Last Days Trilogy

by Jacqueline Druga

  “Roadblock?” he whispered, feeling the truck slow down.

  “No,” Kyle said, in a wary tone. “What the hell?”

  “What’s going on?” Marcus said, alerted by Kyle’s tone.

  Reggie looked over the seat. “Stay down.”

  “Military?” Marcus questioned.

  “No, just stay down.” The truck stopped. Kyle opened the driver’s side door and got out. Marcus poked his head through and saw the sign over Kyle’s auto body shop. Then he heard Reggie get out.

  A pounding hammer echoing loudly was the only sound in the dead streets of Seville. Kyle wondered why the town was so quiet. When he had left at four in the morning, the town had been chaotic, with military trucks and busy curbside tables. Now it was empty, with only an occasional passerby. Kyle was even more disturbed by the sight of Herbie perched on a ladder, hammering boards across his shop windows.

  “Herbie!” Kyle called.

  Herbie startled, spun, and dropped the hammer, then lost his balance and slid down four rungs.

  “Whoa.” Kyle ran to him. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” Herbie replied, staring over at Reggie. “Reg!” He jumped up and raced over, arms open for an embrace. “Oh, wow.”

  “Hey...” Reggie grunted through his strong hold. “Herb... bee.”

  “Oh, wow, am I glad to see that you’re all right. So glad to see you’re all right. Boy am I...”

  “Herbie, shut up,” Kyle said. “We’re glad you’re glad. What’s going on? How come you’re boarding up the shop?”

  “I thought it best.” Herbie scratched his head. “No one is around to protect it. I didn’t want all your hard work to go to ruins, Mr. Stevens. You know, with vandals and such.”

  “I appreciate that.” Kyle said. “What happened? Why’s it so dead around here?”

  “Military’s gone,” Herbie explained. “About seven this morning they pulled out, all the way up into Cleveland. President... um... that new guy. He ordered it.”

  “Anybody say why?” Kyle asked. “We still under Martial law?”

  “We’re still under a police action,” Herbie replied. “But no military is needed in towns of less than two thousand.” Herbie shrugged. “I heard the troops are all being assigned to border patrol and this ‘surgical clean sweep.’”

  Kyle thought for a moment, and then brightened. “Operation Clean Sweep, you mean.”

  Reggie stepped over. “So if the troops are gone, why’s everybody inside their homes?”

  “No, people are gone, too,” Herbie answered. “Not long after the military. Because of the rumors.”

  “What rumors?” Kyle asked.

  “Haven’t you heard?” Herbie looked at them both. “More big cities are supposed to feel the wrath of God. People are moving away. We’re too close to Cleveland so lots of folks are going to those special camps set up on the outskirts.”

  “No, we didn’t hear. Of course the radio kept dying… Are they just rumors, or what?”

  “Don’t know.” Herbie said. “I’ve been busy. It’s just what I heard.”

  “How many folks left?” Kyle questioned.

  “Most,” Herbie replied. “Besides the rumor of more destruction, they’re saying that unless you go to the camps to re-birth, you’ll be under strong suspicion of associating with the blacklisted groups, and stand a good chance of getting picked up.”

  Kyle rolled his eyes. “People will believe anything. They’re scared and panicking.”

  Herbie continued, “Then there’s the Marcus rumor. People don’t want to be anywhere near where he might end up. Because rewards draw the wrong element, you know. People are scared, someone might just try to blow him up.”

  “Shit.” Reggie looked at her truck then back to Herbie. “Dad, I need to see Seth.”

  “Yeah,” Kyle agreed. “Herbie, we appreciate this. I’ll give you a raise for boarding up.”

  Herbie smiled. “Thanks, Mr. Stevens.”

  “And,” Kyle added, “with things this bad, why don’t you grab your aunt Marybeth and bunk with us? My house is big enough for all of us. If Reggie stays with me, you and Marybeth can have her house next door.”

  Reggie nodded, reluctantly. “It is a good idea, Herbie. Gather up your things.”

  “Okay,” Herbie said, as they headed to the truck. “But,” he stuttered, “It’ll just be me. Aunt Marybeth got arrested this morning.”

