The Rising (The End Time Saga Book 3)

by Daniel Greene

  She nodded knowingly. “That’s why you have to do it. You have to do it for her. Little Sable is a good place. She’ll thrive there.”

  His mind wrestled with her words. Take leadership of a group of people I know nothing about for Gwen? I would do it in a heartbeat if there was any truth to it, but is there any truth to it? I will ultimately be responsible for all their lives. He clamped his mouth shut instead of responding.

  “I see an opportunity here in you. You need us and we need you. Without each other, we won’t make it,” she said.

  Everything seemed so far away except for the ghosts. They lingered behind the trees. They watched him from the shadows. Their dead eyes blamed him for not saving them. They followed him wherever he went. A ragtag band of his fallen people. The people of Little Sable Point will all haunt you when they are gone. Just like Jarl. And Wheeler. And Lindsay. And Andrea. And Barnes. And Nelson. And Mauser. The last name made him cringe. His best friend. Gone rogue. Their friendship dead. If we meet again, I’ll have to kill him.

  Tess watched him expectantly as if she already knew the right answer. A look that only women can give men.

  He ran a hand over the crest of his healing head wound, a reminder of what this world had to offer. The list is already so long. Can I add more to it and not break? “I don’t know if I can handle adding any more people to my list.” He breathed hard, frowning at this woman. This hearty twig of a woman. Her eyes glowed at him. Wiping her short pointy nose, she smiled a bit.

  “This is why you have to do it, because you care.”

  Can I do this?

  Tess reached out for him and he didn’t flinch. She tugged his beard a bit. “We need you,” she whispered.

  He shook his head at her. All the voices in his head screamed for him to run away. His gut told him it was the wrong thing to do. Logic told him he would only suffer for this decision, but something else hid deep down inside him. He drew strength from it like an eternal well within his soul.

  “I’m sure I’m going to regret this, but I’ll help until we find Pagan.”

  “Deal. Until we find Pagan.”

  “When we find him, I will step down as whatever it is I am.”

  “I will let you go then,” she said. Her smile said that he was hers forever.

  “I’m going to need your help to make it more organized and structured. Keep people safe. I’ll need volunteers to put together some kind of defense force. The Red Stripes are invaluable, but we have to be able to do it on our own.”

  “I think I can round up some volunteers. But no draft or any kind of martial law. You saw what that got us during the outbreak. A lot of dead people. We’re small enough that we respect people’s liberties.” Her dark eyes stated that she wasn’t one to not be trifled with.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Little Sable thrives because we allow freedom of movement into and out of the camp, respect of personal property, and equal treatment of men, women, and children.”

  “I’ll do my best, but we must set a foundation or we will never be more than a rabble easily destroyed by the infected.”

  She stuck out her hand close to him. “I hereby appoint you an official representative of Little Sable Point.” He shook her hand, locked in by his word and sealed by his handshake.

  “What? No secret handshake?” he asked.

  “Nope. What you see is what you get.” They released hands.

  “Come on, partner,” he said. He walked ahead of her, wondering if he was being chased or followed.

  THE PASTOR

  Northern Michigan

  The fires from the furnace cast an orange glow upon his followers as if they were burning in hell. They sat complacent in a haphazard set of rows awaiting his guidance, just as they had done before the end of the world. Except they were no longer in his megachurch on the outskirts of Grand Rapids but had taken refuge in the Temple Energy power plant.

  Isolated near the lakeshore, the coal power plant had proven a stable, protected base of operations for his followers. A sizable portion of his congregation had followed him out of Grand Rapids to the Lake Michigan shoreline.

  When the initial news reports of a deadly virus started spreading, they had congregated inside his giant warehouse-like church. They yearned for direction in the time of uncertainty, fearing their place in the world that God had turned his back on. They fled the city when the government had tried to keep them in place, his decision saving their lives.

