Day of Reckoning

by G. Michael Hopf

  He clicked off the television, turned on his laptop and went back to scrolling through employment notices online in Boise.

  Lost in the endless stream of job postings, he didn’t notice the time until stomach pangs reminded him it was time to eat breakfast. “Hmm, almost ten. Maybe I should think about heading out soon.”

  He stood, stretched and sauntered to the kitchen. He grabbed leftovers from the night before, tossed them in the microwave, and while he waited for them to warm up, he picked up his phone. His eyes widened when he saw the numerous notices from Sophie. Fifteen missed calls, twelve texts and seven news flashes. “What the hell?” He didn’t read the texts, he immediately called her.

  He listened as the phone rang.

  “Trevor! Where are you?” Sophie said, her voice cracking.

  Instantly hearing she was stressed, he asked, “Soph, what’s wrong?”

  “They’re killing kids, murdering them. It’s horrible!” she cried.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t know? Turn on the TV,” she said.

  He exited the kitchen, grabbed the remote and turned the television on.

  “ …more reports are coming in from all over the country. There seems to be a pattern. These attacks are targeting schools, primarily elementary schools…”

  Cassidy wasn’t surprised. In many ways, he felt vindicated. He thought of the school he worked for and wondered if they too were under assault.

  “Trevor, I’m scared,” Sophie whimpered.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “In my hotel room.”

  “Stay there. I’m heading to the airport now. I’ll get an earlier flight,” he said.

  “What? You can’t.”

  He raced to the bedroom, grabbed his bag and ran towards the front door. “I’ll get out sooner or later, whether it’s an earlier flight or my flight at twelve fifteen.”

  “Trevor, you can’t leave. You’re stuck,” she said.

  He slammed the door and headed for his truck. “It’ll be fine. Just stay in your room and I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

  “Listen to me, you’re not flying anywhere!”

  “Why not?” he asked, getting into his truck.

  “They’ve also struck airports; San Diego was one. Some terrorists blew themselves up at the ticketing areas, and it’s just been on TV that the president has shut down all air traffic. You’re not going anywhere.”

  Shocked by the news, he turned on the local news station.

  “…that’s right, Sharon. We’re being told by SDPD for everyone to stay indoors, stay home. Do not venture out. If you have kids at one of the twenty-seven schools listed, please do not go to the school, you’ll only interfere. Designated safe zones are being created now. They’ll bus those children who are unhurt to those safe zones. Once we have the names and locations of them and the corresponding schools they’ll service, we will report it. If you’re traveling today, San Diego airport is closed. The highways are still jammed from the earlier riots and CHP isn’t expecting them to clear up for many hours. So, please, if you don’t have to travel, stay home.”

  Cassidy ground his teeth.

  “Get out of there, just drive. Come to Idaho,” Sophie urged.

  He thought for a second. “Good idea.”

  “I’m going to call my cousin. I don’t feel safe here in downtown. There’s been a couple of attacks here too. I can’t believe it, I just can’t.”

  “Go to your cousin’s house. She lives in the middle of nowhere; you’ll be safe there. Hurry, go. Call me from your taxi the second you get in,” Cassidy ordered.

  “Okay.”

  “Go.”

  “Trevor, I love you.”

  “I love you too, babe.”

  “Hurry,” she said before disconnecting the line.

  He opened the garage with his opener and beelined for the cabinets inside. Cassidy threw open all the cabinet doors and began removing every item he imagined he might need. Sleeping bags, camping gear, cases of water, a case of MREs he had left over from the Marine Corps, lanterns, blankets and ammunition cans full of nine millimeter, five point five six rounds and twelve gauge shells. He hauled it all to his truck and tossed it in the bed. Back and forth he went until he had everything minus the most important items, his guns. Tucked in the corner was a large gun safe, he opened it and took out his Glock 17 and shoved it in his waistband. He grabbed the AR-15 and his trusty Mossberg 930 shotgun and slung them both over his shoulder. On the floor of the safe was his range bag. He tossed in every empty magazine, spare sling and his extra knives.

  His phone started to ring from the truck.

  He zipped the bag and raced to the truck. Once there, he dumped all the firearms in the passenger seat, grabbed the phone and answered, “Yeah.”

  “I’m in an Uber, headed to my cousin’s,” Sophie said.

  “How are you?”

  “Nervous. There’s a lot of activity downtown. People out in front of a mosque, protesting it.”

  “Just ignore everything and get to your cousin’s. I’m packing the truck. I’ll be on the road shortly. I’ll haul ass. I estimate I’ll be there in, say, sixteen hours, give or take, all depends on fuel stops.”

  “Be safe.”

  “I will.”

  Sophie screamed.

  “Sophie, you okay?”

  “There’s some man, he’s deranged. He’s attacking the car in front of us at the light,” she said to Cassidy. “Go around. Hurry, go around,” she said to her driver.

  Over the speaker, Cassidy could hear the driver debating what to do.

  “Just go around…he’s coming this way. Drive, drive!” Sophie screamed.

  “Sophie, what’s going on? Talk to me,” Cassidy said.

