The Renegades 2 Aftermath (A Post Apocalyptic Zombie Thriller)

by Hunt, Jack

  “C’mon, get out.”

  They didn’t wait for us, they pulled at us like dogs on a leash. The first thing I saw set the tone for the entire place. Stripped naked, impaled on a post that was only illuminated by small fires around it was the president of the United States. I turned, wanting to block Kat from seeing it but was beaten forward with the butt of a gun. The sound of her cries behind me would be something I would never forget. I made it a few steps before casting a glance over my shoulder. Kat had collapsed.

  “Get up, bitch.”

  “Leave her alone.” Jess pushed back against them and was backhanded. Izzy saw red and lunged at the guy. That’s when they realized they should have restrained us. I pushed through two of them. I didn’t care in that moment if they put a bullet in my head. All I wanted to do was tear a limb off the guy that touched Jess. I don’t think they realized the full extent of who they were fucking with. Right there fists flew. I right-hooked a guy and knocked him to the ground. Dax turned and grabbed another by the neck. I lunged at one more only to find my legs taken out from underneath me. They began pummeling us with the butts of their assault rifles. Pain shot through me as one hit me in the back of the head.

  Then a gun went off. I thought for a split second they had shot one of us.

  “Enough.”

  Instantly, the beating stopped.

  With blood streaming down my forehead, and one eye swollen, I looked up to see a man in a dark navy suit, white shirt, red tie, and shiny black shoes heading towards us. I blinked hard. He held a handgun down by his side.

  “This isn’t how we treat out guests.”

  Guests? What fucking planet was this guy from?

  He looked the complete opposite of the others. Older, clean-cut, and in full control of them. Domino, I thought.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect. I imagined he would be covered in tattoos, sporting a mouthful of gold, and wearing the same ragtag bargain bin clothing like the others. Instead he looked as if he had walked in from another dimension. A world untouched by the brutality, loss, and scarcity. The kind that permeated and smothered us like a film of dirt every day.

  “I’m sorry for the way you have been treated.”

  “I bet you are,” I spat blood near his foot, glancing up at the body of the president. He followed my eyes.

  “Ah, yes, him.” He breathed in deeply, admiring his sick handiwork. “It seemed appropriate. A…” he paused searching for the words, “living statue, well, a dead one. But perfect, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Kat leapt up, spitting at him, her hands clawing the air. She didn’t make it even a few feet before a couple of his men took a hold of her. Domino looked at her like a lost kitten. Was it pity he felt, or did he feel anything? He tilted his head to one side and ran his hand down the side of her cheek, collecting her tears. Kat flinched at his touch.

  “Bring them up. I’m sure they haven’t eaten.”

  It was the most peculiar encounter I’d had with someone who was meant to strike fear in the hearts of those who double-crossed him. Yet what I saw before me was an anomaly to what I had pictured in my mind.

  His men pulled me to my feet and dragged me forward. As he led us through the grounds he began pointing out different landmarks as if he was a tour guide, or the owner of it all. Yet, that’s what he was. He had claimed a substantial portion of the city, including sections that were steeped in history and had at one time attracted droves of visitors from around the world.

  “We have a history and art museum over there, the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. You are absolutely going to love what I have in store for you there.” He continued gazing at everything as if he was seeing it for the first time too. “Back there we have the temple and the tabernacle.”

  We ambled behind in utter bewilderment. Was this guy for real? We followed him into a large white building. A sign outside read the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. Inside was a multi-story lobby with marble floors and pillars, cathedral-high ceilings. In its time it must have been a masterpiece. No expense had been wasted. An expensive chandelier lay in pieces on the ground, blood smeared pillars, steps, and walls. If the walls could speak, what horrors would they have witnessed here? Had people fallen prey to walkers, or his men?

  We passed two of his guys who were in the process of cleaning with rags. The water inside the bucket was stained red.

  “Forgive the décor, we are renovating,” Domino muttered.

  It felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. It was surreal. We were led up ten flights of steps. On every floor we listened to a running commentary coming from Domino’s mouth. By the time we made it to what was called the Roof Restaurant I was more than convinced that he was insane. He honestly believed that the outbreak was meant to happen.

  It was destiny, he said.

  A changing of power from one ruler to another was all part of nature’s way of bringing balance back to a world off kilter. In his mind, that’s why the president was there when all hell broke loose. He took narcissism to a whole new level by pointing out areas where he said his portrait would be hung. In time a statue would be made in his likeness. The entire temple and any worship that would occur would be dedicated to him. All I could think about was how good it would feel to shove a knife right through his smug face. That was going to be my offering.

  Everywhere, carpet was soaked in blood. We entered a circular room with a large dome above us. It was made from stained glass. A double set of dark wooden doors brought us into a two-tier dining area. At one time it would have had a breathtaking view of Temple Square and the downtown of Salt Lake City. At night it would have been lit up but now all you could see was a city thrown into darkness. Fire burned in areas of the city. The whole view screamed hopeless. It was a stark reminder of our reality.

  “By the way, I haven’t introduced myself.”

  “Domino, we already know,” I said.

  “I see my reputation precedes me.”

