Authors: James Hunt,Roger Hayden
“What?” she asked as she lifted her head from his chest.
“I said that we need to get out of here. Paul has a car, and we’re making plans to leave tonight. I want you to come with us, to be a part of our group. I care about you Margie, and I don’t want to leave here without you.”
Margie seemed both alarmed and angered by his proposal. She gently pushed herself away from him as her affectionate eyes turned to stone.
“You’re suggesting that I just leave the people I care about and go on the lam with you? Just turn my back on them and never look back? I love this town; I’m a part of this town. These people need me. How could you even suggest that I would leave them behind?”
Jordan felt the sting of her words and an instant regret for asking her.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“You and Paul want to leave tonight, that’s fine, but to think that I would leave while people’s lives are in danger and while the Sheriff suffers from a gunshot wound. You’d have to be out of your mind.”
Jordan reached out to touch Margie. She backed away.
“Excuse me,” she said storming off.
Jordan watched her walk away quickly to the Sheriff’s house down the block.
“Fuck…” he said to himself.
Paul was in his room, packing his backpack when Jordan stormed in.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Jordan said. “Where’s Julie?”
Paul looked up from his bed and to Jordan.
“She’s in her room, getting packed. Are you almost ready to go?”
Jordan walked closer to Paul with a gentle tone in his voice.
“Paul, listen. We’ve got problems. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
Paul gave Jordan a perplexing look. He didn’t like what he was hearing.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Paul asked.
“The Sheriff has been shot. Five more people are dead. Thank you for asking how
that
went, by the way. That cult group unloaded on us, and we’re pretty certain they’re on their way here to finish the job,”
Jordan said, as his voice grew louder.
A banging came across the wall from the room on the other side.
“Stop fighting in there!” Julie shouted.
Jordan lowered his voice.
“Margie is pissed at me. The whole town is losing it. Everything is spiraling out of control.”
Paul looked back down at the bed as he folded one of his shirts.
“More reason to get the hell out of here,” he said.
Jordan paced in a small circle, biting his index fingernail.
“I don’t think I can go.”
Paul’s attention stayed on his folded shirt.
“You do what you feel is necessary, but I’m not waiting any longer.”
Jordan shook his head, turned to the door, and opened it.
“I could have been killed out there while you were here packing, but I guess it’s all the same to you. You have a good trip,” he said as he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Paul walked out of the room to Julie’s.
“Julie, are you almost ready?”
“In a minute,” she said from behind the door.
“I’ll get the car ready,” Paul said.
He walked out of the house and toward the Sheriff’s place with his backpack on his shoulder. It was almost evening and there were several small pockets of people spread about, huddled in secretive talk. The town had an almost eerie feeling to it. Paul had no idea where Jordan went off to, but he was pretty sure that her name started with M. As he walked to the Sheriff’s house, he noticed the garage door had already been open. The Malibu was waiting for him in the Sheriff’s two-car garage, which was littered with tools and old stacks of newspapers. As Paul approached the car, the door into the Sheriff’s house opened revealing Margie, Rob, and Carlie leaving. They stopped when they saw Paul standing nearby. Margie gave Paul a sour look; Rob and Carlie took little care to his presence.
“So I see you’re in a hurry to get out of here,” Margie said.
“You might want to say bye to the Sheriff before you go. He could use some support, you know?”
Paul placed his backpack on the ground.
“I’m sorry to hear about the Sheriff. Is he going to be okay?”
“Why don’t you go ask him yourself?” Margie said.
The three of them walked off, leaving Paul standing in the garage with the Malibu key in his hand.
He walked into the house, wary of receiving any further passive-aggressive behavior. As he made it down the darkened hallway to the Sheriff’s bedroom, he reminded himself of his commitments, all that he had done for the town, and how foolish it was of them to make him feel guilty about wanting to leave. He was going to go in the Sheriff’s room, wish him well then hit the road as planned. He didn’t feel that anything could change his mind. The Sheriff was lying in bed on his back. His clothes had been changed and he had a large gauze bandage wrapped around his stomach. He stared at the ceiling with eyes in deep thought.
“Hi, Sheriff, how are you feeling?” Paul asked.
He glanced to Paul with a slight smile.
“I’m fine. Our adamant town nurse is just making more out of it than it’s worth. I’ll be up and moving around in no time.”
“That’s good, because this town really needs you,” Paul said. He took a seat on a small chair next to the Sheriff’s bed.
“There’s a lot going on unfortunately. We’re preparing for the Seventh Order. I imagine they’ll be here possibly by morning, depending on how angry we made them. Then again, they might not come at all.”
The Sheriff began to cough as he clutched his side in pain.
“You okay?” Paul asked.
“Yeah,” the Sheriff said. “I’m fine. Just hand me that glass of water.”
Paul handed him the water and the Sheriff took a badly needed sip.
“You know, Paul, I’ve been a lot of places and seen a lot of things, but I’ll tell you, the world today, it’s changed so much. I don’t know if I can keep up with it. I mean, it was always a violent world, and after my wife passed away, I didn’t think it was a world worth living in anymore. But this town, these people, they mean everything to me. They’ve given me purpose. If I could end the suffering of this town by allowing the Seventh Order to kill me fifty times over, I’d do it.”
“I’m sure everyone would be grateful to hear you say that, but I hardly doubt that’s necessary,” Paul said.
“Yeah,” the Sheriff said, shifting in his bed. “Bad thing is I’m going to have to put the town on lock down.”
