The After Days Trilogy [Books 1-3]

by Scott Medbury

  There was crying and angry shouts from those arriving on the scene as they discovered the destruction of life and limb wrought upon our tightknit community in those few minutes of mayhem.

  Now that the heat of the battle had begun to subside, I felt sick and noticed that my hands were shaking. Our one pickup truck arrived, driven by Jamal. He, Danny, Allie, and Beau jumped out and began to help Ben tend to the wounded.

  “Danny, Beau, can you make sure these prisoners are tied up and guarded? Luke and I need to inspect the damage,” I said.

  We ran to the gate. There was no sign of the truck or of the enemy who had run away on foot. It was over as quickly as it had begun, only a trail of death and destruction to mark the enemy’s passing.

  “They must have had another vehicle waiting,” Luke said, standing at the broken gates and looking down the empty road. “What are we going to do about Benjamin?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Of course I wanted to go after them, to bring him back safely. But we couldn’t do that right then. Maybe not at all.

  All four of our guards were down and, I feared, dead. They had fought valiantly. We found three dead attackers outside of the wall and another inside the perimeter. We checked our people one by one. Two had been shot and another, a girl I didn’t recognize, had a large slashing wound across her neck and down into her chest. The axe.

  Her eyes were wide open, staring at the starry sky as if amazed by what she saw there. I gently closed them and felt a cold rage begin to build in me. The last body was that of a young kid of about fourteen. He was lying broken and bleeding in tire tracks left by the truck.

  Luke stood back up and faced me, his mouth grim.

  “We’ll have to work through the night to get the gate back up. We might have to use one of the buses to block it until we can establish something more permanent.”

  18

  We all worked through what was left of the night and by dawn we had managed to repair the wall and bring one of the school buses up to use as a makeshift gate. We had worked with a sense of urgency because, at that point, none of us knew if or when the Marauders would be back with a larger force.

  Morning finally dawned as we finished.

  Exhausted, I walked down to visit the injured. Jamal had set up some tents and was tending to the wounds of the injured with what passed as medical equipment in our world. At best, that consisted of splints, bandages, antiseptic, and painkillers. Down the hill a ways, Ben and a few of the others were gathering and organizing the bodies of our dead.

  Besides the kidnapped boy, Benjamin, we had lost four people at the gate and another two when fighting off the invaders. The boy carrying the tomahawk was alive, but in a very bad way; the bullets had shattered the bones in his upper arm. Jamal shook his head when I looked at him. There were three more injured. One had a broken leg and the other two had more superficial wounds from the fighting.

  “They should all be okay if we can keep their wounds clean.”

  All told, we had killed five of the enemy and had taken four prisoners.

  As I walked out of the tent, I heard a heart wrenching wailing. I froze and looked towards the group gathered solemnly around our dead. A girl of about eight was holding and hugging the girl who had been killed by the axe wielder, the blood of the dead girl marring the white sweater she was wearing. Jamal joined me.

  “It’s her sister.”

  All of the fear, sadness, and anger of the last few hours hit me like a freight train and I felt the embers of my cold anger flare into something much more powerful. There would be an accounting and it would be now.

  I changed course and stalked towards the prisoners pulling out my pistol as I went. Danny stood guard over them, a pistol in his hand. His uncertain look in my direction alerted them and all four looked frightened as I approached.

  My fury was as obvious as if my hair had been on fire and they recoiled when I reached them. I leaned over and grabbed the freckled axe man by the collar of his shirt and dragged him over to our dead, his feet kicking in the dust as he tried to escape.

  The little girl shrieked when she saw us approaching and fell over her sister as if to protect her. I didn’t notice. I swung the killer around, bunching his collar in my hand, squeezing tight as I shook him, his face just inches from the pale face of his victim.

  “You see what you’ve done, you fuck! You murdering fuck!” I spat. I jammed my gun against his temple. “What do you have to say?”

