Through the Fury to the Dawn (Action of Purpose Book 1)

by Stu Jones

  Kane flinched as the great form lunged in and snatched him by the arm, pulling and hurling him from the tunnel as it began to collapse. His body limp, he struck the ground and slid across the dirt, coming to a stop on his belly past the ruined ambulance.

  Two of the queen’s giant elite guards exited the mountainside just as the center of the hill depressed and sank in, caving in on top of itself in a plume of fire, smoke, and dust.

  Blinking, Kane struggled to clear the dust and dirt from his eyes as he raised his head and coughed. The fearsome horned guardians screeched and began to circle him as he shook his head, trying to clear the red cloud around him. He had no defense. He would be their prey.

  A large boot stepped over him, planting itself in the dirt in front of him, followed by a second, until Kane lay in the shadow of a massive dark form. Kane blinked again and sputtered, as his eyes began to focus upon the largest human man he had ever seen. It was this dark giant that yanked him from the hill.

  The giant took two more steps forward and balled his fists, his enormous muscular forearms bulging. The guardians ducked their heads left and right, clicking their jaws as they circled the immense man. Long strings of mucus dripped from their mandibles as the creatures clicked and swayed in the anticipation of claiming their next victim.

  Kane crawled on his side away from what was about to take place.

  With a savage roar, the great defender charged the beasts. Dodging to the right, he avoided the bladed swipe of one of the creatures as he slammed his full weight into the beast on his right, crushing the left side of its exoskeleton. The creature toppled and fell to the ground as Courtland turned to face the second maddened creature.

  It shrieked as it came in at him, swinging its bladed jaws. Courtland ducked and then raised his arms to defend as it slashed back at him, sinking its sword-like mandible through the flesh and muscle of his forearm. With a formidable shout of pain, Courtland raised himself up and swung his opposite fist down like a wrecking ball. The force obliterated the monstrous horned head, clear hemolymph pouring from its shattered skull. The giant man straddled the monster, grabbed its massive jaws and pryed them apart with a primal scream. The ant’s head cracked and splintered as the mandibles dislocated from their sockets, and the creature fell to the earth, deceased.

  Lungs heaving, the enormous man stood to face his final opponent as he gripped a mandible in each hand like twin scimitars. The enraged beast charged him, its cries echoing across the valley.

  Kane continued to drag himself across the turf, glancing in horror at the colossal war happening over his left shoulder. He winced, grabbing greedy handfuls of the red soil as he went. He needed distance, and he wasn’t going to wait around to find out who prevailed.

  Sweat beaded up on Courtland’s broad dark forehead as he stepped back and forth, parrying the massive jaws of the beast with his own blades. It lunged, again and again, swiping out of control as its bloodlust grew. Courtland continued to move and parry as the great warrior ant came at him. Blocking the creature’s bladed jaws with one blade, he stooped low, severing the monster’s front legs from its body with the other. The creature faltered, but lunged again on its four good legs, hurling itself into the huge black man. Courtland crossed his blades and deflected the creature’s mandibles, shoving them down into the dirt at his feet. Pinning them there, he raised this blade, high above his head. Striking down, he gnashed his teeth and delivered a crucial blow, partially severing the exoskeleton just behind the beast’s head. The creature shuddered and shook, expelling its final scream of defiance. Courtland struck again and sheared the anvil-shaped head from the rest of the body. The beast’s beheaded torso righted itself and wandered a few steps away before crashing down onto the valley floor and spilling gobs of clear hemolymph onto the ruddy surface.

  Kane rolled onto his back as weariness began to consume him. As he lay there, the stern, Courtland’s breathless towering form stepped up next to him and looked down at him. The man moved slowly, tearing a long section of cloth from the bottom of his shirt, and wrapping it tightly around his wounded forearm. His eyes remained locked with Kane’s.

  “Look,” Kane said. “If you’re here to kill me, then just do it, because I can’t fight you, man.”

  “If I wanted you dead, I’d have left you to those monsters,” Courtland said. “We should go. The rest will burrow out soon.”

