Purge: Book Three: Last Days Trilogy

by Jacqueline Druga

  Buzz didn’t seem fazed at all. Reggie took comfort in knowing that he had been there several times. Perhaps the haunting feel of it all was normal.

  Calling out as he turned into the classroom, Buzz disappeared from view. “Hey Father Stewart, I...”

  The piano playing stopped.

  Reggie looked curiously at Michael, then Buzz flew out of the classroom and into the hallway, heaving forward, splashing an eruption of vomit to the floor.

  Reggie raced ahead. As soon as she turned into the room, her foot caught the dampness, and she slid across as if it were ice. Blood, fresh, red, at least an inch thick, carpeted the floor. In trying to stop, Reggie spun to the left and plowed face-first into a wall. Securing her stance, she turned around. Her body immediately went into spasms. All twenty children were in there, seated neatly at their desks, slumped forward, the blood still flowing from their slit throats.

  “Michael,” she whimpered as he walked cautiously into the room. Reggie wanted to bail out, run, until she saw that Michael didn’t look at the children, he looked toward the front of the classroom. Reggie turned clockwise. Her anguish was soon replaced with anger.

  A man stood from behind the piano. He was dressed like a priest, his face red and blistered, with boils seeping pus. Dark circles encased his yellow, beady eyes.

  Reggie moved closer to him.

  He gurgled a breath, then smiled. “Devante sends his best.”

  Eyes connected with those of the priest, Reggie lifted her revolver from her shoulder harness. Eerily calm, she extended it with a steady arm, pulled back the hammer and fired point-blank into the priest’s head. The shot failed to faze him. He flinched and then lunged. Without a thought, Reggie reached to her waist, grabbed her dagger and tossed it end over end into the center of Fr. Stewart’s throat, sailing him backwards. He wheezed a moan of torment as he slammed into the wall and burst into flames.

  The fire died just as fast as it ignited; his body dropped to the floor and shriveled. Calmly, Reggie walked to the body, bent down and retrieved her dagger.

  Michael said nothing. He took hold of her arm, leading her across the slick floor and out of the room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Seville, Ohio

  “This is stupid,” Marcus complained.

  “No, it’s not. Keep saying it,” Kyle instructed, walking far ahead of Marcus.

  Marcus groaned and spoke lamely. “Halt. Who goes there?”

  “No.” Kyle shook his head. “Try it again and raise the sword.”

  “Don’t be absurd. You’re doing this to make me be look dumb.”

  Kyle stopped walking and looked behind him. “Marcus, no amount of carrying that sword or barking out is gonna make you look any dumber than creating the anti-Christ. Now, practice.”

  “Halt. Who goes there?”

  “Stronger this time.” Kyle stepped on his porch and into his house.

  “Halt. Who... Are you sure this is what I’m supposed to say?”

  “Yes! You’re a goddamn sentry guard.”

  Eliza scolded him from the living room: “Kyle Stevens, mouth please.”

  “I’m trying to teach this son of yours to stand guard. Are those cookies done yet?”

  “Been done,” said Eliza, smiling. “But they aren’t for you. They’re for the children.”

  “Speaking of which.” Kyle looked at his watch. “It’s been a really long time. Burton City isn’t that far. What’s taking them so...” He heard the click of the front door. “Never mind.”

  Holding his sword, Marcus turned to the door. The sword dropped from his hand when he saw Reggie, her face and clothing splattered with blood. “Reg?”

  Silently, Reggie moved into his arms, face against his.

  “Reg? What happened?” asked Marcus.

  Eliza looked to Michael, then Buzz. “Where are the children?”

  Buzz raised his head. “They aren’t with us. I guess you can say they’re in God’s hands.”

  Eliza stepped back with a gasp.

  “How did it happen?” asked Kyle. “I thought they were safe.”

  Michael shook his head. “Nothing is safe, Kyle. Hell hath risen to God’s earth.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” Kyle snapped. “Did we lose somehow?”

  “No,” Michael answered. “It is all part of the war. A prelude to the final battle. What it means, Kyle, is exactly how it sounds.”

