“I am a man of my word. I swore an oath to my country, an oath that I’ve kept.”
“Ah, a military man? No. Not military. Your look is too uncouth. Unorthodox.” He pursed his lips. “Something more covert. An undercover agent? DEA or something?”
“I worked for the government.”
The pastor nodded, a seemingly comprehending head maneuver.
“Pay unto Caesar what is his, but Steele, you’ve forgotten to pay unto God what is his as is written in the Bible,” the pastor lectured. His chin rose slightly as if Tess and Steele were his parish.
“We aren’t here to banter fucking gospel, preacher. What about Pagan?” Tess said, piping up from Steele’s side. Steele could feel the angry energy ebbing off of her tiny frame.
“Yes. Mr. Pagan. He is serving a penance through manual labor.”
“Penance?! For what?” she said, exasperated.
“For his sins. He was such a misguided man, but I have faith God will yet touch his soul.”
“He doesn’t need penance,” she said.
The pastor smiled, lips pressed together. “Everyone needs penance. Follow me.”
The pastor passed through the middle of them, walking out in front. He marched through the heaping piles of coal.
“Plenty of coal here. We could supply this plant for years if not longer. If we could get a good enough presence, we could supply entire communities with power. God willing, we could supply hundreds, if not thousands, of people with power. We would need them to be in the local area, but my men assure me we could fix the transformers and scrap the rest of them for parts.” Steele didn’t know if he spoke the truth, but there was a ton of coal piled up. Coal was a resource they could still use, power plant or not.
The old man had long strides. He quickly brought them back around the coal plant. Hundreds of cars, trucks, and semis sat in the plant parking lot. “We have enough vehicles to keep up constant supply lines between communities. We can send out scouting parties. Bus people without a place to our communities. We could set up new settlements. My people already travel far and wide eradicating those who’ve come back to our realm as Satan’s Legion.”
Steele breathed hard looking at all the cars. They have so many more than we do. “A worthy cause,” Steele said to him. The more dead they slew the less Steele may have to face.
The pastor nodded. “Yes. It is the most important of causes. Jesus crusaded against death, and now, we do as well.”
Steele bent to Tess. She turned her ear. “We cannot win a war against these people,” he whispered to Tess. She frowned, eying all the cars.
“Keep following me,” the pastor said with a friendly wave. They tailed him. People from the power plant watched them as they walked by. They bowed their heads to the pastor in reverence.
He stopped in an open field that once looked like it was used to set trailer beds. Weeds grew in the gray gravel-covered grounds. Armed men stood about talking as if they awaited them. An eight-foot beam stood straight out of the ground, dark and charred ashes mounding at the base. Steele’s gut spiked adrenaline. This does not look good.
“Steele and Tess. I have shown you what this place can be. I have given you a glimpse of the Kingdom of God on Earth. We have the opportunity to shed God’s light along this entire west coast of Michigan. We have the opportunity to share this with everyone. To rebuild life. To save people’s souls and destroy the devil where his ugly head shows itself.” The pastor squeezed his fist together in a ball.
“What do you want from us?” Steele said.
The pastor let his hand fall to his side and he looked up at the sky. “It’s not what I want. It’s what he wants. I can only fight for your souls.”
“So you’re taking your orders from a magical gray-bearded man in the sky?” Tess interjected.
The pastor did not smile at her. The look in his eyes said his tolerance was wearing thin.
“That isn’t helping,” Steele said to her with a terse look.
She turned on him. “So what, muscle brain? You take your orders from a person who lives on a cloud too?”
“No, I didn’t say that, but we’re trying to come to terms, not insult our host.”
“He’s right. You can do whatever you want, Pastor,” she groaned.
“Thank you, my daughter.”
“I’m not your daughter.”
His long face nodded in acknowledgment of her wishes. “If only I could have found you sooner.”
“Pastor, I’m impressed with your operation. You’re capable of good force projection.” Steele eyed the armed men standing around. Confidence hung about them, not a military confidence, but one of men that held a certain righteousness in their favor. A fervor of a gang of like-minded men. Not a fight I want today. “What are your terms?”