  After fleeing the city on parish buses, others joined them. People lost and searching, God’s purpose shining through them. The others they had found were casualties of Armageddon, scared and alone with no one to help them. No one except God. The pastor accepted them as they accepted God’s virtuous light.

  “I am the smith of the Lord, and ever his humble servant. He has always known our path for he is omniscient,” the pastor said, spreading his arms wide as if he were a graceful crane welcoming his flock. He paced to and fro, letting the people indulge in his holy presence before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a piece of black coal. He rotated it in his fingers, holding it high so they all could see. They gawked as if he held the Hope Diamond, their eyes sucking in its very presence.

  “This is one of them. The media in all their corrupted wisdom called them sick. People were slaughtered for listening to their lies for they know nothing of God’s will. They were blind to what was happening.” Shouts of “aye” and “yes” punctuated from his followers.

  The pastor tossed the piece of coal into the air and caught it. “This.” He twisted it in his fingers. “This is Satan’s foot soldier. Some call them infected, but infected with what?”

  “Sin,” a boy shouted from the front row.

  The pastor gingerly bent down in front of the boy. “That’s right, Will.”

  The pastor stood back up, ignoring the pain in his back, and held the piece of coal up. “The government said to restrain them, but we knew better all along. We knew what they were capable of. We knew that they weren’t like us anymore. The doctors told us they were sick, but their souls were already gone, replaced with the devil’s own ilk. The disciple Mark warned about this in the Bible when Jesus removed the demons and sent them into the swine. They are many and they are Legion.”

  He held the piece of coal level with his eye. “We know that we are children of God and that the whole world is under the control of the evil one. The host of the dead was chosen by Satan himself to wipe mankind from the earth. They are many. Their sin pollutes everything they touch.” A few people shouted nos in the audience. A woman stood pleading, her arms in the air with despair.

  He nodded sadly, his thin clean-shaven face gaunt with sorrow. “We live in the most difficult time, but we need not be afraid because when we throw these devils into the holy fire of the Lord-,” he said, stopping in front of the large furnace behind him. He tossed the piece of coal into the furnace, and the flames crackled with molten hot fire leaping about. “He rejoices at our blessed acts.” His people nodded their heads, murmuring in agreement.

  “The more of the Legion you send back to the fires of hell that spawned them, the hotter God’s fire will burn in your hearts. It will burn so bright inside you, you will become like molten steel, smoldering with God’s love.” He locked his hands behind his back and continued his pacing.

  “I mold men in the fires of hell and beat them into instruments of God. Instruments of righteousness. This is what you are.” He pointed out at them. “You wage a holy war against Legion, against those marked by the beast and the unbelievers, against those who refuse to recognize his greatness.” His followers stood now, infused with the passion and power of his sermon.

  Gesturing for them to be seated, he gave a gentle wave to a man that stood nearby. He was lean and handsome, his wavy blond hair parted and combed over his head.

  “Come forward, brother.” He waved the man onward with his hand. “Many of you know my disciple, Matthew.” Matthew approached, taki
ng his place by the pastor’s side, holding his improvised wood-handled flail in his hands.

  “When Matthew came to us, he was scared and alone. He knew nothing of God’s love.” He looked at Matthew. “What was your occupation before Armageddon?”

  Matthew smiled at the crowd. He was accustomed to public speaking.

  “I was a bank manager at New Heights Bank in Comstock.”

  “What did you do as a bank manager?”

  Matthew’s smile faded and he cast his eyes downward. “I gave people bad loans, and when they defaulted on their payments, took their land and homes.”

  The pastor nodded his head knowingly. He narrowed his eyes, trying to understand. “And why did you do this, Matthew? Those were good people out there, only trying to make ends meet.”

  Matthew’s eyes filled with the tears of regret. “To make more money.”

  The pastor nodded. “Ah, yes. Greed. Greed is the sin of the many. Money infects all it meets. Yet you are here and one of the highest of God’s Chosen people.”

