Into the Dark of the Day (Action of Purpose, 2)

by Stu Jones

  As the tones played, the dog howled then became silent and still, once again hypnotized by the song. Glenn watched as the thirty thousand volts of electricity stung the legs and feet of the animal, its muscles quivering under a glistening black coat. Glenn moved his hand to the mouse and over the voltage meter.

  Harper squirmed. “Haven’t we seen enough?”

  “No,” Glenn said, as he dialed the voltage past fifty thousand and watched the dog’s muscles jump and pop as the creature remained in place, frozen, impervious to the pain.

  “Enough electricity to knock down a grown man, yet there Brutus stands. The mind—even the canine mind—possesses amazing powers of control.”

  “Please, stop. I don’t know how much more he can take.”

  “Not yet. I want to try the aggression chain.”

  “While you’re shocking him? We don’t know if it’ll work. If it does, it could—”

  “It’ll work. Shut up and dial it in,” Glenn ordered.

  Harper pulled up the aggression chain and moved to play the first sequence. Glenn stopped him.

  “G. Play the G chain.”

  “The seventh? You can’t possibly know what to expect from that level.”

  “Do it!”

  Both men eyed the quivering, moaning dog as Harper initiated the chain. As though a lightning bolt had struck it, the animal came free of the trance. The electricity sent the dog flying from its once stationary position. Harper cried out and leaped away from the glass as Glenn stared in astonishment. Brutus, all two hundred pounds of him, slammed face-first into the wall in front of them. Again and again, blind to the pain, numb to the fear, and with an unbridled rage coursing through his body, the dog crashed again and again into the glass.

  “Make it stop!” Harper screamed.

  But Glenn didn’t stop. The animal slammed again and again into the glass, the force deforming the creature’s head, reducing it to a spattering of blood and bone as the animal willfully destroyed itself under the spell of the song.

  Just audible over the whining of the air vent, Harper’s moans, and the beast’s labored death gurgle, Glenn whispered a single word.

  “Perfection.”

  FOUR

  NOW

  Dagen watched through the cracked door in the station hallway as Jenna raised her water bottle and drained the last of her daily ration. Pausing at the top of the tilt, she shook the empty bottle and licked her lips as the remaining drops hit them. She sighed and examined the bottle thirstily before setting it back on the table next to her.

  Dagen took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and willed himself forward. Using his shoulders, he pushed through the doors to the medical bay, maneuvering his crutches with care. It was Jenna’s shift. He knew he’d find her here. From the doorway he could just make out her slender form as she tended to a recent victim of a Sick attack on one of the scavenging parties. She glanced over her shoulder at Dagen before turning back to the wounded man, patting his shoulder.

  This gentle display of affection stirred Dagen’s blood—how she cared for this man as if he were family to her and how she had done the same for him. He felt himself flush but recovered as she made her way toward him. In his right palm, hidden from view, he clutched a small, silver cross on a thin, silver chain. Limping forward he tried to think of how he would say it, how he possibly could put what he felt into words.

  “Dagen, to what do I owe the honor?” Jenna spoke with a genuine smile.

  Dagen faltered, and for a split second, he almost turned and left without a word. Looking down toward his ruined legs, he struggled to get the words out.

  Why is this so damn hard?

  “I…uh…I…” Her eyes pierced his soul and lanced his last remaining resolve. He couldn’t do it. “I just…uh…thought I left something in here.”

  Stupid! That’s the best you could think of?

  Jenna cocked her head, an inquisitive look on her face. “Really? When was the last time you were in here?”

  “Been a while, I guess. Just thought I’d check.”

  But she kept on. “What did you lose?”

  “I think it was a…you know. Just forget about it.” He turned on his crutches to leave.

  “Well, nice to see you too,” Jenna said in an easy tone to his turned back.

  “Oh, yeah. Sure,” he said, glancing back at her.

  Before Dagen could reach the door, he heard a desperate cry for help from somewhere in the facility. He looked at Jenna, confusion visible on both of their faces.

