Salvation | Book 1 | Salvation

by McNeil, Nick

  Mrs. Jones stuck her shovel in the dirt and wiped the sweat off her forehead, swearing. “Levi told me chaos wouldn’t break out for a few more days.” She grabbed a bottle of water off the ground and chugged it.

  “Okay.” Mr. Cheltenham stopped digging and threw his hands in the air. “By all means, drink it like we live in Atlantis,” he mumbled to himself and went back to digging. Stacked together, next to the hole Mrs. Jones and Mr. C were digging, lay Oliver and his father. “And to answer your last remark. This specific situation, that was an outlier. I guarantee most people in West Pines have not run into an altercation like this.”

  Mrs. Jones returned to digging. “I just don’t understand how people can act so psychotic, so naturally. It’s like something has been buried deep inside them, my children, and has just now awoken.” She looked at Mr. Cheltenham, who was still taking a break from digging. “Some sort of terrible evil.”

  “While you sound quite dramatic and over the top, Mrs. Jones, you’re actually being quite rational.” Cheltenham looked around at the forest roof and paced around the gravesite. “Society has changed drastically and rapidly. We have access to far too much information now; we can’t even digest it properly. We hardly process news anymore.” Mr. C’s hands waved in all directions when he spoke. “You see a headline for a school shooting, and you swipe up to dismiss the news notification. No one cares anymore. You, me, and the eighty-year-old woman down the street have seen a show or movie about an apocalypse of some sort. Go on Amazon, there are a hundred and one million fiction books fantasizing about what the apocalypse would be like.” Mr. Cheltenham pointed with his finger. “But there is a key difference between these apocalyptic stories and real life. In real life, the apocalypse means it is the end; the end means we all die. In these stories there is always some fake way to actually survive it and outlast this whole thing.”

  Mrs. Jones slaved away, digging a grave large enough for two grown men, while Cheltenham ranted on.

  “Kids play video games that take place in a post-apocalyptic world. For god’s sake, a kill streak, a streak in which you kill many people without dying, rewards you with getting to set off an EMP or a nuke. Of course, the video game never shows any actual consequences to taking such an action.” Cheltenham stopped scuffling around to look Mrs. Jones in the eyes. “Is everyone fully prepared for the end of the world? No. Only a few experts are. As a whole, are we better prepared than we were twenty years ago? Damn straight. Maybe not when it comes to the hands-on part, but that can be learned. The mind, that needs to be conditioned; that can’t change overnight. That is why this new generation may just make it. They’re conditioned to be callous. The kids root for the villains in movies now. The real-world apocalypse isn’t like the ones you see in movies. There isn’t hope for a happy ending here, Mrs. Jones, but the thing is, everyone living it is hoping for one anyways.”

  “Are you on drugs?” Mrs. Jones stopped digging. “You’re on drugs. That literally makes no sense. You say no one can actually survive, it’s not possible, but, oh, these new kids are so evil and well prepared,” she mocked. “They will do great here.” Mrs. Jones threw her hands in the air. “How can you be well prepared and fucked!”

  “I hope I’m not intruding.” A hiker cleared his throat and interjected himself.

  Mrs. Jones and Mr. Cheltenham jumped in the air and scurried in front of the bodies. Despite trying to stand wide, they were not even close to covering the entire length of the two men. “Nope, not at all,” Mrs. Jones replied.

  “Yes, you are. We are trying to do some gardening, if you can’t tell,” Mr. C snarled. “Now, please be on your way.” He shooed the hiker away.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” The hiker stepped back with an open mouth. He was about to leave, but just before he did, he turned back around. “Just before I go, I have a quick question. My wife and neighbors told me I was crazy when I said I heard gunshots earlier.” He made air quotes. “Told me it was just fireworks.” He laughed to himself. “You guys didn’t happen to hear or see anything, did you?”

  Mr. C and Mrs. Jones shook their heads. “Nope, nothing at all.” Cheltenham tightened his fist around the handle of his shovel; he gulped.

  “What is—” The hiker cocked his head and squinted his eyes. He put his hands over his mouth. “Holy shit.” He made a 180 and dashed through the forest like a professional sprinter.

