Fallen Earth | Book 1 | Remnants

by Morrow, Jason D.

  “I don’t. I think we are all the intelligent life there is. Some think we hit the evolutionary jackpot, but I sometimes believe we are the worst outcome. All the death, destruction. Wars. Rapes. Murders. Life is chaos and man loves nothing more than to shed blood.”

  He tapped Alex on the chest with the back of his hand though he kept his head pointed toward the stars.

  “You, for instance, probably want nothing more than to blow my brains out, and for what? Because of my reputation? For my conviction?” He shook his head. “The courts did not prove beyond a reasonable doubt that I killed those people. They saw me emotionless and assumed I was a cold-blooded killer. The jury didn’t like that I stared at each individual person, studying their faces at each trial date. The prosecutors said I was cold, and I looked it. The prosecutors said I felt no remorse, and the jury believed it. Not once did they bring up a reliable piece of evidence linking me to the crimes.”

  He sighed again, this time letting the air out of his lungs slowly.

  “You know what’s funny about the whole thing?”

  Alex didn’t answer.

  “I am innocent of the murders that got me a life sentence,” he said. He started laughing, a full belly laugh that shook his whole body. “There were three people, a family, all executed in the living room of their home, and I was convicted for it because it had looked like my past work. I wasn’t even in Wisconsin when the murders happened.”

  “But you’re guilty of other murders,” Alex said.

  Savage held up a finger. “So, you agree with me.”

  “What?”

  “That the system is flawed. By the law, they sent an innocent man to jail for the rest of his life.”

  “But you’re not an innocent man. You’ve murdered a lot of people.”

  “Do you know that for sure?” Savage stood up and started pacing in front of Alex.

  “Haven’t you admitted as much?” Alex said.

  “I’ve said a lot of things over the years, some of it to use as currency for times like this. Some of these men can only be bought with reputation. They are just looking for someone to follow. Rumors of my life, murder convictions, they all give me credibility in these kinds of circles.”

  “But that’s not how the world works,” Alex said. “Why aren’t you trying to get out of here? You could be out of state by tomorrow.”

  “But is that true?” Savage held out his arms and looked all around him. “Have you not heard of things like this? Have you not looked at world-ending scenarios on a break or when you’re bored on your phone? Have you never heard of an EMP attack? That’s all this is. Someone has attacked Chicago, or New York, or Los Angeles or all of them at once and we’re just the sideshow. Do you understand the chaos that will be happening in the larger cities by morning? The chaos that’s happening now? Think about hospitals. Ambulances. Millions upon millions of people stuck in the middle of the city with enough food to last them all a week, tops.”

  “And you’re basing that off of the fact that there is no power in this town and that the backup generators failed at the prison,” Alex said. “It’s a stretch.”

  “Is it? Phones. Cars. Lights. Radios. They’re all dead. This is the classic scenario. This is the end-all. Even if people are able to restore power, how much damage has been done in a day? Two days? What if it extends into a month? A year?” He squinted his eyes and turned to face Alex. “We’re back to the primitive days. Someone just hit the reset button on humanity and I’m not going to be on the run anymore.”

  “Have you actually murdered anyone?” Alex asked. “Are you guilty or innocent?” He could tell this was the kind of thing Savage wanted. He wanted someone who would challenge him. He wanted a person to look him in the eye and question him. In a way, it gave Savage more of a license to continue what he was doing. It allowed him to justify his actions the more he was prodded to talk. Alex suddenly knew what he had to do to stay alive: he simply had to talk to Savage and challenge him.

  “The state convicted an innocent man,” Savage said. “We’ve all murdered someone in our hearts. Isn’t that what the Bible says?”

  “There’s the kind of murder where you wish a man was dead, and there’s a kind of murder where you have blood on your hands,” Alex said. “I guess what I’m really asking is do you have blood on your hands? I would say you do, considering what you let happen to the warden and to Roger.”

  “I didn’t kill either of them.”

  “You let it happen.”

  “Their blood isn’t on my hands.”

  Alex could see Savage tensing his arms and shoulders. Alex had come close to the line, and if he pushed any more he might accidentally cross it. He edged away. He had known he wasn’t dealing with a sane man, but he just didn’t know how far gone Savage might be.

  “So, your plan is to take over this town, and then what?”

  “Kill the sheriff’s daughter in front of him. Then kill the sheriff. I haven’t thought much beyond that.”

  Alex fought the urge to ask if killing the sheriff or his daughter would get blood on Savage’s hands, but he knew the man would just say it was justice.

  “What would that solve?” Alex asked. “Why such a terrible thing? Why would you kill his daughter in front of him? What did he do to deserve that?”

  “You’re not as clever as you think you are, Alex. I get that you’re trying to extend conversation because you think it will keep you alive longer. I kept you alive because of your sincerity. Perhaps it’s time you closed your mouth and only talked about things you believe in.”

  Alex was shocked. He had known that Savage was good at reading people but he didn’t know he was that good. Alex turned his head and stared at the ground, racking his brain for something to say that wouldn’t annoy Savage.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right.”

  “I know I am. I’m never wrong, actually.”

