Apokalypsis Book Three

by Kate Morris

  “Mr. Russo, he’ll kill you,” she repeated. “You don’t understand. He’s…”

  “Oh, I understand all right. You don’t understand. It’s all over now,” he said.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  She wanted to throw up again as he drooled over her and ran his hands down the front of her. Literally drooled. Spittle hit her shirt. His eyes were glassed over and bloodshot. She wondered if he was sick or just high on a bad batch of pot. She didn’t know a lot about drugs, but maybe sometimes a bad batch could make a person violent. Maybe he’d taken something else, something stronger like cocaine or heroin.

  “If he finds out…” she said.

  He gripped her face with one hand and squeezed painfully.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got you in here as long as I want you, Foster. You understand now?”

  She shook her head, and he squeezed her cheeks more forcefully. He ran his other hand down over her front, fondling her breasts and further down to cup between her legs her through her jeans. Wren tried to scream, but his hand came up over her face, this time covering it with a rag that smelled bad. No, it smelled putrid, and then that’s all she remembered.

  …her head hurt. She blinked hard and sucked in a deep breath. She could hear her phone ringing. Somewhere.

  Then her eyes focused, and she remembered what happened.

  “Good, glad you didn’t miss the big event.”

  Principal Prick was above her. His shirt was missing. She looked down. So was hers. As a matter of fact, she was stripped down to just her panties.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, holding his phone up. “I took plenty of pictures and video to commemorate the event.”

  “Wh…” her throat was too dry to form words. Her stomach was so sick she was afraid the rising bile was going to end up all over the front of her. And her mind was foggy and confused.

  His voice had changed so drastically. He always drew out certain vowel sounds, but now it was like nothing was holding him back from being the psychotic creep he obviously kept hidden.

  “You’re very photogenic, Wren Foster.”

  Why was she so woozy? He’d stuck that rag that smelled funny against her mouth. Had he drugged her with something? It had to be. She couldn’t remember, didn’t know what time it was, or what had happened. Had she blacked out? She had to have. Did he rape her? This wasn’t right.

  His hand was moving over her naked breasts without worry or care. Her head lolled sleepily to the side, and she spotted her pistol and clothing in a pile. She had to get to them.

  “Okay,” she said, her words slurring just slightly. “Okay, I’ll do what you want.”

  His hand slid down and inside her panties. She wanted to vomit again, but this time it was from his touch and not the gross taste in her mouth.

  “Oh, you’ll do what I want anyway, kitten,” he stated as if she had no choice. “You thought you were so tough, didn’t you?”

  That was it. The vowel sounds went up an octave in pitch. It was so creepy.

  She shook her head. His hand moved from her to himself. She had to lower her gaze and look at the floor beside her. She didn’t want to watch him touch himself over her.

  Her phone rang again. Damn. If only she could get to it. She heard it off to her right somewhere.

  “I already know you don’t have a tracing device on it,” he said, touching her inside her panties again. He wasn’t gentle. “Can’t have a phone with GPS, right? Oh, yeah, I’ve been studying all about people like you.”

  Her eyes darted to his, which seemed black. He also seemed more insane now. Maybe he was just coming into his own and was more comfortable revealing it to her. Somehow, intuition or something else told her she was going to die. He couldn’t let her go after this. He planned on killing her.

  “My uncle…”

  “I already called him at work,” he said. “See, you think I’m a stupid middle-aged loser, don’t you? I’m not. I’ve been waiting very patiently for you to come along. A long, long time actually. And then you showed up at my school, and I knew. I knew you were sent here at this exact time for this exact purpose.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s the end times. Haven’t you been watching the news, pet? It’s all over now. Two dead ones in my own school just last week. Night crawlers are what they’re being called. That little shit, Brannon called the Sheriff. I knew he was a little weasel. Sheriff took care of it, too. Killed those night crawlers. As a matter of fact, your English teacher is one of ‘em now, too. Ugly bitch. Sheriff covered it up like he’s supposed to, though, but it’s happening. Soon, we’ll all be free.”

