Boom!
A bullet sang past Adam’s ear, a funnel of flame trailing it out of the fire.
Thuck!
Adam turned to see Bruce lifted from his feet with a crimson amoeba around a hole in his chest. Sloppy down stuffing blossomed from the hole in the jacket. The rifle fell from Bruce’s hands as he slammed to the ground, his head hammering the rock so hard that a spout of blood fired past his lips. His eyelids blinked spastically, his fingers dabbing at the blood pouring from the wound guarded by shards of his fragmented ribs.
“J-Jesus,” he spat, crimson pouring from his mouth.
Richard walked right up beside Bruce, pressed the barrel to his forehead, and tugged the trigger.
Boom!
The bullet caved in Bruce’s frontal bone as it passed through with such velocity that it hit the rock behind and ricocheted out the side of Bruce’s head, taking gobs of his brain along with it. There was a spark as it careened off another stone surface before flying out over the lake.
Richard growled as he balled his fists into Bruce’s jacket and yanked him away from the rock. Blood trailed from a spattered star shape down the rock, the flow sluggish from the mess of tissue running away from it like a gutter full of slush. Heaving the body from the ground, Richard cast it into the fire on top of Gray’s.
“Anyone else want to challenge me?” Richard shouted. His eyes were wild, the seams along his cheeks opening to issue fresh blood from the exertion.
“We aren’t all your enemies,” Lindsay said, reaching with a trembling hand to touch Richard’s. “Some of us find power so attractive—”
Richard stole his hand away and slapped her across the face so hard that she toppled into Adam, already beginning a sob as her cheek swelled to an angry red.
“I’m not stupid,” he growled, walking back to sit on his rock throne by the fire. “You have two hours to bring the boy to me.”
“Or what?” Adam asked, cradling Lindsay’s head to his shoulder and helping her to her feet.
“Or we’re going to kill you all!” Richard shouted, his voice echoing off into the storm.
II
Salt Lake City
WAR STOOD ATOP THE ROOF OF THE MORMON TEMPLE, STARING OUT ACROSS Temple Square toward the distant horizon. He could see the structure where his prey hid, and he was sure that if they looked really hard, they just might see a lone masked man wearing a cloak of flesh, waiting for the sun to fall just a little farther toward the western edge of the world. Thick black storm clouds waited to descend, preparing to smother it. Then it would be just dark enough to set loose the Swarm to fulfill its wicked destiny. They were mayflies thrust upon the earth not in a frenzy of breeding activity, but in a massive fit of bloodlust and carnage.
He turned away from the skyline and walked back toward the entrance to the stairwell. There was something about this building that he absolutely loved. The architecture was almost gothic in contrast to the rites of worship performed within. Three parapets stood to either side, the middle one taller like a finger extended to the heavens, each corner capped with a thin cone. It was ornate in its simplicity, a bland gray structure of mortar and stone that dominated the landscape with power and grace. The windows on the third story beneath him were round, while those on the preceding two floors were gabled. In an obscene way, it reminded him of the Tower of London, where once upon a time they had housed the most vile prisoners and staked the heads of the enemies on pikes as a warning. It was somehow fitting that this should be the staging grounds from which they would launch the final strike. A shrine of the Lord’s love and his wrath, an apropos reflection of the inherent dichotomy of the Father that had brought them all to this point, the culmination of His grand experiment called mankind.
An experiment that had failed miserably.
Descending the grandiose staircase of the Mormon castle, he stepped out onto the third floor. The rooms lining the hallway were brimming with his legions, clinging to the high ceilings and walls, packed shoulder to shoulder where they stood in their own filth and excrement. Eyes closed, they waited eagerly in the solitude of the darkness in their feeble minds, salivating at the thought of what the coming night would bring.
