Thy Kingdom Come (Navitas Post-Apocalyptic Series)

by Daniel Adorno

  “Still kicking, Dex. I was afraid you might have been taken though. Haven’t received a call from you in weeks. Everything okay?”

  “More or less,” I say. I sit on the edge of the bed and prepare myself to tell her everything that’s on my mind. The sparkhound attack. How my parents died. Everything. “Cassie, a sparkhound attacked me and Mr. Gray today.”

  “What?! Are you all right?” She asks, her voice climbing in volume. “It didn’t bite you or Mr. Gray, did it?”

  “No, we’re all right. But it nearly got me. Part of me wanted it to.”

  “Dex, what are you talking about?”

  I take a breath and lean my face closer to the radio. “Cassidy...I keep wanting to die and be with my parents. I can’t stop thinking about them. How they died...their lifeless faces. I see them all the time.”

  “Dex,” She replies. “I’m really sorry. Do you need me to pray—”

  “No. I need you to listen to what happened,” I say.

  “Okay.”

  I swallow hard. The memory floods back easily into my mind and now I only need to release it through words. I take a deep breath and realize my palms are sweaty as I grip the handset. You can do this, I remind myself. But then somebody screams downstairs.

  Four

  I tell Cassidy that I’ll call her back before racing out of the bedroom. My heart is racing as I weave through the clutter of the living room to make it to the basement stairs. Mr. Gray's yelling comes up through the doorway as I hurry down the steps.

  "What was it? What did you see?" He questions, holding Mrs. Gray at arm's length and staring wide-eyed at her. Zechariah is behind them, looking about as dumbfounded as me.

  Mrs. Gray is nearly hyperventilating. "I think I saw a blue light through the egress window."

  Mr. Gray doesn't wait for her to explain. He runs into the laundry room and out of sight. There's only one egress window down here and Mr. Gray boarded it up from the outside, but light from the outside pierces through the uneven planks.

  "It's all right, Mom," Zechariah says, putting an arm around his shaking mother.

  She places a hand over her mouth and tries to regain her composure. Mr. Gray steps out of the laundry room, carrying his hunting rifle in one hand.

  "Did you see anything?" I ask.

  "No, but I'm going out there."

  "Malcolm, don't!" Mrs. Gray tears away from Zechariah and clutches her husband's arm. "It might not find us if we just leave it alone."

  Mr. Gray removes her hand from his arm and looks down at her with those piercing eyes. "These things will tell their friends we're down here. I'm not going to risk it. Stay here with the boys and keep quiet."

  "Dad, maybe Mom's right," Zechariah interrupts. "You don't know that they've sniffed us out, there's no electricity down here."

  I wince when he speaks. Zechariah can never just keep his mouth shut.

  "I will say this once," Mr. Gray says, loading a round into the rifle. "Those mutts are a danger to us whether they know we're here or not. I'm going to kill whatever is out there and keep us safe."

  After an awkward silence, Mr. Gray turns around and climbs the stairs. He gets to the top of the stairwell before the sound of shattering glass stops him cold. I run up the stairs behind him and see pieces of glass strewn about the kitchen floor. In the broken window above the mess, a Mindless female stands outside staring at us through her crystal blue eyes.

  "Hominem inveni," the Mindless says in her metallic voice.

  Mr. Gray steps into the kitchen and raises his rifle to fire, but the kitchen door bursts open in an explosion of splintered wood before he shoots. Mrs. Gray screams behind me when another Mindless steps into the kitchen. The svelte body of the Mindless male lumbers inside and repeats the phrase, "hominem inveni," as it glances at me and Mr. Gray.

  Two shots ring out in quick succession and hit the Mindless man in the head and torso. A groan resembling an electric motor escapes its throat before it rushes toward us. Mr. Gray fires another round into the Mindless' heart and the half-alive man stumbles backward onto the tiled floor.

