“One more,” Sam said. “Please sit back in the chair young man.” C.J. remained standing, oblivious to the outside world. His hands gripped his pants, the knuckles white with exertion, and his eyes were as wide as two large saucers.
“He's in shock,” Mike said, from his chair. “You'll have to help him.”
Sam grabbed him by the shoulders, gently eased him down onto the chair, and carefully pushed on his chest to rest C.J.'s upper back against the rear of the chair. “Your courage is admirable,” Sam said. He turned to look at Chris, “I am impressed by your son.”
“Go fuck yourself, you psychotic piece of shit,” Chris said, in a low voice. “You're right though, he's twice the man you are.” He clenched and unclenched his fists several times, trying to relieve some of the anxiety pent up in his body.
“You're a brave man. I see where your son gets it,” Sam said. “I can appreciate that, but you should probably not be so bold when a man with a knife is cutting your child.” He placed the tip of the knife to C.J.’s chest, and held it there, looking at Chris. Then he smiled, pulled C.J.’s shirt out from his chest, and slit vertically down the middle of the cloth. He pulled the shirt flaps to each side, exposing the bony chest. The sound of gasps and whispers filled the room, and Sam paused.
Sam stood and turned to Chris, his face ashen. “Why didn't you tell me that he had been touched by a sentinel?” Chris followed the room's gaze to his son's chest and saw black veins covering the right portion of his chest; they splintered out from his arm in a growing web. It looked like a tree growing sideways, rooted in the wound given by the sentinel.
“What is that?” Chris asked. “What's wrong with him?”
“Nothing is wrong with him. He was chosen,” Sam said. “He is going to be a leader, and he will be given an army to bring about the new world.” Sam turned to address the room. “No one touches the boy or his father. They are free to go.”
“Wait, how can we stop this? You must know how to prevent it?” Chris asked.
The look on Sam's face appeared genuinely confused. “Why would you want to? He's been chosen for a privileged position. Everything we do is with aspirations of earning such a position.” Sam waved his arm around the room and murmurs of agreement and head nodding filled the room.
Worry about it later, Chris thought. Let's just get out of here, and get C.J. some help. “C.J., come on, let's go.” Chris walked to C.J., who remained unresponsive, sitting on the chair. Chris lifted him to his feet. He walked C.J. over to Mike's chair, and after steadying C.J., he bent to untie Mike's hands.
“When I said you were free to go,” Sam said, “I meant you and your son. That man remains here with us.”
“No,” Chris said. “Please let him come with us. He's our friend and he can help my son recover.”
“I cannot allow that,” Sam said, pointing the knife. “A sacrifice must be presented tonight, and my people are hungry. Step back.”
Mike looked pale with fear, worry, and resignation. “Go,” Mike sighed. “There's no reason for us all to be stuck here. Get C.J. the hell out of here. Treat those cuts before he loses too much blood.”
“I'm not leaving you,” Chris muttered under his breath, so only Mike would hear.
“You have to. Otherwise we all die. Get C.J. out of here, now. I don’t want your lives weighing on my conscience, whether I make it or not.”
After a moment longer of hesitation, Chris sighed and turned with C.J. He began to move C.J. begrudgingly toward the front door. People separated into groups on either side as they passed, as if they were with Moses crossing the Red Sea.
“Wait,” C.J. said, turning back to face Sam. “I order you to release him.” He pointed at Mike and the rooms' eyes moved to Sam, unsure of what his reaction would be.
“Sir,” one of the rooms occupants offered. “We will not have a sacrifice for tonight, if we release him.”
“You must sacrifice one of your own tonight,” C.J. replied, in a deep, unnatural voice. “That person will have a special place reserved for them and will be revered.” Chris stared down at the top of his son's head, unsure of how C.J. was making that voice, or of what he should be doing. He had never heard C.J. make such a sound before and it worried him.
“Very well,” Sam said. “Release him.”
