The Seventh Day

by Scott Shepherd

  “No. Not at all, Sammy …”

  “Don’t you dare call me that!” seethed Secundo. “You son of a bitch! You left me to die in the chair! When it should have been your ass sitting in it!”

  Primo started to protest. He didn’t get anything out because Secundo hurled himself through the air and landed on top of his brother.

  Joad reached with his right hand and gripped the arrow sticking out of his shoulder. He squinched his eyes tight, preparing for the pain, and yanked. It was even worse than he expected, as he felt muscle rip and his stomach curl into a nauseous knot, but the arrow popped out and he let it clatter to the ground.

  The church shook with thunder as dark storm clouds appeared in the upper reaches; they settled around the Strangers’ craft, which looked like a zeppelin trying to navigate its way through a sudden summer squall.

  Then, the spaceship’s multicolored glow lights flipped on.

  Directly below, the brothers had rolled onto the altar, flailing away at each other. Secundo’s swipes of strength mostly missed, as the storm emanating from Primo pelted rain onto them, making it impossible for the blond brother to see straight.

  Joad struggled to his feet, clutching his bloodied shoulder, and peered through the driving rain at Fixer, who was still standing in the rear.

  “Fixer!”

  “I’m trying!”

  And he was trying as hard as he could.

  He’d gotten the thing going; the ship lights were spinning in all kinds of directions. And the brothers were right below the spacecraft at long last, exactly where Joad wanted, even though it had been completely by chance. Fixer never imagined that a sibling spat would put them there, but he wasn’t going to be picky.

  The main problem was that Fixer had never attempted to move anything this size. It didn’t help that the spacecraft was wedged into the church wall, budging the furthest thing from its mind. Fixer’s nose was already gushing blood as he clamped down on that place where his Gift lived, pushing it up toward the humongous craft to no avail. The Strangers’ ship revved and pumped like a gargantuan engine that refused to turn over, and Fixer started gasping for breath. The effort was causing him to lose consciousness.

  Joad ran up the aisle, frantically waving at Aurora, Laura, and Doc. “Get out! Get out right now!”

  Fixer heard Doc screaming for Laura. But the sound was swallowed up by a gigantic roll of thunder and clack from sheets of lightning that illuminated the church like a thousand flashbulbs going off at once.

  The next thing Fixer knew, he was grabbed by Joad and pulled toward the exit.

  “Enough!”

  If Joad yelled anything else, Fixer missed it. Joad dragged him out of the church—just as a lightning bolt zipped through the sanctuary.

  Damn his Gift, thought Primo.

  He kept screaming at Secundo, but his brother couldn’t hear him over the deafening storm. Rain poured over them as they slipped and slid on the altar a lot more than they landed punches.

  Primo finally escaped Secundo’s grasp and bounced down the altar steps, ending up on his back in a crunch of agonizing pain. Which fueled his anger more—and then resulted in the first lightning bolt shooting through the church.

  “Nooooo!” screamed Primo, as much for losing control of his Gift as the bolt hitting the church wall directly right the spacecraft.

  It dislodged a huge chunk of concrete that fell on top of Secundo, knocking him senseless to the altar. Primo tried to get over to his fallen brother and felt another surge of uncontrollable rage leave his body.

  The next lightning bolt scored a direct hit on the Strangers’ ship.

  The glow lights went haywire as the spacecraft broke in half—and dropped out of the sky like a fallen angel from heaven.

  It crashed directly atop Secundo.

  Primo’s tortured scream echoed in the tumultuous storm.

  The force from the ship crashing inside the church caused Joad to stumble as he raced across the scorched lawn. He ended up close to Aurora, Sayers, and Laura, who were huddled by the gate. Fixer had fallen as well, and crawled over to join them.

  “Everyone all right?” Joad asked, the rain pelting down in a torrent on his face.

  “You’re one to ask,” said Sayers as he bent beside him. “Let’s look at that shoulder.” The physician barely had time to do so before Aurora cried out.

  “Oh my God!”

