by Burgy, P. J.
Russell attempted to get up, staggering to his feet. She saw his gas mask shine in the purple light as he moved to approach her, gloved hand out. He was down again in an instant, on his knees, crying out and shaking, the sharp crackling of electricity ripping through the air in waves as another bird masked attacker, standing ten feet behind Russell, held out a device that she recognized as a taser.
“Stop! Leave us alone!” she screamed.
Russell dropped onto his hands, hunched over, heaving as four forms approached. They were wearing all black, two of them in long coats and the others in dark frocks, the buttons undone with the garments hanging open like a long jacket. What little protection they wore was thin and looked more like fabric than riot gear. The masks were the same, like black birds, like crows, the visors dull.
They descended on Russell, grappling with him as he tried to fight them off. One of the men produced a gun and aimed it at Russell.
Kara wriggled, trying to break free. “No! No, please!”
“Shh.” The man whispered into her ear, the mask making his voice sound tinny. “No need for dramatics, little girl. Calm yourself.”
The gun fired, another canister dart piercing Russell, right in the shoulder. He groaned, losing his strength, and the other men forced his arms behind his back, wrapping his wrists in a thick, metal cord of rope. They bound Russell in layer after layer, using the rope to force him up onto his knees, his head loose on his neck as the men gripped his shoulders to support him.
“You are not one of the damned. You are fortunate,” The low, calming voice said, and Kara looked up toward the source, trying to see the speaker.
There was a flurry of motion as the dark shape stepped down to a lower scaffold, then onto a nearby forklift that had been left to rust under the rafters. She could see him better, the form jumping down the four feet from the forklift to the ground and landing expertly, the long coat sweeping over his black boots. She saw two red lights, bright, like a set of eyes, set into the mask he wore, the same sort of bird mask as the others with a hood over it. This one, however, was wearing a tall hat with a round brim, and he was carrying a staff.
She watched him approach, his steps calculated but leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world to reach Kara. He was tall, his trench coat swaying around his legs as he came to a stop in front of her, head tilted down. “What is your name, my child?”
“Let him go,” she said.
“This one, who has saved you, yes?” The figure indicated toward Russell, who was still putting up a feeble struggle not even ten feet away. “I am afraid that we cannot let him go, or you for that matter. We’ve been after this one for a very, very long time. He was a ghost. Always evaded us. But, not this time. Finally, we have captured the abomination. You are very fortunate that we found you. You are blessed. It is dangerous out there. You were nearly killed. This city is teeming with demons.”
“You hunt Infected?”
“We hunt the impure,” The low, rumbling reply.
“He isn’t Infected,” Kara said. “Neither am I. We’re just trying to get out. Please. Let us go. We aren’t impure, I promise you. No fever. I swear it. Look at me. Look at him. We’re not sick.”
“I might believe that you weren’t. What is your name? Please.”
“My name is Kara. His name is Russell. He's saved my life, twice now. Please. We’re just trying to get out, I promise. If you let us go, we’ll leave your turf. We didn’t mean any harm.” Kara moved toward the figure and saw his compatriots fall in closer around him. She heard the sound of an Infected wailing in the night. “Please.”
“The Ghost has a name.” Those red lights were trained on her face, scanning her.
“He's a good man,” Kara stated.
“You call him a man.” The figure with the hat tilted his head. “Elijah, show sweet Kara her man.”
She grimaced. “What?”
“In this world, my child, you will see the mindless throngs of the ravenous Infected. Frightening, yes. They are demons.” The figure pivoted on his booted heel, holding a gloved hand out toward Russell. Two other figures were approaching him, grabbing at his gas mask, lowering Russell’s hood away from his head. “But, there are worse things. The abominations. The impure. Wretched beasts, a mockery of mankind. They are truly damned. Look at your ‘man’.”
The instant the gas mask was pulled away and Kara saw his face, his pale face with the bright, white veins glowing in the UV light, the black tar leaking from tightly closed eyes, she felt an icy hand with invasive, frozen fingers reach up from her guts into her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs.
The very next instant, that black pit of a mouth, the teeth tinged with the muck of his disease, gaped wide open. His lips pulled back, and a scream was wrenched from the deepest parts of his writhing body. Russell, or whatever the thing was, took a seizure, trying desperately to get away as the UV burned his skin. His flesh turned red, began to blister.
Her throat tightened “Oh my God.”
The figure turned back to her, leaning in close. He had to raise his voice over the sound of Russell’s screaming. “They will trick you. This one was pretending to be a man.”
She tried to speak, the words sticking to her tongue. “Stop. Please. You're... you're killing him...”
“We will do our best to save him, my child, I assure you.” The figure in the hat held a hand out. “Simon, let her up, but disarm her. Please. Elijah, hood the beast. The night is over. Let us get this girl to safety, away from here. We will go home now, to Salvation. We will protect you, Kara.”
Russell was still screaming, the sound inhuman now. She got a glimpse of his hair, in the UV light it could have been dirty blonde or it could have been brown, she couldn’t tell. Kara watched as a dark hood was thrown over his head and felt a wave of relief as his screaming ceased.
