The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4)

by Daniel Greene

  No moon shone in the nighttime sky. No fires were lit among the people huddled together in the gloomy marsh for warmth. No flashlights danced in the night. The only light came from the distant campfires of Jackson’s men across the muddy mire, the faint glowing tendrils shying away from the center of their murky island.

  Her form emitted no shadow when she stepped close to the man. She gently placed one foot down, using her tiptoes to softly pad through sleeping men and women. The faint cough of a man penetrated the darkness. She had been a silent apparition, drifting through the sleeping bodies of their camp.

  Tess had watched the men from nearby before she moved in close. Even if they had seen her, they would have thought she was one of their people relieving themselves in the night.

  The cowardly talk from both Steele and Thunder proved nothing to her. She was the only one with big enough balls to get the job done right and his death would satisfy her need for revenge. If she waited any longer, she would never have a chance with Jackson’s forces poised to strike their death blow at any time.

  She stepped over a man, envisioning her sweet vengeance with every foot closer to her victim. Sweeter than anything else she’d had of late. She could practically taste his death on her tongue. She stalked closer to his tent. Two men stood outside, surely armed and aware of their surroundings. She peered from around a tree at her target.

  The tent was makeshift. No one had much, most of the gear sat in the abandoned convoy. Tarps were pieced together in a square, using trees as a foundation, forming the roof. A loose tarp end ruffled as the wind flowed through the trees, knocking brown leaves to the ground. It flapped for a moment and lay still.

  The shorter of the two guards said something and walked off into the night. She crept closer. He was taller than her. Short hair topped his skull like a freshly cut golf course fairway.

  As she inched in behind him, she could smell him over the wet swamp. It was a mixture of mud and shit. Her breathing slowed as she stood directly behind him, her breath shallow. She was so close she could reach out and touch him, but she only watched him. She studied this man’s last moments on earth, wondering if he had any clue he was about to die. Hope it was worth selling your soul.

  Covering his mouth with her free hand, she quickly brought her other hand across his neck. Warm liquid spurted over her knife hand. He convulsed in her arms and his body struggled to remain standing. He dropped his gun. It made a muted slap on the wet earth. His hands leapt up to his neck, but it didn’t matter. He could never keep his blood from leaving his body.

  Cupping his mouth, she walked him backwards until he was laying down flat. His eyes were wild and frantic in the night, knowing he was fatally wounded. Keeping his mouth covered, she slipped the short blade up under the soft skin of his chin and jabbed it upward into his brain. His eyes widened further and he let out a small dying gurgle.

  She tugged the blade free and watched and waited for the other guard. She scanned her surroundings for anyone who may have seen her assault. In the dead of rural night, she was only searching for lighter darkness coming her way. Nothing presented itself, so she checked her six o’clock. She stole forward, squatting on the ground.

  Softly, her fingertips touched the edge of the plastic tarp. Waiting for a moment, she gently pushed the tarp to the side. It creased and crinkled beneath her hand. With the tarp open, she peered hard inside, waiting to see if the tent’s occupant had been alerted to her presence.

  She stood silent and still in the opening of the tent. A slender mound lay on the ground. It sucked in air heavily. Tess held her breath, watching. The old man rolled over and groaned. She steadily exhaled, letting the air escape her mouth.

  She crouched inside, letting her feet be soft and nimble beneath her. She hovered over him, peering down at her victim in disgust. This bastard. He thinks he can murder us. He thinks he can deceive us. He wants heaven so bad, I’ll send him on his way.

  Squeezing the knife in her hand, she bent near the ground. Her hand wavered over his shoulder as if some divine intervention would not see her forward. She listened to his calm breathing. Can’t back out now, sister. Slow and methodical, air entered and exited his body. Her knife inched closer to his neck. No. I want him to know it was me. I want him to see his executioner. Placing the blade to his throat, she covered his mouth with her other hand.

  He awoke with a start, his eyes blinking in recognition.