The Chosen men shuffled on their feet, guns gripped in hands. They all watched Steele and Tess with fervent eyes as if they waited to administer their religious justice upon the two unarmed people at any moment.
The pastor clasped his hands in front of him. “It’s clear that at the very least some of my followers have been slain. I will not ask why. Peter is level-headed, and I wouldn’t expect it to be his fault,” he stopped, giving Tess a dirty look.
“Mistakes were made. I regret that, but Peter is alive,” Steele said.
The pastor nodded his head. “Sometimes God takes our sons and daughters before their time, but this was a part of his plan. I will not claim to understand why he does what he does.”
Tess huffed next to Steele. Her arms crossed in anger over her chest. Steele tried to tune her out.
“But I think we can make a deal,” the pastor said. He waved a hand at his men. “Bring out Pagan.”
Tess tensed at Steele’s side as a man appeared between two of the Chosen. “Pagan!” she shouted. Pagan pulled at the men holding him. They pushed him forward, leading him to the charred, thick beam stuck upright in the ground. They wrapped a rope around him and tied him to the post.
“Tess,” Pagan shouted.
“What are they doing?” Tess asked.
The pastor turned back to his men. “They are preparing him for purification.”
“Purification? What the hell does that mean?” Tess asked. Her voice rose an octave.
“Tess, you need to go,” Pagan pleaded from across the field. His face was swollen where he had been beaten. Men tossed dry kindling near his feet. They stacked wood around his legs.
“Like you purified the homes down the coast,” Tess spat.
The pastor lifted his chin high into the air and smiled. “You’ve seen some of our pacification of the countryside.”
This bastard can’t be serious. This isn’t how terms are met. “Pastor, I thought we were coming to terms?” Steele said, words rushed. “Why are we talking about purification?” Each moment this conversation continued, it spiraled further out of control.
“Sometimes people don’t understand the gravity of a situation. The fight for men’s souls is sadly never done nor easy.”
Tess took hasty steps forward. Guns were brought to shoulders. Revolvers were cocked. All were pointed at the two outsiders.
“Pagan,” Tess sobbed at the man. Steele stepped forward and pulled her back away.
“Careful, Tess. We don’t want a misunderstanding,” the pastor said, his voice chilly as a winter morning.
Steele cast his eyes from Pagan back to the pastor, his heart rate going faster and faster. This shit is about to hit the fan, his mind shouted.
“Peter’s not here. We cannot make the trade today even if we wanted to,” Steele pleaded.
“While I want Peter back, it’s not the only thing I want to come from this negotiation.”
“What do you want?” Steele hissed.
“I want our people to be as one. I want you to join us. It’s better for your people.”
“We’ll never do that,” Tess spat. Steele held her with one of his arms tight around her tiny waist. The pastor’s
men laughed at her.
“I think I’ve given you two a lot to think about,” the pastor said calmly.
You sure have, you bastard. “Can you give us a minute?” Steele said.
“Why, of course.”
Steele turned to Tess, spinning her to face him.
“We can’t fight our way out of here. We can’t run. We can only listen.”
She looked back over at Pagan. Her eyes were filled with angry tears.
“Leave!” Pagan shouted. “Fucking leave!” Spit flew from his mouth. She gave Pagan a quick glance, but her attention was on Steele.
Her face got close to his. Her eyes glared at him. “I didn’t bring you in so you could fold at the first chance you got.”
His mouth tightened and he whispered. “I’m not folding. I’m listening to a man who has been pretty darn reasonable, considering that we gunned down eight of his people in the last week. A man who also has a vision, God-driven or not. Think about Pagan. We can still get him back.”
“I don’t like him. This isn’t right. He’s threatening us to get what he wants.”
“I hate that but let’s listen. It may be the only way we leave here alive,” Steele hissed.
Her mouth clamped.
They turned back to the pastor. His hands were clasped in front of his body.
“Tell us more,” Steele said.
“You will join God’s Chosen people. All of your people must accept Christ or be purified by fire.” His words were as matter-of-fact as if he had said the sky was blue.
