Exodus: Book Two: Last Days Trilogy (9 page)

They grew in the worst section of urban blight, in the darkest spots, in the shadows of vacant buildings, the haven of vandals. They grew like magic. Orange trees, tall and wide. They sprouted through the concrete streets, a sign of life in a dying world. The residents were drawn to these trees, and the green growth all around them. In the wake of tragedy, the downtrodden residents celebrated the mystery and miracle of them. And they especially celebrated Devante, who sat, glorified, in the midst of them.

They gathered around him, while word of his appearance spread fast and drew more and more people to his flock. And Devante went nowhere. He sat in the center of the people, their children surrounding him. The news media was, of course, in the center of things, mixing in amidst the crowd.

It wasn’t Dodger Stadium. It was Devante and the people. People of all races.

Devante picked an orange from a tree and handed it to a little boy. “Watch,” he said to the boy and pointed to the tree. Two oranges grew back in its place. “It is yours. All yours,” Devante declared. “This city, the ‘City of Angels,’ as you call it, is shined upon. The people here welcomed me, and you see what happens. You will never be hungry in this neighborhood. More trees will grow, everyday. You see what happens when you believe?”

The little boy gawked up at him. “Are you living here?”

“For tonight.” Devante crouched, eye-level with the lad. “I will stay amongst you tonight. Then I must move on. I and others must spread the word. I will return. Fear not. For there are those who wish to take my life. They will not win. Our army of believers grows strong in the war to stop the world’s end. And you, my soldiers, are shined upon in your battle.” Taking another orange from the tree, Devante sat back down in the center of the people and spoke to them.

“Justice for God,” Leonard O’Neill began his address to his nation.

Kyle, Reggie and Marcus listened through the static of the weak truck radio.

“That’s what they call their movement,” O’Neill continued. “Ironic, isn’t it, that these terrorists would give their movement such a name. In the wake of all that has happened. In all we have witnessed. More than two hundred thousand are being detained at this time. Hopefully, by tomorrow’s newspaper, you, the public, will have the list of those we are still searching for. The United States Government is offering a reward for information leading to their arrest.” He paused. “But there is one name, one person in particular that we are searching for. A name you know well. Evidence is overwhelming that the plot to assassinate our government leaders was not only devised by him, but funded, supplied and initiated by him. Five million dollars, for the capture... dead or alive... of Dr. Marcus Leon.”

“Okay,” Kyle shut off the radio, “Heard enough? Still think I was exaggerating?”

“Daddy, you know I didn’t. Thanks for the disguises,” Reggie said, smiling through her mustache, speaking through false bad teeth. “I just love my ‘Lester’ costume. No wonder I won first prize,” she said waxing in the rearview mirror. Not only did the outfit sport a beat up flannel shirt, buttoned to the collar, but a hunter’s cap with dangling ear flaps. “Marcus? Did you know I won best costume three years ago, at the Medina County Halloween fair?

“Swell.” Marcus sulked, annoyed. His mother’s purple pant suit was soft and elegant, it just wasn’t the disguise he would have chosen. Nor would he have worn the too-red lipstick, earrings that pinched and obvious platinum blonde wig. But Reggie insisted. He shifted, legs crossed in the front seat, picking off lint and dirt from his pants.

“Get ready,” Kyle said as they slowed down. “You know what to do.”

Reggie nodded.

Marcus huffed, then sighed.

Reggie straightened up in her seat as the trio drove closer. Up ahead was a melee of fists and legs and screaming as people were manhandled into military trucks. Those who resisted too much were shot and tossed on a pile in a ditch by the road, which peaked with bodies onto the blacktop.

“Daddy?” Reggie uttered uncertainly.

“Silence.” Kyle stopped the truck and rolled down the window. “Morning.”

“Morning, sir.” Sgt. Darryl Watson, a young-looking black man, poked his head into the open window. His military-cut mustache quivered as if with the scent of quarry. He held a clipboard. “Where you folks off to?”

Kyle drawled. “Welp, we be headin over ta catch seven-nee-sev. Headin’ on back to Wes Gin-ya.”

“Folks are an awful ways from home. Reason for the trip?”

“Looking for our cousin who lives in Indiana. Got a farm there.”

“Can I see some I.D.?” Sgt. Watson asked.

“Now, see son, that there’s a problem.” Kyle nodded. “Ain’t nothin’ but a dirt world over there, thought we wouldn’t run into problems. Seems some vag-bonds robbed us. Toke our money, every-thang, lucky we had ‘nuff gas ta make it this far. Ain’t that right, Lester? Ain’t got no I.D.”

Sgt. Watson lifted his clipboard. “What is your name?”

“Jed Newman.” Kyle extended his hand through the window. “Nice ta meet ya.”

Sgt. Watson reluctantly shook. “And you?” He looked at Reggie on the passenger side.

Reggie snorted sloppily and ran her right palm up and under her nose. “Lester Newman, how ya do?” She held out her hand.

Sgt. Watson smiled, didn’t shake, but wrote down the name. “And you, ma’am.” He smiled pleasantly, flirtatiously, at the comely black woman in the pant suit.

