“I need eight people and two trucks,” Jordan said.
“There are more folks on the way,” David said, signaling to some latecomers approaching.
From afar, Jordan saw Margie leading a tired group of teenagers and children into the bunkers. He had hoped he would see her again. That evening, they had talked late into the night. She told him about her husband, the soldier who went to war and never came back. He listened and only briefly brought up his own situation, up until the point that they both passed out in her bed. They slept soundly, holding each other until awakened by the sound of a car horn. Now he was on the front lines, squaring against an unseen foe that was quickly ascending upon them.
“Take your eight people, get your two trucks, and move,” the Sheriff said.
“Anyone have a truck?” Jordan asked sarcastically.
The Sheriff tossed him some keys. “Here. Use mine.”
“The one riddled with bullets?” Jordan asked.
The Sheriff pushed past Jordan to the lookout box, not answering him. Jordan led his group toward the sidewalk to the Sheriff’s damaged truck just as Rob and Carlie were pulling around the corner. Jordan waved them down. As they stopped, he approached Rob’s window.
“The Sheriff wants us to circle the neighborhood and make sure they don’t get in.”
“Aren’t they trying to get in through the front gate?” Rob asked.
“We don’t know. It’s just a precaution,” Jordan answered.
Paul walked down the road toward the front gate and saw Jordan leaning against Rob’s truck, talking. He jogged to them, grabbed Jordan by the arm, and pulled him away.
“What the hell are you doing, trying to get yourself killed?” Paul said in a hushed, but angered voice.
Jordan pulled his arm from Paul’s grip. “The shit has hit the fan, understand?”
“I see that, but we’re supposed to leave tomorrow morning. This isn’t our battle anymore,” Paul said.
“You just don’t get it. As long as we’re here, we are a part of this.”
“Oh yeah? And what are you going to do, rally the troops and lead them in an assault? Half of these people don’t even know how to shoot a weapon,” Paul barked.
“And how many times have you fired that shotgun of yours?” Jordan asked.
“Damn you, Jordan. We should have left when we had the chance,” Paul said.
“I have work to do,” Jordan replied, pushing Paul out of the way. Jordan called to his team and got into the Sheriff’s truck with half of them.
The other half climbed into Rob and Carlie’s truck.
“Everyone keep your eyes open,” Rob said. The two trucks sped down the road, leaving Paul in the dust.
Paul looked to the bunkers in the distance and watched as the last of the children entered. He turned around and examined the front gate area as hordes of townspeople formed up, preparing for an uncertain confrontation. He looked to the townhouse, hoping that Julie did as she was told. For a moment, he had no idea where to go. He took one reluctant step toward the front gate.
“Dammit,” he said in confused frustration as he continued on the path toward chaos.
The Sheriff opened the lookout box and observed Sister Bonnie and her circle of torch-carrying children. There were no armed persons within range. Sheriff held up his battery-operated megaphone and spoke.
“Sister Bonnie, this is the Sheriff. I don’t think any of us want further trouble. This has gone far enough. You need to take your people and go back home. You’re not getting over these walls, and even if you do, you would regret it, I assure you.”
The Sheriff lowered his megaphone and waited for a response. The townspeople stood behind him in anticipation. Sister Bonnie said nothing in response. She stared ahead as if looking through the walls. The children cleared a path for her as she walked confidently to the front gate with a flaming torch in hand. The Sheriff watched her intently. She got closer and closer and then stopped within inches of the wall.
“This is your last warning,” the Sheriff said. “Take your people and go home.”
The flame on her torch briefly lit up the area around her face. The Sheriff could see that she was smiling. She looked from side to side, raised her free arm, and flashed a signal in the air.
The Sheriff tried to see who she was signaling, but couldn’t.
“Grab the ladder,” he said to David.
David lifted a nearby ladder and propped it against the wall. He climbed to the top quickly and looked over. On the ground, he saw men spread out along the front pouring gasoline against the wall.
“Shit, they’re trying to burn it down!” he yelled.
