I glance at Ian. Tears fill his eyes. He stops and closes them. I think I’m going to have to slap him across the face, but instead he snaps to. He reaches down and grabs a line and pulls. “Which way is the wind?”
I hold up my bloody hand. The breeze tickles my skin. “Port.”
“Pull that main sail halyard up as fast as you can. Hana, untie the sail.”
Ben and I grab the halyard as Hana unties the sail.
I start to pull on the halyard. Hand over hand we pull. The mainsail rises into the sky like a majestic flag.
Ian grips the railing and so do the rest of us. The wind suddenly catches the sail. It fills up and cracks with a sound like a whip. A line connected to the boom tightens and the boom swings to port so fast I almost miss seeing it shatter a couple of skulls. The boat rocks toward the middle of the canal and dumps the rest of the puppets and the dogs. I leap, slide off the wood, and grab Andy’s shirt. The boom lands in the water and kills the sail’s power.
“Pull the sail down!” Ian orders. The boat’s listing so far over it might start taking on water. Hana helps Ben pull down the sail and the boat sits up again.
Ian runs to the front and hits the throttle. The boat speeds into the canal. In a few minutes the horde is left behind. We pass through the rest of the narrow channel while waiving our flares at the crowd along the sides. They can’t touch us now, but I have no doubt they’re trying to figure out their next move.
I check Andy’s pulse. He’s gone. The most innocent of us all is gone.
Hana looks at me. I shake my head.
Hana and Markus carry Rice below. I’m glad she’s out, but when she wakes up, she’s going to fall apart all over again.
Ben, Josh, and Tanis stand mid-ship like statues. They come over to me. In silent respect they help me pick up Andy and toss him overboard. We stand at the lifeline and cry. I cry for some kid I met only a week or so ago. He didn’t deserve this. None of them did. Not one of the millions of children deserved this fate. I will kill Zilla when I get the chance. My hands will break his neck just like the dog. Only, I will make sure he feels every bone in his body break first.
I go down the cabin ladder and pass through the kitchen into the dining area. Markus is the only one taking care of Rice’s extensive injuries now. Hana is in one of the rooms, crying.
I stop behind Markus. The wind whistles through the open port windows. Rice lies on the bench on the starboard side. Markus leans over her. Rice moans. Blood spills from her and soaks the makeshift bandages. Markus doesn’t hear me approach.
“There were small white roots in the wound,” Markus tells Rice. “They were trying to crawl inside you. I think I’ve got them all, but you may have gotten the virus.”
Rice doesn’t hear him. She’s dying, bleeding out.
I watch Markus pull out a red syringe and inject it into her arm. “There, now you can’t get sick. You’re saved.”
I reach out and grab Markus’ arm. I squeeze. He drops the syringe. Worry stripes his face like he’s busted with his hand in the cookie jar. “Where did you get that syringe?”
Chapter 1.31
Markus:
Our camels are slow but steady. After two days in the Sahara without food or water, we finally make it to the secret CIA camp in Algeria. I’m so relieved when I see the Apache helicopter over our heads I want to cry, fall to my knees and thank the Lord. A Humvee approaches. Four soldiers greet us with machine guns. As soon as they verify that Mitchell is one of their own, we get the gold treatment.
The CIA camp is mobile, but you’d never know it. It’s a steel building with thick rib-like girders all around the outside of the structure. It looks like a futuristic spaceport on a distant moon. Satellites mounted on the roof are pointed in all directions. A two-story tower over the main command center has a lookout and a very large gun mounted in a turret.
The center of the base is open, like a doughnut, but shaded by tents. The Apache helicopter lands to the side of the base, next to a handful of tan Humvees. There are around thirty full-time personnel and a rotation of twenty or so. Very nice people. The interior of the base is simple. It has metal walls and a few plastic windows. I feel like I’m inside an open accordion. I’m able to take a hot shower and given my own quarters. I call my wife and leave her a long voice message. She’ll be so glad to hear from me. I know how she has worried. After stuffing myself with food and water, I fall sleep.
