Eight
I never experienced a family meeting before, but that's what it feels like when the Grays sit around me as I explain why I've pilfered their supplies. At first, Mr. Gray thought I had been doing this for months, stashing away supplies for myself like a food hoarder. But when I tell him and the others the real reason, he looks genuinely surprised. Harboring a food thief seemed more plausible to him than a potential runaway.
"You want to track down your uncle?" Mr. Gray asks, frowning. "Are you insane?"
"Malcom, please," Mrs. Gray says, shooting her husband a fierce look.
"Yes. I need to find out why everything happened. Navitas, sparkhounds, the Mindless. All of it," I reply, clenching my jaw.
"That's a waste of time and resources. We know why it happened. Some greedy higher-ups unleashed a mind control bug on their customers and it backfired horribly," Mr. Gray says. He stands up from his chair and paces Zechariah's make-shift hospital room, collecting his next thought. "This is foolish, Dex. We don't need answers. What we need is to survive this whole thing—together."
"What if I don't care about surviving?" I ask, feeling my cheeks get hot. "I can't just sit here in a basement forever while the world goes up in flames outside. People I care about still need help."
Mr. Gray retorts, but his wife cuts in first. "Dex, listen, I understand you miss your parents and I can't imagine how hard it must be to live with that and adjust to our family. I don't disagree with your reasons for wanting to leave, but the truth of the matter is...we need you. Now more than ever, we need your help with Zechariah's current situation."
Zechariah looks down at the mention of his name. I'll bet he's already tired of being relegated to invalid status. Then an idea strikes me from the Gray's last talk about their son. "I can help Zechariah by leaving, Mrs. Gray."
"What do you mean?" she asks, pursing her lips.
"I overheard you and Mr. Gray talking earlier. You're almost out of medicine for Zechariah. You can't leave because he's your patient, and he needs you close. Mr. Gray won't leave because he wants to protect you both. So let me go. I can find medicine and bring it back," I say, brimming with confidence at my plan.
Mr. Gray's hardened stare deflates my ego. "If you think that I'm just going to let you leave—"
"Stop," Mrs. Gray says. She puts a hand on Mr. Gray's chest as if to push him away. He glowers for a moment, but relaxes his posture. Mrs. Gray faces me, her expression is unreadable. "Dex, how can you be sure you'll survive out there with Mindless, sparkhounds, and looters roaming about?"
"I don't know," I say with a shrug. "None of us can guarantee our own survival living here either. God will decide whether we make it through this or not. But I'd rather go out there and solve this then sit here waiting to die."
"How can we be certain you'll return?" Mrs. Gray asks, frowning.
The question stings. It implies that I'm making an excuse to abandon them. But is it true? I want to get out of here and learn what happened to the world. But not at the expense of a family who’s offered their home to me. They saved my life and I'm indebted to them for the help I received this past year. I hope they don't see me like my father did on IlluMonday—as a heartless person willing to forsake the needy to survive.
"I will come back, Mrs. Gray. And if I can't, I'll make sure the medicine gets here. You have my word," I say, looking at her then at Mr. Gray.
"Your word means nothing until it happens," Mr. Gray says. "I'm not your father, Dex, and Mrs. Gray isn't your mother, so we can't tell you what to do. But I am disappointed that you made this choice."
I slump my shoulders and avert my face from his gaze. "I'm sorry, Mr. Gray."
He walks out of the bedroom without a word. I feel guilty again. Did I make the wrong decision here?
"Don't worry about him," Mrs. Gray says with a bemused smile. "He'll get over it in time. Now we should plan where you can search for medical supplies and the route you'll take."
"All right," I say. A small spark of adventure lights up inside me and I forget Mr. Gray's disappointment.
Mrs. Gray lays out her plan for my travel to downtown Forest Lake to retrieve the medicine for Zechariah. I can tell she’s been mulling this over for a long time. She doesn't take a breath as she describes the routes available to take, her recommendations, and the risks involved.