  “Yeah, and not in a good way. More like… Jeffery Dahmer.”

  Domino’s smile dropped.

  “Don’t mistake my hospitality for weakness.”

  He gestured to a few men. They nodded and disappeared. We were guided into a semi-circle booth that was made of green leather. The edges were formed from a deep red wood. Fifteen men watched over us as we sat at a table covered in a pristine white tablecloth. The cutlery was clean enough you could see your face in it. The whole place had a creepy feel to it as if someone had just upped and abandoned it in a hurry. Plates, cutlery, and wine glasses were still laid out on every single table in the restaurant.

  His men returned within a matter of minutes with a metal trolley covered in all manner of food. It wasn’t restaurant food but it was real, hot, and something we hadn’t seen in a while. Chicken, fries, sausages, peas, beans, and rolls of bread. Where had they got this from?

  “Eat up.”

  Kat sat there unable to. We also hesitated, unsure of what was going on. Yes, we had food in front of us but we had killed his men. Weren’t we his enemy?”

  “Come, eat.” He gestured to the bowls of steaming hot food.

  We continued scanning it and looking at him until he banged his hand on the table so hard the whole thing shook violently.

  “Fucking eat,” he screamed. And there it was, the side that we had heard of hidden below a mask he wanted to portray. He honestly thought he was a good man. That somehow nature was working together for him to be commander-in-chief.

  I slowly put a roll to my lips and sniffed it. Was he planning on poisoning us? Cautiously we each took a bite and then another. As much as we had been affected by what we had seen outside, hunger overrode anything we were feeling. We devoured what was in front of us within a matter of five minutes. Four bottles of wine were brought out and opened. It was strange being served by a gangbanger with a white cloth draped over his inked arm. Meanwhile, the rest of Domino’s men watched on with a finger loosely on the trigger.

  “Are you
going to tell us why you’ve brought us in?” I asked.

  “I thought you might be able to shed some light on what our good president was muttering about before he took his final breath,” Domino replied.

  Kat dropped her fork. Her hands were shaking. Jess reached to comfort her.

  “Stop it,” Domino shouted at her.

  “But.”

  “She’s grieving, can’t you see?”

  Now this was odd on a level far beyond I had ever seen, he acknowledged Kat’s grief and yet he didn’t want Jess to comfort her. He had murdered her father, the president of the United States, and now he was telling someone else what not do when the tears were caused by him.

  “But—”

  He banged his fork down against his plate. “Leave her alone. You are not helping.”

  Was he posing the question to Jess or all of us?

  Jess slowly pulled back and continued to eat as Kat sobbed helplessly.

  “You see, that’s the problem. We all want to solve each other’s problems instead of just allowing them to be. How can we change, grow, become strong if we keep trying to rule over others’ emotions?”

  “I was just trying to comfort her,” Jess muttered.

  “No. You were uncomfortable with her tears. You don’t care about her. You only care about how you feel.”

  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. It was odd behavior.

  “What did the president say?” I asked, changing the subject.

  His eyelids popped open and he continued eating as though nothing had taken place. “Something about a cure?”

  I shook my head. “No, doesn’t ring a bell.”

  He eyed me across the table, then looked at Dax and Ralphie.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Me?”

  He nodded.

  “Johnny.”

  “Well, Johnny, I don’t believe you.”

  He picked at his teeth with a butter knife.

  “You see, when I found our...” he chuckled, “commander-in-chief, after a good amount of… what shall I say, coaxing, he was more than willing to tell me that the CDC had discovered a cure. In fact, he begged me to spare his life.”

  He told them?

  His eyes went to Kat. “He spoke of you. Do wish to know what he said?”

  She stared at him.

  “He wanted you to know how much he loved you, and that if I was to ever find you, that I would promise not to harm you. Of course I’m a fair man. But, I’m a businessman. Nothing’s changed that. No amount of the dead walking the streets has changed that. I gave him an option. Tell me where the cure was. He offered me nothing, so I took the only thing he had to give.” He paused. “His life.”

  His eyes drifted back to me.

  “Now tell me what you know.”

  “Like I said, we don’t—”

  Before I could say another word he slammed his knife down into Kat’s hand so hard it went through and stood upright in the table. She let out a bloodcurdling scream. Dax jumped up but before he could do anything, the men had their weapons on him.

  “You bastard.” I rose to my feet. Two of his men gripped my shoulders, figuring I was going to lunge at him.

  “By the time we are done here, you will tell me what I want to know,” he said.

  “No, by the time I’m done, you will be dead,” I replied. Our eyes were fixed on each other’s. I don’t think either of us blinked. It was like seeing the reflection of the devil himself. Pure evil masquerading as light.

  FIGHT OR DIE

  The first thing Domino did when we refused to give him the answers he wanted was to have his men take us into one of the twelve banquet rooms in the building. I kind of figured it was only temporary. No doubt his plans with us involved pain.

  They forcefully shoved us inside and locked the doors behind us. In a weird twist of fate, the room we had been placed inside was called the President’s Room, located on the ninth floor. There were three large arched windows, a white pillar in the center of the room, and the walls were painted in jade, country-blue, and beige colors.