Steele laughed a short laugh. “What do you mean purified by fire?” You know. It’s the way he said it, with all the confidence of a deeply religious man. You’ve seen their handy work.
“Mr. Steele. We’re building Christ’s kingdom on Earth. There’s no room for those on the sidelines. There are only God’s Chosen and those touched by the devil. Hear me. I’m giving you a second chance at peace. I’m giving you an opportunity to give life.” Thoughts of Gwen raced through his mind, followed by thoughts of his unborn child. All you have to do is join and they will be safe. All you have to do is say words you don’t believe in because they’ve been corrupted. No true follower of Christ would murder the innocent for not joining. Yet here we stand. Will you give up your freedom for safety? Will you make others give up their freedoms?
“We will not,” Tess shouted at him. Steele held up a hand in the air.
“We have Peter. Let’s trade and we will leave the area for good. No more conflicts. Nothing.”
“I’m not afraid of more conflicts with your tiny band, Mr. Steele, but you should be afraid of mine.” More men walked out into the field. All armed. Some held melee weapons: bats, metal bars, and knives. Almost all had guns. All were ready for a fight.
Fire seemed to burn in the pastor’s eyes as if he were watching his vision play out in real time. “I will burn your community to the ground and kill everyone inside. This is a crusade. God wills it. But,” he held up a long finger, “I’m giving you a choice. Just as God gave Eve and Adam a choice.”
Steele locked eyes with Tess. Her eyes smoldered with the ashes of her people’s lives and freedom. She would never give in, not even for a chance for peace. They may be all that was left of the United States. They may be the only people left in the world. At what cost do we make peace? What compromise do we make to stand against the true enemy, the dead?
Steele eyed all the armed men. The many. The Chosen. Steele was but one man. Unarmed. His only ally nearby, a scrawny unarmed woman. She would never submit, and as her comrade, neither could he. As much as he would suffer for his decisions, he could not submit. Submitting to this man was antithetical to what they believed in.
“I’m sorry, Pastor, you ask too much. We want there to continue to be peace between our groups, but we cannot join you by coercion.”
The pastor ran a finger along his temple, dragging down his cheek. “This is unfortunate.” He stared Steele in the eyes. The pastor’s eyes promised bullets sent for Steele and his friends. Steele knew he’d seen worse.
“I will pray for Peter’s soul,” the pastor said. The pastor waved his hand. A man bent low near Pagan. Pagan’s eyes met Steele’s, fear embodying them. Acknowledgment of his fate. Smoke plumed up from his feet. Pagan’s feet stamped up and down. Little yellow and orange embers grew into flames around his feet. His mouth opened, and he screamed.
JOSEPH
Cheyenne Mountain Complex, CO
Sirens blared in the hallway, the sound running along the walls. Awoogha. Awoogha. Worried, Joseph looked back at the door. They had been inside Byrnes’s office for hours.
“What’s going on?” Joseph said, covering his ears.
Byrnes’s face went sour like he’d eaten only lemons for weeks. “Lockdown.” He ripped open the top drawer of his desk and pulled out an M9 Beretta 9mm. He slammed a magazine inside and racked the slide back. He held the weapon pointed at the ceiling.
“Come on,” Byrnes said, standing. Joseph stood hesitantly. The lean colonel rounded his desk and pushed Joseph in the back until he was in the hallway. The sirens screamed even louder there. Joseph reached up and covered his ears.
Yellow lights spun overhead, hanging from the ceiling. Soldiers in black gear, MP5s strapped to their bodies, barreled down the hall.
“What’s happening?” Byrnes growled, reaching for one and grabbing him by his shirt.
The soldier stopped, eyes angry behind his black mask before realizing Byrnes was a colonel. His eyes cooled quickly. “Outbreak. Corridor Three.” Byrnes released him and he sprinted off. Byrnes turned to Joseph, but Joseph already knew.
“That’s where Rebecca’s room is,” Joseph said.
Byrnes’s thin jaw clenched. “You should head back to your room and lock the door.”