  “I’m sorry! Please don’t kill me! Please!”

  “Too late for sorry, asshole.” I forced the barrel harder against his temple and began to squeeze the trigger.

  “Isaac!”

  Indigo’s voice cut through the fog of my rage like a laser through dark night. I froze and looked up.

  In her arms, she held Max, my beautiful son. Tears filled my eyes.

  “He has to die for what he did,” I said simply.

  “Not like this, Isaac. Not here. Not now.” She nodded towards the grieving, frightened girl in front of us. “It’s not how we do things.”

  “No ... he ... ” I struggled to find the words to explain why it had to happen. She walked up to me and gently placed her hand over mine.

  “Not like this.”

  From the comfort of his mother’s arms, my little boy looked up at me, his eyes deep pools of blue, and smiled a gummy smile. The fight went out of me.

  I let her pull my gun hand away from its intended target. I released the killer’s collar and he fell to his hands and knees, coughing and choking for air. Luke came over, his face unreadable and helped the jittery killer back to his comrades.

  “Come and rest,” Indigo said, tugging gently at my gun hand.

  I nodded, tucked my gun into my jeans, and allowed her to lead me back to the house.

  19

  Indigo persuaded me to have a nap upon our return to the house. It took me a long time to fall asleep, but I eventually did and woke two hours later, fuzzy headed and hungry. I had a late breakfast and called a council meeting to decide what we would do in light of the attack.

  Our first decision was quick and easy. Both Brock and Joe had a passion for motorcycles and had kept the four bikes we had obtained over the years well maintained. We sent a team of three on the motorcycles, led by Joe, to monitor the road from Ashland. They were given enough supplies for two days. The bikes were our fastest and least obtrusive form of transport and, if the Marauders did decide to return, I wanted plenty of warning. They were under strict orders not to engage the enemy and to return at speed if they spotted them heading our way.

  Next came the question of the four prisoners. It was decided unanimously the four would be tried for murder the following day. The only issue to debate was what punishment would be imposed when ... if we found them guilty.

  The worst crimes we’d had to deal with prior to the invasion had been stealing and assault. We hadn’t been afraid to make hard decisions and had actually exiled several people from the Valley. That particular punishment seemed to be enough of a deterrent to most of our citizens. We had only debated execution in ‘what if’ terms.

  As I expected, most of the girls were dead set against the idea, all except Brooke.

  “We can’t just banish them,” argued Luke. “What kind of punishment is that? They’ll just go straight back to their people and try to kill more of us as soon as they get the chance.”

  “Luke’s right. They’ve all got blood on their hands. Execution is the only thing that makes sense,” said Paul.

  “I don’t have the answers,” said Indigo. “But how can you even think of doing that? Who is going to shoot them? Are you going to pull the trigger, Paul? Luke?”

  Paul reddened.

  “If I have to, yes,” said Luke, resolutely.

  “Why are we having a trial at all?” asked Allie. “It seems we’ve already decided they’re guilty.”

  “But they are!” said Danny. “Isaac, what do you think?”

>   I looked around the room, my gaze falling on them one by one, until finally coming to rest on Indigo.

  “We can’t let them go,” I said. “And we can’t lock them up. Executing them is the only way.”

  I saw tears in Indigo’s eyes. Brooke put her hand on hers, even though she was of the same opinion as me. I felt like the world’s biggest bastard, but we had to do what was right by all of us.

  “We know they’re all guilty, but we’ll have a trial anyway. Our people need to see that we’re not just thoughtless killers. We have to talk about what they did and then we have to sentence them to death. Not guns though. I know another way, quick and painless.”

  20

  The next day dawned bright and sunny. Given what we had to do that day, I would have preferred an overcast, miserable morning. I wasn’t in a great mood when I woke up. Indigo had been cool towards me when we had retired for the evening, but at least she hadn’t rejected my kiss goodnight.

