The Day After Never (Book 7): Havoc

by Blake, Russell

  “Still. Sad.”

  “The world’s full of sad. Let’s hope we can make it a little better for some. If we can, that’s a win.”

  Lucas looked away. “Still got a ways to go before we rest.”

  “No doubt, Lucas. No doubt.”

  Chapter 15

  Newport, Oregon

  Frantic pounding at the door of Hayden’s house woke him, and he jumped out of bed and pulled on pants before hurrying down the stairs to the entry. Three men were standing on the porch with guns in their hands and frightened expressions.

  “What is it?” Hayden asked.

  “There’s a ship at the mouth of the harbor, and a bunch of boats are making their way to shore,” one of them said.

  “It’s the Chinese,” another blurted.

  “What should we do?” the third demanded.

  Hayden blinked away the grogginess and glanced behind him. “Come in. Let me get dressed. You say they’re on their way in?”

  “That’s right. They’re rowing so they don’t make any noise.”

  “How did the ship arrive without waking everyone?” Hayden asked.

  “It must have cut its power a ways out. Don’t ask me.”

  Hayden ran up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, and donned boots, a shirt, and his flak jacket before making his way back to the living room with his M16 and pistol.

  The men looked even more nervous than before. Hayden swallowed the fear rising in his throat and tried to appear confident.

  “Okay, we need to decide whether we’re going to fight or not,” he said.

  “What do you mean, or not? Of course we have to fight. You want to let them make us slaves again?”

  “Of course not. But if everyone gets killed, does that solve anything?” He paused. “I’m just thinking out loud.”

  The largest of the three looked disgusted. “You’re chicken.”

  Hayden shook his head. “There’s no point in getting everyone killed for nothing. We should fight if we stand a chance of winning.”

  “How the hell are we supposed to win against a Chinese invasion force? They got serious weapons, training, you name it.” The man walked to the door. “I’m not gonna let them take my family and make them into slaves, or worse. If you won’t fight, that doesn’t mean everyone’s gotta lie down for them.”

  “We’re trying to decide what to do,” one of the others said. “Don’t go and do anything stupid.”

  “We got to try to at least turn ’em back. Otherwise we’re gonna be like Astoria, only worse.”

  The man slammed the door behind him, and the remaining men looked to Hayden. “You seriously think we shouldn’t try to stop them?”

  “I…look. How many do you think a ship that size holds?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe…a thousand? Less?”

  “I remember something like six or seven hundred in Astoria.”

  “Yeah, that’s about right. So?”

  “So what chance do we have against seven hundred Chinese troops with unlimited ammo, who don’t care who they kill? What do you think will happen when they open up on us with the ship guns? You want that for your families?”

  “Then we have to run. But we’re out of time. They’ll be here in minutes.”

  Shooting echoed from the water, and Hayden’s expression darkened. “Too late.”

  They ran from the house and caught the sounds of a firefight taking place by the remains of the boat docks. The men sprinted to join the fight, but Hayden held back. He’d meant it when he’d said it seemed pointless to take on an unstoppable force, and he didn’t see anything to be gained by fighting it out in a guaranteed defeat situation.

  More gunfire exploded from the harbor, making his decision for him. He had absolutely no doubt that the Chinese would cut down anyone stupid enough to oppose them. Hayden had signed up to be sheriff, but that didn’t mean he was going to lay down his life in a futile gesture. No, it would be better to hide out and see what happened before making any moves. Dead men couldn’t mount a defense, and it wouldn’t be in his best interests to abdicate his position of responsibility and allow himself to be killed when he was more valuable alive.

  Two men with shotguns appeared from out of the darkness. “Hayden! Come on! The Chinese are attacking!”

  “I know. You go ahead. I’m going to try to flank them and coordinate a counterattack.”

  The men continued down to the harbor and certain death. Hayden retreated to the stable, moving through the darkness like a fish through water. When he reached the horses, nobody was there, and he entered the building as the shooting from the harbor intensified. He found his horse and fit his saddle and bags on him as quickly as he could, and then led the stallion out into the night, gunshots trailing him as he walked the horse away from town.

  He wasn’t sure what to do next, but he knew from Astoria that by morning the town would be under Chinese rule no matter what token resistance the misguided citizens attempted. The only thing that might change was they could decide to kill everyone as retribution for Astoria, but that wasn’t logical – they’d been up front about using the locals as slave labor, and if they slaughtered the entire town, there’d be nobody to bury the bodies.

  The shooting died down after another hour, and he watched through his binoculars from the trees as Chinese soldiers advanced along the streets and rousted the residents from their new homes. By daybreak, the survivors were gathered shivering in the parking lot of the hospital, guarded by twenty soldiers. Hayden could make out the panicked faces of his fellow townspeople and felt a coil of self-loathing in his gut – he’d chosen to save his own skin rather than help those who’d depended on him.

  He remained through the day and watched with relief as the Chinese allowed most of those in the parking lot to return to their homes once the patrols had taken all the weapons. They directed ten of the stronger men to dispose of the dead defenders, of which there were at least forty. When they were gone, Hayden’s heart sank when Hubert and Caleb were singled out and marched to the edge of the lot, where a soldier put a bullet into the back of their heads without hesitation.