“Lock down?” Paul asked.
“Yeah, like a curfew, something to make sure everyone is safely inside their houses. I’ve already discussed it with the town council. No one comes in, no one goes out.”
The Sheriff took notice of Paul’s lack of response and laughed.
“Don’t worry, Paul. It’s not going into effect until you leave. I know you probably want to get out of here.”
“I have to,” Paul said. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Well, better be on your way then. Thanks for doing your part around here,” the Sheriff said holding out his hand.
“No, thank
you
, Sheriff, for giving us hope,” Paul said.
After a strong handshake, Paul said farewell, and walked to the door.
“Paul,” the Sheriff said.
Paul stopped and turned around.
“You forgot to thank me for the free car too.”
Paul stuttered nervously.
“I. Well I thought. I mean, I was going to return the car to you after we found my wife, I thought that was our understanding.”
The Sheriff laughed again.
“I’m just messing with you. Bring it back in one piece, if you don’t mind.”
Paul thanked the Sheriff again and left him to rest. He knew that they both understood there was a chance that he would never return, but such things were left unsaid. Paul walked out into the garage and put his backpack in the Malibu. He started the engine, just to make sure then turned it off. He looked out into the town from the garage and noticed people hauling boards and materials down the street. They were working together in unison: men, women, and children--young and old. Toward the bunkers, Paul noticed another burial service taking place. This time for Alan, the man who had been shot earlier. Paul remembered him from the first night they arrived in New Haven. He had red hair and glasses and was genuinely a nice guy.
The official New Haven cemetery had been set up near the bunkers, as there were now two bodies buried. Paul watched as a woman placed a 9mm pistol in the hand of little a girl not over ten years old. The woman held the girl while instructing her how to aim and fire. To his surprise, Paul watched as Tommy carried sheets of plywood down the sidewalk to the gates. He coughed along his way, but moved swiftly and without complaints. For the first time in his stay at New Haven, Paul had serious doubts about leaving, at least while they needed help. Jordan came from around the corner and entered the garage carrying his backpack.
“So what time are we hitting the road?” he asked.
“You’re just as indecisive as me,” Paul said.
“What do you mean?” Jordan asked.
“I mean that we’re not leaving,” Paul said. “Not tonight.”
Jordan dropped his backpack.
“Are you serious?”
“They need our help. I tried. I really did. Samantha might hate me for it, but we have to stay, at least one extra day to help them build the place up.
“She wouldn’t hate you. She’d be proud of you. It takes a certain kind of person to sit back and wait to be shot at by some crazy cult.”
“Yes, a true genius with impeccable foresight.”
Both men laughed as Jordan slapped Paul on the back.
“Let’s grab some wood for the fencing and cult-proof this place,” Paul said.
Chapter Fourteen
The War
Two days had gone by and nothing. The town placed extra sheets of plywood against the fencing that surrounded New Haven. An extra spool of concertina wire was also set on the top of the fence for reinforcement. Their efforts made it nearly impossible to climb or tear down any part of their secure fortress. The guard shifts consisted of four guards while seven o’clock curfew had been imposed. The Sheriff had recovered during the last couple of days, as had most of their injured and sick. Contrary to Paul’s fears, Julie took their extra time at New Haven in stride. Jordan attempted to make amends with Margie. It wasn’t easy at first, but he decided to try a passive and direct approach.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know the welfare of this town means everything to you, and I apologize for putting you in any position.”
“It’s okay, I know you were just looking out for me, at least I think you were trying to look out for me,” Margie said while going through what medicine she had left.
She tossed Jordan a bottle of ibuprofen.
“If you really are sorry, then you can make it up to me by helping me out.”
“Uh, sure. What do you need?”
“I’ve got to make my rounds, and see how everyone is doing. You can be my nursing assistant,” she said.
“Nursing assistant? Quite an honor.”
“Don’t be sarcastic.”
“What?” Jordan laughed. “I’m not being sarcastic at all.”
“Let’s go, funny man, we have work to do,” Margie said.
She walked out of the door with Jordan in tow, carrying the supplies.
After a couple of days, everything seemed to go back to a sense of normalcy, or as normal as things could get. The loss of their people still wore heavily, but calmness began to spread through the town. It was Day Eighteen, and the Seventh Order was nowhere to be seen. Paul, Julie, and Jordan agreed that they would leave New Haven the next morning for good. Paul had done all he felt he could. Finding Samantha was now the highest priority of all. Julie told Tommy that she would write to him, and that she might even return once they found her mother. Jordan played it cool with Margie and told her that he would miss her and hoped to see her again. He wasn’t going to ask her if she wanted to leave again. He learned his lesson the first time.
The night of Day Eighteen, Paul put Julie to bed and went back to his room to get some sleep. Jordan was noticeably missing, though Paul could only guess. He laughed to himself when he pictured Jordan trying to put moves on her to no avail. Or maybe it had worked this time. Who knows? Paul turned over in bed. He went through their plan in his head. They would wake up at seven, have breakfast, and leave New Haven with the supplies that had been graciously donated by the townspeople. The Sheriff had also let him keep the shotgun. Paul yawned and tried to get comfortable, though his heart raced with excitement at the prospect of finding Samantha. Nothing would be in his way any longer. He looked at his cell phone on the nightstand. It had proved itself useless, no matter how many times he had tried to reach her. How simple it used to be to press a button and speak to someone.