  Matthew turned toward the pastor. “When you found me, I was starving. I hadn’t eaten in over a week. I was locked inside the bank vault with nothing but a few bottles of water. The devil’s own terrified me.”

  The pastor patted Matthew’s shoulder. “You were like a child. A canvas of only needs, but your destiny was not to die.”

  Everyone’s eyes were completely enthralled with the sinful hero’s story. Children sat in the front row watching the men, elbows on their knees, hands underneath chins.

  “I have sinned. I know what it’s like to fall into temptation, but God has shown me the way. He rejoices every time we cleanse one of them from the earth. One club swing. One hammer swing. One bullet at a time.” The congregation openly cheered him on, now filled with the fervor of God.

  “Your destiny wasn’t to sin forever. It was to join the blessed. Tell me, Matthew. How many of Satan’s legion have you sent screaming back to hell?

  “Two hundred and twenty-six.”

  “Two hundred and twenty-six of Satan’s spawn he has destroyed. He has sent their tormented twisted souls back to hell. For evil hath no place while the righteous stand tall in the eyes of the Lord.” People shouted, filled with God’s love.

  “And how many do you expect to kill in the future?”

  Matthew’s full smile faded as he humbled himself in front of the congregation.

  “So many that the angels will rejoice.”

  “God wills it!” the pastor shouted, and his people chanted it in return.

  He raised his simple carpenter’s tool into the air, and they loved him for it.

  “Jesus was a carpenter, and therefore, I will use his tool to destroy the wicked. Sleep well tonight, God’s Chosen people, for tomorrow our noble crusade continues.” He bowed his head in deference to them, holstering his hammer on his belt.

  “May you walk in his image, brothers and sisters.” He nodded his thanks. He began his walk over to the floor manager’s office that he had commandeered as his quarters. His followers, his soldiers of Christ came to shake his hand, and it took him twenty minutes to get inside the small room. I give them hope where life only gives them despair.

  Once inside, he closed the door, sitting down at his desk. I must keep the fire of the Lord hot or we will lose this battle for his Kingdom is small and the devil’s great.

  Shuffling some papers, he glanced over maps of the area. They’re here somewhere. A group of survivors had been evading him for weeks. They hid somewhere along the coast. He would annex them, and God’s Kingdom would grow. Fresh recruits to swell his ranks, or if they were evildoers, they would be purged and their supplies commandeered for his warriors of God. After thirty minutes of outlining the area where he had sent his scouting parties, he let his eyes close for a moment in silent prayer. Give strength to this old body, O’ Lord. Lend me your wisdom. Lend me your power.

  A light rapping on the door forced him to open his eyes. “You may enter.”

  A broad man with a curly blond hair entered, bowing his head a bit.

  “Peter, how can I be of service to you, my son?”

  “It’s one of the scouting parties.” Peter eyed the floor, wringing his hands together as if he were eight years old and caught stealing a cookie.

  “Yes. Go on.”

  “Luke’s party found some people.” The pastor leaned forward Peter receiving all his attention. They can’t evade me forever.

  Peter’s eyes darted back and forth. “Well, actually only one person. The others received purification.”

  The pastor intertwined his fingers in front of him, considering the information.”I see. I do hope Brother Luke remembers my edict regarding the purification of nonbelievers.”

  Little beads of sweat formed on Peter’s forehead. “I believe Brother Luke does. The nonbelievers were hostile. Brother Mathias and Brother John were killed.” Hostile.

  “This is sad news, but God sends us good with the bad. Remember that, Peter. There is always a blessing in bad news.” The pastor stood, a black-clad wraith.

  “Show me our captive. Then I would like you to give extra rations to Brother Mathias’s wife and to Brother John’s mother. You will ensure that they are provided for. God cares for all members of his community.”

  “It will be done.” Peter bowed his head.

  “Now, take me to the prisoner.”