  Joad followed her gaze. She was staring at the church and the spacecraft hanging on the outside wall. Both structure and ship started to shudder as the storm clouds swirled. Stained-glass windows shattered, smoke billowed out, and seconds later, the church that had been Joad’s home and salvation imploded on itself like burning paper. It crumpled to the ground in a pile of stone, ash, and parts of something once put together in a distant world.

  “Holy shit,” said Fixer.

  Joad raised an eyebrow.

  “That didn’t come out the way I meant.”

  “That’s okay,” Joad said.

  He wiped his brow, which was soaking wet from sweat and the pounding rain.

  The rain.

  Holy shit was right.

  It should have stopped raining.

  The air was split by an eruption coming from the remains of the church.

  The roar might as well have come from the grave.

  “Joad!”

  Primo emerged from the ruins, crossbow in hand, taking direct aim on him.

  Joad tried to get to his feet as Laura darted in front of him, screaming.

  “Noooooo!” she screamed.

  Primo let the arrow fly and it speared her right through the chest.

  Laura fell into Joad’s arms.

  Which is where she died, as the storm raged even harder.

  EPISODE 8

  41

  The coffin was resting on a contraption that looked more like a forklift used for lifting heavy boxes than for lowering a body into its final resting place.

  And not just any body either.

  His mother’s.

  Cletus, squeezed between Trey (fidgety and four years old) and Samuel (tense at ten), watched the casket disappear below the surface. Their father stood at the foot of the grave, holding Norman. Their baby brother, all of four days old, was swaddled in a bright blue blanket and wailing away with a healthy set of lungs.

  Trey scrunched up his face, concern written all over it. “Won’t all that dirt hurt her?” he asked, already curious at such a tender age.

  “She can’t feel anything anymore, moron,” snapped Cletus. He certainly could relate: He was having a hard time feeling anything himself, ever since their mother had gone into the hospital the previous week to have Norman, and never came out.

  Samuel edged closer to the grave to watch the coffin descend. Cletus, worried that his brother might slip and join their late mother, pulled him back.

  “What are you doing?” yelped Samuel.

  “Saving your butt. Like always.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “Did too!”

  Cletus started to shove Samuel, but their father stepped right in between them.

  “Boys! Behave.”

  “He started it,” accused Cletus, always happy to blame someone else, especially Sammy.

  “I don’t care,” said their father, sternly. “You should have more respect for your mother.”

  “Why?” asked Cletus. “She didn’t care about us! If she did, she wouldn’t have ended up down there.” He pointed at the hole in the ground.

  His father, tall and angular like a flamingo, reached down and grabbed Cletus by the scruff of his neck. “I won’t have you talking about your mother that way!”

  Cletus tried to wriggle free, but his father had a vise-like grip, surprising for a slender man who looked like he could barely lift a paper clip. Trey and Samuel made faces at Cletus, who mouthed back the words “Stuff it” as his father pushed him along.

  The drag of shame moved past the few mourners who ha
d gathered in the cemetery under threatening spring skies for the service. Cletus’s father shoved him onto a bench with one hand, never releasing his grip on the newborn he held in the other. The baby had finally stopped crying and opened its blue eyes, which stared up at his father. Cletus felt it was as if young Norman had quit his fussing fit to see the words of wisdom the family patriarch was about to impart.

  “You can’t honestly believe your mother wanted to the leave the four of you,” said his father. “She fought incredibly hard for your brother to be born. She tried to make it as well—but in the end it came down to her or him, and she wanted Norman to have a life. Now, it’s up to all of us to make sure he has one.”

  Thunder punctuated this last statement, and frightened the baby, who began to wail again. Cletus’s father tried to comfort him, but Norman just squirmed and squiggled. In that moment, Cletus, at the ripe old age of twelve, realized that his old man was lost without their mother, who’d done the lion’s share of work when it came to raising the kids.