Whatever they had done to him, he barely put up a fight as he was pulled to his feet, unsteady as he was. The man he had called Simon let her up and Kara yanked her arms away from him as she stood, giving him a shove with her elbow. There was a brief struggle as she went for her machete, but she was caught in the arms of another and her weapon was taken from her. Only then was she allowed to stumble a couple feet off and get her balance as she seethed. She scowled and looked around at the black bird masks, counting ten of them in all.
Their leader, the one with the hat, ushered two of his men over to him. The two produced glass wands attached to long cylinders which, when turned on, glowed bright with UV light. The hanging lights shut off. She was about to walk over to pick up her flashlight, still shining red, when one of the men clad in black picked it up, looked it over and pointed it around.
“That is mine,” she said.
The others began to walk away, the one with the hat waiting on her as his compatriot turned the flashlight off and held it out to her. This had been the one that had pulled Russell’s mask off, and she could see that his frock was decorated with gray lines across the shoulders. The one that had held her had a similar frock, but the lines were dark green. She snatched the flashlight away and slid it into her belt, glancing around, eyeing every single one of them.
She stared at the dull visor of the man before her. This one, the one with the gray stripes, took a step away. Kara looked over at their leader. “Aren’t you going to tie me up?”
“No need.” Their leader chuckled. “It is still dark. Where would you go?”
“Please don’t run,” the gray striped man said. “It is dangerous. Come with us.”
She frowned. She saw Russell being pulled away, forced to walk along as he was half carried by two of the strangers. She swallowed, nodding her head. Now was not the time for heroics. She let them lead her off into the city, the UV wands keeping the Wailers at bay.
They walked together, Kara in the center, their grim procession moving through the streets for what felt like an hour. The entire time, she watched Russell’s feet, watched him struggle. Twice, they shot him
with another canister, and twice he nearly collapsed and needed to be carried along like dead weight.
Chapter Seven
Their destination became visible as Kara looked up the street they turned onto next. The Infected had been staying back, wailing and shrieking their discontent as the UV lights blasted out into the darkness. She walked along with her bird masked company, her mind racing, images of Russell's face haunting her.
Ahead of them, on the right side of the road, was a tall building made of glass and steel. She stared, shocked to see so much unbroken glass, but then noticed patches that had been hatched and fixed, new materials grafted onto the jutting, hexagonal roof. The front of the building had purple UV lights attached in bundles near the wide double doors. The word ‘SALVATION’ was painted across a series of large boards of wood right above the entrance.
The leader of the strangers held out his staff, signaling to the men on the other side of the glass who promptly opened the twin doors, allowing the entire brigade entry. She studied the inside of the first room, which had been a large lobby at one point in the past, recognizing the receptionist style desk, converted into a weapons rack and guard station. The men who had opened the doors weren't wearing masks, and she could plainly see their chiseled, tired faces. They eyed her with suspicion before turning their attention onto the more important guest, Russell. He was being dragged further in, toward another entry way of opened double doors leading out of the lobby into some new area, and she pushed through several of the masked strangers in an attempt to reach him.
Their leader stopped her, holding out a hand and pressing it to her shoulder.
Kara glared at him, baring her teeth, and swiped at his hand. Her words dripped with acid. “Where are you taking him?”
“To be cleansed, Kara,” he replied.
“What do you mean, cleansed?” she asked, stretching to see past the leader. Russell was gone, taken by two of the masked men into the next room. Surrounded now, she scanned her surroundings.
The floors were scuffed white marble, well maintained. The walls had been repaired many times, metal sheeting bolted into the drywall. Even the ceilings had been taken care of and fixed up with boards of wood and lines of glowing bulbs. The bright purple from the UV lamps outside brightened up the lobby far better than the dim little white bulbs. That set of double doors twenty feet straight ahead, the passage they'd dragged Russell through, was the only way out of the lobby.
“To be made pure. It is our purpose. Did you truly not know what he was?” The leader asked her and then signaled to the men around him with a lifted hand. One by one they all began to remove their masks, holding them at their sides.
She was able to examine the faces of the men who had brought her here, finally. Kara saw that they were looking at her as well. She counted two women, five men. Of the seven, she saw that only two had the striped frocks, the others having a plain, black cloth over their shoulders, or none at all.
The gray stripes belonged to a fair-haired man, tall, young, handsome, his eyes warm. The other, the man with the green stripes, was not quite as tall as the other, his eyes as dark as his black hair. The man with the green stripes had a disturbing smile, entirely unwelcome.
She would have studied their faces longer, but she was more interested in the quick glimpse she got of the inside of one of the masks. Her lips parted. “Night vision goggles.”
“Of course.” The leader chuckled softly behind his bird mask. “Though we do implement red light for some hunts, I prefer to not have to carry any extraneous equipment. Only what we need.”
“And who are you exactly?” Kara asked him.
The leader chuckled again, shaking his head. “Let us find our guest a seat in the gathering hall. Elijah, fetch her something to eat, will you? We will take your things, and make you comfortable.”