  Kyle stopped at the truck door. “She what?”

  “She got pulled in during a sweep,” Herbie answered. “Because of her involvement with the Catholic church. I don’t know where they took her, but the military said once she’s cleared, she’ll be released.”

  Kyle opened his truck door. “When we can, we’ll try to locate her, okay?” he sighed. “But first, head on over to my house.” Before he got into the truck, he pointed up to his shop sign. “When you’re finished, of course.”

  Reggie slid in. “I guess a lot can happen in twelve hours, huh?”

  Kyle tossed the truck in gear. “You aren’t kidding.”

  As the truck pulled away, Marcus’ voice muffled from the back, “Is everything all right?”

  “Unfortunately,” Kyle said. “It’s not.”

  “Quit whining,” Kyle said as he unfolded Marcus from the back of the seat.

  Marcus’ knees were semi-paralyzed and contorted. Ditto his back. Reggie tried walking him around the driveway, but dropped him like a brick when Seth came to the front door.

  “Mommy!” Seth raced to his mom, who swept him up in her arms, his feet banging against her shins since he was almost Reggie’s height.

  “Oh, I missed you.” She kissed him over and over. “I missed you.”

  “What happened to him?” Seth asked as Reggie put him down. He paced over to Marcus, prone and silent. “Did my mom beat you up?”

  “No,” Marcus groaned. “Seth, can you help me stand up please?”

  “Daddy.” Reggie said as she went to the truck. “Will you help him? I want to take my things home.”

  Kyle grumbled as he braced Marcus. “Here. Have to do it all at once.” With a quick jolt and a scream from Marcus, Kyle straightened him, smiling. The smile left Kyle’s face when he saw Eliza stepping off the porch.

  “Son,” she called, desperately. She rushed to Marcus, her hand straying over his face, and kissed him gently on the cheek. “I was so worried about you.”

  She turned to Kyle.

  “What is it, Eliza?” Kyle asked.

  Eliza shivered. “I haven’t been able to get through to the house for hours. I wanted to go over and check... but was afraid with all that’s going on in town.”

  “No one’s answering?” Kyle asked.

  “No.” Eliza shook her head. “Just a rapid busy signal. Cell goes right to voice mail. Can we go over and check?”

  “Yeah. Reg,” Kyle turned to Reggie, who was pulling the duffel from the truck. “Take Seth in the house and lock up. I’m taking Eliza and Marcus over to the house. They can’t get through to George.”

  “All right,” Reggie nodded. “Keep me posted.”

  “Will do.” Kyle opened his door. “Eliza, Marcus, let’s go.”

  Marcus opened the passenger door for his mother, then glanced back at Reggie. His look lingered on the mother-son reunion. He waved to them as the truck pulled away.

  The White House, Washington, DC

  “Minus fifty degrees, not counting wind chill,” Madeline Lewis, assistant to the former President, gave her report to Leonard. She looked exhausted; her hair messed up, no makeup, her clothing wrinkled. “You need to appoint a Secretary of Foreign Affairs to handle this situation.”

  Leonard smiled as he worked with four other men around a table. “You’re it, Madeline.”

  She rolled her eyes and exhaled. “I can’t handle it. And I’m not qualified. I don’t know how to handle all the calls for assistance,” she said. “Oh, the Prime Minister of Israel is urging you to respond to the calls for he
lp from Russia and China.” She paused. “Minus fifty, sir. These people can’t eat, they are dying by the...”

  Leonard slammed his hand on the desk, silencing Madeline. “And I don’t have problems of my own to deal with? They want to eat? Tell the Prime Minister of Israel to feed them. Our food is staying here.” He held up a sheet of paper. “Refugee camps are starting by the minute. People are leaving the big cities. And I don’t blame them. We have our own people to feed now. Our own to take care of. And… for the first time in a long time, that’s what this country is going to do.”

