“I don’t know…”
Dabrowski sat forward suddenly, “What the shit?”
Surprised by the man’s response, Washington brought his free hand up to calm the man. “Easy, bruh, I was just - ”
The other waved him off. “Whatever, man, look!” He extended his arm and pointed into the darkness that blanked the surrounding countryside, including Interstate 35 to the South.
“What the?”
A large cluster of lights was slowly closing in on their position, moving north along the freeway at a steady pace. By his estimation, the group was still more than five miles away, which meant it would probably take them about an hour and a half to reach where he and Dabrowski were stationed.
Nevertheless, he knew what to do. “Call it in, Sergeant?” he asked.
The other man nodded. “Yeah. Do that.”
Thirty minutes later, Captain Jen Barkley stood next to them, watching as the group continued to move closer. The group was much more discernible now: several tall, powerfully built men led the group of men, women, and children, while additional men guarded the rear.
“What do you think, Ma’am?” Dabrowski asked.
“I think we may want to bring in some reinforcements. Make the call.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
When the group was finally within earshot, Captain Barkley used the megaphone and ordered them to stop.
Looking to the two men, she told them to accompany her before bringing the megaphone to her mouth once more. “Stay where you are. You may pick one person to approach,” she ordered. “When you do, keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Okay!” A man’s voice responded. “I promise, we mean no harm!” He added.
After giving orders to the men at the .50 cal mounted machine guns stationed atop the bridge, Barkley led the two men from the bridge and down the off-ramp to the freeway. By and large, people had used the Northbound lanes to approach the city and Protective Zone, in part because they were less congested, and in part, she theorized, out of sheer habit.
Travelling north, use the northbound lanes.
“Keep your weapons down, but ready,” she ordered as they closed in on the group.
“Yes, Ma’am,” the two men said in near unison.
Twenty yards from the group, she brought her small group to a stop. Saying nothing, she simply waited.
A tall man stepped out from the front row of men and confidently strode towards them. As he did, two other men, both taller and bigger than he was, moved to join him.
“No need,” he said, putting his hand out to stop them.
Continuing on, he brought his hands up as he walked to where Captain Barkley stood. His warm eyes captured her as he smiled widely, putting her at ease instantly.
“Greetings, soldier. My name is Jeremiah. By the blessings of God, my family and I have safely arrived here, where you good people are protecting the innocent from the wicked that have overtaken this land.”
Struggling to do so, Barkley tore her gaze away from his and looked back towards the group that had accompanied him. “Which ones are your family?” she asked.
Looking back up, she realized he was still smiling at her warmly.
“All of them, my dear. And someday, if you like, maybe you can become part of my family as well.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Oklahoma City Protective Zone, Oklahoma
Three Days Later
Stepping up onto the cement coping that surrounded the empty fountain, Jeremiah looked out onto the small crowd. While the family hadn’t added any new members yet, he felt confident that they would soon enough. Eight or nine people stood on the fringes of the grouping his ‘family’ created, watching and listening as he spoke to the masses. He’d seen the same group there the night before, and as he looked out at them from time to time he saw their need.
The need to have someone other than a military officer provide guidance. The Colonel (what was his name again?) undeniably had a well-oiled machine running inside the protective zone. People were quarantined first, and once they were verified to be free of the virus, they were allowed in to the city, where they were provided with medical checkups, housing, food, water, and access to the makeshift library/recreation gear facility, where they were able to borrow books, board games, and sporting goods in an effort to fend off boredom.
Without question, the Colonel had done great.
But he’d left something out.
He’d failed to address something beyond what the people needed to survive.
He’d failed to address what they needed to thrive.
They needed someone, something to help make sense of what had happened and why. Not the mechanics of it; people didn’t need to understand the origin of the virus or how it spread. From their point of view, what difference did it make?
They needed a way to make sense of it all. A way to understand what had happened wasn’t some random occurrence that made no sense (even if that was exactly what it was).
They needed to believe in something.
They needed to believe that someday, somehow, life would begin to rebuild.
That’s what he saw in their eyes, and what he saw there was what mattered most.
‘Eyes can be telling,’ he said to himself. While those skilled could hide their emotions from others, like poker players at a card table, it was all or nothing. Even the most skilled couldn’t fake excitement in their eyes. Sure, they could fake disinterest, and they could present facial expressions that were meant to convey excitement, and they could act excited, but they couldn’t show that in their eyes.
Not in the windows to their souls.
When he looked out at the crowd, some sixty-plus strong (not counting those that hadn’t joined yet), he knew what he saw.
He saw devotion. They would follow him to the ends of the earth.
He saw belief; a confidence in his ability to guide them to a better future.
