The other man looked up, startled at the interruption. It appeared to take him a moment to get his bearings, then he nodded. Was he slipping more by the minute? His condition would require close monitoring throughout the night. Just one more complication in a plan full of them already.
"Can you handle this?" Saul asked him.
"I've handled all of you for twenty years," Thompson snarled, "I think I can deal with one or two for a few minutes!"
Very close monitoring.
"We're in this together, Thompson. We work together tonight, then we never have to see each other again, if that's what you want."
The older man's features softened slightly, leaving just the faintest trace of a scowl as he replied. "Yeah, I got it. I'm just not used to taking orders from an inmate. But this is your show, you can count on me."
Saul looked into his wild eyes, didn't like what he saw, but nodded anyway. There was no time for changing plans or minds, this was the team he had to work with. A ten year old girl and an overweight, mildly insane correctional officer. Was there any more fitting team for a recovering alcoholic, PTSD-suffering, disgraced Staff Sergeant to lead to a post-apocalyptic battle against a killer U.S. Attorney?
Thinking of it in those terms brought a laugh out of his mouth before he could think better of it. Noting the questioning looks on his companions' faces, he decided not to explain. They can think I'm losing it a little, it'll keep their minds off of their own problems.
So he walked out the back door, his team following. The odds weren't in his favor, but however it all shook out, this town would be won or lost tonight.
Maybe his soul would be, too.
94
"Not yet, not yet, not yet..." Thomson whispered to himself. The mantra had been running through his mind and lips nonstop since he was told to wait when they first set up shop in the abandoned house behind town hall. It was good to not be alone anymore. His brethren who fell at Tanlau would always be with him now, and their memory was all that allowed him to stomach the presence of this demon and his little slave.
Now that was a connection he couldn't even begin to understand. Kids were supposed to be more sensitive to the truth of a man. Saul may have fooled some of the staff who were older and less in-tune with their intuition, but a mere child should have been able to see through the act; the real character should have been clear.
This only left two options for the girl: either she was being controlled by him, or she was a demon herself. If it was the first option, she needed to be rescued. If it was the second, well, Chris would have to deal with her then, too. It would give him no pleasure, but who was he to deny the will of the divine?
"Ready for this?" Saul asked when they reached the end of the building.
With a dry mouth and a racing heart, he nodded. A star fell silently over the horizon; Thompson was certain that it would come crashing into this barren land, avenging the blood of all those who whispered in his mind. Only when it faded from sight without ending eternity did he lurch across the yard to shelter behind a large dumpster a dozen or so moonlit lawns from the door Hutchins had emerged from hours ago.
He discreetly examined the man next to him. Having abandoned the clean-cut disguise he wore in the prison, the wild eyes burned with a fire that could only be a reflection of hell itself. This was who he would enter the lair of his arch-enemy with. Only the demon's desire to depose its master would keep it from turning on him. That lust for power would only hold for so long, though. Thompson must remain vigilant.
With the grace of a lifelong thief, Saul slipped through the alleys to take a position next to the door. Chris followed more conspicuously; the shadows wouldn't cloak him as they did his shadow-souled companion. Breathing hard after the short exertion, he did his best to emulate the felon on the other side of the door. Both men drew their weapons in unison, a fact that gave him chills for its implication of teamwork. Saul made eye contact and silently mouthed the countdown: "Three...two...one."
At the end, he pushed through the door and disappeared into the entryway so quietly the rustle of his clothes could barely be heard over the whispers. Chris followed without delay.
In the rear corridor of the cozy building, the only light spilled in from the main hall to their right. Saul didn't hesitate to approach that door, crouching calmly where he could peek around the corner. What nefarious childhood activities could have taught him these skills? Only a compulsive criminal or a trained soldier could have moved like that, and the officer's instincts told him that this man was no veteran.
His palms were sweating as he crept up behind the enemy of his enemy. The thought of putting a bullet through his head was enough to send the dead men of Tanlau into a frenzy, but saner voices prevailed. He still needed this one.
Heavy footsteps echoed overhead, a reminder of the true prize.
With a commanding wave to follow, the monster in front of him went low into the hallway leading to the stairs. Angry at his instinctive obedience, Thompson shadowed him through an empty passage lit only by dimly burning camp lanterns.
Saul seemed to grow more confident--or maybe desperate--as the pair made their way through the base of these devils, pausing less at doorways and moving more swiftly between them. He considered the possibility of some telepathic ability to sense the other demons, but quickly dismissed it as fantasy. If he was to fulfill his calling, he could not dwell on silly notions of these beasts having supernatural powers. He was fairly certain that if he faced a threat of that magnitude, his deceased co-workers would warn him.
Within minutes they were mounting the central staircase of what could have been a deserted building if not for the occasional footsteps from the second floor. Flickering firelight seeped out under the door directly at the top of the steps. The doorway was a grand affair, obviously the central showpiece of the old building. Characteristically silent, Saul melted into the shadows writhing to the left of the door and motioned for him to take the right.
At this range, whimpering could be heard from the chamber, as if recent begging had devolved into an acceptance of fate. An out-of-character look of concern passed fleetingly across the face of his ally.