  “Free?”

  His eyes glittered with insanity and yet sanity, as well.

  “Free to be who we really are. Transformed. Enlightened. I’ve always been enlightened. You will be soon. Everyone will be. Then you’ll be free, too, pet.”

  This terrified her. She knew exactly what she was dealing with. It was the reason her sixth sense had gone off every time she was around him. It was trying to warn her, and she hadn’t listened. Her principal was insane, probably a serial killer or rapist and she’d ignored her own instincts. He just kept rambling.

  “You’ll be free of restrictions, laws, everything.”

  “You called my uncle?” she asked, trying to delay the inevitable.

  “Oh, yes, my pet,” he said and stroked her hair. “He won’t be worried about you. I told him that you and a few other students were in detention and then I was going to make you work on decorating the gym for Saturday’s homecoming as punishment. Don’t worry. He won’t be expecting you for hours.”

  “But he’ll call the police if I don’t show up soon.”

  He smiled, and more of the insane showed in it. “Tsk-tsk. That’s a lie. I know you don’t call the cops. Not your kind, huh?”

  “But we…”

  He leaned down swiftly and breathed into her face, “Enough talk.” His tone was threatening, and the pitch had lowered to something new and deep. “Don’t make me use the rag again.”

  She wriggled her hands and felt the leather belt slip just a little. It gave her hope. Then he started touching her again, and that hope diminished even more.

  Wren began struggling with him, which somehow seemed to make him more excited. It didn’t matter. She had to distract him so that she could keep working her hands back and forth. She felt like they were almost out.

  Her phone rang again, and someone on the other side of the door called her name. Principal Russo whipped his head to the side to look.

  “Wren?” a male voice called out again.

  She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t going to remain mute and take the chance the person would leave. She screamed her head off, which earned her a punch to the jaw. That pissed her off, and she started pummeling her feet into him. She managed to land a good square kick to his junk. He howled as someone banged on the door. Wren screamed for help again at the top of her lungs. It sounded hoarse and strange.

  Then there was a loud sound like someone was kicking at the door. She was still wrestling with the principal. He seemed intent on raping her even though the cops could be at their door.

  “Get off me!”

  “Shut up, little whore,” he said into her face, his voice sounding even deeper and more menacing than before. “That lock’s gonna hold. You’re still getting this.”

  “Help!” she cried out and continued to kick at him. The fingers of her left hand slipped, and she nearly wept with joy as she got one hand free. She began hitting him with vigor. He jammed her legs apart and tore at her panties.

  Then the door slammed inward, smacking loudly against the wall. She looked up to see Elijah standing there with the most obvious look of shock she’d ever seen on a person. His eyes were huge. Then they were violent.

  “What the…get off of her!” he screamed and ran at Principal Pothead, hitting him hard and taking him to the concrete floor. It was just like he did at the phar
macy. Probably what he did every Friday night. She was never gladder that he played football.

  Wren wasn’t waiting for his help. She dug in her heels and scooted to a seated position where she could work on the restraint binding her hand. Her eyes jumped to the corner where Elijah was wrestling with their naked principal. The man took a cheap shot at Elijah by hitting him on the back with a heavy-duty industrial broom. He fell over, spied her pistol, and grabbed it. Then Elijah brought it up in front of him from his position on his back on the floor. He fired, and nothing happened.

  Their principal lunged for Elijah, knocking the gun free. He had no choice but to drop it to defend himself. Then they were on their feet again. Elijah hit him in the jaw, and he spun around into a stainless-steel sink against the wall she hadn’t seen before. The principal had a sharp object. She saw it reflect in the light when his hand moved.

  “Elijah, he’s got a knife!” she cried as her hand finally slid free.

  Wren scrambled on her hands and knees to her pistol, flicked off the safety, and yelled, “Get down, Elijah!”