He saw trust, one that told him they would not only give up their own inclinations and desires, but that they would ignore even their most basic instincts, allowing him to guide them in the direction he saw fit..
But most of all, he saw love.
Not the fleeting infatuation that teenagers felt after their first kiss.
Not the heart-moving intensity that came from new relationships where enjoyable companionship was intertwined with sexual desire.
Not even the deep, soul-wrenching joy that came at the birth of one’s child.
No, this was something more.
Something better.
This was an unyielding need to be near him, as if his mere proximity gave them the basic sustenance they needed to live.
‘Soon these new ones will join us,’ he thought.
Resisting the urge to smirk at the thought, he instead tilted his chin up as he looked out onto the crowd, pretending for the moment to be deep in thought.
It was all an act.
He knew exactly what he would say. He’d written it down, read it, and edited it over and over until each word flowed melodically with the ones before and after. He’d practiced it in his head, perfecting when and how to raise and lower his voice or emphasize certain words over others.
It wasn’t just public speaking. It was a science. It was using something as simple as the spoken word to stir emotions in people, to reach down into their psyche and tickle their base instincts, coaxing out feelings that were closely guarded, soothing their worries, and, when necessary, fanning the flames of anger.
Others had excelled at bringing forth the anger and resentment in people, including those that had reached the highest levels of government, but they’d left out the most important part.
The hope.
Anger only gets you so far, and it is tiresome.
Hope is energizing.
Smiling, he brought his gaze downward until he was able to look into the eyes of his followers.
“Greetings, good people. Is today your best day?” He
began, using the carefully constructed phrase he’d taught each follower to use.
“Today is my best day, and it is better with you in it,” the people responded both to him and to those around them in cheerful unison.
“Thank you all for joining me for our daily session. I am humbled by your presence, and grateful for your friendship. You give me love, you give me hope, you give me the strength I need to be my best.
“Today we are here, safe from the danger of the outside world, safe as I told you we would be. Though we were forced from our home, once we left, none among us was lost to the evil that has taken over this earth,” he said, carefully choosing his words to avoid discussing the death of Alexis. Though it would be easy to explain, should he have worded it otherwise, it was important that what he said could be repeated without being questioned.
Using his oft-exercised ‘pause for emotional contemplation’ move, he lowered his head, held it there for several long moments, then swallowed deeply. When he brought his head back up, he let a single tear slide down his left cheek. After a three count, he spoke.
“Two years ago, I told you that death and destruction would come to this land. For those who weren’t there, look to your brothers and sisters within the crowd. They will share with you how shaken I was by the vision I had.” He paused again, nodding somberly.
“In my vision, I saw myself dying.” Staring at the crowd unblinkingly, he conveyed that was not what bothered him.
“The worst part about that was that I couldn’t be there for you. I was unable to protect you.
“And that was what frightened me the most,” he finished, taking a breath and lowering his head once more, this time for a five count as he took deep breaths, feigning a struggle with his emotions.
When he lifted his head again, he blinked repeatedly as he looked out onto the crowd. Tears had formed in the eyes of those gathered, as men, women, and children fought to control the emotions he’d stirred up with his words.
It was nothing new.
“Fortunately, when death found our home, I was still able to deliver you to safety,” he said, taking credit for something they’d all been part of. He pointed at random members of his group. “Each and every one of you put your trust in me to deliver you from danger to a place where we can lay our heads down each evening without fear.”
He gestured around to the open courtyard between the housing buildings they had been assigned to.
“And did I do as I promised?”
His followers responded enthusiastically, nodding and smiling as they did so. Some of the women fought back new tears as they pulled their children closer to them, squeezing them tightly. The men pointed at him and gave thumbs up in approval, some of them pumping their fists in the air.
“Now I know,” he began, cocking his head to the side slightly, “that our… accommodations are not the best, and I know that the food is not great, but we are here, safe, and we should be happy for what we have.”
The crowd nodded along in agreement, understanding their circumstances and that safety, above all else, was what they’d prayed for when they’d followed him north, leaving their home behind.
The man knew it hadn’t taken more than a few seconds for his followers to make their decisions about following him to the Protective Zone. Heck, they’d been following him for years, and in doing so, they’d given up everything they’d once held as important in order to be near him, to follow his way.
“Tomorrow I will meet with the military commander of this place. He has agreed to see me and listen to my feedback and suggestions. When I am there, I will push to have the improvements we need completed. I will ask for a wider space for us to gather, and a larger building for us to occupy. This one,” he gestured towards the small building behind them, where they all currently lived, “is too small for us. Sure, it has room for all of us now, but what if we need to grow? We must have more space so that we can find and welcome new people. So we can share with them the way of life we’ve found together.”
He reached up and touched his heart. “Our love is too great to be confined. There is more for us to give, and more for us to share. We need room to grow do we not?”