For days we wait. I’m not allowed to see Mitchell, or anyone else, for that matter. They take statements from me, deliver food, and take blood samples. We’d handed over the Stone of Allah and the red envelope. I try two more times to get in touch with Marian. I’m worried about her. I can’t wait to see her. She’s in my dreams, on my mind constantly, and in my prayers. I hope she’s not too mad at me.
Today we get to leave. Although I’m as sore as an Israelite after the Exodus, I’m in good spirits. I’m excited, so I pull my ol’ bones off the bed. We’re supposed to get a ride to a major airport somewhere in Europe. As I get my shoes on an alarm splits my ears. It’s six o’clock in the morning. Red lights flash everywhere, replacing the yellow florescent lights. Down the hall from my room there’s an army guard throwing up in the hallway. He’s very sick. There is shouting on the other side of the base. I run down the hall. Mitchell is holding his stomach.
“What’s happening?” I shout over the alarm.
“Get back to your room!” Mitchell orders. The whites of his eyes are filled with blood.
I run back to my room and close the thin door. I’m sweating more than I should be. I look in the mirror. My skin looks dark. Too dark. I see red in my eyes. There are more shouts. I hear an explosion. The base rocks like there’s an earthquake.
I hide myself in my quarters. I wait for hours, hearing the screams and shouting slowly decline, though the alarm is still blaring. I have such a bad headache that I think my skull’s going to cave in on itself. I finally open my door, and, while holding on to the walls, slowly work my way down the hall. I get to the command center. It’s empty. There’s blood on the back of a chair and papers strewn on the floor. I pick up a thick binder from a table and use it to knock off the alarm speaker. It silences one of the alarms. I slowly continue down the hallway, hand over hand, leaning heavily into the wall. I knock off the speaker of another alarm. Better. The red lights stop flashing. There’s the phone booth. It’s the secure line I’ve been using to leave Marian messages. I have to call her. My cousin answers the phone.
“Where in God’s name are you, Markus? And you do not get to tell me you ain’t comin’ home.” She’s irate.
My head hurts, bad. I can hardly speak. “Where’s Marian?” I mumble. Thick mucus rolls down my throat. I cough.
“She’s dead, Markus! She was in an accident a week ago. It wasn’t any accident. Someone cut her brakes! Where the hell are you?”
I drop the phone and sink into the small booth. God would not take my Marian away from me. I’m spinning. I need medicine.
I struggle to my feet. The room next to me has bunks, four total. Men are in each bunk. Three look dead and the other is dying. He has thick, yellow discharge oozing from his mouth and eyes. He’s barely moving. Every room I pass is filled with sick people. Everyone that I’d met who ran the base is sick or dead. The last room I stop by is a medical unit. There’s Mitchell on the table. I check his pulse. He’s dead. The doctor is lying on the floor next to him, also dead. I put my hands on Mitchell’s chest and start praying. Mitchell and I had become pretty good friends. He was the reason I am still alive.
“Thank you, brother, for saving my life,” I whisper. “I’ll never forget you.” The room spins around me. I kneel next to the doctor and throw up blood. If Marian really is gone, I’ll see her now. I feel her closer now than I had in weeks. Here I come, my love. Here I come.
I open my tear-filled eyes and look at the counter across the room. A light and magnifying glass are positioned over the Stone of Allah. It’s sh
immering in the light. There’s a chip on the stone. Next to it are a hammer and chisel. The light on the counter brightens. It fills the small room with a warm white light. I’m seeing double. There are two stones and two lights. My heart starts racing. I’m dying. The light grows more intense, outshining everything else. A blue light appears where the Stone of Allah had been. It’s a brilliant blue amongst all the white. It gets brighter and brighter.
I feel a deep vibration in my chest and a cool breeze. The vibration makes my ribs tickle. The pain goes away. All nausea leaves my body. I reach out to the blue light that floats in front of me now. This is my time to meet God. I can smell a pungent fragrance, like incense. The blue light forms into a kind of orb. A burst of color and coolness pushes me off my knees and onto my butt. I blink furiously so my tears won’t taint my vision. A figure emerges from the orb. It’s wispy and fluctuating along with the vibration in my chest. It’s like looking through ripples in water at something under the surface. The shape focuses and blurs. It grows into a white horse with pure white hair and sculpted muscles. Its mane is so long and silky it hangs nearly to the floor. The rider on top is a featureless shape, like a shadow, only white, and surrounded by the blue light. It’s God. I am in the presence of the Almighty God.