“You need to stay off the highway to the downtown, it’s too open. Sparkhounds and Mindless will likely be roaming on it,” she warns. “I’ll give you a map with some of the country roads that lead into town.”
My parents let me drive their sedan a few times into town on the main highway, but I’ve never traveled far on the dirt roads. My father said it was like navigating through a maze on the country roads. In contrast, my mother enjoyed the scenic beauty of the rolling hills and farmland stretching for miles. Now that beauty is tainted by sparkhounds and Mindless searching for their prey.
Once Mrs. Gray finishes her assessment of threats in the city, she pulls out a piece of paper from her pocket and gives it to me. It's a list of all the medication Zechariah needs. "It's not an exhaustive list. Only priority meds, but if you find anything, whether it's oxycodone or cough syrup, take it with you."
I nod, stuffing the list in my back pocket. "I'll also try to find food to bring back. There's a lot stocked in the pantry, but I'm sure you could always use more."
"Yes, of course," Mrs. Gray says, nodding.
"What about a weapon?" Zechariah chimes in. He's been quiet throughout our conversation, but when I look at him I realize why. Sweat is dripping down his face, and he winces every few seconds. He's in pain.
"The best we've got is a baseball bat you can take with you, Dex," Mrs. Gray says, grimacing. "Malcolm won't let you take his guns I'm afraid." Her face perks up and she opens her mouth wide. "Wait, your Dad owned a handgun! I bet it's still in the basement of your house."
"What?" I ask, taken aback by this revelation. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. He never told you about it because he didn't want you stumbling upon it and using it," she says. "Malcolm helped him pick it out. Your father wanted one for protection."
My father owning a gun—the idea seems so far from what I'd ever expect. I've always envisioned my father as a stern, but peaceful person. The image of him holding a gun and shooting someone is an alien concept. Everything he taught me from the Bible was about loving your enemies and turning the other cheek. I guess to protect his family he made an exception.
"You'll need that gun, so let's plan everything out perfectly so you get back alive," she says.
I talk with Mrs. Gray for over an hour about the whole plan. It's necessary to retrieve my father's pistol, so the first leg of my trip will be stopping by my house about a mile south of the Grays' farm. When I have the gun, I'll take Itasca Avenue south onto another road that winds into a trail bordering the lake that is the town's namesake. That trail becomes Lake Street, one of the main roads cutting through downtown Forest Lake. The main road is home to the Lake Street Gang—a band of looters, who force payment from those passing through their territory. Mrs. Gray is confident that if I stay off their street I can avoid them and get to the clinic at the center of town without trouble.
"Once you've found medicine, find a GPV you can borrow to get back here fast," Mrs. Gray says.
"Borrow a GPV? You mean steal, right?" Zechariah says, smirking.
Mrs. Gray raises an eyebrow at his remark, but smirks anyway.
Gas-powered vehicles aren't rare in Forest Lake like in the cities where everyone drove electric cars or rode the light rail. The only problem with GPVs is gasoline. It's become a hot commodity in a post-electricity world. The last gas station downtown is on Lake Street, making it difficult to park a GPV there and avoid the Lake Street Gang. To make matters worse, all the gasoline might already be gone. Walking back on foot is an option, but if I want to find my uncle Richard and survive, I'll need transportation. There's also Cassidy to consider, who I've deliberately l
eft out of the plan when talking with Mrs. Gray.
The St. Paul neighborhood Cassidy lives in is thirty miles from Forest Lake and about ten miles from the Dronis headquarters. It'll take me two days or more on foot to make the journey. A GPV will cut down the travel time, but driving a vehicle in the cities is like marching outside with a spotlight on my back. The Mindless will find me with little effort. My best option is to ditch the vehicle on the outskirts of St. Paul and travel on foot into the city, avoiding detection as best as I can. Cassidy doesn’t know I’m planning to come get her, but she needs to be free as much as I do. Being cooped up forever just to survive doesn’t suit me and I’m sure it suits Cassidy even less. She’ll protest the idea, but I’m not leaving her in that house with her paranoid father.