  “Get the hell in the bunker.” Mr. C threw his shovel down and scurried to the shelter door. Mrs. Jones made no protest and practically jumped inside the dugout.

  “What’s going on?” Mrs. Patel leaped out of her seat, startled by their abrupt and noisy entry. “Is everything okay?”

  “Nope. This is a code red. I repeat, a code red.” Mr. C locked every latch and reinforcement he had on the bunker door. “Someone saw us burying the bodies.”

  Tears formed in Jay’s eyes, and he looked to his mother for comfort.

  “What does that mean? What’s going to happen? Are the police going to come?” Mrs. Patel’s voice trembled. She held her son close to her.

  “I wouldn’t count on any law enforcement.” Mr. Cheltenham sat at his desk computer and typed. “That hiker is most likely going to tell someone, or a group of people, even possibly the first group or person he sees.” He squished his nose like a pig to stop his glasses from sliding any further as he kept typing away with two hands. “A mob mentality of some sort will arise when they all start chatting with people. I give it an hour before that hiker asshat comes a-knockin’ with half of the neighborhood.” His eyes widened like he discovered hidden treasure. “Holy shit.”

  “What?” Mrs. Jones rushed over and looked over Mr. C’s shoulder.

  “I just got the broadcast.” Mr. Cheltenham enlarged the video so it was full screen. “It’s only the last bit of it, but one of my buddies in Chicago—he’s crazy like me and lives in a bunker too—he was actually able to record part of his TV with his phone.” Mr. C hit play.

  A dark silhouette with a voice changer spoke directly into the camera. “Symmetry has been added to the playing field. Whatever you cannot touch will never again return. Harmony has been added to the natural order. Rich, poor, educated, it means nothing. Preparation is the only savior. You have never been free until now. You are the people of nothing, but at least you are the only owner of your soul. One day, some of which was lost will be returned. But first, retribution. Welcome to the new world.”

  Seattle, Washington

  10:40 a.m.

  “Look, I’ll be candid here. I don’t want them to die, and you two also probably don’t wanna die.” Abraham looked down the scope mounted on the rifle he’d looted. The crosshairs were placed on the head of the man who held a gun to his daughter. “If you try to kill them, I’ll kill both of you before you’re done. If I try to kill you, you’ll kill most of them before I am done. If you try to kill me, I duck, you miss, they get away. Most likely, I don’t die in any of these scenarios. This makes things difficult for you.”

  “Stop stalling!” The robber poked the barrel of his rifle into Dinesh’s side.

  “I’m not stalling,” Abraham shouted back. “I’m compromising. I just want everyone here to be aware of who does and does not have the higher ground.” He tilted his head to both sides. “Both literally and figuratively. So what exactly do you want?”

  The two men looked at each other, neither saying a word. The man jabbing his firearm into Amelia’s neck spoke up. “We want the backpacks the kids are wearing and all of your guns.”

  Abraham lowered his weapon to make eye contact with the man talking. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

  “Do you want us to scatter these kids’ brains?” The man holding Dinesh hostage bashed him with the stock of his rifle, driving him to the ground.

  “And then I scatter yours.” Abe shook his head. “You aren’t getting this. You have to choose what your own life is worth to you right now.”

  “We have your kids!” the man lashed
out back. “Don’t pretend like we don’t have any leverage. Give us everything.”

  “Okay, fine.” Abe tossed his gun over the ledge of the building. He picked up the other firearms on the roof and tossed them as well. “Kids, go ahead.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Amelia debated.

  The robber nearest Amelia took her firearm, and the man holding Dinesh and Levi hostage took Dinesh’s. They stripped the kids of their backpacks, and as the mugger reached for Levi’s pistol, Mr. Jones interrupted. “Can we at least have a single handgun? You have literally everything else,” he pleaded. “We just want to get out of the city.”

  The men nodded and left Levi with his Beretta. They sprinted down the alleyway, opposite the direction of the hospital.

  “Fools.” Abraham laughed crazily. “Levi, give ’em your worst.”

  Levi drew his pistol and took aim. The men tried to draw their firearms; however, they were carrying too much. They dropped their supplies and scurried to equip their rifles. Before they ever armed themselves, Levi opened fire, pumping his entire magazine into the men. Their bodies seized as every bullet punctured their torsos, Levi not missing a single shot. The men collapsed. “Loot ’em,” Abraham commanded.