  The Mindless female climbs through the window and runs at us. My feet are planted to the ground as I watch her glowing eyes approach, her gnarled fingers stretched in my direction. Mr. Gray hurries to load another round in the rifle, but drops the bullet on the ground. In one swift motion, the Mindless woman pushes him backward and lunges at me. I throw my hands in front of my face and the woman's fingers clasp my forearms. Images of my father fighting off a crowd of Mindless flood into my head. I hate that I can't be brave and strong like him.

  The Mindless pins me against the wall and pulls in close. I see the electric glow of the Navitas virus beneath the infected woman's eyes. Patches of skin on her face have flaked away to reveal a shiny metallic surface. And like the sparkhounds, wires that were once veins and ligaments protrude from her neck and other sections of her body. An unnatural glow pulses and emanates beneath her skin like one of those old lava lamps from a century ago. "Hominem inveni," she says again as she clamps her fingers around my nape.

  "Get away!" Zechariah yells. He runs up to the Mindless and swings a baseball bat at her head. Her grip on me loosens when Zechariah's strike connects. She falls backward in a heap, but tries to stand up again.

  Mr. Gray has gotten up and loaded his rifle. He fires two rounds at the Mindless woman and she finally stops moving. The Mindless man is on his feet again—he advances and repeats his meaningless phrase. Mr. Gray's face turns pallid once he notices Zechariah is in the room.

  "Zechariah, get back in the basement!" I say, snatching the bat from him and shoving him toward the stairs.

  He doesn't argue and rushes down the stairs to join Mrs. Gray, who grabs him and they run to her bedroom. I turn around and watch Mr. Gray shoot the Mindless four times before the diseased man falls to the floor. When the Mindless tries to lift himself up, I smash the bat against the back of his head. Mr. Gray unloads his last bullet and the Mindless finally lies still.

  This is the closest I've ever been to the Mindless since my parents died. The reek of their infected flesh turns my stomach. Bile pushes up in my throat, then I double over and puke.

  Mr. Gray grasps my shoulder. "Let's get you downstairs. There might be more coming."

  Almost prophetically, another Mindless steps into the kitchen. This one is tall and well-built. He wears the tattered clothing of a businessman, but everything else about him is inhuman. Reflective metal has replaced much of the skin around his face and the skin of his bare hands is almost translucent; veins beneath glow intensely in a myriad of colors. A sparkhound resembling a German Shepherd sidles up next to the Mindless. It releases a high-pitched bark at the sight of Mr. Gray and me. "Hominem inveni," the Mindless says.

  I grip the bat in both hands waiting for Mr. Gray to shoot before I take a swing at the dog. But then I notice the panicked look on Mr. Gray as he digs through his pockets.

  "Mr. Gray, shoot!"

  "I'm out of bullets," he whispers, more to himself than me.

  A weight drops in my stomach causing the nausea to return, but I fight the urge to throw up again. The tall Mindless watches us like a snake preparing to strike. Next to him, the sparkhound growls and fidgets on its legs, waiting to attack.

  "Get in the basement. I'll hold them off," Mr. Gray says.

  "I'm not leaving," I say, pretending to be brave. Every instinct is telling me to run away and save myself, but I owe this man my life. Mrs. Gray and Zechariah would be devastated if I left him to die.

  Mr. Gray grits his teeth and clutches the bat I'm holding, yanking it from my grip. He runs toward the Mindless, swinging the bat with incredible speed at the infected man's metal face. The resounding crack from the blow echoes in the kitchen and the Mindless reels from the hit, crashing into a china cabinet nearby.

  I watch as Mr. Gray hits the Mindless repeatedly with the bat like a madman. The sparkhound ignores the assault and runs at me. I lunge for Mr. Gray's rifl
e on the floor, hoping to hit the dog before it bites me, but it runs past me and down into the basement.

  I take off after the dog with rifle in hand. My eyes have a hard time adjusting to the dim light as I search for the sparkhound, but Mrs. Gray's scream alerts me to its location. I run inside the Grays' bedroom and find Zechariah on the floor. The sparkhound has its teeth sunk into Zechariah's ankle while his mother slugs the dog with her fists.

