SEVEN DAYS

by James Ryke

  Isaac stood up at the podium, his hands raised in the air. “Enough! This is not who we are; do not let it be what we become.” The noise lowered, but it did not disappear. “We are a congregation, bound together by our friendship.” Silence fell over the congregation, and Isaac continued. “Don’t give in to despair; we do not have to face this challenge alone. The world is changing yes, but our faith and our commitment to each other does not have to change.”

  “What are you saying?” said a man in the front.

  “That we come together as a group, bringing our collective talents and skills to bear.”

  The man that Rick had punched finally found his feet. “And what about our food and water? Do you want to take that as well? You want us to start calling you the Godfather? Isaac, your brother just assaulted me for disagreeing with him.”

  “I hit you because you called me a liar,” Rick growled, “not because you disagreed with me. I couldn’t care less what any of you decide to do.”

  Isaac stepped between Rick and the bleeding man. “That’s exactly why we need to come together—because we need each other more than ever.” The Pastor turned his attention back to the crowd. “Each of us has something unique to offer, and if we don’t come together, we lose all of that collective skill. Rick, my brother, is a former CIA operative. He has spent much of his life planning and preparing for similar scenarios.”

  Rick clenched his jaw. What are you doing? This is not what we agreed upon.

  Isaac continued. “He foresaw all of this long before anyone else. He was the one that put together the pieces of the puzzle. We have a slight advantage, but we lose all of that if we turn on each other.”

  “I second Pastor Savage’s idea.”

  “Me as well.”

  Isaac pointed to Rick. “This man knows what needs to be done.”

  Rick stared intently at Isaac, his expression communicating all too well how he felt about this whole situation. He walked over to his brother, still staring at him as if he had just betrayed him for thirty pieces of silver. He leaned in close to his brother, sweat now flowing freely from his brow. He lowered his voice so that only Isaac could hear. “What are you doing? We will not survive with them.”

  “Survival won’t matter without them.”

  “It will matter when you’re digging the graves for your two children. We do not have enough food for all of them. This is a death sentence.”

  “We’ll get through this—trust me. We can do this.”

  Rick felt another flash of anger as he answered. “No.”

  “I will not abandon these people. If you plan on staying with my family, you’ll have to get used to the idea that they’re part of it. I can’t turn them out anymore than I can turn you out. We need them.”

  Rick did not respond for several seconds—the tension in the air made it seem like several minutes. Finally, he spoke. “If we play it that way, then I’ll need to be in charge.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “And another thing—you damn fool—the blood of your family is on your hands, not mine.” Rick approached the podium and gripped it until his knuckles were white. “If we’re to survive as a…group, like Isaac is suggesting, then the bullshit ends now. Everyone needs to stand committed. I did not come up here to help others, I came up to help Isaac and his family, but he seems to think that you’re all part of it. If you argue with me, however, if you fight against what I’m telling you to do, then there is no friendship that you might have with Isaac that’ll prevent me from kicking you out. There will be no dissent; there will be no arguments. If you want to stay here, then you’ll do so by my good graces. If you can’t live with what I’m saying, then you can find your way out of here right now. Our resources are going to be spread thin, and we can’t afford to make any mistakes. We’ve got a lot to do and little time to do it. Unless you do everything I tell you to, the next seven days could be your last.”

  ELEVEN

  Day 1

  Rick wasted no time in pissing everybody off. His instructions were quick and impatient, like an irate father dealing with an obstinate child. He first collected all the cash he could from everyone in the audience and then divided it amongst several groups. He sent out each group to a different store, charging them not to return until every last dollar was spent from their pockets and their hands were full of the supplies they had purchased. To one of these groups, Rick lent his car, gave them the most money, and sent them off to the furthest and most obscure grocery store. He then tasked other people with odd jobs, some so bizarre that people had to seek reassurance from Isaac before they would agree to do it.

  Several people were set to work in defacing the outside of the church. They tagged the building with spray paint and ripped down parking signs and banisters, tore up loose boards, and boarded up windows. Everything that was not part of the infrastructure of the church was fair game. Large rocks were placed in the parking lot and dirt was thrown on the walkway that led up to the front door.

  Another group was sent to the highway to gather supplies from the hundreds of abandoned vehicles. Rick had sent these individuals to an isolated portion of the highway, where they hoped to find the most supplies with the least amount of resistance. They carried with them a list that Rick had hastily scribbled on the back of a used piece of paper. Many of the items made sense like food, water, and gasoline, but the list also included several things that raised eyebrows, such as alternators, electrical wires, battery connection cables, car batteries, blankets, and even empty bottles.

