Both children became stricken with the memory of their mother’s final moments. Steven put his arms around his kids and whispered, “Yes, she’s in heaven.”
Amanda said, “The monster people killed her.” Tears worked their way down her cheeks and she was soon joined by her brother.
The reverend wiped a tear from his own eye. “Then she is indeed with the Lord, for we know that people of faith, whether they are already risen or slaughtered by the Devil’s minions, have taken their rightful place in His Great Kingdom.” He turned to call out of the shelter. “Katherine, will you please come in.” He turned back to the Costas’. “Others in our congregation have already vouched for you. You are welcome, provided that you adhere to our rules.”
A tall blond woman in her forties came through the door. She had obviously been listening closely. Nikki wondered how many others were standing just outside.
The reverend continued, “This craven country has brought God’s final judgment upon it. I assume that you agree with that, Steven, and that your children do as well.”
Steven glanced at Jon and Nikki then looked back at the reverend. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He turned to Katherine, “See that Costas’ have some lodging. Perhaps the Wanamakers should take them in until we can build a new shelter for them.”
“Of course, Reverend.” She turned to the huddled family and placed gentle hands on the children's quaking shoulders. “Come with me. We’ll get you some clothes and some warm food. What an ordeal you must have had.”
As the family headed out the door, Steven Costas turned back to Jon and Nikki. “Thank you. Thank you for saving my children. I shall not forget it.”
Jon and Nikki smiled and nodded, both wondering if they would be treated in the same loving manner.
Jon sat up taller and addressed the reverend, “Sir, may I ask how many of you there are?”
“We are seventy-seven souls, well, eighty now for sure. We hail from a small town to the west of here. Several months ago, when it became clear that things were only going to get worse, we chose to seek shelter on this island. I have a shortwave radio and have been able to keep up with events. There is talk of an outbreak near Ottawa. If it’s true, it could be mean the end for the fools and sinners up there as well. Don’t doubt the meaning of these End Times. There is no geographical escape.”
Nikki offered what she hoped was a sincere smile, “So when you say outbreak, you are referring to the infection?”
“That is correct.”
"So which may I ask is it, Devil’s Minions or regular people infected by a horrific disease?"
The reverend smiled back, happily sensing a theological debate, “Only God and Satan truly know the answer to that, my dear. However, it is my understanding that the Seventh Seal, as written in the book of Daniel, has been opened and it is time for the true believers to prepare for the final judgment. The planet will continue to devolve into Armageddon. Billions will die before this world is ruled by His government. This is a cleansing and it must be so.”
Jon cocked his brow, but held his tongue.
“You seem perplexed, my son.”
“No, sir. Just listening.”
The reverend nodded with confidence, his eyes growing brighter, “It is the Great Tribulation. Satan has had his day on this earth. What we are witnessing now is his last futile attempt to claim it fully for himself.”
“If that’s so,” said Nikki, “shouldn’t you have been summoned to Heaven already? I mean, from what I’ve read, the rapture happens and then the nasty part comes, not the other way around.”
The reverend lowered his voice and leaned toward them. “For the moment, to give comfort in this time of terror, it is soothing to allow those who need it, the thought that they might get swept up and away from this.”
Nikki stated flatly, “So you don’t buy it either.”
The reverend sat back again and raised his voice so that anyone listening outside could here. “You appear to be of Jewish descent. Am I right, my dear?” Nikki was silenced as a sinister grin briefly appeared on the man’s face. He turned to Jon. “Are you a Christian, my son?”
“There are all kinds of Christians, Reverend. What denomination are you?”
The reverend hummed lightly to himself – what to do with these people? His visage shifted back to warm benevolence and he stood and folded up his stool. “I’ll ask you to stay here while I consult with the congregation. In the meantime, I’ll have some further refreshment sent in.”
“Um, excuse me,” said Nikki. Fear was crushed by the sound of threat in her voice. “We came here for safety, just like you.”