The Sheriff watched helplessly as Sister Bonnie held her torch to the plywood separating their two groups and lit it afire. David yanked his rifle from its sling in such haste that he fell from the ladder, hitting the pavement. Melvin ran from the crowd to David’s unconscious body.
“David!” he shouted. “We need help here. Man down!”
As the fire quickly spread, the Sheriff looked around, frenzied, trying to figure out a way to stop Sister Bonnie’s people. At the moment, he regretted not having built guard towers.
“We need people up there on ladders. They’re covering the walls in gasoline,” the Sheriff said.
The townspeople set up five ladders against the wall and climbed them. Paul ran over to where Melvin held David.
“Is he alive?” Paul asked.
“Yeah, but we need to get him out of here,” Melvin said.
“Give him to me,” Paul said.
“Where you gonna take him?”
“The townhouse I’m staying in is only a block away.”
“You gonna carry him by yourself?” Melvin asked.
Paul knelt down and thrust him up over his shoulders in a one-man carry position.
“I’ve got him,” Paul said. He rose with the shotgun dangling on a sling and a one hundred and seventy-five-pound man hanging over his shoulders.
“Good luck,” Melvin said.
Paul nodded and moved down the road as fast as he could.
Several men looked over the wall from atop the ladders. Melvin jetted up the ladder David had fallen from. He could see the reason for their hesitation. There were no adults in sight, only Sister Bonnie and a handful of children. After lighting the wall, she threw the torch into the air, over to the other side. The torch nearly hit the Sheriff, but he jumped out of the way. The children moved to the wall, steadily holding their torches.
“What do we do?” a frantic man asked, watching them from above.
“Do not shoot the children. I repeat, no one is to shoot the children,” Melvin commanded.
They watched helplessly as the children advanced to separate areas of the wall and lit it on fire. The Sheriff unholstered his pistol. The lookout hole was large enough for him to fit his entire arm through. Sister Bonnie was in range.
“I warned you, bitch,” he said as he clicked the hammer of his gun and aimed. Before he could fire, a little girl nonchalantly moved in front of Sister Bonnie, effectively blocking the Sheriff’s shot. He looked up to the men on the ladder. “If any of you have a clear shot on Sister Bonnie, take her out.”
Each man looked through the sight of his weapon and saw only children blocking her on each side. Sister Bonnie looked up to the men as the flames rose.
“Before you judge me for surrounding myself with children, I want you to think for a moment about what is going on in your own heads. In your mind, I hide behind them like a coward. In my mind, the children are a test of your humanity. Apparently some still exists. Too little too late though,” she said.
With her closing words, Sister Bonnie slipped back into the forest as the children followed. Suddenly, it seemed, no one was there. The fire roared across the wall with no end in sight.
“We need to contain this thing. Get some water here, like pronto. Sandbags, anything that will stop this thing,” the Sheriff said.
Several peo
ple left the scene in hopes of bringing something that could lessen the damage. But it was too late. The fire had spread too high, engulfing the walls they had built.
“Get off the ladders, the fire’s too high,” the Sheriff called out.
The men quickly climbed down and removed the ladders from the wall. The townspeople backed away and watched as the concertina wire collapsed to the ground while the plywood burned to nothing. The iron bars that originally surrounded the community were the only thing left protecting New Haven.
“They’re going to try to take down what’s left of the gate. I want everyone to take cover and prepare for a frontal attack.”
With no sign yet of the Seventh Order, the Sheriff stood in front of New Haven’s most dedicated residents. Not a single one of them had been in anything close to combat, though Melvin, the Sheriff, and a few others knew all too well what it was like to be shot at. Days prior, they had constructed several concealment barricades positioned throughout the front entrance. For the Sheriff, it was time to use them.
“Move to the barricades. Evenly spread out, and be ready for anything,” the Sheriff said.
His people moved quickly, positioned behind the barricades, and peeked out as the front walls burned to the ground. It could have been an act of simple vandalism, or they were trying to send a message. Either way, the Sheriff had no idea how far the Seventh Order was willing to go.