War passed doorway after doorway, the wan light shimmering from the black scales within like the rooms were filled with oil, until he reached another stairwell. Bodies were latched to the walls by sharp nails and clung to the rails to dangle above space, leaving him just enough of a path to continue downward until he reached the main level. He entered the elaborate temple proper, a massive, vaulted room of congregation with throngs of pews that could have seated his army, were they not hanging from the ceilings and walls, biding their time until the darkness outside summoned them back to consciousness.
A lone creature dangled from the wall behind the altar, arms and legs wrapped around a great golden cross, its head nuzzled into the crook where the crossbar met the post. There wasn’t another one on that entire wall, as though avoiding even touching it, instead covering the ceiling and walls like living black paint. Only this single minion adorned the wall, clinging to the cross as though for dear life.
When he approached, he could clearly see the crimson dewlap sucked back under its chin as he had expected. It was the same one that was always at his heels, the one that showed a startling amount of higher functioning compared to the others. It was an enigma; the person whose form it had shed to join their ranks obviously pious, yet at the same time damned.
He ascended the stairs to the stage and walked behind the altar, reaching up to grab that creature and yanking it down. Instead of releasing the cross, it held tight, causing War to tear the entire works out of the wall and send them crashing to the ground. The creature’s eyelids parted slightly, crescents of golden light causing the cross to glow.
“Child… Mine,” it said in a voice that was almost human, the final syllable degenerating into a hiss.
War’s eyes narrowed behind the ragged slashes in his mask. Had he lips, he would have smiled. Obsession. It was the fine line a man walked between God’s favor and the pleasures of the flesh. This man had tried to cling to both, refusing to relinquish either in his final heartbeat, his obsession strong enough to carry over even through his damnation.
Shadows descended across the windows, slowly at first, but faster with each passing minute. Yellow eyes opened all around him, chasing back the darkness with their vile yellow stare. They shined down on him from the ceiling and the walls, focusing on him to the point that he glowed like a birthing star. He raised both arms over his head, and his cloak of diseased skin fell to the ground, revealing his intricately sculpted, blood-red armor. Hissing rained down upon him over the clamor of nails carving into wood, of fists and feet pounding on every available surface. The entire temple shook to the point that the altar toppled sideways and clattered to the stage. With a bang like gunfire, the front door exploded inward to reveal Thunder on its hind legs, now kicking at the empty air.
Its skeletal hooves slammed to the floor, bringing down sections of the outer roof to pound the ceiling. The steed walked down the main aisle toward War, leaving flaming hoof prints in its wake. Fire lapped at the pews until it took root in the fine polish, racing away from the central walkways, the blue flame rising higher and higher until smoke built up against the ceiling, forcing the bodies hanging up there to rain to the floor as one. The earth trembled and the pews fell backward, the Swarm standing in the midst of the flames, oblivious to the pain.
When Thunder reached the stage, it turned to face the burning masses, eyes ablaze. War lowered his arms to his sides and waited for the incessant hissing to cease.
When finally the only sound was the crackle of God’s House burning, he leapt onto Thunder’s back and took hold of the spiked mane. It rose to its full height, slashing burning front limbs at the air and then slammed its hooves to the ground. The towers atop the roof crumbled, falling down upon the upper levels, which gave way without a fight. Tons of stone and cement c
rashed down upon the inner sanctum as bodies leapt through windows and poured out of doors, swarming Temple Square like so many rats abandoning a sinking ship.
They crowded around that crimson figure on his skeletal steed, pressed closely together while the temple groaned with the last of the collapsing stones, filling the sky with dust.
War raised his right fist and was rewarded with hissing screams.
When his fist fell, the hissing grew impossibly louder as his minions swarmed, crashing through the square like an unstoppable tsunami.
III
Mormon Tears
LINDSAY CLUNG TO ADAM’S HAND AS THEY STUMBLED BACK ACROSS THE lake toward Mormon Tears. She had been sobbing hysterically for most of the journey and had only now brought herself under control, sniffing back the tears and snot. The rocky crag came into view through the blizzard as they tried to follow the path they had forged through the accumulation on their way over, though it was nearly obscured by the wind blowing the snow back up into the air from the ground.
