Eschaton (The Scott Pfeiffer Story Book 1)

by Shane Woods

  Bri busied herself assigning people to rooms, quickly filling the rest of the space in our building and moving others into the south building.

  Carolyn made herself at home socializing with the two school teachers that came in with the new adults.

  All in all, things were a busy mess, but they were going smoothly.

  Hashman and his crew began loading their boats, and we parted ways with agreements to help each other and establish the river as trade route between the settlements. Yeah, we had a lot of fertilizer to find and send up river, and other supplies for the help and a heap of condolences for the seven people killed from their camp. And, yes, we kept the rifles.

  FORTY

  The following day proceeded much the same. Hustle and bustle mixed with rest and recovery.

  Dave, Tony, Jennifer and I had a meal in the command center as we watched the movement nine floors below us. It looked like Henry had already started making his rounds and was explaining to people how work crews would run. He roped James in as his own second-in-command to help with the new, much larger crews. This meant they could also get many more projects done in one shot.

  It was a beautiful thing we’d done, and we had much better to come just over the horizon. I was nearly about to comment on this when there was a flash and a large woosh from Rich’s armory that caught our attention. This was immediately followed by a thick cloud of white-grey smoke that poured out of his half-built armory and began rolling over the compound, following the wind, but too thick to be truly dispersed.

  “Rich what the hell is going on down there?” I called into my radio, then, “Over.”

  “Sorry man,” he replied. “Just experimenting with a little bird shit and sugar.”

  “With what?” I asked. “Never mind that, you’re supposed to be on light duty until that leg heals! Over.”

  “This is light duty though!” he replied. “It’ll be okay. Over.”

  Sighing, I replaced the radio on my hip and we all relaxed and shared a laugh about it.

  “Thank God we gave that boy a place of his own to play,” Dave laughed.

  “Yeah,” I replied, “don’t know though, how mad could we ever be at him after yesterday?”

  “This is true,” Tony supplied, followed by a boisterous belch that could be felt as much as heard.

  ***

  The rest of the day was largely uneventful.

  People were sorted and, for the most part, rested. Everyone was given new clothes and began to settle into their living quarters. Bri ended up flooded with a landslide of new requests and was doing her best to process it all. I explained to her that it would be days until scouts were sent out, we were on break while the dust settled, but she insisted. The only time she took a break was when Dave came by to take her for a private lunch by the river. The pair had grown quite well as a new couple.

  We all met on the roof of the north building, now nearly bingo on seating with the new additions. I just finished making a big welcome speech. I laid out our basic rules and explained that Tony would begin familiarizing people with firearms in groups. James, Clara, and Wayne would spend our next couple days off running informal classes on the basics of scouting and gathering, and Henry would begin assigning work crew duties to everyone aged fifteen and older, no exceptions.

  We detailed each department, how our council system worked, and every department head introduced themselves to the new group.

  It was Tony’s turn. In the fading sunlight, he stood up and began to introduce himself.

  He got no further than his name, and that he was my second in command, however, when the most peculiar thing happened.

  As he raised his glass, there was a tug on his T-shirt. Just a tug. He looked down as a tear became visible just inside of his right nipple.

  At this moment, a far-off crack sounded, like the snapping of a large tree branch.

  As we all sat in silent, stunned wonder at what had just happened, a trickle of blood began to tint the blue of his shirt, just under where this strange hole, or tear appeared. The trickle became a flow.

  “I-I think,” Tony stammered, looking at his chest, then locking his bright, vibrant blue eyes on mine, “Ah shit, man.”

  He fell forward. He landed face first on the rooftop as his drink glass met the ground with him, shattering and sending shards of crystalline glass tumbling across the rough surface.

  I was the first one to him. I was in pure shock, not processing what was happening.

  “TONY!” I cried as I reached him. “God, no. Fuck, man, no, no, NO!”

  Others gathered round and we could see a corresponding hole in the back of his shirt, also bleeding.

  I rolled him onto his back to see the ugly dark patch of blood spreading from the wound on his chest, and it dawned on me. My life long best friend had been shot. The tree branch was a rifle report, coming after the impact because of distance.

  I pulled him in close to me. The commotion on the rooftop drowning itself out in my own shock. The sounds fading, seeming so far away as I cradled my buddy tight against me. I could barely even hear Dave screaming for Shannon, Ashley, Jennifer, fucking anybody from medical, get here now for the love of God.

  I cradled his head against my chest as he was pulled away from me by the girls. Shannon immediately removed his shirt and began doing what she could while barking orders to the others.

  I still can’t recall it all. I can’t remember if I cried. Can’t remember if I just sat there, numbed by fear and shock. It was all so far away from where I actually was.

  My buddy for so, so many years, lay there with a sucking chest wound. Lay there by me, while others worked to do the best they could for him. How? Why? Who? We were just having dinner.

  I tried to grasp thought after thought as it floated by my periphery. Nothing made sense. To make matters more convoluted to me, it all got further away as it faded to nothing.

  I don’t recall fainting, but they say I did.