The reverend turned. “Yes, and we must do what is necessary for the safety of all.” With that, he stepped out and closed the door. They heard it latch from the other side.
Nikki stood and looked at Jon, saying loudly so to be heard outside, “I’m not fucking doing this again. I will not be someone else’s prisoner.”
“You’re not going to get an argument from me.”
Night fell with no further news of their fate. They were, however, fed well. With little to do but catch up on desperately need rest, they chose to sleep. For warmth and a feeling of protection, they pulled the bedding off their individual cots, gathered it together and lay down with their backs pressed against each other. It was a fitful sleep at best, each aware of the other’s wakefulness, yet unwilling to break the night’s silence with unanswerable questions.
At dawn, a light breakfast was brought to them. Nikki asked the boy who delivered the food about an opportunity to bathe, but the boy just blushed and quickly left.
Finally Katherine returned. She stood very tall with a curious combination of dourness mixed with an almost angelic thousand-yard stare. She wouldn’t make direct eye contact, choosing instead to speak toward their mouths. “You’ve been invited to morning prayer. You may use the communal bath. Fresh clothes will be provided while yours are washed and repaired.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Bug Out
At 2am Susan, carrying a laptop under her arm, walked into the upstairs office that Tran was crashed in and shook him awake.
Tran grunted, “Ten more minutes.”
“We’ve got bad news.”
Tran sat up, suddenly wide awake, then blinking as Susan turned on a bedside lamp. She opened the laptop and brought up an area map of Ottawa. “There’s been an outbreak in Chelsea. It’s an Ottawa suburb.”
“Oh no.”
“They fire bombed it.”
“What?”
“Incendiaries. And the town next door, Old Chelsea. The two towns shared the same water system. Zero tolerance. We’re finally at Zero tolerance. Estimates are fifteen thousand dead.”
“This come over the satlink?”
“Ten minutes ago, from the director herself. We were told that the second we get a match, we haul ass back north. CDC’s moving to Quebec City. They can’t risk that Ottawa has been compromised. They’re setting us up with a temp-lab in Martha’s Vineyard of all places until the move to Quebec is complete. Looks like your migration theory is the only plausible one. Anyone caught not boiling water gets quarantined.”
Tran sighed and got off the bed. “I don’t even know what to say. You going to lay down?”
“Can’t. We need all hands.”
Tran nodded, tucking in his shirt.
She looked at the bed, “Well maybe ten minutes. I’m not much use exhausted, right?”
Tran closed her laptop, set it on a chair, and gently pushed Susan toward the bed. “I’ll wake you in twenty.”
She nodded and yawned. “FYI, this computer’s pretty much full. Aaron’s using the other one to keep uploading data. Happyland Farms was into some serious science.”
“More than messing with feedstocks?”
“There’s notes down there about bioengineering the birds to be staff resistant, stuff like that, but they also had forced evolution experiments going on - rapid matura
tion, muscle enhancement – all sorts of things - I’m pretty sure that the lead scientist was Mitchell.”
“Mitchell? As in Oscar mix-human-DNA-with-name-a-plant-or-animal Mitchell?”
“The same. This was no ordinary chicken farm. It was a research facility for one of the big national outfits up in Georgia.”
Copper and Jones sat atop the water tower keeping watch. Both men scanned the horizon with thermal binoculars. The image was like looking at a black and white negative, the heat signatures of various objects making for crystal clear differentiation.
Copper whined, “Now why in the F.U.C.K didn’t we have these fucking things when we were down in that bandong dungeon of horrors?”
“Cause there’s only two pair for the whole platoon? Cause the pilots like havin’ ’em all to their selves? Cause the army’s a cheap ass – hold on. I got contact. Bearing one eight five degrees – shee-yte, it’s a boatload of the motherfuckers.”
Copper spun around and focused his glasses on Jones’ angle. “Uh oh, bad night. I count four klicks out.”
“Bitches are running. Not fast, but running.” Jones keyed his mic. “Sarge, come in.”
Bullock came on line, “Go for Bullock.”