After our planning session, Mrs. Gray goes about repacking my backpack with food and supplies before preparing dinner. We all gather around the table for the meal and there's an awkward silence among us. Mr. Gray glances in my direction, looking intent on saying something, but he never opens his mouth. I have trouble sleeping that night, thoughts of the peril I'm putting myself in stir inside my head like angry hornets in their nest. Late into the night, when I know everyone is sound asleep, I retrieve my radio from my bedroom and stuff it in the bottom of my backpack. I'm sure the Grays would disapprove of me using it, but the thought of being without a means of communication unnerves me.
I sink back into bed after midnight, reciting the Lord's Prayer like my parents used to do at bedtime when I was young. The words help me drift to sleep, but vague images of Mindless surrounding me in a dark meadow plague my sleep. When the dawn arrives, I'm up before anyone else. In the middle of my breakfast of cold cereal with stale bread, Mrs. Gray exits her room in her robe and places a folded map on the table.
"Look it over and try to memorize the roads just in case it's dark out when you head back," she says.
I nod and unfold the map, scrutinizing the wavy black lines winding throughout the countryside as I scoop spoonfuls of wheat bran in my mouth.
After breakfast, I sit in my room and read my Bible for a while. It's been months since I've opened it, but now seems like the proper time. I spent several minutes reading the story of David and Goliath, one of my favorites. It's easy to picture myself as the young David taking on insurmountable odds and coming out as the hero who vanquished the enemy. I'm tempted to think that God will rescue me from the threat of the Mindless, but deep down I know that's not realistic. My parents were humble, faithful Christians who helped people and God didn't spare them. How much less of a shot at surviving does a selfish, headstrong person like me have? Probably none.
A knock on my door startles me. It opens a crack and Mrs. Gray peeks in. "Time to go, Dex," she says, looking grim.
"Okay," I say, closing my Bible.
The sun is bright outside, hovering in a clear blue sky. The Grays are all gathered on the back porch when I step out of the kitchen with my backpack slung over one shoulder. I first exchange goodbyes with Zechariah, who's now using a walking stick as a crutch. We fist bump each other, keeping our farewell light before he hands me his old baseball bat. “Take care of yourself, dude,” he says, pushing the corners of his mouth down.
Mrs. Gray is next. She wraps me in a tight embrace and after a moment, I wonder if she'll ever release me. When she finally releases me, she holds me back at arm's length and looks intently into my eyes. "Remember not to trust anyone in town," she says. "Get what we need and leave, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am," I say, nodding. Then I turn to Mr. Gray, who looks grumpier than ever. "Goodbye, Mr. Gray."
"Dex, this ain't goodbye," he says. He sighs deeply and I prepare myself for a long lecture. But instead he reaches out his hand. I grab it and shake firmly before releasing it. "Be careful on the road. Stick to the underbrush and trees when you can, especially at night."
"I will."
After a quick nod, I turn toward the driveway of the house leading to Itasca Avenue. I'm only a few paces away from them when Mr. Gray calls my name. "Here. Take this," he says, throwing a small black object at me. I catch the cold metal tube and turn it in my hands. It's a flashlight. "Use it only when necessary. The small eletric charge is difficult to track, but anyone can see a light in the dark."
I put the flashlight in a side pocket in my pack and with one last wave, I'm off on the road on my own.
Nine
The dirt road known as Itasca Avenue leads directly south to my house and beyond that to the winding maze of roads depicted on the map Mrs. Gray gave me. It's about a five mile walk to the two-story colonial style homestead my parents bought long before I was born, years before Illumen implants became popular and commonplace. Back then, my father and my uncle Richard owned a business together. They specialized in providing consulting services for Information Technology firms around the globe. My father was very successful as a top consultant and CEO of the business. Uncle Richard's specialty was software design for nanotech and cloud server mainframes. Together they grew the family business, hoping to become big players in the nanotech industry. But it never came to be. My father and uncle had a falling out when I was ten years old. Dad converted to Christianity and found his new calling in non-profit work, managing computer networks for churches in the metro area. He left the family company to Richard, who lacked the business acumen of his older brother. The business lost many high-profile clients and Richard became bitter about my father's decision. A year later the business was bought by Dronis and my uncle received a promotion; he became the lead designer for the world's leading corporation in nanotechnology.