  “You first, Doc,” Dagen said, holding the door open for Jenna, who rushed into the hallway. “I’m right behind you.”

  Tynuk approached the front gate of the radio station and waved at the guards as they opened the gate for him. Azolja, his wolfish companion, was not with him. Instead, the huge creature watched inquisitively from the rise of a nearby hillside. Tynuk understood, of course, why people were afraid of the monstrous beast, who appeared to have been yanked straight from the pages of an ancient text on shape-shifting. As a result, he had Az wait for him outside while he conducted his business at the station. As the boy entered, his decorative necklace, animal skins, and breechclout left no question as to his Native American heritage.

  “Can you tell me where Courtland is? Have you seen him?” Tynuk called to one of the guards.

  “Over by the trucks, in the motor pool.”

  “Thanks.”

  Courtland was the boy’s second closest friend. Early on they recognized a likeness of purpose in each other, the touch of the Great Spirit, something that was difficult to describe in words. They’d agreed to be allies and comrades should either of them ever need help.

  Tynuk also had become acquainted with Kane and a few others at the station, but they didn’t seem to understand him. Most of the time, they kept their distance from him and his beast. Tynuk felt that Kane viewed him as just a boy, even though he had more than proven himself during the events of Day Forty. This, more than anything, irritated Tynuk.

  The warrior boy crossed the courtyard toward the motor pool, receiving an occasional glance or a nod from the station residents as they went about their day. It was next to impossible for a twelve-year-old boy covered in animal skins and carrying a war club at his side to go unnoticed in such an environment.

  He arrived at the motor pool and called out, “Courtland?”

  “Here,” came the reply. “On the other side of the tanker.”

  Tynuk crossed around the front of the big rig. There he found Courtland on the ground, bolting a makeshift, ten-gauge steel grate to the front. Courtland sat up as the boy approached, and gave a hearty, “Tynuk! How are you, my young friend?”

  “I am well. How are you, sir?” The boy smiled. Even in a seated position, the giant was taller than him.

  “I’m blessed this day to have air in my lungs and a smile on my face.” Courtland grinned a big, toothy smile. “What’s up?”

  “If you have a minute, I’d like to talk to you about…things.”

  Courtland’s smile faded. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure, yeah. We’re fine. It’s just…”

  “What is it, my young friend? Speak freely.”

  “I…Az and I can’t…” Tynuk paused. His bronze skin, flat nose, and round face showed a distinct likeness to his Central American ancestors. “What I’m trying to say is we’re committed to you, but—”

  With a piercing shriek, an air horn sounded across the complex in three short blasts—the signal that an emergency had occurred.

  “Tynuk, I’m so sorry. Can we talk later? I have to see what’s going on,” Courtland said, as he scrambled to his feet.

  Tynuk lowered his head. “Yes. Of course.”

  Courtland ran off as everyone’s attention turned toward the station. No one noticed Tynuk as he slipped through a small gap in the fence and disappeared into the haze-shrouded hills beyond the station.

  Kane burst into the commissary and drew his Glock from a leath
er holster on his right hip.

  “Ah,” the man behind the counter scoffed, pushing a short, lock-blade knife farther against Kris’s throat. “His majesty arrives to tell me what to do.”

  “Drop the weapon!” Kane yelled.

  “Just like I said. Always giving orders but never listening.”

  “Drop the weapon, or we’ll be forced to shoot you.”

  “Is your aim that good?” the man said, shuffling behind Kris.

  Courtland and a few others stormed into the room. Jenna, who was one of the first to enter, stood next to Dagen and waved her hands at the armed man.

  “Hey, Jeff. It’s me, Jenna. You remember? I took care of you when you had that bad stomach bug a few months ago.”

  “I remember. I almost died of dehydration because Kane wouldn’t release any more water to me.”

  Jenna continued. “Look, you don’t want to hurt anybody. Just let Kris go. He doesn’t deserve this. It’s not his fault.”

  “I want more food and more water. He said I couldn’t have either.”

  “He doesn’t make the rules.”