  I shove her aside and thrust the butt of the rifle into the dog's snout. It whimpers and releases Zechariah. The sparkhound escapes the room before I can hit it again.

  "Is he all right?" I ask, dreading the answer.

  "I don't know," Mrs. Gray replies as she cradles her son. Zechariah looks pale and half-conscious. I can't tell if he's in shock or if Navitas has already infected him.

  "Dex!" Mr. Gray yells.

  "I'll be right back," I say. Mrs. Gray doesn't acknowledge me. She holds Zechariah, rocking him like an infant.

  I race upstairs where Mr. Gray stands over the battered body of the tall Mindless. Beads of sweat roll down Mr. Gray's face and arms. His shirt is drenched in sweat and his large chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath.

  "Where's the sparkhound?" I ask, scanning the corpse-strewn kitchen.

  "It ran out the door," Mr. Gray says gesturing outside. "Are Jessica and Zechariah all right?"

  I swallow hard. Mr. Gray catches the hesitation and his nostrils flare. "The sparkhound bit Zechariah. I don't know if he's infected or—"

  Mr. Gray doesn't wait for me to finish. He runs to the stairs and into the basement leaving me alone in the kitchen with the dead Mindless. I want to follow him downstairs, but my curiosity gets the better of me. The face of the tall Mindless is a battered mess. Fluorescent blue blood trickles from a large welt on the Mindless' temple, a sign of the Navitas nanobots active in the bloodstream. From what I know about the virus, touching the blood isn't dangerous for people without an Illumen implant, but I keep my distance anyway.

  A scuffling noise outside startles me and I realize I'm still holding Mr. Gray's rifle in my hand. I turn to face the smashed door to the outside world. In the doorway the German Shepherd stares at me with its mouth curled into a vicious snarl. Glowing blood trickles down its nose where I struck it. The muscles in my chest tighten. I wish this stupid rifle had bullets. The dog growls then dives towards me with jaws agape. I sidestep the infected dog and try to smash the rifle's butt into its head, but it’s too quick. The dog circles around, snapping multiple time at my legs.

  Somehow I avoid being bitten and swing the rifle like a golf club at its head. A low squeal tells me I'm successful. The dog scurries away for a second then readies itself for a pounce. A trio of gunshots explode in the kitchen and the dog writhes in agony before it lays dead beside the Mindless.

  Mr. Gray walks out from the darkness of the basement with a revolver in hand. He looks at me with an emotionless stare I've never seen on his face. "Go get the wheelbarrow, Dex," he says.

  "Why?" I ask, my voice breaking from what just transpired.

  "I don't want these bodies near us. We need to bury it all," Mr. Gray says.

  I wipe the sweat on my forehead and survey the surrounding mess. Three Mindless bodies and a dead sparkhound. It'll take forever to bury them all. "How's Zechariah?"

  "Get the wheelbarrow, Dex. Please." Mr. Gray turns around to head downstairs.

  "Wait, what if there's more?" I ask. Going outside after a Mindless attack sounds like a terrible idea.

  Mr. Gray faces me then tosses the revolver at me. My fingers catch the warm steel and I'm surprised at the pistol's heft.

  "Be quick, we've got graves to dig," Mr. Gray says before disappearing downstairs.

  Five

  I have trouble sleeping in my empty room. Burying the Mindless was exhausting and my arms still ache from all the piles of dirt I dug. But even with how tired I feel, I can't help tossing and turning in my bed as I think about Zechariah. After inspecting the bite on his ankle, Mrs. Gray positively diagnosed her son with Navitas infection. The blood stains on the gauze Mr. Gray applied to the wound changed to a bluish tint, a common symptom of nanobot presence in the platelets. When Mr. Gray saw it, he ordered Mrs. Gray out of the basement. She was susceptible to Navitas. I never saw Mrs. Gray cry so much.