One of the red-eyed people cut the ropes securing Mike to the chair. Mike stood, and quickly joined Chris, whispering under his breath, “Let's get out of here, before they change their mind.” Mike walked to the front door, opened it, and ushered Chris and C.J. through it.
Mike ran to the car and opened the door to the back seat, which Chris and C.J. climbed in. He slammed the door shut, took position behind the wheel, and turned the key. The engine cranked for a second in a low groan, and then refused to turn over.
“Come on you piece of crap, not now.” He tried again, and this time the engine roared to life. “Phew,” he said, shaking his head, and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The vehicle pulled out of the parking area in a squeal, and they watched as the crowd of red-eyed spectators grew smaller in the rear-view mirror.
CHAPTER TEN
Mike didn't even bother to ask Chris whether they should remain in the park for the evening. Even if for some reason Chris would have wanted to, there was no way he'd be willing. He sped the vehicle from the park, and as he'd expected, no argument presented itself from the back seat.
“Can we pull over and get C.J. cleaned up?” Chris proposed, once they had traveled several miles from the park.
“Yea it's probably a good time for that,” Mike agreed. He drove on until he crossed an intersection with a county road and pulled over onto it. The vehicle came to a stop, and he shifted into park. After the difficulty of attempting to start it at the park, he thought it better to leave the engine running, and avoid the chance of being stranded.
“What is wrong with him?” Chris asked, looking at C.J.'s chest. “What is this stuff spreading across his body?”
“I don't know. But I know that we have to get his cuts sewn up. He's losing a lot of blood.”
“I'll be okay,” C.J. said. “I don't feel light-headed or anything.”
He probably wouldn't even recognize it if he wasn't okay, especially if he's still in shock, Chris thought. “We're going to get you cleaned up anyway, just in case. C.J., what made you say that they needed to sacrifice one of their own? That was quick thinking.”
“What are you talking about, Dad?” C.J. asked.
“Remember, at the cabin? Before they let us go?” Mike's eyes peered at them in the rear-view mirror, waiting for the answer.
“I don't remember saying that.” C.J. replied, looking genuinely confused. “I don't really even remember us leaving. Did we pass their tests? I didn't make a sound, Dad, just like you said.”
He must have been too deep in shock, Chris thought. That's all it is. He was lying to himself, and he knew it, but it helped to push the doubts from his mind all the same. “Do you think he was in too deep of shock to remember what he was saying, Mike?”
“It could be,” Mike said, catching his eye in the mirror and shrugging. “I've seen weirder things.” Chris hated the doubt he heard in that response, since it just reinforced his own. “Do you know where the nearest town is?”
“The park is named Glendo State Park because it's right by the city of Glendo. If you just stay on Glendo Park Rd. it will take you right to the town,” Chris said. He held C.J.'s head to his chest, and patted his sweaty hair down. “Everything is going to be okay, kiddo. Everything will be fine.”
“I'll keep heading down the road, then. Just keep some pressure on C.J.'s cuts, and when we get to town we'll find a place to clean him up correctly.” Mike pulled the car back onto the road, and the silence resumed while they continued heading toward town.
“Oh my God,” Mike said, as they pulled past a sign welcoming them to Glendo.
Chris raised his head to peer out the window. Bodies lay strewn along the sidewalk and
along the streets. Mike carefully pulled the car around the corpses and abandoned vehicles left in the road. The body of a woman, still holding her baby, lay in the middle of the road, and Mike had to pull the left side of the car onto the sidewalk to avoid running them over.
“Is this the town the Loborians were referring to? They said they captured that other guy in town, but do you think they murdered all of these people, too?” Chris asked.
“They usually just catch people when they're vulnerable, picking off one or two a day. This looks like something different, but I suppose it could have been them. I just hope it isn't an airborne toxin or something,” Mike said. “Though if it is, it'd be too late for us to avoid it anyway, so it's kind of a moot point.”
They neared a department store, and Mike pulled the car into the parking lot. He ignored the painted lines criss-crossing the ground and drove all the way up to the front doors. “We should be able to find some medical supplies inside.”
