by Stu Jones
“Fear is weakness, and neither will be tolerated. When you run from a fight, you drag the name of the Coyotes, my name, on the ground behind you. Think about that as you steal that last bit of oxygen,” he whispered as he pushed Nelson back to the ground. The man struggled as Malak drew himself up and began driving Nelson’s head into the concrete with violent repetition.
“You disgust me!” Malak said in a whispered growl as he reformed his victim’s skull against the concrete. He slowed and released Nelson’s lifeless body. In the quietness that followed, Malak half closed his eyes and breathed in the rusty scent of fresh blood.
Leaving the body on the floor, Malak stood and turned, motioning for Dagen and Ashteroth to join him as he wiped his bloody hands on his pant leg.
“Dagen,” Malak said as he wiped his hands, “gather three squads and assault the fuel reserve. Follow the directions given by our prisoner. We need that fuel. Meet up with us at this radio control station.” He pointed to the map. “I’ll have a copy of the map drawn up for you.”
Dagen nodded.
Malak turned to Ashteroth. “Ash, someone believes they can spit in our faces and walk away. A man in the wasteland near Hendersonville managed to murder one of our scouting parties. I need you to take another two squads and find this man. He will be riding a motorcycle and traveling with a young woman.”
Malak held up the map again.
“This route is where he should be traveling. When you find them, remind them why they should fear the Coyotes. Do as you wish with the girl, but keep the man alive for me.”
“Yes, Boss,” Ashteroth said, with a joyful gleam of insanity in his eyes.
“And them?” Dagen asked, motioning to the sobbing family behind them.
Malak glanced over his shoulder, irritated.
“Force him to watch his family burn, then cut out his eyes and leave him there. I want their death to be the last thing he ever sees and their screams to haunt him into eternity.”
Courtland took in a deep gulp of air and stepped back from the precipice. “I remember.”
Marissa continued to hold his hand.
“It’s okay, Daddy.”
“But we crashed. I mean, how did we make it?” he asked.
“We didn’t, Dad. We died that night, three days before the attacks.”
Courtland was silent, scrunching his brow as he tried to process this news.
“But I don’t understand. How am I…”
“The Lord has chosen for his work on Earth. You were returned from the in-between just after the attacks,” she said.
“How?” he started.
Marissa smiled.
“What about you?”
“I’m with the Lord, where I belong.”
“Marissa, I don’t want this. I want to be with you again,” Courtland said, his throat tightening.
“It’d not time for that, Daddy,” Marissa said. “Now it is time for war.”
“And this old man is supposed to be a warrior?” Courtland said, pressing his hands to his chest.
“Yes, Daddy.” She pressed he hands against him. “You are faithful, wise, strong, and courageous. The Lord commands you to use these gifts for his glory. During your absence from Earth, your human form was altered. You passed through heaven when you returned to Earth, and though you are still mortal, you were imbued with something else.”
“What exactly?” Courtland asked.
“The strength of heaven. Your body has been enhanced far beyond that found in men. But to maintain it, you must keep your faith in God and in his plan, or it will fade.”
“It’s all so much to take in,” Courtland said.
“Be strong, Daddy, for the nameless warrior you seek is approaching. He will need your strengths and you will need his, for only together in the light will you be able to hold back the darkness.”
“How will I know him?”
“You won’t be able to miss him.”
“And the serpent man, Malak? What of him?”
“Don’t focus on him, for he is empowered by the darkness but does not control it. You will have to confront him, but this is not about him.”
Marissa let go of Courtland’s hand and began to fade.
“Thank you, Marissa. I will serve the Lord on this earth until I see you and your mother again. On that day, we will sing his praises together,” Courtland said with a sad smile.
The girl smiled as she faded into the fog.
“I love you, baby girl,”
“I love you too, Daddy.”
Courtland stirred from the powerful dream, his hands together, his lips praying for the strength to do what must be done.
DAY 37
SOUTHEAST OF SPARTANBURG, SOUTH CAROLINA
Kane steered the bike under the overpass and brought it to a halt. It was only the second time it had rained since he had emerged from the bunker, and it was not wasting time becoming a downpour. The black rain fell like a curtain of tar drippings from the sky. Kane made a disgusted face as he dismounted and shook his arms to free them of the oily substance. He watched as it oozed and slid in globs off his sleeve, creating small black pools on the ground.
Molly was stepping off the bike, setting her things on the ground, looking like she’d just dunked in a tank of diesel fuel. Her left eye was black, and she had red marks around her throat from their encounter with the bandits. Kane gingerly touched his broken nose and glanced around. There were a few charred vehicle remains and some skeletal human fragments under the overpass, but not much else. He shrugged off his jacket and wiped his palm across his face a few times, trying to remove the goo.
“This stuff is disgusting,” he said, glancing at Molly. “It can’t be good to have it on us.”
Molly nodded as she slid out of her top layer, tossing the soiled shirt in a heap on the ground.
“I used to dislike getting caught in the rain, but this…this isn’t right,” Kane said, shaking his head.
They quickly removed some of their wet clothing and tried to get as much of the black substance off of them as possible.