  “Yeah, but Kane does.”

  “So what is it you want?” Kane said.

  “Drop your gun,” said Jeff.

  “Can’t do that, but I’ll lower it. How’s that?” Kane asked, lowering his weapon.

  “Fine, whatever. Look, I want more food and water, and I want it now, damn it!”

  “Shoot him, Kane,” Dagen murmured.

  Jenna furrowed her brow and looked sideways at Dagen

  “It’s not worth giving him more of our rations. Shoot him and be finished with it,” Dagan said.

  “Just like that, huh? Gonna shoot me?” Jeff stammered.

  “No, no one’s gonna shoot you,” Kane called back. “Hey, Dagen, I think I’ve got this. Why don’t you go find somewhere else to be?”

  Dagen paused and glared at Kane.

  “Like right now,” Kane said, the dislike for the man heavy in his tone.

  “Fine. The mess is yours anyhow. You clean it up,” Dagen said, as he turned and hobbled on his crutches into the hallway.

  “Jeff,” Kane began again, “you want more rations? We’ll see what we can work out. Just let Kris go, and we’ll talk about the details. Fair enough?

  Jeff faltered. “That was too easy. If I let him go now, you’ll shoot me anyway.”

  “We won’t do that, Jeff. I promise,” said Jenna. “We’re all hungry and thirsty. There’s no reason to hurt anyone over this.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yeah.” Kane nodded. “You won’t be shot.”

  The man lowered the knife, and Kris scrambled to get away as the blade clattered on the floor. Kane holstered his gun and strode forward with purpose toward Jeff, who now had his hands raised.

  “Kane…” Jenna started.

  “You said you wouldn’t hurt me!” Jeff cried, as Kane approached him with a scowl.

  He punched Jeff hard in the face. The man’s nose cracked under the force, sending blood down his chin. He blacked out and fell to the floor.

  “I said I wouldn’t shoot you, you reckless son of a bitch!” Kane shouted, as the others approached to secure Jeff and make sure Kris was OK. “Take him out front.”

  “Kane,” Jenna pleaded. “You’re angry. Let’s be reasonable.”

  “We’re going to nip this in the bud right now. We’re going to eliminate anyone’s doubts about what happens if you act violently without cause toward anyone at this station.”

  “OK. Just be reasonable, that’s all.”

  “I agree,” Courtland started. “No one was hurt bad. Let’s make sure the punishment is fair. If he had murdered Kris, I might feel different.”

  “Fair doesn’t exist anymore, Jenna. We need to set an example,” Kane hissed as he wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.

  “Maybe so,” said Courtland, his face grim, “but not like you mean. Put a bullet in his head, and you’re no different than those bandits out there. We have to maintain our humanity here, our identity as free men and women—as Americans. This is why the justice system existed, and you, more than anyone, should respect that.”

  Kane took in a deep breath. As cooler heads began to prevail, he took in a second long draw of air before turning to Courtland and nodding. “OK,” he said at last. “Take him out front and rally everyone. We’ll be fair.”

  Jeff was dragged out into the courtyard, where the inhabitants of the station gathered around. There he sat on the ground with Kane and Courtland on either side, his wrists bound together as the blood from his nose began to dry, smeared across his face.

  “Everyone, listen up!” Kane yelled. “There’s something very important that needs to be addressed here.” He nodded at Courtland, who nodded in return.

  “Everyone here is allowed a daily ration of food and water. Everyone receives the same amount. No one is considered special, and no one gets more unless extreme circumstances dictate. I don’t get more, and neither does Courtland. None of us do. This is the only way we can survive. We’re all hungry and thirsty, but if you want to live here, you have to obey the rules, taking only what you’re given. As always, if you salvage something apart from the group—food, ammo, extra water—you’re not required to share it with the group. But anything that is collected as part of an official scavenging mission is to be shared equally with everyone. Does everyone understand this?”

  A murmur of acknowledgment rippled through the crowd.