  But it wasn’t anything related to the real president. Displayed on the walls were portraits of fifteen presidents of the Church of the Latter-day Saints.

  “Ok, this is freaky,” Ralphie said, strolling around. “Is it me or do they look like they are eyeballing us?” He ambled over to one. “Don’t you go eyeballing me, boy,” he said in a Southern accent, “or I’ll give you fifty lashings of the birch.”

  “Who does their décor? This is nasty,” Izzy spat.

  Dax and I went to the far end and tugged on the windows but they were locked. The only furniture inside the spacious square room was an upright, dark wood piano with a stool and a podium. I immediately snatched up the stool.

  “Stand back.”

  I tossed it as hard as I could at the window then turned away, expecting glass to go everywhere. Instead it just bounced off not even leaving a scratch.

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “Out of the way, wimp,” Dax said, picking it up and sticking out his chest. He hurled it. The window cracked ever so slightly. He scooped it up again and repeated the same thing three times before he went a deep shade of red and gave up. Were they expecting their windows to be shot at? The glass was as tough as diamond.

  Ralphie went over to the piano and began playing his rendition of “Chopsticks,” and then broke into playing some made-up song with the lyrics, We are so fucked. The longer he played the more violent he started to become with the keys until he stepped back and kicked the piano with his heel. White and black keys flew off in every direction.

  “Whoa! Steady on, Jerry Lee Lewis,” I said coming over to him and gripping the back of his collar. The two of us just stared at the now destroyed piano. It was hard to get a grip on our emotions. They were all over the place. Jess had torn a piece of her own shirt off and wrapped it around Kat’s swollen and bloody hand. I could barely comprehend what Domino had done to her, let alone her father.

  Inside that room, three hours passed. Every ten minutes a couple of men would check in on us. We sat, we wandered, and at times took out our frustration by destroying anything in the room that wasn’t held down. I wondered what was going through each of their minds, but more importantly what had happened to Baja and Specs. It was after midnight, three hours until the choppers would arrive. I leaned my forehead against the pane of glass and peered down. They used rod-shaped wood with rags on the end to create makeshift torches. The flames licked the air. Some gang members stood watch, while others had turned over boxes and were playing what looked like a game of craps. In the distance beyond the temple I could see the inside of a building lit up. I closed my eyes, allowing my mind to drift into the past.

  “Johnny, now remember, squeeze the trigger slowly. Breath out as you apply pressure.”

  “Like this?”

  “That’s it, son. Remember equal height, equal light.”

  My father was referring to centering the front sight air gaps with the left and right dots on the rear of the handgun. Once that was done you lined up the front and rear sights for equal height.

  It was the key to aiming straight.

  A sudden noise and I squinted to see how I had done. He had been showing me how to shoot for the first time. Everything could affect your aim from the size of the grip, to how you cradled it. Just a small amount of pressure from the hand that didn’t have a finger on the trigger could send everything off kilter.

  Initially I missed anything I fired at but over time my accuracy got better, and with it came a quiet confidence. Even then it was just the beginning. Next was shooting from behind an object, then moving and shooting. Repetition was the key, my father would say. Do it again. Do it again. It became ingrained in me. I could hear his voice even now as clear as day.

  “One day, you might find yourself having to kill another man, Johnny. That gun has to become part of you. There are only three reasons you’ll get shot. On
e, you’re not paying attention. Two, you’re uncomfortable handling a gun. Three, you can’t shoot for shit.”

  I nodded, thinking my father walked on water.

  After our mother died, he would make us sleep with a handgun. It was never loaded. But he wanted it to become second nature to us. Our father was strange that way. How many other kids at the age of eleven went to bed with a Glock 17?

  Lost in my thoughts, I was snapped back into the present moment when the door burst open. Four of Domino’s men came in. Two of them holding fiery torches, the others assault rifles, sweeping the room yelling my name. At first I couldn’t make out what else they were saying as the main guy was speaking in Spanish. Frustrated that I wasn’t following their directions, they came over and grasped me firmly by the arm and dragged me forward. Dax tried to intervene but one of the men aimed his handgun at his head. The others watched helplessly as they led me out of the room. I was the only one they took. As I crossed the threshold I made note of how many were outside. Two. I shot Dax a look and dropped my eyes to my fingers where I was signaling two. I had no idea where they were taking me. Why they had selected me, or if I would see the others again. For all I knew he was going to impale me alongside the president.

  I was never religious. I had my father to thank or perhaps blame for that. But in that moment I swear I said a prayer. It was nothing much. Just a few words murmured under my breath. If you’re real, I could really use your help now. I don’t know what I was expecting? An angel, a flash of light, or Ashton Kutcher to jump out and tell me I had just been punk’d, but nothing happened. At least, that’s what I thought.

  They brought me down to ground level and ushered me out into the night air where they met with two more men. I glanced at my watch. It was close to one in the morning. Two more hours. That’s all we had left. What the hell were they doing up at this time of night? I could hear a crowd in the distance, rap music blaring and the steady pulsating of a bass. I cast a look upward towards the room they had us in. The windows were dark. If Dax and the others were watching, I couldn’t see them.