  Madeline tossed up her hands and began backing up. “I quit. I’m leaving. Keep in mind that, besides this four-man strong-arm of ‘Operation Clean Sweep,’” Madeline indicated the general and three suited men around the table, “I am it. I’m sorry. I was your Congress, Senate and your Secretaries of everything. And now, sir, I’m gone. Good luck.” She spun and bolted from the office.

  The general turned from the slamming door back to Leonard. “I’ll institute the teams.”

  “Excellent.” Leonard leaned back in his chair and rocked briefly. “I’ll need one man at each of these thirty-two camps.”

  “Already handpicked,” the general assured him.

  “Good. Then I need smaller teams to gather people and bring them there. This is what we need. We need the people together and believing this is where they have to be. These camps are their only hope; their only salvation. Got that?”

  “Yes sir,” the general answered and moved toward the door. “I’ll get on the horn now.” He paused before exiting. “What about the power conservation?”

  Leonard ran his finger over his lip in quick thought. “Not yet. Randomly shut down some big places that are pretty much empty. I mean, we have crews not showing up for work anyhow.” He took another moment in thought. “Then, maybe tomorrow or the next day, we’ll use the link-up... and kill it.”

  With a bright, agreeable smile, the general left.

  Los Angeles, CA

  Todd was an artist, underpaid, unnoticed, but talented. He didn’t come from a rich family and still lived in the neighborhood where he’d been raised. He had a room over a magazine store on the edge of a slum. And from his window he painted visions of what he saw on the streets every day of his life. One of his subjects was at first a speck in the gathering multitudes. A speck, but Todd painted him. His hand moved, synchronized with his eyes, never leaving the larger-than-life man, Devante, as he spoke. When Todd finished with his preliminary sketch, he was shocked at what he saw.

  A true picture of Devante.

  Todd waited until mid-afternoon, after people drifted away from the towering man into little circles to talk. Devante visited each circle, making friends with the people, getting to know them. When Todd had his chance, he made his way downstairs and to the street.

  Devante seemed to notice him right away and walked over to him.

  Todd said, “I have something to show you.”

  Devante followed him up into his room.

  Their conversation was simple and brief. Devante lifted the cloth over the recently painted canvas, stared at the work, then let the cloth drop. “You do well,” he told Todd.

  “Yes, I do.” Todd lifted the cloth and looked at the picture, then at Devante. “All my life I had faith in God. I prayed to him for that break I deserved. A break for my talent. A break in this world. It never came.”

  Devante smiled peacefully. “It has now.”

  Seville, Ohio

  In the rising dust of the driveway and the deserted atmosphere, the torn-off screen door, the broken windows and burned-out truck, Kyle picked up speed, flooring the full-size truck.

  It screeched to a halt. “God! No!” Eliza bellowed in heart-wrenching grief as she scrambled over a frozen Marcus and out of the cab. “God! No!”

  Marcus closed his eyes.

  Kyle, knees trembling, looked to where Eliza knelt by the steps, screaming. He focused on the hideous red plastered over the porch. Blood. Everywhere. Grabbing his shotgun from behind the seat of the truck, Kyle pumped it and took a step toward the house at the same time as Marcus. He shuddered when he heard Eliza scream again. Kyle approached filled with dread of what lay ahead.

  George’s bloody hand reached over the edge of the steps, extending from the puddle of blood that pooled around and encircled his beaten, bullet-riddled body. He was unrecognizable except for his favorite shirt. The final gunshot had obliterated his face.

  Eliza hovered over him, bellowing. Marcus emitted a single sob and collapsed near his father and mother, wrapping his arms around her.

  Kyle reluctantly slipped into the house. It was trashed, every stick of furniture reduced to kindling. But no blood in the foyer, so Kyle knew the bloody trail of footprints that led from the dining room to the living room were not George’s. He followed it, shotgun ready. As he stepped into the living room, a gut-wrenching nausea filled Kyle when he saw Janice. There, on the dining room table was Janice, legs spread, naked from the waist down, her eyes still witnessing the horror, even in death. Blood still dripped from the gaping wound that was once her intact throat. Her head hung precariously from the edge of the table, nearly severed from her body.