  Reggie pulled away from Marcus. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Where’s Seth?”

  “He’s upstairs,” Marcus answered. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She let out a long breath. “I need to see him. I really need to see him.” Reggie glanced around the room and walked away.

  Kyle watched his daughter move up the steps. He knew by her expression, Buzz’s demeanor and Michael’s tone, that what they’d witnessed was only the beginning.

  <><><><>

  Seth pouted. His face showed sadness, but Reggie was certain he didn’t quite understand. Nor did he understand why she had brought him into her room.

  Reggie saw something else, too. Impatience. No matter how understanding he tried to be, there was only so much consoling an eleven-year-old could do. Seth asked if he could go hang out with Marcus.

  It was time to release him. Reggie laid her lips gently to his forehead and whispered, “Thank you.”

  Seth began to scoot from the bed. “I’m sorry the kids couldn’t come.”

  “Me, too, Seth.”

  “It would have been fun. Pap-Pap said he was gonna make them all his grandkids.”

  Reggie chuckled. “That’s funny.”

  “Mom? You think you’ll ever have another kid?”

  Reggie tilted her head sadly. “It’s not easy for me to have children, Seth. My insides don’t work too well. Marcus had to help me out in order to have you.”

  “Really?” Seth asked. “I don’t look like him.”

  “Your dad and I supplied the makings, and Marcus put them all together.” Reggie winked.

  Seth nodded as if he understood.

  “Speaking of Marcus, you were looking for him, right?”

  “Oh yeah.” Seth walked to the door. He stopped. “Mom?”

  Reggie looked up. “Yes?”

  “Maybe Marcus can help you again? ‘Cause it’d be real sad if there were no other kids in the world.” Seth walked out, leaving the door open.

  <><><><>

  It didn’t fit in with Kyle’s usual country music, but the song worked. Sitting back in his old beat-up chair, Kyle rocked slowly, eyes closed, a cigarette held to his lips. The smoke spiraled up and around his face, but Kyle didn’t notice or mind. The radio microphone sat next to the music box playing, “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother.”

  Marcus had every intention of knocking, speaking out, until he heard the song. He leaned against the archway, an old tool belt holding his sword to his waist. As the song faded out, Kyle hit his cigarette and swirled his chair for the microphone. His head cocked in surprise when he saw Marcus.

  Marcus gestured for Kyle to continue, that he’d wait. He walked in and pulled up a chair.

  Sliding the microphone to his mouth, Kyle reached blindly and shut off the music box. “KSBA. Frequency Z709-er. Seville. Final evening broadcast. Is anyone out there? Respond.”

  Static.

  Kyle continued. “Well, I’m gonna assume you’re there. You know? And I’m going to talk to you, like it or not. We build in Seville, and are open to any of you who need to find their way to us. The only way we will beat this is if we fight. You’re not alone. I know you’re scared. I also know I come over these here airwaves and say the same thing every day. I’ll keep saying it. Responding to me ain’t gonna get you into any more trouble. If you think you’re safe in hiding, then you’re thinking wrong. He’ll find you. You know that. Some strange things happened today, as I think most of you are aware. Michael calls it ‘The Changeling.’ Basically, all those folks who believed in Dev
ante, followed him, well, they gave up their souls. He has no more use for them on Earth. He’s replaced them with some things I ain’t seen yet, but I can feel them. Can’t you?” Kyle paused to take a breath. “Listen to me. We’re the army getting ready to fight for your souls; we need soldiers. Before we go back to some brief music, I’ll do my usual twenty-second pause.” He spoke with passion. “Come on people, respond. The Bible says there are 144,000 of us. So where are you?” Kyle released the button and sat back.

  Quietly Marcus spoke. “Do you think anyone will respond?”

  “Michael says they will, eventually.” Kyle’s eyes shifted. “I like that Levi warrior look you have going.”

  Marcus chuckled. “I can’t believe I’m a watch guard.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “Your twenty seconds is up.”

  Kyle nodded and reached for the microphone.

  “It’s really sad,” Marcus said.