  Hayden had seen enough. That would have been his fate had he stayed. He’d made the only decision he could, and was alive only because of his good judgment and fast action.

  Dusk streaked the sky with tangerine and violet as Hayden mounted his horse and set off along the road back to Astoria, unsure what he would do next but convinced there was nothing he could achieve by remaining in Newport. Maybe some of the fighters in Astoria would be game for returning and taking on the Chinese – assuming Bill and his group were still alive, they were the best fighters the town had.

  Whatever the case, he was only one man, and it would have been unreasonable to expect him to make the ultimate sacrifice for nothing. At least that was his reasoning as the stallion settled into a comfortable pace, the only sound the clomp of its hooves on the pavement and the hoot of an owl from a treetop above.

  Chapter 16

  Denver, Colorado

  Ulysses Granger strode to the front of a large crowd, the sleeves of his white robe billowing like angel’s wings as he waved to deafening applause from his thousands of followers. He approached the stage that had been erected at one end of the convention center and beamed at his flock, energized by their outpouring of devotion. He reached the stage, where his son, Elijah, was waiting along with members of his inner circle, and leapt onto it like a lion tamer into the ring.

  He approached the podium and tapped the microphone. The public address system was solar powered, as were the lights, which had been dimmed to warm the cavernous space with an intimate glow. A shortwave transmitter sat nearby, ready to broadcast his sermon to the faithful all over the country – not that there were many outside Denver, where his doomsday church had sprung up after the collapse, offering a religious explanation for why the unthinkable had happened as well as a way forward and a sense of fellowship with the faithful for whom Ulysses was a h
oly prophet who spoke the Lord’s words.

  Denver had been particularly hard hit by the virus and the subsequent lawlessness until it had been cleansed of the gangs that had attempted to take it over – the local population had proven hard to bully, given it was well armed and composed of frontier types who could handle themselves as well as any marine platoon. Once order had been imposed, Ulysses’s group had boasted the largest number of survivors in the area, so it was inevitable that it function as the local government for the city, with nonbelievers advised to look elsewhere for a home.

  Ulysses had come out of nowhere, a gypsy preacher whose brand of fundamentalist fire and brimstone had enabled him to earn a paltry living on the road. He’d found a willing following in the shell-shocked residents of Denver, who had warmed to his new message when he’d appeared three months into the troubles with his son, a battered suitcase, and a tent. Over the ensuing years, he’d developed into a powerful phenomenon, and his fringe ideology had become the basis of his church.

  “Brothers and sisters! Welcome to the house of the Lord!” he boomed, and the crowd went wild again, cheering and whooping like they were at a concert. He waited until the applause quieted, gazing out at the sea of faces before him in approval, and then shook his head like he was puzzled.

  “I come here today with a message that appeared to me in a dream. It’s a message that every man, woman, and child needs to hear and to take to heart.”

  More cheering rose from the throng. Ulysses’s messages were a fixture of his church, and he regularly shared them during his larger performances.

  “As you all have heard from many false prophets, we have been judged and found wanting. Many of us were punished for our sinful way of life, for our venality, our greed, our lust. For turning away from the one great truth. For allowing the blasphemers and philistines among us to pervert us with their filth. According to these false messiahs, we were unclean, we didn’t believe, and for that we were smitten just as the sinners in Sodom and Gomorrah were, back in the day. It was inevitable. God is patient and merciful, but at some point He looked down at what His creations had gotten up to and said, ‘Enough is enough.’”

  Ulysses nodded, his expression grim. “And so He took the majority and sent them to hell. Where they belong, for allowing immigrants and deviates and communists and porn-o-graph-y to twist our society and create a bubbling cauldron of sin!”

  “Hallelujah!”

  “That’s what most preachers are saying, but you know what? Folks, they got it wrong. Dead wrong. Sure, some of them were sent straight to hell because of sin. But why were so many good folks also taken? And why spare some of us? That’s a question I’ve been wondering about for years now. Why show some of us mercy when He wiped the earth of most? I’ve been praying on that question something fierce, and last night the answer was delivered to me in my dreams.”

  Ulysses paused for effect, and the convention hall was as quiet as a library, the congregation collectively holding its breath.

  “The answer is that he didn’t spare us anything. He called some of us to heaven with the virus, and right now those lucky ones are living forever in His presence. Not everyone who was taken was wicked – we all know that. Grandparents. Our mothers. The babies – the precious little babies. No, they were taken because He needed more good spirits in heaven with Him. They were rewarded for living righteously, not punished! That’s where the charlatans, the false prophets, have it wrong. That brings me to the question that was answered in my dream. Why, oh why, are we still alive?” He looked around the room like a hawk surveying a field full of gophers. “And now I have the answer! What we think of as the world is nothing but a test. Right now we’re in purgatory, between heaven and hell, where we’re being judged to see if we’re worthy of going up with Him or if we belong in hellfire with Satan!”