  He ducked, and she fired, the bark of the .45 so loud it stunned her ears in the small room. Elijah backed away as their principal stumbled toward him. She couldn’t shoot again. Elijah was in the way now.

  Mr. Russo screamed in a rage and shoved at Elijah, who was just as shocked as he was. The principal managed to push him until he fell backward toward Wren. Then the naked man ran through the open door as Wren fired two more shots at him. She was sure another one connected with his shoulder. Elijah rushed over and slammed and locked the door. Then he was at her side as she turned the pistol’s safety mechanism back on.

  “Wren, oh, Wren,” he said and whipped off his hoodie and pulled it down over her head gently. “Oh, my God.”

  Her arms hurt terribly from being tied so tightly and stretched so taut for such a long time. They were shaking. All of her was. She knew it was shock. She also knew how to handle it.

  Elijah gently helped her slide her arms into the sleeves and pulled it down over her hips.

  “Here, your jeans.”

  He picked her up as if she weighed the same as Hope and carried her to the chair that was still sitting in the same spot despite all the violence that took place in the room. He set her gently down on it.

  “We need to get outta here,” she said, her voice quivering. “He could come back.”

  “I need to call the police.”

  She vehemently shook her head, “No, no cops.”

  “Wren, dammit!” he swore as he helped her pull on her socks and boots and even tied them for her. “You’re hurt. I need to get you to a hospital. We need to call the police. Our freaking principal just tried to rape you. Right? He didn’t do it yet, right?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Then we have to report this. He’s a psycho…”

  “Yeah, I know. But I can’t have the police involved, Elijah. You don’t understand.”

  Her phone buzzed. It was Uncle Jamie. She didn’t even know what to say to him. Her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped the phone.

  “Take me home. Please. Just take me home.”

  Elijah stood with a nod, and Wren saw the spot of red on his t-shirt from her seated position.

  “Hey, are you hurt?” she asked quickly and lifted the hem of his shirt. “Oh, damn. Elijah, did he stab you?”

  “What?” he asked and looked down at the blood slowly trickling out of a wound in his stomach.

  Wren jumped out of her chair and went to a metal cabinet against the wall. She located a box of tissues. It was the only thing she could find to use.

  “C’mon, we need to go,” she said. “Press this against your wound.”

  “I need to call the cops,” he said.

  “Elijah, I need to tell you some stuff. I’ll tell you on the ride, and then you can call the cops, okay?”

  He nodded shakily. This was a traumatic event for him, too.

  Wren opened the door slowly and peered around the corner. She didn’t see their psychotic principal, so she nodded over her shoulder. A blood trail to the right indicated he must’ve gone that way. She pointed to it, and Elijah inclined his head to the left. She wasn’t about to argue with that.

  “If you get weak, you can lean on my shoulder. I don’t know how much you’ve bled out.”

  “I don’t think much,” he said. “I don’t think it’s that deep. I feel fine. Just stings a little.”

  She nodded as they made it back to the front door without seeing Mr. Russo. When they left the building, Wren could see a blaze in the parking lot. It was her car. He’d lit her car on fire.

  “Jesus,” he whispered. “C’mon, Wren. I’m parked right up here. I moved my car and came back in to wait for you.”

  She flicked the safety off on her pistol again and kept it in a two-handed grip until they got to his car.

  “I’ll drive.”

  “Sure,” he said and handed her the keys. As they were getting in on their respective sides, she couldn’t shake the feeling their principal was watching them from somewhere on the grounds. It made her fire up the big engine, peel out, and speed away. It was a good thing she knew how to drive a stick.

  She dialed Jamie, “I’m on my way. We’ve got a problem.”

  “I’ve called about ten times. What’s the situation?” he asked on the other end of the line.

  “I’m gonna need help and so does my friend. I think he was stabbed. I think we’ll need to leave tomorrow instead of next week.”