  “Nice shootin’, big brother.” Amelia nudged her brother.

  Levi yawned and swaggered over toward the dead muggers.

  Dinesh helped himself up and jogged to catch up with his friends. “Why do I get the feeling I’m part of some really dark origin story?”

  Abraham made his way down the fire escape and walked down the alley and approached his children. When he came within a couple of feet of the three of them, they all looked at each other and didn’t say a word.

  “Well, this isn’t awkward,” Dinesh cracked.

  “It’s good of you to show up.” Amelia crossed her arms. “You’re late. Per usual.”

  “I almost missed you.” Levi shrugged.

  “I know my word means nothing to you guys, but I really did miss you more than anything.” Abe exhaled. “But I’m back for good this time. Honestly.”

  “Well, no shit, Sherlock.” Amelia laughed and threw her hands in the air. “Where the fuck else would you go?” She turned to her father, jaw dropped and her hands folded behind her head. “Have you looked around lately? People aren’t just booking cheap flights from SEA to LAX for $119 when you book through Travelocity anymore!”

  “I really hate to break up the family reunion.” Levi, Amelia, and Abe glared in Dinesh’s direction at the same time—Dinesh flinched. “But we should really get my dad from the hospital and get back to West Pines.”

  Amelia groaned aloud and bumped her father’s shoulder as she walked past him. The group halted where the alleyway met the sidewalk. They surveyed the route to the hospital. The protestors and army were still going at it. The altercation had moved to the front of the hospital.

  “Well, this is convenient.” Levi reached into his sack and pulled out a box of 9mm ammunition. It was almost empty, but had enough to reload his magazine and still have a bullet to spare.

  A Molotov cocktail flew over the crowd and busted open on the front of the army tank. Some of the particles flew onto the soldiers closest to the vehicle, setting them on fire as well. The soldiers dropped their riot shields and opened fire, laying massacre to the horde of protestors. Their bodies dropped like ants sprayed with bug repellent. The soldiers reloaded and didn’t let up. Scurrying in every direction, the protestors tried to flee the scene, but the city congestion made it too challenging. Some folk climbed over cars and others behind anything they could find. The protesting ended, but the gunfire didn’t, most of the bullets being placed into the backs of people.

  “I think the hospital is off the table.” Mr. Jones inspected the city streets for an alternative route.

  Dinesh gasped. “We can’t leave my father.”

  Levi put his arm around his friend.

  “Then you can go back for him.” Abraham checked both ways and rushed across the street to another alleyway. His children followed without debate.

  Dinesh made a fist and clenched his jaw. His first step was slow, but he picked up speed and followed Levi.

  West Pines, Washington

  1:00 p.m.

  Thonk, thonk.

  A low-pitched thud reverberated throughout Mr. Cheltenham’s bunker.

  “How long do we ignore them for?” Mrs. Jones tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “They’ve been out there for over an hour already.”

  Mr. C massaged the back of his neck with both of his hands. “When I devise a plan, okay.”

  “You’ve been devising a plan since you saw those hikers a few hours ago.” Mrs. Patel sat up, Jay sliding off her. “What is that wall of guns for, if not to at least intimidate?” She flexed.

  “Intimidate.” Cheltenham sprang to his feet, knocking his rolling chair to the side in the process. “Mrs. Patel, you’re a genius. After hours of pondering”—he snapped his fingers—“I never thought to INTIMIDATE.” His eyes turned red, and veins bulged out of his neck and forehead.

  “You can’t stay down there forever,” a voice from above warned.

  “Do you want to test that?” Cheltenham climbed up the ladder and shouted through the door. “I have enough supplies to last me a year down here.” He cut himself off; his eyes grew wide. He looked toward Mrs. Patel and Mrs. Jones and whispered, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  The mob went silent for a brief moment. “We just want to ask you what happened. But we need for you all to come out,” a voice followed up. “We don’t want any more harm to come to anyone.”

  “Why? So the few dozen people you have in your mob can run me dry of my supplies and do god knows what with us?” Mr. C countered.

  “Look here, Cheltenham.” A different voice spoke up. “When this is all over, you’re going to have to answer for what you’ve done, you crazy son of a bitch.”