"He must be stuck in that good-guy role he plays."
A finger shot to Saul's lips before Chris realized he was speaking out loud again. Footsteps flew across the room toward the door and he knew they were caught. Sinking back further into the shadows, his mind filled with the rage of dead colleagues and the self-doubt that he only rarely admitted feeling. The convict didn't notice, instead concentrating on the opening door with gun raised steadily.
Torchlight blazed into the hall as the double doors were thrown open simultaneously. A mountain stood across the threshold, with eyes that flashed like black lightning being cast down from Heaven. He was beautiful in the way that death is beautiful at the end of a prolonged illness: it seems like a sweet relief, but it only begins the real decomposition. If Thompson had known God's name he would have called it in that moment; such was the awesome power of facing the devil they called Prophet.
In the blink of an eye Hutchins was smiling so warmly he would have been crowned Miss Congeniality, had he been female and prone to competing in beauty pageants.
"David! So glad you came back, I have been hoping we could continue our last conversation. And--is that? It is! Officer Thompson! You have no idea how I hoped to see you again after our time together at my former home."
Never in mankind's history have such polite words dropped the temperature in a room so much. His blood ran colder than the icy delousing showers disrespectful inmates always seemed to need. For the first time he questioned his divine calling and considered throwing himself over the railing instead of looking into this monster's eyes for a single second more.
Saul, with his demon-power, was predictably unaffected by his master. "Back inside, Prophet. On your belly with your arms spread nice and wide. Do you have any weapons on you?"
"David, I'm hurt. I rarely touch weapons, I prefer reason
to violence," Hutchins objected, but smoothly followed instructions to the letter.
With the hulking figure out of the doorway, Chris got his first glimpse into the room. His vision slid over the oak paneled walls, eerily lit by torchlight, before being drawn to the pile of bloody clothing in the middle of the floor. Only when it whimpered again did he realize that it covered a living thing.
Saul interrupted his study with more terse orders. "Thompson, check Lionel for weapons, I've got Hutchins."
Confused--and more than a little embarrassed by his oversight--he scanned the room for the Prophet's right-hand man. But he wasn't there. Was Saul losing his mind? Only the unlikely duo, Hutchins, and the dead men telling him to kill the inmates occupied the chamber. And the whimpering, bleeding clothes.
He almost retched when he realized the mess on the floor was a human being. Or, at least, an inmate. The whispers grew louder as he approached the man on the floor; they reassured him fervently, settling his stomach and affirming his commitment to repay the violence that took them.
In moments the officer had performed the most disturbing pat-down of his career--no weapons, but at least a half-dozen broken bones. Saul had restrained and searched Hutchins and now had him sitting against the wall next to the door. The prisoner lost none of his smugness with this change in power, a fact that unnerved him greatly.
His captor crouched a few feet in front of him, looking intently into the eyes of evil. Between the two of them, there was no telling how many they had killed, or worse.
"Well, David, I take it this means you won't be joining me?" Hutchins asked without a hint of sarcasm in his voice. The man's composure was just one more inhuman trait. "How about you, Mr. Thompson? I imagine you're unemployed at the moment; can I interest you in a position with my crew?"
Chris was stunned at the audacity of the beast. To try and recruit him of all people. The very man who had been chosen to exact righteous vengeance on this circle of demons, and Prophet thought he would join him?
Rage filled his reply. "You have no idea who you're talking to! I was Called to destroy you and your pack, not join you. The blood of my brethren calls out for revenge from the wreckage of that holy battleground, Tanlau!"
Both Saul and Hutchins stared at him for a moment before looking at each other.
"A bit melodramatic, isn't it?" the captive asked.
"Been a rough couple of days, and in his defense, you are pretty much pure evil."
"That's a matter of perspective. I maintain that the general public is getting what they wanted from me."
"This guy is insane," mumbled Chris to his co-workers.
"Are you kidding me?" he continued in a voice meant for the living ones in the room. "You think this is what people wanted? They never wanted you roaming the countryside! They never wanted you back at all!
"Don't you see that they gave you to us to dispose of? They took away your rights to vote, bear arms, and hold most jobs. Does that sound like a people who want you to pay for your crimes and then rejoin society? No, because they know what I know: Once a criminal, always a criminal!"
Whispers turned to shrieks in his head and he knew that this testimony was an epic demonstration of his power over the evil of Hutchins' gang. It was obvious who the real prophet was.
"Society saw you for what you were long before you were convicted of anything. You're all monsters and deserve death. Five years, ten years, life...all of those sentences are jokes to give you false hope. We, the prison system, exist to ensure you never make it back to the streets, and if you do, you won't last there long. We are over eighty percent successful at bringing you back to our system; you can't escape us!
"That is what people want! Screw rehabilitation, it's a pointless waste of time and money when we already know you'll never be more than a vicious dog, begging to be put down! So put you down we do. And if we can't kill your body, we make sure your soul never breathes again!"