The white horse kneels reverently. It flickers in and out of focus, but, when I can see it, the sight makes me cry.
So much light. I can barely keep my eyes open. I put my hand on the table to pull myself up. I keep my eyes on God as I stand. He reaches out to me with His glowing white hands. A small white light rises and presses into my chest. The light clutches my heart and holds it still. So warm. The rest of my body feels cool and still. My heart is warm. It begins filling my limbs with a feeling I can only describe as hope.
God finally speaks. His voice is deep and airy, solid, yet gentle, “You are my White Warrior. A crown is placed on your head, My son. With justice you will judge. Lead this world back into My body, for you are My White Warrior.” God’s hand withdraws and His horse stands. His image flickers in and out then looks to Mitchell. “And he will be My sword. Together you will bring My children home, for there is a war in Heaven and I need their love returned to Me.” A red syringe rolls across the floor and stops at my foot.
God leaves me in that instant. I feel a moment of clarity, though the pain returns with much violence. I barely have the syringe in my hand before injecting half of its contents into my arm. I turn and plunge the other half into Mitchell’s arm.
Chapter 1.32
Isabella:
After the Pioneer was attacked by the tower of dead people, I’d gone below. There was Markus. He’d just saved Rice’s life with an injection from a red syringe; the same type of syringe that I’d gotten when I’d launched the EMP rocket. “How did you get that?” I ask. The boat rocks and I grab a wall handle to steady myself. I’m slick with blue gunk but I don’t care.
A filthy and bloody Josh joins us in the dining room. I give Josh the meanest look I got. He freezes. A glob of brain matter rolls off his splattered medical mask. Markus puts the syringe into a medical pouch then tucks it into his pocket. He takes a deep breath. “I got the syringe and two others like it. They were mailed to me over two weeks ago along with a note. It said I was saved. That God loved me.”
“Why’d you get three of them?” I ask. My fist tightens.
Markus shrugs. He puts a hand on an unwounded part of Rice’s leg and holds it there. He takes a deep breath. “The note said they were from Zilla. I assumed I was meant to save some souls,” Markus answers.
I don’t know what to think. Who else was given syringes? Who else was chosen to survive, and why?
“What’s in the syringe?” Josh asks.
“It would seem that the syringe contains an anti-virus.”
“You have vaccines?!” Josh blurts out. Blue shit spatters everywhere as he flings out his skinny arms. “I almost died!” he yells. “Infection rate is over ninety percent! I. . .I’ve been wearing this mask all this time!”
Markus shrugs. “I’m sorry, son. If you get infected like Rice, I will share with you. You are a part of us, too.” He looks at me. “I don’t know why I got three. Maybe I’d touched someone’s heart. I had a big congregation. I reached my audience through a prime time spot on Sunday morning television. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t always successful. After an eye opening trip to Tunisia, I found my followers. Or, I should say, they found me.”
“You’re a liar!” I scowl. I’ve never trusted Markus and I’ve never known why. Maybe it was because he claims to talk to God. I pull my shotgun off my back and point it at him. “I should blast you right now!”
Markus holds his hands up. He doesn’t look scared. Maybe because he’s fuckin’ crazy.
Josh reaches out. “Can I have the dose? I don’t want to wait until those worms crawl into my skin.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t give it to you,” Markus says. “You’re not infected yet.”
Hana comes down the ladder. “What’s with the yelling?” The girl is similarly splashed with guts.
“Markus hid three doses of the vaccine from us.”
Josh is so angry I expect steam to burst from his ears any second. “I get a dose. I need it!”
Tanis and Ian come down the ladder and shuffle into the space.
“What the hell?” Ian asks.
Hana says, “Markus had three vaccines in red syringes and just dosed Rice with one.”
Ian raises his hands. “Everyone up top. I think there’s a discussion we need to have.” The boat is anchored to a mooring ball in a much wider area of the inter-coastal waterway. He stands by the helm, his voice calm. “No one gets the anti-virus. Not until you show signs of infection. That’s the way it should be.”