“We got incoming. Looks like a whole mess of them Shitfobs. Coming from due South. Estimate… half hour out.”
“Keep an eye out. Will advise.”
“Roger that.”
They could hear the rest of the troops come alive as Bullock passed the word to O’Shea and orders filtered out.
Jones kept looking through the binoculars and spoke to Copper out of the side of his mouth. “I’m guessing at least a hundred, probably more.”
“Yeah, at least.” Copper spun around and scanned behind them again. He suddenly sucked air in through his teeth. “Bad, bad, bad, bad. Not good.”
“What?”
“Whole pack comin’ down the highway, one-six degrees. I count maybe twenty.”
Jones spun around. “Got’em. Two klicks. Fuck if they ain’t runnin’ too.”
O’Shea decided to confront the smaller band head on. He didn’t have a large enough force to confront both groups at once. He called on Cavanaugh’s squad to abandon the nerve agent clean up and instead make the assault in the newly cleaned Humvee.
Bullock was searching with his own binoculars. “Cap, we could also wind up the dirty bird. Attack the larger group with the mini-gun. Keep the clean heli, ‘case we still need to bug out.”
O’Shea gave it a moment’s consideration. “Hmm, okay, get Frick suited up and in the air, just one to work the gun. I want to keep the main force together.”
With this new order, the pilot for the still contaminated Chinook, Warrant Officer Frick, went through the start-up procedure while PFC Deeter pulled on the last of his JLIST gear.
Jones and Copper watched from the silo as Cavanaugh’s team raced out to the North, confirmed that the smaller group of humans were infected, then laid into them with everything they had. The gunfire and grenade explosions echoed off the various farm buildings. It was a turkey shoot.
The Chinook’s engines throttled up just as the gunfire from Cavanaugh’s assault was dying down. The other mass coming from the South heard all of this and typical of the infected, broke into a sprint toward the farm.
Jones radioed, “We got a banzai charge, Cap. A couple hundred, I’d guess. They’re all sprinting. Ten minutes, max!”
O’Shea was looking through his own standard binoculars now. The moonlight more than lit up the charging Fiends. “I see them. You and Copper get your asses down here.”
Frick’s Chinook wasn’t sounding right. A whining sound mixed with snapping loud electrical arcs echoed off the building walls. White smoke poured out of one of the engines. The RPMs dropped rapidly and the blades slowed down.
Frick clicked his mic. “Engine’s er wet, Cap.”
O’Shea swore at the sky and looked again through his glasses. The Fiends would overwhelm them. They simply didn’t have enough firepower to kill that many people quickly enough. He’d been through it before.
Bullock said, “They got the drop on us, sir.”
“That’s it then.” He keyed his mic, “Bug out. Bug out! Everything on Chinook one. Cavanaugh, get back over here and give us a two hundred-meter buffer. Frick, keep trying. Get that thing in the air.”
Frick’s voice buzzed in O’Shea’s ear. “That’s a no go, Cap. I told them not to aim the hose directly into intake manifold. Killed it for now. It’s got to dry out.”
O’Shea looked at Bullock who shrugged. “Never seen a battle plan go as planned, Cap.”
O’Shea keyed his mic, “Axelman, get Chinook one wound up now. We fly in five.”
Cavanaugh’s Humvee came roaring back through the farm, charging southeast. The bug out call was simple enough and had been pre-arranged. The soldiers who weren’t shooting fell in with the CDC. They had important gear to move.