“We call her Shirley,” Reggie snickered lasciviously, the false teeth beginning to hang from her mouth, and inching further out with ‘Lester’s’ every word. “Don’t know her name. Rescued her from a bunch a vag-bons. Ain’t that right, Daddy?”

“Loves us now. We’s her heroes, shore ‘nuff,” Kyle agreed.

Reggie put her arm around a petrified Marcus, staring straight ahead, and yanked him close. “Don’t speak much. She’s deef and don’t talk none,” Reggie winked. “My kind of woman, yessir, no talkin’.” The thick lascivious laugh returned until it dribbled and died in a disgusting cough, which Lester squelched wetly with his hand. Lester excused himself and wound down the window, and with a prolonged deep throaty noise, gathered up a load of phlegm, his false teeth grinding, and propelled the contents out the window.

“Sorry,” Lester said with another swipe of his hand, before kissing the silk-clad light-skinned black girl on the lips.

Marcus cringed.

Sgt. Watson squinted at Marcus. “You all right, ma’am? Would you like to stay here?”

“No,” Reggie/Lester snapped. “You’s tryin to take my new girlfriend. We’s gonna get along jes’ fine. Ain’t that right, Shirley?” Reggie kissed Marcus again, a nice fat sloppy one, then caressed his cheek lovingly. “She’s purty. Don’t you think she’s purty?”

Kyle interjected. “Now there, Lester, if Shirley wants to go with the Military man here, she can. Ain’t nothin’ we can do about it. We don’t own her.”

“Ma’am?” Sgt. Watson asked again.

“Now see!” Reggie slapped her hand on her leg. “Ain’t I gone an’ told ya she’s a deef. Ya got ta yell and let her see your lips. Watch.” Turning her face into Marcus she spoke as loud as she could. “Shirley! Does ya want ta go with the military... ” She accented her next word with an abundance of slobber. “People!”

Marcus’ eyes grew dark as he wiped the spit from his face, then he turned to the Sergeant and shook his head.

“Move on.” Sgt. Watson stepped away from the truck as if from a carload of lepers.

“Thank ya!” Kyle lifted his hand in a wave, rolled up the window and kept driving.

A mile down the road, Marcus ripped off his wig and spun to a laughing Reggie. “Could you have been anymore foul? And take these out of your mouth.” Marcus reached up and snatched the false teeth from her. “God!”

“Daddy?” Reggie took off her Lester hat. “Will we have to put these back on when we hit Seville?”

“No,” Kyle laughed. “The border guards are Tony the Plumber from Wadsworth and Joey the bag boy from Super Bear. We’re fine, Reg, they know I was looking for you.”

“What about me?” Marcus asked. “I’m a wanted criminal.”

“Yes, well.” Kyle shrugged. “I told them Reggie wasn’t with you. We’ll have to hide you behind this seat, just until we pass through. They won’t be looking for you, so don’t worry.”

“Behind the seat?” Marcus spun and looked at the space. “Eight inches,” he said, exasperated. “Swell.” Marcus folded his arms and stared through the windshield.

Wide-eyed, Janice looked to her father as the shouts of the angry crowd grew louder outside the house. She held her sobbing daughter, Kathleen. “Daddy?”

George, leaning carefully at an angle, peeked out. “It must be the reward. They want Marcus.” He shook his head at the people out there. “Call the Sheriff.”

“Line’s dead,” Janice cried. “And my cell won’t go through.”

George backpedaled from the window to the dining room. He grabbed his shotgun out of the cabinet and opened the drawer for shells.

“Daddy?”

“Maybe I can scare ‘em.” He moved back to the window and dodged a brick which shot through the plate glass. “Damn it!”

In quick succession, windows throughout the house began breaking.

“Take Kathleen down to the basement and get yourselves into the cold cellar.”

“But Daddy...”

“Do it.” He pumped the chamber. “Now!”

Frightened, Janice retreated, eyes on her determined father. She raced through the kitchen to the basement door, then down the wooden steps, and finally to the far corner of the basement. There, a door to a storage room was half-concealed by dark and dirt. A good place to hide. Janice shushed Kathleen as they huddled inside.

Upstairs, George’s shouts dissolved into those of the mob. They screamed loudly, arguing and making it obvious the mob wanted Marcus. The noise built until three shots rang out. Suddenly a thunder of footsteps sounded through the rooms above, then trampled downstairs, accompanied by a chaos of shouts.

Janice shook, squeezing her daughter tightly, faltering with the barrage of footsteps and the subsequent slamming open of the basement door.

“Check out down here,” a gruff male commanded.

The door to the cold cellar opened.

“Nothing,” another man shouted. “Check over there.”

The door closed. Inside the storage room, Janice clutched Kathleen, covering the child’s mouth to smother her whimpering. In her fright, Kathleen wet herself. It seeped across the slanted floor and rolled the few inches to the crack of the door.

“What’s that!” someone shouted.

The door burst open. A storm of flashlights shined down on the huddling Janice and Kathleen.

Marcus wasn’t a young man, but he wasn’t old enough to feel as he did at that moment in the pickup truck. He was cramped behind the front seat, knees aching, pain shooting through his shoulder. He wanted Kyle to pull over so he could get out of drag. But he didn’t even ask.

“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.