  He cut the call, and Wren pressed harder on the gas. She even ran two red lights in her haste but managed not to stall out. Beside her on the seat, she kept one hand on the pistol. She glanced up to see Elijah staring at her. He seemed upset, but not because he’d just been stabbed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  He wasn’t sure how she was even driving. When he’d opened that door, Elijah felt as close to losing his sanity than he ever had. He knew he’d never feel that again in his life. It was like an instantaneous and overwhelming rage and fear combined and all right there at the surface at the same time. Even losing his parents and brother hadn’t caused that reaction, not either time the news was dropped. Every square inch of his body pricked with goosebumps at the sight of her on the floor beaten and bruised and naked. He’d never before wanted to kill someone so badly.

  He knew what the bastard was doing, too. Principal Russo had his hand down her panties and one on her breast. She was tied, chained to the damn wall. Elijah knew he was only seconds soon enough before that son-of-a-bitch raped her. He didn’t know what happened prior to him finding her, but she looked pretty banged up. That thought made him long to throw up out the window.

  “Oh, shit!” she cried out.

  Elijah thought maybe she was about to hit a deer or something.

  “His phone!” Wren said next.

  “What?”

  “Yeah, he said he was filming me and taking pictures…”

  “When? In school?”

  “No, tonight,” she said. “He drugged me with something. Stuck a rag over my nose and mouth, and I think I passed out. When I woke up, I was naked, and he said he filmed me. I think. I don’t know. It’s all a blur.”

  “Okay, don’t worry,” he said, trying to calm her and feeling another wave of nausea and gooseflesh pulse through him at the thought of their principal using chloroform or whatever it was he used on her. He hoped the bastard bled out somewhere in a ditch.

  “What do you mean? You don’t understand!”

  She swerved a cat in the road and sped on. Obviously, the hemi wasn’t something she couldn’t handle or the manual transmission. She was shifting it like a pro.

  “It’s okay. We’ll tell the police…”

  “No! What the hell, Elijah? What don’t you get about me not being able to involve the police?”

  He wondered if it had something to do with what he’d found out the other night at the hospital. It wasn’t the rig
ht time to bring it up, though. They had enough problems right now.

  She whipped the car into the trailer park so fast that the tires squealed off the pavement before she flew down the gravel road. Then she pulled into her spot under the carport and cut the engine.

  A man bounded out of the trailer. He was burly, bulky, stalky. Not as big as Elijah, but he had age and wisdom and experience in his cold, dark eyes.

  “Wren!” he exclaimed and grabbed her, wrapping an around the back of her neck and pulling her tightly against him. “Jesus, what happened?”

  “My friend, Elijah, he’s hurt, Uncle Jamie. He was stabbed saving me…”

  “Saving you? From who?”

  “Let’s get him inside.”

  “Wren, you know the rules,” he said.

  Elijah heard the same slanted ewe-er sound for the single ‘oh’ at the end of his pronunciation of the word ‘know.’ They were obviously both from the same region in the world. He knew where she was from, even if she didn’t want to tell him. The internet gave a lot of answers. Sometimes it gave him ones he didn’t want to know.

  “I couldn’t take him to the hospital. Then the cops would be involved. You’ve gotta help him, Jamie.”

  “Bring him inside.”

  Wren ran to the rear of the car where he was waiting. Elijah held the wad of tissues against his stomach and followed her. They were soaked with his blood.

  “Sit,” her uncle ordered, indicating a kitchen chair. Then he double-locked the door behind Elijah.

  “Wren, come with me,” he said to her. “You,” he said to Elijah, pointing, “Don’t move.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Her uncle took her down the hall to her bedroom and shut the door. He could just barely hear them talking back there. Elijah was dying for a drink but didn’t dare move out of the chair. Her uncle seemed like a very intense, very fierce man.

  A few minutes later, he returned, but she did not. He saw her cross the hallway behind her uncle before disappearing into the bathroom.

  “Elijah?” he asked to confirm his name, to which Elijah nodded as the man placed a plastic tub on the table next to him. “This isn’t going to be pleasant. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but you can’t go to the hospital and report this.”