“But!” Josh yelps. “I want to know why he’s got three vaccines! It doesn’t make any sense. If. . .if there was a cure out there then why did everyone die? Where was the CDC? The government?!”
My shotgun is still pointed at Markus. “You got that right, Josh. This is some fucked up shit here. That red syringe is inside stuff. You got to be close to Zilla to get one of those. Maybe you got to be the boogie man himself to have three.” My trigger finger feels tight on the cold steel. “Ben, get the Bible.” Ben goes down into the boat and returns with Markus’ Bible. “I wasn’t sure before, but now I am. I watched Markus writing a few days back. It reminded me of something. Ben, flip the book open to any page with notes in the margins and show it to Ian.”
Ian inspects Markus’ writing. “Hmm.”
“Fucking familiar, isn’t it?”
Tanis takes the Bible and Hana looks over his shoulder and so does Ben.
Ian folds his arms across his chest. “So, you’re Zilla?” he asks Markus.
Markus laughs and wipes blue crap off his bald head. He takes a turn looking at everyone on board. “I am God’s humble servant.” I bash the butt of my shotgun on his head, a glancing blow that splits his skin. He falls to his knees.
Tanis leaps on me like a cat. “Stop, Isa!”
I grab Tanis’ neck and kick at his knee. Tanis falls.
Ben comes at me, but when my eyes fix on him, he stops. I turn and point my shotgun at Markus. “You’re dead, old man!”
Hana kicks my gun and I lose grip. The gun clatters and slides in the slick blue muck. I turn, but she’s fast. Her elbow bashes my head. I pull back and bring up my hands. I hear Ian yelling for us to stop, but I don’t. I step twice toward Hana and fake a kick, then punch. My fist cracks her nose. As I punch again my fist is grabbed. She twists my arm around my back and holds me there.
“Hana! Isabella!” Ian pulls us apart.
I twist around and sock Hana in the stomach. Ian falls on me but my head snaps back and butts his nose. I step back, fists up. “Fucking get me off this boat!” I scream. I slip on the blue blood but maintain my stance.
Hana has her gun pointed at me. “I will shoot you, Isabella.”
Great, the fucking cop
is on her throne. “You’re gonna have to.”
Ian approaches with his hands up. Red blood spills from his nose and mixes purple down his neck. “Ben has Markus at gun point. He’s not going anywhere. If you would calm the fuck down for a minute we can figure this out.”
My blood pumps hot. I can throw off all these assholes and take this boat to Cuba by myself. I should. I see Tanis sitting on his knees, crying, and holding his neck. I feel bad for grabbing him so hard.
“We have to survive ourselves,” Ian says. He gets closer, within range of my fury, but I’ve cooled without even knowing it. Ian puts his hands on my shoulders. “This has always been about surviving ourselves.”
“Markus is Zilla. I know it.” I lower my fists. I feel like crying again, but I hold it in. “He deserves to die.”
“I agree.” Ian turns to Markus. “I know you’re Zilla.”
Markus stands tall and points at me. “And who art thou? To cast the first stone? You, Isabella, firing off the EMP for money?” He points to Ian. “How about the virus you spread? It wasn’t a coincidence that the nurses, doctors, and police and the Guard got sick first? Tanis? I love how you installed the virus on your father’s computer. You see? We are all Zilla. We are but humble servants of God.”
I turn to Ian. Without saying a word he nods. I run across the deck to Markus and grab him. He doesn’t fight back, but holds his hands clasped at his chest. I spin him around and push him to the lifeline.
“And Hana! I love that you opened the quarantine, giving the infection rate a helping hand.” He grabs the lifeline. “It was Ben that worked the bacteria into the water. You’re all God’s pawns. We all are!” He cranes his neck around to face us. “You were all so eager to believe the propaganda I fed you. You’re like children. Ian, you float between anarchy and socialism and you don’t really understand either. You can’t have it both ways, brother! You bought every paranoid conspiracy theory you ever read.” He turns to me. “And your greed got you far in life, didn’t it, Isa?”
6th Horseman, Extremist Edge Series: Part 1 Page 26