Judgment Day (Book 3): Retribution Read online

  From the captain’s hesitation, Schumer knew his words had had some effect on him, but years of following orders was a difficult discipline to break.

  “I can’t. You’re under arrest. If you resist, I’ll have to shoot you.”

  Schumer sighed. He had lost him. “Last chance, Captain.”

  The captain looked around nervously. He knew where Schumer’s troops were, but Schumer’s confidence made him uneasy. “Don’t force me to shoot, Colonel.”

  “If you pull that trigger, you and your men will die within seconds.”

  “We have jets overhead.”

  Schumer dropped the flare to the ground in front of him. The captain watched it fall. Seconds later, twin streaks launched at the jets. They exploded in flames and disintegrated, targeted by missiles whose radars had remained inactive until his signal. Simultaneously, tarps flanking both sides of the landing field were thrown back, revealing four hundred armed men and women standing in waist-high ditches, armed with automatic weapons, LAWS rockets, and heavy caliber machine guns. They had lain in the freezing cold for almost an hour, waiting. It was a simple trap, but effective.

  “I don’t want to kill any more people, Captain. The jets were a necessity. Your deaths would be a tragedy.” He raised his voice so that the soldiers behind the captain could hear him. “I offer you a choice. You can stay here with us and join us in our fight to take back America, or you can throw down your weapons and board one of the C-130’s and return to Phoenix. You can see that here, our civilians are willing to fight and die for their freedom. That’s what made America great. It’s what will rebuild America again. Your leaders are lying to you. They want to rebuild the country in their image, an armed state controlling its citizens. The real enemies are the zombies and the plague. If we continue the way we’re going, they’ll win the war and we’ll be the ones forced into hiding. Will you stay and live free?”

  Shouts went up as soldiers voiced their agreement.

  “No!”

  Captain Buras raised his pistol and fired as he yelled. Schumer felt a burning sting in his side as the echo of the shot reverberated in his ears. No, not an echo. It had been another shot. The captain, too, was falling, a victim of his own troops. The ground was cold, but it felt better lying there than trying to get up. He felt hands lifting him and carrying him, and then he blacked out.

  Schumer opened his eyes and saw nothing but white, not the pure white luminescence that he imagined would fill Heaven, but the pale white of a hospital room. He lay in a bed, an IV tube dripping blood into his arm. A white curtained partition blocked most of his view, but outside, the sky was blue and clear. The sun was shining bright. He could feel its warmth bathing his face. He remembered the cold night and felt as if he had suddenly shifted through time. He remembered being shot and grew woozy. After the dizziness passed, he explored his injured side with his hand, wincing as it encountered a bulky bandage.

  “You’ll live.”

  He looked up and saw a smiling Bahati standing at the edge of the partition.

  “How long?” he asked.

  “Two days,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “It was touch and go for a while. You lost a lot of blood, but they removed the bullet and you’ll be up and around in no time.”

  “The Captain?”

  She frowned. “One of his own men shot him. He’s dead. The others all joined us.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes, all of them.”

  He fought down the dread that had been building in him since awakening, the fear that he had lost.

  “They were too busy concentrating on the troops they could see to look for a surprise. You’re a pretty good engineer. They weren’t expecting camouflaged ditches. We won.”

  “No, not yet,” he reminded her, “but it’s a start.” He winced as a wave of pain swept over him. Bahati saw and frowned.

  “You’re still in pain,” she said, “I’ll call a nurse.”

  “No. I’ll be fine. Sit. Talk with me.”

  She took a chair by the window and smiled at him. He noticed hastily wiped smudges in her mascara where she had been crying and felt a moment of joy that she should express such concern for him. She had all but admitted her love for him, and he had hesitantly expressed his feelings for her, but withheld the depth of his passion for fear last night’s conflict would go badly. Perhaps it was time he showed her.

  “You look beautiful,” he said.

  Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re lying. I haven’t slept in two days. I look awful.”

  “Not to me.”

