Previous Chapter - The Last 3 Days (14): A Feast for a King All published chapters can be found here. 35:48:54 The brawl was decidedly one-sided and very brief, owing to Ryan, Bobby and Dave being young, fit and upright, while their opponents were generally malnourished, unfit and seated. It took Bobby and Dave longer to drag the dazed and unconscious from Februzzio’s than it did to render them unable to leave on their own. Ryan supervised by studying his now empty tequila bottle. Noticing Februzzio in the kitchen doorway wringing his apron in his hands, Ryan started towards him. The Italian cowered. “Now I’m hungry,” Ryan said, and waved the empty bottle. “More food. And tequila.” 35:37:12 Olga swept glass bulb shards from Jay’s unconscious form by the reflected fluourescent light from Richmond Park’s hallway. She stepped across his body and crouched, as if she might sit on him, but instead slipped her arms under his shoulders. With reasonable technique, she lifted his dead weight and slung him over her shoulder. In the direct light of the corridor, his injuries appeared more severe than Nick’s. “Oh my God,” Becky said when she saw them, unconsciously crossing herself. “He needs a doctor. We have to get him to a hospital.” “No doctor,” Olga answered. “He needs mother.” Her hand fluttered over Jay’s pockets. She pulled out his phone and handed it to Becky. “You call,” she added. 35:37:04 Pressing his fork into the steaming platter of spaghetti, Ryan twirled it then stabbed a meatball and lifted the food to his mouth. He glanced at Becky’s untouched plate of scampi as he chewed, saw her chair empty and then looked towards the passage to the washrooms. “What’s taking her so long?” He asked around his mouthful. He stood and strode down the short hallway, past the men’s room, and pushed open the door to the women’s. “Becky?” he called, and entered. He was out immediately, rushing into the dining area and towards the entrance before swerving and disappearing into the kitchen. Thrusting open the restaurant’s rear door, Ryan found himself in an alley typical of any city. Garbage bags and a clear blue recycling bag attended a neat stack of flattened cardboard beside the door. A small van in the restaurant’s colours was parked against the opposite wall, but there was no sign of Becky. Roaring his rage, he kicked the nearest garbage bag, puncturing it and trapping his virgin Italian leather shoe. Rather than pulling his foot out, he swung his leg and launched the bag through the air. It hit the van and exploded, spreading its contents like organic shrapnel. “She’s gone,” he screamed as he re-entered the dining room. He was almost seated when he noticed the Escalade’s key was missing. “No. No, no, no.” Rushing to the entrance, his worst thought manifest itself. The Escalade was gone. 35:30:09 A deafening base line throbbed from giant speakers crammed into the trunk of a customized import hatchback, to which hundreds danced among random bonfires fuelled by store fixtures, boxes and tires. Reflected in the darkened windows of the storefronts, the flames danced with the shadows to their own chaotic rhythm in a scene from Hell. Not everyone danced. Some watched, others fought. Don ignored a nearby scream and grimly pushed through the mass of people, checking every face for his son. 35:22:54 The food, the alcohol and Ryan’s manic driving tested Dave’s constitution as he clutched the shelves lining the van’s walls, fighting the violence of constant and random G-forces on the contents of his very full stomach. Ryan braked hard, pulling up behind the school. He and Bobby rushed to a service door, where Ryan used his Thurro-issued master key to get into the building. Dave just managed to open the rear door before he vomited and staggered off. 35:12:36 Eileen zipped her purse closed to hide the gun and opened the front door. Daring to hope against hope, she bit her knuckle as she watched the approaching headlights. A big SUV slowed and pulled into the drive, though her hope faded as she walked to meet it and counted only two female occupants. Then the driver’s door opened and Becky climbed out. “Are you Jay’s mom?” “Yes,” Eileen said, “but — ” But Becky had turned to watch a hunch-backed silhouette emerge into the front entry lights. As Olga marched past and into the house, Eileen recognized the limp form of her son. Joy he was home battled her concern for his condition as she trailed after the other woman. “Jay stood up for my mother and others like her,” Becky explained. “And this was the price he paid. I’m Becky and that is my mother, Olga.” Becky was not a mother. The two older women didn’t need words to communicate. Olga turned in the entrance, Eileen pointed and Becky’s mother carried Jay to his room. Eileen turned the kitchen tap on to let water heat while she selected a bowl and cloths. 35:02:23 Bobby had expected Ryan’s rage to reach a previously unknown level when no one but the neighbours responded to his frantic pounding on Becky’s apartment door. Instead, a strange calm had settled in Ryan’s features. “Well, they’re not at the school, or at Jay’s or here. Which means they could be anywhere.” Bobby was terrified at how Ryan would react to his next question. “So now what?” Ryan’s answering grin, in conjunction with the madness in his eyes, made Bobby’s knees weak. “Now we join the party,” Ryan said. “We’ll find them tomorrow — when I’ve had time to think of suitable endings for them.” Bobby looked out the window as the van gained speed, closed his eyes and mouthed a prayer. 34:58:47 Working together like veteran nurses, Eileen and Olga tended to Jay’s injuries, stripped him to his underwear and tucked him into bed. Becky scrolled through channels on the biggest TV she had ever seen. Most were inactive. Then the giant screen showed an empty podium surrounded by UN flags and behind them, flags of the nations. A sole audience member typed on her tablet and looked up. Glancing around, she checked her watch and then stood and walked out. A familiar, off-screen voice asked, “What if they gave a press conference and nobody came?” The KQTS Anchor appeared on-screen, still wearing the same clothes from earlier in the day, except he had unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie. His make-up needed a touch up. “That was supposed to be the UN response to North Korea’s threat to launch their own missiles at the asteroid.” He stifled a chuckle and continued. “North Korean leader Kim Jong-un declared his intent today before tens of thousands — “ The screen changed to show a diminutive man in unadorned green fatigues, Kim Jong-Un, miming a missile launch, its arcing flight and, with a sudden flourish of his arms, the asteroid exploding. “ — To implement every option available to save humanity from this cosmic threat.” Becky switched the TV off. 34:49:08 The Pastor, his clothes soaked, raised his cupped palm above an elderly woman’s face and let water trickle onto her forehead. He traced the sign of the cross in the rivulets and helped her straighten her posture on the edge of the fountain. “I claim you for Christ our Saviour.” Members of the vast crowd welcomed her, and the Pastor turned to the next person. There were none. After a grateful glance skyward, he stepped over the rim and began to peel off his sodden shirt. An anonymous arm stretched from among the gathered, offering a clean and folded replacement. Only it was not a shirt, but a white linen robe. Also published here.

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