  “This man broke these rules and tried to take more than he was allowed. In the process, he took Kris hostage in the commissary with a knife. I don’t mind people carrying their own weapons here. We live in an unsafe world. But you must understand that the consequences for this kind of violation will be swift and severe. If you want to call your own shots, you’re free to go and make your own way. If you want to stay, you will follow the rules and do your part.”

  Kane and Courtland helped the man to his feet as he started to come to.

  “Wha…what happened?” Jeff groaned.

  Kane and Courtland walked Jeff to the gate. As it opened they cut his bonds with a swipe.

  “The penalty for such crimes,” Kane yelled to the group, “is exile.”

  “Wait!” a voice piped up from the crowd as a woman and a skinny young boy came to the front. “Please,” the woman said, holding her hands up in front of her. “Please, that’s my husband. He only did it for our son. The boy cries himself to sleep at night because he’s so thirsty.”

  A look of shock spread across Kane and Courtland’s faces. Neither of them had considered whether or not the man had a family. The information landed like a punch in the stomach as both men began to question a judgment they already had set in stone.

  “Please,” the woman called out again, “show mercy.”

  “Honey,” Jeff called back, “it’s okay. You stay. I’ll go. You’ll be safer here.” He turned to Kane. “They can stay, can’t they?”

  Kane nodded. “Of course.”

  “But I can’t…” Jeff started.

  “Not after this,” Kane said, looking away as the wind whipped at his hair.

  Jeff nodded. He and everyone else at the station knew that while he had a chance, being sent out alone into the wasteland was almost the same as being given a death sentence. The woman and child shuffled forward to the man and hugged him. The woman let out a gasp. “We’re going with him.”

  “No, dear. You can’t…” Jeff said through tears.

  The woman looked straight at Kane, her glare accusing him of pulling the trigger on all three of them. “If he goes, we go with him.”

  Kane clenched his jaw and paused. “If that’s what you want,” he said.

  “Are we really doing this?” Jenna whispered.

  The man hugged his wife and son, pulling them close. Kane gave the signal for the guards to shut the gate behind them. Courtland and Jenna hung their heads as they and the others at the station watched the small fam
ily meander slowly toward the hills and into oblivion.

  A heavy, drinkable shadow cast itself over the gypsy camp, as an endless cover of churning charcoal clouds roared above the desolate landscape. This group wasn’t a civilized group by any stretch, but they weren’t completely barbaric either—at least not in the flesh-eating sort of way. Most of the members held to a basic code of conduct that was enforced by the leader of the group, Garrett.

  There were those in the group, like Saxon and his crew, who were definitely unbalanced, doing well just to follow the rules. Garrett kept these mercenaries in check through the careful and limited application of bribery and power. He needed their help. They were valuable to him as a defense force.

  The basic rules were simple. Mind your own business. Don’t harm other members of the group without cause. Don’t steal from each other. Apart from that, members could scavenge and trade for what they needed—or provide some service, as was the unfortunate case for Susan Lorusso.

  In her previous life she was an elementary teacher. But among other harsh realities, that vocation no longer existed. Now life consisted solely of survival with little room for comfort or leisure—and much less room for a traditional educational system.

  Her children, four-year-old fraternal twins Rachael and Michael, had survived the collapse of civilization. Their education consisted of the most basic knowledge and skills, training meant to keep a person alive, even a four-year-old person. They learned what was safe to eat and drink, how to listen to their natural instincts and fears, basic woodworking and other utilitarian crafts, and which types of items and tools to keep an eye out for when scavenging.

  The hard truth was that the new world didn’t care about age. If you didn’t know how to survive, you wouldn’t survive. Many times survival meant something far more than the physical act of living and breathing. Survival as the desire to thrive and to continue on centered on one thing—hope. Hope for the future and for a better tomorrow. Something. Anything. Hope was critical to Susan Lorusso’s current condition. And even though the world seemed dead and everything she had ever known was gone, Susan knew her husband was alive.

  She stopped within earshot of Garrett and Saxon as they argued over some topic that didn’t concern her. Spying, she bent and pretended to pick up some scrap metal out of the dirt.