  “This whole day has been sad, Marcus. It sucks. If we don’t get more people, all the faith in the world isn’t gonna make an army of fifty defeat an army of darkness.”

  “Normally, I’d agree with you. But this time…” Marcus winked. “I’m holding out hope.”

  “For empty airwaves.” Kyle pressed the button and spoke. “A little longer than twenty seconds. Who but Marcus is counting, anyhow? Well, back to the music. Maybe tomorrow, someone will respond. Let me leave you with this. Tonight, when you lay down to sleep, when you close your eyes and pray to God for this madness to end… ask yourself how much God is gonna want to help you, if you aren’t gonna help yourselves. You’re still here on this earth. Have the guts to stand up and admit it. Over.”

  Marcus sighed. “Kind of harsh, don’t you think?”

  “Eh, I’m just frustrated.” Kyle moved the microphone to the music box. “Country?”

  Marcus shrugged. “What else?”

  Kyle was reaching for the music when a hiss of static blared from the radio. Marcus jumped up.

  “Stevens.” A male voice flowed from the speaker, brushed with static, occasionally cutting out. “Mr. Stevens… this is Clinton Davis. Father Clinton Davis. I couldn’t... through before. The radio... out. But … we’re here, Mr. Stevens. What do you need us to do?”

  Kyle couldn’t move. He had to take a moment. He breathed heavily, his shoulders dropped, his head lowered. “Thank you, God.”

  <><><><>

  It looked more like a campground than the farm Kyle had once envisioned. Dozens of campers and tents were set up, motorcycles parked around them, marked here and there by the smoke of campfires.

  Reggie wanted to find Michael before she turned in for the night. She received word that he was in the camp area. She thought perhaps Buzz had introduced him to drinking, hence the reason for Michael’s lack of return.

  Buzz introduced Michael to something all right; it had the angel mesmerized. About twenty feet from the camp, Michael stood still, staring. Reggie worried, until she drew closer and saw that Michael was watching Buzz and his wife. They sat alone, away from everyone, at a campfire.

  Reggie made her approach, and Michael turned his head slowly. “Ah, are you joining me?”

  “In spying?” Reggie asked. “No.”

  “I am not spying, Reggie. I am amazed.”

  “Yeah, they are pretty amazing.” Reggie folded her arms. “They’ve been together since high school, and they still love each other a lot.”

  “And I thought Mimi was a selfish person, but she gives affection easily to Buzz.”

  “Why would you think Mimi was a…” Reggie paused, and then snickered. “I get it. You mean Me, Me.”

  “Yes. She should be given a better name.”

  “She likes it. And… forget it. I’m going to bed. I’m tired and down. I just wanted to say goodnight.”

  “You had a very hard day,” Michael said. “Use it, Reggie, to forge forward.”

  “I’ll try. Good night. Are you coming with me?”

  “No, I am watching for a while.” Michael returned to his staring. “What does it feel like, Reggie? This touching of lips.”

  At first, Reggie teetered on being sarcastic, but then she saw the look on Michael’s face. He was genuinely curious. “Nice. It feels nice. It’s a form of affection, and it makes you feel good, too.”

  “Ah.” Michael faced her. “Then you should allow me to touch my lips to yours, because you need to feel good.”

  “It doesn’t work that way with everyone,” Reggie explained.

  “But it will with me. My affection will be like a medicine to your soul.”

  Reggie chuckled. “That’s a little egotistical, don’t you think?”

  “No. It is the truth. It is a gift from God.”

  “Michael, all affection is a gift from God.” She brushed her hand down his arm. “Good night.” She began to walk away.

  Michael nodded. “How does it work?”

  Reggie stopped. “How does what work? Affection?”

  “Touching lips? I do not understand how it breeds a feel of good.”

  Reggie returned and stood before him. “Remember that day when we were training, and your hands touched me, and your body touched mine? You liked it.”

  “Very much.”

  “It works the same way.” She saw his attentive look. “You really want to know about this.” Michael nodded; she moved closer to him. “Don’t jump away. Okay?”

  He nodded again.