  “Things are going to be different now that your mom is gone, Cletus. Being the oldest, a lot of that responsibility is going to fall on you.” He demonstrated by handing Cletus his new baby brother. Cletus stared into the infant’s eyes—the brightest blue he’d ever seen. They seemed to lock back onto Cletus, who suddenly felt something he’d never experienced—a real connection to someone and the overwhelming sense of responsibility.

  Norman gurgled. Cletus actually thought he might have been smiling at him.

  “Wow.”

  “Remember that feeling, son,” said his father. “There’s going to come a day when I’m not here and that little boy will need his big brother to stick up for him and help fight his battles.”

  The thunder rumbled even harder, and lightning flickered through the darkening sky. Cletus felt the few dark hairs on his adolescent arms stand on end, not sure if it was from the static electricity accompanying the oncoming storm or something else.

  The heavens opened up before he could decide.

  He took off the new blue blazer his father bought him specifically to wear today, for his first funeral, and wrapped it around his new sibling; he clutched the baby protectively to his breast. Then, he ran with his father and two brothers for the family station wagon, to head back home without his mother.

  The storm raged harder than ever.

  Primo had emerged from the church rubble with the wrath of the wronged and the fury of his failure. He had broken the promise he’d made to his father, and let his brothers down, one by one. Quattro, Trey, and now Secundo; poor never-able-to-catch-a-break Sammy. All dead.

  There was only one thing left to do—bring down the person Primo held responsible for everything that had gone so horribly wrong. The man he’d been ordered to destroy but failed to do so.

  Joad.

  He had let the arrow fly and saw it headed directly for the chest of his nemesis.

  Finally!

  But then …

  The stupid girl.

  Primo howled as it pierced her heart. It wasn’t a cry of sorrow—no, it came from pure frustration and rage. His brain snapped and his gut surged with a force heretofore never felt as he shoved on his Gift harder than ever before.

  He felt its power sweep over his entire body.

  Encapsulating him.

  Transforming him.

  Joad clung to the girl as she tumbled to the ground. He ignored the pelting rain and called her name, even though he knew she was gone.

  “Laura! Laura . . !”

  He was barely aware of the incessant buzz building around him. Only when Fixer screamed, did he look up.

  “Joad! Watch out!”

  At least he thought it was Fixer. It was impossible to see.

  A crowd of oversized insects—locusts, hornets, and wasps—was darting through the driving rain. He let Laura’s body slip through his fingers and started to get up, just as the swarm moved en masse for him. It resembled a swirling, buzzing, pitch-black tornado.

  Joad didn’t realize it was actually Primo until he was thrown to the ground by the sole surviving sibling.

  Primo screamed with a ferocity fueled by the insects that his fury had conjured up, as Joad began flailing away at a body that seemed to have a thousand moving parts. They were extraordinary creatures; if Joad hadn’t been so intent on fighting them off, they would have fascinated him.

  The locusts had dozens of wings that rubbed and clacked together, providing the deafening swarming sound. The hornets’ stingers were the size of darts, and the wasps were a multitude of colors as bright as they were deadly. Joad was repeatedly bitten and stung by Primo’s minions. Others flew into his nose and mouth, threatening to suffocate him. The rest attacked his ears and eyes, seemingly determined to render him deaf and blind.

  As Joad grappled with whatever Primo had become, a deluge of hail pounded from above, joining the thunder, rain, and lightning to make the ground even more treacherous. In seconds, it was a river of mud that enabled Joad to slide far enough away from Primo and lash out with his foot where he thought the man’s face was. He heard a painful groan, and the swarming Primo backed off slightly.

  Joad scrambled backwards and bumped into something lying in the mud. He reached for it, but the Primo Thing dove on top of him again, pinning Joad to the ground.

  This time he could see Primo’s face—a swirling mass of insects begetting more insects, and violently thrusting pincers, micro-mandibles and stingers at Joad. Primo’s glass eye was gone; it was now a nest for the creatures his anger had borne.

  “Die!” screamed Primo, his cry half deafening insect buzz and half human.

  Joad tried to bring up the weapon, but was overpowered by the swirling monster on top of him.