The townspeople remained concealed, waiting for instructions. The Sheriff was hiding behind the first barricade. After the walls came down, there was silence, save for the crackling of wood ember. The Sheriff looked around and saw the iron gates crash down in a fury. The Seventh Order was at their doorstep. They had rammed the gate down with a giant log carried by some of their strongest people. Once the gate came down, they marched into New Haven in silhouettes of a single flank. Flames rose and fell behind them as they marched into the town steadfast and determined. The Sheriff estimated their numbers at thirty, but it was hard to tell.
“Get ready, everyone,” he said. “Wait until I give the word.”
Jordan drove the Sheriff’s truck through the neighborhood as Rob trailed behind. So far, they hadn’t seen sign of any outside intruders. The fortified walls remained in place. Others were safely in the bunkers, and they assumed the Sheriff had everything under control at the front gate. Jordan pulled over to the side of the road and rolled down his window. Rob pulled up beside him.
“I don’t see anyone, maybe we should go back,” Jordan said.
“Don’t underestimate these bastards,” Rob said, with Carlie in the passenger seat. “They’re just looking for an opportunity to sneak attack us.”
“It’s as quiet as a Daisy farm out here,” Rob said.
“Just keep your eyes peeled and be on the lookout for anything suspicious,” Rob replied.
“Look!” a man cried out from the bed of Rob’s truck. Everyone turned around and saw smoke rising in the night sky.
“That’s coming from the front gate,” Rob said.
He shifted his truck in reverse and peeled out in a fury. Taken by surprise, Jordan fumbled his truck in reverse and followed Rob.
Paul kicked open the door to his room and carried David inside. He knelt in front of his bed and rolled David on top. As David hit the bed, Paul fell onto the floor and breathed rapidly to the point of hyperventilation. He slowly rose and examined David with a careful eye. David was still unconscious but breathing regularly. Paul had no clue what injuries David had sustained. He thought of getting Margie but knew she was in the bunker.
“Dad,” Julie’s voice called from behind his door.
“Huh?” Paul said.
“I mean, Paul,” Julie said, knocking.
“Come in,” Paul said.
Julie opened the door and took quick notice of David lying on the bed.
“Is he okay?” she asked.
Paul stood up and stretched his throbbing back.
“I think so. He had a bit of a fall.”
“What’s going on out there?” Julie asked. “I’ve been in my room, just like you asked.”
“I know, and thank you. All we have to do is wait out the night, and we’ll be on the road tomorrow morning.”
“Have you seen Tommy?” Julie asked. “Is he okay?”
“I think he went into the bunkers with the other kids.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Paul threw up his hands. “Julie, I asked you to go into the bunkers, but you refused.”
“I didn’t know Tommy was going in there.”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Do you like this boy?”
Julie’s mouth dropped open.
“No! He’s just my friend. I’m allowed to have friends, right?”
“Now isn’t the time, Julie. I need you to look after David. Make sure he’s okay.”
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’m going to see what’s going on out there. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Paul stormed out of the room before Julie could respond. “Stay here, and don’t let anyone in,” he said as he left the house.
Julie looked to David. He looked like a normal sleeping adult, and she wasn’t sure what to do with him but wait.
The Seventh Order moved closer beyond the gates. Their weapons were at the ready, like a firing squad. Their tactics perplexed the Sheriff, as it seemed they expected to simply march into New Haven and take it over. The Sheriff wrestled with his options as the intruders grew near. He reverted back to his days with the police department, when times were simpler, and thought of how he dealt with potential threats. The first step was usually to provide a warning, which he had done already, then to subdue the suspect in the most non-lethal method available. Such conveniences weren’t available to them, leaving the Sheriff with the only option at their disposal… lethal force. The townspeople hid behind the barricades stroking the triggers of their guns, eagerly awaiting the Sheriff’s direction.
“They’re getting closer,” a panicky man said to his wife as they hunkered behind a makeshift wall.