  “He’s attacking our car now,” she said to Cassidy. “Go around him, damn it. Drive! I don’t care, hit him. Look at him, he’s covered in blood. Just fucking drive!”

  The sound of glass shattering hit Cassidy’s ears. “What was that? Sophie?”

  “He’s smashing, oh my God, no, oh my God! Drive, dri—”

  The phone disconnected.

  “Sophie, Sophie!” Cassidy yelled. He redialed. Nothing. Redialed again. Nothing. Five more times he tried, and like before, no answer. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He jumped behind the wheel, pulled out of the driveway and sped off.

  Paris, France

  David’s jaw hung open as he watched the news reports coming from back in the States. It was exactly like Joram had said. It was like Grim had foretold. Joram was evil, he was a horrible person, and here he was sitting with the murderer of innocents.

  A strong feeling of nausea came over him. He put his hand to his mouth and gagged.

  “Are you okay?” Joram asked, putting his hand on David’s shoulder.

  David shrugged and barked, “Don’t touch me.”

  “Shall we finish the interview?” Joram asked.

  “No, I’m done. Why, huh? Why would you even want me to interview you if this was your plan all along. If you succeed, who will be around to watch it?” David asked, standing up.

  “I wanted it for posterity, a record of how it all came to be. I could have just recorded myself but where’s the fun in that. And I suppose I wanted to tell someone, someone I liked, someone like you who would listen.”

  “You used me.”

  “And you me,” Joram said.

  “You won’t get away with this,” David scoffed.

  “I already have, but if I fail in the end, the world will know how it came to be. There is now a documented record.”

  “I’m leaving,” David snapped.

  “I thought you wanted to meet Israfil?” Joram asked.

  “I don’t want any of it. Leave me alone,” David said, stuffing his things into his pack. His hands were shaking and he fumbled the pack. It hit the floor and its contents spilled out.

  Joram bent over and picked up the flip phone David had received from Grim. “
You brought this? Who were you planning on calling?”

  “That’s mine. Leave me alone,” David snapped.

  Joram gave him the phone with his right hand and with his left jabbed David in the neck with a needle.

  “Argh! What the fuck did you just do? Huh? What did you just give me?” David hollered.

  His yelling drew the attention of many in the mall around them.

  Joram held up the syringe and said calmly, “Meet Israfil.”

  “Huh?” David mumbled as he tripped backwards over a small table. The seething from the pain throbbing in his neck was making it difficult for him to think.

  “When Robert Oppenheimer, the scientist who created the atomic bomb, called himself ‘death, the destroyer of worlds’, he was wrong. I am.” Joram smiled.

  David’s vision began to blur and sweat rose on his brow. He clenched the phone in his right hand and stumbled away from Joram.

  “Goodbye, David,” Joram said. He picked up David’s things, put them in the pack, slung it over his shoulder and walked off in the opposite direction.

  David reached out to bystanders in the mall.

  They recoiled and steered clear of him.

  “Help, please.” He coughed. A deep pain in his chest began to emanate out to his limbs and a sharp pain in his head came on suddenly. It started from the base of his skull and moved up into the cradle of his skull. “Argh!” he screamed.

  He leaned against a wall, opened the phone and hit the call button.

  The phone dialed.

  The pain in his head grew in intensity.

  “Answer,” he said.

  He heard people talking about him as they passed by. He glanced at them. A strong urge to attack them raced through his mind. A hunger followed. A desire to bite them.

  The phone connected. “David?”

  “It’s not a person,” David mumbled.

  “What? Who is this?” Grim asked.

  “David, this is Daaaviiid,” he repeated. His words began to jumble as they fell out of his mouth.

  “David, what’s wrong? Have you found Joram?” Grim asked.

  “Isra…Israfil, it’s…argh, the pain, it hurts so bad.” David grimaced and crumpled to his knees.

  A young woman came up to David. “Are you okay?”

  The anger returned. “Get away from me!” he yelled.

  The woman recoiled in fear when she saw David’s eyes.

  “David, what’s going on? Where are you?”

  “It’s not…Israfil..is...ahh, the pain, I can’t think,” he groaned.

  “What about Israfil?” Grim asked, picking up the fact David was referring to the elusive figure.

  “Think, slow your thoughts,” David said to himself.

  “Where are you? I’ll send someone,” Grim said.

  “Is…ra…fil is not a person. It’s a virus, a bioweapon. It…” David said and buckled over in pain. “My head, it hurts so bad.”

  “What? Did you just say that Israfil isn’t a person, it’s a virus?” Grim asked, finding it hard to know what David was trying to say.

  “Yes,” David answered clearly.

  “Where are you?”

  David’s body tensed and began to shake violently. Seconds later it stopped. He looked up at the shoppers passing by, all staring. A deep-seated hunger backed with pure rage was boiling inside him. He stood up, tossed the phone and attacked the person closest to him.

  North of Victorville, California

  After hours of repeatedly trying to reach Sophie, Cassidy tossed his phone on the seat and clenched his teeth with frustration.

  When he called all he’d get now was, ‘ALL CIRCUITS ARE BUSY, PLEASE TRY YOUR CALL AGAIN LATER.’