Adam still didn’t know what he was going to tell them. Either they sent the boy back across to the island or they would all be slaughtered. It was as simple as that. They had prepared for an all out assault by an unarmed force of thousands, but weren’t anywhere close to being ready for a small battalion of armed men. What were they supposed to do? Raise their spears and try to lure them close enough to fight? By the time those men were within range of their sharpened poles, they’d be plucking birdshot out of vital organs. He knew that they would expect him to have a plan, but the best he could come up with was to give Richard what he wanted. After all, Richard wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble if he intended to harm the child. He needed Jake for his dreams, but the rest of them were expendable. He had no doubt that Richard would lead the others against them and it would be a massacre.
When he and Lindsay were within sight of the beach, the others walked down from the cave, where they’d been waiting out of the elements. There would be no mistaking that something had gone wrong as they would only see the two of them heading inland. He only hoped they wouldn’t begin to panic until Adam was able to speak to them, but his legs were so tired that he simply couldn’t make them trudge through the deep snow any faster. By the time they reached the barricade at the shore, Adam could hear Jake crying.
“We could smell…” Norman started, helping Lindsay over the mound of sand. He lowered his voice and leaned into Adam’s ear after he skidded down the mound. “We could smell someone burning.” He paused and looked back at Jake. “Gray?”
Adam nodded. He couldn’t bear to hear the words aloud.
“We heard three shots,” Evelyn said, running to him and throwing her arms around his neck. “I was so worried that—”
“Shh,” he whispered, giving her a gentle kiss to silence her. When he withdrew she could see the fear in his eyes.
“What is it?” she asked, but Adam was already pulling out of her grasp and preparing to address them all.
“Everyone gather in the cave,” he yelled to be heard, already pushing through them toward the steep stone face and the dark mouth beneath. The others had built a fire out of the wind from a pyramid of coal, the smoke staining the wall black. He stood with his back to the corridor leading into the mountain so that he could see all of them and the island at the same time.
“Where’s Gray?” Mare asked, restarting the child’s whimpering in earnest as it had nearly tapered.
“He didn’t make it,” Adam said, looking at Jake.
“I told him not to go,” Jake whimpered. “I knew…I knew what was going to happen…”
“How?” Missy asked.
“They shot him in the back of the head. He didn’t feel anything.”
“How many are there?” Norman asked, his jaw muscles visibly clenching.
“Six,” Adam said. “All armed.”
“Jesus,” Norman gasped, turning to stare out across the lake.
“Can I ask a stupid question?” Mare said. “And I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but why didn’t they kill you guys too?”
“They sent them back to deliver a message to all of us,” Phoenix said.
Jake stepped forward, steeling his chin even as the tears streamed down his cheeks.
“I’ll go.”
Adam had never seen such a beautiful display of courage, even from men three times the boy’s age. Moments ago, he had given in to the thought that handing over Jake was a foregone conclusion, but now, looking into the brave child’s eyes, he knew that he couldn’t allow it.
“No,” he said firmly, the sound of his own voice startling him. “We’ll find another solution.”
“What did they say?” Darren asked.
“They said we have two hours to send Jake across or they’re coming to get him.”
No one needed to ask what that meant. They all knew.
“What are we going to do then?” Norman asked.
There was a long moment of silence.
“I wish I knew,” Adam finally said. He could feel the weight of their stares boring holes into him.
“Let me go,” Jake said, wiping away his tears with a hand from under the blanket. “They won’t hurt me if I give them what they want.”
“Gray didn’t die so that we would deliver him to them,” Lindsay whispered. “They killed him because he…because he would sooner die than let them have Jake.”
“We can’t beat them,” Norman said. “We don’t stand a chance against any amount of firepower.”
Phoenix took Norman by the arm and whispered something into his ear.