  “I was so scared. When that captain shot you … I almost died.”

  She saw his facing the captain alone as an act of bravado, of courage. He knew it was one of desperation. He had to focus the captain’s attention away from the possibility of a trap. He had been the bait and had almost died springing the trap. He had not expected all the captain’s troops to defect. It was a major coup.

  “Did they say why?”

  Bahati’s face revealed a moment of confusion. “What? Oh, you mean the soldiers. Yes, they said because of the fact that civilians were willing to fight and the fact that you didn’t simply shoot them down. They were expecting just that.”

  He nodded. He had won this battle, but not the war. Still, it would take time for the others to mount a larger attack. He could not afford to give them that time. “It’s not enough just to sit back and hope. We have to take the battle to them.”

  Bahati leaned forward in her seat, stunned by what he was saying. “What?”

  “We have to attack Phoenix. We have to take the battle to them.”

  “How?”

  “A convoy.” He began to speak faster as his vision began to take shape in his head. “We have tanks, artillery, and now we have manpower. We’ll fill every jeep, truck, automobile, and school bus with people and head for Phoenix. We have enough helicopters to provide air cover support. Just the fact that we’re coming will be enough to scare the bejeezus out of them.”

  “I don’t know …”

  Bahati’s reluctance didn’t surprise him. It was a bold plan fraught with risks, but not as risky as doing nothing. “It will work.” He tried to rise to a sitting position. Bahati leaped up from her chair and pushed him back down in bed.

  “You’re going to stay in bed for at least another week. Doctor’s orders.”

  “There’s work to be done,” he insisted.

  “You tell me what needs to be done and I’ll see to it.” She smiled at him. “After all, I am your liaison.”

  He settled back and relaxed. It looked as though it was going to be a rough week.

  By the week before Christmas, everything was ready. It had been a long, agonizing six days stuck in bed relying on Bahati to see to his preparations, but she had performed miracles. When she entered the room, he was sitting on the edge of the bed with maps spread out around him.

  “You’re looking better,” she said and plopped down beside him. Her hand slipped into his. He squeezed it gently.

  “I’m ready to get out of here. Look, I’ve been planning the route.” He showed her one of the maps, tracing the route he had chosen with his finger. “We’ll split into two groups. Half will follow I-15 to St. George, and then take 59 to Fredonia and hit 89A. The rest will take 14 from Cedar City to 89. We’ll join up outside of Page, Arizona, follow 89 to Flagstaff, and make a mad dash down I-17 straight into Phoenix.” He raced his finger along the route and jabbed Phoenix. “I’ll send scouts ahead to check the route. If everything goes well,” he looked at her and sighed, “meaning we don’t get snowed in or come across a washed out bridge, we should reach Phoenix by Christmas Eve. We might catch them off guard.”

  She looked at the map, tracing her finger along I-15. “Wouldn’t the Interstate be faster?”

  “By taking the smaller roads, the column will be more difficult to locate from the air. We’ll carry every drop of fuel we have with us. This will be an all or nothing opera
tion. If we lose … well, you know what’s going to happen.”

  “Maybe they won’t fight at all,” she said. “Maybe they will join us.”

  “I sent a message stating that the men they sent have joined us, but I doubt they will spread the word. In fact, they probably told everyone we killed them. We’ll meet resistance, but I’m hoping it will be light.”

  “What if they use jets again?”

  She had hit upon the one thing Schumer dreaded most. He could spare the fuel for the five helicopters as scouts, but not for multiple flights of the A-10 Thunderbolts. They needed a clear runway to be effective. He didn’t have time to stop and clear one, or the facilities to keep them operational. An idea tumbled around in the back of his mind, dangerous but possible.

  He smiled at her. “I just might have a solution for that little contingency.”