  Alex was afraid the man actually believed that.

  “I don’t think we’re the evolutionary jackpot,” Alex said, “but I don’t think we’re the worst either.”

  “Let me guess, you think people are inherently good,” Savage said.

  “I think people are inherently selfish,” Alex said, “but they can choose to be good. And oftentimes they do.”

  “To what end?” Savage asked. “What good does it do to give up yourself for others? What good is it to sacrifice what you have so someone else can reap the benefits?”

  “Because, as you said, the world would be chaos.”

  “The world is already chaos,” Savage said. “Goodness is a facade. It’s a mask we wear so that other people will perceive us as good. No one is good. They only do good things so people can selfishly think they are good people.”

  “You think there is no genuine goodness in the world?”

  “I’m saying there’s no such thing as good and evil,” Savage said. “There are selfish deeds, and deeds that look selfless. That’s it. There is nothing out there for us,” he said waving at the stars. “We are just organisms fighting for survival, and if what I think has happened with the EMP is true, over the next few days, weeks, years, you will see what humanity has to offer when it comes to goodness.”

  He turned to look at Alex, his eyes wide as shadows cast under the moonlight darkened them. Alex wanted to shrink away. He wanted to crawl into the nearest ditch and die so he didn’t have to look into those eyes.

  Savage spoke again.

  “For thousands of years, man has fought for survival. Wars. Famine. Plagues. And for the last few hundred years, we haven’t had to. Now you’ll see what that’s like. If you thought you’d seen evil before, humanity hasn’t even scratched the surface.”

  “Doesn’t that create an even greater opportunity for good?” Alex asked. “For more compassion? For hope?”

  Savage stared at him for a long moment, then stood and walked away into the night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The prisoners had done wh
at they were told and didn’t touch Gwen except to toss her back into the jail cell with Bryson McClure. He tried asking her over and over what had happened to her, but she was unable to answer. She felt cold, numb. How could this be happening in Hope? What in the world was happening?

  The two prisoners left the office with only Bryson to keep her company, though she wished she were in there alone. She could think better when she was alone and she didn’t want to have to recount everything that was said. Still, she felt she owed Bryson somewhat of an explanation.

  “Did you ever see stories on the news about a guy named Jim Savage?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Bryson said. “I mean, I know the name. He killed a family in Madison, right?”

  “Something like that,” she said. “Well, he’s leading a group of prisoners and they are looting the town, breaking into houses.”

  “Wait, wasn’t your dad the one who arrested him?” he asked.

  Gwen didn’t answer, but Bryson could probably read the look on her face. Yes, her dad had been the one to arrest Jim Savage—about five years ago. News stations all the way from Chicago had come after he made the arrest, and the people of Hope swelled with pride, though there remained an underlying uneasiness since they knew there had been a murderer among them.

  Savage, of course, wasn’t native to Hope but had been on the run. He’d stopped in Hope and her dad noticed him.

  The rest of the story, Gwen had to figure out from watching the news and listening to other people’s discussions because it was a night her dad never liked to talk about. For some people, it would have been the biggest arrest of their careers. For Leland West, it had been the worst.

  All the attention, all the controversy, the court cases—it had thrown their family into a spiral for a time, and she knew her dad blamed himself and the entire situation for Travis’s death. It didn’t help that he had to keep working. It didn’t help when the town threw a party for him in celebration of keeping them safe. It had been a surprise party in the park. When he drove up and realized what was going on his face turned bright red. He didn’t say a word, rather he got back into his car, drove away, and never said anything about it.

  Gwen couldn’t understand why there were so many inmates from Lone Oak here, but it was clear they were under Savage’s command. How they had all broken out, she couldn’t figure.

  “And you don’t know where your dad is?” Bryson asked again.

  She shook her head. “I’m assuming he was out on a call and his car shut down. If he wasn’t too far away, he would come here, though I don’t want him to.”

  “Why now? He could save us!”

  “There are a lot of prisoners here,” she said. “Some of them are armed, and I can only keep them out of those safes for a short amount of time. Pretty soon they will all be armed. Not to mention, Savage would love nothing more than to skin my dad alive.”

  “Doesn’t seem like a good long game for the prisoners if you ask me,” Bryson said. “Taking over a town? They’ll be destroyed.”

  “I guess they would rather go out in a blaze of glory than back to Lone Oak, I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “There was a prison guard with them. He wasn’t tied up, but I think he was a hostage. He didn’t say anything.”

  “One group can’t take on a whole town,” he said.

  “Well, they can if they take over while the whole town is asleep,” she said. “Most people don’t even know there is a power outage yet.”

  Bryson cracked his knuckles. “Wait until my family hears about it.”

  Gwen didn’t dismiss Bryson’s statement out of hand. They were a tough group with a love for guns and always looking for a reason to be angry. As much as they caused trouble in Hope, Gwen thought they might be good allies in a fight.

  “How many of you are there?” she asked.

  “I have two brothers, a sister,” he said. “And my parents, of course. My grandma. Uncle Frank, too.”

  “Are they all as spirited as you?”

  Bryson flashed a grin at her. “Well, none of them get in as much trouble as me, but yeah. They’d break me out if they knew something was wrong.”