“I will not,” Joseph said. His voice bordered on more of a squeak, but determination was there too.
Byrnes nodded at him with a slight dip of his chin. “Fair enough.” He turned and chased the soldiers down the hall. Joseph followed behind him. They jogged, the pounding of feet echoing from the floor to the walls and back. White walls zipped by them in a blur.
They rounded a corner, and a squad of black-clad soldiers blocked their path. The man in the rear raised his MP5 9mm submachine gun, his masked eyes watching them. He lowered it a second later when he realized they weren’t infected. Joseph thanked God that his training allowed him to identify the threats before he unloaded a magazine into himself and Byrnes. The three other soldiers pointed guns down the corridor, poised and ready to shoot, but held their point of reference. Byrnes and Joseph stepped behind them.
“How many infected?” Byrnes asked.
“Only one, sir. The sensors in room C-3EB were tripped a minute and fifteen seconds ago.”
“Good response time, Sergeant.” Byrnes nodded to him.
Joseph stepped up on his tiptoes. A lone female stood down the hall and his heart sank in his chest.
His fears took his breath away, tightening his chest like a vise.
Her light blue medical gown hung limply around her. It was twisted lopsided as if she had gotten into a fight and hadn’t bothered to fix her clothes. Her dark auburn hair stuck to her neck as if she had succumbed to the disease in a feverish sweat. Her surgical mask hung to one side. Her chin dropped and she stared at them through her eyebrows.
“Background is clear. You are approved to engage,” Byrnes commanded. She chomped her jaws together at her former colleague, blood oozing from her mouth in response.
“No!” Joseph shouted. He brushed past them, stepping in front of their guns. The soldiers looked at him, dumbfounded by his actions. One reached for Joseph and he dodged him.
“Dr. Jackowski, what in the hell are you doing? Get back here,” Byrnes shouted.
Joseph held up a hand in the air. “Hold your fire,” he said. Joseph took a hesitant step forward. Rebecca saw him. She took a shaky step for him. A pale bare foot stepped his way.
&n
bsp; “Rebecca,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.
A low growl grew in her throat. She lifted her arm up. Blood dripped from the point where she had ripped away her IV. Her fingers curled into a hooked claw. Joseph took another cautious step closer. “If you’re still there, please go back to your room,” Joseph said, but he already knew.
She shambled down the hall. Her shoulders swayed unnaturally as if she had hurt both her legs. As she neared, he could see her eyes. Pale white orbs, as sure a sign as any that the infection had claimed victory over her body. Nothing remained of Rebecca, the doctor that he had fallen for. The doctor who had worked until her last breath to find a vaccine to save mankind. It had stolen her body, but never her soul. Now this husk hobbled down the hall, hoping to reach him to infect him as well. Kill. Reproduce. Kill. Reproduce. Killing was part of its reproduction cycle, and it wouldn’t stop until it completed its mission.
“Please go back,” Joseph sobbed. The wetness of the warm tears on his cheeks was distant. “We need more time,” he whispered. The living cadaver of Rebecca continued on for him, ignoring him like a jilted lover.
Out of the corner of his right eye, a black gun filled his vision. Boom. Fire burst from its barrel and Rebecca’s body became erect, almost as if she were suspended in the air. Her eyes met his, and for a brief second, he thought she was there again. It was like a flash of sadness had shone through the infection, longing for more time. Then it was gone.
A circular dime-sized black hole leaked a trickle of blood out from her eyebrow. The blood dripped down the ridge of her eye socket and around the curve of her mouth. Then she collapsed.
Her body folded onto the floor. She was a forgotten toy tossed away by a child. Her knees bent back and her arms flung to her sides like those of a tormented Shakespearian actor.
Joseph faced Byrnes. Joseph had known she was gone, but he had let himself hope. Hope is what torments the soul.
“Check out the rest of the corridor,” Byrnes ordered. He holstered his sidearm and the metal slid over the hard plastic. Black-clad soldiers ran past them, stepping around Rebecca’s body.
The Rising (The End Time Saga Book 3) Page 29