Kane moved back to the bike and unloaded the rest of the meager supplies out of the bike’s saddlebags along with the five-gallon container of unleaded fuel he had siphoned from the pump at Bart and Debbie’s. It was only half full. He went ahead and filled the bike up, mentally inventorying what they had left. The thug had taken almost everything they had when he drove off with Kane’s duffel. Kane still had the Ka-Bar and had taken the Springfield .45, the shotgun, and a few other items from good ol’ Bart’s stash of equipment. He had not been able to load up on food and other items, because they had no way to carry them and were under the considerable time constraint of needing to leave before the bandit’s buddies came looking for them. It had turned out to be pure genius, making a copy of the map of the radio station, as it too was gone.
He unloaded a smaller jug filled with water and took a long drink from the nozzle. He passed the water to Molly. No matches or lighter meant no fire tonight. Kane stepped over and inspected the remains of one of the vehicles, a delivery van. It was not cozy or comfortable, but it would provide shelter from the elements. He opened the door and began cleaning some of the junk and burnt debris out of it. Molly stood close behind him, shivering. The rain continued to pour down, dripping off the overpass around them, creating a thin black sludge across the ground.
“We won’t have a fire, so we’ll have to sleep in here to keep warm tonight. If you’re okay with that,” Kane said as he looked at Molly.
Molly nodded in affirmation. He let her climb in and secure a spot first. He then got in and sat next to her, leaning against the frame and draping the last remaining blanket over them both. Kane produced a small can of tuna and showed it to Molly.
“You hungry?”
She nodded.
Kane cut the top open with the knife, and they shared a quiet meal together, picking the tuna chunks out of the can with their dirty fingers.
Kane survey
ed the look on Molly’s face. “You alright?
Molly looked back at him.
“We’ve had some ugly stuff happen recently. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Molly made a sorrowful face and shrugged her shoulders as she chewed.
“Well, I want you to know that I’m committed to you as your friend. I couldn’t victimize us both by doing nothing. That’s not my nature.
Molly’s eyes looked teary in the fading light.
“It’s not the first time I’ve had to kill like that,” Kane sighed. “Before I worked for the county, I started with the city of Knoxville a a patrol officer. Worked just over three years with them. My beat was an area of the city called East Riverton. You know it?”
Molly nodded.
“Then you know it’s a rotten ghetto. One November night, around two o’clock, I was dispatched to a call at an abandoned hotel on East Riverton called Hotel Florentine. Florentine had been a real nice fancy hotel back in the 1930s, before they closed it up. In more recent years it was one of those places the city planned to tear down, but never did after the state declared it a historical landmark. By then it was just a shadow of what it once was.
When we took a call at Florentine, we never went by ourselves. We went three or four deep at a minimum, and ideally, we took five or more. The reason was, every time we went, we were guaranteed to run into folks who hated our presence as a symbol of the law.
So, around two in the morning, a streetwalker had heard screaming coming from the place. My partner and I were not that concerned because weird stuff happened there all the time. Really weird stuff.” Kane shifted in the less-than-comfortable rusty vehicle and wrung his hands.
“Well, my partner Max and I had been out of academy about a year and a half, and we were young and full of it. Anytime anything went down, we were in on it. Fights, chases, we’d been up to our eyeballs in it and had come out clean. We were invincible. On our way to the call, Max went to call for another unit to go with us, but I stopped him. I told him it was no big deal and that it was just a noise complaint. We’d be back in service for calls in ten minutes.”
Kane swabbed the bottom of the tuna can with his finger and transferred the remaining morsels to his mouth. He set the can aside and pulled the blanket up around him.
Molly sat, waiting for him to continue.
“We arrived, got out of the car, and crossed the trash-filled street to get to the front of the hotel where we could enter. Funny the I remember about it – like how the city was humming, and how the cold soaked through my jacket and into my bones. I remember nodding to each other, our flashlights at the ready, as we announced our presence and made entry through the front door.
We weren’t halfway into the main lobby when we saw her; the thirteen-year-old girl that had gone missing from The Village, the downtown shopping district two days earlier. It was all over the news. She was raped and beaten to death only moments earlier. Her body was... It was… Terrible.
I’ll never forget what happened next. Max was trying to call out on his radio when he took an old fire ax in the chest as we got ambushed by a bunch of half-naked junkies. I was first struck in the side and then the head by a baseball bat. The first blow shattered my walkie-talkie. My gun belt was yanked so hard that it hit my boots. It took me only a second to realize how screwed I was and that help wasn’t coming.
In the wave of sheer terror that followed, I fought for my weapon and shot two of them before a major malfunction occurred and my gun became a hammer. It worked pretty well in that capacity for a minute, until it was knocked from my hands into some dark corner of Florentine’s trashed lobby. They came for me, and I fought them with everything I had. I had to put my thumbs through one guy’s eye sockets, and then beat the last two into submission with the broken leg of a small coffee table.” Kane paused.
Molly sat unmoving, eyes wide with anticipation.