  The McClures lived half a mile outside of the city in a rundown house with about fifteen acres of a salvage yard around them—an eyesore to many of Hope’s citizens, but a haven to the McClures who surrounded themselves with hundreds, maybe even thousands of beat up, rusty cars and trucks.

  “I wish we could get word to them now,” Gwen said.

  “My phone is in your dad’s desk,” he said.

  Gwen shook her head. “They don’t work either.”

  Before he could respond, the door to the office sprang open. Two inmates charged through, followed by Savage. Gwen could feel her face drain of blood.

  Savage motioned and his two servants opened the cell and pulled Gwen out. One of them pointed his shotgun at Bryson, and Bryson remained on the bed until the cell was locked again.

  The inmate shoved Gwen into the chair across from her dad’s chair where Savage made himself comfortable. He set two candles on either side of the desk, both of them fat enough to stand on their own. In one of his hands he also had a small box of matches and he pulled one out, striking it on the side of the box. He lit both candles and smiled to himself as though he had just thought of a funny joke.

  “You know,” he said, “some things in life are guaranteed. Power. Electricity. These conveniences in which we have so willingly relied upon for the last century or so, are not guaranteed. Don’t you think it’s funny how we go through life without any kind of backup plan? The power goes out for a week and a third of America dies, mark my words.”

  He looked at both of the flames, his head turning slowly as he did so. “Fire, on the other hand, will always exist. The method of obtaining it may be different, but it’s there, waiting to be used. A magnifying glass with the sun. Enough friction. So many things can give us fire. It’s something so destructive, but when used properly, it can save our lives.”

  He looked at a small picture frame on the desk and grabbed it, then he held it close to his face as he relished the photo inside it. Gwen didn’t have to see it to know what it was. It was a picture of her and her dad next to each other, neither one of them with a genuine smile, both of them looking as though they wished they were anywhere else in the world besides getting their picture taken together. Gwen was younger in the picture. It had been taken before her mom had died.

  She started to look away when a glint caught her eye—a reflection of the flames dancing on metal. A pocketknife on the desk. It was one of many her father owned. They had already taken her gun from her, but she could use the knife against them if they got too close. She knew a small knife like that wouldn’t do a lot if they really wanted to kill her, but it would be some defense, at least.

  Savage’s jaws tensed as his eyes settled on hers. “Where is your father?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “If you tell me where he is, I will be able to capture him quickly rather than kill him,” he said.

  “You’ll try to kill him no matter what I say,” she said.

  “Actually, a sheriff would be a valuable hostage if we were to have a run-in with more law enforcement,” Savage said. “He can be insurance that I get to slip away if things go badly.”

  “You and I both know that isn’t true,” Gwen said. “You don’t care a thing about getting away.”

  Savage studied her for a minute and Gwen couldn’t read his face. Was he a mad man? Was he thinking of ways to torture her so her dad could feel his pain? She already knew she was a prize for Savage.

  “I’m guessing you understand your situation here,” he said. “You understand that I have to kill you.”

  “I get that you want to,” she said, her limbs starting to shake.

  “Do you know the real story of what happened the night your father arrested me? Do you know what he did?”

  Gwen looked away from him out the window and to the
dark streets. She hated looking into Savage’s eyes. They were cold, but she sensed his underlying hatred.

  “He shot my daughter,” Savage said. “I was in a house, and your father came in screaming. He saw me down the hallway and saw that I’d run into the back bedroom. Instead of following procedure and trying to apprehend me, he fired his gun. Not once. Not twice. Do you know how many times he fired?”

  “He knew about you,” she said. “He knew you were dangerous—that you would try to kill him.”

  “Eight shots,” Savage said. “Eight. Without even having a target. He aimed for the walls where he thought I might be standing. But instead of hitting me, three of those bullets ripped through my daughter’s chest.”

  “He couldn’t have known she was in there,” Gwen said.

  “He should have made sure,” Savage said. “She was seven years old.”

  “And you dragged her across the state on the run from the cops,” Gwen said. “You don’t think you played a part in her death? You’re a convicted murderer. Why would you have your seven-year-old daughter with you while on the run?”

  Savage’s jaws tensed and the fires of the candle flames danced in his eyes. “I was so shocked I couldn’t move. He charged to the back bedroom of the house and stood in the doorway, screaming for me to get on the ground, but I couldn’t. My daughter was bleeding out on the bed and I wasn’t even allowed the chance to hold her as she passed. He ignored her. He was more worried about capturing me than saving her life. I remember him looking at the bed with blood, with her crying out, gasping. And he ignored her.”

  Gwen kept her eyes away from Savage. She had heard versions of the story, but she didn’t believe this version. Not entirely. It may have been what Savage perceived to be true, but she knew her dad wouldn’t have ever killed a child on purpose, and he certainly wouldn’t have ignored her wounds.

  Her eyes traveled to the pocketknife on the desk, though to Savage it probably seemed she was just trying to avert her stare.

  “Where is your father?” Savage repeated.

  “I wouldn’t tell you if I knew,” she said, “but I actually don’t know, so it doesn’t matter.”