  “I’m gonna give you a demonstration.”

  Michael smiled. “What a great idea. Demonstrating is a teaching tool.”

  Reggie snickered. “Yeah. Okay. Hug.” She widened her arms, stepped into Michael and gave him a squeeze, shoulder against his.

  “Oh,” said Michael. “That was nice. But I did not respond.”

  “That’s all right. That’s what we call a friendly hug. Some call it an A-trap embrace. It conveys fondness. But if you ever want to respond, or initiate, you just copy what you see or feel. Get it?”

  “Ah, yes, so if I want to deliver a friendly hug to Marcus, I would hug him the way I see Kyle hug you.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And if I wanted to touch my lips to Marcus in a friendly…” Michael stopped at Reggie’s laughter. “What? What is amusing?”

  “Nothing.” Reggie shook her head. “If you want to kiss Marcus in a friendly way to convey affection, you do this.” Tip-toeing up, Reggie planted a kiss on Michael’s cheek. “There. Or quickly, like this.” She darted a kiss to his cheek.

  “I see.” Michael nodded. “So to show you, I would do this.” Reaching out his hand, Michael inched into Reggie as he pulled her closer. Palm resting on her cheek, he tilted his head. His mouth touched hers tenderly, his lips moving only slightly. He lifted back a little, then whispered, “What does that convey to you, Reggie?”

  “Too much,” said Reggie, out of breath.

  “My heart beats fast.” Michael’s eyes locked onto Reggie’s; he moved closer and kissed her again. This time, his lips began to part, and Reggie sprang back.

  “Stop,” said Reggie, swallowing. “Where… where did you learn that?”

  “You.” Michael explained. “You and Marcus. Buzz and Mimi. The training film you showed. You said do what I see and feel. Was it wrong? Did it not feel good?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “Perhaps we should try again.” Michael inched forward.

  “No.” Reggie stepped back.

  “But if it feels good...”

  “Too much in one night, it’s uh, not good,” Reggie stuttered.

  “But Buzz and Mimi…”

  “Are gluttons,” Reggie nodded. “Yes, so, before we commit the sin of gluttony, I’m heading to bed. Thanks for the, um… yeah. Good night.” Hurriedly, arms tight to her sides, Reggie turned to leave.

  “Shall we save some more for tomorrow then?” Michael called out.

  Without stopping, Reggie responded with a non-thinking, “Yeah, sure.” O
nce out of Michael’s sight, she stopped, and leaned against a tree to catch her breath. Shutting her eyes only reinforced the vision of the kiss in her mind, and the feel of it through her body. Her hand slid across her fluttering stomach, and she closed her eyes tighter. “Oh, God, what have I done?” she whispered, not expecting a response.

  Maniacal laughter resonated in her head as her fingers touched her lips. Her eyes opened in horror to the feel of a thick dampness glazing her mouth. A sour, sulfur smell emanated from her hand. Trembling, she reached for the flashlight hooked on her belt. One flick of the switch, and Reggie saw her hand was covered in blood. A sickening knot formed in her stomach. Dropping the flashlight, holding back a scream of terror, Reggie took off running for home.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mark Twain National Forest, Missouri

  While everyone slept, Devante did not. He sat by the crackling fire, staring at Todd’s newest sketch of Reggie. When he gave it to him, Todd merely said, “Dude, don’t ask why, but I think this is a better doorway.”

  At first, Devante looked puzzled, until he saw the picture. Even though it was black and white, Todd had captured something in the sketch he had not before: Reggie’s eyes. They held the same familiarity that Devante found irritatingly soothing. Enemy or not, Reggie pulled at Devante, and he had yet to figure out why.

  Transfixed on the picture, Devante began to set it down when he saw Reggie’s eyes once more. Slowly, he lifted it back up and stared into the drawing as if he could see into her soul. Part of him did. The laugh began in his stomach, and rumbled deeply with evil as it rolled up his chest and into his throat. He touched the sketch. The eyes of Reggie lit up as if they were flames, and Devante smiled, calling out her name in a long deep whisper: “Regina.”