  “You don’t seem surprised about them,” Kane motioned toward the dead ants.

  “Nothing surprises me anymore, friend.”

  “Where’s Molly?” Kane asked.

  “The blonde girl?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The Coyotes left with her, just before I arrived.” Courtland looked at the horizon.

  Kane exhaled and grimaced.

  “You are the nameless warrior?” Courtland asked.

  Kane made a helpless gesture with his hands. “I’m just Kane. Kane Lorusso.”

  “But you are God’s warrior. The one he has called to fight the darkness?”

  “I’m not sure God wants to claim me anymore. I’ve botched this all up.”

  “Don’t presume to know the unknowable. Our God will always claim you, no matter the score,” The giant smiled a big, toothy smile. “My name is Courtland, and He sent me here to help you.”

  “Thank you, Courtland.” Kane closed his eyes and laid his head back on the barren turf as a dusty wind whipped moisture from the corners of his pinched eyes. “I need your help, brother.”

  DAY 39

  OUTSIDE OF COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA

  Vincent stood in a state of shock, his arms hanging loosely at his sides in the open courtyard of the ranch. As he tried to muster the words, small tendrils of dust swirled at his feet, and the blackened sky glared down at him from its shattered kingdom.

  He looked at his hands, then at the ground, then back at his hands again. His hands looked so feeble, unable to control anything they touched.

  “Did you get all that, old man?” the voice snapped.

  “Um…uh…yes. I’ve got it,” Vincent replied.

  “You sure? You’re sorta old; you wanna write it down?”

  Vincent continued to look at his hands. “No, I’m sure I got it.”

  “Good, ‘cause you know what will happen if you don’t do what you’re told. There are a lot of people here who are depending on you to get the job done. In fact, it could even be said that their lives are in your hands.”

  Vincent gazed at his hands, the weathered, beaten hands of an old man. He was responsible for the lives of everyone at the ranch. Their lives were in his hands. He had no choice.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll get the job done,” he said, as he looked up at the rabid thugs.

  “You’d better, ‘cause we’ll be back.”

  The thug took a step back and reached into the back of the station wagon.

  “You see this?”

  The thug pulled a young blonde female forward. She was bound and gagged.

  “This little gem here is our trophy for the boss.”

  He jerked her by the hair, and she winced with a fierce look in her eyes.

  “She’s ours, but they are going to come for her. Do you understand? If they get past you, everyone here will die. Everyone.” The thug pointed at a nearby mother and young child.

  Vincent swallowed. The girl looked terrible. Who knew where they would take her, or what they would do. He could not make it his problem. He already had enough problems.

  “I understand,” Vincent said.

  “Good. Now, where’s our stuff?”

  “Right here,” Vincent made a motion behind him and several men came forward with boxes filled with dry goods, canned goods, and jugs of water. The thugs snatched the items from the men and began devouring them in front of the small crowd that had assembled at the ranch. The stash would have fed the people of the ranch for a week. When they had had their fill, they put the rest in the rusted sedan.

  “And the fuel for our trip?
”

  “Sir, we don’t really have….”

  “Oh, you don’t? Oh, I’m so sorry to have asked. How rude of me,” the thug mocked. “I guess we’ll have to take something else then,” he said, as he grabbed a hold of a nearby woman, who began screaming and thrashing.

  “Ooh yeah, I like em’ feisty,” the thug said.

  “No…no!” The woman’s husband said as he tried to hold onto her.

  “Back off, you stupid piece of shit! She’s mine now!” the thug shouted, as he pointed a large stainless steel revolver in the man’s face.

  Vincent held his hands high. “Wait…okay, wait, you can have it. Whatever we have, you can have it.”

  He looked at one of the men who had brought out the food and motioned him to get the fuel. The man’s questioning gaze accused him of treason.

  “What?” Vincent snapped at the man. “Just get it!”

  The man hurried away and returned with a full five-gallon fuel canister, which he handed to one of the thugs.