  Indigo was silent as we ate breakfast in our room. It was nothing fancy, just some bread and peanut butter we kept in the cupboard in case of hunger attacks. I don’t think either of us felt like eating breakfast with the group; certainly she didn’t fight me when I suggested eating in our room.

  I was feeling lousy, like I had let her down, but I knew in my heart it was the right decision. I washed the last of my bread down with water.

  “Well, I better get dressed and go downstairs,” I said, pushing my chair away and standing up. Indigo grabbed my hand and squeezed it. Her face was sad, but that simple gesture let me know everything was okay between us. That said, as I got dressed, I still felt there was a heavy black cloud hanging over me. Execution might be the right thing to do, the only thing, but being right didn’t make it any easier.

  Luke and I had a brief discussion about how we would conduct the trial and at 9 A.M. we went out onto the verandah. Luke was holding a loudspeaker we had discovered in an abandoned school two years before. It made a horrible screeching sound when he first put it to his mouth and those of us closest to him clapped our hands over our ears. No one giggled though; I wasn’t the only one feeling the gravity of the situation.

  “Attention, everybody! Please gather in the Square. I repeat, gather in the Square.”

  Slowly but surely, our people emerged from their quarters or left the jobs they had been doing and began to congregate in front of the raised verandah. We had named that patch of ground the Square and it’s where we held all of our community meetings and celebrations, including Thanksgiving and Christmas.

  We were silent as we waited for the stragglers to join us. Looking at the sea of upturned faces and listening to the excited buzz of conversation, I was struck by how big we’d grown.

  The talk died down as Luke stepped to the edge of the verandah again and held up the loudspeaker.

  “People of the Valley, we are gathered here to conduct a trial and pass judgment on the people who attacked our home and killed our people in the early hours of yesterday morning.”

  “Shoot the fuckers!” someone called from the crowd and it was followed by a chorus of approval and yeahs.

  “Quiet down, please,” said Luke, holding his hook up like an unintentional threat.

  The crowd slowly fell into silence.

  This wasn’t to be a trial that would have been familiar to anyone from the before days. There was no judge, no lawyers, no jury. Those of us in the Valley council were essentially judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one.

  Besides the triumvirate (Luke, Jamal, and myself), that year’s council was made up of Paul, a boy named Robert who had arrived two years before, Allie, and Danny.

  The council was elected every year to govern the everyday running of the Valley. The triumvirate had veto power over any matter, but ever since we’d formed the first council in our second year, we had never had to use it. It was a testament to our single-mindedness when it came to the good of the group.

  We were all seated on chairs on the verandah overlooking the crowd. Ben was to act as the court attendant. When Luke settled the crowd and had taken his seat, Ben stepped up and cupped his hands to his mouth.

  “Bring out the prisoners!”

  The four prisoners were led out by two of our people, members of Luke’s security team. The killers had been locked up in the ‘compound,’ a small enclosure we had built near the trees at the rear of the property. They looked a little worse for the rough night’s sleep they had endured. Their hands were tied in front of them and I made a mental note to talk to Luke about teaching his men to tie them behind in the future.

  They were brought to a stop in front of the verandah and told to turn and face us. Three of them had their heads bowed, whether in contrition or in the hope we would take pity upon them I’m not sure. The axe killer looked up at us with defiance. I nodded to Ben.

  “You four are charged with murder and injury of the innocent. How do you plead?”

  “Fuck off,” spat the defiant one.

  I felt fury at his attitude and struggled to find something to say. Ben beat me to it.

  “I’ll take that as a guilty plea,” he said smoothly. “Thank you, what about you three?”

  The others were more circumspect. Two of them pled guilty quietly; the third started to cry.

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” he blubbered.

  “Did you shoot anyone?” Ben asked, no sympathy coloring his voice.

  “Yes ... but I only winged him. I hit his arm.”

  “Right, so you tried to murder him, but your aim was shit?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t! He’s alive.”