“What the hell is the Sheriff waiting for?” he asked.
The intruders were a few feet away from the Sheriff’s barricade. He took a deep breath and called out to them.
“This is Sheriff Rudnicki from the Johnson County Police Department. Stop immediately where you are, lay your weapons on the ground, and put your hands above your head. This is your last warning.”
The Sheriff held two pistols in each hand ready to fire, hoping that he wouldn’t have to. Suddenly, the flank stopped in unison. They didn’t place their weapons on the ground; instead, they remained still like a line of statues. The Sheriff looked carefully over his barricade and noticed that they had stopped.
“Lay your weapons on the ground!” he shouted.
The intruders did what they were told and slowly knelt down when suddenly a man charged from behind them at an unstoppable pace.
“Long live the Seventh Order!” he shouted as he threw what looked like a stone into the air.
It hit the pavement to the side of a few barricades behind the Sheriff. He watched the stone object as it rolled further down the road. It was way too smooth to be a stone, and upon closer inspection the Sheriff could tell exactly what it was.
“Grenade!” he shouted. “Take cover!”
Before he could finish, the grenade exploded in a fury of rock, dust, and debris. The blast took out ten New Haven townspeople in a second. They didn’t even know what hit them. The Sheriff fell to the ground and covered his head. The explosion had left ringing in his ears. Melvin took charge and led the surviving townspeople away from the blast site. The Sheriff peeked around his wall and watched as the Seventh Order scattered and advanced forward.
“They’re moving,” he shouted. “Take them out!”
The New Haven residents fired from their concealed positions at whatever figures moved. Their shots took several Seventh Order members to the ground.
The Sheriff lifted himself from the ground and slammed his back against the cold flat surface of his stone barricade. He held his pistols in the air and prepared to fire. Melvin knelt behind his position and fired at the advancing group. They separated and ran in a zigzag pattern, making them difficult to hit.
“They’re moving everywhere, fire!” the Sheriff yelled.
Terry, one of the newly christened lieutenants from the Seventh Order, made his way to the Sheriff’s position. He jumped over the wall and held his hunting rifle to the Sheriff’s head. Melvin aimed at Terry from afar, pulled the trigger, and sent his brains splattering against the wall. The Sheriff whipped around in a panic, not even realizing how close his attacker had come.
The Seventh Order ran at the townspeople in a full onslaught of gunfire and shouting. Harold ran and crouched low to the ground, behind the advancing line, steadily holding a sniper rifle in the air. As each New Haven resident rose from behind their position, Harold aimed, fired, and took them out with deft precision. The Sheriff crouched behind his wall, watching resident after resident get shot from Harold’s rifle. Melvin stood strong and fired repeatedly at the people running at them. Harold took a shot at Melvin but missed, hitting a nearby barricade.
The constant gunfire from both sides caused the Sheriff to hesitate with his every move. He could feel Harold approaching. He waited for the right moment to spring. Dead bodies littered the road. The Seventh Order had lost half of their people, and New Haven hadn’t done much better. Out of the thirty residents who had taken up arms, sixteen remained. The Sheriff could hear Harold’s feet hit the pavement as he reloaded his sniper rifle. It was the moment to strike. Paul ran down the road after witnessing the gunfire and explosions from the safety of the front yard of the townhouse. He couldn’t believe that he was actually running toward the chaos rather than away from it. As he got closer, smoke filled the air and blocked his vision. The sickening and familiar smell of gunfire engulfed his lungs.
From behind him, two trucks drove by at full speed. Jordan and Rob had joined the fight, but as soon as they arrived, they became just as disoriented as Paul. It was hard to tell who was who and what was what. The Sheriff jumped up from his position and fired both pistols into the air. Harold flew to the ground and rolled, avoiding every shot. He brought his rifle up and fired it, hitting the Sheriff in the leg. The Sheriff fell down as both his pistols rolled out of reach. Harold approached his twitching victim with intense glee in his eyes.
End Days Super Boxset Page 140
