Under a Broken Sun (24 page)

“We have tear gas.  Weapons.  We will take the house by force-“

Bill got angry at that, yelling “I have children in here for Christ’s sake.”

“Yes,” Colonel Reynolds said, smiling.  “And we must take them.  For Christ’s sake.”

There was a rumbling downstairs.  Windows being broken.  Two quick bursts.  A struggle and someone being dragged out.  Tolbert.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” He shouted.  Two soldiers in their creepy white uniforms and gas masks pulled him outside.  He struggled with every step, but they held firm, M16’s hanging from their backs.  Ashley burst into the room, followed quickly by Tommy and Louie. 

“What the fuck are they doing?” she asked.

Bill cocked his firearm.  “Goddamn it,” he yelled.  “You fuckin’ nutjobs leave that kid alone.  We will fire.”

I ran to the other window, crouched low like Bill and pointed my gun out.  A twenty-two like I had wasn’t going to do any real damage, but I didn’t intend on missing.  “Let him go,” I shouted. 

“Fair exchange,” Colonel Reynolds said as he grabbed Tolbert away from the other two.  “This one for Adam.  You have ten seconds.”

“Tommy,” I said, barking at him to wake him out of his stupor.  “Get the fuck back to the other side.  They may try to flank us.”

Tommy bolted. 

“Louie, take Ashley and go.  NOW!”

Louie took Ashley’s hand, but she shook it off and walked towards the window.

"Go!" I shouted.  She just put a hand on my shoulder and watched outside.  Louie did the same.

“Time’s up,” Reynolds yelled.

Reynolds handed Tolbert to another white-clad Whackjob who pushed Tolbert to his knees. He brought out a pistol and held it to Tolbert's head.  Insanity.

"Stop!" I shouted.  "I'm coming out."

Bill looked at me in shock.  He grabbed my arm.  "Don't do it."

I couldn't say a thing. I just turned, climbed down the stairs, and walked to the side of the house where Reynolds stood. 

I felt hands the size of basketballs grab my bicep and squeeze tight.  A plastic zip tie was thrown on my wrists and pulled tight.  Tolbert stood up.

On his own.  Freely. 

"Adam, I'm sorry.  They've got my wife somewhere.  I didn't have a choice."

A chill encased my stomach as I watched him look away.  He couldn't even look me in the eye.  This whole time I knew.  I didn't listen but I knew. "You sorry motherfucker.  You're one of them.  This whole time.  You fired on purpose to let them know where we were." 

Another hand gripped my shoulder.  I turned and saw the grim face of a rubber oxygen mask and white hood hanging low over it.  The head exploded in front of me as the guy flew sideways.

I looked up at Bill firing from a window.  Aiming at Tolbert, who was nowhere to be found.  The white-clad army split up and fired back.  Bill disappeared behind the window as bullets ripped wood apart into tiny splinters.  I screamed, unable to do a damn thing to help. 

A black nylon bag flew over my head and then a painful whack from behind exploded on my skull.  For a split second, as the pain throbbed and my eyeballs felt like popping, I thought about everyone else, what was going to happen to them, what had happened to the world.  The gunshots died down.  The colonel yelled "Hold your fire!  Hold your fire!"

I passed out cold.  Alone.

PART IV – SEPTEMBER

CHICAGO

You stay here, I'll go look for God.

It's not so hard, 'cause I know where he's not

I will bring him back with me,

Make him listen, make him see.

24.   

Another week on the road.  I hadn't seen anyone from our gang since the house, so I had no idea if they were alive or dead.  Probably dead knowing these assholes.  I tried but couldn't get my head around Tolbert.  Did he seriously believed their bullshit or was he just some dumb fuck trying to get on the good side of the bad guys.  The whole time he was helping us he was really waiting for the right moment to turn us in.  He said they were holding his wife hostage.  True?  I didn't care.  I just wanted that mother fucker dead.

As we marched, most of the time the hood stayed on me until I burned up and passed out.  Then the hood came off and cold water flew into my face.  I drank three bottles of water a day, ate whatever they put in front of me. They left my hands bound behind my back with that plastic zip tie.  It cut into me, which, when I got aggravated and needed to cut, provided a similar relief.  They took my backpack, probably had a grand old book burning with the Kerouac.  I wandered aimlessly, following the lead of the rope tied around my neck.  Whoever held the other end of it was no friend of mine.