  “Don’t move or it’s over now,” she uttered. She stuck the tip of the knife a mere millimeter into his neck. Not enough to harm him, but enough to let him know she meant business. She pressed it until she knew fresh blood had formed at the tip of her blade.

  He raised his hands up slowly in surrender. His eyes still hadn’t recognized her.

  A thin smile crawled over her lips. “I wanted you to know it was me.” She licked her lips. “I wanted you to know it was me that brought you down. It was me that ruined your little kingdom, and it was me who got revenge for Pagan.”

  His hand gently touched hers and she let her hand be shifted away. “I won’t call out, my child,” he uttered. His voice wasn’t worried or rushed but seemed to come out at its own confident pace.

  “Good.” Then added, “It would only end faster for you.”

  “If he calls me to his table, who am I to deny him?”

  She leaned closer to his face. “Quit with your religious bullshit. I don’t buy any of it.”

  His mouth grimaced in the dim light. “You have so much anger. If you surrendered to him, you would be free.”

  “Anger?” She shook her head. “Anger is only a fraction of it. You burned my friend alive. You killed my people. You conspire against Steele while he showed you mercy. One might call it anger. I call it making a cold break.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment and she reveled in the fact that she caused him pain.

  When he spoke, the tone of his voice was not harsh but mild. His confidence rattled her insides, making her unsure of what she did. “Our peoples were at war once, but Steele taught me a valuable lesson. He taught me that we can work together, both believers and nonbelievers for a common purpose. If only he taught you that lesson, Tess, maybe we would be better off.”

  “You murdered my people,” she repeated. “You’re a monster.”

  “I am what God has made me. I have given a downtrodden people hope.”

  “You’ve made them into mere zombies.”

  “Zealous though they may be, their hearts are pure. We were all put here for something. Even you, Tess. I hardly believe it was to martyr an old man.”

  “That’s exactly why I was put here.” She pushed the blade harder into his skin. His head leaned farther away from her. His hand drifted away from hers.

  “Then why don’t you finish the deed? I’ve done all I can to help my people on their journey. I’m ready to meet him. I’ve waited for that moment my whole life.” He closed his eyes. “Our Father,” he started. His voice, while muted, carried power inside it.

  She twisted the blade in his skin, but something held her hand like she wanted a better ending or a more gratifying revenge.

  “Who art in Heaven.”

  “Shut your mouth,” she growled, frustrated by her lack of conviction.

  “Please, send me to him. I am ready. Push the blade into my neck and it will be done. That is what you and I both want,” the pastor said.

  She twisted the blade a bit more. She knew blood trickled down his neck. “You hear me. This is for Pagan.”

  The pastor ignored her and closed his eyes. “Hallowed be thy name.”

  She pulled her arm back to ram the blade into his throat, ending the devious man once and for all.

  But pain exploded on the back of her head with a loud crack. She fell onto her backside. Her eyes went haywire like she had gone on a merry-go-round a few hundred times too many. She tried to blink them back straight. Flashlights flicked on, illuminating the half-tent. The pastor sat up, rubbing his neck.
/>   She slashed out wildly and a short stick wrapped her hand hard on her wrist. Her fingers seized in flection and she dropped the knife.

  Rough hands tossed her on the floor and a heavy weight pushed down on top of her. The pastor stood, still massaging his throat.

  “Good work, Peter.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Peter breathed onto her neck. Her resistance was slow and her head foggy.

  Her arms were pulled behind her and she heard the sound of duct tape scratching free as it was wound around her wrists.

  “She is a very troubled young lady,” the pastor said.

  Her vision was doubled. More men poured into the tent with guns and weapons.

  “Should we brain her and dump her in the river? No one would ever know.”

  The tall wraith-like form of the pastor now towered over her. “No, Peter. That is not necessary. Her soul can yet be saved.”

  “Father, she’s but a wild animal.”

  The pastor lifted a hand at his follower. His mouth curved into a smile. “Her body will suffer, but we will save her soul.”