Silence swallowed the room and even ruled his mind for the first time since leaving the tomb that had been a prison. There could be no more denying the true nature of his calling anymore; that simple distillation of truth was so brilliant, he wouldn't be surprised if Prophet himself begged to return to his rightful place behind bars.
A faint chuckle sounded as if through a tunnel, slowly growing closer and louder until the whispers and his own ragged breath joined the quiet cacophony. Reality slammed back into place with such force that it threated to throw him to the ground.
"Never mind, Officer Thompson, there is no need for you to join me." Hutchins spoke with a voice full of awe, but his eyes showed true fear. "You are me."
Before Chris could respond to the blasphemy, the gunshot tore all their attention away.
95
Lisa crawled out of the scrum as the crack of death filled the air. The surging crowd paused, frozen as the brutal reality of revolution crashed home with the retort of a pistol. In the direction of the sound, she saw Rachel lying still against the wall. It suddenly occurred to her that they wouldn't all get through this alive.
Next to her friend was a fallen guard, unmoving as blood slowly pooled around him. Her first instinct was from years of training, but she repressed it in favor of the necessities of war.
She climbed to her feet, the first movement in the gym since the shot. The tall guard--the one who had killed Eve--held a smoking gun at the entrance. The conflict evident in his face was staggering.
His voice sounded lost as he turned to her and spoke. "They'll be coming now. Get ready."
Lisa broke into a run toward Rachel, who had finally scrambled up and hugged her tightly. "She's alive!" she whispered fiercely, "My baby is alive!"
"What? How?" Lisa was stunned, barely able to process the information or understand how she learned it. But there was no time for discussion, the rest of the gang was on the way.
As the crowd regained its collective motion, four of the men approached, armed with the weapons taken from the unconscious guards. John moved directly to the bleeding man and took his gun and ammo pouch. He turned to the women and handed the pistol to the nurse.
"John, I don't even know how to use this. You keep it."
"No, Lisa, the people need a strong leader now. Just carrying it makes you look able to take care of yourself. It's point and shoot, like a cheap camera with bullets. If anyone gets close enough to threaten you, you'll be able to defend yourself."
Pointing at two of the armed men, he fell into his old mayoral form, calmly ordering them to take up positions at the door. He called the third gun-toting citizen over before pointing to Lisa.
"Ray, you stay with Lisa here and watch her back at all times."
"John, I don't need--"
"Don't argue with me. You're our Joan of Arc, we need you on your feet if we're going to pull this off."
"Well what about you?" she argued.
"That's why I'm taking a rifle instead of the handgun. I'm headed up there to cover you all." John pointed to the collapsed corner of the roof.
Tactically it made sense, to her amateur eye. From that vantage he could wreak havoc on the posse outside, as well as keeping the door to their stronghold covered. While they had numbers and momentum, they were still outgunned and vulnerable.
He held out an old, weathered hand to the young lady. "Lisa, thank you for giving us our spirit back. However this ends, know that the people of Webster will be forever grateful to you for that."
She shook his strong hand firmly, the respect in his stance making her stand up taller than her diminutive frame should have allowed. "Good luck, John."
Shots rang out from the door, immediately followed by returning fire splintering the doorframe. Panic took the people, turning like a rolling tide to the far side of the gym. Lisa and her bodyguard fought the current, rushing to the aid of the men at the door. Rachel met them there, eyes still tear-stained from a very dramatic few minutes.
"He left," she began frantically. "He shot the other guard, told us
to get ready, then ran away."
Unsure how she felt about that development, Lisa just nodded. One shot did not make a trusted ally, no matter how vital the timing of it had been. She would trade a dozen conflicted felons for one David Saul right now.
Wishes would not keep these people alive, however, so in his absence the unlikely leader did her best to think like him. If she could do that, Webster might just exist when the sun rose.
96
Adam scrambled away from the gym into a warm night filled with drunken screaming. What had been a crowd enjoying an abundance of homemade hooch on the football field behind the school had become a drunken mob surging toward the sound of his gun.
Prophet had given very specific instructions that no weapons were to be fired except in emergencies. Now he witnessed a trend he remembered from his partying days before getting locked up: drunk people love to help out in emergencies. Luckily, he managed to slip into the shadows before they rounded the corner and spotted him. He considered his options, none of which appealed to him at the moment. Joining the crowd that was about to raid the school just seemed silly after killing a man to help the people imprisoned there. Of course, teaming up with those prisoners against experienced killers also seemed less than intelligent. What had he been thinking?
Making up his mind, Adam set off in the direction of Main Street. His destination was not any of the looted shops, or even the Temple. Stables just a block south of the main strip held the horses the gang had stolen from Santa Maria, as well as a few locals. It was time to say goodbye to Webster.
Gunshots sounded behind him and Adam turned and froze. His heart screamed at him to help the innocents, but his mind wouldn't give that order to his legs. He said a silent prayer for the people, and was amazed how good it felt to pray again, even in a situation like this. For a second he wondered if God would still listen to someone who had done the things he had done. Finally, he turned and resumed his escape.
He took two steps before plans changed. Three figures moved toward him through the moonlight. Caught moving away from the action would take some explaining.
Early Release Page 18