I wore a loose fitting sheet thing, all black, that kept every part of my body covered.  We marched eight hours in the day, rested for four, then marched another eight at night, rested for four.  My body had grown used to the nocturnal shift so by noon the exhaustion came.  If I did pass out, I usually woke up finding myself bouncing on the back of a mammoth, sweaty horse. 

When we crossed into Indiana, we set up camp.  Someone ripped the hood off of me, and I read a sign that said, “Richmond, Indiana.  Welcome Home.”  Underneath the hearty welcome the sign proudly announced all the clubs, groups, sponsors that would never get together again.  My hands were unbound with a quick snap of a knife, and a hulking mound of  a 'soldier' took me to a one-man camping tent, shoved me inside, and left me alone. I looked outside but only saw the military guy's ass.  

I could hear the hesitant footsteps of people walking by, trying to get a glimpse of the spawn of Satan.  Mothers ushered their children past quickly, like I could spring out at any moment and whisk them away.  I poked my head out again and the guard ambled ahead to talk to another soldier.  I saw the compound, vast and sprawling collections of tents, some just a blanket over a stick, some high end camping tents.  People milled around, talking in whispers and glancing my way, all wearing various outfits of white.  The world's ending and Hill introduces a dress code.  Fucking brilliant.  These people should've been at a middle school, or at a bridge club, or a shopping mall.  They should be carrying groceries, not guns.   A collection of desperate, disillusioned, empty souls.

I slunk back into the tent, flopped on the ground in exhaustion.  A water bottle flew in from the outside, and I drank it in record time. 

I stretched out, feeling the hard, rock strewn ground on my back.  I’d gotten used to it.  Instinctively, I reached up for my cross, but it was gone.   A wave of panic shuddered through me.  I shouldn't have been surprised, but disappointment settled in my gut as I realized I couldn't get rid of it myself.

Footsteps outside. The guards snapped to attention.  Colonel Reynolds stepped inside.  He stared at me, then squatted down across from me, his grizzled, cut face studying mine.

I propped myself up on my elbows.  “What the fuck you looking at?” I asked.  I didn’t think my attempts at intimidation would have any effect, but it was worth a shot.

“You don’t look scary,” Reynolds said, his voice calm.  He was studying me.  “Not even dangerous.”

“I’m not, so just let me go, ok?”  I sat up to meet his gaze.  I thought about the knife.  I could’ve had it out in a whisper.  Fly at this stone-faced asshole and cut his throat before he could yell.

“You murdered a boy,” Reynolds shook his head.  “Shot him down.”

“That wasn’t me – that was Tolbert.  Your guy.”

Reynolds nodded.  “Yeah, you said.”

“Thought you said I’d get a fair trial,” I said. 

“Oh you will.  Just have to get you to base camp first.”  Reynolds took out his knife – about six inches long, jagged edge just perfect for ripping out guts, I imagine.  He just twirled it, like a nervous habit.  He smiled.  “I can’t believe we caught you.  It was too easy.”

“Fuck off,” I mumbled.

"We know what you are.  What your father is.  Your deception is excellent, but not flawless.”

“Holy shit, you really buy this stuff?  This is the twenty-first century for Chrissake.”  His hand reached out and smacked me so hard and so fast I felt like an invisible whip just nailed me.

“Don’t you ever utter our Lord’s name again.”  Reynolds stood up to leave.

“This is working out just fine for you isn't it?  You dumb mother fuckers spending all your time hoping like hell some disaster'll strike.  Hoping for the opportunity to be proven right.  Hoping like hell that people die.  My dad warned me about assholes like you-”

He turned and fired a kick to my gut, shooting pain through my ab muscles.  He knelt beside me and grabbed my head, which already hurt like hell.  “John chapter eighth verse forty-four: ‘You are of your father the devil, and you want to do the desires of your father. He was a murderer from the beginning, and does not stand in the truth because there is no truth in him. Whenever he speaks a lie, he speaks from his own nature, for he is a liar and the father of lies.’"

He threw me back and left.  This made no fucking sense.  No way.  There can’t be people out there who really believe in Satan.  Who believe my father is the antichrist. 
Jesus, God, whatever, how the fuck can you let this go on?  What the fuck kind of God are you?

No answer came, no god sending a message in the form of a butterfly.  Just lunatics who believed in him and the devil, armed to the fucking teeth, convinced of their Armageddon. If there was a God, he sat around and watched, laughing as the human race destroyed itself.