  STEELE

  Steele’s Island Camp, Mississippi River

  Gruff shouts sounded through the trees, traveling wide over the small island. Steele’s hand went to his M9A1 Beretta instinctively. He eased it free from its holster. He rolled up onto his bad leg and grimaced as the pellets lodged deep inside made their presence known. He scanned the marshy forest, gun punched out. The trees grew lighter by the minute as the day broke the night.

  Forms moved through the trees. He knew they must be Jackson’s men or infected.

  With one hand, he trained his sights on the nearest one, tracking them through the trees.

  “Tess,” he whispered. “Wake up.” He chanced a glance where she normally lay. The ground was empty of her sleeping form. More shouts carried in and out of the trees but no gunfire. “Tess.” He scrutinized their area, but she wasn’t there.

  Flashlights bounced in the boggy woods. Keeping his weapon in the high-ready, his weapon compressed near his body and close to the center of his chest. He was ready to punch out to address any threats. He stalked toward the shouts with caution. A heavy person trudged in the dark nearby.

  Thunder’s voice boomed. “Steele.”

  Steele turned his way. “What’s going on?”

  Thunder’s shadowed face angered. “They’ve got her.”

  “Have who?” Steele’s heart jumped for a moment. Gwen? Tess? What has Jackson done?

  “The pastor has Tess.”

  Steele watched the dark forms congregating far away. Their shouts drifted over the air to him. Flashlights bounced in the Chosen camp. “Why?”

  Thunder waved a heavy hand and Steele followed. “Come.”

  Steele hesitantly holstered his firearm and followed the thick-shouldered biker through the trees. Near the center of their small island, a mob of people had gathered. Steele eyed the men. A cluster of Red Stripes, a few Sable Point volunteers, and too many of the pastor’s men. The pastor’s head stuck out of the middle, taller than most others.

  Steele pushed his way through the mass of people. He put a hand on a man and steered him out of his way. “What’s going on here?” He made his voice loud. Heads turned his way. The pastor seemed amused. Peter had a triumphant smirk on his face. Steele was not oblivious to the way the people had angled themselves. Red Stripes and Sable Pointers on one side, the Chosen on the other.

  “Mr. Steele, we’ve been searching for you,” the pastor said over his people. The Chosen people parted ways, splitting down the middle. The pastor walked forward with his disciples—Luke, Matthew, Peter, and others—in tow. Peter shoved a skinny, hooded person ahead of himself.

  The pastor folded his hands in front of him. “Last night, there was an assassination attempt on my life.”

  Angry cries and murmurs came from the Chosen brothers and sisters. More people arrived, and the crowd stepped closer as they realized something big was going down in the camp.

  The pastor’s eyebrows lifted, his forehead creasing while he frowned. “I know there are many who despise me. It is difficult to lead a holy life and not garner the hatred of others.”

  Steele pointed with his unaffected hand. “Enough. Who is that? One of Jackson’s men?” Thunder folded his big arms over his chest. Frank shoved his way through people.

  The pastor shook his head. “I wish it was our common enemy, but alas, it is one of your followers.” Peter ripped off the captive’s hood revealing Tess’s face. Her cheeks were puffy where she had been hit. Her eyes were downcast. Dried blood was plastered down the edge of her mouth to her chin.

  “There must be a mistake,” Steele said softer. Inside his chest, he already knew. She had spoken about it. Endlessly she had professed her hatred of the man. It was only a matter of time before she acted.

  “I wish it was, but she slew one of my men and attempted to take my life with this very knife.” He tossed a blade onto the ground. When it hit the boggy earth, it made a squishing noise.

  Steele approached the weapon and bent over, wrapping his hands around the hilt. Blood still stuck to the point. Steele stared at the blade and back at Tess. Her eyes betrayed her and she met his gaze in anger.

  “It’s hers,” Steele said.

  The pastor gave Steele a disappointed gaze. “I didn’t want to believe it myself. I thought we brought peace to our peoples.”

  Peter threw a fist in the air. “We want blood.”

  “String her up,” long-haired Luke howled. He joined Peter, raising a fist in the air.

  “String her up. String her up.” The pastor’s men took up the chant.

