” the Doctor said animatedly. “I just showed you the same series of numbers at the same speed, but the second time you could see more of them. That is because the pain I introduced to your body shot adrenaline into your bloodstream. It gets complicated, but as the adrenaline increased blood flow to your brain, it allows you to see twice as many frames as you normally would. In essence, as your adrenaline increases, your perception of time slows.”

  “What?”

  “For Chass,” the Doctor said with a smile, “it’s always like this for him—except much more powerful. He sees almost all the numbers that are presented. It’s like he is hyped up on a massive amount of adrenaline. I’m speculating here, but I bet you that if we showed Chass a movie, it would appear more like a series of pictures than a motion picture. He perceives everything moving at a much slower rate than what it really is moving at. He has no concept of time: What seems like an hour to us is more like a day to him. And his reflexes are astounding, far beyond what a normal human being is capable of.”

  “How will that affect him?”

  “Well…his body is running at an accelerated rate. I can’t help but think that his life span has been dramatically cut short, but I’ve only scratched the surface,” the Doctor whispered. “He seems to possess a series of other acute psychological disorders: Antisocial Personality Disorder, that is where someone has a difficult time relating to other individuals; Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder—every other thought he has is about blood; Impulse Control disorder, where apparently he sometimes cannot stop himself from killing others; Intermittent Explosive Disorder, he sometimes loses complete control of his rage; and a rare type of attention deficit disorder that is called the ‘Rin
g of Fire.’ For all intents and purposes, he is a psychotic, sociopath—a serial killer—but that is only if you judge him from the perspective of a human being. But he’s like something else entirely—like a different species. He is still in complete control of his mental faculties—they have just been heightened. Sometimes I don’t even think that restraining him was even necessary… until… well…”

  “Until what?”

  “Until his eyes start bleeding,” the Doctor frowned, his voice fading as he spoke. “I’ve only seen it once, but he told me that it happens before he kills or even when the chance to kill becomes apparent, or when he hasn’t killed in a long time. It’s not exactly his eyes that bleed, but the eyelids below the eyes. I don’t have any equipment to prove my theory, but what I think is happening is that when he is about to take someone’s life, blood rushes to his eyes, increasing his focus and sharpening his vision. There is so much blood; however, the veins beneath his eyes rupture, and blood drips down onto his cheeks.”

  “Blood?”

  “He says that all of them did it,” the Doctor replied, “and whenever one of them started bleeding, it created a chain reaction for all the others. That is the other thing that amazes me: He seems to exhibit a strong pack-like mentality. He feels loyalty to the others that are like him, which flies in the face of everything that I know about psychological disorders. Having that many psychotic killers in the same group would most definitely result in them killing each other, but they didn’t. Even Chass seemed surprised that they did not end up killing each other. He feels a connection to the others that transcends race, gender, family, friends, and even basic survival. That is why I say he is something different entirely: on the one hand, he kills without hesitation and has no value for human life, but on the other, he values deeply the other individuals that are like him. One seems to be the antithesis of the other.”