  EPILOGUE

  The burn of tears forming reached my eyes once again as I relaxed against my restraints. My head lowered, and I allowed a few drops of the saline liquid to fall from my eyes as I remembered the sight of my good buddy laying there on the rooftop, bleeding from a neat puncture that went from his back, and through his chest.

  Upon seeing my emotional pain, and not for the first time that day, the temperature of the room went from cold and investigatory, to something just a bit warmer. Cold? Maybe, just maybe, cool, but nothing more.

  Grayson motioned to Munoz, who pressed a button on his device and ceased the recording.

  “Scott,” he began, “I think we can call it quits for the day.”

  “You think?” I asked, sarcasm brimming in my voice. “My ass went numb from this chair hours ago. My throat is dry, but I’ve got to piss so bad I’m afraid to drink any more water. And we’re just getting into the meat of the story, if you recall. My buddy-”

  “That’s enough, Scott. We’ll call it finished for the day,” Grayson reiterated. “No point in trying to rush this, I understand, it’s hard. We’ll pick it up again tomorrow.”

  “I want out of these bindings,” I began, “and I want to visit with my friends and family.”

  “Unfortunately, Scott,” Grayson replied, “we can’t do that. This is still an investigation, and the order to keep you confined and separated comes straight from the President.”

  “The President?” I retorted, slightly amazed. “He’s here? Is it still…”

  “Oh, no!” Grayson chuckled, “No, thankfully he’s no longer around. Best thing to come of all of this.”

  “Eh, fifty-fifty,” I answered. “Can you show me them again, at least? Please?”

  Grayson flicked through the screen on his tablet and handed it to me again. I must have been the last one still in my interview for the day. Everyone else was seated in what appeared to be individual cells. Some eating a meal from a tray, others reading. Henry was the only one being active, quickly and furiou
sly belting out a series of sit-ups. The young kids, including Gwen, were in a larger room. Bunk beds lining the walls, and a giant rubber mat in the middle of the room that was scattered with toys. They looked well cared for, but no child appeared very happy.

  I sighed as I settled on flicking between the screens showing Gwen, and Jennifer.

  Grayson earmarked the stack of paperwork he’d done as I rambled on about our story. Then, he shuffled everything into order, tapping the edges on the table to straighten them, and then sliding the whole works into his folder. Munoz busied himself by returning the equipment he’d been using to the case it belonged to, then stacking our used cups neatly by the water pitcher.

  As they finished their chores, Grayson retrieved the tablet from my reluctant grasp, and placed it on top of his folder.

  “What’s your name, anyway?” I asked him.

  “I told you, Scott,” he informed me. “It’s Grayson. Agent Grayson.”

  “Your first name, Grayson,” I clarified.

  “Agent,” he replied, smiling warmly as I rolled my eyes.

  “Dick,” I replied coldly.

  After a soft laugh at my indignation, Grayson motioned one private forward. Munoz brought the other one to him, and he left with the case carrying the recording equipment, as well as Grayson’s tablet, returning a few moments later.

  The privates then joined me, one on each side, and began undoing the bindings that kept me in that Godawful chair for an entire day. As they worked, Grayson spoke again, inflecting his most calm and personal tone I’d heard thus far, certainly to placate or reassure me.

  “Scott, I just wanted to reiterate. This is a hearing,” he intoned, “not a trial. It’s more like an interview. We want anything that can help us with research regarding the infected, but it’s also informational about you, and your comrades. We just want to get to the bottom of what happened back in Ohio and make informed decisions from there.”

  “Whoa dude hold up,” I started, freezing myself, “back in Ohio? Where the fuck are we?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” he replied, his grave expression returning.

  “What can you tell me, then?” I asked, my indignation also making a return.

  “Meat loaf. Instant potatoes. Corn,” he said, nearly monotone.

  “Excuse me?” I replied.

  “It’s what’s being sent to your room once you get there,” he said. “That’s about all I can tell you for now.”

  I glared at him as the two uniformed men released my body and brought me to my feet. He turned and departed through the door, which he left open for us to exit as well.

  I followed the private in front of me, and was tailed by the other, as well as Munoz.

  We exited the 1980’s classic interrogation room and entered a state-of-the-art…hallway.

  Colorless tile made up both the floor and the ceiling. The walls done in such a typical white and green two-tone, split down the middle, that it was almost laughable at how expected it was.

  What wasn’t expected was the mix of people. Everything from nurses and orderlies, to guards, to people dressed in civilian and street clothes were present.

  We took a right, the opposite of Grayson’s direction, and began walking down the hallway. We passed room after room, none of their purposes apparent save for the glowing electronic labels positioned just above varying levels of security. I assumed the remainder of the rooms we passed to the right were like the one I’d left. I didn’t really pay much attention. My focus was on the young, uniformed man walking just ahead of me, as well as trying to track Munoz and the other behind me.

  A minute or two later, and after several turns through hallways of varying degrees of sterility, I felt my chance coming.

  Munoz quietly excused the guard to my front and took his place. One more turn, and six more doorways lining only one side of the hallway, and we stopped.

  Munoz approached the door we’d reached and leaned in to allow his retina to be read.

  With his full attention diverted, I drove my bare foot into the back of his knee with everything I had. He collapsed as his knee gave, and his face met the scanner.