  Steele stared at the knife in the palm of his hand. How could it have come to this? His fingers wrapped painfully around the knife hilt.

  The pastor met his eyes. A small smile crossed his lips. He’s got me by the balls and he knows it. The pastor raised a hand in the air and his people quieted down.

  “I do not think it fair to let such egregious acts of violence go unpunished. Murder and attempted murder is a serious thing. As a former lawman, do you not agree, Mr. Steele?”

  Steele clenched his jaw. “I agree.”

  “I thought you would. But God also teaches us forgiveness. I leave this poor soul in your hands, Mr. Steele, for you to decide her fate. I trust you will do the right thing.”

  Peter shoved Tess in the back and she grunted as she took a step forward.

  “String her up,” someone shouted.

  Tess took a few more steps toward Steele, joining him, her head still hanging low. Steele put his left hand in the air.

  “At noon, we will reconvene and discuss her fate.”

  The pastor nodded with a slight bow of his head.

  Thunder untied Tess’s bindings.

  “Come on,” Steele waved at them, storming back to his camp.

  The groups faded into their respective parts of the small swampy island.

  Steele stood with his back turned toward her. “I told you not to do anything.” He paused letting his anger subside. “Yet here we are. Our backs against the ropes.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Kevin has been hung. We haven’t heard anything from Ahmed or the Wolf Riders, and Jackson could lead a crushing assault against us at any moment.”

  She answered him with silence. Her demeanor reserved, she sat on a mossy log with her hands clasped in front of her.

  He turned around. “Our people are on the precipice of annihilation and you decide it’s time to settle an old score with the pastor?”

  Her eyes lifted up. “He had it coming.” Her puffy face peered up at him. Her eyes were unrepentant.

  He shook his head at her. “He’s our ally and you tried to kill him in his sleep.”

  “He’s never been our ally, only a viper in a clergyman’s clothes. A manipulator. A deceiver.”

  Steele continued to shake his head. “This is how you repay me? With this day’s lawlessness? I’m sorry, you’ve forced my han
d.”

  They locked eyes before she spoke. “Do whatever you have to do, but the only regret I have is not finishing the job.”

  ***

  Noon came too fast. The sky was a dreary fall slate. The temperature hadn’t gone up through the morning. In fact, Steele was sure it was dropping. Any colder and he would be able to see his breath.

  Soldiers still stirred on the other shore, and the clock ticked away as Jackson planned his next and final move. Steele had been outgunned, outmaneuvered, and outmatched at every turn. Now, his friends were either dead, gone, or against him.

  The Chosen had come out in full force to witness his judgment. There was no doubt that they could easily turn into a lynch mob. It would only take a spark to send them into an inferno of violence. They lined the trees before him. In their center was the pastor flanked by his most loyal disciples: broad Peter, slimy Luke, and handsome Matthew. The pastor’s long face watched Steele’s.

  Steele’s volunteers stood near him, armed and tired. Margie rested her gun on the ground with Tony looming over her shoulder. Next to her stood bald-headed Larry. Beside them was Trent in his hunting gear and Nathan. Thunder and Garrett stood with the remainders of the Red Stripes, Frank with his Iron Drakes, fiery-haired old Red Clare with the Seven Sisters, and the crotchety gang leader War Child with the War Machines were mixed in. If things went south between the two factions, Steele didn’t know who would put a bullet in him first, the Chosen or one of the biker gangs.

  Steele walked into the middle of the clearing between the two groups. He flexed his right hand a bit. Peter smirked at him. Steele gave him a glare and the man averted his eyes. You still remember our time together, don’t you, Peter?

  He cleared his throat. “As you all know, our groups have had problems in the past.” He spun as he walked, eyeing people face to face. “We’ve also joined together becoming allies against a common foe.” He saved a special look of disdain for Tess.

  “We must stay together if we are to overcome this storm, both Colonel Jackson and the dead.” His eyes shifted over to the pastor. “I will not stand for any more violence between our groups.” He flexed his weak hand. “Any person who commits violence will be dealt swift and severe justice.”