Over time, uncle Richard and my father reconciled, but I always felt tension between them. They disagreed on matters of faith and had an ongoing debate over God. Despite their differences, my uncle loved to visit us whenever he could. He is my favorite relative. Every time he came over he'd have some "contraband" for me—an imported samurai or ninja holo stream he picked up while traveling to Japan or China. We kept it a secret from my father for obvious reasons. Uncle Richard respected my father's stances on most things, but avoiding fun movies was not one of them.
Once I reach a familiar bend in the road, I can see the roof of my house in the distance, sitting atop a grassy hill. Another dirt road intersects Itasca Avenue a quarter mile before my house and I spot an electric minivan stranded on the street. It looks like the Millers' van, our neighbors who lived down the road. As I walk further down Itasca, the faded blue paint of the minivan becomes visible and I notice a thin silhouette standing over the opened hood of the van. I jog off the road and crouch behind a line of hedges on the shoulder. The person doesn't move. I take off my backpack and rummage through the contents, hoping Mrs. Gray packed a pair of binoculars for me. Digging through the canned food and clothes, I uncover the gray metal goggles. They fit snug over my face and enhance the view of the area in front of me. The dials on the rims of the goggles click as I focus on the blurry shape of the van and the figure. My heart drops when I see silver patches of skin and luminescent veins on the man's arms.
The Mindless picks apart components of the minivan's electric engine while I try not to panic. Every so often he holds a piece of the engine and sparks of electricity dance between his translucent fingers before he tosses it aside. He's feeding. I've never witnessed a Mindless feed before, but I had heard stories of it. After IlluMonday, several news streams reported that the Mindless fed on human flesh like the monsters in those cheesy horror flicks that were popular over a century ago. Zombies is what I think they called them. But most experts believe the Mindless consume anything with an electric charge, not on flesh. Batteries, transformers, and power lines are their main food source. Navitas needs constant electrical input to sustain the dead host body of a human.
The Mindless target uninfected humans for their Illumen implants, causing Navitas to spread. No one can explain why though. The prevailing theory is that Navitas is self-aware and Dronis was oblivious about it until the update went live. S
ome believe Dronis knew all along and IlluMonday was the first act in a plot to control humanity through nanotechnology. Whatever the case may be, everyone is in danger even non-implanters like me. The small electrical charges of my brain still serve as a snack to these monsters. The thought of having the Mindless man suck out the bioelectricity in my brain like the parts of that minivan numbs the skin on my neck. I need a new route to my house, far from the Mindless.
Minutes pass like hours as I watch the Mindless picking apart the minivan and glance around my surroundings for an escape. I survey the environment around me as I pack up the binoculars and shoulder my backpack. the surrounding countryside is open grassland with no trees nearby to offer cover. Aside from the line of hedges along the road, I have no means of avoiding being seen. The best choice is to go back and circle the large swath of prairie that feeds into the woods east of here. I cringe at the thought of how long it'll take to come back around, but I'd rather not die this early on my trip.
I slowly head back the way I came, crouching low beside the hedges and looking behind me after several steps until the Mindless disappears from sight. The detour through the forest is frustrating and frightening. My heart rate spikes every time an unseen creature scurries nearby. It's dark under the shade of the forest canopy. I keep an eye out for the glowing eyes of sparkhounds or Mindless. After wandering in the wilderness for half a mile, I put on my binoculars and look out toward my house. The white dingy siding comes into view. I see the Miller's van just north of the house, abandoned on the road. There's no sign of the Mindless anywhere on Itasca Avenue. I push the goggles up onto my head and think about my options. I can continue trudging through the forest for another mile then advance from the south to the house. Or I can cut across the meadow outside the forest to my right and save time. I decide on the latter option, aware of the danger I might put myself in.
Thy Kingdom Come (Navitas Post-Apocalyptic Series) Page 6