  Ben jumped down from the verandah and stalked up to the youth, leaning over him threateningly. The boy cringed from Ben’s obvious anger.

  “He’ll be dead by the morning,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

  The boy’s face collapsed and he began to sob.

  “I ... don’t ... wanna ... die.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Singh, goddamn crybaby. They’ll get what’s coming when Ash comes back.”

  Ben turned his attention to the freckle-faced axe killer.

  “You’re a lot braver than you were yesterday.”

  “Whatever,” the boy snarled.

  Ben turned on his heels and stepped back onto the verandah and faced them again.

  “You stand before our council,” he said more formally. “They will decide your fate. How do you vote, council?”

  Luke was the first to stand.

  “Guilty.”

  I stood.

  “Guilty.”

  Indigo stood and I held my breath as she paused, looking down at the four.

  “Guilty,” she said quietly and sat down.

  The rest of the council stood, one by one, and delivered the same verdict.

  “What is the punishment you’ve decided?” asked Ben, once we were all seated again.

  This time I stood. “The penalty is death.”

  Still the axe killer was defiant, his teeth bared in a silent growl. The others, even the crying one, took the pronouncement with an air of resignation.

  “Take them to the barn.”

  The two guards moved to take the prisoners away and I felt myself relax. I turned to Indigo and was about to comfort her when, to my right, Allie screamed. I looked her way reflexively before the sound of scuffling alerted me to the danger behind us. I quickly fell on Indigo, pushing her to the floor as the loud clap of a gunshot sent the crowd scattering. The shot shattered the window we had been standing in front of just a millisecond before, glass spraying over us as we fell to the floorboards.

  Later I was told the axe killer had grabbed a pistol from one of the guards and had immediately aimed for me. Only Allie’s scream and my quick reaction had saved us.

  Call it fate, or luck, or karma, or whatever the hell you want, but that morning, for the first time in two years, I had put my gun holster on. Luke was on his haunches beside me, cursing as he struggled to free his own gun with h
is good hand. There was another shot and I saw the second guard go down as the killer, his arm around the first guard’s neck, backed up, his gun waving this way and that as the crowd scattered behind him.

  I didn’t hesitate. I got to my feet and aimed at his hateful face. He shot again and I flinched. Thankfully, his aim was less sure this time and I heard a groan behind me. I couldn’t waste any more time; I pulled the trigger. I had seen heroes shoot villains over the top of their captives’ shoulders many times in the movies, but this wasn’t make believe.

  Instead of taking the villain in the face, my bullet struck our own man in the left shoulder.

  Fuck! Our man dropped like a stone and the killer reeled back, holding his free hand over his own shoulder. Dumb luck, more than my crappy aim, meant that the bullet had passed through the guard and struck him in the shoulder of his gun arm. It dangled uselessly and the gun he had stolen a minute before dropped from numb fingers. He looked at me, fear now swamping any defiance he still had. He wasn’t done yet though.

  His head began to turn frantically this way and that. I couldn’t risk him taking another hostage. I took a deep breath, calming myself as Luke had shown me what seemed like a lifetime before. I whistled and he looked at me. My second shot took him through the left eye. He fell backwards, the last look on his face: dumb surprise.

  There was a lot of confusion over the next few minutes. I’m glad Luke and Ben took charge because I think I was in a state of shock. I sat down on the steps and Indigo sat beside me. The gun dangled from my fingers, as heavy as a brick, until Indigo took it away.

  Her warm hand found mine. “You did what you had to.”

  I could have told her about the fact I had spotted the prisoners’ hands tied in front earlier. That if only I’d made them tie them properly when I spotted it, none of this would have happened.

  Then again, if Indigo had let me shoot the bastard the day before, he wouldn’t have had the chance to kill again. No, it wasn’t my fault. I would put this lapse in judgment behind me, just like I had put others behind me since the Chinese had fucked us over. I had to, not only for me but also for Indigo and little Max.