“I don't want anything to eat, and I'll keep my things, thank you.” She grabbed the straps along her shoulders and was suddenly pounced on, two of the strangers grabbing her arms, forcing her backpack off. She kicked, fighting against them, and was rewarded with a slap to the face from one of the women in the troupe. “Hey! Get off of me, you bitch!”
The woman was blonde, young, with hateful green eyes and a snarl to her lip.
“Melanie, we do not treat guests that way! Go! I will talk to you later!” The leader had raised his voice and it boomed in the lobby. The scolded woman shrank and then practically ran away through the double doors as though terrified, glancing back once before disappearing. The leader sighed and walked away, following after her. “Bring her. Come.”
Kara felt her blood boil as she watched a man carry her backpack over one of his shoulders. They locked eyes for a moment, his expression blank and cool. She bared her teeth at the man and hissed at him. “I'll want that back, friend.”
He ignored her and turned away.
They entered the next room and she quickly looked around. Just past the double doors, she saw a closed elevator shaft to her left, a pair of metal double doors directly beside it, the glass windows on the doors fortified with mesh grating. To the right, shelving and closets, piles of folded clothing. The room was many yards wide, many yards long, and tables were set out with bench seats running up and down the center of what had to be a communal area.
The floors had been maintained, a few patches of concrete visible in the white marble. The lines of bulbs strung across the ceiling flickered. There was a generator somewhere, she thought she could hear the distant humming sound of one or two machines. On the right side, the white and blue walls were made from a mixture of painted concrete and patched drywall, the long windows facing the street fortified with bars, the UV light from outside drifting in. On the left side, there were no windows, only the elevator, the locked doors, and then an open set of double doors leading down yet another hallway.
At the far end of the dining hall, directly in front of her, was a buffet style counter and a visible kitchen behind it, then another set of double doors leading out of the room and down yet another hallway.
She saw that she was being led to a table and she stared at the bench seat.
“Have a seat, my dear,” their leader said.
“I'll stand.”
“I insist.”
She sat down when she saw the one with the green stripes beginning to approach her, and she held her palms out toward him, scowling. It was better to cooperate than to get physical with that one again. She watched as their leader removed his top hat and handed it off to the man in the gray stripes and then reached back to unfasten his mask. He handed it to the same man and then regarded Kara with a friendly, peaceful gaze.
He was older, his short hair a light shade of brown. His smile was soft, his eyes tired. She saw an instant resemblance to the fair-haired younger man standing beside him, and a slightly more distant resemblance to the dark haired one. When their leader spoke, he held his arms open. “Welcome to Salvation, Kara. This is our home, and yours as well now.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Oh. How rude of me. I get so sidetracked these days. My name is Father Isaac,” he told her. “And Salvation is the home, ah, well, I should say the citadel of my people. Our base, our haven. We have been here, in the city of St. Christie, for a very, very long time, Kara. We are the Purgers. We do the work of God. The disease brought the demons, and we cleanse them. As you can see, our work is certainly cut out for us.”
There were a few chuckles from the group, Father Isaac included. Kara did not smile. She stared at him and then glared at each of them, committing their faces to her memory.
She frowned. “I'd really like my stuff back, please, Father.”
“We will return your bag once we have searched it. You must understand why we had to confiscate your weapon, my child,” Father Isaac said. “You're not in a state where we could trust you, you see. You were traveling with a demon, to begin with.”
“He's not a demon. He's... he's sick. I didn't know the Infected co
uld... I didn't know.” She suddenly found herself unable to find the right words, and she shook her head, shaking off the thoughts that picked at her brain. Images of Russell's face. The sound of his screaming and how he'd almost sounded like a Wailer right then. She raised her gaze to the older man. “You have to let me go. I'm here looking for people who were taken from me.”
“We've all had people taken from us,” Father Isaac said. “I have. They have. I am sorry, but we cannot let you go. But, let me introduce you to my sons...”
“You can't be serious.”
“My son Elijah.” Father Isaac indicated toward the fair-haired young man. Next, he held a hand out toward the dark-haired one. “My son Simon. This is Calliope, an acolyte, her first hunt tonight. She did very well. Orson, a seasoned Purger...”
“You can't keep me.” Kara stood up and Simon moved toward her. Realizing that there were multiple people with weapons, her own machete dangling from Simon's hip, and guards in the other room, she backed down and nodded, clearing her throat and stiffening her shoulders. She sat down again, head swimming.
“You have a strange way of showing your gratitude, Kara,” Father Isaac said. “Though I do understand your confusion. You didn't expect to find anyone, other than the demons out here, did you?”
“How long am I going to be held here?” she asked.
“You've barely been here a few minutes and you already want to go back out into the night?” Father Isaac exclaimed. “You need to rest. You've been through a lot, that much is obvious. We can provide you with a room. A few hours in isolation would also guarantee your purity, I think. You don't appear tainted, but it's better to be safe than sorry, as they say.”
“If I were Infected, I'd spit in your face. Maybe I should,” she said.
“If you did, we'd have to kill you, I'm sorry to say. I really don't want to have to do that.” Father Isaac's smile lost its enthusiasm. “It isn't our way to kill innocents. It is not something we take any joy in. We will, but that is not a choice that we make ourselves. You will make that choice.”