  13

  Uncompahgre Plateau, Colorado

  The long, cold winter days became a blur of tasteless meals and boring tedium, a flurry of complaints and bouts of apathy, the nights an interminable blackness begging for release. Nerves stretched taut, ready to snap, and tempers rode the razor-sharp edge of anger. Jeb began to spend more time with Brother Malachi simply to escape the burning hatred he saw each day in his wife’s cold blue eyes. After her blowup, Karen had become taciturn and uncooperative, refusing to help with the chores and taking long walks alone in the forest. Instead of concern for her absences, he almost considered her frequent disappearances a godsend. Her abrasive manner alienated the others and placed him in the untenable position of defending her.

  Adding heat to an already touchy situation, Halliwell was once again causing trouble, this time by making unwelcome advances toward one of the New Apostle women. At first, Jeb had let it slide, attributing Halliwell’s actions to his youth and his raging hormones, but he had steadfastly ignored both Jeb’s advice and Brother Ezekiel’s less than friendly warning to leave the woman alone. He had thought speaking with Halliwell alone in the cabin would smooth matters. He was wrong.

  Halliwell voiced the same objection he had used earlier. “If she doesn’t like me, why does she smile at me every time she sees me?”

  “They all smile all the time. It’s the way they are.”

  Halliwell paced the cabin, his hands thrown into the air expressing his exasperation. “What do you expect me to do? It’s been months since I’ve been with a woman. Some of us can’t freeze up inside like you do.”

  Jeb brushed aside Halliwell’s pointed barb. He didn’t have time for a fight. “I’m not frozen, I’m tired, and I don’t have the energy to fight you. We’re here on sufferance. We can’t afford to antagonize the New Apostles.”

  “I told you we shouldn’t come,” Halliwell snapped at him.

  “We didn’t have much choice then, and we don’t have much choice now. It may be months before we can leave. The snow’s too deep for travel. We have to make the best of the situation. Just keep it in your pants.”

  Halliwell spun and yelled, “You can’t tell me what to do, you cold bastard! You can’t even keep your own wife under control.”

  It was as if Halliwell’s accusation had pressed a button in Jeb’s head. Before he realized what he was doing, he grabbed Halliwell by the collar and yanked him forward. “Shut the hell up,” he growled. Halliwell’s eyes opened wide as he saw the look of madness on Jeb’s face. Jeb drew back his fist. Halliwell saw the blow coming but couldn’t move quickly enough to avoid it. Jeb’s fist landed just below his chin. The force of the blow snapped Halliwell’s head sideways. When Jeb released him, he stumbled backwards out the open door of the cabin, landing on his back in the snow. People stopped what they were doing and stared. Jeb stepped out of the cabin and stood over Halliwell, his fist still clenched, his blood boiling. He ached to pick up the downed man and hit him again, take out his rage and frustration on the only target available. He fought to quell his out-of-control anger. He stooped to grab a handful of snow and rub it in his face to cool off. Misunderstanding his gesture, Halliwell curled into a ball and began blubbering like a child. This angered Jeb even more.

  “I won’t warn you again,” he yelled. “No more trouble.”

  He stared down the curious onlookers and stalked away, leaving Halliwell lying in the snow, allowing the cool, crisp air to drain away his anger. He was now angrier with himself than at Halliwell. He should have been able to defuse the situation without resorting to violence. After all, he was still a psychiatrist, but it seemed each passing day carried him farther from those calm, steady clinical days and deeper into a state of fluid chaos where the rules constantly changed and anarchy ruled. With no rules, how could he expect others to follow them? He realized he was no longer leading them but bullying them into following. Maybe they were better off assimilating into Brother Malachi’s New Apostles. At least they would be safe from zombies.

  “You can’t solve your problem by creating more problems.”

  Jeb spun on Antonov. “I don’t need your advice, Mikal. I know I was wrong, but I can’t put it back in the box. Now, maybe Halliwell will be frightened enough to listen. I have enough problems without babysitting everyone here.”

  “Is that what you think you’re doing, babysitting?”