  They cut through tents, sleeping bags, and makeshift privacy shelters, flanked on all sides by dull gray piping connecting and curving up and down the walls. They burnt only a small amount of coal, barely turning one of four heavy turbines with the water they heated to steam by the furnace, creating enough electricity for the plant. They would not go cold this winter on the harsh Michigan lakeshore. He had seen to that.

  The pastor’s shoes scuffed down the corridor with a whisk whisk as he walked. Peter’s boots thudded along behind. At the end of the corridor, near the coal fire furnace, was a room. Brothers Luke and Anthony stood outside the room conversing in hushed tones.

  “Pastor. I’m pleased that you’ve come,” Luke said with a mean smile.

  “You are pleased to present me with one captive that could’ve been three?” the pastor said, mouth flat.

  “The unbelievers were rough, uncouth men. I could see no redemption inside them,” Luke said, wiping long strands of black hair out of his face, a thin chin jutting from his jaw.

  “That is not for you to decide. Only God knows the true hearts of men.”

  “But-,” Luke said.

  “You must exercise some prudence in the field, Brother Luke. Show me the captive.” Luke physically struggled, holding in his anger. If he wasn’t so devout, I would banish him from God’s Kingdom or purify him in God’s name.

  The pastor rested a fatherly hand on Luke. “You did well, Brother Luke.”

  Luke smiled, his canines a few millimeters too long. “Thank you, Pastor,” he said, putting a hand on the straight bar handle, lifting the piece of metal upward.

  It was dark. A man sat in a lone chair at the center of the room. The captive’s head was bowed, and his hands were tied behind his back. The pastor walked into the room, letting his steps fall with authority. The man let his head rise. Blood glistened on his stubbly brown beard, leaking from the corner of his mouth.

  “What’s your name, child?” the pastor’s voice came out hushed.

  The man’s lips twitched into a smile, blood staining his teeth as if he already bore the hated mark of the beast. The man’s smile grew as the pastor stepped closer. His smile is off-putting; he may be insane. Not the first person who has seen the devil’s work and had it break their mind.

  “The pastor asked your name, heathen,” Luke spat.

  The man’s eyes darted toward Luke with disgust, but he kept the smile on his face.

  “We will not hurt you anymore, child. Some of our brothers offer less tact than others. Peter bring him water.”

  Peter brought in a glass, holding it
to the man’s mouth. He drank greedily.

  “What is your name, son? All men have names. Even God’s lowest of followers. Speak freely; your soul is at stake.” The pastor loomed over him, an angel of judgment in black.

  The captive man spit blood on the floor and lifted his head back to the pastor, grinning outrightly now.

  “He’s broken.” He will not be the last. The pastor turned toward Luke. “Make an example out of him. He has nothing to offer God’s Kingdom,” he said with a wave of his hand. Luke loosened a long knife from his belt and licked his lips.

  “I’m not broken, Pastor,” the man said from behind. His voice was hoarse.

  The pastor turned, clasping his hands in front of his body. It was his turn to smile.

  “That is good, my son. Perhaps we can help each other. But you must have a name?” The captive’s cheek swelled on one side, puffing out like a golf ball.

  “My name is Pagan.”

  The pastor smiled. “Of course it is.”

  TESS

  Northern Michigan

  Dark white pine lined the sandy ridge stunted by the barren soil of sand and clay. They followed a white-tailed deer trail that ran along the top of the almost dune. Sticking her thumbs through her pack, she followed behind this broad-backed man she barely knew, a man she had joined forces with on the mere feeling in the back of her spine that she had done the right thing.

  He stalked ahead, a leader and protector, putting himself in harm’s way first. She had made relations with men like him in the past, but he was different. He carried a weight on his shoulders that would have broken weaker men, and she couldn’t tell if it was a general weariness from exhaustion or his thoughts and responsibilities that wore him down. Waving a hand, he silently called her to join him near a short fat pine. I wonder if he could fit those hands all the way around my waist.

  “What is it?” she asked. He crouched down, gesturing for her to join him.