  Eliza’s screams still in his ears, Kyle walked to the buffet, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a tablecloth. Fighting his stomach, he shrouded Janice with the white cloth. After he did, he followed the footsteps again. They led into the kitchen and across the linoleum where they became a sea of blood spatter. Like impressions in the snow on a playground, they were everywhere.

  He saw the open basement door and the blood on the top step. The footprints came from there.

  Kyle moved slowly, apprehension gnawing at him with each step. A part of him knew, but he needed to be sure. Down he went. As soon as Kyle turned the corner from the last step, his fears were confirmed. Extended an inch or so over the jamb of the open cellar door, he saw a tiny bloody foot. Kyle gagged and wept.

  After regaining his composure a bit, he set down the shotgun with shaking hands and lifted a coat that hung on the rack at the bottom of the basement stairs. He walked to the cellar, praying aloud with each step. His insides shook violently the closer he came. Kyle meant to move Kathleen from that cold cellar into the basement and cover her. But after he opened the cold cellar door, he knew he couldn’t. Blinded by tears, his heart breaking, he could not bring himself to touch the little girl, no matter how hard he tried. So much blood, such a tiny child. He saw the precious little girl had been bludgeoned, the instrument a bloody baseball bat lying by her shoulder.

  It was all that Kyle could take. He spun around and threw up, the vomit shooting through the hand held up to staunch it. He bent forward and retched over and over, unable to control himself, his insides shaking violently. Then he heard Eliza shriek upstairs. Kyle couldn’t move. He held onto the wall for support and mustered all his strength to keep from passing out.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Los Angeles, CA

  “I sense it,” Devante said, leaning back against a tree, legs crossed, eyes closed.

  Peeling an orange, Todd said, “So like, if this dude is so fatal to...”

  “Dude?” Devante opened one eye. “What is a dude?”

  “A guy. A man. A dude.”

  “Dr. Leon?”

  “Yeah,” said Todd. “So if he’s like fatal to you, and like he has to be taken out, why can’t you just tell people where he is instead of having people waste their time doing this process of elimination thing with his family and buds.”

  “I fail to decipher this wording you use,” Devante said. “But I do understand one thing you say.” He paused. “The truth is… I cannot say where Dr. Leon is. I cannot be responsible for leading people to kill him. I cannot. For he is the creator of this body, and the doorway he opened will close if I am connected to his death.”

  “Huh?”

  Devante snorted and looked at Todd. “If I kill him, I die.”

  “Oh,” Todd n
odded and took a bite of his orange. “But you’re telling people he’s bad, isn’t that the same thing?”

  “No. I do not tell them to kill him. Telling them where the doctor is would be my way of ensuring his death. They must seek and find him on their own. Besides,” Devante reached for another slice of orange, “I have other things to concern myself with. We need to move on to the next camp. We have points to be made. Visions to ensure. I do not believe at this time that Dr. Leon is too much of a threat to me. Because right now... I truly believe...” Devante’s face brightened as he spoke and brought a wedge of orange to his mouth. “Dr Leon’s mind and heart are in the depths of a deep distraction.”

  Seville, Ohio

  Kyle jammed shells into his shotgun, cursing profusely. “Not a goddamn sheriff to be found.” He pumped and aimed it at the wall, sighting it. “Not a county or state police officer around.” He calmed briefly, setting the weapon down and looked at Reggie and Herbie, standing by silently. “It’s up to us.”

  “Gates are all secure,” Herbie told him. “What else do you need me to do?”

  “Nothing right now.” Kyle patted Herbie’s arm. “You did real good breaking into the pharmacy for those things for Marcus. That was a risk. Good man. You rest. I’ll need you on watch tomorrow.” Kyle moved to the steps.

  “Daddy.” Reggie grabbed his arm. “Why can’t I take a watch?”

  “You have a son to worry about.”

  “And I can’t protect him sitting on the roof? He’s not safe in here with Herbie on the couch and you in bed?”

  “Reg...”

  “No, Daddy,” Reggie pleaded. “I’m a good shot. You taught me. Let me at least take the first watch for a couple hours while you get some sleep.”

  “I can’t let you take that chance,” Kyle argued.