  A final group that was headed up by Isaac was instructed to remain at the church and prepare living quarters for the over two hundred members of the congregation and their families. Several of the benches in the back of the congregation were removed and space was made for people to sleep on the floor. They also set up portable tables inside the chapel to create a dining area. With the added heat from the vigorous work, the temperature in the chapel soon became unbearable. A few arguments erupted, but Isaac was able to keep the peace by stepping in between the instigators and quoting scripture after scripture until the anger turned to boredom.

  Just as one of these spats concluded, Rick entered the chapel, a sidearm strapped to his right leg. He was dressed in all black and wore a tactical vest. Velcroed to the right side of his chest was a tab that read SPECIAL POLICE FORCE. On the left side of his chest, there was a white badge Isaac had never seen before. Rick was already on the other end of the chapel when Isaac spoke.

  “Rick, where are you going?”

  Rick turned but did not stop. “I need to talk to the Mayor.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I want to find out.”

  “When will you be back?”

  Rick pulled the door open but then stopped. “Soon. When everyone gets back, make sure they stay indoors. I don’t want a flood of people coming and going. The only people I want to leave the chapel are those who are sent out to retrieve firearms from their homes. If someone has more weapons than they can carry, then lend them my vehicle. Looks like you’re setting up places for people to sleep in the chapel.”

  “We have a lot of people.”

  “Move them down to the basement; it will be much cooler and safer down there.”

  “It’s dirty.”

  “Clean it up.”

  “People don’t want to go down there because of the spiders.”

  “Suit yourself, but I guarantee that anybody who stays up here won’t sleep much.”

  Isaac nodded as his brother disappeared.

  Rick took large steps as he headed down towards city hall. Judging by the position of the sun, Rick was guessing that it was about five in the afternoon. The closer he got to downtown, the more people he spotted. A large group of teenagers on a street corner were talking excitedly with one another. Several of them were staring blankly at their iPhones, as if trying to will them back to life. On the other side of the roa
d, a group of old vets with green veteran’s caps had attached empty 1911 holsters onto their belts. Rick gave a polite nod but pushed steadily onward. The streets were alive with laughter and noise, most of it seemed jovial and carefree. There were all sorts of people walking along the sidewalks, from mothers with young children to businessmen in sweaty suits to country hillbillies that seemed to have rolled out of the forest. A group of skinheads had parked themselves in front of an electronic store; they were not causing any problems as of yet, but Rick did not think it would take much before they did. Occasionally, he would see a set of police officers on bicycles or on foot making rounds down various streets.

  Rick kept a straight face as he walked through the crowd, betraying no emotion except perhaps boredom. He did not focus too much on the faces around him and instead studied the people’s demeanor. People were not panicked, nor did they seem worried. There was, however, a definite polarization of demographics: people appeared to form into groups that they most identified with.

  Many of the people were treating this as some sort of break from the mundane and ordinary, a chance to get together with their friends and talk about nothing. A group of parents were actually singing praises for whatever had just happened because it killed their children’s phones and gaming systems. Several of the parks were crowded with people who had spread out on blankets and ate mounds of refrigerated food. As Rick approached one of these parks, he could not help but notice how similar it appeared to a 1950’s Pepsi commercial where children were playing tag or three-legged races or impromptu football games. On the other end of the park, near a fountain that had long since dried and cracked, several bands were blasting acoustic rock music. A crowd had gathered around the musicians, singing whenever they recognized the tune and mumbling when they did not.

  Past the park and closer to city hall, the mood became somewhat more somber. The people in this area were walking quickly from one building to another. There were more police present and they seemed eager to keep people moving. As Rick approached city hall, he could see a crowd had gathered. The people were eerily quiet, as if the slightest sound would interrupt important news that might be announced at any moment. City hall was a grandiose building, having stone columns that held up an elaborate roof, but it had long since fallen into disrepair. Somebody at some point had spent serious money to build the massive structure, but that was from a different time, a different era. Now, ill-kept vines wrapped around much of the columns, turning them into a mess of dying vegetation.

  Rick approached a man near the back of the crowd. “What’s going on?”

  The man looked at Rick, studying him briefly before he answered. “The Mayor said he was going to make an announcement this afternoon, but we haven’t heard a word yet. People are trying to find out what has happened.”

  “Who’s the Mayor?”

  “Quintin Bentley—he was just elected two months ago. A big mistake if you ask me, and this power outage ain’t doin’ him any favors.”

  “Why a big mistake?”

  “He bought his way into office; his vote was going for $25 dollars a pop. Any honest, decent man shouldn’t have to buy votes to get into office.”

  “How do you know any of that?”

  “I voted for him.”

  “So, you’re part of the problem.”

  “He was going to win anyway—might as well get something out of the election. Heaven knows it’s probably the only money he’s going to bring to the city. And now no one has any idea what has happened, and we’ve got an idiot at the steering wheel.”

  Rick nodded. “Thanks.”

  The man reached up a bony hand to Rick’s shoulder. “Where

  do you think you’re going?”