The crowd nodded in agreement.
“Okay, now, our meeting this evening would not be complete without a few words from the Lord, would it?”
“No!” voices within the crowd called out as other members shook their heads.
He held the worn, leather-bound Bible close to his chest without opening it. He didn’t need to read from it. He knew the verses he’d be using because he’d practiced them, just as he’d practiced everything else. What he needed them to see was him holding the Bible near his heart.
“Because the hour is late, and because I meet early with the Base Commander, I will share two short, simple verses. The first is from Proverbs Chapter Three, Verses Five and Six:
“‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.’”
Jeremiah waited as his followers soaked in the words, nodding in agreement and closing their eyes.
“Amen!” someone shouted from within the crowd.
“Amen, Brother Marcus,” Jeremiah said, smiling. Others in the crowd followed along enthusiastically.
When the jubilance dissipated, he held up his hand once more, then brought it down to take hold of the Bible again. “The second passage I’d like to share is one that has always brought me joy. It reminds me of who holds the key to my life. It is from Psalms, Chapter Twenty-Eight, Verse 7:
“‘The Lord is my strength and my shield; in him my heart trusts, and I am helped; my heart exults, and with my song I give thanks to him.’”
The crowd erupted in applause and praise, as shouts of ‘Amen!’ echoed off throughout the courtyard.
Jeremiah let his followers enjoy the moment, absorbing the words he’d spoken and feeling it in their hearts.
This is so damn easy.
When the noise died down once more, he looked out onto the crowd and made sure they were paying close attention. Once he was sure he had their attention, he began the mantra he’d taught them.
“Our love is great,” he and his followers said together.
“Our love is kind.
“Our love is free.
“We give of ourselves, for the good of all.”
When they’d finished, he paused and smiled at them, knowing that his smile made some of the women swoon.
That was okay, too.
As long as they followed.
Part III
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center, Virginia
Day 0
Sitting up and feeling somewhat well-rested, at least rested enough, Doctor Andrew Chang rolled out of bed a full fifteen minutes before his alarm was set to go off. He reached down and used the selector switch on the alarm to turn it off before heading to the bathroom attached to his ‘DV’ suite, where he brushed his teeth and washed his face before returning to the bedroom/living area. ‘Well, I guess today’s the day,’ he said to himself, before reaching for the light grey Air Force issued t-shirt and accompanying dark navy workout shorts.
When he’d arrived, he’d brought with him a small suitcase that had included three sets of workout clothes, something he’d always considered a necessity when he traveled. Three sets of workout clothes gave him the opportunity to wash the first set by hand after working out, then let them dry the next two days while he used the other pairs and washed them in turn.
A week ago, his small bottle of laundry detergent, which he’d bought at the base Exchange, had run out, and he’d had no choice but to surrender his workout clothes with the rest of his clothes.
And they hadn’t come back yet.
Anticipating this possibility, he’d voiced his concern to Corporal Johnson, who’d been reassigned to support him after Sergeant Mason had headed west with Doctor Reed. Moti
vated and eager to please, Deandre Johnson had obtained two sets of Air Force PT gear and provided them to Andrew, who’d privately resisted wearing them out of a general desire to maintain separation between himself and the military. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect them, not by a long shot. It was that he viewed himself as an Academic; someone unbound by military rule that required vetting, He didn’t want to be in a position where he required their approval of his position on the results of his research before they were made public.
But here he was, putting on Air Force PT gear.
‘Not much choice,’ he told himself, shaking his head as he laced up his running shoes. He was well on his way towards burning off what remained of the weight he’d gained during the first two and a half weeks of the pandemic, when every second mattered and every minute reflected the loss of more than fifty American lives, and even more globally.
Glancing at his running shoes, he was glad he’d bought a pair only a few weeks before the outbreak. They’d be good for at least another month or two, and they’d be out of confinement by then, right?
Right?
There it was: the ever-present nagging reminder that he’d yet to solve the problem that plagued the world. For all the recognition he received for his work and all the admiration he received from his peers, he’d accomplished little more than they had.
Come on, Andrew, that’s not fair…
‘Alright,’ he told himself, as he walked out of the building and out onto the road in front of it. If he was being completely rational and completely unbiased, he and the others actually had made some progress. They’d identified the origin of the virus.
Doctor Reed had completed a dangerous mission that took the lives of four (somehow the fifth survived) Navy SEALs in order to obtain Doctor Roberts’ notes on the virus.
From there, they’d essentially identified the molecular composition that provided the virus host a system to take root in, allowing it to grow and flourish until it made the devastating changes that turned average men and women into mindless, rage-filled killing machines.
Surviving Rage | Book 5 Page 3