  Then, using the moment, I ran backwards into the private, the back of my skull connecting with his nose, and my weight and momentum catching him off guard and allowing me to drive him into the wall, knocking the wind from both our lungs.

  Before I could even recover, I felt a cold steel presence just off center on my forehead and heard a click. Looking up, I gazed straight into the angry brown eyes of Munoz as he held his Beretta to my head, his other arm propping himself against the wall.

  “One wrong move, puto!” he challenged. “Breathe wrong. I fucking dare you.”

  I said nothing, but slowly brought both my hands up as I tried not to piss myself.

  The Private joined in, a thin stream of blood trickling from each of his nostrils. He cradled his rifle in one arm, the barrel pressed into my side, as he lifted me by my armpit with the other.

  The door Munoz unlocked clicked open, and I realized it was not the grand escape I’d hoped for. It was my cell.

  “You almost got out of your shackles and got to be comfortable, dickhead,” the Private growled as he shoved me into the room, slamming the door behind me.

  I resigned myself to my situation and sat down on the thin padding of the single cot-like bed.

  The room was just like my old days, when I’d have the occasional visit to county jail. A bed, table, and chair, all steel, all bolted firmly to the wall. The toilet and sink were formed from one piece of stainless steel, and also bolted firmly to the wall. The room was about double the size of a standard jail cell, but that was it. The main difference here was the solitary security camera over my door in the corner of the room, wrapped safe and sound in a thick metal protective box.

  I relieved myself in the toilet, and sat back down on my bed, just in time for the meal slot to open in my door, and a tray pushed onto the ledge.

  It was exactly as Grayson said it would be, with a fruit punch in a cardboard carton for the drink. The meatloaf was flavorless, as were the runny mashed potatoes and rubbery corn. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think certain TV dinner companies had been contracted for this mess.

  Nonetheless, I picked at my food until I’d gotten through the ordeal and attempted to lay down and get some sleep under the single thin blanket I was provided. No dice. Not with the hospital glare of the fluorescent lighting burning brightly overhead.

  I got up, and searched for a switch, my shackles jangling the whole way. No switch. I clapped. Yeah, okay, nothing there, either.

  Finally, I went over to the camera and tried waving and calling to them, to be met with a response in the negative regarding the lights. Lights stay on, and I am to be monitored like everybody else.

  Okay, that’s fine. I guess. Looks like I’m not masturbating any time soon.

  I returned to the poor excuse for a bed, faced the wall as I laid down, and covered myself again. In the process of staring at said wall, and reliving everything I’d gone through, my door clicked, then opened.

  Munoz stood there, on a single crutch. This brought a grin to my face, though, to my surprise, he returned the grin. He then stepped aside and nodded to someone else.

  My blood ran cold.

  Into my room walked a man I had recently become well acquainted with.

  Colonel John Parker.

  He was still in full uniform, and he strolled into my room with all the confidence any man could possess. Taking his jacket off, he turned to the camera box, smiled and waved grandly, then placed the jacket over it.

  “Don’t bother getting up, Mr. Pfeiffer,” he told me as he placed his hand on his sidearm, “I won’t be long.”

  “What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Want?” I replied, venom dripping from every word I spat.

  “Your cooperation.” He smiled, ignoring my disposition. “If not for our sake, then for that of Jennifer and little Gwen.”

  �
��Touch them, and the entire world wouldn’t be able to keep me from you,” I retorted, tensing every muscle, despite my impotence in my bindings.

  “I’m making the threats here,” he replied, every word calibrated. “Your case is against the United States military. You’re a group of yay-hoo civilians. You’ll accept full fault for your actions against the military, and we may go easy enough on you and yours.”

  “What’s your end game, Colonel?” I asked, trying to peer through the curtain of rage I could feel coming.

  “We’re going to rebuild, and I’m key to this.” He continued his explanation, “Now, I know you can be reasonable. For the U.S. to be able to be rebuilt into the great and wonderful Union, we can’t possibly have you slandering the name and actions of one of the new Founding Fathers, now, can we? Work with me, and I may be able to get you a sweet deal on a farm somewhere that nobody can bother you, and you can’t bother me. Alaska? Maybe somewhere through Mexico? It’ll surely be better than the alternative.”

  The guy was a snake, and somehow, the way he pronounced Mexico got him even further under my skin. May-hee-co. Fuck this prick.

  “You need to find the exit, Parker,” I snarled, “before you find yourself as wrapped in my shackles as I am.”

  “I’ll give you some time to mull it over, pardner,” he sneered. “Oh! Here, this is for you.”

  He tossed a square piece of paper on the ground, grabbed his jacket, and departed the room. The door slammed, and the lock worked itself into place in his wake. I got up and retrieved the paper he’d left.

  It was a color Polaroid of him. Sitting, smiling, one hand waving, the other firmly wrapped around my very blonde, very innocent looking daughter.

  I’m going to end his life.

  I sat on the side edge of the bed in silence. I’d begun sweating and shaking like a junkie needing a fix. There was, at that moment, nothing I could do save for fantasizing how many different ways I could hurt him when I got the chance. They’d have to shoot me to get me away from that man.