Authors: James Hunt,Roger Hayden
“What are you taking about?” David asked.
Walter’s group showed no signs of working together. Their rifles were poised and aimed.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Carlie asked. Her face turned red with anger.
“Walter, please. I’m sure we can work this out,” Paul said.
“It’s nothing personal. We just can’t take any chances, especially nowadays.”
Walter turned to Harold. “Go ahead and take them in the other room.”
David rushed and tackled Walter in a matter of seconds, taking both groups entirely by surprise. They crashed against the empty aisle in front of them and rolled onto the ground. The men grunted as David gripped Walter’s rifle with ferocity. No one was doing anything. Rob noticed that he had an opportunity to fight back. He quickly knelt, grabbed his rifle and jumped up.
“Get down!” he yelled to his group.
Paul and Carlie flopped to the floor onto their stomachs. Rob fired his rifle at the men at the other end of the aisle. Joey, the kid, was taken off guard and struck directly in the chest. The blast of the rifle startled everyone, and Rob knew he only had seconds to react. He fired two more shots, and hit Chris, the Hispanic man from L.A.
Harold fired back from the other side for the aisle, taking Ryan, their council member, to the ground. “Carlie, fire back!” Rob shouted.
Carlie instinctively raised her rifle and fired multiple rounds at Harold and Terry, while David and Walter wrestled on the ground. The two Seventh Order men fell flat to avoid getting hit. In a matter of seconds the carnage was nearly over and Paul hadn't a clue what had just happened. His ears were ringing from the deafening gun blasts. He saw motionless bodies lying on the aisle in pools of dark red blood.
Walter and David struggled as Harold and Terry were concealed behind displays at the end of the aisle.
“Grab the shit and get out of here,” Rob yelled to the group.
Carlie stumbled to Ryan. “He’s been hit!” she screamed.
Rob and Paul rushed to Ryan’s lifeless body and examined him.
There was a small hole in his chest surrounded by a circle of blood. The wound didn’t look fatal, but when Rob lifted him up by his arm, they noticed a much larger hole in his back where the bullet had exited. Rob felt his pulse. “He’s gone,” he said.
Their attention turned to Walter and David still rolling around. David had moved on top of Walter and pinned him down. They struggled desperately for Walter’s rifle.
“Someone help David!” Carlie shouted.
Paul was disoriented by all the blood, the yelling, and chaos that surrounded him. He smelled gunpowder, familiar to him now.
Rob pushed Paul out of the way and ran toward the struggle. Just as Walter pushed the barrel of the rifle in David’s direction, David smashed him in the face with a brutal headbutt. Walter removed his hands from the rifle and clutched his nose in writhing agony. David stood up, rubbing his forehead as Walter squirmed on the ground.
“You broke my nose!” he mumbled beneath his hands and through his disheveled beard.
“Take him out, David,” Rob said.
David looked at the rifle on the ground. Walter’s hand steadily moved to it. David swung his leg back and kicked the rifle away.
“Let him go or we’ll shoot the both of you,” Harold said from behind the end of the aisle. Rob and Carlie went to the ground in a prone-supported position and aimed their rifles. David grabbed his pistol and placed one knee on the ground to aim.
“You shoot at us and it’s coming right back, so it’s your choice,” Rob yelled to Harold.
“Once he makes it down the aisle safely, then we’ll leave,” Harold said.
Walter continued to crawl down the aisle toward his men while grunting in pain from his broken nose.
“No one else has to die,” Terry added.
“You believe this shit?” Rob said, turning to Carlie. “Now they want to make a deal.”
“Let him go,” Paul said.
Walter was nearly to the end of the aisle.
“I’ve got him right in my sights,” Carlie said.
“Don’t do it,” Paul demanded.
“Fuck that, they killed Ryan,” she said.
“We killed two of their people. It’s over,” Paul said.
Walter crawled his way to safety and was soon out of their sights. Harold and Terry helped Walter up, and the three men fled the store without looking back.
“That was a pretty mean headbutt you gave that guy,” Rob said with a nudge to David.
David shook his head in a daze. “Wasn’t worth it. My head is killing me now.”
The group stood up and walked to Ryan’s body.
“I didn’t know him that well, but he was a good guy,” David said with sadness.
“He was a council member. The Sheriff, hell the whole town is going to be pissed,” Rob said.
“He was a father too,” Carlie said.
“Guys,” Paul said from behind them. “Let’s get what we need and get out of here. We’ll find something to wrap Ryan up in too.”
David, Rob, and Carlie turned to Paul and nodded. They stuffed the medicine back into their backpacks then searched for some material to transport Ryan’s body in. They found some sheets that were covering a window in the back and tore them from the wall.
They were quiet as they wrapped Ryan’s body in a blanket. Rob and Paul carried him out of the store and placed him in the back of the truck. Rob scanned the area for signs of the other group. They were nowhere to be found. David and Carlie searched the pharmacy counter for antibiotics. They found two packs, much less than they had hoped, and left the store without saying a word. Once in the truck and on the road, the group remained quiet, ever still. They had unfortunate news for New Haven, and there was a collective feeling that more trouble with the Seventh Order was right around the corner.
Chapter Twelve
Negotiations
By the time Harold, Walter, and Terry made it back to camp, it was dark out, and most of their people were sleeping. It was a peaceful evening, and as families slept in their tents, they hadn’t a clue that their peaceful and modest habitat would soon be no more. Walter held a rag to his nose, caked with dry blood. He had little success in controlling the initial bleeding. His beard was crusted as well. He and his crew had no time to rest in order to evade the New Haven group. Ralph, a twenty-five-year-old man with long hair tied back into a ponytail, was on night watch. He rushed to the entrance of the camp to meet Walter.