  “Get off of him!” Fixer cried.

  Joad could barely make out Fixer grabbing hold of Primo’s head and trying to pull him away.

  Fixer yelped in excruciating pain as the hornets and wasps swarmed onto him. Finally, he had to let Primo go, and dived into the mud to save himself from the insect assault.

  Joad didn’t waste the opportunity.

  Free for a split second, with his strength waning, he hurled the object he had rescued from the mud at Primo.

  Lightning flashed, illuminating everything around them, including the weapon he had just thrown.

  The pointed half of the church steeple.

  Which was now sticking out of Primo’s chest.

  Primo hung in midair, like a man dangling on a tightrope, before toppling forward onto the rest of the spire that once stood atop Joad’s church.

  The steeple ran completely through Primo, who crumpled to the ground.

  The storm immediately began to abate, and the swarm of insects dissipated. By the time Joad got to his feet, the rain was a soft sad drizzle, and the locusts and their kin were no longer in sight.

  Joad checked on Primo. The man lay motionless, blood still pumping from the speared chest wound.

  Fixer, his face a mess of red splotches from countless stings and bites, was sitting up a few yards away.

  “You okay?” Joad asked.

  Fixer nodded.

  Primo’s eyes flashed open, and he grabbed Joad’s shirt.

  Joad found himself staring into the face of the should-have-been-dead man. It was scabbed, burnt, oozing blood and pus, courtesy of the demons hatched from inside him.

  Joad had never seen anyone in more need of absolution before going to meet his maker.

  Then, he remembered what Primo had done to Laura.

  Joad brushed Primo’s hand off his shirt and turned away.

  “I’m not the last… .”

  Primo’s voice came out in a whisper.

  Joad turned back, thinking finally the man was showing contrition.

  Hardly. The smile on Primo’s face taunted Joad.

  He felt acid rise in his throat, thrust out his hands, and grabbed Primo by the neck.

  “What? The last what?”

&n
bsp; Primo just laughed.

  Then, he coughed, closed his eyes, and died.

  Joad began to shake him.

  “What? The last what, damn it!”

  A few minutes later, when Fixer pulled him off Primo, Joad was still trying to extract the answer from a dead man.

  42

  It had all happened so damned fast.

  Except for the parts Aurora now played in her head, over and over in a devastating loop. Those were in agonizing slow motion.

  Joad’s church imploding as the Strangers’ craft fell with it.

  Primo emerging from the ruins like a phoenix from the ashes, hell-bent on destruction.

  Laura stepping in front of the arrow.

  Aurora knew this last image would haunt the rest of her days.

  She had seen Laura starting to move out of the corner of her eye. She had tried to lunge, but lost her footing in the mud and missed by inches; inches that proved to be the gap between a blessed life and a tragic death.

  Aurora had been standing beside Doc when Laura collapsed into Joad’s arms. She had screamed Laura’s name and dropped to her knees, in pure agony.

  It was like being in a living nightmare.

  She lay on the ground, watching Primo roll around in the mud with Joad. The last brother looked like a humongous hornet’s hive, no longer human. This was the man, the thing that had been on top of her in the graveyard. Aurora did everything in her power to hold onto what was left of her sanity.

  And then, mercifully, miraculously, it was over.

  As the insect swarm broke apart, the storm clouds parted, and Primo took his last spiteful breath, Aurora felt relief flood through her veins. But it was fleeting as she noticed that Doc was no longer by her side. She heard a raking sob and looked to her left.

  Doc was rocking back and forth on the muddy ground, cradling Laura in his arms.

  Aurora’s heart shattered in a thousand pieces.

  He had been outside the Winnebago when he heard the crash, building a fire to prepare dinner. Sayers dropped the wood, and raced up the steps into the trailer.

  Laura, who hadn’t spoken a word in the six months since he’d brought her back from Funland, sat on the floor. Her tiny hands dripped with blood; she’d cut herself on broken glass. It came from the former pipes he’d just finished putting together to build the still, after spending three months gathering parts.