Chris helped C.J. out of the car and assisted him in walking to the doors. They were of the automatic sliding variety but didn't open as they approached. Mike placed his hands in the seam joining the two sides and pulled, but the doors didn't budge. “Can you pull on the other side?” Mike asked.
“Sure,” Chris said. He steadied C.J. on his feet, and slowly removed his hands from C.J.'s wavering torso. He grabbed the door on the right by its edge, and Mike gripped the door on the left.
“One, two, three,” they counted together. They grunted and the doors opened slightly, revealing a black sliver of space between them. With another strained grunt, the doors fully separated, and the sliver grew into a gulf. Chris released his grip cautiously on the side he held and was relieved when it remained open. Mike released his, and they stepped back, satisfied the doors would not close.
“I don't feel very good,” C.J. said. He bent at the waist, placed his hands on his hips, and vomited. His stomach must have been empty, as it was mainly water and stomach bile that splashed onto the gray concrete and onto their shoes.
“Let's get him inside,” Mike said, noticing the dark red blotch on the back of C.J.'s shirt had darkened. His convulsions must have restarted the bleeding from the wound on his back.
Chris helped C.J. stand upright again, and they walked slowly into the dark store. Chris didn't know whether they would expect to find bodies inside, so he prepared for the worst. He was ready to block C.J.'s view, if required. The headlights of the car streamed light through the now open doors, and according to what Chris could see, the store remained untouched by whatever had happened outside.
Mike led them through the store until they found the outdoor and camping gear section. Flashlights and battery-powered lanterns were arrayed along the shelves, and they looked like they could be useful for illuminating the building. They each grabbed and opened one of the packages, and found the provided batteries had plenty of charge remaining to power the mobile lights. They moved by flashlight to the pharmacy section of the store, and Mike searched through the available first-aid kits. He found one containing suture materials, clicked it back into a locked position, and once again led the group through the store. They ended up in a large clothing section, cordoned off into age and gender groups by large signs hanging from the ceiling.
“Here,” Mike said. “There is a set of dressing rooms we can use.” Mike led the group into the nearest room, and placed his lantern/flashlight combination on the floor. It cast long shadows along the walls of the small room, but the focused light was enough to illuminate the area.
C.J. sat mutely on the provided bench, and Chris carefully removed the tattered remains of his t-shirt. It clung to the dried blood around the wound on his back, but now that the bleeding had restarted it provided enough lubrication for Chris to loosen it carefully without aggravating the wound further.
“Please turn this way, C.J.,” Mike said, looping a thread through the eye of the suture. He secured it in a small knot, and then took a deep breath to steady his hands. “This is probably going to hurt, and I'm sorry, but I need you to stay still.” Mike doubted he really needed to warn C.J. Compared to his brave display of self-control during the experience with the Loborians this should be like a walk in the park.
“Okay,” C.J. said, his voice cracking. Chris grabbed his hand and held it between both of his.
Mike scooted forward for a better view, lifted one of the lanterns from the floor, and placed it on the bench beside him. He carefully placed the suture needle at the bottom of the ragged wound and nimbly hooked it through the skin. C.J.'s hand tightened against Chris's, but the rest of his body remained unmoving. Beads of sweat formed on Mike's forehead and he wiped them away with a forearm.
His concentration didn't deviate and he completed the stitch job for the wound on the back within ten minutes. The leg wound was stitched up in similar fashion and time, and Chris realized that within a single day C.J. had gone from a boy that had never had stitches to one that had had three sets. Chris felt a pang of sadness at the thought of all that C.J. had gone through today.
Putting away the stitching supplies, Mike said, “I was thinking we should get some camping gear while we're here, in case we get stuck somewhere without a roof over our head.”
“Probably a good idea,” Chris agreed. “How would that be C.J., would you like to pick out some camping stuff?” A bit of color had returned to C.J.'s face, though he still seemed in a daze.