Aaron Burnbaum cursed as he stubbed his toe on a table leg. He and Warner nearly dropped the centrifuge they were carrying. Tran, Susan, Christy Tsue and Rick Decker formed a chain with Cowboy Johnston and Corporal Melman and a few other Rangers to get their gear to the Chinook. As the turbines wound up, the new echo of Cavanaugh’s assault on the southern threat broke into their rhythm. It was going to be close.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Rite Is Wrong
The Church was fashioned out of a portable greenhouse. The residents clearly had an artist among them: Various scenes from Christ’s life were painted across the walls. When the sun shone, the whole structure appeared like a giant stained glass window. It was full of stern-faced ruddy Yankees who stood with a stoic posture that nevertheless failed to hide the fear that gripped them. They held themselves as if against an approaching tidal wave, death by violent deluge inevitable. As the intruders were led in, some offered hard stares, while others would only look at the floor as though filled with shame. Jon and Nikki were guided to sit in the front pew. They could feel the eyes of the congregation searching their backs, seeking answers - angst-filled curiosity boring into them. The walls were full of slogans sewn onto colorful, almost cheerful banners: God Hates Fags, God Hates Jews, God Hates The Criminal Left Wing, God Hates Wetbacks, God Hates Adulterers, God Hates the USA.
Jon whispered, “I know who these people are now. This church has been spreading under different names over the past decade or so. They protest against Jews and gays in front of synagogues and universities. Tell them God hates them, then offer salvation. Started a big riot in New York a few years ago, praying for our soldiers to die overseas.”
“I remember that.”
The reverend walked out from behind the altar and stepped up onto a raised platform. He invited everyone to rise and sing a hymn. The gathered voices were beautiful and strong and contradicted all of the venom that screamed back from the walls. When the hymn was finished, the reverend asked everyone to sit.
“Good Morning.” He paused and looked around at the familiar faces and settled on the Costas Family. "We are blessed today, for our congregation has grown. To my right we have Steven Costas and his beautiful children Teddy and Amanda."
The congregation spoke as one, “Welcome.”
“We also have guests - Jonathan Washington, a newspaper man and Nicole (he paused) Rosen.”
The second response of welcome was more subdued. The people seated in the next pew over, stole glances at Nikki as though she had just stepped off a spaceship.
The reverend continued, "Mr. Washington and Miss Rosen were quite heroic yesterday, saving the lives of Steven, Teddy and Amanda. It is with both sadness and joy that we must note that Elizabeth Costas is now as one with the Lord. We regret that she was taken from us with her children still so close to the womb, but also celebrate that she has risen during this time of earthly travail and now lives with our Lord in Heaven."
There was a congregational Amen.
“There will be a service for Elizabeth thi
s afternoon at one.” He paused and gazed out upon his flock with a gentle smile. “I would like to open this morning’s observance with an acknowledgement of our mission.” He cast his eye about the room and settled on a pudgy nine-year-old boy. “Jerry Halverstrom, will you please step before the congregation and deliver the Church’s word?”
The boy looked wide-eyed at the reverend and then turned to his parents who murmured encouraging words, his father prodding him to go up. The room was silent as the people waited for the dark-haired boy to stand and tentatively walk up to the altar. The reverend put his hand on the child’s shoulder and turned him toward the audience. “Do not fear, Jerry. God will help guide your words.”
The boy had brilliant blue eyes, and as he cast them upon Jon and Nikki he was momentarily struck dumb. The reverend leaned down and whispered into his ear. “We… We know,” The boy remained dumbstruck, so the reverend whispered again “We…know that the…path…“
Jerry picked up the words, his high voice rising in tenor as he spoke. “The path of life is fraught with peril. That this particular existence is designed to offer us unlimited opportunities for both good and evil.” He spoke with the cadence of automata, reciting by rote. “We also know that the Lord’s promise of salvation doesn’t rest on a tally of good deeds outweighing bad. There is no bank of deposits and withdrawals.” The boy paused and thought, struggling to find the words. The reverend prompted, “Being….” Jerry blurted forth, “Being saved, being born again to serve Christ is about one thing, acknowledging that Jesus paid the…” The reverend whispered again, “Ultimate.” Jerry burst out with the rest, “Ultimate penalty for our sins. He died and was risen so that we may live.”
“That’s right. Wonderful,” said the reverend. “Now some would say that all that is required to join Him as a child of God is to acknowledged this sacrifice, ask for his forgiveness and he’ll take you into his mighty heart.”
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