  “Now, please. Just let her go.” Vincent said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Please let her go,” Vincent said with a tremor in his voice.

  “I’m sorry? Are you giving the fuckin’ orders now?” The thug quipped, still holding a handful of the woman’s hair. He pointed the gun at Vincent, who instinctively raised his hands again.

  “No…I mean…well…please, just let her go. You have what you wanted.”

  “Yeah, we do, and we’re keeping her,” the thug said, as he shoved the two females into the back of the vehicle.

  “Keep up your end, Vinnie, or everyone pays—got it?”

  The woman’s husband had taken all he could take, flinging himself in a wild, bawling hysteria at the thug. The angry thug cussed and kicked the flailing man to the ground. One shot from the large revolver blew a gaping hole in the defenseless man’s chest. The crowd fragmented, people running everywhere—everyone but Vincent.

  The thug swung the gun on him again.

  “Remember what I said, old man!” he whooped, as he and the other thugs jumped in the vehicle and sped away in a cloud of dust.

  Vincent stood there, shaking and rubbing his hands. The horror the last few minutes had produced was nothing short of catastrophic. He mourned the decision that had to be made, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Despite their differences, he had really liked Courtland. Now he would have to kill him.

  DAY 39

  EMRC STATION, SOUTH CAROLINA

  The tanker truck’s air brakes hissed as it came to a stop inside the gate of the coastal emergency radio control station. Jenna coughed and blinked her eyes to try to clear them of the dust and fumes. As the last vehicle in the convoy pulled in, two armed thugs pushed the gate closed behind it. She wiggled just to the left and adjusted her footing. It would have been impossible to run alongside the vehicle for long, so she had done the only thing she could think of—jumped for the side of the tank and held on for dear life.

  Dragging and finally pulling herself up, Jenna had looped her bonded hands over a peg that jutted from the base of the tank and wedged her feet in a crevasse in the underside of the rig. Though this had relieved the need to hold on, it also put a tremendous strain on the rope that bound her wrists. She had spent the entire journey alternating between hanging upside down from her wrists and holding onto the peg with her hands.

  Her hands were purple, and small streams of blood ran toward her shoulders from the rope that cut into her wrists. She’d lost count of the number of times she passed out during the trip. The overwhelming pain, the rocks and dirt that seemed to endlessly peppered her body, and her growing need for water had taken their toll.

  The cab of the truck shut, and Jenna listened as Dagen spoke to several others, of whom she could only see their boots on the other side of the truck. Jenna pulled her feet free and allowed them to flop to the ground. Unhooking her wrists from the peg, she fell to the ground with a grunt and rolled onto her back.

  The relief was glorious. She murmured a quiet praise to God for her small moment of respite. She lay there on the ground with her bound hands clutched to her chest and her eyes closed as the footsteps approached. Jenna took a deep breath and opened her eyes as she struggled to get into a seated position. Dagen and another much larger, bald man stood before her.

  “Absolutely unbelievable,” Dagen said. “You know, Malak, as much as I hate this woman’s filthy rotten guts, I am starting to admire her perseverance. She’s a hard nut to crack.”

  Dagen nodded at Malak, who stood motionless, staring at her.

  “Maybe we should offer her a place on our crew? You know? She’s been through a lot. At least she’d have a place to sleep, food, water, protection. We’d be her new family. That would be a lot better than this,” Dagen said, as he looked at Malak. “What do you think, Boss?”

  Malak continued to stare, his face an unreadable mask. Dagen put his hand to his chin and scrunched his face up in mock contemplation.

  “There’s just this one thing, Boss. Just one thing she needs to say before we can do any of that.”

  Dagen crouched down closer to Jenna and looked her in the face. “Have anything you want to say?”

  Jenna blinked her eyes and swallowed hard, her lip quivering slightly. “Jesus is the—”

  Dagen struck Jenna with a violent blow to the face, knocking her back against the wheel well of the tanker. Jenna coughed and cried as the blood poured from her nose, across her face, and dripped onto the concrete.