  Jeb sighed. “I don’t know. It certainly feels like it. ‘When are we leaving, Jeb?’ ‘We need more wood, Jeb’. ‘Why won’t Karen help us, Jeb?’ Just leave me alone.”

  “We can’t. You are our leader, remember.”

  A harsh laugh escaped Jeb’s lips. Antonov’s soft-spoken rebuke was like a sharp knife twisting in his heart. He leaned against a pine tree, his eyes closed. The cool, rough bark felt good against his back. He wished he had the strength of the pine tree, but it had cellulose and sap for strength. He had only flesh and blood. “I don’t want to lead anyone. I’m tired. We’re not going anywhere. You don’t need a leader. Take care of yourselves.”

  “You’ve taken good care of us so far.”

  Jeb turned and stared at Antonov. For the first time, he noticed how pale and thin the old Russian looked. His face was gaunt and sallow, and loose skin sagged from his cheeks. The long journey had been rough on him.

  “Good care? There are seven us left. We were fourteen when we left Biosphere2. We were three times that number there. Good care? Get real. I’m killing us off one by one. Have you looked in a mirror? You may be next.”

  Antonov’s smile disarmed him. “Yes, I may be dying. My kidneys aren’t working very well, and my appetite isn’t what it once was, but my heart still beats.” He held up his arm. “Blood still flows through my veins. I haven’t given up.”

  “Maybe you should. Maybe we all should grab a white robe and join Brother Malachi. Die with some dignity where it’s warm and dry. The only place I can lead you is into hell.”

  Antonov’s soft sigh rebuked Jeb more eloquently than his words could have and wounded him more deeply. He stared at Jeb for a few moments before turning and walking away, leaving Jeb wondering if he had won or lost the exchange. Certainly, he felt no better for unloading on his close friend.

  He banged the back of his head against the tree. Remembering Brother Malachi’s words, he said, “If there was a neighborhood pharmacy nearby, I would prescribe myself some Zoloft.”

  He walked, aimlessly he thought, trying to sort through his feelings, but it came as no surprise when he found himself standing on the ridge overlooking the Children of God village. He found it difficult to think of them as zombies. They were no longer the vicious, mindless creatures craving only flesh and blood that he had feared and fought against for almost a year. They now appeared almost human, building fires, living in simple daub-and-wattle shelters, hunting with clubs and stones, even communicating in a rudimentary fashion – typical Paleolithic savages.

  He brushed the snow off a large flat rock and sat on the edge of the ridge watching the children running and playing, accompanied by frenzied yells of joy and laughter, a very human trait. He thought of his six-year-old s
on, Josh, now dead over a year, an early victim of the very virus that had produced these creatures. If FEMA had not burned his body, would he be one of the children down there? All the emotions that he had suppressed for so long rose to the surface in a flood of anger, joy, and fear that burst from his throat in a harsh guttural sob. Tears burned furrows in his skin as they ran unchecked down his cheeks. He pulled his knees up to his face and cried, releasing the pent up disappointment inside him. For all the mistakes he had made, for all the wrong decisions, he forgave himself. The burden he had carried had been so heavy for so long that he felt that he would float away from the bonds of the Earth from his emotional release.

  He didn’t know how long he sat there, but when he felt empty, he opened his eyes. The sky was growing dark. Fires dotted the village below. His catharsis, a year in the making, had taken only hours to complete. He was not a new man, nor was he the same old man. He was different in ways that he did not yet fully comprehend. It was as if he could see himself through new eyes, see the nexus of decisions that had subtly changed him, follow the threads as they wove the future that was now his past. He stepped outside his body and saw the tangle of threads that intertwined with his, twisting into other irrevocable futures. Karen, Renda, Mace, Vince, even Erin and Elliot – he had changed their lives as they had changed his. For better or for worse, he had affected them, unintentionally and unknowingly. He could feel the threads leading back to his companions in the New Apostle village. He knew he could pluck them like a violin string and they would dance like marionettes. Was that what he had been doing, playing with them? It was too much responsibility for one man.