“What the hell happened to you?” he asked with shock.
Walter pushed past him as Harold and Terry followed.
“Where are the others?” Ralph asked following them.
Terry stopped, turned and placed a hand on Ralph’s shoulder.
“We ran into some trouble and need to talk to Sister Bonnie. Just stay here and make sure no one comes in.”
Ralph complied and walked back to the camp entrance as the three other men walked with quickened pace to the church.
“How do you know they were from New Haven?” Sister Bonnie asked from her desk.
A nearby lantern burned slowly as its flame lit up half her exhausted face, leaving the other half to shadow. She wore a large bathrobe and sipped water from a coffee mug as if reading a newspaper. It was true that she slept in the church, often using the office as her personal bedroom. She considered herself the church’s caretaker, thus affording the privilege of occupancy. The three remaining members of the tired scavenger group stood across from her, still recoiling in shock of what had happened at Walgreens.
“At first I didn’t notice, but they said they were from New Haven. One of them recognized me and I him. They said they had been here, to our camp. We’d given them a tour. They knew everything about us. There wasn’t enough medicine. I had to make the call. I—”
“Are you telling me that the very people who attacked you, the very same people who killed two of our members know exactly where we’re located?” Sister Bonnie interrupted as she rose from her seat.
Walter could feel her eyes staring like lasers. She was not happy.
“I take full responsibility for our actions. They weren’t supposed to get away,” Walter said calmly.
“But you let them,” Sister Bonnie said.
Walter hung his head down like an ashamed child. Sister Bonnie looked at Harold and Terry.
“Please leave us. I need to talk to Walter privately,” she said.
The two men nodded their heads in agreement and left the room.
“Make sure to get some rest,” Walter said to them.
“Will do,” Harold replied, as they stepped out of the room and shut the door.
Sister Bonnie approached Walter; mere inches from him. She swung her large arm and slapped Walter across the face with brute force. He stumbled back, holding his cheek. As he regained himself, he balled both his fists with growing rage. The stinging coupled with the pain of his broken nose brought him to a boiling point. Sister Bonnie got closer in his face, as if egging him on.
“Have you lost your mind?” she shouted. “How could you put our people in danger like this? You know we can’t trust outsiders. They’re a plague to be wiped out. All we had to do was to be patient and wait for it to happen as the prophecy states.”
She was so near Walter that he could feel the hot breath of her every word. He searched deep within himself for control. He felt pushed to lash out at her. It was a test of loyalty. He released his fists and took deep breaths, while trying to ignore the painful throbbing.
“Sister Bonnie,” he said.
“What?” she shouted.
“They came out of nowhere and attacked us. We had no choice but to retaliate.”
“What am I going to tell Joey’s family?” Sister Bonnie asked.
“We can’t allow panic to take over what we’ve built here.”
“We got one of theirs,” Walter stated proudly.
Sister Bonnie looked at him curiously. It seemed as if she was going to strike again, but just as Walter flinched, her arms rested downward.
“That is nothing to celebrate. We’re not murderers,” she said.
“It was in self-defense!” Walter pleaded.
“That’s no excuse. You should have been more careful. This was a needless incident. Our people are going to want to know why this happened. They’re going to ask if this was in the prophecy. And now we face an enemy that knows where we live.”
“I’m sorry if I let you down,” Walter said.
“Tell me that you at least got the supplies,” she said.
Walter didn’t respond. She walked away and sat at her desk, leaving him to awkwardly stand.
“They stole it from us,” Walter said.
Sister Bonnie grabbed a pencil and began to scribble onto her notepad.
“It’s tomorrow’s sermon,” she said, noticing Walter staring at her. “I’m going to explain everything the best I can. We’re going to bring a peaceful resolution to this… this horrible misunderstanding. I will reach out to the outsiders, offer a truce of sorts, and put this entire horrible mess behind us.”
Walter felt enraged. “With all due respect, Sister—”
“I’ve heard all I need from you, Walter,” she said, silencing him. “You probably want to ask me how such a thing could be possible. How I could possibly extend an olive branch to a group of murdering thieves. I will tell you that their fate is already sealed; it makes no difference to what degree we retaliate. We must be the better people.”
“They called us a cult,” Walter said.
“To some we are. They don’t know any better.”
“What do you want me to do?” Walter asked.
Sister Bonnie looked up from her notebook.
“Don’t say a thing to anyone. Keep everything quiet. Tell Harold and Terry to stay quiet as well. I don’t want a word of this to get out. Tomorrow morning, I will address our people and let them know what is going on, what danger we may be in, and what we can do about it.”
Walter walked closer to her desk. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“With what?” Sister Bonnie asked.
“Well, I mean I have a few ideas about how we can keep everyone safe.”
“That’s nice of you, but this falls directly on my shoulders. I am the leader of the Seventh Order, and must be its voice and guide.”
“Very well,” Walter said with a slight bow. “I’ll leave you to your work.”
“Thank you,” she said without looking up from her desk.
Walter turned to the door and was called back as he began to walk out.
“How do
you
think we can keep everyone safe?” she asked.
Walter spoke directly. “We wipe them out completely.”
Sister Bonnie was left in her shadowy office trying to pen a message to her people that would not only bring them together, but also put them at ease with the growing threat of the outsiders. She stared again at her husband’s framed portrait on her desk then dropped her pencil in frustration.
“What do I do, Phil? I’m trying to be righteous. I’m trying not to encourage bloodshed, but it’s not going to be easy.”