I almost cried.  It fucking hurts like hell when you try to stop it.  Your throat clamps up, your eyes burn.  Usually I cut long before it gets to that point.  I had no knife to let it out any other way.  But I didn't cry.  They weren't worth it.  I kept it back, and let it fuel my anger.  They want a demon?  They'll get one.

The temperature dropped now to below freezing when the sun fully set, like a refrigerator door being shut.  I warmed myself until my hands cramped from the rubbing. 

A pop went off in the distance, like a firecracker.  Then another.  Then an explosion.  Rifle shots?  Gunfire, I figured, because not long after everyone in the camp mobilized.  “Get the children to safety,” someone shouted. 

I stuck my head out.  Reynolds ran by.  “Keep him there,” he said to the guard while pointing to me.  “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

The hulk of a guard turned to me, pointed his rifle, and said, really slowly so he could be sure I understood, “Get.  The fuck.  Back."  Strong, but I could hear the fear in his voice.  Of me.

I went back inside, and the explosions and popping sounds echoed around the camp.

Something ripping behind me.  Movement.

I turned and saw Louie’s head on the bottom of the tent.  Before I could stop it, the thought flashed through my mind that they had cut his head off.  Then his head smiled.

“Adam!  C’mon, man.” 

He stretched the ripped tent opening and soon his shoulders appeared.  Louie slipped through the opening like a newborn entering the world.  He stood up and held his finger to his mouth, though with all the racket outside he could've shouted.  He reached into his pocket, pulled out my cross and handed it to me with a smile. Then he crawled back through the opening he made, and I did the same.

As we crouched outside the tent, shrouded by its shadow among the flicker of fast moving torches, he pulled out a small firecracker looking thing, thick and round like a shotgun shell.  He lit the tip, reached through the hole and tossed it in.

“C’mon!” we hauled ass away from the tent.  Thirty yards away it exploded.  We dove behind a wagon pulled by a horse.  Louie undid the reigns, laughing as he did.  “They want a devil?  They got one!”  Great minds think alike.

From inside the wagon, he grabbed a white outfit and handed it to me, and climbed aboard the horse, motioning for me to follow.  I changed from my grubby, muddy black rags, and put this new one on.  I grabbed his arm and swung myself up and over.

With a snap of the reigns, the horse galloped off.  “Where we goin’?” I asked.

Explosions faded to muffled, sporadic noises as we approached the edge of the encampment.  “To get the others.  They’re to the north,” he said.  He paused as if to get his bearings.

"How the hell'd you get free?" I asked.

"They used zip ties on our wrists.  The little plastic thingies?  Right when they zipped them shut I pulled my wrists apart.  Not enough to stop them, but enough to leave a little wiggle room.  They're not as smart as they want us to believe."

The explosions died down.  Louie laughed.  “Classic diversion,” he said.  “Learned that from Solid Metal Gear Two.” 

“Dude, you’re scaring me,” I said as he kicked the horse back into a gallop.

“Do you know where they are?”  I shouted.  People ran in front of us, around us, some going for guns, others going for shelter, terrified of being lost in the rapture and never getting to their heaven. 

“There,” Louie said, pointing to a lone wooden cabin near a lake.  He guided the horse towards it.  A guard ran at us, waving his arms for us to stop.  Louie just veered the horse around him, and with a swift kick, nailed the guard in the face, dropping him like a puppet that just had his strings cut.  Impressive, considering the kid never rode a horse before The Event.

Louie pulled the horse to a halt in front of a log-cabin, now a relic of a summer camp.  A guard held up his hand, saying, "Please get your son to safety." 

I jumped off the horse and with a quick, practiced snap unleashed my knife.  Tiny, but enough.  Without pausing I flicked my wrist across his jugular.  The cut drew deep and easy, releasing a twinge of guilt.  Did this guy really deserve to die?  Fortunately adrenaline and survival instincts kick the shit out of guilt.  Time for that later.  As the guard's hands went to his throat and his eyes went wide, Louie grabbed his gun and I kicked open the door.  In the back, on chairs and a beat up sofa sat Tommy, Ashley and Bill.  Ashley sprang out of her chair like she was ejected and I wrapped my arms around her.  Her head barely reached my chest, but I hugged her as hard as I could.