“Yea,” C.J. said, “that would be neat. Can we get a tent too?”
“I don't see why not, that's an important part of camping. Let's go see if we can get you some food first though. It would help to get something in your stomach, and I know I'm hungry.” They exited the dressing room and walked the quiet, dark halls of the store in search of food. To Chris's surprise the store still had a good supply; most places like this in bigger cities had been looted and didn't have much. Mike picked a box of wheat crackers from a shelf, Chris grabbed some canned fruit, and C.J. chose a box of cereal. They sat down in the middle of the aisle and opened their containers. They passed each item around, giving each person a little of each, trying to spread the nutritional value net as wide as they could cast it.
“We should grab as much food as we can and load up the trunk of the car,” Mike proposed. “Who knows when we'll find such a good supply again?” Chris hoped that after the next day they wouldn't have to worry about it, but he knew that Mike was right. Hope for the best, but plan for the worst.
“Okay. Let's go shopping.” They stood and walked to the front of the store. A line of shopping carts still sat at the entrance. Mike yanked one from the line, as did Chris, and they pushed the carts back to the aisles of food. The wheels squeaked eerily in the empty store.
Chris took the lead while C.J. held a flashlight in each hand, using one to point to the left and one to point to the right. They sub-consciously divided into the roles of Chris finding food from the left and Mike finding food from the right. Only processed and canned food were available, but beggars couldn't be choosers. When you're dying of thirst in the Sahara, you don't turn down tap water and decide to wait it out for a bottle of Aquafina. Anything that was conveniently boxed, bagged, or canned with a pull off top found its way into the cart.
They passed a rack of Little Debbie snack cakes, and Chris noticed C.J. lick his lips from the corner of his eye. “Hey C.J., why don't you get some of those snacks right there. They look pretty good, don't they?”
“Yea,” C.J. emphatically agreed, securing a flashlight under his armpit to free a hand. Chris couldn't help but stare at C.J.'s back while he grabbed several boxes of cake and cookie items and threw them in the cart. The stitches created a nasty black railroad track running along his back, but at least the skin held together, and the bleeding had stopped.
We need to get him some warm clothes, while we're here, Chris thought. I still want to know what we can do about those black veins crossing his chest. There has to be something we can do. He knew the answer without
having to think about it much. Get to the portal, of course, he thought to himself.
“This is probably enough food,” Mike said. “Let's take it out to the car, and then we'll go find some camping gear.”
“First, let's make a run back to the clothing department. C.J. needs a shirt at least. We left his tattered one in the dressing room, and we should probably get him a sweater too. It gets pretty cold at night.”
“All right, lead the way,” Mike agreed. Chris angled the cart from the food aisles, and maneuvered back toward the clothing department. He found a good selection of t-shirts, sweaters, and hooded sweatshirts which appeared to be about the right size.
He grabbed a t-shirt from a nearby rack that he thought would work (usually Sarah had been in charge of this stuff) and also grabbed a size bigger and smaller in case he needed them. “Come here, C.J., and try this shirt on.”
C.J. grabbed the shirt from Chris and slid it over his head. Chris studied C.J. for a second and seemed satisfied. “Here, now try this sweatshirt,” Chris said, holding it out. C.J. took it, put it on as well, and then looked up at Chris.
“Looks good,” Mike said.
“I think so, too,” Chris said. “Let's get some pants real quick while we're at it and create the full ensemble. He took one of the extra flashlights, flicked it on, and pulled out the back section of C.J.'s pants slightly to look at the tag. He searched on a few shelves stacked with jeans and came back with a pair. “Try these.”
C.J. kicked off his shoes and his blood-stained jeans and pulled on the new pair, careful to not rub across the fresh stitches. They fit perfectly without even needing a belt. “Awesome,” Chris said. He bent down, peeled off the stickers, yanked off the paper tags with the prices and placed the collection on the counter where an attendant would normally sit. “Get your shoes back on and we can get out of here. Let's take this food out to the car.”
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