  The radio was an endless stream of frantic reporting about the terror attacks spanning from one coast to the other. Schools and airports were the main targets, but now reports of deranged people viciously attacking people randomly at malls, on streets, in their neighborhoods, and at their place of business were now becoming more frequent.

  For Cassidy, he didn’t know what to make of those reports, but they did sound a lot like what might have happened to Sophie.

  His heart hurt at the thought of her being a victim of these terror attacks, but unable to reach her, he’d have to hold out hope she was fine.

  The back-country roads to the east of San Diego County were proving to be wide open. Making his escape from the urban sprawl of Southern California easy.

  Unsure of what he’d discover upon arriving in Idaho, he did the only thing that he could, pray.

  He gripped the steering wheel tightly, looked towards long stretch of highway that laid out before him to the north, and said, “Lord, I don’t call on you often. It’s only because I don’t feel worthy, but please, please look after my Sophie. Please keep her safe. If you do, I will never doubt you. I will be your humble servant.”

  He glanced at his mapping system, it read, nine hundred and fourteen miles.

  The miles and the time to drive them, would be the longest of his life.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Monday, May 8

  Coronado, California

  Brennan opened his eyes and stared at the thick olive drab canvas above his head. After repeated blinks to clear his blurred vision, he rose and looked around at his unfamiliar surroundings. The only thing that was familiar was the musty smell, the signature odor of a tent. When he turned his head, a sharp pain shot from his neck down his back and across his shoulders, causing him to flinch.

  “Ouch,” he said loudly.

  The flap of the tent burst open, letting in the midday sun. A woman he’d never seen before stepped in.

  “You’re awake!” she said, her eyes wide with excitement at finding Brennan sitting up and conscious.

  Brennan touched his neck and only then noticed a bandage on the back of his head. He ran his fingertips over the course fabric, unaware of how he’d gotten hurt.

  The woman took a few steps further inside the tent and asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “Groggy, thirsty,” he replied.

  She rushed to his side with a bottle of water. “Here, drink.”

  Brennan hesitated. He looked at the woman intently while his mind tried to recall her youthful face.

  “Drink. I won’t bite, I promise,” she insisted. She knelt next to him and put the bottle to his lips.

  He took a small drink at first. The cool water tasted so good. His thirst took over, and he snatched the bottle and began to guzzle.

  “Easy,” she said.

  He ignored her and finished the bottle. Feeling refreshed, he looked at her and asked, “Where am I?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing?” she asked with a surprised look on her face. “You were semi-conscious when they brought you back.”

  “I remember being chased. I took shelter. I…I then remember…” Brennan said and paused. His mind searched for what happened next. “There was an explosion…”

  “How do you feel?” she asked, putting the back of her hand to his cheek.

  “Confused,” he answered.

  “I can imagine; you were touch and go there for a while, but how do you feel? Queasy, headache, fatigue?” she said, taking a seat next to him on the cot.

  He felt uneasy at her proximity. She was an attractive woman, but having just awoken in a strange place with unfamiliar people he was suspicious.

  She reached for the bandage on his head.

  He recoiled.

  “Sorry, I just wanted to check it,” she said.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “My name is Sherry.”

  “Where am I?” he asked, following up.

  She tenderly looked at him and said, “You’re safe, that’s where you are. Now can I check the bandage?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  She began to examine the wound.

  “Where am I? How did you find me?”

  “You were
medevac’d back here less than a week ago. We got word you were in a local hospital in upstate Minnesota. The hospital staff called about you because you were wearing your uniform.”

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re back in Coronado.”

  “In a tent?” he asked, confused.

  “We put those recovering out here while those with more serious injuries have priority inside,” she said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Looks fine. You’ve healed nicely,” she said referencing the wound to the back of his head. “You had me worried though.”

  “What’s happening?”

  She ignored his question.

  “Tell me,” he urged.

  Brennan grabbed her arm, “What in the hell is going on?”

  “Please, let go of my arm.”

  “Not until you tell me what is going on?”

  “You almost died. The gash on the back of your head got infected and then you became unconscious, that’s the best way to describe it. You’ve been out for a little over a week, like eight days.” She lowered her head and continued, “Once we were sure you weren’t going to turn, we took you out of quarantine and out here.”

  He looked over his body. His arms were heavily scratched with small scabs. “Are you talking about me turning into a drooler?”

  “I hate that name. I just call them mutants.”

  “You know about them?” he asked.

  She gave him an odd look and said, “Of course.”

  He stood up and immediately felt a surge of vertigo.

  Seeing his unsteadiness, she grabbed his arm. “You really should take it easy.”

  “You’re confusing me. What’s going on?” he asked again.

  “Maybe you should rest. You’ve been out for a while, so you shouldn’t be up and running around,” she warned.

  Loud concussions came from outside. The ground shook and rumbled.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Sounds like they’re bombing the city, finally,” she replied, her tone showing no shock in what she said.

  He shifted his eyes towards the entrance of the tent and started for it.

  “You’re not in any condition to go looking around,” Sherry said.