  “Just blow the top off right now,” another voice cried out. Several voices spoke up and asserted themselves.

  “What are they saying?” Mrs. Jones stood at the bottom of the ladder.

  Cheltenham raised his ear. “I’m not sure. Too many of them are talking now.”

  A raspy voice sounded off over the rest. “Me, Paul, and Joanne all have guns. Open that door and we will make them come out. They surely can’t take all of us.” The mob mumbled and the bickering ended.

  “Okay, Cheltenham,” the man who spoke with them originally bellowed once more, “this is your last chance to come out peacefully. Please don’t make us come and get you. I cannot guarantee your safety unless you cooperate.”

  “Guarantee my safety?” Spit flew from Mr. C’s mouth. “Who the hell do you think you are? And who gave you any authority?”

  “Have it your way,” the man replied. Dust seeped through the cracks of the shelter door. Screeches from the handwheel being turned against its will crackled throughout the bunker.

  “Well, Mrs. Patel, it looks like your wish is coming true.” Mrs. Jones backed away from the ladder as Cheltenham climbed down. “Have either of you ladies used a firearm before? Shot some rounds? Jay, you look old enough.”

  “My son is not using a gun!” Mrs. Patel screamed. “Not to mention, it’s you two they’re after, not us.” She stood up and shoved her son behind her. “Also, what good is it to even have a bunker door if it doesn’t stay on!”

  “While being a bit of a twat, she does actually make a fair point.” Mrs. Jones took off the hairband around her wrist and tied her hair up. “And to answer your question. Yes. My husband is actually quite the gun junkie. I swear—” her cheeks turned red and she smiled “—he had those kids shooting before they could even walk.”

  The cracking of the turnwheel spinning against its will stopped, and the dust seeping in ceased. A faint car engine could be heard rumbling; the vibrations were felt easier than the engine was heard. Inaudible blaring and screeching arose above ground. Mr. Cheltenham held his finger up to his l
ips.

  Mrs. Jones closed her eyes to focus on the voices upstairs. Various gunshots from above ground fired off. Short bursts and sprays from rifles blended together with pump-action shotguns discharging. Mrs. Jones didn’t need to be above ground to know she was hearing crossfire. The screams of arguing quickly changed to screams of fear and terror. The exchange ended. Only shrieks of agony were left. Split apart and infrequent gunshots let off; each time a crying voice silenced. The wailing ended with the last gunshot.

  Knock, knock.

  Mr. C put his hands behind his head and looked toward everyone for confirmation. Mrs. Patel and Jay were in the fetal position on one of the bunks. Mrs. Jones had a revolver in her hand and took aim at the top of the ladder. Her angle didn’t allow for her to focus on the bunker entry itself.

  Knock, knock.

  “Hello, Mr. Cheltenham. We’re here visiting from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. LDS for short.” A woman’s voice rejoiced. “Have you heard the good word?”

  Mrs. Jones sighed and lowered her firearm. “It’s Amelia.”

  Mr. C undid the latches securing the beaten-down bunker and let the Jones family, along with Dinesh, inside.

  Mrs. Patel stood on her tiptoes and picked at her nails. “Dinesh—” her breaths quickened “—where is your father?”

  Mr. Jones answered for Dinesh. “We had to leave him behind at the hospital. It wasn’t safe.” Abraham quickly dismissed the conversation. He shoved Dinesh out of his way and in the direction of his mother so he could comfort her.

  Abe looked his wife in the eyes and ignored all else. The chaos that erupted, the people he’d just slaughtered, all was lost when he gazed into her eyes. To Abraham, she moved like an angel; her voice sang like a symphony composed just for him. Every empty thought he had was consumed by the curves of her skin and the sound of her voice. He was one of the only men on Earth who couldn’t truthfully say he loved his children more than his wife. He grabbed his wife by the hips and embraced her. The sadness from abandonment, the anger of raising children on her own, the feelings most would expect were not the emotions that Mrs. Jones felt. Mrs. Jones was one of the only women on Earth who couldn’t truthfully say she loved her children more than her husband. Her husband’s touch made her heart stop and the butterflies in her stomach start to flutter. In the arms of her husband, the walls around her could be burning, and she wouldn’t notice.