“Well, then I got to hold my partner’s hand as he bled out and cried his young wife’s name. I wouldn’t be the same after that. Not after all the lawsuits, attorneys, and the use of force hearing where they claimed that I had been negligent and used excessive force. Worst of all was Max’s loved ones accusing me of getting him killed. His wife slapped my face. She told me that I was a good-for-nothing cop if I couldn’t protect the people who depended on me.”
Kane stared off into the growing wet darkness around him, clinching his jaw and pausing.
“That poor little girl had no chance, and those junkies, they had it coming, but Max…Max was my fault. I never forgave myself for that,” Kane blotted his face with his sleeve.
“I turned everything off and got hard real quick. I knew the hardness would help me to do the job better. That I could kill if the bad guys needed killing. The job had a way of putting calluses over your emotions so you didn’t have to care about the terrible things and people you dealt with—but the one thing I could never turn off was the desire to be there, to protect and defend those people who needed me, the ones who would otherwise be victims. It wasn’t until Susan and the kids that I began to feel again, only for them to be…well…”
He cleared his throat.
“I guess….I couldn’t protect them either.”
Molly and Kane sat quietly together in the enveloping darkness.
Molly took his small flashlight and scrawled a few words in the notebook before showing it to Kane.
The fate of others is God’s responsibility, Kane. All you can do is your best and trust that the rest is up to him.
“But I’m a black sheep, Molly.” Kane said, looking up from the note. “Like God picked the wrong guy for whatever this is.” Kane touched his chest. “Why me? I’m cynical and rough around the edges, and I rebelled against God for so long. I feel like I want to do the right thing, leave that junk behind. Yet, on every side I’m pressed with violence and injustice and evil. I can’t ignore it.”
He shook his head, questioning his own words.
Molly wrote on the damp notebook page for a long moment. She handed it over to Kane, who took the flashlight from her to read it:
The right thing is doing what God calls you to do. You have the heart of a hero, and God has called you to be His, to fight for Him. History has shown that God uses imperfect, ordinary men like you. People who are willing to sacrifice everything for him. These are the people he uses for his glory.
Kane was genuinely taken back by what he read. “Thanks, Molly. I think I needed to hear that.”
Instead of responding, Molly leaned slowly to her right and shifted her body up against his, leaning her head over onto his shoulder. Kane once again thought about what his purpose could possibly be, and why God had saved him and this young woman from certain death. As much as he tried, he was having trouble seeing the big picture. His faith felt so small and fragile. If only there was someone who knew the answers that cold make it clear for him. If only God would speak to him again.
Molly’s breathing grew deep, and Kane knew she was asleep already.
“Well, Suz,” he said. “My faith found me, just like you said…and I’m desperately trying to hold on to it. I just hope—“ He paused to swallow the lump in his throat. “I hope that I have able to do what it is that God needs me to do.” He almost choked on the final words as he looked upward.
The black rain continued to slurp down onto the dark landscape, and the pitch black night was held at bay by two friends, huddled together in the smallest light of hope.
The golden summer sun drifted low on the horizon and filtered across the tops of the evergreens and hardwoods as the day came to a close. Molly Stevens was a tomboy. She had always been a tomboy. The only child of her hardworking father, when she was not in school or otherwise engaged, she was outside. The other girls in her neighborhood teased her and called her names like Joe and Bobby due to her lack of girliness, but she didn’t care. She had always loved it outside. The trees, the animals, and the summer breeze were her closest friends. As a young gir
l, she spent countless hours running, dancing, climbing trees, and playing make-believe. In her imagination, she conjured up the most wonderful and magical tales. They were tales of princes, castles, terrible monsters—and, of course, beautiful maidens. The maidens were always saved by the prince, who always slew the monster. All was as it should be in the mythical lands of her mind.
On this particular evening, Molly climbed high into the arms of an old oak tree in the front of her yard and had sat for a while watching the neighborhood, as was her custom this time of day. A lazy sun drooped behind the trees as the evening creatures began to trill and call and make all other manner of night sounds.
She was waiting for her father to arrive home from his weeklong business trip. He was the love of her life, her hero, and her bastion of strength. She had never known her mother, who had died from complications during her birth. On these special days, she would sit and watch for his faux wood–paneled station wagon to round the corner and begin its journey down the long straightaway to the end of the cul-de-sac. When her father pulled in, she would drop to the ground and run to him as he caught her, wrapping her in his great big arms.
“My darling girl,” he would always say as he hugged her tight.
Her grandmother opened the front door and stepped onto the front porch.
Molly continued to wait, swinging her legs back and forth under the large tree branch on which she sat.
“Molly, dinner’s ready,” her grandmother called.
“I’m waiting for Daddy,” Molly said.
“Well, bring him in with you when you find him, and be careful up in that tree like that. You could hurt yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As if on cue, the station wagon appeared around the corner and eased into sight, its headlights gleaming pin pricks against the dark vehicle. Molly swung her legs faster now, the anticipation growing with her excitement. A slight screeching and wailing sound reached the edge of Molly’s ears in the fading light as her grandmother went back inside and shut the door. As the station wagon idled slowly down the street toward her, the strange wailing grew louder as well. It was a siren of some kind, like she had heard in the old black-and-white movies her daddy liked to watch.