  Zechariah is quarantined in their bedroom now. Before I went to bed, the Grays were talking about what to do as their son lies in a comatose state, losing his humanity with each passing minute. I'm not sure how long Zechariah has until Navitas turns him into a Mindless. I suppose he's lucky the bite was on his ankle and not closer to the Illumen implant on his head. From what I’ve learned, Navitas flows into the bloodstream and uploads into the implant, which has a direct connection to the brain. Once the virus gets to Zechariah’s brain it’ll take over.

  "No! That is not an option, Malcolm!" Mrs. Gray's shrill voice pierces through the walls of the bedroom.

  I hear a muffled response from Mr. Gray. I can't contain my curiosity, so I get up and open the door.

  The flickering light of an old lantern sitting on the table where Mr. and Mrs. Gray causes me to squint as I walk closer to them. "What's the matter?" I ask, rubbing my eyes.

  Mrs. Gray turns toward me, her hair is disheveled and she’s got bags under her eyes. "I'm sorry, Dex. I shouldn't have made an outburst like that. Please, go back to bed."

  "What time is it, anyway?" I ask.

  "It's about 4 AM," Mr. Gray says coolly.

  I've only been in bed for three hours, but it's felt much longer. "How is Zechariah doing?"

  The Grays both hesitate to answer, signaling things must be bad.

  "Dex, it's dangerous for us to have an infected person so close to us," Mr. Gray finally speaks. "Zechariah’s condition is getting worse and...we can't help him."

  "No, you won't help him!" Mrs. Gray yells, standing from her seat.

  "Jessica, please."

  "I can stop the infection from spreading, Malcolm. We can amputate his leg and stop it. We can still save our boy!" Mrs. Gray says, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  "At the cost of getting you infected too? Forget it," Mr. Gray replies. He stands up and paces for a moment. "Besides, we’re not even certain how far the infection has spread into his body. Amputation would only delay the inevitable. We can't risk it, Jess."

  "But he's our son, Malcolm," she pleads. "I don't care if I get infected if I can save him."

  I watch Mr. Gray's shoulders slump and his eyes glisten. For a moment, I see the compassionate man I remember when my parents were still alive. He's been trying to protect his family and survive for so long, he's forgotten what it means to care for those he loves. He’s made countless decisions over the past year for the sake of survival and safety. And now he's trying to do the same thing with Zechariah, but for once, the hardened Marine is struggling to make the call.

  I don't want Zechariah to die and become a Mindless, but I also don't want Mrs. Gray to become infected either. There's only one way to save my friend.

  "I can amputate Zechariah's leg," I say, surprised by my own words.

  "What?" Mr. Gray says. His face is a mixture of confusion and disgust.

  "Mrs. Gray can coach me through the operation from here while I'm in the room with Zechariah," I say.

  Mrs. Gray's gaze drops to the ground and she lightly pinches her lip with her fingers, considering my proposal. "It could work," she says.

  "You can't be serious, Jess," Mr. Gray replies.

  "Dex can't be infected like I can, Malcolm. He doesn’t have an implant. It'll be tough to guide him through it, but it can be done."

  "No," Mr. Gray says. "I should do it. I'm his father. It should be my responsibility."

  A brief smile passes over Mrs. Gray's face before she embraces her husband. She sobs into his shoulder as Mr. Gray holds her tight. The tender moment is cut short by Zechariah groaning in the other room.

  "I'll check on him," Mr. Gray says then enters the
bedroom.

  Mrs. Gray wipes her tears and steps closer in my direction. "Dex, thank you for offering a solution."

  "I don’t want him to become one of them," I say.

  "None of us do," she says, sniffling. "Malcolm will still need your help with the surgery. Every surgeon needs a good assistant, do you think you're up for it?"

  "Yes, Mrs. Gray," I reply. My imagination conjures up images of a blood-splattered operating table and Zechariah's lifeless body lying on it. A wave of nausea hits me, but I suppress the images and push past it.

  "I'll go dig out my surgical tools. Why don't you clear off the dining table and grab a couple of bed sheets from upstairs? We need to sanitize everything before we get started."