  A woman near the front fainted with a loud moan, and Elijah swooped in to catch her, to cheers of encouragement. She came to after a few short seconds, hand clutched to her chest, and she glued her eyes to Ulysses.

  “That’s right,” Ulysses continued. “We are between worlds, and this is our final test of the faithful. The Lord’s a-watching, and what we do while we’re here will decide where we go when we move on. Those who continue living in sin and polluting their minds will get their reward, just as the righteous will stand at the Lord’s side and live forever in eternal happiness. Everything you see around you is an illusion, folks. It’s all a big show to test you so He knows who’s worthy and who isn’t.”

  More applause and shouts of adulation as Ulysses raised his arms to his sides to form a crucifix.

  “He sent His son to be sacrificed for all of us, but that wasn’t enough of a wake-up call. We had to keep being wicked, to keep making our hearts a home for the devil. So many were taken, but we were saved for this special purpose, and we will show Him that we’re worthy!”

  Ulysses lowered his voice from the shouted oratory to a conversational tone. “Many of you are probably wondering how this ends. I wish I could tell you. The dream didn’t allow me to see it clearly. But what I can tell you, that came through loud and clear, was that He is sick and tired of false messiahs and the worship of idols and all the rest. What am I talking about? Even now, there are those who think there’s salvation to be had outside of this church, who follow false prophets and believe nonsense. Folks who believe they know the answers, and that they don’t need to be faithful and listen to the Word. They’ve moved out of our city, and I say good riddance – but there are dangers elsewhere that threaten to mess it up for us all.”

  A puzzled murmur washed over the attendees, and Ulysses shook his head again. “We’ve been given a last chance to prove we’re worth saving. God hasn’t decided what to do with us yet, but when He does, those who believe are gonna be saved, sure as those who fail the final test are going to burn for all eternity, and their skin will bubble off their bones, and every moment of forever will be nothing but pain and suffering and agony!”

  Ulysses paused to let the mental image settle in and then nodded. “That’s right. We’re going to get one final stab at it, and this time we best not mess it up. That was the message in my dream. So sayeth the Lord!”

  Cheers and a deafening ovation greeted his proclamation, and the faithful threw up their hands and screamed in righteous approval. Some turned to their fellows and hugged the person next to them as tears streamed down their faces, and others babbled in tongues or fell to the ground and convulsed in ecstasy. Elijah smiled at the four comely women by his side and embraced each one, his hands lingering on their form before releasing them and moving to the next.

  Ulysses signaled to the choir by the side of the stage, and thirty voices rose in song as he made his way from the podium to a door at the rear of the stage. The orations exhausted him, and he was known to disappear for days to recharge his spirit, the burden of being the messenger of the word a heavy one he bore without complaint.

  The crowd chanted along with the choir until the rafters were shaking from the volume of their voices, and Elijah supervised as scores of young boys circulated down the aisles with wheeled Walmart baskets to hold the donations of bullets that would rain into them like a deluge from heaven. By the time the hall emptied, they’d amassed a trove of ammo that would have been the envy of any warlord, which would join the mountain of precious stones and metals and ammo that the faithful had donated to encourage Ulysses to continue sharing the Good Word with them.

  Elijah watched as the inner circle counted the rounds and took note of the contents of each basket before summing the numbers and arriving at a total that widened his eyes.

  It had been an exceedingly productive sermon, which guaranteed that Ulysses’s message, and by extension his influence and Elijah’s, would continue to spread.

  Elijah had no idea what his father’s end run was going to be, and was worried over the worsening of his spells of late, but seeing the take from a single day dwarf everything they’d ever made on
the road gave him confidence that even if his father faltered, he’d be able to seize the reins and guide the faithful.

  “Get this locked up. I’m going to see how he’s doing,” Elijah ordered, and a trio of muscular bodyguards nodded and secured the baskets.

  Elijah left through the same exit his father had used and walked across the enclosed street to the building that housed his inner sanctum. He took the steps to his father’s suite of rooms and raised his fist to knock on the door, and then froze at the sound of his father yelling inside, his voice strident, and then angry, and then panicked.

  Shouting words in a language nobody but Ulysses understood.

  Elijah lowered his hand and stepped away, his face clouded. It was getting worse, not better. When they’d been traveling, Ulysses would occasionally “slip,” as he called it, but lately the spells had become too regular for comfort.

  Elijah retreated down the hall, lost in thought, his enthusiasm at the riches they’d collected replaced by a dread that seemed to permeate every fiber of his being.

  Chapter 17

  Salem, Oregon

  Lucas, Sam, and Bill sat with Art and Ray by a small campfire near Clear Lake, six miles north of Salem. Sam was filling them in on the layout while the men rested, the march having been harder than many had bargained for. They’d crossed the river at Newberg and made their way south in a rain that had lasted most of the day, and now, two hours after nightfall, were debating how to proceed.

  “We’re going to have to do some reconnaissance,” Art observed. “Chances are pretty good since we hit them and broke Sam’s guys out of jail that they moved their operation. Only a moron would stay put after that.”

  “They aren’t the sharpest,” Sam said.

  “Doesn’t matter. I doubt they’ll still be in city hall. Which means we need to find out where they are.”