  Rick swatted the hand away. “I’m going to talk to the Mayor.”

  “He won’t see nobody.”

  “He’ll see me.” Rick walked away from the man and towards the city hall’s iron rod fence. He did not have to fight through the crowd; most people, after seeing the gun at his side and the insignia on his chest and arms, assumed he must have been someone important.

  Once he reached the gate, Rick pulled out a black wallet and flashed a badge at the officer. “I need to talk to the Mayor.”

  The policemen on the other side of the fence studied this newcomer for several long moments. One of the fatter, more senior-looking officers stepped forward. “Sorry, sir. The Mayor said he did not want any visitors, at least not until further notice.”

  Rick clenched his jaw, his face expressionless. “The badge I just showed you could get me into the innermost chambers of the White House. If you had any idea what it meant, you would have already let me in by now and offered me something to drink without another word. I don’t have much time; this is one stop amongst many.” He kept his words even and calm, but there was something about his tone that made the police officer flinch.

  “I…I…will find out.”

  Rick nodded, but the impatience was evident on his face. The wait was not long, but still longer than Rick thought was necessary. The iron rod gate squealed as it was opened, allowing Rick to squeeze through.

  “Right this way,” the officer said.

  Rick was taken into the stone building, which was unbearably hot. His steps echoed through the almost abandoned floor as he was led to a marble stairwell. The officer flipped on a flashlight and continued into the darkness below. Just above the stairwell was a large picture of the planet Pluto; at the bottom of the frame, a plaque read “The Illusion of Truth.”

  He was taken down two floors and into a mess of people, all of which largely ignored him. The temperature was definitely cooler downstairs, but it seemed that the tempers were not. The office staff was talking lively amongst each other—a few of them were in all-out yelling matches. There was a woman tucked away in the corner who had broken down completely and was in the middle of wrenching sobs. The limited lighting produced by a few propane lanterns only amplified the feeling of dread and unease. Papers were scattered across the floor; desks were bunched together with little rhyme or reason.

  A more robust argument resulted in a pushing match that knocked one of the lanterns off a desk and sent it smashing to the floor. Flecks of glass sprayed across the room as the light flickered out. Several people disappeared into complete darkness. Everyone else in the room suddenly looked more demonic as the remaining light accented the curves and sharp angles of their faces.

  Slowly, Rick was ushered past the office staff and into an almost pitch-black room. Rick could see the faint outline of a man. He held a small penlight in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. He was so focused on a sheet of paper in front of him that he did not seem to notice Rick or the fact that some of his staff appeared to be at the breaking point just outside his office door. With the little light that was present, the man’s features appeared sharp and jagged.

  “I don’t have much time,” Rick whispered.

  The man puffed on his cigarette and returned to the paper. “And who are you?”

  “My name is Rick. I’m a Field Operative in the CIA. I came to talk to you about your plan of action.”

  “Did the Federal Government send you?”

  “Yes,” Rick said. “You the Mayor?”

  “Yes, I am,” the man said.

  “What’s the situation?” Rick asked.

  “Well,” the Mayor said softly, “our power is out, and our communication is limited. I’ve sent several couriers in the few remaining cars that seem to be working to the surrounding cities. It seems that whatever killed the power, doesn’t affect older vehicles. The word I’m getting back is that everyone is just as bad off as we are. No one has power. No electronic device seems to be functioning. No one knows how extensive the damage is, but from the reports I’m getting, it seems to cover the entire state. The circuits are all fried. It will take months to repair them, maybe years—that’s to say if we even have the supplies to do it. Everything has just shut d
own. Do you have any word from Washington?”

  Rick stepped forward, “Yes. We’re alone. They can’t send any help, because they need help themselves. This is not just in your state—it’s throughout the entire Eastern United States.”

  The Mayor leaned back in his chair; it creaked as he did. “What did this?”

  “Electromagnetic pulse.”

  “Who set it off?”

  “The other side of the country.”

  “Just like that—they would take out our power without a word of warning? Why?”

  Rick stepped forward again. “That doesn’t matter—we may never know. What matters most is what you’re planning to do with the city. No one out there seems to know how bad the situation is, or what to do. The people are calm right now, but without a plan, that’ll soon change.”

  The Mayor looked up at the black ceiling above. “That’s what I feared. We’ve had blackouts before—hell, we’ve had blackouts that lasted several days longer than this. But this one is different—I think everyone feels it in their blood. If I knew that all the minutes of my life were going to lead to this one moment, I would not have chosen to live half of them. What a waste. What a painful waste of my life.”

  Rick placed his hands on the mayor’s desk. “What is your plan?”

  The room fell silent. Then, from the corner of the office, Rick thought he heard someone moving. He turned towards the noise, straining his eyes in the darkness. He was about to ask if they were alone, but the Mayor began speaking before he had a chance.