“We can barricade ourselves in the cavern,” April said. “That’s what we were planning to do anyway, right?”
“I don’t know if anything we could use to keep them out would withstand gunfire for long,” Adam said, watching curiously as Phoenix led Norman out into the storm.
“We can run,” Darren said.
“They have snowmobiles,” Lindsay said. “We wouldn’t get far.”
“And the Swarm is still coming,” Jill said. “Don’t forget that.”
“What do your visions tell you?” Ray asked from where he’d been leaning quietly against the wall. “You were the one who warned us about cooking flesh and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’d imagine that’s exactly what that mouthwatering aroma is.”
“Back off, Ray,” Mare said, stepping in front of Jill. “I don’t see you coming up with any ideas.”
“I’m not the one who’s psychic.”
“Boys!” Evelyn snapped. “We’re wasting too much time arguing. Unless you have something productive to say, just keep your mouths shut.”
Both boys shrunk away. Mare took Jill by the hand, while Ray leaned back against the wall, wincing as something sharp prodded his stomach. He dropped his hand and felt the hard shaft of the knife’s hilt.
“I’m the shortest,” he whispered, wrinkling his brow. Finally, Tina’s cryptic words made sense. He took a stumbling step forward and announced his revelation. “I’m the shortest.”
They all looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. He walked over to Jake and stood beside him.
“Don’t you see?” Ray said, whirling so they could all clearly see him and pulled Jake in front of him, looking across the top of the boy’s head. “I’m the shortest.”
IV
ALL NORMAN COULD THINK OF WAS HIS IMAGE ON THE CAVERN WALL WHILE Phoenix spoke, only hearing half of the words the younger boy was saying.
Phoenix had climbed up into the back of the dead Ford pickup, digging through several feet of snow until he found a locked toolbox running the width of the bed beneath the rear window of the cab. He unfastened it and rummaged through wrenches, hammers, and a million other tools until he’d found the object of his search, which he now held up so Norman could clearly see. It was an old rusted hatchet. It had been at the bottom of the bin with spilled nails long since rusted to the metal floor, the wooden handle so ancient it look
ed frayed like an old rope. The sharp end was crusted from the last time it had been used however long ago, the thinner trailing edge so thick with curling layers of rust it looked like a good whack would cause it to disintegrate.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” Norman asked.
“You haven’t heard a thing I’ve said, have you?” Phoenix said. He tossed the ax down into the snow and hopped over the side of the bed, landing in a drift nearly to his waist.
“It’s just that…thing. I mean, there’s a picture in the cavern of me holding that thing drawn hundreds of years ago and you just whip it out of there like it’s nothing. Like you knew it was in there all the time and were just waiting for the right moment to give it to me.”
“That’s right,” Phoenix said. “Is that so hard to understand?”
Norman let out a nervous chuckle. “When I got out of the army I was going to get formal paramedic training and drive an ambulance. Maybe meet a nice girl and have a couple kids. And a dog, a golden retriever. Make enough in the market so I could retire early and work on my golf game.” He shook his head. “How many countless hours did I waste pondering all of that?”
“It’s a wonderful dream,” Phoenix said through a weak smile.
“You don’t get it, do you? It’s all so matter-of-fact for you that you can’t see what you’re asking me to do. You’re just following some cosmic directions and checking us all off on some sort of list. Were the last twenty-four years just a waste of time? I could have skipped out on high school and just partied all the time. Instead of joining the Army I would have been living it up in Vegas or something. No drill sergeants. No fighting. No wars. I could have just played golf all day without a care in the world, and now you’re telling me that my entire life boils down to my ability to swing a hatchet.”
“There’s so much more to it than that,” Phoenix said, taking Norman’s hand in an entirely unselfconscious gesture. “You have been chosen to save all of us. Not just the twelve of us here, but our entire race. I can’t imagine golf can compare to that. Besides, what’s the difference between swinging a club or an ax?”
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