  “Stupid bitch! Not the answer I was looking for,” Dagen said in disbelief, as he shook his aching hand. “See what I mean?”

  Malak regarded her with empty, soulless eyes.

  “Tie her up in the courtyard. We’ll continue to make an example of her. She believes the God of the Bible is with her. Let’s put that to the test.”

  “Good enough,” Dagen said, as he snatched a handful of her hair and started dragging her across the ground.

  Jenna grabbed and tried feebly to hold on to his hand as he dragged her across the courtyard to a flagpole near the center. Cutting the rope from her wrists, he torqued her arms behind her back and retied her securely to the pole. Dagen then crouched and cutting her soiled clothes free until she was completely naked. He tossed her garments off to the side and grabbed a large, flat object.

  “The boys made this for you. It seems fitting.”

  Dagen pulled forward a square sheet of tin roofing, which had large black letters painted on it that read, The Lord’s Whore. He propped it up next to her and took a knee.

  “It’s about to go from bad to worse, baby. These guys,” he motioned over his shoulder at some onlookers. “Their leashes are off. Who knows what they’ll do to you? Are you sure you don’t have anything you want to say? Renouncing your paltry God will save your life and spare you so much pain.” He leaned in very close. “You can just whisper it to me. No one else has to know.”

  Dirty tears of sorrow ran down Jenna’s face as she pressed her lips together and held her head high. She stared upward past Dagen, toward the sky, and sniffed as the blood began to dry across her quivering lips.

  Dagen pulled away, stuffed an old rag soaked in salt water in her mouth, and followed it with a thin cloth that he used to gag her with.

  “It’s too bad,” he said as he tied the cloth behind her head. “If only your Charlie could see the ugly whore you’ve become. He’d be so ashamed of you.”

  Dagen stood and half turned, giving her one final glance, and shook his head again. The line behind him was already forming.

  Kane shrugged into the worn-out long sleeved t-shirt he found in the bed of the old pickup truck. It looked as though it had been used to mop up spills for the last twenty years. As the old rusted truck bumped over endless potholes, he tried to get comfortable in the front seat as he leaned against the window. It just wasn’t happening. He sighed with weariness and frustration.

  “What’s the matter, friend?” C
ourtland asked, not taking his eyes off the destroyed road in front of him.

  “I can’t get comfortable.”

  Courtland nodded. “With the world in the shape that it’s in, I guess we ought to get used to that.” He looked again at Kane and gave a small smile.

  Kane glanced sideways at Courtland with a slight look of irritation and continued fidgeting in the seat.

  “You’re worried about your friend.”

  “Her name is Molly,” Kane said. “and yeah, I’m worried about her. Those freaks are capable of anything.”

  “She’s a strong girl. She’ll be okay.”

  “Oh yeah?” Kane shot back. “You don’t even know her. How would you know? You see the future or something?”

  Kane’s attitude fizzled as he saw the sincere look on Courtland’s face.

  “Look, I’m tired. I don’t know you, and I…I didn’t mean that. I really am grateful for your help and for what you did back there. I’m just... She’s been my only friend out here.”

  They both sat in silence for a few moments.

  “I understand,” Courtland said with a gentle tone. “But you must have faith in God’s plan. It unfolds as we speak. We only have to be open to our own purpose within it.”

  “Things haven’t seemed to go according to plan,” Kane said quietly.

  “You say that because you doubt. You doubt the Lord, you doubt yourself, and you doubt his perfect will and purpose for every single thing that happens. A good example was the disappearances that occurred when all this started.”

  “Disappearances?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean, people disappearing from their beds and moving vehicles? That sort of thing?”

  Courtland shrugged, “maybe not just like that, I’m sure many have passed on as well. Either way, most Christians are gone. Those who have remained are to form the resistance.”

  “Resistance.”

  “Yes, resistance, to a growing evil. You see, God has left us here because he has a plan for us. You have listened, now you must trust. When you trust, you will find the strength to obey and allow God to use you for his glory.